O curse, blessing be, only if, to be twenty-three

my hopes, dreams, goals and such

only to leave behind a deep, cravinous rut

the space between time and tell

tell us what time you have and we’ll give you hell

but yet here I am, living out the curse,

to be a woman, loved, yet alone waiting to be dispersed

again

I heard it once said “a journey of 1,000 miles begins with one step” so I begin.

I unloaded an emotional cargo ship onto my teacher’s assistant yesterday when we discussed some of the students’ attitudes, behaviors, and general disposition towards the general assortment of adult authority figures on our teaching team. Maybe it’s my own pre-adolescent child in our middle school program…maybe it’s the personal connections I have to our students outside of school in the local community…maybe.

I have felt raw, unprocessed, anger. I have felt stifled by stinging tears in my eyes.

I even had a partial therapy session with my very own 8th grade student…I know this borderlines inappropriate, but hear me out.

As we sat in the partial chaos that was carline, waiting for parents to pick up their hooligans, I began to speak to my student. He shared some observations with me. They went something like this:

Ms. Lara, you were mad today. You seemed furious.”

“I was, I was so frustrated.”

“But Ms. Lara, I actually feel sad that to see you like this, like seriously sad.”

“Thanks Jimmy.”

“Like, I actually feel sad, because you always try so hard, you’re always so happy, so positive, and the students didn’t even seem to care today.”

“Thanks Jimmy. I really appreciate you saying that.***choking back tears. lump grows in throat***

“But Ms. Lara, if you have a need, and the students aren’t respecting that, like you respect our needs, then you need to just put them into assigned seats, and shut down the fun stuff that students can’t seem to handle.”

So, our conversation went something like that. Following the student-teacher therapy session, I what’s apped our teacher team to get a quick bathroom break to unleash the tear flood (teachers often do this on the way home from work, however I do not have this luxury since my children come to school with me, which is many teachers’ situation).

I was really impacted by Jimmy’s conversation, and his heartfelt words to me. As my twelve-year old daughter likes to say “You’re not wrong…” and I would use that phrase in this situation as well “You’re not wrong, Jimmy!” I would shout it from the valleys and pinnacles of my soul “You’reeee nooooot wroooongggg!!!”

When you study Montessori philosophy, you learn that implementing fairness, choice, student voice, creative outlet and a myriad of other peaceful classroom tactics. As a result, uttering the term “seating chart” is a sacrilege.

“Seating Charts” reek of traditional classrooms circa 1985. Seating charts feel like the control death clamp teachers of yesteryear maintain in order to keep some semblance of zero-relational connection, 100%-assignment productivity, but zero real-world application control type scenario.

The truth is, “trying” to be Montessori can be just as much of a death clamp on my students’ learning environment. The flow of grace and courtesy centered around peace education emphasizes a need to observe students, reflect on their needs, and keep this in balance with the needs of the community, all the while implementing multi grade level curriculum.

So I tried to do just that. I reflected (by way of verbal discourse) with my teacher assistant. My emotional cargo drop on my teacher’s assistant helped me to see my own pride was blinding me from seeing my need to look at my students’ needs. I realize that while I don’t plan to abandon my goals to push middle school students toward a Montessori independence and self-sufficiency, I also can’t take away a structure that may help them reach this place….even if a seating chart is necessary.

So I arrive at this place. I told my colleagues today that I felt weary of coming to my Montessori school and climbing the mountain that seems perpetually unconquered, incomprehensible, and often times unnavigable, but, I also know that the moment I start to see my daily climb as monotonous routine, I will have missed the thrill of the adventure in the climb.

For fear of reminding readers of the Miley Cyrus song via this blog post, I conclude here. Keep climbing those mountains! Students are dynamic, changing adventures that call us to become the best possible person we could ever hope to be!

