Upper Six 2014: "You have been that someone"

Yet again, I've been absent for far too long. The term and the year have ended. Goodbyes have been said to students stepping out and away into the world that is not high school. This year's goodbyes were particularly hard.

You have been that someone

Dear student

Last year, I said

“This doesn’t happen with everyone”

to some of you.

Every now and then

you meet someone,

and this weird thing happens.

You have been that someone.

This year, it’s been hard to write,

hard to think about this moment,

because

You have been that someone.

How to put into words that weird thing?

Let me try.

I have watched you

grow, through so much,

pushed and pulled, by so much,

and so many.

I have seen you

fall and get up

shout and cry

sing and dance

break rules and fall into line

be so hard and so kind.

You have

inspired me

with

your courage and perseverance

in the face of so much hurt

your kindness and compassion

in the midst of your own battles

your enduring passion and ability

to sing in the storms.

I have been

inspired by your strength

moved by your song

challenged by your honesty.

It has not always been pretty

It has not always been fun

It has not always been easy

But I would do it all again.

Yup, even those times.

I would do them all again.

I’m so proud of you.

I’m so grateful to have walked

part of your journey with you.

I’m so privileged to have listened

to your fears and jokes and joys.

Every real conversation has been an

Honour

held deep in my heart.

May you find, dear student,

places you can breathe and flourish in,

people you can love who will love you,

things you can do that will give you joy

and make you come alive.

If you find yourself

in places you can’t

with people who won’t

doing things that don’t:

Get out. Leave. And Stop.

You deserve

so much more.

So, dear student,

Go,

with all my blessings

of joy

and peace.

May you find truth.

May you never lose the light

Or the song.

If you do,

come back.

I’ll remind you

Because you are that someone.

Miss Bell, October 2014

Dear church member who is discussing this thing called “Depression” like it is the flu

I wrote this weeks ago and it has been read and reread, edited and chopped. I do not post this flippantly. It is a large issue that many are talking more about recently. I’d like to add my voice to the discussion. I do not address my convictions about what depression is and what we as Christians should think about it in the piece, but would like to say here, briefly, that I personally believe that depression is an illness, with complex causes and facets, that may or may not have spiritual aspects. It can, and should when advised by a medical professional, be successfully treated with medication. When science and medical knowledge given to us by people with God-given abilities and wisdom open our eyes to ways to improve our lives, we should listen and accept this gift. Christians who need to go on medication to be able to live a life free from the hold of this illness often feel immense guilt, and this is wrong. We as the church need to be aware of the damage we do to people within and outside our community, by not speaking about this, and other mental illnesses, in an open and loving way, often alienating both those suffering and their families, and helping to create feelings of guilt, shame and isolation. Whatever your thoughts on the theology of this issue, I hope that you can read my letter below with the same openness in which it was written. Thank you for listening.

* * *

10/09/14

Dear church member who is discussing this thing called “Depression” like it is the flu

I have heard your discussions, or news of your discussions: theological debates and philosophical arguments on the origins and meaning of this thing called “Depression.” Oh, it is so interesting to bat ideas around like tennis balls, back and forth, resting occasionally to consider what God might say in His Word, then, using whatever verse you have found to hit the ball with renewed vigour. I have no desire, here, to hit the ball with you. That is a conversation for another day. This is just to remind you, in the midst of your game, your intellectual discussion, that mixed up in this thing called “Depression,” there are people. Other people who are struggling to understand it as well, but not because they enjoy the stimulating conversations, the batting of the ball, but because they live with it. I am one of those people. I have lived with it in my house. Its darkness has covered the room I sleep in and painted grey the windows that I wake up to. I cannot speak for those who suffer from this thing called “Depression.” No one who has not felt the depth of their darkness can be so foolishly presumptuous as to attempt to describe what it feels like. For that, we need to put the ball down and listen to them. There are many who have courageously stepped onto the court of our game and tried to share their world; we would do well to just sit down, be silent, and listen. I am not one of those, and will not attempt to tell their story. But, I can tell the story of one who has lived with this thing called “Depression” in my house as it has consumed someone I love.

