What's in a name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." This is the famous quote from Act 2 Scene 2 of Romeo and Juliet in which Juliet justifies and excuses herself for falling in love with one of her family’s enemies—a Montague. What she’s saying is that it doesn’t matter what his name is; it doesn’t matter that her parents wouldn’t trust him with her life or that the Capulets and Montagues have reputations for not getting along. What matters is that she’s known him for a few short hours, and in that time he’s proven that he “kisses by the book” and can give a fair compliment (“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?/ It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”). He’s proven that he can make her heart flutter and her lips tingle. No, his name doesn’t matter.

Obviously, I disagree. Names do matter. I go by Deborah because I think Debbie sounds ditzy (and I don’t want to give the wrong impression) and Deb makes me think of someone generations older than I am. (Besides that fact, Deb also reminds me of a girl named Wi from Thailand that continually called me Debdeb, and so anytime someone calls me Deb I have a reverberating “Debdeb” fly through my head.) Of course this discussion of names and roses quickly turns into a highly theoretical discussion. Would we have girls walking around with the name “Turnip” if someone had decided to call a sweet-smelling flower by that name instead of “rose”? However the origins of various words come about, words and names do have meanings. And that is why “Rose” is a girl’s name and “Turnip” is not.

Just think of all the meanings associated with the names of God. Immanuel. Messiah. I Am. Creator. Almighty. Lord. Master. Savior. Prince. Son. Name above all names.

Lately my homeroom students have been pestering me about what we’ll name our son. Since we’ve decided not to disclose the name until we know for sure that he’s a boy, I don’t tell them the actual name. But it sure is fun to see their reactions to names like Eusebius, Erasmus, and Tybalt. Their reactions somewhat prove my point.

Ode to the Orange Chair

Ok, I need to take a break from grading papers or either I will go crazy or my students will start failing their papers. Today I had my students write odes after reading Pablo Neruda's "Ode to My Socks." They chose an object in the room that they could see. We heard odes about shorts, pencils, the American flag, the magnetic white board eraser...and I even read one about a blade. I'm hoping that that student missed that part about being able to see it in the classroom. I really hope he didn't have a blade on him. Some were very humorous. Some were serious. In my attempt to be a "good" teacher, I wrote an ode of my own. Unfortunately, it probably won't make sense unless you've ever had the pleasure of sitting in the orange chair or watching someone else sit in it and almost fall out of it.

"Ode to the Orange Chair"

As I sit its joints
creak
like the joints
of an arthritic, knitting
grandma,
its wheels groan
as they roll roughly
toward the table.
As I lean back to relax
its slippery hinges
allow a
life-threatening recline,
its back
supports my back
like a massage
after a long day's work.
My feet dangle
as if I were on
the edge of a
swimming pool
enjoying the rays
of summer,
feeling the warmth
and joy of a
free, June afternoon.
Even the fabric is rough
like the pool's cement.
Who can deny
this strange
orange chair's
magic?

Countdown

I think it started about two weeks ago. I stopped counted up in weeks being pregnant and started counting down the weeks left being pregnant. I didn't even really notice it at the time; it was an unintentional shift in thought. This subtle shift may have bigger implications though. Instead of thinking of what has happened and being thankful, I've begun thinking about what needs to be done in the upcoming weeks. Instead of being amazed at how much my baby's grown, I'm wondering how much bigger I can get and how much longer my clothes will fit. My perspective also changes when Grandma says, "It looks like you've dropped" (which I haven't), or when Mom says, "I went three weeks early with my first" or when my long-term substitute says, "With mine, I made sure to have everything ready at 35 weeks just in case...." These type of comments highlight the fact that the countdown is not accurate or in fact an actual countdown. The countdown currently stands at 4 weeks to go. But according to Mom's record, that could mean 1 week to go. And according to the average for first-time moms, it could be 5-6 weeks. When I went out of town for a conference with friends this past weekend, the question "So are you going into labor this weekend?" was repeated multiple times. So we don't really know when the event will happen, but we know it will. I guess the best way to describe the feelings attached to questions like these is that it's the fear of the unknown.

