In That Room

01 Mar 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in College, God, Kiddos, Prayer

Thursdays are rather long days. Rather long days filled with class, lunch, more class, and then an afternoon spent in the Kindergarten and 1st grade class at a Chicago after-school program. 11 hours of filled. A long day, yes, but it starts with Learning Theories, then there’s Classroom Methods and Management, and then 2.5 hours devoted to learning about exceptional children and special education. And it’s hard not to enjoy a day that includes six hours of future teacher training. Days like Thursday get me ready to be a teacher.

So I like Thursdays.

And yesterday, the last class before backpack slung over my shoulder and running downstairs to head to after-school; in that last class, we talked about Autism. There was a presentation; three fellow students telling about Asperger’s and Rett Syndrome and children with many symptoms and few answers. They taught and explained and gave examples, and we learned what Autism means, a little bit.

Part of the lesson, we broke into small groups. Elementary education must be a lot of small group work, because we certainly spend plenty of time in small groups as we learn how to be teachers. So the girl next to me, the two of us spin our chairs around and drag them back to the table behind, and we form a small group. And the ones up front, the ones teaching today, they give us a paper. A real life story.

They give us directions; school always comes with directions. The paper’s a story, a real life account, of a family whose little boy, three years old, has autism. So one girl read, skimmed really, because they’ve already highlighted the important parts of this real life account. And they nominated me to take notes, and I craned my neck back around the people, to see the instructions written on the board. So I wrote the child’s name, his disorder, his facts, his story, on that little piece of paper shaped like a puzzle piece.

And then, the last step on the board, said pray. Pray because this is a real disorder and we held in our hands a real story of a real child and his real family, who really struggled when he didn’t respond to his name, didn’t look them in the eye, didn’t even want to walk. It was all real.

So we bowed our heads.

And in that classroom in the city, with apartment buildings and skyscrapers arrayed like a mural on the other side of the window, we prayed for that child. We prayed for his family, his development, his language. We prayed for patience and understanding, grace and energy, encouragement and joy. We closed our eyes and we were right there in that chilly classroom, but prayer binds hearts from a million miles away, that little boy might as well have been sitting with us.

Because prayer makes real even more so, and God listens, God hears, and hearts join together when it begins with Dear Lord.

~Natalia

Been A While

20 Feb 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in God, Prayer

I have a prayer journal next to my bed.

Beautiful book with verses written every couple of pages,

my mother did that.

I keep it on my bed;

put it on the ground every night,

and right back next to my pillow

when I make my bed in the morning.

The thing is

that it’s been rather a while

since I opened it.

So I’m saying good night now, friend.

And I’m opening my prayer journal tonight.

Because it’s been rather a long time

since I talked with God.

~Natalia

Dependence

06 Feb 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Casa Hogar, God, Mexico, Prayer

Living in Mexico

for three months

in early 2011,

I spent days at the Casa Hogar

and

nights at Manuel and Tere’s.

There were times that I was tired,

grumpy, frustrated, impatient, sad, hurt.

But

those aren’t really the times I remember.

I remember so many more times,

so many more days,

that God put me in the right place,

lead me to say the right thing,

strengthened my hands for the right task,

and it felt so right

to glorify Him that way.

I’ve been missing that feeling lately.

Missing the dependence on God while I was there,

because I knew that without Him,

I didn’t have a clue what to do,

and I wasn’t going to get anywhere

or do anything well.

I’ve lost that feeling

and have been pretty self-sufficient lately.

I mean, I know that I need Him

and I can’t live, breathe, love, serve

without Him.

But I forget that a lot because most of the stuff I do,

well, it feels like I can handle it on my own.

But I’ve tasted what it’s like

to live so dependent on a Teacher who guides all,

and I want to go back to that.

I want to wake up every morning and beg Him

to show me what to do

to prepare me to do what He’d have me do.

I want to live like that again.

And it starts with a prayer

for dependence on Him

and I think that’s a prayer

that He’ll answer.

~Natalia

Conductor

23 Jan 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Music, Prayer, Sovereign, Worship

I waited all day to come here, waited all day to write and tell you all about… well, life, I suppose. But it’s 11pm now and The Roommate’s asleep on the other side of the room, and it all seems too very much to write.

I almost started with “I wish”, but I’ll not fall to that, because I wish is the antonym of content, and sometimes it feels like a very tender balance inside of this heart. I suppose it’s human nature to wish for. But contentment with the enough, the more than enough, that God has poured boundlessly over my life is not the only balance I’m trying to find.