Break ups can be heart wrenching. I remember my first break up. I was 9. His name was Scott-the relationship lasted a total of four hours-and every communication was done through an intermediary-a mutual friend- I went home, went to bed, and woke up crying-next the family cat-tabitha-wondering if she could understand my pain-rooted in a preteen’s sensitive rejection-

All joking aside, break ups seem to resemble each with certain characteristics-fear of commitment, vulnerability or self-centered thoughts of “why me,” or “you didn’t fulfill my expectation.” So, why should we use the evangelical church as a fair game example? We should, because we have unrealistic expectations of church community, others-centered hopes of self actualization/fulfillment, and we simply don’t have a complete view of Christ’s unconditional love.

Uprooting versus replanting: introduction to a healthy church breakup:

I was plain spoiled as a young married adult in the church. We joined a small group of like minded rebels, aspiring to plant a church that sought to love God and love the nations. What we ended up with was a wise lead elder couple, with arms open to love a group of immature young marrieds and young singles. Looking back, I realize now I didn’t know what I had. We immediately held weekly home group meetings, studying bible topics at whim, eating copious meals together, and sharing our youth with one another-good, old fashioned unadulterated, green youth. It was glorious. We spent 8 1/2 years with that beautiful, organic, friendship-over-function gospel community-it wasn’t theologically rich, but it wasn’t heretical either-it was family-and we made time to grow as such.

We never did grow past 175 people-but oh did we “do life together.” We truly did. We shepherded one another. Sure we had conflict-frustration, throw your hands up-what are we doing-we aren’t growing in numbers moments-but we were an outgrowing of Christ’s church-and we had apostolic input-boy did we ever-leaders, lay people, all kinds of believers coming in and out visiting, loving, shepherding us to grow in the love and stature of Christ, and in service to God and one another.

Fast forward to 2014. I was uprooted and planted into an incredibly theologically rich, mission-ally minded church community. My head spun as people, families, believers of all shapes and sizes swirled around me, life went on, my family grew..and grew…and grew…and here I was, longing again and again and again for friendship. I started to grumble and grumble and grumble about the opposite problem! It was no longer about a lack of vision or mission-which seemed to be our issue in the renegade church plant mentioned earlier-but of friendship. It now wasn’t:where are we going? But rather: who am I in the center of this rich vortex of Gospel centered busyness? All the leaders I once felt so connected with at my previous church, I now felt disconnected, confused, alone. I began to isolate in my busy life, work, family, marriage, and then like clock work, I would abase-repeatedly-abased in my feelings, my purpose, my identity-how had I at one time felt so vibrant, alive, valuable in Gospel community-and now the wife of a staff Pastor-felt so alone and isolated-invaluable -besides my day in and day out duties as a full time marketplace employee, wife, and mother-I could not find my way. **

Rewind to the replanting:

When we left our renegade church plant in 2014, tears rolled as we said goodbye to the elder couple who had shepherded us for 9 years. We had married, reared our first child, and fought through the biracial marriage trenches with these people-they had held our hands, and touched our hearts. They didn’t have all the answers-they probably lacked skills and tools to really teach us in certain areas-but they were a steady place for green folks like us-green as baby bananas-but looking back it was never really about what they couldn’t give us as pastors in the way of teaching, or vision/mission leadership-it was a way of being-it was their willingness to be with us-and be believers in the midst of complete hell on earth-it was a steadfast faith-and a constant commitment to stay that made all the difference.

So we said goodbye. We prepared one another for losing each other’s leadership-theirs as spiritual shepherds due to our decision of geography change, and ours impacting the church’s elder team, and as a result the ins and outs of congregational responsibilities. We supported and loved one another for the hard decisions at our doorstep. We prayed and patted each other in friendship, though the sting of insecurity and the questions of tomorrow presided weeks and months leading up to our family’s move.

As we left our beloved church plant behind, we let go of the first community only to embrace the second. We were being “replanted,” in a second church community, while feeling the bitter sweet transition of voluntarily leaving the first.*

This is the part where I pause and see how leaving a church community does not have to be a “break up.”

