the arrogance of christianity

The sermon this morning at church was about whether or not Jesus is the only way to Heaven, to God, to salvation. The pastor spoke about how that is perceived as a very, very arrogant claim - that Christians basically say "We know the right way to God - its Jesus - and all the other ways fall short. Any other way is wrong." He's right - we sound arrogant. But at the same time, he talked about Christianity being the most humble of all religions - over and over the Bible tells us, alone we can do nothing. Alone we will never get to Heaven. We need Christ. We are insufficient. (He talked about other religions like Hindu and Islam saying that you have to self-help to know God. You have to go to this class, or do this ritual, or etc...)

Anyways, the pastor told a great metaphor/story that really rang true to me. I'm going to share it with the world wide web.

Four men came upon a burning building at the same time (a businessman, a knight in shining armor, a runner, and a firefighter.) They stood watching the building burn when they noticed a small child in a second-story window. They had no ladders or way of getting to the child without rushing into the building, so they began discussing who would go into the building.

"I should go," said the businessman. "I have on this three piece suit that has served me well in corporate America, in boardrooms, I've done great things in this suit. I can go in and this fire won't get me in this suit."

"No, I should go," said the knight in shining armor. "I have this protection all over my body and the fire won't harm me. I can get to the child; this armor has served me well in battle, it will serve me now."

"No, no," said the runner. "I will go. I'm a fast runner, and I'm only wearing these really short nylon shorts. I can sprint in there, get the child, and get out quickly. I'll go."

"No, no, no," said the fireman. "You can't go. I must go. First of all, businessman, your suit is wool. You will be set ablaze within seconds and never reach the child. Knight in shining armor, you are wearing metal. You will be scorched inside your metal suit. It will not protect you in this situation. And runner, you only have on nylon short shorts. You will burn up as well. You will not be fast enough to out run the fire.

I will be able to go in and save this child. I have this suit that is made for fire. It is made to keep me safe. I know how to fight fire and I will know the best way to get to the child. None of you can go. I will go."

The question is this: is that fireman arrogant? Or is he simply knowledgeable, trained for this situation, equipped to survive? No, the fireman is simply speaking the truth. And that is Jesus - not arrogant, but simply speaking the truth. He is the only way to God.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but through me." John 14:6

"my heart is a desert, that is run dry"

I think I'm going to make it through this, and I'm so thankful for the people who've been supportive in the last few weeks.

But right now, I am trying to keep my head above water. Life feels like a movie scene, with passengers in an airplane gasping for air. I am desperately waiting for the captain to tell us that the oxygen masks will be dropping from the ceiling very soon. I am clinging to my faith that the one who led me here, will lead me out of here.

This song below was on my playlist as I ran around the Rice University loop yesterday; it's words are perfect.


"As I sit here and think
About all that You've done
About how You gave me Your one and only Son
And I'm trying to fathom
All that You are, but so far, Lord
You're so beyond me

I fall down in reverence
And I fall down in fear
And I'm asking You, Lord, won't You please draw near
Won't You open my eyes
So that I can see
The way that You are
working in me

All I need is Your love
To come and fill this heart of mine
My heart is a desert that has gone dry
And I need Your love to carry me by..."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0PzZZY0ByQ&feature=fvw

please get your hands out of the toilet

you may have noticed that my whole "31 days of blogging" campaign has disappeared. I've still been writing for my own sake but not everyday and somethings just really not worthy of anyone reading. besides, ten days in a row of your inbox getting a message from marvelous light? that was nine days too many.

but i'm back, to share a laugh or two with you. yesterday, our nightmare of an afternoon class was going semi-okay, with some students able to play in our imagination station, some at other centers, having a pretty good time and using gross motor skills and all of that. well, then sweet caroline (name changed to protect the tiny) comes up to me. (background: she's super cute, very articulate, and developmentally ahead of a an average three year old. and she can't say the "n" in robinson.)

ms robison, ms robison, i have to go the baffroom!! she was dancing in front of me. okay, caroline, i told her, let's hurry and open the door. (we have a small bathroom in the back of our room, every class does, and in a class of nineteen three year olds the bathroom is rarely empty. more on that later.)

sometimes the door to our bathroom sticks, so i went to help her. "i can't get my bottoms off!!" she said as she hopped around in her hot pink slip-on keds, visibly trying not to go. "Okay, caroline, we'll get it together."

