"To laugh often and much;
to win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics
to appreciate beauty;
to find the best in others;
to leave the world a bit better
whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch, or a
redeemed social condition;
to know even one life
has breathed easier
because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded."
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Exams begin today. I wish I could explain or describe the static, floating feeling that comes over the classrooms during exams. There is the expectation of the holiday--effervescent, prickly, almost. The drone of silence, when the heated air pushed through dusty vents is deafening. Heads are bowed in what looks like determined, stubborn prayer. Some students look absolutely pained.
When I took education courses in college (between Pottery and Creative Nonfiction--classes which have proved sooo helpful in life, just like Dad said!), I remember writing a paper describing how I see my classroom setup: I said that even in test time, I did not want a silent classroom--I wanted to hear pens moving excitedly, sounds of realization (I think in Educational Psychology that's called the "click of knowledge." I know foreign languages have oral exams, I wish we could talk about literature. Then again, when I had my final oral exams in college, where I was shut in a room with two professors for two hours to tell them everything I knew about British and American Literature, I felt physically ill.
But with exam time, and the close of this year, there is a sense of reflection, of going back--reviewing the tapestry of our Days. There are common threads of Creation and renewal in most, but it's in the lookback that brings clarity.
How thankful I am to have the challenge and delight of teaching literature here! From the first, I have felt a sense of welcome and humor that keep me afloat, and keeps my heart laughing and my soul awake. There is a certain holiness to seeing the same set of students each day; to discuss a poem like diving into a wreck of words, shifting them around and finding something salvageable and gorgeous; to finding things to talk about for 50 minutes (I thought before I started that would be impossible); to sensing change in my class after a bad day or when no one has done their homework; to leaving each day feeling changed and accomplished (sometimes hugely, others by simply moving forward)....
I could continue. God is doing Good Work, and I see it and praise my Creator for where I am. I feel hopeful for the unnamed what-is-to-be in my life. I often feel there are gifted parts of me and I don't know how I am to use them--what is my purpose? But it's in a moment like this one that I know I move daily closer to that goodness and fulfillment.

"I heard the bells, on Christmas Day,
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Review your week: where did you feel close to God? When did you feel far away?
I'm tired. I was up late last night working on tests and preparing my exam (woohoo!), and today seems to have rough edges and sharp corners...everyone seems to be on edge. With exams coming up, school ending, etc, it truly seems that my students just want it all to be over!! So that's not a very close-to-God sort of holy moment. But it does give me opportunity to point to a direction away from worry and stress. A direction I need to be more diligent in facing.
I love cooking, and I've been cooking a lot this week, which is fun and satisfying. I love making a good meal--it's taking care of someone, and I delight in being hospitable. I've always wanted the house that's overflowing with laughter and company. And of course, a good cozy meal. That always brings me close to God. I made gingerbread this week for a couple of my classes (don't worry, English III, you'll get yours too!!), and that was a simple way of sensing who Emily Dickinson was (lowering a basket of the stuff down to the neighborhood children), and how isolated/sociable she was.
It is thankfully Friday, and I am going home. Even with grading and procrastination polluting the air, it's still good to be a teacher.

"A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."
--Garrison Keillor
Respond to this quote:
I wonder how many of my students know who Garrison Keillor is. Listening to A prairie Home companion over the radio on Saturday nights is (old-womanish, I'm sure) one of my "favorite things I never get to do." I dream of one day listening to it in a big rocking chair, knitting, and laughing at Garrison Keillor's dry Minnesota humor.
I am now 85 years old.
My brother Brandon says I have lots of what he calls "geriatric tendencies."
That's all to say I'm familiar with Garrison Keillor. And I like him.
So when I see a quote like this, I can read the sarcasm (easy for me to do, as its a familiar language) and the tongue-in-cheek truth. At Christmas we are listers and complainers, even our good works have a check box beside them. Goodwill is compulsory, so like Valentines Day becomes a forced sort of love. Even in the general "tidings" we forget this miraculous, insane, gorgeous, plain, dirty truth of Advent season--we are preparing to usher a new Creation into our world, a tiny, squalling, writhing baby boy--our King--into our world again.
A new thing. A dangerous wonder.
Christmas should be simple again. Like radio listening by the fire.

Then God spoke to me and said:
People say only good things about Christmas.
If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
--Anne Sexton
It would feel more like Christmas if...
to me, it never really feels like Christmas until my family is all together. Preferably sitting around a fire that we've begged Dad to make, and that if it dies down, he blames us for not watching it. Of course, if we play with it too much (remember, I'm the youngest child, my 35 year old brother Andy is really not going to try to melt some of his GI Joes), my Mom gets nervous and goes to read magazines in her room.
Something about smells makes it seem like Christmas. Cinnamon, woodsmoke, evergreen, candle wax, cold morning air...these all make a fragrance that turns my heart. It makes me smile now to think of it.
For the past few years, I've worried myself by how long it's taken me to "get into the Christmas spirit," but I think now I see that it is small, inward moments. Midnight service at church, with candles lit, singing the last verse of "Silent Night," knowing that believers all over are experiencing the same feeling of warmth and expectation. It's really not about songs and lights and smells, then. It's that More feeling that is really what makes Christmas. A nervous sort of joy. Inexpicable and wonderful. Something I can't force myself to feel by eating a candy cane or listening to on the radio. There's mystery in that.

Unless we make Christmas an occasion to share our blessings, all the snow in Alaska won't make it white. --Bing Crosby
What is the first thing you thought of this morning?
"It's the perfect day to sleep in." I probably was not quite that articulate (my first hour students understand pre-coffee me), but the chilly rain, the dark dank sky, and my heavy warm down comforter spoke to me of watching movies, making a fire (well, if I had a fireplace), reading a good book (all the way through), and just enjoying being tucked in and warm.
The cruelest thing is to leave a nice sleepy sleep to get up at 6:00 in the morning. I have a hard time coaching myself to get out of bed. I can easily make sense of sleeping until 7:15 and giving myself a half and hour to get ready. Once I'm out of bed, I see the error of my ways...there's no way I can get ready for school that fast...what was I thinking?
Eric Spaperston, a guy that created a documentary called "The Journey" says that his idea of success is "waking up in the morning excited and going to bed fulfilled." I think that is so well said--and very true. We are put here on Earth to enjoy God: through our relationships with others, through His creation; to praise Him with our actions...if I think of my days like that, I see again (an over-and-over remembering) how I can wake up excited.
We've been reading all of these poets in class that tell us to live each day fully, to leave a legacy, to allow our souls to rise and stretch and live. It's inspiring and, well, tiring all at once. I think I love to be inspired, but it's harder for me to really do anything about it. I either get lodged in the details (I admit, I think too much), or I sit in the moment of inspiration until it's deflated and long gone.
In this cozy season of warmth and holidays, it is so easy to feel comfort, to cling to what we know. I want to live a new kind of life, to shrug off the familiar, to wake my soul and get up to meet what this Day might bring.
Just let me get one more cup of coffee first.