Always Yes to Theater

My friend Heather is so funny. She can’t even finish her question of whether or not I want to help with the Middle School play before I’m reaching for her script. One of these days she'll stop asking and start assuming.

It's mid-November, so another Middle School theater production has come and gone, complete with a stellar cast and much laughter between hours and hours of work. I told the kids how they were probably the first cast I’ve ever worked with who didn’t fall like vultures upon the food table every night, usually a given when we have props that contain food. Especially cupcakes! They were such professionals.

The story was an unfamiliar one. The Ransom of Miss Elverna Dower is about two students who don’t want to give a speech in English class, so they kidnap their teacher. However, it turns out she’s a persnickety person whom the principal would rather not have back, so he doesn’t pay the ransom or even tell anyone about her situation. Meanwhile the two kids keep getting more and more work from her so that in the end they simply release her. But neither the kids nor the principal get in trouble because Miss Dower never rats them out. The humor was right at Middle school level, complete with jabs at the expense of school principals and teachers. Our kids were thrilled to perform this in front of a school audience.

As every year, at some point, Heather and I tried to direct the conversation toward the deeper things. If a story is “good,” it must contain gospel truth somewhere, so I asked them to think about it for this play. What came out in the end made us all chuckle because we decided that Elverna Dower - the teacher that no one wanted to interact with - was most like Jesus. She was the one who absorbed the sins of both kids and the principal, their failures and poor decisions throughout the play, and she allowed others to think it was her own carelessness that had locked her in the book room all day. She forgave and moved forward with teaching the kids English and the principal leadership.

I’ll never grow tired of being in the wings of a stage, of getting to fist-bump students when they come off after a hard monologue, of making sure that one 6th grade actress remembers to grab all her props. But it’s those conversations where we get to see Jesus that drive me to say “yes” every year when Heather starts the question, “Do you want to help me with …” “Always yes!”

with one of the leads after opening night

Chrysalis

One of the programs that most attracted me to the MS Chaplain position is Chrysalis. With its weird scientific name bordering on the presumption that this program will somehow turn awkward Middle Schoolers into full-fledged butterflies, Chrysalis actually has roots in my family. My brother, Andi, was a student at BFA in the early 2000’s and helped dream up the idea that High Schoolers could be pouring into younger students through some kind of official small group program. The result is that today we have 6 adults in the community who train and mentor 20 Senior students who then lead and engage with 45 Middle Schoolers. 

To prepare well, we took the first two Thursdays of the year just to train the 12th graders on how Middle schoolers think and feel, why we structure the evening as we do, and what it means to be in constant contact with God themselves before leading Middle Schoolers to him. My absolute favorite moments, however, came when we broke up into 4 teams and came up with “skits.” I laughed so hard at Beach Ball Ballet and How Animals Eat and Synchronized Swimming. When the time comes, the Middle Schooler are going to LOVE it.

These Seniors have impressed me. When we played dodgeball the first time, I informed them that it was their job to always make sure the MSers were involved and felt like they were making good contributions. Half an hour later, I watched a girl dive in front of a flying purple dodgeball and gave her a thumbs up as she flopped onto the ground and waited for someone to “free” her. As soon as someone did, she gave them a high five and then ran over to free three more young students. By far, the best part is seeing them not just lead the Middle schoolers, but love them. Watching one of the 6th grade boys wave at his leader across the cafeteria only to see the 12th grader’s face light up as he waves back with a, “Hi Henry!” warms my heart. With only two Chrysalis nights in the bag so far, I can’t wait to see how things continue to unfold.

Beach Ball Ballet

Surrender

 Every year BFA picks a theme that will guide much of the spiritual conversations, especially in Chapel and the Middle School youth group and each school's Spiritual Emphasis Week. This year, I got to sit in on the selection process in the spring and watched the team come to the word "Surrender" pretty early and unanimously. As Middle School Chaplain, it's been my task to help unpack this word in Scripture for the Middle School kids.

I was drawn pretty early to the rich young Ruler in Matthew 19, so I highlighted his story in my first chapel. The students helped me make a list of all the things he would have had to surrender if he had decided to follow Jesus. Their list was more extensive than I imagined: possession, influence, reputation, freedom, and authority were all near the top. The next week, I jumped over the story of Peter's first encounter with Jesus in Luke 5. We came up with a really similar list, but the part that stuck with me the most was a small detail I don't know if I'd noticed before.

