The Red Crayon

Is this bad blogging form?  The following post was recycled.  I originally wrote it this past fall for a magazine contest.  When I sent it off, I knew it was not a contender but I was very tickled to have finished something I started (NOT my forte.) I've changed it up slightly to fit my little corner of the Interwebs.

The clouds are moving in. It's about to get personal and very dark here at The Crooked Clothesline.  If you like your blogs the way you like your laundry...mountain-fresh and stain-free...well, then, you might want to move along for now.  And if you're my principal, it would be best for you and me both if you just turned away from the ugly truth, shielded your eyes from this marred and sweat-stained load of stinky laundry.


You see, the persistent, melty, red crayon in the dryer of my life is this: I am a loser. Oh, I don’t mean a “Nobody likes me, might as well eat some worms” loser. I am a “Stand back! Do NOT hand that to me if you ever want to see it again!” loser. I lose every piece of paper I touch. Whether that paper has been used to print a grocery list, federal currency or my teaching contract, I will lose it. I’ve lost countless phone bills, my proof of car insurance and my Social Security card. When I was a fifth-grader and the whole fifth grade was climbing onto a bus for the big field trip to the airport, I had to stay behind at school because I had lost my permission slip. (And if Mr. Waite is still alive, you are welcome to look him up and verify this sad fact.)

Losing paperwork at home is inconvenient and frustrating.  At school, as a teacher responsible for piles and piles of papers, including legal documents, this is a horrific disaster. What I seem to lose over and over again, no matter how many different organizational systems I try, is student work. Yes, I am that teacher. (I am assuming my principal took my kindly advice and has moved on to enjoy other more positive, uplifting pockets of the Internet.) Sometimes I lose one student’s late writing assignment. Sometimes it’s an entire stack of reading tests. It happens on a regular basis and, obviously, it’s entirely unacceptable. I have neither the time nor sufficient behavioral health coverage to fully explain how this defect of mine affects my self-esteem and confidence as an educator. But it’s awful.

It’s like cracking your shin in the same spot on the coffee table several nights in a row without time for the goose egg to go down between injuries. It’s more and more painful every time. Eventually, your shin will turn to the consistency of applesauce and you won’t be able to walk anymore. Every time I lose another paper or stack of papers, I’m more and more ashamed of myself. I feel worn down a little more. It’s a regular reminder that I’m not really cut out for this most noble of professions and I don’t belong in the classroom.

Thanks to my self-deprecating sense of humor, I had always been able to laugh at myself about my tendency to misplace things. I’d always made jokes about it with co-workers. However, after being so open about my embarrassing flaw for so long, I’m starting to feel like the high school sleaze who the whole school knows is making out with a different guy in the backseat every weekend - I haven’t any pride.

Last year, I had to choose between preserving the last milligram of pride I had left as a semi-competent teacher or maintaining my integrity as a person. You see, some genius decided to put me on a committee. And give me responsibilities. I think it was my principal. (You don't think she's reading this, do you?  I mean, I did tell her...ya' know...not to.) The committee was collecting data to help teachers analyze the effectiveness of our math instruction. Each teacher would administer a designated math test and pass the scores on to the committee member representing her grade level. Then, we highly-organized and responsible grade-level reps would reassemble to share this data amongst ourselves. However, immediately after giving the assessment to my own class, I lost my entire stack of graded tests before I managed to record the scores.

It wasn’t a huge deal at first because I had some time before the committee would meet again. I basically ransacked the joint, flipping madly through every sheet of paper in my classroom until I had pretty much licked my index finger print clean off. As the next committee meeting grew near, I began to panic. I knew I hadn’t thrown them away - I wasn’t an idiot, regardless of the nasty rumor going around in my head. I certainly hadn’t incinerated them or flushed them down the toilet. They were in that classroom somewhere. I knew without a doubt I would find them someday. Unfortunately, I knew from past experience it was highly possible that “Someday” would be too late. Like when I found my unsigned airport permission slip in my desk the last week of fifth grade. So I had to make a decision.

I couldn’t bear to tell my principal that I had once again lost something. I couldn’t take another moment of feeling incompetent - another crack from the coffee table on my bruised and mushy self-esteem. I was now teetering precariously on the line between being a loser of papers and being a Total Loser. In a dark moment, it occurred to me that I could just make up those missing scores. I was familiar with my students’ abilities. This information wasn’t going into the grade book. I could just plug fake grades into the computer. No one would know and no one would care.

But, of course, God would know. Jesus told his followers, “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. So if you have not been trustworthy with worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches?”1

Pride certainly falls under the category of worldly wealth. Pride, so unimportant in the overall scheme, was one of the few things I could afford to lose. So I made up my mind to go to the next committee meeting prepared to share my teammates’ scores and to admit that I had temporarily misplaced my own set of tests. I would hand over my last little scrap of pride, the size of an elbow patch, and brave any possible reprimands from my principal and/or looks of unspoken disdain from my co-workers. It was very difficult to walk into that meeting knowing that I was going to be exposed as foolish and incompetent yet again but I knew that I would tell the whole truth.

