Last Friday, I rose early. Finishing the packing job I had begun the night before, I waddled down the stairs with my items for the weekend away, drove to the nearby Starbucks for a good jolt, and pointed my little Taurus north on I-25. Instead of teaching that morning, I was escaping to a music symposium in Longmont, CO where other music teachers in the state would be gathering as well. Though such days can sometimes feel long, they are a welcome relief from the stress of teaching.
Those of us in attendance at the symposium sat under a music educator brought in from Virginia Beach. In an example lesson she demonstrated, I was introduced to the concept of synesthesia. Perhaps you have heard of it, but I had not. Synesthesia is a fascinating medical condition in which a person has overlapping senses. When a certain sense is triggered, a different sense becomes active as well.
A short documentary about a man in the UK who has this condition opened to us the world of someone without typical boundaries between senses. When this man eats, he sees a sheet of color before him. For example, when tasting chicken, a blue color fills his vision. Such palettes of color also appear when he hears music. The french horn, in his opinion, is a miserable instrument, not because of its sound per se, but because he sees a dreary gray color when he hears it and the color ruins his experience of any other instrument playing at the time.
Truthfully, I found this concept of synesthesia riveting. It is estimated that 1% of the population experiences synesthesia in some form. It makes me wonder: who do I know who has this? As our clinician suggested, perhaps geniuses like Beethoven had synesthesia. Is synesthasia to credit for unearthly beauty in the work of some artists? My mind salivated at the thought.
There are times when the world seems almost too marvelous, mysterious, multi-faceted, and mind-blowingly fascinating for me to know what to do with my eagerness to soak it in. I felt this way Friday, as I do now, in thinking on this concept of synesthesia. As always, it points me back to my marvelous Creator. The world is a feast for all senses and is filled with more food for the mind and soul than I can fully experience in my lifetime. I am in awe.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
"Like I Said..."
As a middle school choir teacher, I would be independently wealthy if I had a dollar for every time I have said the following phrases in class:
"Check your posture."
"It's my turn to talk."
"Like I said..."
"Who's the teacher?"
"How many beats does a quarter note receive?"
I could list many more of these phrases and should probably have a Staples-esque button created for each of those so I can just slap something and have it speak for me instead of wasting my breath over and over again.
Yet, as I folded some neglected towels last night before bed, I pondered how many students I have encountered in my short teaching career of three and a half years. The total: hundreds and maybe thousands by now. Wow. No wonder I repeat things. Teaching is like having kids that never grow up. I get excited to see my 8th graders make progress throughout the year, only to lose them to high school. It's easy to assume the next batch of acne-ridden, braces-sporting 8th grade babies that step into my room the next fall will know what I've already told the 8th graders last year...but, wait! These aren't the same kids! I'm starting over!
Profound, I know. But remembering this little truth gives me so much more grace when I'm singing "B-A-Bay" with 6th graders for the uberanth time. I could play and sing that song while competing in a debate on the properties of aluminum. Maybe not. I don't even know one property of aluminum come to think of it. I'm just sayin', I've played that song more times than seems legal. If I continue teaching, I'll play it that much more. "Throw out the song!", you jeer. No way. "B-A-Bay" is every 6th grade student's favorite song of all time. It stays.
I just rabbit-trailed. The point is that even when I say the same phrases over and over, the ridiculousness of it all is eased by my realizing what a privilege my job is. I get paid to sing "Picking Up a Pepperoni Pizza" with students. I get paid to encourage students to stretch the confines of their comfort zones. I get paid to push students to develop outstanding character and to reach their community with the performing arts. I get paid to listen to angelic voices and to perch on a front row seat in this musical called "Middle School". Who gets paid for such joys? How blessed am I?
Do I always have this perspective? No. But, today I do. Thanks, God, for a great job!
"Check your posture."
"It's my turn to talk."
"Like I said..."
"Who's the teacher?"
"How many beats does a quarter note receive?"
I could list many more of these phrases and should probably have a Staples-esque button created for each of those so I can just slap something and have it speak for me instead of wasting my breath over and over again.
Yet, as I folded some neglected towels last night before bed, I pondered how many students I have encountered in my short teaching career of three and a half years. The total: hundreds and maybe thousands by now. Wow. No wonder I repeat things. Teaching is like having kids that never grow up. I get excited to see my 8th graders make progress throughout the year, only to lose them to high school. It's easy to assume the next batch of acne-ridden, braces-sporting 8th grade babies that step into my room the next fall will know what I've already told the 8th graders last year...but, wait! These aren't the same kids! I'm starting over!
Profound, I know. But remembering this little truth gives me so much more grace when I'm singing "B-A-Bay" with 6th graders for the uberanth time. I could play and sing that song while competing in a debate on the properties of aluminum. Maybe not. I don't even know one property of aluminum come to think of it. I'm just sayin', I've played that song more times than seems legal. If I continue teaching, I'll play it that much more. "Throw out the song!", you jeer. No way. "B-A-Bay" is every 6th grade student's favorite song of all time. It stays.
I just rabbit-trailed. The point is that even when I say the same phrases over and over, the ridiculousness of it all is eased by my realizing what a privilege my job is. I get paid to sing "Picking Up a Pepperoni Pizza" with students. I get paid to encourage students to stretch the confines of their comfort zones. I get paid to push students to develop outstanding character and to reach their community with the performing arts. I get paid to listen to angelic voices and to perch on a front row seat in this musical called "Middle School". Who gets paid for such joys? How blessed am I?
Do I always have this perspective? No. But, today I do. Thanks, God, for a great job!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Exploration
There is nothing quite like finding a fun new place.
On Friday, my roommate Heather and I tortured ourselves by deciding to do a long run the next day. When Saturday morning dawned, I pulled myself out of bed, excited about the prospect of a run only because I could sport my new outdoor running tights. After snarfing down a bit of grub and giving it time to settle, we set out for the Santa Fe trail.
As we trotted down the trail, feeling the consequence of every unnecessary Christmas delicacy jiggling with each step (or at least I did), we chatted our hearts out. The sun wrapped its warmth around us and the mountains lounged nearby, making the run that much more refreshing. It was just what a soul in early January needed.
When we completed our sweat fest, we loaded into Heather's vehicle and headed home the back way. Heather suggested we stop at a little coffee place in Black Forest called the R&R Coffee Cafe before going home. Always up for an adventure, I agreed that we ought to check the place out.
It was wonderful! The folks working there were personable and the environment was cozy and rustic. Cups perched on hooks boasted the names of regulars, and beautiful pastries and muffins tempted me from under their glass homes. Heather and I split an omelet that was divine, and the coffee choices were plentiful and neatly arranged from mild to bold. I indulged in a dark roast, sipping from a mug so wide I was blinded when I pulled it up to savor the last few drops.
As we left, I purposed to go back. It was so fun to find a new place! There's some kind of adrenaline that accompanies such an experience...and that's addicting. If you're in Black Forest and need a little perk in your day, stop by the R&R Coffee Cafe and find yourself delighted!
On Friday, my roommate Heather and I tortured ourselves by deciding to do a long run the next day. When Saturday morning dawned, I pulled myself out of bed, excited about the prospect of a run only because I could sport my new outdoor running tights. After snarfing down a bit of grub and giving it time to settle, we set out for the Santa Fe trail.
As we trotted down the trail, feeling the consequence of every unnecessary Christmas delicacy jiggling with each step (or at least I did), we chatted our hearts out. The sun wrapped its warmth around us and the mountains lounged nearby, making the run that much more refreshing. It was just what a soul in early January needed.
When we completed our sweat fest, we loaded into Heather's vehicle and headed home the back way. Heather suggested we stop at a little coffee place in Black Forest called the R&R Coffee Cafe before going home. Always up for an adventure, I agreed that we ought to check the place out.
It was wonderful! The folks working there were personable and the environment was cozy and rustic. Cups perched on hooks boasted the names of regulars, and beautiful pastries and muffins tempted me from under their glass homes. Heather and I split an omelet that was divine, and the coffee choices were plentiful and neatly arranged from mild to bold. I indulged in a dark roast, sipping from a mug so wide I was blinded when I pulled it up to savor the last few drops.
As we left, I purposed to go back. It was so fun to find a new place! There's some kind of adrenaline that accompanies such an experience...and that's addicting. If you're in Black Forest and need a little perk in your day, stop by the R&R Coffee Cafe and find yourself delighted!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Let me take a moment...
...to talk about how much I love the Midwest. Right now, please humor me and attempt to count how many times you've heard someone crack a lame joke about how boring it is to drive across Kansas or about how flat Nebraska is. Yeah, uh-huh. That's what I thought. You can't. So little time for so great a task.
