On Being the Wick

I have learned several substantially difficult lessons over the past two months. Foremost, I have become aware of a gross lack of grace within myself. These lessons are never fun to learn, but I have come to know that when walking with the Lord, it is folly to glaze over, or worse skip over altogether, these lessons. Although I would enjoy a fast forward button every once in a while, I wouldn't change a thing. It is within these difficult seasons that the mercy of the Lord is most clearly made visible to me.

Building a fire is brutal work. To build a campfire, the wood must first be found, cut down- broken. Then, it is ignited, scorched- set ablaze. Then, as it burns, it breaks down further. It snarls and mangles- unrecognizable from its first state. It is here, in the bruised, slipshod, burned out embers that the blaze burns hottest. Fire consumes. Yes, fire is used for warmth and light and comfort, but flames are also a force of nature that can lay waste to anything they touch. God is referred to in the book of Hebrews, as an "all-consuming fire." Have you ever paused to reflect on this? This is not a cute phrase! It will not be embroidered on a pillow anytime soon. Why? Inasmuch as fire is purifying, it is also terrifying. When faced with fire, truly, unequivocally faced with it, fire is all you see. It is all you know. Fire is all there is.

Similarly, I feel like a bonfire lately. I am a snarled, angry, burning mess. I am a pre-school teacher. Five days a week, I am surrounded by three-year-olds. Snotty- nosed, grubby handed, squishy hugs-giving three-year-olds. Pants pooping, angry yelling, biting, kicking, unaware and infuriating three-year-olds. I get so frustrated with my kids and suddenly I become someone I do not recognize. In my worst moments, I bite out my words with the intention of pain. I clip the ends of my sentences with a serious tone with the conviction that this time, that three-year-old who is OFF THE WALL hyper will actually take a nap.

It is on these days that I hear the gentle and heartbreaking whispers of the Father, "my Beloved, have I ever treated you with such disdain? Whatever you do to the least of these… remember? These children represent Me, my darling." My heart hears these whispers and is snapped back to the reality of grace received and grace withheld. I expect grace. I grubby, angry fingered demand grace from God, but yet, I run out of it by 10AM with three-year-olds.

I am finding that when I get to this point without taking time to breathe, my fire is fueled by angry expectation and not patience-filled understanding. I have no perception of their curious pent-up energy. I have no frame of mind in which grace is present.

These are usually the moments where my co-teacher, Courtney- my dream version of myself - says something lovely about the Lord, or my across the bathroom teacher friend Amanda comes in and shares a deep, giggle-filled, exhausted, exasperated breath with us. Little glimpses of stolen grace. There are little glimpses of glory in the kiss of a boo-boo or in the quiet exchange of hushed giggles in the corner or in the loud and raucous laughter of three-year-olds at lunch as they are just learning to make friends. There is grace given and received in the subtle, understanding head nod between teachers in cahoots in the hallway, or in the overwhelmingly supportive attitudes of our parents.

I cannot help but wonder if this is how the Lord sees me and delights in me: "Look at my daughter! Watch as she groans and grows and longs for things she does not yet comprehend fully. Look how far she has come! See how far I wish to take her!"

Being a teacher is HARD work, but so is being a three-year-old if you think about it. May my want to give grace always match my demand to receive it.

Let the wild rumpus start!

Songs of the Blog:

I'm Safer on an Airplane- Copeland

Golden Train- Justin Nozuka

Holocene- Bon Iver

It Must Suck to be Four Year Strong Right Now- Four Year Strong

Fire Never Sleeps- Jesus Culture

The Wick- Housefires