There’s another balance between excitement and a deep, creeping fear. Being a teacher someday, a someday that will become today in an all-too-short blink of the eye, is an exciting concept when I’ve done my homework and the reading report is ready to turn in and I’m working right along on the paper. But I sat in the second row in class today, and I’m looking at the backs of heads that must know so much more than me. And we’re talking about education standards and curriculum and I’m so inadequate and overwhelmed pours oil on the fire of fear that’s building in my heart.

The president of our school preaches Chapel twice a month, and today was one of those treasured Tuesdays. And I was so very happy, relieved maybe a little, too, when there were mikes and guitars on stage, because my soul craves God time in worship with song, and after we’ve sung, this school president is a wise, wise speaker. He’s teaching on Esther and emphasizes decisions, and my notebook’s open on my lap, I wrote “God Orchestrates” in the front page, even as Dr. Nyquist spoke about a sovereign God whose ability to know and care and design far exceeds my own estimations of Him.

I’m sitting in bed now, feet perpetually cold tucked under my comforter, and writing brings back snapshots of a day still winding down. But without realizing it my eyebrows are sinking deeper and deeper, a frown taking shape in the light of my computer screen because I just can’t make sense of it all. There’s no way, really, just not a chance, that God could use every decision, every experience of this day that feels so fragmented, to work in my heart and bring truth to a plan that He set in motion when time began.

I know in my head that He’s wise and sovereign, and that His rule extends far beyond my ability to comprehend anything about Him, but my heart hesitates because I really just don’t see how. I have a little mind, and a little faith to go with it, and if I can’t conceive of how He could bring good from the small bits of chaos that chain together to form my life, then how could He?

But The Roommate prays first and God Orchestrates is on the wall now, cardboard reminder of truth I’m not sure I always believe. And The Roommate prays Conductor, because He gives cues when we need, not a second before, and He’s looking at the whole picture, the whole piece, and He knows where this melody is headed, and He’s doing exactly what’s needed to bring us exactly where He wants us, to turn this confusion into a concert.

And she doesn’t know, but feet away, tucked into her own bed, soft blue eyes closed, she’s praying peace and hope into a life, a day, a heart phase, that’s not terrible, but none too wonderful, either. I’m balancing on one leg between hope full of peace and chaos swirling confused, and with words she’s praying right back to Him, The Roommate pulls layers of doubt back from a life that He’s deemed for Him, and it’s pouring this is right, this is good, back into my life.

Because there’s a balance in life, that I’ll probably be seeking the rest of my life. But God doesn’t wobble over fear and trust, doesn’t raise eyebrows and question why that was necessary. He doesn’t doubt, doesn’t wander, doesn’t hem and haw and eventually just stop for a moment, because it all just feels a little off. He doesn’t do any of that.

Because He’s the Great Conductor and He knows it all and orchestrates it all, and His hands mold my life like they’ve molded history since time first blinked, and His plan is so incredibly rich.

~Natalia

Help Me Pray

04 Jan 2013 2 Comments

by nataliaria in Casa Hogar, Church, Family, Prayer

I sent an email to my mexican family;

Manuel and Tere and their five children,

and the 40 hearts living at the Casa Hogar.

It takes longer for me to type Spanish that it does English,

but it’s not too bad.

It’s been a disgracefully long time since I wrote to them,

and I apologized for that.

I wished them a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

and updated them on my family here,

and asked about the family there.

I told them we loved them, missed them,

look forward to seeing them next time…

whenever that is.

At the very end, I asked what we can help them to pray for.

And blink, memory’s a strong thing sometimes,

and there’s a prayer time on Sunday morning, kneeling on thin blue carpet.

Pray alone, pray with partners: Hermana Tere doesn’t just say “pray for”,

she says Help me pray.

Help me pray for this child,

help me pray for this situation,

help me pray, help me pray.

It’s a partnership because we’re on our knees next to each other,

and it’s a partnership because help me means we’re in this together.

You and I, we’re carrying this heart to Christ.

Between the two of us,

we’re laying this situation down at the foot of the Cross.

Help me pray is an invitation to join,

to be a part of this conversation with the Creator of the World.

And once, twice, three times I heard her say it,

but Help me pray is lodged tight in my heart,

and it doesn’t take much digging to uncover memories

emblazoned on a soul.

A reminder, a word, a call to prayer in another church,

another country,

another language,

and I’m kneeling at a pew,

when she says, Help me pray.

~Natalia

Come, Lord Jesus

14 Dec 2012 4 Comments

by nataliaria in Hurt, Prayer, Teach

Sometimes I wonder what it will be like to be a teacher.

I like considering the future;

what grade I’ll teach,

what the classroom will be like,

what my students will say, think, do.

