Remembering 2012

2012 began like any other year. Wait, that's a lie. My parents were in town. I had spent the night at Erin and Ivan's house after a combination of drinks and Michael Jackson Experience on the Wii. In 2011, I rang in the new year on a rooftop in Haiti, so no one year ever begins the same. Aside from those details, 2012 seemed like it would be just like any other year.

In February, I reclaimed Valentine's day. Some friends and I celebrated Palentine's day. I booked a massage on February 14. It was not the day of despair as in 2011. In many ways, I thought 2012 would exceed previous years. In some ways, it did, but in one way it did not.

For some reason, 2012 was plagued with news of suicide.

It began March 5, 2012. My energetic, mischievous uncle Peter left us. I still have to pinch myself--did that really happen? Time seems to have stopped then, but time does not stop. Only my perception of time. While I was the saddest I have ever felt, for the first time in difficult circumstances I still believed God was good. I'm thankful for how He carried me through the wake and the funeral, and well, even now He's carrying me. God, in His goodness, has used this tragedy for some redemptive moments in my life. Sometimes, I am angry that God brought any good from this event, but, truthfully, they were really good events. I guess I just wish there had been some other way. So what were those good events? Well, I realized how much I really do love my family. I had definitely taken them for granted and focused on the negative. I was able to see the love and strength between my family members. This even also impacted my personal growth. It was the missing puzzle piece that completed me. I learned how grief has played a role in my life as an idealist. I had a name for the feeling I have had all my life for the anger and sadness in a world that is not how it was intended to be. A world where we all have pain and injustice.

There are other stories of suicide throughout the year that affected my friends, but I will not discuss that here. For said friends who are reading this, I'm sorry for your loss and for your pain. I rejoice with those who have a positive outcome.

This year I dove into retreats with Urban Life. As any other youth retreat I attend as a leader, I am stretched and twisted until I cry "uncle;" well, until I cry to Jesus...It's always a blessing, and it's always an honor to get to know those teenagers. Always lots of fun memories. I even learned some new dance steps--the wobble, the cupid shuffle, and the bernie.

In June, I celebrated my 29th birthday. I declared 29 as divine, and it has lived up to its reputation. I had such a sweet celebration in Dallas, Texas with my 2 cousins, my 2 uncles, my aunt, and her mom and sister. Museums, red velvet cake, presents, and a mechanical bull. What more does one need? Oh yes, an honorary reeses peanut butter cup in memory of my uncle. The celebration continued in San Diego with some wonderful friends.

At the end of June through the middle of July, I visited friends and family in upstate NY. I went to Montreal to visit the same aunt and uncle from Dallas. There was a jazz festival that was fantastic. My cousin had her bridal shower and bachelorette party all in the same day. I saw my bestest friend in the universe. I hung out with my parents by the river. Good times were had by all.

Work began again in August. It's been quite the busy school year, but all is well. I enjoy what I do, and I enjoy seeing  my students grow. Some of whom are now taller than me.

In September, my cousin got married but, regrettably, I could not attend. My friend Lauren got married in September. I stood as a bridesmaid for my friend Mary's wedding in October. I flew to Alabama for that wedding and enjoyed the food and the southern drawls.

Also, I started attending an informal writing group. My awesome co-worker organized it. Some fellow writers and I gather twice a month to peer edit our work. The creativity is energizing.

Thanksgiving was spent with my church family. I enjoyed having a week off from work. I used it to write my Christmas cards and buy presents for all of the good people on my list.

Christmas with my parents in Florida was a delight. One of the highlights was seeing an alligator on Christmas day on the golf course. Playing cards and hanging out with my parents is always fun. There's something special about being able to just rest in each other's company.

So, I welcome 2013 with open arms. 2012 was quite the adventure. I'm hoping for less drama, lots of laughter, and plenty of fun activities with family and friends. May God bless you and keep you.

The limitations of an educator

One of my students is heavy on my heart. I have known him for 4 years. I met him when he was in first grade. Now, he is in fifth grade (obviously, for those of you who can add in your add). I remember him as a quiet kid. He had difficulty answering yes/no questions. A different student in his group received a lot of my attention, since he was 30% intelligible. I remember trying to make up for that when the student was in third grade by working with him one-on-one for a while to help him make progress and, well, it would only encourage him to participate.
As a first grade student, this kid would just sit there in class. Some attention deficit disorder but also no motivation. This remains a concern. He doesn't like anything and doesn't care about anything, either. Yes, he likes video games, but if it means he has to do homework, he's fine just sitting in his room and staring at the wall.
He has been participating in his speech group this year. Participation was never a huge issue, but it has definitely improved. I have been surprised by his right answers and proud of him for seeing him make connections with acquired knowledge.
Today, I yelled at him. Well, I spoke louder than usual. I by no means yelled, but I was angry. Angry, because I care so damn much. So angry I didn't even know what to say. My student may not care about his future, but I do, and I will care for him, if I can.
He had told the paraprofessional who leads his resource (specialized academic instruction) group that he didn't want to do his work today; he'd do during recess on Monday. That is not the kid who participates in my speech group. It's not out of his character, but his indifference is rapidly increasing.
So, I (loudly) asked him why he wasn't working. He shrugged his shoulders. I responded, if you don't have a reason, then you're going to do the work. I told him he was smart and how I enjoyed working with him in my group. When I left the room, he was walking over to tell the resource specialist that he was going to complete his work on Monday.
My plan is to observe his group on Monday and to pray to God that during this child's life, he will start to care and want to learn. God may or may not use me, but I trust He has a plan for this child.

Crackety Crackety Wiggity Wiggity

Clearly the title of this post describes the chiropractor. I apologize for stating the obvious.

This week God showed up in the details of my life. He showed up in such a way, it reminded me of Psalm 37: 4 "Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart" (NIV).