I bend down and mess with the buttons on her skort. Then I figure out the buttons are pretend. I move to the side zipper. It is sooooo stuck. She's dancing around, I gotta go I gotta go, I'm pulling at the zipper, thinking we should just rip the thing, and then... splat. Liquid hits the floor. Caroline's face as she looked up at me and peed on the bathroom floor was horrifying - she was so sad and upset that she couldn't hold it any longer. Even I wanted to cry. I smiled, kind of laughed, and tugged the skirt down. She sat on the potty and continued to go while I laughed, standing in the puddle. "Caroline, I'm not laughing at you, and I'm so sorry we couldn't get your skirt off fast enough. Its just kind of funny. But these accidents happen all the time and we'll get you cleaned up!" So I leave the bathroom, cracking up, and poke my head around the corner to tell my partner teacher why I'm missing in action. I get Kara's extra clothes and tell her we need to go to the nurses office. She's still so sad.

"Miss Robison, Miss Robison, I need help. My shoes are stuck." Oh, right, your shoes are soaked in urine. Right. So I start to pull them off as she leans on me and ... I dump the shoe out over the toilet. Correct. There was so much liquid in the shoe that I had to dump it. It was as if our ship was sinking and we had to bail out water.

I wondered, as I knelt there in the bathroom with my three year old friend emptying the pee out of her shoes, is my ship sinking? What in the world kind of life am I leading??

So to update you on the little dude who peed in my pants for me (see previous posting) - he's making progress. Doesn't cry as much. Hasn't peed in his pants in three days. But his ears? They don't seem to work. The kid does not listen to save his life. I'm embarrassed to say that two teachers is not enough in a classroom full of nineteen students, at least nine of whom are native Spanish speakers... and that we can't see everything or be everywhere at one time.

So yesterday, we're getting ready to go home, and my friend Vincent (name changed to protect the tiny) came up to me. "Teacher, teacher...long spanish sentence." Vincent, you know I don't speak much es spanol. How can I help you? Show me...

Vincent pulls me very quickly to el bano. "Vincent, you can go potty by yourself, is that what you need? You need help with your - " I stopped. I had opened the door to our bathroom and seen what is was that concerned Vincent so much.

Our friend was in the toilet, up to his elbows, shirt and hair damp, face wet... he was splashing in the toilet as if it was a baby pool. I'm not sure I even said anything for a full ten seconds, but stood with my mouth open and eyes wide in shock. Then I laughed. Then I became furious. Then I found myself saying...

"Excuse me. That is not a good choice. This is not okay. Please, right now, get your hands OUT of the toilet. Out of the toilet!!!!!"

Can I interest anyone in some hand sanitizer??? Kills 99% of germs, so they say.

i think i just peed in my pants!

When I got the call during the last week of June that I would be interviewing for a Pre-K 3 position, I thought of how much I love little kids and was excited. I also thought... three year olds? Guess I'll be dealing with some potty accidents throughout the year, but nothing huge.

48 hours into this full-time teaching gig and, well, I've already peed my pants. Sort of.

So, all the PreK3 classrooms at KIPP have two full-time, co-teachers to handle the nineteen or twenty kids and keep control of such a large classroom. We take turns who "leads" the lessons or circle time and who "supports" - handles the behavior issues, pulls out kids who need special attention, etc. Well, today was the first day that parents were leaving their kids, they had the option to stay but they could leave if they wanted. One student, we'll call him Jack, was experiencing particularly bad separation anxiety. He was screaming at the top of his lungs for his mom, shrieking, wiping snot on my hands and his. I was able to calm him down and get him to join the rest of the group by holding him or then having him sit in my lap during table activities instead of in the chair by himself.

Then we moved to the carpet to sing 5 Monkeys Swinging in A Tree - oh how my life has changed drastically from the press office at USDA just one year ago - and he lost it. Shaking, hyperventilating, that sort of thing. So I took him to the back of the classroom because Jack told me earlier he really likes books. We got a book, he settled down and leaned back against me as his tried to catch his breath.

I was reading about brown bears and what they see, or something of the like, when all of a sudden - a warm sensation in my lap. In an instant, I thought-What is going on here? Am I peeing in my pants?

No, no, it wasn't me. It was the kiddo in my lap. I don't think he even realized. I lifted him up quickly but he had already done so much damage that my soaked skirt was leaking and my legs were wet.

Yep, someone else's urine was literally, actually running down my legs. Hilarious. I seriously am still laughing out loud about it, because, who would have thought? Not me.

The best part I think was that Jack ran and ran from me, and once he was in the bathroom, both of us both soaked and uncomfortable, he stripped off his clothes and refused to put any back on. Awesome.

Anyways, long story short, we called his mom to come back early and I did get his clothes on before she came. His hysterics ended and I now know to bring extra clothes to work, but... I just can't wait to see how it goes tomorrow.

Seriously, someone else peed my pants for me today. All in the name of significant academic gains, baby!!

Finish the Race

I keep a note in my bible from a sermon I heard at Grace Bible Church in Aggieland - I don't remember the details of the sermon but I have written on a notecard the synopsis of an inspiring true story from the 1968 Summer Olympics.

A runner from Tanzania became very injured during the marathon in Mexico City, and he his leg was gushing blood for miles - he even developed a very visible limp. But the runner pressed on - and he crossed that finish line an hour and a half after the finisher, to the sound of hundreds of thousands of people cheering for him.

After the race, the Olympian was asked during an interview how he had found the strength to finish the 26.2 miles.

"You don't understand," said the runner. "My country did not send me 5,000 miles to start a race. They sent me to finish it."

http://speedendurance.com/2007/07/15/how-to-finish-a-marathon-1968-olympics-in-mexico-city/

I know I'm in need of that mentality when I start to give up - specifically when I start to give up hope while doing something that I know God has clearly brought me to for a reason. The Lord hasn't left us on Earth to start His work - he has us here to finish the task he has set out for each of us. Even if that task is as simple as walking in love everyday... or as difficult as running a marathon with a bloody leg.

"Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Phil 3:13-14

First Day of School!

Exhausted, thrilled, blessed, hopeful, overwhelmed... its a roller coaster of emotions around here, people. But I knew after the first hour of school today that PreK 3 is an awesome place to be.


Let me back up - I'm teaching PreK 3 at KIPP SHINE prep academy. Check out the website for KIPP if you feel the need to know more, but basically its a pretty intense, awesome charter school in south Houston. KIPP was started by Teach for America alumni within an elementary school in HISD in 1994. The founders are deeply committed to proving that any child, regardless of their parents' income or the color of their skin, can achieve the same academic success as the kids in wealthy, more affluent neighborhoods and consistently strong schools.


http://www.kipphouston.org/kipp/KIPP_SHINE_Prep_EN.asp?SnID=157433161


I've been hesitant about this PreK3 assignment - I loved teaching fourth grade this summer and I someday hope to teach high school, so three year olds? I told myself, at least three year olds at KIPP are very academically focused - we don't do worksheets, we set very high standards for our students, and use a lot of kindergarten curriculum throughout the year. So kindergarten, sure, I can do that.

But today, within an hour of spending time talking to the kids and showing them around our classroom, I knew that PreK3 was going to be a blast this year. Sure, challenging, especially since at least six of our kids don't speak English, but I learned today... those faces, those smiles, those hugs - I'm not going to have much trouble getting up to go to work in the morning.

And since all I wanted to do was collapse on our alphabet carpet at 4:15 this afternoon, I know that I'm not going to have any trouble falling asleep each night either.

