Just listen

It's been an interesting week.

Lately, whenever I feel an urge to write, something quenches it before I can get any words on the page. Kind of frustrating for a girl who stands in front of her students every day reminding them of the importance of story.

This week though, the pull is greater than my hesitancy. U2 is serenading me & thoughts of this past week are bouncing around recklessly inside my head.

I love being a teacher. It is, without a doubt, my calling to take students and inspire them in the best way I can to understand their stories are not only important, but necessary to society. More often than not, the resiliency of these teenagers surprise me.

Scenario One: My AP classes are taking part in a unit that came to me during morning devotionals a couple months ago: Mad as Hell - A Look at Community & the Individual's Responsibility to Poverty & Homelessness. All this week we have been reading and discussing thoughts from other intellectuals. Some who believe we should give 30% of our income straight to donations, others who hold fast to the Darwinian theory of "survival of the fittest." I had the privilege of sharing with them what I have learned over the past year - the importance of aid vs. empowerment. The result? An INCREDIBLE discussion today where I spoke a total of two minutes in each class because the students monopolized most of the talking time. (This is a good thing) The topic? Are we as individuals responsible to those in poverty and those who are homeless?

As always, especially with a discussion over a sensitive issue such as this, the kids amazed me with their insight. Some of my kids mentioned the current housing crisis and how much of the problems stem from banks loaning too much & people buying too extravagantly. Then she spoke. A quiet, happy, vivacious and gentle student who is always waiting for me when I get to school in the morning. With her chin quivering & tears in her eyes, she shared that losing a house does not always depend on the foolishness or laziness of the owner. In her situation, an absent father instigated the foreclosure sign being pushed into the grass outside her front door. The one memory she has of her father is rooted in his swindling money from her mother's bank account, causing them to go bankrupt & eventually lose their house. By the time she finished talking, tears were running freely and the room was completely silent. An eye-opener for some.

Scenario Two: My other classes, in preparation of the TAKS test, have been discussing the power of story. We watched The Freedom Writers, learned the Three Act Structure (thanks, Jason Russell) & played the line game.

We've had some interesting discussions in my classes this week because of this topic. Doesn't surprise me. These kids have so much to say & not many people listen to them. Offer them an ear? Be prepared to listen. After watching the movie, I asked the students how they felt in comparison to the kids at Wilson High. Obviously, we in B-town don't have the issues these kids in LA faced, but my students face some heavy shizz however you slice or dice it.

In one of my classes, a student raised her hand and asked if she could say something. Apparently, she comes from a mixed family. Her mother is Catholic. Her father? Muslim. When she was in middle school, she would wear the traditional Islamic head covering. Every day, after 5th period, a group of boys would kick, punch, push & hit her for no reason - other than what she was wearing. Walking down the halls weren't any different. Words were thrown towards her like knives, and the wounds didn't show until class a couple days ago. Sitting in my room crying after class, she continued to tell me that after she told her dad what happened, he went up to the school to complain. Administration did nothing. This of course, was seen by the boys as a victory. The harassment continued.

Today we played the line game. This will never cease to amaze me. Never. The class broke into two groups - separated by the tile on the floor. Question after question, students stepped up to the line.

Step up to the line if you have seen Friday the 13th

Step up to the line if you or someone you know has a problem with alcohol

Step up to the line if you or someone you know has experienced gang violence

Step up to the line if you have been shot at

Step up to the line if you have lost someone within the past year.

Stay on the line if you have lost two people.

Three.

Four.

Step up to the line if you know where to get drugs.

Step up to the line if you have lost someone due to drug overdose

Step up to the line if you have experimented with any illegal narcotic

Step up to the line if you or someone you know has been or is currently homeless...

The questions were numerous & silly & personal & heartbreaking. The one I hate asking but always do is "Step up to the line if you have had a teacher tell you that you are stupid."

It never fails. I always have kids step up to the line.

