The Beauty of Inconvenience

“Ms. McManus, you have a new student.”

It’s December 21… 3 days before Christmas break. The kids are antsy and the teachers are drained. Immediate feelings of frustration and inconvenience flooded my mind. What am I possibly going to do with a new student 3 days before we go on break? You mean, I have to speak to his mother to find out background information? You mean I have to catch this student up on the unit we are in the dead middle of for it to even make any sort of sense to him?

Selfishness. Apathy. Unmotivated.

As a third year teacher, it is easy to arrive at school as the children are walking in (rather than 30 minutes prior) and use the same lesson plan you used the year before. It is easy to get “stuck.” It is easy to become tired; it is even easier to become complacent.

There is a knock at the door with this new student I apparently heard had a rap sheet 30 pages long. What an inconvenience for this particular child to get sent to MY classroom! What an inconvenience for this child to bring a weapon to his previous school and get expelled! What was he thinking? I tried my best to shove my selfish feelings behind me and welcome this child with my best effort. I grabbed his shoulders, looked into his eyes, and told him that we would be learning and reading many things together. He was concerned that the other children would laugh at him and I assured him that they would welcome him most warmly.

As he walked into the classroom, the students greeted him with a “Good Morning!” and we continued our daily read of “The Diary of Anne Frank.” The new student (which has a name that I wish not to reveal) was uninterested and unable to sit without fidgeting. My immaculate and so meticulously controlled classroom was being slightly interrupted and I wasn’t the biggest fan of the alteration. I graciously (as least I thought) reminded him that we don’t interrupt or outburst when other students are speaking and especially not when Ms. McManus is speaking. I was firm. I was direct. He listened. He stopped the fidgeting and began to pay attention to the lesson I was attempting to execute.

As I began to observe his movements and patterns, I grew more compassionate towards my newest “inconvenience.” As this group of students lined up prepared for lunch, I reminded them to act appropriately when shifting to their math and science teacher for the remainder of the afternoon.

The new student misbehaved in his afternoon class just enough to get kicked out and sit in mine. Day 1 complete. I shared my concerns with a friend that night still slightly nervous about Day 2 with him.

Day 2: Student arrives. He sits in his desk and takes out paper and a pencil. He is extremely well behaved all morning which makes me become even more compassionate. The guidance counselor picks him up and is apparently annoyed with his inability to sit still. Time passes and he is sent to the office during my planning period to sweep the front area of the school. I walked past and immediately become extremely frustrated at my administration’s decision to have this child stay in the office and sweep.

Aren’t we in the business of meeting children where they are? Haven’t we been given the honor and privilege to raise up children to be an influence to the world around them? I began to see the ugliness of my initial selfish emotions. How do I so easily forget the seriousness of the job I have been given?

Administration commented that this may not be the “place for him.” Where is? What do we do? It is day 2 and we are so quick to push him off to someone else. Someone else’s problem. I told the office staff that I would take him up to my room with me while I did some classroom planning. As I took him upstairs, I asked questions. I prodded. This no longer was a task but became an honest curiosity. I was humbled by my initial hardheartedness.

I am not sure what will happen with this student but I will try my best to work on his behalf after we return from break. I will work my hardest to get him on grade level in reading and meet his needs both academically and emotionally.

I am not quite sure why this student was sent to my school 3 days before break; however, I am thankful that this situation brought a renewed vision of my purpose in this profession. I am thankful that I have the opportunity to be an advocate for those that are not able to advocate for themselves. I am thankful that the Lord has entrusted me to work in a school system that is so broken. Although the brokenness frustrates and even pains me, it compels me to respond. Meeting this new student has compelled my complacency and lack of motivation in my classroom.

It is often in the times of inconvenience and stubbornness that the Lord speaks most clearly to me. I am reminded ever so patiently that I have been given a position that cannot afford a complacent attitude.

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” -Colossians 3:23-24

Advocacy. Action. Motivation. These are my New Year’s Resolutions. What are yours?

 

 

 

On a Cold Winter’s Night that was so Deep

December 16, 2011

It was Friday night and I took in a breath, smiling, as we were driving around to Coldplay on the way to running Christmas errands. You know those Friday nights, where the moon is out, stars-are-shining kinds of nights that give you that “God-it’s-good-to-be-alive” feeling.