"he may be short, but he is sure is scrappy"

i'm not sure who started saying it, possibly jim thornton (aka NASA.) but if you know my dad, you know two things: he's short. and he's fiesty. insert scrappy to replace fiesty for alliteration affects and you have the phrase "he may be short, but he sure is scrappy." my brother and i have been chanting it perodically since, oh, age eight.

well, shorty climbed through some shrubbery and clung to an inclined concrete wall to write me a message about the first day of school!! yay dad! how hilarious. how awesome!

our apartment is on the top floor of our apt building, and overlooks downtown. there's also a lovely bayou that is a) ugly but b) at least you're looking at trees and some sort of water instead of a warehouse. here's a view from last night...

and here's the sign. my dad took giant sidewalk chalk on friday and wrote "Go TFA. 1st day!" and then he wrote each of the three roommates college's and our initials. totally made my day!

my new obsession: julia child

I spent the last two hours watching a movie about a young woman who blogs just for the sake of writing - of adding a little bit of purpose in her life. She comes off as silly and selfish at first when she tells people of her endeavor to blog (about cooking) for 365 days in a row.

Does that sound a little familiar? Why, yes, I think I know someone equally as weird...

She has not a single reader when the journey begins. Sometimes I think that blogging is so silly, and it is, and other times I think it is such a gift. Which it is. The thing Julie had to watch out for was becoming too self-important- but she stuck to her goal because she wanted to finish something she set out to do, no matter how trivial it might seem. Julie is a movie character, yes, but that character is based off a real, live, 30-something woman who lives in NYC. She & I are similar in a lot of ways - except for a few things: she got a book deal from her blog, she has a hot husband who adores her, she lives in queens, she enjoys cooking a lot of random things from scratch.


In case you haven't figured it out yet...I saw the movie Julie&Julia tonight. It was, in a word, splendid. The french accents, Meryl Streep, Stanley Tucci, the costume and set design...one of my new favorites. It is a sure-to-be classic. Run out and see this instant!


The thing that struck me most about the movie was the love stories woven throughout it. I knew going in that Julia Child's husband adored her, but you learn so much more about their relationship throughout the movie, as well as the character Julie and her husband. Both women are extremely blessed in that their husbands want them to seek their passions - and their husbands are wildly passionate about their wives. Both are rare finds, in the 1940s and the 2010s. It is a heartwarming story to be certain. I could listen to Meryl Streep laugh and be kooky like Julia Child for hours. (Which I did, because the movie is a little on the lengthy side.)

I won't be copying her recipes anytime soon, but I will be taking a page out of Mrs. Childs' book on how to have complete zest for life.

ferris wheels

I have a lot a lot to do to prepare for my classroom, first day of school starts Monday, but I've committed to this blogging something everyday and I can't quit this early.

So, in case you're girly or you like weddings or ferriswheels, here's a link I stole from someone else's blog about a wedding with a ferris wheel.

http://www.jamiehammondphotography.com/blog/?p=1278l

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up."

James Baldwin

Good Job, Mr. Hillary

Well, I caught up on some CNN today while putting together a few things from IKEA for my classroom. The homecoming of the American journalists who have been in captivity in North Korea since March was being discussed/recapped... In all seriousness, Bill Clinton appears to have done a great job in what the White House and State Dept are repeatedly referring to as a "strictly humanitarian mission." (Seriously, Robert Gibbs and Barack and Hillary both referred to it as a "humanitarian mission" over twenty times in interviews today.)

I'm so glad the women are home, and I'm proud of Bill Clinton going over there, and I'm proud to say I'm an American. But I also like jokes. Apparently, so does CNN anchor Campbell Brown. She showed the clip of Jimmy Fallon's monologue tonight. It went as follows:

Aired Tuesday night on “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon” on NBC:
"Hey, congratulations to former President Bill Clinton. He traveled to North Korea today, met with Kim Jong-Il and won the release of those two female journalists. It was great for Obama to use Clinton that way. I think I know how he got him to go over there.

