As those of you who are my Facebook friends have seen roly-poly proof, Abby is turning into quite the little fatty.  At her two-month visit, the doctor said she wasn’t even on the growth chart for a two-month old!

So you won’t be surprised to hear that Abby takes her eating very seriously.  Occasionally she’ll feel hungry before it’s time to eat or while we’re driving in the car.  When hunger strikes and I can’t feed Abby immediately, she wails with such an urgency and persistence that I feel like I should call CPS on myself.

Many times I have tried to reason with my hungry little one.  “Abigail.” I say out loud in my calm and sensible voice.  “Have I ever let you go hungry?  Have I ever not given you food when you needed it?  Why would this time be any different?”

But every three hours, she cries as if she’s afraid that this will be the time I’ve forgotten that she needs to eat.

I’ll try not to belabor the point, but I’ve reminded myself of little Abby as the year draws to a close and once again Stephen and I start to look at the pages of a brand new calendar.  Where will we live?  Where will we work?  Will we be able to make the money we need this year?  These are our annual questions, and once again I find my stomach in knots as the answers remain unknown.  What mother would refuse to feed her daughter?  What father would give his son a rock when he asks for bread?  God has never failed to notice our needs.  Why would this year be any different?

I know that hardly any of my faithful readers like serious posts, but…too bad.  Here’s my deep thought for today.

For the summer, the adult Sunday School classes are going through a series on the core values of the church, led by the elders and various other church leaders.  (Good idea, huh?  That was Stephen’s brainchild.)  Yesterday was the first Sunday of the series, and so I heard one of the elders, talk about prayer.  He made lots of good points, but the one that caught my attention the most was a challenge about how much time we spend praying about things that are temporal, compared to how often we pray about things that are eternal.

Later in the afternoon, my dad, Stephen and I talked about the “prayer talk” we had all heard that morning, and as we reflected on our “temporal” prayers (past and present), we laughed at how often we spend so much time and energy praying for a certain person or circumstance, and later look back gratefully when our prayers are not answered in the way we hoped for.  I prayed in college for boys I admired to return my affections and desire my hand in marriage…SO glad God said no to those!  Over the years, Stephen and I have prayed for certain jobs to work out…and we’re so glad they didn’t, now that we see where we are now.  This response certainly isn’t limited to my “self-centered” prayers, but when I pray for others too: for Him to bring someone a spouse, let a friend get conceive, or give loved ones certain opportunities or deliverance.  On the other side, we always marvel at God’s perfect timing, after all.  Now, I wonder…to what extent are these prayers born out of a heart that doesn’t really trust that God already knows what he is doing?  Otherwise, why would I feel the need to so compulsively offer God advice?  Even when I pray for “God’s will to be done,” I usually can’t help but throw in some suggestions just in case he hasn’t decided what his will is yet.

Even for those of us who dutifully follow the ACTS prayer plan, I’d venture a guess that almost every praying Christian spends at least 80% of their energy praying about “temporal” situations like jobs, kids, heartaches, friends, marriage, etc.  I wish I knew a prayer historian who could answer this question, but I wonder if this is kind of a modern phenomenon, an indication that too much of our mental energy overall is spent focusing on problems and circumstances that are fleeting?  What does it look like to pray for eternal things?  Everyone I know believes that they should be praying more (“without ceasing,” I think, is our specific command), and so if we’re going to pray less about the day-to-day, what do we do more of?

As a good classical teacher, I believe that one of the best ways to learn a new art is by imitating a master.  So I’m going back to some of the books I own that are collections of published prayers.  (The fact that some of these prayers were first composed hundreds of years ago speaks to their timeless nature…no mentions of mechanical trouble with the ox cart or grandma’s aching joints.  I’ve posted a couple of my favorites here and here.)  I’m finding that many great saints found plenty to say in praise of God and in concern for the sinfulness of the world.  I’m trying to build the habit of praying their words as my own, until I develop a heart that is more in tune with the eternal.