I would like to tell you what it is like to live with someone you love who is suffering from Depression in just three words.

Alone. Because of the silence surrounding this disease, the stigma attached to it, and the church’s often unkind and ungodly reactions to it and the people who have it, it is impossible to not feel totally alone. As you watch your loved one suffer and sink further and further into darkness and silence, away from you, you have to do it alone. No one knows what happens behind the walls of your house. No one is let in. A face is painted, and then you get in the car, go to work, school, church. Sometimes the mask slips outside the walls and someone sees a glimpse of the reality, a hint of the pain, a suggestion of something not quite right. But nobody asks, really. And usually, you hold things together, until you come home. And then, face washed, you see the reality happening in your family. The silence, the pain, the confusion. Even at home, however, you cannot afford to be fully real. You must be strong. You must continue, day in and day out. Fighting the despair, in the one you love, and in yourself, on the outside at least. Sometimes contradicting, sometimes just listening, accepting the negativity, the tears, the hopelessness, the silence, the gloom that falls and settles into the rooms in which we must live, eat, and sleep. And you must do it alone. No one enters into that place. No one knows, and if they did, they would not understand. They could not move in. You must continue, and continue, and continue, alone.

Anger. I feel a lot of anger. Some of it is misplaced, and that is my problem to deal with, kindly do not tell me that, I know it. But I will not lie; I feel angry. Angry at this disease that has stolen the one I love; that consumes and surrounds them with a dark, impenetrable wall that I can’t break through; that turns them into someone I don’t know, can’t understand, and cannot hold.

I find my anger turned on them in their helplessness. I want to shake them out of their fog, to scream and shout in their face, to beat them into feeling-saying-doing something. But I cannot. Because it would not be fair. And because it would not help. My anger must find another outlet.

Enter unthinking, uncaring people. I feel angry towards people, so many people, who do not understand, who do not try to understand, who do not see that there is even something to understand.

Enter church. Oh, church, how can you stand there and not see? How can you leave your brothers and sisters to suffer silent and alone behind the walls of the houses you give them? How can you ignore the pain that is so evident if you would just open your eyes to it?

And then, when I follow the horrifying train of my thoughts, I turn to God. And, God help me, I am angry at you. How could you do this to us? Where are you in our pain and darkness? Why do you leave us here alone and afraid?

Afraid. I am terrified. I do not know where this disease will take the one I love. I do not understand it and, as I stand watch from the other side, I cannot help. There is no quick fix, no twelve-step solution, no magic formula: I cannot problem-solve this thing. And I cannot step into the darkness with the one I love. I cannot follow. And yet sometimes, an even darker fear stalks me, perhaps, I will follow.

Alone. Angry. Afraid. There are other feelings that drip off this thing called “Depression” when it moves into your house: guilt, grief, pain, hopelessness, confusion. These three, however, accompany me and cannot be shaken off. And this is my experience. I do not speak for all who have had to live with this thing called “Depression” in their house. I do not even speak for every member of my family. I speak for myself. It is not the experience of all who live with and care for family with Depression. But it is mine. Hear it and consider it as you debate the ethics, the origins, and, God help you, the theology of this thing we call “Depression.” And then, eyes a little more open, please, be kind.

A reminder to myself: why I'm here

Today I was reminded why I’m here, at this school. I had forgotten. I’ve always known I will not be here forever; and not even these things will keep me here that long. But I am here now. And now I must remember why.

To clarify:

I am not here for the money. I am deeply grateful for a job that pays well in a country where unemployment is vast, but, let’s be honest, I could move across town for a better paying position.

I am not here for the movement upwards. In Zimbabwean education? Don’t make me laugh.

I am not here for the stability. Four Heads in five years and a departmental crisis every 10 months, I don’t think so.

I am not here for the recognition of how much I do. It just ain’t gonna happen.