On Tuesday my school district hosted a wellness fair for employees. I only went to earn points for a free entrance for the Coronado Bay bridge run in May of next year. For once there was a short line to get a back screening. Tension in the back showed up on a computer screen while the metal electrodes slide along my back. The goal is to see the color white. Mild is green. Blue and red are moderate. Black is high. The guy before was older and it seemed like his job was physically active. He had red and blue. Surely my back would be green or white. When I turned to see my results, it was 95% black. I was shocked, but then it started to make sense. My neck has been bothering me for a while. The end of last week I was trying to crack my lower back, because it did not feel quite right. My shoulders are always tense. I figured I just needed to get a massage for some relief. Or perhaps stretch more. (I still think both of those things are good ideas but not the solution).

I agreed to purchase their coupon and go get my back examined by an actual chiropractor. The guy at the booth was just drumming up business. I was concerned it would turn out to be shady but the next day the receptionist for the chiropractor called to confirm my appointment.

The exam consisted of X-rays, more electrode type scans to measure tension and the temperature of my nerves. Turns out by measuring temperature you can see whether they are straight or not. There was a hands on portion of the exam and another scan that measured inflammation (maybe?). During that portion, the chiropractor hit a sore spot in my lower back. It hurt when he touched it. He was not putting a lot of pressure on it, either. Clearly, something was not right.

I learned a new word. Subluxation. I like to think of it as misaligned. It's not a complete dislocation but that shit ain't right, either. It was used in context of the vertebrae that protect the spinal cord.

Friday, I returned for my results.

The spine has natural curves. One of those curves is in the neck. The vertebrae in my neck are straight. Straight! The bottom part of my spine (sacrum) is also in the wrong spot, which has made my pelvic bones uneven. I also have a few vertebrae that are subluxated. The curve along the bottom of my spine is normal but as it gets into my thoracic vertebrae and neck it's misshapen. One of my lower vertebrae may even be fractured. He talked about surgery but ONLY if it starts to affect the function of inner organs. So no need for surgery. I may have been born with the vertebrae that way; there is a genetic component. The chiropractor said he will not touch that vertebrae when he adjusts my spine.

Hence, crackety crackety wiggity wiggity. That is what it's like to have the spine adjusted. Perhaps wiggity wiggity should be first. I had to lie down on my side. He bent my leg so my knee was perpendicular to my body. He stretched one of my arms and put it by my side. He then used his body as a brace to prevent me from moving and crackety crackety. A quick jerking motion and releases tension, hence the noise. He started with my neck. He was rocking it back and forth. All was calm and peaceful and then crackety crackety. I was a little tense as he went to the other side, because it's just weird. Not painful but unusual. I convinced myself to relax so the crackety crackety didn't become snappity snappity.

You may be wondering how God showed up in all of this. Well, when I was little I remember seeing the elderly in church. They were hunched over. Their back had become rounded instead of straight. I always thought, I don't want to look like that when I'm older. The concern never went away, but it lived in the back of my mind.

Now God is providing a way for me to correct my spine. He knows the desire of my heart.

I will confess I feel really fancy about going to a chiropractor. It feels like a luxury, but then I remind myself it's corrective and preventative care. In 2 weeks, I will have exercises to do to get my curve back. So Stella got her groove back, and I'm working on getting my curve back. I mean, really, I'll never lose my groove. After all, God knows the desires of my heart.

Sicker than a dog...

Within 10 days after adopting Moses, I was eligible for a free check-up with a veterinarian on a list from the animal shelter. I chose the closest one to my house, Kensington Veterinarian Hospital. I have jogged past it several times, so I was familiar with the location. Granted, I jog so quickly that I only had a vague idea of its location.

On Tuesday August 14, I made an appointment for Friday the 17th. At that point, I was mildly concerned with Moses' excessive sneezing.

On Wednesday, a friend described Moses as having "kennel cough." I was less worried.

On Thursday, however, Moses began coughing violently and vomiting. (It was a clear, foamy liquid).

By Friday, Moses just sat there, pathetically, because he'd start to cough if he laid down. I was so happy to go to the vet's office.

While Moses was getting weighed and all of the basic check-up procedures before the doctor came into the room, he puked. Secretly, I was glad, because what better place for my cat to get sick than the vet's office? Also, it was the first time I had seen anything red when he vomited. The tech cleaned up and brought it to the vet, who confirmed it was blood, most likely the result of an irritated esophagus.

The vet examined Moses. She then gave me a laundry list of things she wanted to do. She had the receptionist print a list of the projected cost. What choice did I have but to say yes? Besides, my guestimate was slightly over the estimate given to me, so I knew I could pay for it.

So Moses had x-rays and blood drawn and a saline injection to hydrate him. I prepaid for a stool sample (I echo your "yuck") and bought 3 different prescriptions.

The results? Moses had a severe upper respiratory infection and unexplainable vomiting. He had a pill for nausea, an antibiotic, and something else. He was a borderline case for the pet hospital, which would have easily cost as much as I had already spent. I could NOT afford that, so the vet told me to call the next morning at 8:30 to give her an update.

(Side note, one of the techs brought me a cup of tea, which I really appreciated. If I had left the examining room, I was not allowed to pet the animals waiting for their appointment, because of Moses' respiratory infection. A huge thank you to Andi and KD for responding to my despondent text messages while I was quarantined.)

The last thing I wanted to do was administer pills to a cat. Before going to the animal shelter, I had a plan. I'd adopt a cat and when he became old, sick, and needing pills, I'd put him down. I did not expect pills in the honeymoon phase of adoption.

I managed to give Moses the anti-nausea pill and the antibiotic. Now, the antibiotic had a side effect of an upset stomach. I questioned this pill choice, but hoped it wouldn't be an issue. The vet also sold me wet cat food with a strong odor, so Moses would smell food and have an appetite. I gave him food when we first got home. He puked before he ate and a just a smidgen after he took his first bite. Three hours later, while sitting in the bathroom with him running hot water to help loosen his mucous (yes, that was an order from the vet), he puked. He puked twice more that night; one of which narrowly missed me. It was his only projectile vomit.

