I have a new hobby of volunteering to work at my school's track meets. Well, it's not exactly a hobby because I get paid to help out, but it is a sacrifice of time and involves the risk of being caught in turbulant Colorado weather. Last week, I measured Shot Put throws. This week, I was manning the High Jump.
Having never been in charge of the High Jump and knowing that I was going to be the only adult in charge at that event, I was frankly a bit nervous going into it all. To combat the anxiety, I reminded myself that all I had to do was ask someone if I didn't know what I was doing. Therein lies the problem: I'm a bit proud...or a lot proud. I don't relish feeling ignorant or helpless, especially in front of students!
Before the meet officially began, I made sure I understood the rules and procedures for my event. Though I was given clear explanations, I still had to figure out little details on my own like, oh, the order in which students go, how to break a tie, how to adjust the mat under the pole, etc. For the most part, though, I was able to relax and enjoy the process once things got rolling.
As I stood watching the students compete, I compared my pride to the pride of the students. It's true that some of them were impressed with themselves and understandably so. A handful of boys and a couple of girls who had the ups of a cat. Yet, there were also a few students who performed terribly. I say that with the utmost respect to them.
With many people watching and those students probably knowing they were not gifted nor skilled in the High Jump, they still tackled the jump fearlessly. Even though their efforts lacked grace and they basically just plowed into the pole, I was touched by observing them. All of them handled their embarrassing attempts with dignity. They seemed to have a mature sense of being willing to fail, something I struggle with at times.
It made my fears about running the event itself seem a bit ridiculous. As I continue to gain experience in life, I hope that I purposefully push myself to do uncomfortable things, things where I may not stand as one of the best. Those times build rich humility and strength of character. I suspect those less-than-stellar high-jumpers are going to do well in life. Their willingness to graciously fail foretells it well.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Weave Me a Story
There is a charming wooden rocker in my childhood home. It belongs to my father. I associate that rocker with stories. In fact, it is difficult to imagine my dad sitting in the rocker unless he is reading out loud to whomever is around, whether it be a passage of the Bible or an intriguing James Herriot tale. Such story times were not consistently frequent, but they have left a vivid mark in my mind nonetheless. I guess sitting and listening to a plot unfold captivates a mind, especially when a comforting and familiar voice is delivering the details.
To me, the most marvelous stories are those of real-life folks. When I consider how numerous such journies have inspired me, I am compelled to contemplate my own life. How can my life unfold in such a way as to glorify God and motivate others? Could my life look like that of Corrie Ten Boom's or Jim Elliot's?
I am currently reading Andrew Murray's Absolute Surrender. In the first chapter, Murray urges us (as believers)to be fully surrendered to Christ, for by so doing, God is able to bless us immensely and use us completely. He goes on to describe what that surrender entails, emphasizing God's work even in the ability to surrender.
A surrendered life creates a rich story. Leo Tolstoy could spin a fine yarn. Jane Austen could pen an entrancing saga. But nobody can weave a story like Christ. In the lives of those who are truly yielded, the Holy Spirit carefully and purposefully orchestrates profound story lines, none of which are duplicates of another.
Surrender is something I have been grappling with the past few months. When I ponder the possible outcomes of complete surrender versus partial surrender, my heart cries for a total, broken posture before Christ. Yet, my sinful desires often vie for my attention. May I have the foresight to see what Christ could do through me if I would submit to Him alone!
Galations 2:20 states: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Dying to self implies absolute surrender. Lord, help me to live such a life! Please weave a story in me that glorifies You!
To me, the most marvelous stories are those of real-life folks. When I consider how numerous such journies have inspired me, I am compelled to contemplate my own life. How can my life unfold in such a way as to glorify God and motivate others? Could my life look like that of Corrie Ten Boom's or Jim Elliot's?
I am currently reading Andrew Murray's Absolute Surrender. In the first chapter, Murray urges us (as believers)to be fully surrendered to Christ, for by so doing, God is able to bless us immensely and use us completely. He goes on to describe what that surrender entails, emphasizing God's work even in the ability to surrender.
