I felt like I was experiencing an Emily Dickinson moment. The eight year old little girl in my reading group said, "I am invisible in my other class." "I am invisible!" She kept repeating it. I cried invisibly when she said it. It reminded me of how I felt when another little eight year old, only that time a boy, told me years ago that his teacher didn't like little boys.
“The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible”
We are all in so many ways "clamoring to become visible". Yes, we are clamoring to see the invisible and know the invisible. It is as though many invisible things are longing for visibility. We look forward to a time when the secrets and full knowledge of God will become visible and clear. In the meantime, we cannot forget to notice the needy, the imperfect, the poor, the voiceless, the widows, the fatherless: the invisible in our midst.
Friday, December 11, 2015
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Joy in Obscurity?
My obscure,unknown blog is like a private online journal or diary that is available to readers, but maybe not accessible. Very few read it, and even fewer comment. I sometimes think I would like to promote my blog, but that would take time and skill that I do not currently possess. I am basically writing to myself and the people who might stumble on to my thoughts. It takes a bit of an effort to find a blog and trouble to keep up with reading someone's ramblings. I am not complaining, because I could do something about it if I wanted to.
In three and a half years of blogging, somewhat inconsistently, I have written 80 blogs and had about 3600 page views. That is not very much at all. I have had a few comments, mostly from my sister. A good friend wrote a few, too. I had one lengthy comment in Arabic, which I could not not read. I doubt if the person could read what I had written either. I guess I need to delete the comment. It might be a secret message to a spy of some type. I do have an imagination, don't I?
Why do I still blog? The first reason is simple: I enjoy writing! Secondly, it is fun not to be critiqued. Thirdly, I do sometimes find joy in obscurity. Fourthly, it is therapeutic for me to write and focus on positive, joyful things, when many things in life are not so much that way. Finally, I am leaving my footprints behind, though they are ever so light!
I hope my son will someday read what I have written and maybe even share my blog with his children. Just as we would be interested in reading the diary of an ancestor's journey on the Oregon Trail, I hope that they would be interested reading my blog, "A Small Patch of Flowers"! I know I said I "sometimes" find joy in obscurity, but not permanent obscurity, you can be sure!!!
In three and a half years of blogging, somewhat inconsistently, I have written 80 blogs and had about 3600 page views. That is not very much at all. I have had a few comments, mostly from my sister. A good friend wrote a few, too. I had one lengthy comment in Arabic, which I could not not read. I doubt if the person could read what I had written either. I guess I need to delete the comment. It might be a secret message to a spy of some type. I do have an imagination, don't I?
Why do I still blog? The first reason is simple: I enjoy writing! Secondly, it is fun not to be critiqued. Thirdly, I do sometimes find joy in obscurity. Fourthly, it is therapeutic for me to write and focus on positive, joyful things, when many things in life are not so much that way. Finally, I am leaving my footprints behind, though they are ever so light!
I hope my son will someday read what I have written and maybe even share my blog with his children. Just as we would be interested in reading the diary of an ancestor's journey on the Oregon Trail, I hope that they would be interested reading my blog, "A Small Patch of Flowers"! I know I said I "sometimes" find joy in obscurity, but not permanent obscurity, you can be sure!!!
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!
Friday, December 4, 2015
It's What's Inside That Counts!
It's what's inside that counts! I have taught some classes to my students about this idea. What is on the inside of a person is so much more important than outward appearance. I want them to understand that in a world of glamour and image. That is an important lesson for children and adults alike, I believe.
As a teacher, my job at the end of the school day is to get on a walkie-talkie and call the students out of the building when their parents arrive to pick them up at dismissal time. I make a point of waving and saying good-bye to each student. Some children are so excited to see the parent and some are slow-moving and do not seem to be terribly motivated to go home.
One little girl, Leanna, out of about forty students who ride cars instead of buses, is always excited to go home. She always smiles to me and speaks to me by name and says "good-bye" to me. She might tell me to have a good evening or a nice weekend. I have never taught her in my class and I don't really know her well, even now. She is the most polite of all forty. She is the only one who initiates speaking to me and the only one who uses my name. It is remarkable to note how much a little outgoing concern, training and manners are appreciated in an age of "gimme". Yes, even a child is known by her fruits.
Her mother picks her up with the same smile and sweetness, too. It causes one to take note. Why does she stand out?She is not the cutest child of the group, but she has something that the others do not have quite as much. It is a glow that comes from the inside. It radiates a bit like love.