Now, I have nothing against those folks who have a true aversion to road-tripping between alternating wheat and corn fields. I harbor no hard feelings for those who can't fathom spending a night in a quiet little town where "there is nothing to do." (By the way, how do people suddenly lose their capacity to just enjoy people or find creative things to do when they're in a small town?).
But, I just decided after spending last week gallivanting across Nebraska and Kansas that it was time to declare my unabashed affection for those cozy states. Here's a shout out to all who hail from those lands of awesomeness! I can't get enough of the old farmhouses and gentle hills and gnarly trees that dot the landscape. I find joy in stopping at little gas stations like Casey's where the old folks and those with a few spare minutes stop to share the latest gossip.
On my way home from a wedding in Kansas, I drove by my Grandpa's hometown of Woodston, KS. To any passersby, it's a sleepy, nearly-evacuated ghost town whose busy days were back in the early 20th century. I couldn't resist taking a quick spin through the deserted streets to pretend it was not 2010 but 1940. I tried to picture my Grandpa as a kid running through the streets with his siblings and friends, flying past the old church he attended and bumping into older folks heading into the bank or post office.
Most of the buildings are now worn out with signs faded and doors boarded up. Yet, as I rambled by, they seemed frozen in time, ready to suddenly spring back to life if I just wished for it enough. As I drove up a street on the edge of town, I gazed toward the distant hills where my Grandpa's parents had farmed. The farmhouse was long gone, but I was delighted to think that I was seeing the same landscape that my great-grandparents peered at day after day. How whimsical and wonderful that little town is to me!
Perhaps experiences like this are why I love the Midwest so much. Perhaps it's because I know so many great people from the Midwest. Perhaps it's because of how much of the old is still visible in those parts. I think it feeds my imagination and love of history.
The bottom line is that I'm not exactly sure why, but I have quite an affinity for the Midwest and I just thought you should know.
Now, I have nothing against those folks who have a true aversion to road-tripping between alternating wheat and corn fields. I harbor no hard feelings for those who can't fathom spending a night in a quiet little town where "there is nothing to do." (By the way, how do people suddenly lose their capacity to just enjoy people or find creative things to do when they're in a small town?).
But, I just decided after spending last week gallivanting across Nebraska and Kansas that it was time to declare my unabashed affection for those cozy states. Here's a shout out to all who hail from those lands of awesomeness! I can't get enough of the old farmhouses and gentle hills and gnarly trees that dot the landscape. I find joy in stopping at little gas stations like Casey's where the old folks and those with a few spare minutes stop to share the latest gossip.
On my way home from a wedding in Kansas, I drove by my Grandpa's hometown of Woodston, KS. To any passersby, it's a sleepy, nearly-evacuated ghost town whose busy days were back in the early 20th century. I couldn't resist taking a quick spin through the deserted streets to pretend it was not 2010 but 1940. I tried to picture my Grandpa as a kid running through the streets with his siblings and friends, flying past the old church he attended and bumping into older folks heading into the bank or post office.
Most of the buildings are now worn out with signs faded and doors boarded up. Yet, as I rambled by, they seemed frozen in time, ready to suddenly spring back to life if I just wished for it enough. As I drove up a street on the edge of town, I gazed toward the distant hills where my Grandpa's parents had farmed. The farmhouse was long gone, but I was delighted to think that I was seeing the same landscape that my great-grandparents peered at day after day. How whimsical and wonderful that little town is to me!
Perhaps experiences like this are why I love the Midwest so much. Perhaps it's because I know so many great people from the Midwest. Perhaps it's because of how much of the old is still visible in those parts. I think it feeds my imagination and love of history.
The bottom line is that I'm not exactly sure why, but I have quite an affinity for the Midwest and I just thought you should know.
Monday, January 4, 2010
New Year, New What?
The start of a new year inspires every human soul. Even those cynics who coolly condemn making resolutions experience a stirring of their spirit when the concept of a fresh start accompanies the turning of the calendar. I'll admit that I have sometimes fallen into that cynic category, not wanting to giddily jump on the resolutions bandwagon just to experience a disgraceful tumble into the dirt a few weeks later.