You know, he’s probably like, “Bill, I need you to go to North Korea for me.”
“I can’t do it. I’m completely booked. I have numerous obligations.”
“I want you to visit a woman’s prison.”
“What time’s my flight?”

"i run to you"

(stained glass in San Chapelle Cathedral, Paris)

Three days into this whole thirty one days of blogging thing and I'm out of energy and stories worthy of your time. Instead, I leave you with a song I have on repeat right now, in the event you haven't heard it. Or heard it enough. Happy day!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rs38lKxmtI4&feature=fvw

I run from hate

I run from prejudice

I run from pessimists

But I run too lateI run my life

Or is it running me

Run from my past

I run too fast

Or too slow it seems

When lies become the truth

That's when I run to you

[Chorus]

This world keeps spinning faster

Into a new disaster so I run to you

I run to you baby

And when it all starts coming undone

Baby you're the only one

I run to, I run to you

We run on...

-Lady Antebellum

(saw them live in april '09. thanks to stephanie h.)

wonders of life

I often forget about the power of prayer. Not that God answers all prayers in the way we wish Him too, but just how powerful it is to go to God with conversation. I often remind myself that conversation is just as much listening as it is talking. Sorry, God, I know you've got an earful from me.

Saturday night in Houston was a wonder. I walked down the streets of my new houston neighborhood, the historic heights, with an entourage of friends at my side: new friends from teach for america, friends from A&M, friends from 7th grade, friends from random spots of life. How wonderfully they all mixed together. I had a plastic cup of fruity wine in my hand as bands rocked out in the streets and shops and restaurants threw open their doors for late night shopping and dining.

As the evening progressed we migrated with some dudes who went to that small school in Austin for some two-stepping. I will never pass up the chance to twirl on a dancefloor, even if I did leave my boots at home.

I found myself wide awake at three a.m., home at my parents house (my house) to care for the heathen dogs. A thought struck me: I could still be in D.C. I could have moved to Denver, Charlotte, backwoods Mississippi, but I am here. And I am slowly learning that wherever I am, as comfortable as it may be at times, God will bring me challenges. And wherever I may go, lonely as it may be in the future, God will bring me friends, and joy. As we continue to seek Him, He will continually, not daily or always, but continually, shower us with the joy of knowing Him, and knowing the joys of life.

“Open your eyes to the beauty around you, open your mind to the wonders of life, open your heart to those who love you, and always be true to yourself.” – Donna Davis

"You reveal the path of life to me, in Your Presence is abundant joy, in your right hand eternal pleasures." Psalm 16:11


I will close with a plug for White Linen Nights in the Heights. It's where we were Saturday night and it was so cool. So un-Houston. I'll be sure to be there next year!
http://www.whitelinennightheights.com/

That Internship With The Cows Came in Pretty Handy

I once spent a week as a writing intern for the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo. What does that mean? That I was excused from classes for five days (letter from the Dean, thank you very much) sitting in various small arenas observing heifer shows. No, I’m not kidding. Laugh it up, people.

I often asked myself what the heck I had gotten into: cows, manure, FFA kids, belt buckles, cattle prods, purple and green colored hay. I wrote articles on these shows at the end of each day, after hours of observing teenagers poke and prod their prized cow through the arena. They shoved their hind parts, they lifted their legs and poked underneath them, they talked sternly into the ears of their animal and it actually worked.

I knew that the writing was a good experience for me, I love love love the Rodeo. But really, what was the point of all the cattle? Sitting and watching all that maneuvering of the animals throughout the arena?

I realized yesterday that I was meant to do the heifer internship so that I would be equipped with the skills needed to bathe our family dogs.

I had to sweet talk and practically sit on my brother’s “masculine” dog named after a character in the “masculine” movie Lonesome Dove so that he would not run from the “vicious” water hose. Very masculine. Gus sprinted away from me and I had to chase him in circles after I had soaped him up . He was very against the “rinse” cycle of his bath, apparently. To his credit, he was very obedient as I toweled him off, all eighty-seven pounds of him, and sent him inside to roll all over our wood floors.

