Rules

This has been one big hairy beast of a week for perfectionist teacher Tori. There's nothing quite like strolling into work on a Monday morning and immediately encountering an email from the boss that dashes any hope for the confident, happy day that might have been. I am so easily wounded! As a teacher of written language I am profoundly embarrassed when my use of grammar is called into question (there's a little clue of what the email was about). As if that Monday morning's chastisement wasn't enough, I quickly received a non-academic email that also corrected my grammar (albeit playfully, it still stung)! That was twice in the span of one hour that I was made to stare a professional flaw in its ugly, grinning face. If you are anything like me when it comes to taking great pride in your value as a professional, you can imagine that at this point the emotional floodgates opened. Suddenly I felt wholly inadequate to be an English teacher. Why had I even been given a place in the Humanities department? Why had I not been sequestered to the gym basement teaching drama, a skill that was obviously better developed?

I was, of course, being completely ridiculous as I embraced these self-effacing thoughts. So my grammar isn't always flawless. So my command of style isn't what it could be. Did these things make me a terrible teacher? No. Did they mean that I have some growing to do as a writer and teacher? Sure. Is it okay that I have not "arrived," yet am teaching? I think so. There are other aspects of teaching humanities that I know I do well. Rather than tossing those aside, why not work to strengthen the skills that are lacking? My husband wisely stated as I whined to him on Monday evening, "Honey, you didn't major in English. You majored in Theatre. You can't expect yourself to operate at a level of professionalism for which you haven't been fully trained." Well, he said something like that anyway. And he was absolutely correct. So maybe I will take a grammar refresher course next summer, or even contemplate a bit further the masters degree in English I've been thinking about tackling. Either way, a few days of contemplation later I can look my flaw in its face and see that perhaps it isn't as hairy, hideous and wart-ridden as I had initially thought. Maybe it's more like a teetering toddler that just needs a steady hand to help it bumble forward in a mostly straight line. Or something like that.

This entry wouldn't accurately represent my blog if I didn't offer some spiritual insight to accompany my more worldly epiphany. God has an uncanny habit of paralleling what I'm learning in my daily life with a spiritual truth I need to grasp. This week was no different. I've been reading in Galatians this week (thanks to shereadstruth.com, which I HIGHLY recommend to you girls out there). To be completely transparent, it's been almost annoying to hear Paul speak about his ministry to the Gentiles and how undeterred he was by the opinion of others. Here I am cradling my wounded pride to my chest as I read Paul saying things like "If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ" (1:10) and "I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing" (2:21). That's all well and good, Paul, but I want to impress people. I want to live by the list of rules I've set for myself that defines what makes a person good...I want to forget that Jesus died on a cross to erase my need for perfection. I want, I want, I want. 

Thank You, Lord, for the persistent reminder You've given me this week: I don't have to hold myself to  an unattainable standard. I don't have to labor endlessly toward a perfection I can never embody. Paul said it so beautifully:

"I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me" (2:20). 

This side of heaven I need daily reminders of God's free grace and merciful love. The perfection my heart longs for is found in the Person of Jesus Christ. Amen and hallelujah.

Summer's End

It's finally here - my last week of summer break. I imagine that most teachers feel like I do every August. The wide open days of June and July were blissful. I had time to deep clean my house, catch up on my favorite tv shows, carve out time to exercise, read just for the pure pleasure of it, and have lunch dates with good friends. Yet August always ushers in the excitement of possibilities: a better way to teach a course, a new batch of incoming freshmen students, shiny pretty school supplies! In the spirit of leaving summer behind and moving into another fall semester, here is my update on the summer goals I set for myself back in June.

1. Actually post new blog entries. Is once a week too ambitious of me?

Well, I didn't write an entry per week, but I got a few in per month. Not too shabby.

