at the car wash...

i rest my head on my pillow, after finally giving up on trying to get grades in on time because the database we use has frozen completely, and a camper from this summer pops into my head.  i can't believe it.  i don't mind thinking of the campers from time to time.  it usually makes me sad, or makes me feel pretty lucky to have this able body and sound mind, and lucky to have the opportunity that i did this summer, working with the greatest people in the world.  

this particular camper was a middle-aged man in a wheelchair.  he had about 10% use of his legs, but he had full use of his arms and torso.  he was at the two-week long camp, and he was one of my favorites.  he loved the lake.  we would wheel him to the end of the dock, and lift him out of his chair and set him on the edge, take off his socks and shoes and let his feet dangle in the water. he loved sitting in that spot.  sometimes he would talk to the lifeguard standing near him on the dock.  sometimes that lifeguard was me.  it was difficult because we couldn't get too distracted...there were a lot of campers who liked to break the rules, or just didn't understand them.  this camper knew we still had a job to do and was very patient when we had to interrupt or ask him politely to let us observe without any distractions.  one day it was really slow on the water and he told me his story.

he was a young man when he had his accident.  he told me all about his firebird that he had...mint condition, all the bells and whistles.  it was a horrific accident, and he was lucky to be alive...he was driving too fast.  nothing was the same after the accident.  he was a factory worker, and took pride in working with his hands, but he had to leave his job.  he collected disability but never found anyone that would hire him.  all he wanted to do was work.

i remember when we had one of our fun workshop days, and one of the workshops i ran was a car wash.  we had a couple of hoses, some buckets and suds, and sponges and washcloths.  we pulled some of the staff vehicles onto the grass, including my jeep, and let the campers wash the cars.  they loved it!!  of course it became a huge water fight, which i will never forget...it was great!!  you should have seen the look on their faces...truly priceless.  we just laughed and screamed and soaked each other for an hour.  

this guy, though, didn't get into the water fight right away.  he couldn't wait to grab a sponge and a cloth and detail the outside of my jeep from top to bottom.  all he wanted to do was work. you should have seen the look on his face...truly priceless.  it moves me to tears just thinking about it.  you could tell he felt more joy in that moment than he had in a long time.  he felt like he had something to offer, and he was good at it.  he was reaching as far as he could from his chair to detail the tires, the windows, each nook and cranny.  i continued to compliment the work he did as he went, and he continued to work harder after each compliment.  he must have worked on my jeep for over an hour.  he joined the water fight for roughly five minutes, and then continued on to the next car and began the work again.  we let him stay out there and work on the cars for a couple of hours, but then it was time to clean up for dinner.

i'll never forget that day as long as i live.  

i don't know how i made it through this past summer.  i can't imagine being able to make it through another one.  the physical, mental, and emotional demands of that job were more than any other i've had before...and i've had some pretty demanding jobs.  i do know i will go back to the fowler center, even if it's just to help out for a couple of weeks.  they always seem to be short a few staff members.  there were a few campers during every camp that stole my heart.  i think i need to go back to find it again.

i wonder what's going on in that specific camper's life right now.  what are his days like?  did he ever find work?  what does he do to stay busy?  does he have people in his life who listen to him?  is he able to find things that bring him joy?  can he get around okay in all this snow, or does he stay cooped up all winter?  does he live alone?  

why do these things always enter my mind at midnight...when i have to wake up in five hours and be ready for a very busy day with the kids?  the truth is it's not just midnight when these campers enter my mind...it's all the time....when i'm driving, when i'm watching a movie, when i'm laughing with my friends, when i'm walking down the street...all the time.  i knew it would challenge me to work at the fowler center this summer.  i knew it would make me sad, but also cause me to think about things in a different way.  

i am different.  i was completely broken down this summer.  i find myself at a loss for words to describe what i feel when i think about the whole experience.  my heart aches, but seems to have a new understanding of the human condition at the same time.  i don't know.  it seems the more i understand, the more my heart breaks.  i think i just need some sleep.    

