Joy Discovered

     "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strickness." 

James 3:1 ESV

     "It is joy that reveals our true nature."

The Rebbe of Hanipoli

     The problem began at the blackboard. The problem was division. There I stood, chalk in hand, sweat on brow, teacher and peers glaring, judging. The fabric of the universe seemed to unravel as I stared at the problem. I held the meaning of my life as a third-grader in a piece of chalk. 

     Now that I am a classroom teacher I know I was not an easy student. 'Question Everything' was my mantra. I suppose it still is.


     I have said, "I never wanted to be a high school teacher." That just proves we don't always know what we want. After having been away from school for several years, I decided to 'go back'. I wasn't sure why. Something inside me wanted to finish what I began. I finished. And a strange thing happened. I wanted more. So I moved to Memphis, Tennessee. Memphis State (now known as The University of Memphis) had accepted me to the MFA Program in Graphic Design. With no job, little money, and in the throes of divorce, I went. Within the month a friend of my Father's offered me a job- working in, of all places, a monument shop. Crone Monument Company. What I thought would be temporary lasted years. And then it happened. One day Mr. Crone was discussing a monument's size and price with a man when Mr. Crone asked him, "So, what do you do?" The man replied, "I am a High School teacher." Time stopped. From deep within a fire began to burn. Spontaneous Combustion came to mind. And the burn inside of me said, "That is IT."


     God's sense of humor fascinates me. I discovered joy in the thing I despised.


                  ... and there is no longer a division problem at the blackboard.

Prayer For Joshua

Teresa Carter

So Joshua called together the twelve men he had chosen- one from each of the tribes of Israel. He told them, "Go into the middle of the Jordan, in front of the Ark of the LORD your God. Each of you must pick up one stone and carry it out on your shoulder- twelve stones in all, one for each of the twelve tribes of Israel. We will use these stones to build a memorial. In the future your children will ask you, 'What do these stones mean?' Then you can tell them, 'They remind us that the Jordan river stopped flowing when the Ark of the LORD's Covenant went across.'Joshua 4:4-7

\ab-ˈstrakt, ˈab-ˌ\ Medieval Latin abstractus, from Latin, past participle of abstrahere to drag away, from abs-, ab- + trahere to pull, draw. 1.not easy to understand because of being extremely complex, remote from concrete reality, etc.; abstruse

I once heard Tony Martin, an artist/pastor from Great Britain give a lecture on Abstract art. It was a small gathering in a Memphis coffee shop called the Ugly Mug. He used the Joshua 4 passage as a defense, or rather, permission for Christians to participate in the production of Abstraction- as a means of presenting the Gospel. It was beautiful. For years I struggled with abstraction. Sometimes a lack of understanding is accompanied by suspicion. I wondered if Abstract art was legitimate, valid, or, as I had been told- 'an inability to do better, a cop out'. In a paper entitled, Toward A Prophetic Aesthetic, Greg Card said, "The challenge is to present/implement something in the material realm that represents the dynamic of the revealed spiritual dimension."

I suppose the thing I struggled most with was the notion that 'art is serious play.'

When Calvin Seerveld stayed in our home, he had a private conversation with Terri about painting. She told him she wanted to be a better realist. He asked, "Why?" It is a simple question with profound implications. He suggested, "enjoy the process, have fun...play with the paint."

And so, the years have passed. My understanding and appreciation continues. My vocabulary of the language of art increases. Sometimes what isn't said speaks loudly. Sometimes it takes the abstract. Thank you Tony, and Greg, and Calvin.

"Certain experiences may be transmitted by language, others-more profound-by silence; and then there are those that cannot be transmitted, not even by silence." Elie Wiesel

Calvin Seerveld and Teresa Carter, seriously speaking on having fun

Friends

Tom and me, Big Hill Pond

"The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people."

Vincent van Gogh

I've been walking in my room without walls, where the floor is earth and the ceiling is sky. Maxfield Parrish could paint skies but nobody rivals God's work. Last night I experienced a sunset over a used-car lot that would knock your eyes out. It was a gift. Like friends. And yet, friendship is a unique gift- a reciprocal gift, based on respect, trust and admiration. Often, friendships are based on something lacking in the one and possessed by the other, a place for want and plenty to meet. And then there is the element of maintenance. I have lost friends through neglect, by simply not paying attention. So for me, getting older means paying better attention.

Michael Card reminded a group of us teachers that there are levels of friends. Jesus had the 70, the 12 and the 3- Peter, James and John. Each level has its own dynamic and intimacy. One of my closest friends these days (and I hope 'these days' follow me to the graveyard) is Tom Sullivan, fellow educator and lover of the room without walls. I met Tom several years ago at a college in Memphis,TN. Tom was a Dean, I was an adjunct. I liked his laugh, and that he showed me where the coffee was hidden in the lounge. As time passed my family and I moved to the town of Bolivar, 65 miles away. Tom, and his beautiful wife Beverly, took me into their home the two nights a week I taught night classes. Words shared in the Sullivan den still come to mind. Now, Tom and I are separated geographically by 635.30 miles, according to Mapquest. Friendship is undaunted by geography.

Mean Teachers

"Do not try to satisfy your vanity by teaching a great many things. Awaken people's curiosity. It is enough to open minds, do not overload them. Put there just a spark. If there is some good inflammable stuff, it will catch fire."

Anatole France



My perspective of education has changed. High school classrooms looked different through sixteen-year-old eyes than through fifty-year-old eyes. My view of teachers has also changed. The Living Bible says this, "A wise teacher makes learning a joy!" Proverbs 15:2. I don't recall any of my high school teachers making anything a joy. School was to be endured, not enjoyed (I am quite certain the opinion I held of my teachers was reciprocal). But then, there was Mr. Davis, 9th grade math teacher. Everyday, Mr. Davis wore a short-sleeved, white shirt with the sleeves rolled. I've never understood why people roll short-sleeves. There were always several pens in his pocket and always a King James Bible on his desk. I never saw him pick it up. He never made reference to it. But, like a silent sentry of truth, it was always there. He is one of the few teachers I remember.



In my Senior year of high school I made this vow- 'If I ever graduate (and there were 'iffy' moments) I will never set foot in a school again!' I can now imagine a band of angels looking curiously at the Lord, wondering about the smile my vow brought to His face. For reasons known but to Him, after high school I enrolled in college. It was there that God called me to teach. Years later I found myself teaching high school students at Overton High, Memphis, Tennessee. It didn't take long to know that the view from the teacher's desk is radically different than the view from the student's. Suddenly, all those 'mean' teachers from my youth became human. I knew something would have to happen beyond my abilities, something would be required of me. And then I remembered Mr. Davis.

Two weeks into the school year it happened.
"Today," I announced to a class of 35 high school art students,"I want you to illustrate the concept of LOVE, without using words."
Silence. No movement. Finally, in the back of the room, a small girl raised her hand.
"What if you don't know what love is?" she asked.
I picked up the Bible from my desk and read I Corinthians, chapter 13. I placed the Bible back on my desk. The atmosphere in the room changed. That week I began to write Scripture on the blackboard, a new verse every week. By Christmas I noticed students copying the verses in their notebooks. The Word of God seen and heard in a public school classroom. Teachers began stopping by to read the verse of the week. One asked, "Can you do that?" I explained the Supreme Court ruling regarding sacred literature in government schools- 'you may expose but not expound.' Read, show- don't comment! I wonder what would happen if more preachers followed this rule.