Then came the precious angel we call Tres. Eighty pound golden retriever not quite a year old, smelling of fish and other rotten things. In desperate need of a bath. (I bought Suave Green Apple family size just for him. That anti-flea shampoo just is not strong enough to knock back his scent.)

Anyways, he ran outside happily with me, we threw the ball and played soccer a little bit, then I got out the water hose and … BAM. He bolted to the backdoor as if I had just got out a shot gun and placed a target on his back. I called him over in a gentle voice, stern voice, mean voice, charming voice. None of it worked. I went and grabbed him by the collar and pulled. He did not budge.

I, similar to a young FFA-er showing cattle, lifted his front paws and tried to physically make him walk. I picked him up. But I was not strong enough to pick him up and walk at the same time, so I put him down. I begged nicely for him to follow me to the hose. I threatened to remove his back legs if he didn’t follow me to the hose. I squirted him from a distant with the hose. Mean, yes, but I was on my last nerve. This dog will swim for days in lakes and rivers. What is wrong with a little water hose?

Finally, I thought back to those cattle arena days. The sweet and innocent teenage girls could pull their eight hundred pound calves around the show area. I could pull this dog! So I grabbed behind his hears, sat back into a backwards lunge position, and used all my strength to slowly coax/drag him over to the hose, where I promptly threw one leg over his back so he couldn’t budge.

Then I sang to him and assured him he would be the handsomest dog in the neighborhood when we were done with the suddsing. He didn’t seem to mind too badly, and he already smelled much better. Then I rinsed. Then he bolted. For the mud puddle that had formed while the hose ran as I hauled him across the yard as if he were my prized FFA exhibit. He got all four of his giant bear paws covered in mud, so we rinsed again.

Successfully I prodded Tres to the backdoor and congratulated myself on several things. One, not having the neighbors call the cops because they could hear me yelling “you are being ridiculous! Stop that. Get over here!!” repeatedly at what they may have thought was a human and not two dogs. And… I had won. The cow, oops- golden retriever, had not bested me!

I certainly have new respect for those FFA kids. Moving a beast-dog isn’t easy; I’m sure a full grown cow is more difficult. But then again, if they dry their cow off with towels after a bath, I’m pretty sure they don’t have to worry about the cow chewing, shredding, or growling at the towel.
I guess it was worth it. When Gus and Tres were licking my face and pawing my arms and feet this morning, attempting to wake me from my slumber at 7:00 a.m., they didn’t smell like fish or old milk or worse. They smelled faintly of apples, their hair glistened in the light, and they were, as I promised, the best looking dogs on the block.

31 Days of Blogging (and a big thanks to the Barings!)

I'm already twelve hours late with this announcement, but I would like to introduce 31 days of blogging. I've been wanting to give this a try for almost a year, since I saw someone else's blog when they made a vow to post a thought, story, or tidbit on their blog each day for an entire month.

It's not that I have anything brilliant to say, I just really enjoy writing, and this next month will probably be the busiest of my life. ever. And Teach for America is all about goals - goals that are ambitious and feasible. So, I think the goal of writing something short and sweet each day is both ambitious and feasible (and will help with the personal "Big Goal" of remembering to write out thoughts.)

So let's pretend its August 1st and this is the first of 31 days of blogging. I'd like to start by saying: THANK YOU to the BARING FAMILY. Good ole JBA to the rescue! Her parentals noticed that my letter to the editors of the chronicle was actually printed!! If not for them, I literally never would have known it ran. (I wasn't checking the paper daily because my grandfather says that he reads the Chronicle cover to cover everyday, so I thought for sure he would come across it. Apparently he's slacking off.)

Anyways, I'm thrilled the Chronicle actually printed something pro-Bush, even if only a handful of people read the editorial page. I wanted the editors, if no one else, to acknowledge their reporter was in the wrong, so, mission accomplished. I'm seriously so thankful the Barings saw that otherwise I would have died thinking the Chronicle was a bunch of bias libs and that I'd never be famous. Now I know both are untrue. Ha. Haha.

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/editorial/outlook/6547447.html