2. Read approximately 1200 pages of rhetorical theory in preparation to teach rhetoric to high school juniors this fall.

I totally bombed on this one. I haven't even cracked a rhetoric book! Looks like I'll have my work cut out for me during in-service next week...

3. Get some concentrated vitamin D a couple of times per week.

Didn't get this one done either. I feel completely justified blaming the oppressive North Carolina humidity.

4. Read at least four fictional books purely for pleasure. Any suggestions? The last exciting and no-brain-power reads I devoured were the three Hunger Games novels.

Finally, a goal I not only met but beat! I read eight novels, six of which belong to a historical murder mystery series I highly recommend. It's the Nell Sweeney series by P.B. Ryan.

5. Start and successfully complete the workout DVD I purchased today: Jillian Michael's "Ripped in 30." She does look pretty intimidating! I think she'll frighten me into submission!

I loved this workout system so much that I completed it once and started it over again! I had forgotten how good it feels to be in shape! This is a goal I want to continue into the school year.

6. Choose the next play I'll direct at school this fall (this one's not really an option).

This fall we will be producing A MURDER IS ANNOUNCED, by Agatha Christie. It's a classic British parlor room mystery that should be great fun for the cast and their director.

7. Cook some of the 256,347 scrumptious-looking meals I've pinned on Pinterest.

How embarrassed should I be to say that not only have I not cooked any meals on Pinterest, I also haven't cooked hardly at all this summer? Just checking. Salads and sandwiches are pretty tempting dinners when it's just me and the hubs!

8. Go through all of my clothes and make an extra special trip to GCF.

Done. Three trash bags' worth. That was a good feeling.

False Identities

I have played a variety of roles throughout my life, sometimes on an actual stage and others wearing the makeup and costuming of insecurity and group identity. Insecurity is a hot topic for me. I grew up as a perfectionist only child with performance-based values. I had terrific parents who loved me and raised me well, but we are each born into this world fatally flawed. No combination of conscientious parenting, enriching education, or stable developmental environments will produce a person free of major, life-ruining flaws. That seems like quite the despairing world view, and it is...apart from Christ crucified. More on that in a minute.

My mom had a saying that she faithfully pounded into my memory during my teenaged years: "Comparison is the root of all inferiority." The statement is simple yet profound. I'm performance-oriented, remember, so often I find my self-worth in how well I achieve goals or how consistently I impress certain people. I don't want to be mediocre at anything. I want to be a crazy inspirational teacher, a ridiculously talented singer, an impeccable wife, the most thoughtful friend. I strive with all my might to be these things, to play these roles if you will, and I inevitably fail. You see, there will always be someone who teaches with more passion and expertise than I do, someone whose voice far surpasses mine, someone who puts my wifeliness to shame, someone who is naturally a better friend to others than I could ever hope to be. My hope cannot be placed in these things. My self-worth cannot hinge on my ability to perform well. If I live my life this way, I am constantly submitting myself to insecurity and heartache. There has to be more to who I am than these unachievable and false identities.

Thankfully, there is so much more to who I am. But it's not because of anything I've done, am capable of doing, or will do. The only beautiful thing about me is my identity as a daughter of God. I am valuable because He chose to give me worth. The creator of the universe, my creator and yours, condescended to earth and took on the full weight of our sin. He took all of our false identities, all of the things of this world that entice and then disappoint, and nailed them to a cross. Jesus crucified my wretched nature when He gave His life in place of mine. He rose from the grave, giving all of humanity  the right to choose life in Him. We now have a right to all of the good gifts of God because we are brothers and sisters with Christ. We are God's children and have a perfect inheritance in Him. 

What does this new identity mean for my day to day life? It means that the Father won't judge me because He already punished Jesus in my place. It means that God delights in me as a father does his beloved child. It means that nothing broken in me is unfixable through the power of the Holy Spirit. It means I don't have to perform. I can stop trying so hard to impress. I can stop comparing myself to people who have what I think I want. It means I am free.