When Luke first mentions Peter and the other fisherman in verse 2, we seem them performing an action: washing their nets. From a college class, I remembered that washing the nets also meant repairing and cleaning and ensuring that they were ready to be used again the next night. It was actually an arduous process and really integral. Because if you think of a fisherman's tools in 1st century Galilee, boats were nice, but nets were essential. This was Peter's true source of income. So when Jesus asks him in verse 4 to try fishing again, we see Peter's initial response was "We already tried all night long and didn't catch anything," but I wondered if the underlying thoughts were screaming things like "Are you serious? I just finished washing and fixing the nets. I'll have to do that again. We went at it all night, and I'm tired. If I have to stay to wash the nets again, it'll be at least 3 more hours until I get some sleep!"

For Peter to hardly pause and to continue on with "But at your word, I will let down the nets" speaks to me of a surrender I feel I have yet to learn. No hesitation. No negotiation. Willing to count a cost. That's what I want for myself and my students. Not to just anything or anybody, but toward our Savior.

First day of being MS Chaplain

Of Dumb Decisions and Lightening Storms on a River

 

I saw the wind gust in the sheets of rain before they hit, and still I was almost knocked off my feet. Grappling around me for something to hold other than the thorns, I cupped my hands around my eyes and yelled again “Ellen?!?” She came into view, hair dripping, tube lifted above her head, wobbling as she tried to make her way up through the blackberry bushes tugging at her swimsuit. That’s when the hail started, one little ice nodule going straight into my right ear hole and lodging itself there. My vision blurred while branches began whipping my entire body. And boy was I praying.

It's been a week of making silly, little, dumb mistakes. I blame the heat. It’s been hot. Really hot. So when we started making plans to float the Rhine, Thursday was the first possible day and the most ideal as it promised to be our highest high yet. Three of us rushed Ellen out of work around 6 and headed west to the France-Germany river border. When we dropped off the one car at the “end” spot, I did make everyone look up at the clouds once and asked, “What do we think? Is it going to rain?” We all shrugged that we’d get wet anyway and went for it.

45 minutes into our 90-minute float, the two former lifeguards were pushing us with all their might toward the riverbank, lightning hot on our heels. Of course it was the deepest part of the river and there were thorny blackberry bushes on the steep bank, making it impossible to grab on. “Let’s used that down log to pull ourselves to shore,” I shouted. That may have been the biggest mistake of the week, for with the water levels where the were and the wind being what it was, instead of helping us, the log flipped Ellen. With her tube caught between the log and her body and the current threatening to wash her underneath, it took all three of us to pull her into one of our own tubes and then get around the log as best we could. 

While Ellen and I took longer to find a manageable berth, Alissa and Stephanie managed to scramble up in a milder spot, using the long grass as grips. So they were - we thought - safe up on the path when that initial wind gust and hail hit. Because of the wind, Ellen and I didn’t hear them scream when a tree branch broke off and smashed into the path a mere 5 feet from them. By the time we were all on the path, huddled under our tubes for “protection,” we had the understanding that this was no small storm that would just blow over. I estimated that we were pretty much halfway between cars, so we elected to go to the one parked at the end, which turned out to be the wisest choice all day.

We trekked for nearly an hour, probably 3-4 kilometers in our swimsuits, dragging the tubes, sometimes using them as shields when the rain intensified. There were fallen branches and even a couple of trees on the path. The sun began setting, and I could tell dusk was settling in. When Alissa’s car came into view, we all nearly melted for relief that we weren’t just alive, but had a way home. 

However, the adventure wasn’t quite done. We drove back to the start to retrieve my car, only to find the way blocked by a downed tree and powerline. Alissa bravely forged a trail far away from the wires through the top branches of the tree so that we could see if my car was okay and get our cell phones. Sure enough, it was okay, but we had to leave it for the night since there was no other way out. Using our phones as flashlights, we worked our way back to Alissa’s car and began answering the 29 messages we had, mostly from Alissa’s husband, wondering about our welfare. A friend drove me back the next day, and I was able to drive my car home, the adventure finally feeling like it had truly ended well.

Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.