Let me just break the fourth wall to emphatically say: you do not have to part ways in church community with pain and regret. Reconciliation can be a vehicle for meaningful goodbyes. Yes, the art of understanding within church community can help us to take our eyes of our own unmet expectations, the need for self-fulfillment, in order to have a more complete view of Christ’s unconditional love for us.

So when we sit in our auditoriums, sanctuaries, and living rooms, we can remember that “breaking up is hard to do.” So hard in fact, that we should consider commitment over expectations, others over ourselves, and Christ’s love over our own and others faults and shortcomings. Even now, struggling to find community in the rich Gospel vortex that I currently belong to, I want to push forward, press in, and I want to remember that giving up on Gospel community does damage-because while there is shepherding in the leaving and the healthy church breakups, I would rather be replanted than be violently uprooted.

So, all that being said, my applicable goal is this: I plan to press in and invite one family or couple into my home monthly for the rest of the year. Maybe even weekly. Because if my “New Testament acts model church community” taught me anything, it was that church is a family-and sometimes a marriage-we sometimes go through some bad to get to the good.***

*depression is a real thing. If you know anyone in the church who feels isolated and cannot seem to see the light of day, Be present. Stick around. You don’t have to have the answers. Sometimes depression is clinical (on going and requires medication) and sometimes it’s circumstantial. Just be a human touch, a relational life line-keep inviting, keep spending the time to see that person in a better place emotionally.

**though bitter sweet leaving the first community, the leaving felt supported, lifted, and above all, done out of love and respect-despite the reasons behind the leaving-there was shepherding even in departing-

***I understand that some that read this have had terrible church leaders. Leaders who manipulate and abuse to an extreme. I am sorry. On behalf of the church I am sorry you were abused instead of loved. If Christ can un marginalize the woman at the well, He can help reintegrate the disillusioned evangelicals and exevangelicals alike.

At the end of a long day…

Social media is such a magnet for suckers like me! I. Cannot. Even. Sometimes. Everyone’s life seems so shiny, bright, and generally on the up and up, but not here, brAhhhh.

At the end of a looo g Saturday, I feel so overwhelmed. Brahhhh-legit questioning all the philosophical things…cursing my husband! Cursing motherhood!! All the things…

I feel shaky and withdrawn-like on the brink of tears, but I can’t seem to get it out. Apparently I’m an enneagram 4, which means sensitive, self reflective, self conscious… but married to a 7-enthusiast. God’s hilarious, right?

I want to escape. I want to run away and cry alone!! I just want relief -but everyone around me seems to twist their faces in confusion when they see me reaching the edge. Dude, I already told you…I warned you I was at my edge!!! I try so hard, and pretend I don’t have a limit. This is to my detriment.

But, on a lighter note, I made great meals today, and might begin a new book.

Sometimes in life you just want out.

Like okay, I know that’s a shitty way to start! But, escape-ism is a tried and true tactic for many folks trying to cope. You name it, escaping is a sure fire way OUT of wherever you find yourself. Escape from a troubled relationship, a difficult room/space, a situation that never. seems. to. end.

It all started one sunny morning in Central Florida. I mean, before it gets hot and all. The shady Flamingo park seems like a great option for a SAHM trying to get her kids out of the house.  All was well. I went to have blood drawn, and we were on our way to the shadiest park around. The kids jumped in puddles at the park, got filthy dirty, and we were making our way to the library, when that plan got hijacked, and we found ourselves back at home, peeling off wet, mud-caked shoes, shorts, and shirts.  I found myself, trudging through my low-carb cycle day on my diet plan (Mondays and Tuesdays are a bitch :-).)

and it just HIT ME.

I am on the heels of another unfruitful argument with my husband, (last night’s shenanigans on the way to a wedding) boarding my In-laws going on five years, and

I JUST DON’T FIT IN THIS LIFE.