However, the subject never came up. There was no time for that particular part of our overall task. This happened two times. Twice, I walked into the committee meeting knowing that I would be revealing my failure and sacrificing the remnant of my pride. Twice, the principal pushed the completion of that one assignment to the back burner for a while longer.

Finally, as the end of the quarter neared, an email was sent out to the committee members declaring a final due date for the information. Apparently, God does care about the little things because suddenly, my set of tests showed up in the classroom, like my own little ram in the thicket. Trying to follow Jesus, I had handed my pride over to God and He kept it intact. I ended up committing an after-school violation of church and state there on the spot, by thanking God right out loud for his grace.

In the end, I entered my scores and was able to present them as part of the fourth grade data. Subsequently, my principal was not forced to fire me. 

Oh, look!  The clouds are clearing. The sun has returned above The Crooked Clothesline.  

I think, though, it's quite possible the infuriating red crayon, marking up all of my laundry with a scarlet D for disorganized, is going to be with me all of my life. Maybe I should be thankful for this defect because it certainly keeps me turning to God again and again. Maybe without these unattractive stains, I would not be as sharply aware of my need for God.  As much as I hate being disorganized, I would hate even more to miss out on experiencing the wonderful, crazy ways He shows His love in the midst of my chaos....

Psalm 124 in action

1 New International Version (©2011)

Obnoxious, Maybe. Loveable, Yes!

Look at this obnoxious little guy, sitting on my neighbor’s roof, cawing up an early morning storm on my day off!  You’d think I’d be irritated with this inconsiderate grackle but I’m not.  For some reason, I love these silly birds. 

One thing that endears them to me is they don’t hop like other birds.  They walk, putting one foot in front of the other. They strut around like little, rude people.

Curbside Attitude: I mean, seriously.
Who do they think they are?

They also seem pretty smart. One day a few years ago, as I was driving out of the library parking lot, I saw a big grackle working hard to tip over a Burger King bag to get at what was inside. I found him so entertaining, I pulled into a parking spot across from him to watch his efforts.  Here he was, digging into a greasy, fast food bag in the middle of the oil-stained asphalt.  Others might've found him disgusting but I thought he was clever and cute.

This past fall, I discovered a beat-up, old grackle hobbling around on a ugly, bent leg in my backyard.  His tail was nothing but a pointy, stripped feather shaft.  He was unable to fly and I was worried my horrid cats would get him.  My heart went out to the tattered thing so I began devising a plan to catch him and take care of him.  Then I started to wonder if this was a stupid idea.  I called the vet who confirmed my suspicions. He also went on to express how much he hated these birds, saying that they are awful and selfish.  According to him, they shove the young out of nests occupied by other bird species and dump their grackle eggs and the subsequent baby grackle-rearing duties on the poor, hapless nest owners.

(Now, I did not verify this claim.  So if you’re a kid doing a report for science and happened across this blog because you googled grackles, I’d advise you to not use this information.  A library card would serve you well.)

After talking with the vet, I fretted for a short while about what to do, worrying that one of the many neighborhood cats would get him before the night was over.  Finally, cringing with guilt, I just opened the backyard gate and watched that bent-legged grackle walk out into the world like a crooked, little man.  Well, he must’ve walked a crooked mile because a week later, while riding my bike, I saw that little stinker down the street and around the corner, strutting around a front yard. I was thrilled that he had survived!

It occurs to me that I would be a much better representative of Christ if I could take my ability to see past the pest-like qualities of the rude, selfish grackle and apply it to those I consider to be rude, selfish people, overlooking what I perceive to be their ugly behavior and pushy ways.  Of course, birds don’t cut me off in traffic or make a living dreaming up insanely annoying, unreasonable expectations for teachers (Yeah, I'm looking at you, Robert Marzano.) or let their kids scream relentlessly during their long, drawn-out shopping trip from one end of the store to the next with a shopping list that is apparently written in the exact same order as mine.  So it’s easier for me to look past the faults of annoying birds than to look past what I perceive as the faults of the people who make up the background of my life - those souls I encounter ever so briefly in traffic or at the post office, etc .  But that’s exactly what Jesus commanded his followers to do.

Yet, alas!  That’s one of the hardest things for judgemental me to do! I’m awful!  It seems the place my lack of human kindness is made most manifest is at the grocery store. On a bad Christian-walk day, when navigating the aisles of my least favorite national chain store, I find myself thinking things like, “Really, mister? You thought that t-shirt was appropriate to wear in front of your young, impressionable children?”  At the check out lane, I might be silently screaming in my head, “WHY? Why are these crazy parents buying two carts of soda and cookies for their ill-behaved children?!"

Sadly, my good Christian-walk days aren’t much better.  I whisk through my least favorite national chain store thinking something along the lines of, “I’m a nice person.  Look, how nice I am – smiling kindly at all these weirdos.”  

Sheesh, Andrea, shop at Gall-mart much? When I first started this blog, my mom said, “Oo, this might be so cathartic for you!”  Yeah, maybe, Mom, if carthartic means realizing I’m a gigantic jerk!