I cried most of the night, because I wasn't sure if I could afford to keep Moses if he did not start getting better. I had already loved him too much to bring him back to the shelter. Plus, I was concerned they'd euthanize him.

I called the vet in the morning to report that he seemed to be breathing better, but he was still puking. They asked me to come in 45 minutes later for a 9:30 appointment.

He was given another injection to hydrate him. I was shown how to administer the injections by lifting his scruff and inserting the needle into his skin. This was a 5-handed job, and I only have 3. The vet switched his medications. I now had to pick up a prescription at Rite Aid, buy over the counter Priolsec, in addition to the original anti-nausea pill and an appetite stimulant. I was really overwhelmed. Here are two pictures of my pharmacy:

The pill pockets did not help. I had to cut the pills, so that is why there are two tupperware containers.

I had to hang the bag of saline solution as high as I could, so the liquid would drip faster.





The new pills were a winning combination. Moses has not puked since that Saturday appointment at the vet. I called two days later on Monday to update the vet. Moses was feeling better. So much so that by Tuesday, he'd only sit still long enough for me to inject 50ml of liquid. I was instructed to give him 150ml. I called the vet on Tuesday and was given permission to discontinue the injections. Moses had started drinking water again, so I was not worried.

Thanks to a lot of support from my friends, I successfully administered most of the pills to Moses. I was always successful with his antibiotics, which were the most important.

While this process was miserable and reinforced my qualms about bearing children, I surprised myself. I had kept telling myself I wouldn't be able to do it, but I did; and I have Moses as proof.

Why I bang my head against the table

Already, I have lied to you, dear reader. I do not actually bang my head against a table. Although, I had to tell a student not to bang his head against the table today.

This post is a follow-up from my "Do you have a starfish?" post from yesterday. See, I felt like banging my head against the table, because the interaction seemed ineffective.

Today, I met with the same group of students.

I chose to play Go Fish again, after practicing past tense verbs, because it is a socially appropriate skill to work on.

Halfway through the game, I ask the other student for a card the girl has. She, once again, announces she has that card. I tell her to ask me when it is her turn. As I'm saying this, I pick a card from the pile, and it's a starfish; I love seeing God's hand in this. When it is her turn, she chooses a different card to ask the other student. I prompt her to ask me for the specific card. And she does!!!!! She said, "Do you have this card?"

I was pleasantly surprised. That's when I was reminded why I figuratively bang my head against the table. There, I only lied if you interpreted the title literally.

Do you have a starfish?

There are some moments at work when I realize the limitations of teaching social skills without a colleague. Today, I had such a moment. I heard myself and thought, seriously? Stop talking, Erin. Stop talking.

I had a group of two first grade students (the third student was unavailable). They listened to a story and answered questions plus they practiced describing pictures with past tense verbs. There was 5 minutes left, so I decided to reward them with a game of Go Fish.

One of the students (a girl) meets the educational criteria for Autism. I saw that she had a starfish in her hand. I asked the other student if he had a starfish. I try to teach strategy when I play games with students. He said no. The girl said that she had a starfish. Great. I told her to ask me. She then asks while looking at the other student. I told her it was not her turn and asked her to wait. She asked again but then listened the second time.

When it was her turn, she asked the male student.

Teaching moment! (or so I thought)

me: Who asked for a starfish?

girl: student A.

me: No. Who asked for a starfish?

girl: student A.

me: No. If student A did not ask for the starfish, then who did?

girl: No one.

me: I asked for the starfish. Ask me for the starfish.

girl: I have a starfish.

me: Say "Do you have a starfish?"

girl: yes.

me: No, I want you to say "Do you have a starfish?"

girl: yes.

me: Say "do you have"

girl: I have

me: Do

girl: Do

me: you

girl: you

me: have

girl: have

me: a

girl: a

me: starfish

girl: starfish

me: Miss Desautels?

girl: Yes.

I finally gave her the starfish.

I am a legal guardian

Color me dumbfounded. (It's a shade of purple, for those of you who don't know.)

Upon becoming a pet owner, I am both fascinated and disturbed that I have been referred to as a "cat mommy." Not only have my friends referred to me as a parent, but so has the veterinarian. She of all people should understand that I am NOT a parent.

I admit, I think of animals as people to a certain extent. But as a child-parent relationship?

I can see how it's easy to consider oneself a caregiver, but I refuse to consider myself a mother to Moses. I won't do it. I will only concede that I am his legal guardian.

Perhaps it's because upon adopting him, I realized having children (you know, the human variety) is way scarier than I originally thought.

Can someone explain this pet/parent phenomenon (preferably by starting each word of the explanation with the letter "p.")? Truly, I do not understand it.

Meet my cat Moses

On August 11, 2012 I adopted a cat from the San Diego County animal shelter. They had named him Moe. A one syllable pet name is not effective.

The shelter was technically closed by the time I chose to adopt Moses. Upon meeting him, he licked my face. How could I say no?

He is 1 year 6 months old. Upon the recommendation of the employees at the shelter, I set up Moses in the bathroom at my cottage. This way, he could not hide from me under the bed.

So, we hung out in the bathroom. I sat on the floor. He walked around. He'd come near me, so I could pet him. I told him how I couldn't believe I had a cat. I had become a pet owner. The employees at the shelter had commented how the cat chooses the person as much as the person chooses the cat. I decided it was only appropriate to ask Moses if he wanted to be my cat. He responded by licking my face. It was settled.

Written during church

When we live hidden in Christ,
We...
  see the sunset every day,
  sing and dance,
  apologize for tears we caused,
  forgive those who made us cry,
  spend grace and mercy as our currency,
  give generously,
  communicate honestly.

When we live hidden in Christ,
  The world sees Heaven on earth.

One poem of many about suicide

March 5, 2012 will never be forgotten. I miss you, uncle Peter.

One

One bullet:

A thousand echoes

Phone calls

An obituary

A life in four hundred words.

One bullet:

A thousand pieces

Our shattered world

My broken heart

A family torn apart.