A surrendered life creates a rich story. Leo Tolstoy could spin a fine yarn. Jane Austen could pen an entrancing saga. But nobody can weave a story like Christ. In the lives of those who are truly yielded, the Holy Spirit carefully and purposefully orchestrates profound story lines, none of which are duplicates of another.
Surrender is something I have been grappling with the past few months. When I ponder the possible outcomes of complete surrender versus partial surrender, my heart cries for a total, broken posture before Christ. Yet, my sinful desires often vie for my attention. May I have the foresight to see what Christ could do through me if I would submit to Him alone!
Galations 2:20 states: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Dying to self implies absolute surrender. Lord, help me to live such a life! Please weave a story in me that glorifies You!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Kindergarten, Pavarotti, and Ringtones
What do most five-year-old students do after kindergarten on any given day? Play with dolls or trucks? Play house? Eat a snack? Play with the cat? Listen to opera? Whoa...wait...what? What normal kid listens to opera unless living in Italy under the roof of an opera star? And, even then, what kid listens to it by choice?
Um...yes. Me. And, I didn't even grow up in Italy nor was I birthed by a prima donna. Nonetheless, the memory of these times lives vividly in the scrapbook of my mind. I can envision the massive record cover of Luciano Pavarotti, opera singer extraordinaire. It simply portrayed a dreamy cloud-filled sky. I can picture myself rushing in from school and petitioning my mom to get the record spinning as soon as possible. (Don't be fooled by the record reference. This did take place in the 80's. I guess my folks didn't care to upgrade the Pavarotti album to a cassette tape.)
Listening to opera is fun. Yet, any cool kindergarten child knows it's even more fun while jumping. So, being the with-it girl I was, I would bounce on our little mini-trampoline we had in the house while soaking in the tunes. Nothing like being exported to another realm by Pavarotti's rich voice while experiencing the sheer bliss of catipulting oneself into the air. My parents maintain that they thought this hobby of mine was cute. Thanks, Mom and Dad, though I hope you know you can be honest with me now...it's been a good 20-some years.
Fast forward to the year 2010 where record players have all but vanished. Last week, I graduated to a new cell phone. The fact that the mail-in rebate made it free will give you an indication as to how unexciting the new device is. The dismal selection of ringtones on the phone further confirms this. When I get a new phone, I treat myself to a new ringtone purchase. It's a small but fun indulgence.
My last ringtone purchase proved a bit ridiculous. "Sobbin Women" from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is a fun ditty on the screen but makes for a potentially embarrassing ringtone. Regardless, I stuck to that ringtone during the lifetime of my previous phone. With a new phone in hand, I determined to find a fabulous new ring that would make me proud.
To whom did I turn? Handel. Yes, ancient, Baroque-period Handel. (As a reminder, I am a slight music nerd.) I selected a beautiful piece from his oratorio Samson. For those of you who may not know, an oratorio is similar to operatic singing except it is not in a plot/acting format. Here's the thing: though I liked to jump to opera as a child and still think it's a fine art form today, I would never select a ringtone with operatic singing. At least, not intentionally.
I bought the ringtone I currently have under the assumption that it was just an instrumental portion of the piece. Trust me, it's magnificent. Yet, after I bought it, I listened to it on my phone, and...to my chagrine...an operatic soprano burst into passionate singing after the initial music for which I had purchased the ringtone. Ugh! Failure! I thought I had risen above my buying-embarrassing-ringtones proclivity. Nope.
Please don't misunderstand me. The ringtone singing is beautiful, but, for as much of a music geek as I can be, I feel there are certain limits to operatic expression. Answering the phone to high-pitched warbles is a bit extreme, even for me.
I suppose I could buy a different ringtone, use a lame ringtone already on the phone, or always keep my phone on vibrate or silent (a bad, bad idea for me). Or, I could just tough it out for the next year or two of my life and thereby inevitably experience humiliating ringtone moments. Hmmm. Not yet sure what I'll do.