I am here to teach:

grammar and spelling,

literature and characterisation,

punctuation and figures of speech,

but also,

how to express thoughts, clearly and well;

to speak up;

to own opinions;

to be brave;

to listen to and accept the thoughts and opinions of others;

to believe, in possibility, self, and hope.

Among other things.

I am here to listen:

to hear truth and lies

--spoken and unspoken--

and to accept that both might be necessary at different times;

to hear stories of pain and joy,

and to feel and carry the weight of both.

I am here to challenge:

students and structures,

values and words,

systems and ideas.

I am here to build and inspire:

people,

stories,

ideas,

hope.

I am here to see:

the potential;

the spark in a timid eye;

the courage/hope/confidence that needs blowing on;

the dark circles that tell stories of long nights;

the heart that wants to be heard;

the pain under the laughter.

I am here to be a safe place:

to provide freedom

to be

and say

and do

whatever might be necessary,

today.

I am here to accept:

whoever comes in and

whoever goes out,

and to protect that right to be.

I am here to make better:

everything I can,

however I can,

one small,

painful

step at a time.

Basically, I am here

to care.

That is why I am here. For now.

Why teaching teenagers is so beautiful

To remind myself... another list in progress.

1.      Sometimes you can make a difference. Sometimes you will see it. Sometimes it will be huge.


2.      Some of them will love you. And love is very big when you are a teenager.

3.      Every now and then, someone you were least expecting will surprise you.

4.      When they get excited about something that makes you excited (like the meaning of a line in poetry or changing the world tomorrow) happiness happens all around.

5.      They love each other so much and you get to watch them defend and stand by their friends. To the death (or at least detention).

6.      The same students who made you cry last week will make you laugh until you have to sit down this week.

7.      Every now and then, one will say something that will give you a high for a week. And it might just be that your skirt is cool.

8.      They really are smart and you can have so much fun together.

9.      Occasionally you are let into their world and the privilege will blow you away.

10.  Their excitement for life is electrifying.

11.  They really believe they can change the world, and you get to believe along with them.

12.  They try so hard to change the world and you get to watch.

13.  Life can be its most painful and difficult when you are a teenager; you get to be there.

14.  They wear multiple layers. Trying to get to the bottom can be so beautiful.

15.  When they do trust you… that’s all.

Why teaching teenagers is so hard

This is a list in progress...

1.      They have this incredible ability to get into your heart. And then break it.

2.      As much as you tell yourself you aren’t, you are desperate to be liked by all 150 of your students, all the time. And it’s impossible. Some of them will not like you.

3.      Someone will always disappoint you, sometimes the one you had so much faith and hope in.

4.      Sometimes they believe so much in you and think you can solve all their problems. And… the systems you work within will thwart all your efforts to try to make their world a better place. Again and again. Until you are totally exhausted with trying. And you can’t tell them why you’ve failed them.

5.      You can’t explain your emotions to them, even, and especially if they are the cause; you have to be bigger than that. You’re the adult, and that sucks sometimes.

6.      Sometimes, just when you think you’ve broken through, you realise it was a lie.

7.      No matter how much you care, it won’t be enough. To fix them, to fix it, to make it better.

8.      You just won’t ever have enough strength or tissue for all the pain that they will bring into your classroom.

9.      They will talk about you and you will find out and it will make you sad.

10.  There are all these codes. They don’t give you the key.

11.  They wear multiple layers. Trying to get to the bottom can be infuriating and draining.

12.  They will lie to you. And some of them can do it so well.

13.  They think they know everything, so you are always wrong. Very few have developed enough to see the world objectively.

14.  Almost every one of them enters having been hurt by an adult. You are an adult. Enough said.

15.  The time required to build real relationship and trust is ridiculous. Most of them leave high school before you’re done.

The ground I used to know

It has been a long hiatus and I’m determined to get back to blogging regularly. I mentioned in a previous post that last term was long and hard, the hardest of my career yet. One of the reasons I’ve put off writing again is that I feel I need to write about it but don’t feel a public blog is the place to do so directly or specifically.