One girl began crying towards the end of the game. She was the only one who stuck close to the wall when asked, "Step up to the line if deep down, in your heart of hearts, you know you could accomplish something great if given the chance." Snotting on my shoulder, she told me that because of this game, she realized how little she thought of herself. I wrote her a note later on in study hall. Something simple - "I believe in you. - Mrs. R"

She stuck it in her binder - right next to a picture of one of her close friends who passed away earlier this year.

This wasn't the only surprise of the day. Of course. After the line game, we came back into the room and continued the questioning. I grabbed a stress ball and threw it at a student - asking a question. The student answered & threw it at someone else, asking this person a different question. The atmosphere was palpable. There were a few times some students were close to tears, and there were a lot of laughs - but the most important thing? In every class, the students left a family.

These next few weeks will determine how close those familial bonds have welded together.

I've said all this for a number of reasons.

If you have kids - listen to them. They want to talk. In my 7th period, one of my students I had two years ago turned around in his desk and looked at me.

"Mrs. Ramirez, could you get every teacher to do this?"

I laughed. "Why do you say that? You wanting some blow-off classes or something?"

He smiled. "No. Not at all. It's just...you? You're trying to reach us. The other teachers just stand in front of us & talk. They don't listen."

They don't listen.

Makes me wonder. How many kids are out there who just want someone to listen to their story?

i wonder

i don't claim to have it all figured out.
in fact, the past couple of weeks have been testament to me knowing absolutely nothing about the mind of God and His purpose. no...i don't have it all figured out.
but i have been shattered with the truth of "draw near to me, and i will draw near to you."

when russ and i first got married, we lived in this dilapidated apartment with a ten degree slant. i tripped going to the restroom in the morning and all of my cakes came out of the oven strangely reminiscent to those of the mad hatter genre - tilted and crooked and so completely lopsided. we held on for dear life walking down the stairs to our car because the slant was so severe. we were happy, though. life was simple.
my last paycheck from working at new braunfels christian came the week after our wedding - and with it a realization that i needed to find a job. and fast. russ worked full time at circuit city and made a decent amount - but we weren't sure it would hold us over without any other form of income supporting us.
we went three months on just his income.
i landed a job in august - a few days shy of the "new teacher orientation" - and so immediately my life changed from relaxed to hurried. professional development, lesson plans, new faces and new regulations - a lot to swallow with only a few days preparation before kids arrived. i worked most of august and all of september until i saw my first paycheck. i remember that day - i remember the huge sigh of relief russ and i breathed now that we had added income to help cushion us. i remember the Lord's provision. in moments where we should have been concerned about what was going to happen...we were taken care of by His faithfulness.
a couple weeks ago, i began praying earnestly for the Lord to really reveal where He was leading russ and me. it's no secret that this past summer did something to us, like some shift in perspective has landed us in a world where we can't go back to how we were before. it's come with consequences: lost relationships and misunderstandings. but it has also come with great reward: deeper relationships with each other and unparalleled support from our community of friends we have found through the process of pruning. one thing is for sure: the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. blessed be his name.
everything came crashing down around us last week. my day began with a prayer: "Father - we can't do this anymore. show us Your will. make it so blatant we cannot ignore." i prayed this in the morning - asking for peace and opened doors and dangerous faith.
russ lost his job that afternoon.
it was...heartbreaking. sudden and swift and harsh - we were left with a fraction of a life we had before. i'm not just talking about income here...there's something psychological that occurs within you when something is stripped away without warning. grief took over - but not completely. there was no way we could shake the feeling of peace that God was doing something within us and through us. there was no other possible explanation - no other reasonable excuse - to understand what happened. i had prayed to see His hand that morning, and by nightfall, His fingerprints were revealing themselves everywhere.
it's been tough. there have been moments of discouragement and moments of worry. for the first time in four years, we are questioning where we go and what we spend - knowing that the future is so unknown for so many people right now, ourselves included. but...we have hope.
we've been given dreams. big dreams. dreams of living a life less ordinary and more bent on trust and belief that God is bigger than any injustice in the world...and now, we have freedom to pursue those dreams.
this past summer, russ and i came across a verse that spoke deeply to our desires of walking like giants: "And these are but the outer fringe of his works; how faint the whisper we hear of him! Who then can understand the thunder of his power?" Job 26:14
if you think about it, most of us live our lives content with his whispers. we pray for his guidance in big decisions but never really ask for him to mediate for us in a big way. why do we need a God who will show himself? we have everything we need...our life of complacency and comfort leaves us dry and stagnant. we never understand there can be so much more...there IS so much more...
we prayed and begged and waited to experience the thunder of his power - knowing he was whispering big dreams we had never anticipated.
we waited.
and
waited.
and
waited.
and begin to wonder what His purpose was in giving us such big dreams when it didn't seem as though we were getting anywhere...
looking back at these past six months, i am beginning to wonder...
perhaps all of the tears shed has watered the ground beneath us for new growth.
perhaps the doors slammed shut in our faces have given room for others to open.
perhaps our ears have been so clogged with busy-ness his thunder has been muted by our persistent ignorance...
God is bigger.
He's bigger than all of our circumstances and all of our trials we go through. He carries us. in moments of despair - He is there, wiping our tears and cultivating new growth.
i sense a beginning taking shape in russ and me. somewhere in the distance, a faint rumble sounds...the recent storm has passed; a rainbow glistens in the rain.
i close my eyes and listen.
his thunder is here.

