"A man with leprosy came to him and begged him, on is knees, 'If you are willing, you can make me clean.' Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. 'I am willing,' he said. 'Be clean!'" Mark 1:40-41
The word willing is repeated twice in this short passage. The three words "I am willing" beautifully demonstrates the surge of hope in the stricken man and the desirous hand and heart of Jesus to approach a problem and solve it.
This morning, I read another chapter of A Work of His Grace by Grace Mutzabaugh, the missionary to Christian educators to reach out to learning disabled students. It seems as if I can't read lines like "Several parents wept with me over the struggles of their children" (146) without weeping myself. I have mightily been there with them.
For the life of me, though, I still cannot understand why it is such a struggle for Christian schools to be willing. Why do we need a missionary within our midst to make us do what the secular schools are already doing -- forced by necessity? I know about the concerns; however, concerns can be addressed. Yes, the man healed from leprosy immediately went out and did what Jesus told him not to do; there was some disobedience, some messiness. When he told others about Christ's healing, Jesus had to move to stay outside the town in "lonely places." But, the story spread; the light was not hid. Couldn't this type of educational concern spread a light rather than make Christ's goodness seem exclusive and owned? What is truly holding us back?
However, challenges exist. What seems clear to me will be an uphill walk in convincing others. Being cast out and diverted are real concerns.
But, each field has its soil with weeds and fruit -- tilling can only happen with the willing. One pathway can lead to different places of work and blossom.
I am seeking His guiding footsteps for the proper way to willingly go.
Showing posts with label Education for all. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Education for all. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Barbed wire and safe pasture
I remember the problem of barbed wire when I was young. To get to the other side, you could crawl under, but your shirt might be snagged and you would be caught face down in the dirt. Or, you could find a post and climb ladder-like on the wire; however, at times, your inner thigh or the shorts could be punctured. Ouch. Or, you could separate two strands of wire by holding the top wire up, while you found room to swing your legs over and through. In such a precarious position, you could get the barbs either on the top or the bottom. Double ouch. Such a pain, the barbed wire fence.
My siblings and I usually used a different method of crossing; while they were long and lean, they tended to use the ladder pole method. Since I was short and small, I would typically crawl under. However, every so often we would try the different methods, sometimes surving and sometimes not.
At the NILD conference, I had to cross a barbed wire fence. Small groups of people from the same school, or those who had gone through a training level together, clustered together. A common understanding permeated the ranks that all children deserve a Christian education and that Christian education was the one that needed to adjust to accomodate all types of learners. I was an outsider from a foreign land. I had to shake off old shyness and join their ranks in order to learn.
At times, it worked. Two Pennsylvania ladies sat in the same spot, and one was pleasant enough to answer my basic questions. Other times, the ladies I sat by were turned toward one another, and I would smile as they glanced my way and away. Sometimes, just walking through the hallway where the break was happening, made me feel like I wanted to hurdle the fence and run, back to the solitude in a proverbial covered woods.
During one lunch, I asked God to direct my table selection in order to provide someone to help give me more guidance. I sat down, and the woman next to me happened to work for a college; she didn't have training either; we really couldn't provide much to one another except social support. However, the woman on the other side started talking to me, and I slid under unscathed to the other side. She was trained, older, went later to become a School Psychologist (one of the options I'm thinking about), and has a son with Asperger's. As she talked, I smiled. God is good.
God allowed us some more time throughout the conference; she was even on my very early shuttle van to the airport. We were able to eat breakfast together and chat more. I have her e-mail and contact information; she acted as a willing mentor to me and is willing to do so in the future.
At times, when you cross under a fence, you are escaping either a mad bull, or a frightening neighbor owner, or a sense of being lost after having wandered too far. By going through the barbed wire during these meetings, I felt God reiterating this message to me again: Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalms 37:3-4. I pray that we can all dwell in His safe pasture and cross over, through, or under the barbed wire which wishes to keep us confined. Amen.
My siblings and I usually used a different method of crossing; while they were long and lean, they tended to use the ladder pole method. Since I was short and small, I would typically crawl under. However, every so often we would try the different methods, sometimes surving and sometimes not.
At the NILD conference, I had to cross a barbed wire fence. Small groups of people from the same school, or those who had gone through a training level together, clustered together. A common understanding permeated the ranks that all children deserve a Christian education and that Christian education was the one that needed to adjust to accomodate all types of learners. I was an outsider from a foreign land. I had to shake off old shyness and join their ranks in order to learn.