chalkboards and cheeseburgers

i keep telling myself that i need to begin writing about my adventures as a new teacher...imagining one day it will come together as that published novel that is on my ultimate to-do list that never quite gets written down but always seems to haunt me from some distant, untouchable area of my mind.  

the fact that i put that sub-conscious pressure on myself to be brilliant, insightful, and witty, shows me why i haven't written a word, even though i've been teaching for a solid eight weeks.  i do that all the time.  i want to be a good teacher.  i want to measure up to the miracle that God has laid before me...but that's why it's a miracle, right?  because i will never measure up to it, yet it's here just the same.  ah...pressure off.  (yes, it's often that easy for me...i just need a quick minute to jot down my thoughts and perspective creeps in and frees me from worry and strife over minor things that are often beyond my control.)

i think i have the instincts to be a good teacher.  when you are in theatre, or work with people, you begin to observe your surroundings, the way people behave compared to how they really feel, and the ripple effect that often determines a chain of events that end far from where the intentions of those involved began.  through those observations i have learned a lot.  i have seen what works, and often what does not, and i've seen things work out for many people taking very different paths to the same end.  it's all subjective.   

i often find myself thinking of writing a blog when i am confident, strong, and  happy.  i often find myself actually sitting down to write when i am feeling apprehensive, pensive, doubtful, and slightly melancholy.  the only reason i've found a pocket of time to write today is because my car is broken and the only other option is to clean, organize, or grade about a hundred papers for semester grades, or try to get out of the rut i find myself in with the middle school play that goes up in two weeks.  

i find myself wrestling today.  i can't figure out who my opponent is, and i recognize i'm secretly looking forward to the hand to hand combat.  i appreciate my relationship with God...He's not afraid to wrestle with me.  He's not afraid to show me exactly where i stand in the whole scheme of things.  He's not afraid to be who He is, no matter what I believe to be true about Him.  He's not afraid to stand before me in all His power and cry with me when i do not understand or, perhaps, begin to understand all too well.

why do i not write more often?  why do i allow the television, crappy food, fear, and mindless tasks to steal the best of me when times get tough?  it IS possible for me to organize my time and accomplish those things that will help me get closer to the person i want to be...it is the fear of knowing it is possible that often debilitates me.  it is not failure that i fear...it is accomplishment, acclamation, the after...the after of success...what comes next?  well...if i continue to allow mediocrity to define my effort, then i will never find out.  i get tired, often mentally and physically, to the point where i have sometimes closed my classroom door, shut off the light, and curled up with my coat on the floor behind my desk and closed my eyes, because i do not know what else to do.  

the more i succeed...the more i accomplish...the more awards i receive...the more uncomfortable i feel.  it's not a lack of understanding or appreciation...quite the opposite, in fact.  the older i get, and the closer i get to who i want to be...the less things i'm finding to complain about.  for some reason that also makes me uncomfortable.  you know, if i was reaching out to others and giving, like i should be, i do not think i would be so uncomfortable with the blessings God has bestowed upon me.  it is my selfishness that is causing some discomfort lately.  my need for "things", my desire to be accepted, invited, and applauded by every person around me, and my insatiable appetite for the "quick fix" or perfect cheeseburger:)  have subconsciously become priorities.  

how do i always get here?  it is often when things are good that i begin to slip.  it is often when i am uncomfortable that i begin to sabotage myself slowly by subconsciously changing my priorities.  it is often after i cannot even stand being with myself that i figure out what's happened, and sit down in a moment like this to wipe the slate clean and start over.  the slate can never truly be wiped clean, though, can it?  do we really want to wipe it clean, or is it better if a little trace of every choice, season, conversation, and milestone are present as we continue to write our stories?

i use the chalkboard at school every day.  often, after i erase the words from the day before and begin to write material for a new day, the residue from yesterday is still readable up close.  we can never erase what has happened.  many christians would disagree...but the truth is the  consequences, how we have affected others, and our own memory often leave a slight remnant of who we were in the writings of who we are, and cannot be ignored when determining who we want to be.  i have learned to love that old, dusty chalkboard.