Oh, and you know!  You just know, I’m the annoying grackle in the background of someone else’s life. When I’m standing too long in front of a freezer case at the grocery store, some disgruntled shopper is thinking to herself, “WHY? Why is that lady with the ridiculous haircut blocking the entire Ben & Jerry’s section with her large backside and a cart full of cat food and wine?!” 

This is why, lady.

What business do I have being annoyed with other people? 

My really great Christian-walk days are those days when I walk through my least favorite national chain store (Dang, I go there way too much!) and pray, “Lord Jesus, please help me to see each and every one of these people through your holy eyes.”  Yes, it happens once in a while.  If it happened more often, I would see a store full of people who are in need of love and forgiveness just like me (Romans 3:23), who are fearfully and wonderfully made by the Creator (Psalm 139:14), who are uniquely equipped for a purpose (Ephesians 2:10).

I don't know about you but this ain't easy for me. Hopefully, it's clear that I'm exaggerating a little for comic effect.  However, despite wanting to be a super nice person, I'm still incredibly selfish.  I want the snack aisle to offer me a conveniently clear path to the Chex Mix, uncluttered by girls cussing at someone on their cellphones.  I will judge such girls for their lack of tact, instead of reminding myself that they are madly loved by God.   I have figured out that I am unable to change this about my wretched self. 

How relieved I am that God offers people like me grace. Jesus reassured his followers, "I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing." What a load off! Jesus says right there, "You can't do this on your own."  The apostle Paul (who, by the way, may just be the church's most annoying nice guy) encouraged his friends in Philippi by writing to them, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13.)"

So instead of berating myself for being a creep, I can leave this up to God.  With a little humility and time spent in prayer, I can trust Jesus to change me and enable me to sincerely look at people in a different light. Just as I can look at a greedy, little grackle in a greasy parking lot, admire his ingenuity and root for him, with my eyes on Christ, I can see the beauty and potential in every single human being I briefly encounter!  That is a great reason to caw up a storm.  :)

In Response to Midge Brontë

I was thinking about Midge Brontë's whiny blog post from yesterday and two things occurred to me. The first was that it's pretty hilarious that after my second post in which I vowed to be completely myself, I immediately plunged into pretending to be different people.  I guess, though, this was the whole point of the Pretend Boyfriend post  - to let you know right up front how goofy things might get in here, to escort you right into the spooky, cobwebby, closed-off wing of the mansion, where I've locked up my crazy relative...
                              except it's ME!

"You may go anywhere on the estate grounds
but you must never, under any circumstances,
enter the north wing."

In that same vein, I was wondering how in the world will that one person who reads my blog know when I'm being serious and when I'm joking?  Am I supposed to color code the text?

orange - totally true

pink - that happened to me

green - that happened to me but I'm pretending it happened to someone else.

blue - that happened but I'm exaggerating for comic effect

gold - never, ever happened

purple - I made that up just now but I wish it would happen

red - sarcasm alert


Hee-heeee!  Just kidding.  Obviously, that is silly and unnecessary. Let's get back to Midge Brontë.  



The second thing that occurred to me was that, strangely enough, Midge reminds me of myself. Her dental woes happen to make a great metaphor for my own stumbly walk with God.  There have been times that I have ignored God's commandments on how to live life and have chosen to go my own way. Just like Midge, I ended up suffering the natural consequences of my actions.  Of course, as explained in my first blog entry, those stories, the unmentionables, will stay tucked away in the underwear drawer. 

However, those unpleasant experiences were valuable because they taught me that God's requirements are not intended to ruin our good times nor are they criteria for racking up brownie points or getting into heaven. Instead, they are meant to make our lives better, happier, safer, etc.  For example, God knows that if I covet my neighbor's riding lawnmower, I'm eventually going to go broke trying to keep up or I'm going to turn into the bitter neighborhood jerk who never gets invited to the block party barbecue.  

When the dental hygienist told Midge, "No drinking through a straw," she wasn't trying to ruin Midge's vacation by denying her the pleasure of a diet soda. The hygienist was trying to protect Miss B. from causing herself avoidable skull-searing pain. Likewise, when God says, "I'm serious - no gossiping, no adultery, no coveting," He's not trying to limit our enjoyment of life.  He's trying to protect us from causing ourselves and certainly others heart-searing pain.

While I was writing this, I asked a friend to read it to make sure I wasn't making up stuff up as far as bible doctrine. She pointed out that in John 14:15, Jesus says, "If you love me, keep my commandments," and so our motivation in following God's commandments should be out of love for Him rather than to avoid negative consequences.  

For me, these two motivating factors, love for God and the desire to avoid any additional unnecessary pain, came together years ago in one explosive realization that...well, that might make another decent blog post, now that I think about it.

So for now I'll advise Miss Brontë to trust her dentist and follow his directions in the future.  Meanwhile, I'm going to do my best to keep her unnecessary suffering in mind the next time I'm tempted to deliberately ignore one of God's commandments for a well-lived life.