The possibility of being a teacher is taking on the tint of reality,

and I’ve come to like thinking, daydreaming, wondering.

But there’s a tragedy in Connecticut

and the very heart of God breaks

with the sorrow that has flooded our nation today.

And I’m still considering, still thinking about the future,

but I can’t stop wondering what I would have done.

There’s a whole world of hypotheticals

for the worst event that could ever happen to a teacher,

to a student, to a family.

But as much as I roll scenarios in my mind,

a future maybe is not what happened;

a this morning horrific is what happened.

Pray and pray and pray,

because there’s a classroom of sweet child hearts

who will never come to school again,

never learn again.

And a family that goes with every single one of those souls.

And I beg comfort over them,

and I hold Jesus courage against the wall of fear

descending all around.

But I wonder deep how did this even happen?

And Come, Lord Jesus never cried so real, so tangible,

until now.

~Natalia

Catch Up

05 Dec 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in God, Grow, Prayer

I’m having a bit of a hard time

coming up with something to write here.

I’m tired of talking about me;

my homework

my stress

my struggles

my lessons.

I feel like it’s been all about me for a while,

and I don’t like that.

I want it to be all about Him;

I want me to be all about Him.

But it’s been awhile since He and I talked.

So I think instead of writing here,

I’m going to catch up with God for a bit.

~Natalia

I Will Never Understand Grace

12 Nov 2012 1 Comment

by nataliaria in God, Grace, Prayer, Writing

Walking back to school from the public library, rhythmic steps in rain boots. It was raining earlier, but it’s not raining anymore. The sidewalk is wet, dead fall leaves plastered dejectedly to the puddled concrete.

My heart feels thick and I’m stepping heavy on the soggy leaves, each boot scuffle a self-inflicted jab aimed right back at myself. Holy Spirit prompting to talk to someone, and I blew right by, fighting the slowing of my steps, forcing myself to move past conviction. An hour of mishandled time at the library, topped off with a hard-heart refusal to heed the Spirit, and each leaf I stomp, I stomp my own conscience.

I’m bad, God.

Human Development class discussion and preschoolers don’t understand causality. I’m old, mature, and I know that wrong decision equals bad person. I’ve labeled myself the opposite of good, the opposite of Him, pulling the dead weight of helplessly and willfully rebellious over my sinking heart.

But conversation goes two ways, God speaks to hearts both soft and fuming, and No, you’re not. His reassurance ringing in my ears, I’m not buying it. But something within me moves a little and without thinking about it, I tighten my backpack straps. Pull my shoulders up and back; could the straight alignment of my spine become an outward indicator of a heart and mind that I’ve finally aligned just right?

School comes too soon and I walk straight across campus and out the other side. I have words to say yet, and God is imminent, His heart beating perilously close to my own broken state. You’re my child. A title I’ve claimed before He now lays afresh on me, stamping me, branding me, with a mark I’ll not lose if I try.

But I’ll have none of this. I’m resigned to love He won’t let me escape, but I try a new tactic. I’ll earn the love He’s so convinced to dish out. I’ll work to redeem myself in His eyes, no longer a wrong-doing recipient of love I have no business receiving.

Victorious, I march on, moving the same way I just came from, one block east and heart still painfully heavy. What can I do to earn this love? How can I work to earn my spot as Your child? I ask, heart sinking even as I hear the answer I knew would come.

You can do nothing to earn this. This is grace. Work to gain this gift I give freely and it’s no longer a gift, child.

Ugh, grace; that horrible word. The word barely off His lips, and I’m back to words that have driven me for weeks. I will never understand grace. I won’t. Ever. But this I do know, that grace strips me useless, completely unable to achieve anything that will raise my value in His sight, and yet in the same moment heavy with the weight of worth He’s placed in me as one of His children. One He redeemed.

Four streets come together and I pause, internalizing the parallel cross walk in my heart and mind. Grace has ripped my own human effort from my hands, leaving me helpless to earn what God pours out on me endlessly, freely. And yet I cannot remain, cannot become, passive. Agonizing divide and I can’t cross the street because what would grace have me do, Lord?

There are some mumblings. My feet begin to move once more. I’m moving alongside campus, neither towards nor away from. My body moving up the street is what I know; I’ve demanded working orders from grace itself, and answers and possibilities, ways I could work this out, swirl in my head.

He has told you, O man, what is good;
And what does the Lord require of you
But to do justice, to love kindness,
And to walk humbly with your God?

And obedience comes from love and love produces worship and God is so good, He’s so good to me.

It’s a whisked collection of verses and songs, truth I believe and truth He’s said, but there’s no answer. I want to know how to follow Him, how not to make mistakes, how to be perfect, because that’s what grace wants from me, isn’t it?