And then it shifted.

Flashing lights in Baltimore City are not an uncommon sight. But this time, there were three police cars pulled over and a silent ambulance, lights still flashing. I held in my breath, nervously taking a closer look. In the middle of the adjacent street was a man, lying on his side, not moving. A couple of officers stood over him. A crowd gathered on the sidewalk.

Brian and I were probably behind a red light, looking at this scene for less than a minute. But it felt long, drawn out, like a thick fog of stagnant barrenness surrounding the streets and air. Laughter turned to solemness, like a train derailing, catching its passengers off guard, trying to keep them stuck in that moment. Flashbacks of kids on my block showing me a bullet came to my mind. I saw scenes of conflict and yelling that I’ve observed in neighboring streets. The essence of depravity, as though God himself in heaven was crying, stretching out his arm to rescue, saying, “no, this cannot be, this is not what I have intended for my people.” Perhaps the only thing you can do in such moments is instinctively pray. So we prayed. Prayed for peace. Prayed for reconciliation between whatever and whomever led up to that man lying in the street. We prayed for this city, that God would shed that redeeming love upon in scandalous grace that only a father up above could provide.

We were quiet for a little while.

I’m not sure what you’re supposed to say after you pass by a scene like that.

The green light forced us to move on. We ran some Christmas errands and strolled through the city to dazzle over Christmas lights. But for some reason, my mind kept drifting back to the man in the street. I didn’t know why; I knew this kind of stuff happens in the city. But this wouldn’t leave my mind. Perhaps it was because it was Christmastime, and I’m used to seeing people exchange in acts of good cheer, but instead, this exchange felt dismal. I don’t know how to describe it, exactly, but it felt like that scene was trying to take over, wanting to steal away the joy, the peace, the love that this season so beautifully epitomizes.

We drove home and stepped inside. Slowly, gently, God began showing me what he had to say about that scene that wouldn’t leave my mind.

I began to cry. I stopped fighting to keep the ears from spilling over the corners of my eyes, and let them fall down like rain. I didn’t have to pretend that one could be completely numb to violence, or homelessness, or poverty.

I didn’t have to pretend that I wasn’t scared. I didn’t have to play that game of shoulder-shrugging complacency or ignorance.

I felt it full force. And grieved.

I grieved over the depravity of this world. I grieved over the 193 needless homicides this city experienced this year. I grieved over the fact that perhaps if those men in conflict had grown up their whole life with positive role models guiding them, encouraging them, challenging them, and most importantly, doing life alongside them in a way that lifts up, allowing each individual to remember that we all have so very much to live for; perhaps then things could have been different that night. I grieved over the voices that all too often get stuck in our minds, voices that negate self-worth, that tell us to give up trying, that tell us things can’t change.

No. Surely that’s not what we were created to believe.

I grieved over all the ways in which The Church has directly and indirectly expressed who is “in” and who is “out”, who is “right,” and who is “wrong.” I grieved because I think it is possible for The Church to be synonymous with love, but right now, unfortunately, words such as “judgmental” and “fragmented” can be painstakingly accurate too. I’m sure you can envision such an image or news story right now. Missing the point completely, I am crushed when the world is presented with an incomplete Gospel of the One who loved us before we were born, who says that there is no condemnation for His children.

I grieved harder as I looked inward at myself. I mean, not just a surface check, but a guttural check inside all of those little parts of myself that no one sees, the parts that store my own layers of contempt and self-centeredness. The part that acknowledges how quick I am to dismiss those who don’t see my perspective, the part who still doesn’t love others with a completely unconditional love (like Christ), and who still holds my purse tight when walking around the inner city, because, after all, “they” could be trying to steal, “they” might have a gun, or “they” might otherwise harm me (see the self-centeredness and assumption making?). I grieved over just how stubborn and cynical I’d become over the past few years. I grieved over evil. I grieved because it is still here and present in this world, trying to take life out of our years. I grieved that after living in the inner city, I couldn’t deny the reality of racial polarization and that there is still much work to do if we want to see races completely reconciled one to another. I grieved over ignorance and apathy. That there are voices out there that get us caught up in things that don’t matter, distracted from our purpose. That demean us. That demean others.

BUT.