Hearing His Heartbeat

Stop long enough to hear the heartbeat of God...

I heard this phrase a couple months ago and I haven't been able to shake it. Perhaps because it's a reminder of me to well, stop. The other night, I was feeling kinda low and kinda down on myself, and so I pulled out my journal and read some entries I wrote this past summer. One centered around Isaiah 55 - one of my favorite chapters of the Bible - and my eyes fell to this verse: 

Come to me with your ears wide open. Listen, and you will find life. I will make an everlasting covenant with you. I will give you all the unfailing love I promised to David. (vs. 3) 

I thought back to when this verse had such a profound impact on my life. When I specifically heard Christ say to just stop and pay attention to what He is wanting from me. 

You see, I think we as Christ followers get so caught up in getting things done - finding the next big accomplishment so we can check the brightest and prettiest box. Our lives get so mundane and boring and predictable, Christ is forgotten within His own people. Who has time to stop and listen when you have meetings at church and ministry in the afternoon and small group at six - it can get suffocating. 

Stop long enough to hear the heartbeat of God...

I would imagine it would be pretty difficult to get this still. When was the last time you heard someone's heartbeat? Our inability for intimacy often causes us to hold people at arm's length, and in turn, this effects our relationship with our Lover. In order to hear His heartbeat we must be intimate. In order to be intimate, we must be willing to stop. 

I want this. I want to be so close to my Creator His heartbeat drums in my ear. I can't move but feel His breath on my cheek; I can't speak but feel His presence near. 

But I have so far to go. 

So, I do the only thing I know. I stop. I listen. I dwell in His presence until I feel Him all around me and the only thing I can do is tearfully acknowledge my microscopic worth compared to His stunning and infinite glory. Am I human? Yes. Can He move through me? I hope so. 

The journal entry that sparked this reflection was about stories. This summer I felt an unquenchable pull to tell the stories of those less fortunate. To blow the whistle, so to speak, on injustices I see. It's difficult to look back and see inadequacies in your calling - where you have failed and where you have missed the mark. At the same time, it's amazing to continue to see the tapestry of your life coming together. There have been innumerable instances these past few months where I have come across the concept of "story." Whether it be an article someone e-mails to me or a book I happen to pick up and read or a quote on a teacher's wall or a website I come across - everything has been about this concept of "story" and the importance of sharing one's with the world. 

So I press on, knowing my refining is far from over. My ragged edges still need some sanding down. But, I'm ready. I sense a change coming - a chapter of my life closing and a new one beginning. I'm not sure precisely what God has in store for Russ and myself, but this state of limbo has been oddly exhilarating. Perhaps because we know we aren't moving until we hear "GO." Until then, I'll continue listening for whatever story He wants me to tell.