“Then one who looked like a man touched my lips, and I opened my mouth and began to speak. I said to the one standing before me, “I am overcome with anguish…and I am helpless. How can I, your servant, talk with you, my lord? My strength is gone and I can hardly breathe.”
Again the one who looked like a man touched me and gave me strength.”
-Daniel 10
When I’m sick, really sick, my prayer life looks different. Instead of using my prayer notebook and Bible study tools, I sit in my prayer chair and half-whisper to God.
“God, help me today. Please help me hope continually in you.”
Breathe. Repeat. Breathe.
Over the last two weeks, my health has gone downhill. Among other problems, I developed a bad fever this weekend and swelling in my hands. It got so severe yesterday that my doctor sent me to the ER. They did bloodwork and did x-rays for about five hours. The whole experience left me even more tired.
I came home and cried. I cried because I hurt. I cried because I can’t teach today. I cried because there are things I want to do and I cannot do them. I cried because I’m scared to talk about my health with my friends, afraid of being needy and vulnerable.
Cried, cried, cried.
I don’t want to hurt. I want to live my life without limits, please. Please?
Today I am home from school. I’m going to spend the day taking my new medications, reading my Bible, and watching tv.
When the discouragement over my health rises up again, I’ll sit back and pray.
Then breathe.
And repeat.
Hugh’s best friend is Dave. He met Dave in college and they connected instantly. Dave wore a trench coat, laughed a lot, and was the perfect friend for my shy boyfriend. Hugh and Dave talked all the time. About everything….girlfriends, video games, physics, CS Lewis. Nothing was off-limits.
Dave was in our wedding. One year later, after college graduation, Hugh flew up to New England to stand next to Dave when he married Kim. Though they didn’t talk often, Hugh and Dave always stayed up-to-date in each other’s lives. Then, one day, Hugh got a late night call.
“Hey, Dave.” Hugh sat back against the pillows of our sagging bed that night, phone pressed up to his ear. “What? Seriously? Oh, Dave. I’m so, so sorry.”
“What???” I wrote on a piece of paper and flung it at Hugh as he talked.
He scribbled back: Kim left.
Over the next two years Hugh helped Dave rebuild his life after divorce. He flew up to New England, figured out Dave’s finances, talked him through many late nights, and eventually helped Dave find a new job in Charlotte.
Dave’s been here for almost two years. At first, it was really wonderful for Hugh to have his best friend living in our town, spending time with our family, and staying up late talking again.
But over the last six months, something has changed. Dave has built a life here in Charlotte and that life no longer includes my husband. Then, last month, Hugh showed up at Dave’s house for a prearranged “guys night” only to find Dave gone. Hours later, Dave called and apologized. “I’m sorry, man. I was out with my small group. We caught a movie and I totally forgot.”
Ever since that night, Hugh seems to have closed off this part of his heart. He doesn’t want to call Dave anymore. He doesn’t want to talk about the rejection.
I don’t understand. I feel helpless when I sense the wall of pain and hurt in my husband. I don’t know how to help him. This is so different then when Amanda and I fight.
When Amanda and I fight, we talk. When we feel irritated with one another, we talk. If one of us has hurt each other’s feelings, we talk. We talk until we’re okay again.
I don’t want Hugh to give up. I want him to remember every late night conversation, every memory, every stupid joke…
These friendships – the old, the deep friendships – matter. They are worth fighting for.
Christmas is in full swing at our house. We celebrated an early Thanksgiving this year and are spending the weekend unloading holiday decorations and setting up the Christmas tree.
To kick-off the beginning of the holiday season, our children are spending time poring over weekly ads promising “deals better than Black Friday.” Jon-David has circled several toys. He wants several Nerf guns and lots of accessories.
Hannajean and Lucy would like:
1. Guinea pigs – real ones with a cute house
2. Several FurReal pets – including the baby elephant
3. Outfits for their toy puppies
Guns and puppies. Sigh. I wonder how I can achieve “Christmas is about Jesus and family” this year?
…
I’ve been reading some early American History books, and I’m learning about some of the different motivations for settling in the “New World”. I’ve always known about the Pilgrims and their search for religious freedom, but I’ve discovered that there were other, earlier European visitors. They believed that there were huge deposits of gold as well as other resources in our future nation. Fisherman, trappers, and other fortune-seekers sought resources for trade decades before the Pilgrims wearily landed in Plymouth.
