Sunday, November 20, 2011

Healing

I live in the town of Bowbells, North Dakota.  In my opinion the town is only as good as its inhabitants; and this town is pretty darn great.

My moving to Bowbells was not by my design in the least.  I had been teaching for two years in my home town and found myself on the receiving end of what felt like backstabbing of the century.  When the dust settled I found myself in a community of unmatchable supporters, getting ready to become a father, and not wanting to teach ever again. 

Never teach again; such an odd thought.  I decided that I wanted to teach music in 8th grade, I was in every last music group my schools had to offer growing up, I graduated on music scholarships, music was in my blood…how could I quit?

I taught two years in my hometown: one year as instrumental and one year as vocal and music tech.  A lifelong dream fulfilled at 25.  At the end of the second year a “storm” of sorts came through and I was in the eye.  My wife, my family, and my friends all stood beside me and supported me the best they knew how.  My students got by the best they could; I've had some close supportive friends in my life, but the support and dedication of a student is a strong and powerful thing not to be taken lightly.

Finally it was over.  I saw adults sitting; some crying, some not.  Many of my students went to the hallway; angry, sad, crying, and some even occasionally hitting the wall.  Somehow I knew already, before the day began, I knew what would happen; and even though I had hoped against all hope that things would turn out different, I was somehow in a sort of peace or maybe shock when the words hit my ears.  I got up to leave and a voice behind me said, "It's not over yet".  I turned and said, "Yes it is.  And even if it isn’t, this isn't where I'm needed".  You see even though I was at a formal meeting, and I respect the execution of formal events, I was also still a teacher… one with students that needed help.  So I left to the hall and let my big shoulders catch a pile of tears.

I finished the year as strong as I can; so very proud of the kids.  Clean out my office, help deliver my son, take the summer off.  No aspirations of ever teaching again.  Didn't look, didn't apply, and didn’t care.  Then one by one, like the first raindrops before a downpour, I received emails and phone calls from the Super. in Bowbells, North Dakota.  More and more he persisted until finally I caved in and went for a visit.  I knew the school pretty well; I had heard and seen the program during my college years and even when I was in Sidney.  Bowbells is a proud school; boasting on numerous achievements both in academic and extra-curricular.  For some reason I felt something push me to take the position.

Towards the end of my first year at BHS I realized that I had not dealt with my leaving Sidney at all.  I had pretty much cut ties with friends and former students (many of them in college now) and told myself that I was "good" and was "over it".  Then out of the blue, during a rehearsal, I realized it...my new students helped me find my passion for music again.  Those little turkeys snuck into my life and showed me the love I once so proudly declared since eighth grade.  Though those Eskimos helped start the healing process it’s still a long road to be walked.

There are so many times in life when we don't allow healing, when we don't accept help, when we don't let love.  Whether our hurt is big or small, inside or outside our body, we don't allow others to help; we prevent healing.  Call it pride, call it human nature, call it whatever...it's just not right.  Do you think that Christ wants you to suffer unnecessarily?  Do you think he wants you to deal with pain alone?  Don't get me wrong there are probably things out there that we have to go through, and some of them maybe even alone, but when time for healing comes, when the time for help comes we must be strong enough to look past ourselves and accept that help and healing. 
Accept a car ride in a blizzard; cry on a shoulder; don't hide from or suppress pain, accept that it is there and accept that your friends, family and Jesus are willing to help you heal through it.

A final thought

A friend wrote me a note during my last few months in Sidney; of the many things she said the one I've held dearest is, "Finish Well."  I know she was writing about my remaining time teaching in Sidney, but it also reminds me that we need to strive to be the best Christians we can be. We must fully rely on God and heed his word/calling so that when our time comes we can all Finish Well.   Thanks Bonnie.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Jerseys

I've been working at my current job for going-on-two years now. Last year one of the new teachers and I started wearing our favorite NFL team jersey to work during football season; he would wear his on Friday (kinda saying "good luck" Cowboys) and I would wear mine on Mondays (kinda saying "good job" Vikings). Every day that we wore our jerseys we both caught grief from students, staff, and each other...sometimes, depending on how well our teams did, we would even give ourselves a little bit of guff; however, sure as the sun will rise we would always be wearing our jerseys come Monday and Friday.