The moral or two of this story: Music that's great for jumping may not fit the bill for cell phone features, and stressing so much over a ringtone is probably not worthwhile. Most importantly, please don't let this story stop you from calling me! Embarrassing ringtones are worth it all if I can hear the voice of a treasured friend or beloved family member on the other end. Plus, I think I've made Pavarotti proud.
Um...yes. Me. And, I didn't even grow up in Italy nor was I birthed by a prima donna. Nonetheless, the memory of these times lives vividly in the scrapbook of my mind. I can envision the massive record cover of Luciano Pavarotti, opera singer extraordinaire. It simply portrayed a dreamy cloud-filled sky. I can picture myself rushing in from school and petitioning my mom to get the record spinning as soon as possible. (Don't be fooled by the record reference. This did take place in the 80's. I guess my folks didn't care to upgrade the Pavarotti album to a cassette tape.)
Listening to opera is fun. Yet, any cool kindergarten child knows it's even more fun while jumping. So, being the with-it girl I was, I would bounce on our little mini-trampoline we had in the house while soaking in the tunes. Nothing like being exported to another realm by Pavarotti's rich voice while experiencing the sheer bliss of catipulting oneself into the air. My parents maintain that they thought this hobby of mine was cute. Thanks, Mom and Dad, though I hope you know you can be honest with me now...it's been a good 20-some years.
Fast forward to the year 2010 where record players have all but vanished. Last week, I graduated to a new cell phone. The fact that the mail-in rebate made it free will give you an indication as to how unexciting the new device is. The dismal selection of ringtones on the phone further confirms this. When I get a new phone, I treat myself to a new ringtone purchase. It's a small but fun indulgence.
My last ringtone purchase proved a bit ridiculous. "Sobbin Women" from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is a fun ditty on the screen but makes for a potentially embarrassing ringtone. Regardless, I stuck to that ringtone during the lifetime of my previous phone. With a new phone in hand, I determined to find a fabulous new ring that would make me proud.
To whom did I turn? Handel. Yes, ancient, Baroque-period Handel. (As a reminder, I am a slight music nerd.) I selected a beautiful piece from his oratorio Samson. For those of you who may not know, an oratorio is similar to operatic singing except it is not in a plot/acting format. Here's the thing: though I liked to jump to opera as a child and still think it's a fine art form today, I would never select a ringtone with operatic singing. At least, not intentionally.
I bought the ringtone I currently have under the assumption that it was just an instrumental portion of the piece. Trust me, it's magnificent. Yet, after I bought it, I listened to it on my phone, and...to my chagrine...an operatic soprano burst into passionate singing after the initial music for which I had purchased the ringtone. Ugh! Failure! I thought I had risen above my buying-embarrassing-ringtones proclivity. Nope.
Please don't misunderstand me. The ringtone singing is beautiful, but, for as much of a music geek as I can be, I feel there are certain limits to operatic expression. Answering the phone to high-pitched warbles is a bit extreme, even for me.
I suppose I could buy a different ringtone, use a lame ringtone already on the phone, or always keep my phone on vibrate or silent (a bad, bad idea for me). Or, I could just tough it out for the next year or two of my life and thereby inevitably experience humiliating ringtone moments. Hmmm. Not yet sure what I'll do.
The moral or two of this story: Music that's great for jumping may not fit the bill for cell phone features, and stressing so much over a ringtone is probably not worthwhile. Most importantly, please don't let this story stop you from calling me! Embarrassing ringtones are worth it all if I can hear the voice of a treasured friend or beloved family member on the other end. Plus, I think I've made Pavarotti proud.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Heavenly Chords
I was on the brink of a meltdown this morning. My 8th grade choir class was absolutely pushing my patience. The lazy, chatty, unfocused behavior of some students was quickly eroding whatever protective coating my nerves generally possess. I was another slumped-posture away from storming out the door, resigning my job, and heading to the Bahamas for an indefinite period of time. A bit dramatic, but you feel my pain, do you not?