Now, I’m not saying that I’m going to stop praying about my job or my baby or my aching grandma, or even for my own very fleeting concerns (“God, where did I set that paycheck?”).  I’m sure that God likes hearing about my daily worries just like any father.  But I think that placing these requests in the context of a more lasting perspective is a healthy shift.  What I, and TH, and Grandma, really need is to see God and find satisfaction in Him.  When that is happening, even sleepless nights, aching joints, and missing paychecks can be dealt with properly…maybe even appreciated as a trial that develops perseverance and character!  (Remind me of this in two months…).

Hmm, I’m not even finished.  But I think I’ll save the rest of my thoughts for Prayer, part II!

I’m working on some new posts.  Meanwhile, enjoy:

SORTING LAUNDRY

Folding clothes,
I think of folding you
into my life.

Our king sized sheets
like table cloths
for the banquets of giants,

pillow cases, despite so many
washings seams still
holding our dreams.

Towels patterned orange and green,
flowered pink and lavender,
gaudy, bought on sale,

reserved, we said, for the beach,
refusing, even after years,
to bleach into respectability.

So many shirts and skirts and pants
recycling week after week, head over heels
recapitulating themselves.

All those wrinkles
to be smoothed, or else
ignored, they’re in style.

Myriad uncoupled socks
which went paired into the foam
like those creatures in the ark.

And what’s shrunk
is tough to discard
even for Goodwill.

In pockets, surprises:
forgotten matches,
lost screws clinking on enamel;

paper clips, whatever they held
between shiny jaws, now
dissolved or clogging the drain;

well washed dollars, legal tender
for all debts public and private,
intact despite agitation;

and, gleaming in the maelstrom,
one bright dime,
broken necklace of good gold

you brought from Kuwait,
the strangely tailored shirt
left by a former lover…

If you were to leave me,
if I were to fold
only my own clothes,

the convexes and concaves
of my blouses, panties, stockings, bras
turned upon themselves,

a mountain of unsorted wash
could not fill
the empty side of the bed.

copyright 1988 by Elisavietta Ritchie

For the season of Lent,our chaplain at school encourages the kids to think about a character trait that is underdeveloped in their lives.  On Shrove Tuesday we all plant seeds and pray that God will grow that trait during this season of contemplation and solemnity.  I borrowed my prayer from St. Therese of Lisieux:

I implore Thee, dear Jesus, to send me a humiliation whensoever I try to set myself above others.

And yet, dear Lord, Thou knowest my weakness.  Each morning I resolve to be humble, and in the evening recognize that I have often been guilty of pride.  The sight of these faults tempts me to discouragement; yet I know that discouragement itself is a form of pride.  I wish, therefore, O my God, to build all my trust upon Thee.  As Thou canst do all things, deign to implant in my soul this virtue which I desire, and to obtain it from Thy Infinite Mercy, I will often say to Thee: “Jesus, Meek and Humble of Heart, make my heart like unto Thee.“

In college I took a course on creative poetry writing.  Not the most practical choice, but I thought it would be fun.  Even more importantly, with three extra hours in my schedule, I felt justified in quitting my job at the off-campus bookstore.

So in this class we played a lot with poetic forms, and for some reason, just the other day, I had lines stuck in my head from the little tongue-in-cheek sonnet I wrote about sonnets.  No, I’m not going to put my college poetry on here…I want you guys to come back and keep reading.  Even as I wrote it, I knew that the poem was kind of cheesy and indulgent, but it did contain some heartfelt sentiment, which is why the poem came back to my mind recently.

Basically I speculated about what it would be like to live in a sonnet, which is one of the most orderly and predictable poetic structures that exists.  The rhymes follow a neat pattern, the meter is rhythmic and regular, and the lines are limited and structured, down to the fact that the “turn” always and only comes in line 9.

I remember the somewhat wistful feeling I had as I wrote six years ago, and I felt the same wistful feeling that day…feeling like life would be so much easier if it was predictable and neat.  Unexpected, out-of-the-blue curve balls occasionally bring joyful surprises, but usually they just stress me out.

I couldn’t have predicted how long it would take for us to complete this last move–six months later, all of my boxes are still not unpacked!  The last two times we moved, I took great pride in having everything in place, including wall art, in three days.  This time…we moved in August, it is now February, and I still have stuff in my in-laws’ garage.  Don’t get me wrong– the wait has been worth it!  Our house is great…and very soon, it will be unpacked and settled.  But the process has been a stretch for me.