A year later, my jersey-wearing coworker has moved on while I have remained here. Every Monday you will find me wearing my tan pants and the good ol' Purple and Yellow. This year, however, is a bit of a strenuous act, wearing the jersey. For those of you who don't follow the NFL let me clue you in on something...the Vikings....uh....we not be doing all that well...as a matter of fact, I can count their wins on the amount of left shoes I wear to work each day. Now every week, come Monday, I get several students, as usual, taunting my team, making fun of the players, and making jokes...and let's be honest, some of their jokes were around when my father was their age, and as usual I put up with some of it, defend some of it, and ignore some it. None of what I have described is any surprise, and unfortunately neither will this next part. Not only will the other fans taunt me, not only will the non-fans make fun of me, but my fellow Vikings fan ridicule me for wearing my jersey! I hear plenty of, "How can you wear that", "That's such an embarrassment", and "If I were you I'd just burn that jersey". I saw them ALL wearing the colors when we had the ONE win this season, as I would hope they would, but no other day.

"Mr. Halvorson, why do you wear that...it's such an embarrassment?"
"Well, let me ask you this, when you are playing ball this season, and you lose games, maybe even more than you win, do you think I will be embarrassed?  Do you think I will ever be sad?  Do you think I will keep the Green and White on my chest and proudly say that I am a Titan?...You better believe it!"
The word "Fan" is short for "Fanatic". A fanatic is: a person with extreme enthusiasm or zeal. Am I really a fan if I turn my back on my team? Do I cause other fans to have hope, take heart, and even be fanatic if I show wavering dedication? What would happen if every time my team did something wrong, every time they failed, every time they lost I took off my jersey in shame?

I got my sense of "fanatics" from my dad. In junior high I was in Track. As I was tall, had the wrong shoes, and was...as most junior high kids are...clumsy and awkward; to put it very nicely I wasn't the greatest member of the team. I did two events in track; weights and hurdles. For some reason hurdles always had this allure to me and since no one else seemed to hear this sweet melody calling them, I felt pretty good about how ever I did. Over two years I went to a lot of meets in various places, my favorite of which was Glasgow, MT…they have a kick-butt school song!  My dad would always ask me how well I did, if I had any fun, and if I learned anything. It was probably plain for my parents to see that I was not going to be a "winning" track competitor; at least I hoped my parents could see that...it was plain to me. Though I did not bring home medals, ribbons, or fig-leafed laurels my parents always asked how I performed, if I learned something and if I had fun..."performing is not the only thing you do....you watch, you see, you listen, and you learn from all around you". My coaches taught me how to perform in events; my parents taught me about support and encouragement. I never felt my parents take off their "jersey of pride" that had my name hand stitched on it.

I'm pretty sure that Jesus Christ isn't all wrapped up in who's going to win the Super Bowl, or how well the Vikings are going to do, or concerned over how many points my hurdle performances would bring to my Junior High team, but I'd like to think he's wearing my "jersey". Every time I say a foul word, make a bad joke, harbor ill feelings for someone...he's there. Though he's probably hurt by my actions he doesn't curse me, say that I'm an embarrassment or "take off my jersey"; he calls to me, he waits for me, he forgives me. Sometimes I wonder how he can forgive me time and time again, and I remember that before I was born Christ paid for the sins of the world by wearing the jerseys of all the sinful things we'd ever do; he wore it while he wore a thorny crown, was crucified on a tree, buried, descended into hell, and when he returned. He “paid” for that jersey and has never taken it off and will never take it off; he is our biggest fan.

My last ever track meet was the only meet I remember my father being at. He usually had something going on at the farm like seeding which prevented him from being able to come; but for some reason he was able to attend my last track meet. I found where my mother and father were sitting in the stands; I was so excited. "Do you very best today Ced, you're dad's here. Don't let him down." I remember saying clear as day. The shot cracked and we took off. We rounded the corner for the last 100 meters of the race, I was in fourth. I knew I needed to be a little higher in this heat to be a final competitor. As I came into the straight away I did something that to this day I don't know why I did...I looked away from the track. I saw my parents cheering for me. I saw my parents smiling at me. I still remember that brief second where it seemed like I only saw and heard my dad and the whole rest of the bleachers were blurry and muted, kinda like how they portray it in movies and on TV; I knew I wasn't going to win, dad knew I wasn't going to win, but dad was my fan, and he was supporting me, cheering me on to do my best, "wearing my jersey", because he loved me.