What it's supposed to look like (an earlier trip)

St. Cuthbert's Way

We had already been trudging for 27 kilometers (and I mean trudging) when the final downpour of the day started. “That’s it,” I thought. “I’m never walking again.” If you know me, you’re probably mocking me after that last statement. At least, that’s what my friends did. As soon as we were snuggled into our cozy BnB and I had dry, warm socks on my feet and food in my belly, I was already planning the next hike. 

Walking St. Cuthbert’s Trail from Scotland into England was a 3-year-plan come true. We started at Melrose Abbey and ended 100 kilometers later at Holy Island, also called Lindisfarne. I’ve taught about the Viking raid that happened here in AD793 for the last several years in history class, so it was fantastic to set foot in the island -- after walking the final 5 kilometers across the boggy sands of the causeway while the tide was out. That was an adventure in and of itself! Other than the first day, we saw no rain, which was a blessing, and everything else I love about pilgrimages was present: the companionship, the simplicity, the conversations, the wildlife, the views, and even the sore feet, proof of the effort.

Enjoy some pictures:

Super-Aunt

One of my favorite Bible characters, ever since I was a little girl, was Princess Jehosheba. She was the daughter of King Jehoram and half-sister of King Ahaziah in Judah, likely married to the High Priest, so we’re talking about someone who potentially had some influence. At the very least she was well connected. But everything I could say about her is circumspect because we really only know of one action she took. 

When King Ahaziah died in battle, his mother Athaliah made a mad grab for the throne by killing off the entire royal family (2 Kings 11). Enter Jehosheba, who grabbed her brother’s infant son, her nephew Joash, and successfully hid him in a room until the rampage was over. She and the High Priest managed to sneak him into the house of the Lord where he lived under his aunt’s secret care for six years while his evil grandmother reigned over Judah. Eventually they brought him out of hiding and launched a campaign for his rightful claim to the throne, which he won, and Joash becomes Judah’s youngest king. Lovingly, he is known as the ruler who repairs the Temple, which had been his earliest home after all. 

However, there’s no further mention of Scripture’s favorite super-aunt, the kind of auntie I long to be when I think of my 5 nieces and lone nephew. In what ways can I go to task for them and advocate for their growth and security and walk with the Lord? I had a blast last week with my 4 nieces who were here, taking them to an amusement park and the pool and on ice cream dates. And yet, it was the evening conversations that I will cherish the most, the questions of where we saw beauty and kindness that day, the comparisons to other stories we were reminded of, the snuggles on the couch (until I got too hot and had to tickle them off). The nieces were indeed the bright spot of my summer, not because I got to be an auntie -- though I loved that -- but because it reminded me that every moment of care expended on a kid can be a way to honor the Lord. A good summer message as we gear up for another school year.

Super-nieces

Art Surprise!

It was already something I was looking forward to - getting to see the Sistine Chapel - and I was even willing to endure the 90+ degree heat to do it, but when I was handed the entrance ticket, my heart jumped into my throat. The image decorating the backside of the ticket wasn’t the Michelangelo scene of Creation, as I would’ve most suspected. Rather, it was two figures whom I instantly recognized as Plato and Aristotle from the School of Athens painting by Rafael. I’ve used this painting every year in teaching History 8 to introduce Renaissance style, and I knew it was in the Vatican, but I was sure it required a special ticket, and we had barely secured these at the last minute.

I pointed it out to my brother and family, but we had no certainty whether this was a clue that we’d see the Rafael on our tour. So, with a smidge of hope, we joined the long line of ants shuffling from room to room, following the signs toward the Sistine Chapel. It took close to an hour, but finally my hope seemed to be approaching reality when we entered the first of three “rooms of Rafael.” Fiona smiled and I clapped my hands with glee while my nieces all asked “What’s so special?!”

Even while I pointed out arches and blue sky and facial features and characters and the self-portrait, I marveled myself at the vibrancy of the colors and the knowledge of muscles and the foresight Rafael must have had before the first brush stroke. He's staring out at is, daring us to criticize, and I have to wonder if he knew this would be the room and this the wall that would most draw the eye. Megan was quick to name the Greek god statues, and Olivia knew extra facts about them. The younger girls distracting themselves, creating stories about the lone woman (Hypatia). I’m no artist and have only stuck my baby toe into art appreciation, but I was exceedingly aware of what an unexpected gift this moment was.

just a tad giddy