So, I wrote a poem. Originally I wrote it for the writing group I pretend to be part of (pretend because I’m such a haphazard member, I’m not sure I can claim belonging there).

Anyway, it sums up, perfectly metaphorically my feelings at the end of last term. I’ve moved beyond them a little now and am delighting again in teaching and my students; but things have changed. I have changed. I have grown and been stretched, and that is not always pleasant and hardly ever easy. I’ve had to re-examine some of my core beliefs about people, my teaching, my students, my classroom and how they all connect. And it has not been nice. God, though, remains faithful and good. Through all.

The ground I used to know

The mist is clearing

from a grey dream

that was full of dark shapes

and people I thought I knew

but who wore different clothes

Waking above the fog

I can feel the bruises

from the reality of this dream.

They will heal

In time, I think.

But there are deeper wounds

old ones, reopened,

I can feel my limp will be back

I can breathe now

In and out

Deeply.

The air in my dream was stiff

It caught in my throat

and made me gasp.

But

I don’t know how to get down

from this narrow platform,

where I stand

far above the ground I used to know.

I’m not used to being so high

to not feeling the ground,

I cannot even see it

below me.

There is nothing to hold on to

anymore

nothing beneath my feet that is sure,

a cold platform that trembles as I inch to the edge.

I need to step off

I know

There is no other way down

But I cannot see what is in the mist

And I’m afraid:

What if the ground is not there

or has changed shape

again

or does not hold me

and I sink

back into the mud of sleep that

left me hurt

and scared

and alone

up here?

I want to get down

But I cannot step off right now.

25 April, 2014

Noah: truths I’m grateful for

I feel I can now enter the Noah debate having just seen it. I’ve been following the swirl of emotive writing and response to it over the last few weeks. I don’t have anything wildly revolutionary to contribute (which is fine, because I think my readership numbers about three on the average post J) but want to respond to and process what I’ve just watched.

I went with a friend to the 2:50pm movie on Saturday at Eastgate downtown. We have three movie theatres in Harare. Eastgate is the oldest one. It’s downtown and many of the white people (and middle to upper class coloured and black people) I know have never been and won’t usually go – “too dangerous/busy/noisy/far-away”. There is another in Westgate that is frequented by everyone too nervous/lazy/unwilling to go into town. Eastgate is slightly cheaper. Another movie theatre has just opened in Borrowdale – an area in the upper class side of town. Apparently it has leather seats and costs double what Westgate does. Eastgate was showing Noah in 2D, rather than 3D at Westgate (3D is always a touch and go experience in Zimbabwe) and so I proposed going there.

My friend brought her sister and we met at our church so that we could drive in one car and avoid paying parking for all our cars. They were late. And then we had to wait for the friend they had invited. We parked at Meilkes Hotel – safest parking near the movie theatre. Inside the movie theatre, there were long lines at the ticket counters. Correction: there was a clump of people crowded around the ticket counters. It was 2:51pm. Darn. Movies are the one thing that usually start on time in this country. I stood at the back of the clump between the two open ticket windows, unwilling to commit to one side of the clump until I had done a better assessment of the situation. A barefoot little girl asked me for money: street kids in the movie theatre is new – perhaps because it is school holidays? I said, no. Her little sister tried her luck.

The clumps parted and I stood behind my friend’s sister who bought all the tickets – there was a little debate about buying 3D glasses because the sign said it was 3D but my info from facebook said it wasn’t. The ticket seller confirmed facebook, and not the sign behind her, was correct.

Upstairs a dove had got in and was madly trying to get out the closed windows, eventually perching high on a ledge near the ceiling. We joined another clump for drinks and popcorn. 2:59pm. Clumps (and white skin) are often advantageous in this place: my friend’s friend was served quickly and we made it into the movie, drinks and popcorn in hand. 3:01pm. As we entered the pitch black theatre, Noah was holding a weird glowing rock…  unfortunately, those rocks make it onto the ark and we are totally confused about them. Oh well.