Am I ready for the unknown? Yes and no. Is my baby's room organized? No. Am I looking forward to meeting our newest family member? Yes. Have I thought of every possible contingency plan for what I'll do if I go in labor at school, at home, on the highway...? No. Do I trust God to meet all my needs according to his riches in glory and in Christ Jesus? Yes. And that answer is the one that calms my frantic, whirling thoughts and to do lists, slows my racing heart, and opens my eyes to see what is important. Is it important to have matching curtains and crib skirts? No. It is important to love my husband, co-workers, friends, and students during this time by serving them? Yes. Is it important to consider others more important than myself? Yes. I like to be task-oriented. Wait, let's face it. I am task-oriented. So I'd love to charge through my to do list, check off everything I'd like to do, be organized, and be ready by Mom's one-week deadline. But then I'm missing out on what is really important because the most important things can't fit on a to do list to be checked off.

Not to over-spiritualize, but I wonder how many parallels there are between this countdown and the countdown to Christ's return. We don't know the day or time he will return, but we know it will happen. So can we ask the same questions? Am I ready for the unknown eternity? Is my life completely in order? No. Am I looking forward to meeting Christ? Yes. Have I thought of every possible contingency plan for the future? No. Do I trust God to "conform me to his image" (Rom. 8:29) and "perfect [his good work in me] until the day of Christ" (Phil. 1:7)? Most days. And on those days, Christ's grace and peace fills my mind and heart and guides me to see what is really important. Is accomplishing my agenda important? No. Is it important to know, love, and follow God's commands? Yes.

So I'll continue preparing and organizing in the coming weeks, but I pray that above all, I would rest in Christ and obey Christ no matter what (even if the baby comes before the curtains are finished--gasp!).

Rubber Duckies and Shower Games

Needless to say, we received a preponderance of rubber duckies at our baby shower yesterday. Did you know rubber duckies can be temperature sensitive, firemen, police officers, and even cows? One question: if a cow has a beak, what sound does it make? Mwuack? Quoo?

On another note: Kudos to creative friends who don't rely on the dreaded shower games to make people laugh and interact. No eating baby food or smelling diapers to win a prize. How about writing a nursery rhyme using a given word bank? (Ok, maybe it's not as fun for those non-English teachers out there, but I sure enjoyed seeing the poetic and linguistic side of my friends revealed--or not revealed, as the case may be.) Here are the nursery rhymes the two groups came up with....

Nursery Rhyme #1

There once was a woman named Deb,

whose crib was much more than a bed

She had a little cutie,

who wore little blue booties

Every time he cried louder,

she added more baby powder

She showed him she cared

by giving him a teddy bear

she read him a story book

and gave him a loving look.

Nursery Rhyme #2

Little Baby, we're off to the store

with your diaper bag and sippy cup

Hang on! there more!

Diapers for the doodoo pacifier for the screams

Bib for the spit up and music for sweet dreams.

We'll bring a stroller to carry it all

along with Rubber Ducky and Baby Doll

And now, little baby, we've come this far

But with all this, you won't fit in the car.

These lyrics are in the process of being copyrighted and recorded. Permission to copy lyrics is given only for personal, non-profit uses.

Overwhelmed

with thankfulness.

As I was waiting to drift off to sleep tonight, I was trying to picture what a heart overflowing with thankfulness looked like. Maybe this is one picture: blogging when you should be sleeping because you keep thinking of things you're thankful for and your mind can't stop thinking, preventing you from falling asleep.

I'm so thankful for the God who has placed so many people in my life--people who tangibly, practically, humorously, quietly, obnoxiously, graciously, and unknowingly meet my needs. I know, it's a selfish thing to be thankful for--people serving ME.

Today was the baby shower. Today I was able to see my various worlds collide (my co-workers, my Bible study buddies, my husband's work friends, my college friends, my church friends). Each person who came today has had an impact on my life--from the girl I met just a month or two ago who is an awesome example of welcoming people even when she's the newcomer to my maid of honor who honors and loves my grandmother by engaging her in conversation.