At times, it worked. Two Pennsylvania ladies sat in the same spot, and one was pleasant enough to answer my basic questions. Other times, the ladies I sat by were turned toward one another, and I would smile as they glanced my way and away. Sometimes, just walking through the hallway where the break was happening, made me feel like I wanted to hurdle the fence and run, back to the solitude in a proverbial covered woods.
During one lunch, I asked God to direct my table selection in order to provide someone to help give me more guidance. I sat down, and the woman next to me happened to work for a college; she didn't have training either; we really couldn't provide much to one another except social support. However, the woman on the other side started talking to me, and I slid under unscathed to the other side. She was trained, older, went later to become a School Psychologist (one of the options I'm thinking about), and has a son with Asperger's. As she talked, I smiled. God is good.
God allowed us some more time throughout the conference; she was even on my very early shuttle van to the airport. We were able to eat breakfast together and chat more. I have her e-mail and contact information; she acted as a willing mentor to me and is willing to do so in the future.
At times, when you cross under a fence, you are escaping either a mad bull, or a frightening neighbor owner, or a sense of being lost after having wandered too far. By going through the barbed wire during these meetings, I felt God reiterating this message to me again: Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalms 37:3-4. I pray that we can all dwell in His safe pasture and cross over, through, or under the barbed wire which wishes to keep us confined. Amen.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Loving how we all learn
About six months ago, I became angry and grieved. Full of sorrow and spit. Some fist shakes. Some trail stomps. And, then God posted on my FB page, "Be the change you want to see." Or, was that Ghandi or Einstein? Hmmmm . . . No, it was God because He was the one I was interrogating: "Why? Why do your people act like this? Why can't my son take a single test home to help him stay at this Christian school? Why is the administrator's hand moving determinedly against accommodations of any kind? Why does she state so emphatically? Why are some children who need much turned away in favor of those who have much? Why isn't Jesus's style of ministry copied? And, how can You let all this happen to hurt children who need help so desperately? You. You. You." Immature stomp and spit and maybe a doorslam.
God sighed and said, "Do you really think this reflects my heart? Have you read the Bible lately?'
And, everywhere I turned I saw verses where He admonishes us to help those in need. I still couldn't reconcile the discrepancy, though, at the school where I taught. They said that resources couldn't be afforded. They said that the emphasis is on college prep. They said that everyone should be taught to the same standard like in this cartoon below:
Sucks to be the goldfish.
And, God delighting in my churning, challenged me to be the change I wish to see. Rather, He kind of demanded it, and "obedience" to what He wanted to work through me became my word. I researched. I threw out some notes to people. I caught others in the hallway. I promoted my fuzzy idea of my half-baked understanding of His steelcut vision. I met with some silence but with lots of encouragment. However, none of that people approval stuff mattered because God asked me to do something about it.
Okay, I got distracted by Facebook, blogging, mandolin playing, coffee with friends, the state of my hair, Words with Friends, career tracking, etc., but I knew that within me, I had to obey even though I dallied fearfully and carelessly at times.
During a part of my research, I came across an organization called the National Institute of Learning Development which trains educational therapists to help kids with learning disabilities in Christian schools. There were plenty of Christian schools who saw Jesus' heart as a model. I cried and rejoiced for their existence. And, I kept revisiting the NILD website because, because, because . . . I was intrigued. As I contemplated what career tracks I wanted to lay down for the future, I kept thinking of God's heart and desire for me. Could it include what this organization had to offer? Something that was also close to my heart?
In the meantime, I applied for a counseling graduate program. However, I kept visiting the NILD site and finally decided, with the blessings of husband, to attend their conference in Orlando just to check them out. An expensive venture. We usually don't do things which are expensive without solid reason, but he agreed, and I didn't balk at the money requested.
I went. I was the lone Missourian. I found nice women from Pennsylvania, Arkansas, and Oregon, in particular. A woman from Boston gave me a compassionate, side bear hug which almost started my rotator cuff injury up again.
And, I found my tribe (as son calls it). When I heard presenters quoting Bible verses which talked about supporting the weak, helping the needy, unfolding the gifts of each child, requiring Christ's true heart in all that we do, I teared up. The conference was about so much more than learned principles applied to educational therapy. I had carried weight for so long about educational options, opportunities, misfires, deadends, for my son. I had the same steelcut conviction that these people had about making Christian education available to all types of learners. Ah and oh.