I could not have predicted that it would be hard to move back to my home town.  Although I still know lots of people around town and at church, it’s not really like having friends.  It just means that people remember me from when I was little, or that they know my parents and have heard stories about me.  But it’s not the same as having people that I can call up for coffee at the last minute.  It’s hard to keep close to my friends from Waco, and it’s slow going with new friends in Temple.  But I’m persisting.

I could not have predicted how traumatic even an exciting and voluntary life change could be.  I’m making my plans for next year, and even as I look forward to some of the transitions that will be taking place, I’m grieving over the things I am leaving behind.  Even good changes involve goodbyes, and those are never easy for me.  (Yes, I’m being vague.  Bear with me.)

I could not have predicted that I would enjoy reading Zora Neale Hurston, that I would hang out so much with my parents and sister, that I would ever listen to NPR, that I would ask for cooking DVDs for Christmas, that I would love my pets, that I would be a pastor’s wife, that I would love working, that I would be the bill-payer, that I would not be a homebody, that I would be hooked on TV dramas, that I would be a coffee drinker, that I, with my long-hair fascination, would marry a man who was bald.

Like I said, some unexpected surprises turn out to be all right after all.  Many are better than the predictable option.  As for the challenges…well, I’m still learning how to deal with all of that.  If you’ve got it figured out, feel free to leave a comment.

Sarah Palin is awesome. And if you didn’t see her little daughter steal the show last night, you missed the funniest moment of the whole election.

Sorry for the lack of posting. I’ve been brooding over the many questions surrounding our life at the moment, such as:

• Where will we live in six weeks? The house that was my back up plan looks like it’s not an option after all. All I need is an affordable 3/2 in a safe neighborhood with easy access to I-35 (preferably north of the snarly traffic at the loop exit), an open floorplan, a roomy kitchen, nice-sized bedrooms, fresh paint, clean carpet, no rodents, pets allowed, fenced yard, curb appeal, front door on the front of the house, lawn service included, available on August 1. I’m not saying that the landlord has to provide appliances, including an energy-efficient, front-loading washer and dryer, but it would be a bonus. I don’t understand the hold-up.
• Where will Stephen work this fall? He’s got applications out, but nothing nailed down.
• Are Jim and Pam actually going to get engaged? Or is her graphic design class going to fill her with feminist ambitions and remove her desire for love, marriage, and baby Halperts? And don’t even get me started on the Oceanic Six…
• What will I do with myself this summer? I’m trying to keep busy and productive with exercise and work projects. But it’s only been three days. I might lose steam and waste my two months off reading easy books and watching B-grade summer television series, like I’ve tended to do in the past.
• What am I going to do with the students whose parents have hired me as a tutor this summer? Actually a very pressing question I’ll need to answer by next Wednesday. I’ve raised my rates this summer so I can’t just let the kids come over and watch TV for an hour like I used to.
• Will Hillary Clinton become Barack Obama’s running mate? Who will John McCain pick as his #2? I’ve actually read a lot on this topic, despite the fact that so far this election cycle has made me doubt everything I’ve believed about common sense and American intelligence.
• Which of my belongings could I stand to part with? De-junking is definitely on the to-do list for the summer, in preparation for the aforementioned Move #3.  Right now I’m in the critical stage of thinking about de-junking before actually beginning the project itself.
• Why am I falling asleep in the afternoon even when I’ve had plenty of sleep the night before? My summer book list is not going to read itself!
• Where has the time gone? My little lion-haired Laura has graduated from college and is starting a real job as a nurse. Alan, once the little boy who liked to run around the yard in his Tarzan Speedo and cowboy boots, is entering his junior year of college and considering various postgraduate education options. Scariest of all, Leslie, who is ten years younger than me but looks more 25 than I do, is getting her driver’s license in July. Seriously…beware the Volvo. My friends’ babies are growing into little toddlers, and Stephen, the husband of my youth, is almost thirty. Life is but a walking shadow, indeed.

Well, I’m going to get back to my ruminating. Let me know if you figure any of these out before I do. Especially about Jim and Pam.