So, after finally making it into the theatre, and watching Noah, in mostly peace and quiet (one lady at the front of the theatre took a call for about 10 minutes—I’m sure her sister was having her baby, or her dog had died, or her husband needed to know, urgently apparently, what was for dinner), I left feeling very positive towards it. Maybe in all my reading I had prepared myself for the worst (or the best) but I left thinking, and I took away, and I hope many others who watch will take away, some very valuable reminders of, and lessons in, important truth. Here are three that stood out to me particularly:

1. Creation is good. So very good. And we “broke it”.

I have to admit my vegetarian heart was deeply warmed to see how high up God’s creation (and a vegetarian diet J) was held in this movie. I think it is unfortunate that this truth of the beauty and goodness of creation seems to have been lost in the debate over animals verses humans. I did not leave thinking that animals were more important than humans. I left reminded what a good and beautiful place this is that God gave us to live in and look after, and also what a mess we make of it! Every time. Then – the darkness and starkness of the landscape at the beginning of the movie was startling and painful to see – and now – the rate at which we are consuming resources and destroying the earth and those we share it with should pain us. As a few of the characters say in the movie, “we broke it”. We did, and are, and that should make us sad and upset!

2. God is a God of justice and love

What an amazing truth told to the world through a Hollywood blockbuster! The criticism that God’s name is not mentioned is not even worth addressing. I thought it was very clear that God is centre stage of this drama, working through Noah who is trying to discern His voice. Ultimately, I was reminded that God is a God of justice – I don’t think I’ve thought before how bad things must have been for Him to have decided to obliterate the entire world. But He didn’t just judge, destroy, and walk away. He is also a God of mercy and crazy love who chose to give us a second chance. To continue to love. Noah’s growing belief that God wanted to eliminate all humanity (and the horrifying implications of that) is a disturbing part of this movie. But Noah doesn’t stay there. He “chooses love”. Some have seen this as heretical distortment of free will – Noah was given the power to choose to save humanity, or not – and this would be a disturbing message indeed, which is perhaps there, but I did not see it this way. Noah could not carry the implications of his belief through in the end and tells God he cannot. The final scene allows us to see God’s view of this lack of action on Noah’s part. At the dedication of Shem and Ila’s babies the rainbow breaks into the sky – God’s blessing on Noah’s choice (which was not actually his choice in my opinion but his following God’s will accurately). And this is the redemption story in all its glory. God created the world beautiful. He made us in his perfect image. We broke the world and His image with sin. Rather than destroy us as we deserve, He chose and chooses love. He chose to send His Son to take our place and redeem and renew this beautiful world. Could there be any more amazing truth to communicate in a movie?

3. The Bible characters were real people.

Yes, maybe Noah wasn’t Russell Crowe’s version of Noah, but the truth is, he was a man. A good man, yes, but a sinful, imperfect man, with emotions, who made mistakes. I, for one, am grateful for the reminder that the people in the Bible were real people who faced real challenges and struggled to understand what God was saying and who sometimes got it wrong. What a comforting truth for us Christians (and everyone around us shaking their heads at us and the ridiculous things we do sometimes): hey, we’re real people, with real challenges, who struggle to understand what God is saying, and who get it wrong sometimes! And that’s okay.

There were aspects of this movie I did not like: the strange fallen rock angels (though, gosh, that would have made the ark-building a whole lot easier!); Methuselah and Noah sitting down to tea – tea?! really?!; the absence of wives for Ham and Japheth (though again, this helped the movie to explore Noah’s conflict and the pain of his decision in a powerful way); Tubal-Cain’s presence, especially on the boat, even though it provided some interesting counter ideas, action and dialogue; Methuselah’s strange powers; and, of course, the baffling glowing rocks.

But, I think that the large truths in this movie are worth engaging with and talking critically about – and being grateful that they have been presented to the world in a Hollywood movie – and we cannot do any of that – engage, talk and be grateful – if we do not see it, or are not open to discerning these truths within it. There is obviously much more that could be said about this movie and the value or lack of value in watching it but that is for another blog post, or perhaps another blogger.

One final thought: one of the saddest images in the movie to me was Noah standing on the ark, staring up at the grey sky, desperately asking God to speak to him. Sometimes God is silent and we don’t know what to do or if what we’re doing or where we’re going is the right thing or the right place. It is often difficult to follow (and sometimes even to see!) His path and many times I’m not sure if I’m even on the right road, never mind facing the right direction. And so often I wonder why the world is in such a state: why are there barefoot street kids with empty stomachs and people eating popcorn in movie theatres? Why does my skin give me unfair advantages, again and again? Why do innocent doves get caught inside buildings? And why do we not care? And when we do care, how do we deal with the weight of the answers? I don’t know. And when I’m in this place and when God does not seem to answer in the rain and through the grey clouds, I have to trust what He has told me in the light, and to trust that the sun is still there, behind the clouds, even when it feels so dark.

What is important

28/03

What is important

Remembering what is important is important. Sometimes we lose track of the big picture, the point of it all, the reason we do the things we do. It’s important to remember. And to remind each other. Because when things get hard, or tiring, or discouraging, or just plain painful, it is easy to forget and to give up. And then nothing can happen, nothing at all, if we lose sight of what’s important.

Staying true to what’s important is important. And it’s hard to do. I feel like sometimes the world and everyone in it is actually trying to make you forget – it bombards you and assaults you and throws nasty spikey things at you until you can’t stand it anymore and you’re ready to just curl up and sleep into numb oblivion.

That’s when we have to remember what’s important. We have to dodge, and throw back, and sometimes just let things hit us. Because if we curl up and sleep our dreams will not be of things that are important. They will be of nothing. And then, hope is gone.

***

I wrote this as a free write with my AS Language class today. It has been a long, hard term. Perhaps the hardest in my short teaching career. No doubt there will be harder ones (happy thought) but my some of core beliefs of how I should relate to students and what it means to be a teacher – and the limits and borders of that – have been deeply shaken. I feel so drained and battered. And I needed the truth of today’s free write. I need to remind myself what’s important.

What is important:

·         my students & their well-being

·         the truth & telling it when necessary

·         justice & making things better

·         safe spaces & allowing voices to be heard, safely

·         love

Rebirth/Resolutions

Rebirth/Resolutions

                                           

The topic for writing group this week:

rebirth/resolutions

Finally! something positive

Something with hope

Something not “murder”.

I spend the week mulling

waiting for some flash of

inspiration

brilliance to impress

them all.

Ideas of threads,

storylines, clever lines of poetry

Flit around like the commonly

picked up and discarded resolutions

of new years

Exercise more/Eat less/Give up

alcohol/coffee/chocolate

      ***

Late to lunch one day

Driving madly in the pouring rain

Pondering rebirth/resolutions

Sending an “I’m late again!” text

I round the bend

Out of the corner of my eye

A man, a boy really,

Glances around

At the suitcase he is pulling

That is soaking up the water

That is coming in sheets

Over his backpack

Running off his head

Filling the puddle he is wading through.

200 metres down the road I imagine myself

Stopping

Picking him up

Imagine the grateful look

The seats absorbing some of the cold water

Off his body

His suitcase

Imagine

Helping

But I was late

again

My noble imaginings were just that

 (only without reality one has to

question the nobility)

Ten minutes later

Ordering my camembert sandwich

Sipping my filter coffee

Boy with the suitcase

Forgotten

Noble imaginings

Gone

In my privileged

Car windows up

Camembert eating

Existence

It feels wrong to think of

to write

clichéd poetry

--that will be discussed over cappuccinos

and Danish pastries at Cork road--

about

rebirth/resolutions

When so many

Dragging suitcases

Through Zimbabwe’s rain storms

Cannot.