One bullet:

A thousand tears

A hundred handshakes

Mourning and night

Grief never rests.

One bullet:

One less.

Hope 2012 Relay

Hope is elusive, but I saw it once.

The summer after I graduated from college, I lived with my best friend (bestest friends since middle school) for a summer in an eccentric town in the Adirondack mountains. We described it by saying, "where the men are men and the women are men." That kind of town.

I am an idealist, so I always thought Hope was a positive trait. Helpful. Inspiring. Motivating.

In college, I had been shocked to learn that according to the Greek myth, Hope was in Pandora's box. I audibly gasped at the thought. How could hope be a bad thing? Since then, I think Hope becomes toxic when the desired outcome is simply not going to happen. Unfortunately, Hope does not have a sell-by date nor does it stink when it morphs into resignation.

Thank you, Google maps.

Meanwhile, back in the charming Adirondack town, I saw Hope.

It was the summer of 2005. I was walking on Ampersand Avenue. I glanced at a street sign and immediately stopped walking. In brown and gold, I saw "Hope St." The road began to climb upward with one side street and then a stone wall at the peak.

Who would name a dead end street Hope?

I immediately began to walk upward. This time, simply gasping to breathe.

As I approached the top, I saw the road curve to the left, continuing;  I laughed.

Hope often feels like a dead end path, but we will not know what is waiting for us at the top unless we start walking. Call me if you need a walking buddy.

Hope 2012 relay credit to Melanie Crutchfield: http://melaniecrutchfield.com/2012/07/27/hope-2012-a-blog-relay/

Introducing my poetry

I remember visiting my grandmother's house as a child. She always had a pile of scrap paper and a coffee mug full of pens. I used to draw until I learned how to write. I never advanced from my standard sunset, squiggly ocean waves, and a sailboat sketch. Words are my palette of colors.

Recently, I shared a poem with a dear friend. She, in turn, shared that poem with other people whom she knew. The feedback my friend reported was perspective-shifting. I was described as intelligent and brilliant based on my poetry. I've been called smart before but not for my poetry. My writing has always been therapeutic for me. A place where I can release the emotions built up within me.

So, I think I'm going to start sharing more of my poetry on my blog. I've withheld mostly because I want to be published. I have had this dream since I was young. Well, younger as I'm still young. It just seems silly to have my poetry sitting in a binder, unread. Perhaps, it will stir up some words for your feelings. Perhaps, you will say, "Yes! That's how I've felt!" Perhaps, you will even say what I've written is hogwash. That's fine, too. I write for me. Besides, most of my poetry I don't like. I write a variety of poems. Some I actually have an idea and a plan for, others are therapeutic, and others still are a gift from God. He often reminds me of the gospel and of His love for me.

I'm going to begin this new phase by sharing two poems. You see, I'm on a journey with God. He's stretching me thin and reshaping me. He's retaining my essence but making me stronger. There are days when I feel like I've made no progress. Then, there are days when I reread an old poem...

Originally written April 27, 2011 (it has been edited twice since then)

I silence the voice within me:
It is choked, suffocated, buried alive.
The painful pleasure at play in my mind
A swingset of needles,
Daggered monkeybars
I merrily go around and around.
A voice desperate to speak

...and compare it to one I've recently written.

Originally written April 12, 2012, entitled

Alternative Communication:

My soul has a voice.

Sometimes it is silent,

A single tear sliding down my cheek.

My soul has a voice.

At times, it is demanding,

A wailing torrent of tears.

Even still, it is joyful,

Tears responding to Love and beauty.

Other times, it is angry,

Frustrated sobs for injustice.

My soul has a voice.

When needed, it cries out in exhaustion,

The final tear yields rest.

When moved, it expresses sorrow,

My pain and that of others.

My soul has a voice,

Sometimes, in my shame, I silence it.

My soul has a voice,

At times, when feeling safe, it speaks freely.

My soul has a voice,

Praying with or without words.

My soul has a voice,

Even now.

Eyes glistening.

Suck it up

I decided to run the La Jolla half marathon earlier this year. I have been looking forward to it. I never thought I'd run this race as the course goes up Torrey Pines. Twice a month, I have run (or walked) up that hill.

Thursday at work my throat felt scratchy. An hour later, I had sore throat. Friday I stayed home from work and nestled in my bed. Today I am feeling better. My sore throat is gone, but I am congested and lacking energy.

I had to make the difficult decision to NOT run.

Perhaps you're wondering why it's a difficult decision. Perhaps it seems like a no-brainer: If you're sick, don't run.

For me, however, my gut reaction is to suck it up. Do it anyway. Adapt. Find a way to make it happen. I don't shy away from things that seem impossible or improbable. I believe one day I will set fire to the rain (or more likely, God will let me witness rain setting on fire). I don't like to give up. I don't like to admit I cannot do what I planned to do. I am human, and there are times when I hate it.

So, I am learning to receive grace. I can be human and still be forgiven. Good news, indeed!

Tomorrow morning I will sleep in. I will go to church. I am thankful that God provides for me, even if the race fee seems like a waste (or just a really expensive t-shirt). I will remind myself that it's ok to be limited in what I can do. That's it's better to take care of myself than to chase after idealistic expectations.

I'm human, and that's ok.

Poem for April 9, 2012

(title) A void

I ache for something more than what I find in a store.
I ache for something less than the pain in my chest.

I yearn to burn the fears expressed as tears as they sear my heart:
Tattooed-black and blue.

My beating heart wants a meeting with God.
Impatient, I let idols win,
Capturing my attention
The rupture of innocence
Lost in the crowd
Seen by the Son of God
My Savior--a brave warrior
Nailed to a cross
Bail for my sins
Mercy for my heresy
Grace for when I want to hide my face.

Yes, I ache for something more and God won't give me anything less than Himself.

Hidden Gems

Every day is a new adventure. Every day typically has it's ups and downs, highs and lows, smiles and frowns. Today was no exception, but it was certainly a very sweet day.