It’s been a year since we saw Derek Webb at Common Grounds, so the timing seemed about right for us when our friends Josh and Abbey invited us to go hear him when he came through Dallas last night.

This is now my fourth time to see Derek Webb as a solo act, and I’m still not disappointed, although the long show did get us home at 2 AM on the night of “spring forward.” He rocks! Enjoy some timely thoughts, just like I did last night.

I’m so tired of these mortal men
with their hands on their wallets and their hearts full of sin
scared of their enemies, scared of their friends
and always running for re-election
so come to DC if it be thy will
because we’ve never had a savior on Capitol Hill

You can always trust the devil or a politician
to be the devil or a politician
but beyond that friends you’d best beware
‘cause at the Pentagon bar they’re an inseparable pair
and as long as the lobbyists are paying their bills
we’ll never have a savior on Capitol Hill

All of our problems gonna disappear
when we can whisper right in that President’s ear
he could walk right across the reflection pool
in his combat boots and ten thousand dollar suit

You can render unto Caesar everything that’s his
you can trust in his power to come to your defense
it’s the way of the world, the way of the gun
it’s the trading of an evil for a lesser one
so don’t hold your breath or your vote until
you think you’ve finally found a savior up on Capitol Hill

(from the album The Ringing Bell- check it out)

Everyone at my work, including me, is working on a major stomach ulcer, and we’re barely halfway through our first quarter. The first of school frenzy has not died down yet, as we have been negotiating new teaching arrangements, a new special activity schedule, and, most of all, a new curriculum that is causing us to re-tool everything we’ve done in previous years.

I’ve had administrators in my classroom for observations twice already, and we’re having weekly meetings to try to brainstorm the most effective ways to implement our new objectives.

Most of this is to be expected for a school that is less than five years old and that is learning to accommodate a rapidly growing student population. We all know it’s worth the effort, and that we are working toward a valuable goal, but it doesn’t make the daily work any less grueling.

Today I thought back on a memorable line from the first sermon I ever heard at my current church: in life there are no finished symphonies. I feel the truth of this statement during the stress of my school life. A symphony involves synchronizing infinite possibilities of instruments and notes and harmonies, and there are always ways to make it more beautiful than before.

I reflected that this is true of all worthy endeavors, from marriage to child raising to running a school–as some issues resolve, others will arise, but the work will never be truly complete. In some ways this is frustrating, because I feel like I’m running on a hamster wheel and not making any progress. But in other ways it can inspiring–every day there is a way to do my job better, or to love my husband better, or to learn something new, if I look for those opportunities. Now, if I would only look for those opportunities…

One of my favorite poems is Robert Burns’ “To a Mouse.” It’s a really sympathetic poem about a mouse who has planned for winter by building a snug little house. The speaker is a farmer who has plowed through the mouse’s nest, destroying it, and it’s too late in the year for the mouse to build another one. So, despite the mouse’s careful preparation, he is still left out in the cold for the winter. The poem is timeless and classic, not because it’s a sad animal tale, but because Burns connects himself with the mouse in the last couple of stanzas with his famous summary, “The greatest plans of mice and men often go awry/and leave us not but grief and pain for promised joy.”

As my careful planning for the future is often thwarted by circumstances beyond my control, I really bonded with this poem. The poet doesn’t offer any sort of solution, but he is very sympathetic to both mice and people who are left wanting despite their best efforts.

Now this post is not as sad as it could be, but I’ve been thinking about Burns’ little mouse for the past couple of days as we’ve gone back to school for our work days. I vowed at the beginning of the summer to use my time off productively so that I would be organized and prepared for the new year. And I did work, pretty steadily, all summer.

Yet, here I am, one week and counting from the first day of school, in panic mode. My room is not ready, my lesson plans are not finalized, I need to choose reading lists and order books, and I have school supplies strewn across my floor. There are parent letters to write, a classroom webpage to build, worksheets to create, and meetings to attend.

This is the time of year that I love to hate. Right now there seems to be more to do than I can possibly accomplish, and the hours of the day race by. But I know that somehow it will all be finished on time, and that when my room fills up with hopeful little faces, I will know what to do with them. And even if I don’t, I know they can’t tell when I’m bluffing.