Things Always Look Different from the Mountaintops

I can't even explain how surreal I feel right now.

Three days before I graduated, I had an interview at a middle school. It was my first interview ever, and I thought I did pretty well. I loved interacting with my potential colleagues, and I felt pretty good after I left. I graduated, returned home, and vegged for a while.

No call came. Upset but not defeated, I prepared myself for other job opportunities, which actually meant trying to find application paperwork and then sitting around waiting for my teaching certificate to be processed.

Then the call. "We have one more interview, but we wanted you to know that you're in the top two. If you're still interested--" Of course I was. I told him that my parents and I had been discussing some logistical things, but I was definitely still interested. My father told me he was certain this principal would offer me the position, so I hoped, but I kept the thought in mind that I could still walk out of this jobless.

Then the principal called again with the final answer: "We decided to go with the other applicant."

Oh. Heartbroken, I listened to him commend me for my excellent interview and abilities, heard him say any school would be lucky to have me. He mentioned a possible second opening, but he couldn't be sure. If I didn't have set plans for the year after, he would definitely call me again.

Heavy-hearted, I told my father, we grieved (he was even more emotionally invested than I was, I think, hahaha), and then we jumped into an action plan for my teaching job here at home.

Until today.

When another phone call came.

I panicked, daring to hope. The second position...? I answered with my typical, "Yellow?" which made the principal chuckle (I'd like to think I'm at least as amusing as a new puppy to him). He told me about the second position opening up. "So, is this, like, how I officially accept? Because I would totally officially accept right now if this is the official thing."

It was. "The school board will be contacting you soon..."

God, I cannot even begin to tell You how thrilled I am. Thank You. Thank You that even when You scare me or disappoint me by shutting one door, You always open another one. Thank You for speaking through others when I am anxious and stressed and worried. Thank You for providing peace and prosperity.

Thank You that even in the midst of pain and heartache when a baby brother dies a tragic death, You are there to bring comfort. You are the Healer of hearts and souls and relationships, and You have a plan. Thank You for giving us the chance that we will all meet our beloveds once again. Thank You for death, because without it, we cannot have life. Thank You that one day balances such as those between life and death can be cast aside when we celebrate new adventures with You, when we reunite our souls with Yours. Thank You that despite our curse, we can find healing and redemption and life anew. Thank You. Continue to bring Your peace and Your healing to us all, especially in these times of anxiety and tragedy and grief.

Let it Snow, I Say, for the First Time Ever

I keep hoping for a snow day tomorrow because I really just want to take the day to cry and scream and get all this emotional crap out of my system.

My emotions have been rampant this week, and I'm sure part of the reason is Alexis' passing and my inability to brace myself and tear off scabs. Some kids acted up in class yesterday and today, and I just--I haven't felt so enraged for some time, fire in my blood, sharp on the outside but not overly so--that quiet, level rage breaking forth. Writing that referral felt good. But I know it doesn't mean a damn thing to him. I wasn't even embarrassed by his noncompliance--I just felt justified.

Then the teacher's been out for days and I just want to know what we're doing with my unit with the seniors so I can accommodate whatever he needs, but I get the feeling the students don't even care about what I have to say. This disrespect inflames me. I couldn't care less if they liked me--I just want their respect. But I'm a newbie, a temp, so I guess I can't really expect it. So I keep asking myself if I'm giving it to them. I wonder if everyone has different ideas of what respect looks like. I wonder if I'm not meeting their needs.

Two more solid weeks. Then a four-day week. Then another two solid weeks. God, give me patience and strength and creativity and adaptability and flexibility and understanding and authority and everything else. And please heal my teacher but give us the timing we need to work together over logistics and discussions and teachings.

And please let it snow and ice and hail so school's closed. Don't let anyone get hurt though.

I Lift Mine Eyes Up to the Hills

Strange how one text can shatter your world, yet denial keeps the fractures perfectly shielded as you blink and wonder what in the hell is wrong with Autocorrect or T9 and then--

"Alexis Monasterio is dead..."

Blank stares.
Tossing and turning.
Sleep is far,
Rise and read for yourself.

Some dickhead makes some comment about jaywalkers
So you go to bed again, this time pissed.
Two hours in and you're at stage two.