But there’s a whisper from Him and a saddened sign. No, you’ll never fully understand grace, child. And right now, you’re so very far away from grasping it.

~Natalia

Breathe In

05 Nov 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in God, Prayer, Still, Uncategorized

Breath comes in and words come with it. Long, slow breath fills my chest to tight, and the familiar words fill my mind. Breathe six words in, then exhale the same words out.

I’d like to be able to drop my concerns at the door, shrugging off stress at the wood panelled doorway; a heavy backpack of worry sitting outside the classroom until I’m done. But I can’t, don’t, and sitting still has only given concern an opportunity to gather its forces and intensify, railing against me with every added thought.

I can physically feel my stomach sinking with every added task, obligation, commitment, worry that comes to mind, and my chest is constricting tight, getting ready for a melt down I refuse to have.

I sit in the front row and the professor’s too intuitive not to read me; he knows too much to miss this. Sitting in the front row, I train my eyes on teacher, on chalk board, on Powerpoint, eyeing the exit and wishing ever more that I could have locked my worry on the other side of the closed door.

Forcing my face to read engaged, pleasant, content, I suddenly find myself breathing deep. Maybe a conscious decision, maybe a habit I accidentally trained myself into. Either way, it takes less than two deep breaths before I find myself silently breathing those precious words.

Breathe in, chest fills, comfortable air puffing my lungs full.

You are my strength and peace.

Out again, a slow exhale, relaxing as the air leaves my body.

You are my strength and peace.

Six breaths, eight breaths, and I suddenly feel very differently. The pit and curl that my stomach so often settles into, naturally and instantly responding to the stress of life, lifts. Peace starts somewhere inside me, and spreads through my body. I can feel the rest, the comfort.

The look on my face must change, forced happy gentling to truly peaceful. Truly engaged. I’m not fighting to keep it together anymore; now I’m breathing deep, in and out, six words playing rhythmically even as my chest rises and falls.

You are my strength and peace.

I could say something else, and I try for a moment or two, mentally substituting one word for another; writing a new prayer. But these words are the words He put in my heart last spring, the first time I breathed deep and silently prayed His calm into my heart, my life, and they hold true now.

He is my strength and peace.

It’s telling, praising Him for what I know to be true. But it’s supplication, too. Many times before, desperate, swimming in stress, scared, I’ve taken a deep breath and lost myself in the asking.

You are my strength and peace.

I beg Him to give me of His strength. Strength to hold it together, strength to keep it together, strength to fall apart, shattered pieces falling into His omnipotent hands. I beg Him to be my peace. To touch my racing heart, reeling mind. To still me.

Deep breaths stop, the words silence, and instantly I feel myself sliding back to where I was, the physicality of preoccupation heavy in my stomach. Prayer no longer playing through my mind, through my heart, I can feel the panic of the moment rising sharp in my chest.

But my eyes slide closed for just a second, and I pull in air, feeling the breath simultaneously stretch and lighten my chest, and there it is again, calm sure peace, firm confident strength. Breathe in, breathe out, and God touches my restless heart.

You are my strength and my peace.

~ Natalia

Locked Out

17 Oct 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in God, Grow, Hurt, Prayer

There’s a time each week

once a week, a Wednesday night,

at the end of the meeting.

And we all sit around,

on couch, on bed, on floor, on chair,

and we go around,

around the circle,

and share prayer requests.

And I shared this week and

I shared last week.

It’s really just kind of expected that we will.

But I didn’t talk about me, really,

or about my own heart.

Because it’s been a while that I just don’t know what to say.

My heart, soul, has been floating unanchored for lengthening days

and I just couldn’t figure out

what was in my heart, what was wrong with my heart,

until just this very night.

And as prayer requests went around, and then prayers went up,

I slowly began to realize

that the reason I don’t know where my heart is at

is because

it’s everything and nothing, really.

Talked about it before and I’ll say it again;

I’m using everything I can lay hands on

to try to give my heart purpose and grip.

And nothing holds, nothing I cling to clings right back to me.

But tonight I began to realize

that the reason I can’t figure anything out

is that it’s been rather a while

since I let God in.

Really in.

He’s been just on the other side of the door;

the outside door,

of the heart deep within me,

for a growing collection of days.

And I can’t make heads or tails of what’s inside me now

because the One who gives true perspective

and understanding,

is the very One I’ve locked out

for now.

And I want Him in,

want to see what’s up and what’s down once more.

But at the same time,

I’m scared because

I have a growing suspicion

that if my heart softens once again to all that He is,

the resulting growth will just

hurt too very much.

~Natalia

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