So much for the nice, sweet story. Oh, but let me not forget the rest of the story. Ours is a school,where all of the students are underprivileged and poor. Leanna stands out to me among the car riders, because she speaks to me and says my name. If you lined her up with all the other girls, she would be most ordinary of the children; one might say she was almost homely in appearance. Her hair is not tamed and her clothes are not particularly nice.
When her mother picks Leanna up, it is in the oldest, beat-up, dented car that one could imagine with a smashed in windshield across the entire front. It makes a horrendous noise when it arrives, but the face inside the car is always smiling. When her grandpa, with his scruffy beard comes, in his dented, rattle-trap of a truck; he has to move his tools and junk to the back, so there is room for her inside. He looks like someone on the "most wanted" list. He gave the wrong name for the child, when he came to pick Leanna up for the first time, so I was very cautious about even letting her go home with this wild-looking character, but again he was joyful and kind.
A woman from my church,with a heart of gold, made some beautiful crocheted hats and scarves for me to distribute to some of the students at my school. I had given all of my students a set and I had one left over. It was a pale green scarf and hat of a most lovely color. I somehow kept thinking of Leanna. Yesterday, I pulled her aside and ask her if she could use a scarf and hat. She quietly nodded and humbly accepted. I felt so happy; she was a good choice.
Today, at dismissal, when Leanna's name was called she bounced past me with the beautiful, pale green scarf securely wrapped around her sweet neck. It was the only new item I ever saw her wear. We said ''good-bye" to each other and she got in the car. She had the biggest smile on her face as she rolled down the window to call out, "I hope you have a nice weekend, Mrs. G!" As the car chugged off, I found myself wishing that I knew her better. It was that inside stuff oozing out that cannot be not diminished by poverty. That is the stuff that really counts!
As a teacher, my job at the end of the school day is to get on a walkie-talkie and call the students out of the building when their parents arrive to pick them up at dismissal time. I make a point of waving and saying good-bye to each student. Some children are so excited to see the parent and some are slow-moving and do not seem to be terribly motivated to go home.
One little girl, Leanna, out of about forty students who ride cars instead of buses, is always excited to go home. She always smiles to me and speaks to me by name and says "good-bye" to me. She might tell me to have a good evening or a nice weekend. I have never taught her in my class and I don't really know her well, even now. She is the most polite of all forty. She is the only one who initiates speaking to me and the only one who uses my name. It is remarkable to note how much a little outgoing concern, training and manners are appreciated in an age of "gimme". Yes, even a child is known by her fruits.
Her mother picks her up with the same smile and sweetness, too. It causes one to take note. Why does she stand out?She is not the cutest child of the group, but she has something that the others do not have quite as much. It is a glow that comes from the inside. It radiates a bit like love.
So much for the nice, sweet story. Oh, but let me not forget the rest of the story. Ours is a school,where all of the students are underprivileged and poor. Leanna stands out to me among the car riders, because she speaks to me and says my name. If you lined her up with all the other girls, she would be most ordinary of the children; one might say she was almost homely in appearance. Her hair is not tamed and her clothes are not particularly nice.
When her mother picks Leanna up, it is in the oldest, beat-up, dented car that one could imagine with a smashed in windshield across the entire front. It makes a horrendous noise when it arrives, but the face inside the car is always smiling. When her grandpa, with his scruffy beard comes, in his dented, rattle-trap of a truck; he has to move his tools and junk to the back, so there is room for her inside. He looks like someone on the "most wanted" list. He gave the wrong name for the child, when he came to pick Leanna up for the first time, so I was very cautious about even letting her go home with this wild-looking character, but again he was joyful and kind.
A woman from my church,with a heart of gold, made some beautiful crocheted hats and scarves for me to distribute to some of the students at my school. I had given all of my students a set and I had one left over. It was a pale green scarf and hat of a most lovely color. I somehow kept thinking of Leanna. Yesterday, I pulled her aside and ask her if she could use a scarf and hat. She quietly nodded and humbly accepted. I felt so happy; she was a good choice.
Today, at dismissal, when Leanna's name was called she bounced past me with the beautiful, pale green scarf securely wrapped around her sweet neck. It was the only new item I ever saw her wear. We said ''good-bye" to each other and she got in the car. She had the biggest smile on her face as she rolled down the window to call out, "I hope you have a nice weekend, Mrs. G!" As the car chugged off, I found myself wishing that I knew her better. It was that inside stuff oozing out that cannot be not diminished by poverty. That is the stuff that really counts!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)