I mean, serioulsy, like the anxiety and stress just gets to me.  Trying to get my In-laws “to properly launch into immigrant life post-civil war in South America” is a no-go, and feeling disconnected from my spouse is less than desirable to say the least.  I mean in the words of Starr from “T.H.U.G.” “What. the. actual. fuck.??”

I turned on Hillsong worship, like you do when you need 3 liters Holy Spirt I.V. fluid, STAT, via my echodot,

I be like “Alexa, play Hillsong worship music….so this depressed white girl can get her shit together.”

And

I

Just

Sat

with                 my                        forehead                        in                       my                         hand.

I mean, like, listening to these Aussie worship leaders lead me into a sense of God’s actual presence, works God’s spirit on me. It’s not even spooky, or manipulative, or charming me in any way. I just know that God’s grace is real. I know that He is seeing me through. Every day I want to QUIT.  (it’s not like I want to quit everyday, I mean, on the days I DO want to quit.)

I start by feeling desperate.

Then I hatch a plan to escape. Only, in my mind (see above)

Next I piss myself (into a tizzy, to be exact) off because I know escaping will be the death of me and my children.

Finally, I remember God’s truth. Straight from the bible, I suppose, although I don’t have a verse for that, at this present moment.

 

You see, it seems in the midst of suffering, of feeling like I can’t do this, I don’t want to do this, I don’t deserve this, all the things that go through our heads when we want OUT, I remember the cross of Christ. I remember, God remembers his work in my mind, in my heart, and I think, Lara, your in-laws don’t have anywhere to be right now. They are refugees. Their country is in shambles. They need you and ALL that you’re providing for them right now. If you persevere, despite all the comfort and space your flesh needs, you will see that all of this down here, on earth, is for His glory. Eventually, when you leave this place, your works will either stand, or be burned. IF you persevere, you can see how God’s grace brought you through to God’s glory.

So, I wait. I wait on God’s glory. Because, by the way, no one else audiences these things like God. Others may see the blessings, but you know the hurt, the pain, the heartache. God sees the way you lean into him in suffering.

For now, I remember the end. I start there. Because if I don’t, I will run. And I don’t want to run from God.

 

 

I hope I can write something worth reading. I hope I stand out in some way.

The weird thing is, I am a Christian. Yep, not one of those one-way, won’t listen, don’t care about other perspectives, right-wing bent, 100% conservative-type of Christians, but one who wants to drink deep of antique style culture, history, the curiosity that drives me forward is a God who created beauty-beauty in all styles-and I aim to take it in, and see where it leads me.

My career took a turn back in 2012-young, newly married high school Spanish teacher, turned almost thirty, elementary general education teacher now young mother. I moved to Florida, I experienced baptism by fire in the world that is elementary education, and I patiently waited for the Zen that is meant to befall all Montessori teachers–some sort of understanding and connection to the world where I see all children as beautiful creatures waiting for my “Zen-ish touch,” meant to bring peace, wholeness, and a whole array of other saintly qualities left behind by Maria herself.

As I sit and type, I have now moved up in the child development ranks-to middle school-where all your memories of teenage angst go to remember, smile, and silently stew over back talking and sarcasm. It is glorious.

As a transitioned middle school English teacher, I have begun reading authors like Jack London (Call of the Wild), William Faulkner (As I Lay Dying), and John Steinbeck (East of Eden.) These authors remind you of the power of words, the power of penning philosophy, and the power of processing the world through writing.

That’s what I want to do. This middle-class, female white American wants to grasp tightly the luxury that is to process, flatten, and plaster with all emotions and thoughts, and hope to God that someone wants to read it. Not just to praise, but to relate, to connect with someone else, who may feel the same way as I do in life.

In two months time I will turn the corner that is 35 years of age. My parents continue to affect me in ways I did not think possible, my marriage sends me crying to the hills of despair and repair repeatedly, and my children challenge my commitment, my capacity to love, and my understanding of joy.

Welp, so here goes trying. For all the attempts past, present, and future, I want to write these moments into the world. Writing in the pursuit of beauty, love, and God.

 

 

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton