Is This Road Made of Forks?

At 6:45 this morning I had another bagel. An hour later, standing in the cold outside of Mary Ford Elementary (my church likes to use unconventional buildings, and by the way, they're painting this one: lovegave), Mark asked me what I had for breakfast this morning.

"A bagel with honey and butter on it!" I replied in the false, desperate happiness that only coffee can produce in an incurable night-owl, early in the morning.

"Was it poppyseed?"

"Yes," I replied, in delirious amazement. How did he know what I had for breakfast?!?

"Because there's poppyseeds all over your face."

Awesome. Enough about the morning.

Knowing that your job is ending, and that the summer holds only nannying, and living by the beach may be quite satisfying for some recent college grads. I don't feel like a recent college graduate anymore though. And I am contracting severe cabin fever.

Hanna and I are sharing a room and a bed this summer. Today we talked about the way girls nest and how the three of us nest in our house. Katie is a neat little bird, putting everything in mason jars. Hanna is a reckless wild falcon, hurling things every which way. I'm the confused tropical bird who is trying to jump the nest, who comes back, moves a few things about, and wants to fly away again. What season is it?!?

Not yet! Not yet!

I heard God tell me to stay. The problem with Him is He's always speaking one word sentences and I doubt their meaning all the time. "Stop." "Stay." "Wait." The only time I heard more than one word was "elementary education." Funny, when I look up at those three words, how they all have a similar meaning. I guess contentment is the only cure for chronic restlessness, and I swear I'm praying for it.

I'm in Starbucks because our house doesn't have internet, and across from me there are two women. One is wearing impossibly high velvet turquoise pumps and a black sundress. The other has a matronly bun and a long sundress with yellow flowers. The one in the black dress seems to be interviewing the other- for what? A ballet teacher? She is wearing ballet flats. OH GOODNESS. I JUST CAN'T FOCUS!

The reason I'm in Starbucks is #1. to support Hanna in writing her paper (she has an extension, and has been skimming the same book for two hours, and reading me amusing comments from Martin Luther, "a marriage without children is the world without the sun", "...strumpets..."... these girls are definitely planning a wedding. Ahhhh.... the one with the bun has an engagement ring. Wow! The wedding planner is so young! Or... maybe she's the photographer. She keeps mentioning "shots". Ahh, the second reason I'm in here is to look for jobs. Hanna just told me the Turks used to believe you could have a virgin and bear a child. She is learning SO MUCH. How does one search for jobs on the internet? Especially when most school systems aren't hiring. I guess since during my sophomore year of college I heard "elementary education", perhaps I should stick to that calling and see what happens. Korea went well.

Yep, that's the most challenging part of my relationship with God right now. Waiting and waiting. Doubting what He says. Wondering if He meant what He said. Wondering if He said it. Classic. That's the weirdest part of following Jesus, is hearing something that seems impossible judging by the circumstances, and then going for it. I'm going to try it. I'm going to apply to be an elementary school teacher and let you know how that goes.

A group of students that I work with started going to one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in downtown Charleston to play basketball with the kids. And they just keep coming. I went Saturday. After trying some conflict resolution and encourage peace between an Egyptian and African American kid (their fist fight was brief, at least), talking to a single mom slightly older than me with three kids, and seeing a boy whose school I worked for during my education program (he remembered me from three years ago, and I met his whole family, there were about seven of them), and chatting with a man across the street who was living in a van, I remembered. This is where my heart is.

"It's about time for a red velvet cake moon pie," Hanna just drawled to me from across the table. We have so much in common.

Anyways. I think I'm going to spend some more time over there, and see what I hear. From my own heart, and from God. I stress out about making and saving money, but ironically, I've had the least worries over it now that I'm making a fourth of what I did in Korea. It's a pressing question for this summer. Do I keep pretending to be an upper-class suburban mom, and make good money doing it, or do I do something else, make less money, have more sanity? As much as I love heating up organic hotdogs and peeling open organic cartons of greek yogurt, and feeding them to an adorable child who looks like Cindy Who from The Grinch, there's something different about entering a run-down house, and meeting a mother from Egypt, still in her pajamas, watching over her sick two year old, while her other five children ride their bikes around a neighborhood that a lot of parents are afraid to let their children out in.

And the classic question continues. Worry about and save money, or give my time away to people who really need it? When I asked them, my students in Korea told me that I should do what I loved. I can't emphasize how correct they were. Funny how it takes so much faith to do what you love. Because sometimes you have to do it alone. Common sense often suggests you don't do it.

I have a seventeen-page Word document of job positions in San Francisco, Philadelphia, Boston, Brooklyn, and Queens. It helps to feel productive.

I know God has me here for a reason. I'm seeing Him open up doors for friendships with people completely different from myself, which is really, really exciting. I'm going to have to take my planner and scratch a lot of things out. Commitments that once seemed wise are starting to seem less important. What would it look like for Christians to spend less time studying the Bible together and more time living it out? We know what it says. I've heard the same stories too many times. I'm growing more uncomfortable every day sitting still listening. I hope it gets so unbearable that I have to move.