From its earliest days, it seems like our country has focused on material wealth. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my own family struggles to lay aside desires for gold, fur, and toy puppies and think about Jesus.
To be honest, I will probably dash out to the toy store before the weekend is over and fill my cart with “Door Buster” deals from the latest “Mega Sale”.
But maybe I’ll try to pause a little this Christmas season with my children. I’ll set up the Advent Wreath and take time to reflect on a small baby, born with nothing, come to earth to give me everthing that really matters.
One of my students asked me why I haven’t blogged much lately. He asked me in the hall (I think he’d been kicked out of class) and I gave him a quick “don’t talk to me about this” answer.
“I don’t have time to write – I’m too busy teaching.”
“Well, you should write about THAT then, Miss Hopper.”
I turned away because I wasn’t sure what to say. I felt this slow burn in my gut…the feeling I get when I’m not being entirely honest.
I wasn’t telling him the truth. I’m not writing as much because HE reads my blog…his friends read…some of their parents read…some of my supervisors read…
I don’t know how to be wide open when everyone at my school reads this blog.
I started writing this blog two and a half years ago and my world was so small. So small I can’t even think about it without crying.
But God redeemed and restored so much of my life. Eventually I was strong enough to teach again.
And I love teaching. It’s always been that way for me – since I student taught almost twelve years ago. When I teach I feel like I’m flying.
I don’t just love teaching – I love every student I’ve ever taught. I have crazy love for my students. I love the kid who confessed to cheating, I love the girl who struggles with a hidden addiction, I love the tough teenage guy who cried in front of me yesterday when he told me just how much his week sucked.
I can’t stand the thought of writing something on my blog that would hurt or confuse one of my kids. Saying that I cuss at Hugh or try to resist watching Gossip Girl…those were things I could tell other adults in the blogosphere.
But now.
I don’t know. I. DON’T. KNOW.
I don’t know how to mix and mush these two parts of my life into my heart. I want to blog…but it’s gotten so confusing for me.
I guess that’s where I’ll land today. I’m confused. I’m struggling to make sense of my roles as teacher and blogger.
Any words of wisdom would be much appreciated.
Last night I lay next to my son while he tried to fall asleep. He tucked his head under my neck, his small body touching me.
I felt my breath catch – he rarely touches me. He is nine and full of every mischievous idea. He is too old for me.
But last night he nodded when I asked if I could snuggle with him. He asked me to sing him a song. I sang a Christmas song to him, trying not to breathe near his nose. He hummed the melody. I kissed his hair and his cheeks.
He told me he likes his teacher. He asked me why his best friend was absent on Tuesday. He drew a word on my arm and I tried to guess the letters.
“Mooshoopy?” I suggested.
“No”. He giggled and carefully drew the word again.
“Grocko?”
“No!” The word game abandoned, he talked to me about Legos. He likes Legos now, he told me.
I touched his shoulders as he talked. He pulled away, saying his shoulders hurt. I rubbed his back instead, small lines tracing his spine.
After a few more minutes, the noisy sounds of his sisters filled the stairwell. He took a breath.
“They are loud.”
I agreed, then told him that I needed to put his sisters to bed.
“Kay.”
I got up, pushed back the grey and blue comforter, and walked out of the room.
He was still humming.
For am I now trying to win the favor of people, or God? Or am I striving to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a slave of Christ.
Galatians 1:10
Last week my daughter’s Sunday School teacher sent me a quick email. “Is there any chance that you could substitute this upcoming Sunday for Hannajean’s class?”
I haven’t spent that much time with Hannajean’s friends at church and I was excited at the thought of a couple of hours with a bunch of six-year-olds. I began to write the email. Then I paused. My fingers, already stiff from a current RA flare, were making typing difficult. Each click of the keyboard sent a little shock up my wrist.
I realized if I couldn’t write an email without some discomfort, I’d probably need to skip the substituting.
I wrote her teacher and told her I couldn’t do it. I felt badly – but only for a second. I hoped she’d understand, but I knew there was a chance she’d see me as flaky or uninterested.
