Last week I was sent into a tail-spin, re-evaluative crisis when I found out that a couple of my students had discovered this blog. And not just any students, but two whose opinions I highly value and often seek out, two students who many times act more mature than their History teacher and whose artistic capabilities and spiritual sensitivities speak volumes to me personally. The idea of their seeing the blog intended for my peers, with stories of their class and raw attempts at poetry, unnerved me for a couple of days. They might even be reading this … (hi, you guys).
On top of that, one student asked me a very point blank question about a time in my life when I was especially close to God. Immediately, I thought of one my deepest, darkest hurdles, a story that I’d always imagined I’d one day share with students who needed to hear it, and my mouth went dry. My heart began beating rapidly. It’s just so much easier to stay guarded and safe, isn’t it.
I’ve spent the last couple of days seeking out other BFA staff’s opinions on how much to “withdraw” and how much to “put out there” for the students to see. After all, when I came, my intention was always to share my life with them. Perhaps not completely the open, vulnerable book that might be ideal, but open nonetheless. Different staff have quite different opinions on the matter, which didn’t give me any clarity at all; however, it was Mark Steele in his book Flashbang that gave me the most comfort yesterday. Here’s an excerpt I hope he won’t mind if I plagiarize. It’s from an inner dialogue he’s having with himself:
That is the difference between a grenade and a flashbang. A flashbang only lets out what is impressive while a grenade throws every bit of itself out there when the pin is pulled.
That doesn’t sound right. Every bit of myself? It doesn’t sound healthy to be an open book to everyone.
I didn’t say that.
Then what are you saying? Because I’ve done this, you know. I’ve been unguarded with people I thought were godly – people I thought I could trust. And when they ended up not being trustworthy, I hated that I had given them any information whatsoever. I don’t think it’s safe to throw every bit of myself out there.
I didn't say it was safe. I said it will change people.
At my expense.
Yes. Look, … you do have to be careful who you let into your inner circle of accountability. That is not what I’m saying. To play your problems on a loudspeaker for all to hear would be foolish and ineffective.
But probably entertaining.
To everyone but yourself, perhaps. But this is about the fact that many who believe they are just being guarded are actually imprisoning themselves. This is not about stating everything to everyone. This is about being open to God, saying “the truth to this person right now.” … That person is no longer afraid of that truth because it is in the light to someone else. That is when truth loses its chains and instead holds power. The power to heal others
(Me again:) I don’t want to imprison myself, so as long as God plants the opportunities, I’ll do my best to live an unchained truthful life, both carefully checked and yet freely abandoned.
The prep work was lots of fun, too. I got to draw purple on three girls' feet to make it look like they had trampled on grapes. We tried beets, kool-aid, and food coloring before settling on old-fashioned markers. The wrinkles to make students look older really freaked out a bunch of them, though TP was thrilled to be given a mustache. It was too funny!
Backstage, I spent a large part of my time either shushing students (sorry, students) or yanking the desk around the stage in the dark. We didn't lose any fingers, and one window hung crooked was the only mistake in two shows. Praise God!
When we were done, someone said "See you next year." I'll have to think about that. I'm really enjoying my sleep right now.