I will never be perfect this side of heaven, and insecurity will rear its hideous head at me when it senses my moments of weakness. My prayer for myself, and for you, is that in these moments the Spirit will remind us who we truly are. Lord, strip away these false identities I masquerade in. Remind me who I am when I take off my worldly trappings. Keep insecurity in any area of my life from gaining a stronghold in my thoughts. It's in You alone that real rest and security are found. I've tasted the sweetness of that and I want always to hunger for Your acceptance - which is already mine. Thank You.

For those of you who like practical application, here is a prayer crafted by my pastor, J.D. Greear, in his recent book "Gospel." It's simple, Biblical, and true. I encourage you to make it a part of your regular prayer time, or to start with this prayer as a model if you're uncomfortable praying on your own. As always, hit me up if you want to discuss this topic further, and leave a comment if you have Scripture verses or ideas of your own to share.

The Gospel Prayer

In Christ, there is nothing I could do to make You love me more; nothing I have done that makes You love me less.

You are all I need today for everlasting joy.

As You have been to me, so I will be to others.

As I pray, I'll measure Your compassion by the cross and Your power by the resurrection.

 

Little Bear, Little Bear

If you read my last post, Into the Glorious, here are some nostalgic photos of little Tori enjoying the Ranch. Just for the heck of it, and because it's enormously interesting to me to see other people's childhood pics. Is that creepy? Oh well. You know you creep too.

3 or 4 years old, getting a good old-fashioned scrub in a bucket from Grammy.
The house wasn't built yet so we visited the property in an RV.

Me and Daddy pausing in our exploration of an old cabin. Look at what hunk he was!
In this photo Dad was the age I am right now...and he had a 4 year old. Wow.

Oh you know, just playing with my Popple and a snake.

Me (6 yrs) and my childhood best friend, my cousin Erin (4 yrs), hanging out on the RV steps.

Eight year old me "helping" Papa (my grandfather) dig out a spring. I'm sure I was a HUGE help.

Into the Glorious

I feel like I must be one of the most fortunate people I know to have in the family a remote mountain house nestled into the Colorado Rockies. My grandfather's biological father left him and his mother when he was a small boy, and the man who later became his stepfather was a gracious gift of God to him. I love hearing my grandfather tell stories of his childhood and speak with great respect and affection for his true father - his stepdad. Great Grandpa Claude, as we Summers grandkids call him, owned quite a bit of land at the base of some mountain peaks outside of Steamboat Springs. That land was first settled in the early 20th century and is still in the family nearly 100 years later. My grandfather has acquired more adjacent property over the past forty years, making a trip to their summer house up on the mountain a truly magical experience.

Picture steering your truck off of the little country highway onto a dirt road that stretches as far as you can see until the first bend of a hillside. Poke along that road, dust flying up as you pass, and drink in the gorgeous fields and forested peaks. It's not uncommon to spot dozens of elk in the early morning or at dusk, and of course you will offer a wave to the shepherd whose sheep graze lazily alongside of the road. Cows, chipmunks, and mule deer are other animals you'll expect to see wandering about. In a season of good rain, green growth along the roadside and up through the wooded hills is laden with wildflowers. Lavender and white Columbine, the state flower, are the loveliest of the various types and colors you will enjoy. After fifteen or so minutes of this view, winding higher and higher up the mountain, you finally arrive at the house. The property stretches for miles behind the cabin and is home to quaint ponds, original cabin homesteads finally succumbing to the elements, rock formations adorned with Native American drawings, and beautiful vistas if you're willing to hike up to them. Can you envision it yet?