That’s. Not. How. The. Story. Ends.

That’s not how the story ends.

Dozens of times, I’ve heard the Bible described as something like, “the divinely inspired word of God.” I get that. But I can no longer concede to say the things that I’ve been spoon-fed to say. Instead, I find the Bible …difficult. It’s challenging; it’s beautiful. It’s simple; it’s confusing. I read things that make me angry and never want to open another page again. I read things that seem so unlike the God I know. Then I read things so beautiful that leave me amazed and feeling connected to something that has sustained and enriched millions of lives over the course of hundreds of years. I read of a redemption that can cover every wrong, of a companion, a guide, a friend, who desires nothing more than to journey life with you… or rather, you with Him. To come, as you are, and experience a kind of Kingdom incomparable to this world, but desperate to be experienced in the here and now.

I stop crying; I see it now. Faith, hope and love. Love of God, love of others. We can stop there and leave the rest out. I don’t care anymore. I was drawn to Christ and came back to the message that I can always, always come back to time and time again: love God, love others. That hope entered this world innocent… as innocent as a child in a manger. That hope entered this world naked, comforted by swaddling cloth to keep warm… and I too need to let myself “be naked” and vulnerable and allow others into my heart and life to show God’s love for me through their warmth, their love, their embrace and acceptance in both my weakest and my strongest moments.

Evil never stopped that hope, that joy, that comfort from coming into this world. And evil will never stop what is to come. Evil did not have the last word that Friday night. Evil didn’t win. It never will. Hope won. Love conquered. It always will. Undeterred and more drawn into this redemptive, unable-to-be-stopped kind of love, I knew God had the final say that night and always will. And that final say when we meet with our Creator will be, “welcome home, my child” with music, dancing, and song.

And just then, a familiar tune popped in my head. …On a cold winter’s night that was so deep…. Noel, noel, the soft angelic murmurs sang.

It was a cold winter’s night.

And it was deep.

And just like in Bethlehem some 2,000 years ago, hope was still very much alive.

-Melissa Otterbein

 

City Kids Do NOT Like Worms!!!

Can’t sleep. Can’t stop thinking about these neighborhood kids that Melissa and I have gotten the privilege of getting to know this summer. Pee-Wee who is four told me today to stop talking because I was hurting his ears. Ha! Love at its finest.

Today, I was able to spend some good quality time outside with some of the kids. As I was distributing the orange soda I began to talk with a few of them about sharing and putting each other before ourselves (something I daily struggle with). It is interesting because as I was talking with them, I began to think of the ways that I daily put myself and my desires before others. For kids, desires are so menial. “I want more orange soda and I will hit you because she gave you more.” For adults, although a little more complicated, it surfaces almost the exact same. “I want more money and will go to almost any extreme to get it even if it means overlooking those around me.” Or something a little more subtle… “We want more food (even to the extreme of buying an extra sized freezer that sits in our garages) and will pass up our neighbor who holds a ‘homeless veteran’ sign on the street corner. From orange soda to storing unnecessary goods, I often live in the kingdom of me.

It came up that Melissa and I had a rubbermaid full of composting worms and the kids could not help but ask to see them. They each made their own face of disgust as I slowly took the lid off the box. It was clear just then that city kids do not interact with worms on a regular basis. This is interesting to me because I found myself digging in the dirt quite often as a child. Dirt, I have learned, is a commodity in the concrete jungle. The kids left after the worms were revealed… I think they were a little freaked out.

There was a knock on the door to which Melissa answered. It was our 5 little friends back again for more orange soda (that they just watched me pour the last of). Ha! Guess they thought I could change water into orange soda… not sure. But, at the time, I was watching “Brothers and Sisters” quite intently (thanks Katie for the recent introduction of my newest addiction) and Melissa called me over to the front door. I’ll be honest, I did not want to get up off that couch. The kingdom of me. But I did… thankfully. One of the 4th grade boys who is quite precious opened his hand and in it was a bullet. I calmly asked him where he found it and he told us that he found it right outside on the ground. Interesting…and heartbreaking. I believe, the Lord has given both Melissa and I the words to say in these intimate, teachable moments. I asked him what guns had the power to do to which he replied “kill people.” The boy handed me the bullet and we talked more about life and the value it holds before Pee-Wee said the lovely comment in paragraph 1. One step out of the kingdom of me at a time. It is a interdependent process as cultural walls being to crumble.