I can't wait to start writing thank you notes. I know most people dread that task, but the only reason I have to dread writing them is that I know I won't be able to fully express my thankfulness--not just for the really cute fireman rubber ducky or the really practical diapers, but for their impact on my life, encouraging me and spurring me on towards Christ as they serve him (either knowingly or unknowingly).

God, thank you for the life you give, not only the one growing in me, but the life you give those people in my life who support, encourage, and laugh with me. May you be glorified through the life you give and sustain.

Overused, Underused Words = Unclear, Unknown Meanings

When a student writes, "I am from mostly Christians, but lutherans too," what does she mean?

The Wrong Side of the Bed

So when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, what do you do? You've had plenty of sleep, life is good, there's plenty to be thankful for, but you're cranky and you don't want to face the world. In fact making a tent out of sheets and staying there all day looks pretty good at this point.... (This is all a hypothetical situation of course.) So what do you do?

Do you...

• cry
• hit the snooze
• snap at your family, coworkers, and students
• avoid everyone
• avoid everything
• bury yourself in work and busyness to avoid thinking
• over-analyze the situation and try to solve your life problems (along with the world's problems)
• apologize profusely all day long
  

Or do you...

• write an encouraging note to a friend
• make a list of things you're thankful for
• pray for people you know who have real things to complain about (and aren't complaining)
  
• listen to worship music on your way to work
• thank God that even though the world stinks, Jesus is still Jesus
• take it out on the leaves in your front yard to release your frustration
• ask God to do in and through what you can't imagine doing today--being patient, loving, and graceful

So hypothetically speaking, do you do the first list or do you do the second list on a day when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? My answer? Yes.

The Decorating of a Nursery

Often, I debate with myself on whether I should spend the time, energy, thought, and money to decorate rooms in my house when there's very little practical value added. Well, I didn't go for the themed baby room with cutified vicious animals, primary-colored sailboats, or various forms of transportation, but I did spend some time thinking through what I'll want to be looking at in the middle of the night or day as I spend time with our son in his room. Here's some of what I've come up with so far. The room is still in process.

The wall over the crib

The center is a memo board waiting to be filled with pictures that I have yet to print, and the side pieces highlight the text from the doxology in Romans 11:33-36.

This hangs over the changing table and is the text of Colossians 1:28. I also love the context (Colossians 1:15-29) of this verse.

I hope these serve as visual, tangible reminders of my place and my purpose.

And on the more foo-foo side of things, I've used the sewing machine I earned by treadmilling this winter (another story) to create a pillow for a more comfortable glider and a crib skirt to hide the underworkings of the crib. I think the next thing is figuring out some decoration for the window--it's rather bare at the moment. I've heard towels work really well for blocking out the light...

Poems

Whenever I teach, I think I learn more than my students. That statement could mean that I'm a really awful teacher, or that I'm a really great learner. I'll let you interpret it the way you wish. This hit home yet again as I taught "Introduction to Poetry" by Billy Collins and "MacCorporate MacDream" by George Barlow (available as a .pdf from this site). Both of these are poems I enjoy, although I'll refrain from stating whether I agree or disagree with their messages.

Some lessons learned...

• Some students have surprisingly deep thoughts (but I probably shouldn't get my hopes up for the rest of the unit).
• Students are really not awake during 1st hour.
• Removing one person from a social melee can drastically calm down the situation.
• The more you read (some) poems, the more ways you can look at it. I think I read these poems somewhere between 18 and 24 times today, and I was still coming up with different ideas during 8th hour.
• Some students are convinced that poetry can mean anything you want it to mean. I'm convinced it can't (even though I can still find new ideas in poems on the 25th read).
• Poems are meant to be enjoyed in addition to being understood.
• Even though G.K. Chesterton is quoted as saying, "Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese," cheese did come up in our discussion of "Introduction to Poetry" today. (And what does cheese have to do with poetry?)
• Sometimes I just need to laugh with students. (of course I never laugh at them....)
• I discover more insight into a poem when I discuss it with others and not just read it in a lonesome cubbyhole. (Does that say anything about life in general?)

And now, I think I'm done thinking for the day.