Two phone calls.
Explaining, voice fairly strong,
Twice
What's happened. (Yet, strangely, your parents haven't called.)

Miss a third phone call.
Wake up to a friend
Trying to hold it together
As she asks you what went down.

Jump into stage Depression
But try to wipe it from your face.
Still a student notices,
Asks why you're so glum.

Maybe you should've cracked,
Just told them.
But your throat doesn't work
The words too lumpy, sticky,
Burning in your gullet.

Back to denial.
Keep it at arm's length.

Then you lip-scream to a favorite song
And the cold and the lyrics and the moment
Make tears prick your eyelids.

But you have seminar
So you suck it up.
For now.

Prayers are already hard--
Now they seem impossible.
But He knows your spirit,
Knows your words
Their intentions.

So you give Him your nothingness,
Pray He makes miracles out of your chaos.

Smile because you know
You'll see her smile again.
And her cakes will taste even better
With all that nectar and ambrosia.

Where does my help come from?
My [hope] comes from the Lord--
The Maker
Of heaven and earth.

Musings in the Shadow of the Valley

I don't think I'll be remembered.

And I'm perfectly okay with that.

Seems to me like our society is big on individuals becoming legends and leaving a legacy. I thought I could have that when I left my high school, but now that I'm a teacher, I realize that no one up and coming remembers or even knows those that have left, nevermind who they were or how they acted or what they did.

Tonight I wondered where this counter-culture feeling in me started. When my friend from middle school always talked about how we'd be friends forever, I knew we wouldn't. I knew that wasn't how life worked. I knew we'd drift apart (an ominous foreshadowing of our falling out). I just...I had a realistic view of the future, I guess. And part of me was certain she'd go on to be famous and forget all about me.

I wondered if I'd ever had any thoughts like that sooner in my life, before meeting her. Not that I'm aware of.

By now some of you probably think I'm fishing for compliments or being falsely modest, but unless I'm deluding myself--which is entirely possible--I really don't put stock into being remembered. Sure, I'll be considered briefly, maybe thought about fondly, but I'm not going to impact anyone so deeply that my name will forever live on. Maybe my ideas, my thoughts, will but they'll be free-floating in this stream of consciousness that is humanity without my name or identity attached.

And I'm okay with that.

I find it difficult to believe that anyone could be radically changed by something I did. I don't believe that's possible. I think a lot of other factors come into play, and I just happen to be one of them. I'm not significant. And that's okay. 

But then I wonder if this means I'm not confident in anything I do.

A student's parent replied to a mass email I sent out, saying her daughter sang my praises. I was dumbfounded. Then I rationalized, based on the context of the email and the student and her relationship with Mr. Smith, that this girl probably already flourishes in every English class (maybe every class regardless of subject) with ease. I didn't have anything to do with it.

I listened to an hour long conversation between my roommate and her former roommate. I didn't reply, didn't say anything. Just sat there and listened. I learned much, but I realized my roommate must not have respect for me because I am light years beneath her. We've never talked like that, and she's never understood me like she understood her old roommate. Those two were on the same level of eloquence, of intellect, that I didn't even dare to utter a sound for fear of revealing how utterly poor I am. I always receive, but I can never seem to give back. Instead I concede in order to learn. How can I expect to teach?

My students don't respect me, don't respect themselves. I don't know how to reach them, to find them, to make them see. I'm not like the sub that could just chat with them about anything. "All about building relationships," he said. That's just...not me. I live in a closed-off way because I know that I will only disappoint and be disappointed. By never offering myself, I never have to let that disappointment crush me.

I keep thinking about how my teaching career should energize me and excite me, but it doesn't. I feel lost. What scares me the most is the fact that I can't back out--I have nothing to fall back on. This is all I know, all I have, and I'm so close to finishing.

But I suck at this. I'm not educated enough, not smart enough to teach, to help kids learn. I hate myself for hating this job, for fearing this job.

I hate myself in general. I keep trying to lose weight and get healthy, but I eat and eat and god then I--my roommate called me on it the other day, just joking around about how I'd be eating ever since I got back. That had been an hour ago. As soon as she said it, I hated myself and chucked my food. Then I went to bed. Because when I'm sleeping, I'm not eating, not blowing up into this fat ugly ogre that I actually am, not trying to fix that overeating with other bad habits. So I slept.