The last six months with RA have taught me a lot of lessons – some more difficult than others. One of the hardest things I’ve learned is that I can’t do everything that I want to do. Even though I’d love to join choir, reorganize my closets, and substitute at church..I can’t.
If I do much beyond teaching and being available for my family, then I am more likely to get an RA flare.
So I’m learning to say “no”, even when people are unhappy with my decisions. In a way, rheumatoid arthritis helps me clarify what really matters in my life and I focus more on the things Jesus is calling me to do.
He’s calling me to teach my precious students.
He’s calling me to love Hugh and my three rambunctious, laughing children.
He’s calling me to know Him more.
And if I do these things, I’ve done enough.
…
Today I MUST:
1. Go through my Twitter followers and eliminate all followers trying to sell me things. Like trips to Arizona. What is that about, anyway? I don’t want to go to Arizona. I can’t even find Arizona on a map.
2. Make a plan for more integration of Geography in my History classes. So my students can find all states – including Arizona.
3. Explain to Hugh why it is reallyreallyreally important for me to get a new, cool cell phone. Discuss that I need to be culturally relevant since I teach High School. Point out that my twenty dollar Target cell phone is neither cool nor relevant.
4. Write an email to my crazy Aunt explaining that when she sends me hateful emails and copies other family members that I want to throw things at her head. Possibly my cell phone.
5. Spend some time praying about my anger. Ask Jesus, “Why do I want to throw things at people’s heads?”. Remember to write down answer in cute new prayer journal.
6. Make a cute new prayer journal.
7. Explain to my son that the following statement is NOT acceptable: “You don’t love me because you took away my video games.”
8. Read new diet book from doctor. EW!!!!! Hate diets. Which is part of the problem. Sigh. Ask Hugh if I can take illegal street diet drugs instead of eliminating carbs.
9. Look at pile of papers to be graded. Light them on fire instead of grading them. When students ask if I am going to return their History Papers to them, smile encouragingly and say, “Great paper! It was on fie-ah!”
10. Go to Target and walk around looking at all the new Christmas things. Buy unnecessary toys for my children because I have “took away video game” guilt. Go home.
*The word “fie-ah” is a very cool way of saying “fire”. I understand not everyone has a keen grasp of slang, so I provided a definition.
Preferring anything above Christ is the very essence of sin.
John Piper
I got up very early this morning, happy to be home from our time in the mountains. I usually get up early on Monday, my thoughts full of the upcoming school week.
Does this student understand my notes on his paper? Are my kids ready for the vocab quiz? Who isn’t understanding Hamlet right now?
After I spent some time thinking about school, I started thinking about my own family.
Is Jon-David going to have a good week? Is Hannajean making more friends in her class? Will Lucy and Andrew argue again this week, resulting in more emails and phone calls from the teacher?
As I made my coffee, I thought about my health.
Should I take my shot this morning or wait until I get home from school? Will my rheumatologist give me another injection in my hands at my appointment this week? Is the new prescription causing swelling in my feet?
I thought about Hugh as I settled on the couch with my Bible.
Why did Hugh stay up so late last night watching House? Was he sad about his dad? Should I have stayed up with him, even though I was tired? Why did we argue right before bed? Do I have time to resolve our conflict before school this morning?
Then I opened my Bible. Not surprisingly, I couldn’t focus.
At all.
My job, my children, my health, my marriage…they already filled my heart and my head, leaving no room for quiet morning reflection on my Savior.
This is my daily struggle lately. How do I turn off my brain, my worries, my to-do lists, and simply sit at His feet? Why is it so hard?
I read this morning in my John Piper book that “preferring anything above Christ is the very essence of sin.” I wonder if choosing to prefer to meditate on all the detritus of my life is… sin.
I have a choice when I wake up. I can allow my brain to wander all over the place as I think about the hundreds of details of my small existence. Or I can push back the thoughts and focus on Christ.
I’m desperate for this kind of morning. I am tired of thinking, thinking, thinking about my small life. I want to reflect and sit and wonder at Jesus when I wake up.
So tomorrow I will get up and try again. When thoughts flood my mind, I’ll push them back and whisper…
“Not today. Not yet. This morning I’m going to spend thinking about Jesus.”