The crazy thing is, I haven't always appreciated visiting what is known as Heritage Mountain Ranch. When I was a child, I adored our visits. It was a chance to explore a great, expansive outdoor playspace. As a teenager, the mountain's charm was no longer appealing enough to warrant the fuss I made of ticks, rattlesnakes, and the very occasionally seen bear. It was just after I finished college that I flew out to CO to spend a week with my grandparents and truly fell in love with the place. I finally stilled my mind and heart long enough to appreciate the glory of God's creation begging for admiration all around me. Now I visit every chance I am given. Take a gander below and I think you'll see why. 

the house from a vantage point up a steep hillside

I had to include a pic of my handsome husband!

gorgeous view

move it, sheepy sheepy sheepy 

tons of butterflies this year

another stunner

one of the old cabins

Note: The title for this post was taken from Christy Nockels' newest album, "Into the Glorious," my soundtrack for this summer's trip. 

Sunny San Diego...Sort Of

This has proven to be a busy month of traveling and baby showering, not leaving me time for thoughtful, clever blog posts (okay, so I like to think I'm clever at least some of the time). Here is a quick and painless recap in photos of my trip to visit family in California a few weeks ago. Lest you view this first photo and think, "Ah, sunny San Diego," let me explain that Southern Cali beach towns in June are lucky to make it to 75 degrees chilly during the day. I'll take what they call California "June Gloom" over the sunny, suffocating temps of 100-106 we've had in Raleigh this week anytime! Sigh...

Oh, you know, I just drive my giant golf cart to dinner. Or my Mercedes. Both very Californian and funny to see parked side by side.

Gorgeous Fuschia hanging flowers. I thought these looked like magical Disney flowers growing up.

I developed a new fondness for Dahlias while visiting the San Diego County Fair's flower show. What an amazing flower! God is ridiculously creative. Love.

A trip to visit my family in Solana Beach isn't complete without at LEAST one meal at Tony's Jacal Mexican Restaurant. It's been around since the 1940's and is holy frijoles good!! This is quite possibly the best chimichanga made in the United States. You can be jealous.

Next update to come in a week or so. The hubs and I are headed to Steamboat Springs, Colorado to visit my other side of the family tomorrow! No fireworks for the Fourth of July in wildfire country, but we'll make some patriotic mischief of our own. 

Awakened

I attribute much of my growth as person to those rude awakenings we all have in relation to one another. I vividly recall the feeling of confusion and disillusionment I experienced the day it dawned on me that my mom was not, as I had previously thought, perfect and all-knowing. That of course happened during my daunting climb into adolescence. In college, I realized that there was no such thing as a perfect roommate. I would do selfish things and they would do selfish things. Harmony wasn't destined to exist in our house without fissures. Following college, I learned that churches don't exhibit perfection in their members or in their leadership. I came to understand that I would never find the perfect church. And most recently, I have discovered for myself the truth that everyone with an opinion shares with engaged couples: marriage will not be perfect. Rude awakenings.

It would be easy to read what I've just outlined and feel a sense of depression or despair. Do I mean to say that every human relationship we have will fail us at some point? Absolutely. You see, I have this nasty little habit of pinning my hopes and dreams on people. I put expectations on myself, on the other person, and on our relationship that can't possibly be met with perfection. And when the illusion of those "met" expectations are suddenly shattered, or when I wait and wait but they are never met at all, I am ruined. I know with as great a certainty as I know anything, that God chooses to use rude awakenings in my life to point me back to the only perfection I can know on this earth - His.

Disappointments hurt. They make us angry, they frustrate us beyond belief, they leave us with a sense of hopelessness. If I can't make this or that function in the way I think it should, where is the control? How do I fix it so that it works like I want it to? That's just it. I am ultimately not in control. I can't fix another person; I can't even fix myself! So where is the hope in all of this? My hope is found in Jesus Christ. I am ashamed that sometimes it takes a catastrophic awakening to remind me where I belong, but thankfully His patience with me is far greater than my stubbornness. I belong at His feet. I cling to the Rock that is higher than I. I dig into His Word, I meditate on His immense love for me, and slowly He heals my hurt. He whispers His affection to me and wraps me in an indescribable yet almost tangible peace. When I am broken, He is whole. When someone disappoints me, His perfection is constant. When no one understands my pain, He reminds me that He bore the worst of my suffering on a cross. And it's only when I remember these things that I can learn to embrace my imperfections and those of the people I care about. It's only then that I can start to love people because of their brokenness, to love them even knowing that they will disappoint and hurt me; that I will disappoint and hurt myself. Perfection doesn't exist this side of heaven, but that doesn't mean we can't strive toward loving our world by the example Christ set for us. There's so much freedom in knowing that we can try, that sometimes we will succeed and sometimes we are destined to fail, but His love for us isn't contingent on any of that.

