it is well.

I walked through Dad and Juli’s front door.  It was cold outside and so I was glad to enter the house and feel the heat that filled the entryway.  It was warm enough to take off my coat, but I didn’t even bother–I didn’t even take of my shoes. I could hardly wait. My dad was sitting in the living room along with Juli and my brother, Chase.  When I walked in, I caught a small glimpse of someone sitting on my dad’s lap: tight curls, beautiful brown eyes, small nose, and rich skin.  

I saw my sister.  Anna Tuhni Waggoner.  

In my dad’s arms was my new six-month-old baby sister.  

I have always wanted a sister.  I remember when my mom was pregnant with her fourth child and I was hoping and praying that it would be a girl (now I would not want anyone but Logan).  The time came when my mom went into labor and I was excused to leave my 3rd grade classroom to visit the hospital and see the new baby.  The next day, I walked back into class, shoulders sagging, as I announced to my whole class that I was upset because I had another brother.  My teacher told me that I should be thankful and happy, and she was right, but deep down I have always wanted a sister.

And now, standing in my own classroom fifteen years later, I announced, “I am going to see my new sister tonight. She is six months old and from Ethiopia and I have always wanted a sister.”

I am so proud of Dad and Julie for using the resources God has given them and adopting a child.  Their new daughter was found on the side of the road by a policeman, abandoned by her mother, and now she has a home in Middlebury, IN,  and two parents that love her and want to give her the best life possible.

 I rocked my sister to sleep tonight.  I felt her deep breaths against my chest and I cried again.  

The first time I cried was when I caught my first glimpse of her– I stood there unable to move because I was sobbing.  Tears streaming, chest shaking, hands on my cheeks.  I was overcome with joy.  I did not expect to be so emotional, but when I saw Anna starring at me, something unexplainable happened to my body and I shook with awe.  I was still sobbing as my dad placed Anna in my arms.  I held her small body so close to my chest and tried to take it all in–each detail, each expression, each movement.  The moment was real and full of love for a sister I just met.  

God, I thank-you for the redemption that is happening in my family. I thank-you for answering a third grader’s dream of wanting a sister. I thank-you that you lead Dad and Julie to adopt and bring an orphan into our home to be apart of our family.

Life is full of unexpected gifts–one named Anna.

A list. 

-diving under the blankets 

-sipping coffee  

-reading in bed by the light of a lamp

-lighting a match, then a candle 

-putting on my grandma’s ring 

-chopping vegetables with a good knife 

-looking through recipe books

-walking into a clean classroom 

-watching students create 

-feeling the sun fall on my skin 

-watering plants

-opening a mason jar filled with something my grandma and I canned 

-hearing the tea kettle whistle 

-reading letters sent from friends in far away places 

-looking through old notes stashed in a drawer

-a long, deep breath

-taking in the silence 

the small things bring so much joy to life.

Do you have questions?  

I love it when my students have questions.  I see it as a sign that they want to learn.  They are willing to admit they do not have the answers and so they ask for help.  

I am deeply grateful to be able to help them, in some small ways. 

Sometimes I can answer students’ question verbally, using metaphors or stories to help them grasp the idea.  Other times I use visuals such as: famous artwork, drawings on the board, or even my own artwork to explain a point.  And there are times when I let students work in groups at their tables to answer questions.  

Some answers click instantly in a students mind, like a fast shutter speed on a camera capturing the photograph in 1/2000 of a second.  But there are times when answers do not developed until much later, like processing in the darkroom, and the blacks and grays take time to develop and deepen in value.  

I was impressed by some of my students’ drawings on the final.  I saw how over the semester, they slowly grasped the importance of value, and during a test they were able to draw it with confidence and understanding.  

I can relate all of this–asking questions, sharing questions, and timing of questions– to God.  

Because I have questions. Many questions.  

I don’t always state them out loud, but if I am telling my students to ask questions and take risks, I should probably do the same.  

Here are some recent questions:

Where should I go to church? 

Can things be right to some and wrong to others…and that is simply ok? 