The year 2010 has started off with no official resolutions in my life. That does not, however, mean that I am not contemplating what ways I need to challenge myself in the coming months. The growing theme on my heart has been my walk with God. In the end, nothing else matters. Without faith it is impossible to please God (Hebrews 11:6). Without faith, it is impossible to fulfill the great commission that Jesus gave in Matthew 28. As a believer, what goal should I have other than to please and glorify God and to further His Kingdom? To this I cannot procure a satisfactory answer. To live a surrendered life on fire for Christ should be my one ambition.
Yet, my life is often backwards from this. I strain and struggle to make myself more attractive via material means, intellectual pursuits, or physical challenges. I try to balance myself atop a flimsy self-perception, caring far too much far too often about how others view me. I fancy myself adorable when others applaud me and endlessly critique myself when lonely nights appear. I am given to selfish pursuits and self-gratifying prayers. In the meantime, I dabble in my walk with God. If asked for the top priority in my life, I would deem myself honest if I said God but would know that the pattern of my life does not completely support such a proclamation. I want to be on fire for Christ but somehow imagine it will happen without putting in the effort and passion that such a fervor requires.
In recent years, I have whined and grumbled and groveled for a change in this or that circumstance. I have fretted over my lot in life and have envied others for what they have. I have made my dreams and self-made visions my goals and have expected that God will be on board with my plans. Multiple times He has shut the door on my ideas. Multiple times, I have stumbled back only to again jump up in pursuit of a new thought-up idea like a dumb dog who learns not that his master is slapping him with the paper for a reason.
Such an analysis of my recent life may seem harsh, although I believe it to be painfully accurate. It's not that I have not desired intimacy with Christ. It is rather that I have not been willing to surrender myself to Him to gain His close friendship. I have not given adequate time or passion to pursuing His will, His vision, and His guidance in my life.
So, in thinking on this new year, my one goal is to get to know my Creator on a deeper level. My aim is seek His face. My desire is to stop wiggling in my seat and to cease fidgeting before Him. May I learn to "Be still and know" that He is God (Ps. 46:10). Let every other thing in my life unfold as it may. If nothing but a closer walk with God and a life that is a more constant testament to the Gospel of Christ is attained in 2010, may I count myself blessed.
The year 2010 has started off with no official resolutions in my life. That does not, however, mean that I am not contemplating what ways I need to challenge myself in the coming months. The growing theme on my heart has been my walk with God. In the end, nothing else matters. Without faith it is impossible to please God (Hebrews 11:6). Without faith, it is impossible to fulfill the great commission that Jesus gave in Matthew 28. As a believer, what goal should I have other than to please and glorify God and to further His Kingdom? To this I cannot procure a satisfactory answer. To live a surrendered life on fire for Christ should be my one ambition.
Yet, my life is often backwards from this. I strain and struggle to make myself more attractive via material means, intellectual pursuits, or physical challenges. I try to balance myself atop a flimsy self-perception, caring far too much far too often about how others view me. I fancy myself adorable when others applaud me and endlessly critique myself when lonely nights appear. I am given to selfish pursuits and self-gratifying prayers. In the meantime, I dabble in my walk with God. If asked for the top priority in my life, I would deem myself honest if I said God but would know that the pattern of my life does not completely support such a proclamation. I want to be on fire for Christ but somehow imagine it will happen without putting in the effort and passion that such a fervor requires.
In recent years, I have whined and grumbled and groveled for a change in this or that circumstance. I have fretted over my lot in life and have envied others for what they have. I have made my dreams and self-made visions my goals and have expected that God will be on board with my plans. Multiple times He has shut the door on my ideas. Multiple times, I have stumbled back only to again jump up in pursuit of a new thought-up idea like a dumb dog who learns not that his master is slapping him with the paper for a reason.
Such an analysis of my recent life may seem harsh, although I believe it to be painfully accurate. It's not that I have not desired intimacy with Christ. It is rather that I have not been willing to surrender myself to Him to gain His close friendship. I have not given adequate time or passion to pursuing His will, His vision, and His guidance in my life.
So, in thinking on this new year, my one goal is to get to know my Creator on a deeper level. My aim is seek His face. My desire is to stop wiggling in my seat and to cease fidgeting before Him. May I learn to "Be still and know" that He is God (Ps. 46:10). Let every other thing in my life unfold as it may. If nothing but a closer walk with God and a life that is a more constant testament to the Gospel of Christ is attained in 2010, may I count myself blessed.
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