Before school starts in the morning, I walk/jog with the students on the lower field. One student is absolutely wonderful. She's the kind of student you want to always have around when you're having a bad day or a sad moment. Every time she sees me, I'm greeted with an enthusiastic "Miss. Desautels!" Quickly followed by a hug. "I'm so happy to see you," she adds; some days, she even says, "You're my favorite speech teacher." I consciously overlook the fact that I'm the only speech teacher she has ever had. I feel I can do this, because sometimes she will say how she wants to be a speech teacher just like me. Anyway, this particular student accidentally called me "mommy" this morning. She was embarrassed, and I giggled. I was reminded of the few occasions I have called a teacher "mom," but also of my friend who in, fourth grade, called her male teacher "dad."

My co-worker brought me leftover pancit and adobo chicken from her daughter's birthday party. Delicious!

In the afternoon, one of my other favorite students had something to tell me. He told me all about how he was going to get a new bed after school. His enthusiasm was absolutely darling. I wish I had recorded him. He then leaned in to inform me that he had a secret to tell me. The other student and I leaned in closer. He'd whisper his sentence and add how it's "so cool" and "awesome." I cannot tell you secret as I promised I would not tell anyone. If the other teacher in the room walked by, he'd stop talking about his secret. My heart melted. The entire speech time was spent talking about the new bed he was going to get. Except for the last few minutes. I gave the other student 3 directions to follow. Turns out, he did not know what a sit-up was. Equally interesting, he could barely do one. Neither of them could without someone holding their feet down. It tickled one of the students. It was a highly amusing session and not at all what I planned, yet I heard a fantastic language sample.

There was a low or two during the day, but I'll just sweep them under the rug.

I serve on the youth ministry team at my church. Tonight, all 3 of my small group members were present. It was great to see them all and catch up with what's been going on in their lives. Our discussion was honest and our prayer earnest.

I was asked to give a 2-3 testimony about my time serving the youth ministry at our Easter service. I'm excited to share (or at least try to put into words) my experience serving the teenagers.

To top it all off, I had the opportunity to love my neighbors tonight. One of my neighbors was performing with a friend at a nearby bar. I went to see some of the show. Sometimes being a Christian is tough. :) No, really, sometimes it is, but God's grace is enough, even when it feels like it isn't.

If only the highs of today would motivate me to get out of bed tomorrow morning. What new adventures will there be tomorrow? And will I ever feel motivated to jog after work? I am, after all, running a half marathon April 29. And why is it that I feel awake right now yet I was exhausted after work? America needs to add a siesta to our schedule. Perhaps if we were all rested, we'd be healthier. Perhaps.

Good grief

Oh Charlie Brown, is grief really good? It's a serious question. Nothing about it seems "good," but it seems to be healthy.

Before my uncle died, I had such a different view of death. It was very naive. Despite the sadness of death, I thought it should be a happy occasion. Going to heaven is a good thing. It is. Yet, what is there to comfort those on earth? Yes, that is what I learned. Death is sad no matter what. It sucks. It's this awful reminder that we live in a sinful world where death is the penalty. Yes, Jesus conquered death, so death is not the end, yet it is to those who are still living and missing whoever died.

I still want a dance party after my funeral. Yet, that cloud of sadness just doesn't dissipate. It lingers. It hovers. So, if the dance party doesn't work out, then it's still required that "Baby got back" by Sir-Mix-A-Lot is played at least once. And that's another thing, death brings about morbid, yet factual thoughts of what is yet to come.

I mean I'm used to feeling sad. I'm an emotional roller coaster. I've gotten better at being steady, but this sadness, this grief, hurts. It's physical and emotional. It's this constant ache, sometimes dull and sometimes pounding. I have moments of relief. I have moments of peace. Then, I have moments of absolute anger and sorrow. I amuse myself by saying "the anger stage of grief really pisses me off."

I don't even know what words to use to describe this AND I'M A WRITER! I'm speechless. I feel lost in a pasture I've never seen before. In faith I wait for my shepherd. I'm so glad He knows where I am, because I don't even feel like I can cry out to Him.

I miss being surrounded by my family. I wish I could just hit pause. How do I reconcile life before my uncle died and life since he has died? I started the month of March thinking it was going to be very stressful because of work. Now, work is the least of my worries. Sure, work is still stressful, but I really don't care. It's a blip on the radar. I'll get the work done. So what if I have 15 kids to test (and that number is hardly an exaggeration).

I appreciate people being supportive, but how do I reach out? Show up teary-eyed on their doorstep? Really?

And you wouldn't believe the conversation I heard yesterday at a coffee shop. This guy is telling his friend how he hasn't done meth since the 23rd--since the day he tried to commit suicide by stabbing himself. A few tears leaked out of my eyes.

I just want to scream. Yet, nothing will bring my uncle back.

Bad grief? Healthy grief? I don't know. I just don't know.

Reclaiming Valentine's Day

Let me begin with a confession. Valentine's day last year was my worst day in 2011. Hands down, it was the worst day. I was engulfed by despair over being single. Yet, love really is found in a hopeless place (reference my recent Rihanna and Jesus post). God responded to my tears through a poem. A poem I treasure and will never edit. (Now, if you know me as a writer, then you know I LOVE to edit and constantly reword what I have written. So it is significant that the first draft of my poem is perfect.)

Now, I will tell you a secret. Are you ready? When I was confirmed in the Catholic church in 10th grade (perhaps I was 15 about to turn 16; I have no idea), we all had to choose a saint's name. One would expect a girl to pick a female name. That statement likely applies to everyone with whom I was confirmed, except me. I picked "Valentine." I did not care that it was a male name; after all, my given name is just as easily a male's name as it is a female's. I picked "Valentine," because I am a hopeful romantic (in Christ). I enjoy listening to how couples met. I cheer at the end of a chick flick. How is that different from every other woman? Perhaps it's not, but how many other women do you know who have chosen "Valentine" as their confirmed name? :-p

Anyway, the irony of being named Valentine while being alone on Valentine's day hurt the very core of my being last year.

