Summer school

Crazy as it may seem, summer also means summer school.  And since this is a non-traveling summer for me, which also means it’s a teaching summer for me.  Easy to balance, one summer has to pay for the next summer.  And I really like summer school.  No seriously.

            First, the students are special.  And I don’t mean special as in challenged in any way.  These are seriously committed folks.  They are giving up valuable play time or free time to either work on getting ahead or catching up for past mistakes.  This also can mean they are demanding in ways students in the regular semesters never are.  Summer students have deep, probing, insightful questions and they want well structured responses.  Summer students hunt you down to meet with you.  I set aside some time for summer students to drop in and meet me, and HOLY COW they showed up. 

            Second, part of what makes them so special is that there aren’t quite so many of them.  During the regular semesters, I am fairly certain students are trucked in to take classes.  I have so many of them, and in so many different places, I can only keep up with each individual class, not the aggregate of them.  In the summer you have these polite manageable little classes, which you have to spend lots of time with because the time frame is so compressed.    

            Third, you get a real sense of all being in this educational process together.  Students and teachers.  During the regular semesters it has this us vs. them, teacher vs. student, sort of feel, which may be due in part to the oppressive numbers of them, students.  But in the summer the sense is we are all here to get through this together.  We start at A and in half the time, and some cases a quarter of the time, we will end up at Z.  I always tell my students, regardless of the class size or time frame, that I expect them to make an A in the class.  Only during the summer does that ever happen.

            Finally, it helps me define mercenary.  That whole question “what would you do for money?”  Yeah, I teach summer school.  Face to face.  In the classroom.  I commit to getting up, out and in the classroom during the summer.  It is insane.  It is mercenary. 

Exercise, energy and heat

Summer in the south.  What in the world am I doing here? 

            I am a first generation US citizen, born to immigrants from Northern Europe, Scotland to be specific.  When asked why my father would have chosen North Louisiana as a place to settle, I can only offer that his sister married an Air Force enlisted man who was stationed here.  No one voluntarily lands where the summer temperature and humidity are roughly equal for two to three months of the year.  The national weather folks actually issue warnings suggesting that you should not engage in outdoor activities when the humidity exceeds the temperature.  That pretty much describes the better part of July and all of August.  Except of course when the temperature gets to 100 degrees (40 plus for my friends that have converted to metric); humidity is measured as a percentage, so theoretically it can’t exceed 100.  Theoretically!  Because if you have ever been in Louisiana in August you know that cement actually sweats.  And I will admit this is not the warmest place I have been.  Cambodia has Louisiana beat.  But not by much, but we did impress the Cambodians with our adaptation to their humidity. 

            The key is the adaptation.  You must have your body acclimate to the extremes in temperature.  You can’t just jump into summer; you must ease your body into the season.  Gradually introduce yourself to hot air so wet with humidity that it feels like you are in a humidifier.  And you must adapt your activities.  For example, most people will not leave their homes or places of business between 3 p.m. and 6 p.m. except to enter another air conditioned environment or a swimming pool.  Local schools begin marching band practice in August, at 6 a.m.  The heat can be so oppressive that it steals your breath.  Anyone found outside engaging in any activity in late afternoon will be assumed to be crazy or “not from here.”  Mad dogs and Englishmen. 

            And an early start isn’t always the answer.  I walk every morning.  Every morning.  Partly because I need the exercise.  Partly because my dog needs the stimulation.  We walk three laps around the complex, about 1.3 miles.  Some mornings it is so hot Lily tries to convince me as we pass the house for the second time that we have already done three laps.  Some mornings it is so hot, I believe her.  A new twist on morning exercises is my running.  In an effort to build stamina for future endeavors I have taken up running.  Currently I am up to 50 minutes of continued running effort.  And in this heat, it also means that I am preparing for a wet T-shirt contest, because one of the things I am best at is sweating.  And it’s not just my t-shirt.  The other morning my socks were so wet, I left little sock prints as I walked through the house. 

            Thanks for summer.  Where is November? 

Not easily surprised

I have a friend that says I know everything.  I argue that I don’t.  I simply have had a variety of experiences that contribute to a broad knowledge base.  I will admit that I am a good person to have on your trivia team, but I don’t know everything. 