I hate how ugly I am, how unhealthy I am--mind, body, spirit--Oh, Abba, my spirit. I don't have words for You anymore, Abba. I don't know what to pray anymore.

I know this is just another valley, another low tide in the ever fluctuating ebb-and-flow of life. I know I'll climb a mountain again and rest on another plateau and inevitably return here and begin again. I know that. So I'll keep climbing, keep trying, keep hoping. Because what else am I going to do?

This is Why I Can't Ship Anything

Ok.

I need help.

I'm re-obsessed with Malec.

And I haven't read City of Lost Souls yet.

Even though I know what happens.

And I know.

That once I hit page 511.

I'm going to keel over.

So for now.

I'm going to punish myself.

By reliving all of their beautiful moments.

And finding made up ones.

Just so I can obsess some more.

And fall to my knees sobbing.

Upon reading that fateful page.

Heavenly Fire.

Better bring good tidings.



Or I'm going after Clare.

Our eyes met

Our eyes met across the crowded room,
And I saw you like I always do.
So how did we end up like this,
A tangled, breathing mess?

You're hers, not mine.
I thought you shared a love
No one could define.

You told her
and she told me.
Our friends stared on
With apathy.
Confusion never seemed so cold.

Somehow she forgave me,
Forced away my portion of blame,
Even when you silenced her,
Saying you wanted me instead.

You argued she called your relationship
A broken toy,
But she still deserved to find joy
With some other boy.

So we're together now
Because I don't know how
To say no.

~*~

Based on a dream I had last night which rather perturbed me in the light of day, though I think I can point to the reasons why my subconscious threw this one together.

Deep Gnawing On My Flesh; Hear My Prayer

That old familiar emptiness again. That uncertainty of the future. That deep seated annoyance with pity or false encouragement. I'm not sure why I'm so bummed. I'm not leaving anything or anyone behind; I'll be back soon. Maybe because I don't have much to go to out there; friends gone or out of sight, last semester, graduation. I will never see these people again. Maybe I'm bummed that my parents won't be there when I take the stage. Which really isn't a big deal in light of the whole picture: 500 kids, each taking .5 seconds to cross the stage, shake the president's hand, and take a diploma. Maybe this is the first of many lasts, so already I am emotional.

Lonely. Maybe that's it. I'm lonely. How embarrassing. Why do I feel this way? I have friends, I have parents, I have comrades--all of whom care about me. I know that. So why...?

Papa? I need you. I love you. 

It nears 5:30 as I write this portion now. At midnight, I tried sleeping, only to turn and turn and turn to find a position comfortable enough to fall asleep in, to no avail. My mind is relatively empty, fearing and worrying over only general, vague concerns--the barren future that I cannot see, most immediately this semester until the end of my education where my career begins.

I know You have all this covered, that worrying does not add a single hour to my life; so why then does my stomach turn?

My thoughts turn now to random musings. Consequences. Will those begin now? How long shall I await Your justice for destroying one of your daughters, for violating the sacredness meant between married lovers? This loneliness cannot be a punishment; I cannot sow in the physical and reap in the emotional. I am frightened, but I know punishment is deserved.

Papa, why am I so empty? I keep looking for You, I know, but instead I write and pretend because I don't know love for myself--that earth-moving love that only You are capable of giving us, the one I write about so intimately though I can never know it for myself.

Is that my consequence? To never know that love? No, that is a lie. I know You; I will give Your love away as you continue to shower me with it, though I am deeply undeserving. But I keep myself sealed away, emotionally distanced from You, from Your children--why?

I need Your peace, my Father, my God, my King. I am lowly, capable only of prostrating myself before Your grandness. Will you grant this peasant her wish? To let go. To be happy. To be free.

I love You. As superficial and worthless that love may be. Still, You love me too. Thank You, my God.

G-dawg

So there's this gorgeous 74-year-old woman who lives across the street from me--been livin' there longer than my parents and I have been livin' in this house, and every time I come home, I make the effort to go talk to her. I always dread it at first because, well, I'm a sucky conversationalist (which doesn't even matter because our conversations are always great) and I hate phoning her (which is stupid because she always picks up and always tells me "Yeah, come on over!" or "Yeah, I'll be ready for you in 20!"). But of course, everything works out in the end.