In January of this year, I resolved that Valentine's day would be different this year. I celebrated Palentine's Day (February 11) with two of my friends. I have already received a Valentine's day card from a dear friend. I scheduled a massage tomorrow. I anticipate a package from my mom and perhaps another Valentine from my dearest friend. I'll also be working with special day class kindergarten students tomorrow. Despite the chaos of the day, it should mean hugs and high fives.

While I can keep the day in check, since it still is yet another day in 2012, my struggle with Valentine's day is something I struggle with all year. Rather, my loneliness or singleness is something with which I struggle.

So what will be different tomorrow? Me.

Oh the struggle in my soul will continue to rage, but Jesus wins. One day, I will have peace every second, instead of a moment here and a moment there. Where was Jesus last year, you may be wondering. He was with me, but I didn't want to talk to Him. I didn't trust Him. Some days, I still don't.

Poco a poco, I'm learning what it means to have faith in God. It breaks my heart that I actually tell myself, in moments of despair, that faith is stupid.

Aside from spilling my guts, I actually have a plan to reclaim Valentine's day. Despite how I feel, I really do love the day. I do not support the capitalist commercialism of the holiday, but the essence of the holiday is important. I think of it as someone who decided to be spontaneous and surprise his sweetheart with a gift, a token of his love for no specific reason. Then that day become commemorated into a holiday, so now every couple has to do something on one specific day. The lesson in Valentine's day is to treasure each other. Dating or not, married or not, Jesus calls us to love each other. Every day.

So, lets try to love each other tomorrow. Instead of speeding up while driving, let the car trying to merge into your lane ahead of you; tell a stranger he or she is awesome. Smile and say hello to someone.

Fellow singles, lets not be haters. Yes, I know it hurts. It really feels like a slap in the face, but if it's one thing I have learned this year, it's that I am loved by my family and by my friends and by God.

Yes, I have reclaimed Valentine's day. How? By remembering I'm loved, even if a boy does not send me a card or a box of chocolates. I am loved, and so are you, dear reader. Single or in a relationship or married or divorced or widowed.

So whether you are dodging Cupid's arrow tomorrow or wearing a target on your forehead, remember that you are loved. I'll try to do the same.

But, if any gentleman out there or a friend wants to send flowers, I'll happily receive them. I am, after all, a hopeful romantic. :)

From the mouths of babes

I cannot believe I forget this gem of a conversation yesterday.

During group, one of my rambunctious, resilient optimist first grade students sat in my chair. Being as my skills are planning ahead, I had to leave my table to get something. I don't even remember what it was.

Anyway, while I was up, my student sat in my chair. He has a sense of humor, so I told him to move, adding that next time I will sit on him.

His articulation is not the clearest, but he definitely asked if I would fart on him if I sat on him.

I burst out laughing simultaneously assuring him I would not fart on him and that his comment was inappropriate. I'm fairly certain the message was lost in my smile.

Wishing on a shooting star

God certainly does know how to nourish the soul.

After my lunch work meeting, I was not motivated to pull my last group of the day. I decided to get my group anyway; after all, they'd notice if I did not get them for group.

What a blessing the group was.

One of my students was not feeling well. It was very clear from his behavior. He was quiet and calm. This student is typically a ball of energy, usually spinning or bouncing from place to place while talking incessantly. He's one of my favorites. How can you not when three years ago, he said /kr/ instead of /tr/ so the first grade leprechaun traps were called "craps." It's not very often I legitimately get to write the word "crap" in my report.

Anyway, with one student down and my lack of motivation, the two students sat on the couch while I pulled up a chair.

The other student is a very sweet girl that I've known for almost a year. She is kind, friendly, and curious with the right amount of sass. She began asking questions about how rain comes from clouds and stars. She asked about shooting stars and making wishes.

Then she told me, "If I could wish on a shooting star, I'd wish to come with you every day."

Heart melted.

This also positively reinforces me to get my groups of students regardless of motivation level.

A glimpse of divine intervention

Today in my special day class kindergarten class, I was working with one of the students in the teacher's group. This student is one of my favorites. A sweet little guy with big brown eyes. He has a medical diagnosis of being on the Autism Spectrum Disorder. He loves acorns/pinecones and Scrat from the Ice Age. He uses his own name when talking about himself (the nuance of "my name" and "your name" with appropriate references, but I'm merely speculating).

He finished drawing the four pictures for the lesson; I pushed for him to write the words, too. I wrote the words; it was his job to trace them.

I believed he could do it. He was not a fan. It was an unexpected burst of spontaneous language from an otherwise string of lines from movies or quotes from his family (again, speculation). He initially began with a quote from his family, "Be patient." "Just wait." But then, the firework show began.

He told myself and the teacher that he was sad, using the pronoun "he" instead of "I." He then drew a sad face on his paper. He had already finished 2 of the 4 words. The teacher and I both admitted to being about to cry. I mean not only is he communicating spontaneously and actually on topic, but he's then telling us he's sad. My stubborn streak has a cold heart, so I encouraged him to finish the last two and then he could have his toys. I think he actually wanted to draw a spider on the back of his paper. He agreed. After he finished, the teacher asked him if he was happy and asked him to draw a happy face. He did. Then he independently drew a surprised face. The teacher asked him to draw a scared face. They were decent pictures for a 5 year old.

It was just incredible to hear him tell us how he was feeling other than "I'm tired."

The teacher commented, "It was like the heavens opened up." Yes, indeed, God showed His mighty hand. He is truly our student's teacher and will never stop despite passing to the next grade or moving to a different school.

The teacher also wished she had been recording it to show his mom.

If only I could capture the excitement of spontaneous communication between two teachers and a student with words. But why try to capture something that's etched into my heart?

Lean on Me

Let me explain a typical day for me.

I wake up early in the morning; typically I awake saddened: the usual waking up alone blues plus, the I-don't-want-to-get-out-of-my-warm-nest-of-a-bed feeling that always causes me to hit snooze at least once. The combination typically keeps me in bed for close to 30 minutes.