But what I typically know, is what is about to happen.  It’s not that I can predict the future, but experiences that you have had, can lead you to make a fairly accurate assessment of what will occur.  Consider it situational profiling.  Typically I am very good at situational profiling, and therefore, I am not easily surprised. 

So imagine my surprise when I was surprised no less than three times over the past week. 

1.       A friend of mine was present in worship at my local church and was introduced by the pastor.  He was there to give an award, a rather prestigious, significant award to someone.  I was so excited because I KNEW that he was giving the award to the mission director.  You can’t imagine my shock when he said my name.  I was stunned.  Surprise.

2.      The worship planner for annual conference asked me to be the deacon that processed in with the Holy Bible for the opening worship session.  I was honored.  Two days prior to annual conference we were given the order of worship, which includes the information that not only am I processing, I am holding the Bible open for the bishop to read from, and sending the gathering forth after worship.  I don’t actually like to do things that draw attention to myself.  I prefer to slip around the margins and shadows and work quietly and unnoticed.  Surprise. 

3.      Did I mention I don’t like to draw attention to myself.  Yes, I did.  So imagine my overwhelming joy when the Bishop called me to the platform – before the entire session of Annual Conference to say farewell, since I was no longer serving from the conference office.  NOT.  So much for the shadows.  Spotlight.  At least twice during annual conference.  Surprise. 

At least God’s grace had me out of the building when I was called to the platform for the third time during annual conference.  Enough of the surprises. 

Balance world and ministry

I am a deacon in the United Methodist church (UMC).  While I am fully committed to this call, I often have to admit that it when I first heard the call, I misunderstood.  Maybe you can remember years and years ago, when everyone was doing the Seven Habits of Highly Effective people and we were all writing our purpose statements.  My closing sentence was “I will be a beacon.”  Not sure whether it was a moment of dyslexia or clogged ears, but I often laugh about that.  So, I will be a deacon. 

In the UMC, deacons are an order ordained to Word and Service.  We typically serve in the church and the world, serving as a bridge between the two.  Most of my colleagues are dual career people with day jobs (in the world) and other jobs (in the church).  A few serve only in the local church.  I teach at a state run Community College, a psychology course that is required in most of the Allied Health degree programs.  Doesn’t sound like a ministry?  My students are predominantly women, predominantly seeking a career to support their families, predominantly without educational skills or with too many life demands to be successful in a university setting.  Getting them through their educational process and into a life sustaining career – that’s a ministry.  And because I teach at a state school, I am careful not to overtly cross the church/state line, but I constantly have students coming to me and asking me to pray for them or with them.  And when I ask “why did you come to me?”, they respond that they just got that churchy vibe from me. 

In the local church that I serve, I teach the confirmation class.  I spend a good deal of time hanging out with sixth graders, young people aged 11 – 13.  We go on a journey of developing Christian discipleship.  Most have been raised in the church, and are now entering that time of personal growth and discovery, and I get to walk with them as they decide how God and Jesus Christ will have a role in how that life unfolds.  I find in September and October that I am dragging them forward, and by March and April I am screaming “wait for me.” 

And even though I am walking on a bridge between two stations in the world, it is a very thin place indeed. 

People we remember, not easily forgotten

Our annual conference gathering opens with the Memorial Service to those clergy members and their spouses that have passed away since our last gathering.  Unless you are the member of a clergy family you probably don’t realize it, but clergy typically can’t get away to attend the funeral of one of their colleagues when they pass away.  Clergy work, the work of ordering and guiding a congregation, is demanding and time consuming, and you often can’t break away to attend the funeral of a beloved friend, mentor or co-worker.  So we begin by remembering.   And because of the age of our clergy (average age somewhere in the late 40’s), we sometimes have a lot of remembering to do. 

And because of our exaggerated interrelationship with one another, because we depend on one another, it is rare that there is no one being memorialized that you don’t have some connection to.  And I feel that is a good thing.  One of my favorite movie quotes is “it’s good having someone that saying goodbye to is so damn hard.”  As a United Methodist we have lots of people that it is hard to say goodbye to.

It is a thin place.