It is these moments that make me most grateful to live and learn in the neighborhood we truly believe God has called us.

I am thankful to pour orange soda to some neighborhood kids on a summer afternoon as we talk about caring for each other. I am thankful to live with someone who daily prays for and challenges my motives. Most importantly, I am thankful for the interactions that attempt to pull me out from the comfortable kingdom I often reside.

We have WORMS!

So last night… our good hippie friends, Mark and Erin allowed us to have some of their red wiggler composting worms! Mark set up a bin (in which he drilled holes for ventilation) and layered our worm friends in there. It is a whole new world for me, yet, I am very excited to watch these little guys do their job!

We will keep you posted on our newest adventure

Welcome to the lives of city farmers!!!

The Complexity of Change

I recently moved to inner city Baltimore and moving day spurred up some emotions within me about change. This is a little snapshot of what I feel like God is teaching me about change.

   •••

I’ve often heard that God is unchanging. Which is a good thing. But I’ve come to believe that while this is true, we also serve a God who knows change. No one stays in a flood when there’s an ark to carry you. No one stays in exile when you’ve got your God calling you out of slavery. No one stays a baby, born in a stable…

Take a look outside. Flowers need pruning. Rain needs to come to water gardens, fill oceans, and satisfy thirst to every living creature. All things must change, all things must grow. Our Savior knew that. Our Savior did not stop changing culture through radical love of all people -even the love of enemies- despite questioning commentary from the people around him. He didn’t stop touching Lepers, who would never have otherwise experienced the uplifting gift of touch just because of pointed-finger rule keepers. In fact, Jesus came to bring about change, despite the opposition he faced. When his days were closing in, Our Savior did not give up in the garden of Gethsemane. Our Savior did not stop when people mocked him and spat on him. No public dismay, nor disapproval, nor pain would change his plans nor thwart him. He pressed on; he moved forward. Though doom and death faced him, Sunday came, and a new beginning arose. None of this would have happened; the climax of the story would have occurred had our Savior not pursued the plans and dreams God had put on his heart. And if Jesus, the redeemer of the world, can go through change- pretty drastic change-, then so can I, then so can we.

Change is like a double-edged sword: I don’t like it, but it’s the very thing that moves me, that escalates me, that God uses to grow me. When it comes to that impelling moment of impending change, God reminds me it’s time. It’s time to move. It’s time to move forward. It’s time to know that the days ahead are going to come, regardless of whether I resist them or embrace them.

It’s not easy. Change is never easy. Maybe because most change isn’t meant to be about ease or convenience; change is meant to be about growth. Change is looking on the other side of the mountain, up high, from the top, knowing you would have never seen this incredible view had you stayed where you were, had you never began your climb. Change is GOOD. Change elevates us. Without change, we become trapped. Trapped to our surroundings, trapped to familiarity. We don’t grow; we become stagnant, stuck, indifferent.

Are there changes going on in your life? Could it be time to make a change? No matter how big or small, Jesus is present. If it’s not time for change, are you staying in your circumstance out of fear? Out of comfort, out of familiarity? Jesus can carry you to the next destination. Let change move you. Let change grow you. Be a part of what God is doing and don’t resist it. Throw your hands up in the air if you have to, and say, “God, I don’t get it.” Tell Him and tell Him and tell Him over and over again if you have to; but know that this doesn’t change who He is and what He can do with an open and willing heart. Be open. Be willing. Be present.

                                    Forget about what’s happened;

                                                don’t keep going over old history.

                                                    Be alert, be present.

                                            I’m about to do something brand-new.

                                           It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it?” 

                                     -Isaiah 43:16-21 (excerpt) –The Message

Melissa

Come and See…

Thanks for visiting our blog. Our anticipation is to ignite imagination and hope in both ourselves and you. Please feel free to share your thoughts, ideas, and dreams on our blog. Melissa and I just moved into inner city Baltimore and we hope to share some thoughts about the things we are learning through this experience. We are honored and anticipatory to spend time with the block children and hopefully gain a greater sense of what it means to love our neighbors.

Blessings and LOVE!!!

Melissa and Kristie