I do my best to psych myself up for the day. I pray and share my feelings. On a good day, I ask for His mercy. On a really sad day, I cry in the shower and plead with Him to carry me throughout the day. Honestly, though, I need Him to carry me through every day.

I eat breakfast, which is one of my favorite meals of the day. I eat while checking e-mail and Facebook. I scrounge for motivation to finish getting ready for work.

Once at work, I do enjoy my job.

On any given day, I'm receiving hugs, giving high fives, coaching students to produce this sound or that, playing Go Fish or Apples to Apples, Jr, playing Simon Says, reminding students to say the "is" in "She is running" or reminding them to say "she" instead of "her." Just as a few examples. Or if I'm in the special day class kindergarten (SDC) class, I am reminding students to sit down or to stay on task. For some reason, the students in the SDC kinder class really like my hair. At least three students have told me so explicitly on different days, and one boy likes to stare at the top of my head. Anyway, the SDC class can be quite intense. These students are learning how to be in school. If they don't want to do something, why wouldn't they run around the room knocking things over? Let alone the times they choose to yell at or hit adults in the room. Not to mention when they run around the room, they think it's a game. My day wears me out more than I readily admit to myself.

It is very clear at work that I am completely dependent upon God to serve the students with whom I work.

While at home after work, I stumble while tired. I begin to believe lies from the enemy. I try to deny that there's an enemy. I am tired of seeing the pain of the world. I want God to come NOW and fix everything. I want my ideals to be reality. I do not want any more tears or suffering for anybody.

The longer I wait the more doubt creeps in, the more I start to believe my doubt.

I become paralyzed and no longer want to complete life's daily chores or do fun things like playing Michael Jackson experience on my Wii. I typically try to numb myself to my feelings. I feel so much throughout the day: joy, fatigue, frustration, etc. I don't feel like wrestling with God about fixing everything.

But that numbness leads to condemnation and shame. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

Jesus, the good Shepherd that He is, seeks me out. Every time. He is gracious and merciful. His love draws me back.

So, you see, my day is a roller coaster of emotions. Alive, joyful in Christ or dead in despair.

On Saturday, I had a day that was mostly alive in Christ. I knew I could easily slip into despair, so I brewed a cup of chai tea and headed to Sunset Cliffs for a date with God. The picture in this post was taken during my date. I was blessed with some sweet journal time rooted in Truth.

While jogging/walking after work, I heard Linkin Park's "Shadow of the day." One line whispered to my soul, "and the sun will set for you." Yes, indeed, the sun sets for me while I reflect with gratitude upon the mercies extended from Christ; the sun rises every morning with new mercies. I mean that sunset was the artistry of God: gold, orange, and yellow illuminating the clouds with pink steamers to the north of the sunset. Behind me was the moon with stars gradually emerging. The ocean was translucent sapphires, blown glass rippling. It was stunning. Just like God.

God's beauty is created for all of us to enjoy. How incredible? No wonder people feel "spiritual" when in nature. It's God's handiwork.

Needless to say, I was touched. Hands up enjoying the roller coaster.

But then I came to a sharp turn that jammed my arm into the door. As I walked closer to home, I passed a gas station. Two men were yelling at each other, arguing over whose turn it was, I assume. They were in each others' faces and dropping f-bombs. I literally shed a few tears while I prayed. Jesus, these men need you. Please give them peace. Please reconcile this. You see, I feel those emotions deeply. I feel the sadness of our pain, the consequences of sin in this world. And I'm sad to think about my actions hurt others. It's a painful world, and my compassion is a gift that is difficult to carry.

I try to look toward Jesus as an example. Can you imagine how He felt walking through the streets of Jerusalem? So many people followed Him. So many people in pain who needed healing. Yet, through communion with His Father, He went to those whom He was told to help. He was not called to meet every single person. He did not go rogue and start healing everyone He met. No, He submitted to His Father's plan, even when it included His own sacrificial death. And even on the cross, He forgave us who nailed Him to that cross.

Father forgive us; we know not what we do, to each other, to ourselves, and to You.

I am reminded of a quote by Plato: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle." Lets help each other as we ride the roller coaster. Jesus knows we need the support from a community. Think of Aaron and Hur holding up the arms of Moses. Moses needed the help of his friends, and so do I. So do you. How can I help you? How can we help each other?

Jesus and Rihanna

I just have to blog about this, because every time I hear "We found love" by Rihanna I think of Jesus. Whether you want to know or not, I'm going to divulge my reasoning.

She talks about finding love in a hopeless place. I assume she means a romantic love. Despite whatever romantic scenario you conjure up of feeling like no one will ever love you and that's when you find love, I want you to really think about that.

A hopeless place.

Have you felt hopeless? Have you walked around in a hopeless place?

I have. It's not pretty nor pleasant. Hopeless. Condemned. Ashamed. The lowest of lows.

That is not where I want to find a romantic love.

But, Rihanna is right. There is love in a hopeless place. Jesus.

Jesus, meets us where we are, whether hopeless, confused, or rebellious. He does not wait for us to slip and fall nor does he wait for us to walk a tightrope of good deeds. He will follow us as we stray to that hopeless place and deliver us for it. He loosens the chains of hopelessness and liberates us.

He is the bridge between God and human.

Because without Jesus, we are hopeless. Without Jesus we are sinners deserving of death. So God sent His Son to live a perfect life and die for our sins on the cross. Jesus not only died, but He accepted the punishment of our sins. He was separated from God. Oh but after three long days He rose again. He is reunited with the Father. He reigns, but He is a generous King. He gracefully shares His inheritance, entrance into the kingdom of God, with us, whom He calls friend and sibling.

Yes, there is One love in our hopeless places. He is the way, the truth, and the light. He is the beacon of  Hope.

He is the only love I want to experience in the hopeless catacombs of my mind.