Should I continue to save money or give more of it away?  

Is art really that important to learn?

Can scripture be interpreted different ways?   

What am I going to do this summer?    

God, how can you love me just as I am? 

and there are more questions, heavier questions yet to be asked… 

But instead of being scared of questions, God is teaching me–through my teaching experiences– to not be afraid to ask, think, and process, and to freely beg Him and my community for their thoughts.

And sometimes, God answers my questions quickly through words, images, or even my community.  And other times, it is a slow process, and maybe the picture won’t be fully developed until I have wrinkles.  Or maybe it is too great for me to comprehend. 

But I see now that stating questions out loud has brought freedom. Questions allow me to see that I am merely human; I am a student and God is the ultimate teacher. 

Do you have questions? 

Simply ask and feel the freedom.

And we don’t have to know all the answers.  Not yet.

I have thought in the past about getting a tattoo.  

Not too seriously, but the casual thought has strolled across my mind.

There is something bold and compelling about permanently placing an artwork on my body that can never be washed away with soap or turpentine. But I always slam the brakes on the idea and hit a red light when it comes to the design, or words, or picture I would want to brand into my skin. What irremovable piece of artwork would be worth paying someone to cause misery (I don’t like needles) and puncture my wrist (this is where I picture having my imaginary tattoo), for an extended period of time?

A good friend of mine has inspired me with a solution.  

The periodic table.   

Why the periodic table? 

5 reasons:  I see God in the Periodic Table–his interest in the details of this world.  It has a great mixture of typography and numbers. I have always been drawn to it’s clean lines and side by side squares.  It is an original tattoo. (Have you seen anyone else with this design?) And I love science more and more everday.  If for some odd chance, I would forget the abbreviation for Colbalt,  I wouldn’t need to pull out the periodic table, I could just pull up my sleeve and know the answer:  CO, atomic number 27. 

Brilliant.  

So if I ever have the guts to enter a tattoo parlor and order one tattoo, I know exactly what I want inked on my arm.  

112 squares.

The last day of November is officially here.  In just under an hour (I can hardly believe it) it will be the last month in 2009.  

Welcome back December: it’s time for you to display your strengths and weaknesses.  

Strengths:  Extended family time, two weeks off of school, sitting by the Christmas tree, decorating sugar cookies, holiday cheer, Nat King Cole, waking up to snow, eggnog lattes, and the reminder of Jesus’ humility.

Weaknesses:  Ice-covered windshields, numb fingers, finals for students, running inside, cold classrooms, and the heating bill.  

Everything and everyone has strengths and weaknesses.

Technology.  

The President. 

Cultures.

Pesticides. 

Michael Scott. 

Seasons. 

I choose to embrace both in everything and everyone.  

Because Jesus loves me despite my weaknesses.  He loves me just as I am–redeemed and flawed. 

So December, I am glad you are coming and I will learn how many minutes it takes to scrape off my car windows.

I had my first observation by the principal this week.

Narcissistic thoughts plagued my mind as soon as I heard he was coming. What was he going to think of me, the students’ behavior, the seating arrangement, the magazines strewed across the back table– leftovers from the last project, and my messy handwriting (I’m an art teacher, does that mean I should have calligraphic handwriting?)

Oh the mind. It wanders and worries and tries to control things it simply cannot control.    

So the principal strolled into my class and observed me teaching…

10 minutes too late.  

The students were quiet and well behaved during the lecture/demonstration part of class and he. missed. it.  He missed the best part.  He observed me working with the students one-on-one, but in the end, I was disappointed.  I wanted the principal to see me at the best possible moment and to be pleased with my ability to communicate the concepts of art.

More than anyone else, I wanted my principal’s approval.   

But wait.  That shouldn’t be.  

Galatians 1:10 Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God?  Or am I trying to please men?  If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.  

Be a servant of Christ.  Let go of trying to win the approval of men.    

 My  heart should not sink to the ground when the principal gives me correction.  My heart should not soar to the sky when he gives me praise.  

For my approval comes from God.  And he carries my heart.  

Jesus saw my entire lecture. Jesus saw the students grasp the concept of space. Jesus was there to witness it and say well done. But I didn’t hear him. I was too busy worrying about the principal missing my grand performance.  

Jesus help me to let go of my self-focused thoughts.  Help me to hear your voice, above my own, and to please you more than anyone else in the world.  

Thanks for loving me despite my flaws of pride, worry, and insecurity.  

Oh I am learning.

I like the color brown.

brown boots.  brown hair.  brown county.

Last weekend, I went on a retreat into the woods, away from the noise of school and traffic and washing machines.  I felt like God was asking me to take a deep breathe and soak in the wind and the leaves and the beauty of the earth.  And so, I made it a point to take some time and travel to brown county and reflect and feel the presence of God.

As I was walking along the trails, I asked for the fog to be cleared, which so easily covers the windows of my heart, and a steady light to pass through the transparent glass and into the depths of my being- a light that revealed the furious love of God.

You see, I was reading this life giving book by Brennan Manning called, The Furious Love of God, and falling deeper and deeper into truth, recognizing God’s pursuit of me.

It’s hard to imagine, but God is pursuing me.  me.  And I strongly felt it.

I came to rest on a rotten log after an invigorating challenge of passing over a creek. I had to jump from rock to rock and fortunately made it without my shoes and socks becoming soggy and wet.  And so I sat on this giant log and took a picture in my mind of the beauty before me.  As I was resting, a single leaf came and gently rested on my lap, right on top of my scarf.  It was a beautiful yellow maple leaf, one of the most color-filled leaves I have seen this fall.  It was God’s gift to me (I do love leaves), gently reminding me that he wants all of me.  He wants the broken parts, the ugly parts, the shameful parts, and the restored parts.  He wants me just as I am.  And he loves me just as I am.

And I long to pursue this God who is pursuing me–to know and deeply believe in this love that surpasses all knowledge.

I can pursue Jesus by spending time with him in the mornings, every morning. I can pursue Jesus by loving others. I can pursue Jesus by talking with him throughout the day.  I can pursue Jesus by lowering myself, putting others before my myself.  I can pursue Jesus by guarding my thoughts, only thinking things that are true and lovely.  I can pursue Jesus by playing the piano for Him.  I can pursue Jesus by baking bread for my neighbors or encouraging my students or grading large stacks of sketchbooks without complaining.

For this is my deepest desire.  To pursue Jesus. To grow in love and faith, so that I can say.

It is longer I who live, but Christ that lives in me.

I spoke Spanish with a student today.  She forgave my mistakes and mispronunciations. And we left each other’s presence more content with life. But our conversation wasn’t even suppose to happen.  

3:15.  The bell rings signaling the students to push in their chairs, gather their belongings, and walk out the front doors leaving behind another day of school.  3:30 means the end of a work day for me.  But not today.  

One of my students came up to me at the end of the day and asked if she could stay after school to finish her project.  

My mind instantly said yes and so I told her yes.  Oh wait.  That means I stay after school until she is finished.  ”O.k. that is alright,” I thought. “I haven’t gotten to know this girl very well and so it would be good to talk with her while she finishes up her project.  I could still be home by 4…”

4:30.  She was still only halfway done with her project.   I had two choices.  I could tell her to stop and finish it in class, or I could stay and continue to help her.  I decided to make the decision I did not want to make and I stayed by her side and continued to guide her in Photoshop.   

5:00.  I realize that this girl cannot express herself well in English–it isn’t her first language.  I took a risk and asked her if we could speak Spanish with one another.  

Her eyes light up.

She started speaking a mile a minute and I could hardly understand the words coming out of her mouth.  ”Maybe I know less Spanish that I thought,” I said to myself.  I asked her if she could slow down and ask me some simple questions.  

And we began to talk…about hobbies, church, boys, parents, siblings, and Mexico.  Spanish words came from my mouth that I forgot I knew how to speak.  She corrected my mistakes and we laughed a lot together.  It was life giving for her to speak in her native language and I was happy to practice a language I desperately want to learn.  

This is teaching.  This is learning.  This is what I love do to. 

5:30.  The project was finished.  We parted ways.  And I am so glad my school day did not end at 3:15.

Beauty overwhelms us, enchants us, fascinates us, and calls us.                                   -Fr. Andrew Greeley.

I am intrigued with the word beauty right now.

Think about it.

We can see beauty, we can hear it, feel it, touch it, and taste it. I see beauty in the red maple leaves that are beginning to fall.  I hear beauty in a well written melody. I feel beauty in the presence of my grandma. I touch beauty when I pick a ripe Jonathan apple from the orchard. I taste beauty in the roasted butternut squash that came straight from the garden.

And yet, this one word has caused so much untold pain in the lives of women.  We ache to be beautiful, so we put ourselves on diets and get face lifts and pluck our eye brows trying to achieve the status of being outwardly beautiful.  We buy clothes and buy makeup and buy wrinkle free cream to obtain beauty.

I believe that this desire to be beautiful is a God given trait to women.  But we have twisted it–society has twisted it.  We have thrown the meaning of beauty  into a garbage disposal, shredding it’s true identity to pieces.

And God is revealing to me, that there is a deeper level of beauty that I must strive to obtain, rather than striving for a smaller size in jeans or flatter stomach or clearer skin or whiter teeth.

Ruth is one of the most beautiful people I have ever met.  She has short hair, blue eyes, and a laugh that lights up a room. She is at rest with who she is and is gloriously alive and in love with Jesus. Whenever I see her, usually in the kitchen, I feel more at rest with myself. Her beautiful soul invites me to come and see that the Lord is good.

Ruth is my grandma and she is 70 years old.  Beauty dwells inside of her.  And she has wrinkes.

I want to spend my life focusing on obtaining a beauty that dwells beneath the layers of clothing and skin–a beauty that invites people to meet Jesus. I want to offer a deeper beauty to others so that they find rest in themselves–a type of beauty that is full of tender mercy and soft vulnerability.

“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is worthy to be praised.” Proverbs 31:30

There are certain people in my life that I have met, left their presence, and realized I am not the same person.

Cecile is one of those people.

Cecile appreciates touch more than anyone I know.  When you sit down to talk with her, she holds onto your hands, like a child being swung around in the air, and won’t let go until you have left her presence. Sometimes, she reaches up to touch my cheeks and I feel the warmth of her wrinkled skin. I naturally love this 5 foot tall woman and way she chooses to rejoice in heartache.

Cecile is blind.

She recently lost her sight this past January and doctors cannot figure out why.  So Cecile and her husband have come to stay with my grandparents while my grandpa gives her chiropractic treatments, praying and hoping that cranial care may restore her sight.  Cecile is my grandma’s cousin, and this is the first time I have been able to meet the Canadian born and raised relative.

I use to greet Cecile with the statement, “It’s so good to see you.”  And she would replied, “I wish I could say the same.” But now I say, “It brings me so much joy to be with you Cecile.” And she now says, “I can say the same.”  And so I sit with her and place my arm around her and let her feel my dangling earrings and touch my skin while we talk about her life, her kids, her grandkids, and the pain of losing her sight.

These last few visits to my grandparents’ house have been full of joy and sorrow.  My heart longs for Cecile’s sight to be restored, but things have not been getting any better.  So yesterday I sat with her and cried.  We both cried, acknowledging that the loss of sight is a pain that cuts deep through the flesh and into the tender places of the heart. And at the end of a good cry, we acknowledge that one day, things will be made right.  And Cecile’s sight will be restored. Whether in this lifetime or the next.  And she rejoices and laughs, and tells me more stories and quotes her favorite hymns.

There is so much to learn from the elderly.  And I am thankful to have a strong relationship with my grandparents. And I am thankful to have met grandma’s cousin, Cecile.

Her life has affected mine more than she will ever know.