I need Him. You need Him. He wants us, and He will remind us by whatever means necessary. Hallelujah! You are worth it all, Lord. My heart breaks for the millions of people who don't know where to turn when their "perfection" falls apart. Help me to remember that my perfection is only You.

One Hot Frittata!

I had a friend over for brunch yesterday. She herself could be Paula Deen's progeny, so I wanted to cook something semi-challenging to impress her. Well, I found out that the old adage still rings true, folks. Pride does go before a fall.

My initial thought was to make, via youtube instruction, The Perfect Omelette. What I created turned into more of a frittata, complete with sauteed mushrooms, a blend of cheeses, and fresh tomatoes. The end result was beautiful...for the food. You see, the cooking process was humming along wonderfully until I decided to transfer the first frittata from skillet to plate. I was deliberate in my sliding on of the oven mitt to retrieve the skillet from the broiling oven. The rotund gentleman with a New Jersey lilt had reminded me of that on the video. When he warned about putting on your mitt, I scoffed. Who would be idiotic enough to grab something out of a hot oven barehanded? So I sheathed my hand, pulled the lovely concoction out of the oven, placed it on the stove, and removed the mitt to busy myself with something else on the counter. When I returned to the stove to transfer the frittata to a plate, did I reinstate the mitt? Of course not. I seized the handle of the one-minute-out-of-the-broiler skillet with my gosh darn bare hand. HOLY RICE AND BEANS.

Needless to say my friend, who arrived a few moments later, had to help me finish cooking our brunch as I nursed my scalding hand on an ice pack. Thank goodness my husband keeps a stock of those in our freezer. Almost three hours and three ice packs later, my hand started to feel somewhat normal again. It officially stopped screaming at my nervous system by mid-afternoon. All that remains a day later and an oven mitt wiser are a few deep purple, mushy bruises that I'm praying won't blister. Mr. Home Video Chef Man, I think I owe you an apology.

school's out for summer

...which means I am left gazing out over a welcoming expanse of free time and having no clue what I'm going to do with it all. Every year during the last week of school, whilst sitting at my desk proctoring final exams, I inevitably begin compiling long mental lists of the fabulous and creative things I plan to accomplish over the summer. My track record for actually bringing these ideas to fruition over the past five summers of my teaching career is about 1 of 8 ideas. One of last summer's undertakings was to create a personal blog. One measly handful of posts later we see how that went! Here are the vacation aspirations I've come up with so far for 2012. Let's check back in this August and see how I've done.

1. Actually post new blog entries. Is once a week too ambitious of me?

2. Read approximately 1200 pages of rhetorical theory in preparation to teach rhetoric to high school juniors this fall.

3. Get some concentrated vitamin D a couple of times per week.

4. Read at least four fictional books purely for pleasure. Any suggestions? The last exciting and no-brain-power reads I devoured were the three Hunger Games novels.

5. Start and successfully complete the workout DVD I purchased today: Jillian Michael's "Ripped in 30." She does look pretty intimidating! I think she'll frighten me into submission!

6. Choose the next play I'll direct at school this fall (this one's not really an option).

7. Cook some of the 256,347 scrumptious-looking meals I've pinned on Pinterest.

8. Go through all of my clothes and make an extra special trip to GCF.

What summer endeavors are you planning?