Problems simplified

This story begins on Wednesday. One of my favorite students (by "favorite," I mean one of my students with whom I have established rapport) asked to get something from his backpack. He wanted to show me something. This kid's brain travels 100 mph as well as his body, so I reluctantly agreed to his request. He shows me the letters A through N of the Japanese alphabet. He even wrote his name in Japanese. I was impressed. He found it in a book from the library. He asked if I wanted to copy it. I said yes. He thought I would copy it by hand. Ha. He has no idea the magnitude of my artistic limitations. I went to make a photocopy of the page in his notebook, but the machine was broken. I told him I'd make a photocopy the next day.

Somewhere in the scramble to finish a report and an Individualized Education Program (IEP) and realizing that I left my laptop charger at my other elementary school, I forgot on Thursday.

By chance (or was it, God? Hmm?), I saw him after his reading intervention group in the hallway. I asked him if he had his notebook and told him I forgot the day before. He said jokingly, "What is the matter with you?" I joked back, "Where to begin?" His response was simple, "You forgot." Oh yes, my memory. That's the problem. I joked it's what happens when one gets old.

I don't have to do everything. I can't remember everything, anyway. Another gentle reminder that I am not perfect, nor am I expected to be perfect by anyone except myself.

My job is daily reminder that I need God's help. Does this student have a speech language impairment? How do I connect with this student? How do I teach this student to make the /f/ sound? It's been a year already! While I do help the students, I trust God to ultimately take care of them well into adulthood. After all, they don't stay in elementary school forever. I'm thankful I have been at the same elementary school for the past four years. I have known some students for all four years.

Lately, I've come to the conclusion that my devotion to my students--how else can I describe how much I care about them?--is a tiny reflection of how much God cares for us.

Taking a moment to say, "Thank you."

Dear Jesus,

There are many times when I wish I did not need you. My flesh is rebellious. My spirit is willing, but my flesh is weak. This often makes me angry. I am idealistic. This is not the ideal world our Father created. This makes me sad and really angry. I am completely dependent upon you. I also have this belief, this ideal that I should be able to choose you all of the time. It's the logical choice. I know you are the living water that will satisfy my every need, but I don't always feel like you are present. I don't always trust you will be there. I'm afraid to be abandoned. So, my flesh pushes my Spirit from the top of the hill and seizes control. I numb the pain, however briefly.

Despite this rebellion and despite the ebb and flow of our relationship, you love me. You do not give up on me. You chose me. While I do not deserve your love and your grace, I am worthy. I belong to God. He knows how much of a mess I am, yet He continues to love me.

Check out this TED talk by Brene Brown, entitled the power of vulnerability: http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html

This video alone was an answer to my prayer. It is not the complete answer, but it is a start. A solid reminder that God hears me, and He sees me.

The point of this letter is to describe how God has answered my prayers today despite my recent rebellious behavior.

Yesterday at work, after a 2.5 week break, was stressful. The students in the special education kindergarten class were not jiving with the routine. Some adjusted better than others, but needless to say by the end of the day I had been hit and bitten. Nothing serious physically but a difficult pill to swallow emotionally. I am slowly getting used to the physical aspect of working with kindergarten students with special needs. I cried after being hit the first time by a student in September. Since then, I barely blink an eye. Yet being bitten was a first, so it was a bit unnerving. Regardless of the craziness, I really did see Jesus' presence. The chaos of our first day back from break was manageable. We have definitely seen worse days.

This morning, I woke up with waning hope for the day. I needed to test a student; today was my last possible day, and the student's cooperation is fickle. I also did not know how day #2 would be with the class of kinders. Monday had drained my energy.

I discussed my concerns with Jesus and left it up to Him. I knew I was at His mercy. I always am. I am completely dependent upon Him. If I'm honest with myself, I hate that fact. Yet there's this mysterious measure of freedom and comfort knowing I don't have to be in control. I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to be anything. I can be me: imperfect, awkward, kind-hearted, and whimsical.

Today was such a blessing to see Him answer my prayers today. The student came with me to be tested, and then we played with toys that yielded more data than the standardized test I gave him. Despite moments of chaos in the kindergarten class, there were also sweet moments of peace as all the students were doing what was asked of them. I chatted with co-workers and one even went around the table during lunch rubbing everyone's backs.

I am so thankful.

Yet, the rebellion continues. I just don't know what to do with myself at home once work is over. I'm tired from the day, but a nap does not seem appropriate. Watching television to sit and relax leads to mindless munching. Then a cycle of guilt is perpetuated along with feelings of ugliness and a distorted sense of size. I feel the tension between my impossible ideals and trying to figure out how to love myself. I feel like I lose every time, or, if I feel like I'm "winning," I easily trip after a few days, usually when I acknowledge my success. It's like I sabotage myself. Damn my rebellious flesh.

So, I'm angry that I am sinner. While I try to wish it away, God has already provided a solution. Jesus, you are the solution. You lived perfectly and fulfilled God's law. You were utterly dependent upon our Father. You, too, were dependent. Why do I think I can be independent? The thought makes me giggle, yet sadly it's a thought I frequently believe. I thank you for sacrificing your perfect life, for taking my sin to the cross. You conquered death; you redeemed my sin. Everyone's sin. You are my Savior. God sees your perfect record as my own. I don't have to be perfect. I do not deserve your clean record, Jesus. It is a gift. Grace.

So despite the chaos within my own soul, I wanted to take a moment and say, "Thank you." Thank you for being faithful; thank you for listening and answering my prayers. Thank you for loving me and my students. Thank you for being bigger than my sin. Thank you for thinking I am beautiful.

I feel like I never know when I should share and when I should just keep things to myself. A relationship is between two people, after all. The last two weeks at church, the pastor has asked us to share how God has shown up in our lives the past week. How could I begin to summarize all that you do for me in my daily life as well as my overall spiritual journey? You meet me where I am in ways I do not know how to describe in a neat summary.

How I long for when you return, so there will be no more tears and no more suffering. Despite my angry desire to have that become a reality now, I trust your divine plan. There is so much I do not know.

But I do know, Jesus, that you are good. All the time.