Let's face it, we're not meant to be perfect, if we were there would be not reason for Jesus. There are going to be times when we make little mistakes and there'll be times when we "bite it big", and guess what...Christ already knows it! Jesus knows all our triumphs and he knows all our failures, those that are done and those yet to be done; his unconditional love for us, in spite of our sins, is the reason he sacrificed himself to die on the cross. Jesus loves us very much; he will always be there to help, to guide, to encourage and to forgive. HE won’t ever take your jersey off....he's your biggest fan...go out and be his.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Duck-Nudging

When it comes to the subject of dogs many people will think of a childhood pet, a loyal friend, or even a protector; on the flipside some might also use the dog to express something bad: in the dog house, has a face like a dog, smells like dog, and the list goes on.  Dogs have the knack to make their owners either very happy or very displeased, and this usually falls on the dog’s training and/or willingness to listen to directions.

I met a dog that brought something to light in my mind; it was on a sort of “hunting retreat” outside of Bowbells, North Dakota.  I found myself in a group with a man named Todd (just one of about three people I vaguely knew), his three boys and Shadow, a friendly black and white Springer Spaniel.  Now I was informed that Shadow had done some retrieving earlier in the year, so I was very excited because with the combination of using a relatively new-to-me gun, never having hunted waterfowl before, and of course Murphy’s Law, I was about 100% sure that my prey, if any, would not land in a convenient location.

We all hunkered down next to some water, which was housing a pretty decent number of ducks.  Shadow had been making his way in and out of the water for some time; “Good” I thought, “The water is not too cold for him.  This will be a lot of fun.”  The ducks took off with a noisy flight.  Our scatter-guns barked their loud attacks on the ducks; I felt as if we were AA Gunners during WWII firing on enemy aircraft above.  Well apparently I was employed by the enemy because after Todd and I shot only one bird sounded a defeated splash into the drink.  I knew plain as day that it was Todd’s prize as I watched him take the last shot and momentarily after the bird fell.  Though a little disappointed by my lack of show I still was excited to see good ol’ Shadow in action; maybe I could see how he operated and take that information home to train my dog.  Unfortunately Shadow did not see the duck plucked from the sky and deposited into the waters below, but this did not dissuade Todd.  Again and again Todd (and his boys) called Shadow out to retrieve the bird.  Frustration slowly developed in both master and dog as Shadow just could not locate the duck.  Finally, after what seemed about 15 minutes, Shadow was finally able to locate his objective.  Loyally he swam out through the reeds and approached the duck.  When he finally arrived he smelled the prize, nudged it with a gentle push of his nose towards the shore then swam back to shore and returned to Todd empty handed.

As a Christian I have become cynical over the years.  After falling and failing time and time again I would beat myself down and convince myself that the only place I could truly deserve was a dingy, dirty dog house.  I have long since forgotten the wonder and power of God’s ceaseless grace, sometimes to the point of forbidding myself to ask for Christ’s forgiveness…not returning to the Father, and that’s where Shadow got me.

Shadow is from a breed of dog that through his very genetics is prone to retrieve things.  When Shadow returned from the water, no duck in mouth, he did not do what he was called to do, what he was meant to do, or what he was born to do as a retriever; however he did was he supposed do as a dog, he returned to his master.  How can Shadow receive love or training if he doesn’t return to his master?  As the master, Todd did not cast his dog aside cursing its incompetence, he did not lay the boots to him or send him away, he welcomed him back, he talked to him, he rubbed his head, and I’d be willing to bet there’ll be more training some day.

Mankind is sinful in nature; heck, we’re born into this world sinful, says so in the scriptures it does.  Should we be so down trodden when we, as Christians, miss the mark?  There’s going to be times when we’re supposed to go do something, maybe something we’re called to do, just like Shadow, and sometimes we’ll get it 90% correct, just like Shadow; but 90% isn’t what Christ wants.  If we do something only 90%, we sin, we fall and we fail, but our Master wants to give us grace, teaching, and love if we would simply return to him, just like Shadow.

Shadow didn’t fail completely, he returned.  When you fail don’t quit or give up, return.  In times of trials, in times of failure, in times of sin, return to the Father; aspire to be like Shadow…be a Duck-Nudging Christian.