Writing on the Spot

I'm supposed to be writing something funny. My friend who got me into blogging said so. But isn't it understood that girls usually aren't known as funny when they try? So, I ask all of you who read this blog (especially those that do but never comment-curses!) what do you find to be the absolute funniest things in your day. I don't mean when someone tells you a joke, but what do you find funny by the way you look at it? Sometimes it's just plain natural to laugh at everything in a day, but other times I literatlly have to think, "Ok, my goal is to make myself laugh every class period...if I can do that, I just might have a good day." How sad is that?

What do I find funny? (I offer this instead of trying to be so)
Random conincidence: I told my friend I wanted to learn about what's going on in the world.As always, I get what I ask for. Last night at Piggly Wiggly I made the all-time, cheesy, it's-near-closing time response to a stranger, "Is it me, or does all the produce just look bad today?" She responds, "Yes, it's because America has things shipped to us out of season...really forcing fruit out of season-a way different than God planned...you shouldn't have bananas and tomatoes in the fall-it should be in the summer. Oranges...now you have oranges in the winter." She slipped in there that she was from the Middle East but has been an American citizen for forty years. She had me there. She threw all kinds of figures about the war at me and noted how Iraqis and Americans both sterotype each other's countries.

I listen intently because I'm concerned about my fruit intake as well as political knowledge I may gain without reading a paper or watching the news. I knew why I was listening to her, but I kept asking myself, "Why does she want to tell me these things?" It boiled down to Americans not being aware of what's going on. My conscience burning, I found myself admitting to her that fall into that category. But I listened to her preach, so I think I'm forgiven (not to mention I found out today that imports from China have the most recalls-including re-used chopsticks). How's that for being aware?

So, I guess I am amused the most when I make an odd goal one day and see it happen in a strange way (such as with the lady at the Pig). It never fails. I can say I hope I learn more about education in inner city and I'll find a co-worker at lunch saying we've got a new project there or it will be the next thing on the list for service at community group. I may even be reading and those words be on the page of a book and then I hear them on TV; coincidence? I never know, and that's what's funny to me sometimes.

One more and I'm through. My roommate from college says I'm ridiculous sometimes but I'm pretty sure she means I'm funny (more of the random Chuck Norris jokes funny that are just odd). I once tried to explain to a Brazilian what trail mix was. Odd thing was, I mainly used hand motions and went into the origin of the idea behind trail mix (girl scout style) before getting down to the nuts and fruit of it. (I'm sure I'm doing the same with asking fellow bloggers what makes them laugh and explaining a mini life history of my own humor). She tried to affirm me after making fun of me by saying I obviously just want to communicate anything I can to people. To me it was normal: to her, unnecessary. But doesn't that make life more interesting? Probably not-I do realize it just makes it more awkward for some. But if we can't laugh at awkward, what can we laugh at?

I made a survey in attempts to be less serious. Fellow bloggers, your responses will suffice. Natalie, this post was for you. I'm sorry it wasn't shorter. I need help with that.

When the Pen Runs Dry

When writing is not there for me, God is. This thought is obviously backwards, but it came to me that way. Yesterday at an Alabama English teacher’s conference, my colleague volunteered my poem to be real aloud-not to a close-knit group but to around one hundred English teachers, including one very famous teacher and writer from California. The poem was the product of an exercise the speaker had us teachers do within five minutes: writing an imitation poem based on Coifer’s “Women Who Love Angels.” I reluctantly cleared my dry and timid throat and read in the lowest tone possible my poem, “Boys Who Love Work.”

That day I didn’t feel like a writer, although I was forced to be one. That day I actually was bothered by the fact that I couldn’t write what and when I wanted. So I put the pen down.

Nonetheless, I realized something the next morning in church, something quite a jump from the previous day’s events: I can “write” to God my broken phrases and His Spirit translates. Writing is a craft and a gift to many, but prayer is a miracle and a supernatural connection to the ultimate Connector, Weaver, and Author of life, the Lover of dark, complicated, never out of reach souls.

John 16: 23-24
“In that day you will not question Me about anything. Truly, truly I say to you, if you ask the Father for anything in My name, He will give it to you. Until now you have asked for nothing in My name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be made full.”

I have the most joy when I am able to help others be who God created them to be, as they realize their talents and regain confidence that their life matters. I gain the most blessing when others help enable me to realize and make steps toward who God created me to be. And, I am learning that part of God’s joy (who can tell how many levels of emotion or greatness this includes) is when I prove to be one of His. We feel so connected and close to others when they are “thinking about” us, praying for us; how much more loved are we by the human Son of God who prayed for us before his death? He wanted us to be “one” with each other. It seems from His words that when we pray to God, we are “abiding” with God as He does with His Father: being “one” with Him. Christ wants that for us on earth as well. He wants us to love each other better as we become bound up in seeking His Father in prayer. I only pray to understand what makes God pleased with me, as I act on this truth, as I do things that reveal who I live for. But, I rest in the fact that He is pleased with me through His Son’s work, which enables me to take hold of the life He called me to by the faith He provides.

Sure my faith is weak, my obedience lacking, and my love of my neighbor even absent at times. But He has knit my heart so that it is bound up in His, and slowly He draws me to see that I am captive to its will despite my wandering.

As a very “human” being, presently I am simply surprised that my heart is beginning to desire things that He commands: to love my neighbor and to strengthen the hands that are weak. But also present is the sense of inadequacy of my hands to do those very things. As a teacher, I am by title an enabler- it’s supposed to be within me to do it. I give that-that desire, tainted with doubt and questions, to my Father and ask Him to strengthen my hands first, sharpen my mind, and purify my heart. And in doing so, I am at rest below His throne and see how beautiful communion with Him is and will be…and hope that the weaker ones (some very confused but also gifted twelve-year-olds that I teach) can be helped.

My “pen” didn’t write these things into being; the God of the universe did, onto my heart. And, ironically, He does that sort of thing the day after some pretty humorous moments.