Consistency Teaching

Things have been pretty stable lately.  This is darn amazing.  So much so that I sometimes forget that I'm only a substitute teacher and that our in comes nowhere near to match our out.  But life, it seems, can't be content with permitting anyone's complacency.  More amazing--and markedly pathetic, really--it doesn't take very much to remind me how fragile things really are--how much I so entirely rely upon others, and, more than anyone, one Other.

For the past couple months now, I've been subbing for a seventh grade science teacher.  While I've learned that eighth graders are not universally worse than seventh graders (I taught eighth grade science next door before this, you may remember), the general pejorative classroom management issues have been offset by the convenience of daily, full-period "preps" (generally, in block schedules, like that of this school, teachers get one prep every other day).  While I can't say I've particularly enjoyed my work this go 'round (I'm not preparing the lessons, and while this makes things simpler--less demanding--it lends a certain degree of detachment--of disassociation), it is yet satisfying to work with kids and teach them something and whatever else and all the other personal benefits one might gain from teaching.

My current gig was originally set to last out through the first week of May.  I got an email this past Saturday that says otherwise.  I've got somewhere between two and four weeks left here, and then....  Who knows?  Objectively, this is just fine.  It's a big school.  There are lots of subs needed.  It's an even bigger school district.  You do the math.  I've got pretty much nothing to worry about.  Yet I worry.

In my previous job, I made good money.  Subbing, I don't.  Despite this, there was far more financial stress before than now, because back then I had no idea when/if I was going to get paid, if it would be a full check, a partial check, or if my boss would find some way of worming out of paying some portion of my check for whatever little fiscal invention he might tease out.  Here, subbing, I know exactly how much I'm making, when it will come, how much will be held for taxes, when my statements will be available, and so on.  It is remarkably consistent.  This is remarkably comforting!

But consistency, no matter where it is, so often reveals itself an illusion.  The pieces are all inter-reliant.  If one thing doesn't fall into place--like having a job to go to! --then the rest sloughs away.  It's an emotional thing, this stability--this consistency--and, really, how often are emotions stable?  I find that I'm a remarkably stable person by appearance, but that doesn't mean things are churning tumultuous beneath the surface.

I didn't have a specific thematic intention when I began this post.  And now as I write, I find my mind bending constantly (that's an important word here, measurable as it is against "consistency" and "stability") toward God.  Really, the consistency is not an illusion.  It is my faith in it that havers.  I am inconstant.  My job stability falters.  Not God.  And as Life reminds me that I'm not in control, I am reminded (intentional passive!) that God is.  Really, He's never let us down.  We've always had our needs provided, and often miraculously.  Regardless of all the inconsistent parties and influences around me, One is not.

And thank God!  The next thing will come with or without my foresight, and food will still be on the table.

I BELIEVE

One of Jacob's friends doesn't believe in Santa Claus.  We know, because a week or so ago he told us that his friend told him so.  He also told us not to worry, because he told his friend, "It's okay, Santa Claus comes in lots of different ways."  I can't say I understood exactly what he meant, and, like any normal adult, brushed it off; after all, I really only ponder what I don't immediately understand when it comes from someone John Steinbeck, James Joyce, or T.E. Hulme.  Well, chalk my boy right up there with the great and wise ones.  Last night, I understood what he intended.

Santa Claus came to our home, but not in any way we anticipated (we: my wife and I), and despite our children only seeing enough to believe nothing more than the occurrence of the conventional visit.

Christmas Eve:

I was on guard duty, which means I sat on the couch and watched movies while my wife was in the basement wrapping presents.  To keep from feeling guilty for sitting on my butt while my wife worked hers off (though I did redeem myself by mighty application of a deep tissue back rub to her aching muscles two hours later), every ten minutes or so I checked on the kids and delivered a report downstairs.  From ten until just after midnight, the report was same: "One down, the other still pretending" (the latter determined to spy on Santa, just to make sure).

Finally he fell asleep.  I was without further excuse to stay with my movie, so down I went.  Thankfully, Angie had just finished the wrapping.  She stood up and came over to me; we stretched arms across each others' shoulders; and we look at the loot.

Now, if you've been keeping up at all (and really, all you have to do is look at the title of the blog), you'll recognize that putting together any kind of a Christmas (inasmuch as Christmas is gifts for the kids and the maintenance of general childhood illusions) was pretty much little more than impossible.

Well, like I said, Santa Claus came.

We didn't see him come.  We didn't hear reindeer on the roof or spy a red light jetting across the sky. Angie and I ate the cookies and carrots and drank the hot chocolate.  We placed the stockings and arranged the presents.  Dutifully--and thankfully she claims to love it--Angie tied every bow and stuck every strip of tape.  But man!  The stuff that stuffed the stockings!  The boxes Angie wrapped filled with stuff and stuff and stuff!  The decorations!  The food!

Humbling it is, and miraculous; and how it reaffirms that we are not in control, and that someone greater and more generous than I'd previously recognized, not to mention clearly almighty, thankfully and beautifully is.  It was He who sent the wise men bearing their gifts to Jesus; and how generous and awesome that he might similarly send a wise man to us, bearded and jolly, even if we didn't get to see him and my son couldn't catch him.  Most humbling of all: He saw fit to send it to us.

And my kids were in heaven.  And isn't that what Home is supposed to be?

What a great day!

Argumentum Ornithologicum

It's early, I'm practically gorged on oatmeal and a banana, and I remember Borges' little "proof" of God's existence.  The proof, as it were, is of course paltry, but the verbal acrobatics are genius and make me smile.  Enjoy, and have a happy day.

I close my eyes and see a flock of birds.  The vision lasts a second or perhaps less; I don’t know how many birds I saw.  Were they a definite or an indefinite number?  This problem involves the question of the existence of God.  If God exists, the number is definite, because how many birds I saw is known to God.  If God does not exist, the number is indefinite, because nobody was able to take count.  In this case, I saw fewer than ten birds (let’s say) and more than one; but I did not see nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, or two birds.  I saw a number between ten and one, but not nine, eight, seven, six, five, etc.  That number, as a whole number, is conceivable; ergo, God exists.

—Jorge Luis Borges

from Dreamtigers