All through the week and after the sessions, I would go back to my hotel room and cry to release all that had built up in me from hearing such good news, concern, love, and action. It's a good thing I didn't have a roommate.
The week was incredible, and I will blog more about it later. But, God was there in particular people I met as well as in his heavy Spirit, prompting me to enter into His waters of loving mission.
Jump, splash, coral reef.
Amen. Selah for all.
God sighed and said, "Do you really think this reflects my heart? Have you read the Bible lately?'
And, everywhere I turned I saw verses where He admonishes us to help those in need. I still couldn't reconcile the discrepancy, though, at the school where I taught. They said that resources couldn't be afforded. They said that the emphasis is on college prep. They said that everyone should be taught to the same standard like in this cartoon below:
Sucks to be the goldfish.
And, God delighting in my churning, challenged me to be the change I wish to see. Rather, He kind of demanded it, and "obedience" to what He wanted to work through me became my word. I researched. I threw out some notes to people. I caught others in the hallway. I promoted my fuzzy idea of my half-baked understanding of His steelcut vision. I met with some silence but with lots of encouragment. However, none of that people approval stuff mattered because God asked me to do something about it.
Okay, I got distracted by Facebook, blogging, mandolin playing, coffee with friends, the state of my hair, Words with Friends, career tracking, etc., but I knew that within me, I had to obey even though I dallied fearfully and carelessly at times.
During a part of my research, I came across an organization called the National Institute of Learning Development which trains educational therapists to help kids with learning disabilities in Christian schools. There were plenty of Christian schools who saw Jesus' heart as a model. I cried and rejoiced for their existence. And, I kept revisiting the NILD website because, because, because . . . I was intrigued. As I contemplated what career tracks I wanted to lay down for the future, I kept thinking of God's heart and desire for me. Could it include what this organization had to offer? Something that was also close to my heart?
In the meantime, I applied for a counseling graduate program. However, I kept visiting the NILD site and finally decided, with the blessings of husband, to attend their conference in Orlando just to check them out. An expensive venture. We usually don't do things which are expensive without solid reason, but he agreed, and I didn't balk at the money requested.
I went. I was the lone Missourian. I found nice women from Pennsylvania, Arkansas, and Oregon, in particular. A woman from Boston gave me a compassionate, side bear hug which almost started my rotator cuff injury up again.
And, I found my tribe (as son calls it). When I heard presenters quoting Bible verses which talked about supporting the weak, helping the needy, unfolding the gifts of each child, requiring Christ's true heart in all that we do, I teared up. The conference was about so much more than learned principles applied to educational therapy. I had carried weight for so long about educational options, opportunities, misfires, deadends, for my son. I had the same steelcut conviction that these people had about making Christian education available to all types of learners. Ah and oh.
All through the week and after the sessions, I would go back to my hotel room and cry to release all that had built up in me from hearing such good news, concern, love, and action. It's a good thing I didn't have a roommate.
The week was incredible, and I will blog more about it later. But, God was there in particular people I met as well as in his heavy Spirit, prompting me to enter into His waters of loving mission.
Jump, splash, coral reef.
Amen. Selah for all.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Frankenstein funk
Frankie. Why did you do it? Why do you have such insatiable desires for revenge upon your Maker? Yes, he abandoned you. Yes, you repulsed him. But, why kill innocent victims as a means to a vile end?
I am teaching Frankenstein once more which explains my dream of him right before waking. My "Frankie" was a woman (yet recognized as Frankenstein) who took young schoolboys and drowned them in a bathtub. Even my own son's turn came up, and I followed her spluttering, "Stop!" but was unable to prevent her from holding him under.
Later, I had the painful thought, "Why didn't I stop her? Why didn't I immediately go to the authorities? Why did none of the eyewitnesses do so?" And, no soothing answers were found. So, I've awakened in a bit of a sad funk, wondering what my dream was about. Knowing, though.
Yesterday the issue of school came up. A mother of a son with dyslexia and I spoke of our fantasy schools which would accept and work with our sons. Then, later at my school's basketball game, various people asked about my son's public school experience. Politeness dictates that you don't spew forth your own anxieties; you respond as favorably as possible. But, on the way home, your son tells you how much he hates school. I trust his reasons. A child must learn to march on, though. Real life means this, right?
School placement has always been a Frankenstein for us.
Thus, I need God this morning to help me not sink into the despair and helplessness of the dream. Therefore, I'll end with a picture to counter the monster, and I'll trust in Christ's goodness to walk alongside us in the sometimes foggy and fearful world. Amen.
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