Thankfully, for those times when middle-school orneriness gets the better of me, I have learned that the best cure is to stop what I'm doing, sit the kids down, and have a heart-to-heart with them. These days, I'm rocking the heart-to-hearts. They seem to be needed often.
The soul searching I made those 8th graders do for the last few minutes of class today at least calmed them down. More importantly, it calmed me down. As they poured out of the class, I felt I had regained my composure and was ready to dive into my next class.
The next couple of classes passed uneventfully. Enter my 7th-grade choir class. This adolescent montage of 46 students has been one of the most trying experiences of my teaching career. The students themselves are wonderful (for the most part). However, they are almost all extroverted, interactive types who exude more energy than I can easily channel. They zoom to my class from lunch, high on sugar and gossip, and focusing their buzzing brains is often like herding cats.
Yet, today was magnificent. Truly. When teaching a choir class, I sometimes get swept up in a flow of brainstorms about how to create the sound I want. As I was working today, I decided to have the students sing an open-fifth chord (Part III on the bottom root, Part II on the fifth, and Part I on the root an octave above Part III, for anyone who's curious). When such a chord is sung in perfect tune, the room will fill with overtones, tones that are not being sung but can be heard above the chord. It's an awesome, chilling occurance that is all but absent in middle-school singing, at least in my experience.
Announcement: Overtones were heard in a middle school today. My 7th graders were suddenly singing pure tones, almost perfectly tuned. Sure, those overtone moments were only seconds long, but they happened, and it was glorious. Thank you, 7th-grade voices. Nothing can match a pristine early-adolescent voice. It is simply angelic.
Perhaps my 8th graders frustrated me today. Yet, my 7th graders more than made up for whatever agitation I felt earlier. It has taken three months, but those crazy bundles of energy made beautiful music today. And that is what makes my job unbelievably awesome.
God knows what I need in a day. He knows how to send rays of sunshine in days that are otherwise hard. Heavenly chords brought such much-craved sunshine into my life today.
Thankfully, for those times when middle-school orneriness gets the better of me, I have learned that the best cure is to stop what I'm doing, sit the kids down, and have a heart-to-heart with them. These days, I'm rocking the heart-to-hearts. They seem to be needed often.
The soul searching I made those 8th graders do for the last few minutes of class today at least calmed them down. More importantly, it calmed me down. As they poured out of the class, I felt I had regained my composure and was ready to dive into my next class.
The next couple of classes passed uneventfully. Enter my 7th-grade choir class. This adolescent montage of 46 students has been one of the most trying experiences of my teaching career. The students themselves are wonderful (for the most part). However, they are almost all extroverted, interactive types who exude more energy than I can easily channel. They zoom to my class from lunch, high on sugar and gossip, and focusing their buzzing brains is often like herding cats.
Yet, today was magnificent. Truly. When teaching a choir class, I sometimes get swept up in a flow of brainstorms about how to create the sound I want. As I was working today, I decided to have the students sing an open-fifth chord (Part III on the bottom root, Part II on the fifth, and Part I on the root an octave above Part III, for anyone who's curious). When such a chord is sung in perfect tune, the room will fill with overtones, tones that are not being sung but can be heard above the chord. It's an awesome, chilling occurance that is all but absent in middle-school singing, at least in my experience.
Announcement: Overtones were heard in a middle school today. My 7th graders were suddenly singing pure tones, almost perfectly tuned. Sure, those overtone moments were only seconds long, but they happened, and it was glorious. Thank you, 7th-grade voices. Nothing can match a pristine early-adolescent voice. It is simply angelic.
Perhaps my 8th graders frustrated me today. Yet, my 7th graders more than made up for whatever agitation I felt earlier. It has taken three months, but those crazy bundles of energy made beautiful music today. And that is what makes my job unbelievably awesome.
God knows what I need in a day. He knows how to send rays of sunshine in days that are otherwise hard. Heavenly chords brought such much-craved sunshine into my life today.
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