Summer class

I am beginning a summer English class in our neighborhood.

This was an obvious response to the need I’ve seen at our local school, the difficulty for non-English speaking parents to communicate without translators. Parent participation in their kids’ school is directly impacted by barriers such as language. I haven’t begun teaching just yet–I’m still waiting for a certificate to appear in the mail–but the last twelve weeks I have been preparing. We all really should do college when we’re thirty-five instead of fresh out of highschool; it’s much more applicable, and no boyfriends are around to distract you.
Ha.

Last fall, I was picking the kids up from school when it occurred to me I had something to offer. After the final bell rings, the boys usually meet me on a big field out in front of the building. Of course I’m always dragging little kids along, and it generally takes us forever to coax them to the school, then off the playground, then to walk back home. What takes a normal person five minutes takes us a half hour. On this particular day, the kids were playing on swings and I was hustling them to go home. Out of nowhere a little boy appeared on the steps. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old. He squinted his eyes and in panicked Spanish said, “Excuse me, excuse me! Do you speak any Spanish?”

“Uh…poquito!” I replied. School had been out for several minutes, the buses had all left, and we were the only ones still standing outside the building. “Que necesitas?”

He began rattling off words so quickly that I had to ask him to slow down. It was his first day of school, he was new here, he had just had eye surgery the day before; he couldn’t see. He didn’t know where his mom was, or how he was supposed to get home. He lived in a tall, red apartment building. His mother drove a white car. He didn’t know her phone number, but he knew his aunt’s. I grabbed my kids and we all walked around the building to see if the front office was still open.

The ladies at the front desk were surprised. They do not speak Spanish, so they had to wait for someone to arrive to phone call the boy’s mother. The little boy was worried and scared. I told him everything would be alright, then I had to leave because my own squirmy kids were hungry and tired.

It made me think about the little boy’s parents. Could something more be done?
It made me glad that we are a boring family that dawdles after school on the playground.

I marvel that Jesus said Love your neighbor, and that was it. He didn’t say to try to eliminate global poverty, stop the North Koreans from blasting nukes, fix the entire immigrant crisis, make world peace, or argue a point to the death on social media. He didn’t even ask us to try and understand the scope of hate, devastation, hunger, cruelty, despair that rocks our world. He just told us to remain in Him and keep an eye on the people in our path that need help (Luke 10). He just said, “love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:31) and expected us humans to trust that this one-step-at-a-time method was His best, most intentional way to love Him back. He left us an example to follow in His Word, and it boils down to the most simple idea ever: to pay attention.

This comes with a price, I have learned. Any mom or dad who has stayed home with a small child and a three day plan to potty train them bootcamp-style knows the stakes. When you assume the task of training your precious minion, your only goal in life is to chauffeur them to the toilet before they puddle up the carpet, sofa, bed or chair. You stretch plastic over the carpet, drag the tiny potty stool into the living room, make a stash of salty pretzels and juice bags. Everything falls to the wayside; microwaved hot dogs become a staple supper fare. You neglect your home, your work, your body, your life. You are on a mission: nothing else is as important as keeping poop out of their pants. You will not get paid a dime to accomplish this, and any thanks will only come in the form of mad dashes to the filthy Walmart restroom right in the middle of the checkout lane.

This is the urgency of paying attention.

Yet we fill up our days with busy-ness to where we can’t see a neighbor in need even if they were pounding on our door for a cup of sugar. We are consumed by a virtual life, the breaking of bread with our iPhone screens. We are too busy to even look our children in the eyes. Too afraid of the ultra-needy sucker fish-type. Too weak to set healthy boundaries. We don’t really want to partake in someone else’s struggle, feel someone else’s pain. We don’t want their failures to rub shoulders with our successes. We assume we know all the hows and whys without first making an informed observation. We filter our love for others through a sieve: Do they deserve my time? Will this hinder my success? What will people think?
In Matthew 6, Jesus declares that worrying about ourselves, our clothes, our shelter, our food–is a silly endeavor. What really matters, He says, what serves as a hitching post in our soul that every other tangible need is tied to–that which sets the believer apart from the unbeliever–is this:
“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”    (Matt. 6:33).
Seek first! Paying attention is not passive or an alternate route; it’s the first, most crucial step. Every success hinges on seeking first his kingdom.  
God has excellent foresight. His perfect plan for each of us relies on our faith in Him, only to abide in Him. Jesus said, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5)

“Apart from me you can do nothing”–I sort of thought this was a little harsh of him to say, but isn’t it kind? We don’t have to wander around, hoping our ambiguous good deeds somehow serve a nebulous purpose and make us feel happy with ourselves. No, there is a measured effect when we draw life from the Vine–it’s fruit. Things not growing on the Vine are dead, and they don’t amount to much. The only life is in the branches.
I’m nervous about starting something new. What if no one comes? What if people come and they hate it? What if I fail? What if this is a massive disaster?
But then I realize I’m making it all about me, and I get over it. Preparing a way, or “seeking first the kingdom” doesn’t rely on my ability to be awesome or even capable. It relies on my willingness to notice, show up, and believe that God can work with what I’ve got.

I’ll tell you this–I have no clue if teaching English is what God wants me to do. I’ve been working hard, staying up late at night to write papers and pass my certification, and I haven’t felt a sense of this is it. But I do think He is rather fatherly and wonderful and excited about me. I’ve never heard a bossy, celestial voice or seen visions. But He does throw out some fantastical promises in the Bible, and I cling to them. In Malachi 3, the Lord dares His people to go all in, to hang their hat on His goodness.

“Test me in this,” says the Lord Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.”
(Malachi 3:10)

Just see if I can’t blow your mind, He says. This seems like a darn good bet. God can use my little investment, my menial mom-job of paying attention, and He is pleased to help me rake in the chips.

I’m all in, Jesus. I’m only, ever, all in.