Every time I finish a conversation with her, I learn something new and I smile. She's always telling me to count my blessings: I have loving parents who are still together (and I should always always always show them my gratitude), I wasn't born out of wedlock, and I have a relationship with Papa. Our conversations also almost always include knowing my relationship to Father because without that, I can't do anything. Now, I'm a Christian and Mrs. G's a Mormon, but our ideologies match fairly well. This time around, she reminded me to "La ti da"--whatever happens, happens--Hakuna Matata. Using humor in my future classroom (especially the much too near future for student teaching) and that adaptability will make my life so much easier.

Also, apparently I can buy really pretty cards at some place called Papyrus. Some of which are $20.

Anyways, another conversation, another lesson learned. Thanks again, Mrs. G. Love you!

Dark Blue by Melody Carlson

~~~~~~SPOILERS (AND JUMBLED CONFUSION) BELOW.~~~~~~

Dark Blue revolves around Kara, who's been BFFLs with this chick Jordan since kindergarten. All the sudden, sophomore year, Jordan becomes a cheerleader and leaves Kara in the dust for her new popular crowd. The book deals with Kara's struggle of feeling so hopelessly lonely after losing her best friend.

Twenty pages into Dark Blue, I felt like I was reliving my high school years, and more personally, my struggle with severing a friendship--a sisterhood like Kara's. I kept finding parts of Kara's narrative that absolutely hit home for me. The one I remember most vividly was Kara's crying over realizing that her relationship with Jordan was over. Holy beejeebus, that was me. Totally, completely, awfully. Another time, Kara walked out of school one day, went back to her house, and crawled under her covers; I remember calling my mom to come pick me up one day because I couldn't stand how god-awful I felt and then I went to bed.

Luckily, like me, Kara ends up connecting with some other people and realizes that her codependent relationship, her utter obsession with Jordan, was unhealthy--a way to fill the gap. I remember that obsession, all of those frightening moments where she and I would try to avoid each other and hate ourselves for caring about what the other thought or didn't do. I still remember when she ran out of church because she couldn't handle seeing me; I still remember craving to see her, even though seeing her scared the crap out of me. But it beat the utter numbness, the complete loneliness I felt.

Anyways, Melody Carlson is a Christian author, so of course Jesus references abound, but I gotta say...I cried when Kara did, so touched by a message that she felt was just for her; I cried when Kara accepted the message, when she realized that her obsession was just to fill the gap we all have because we all crave our Savior to fill that hole. Basically, I cried a lot in this book--one chapter after another near the end. I don't really know if I cried because I knew Kara's feelings or because I was so happy to find out that Kara was going to find happiness.

Which kind of helped me realize that I'm not totally heartless or callous or hardened. Which is both nice and confusing. Nevertheless, after the desert I've been crawling through--or maybe the gorge I've been stuck in--and despite some water to drink--or brief glimpses of the sky--those tearful experiences reminded me that I can still hear You, still feel You.

On another note, I gotta say, I always fall for the dudes in books. They're always so dang cute, and this one was no exception: Edgar wins my heart this round, though if he and Ian from Identical showed up before me, I have no idea who I'd choose. Edgar wasn't even a love interest in this book, but he was so dang adorable--and heartbreaking. Dude, ya made me sob. I hope you make a random appearance in the next book.

The book has a nice conclusion where Kara and Jordan hang out again because Jordan's basically been ostracized, or on the verge of being so, from her cool kid crew. Kara, now with Jesus as her BFFL, doesn't have this overwhelming need to latch back onto Jordan. In fact, she kinda feels bad for Jordan, but she's not gonna go crawling back. To which I say, "Cheers, Brah!" So they're cool again, just like in my experience, but all the codependency is broken, also like my experience.

The next one, which is kind of a sequel and kind of not, is about Jordan. Apparently she "stole" one of her cheerleader friends' boyfriends. Which always begs the question for me--why the heck do girls always go after each other instead of the dude? Ain't nobody got "stole"; brotha made his choice to be a jerk.