I'm sitting here avoiding my "to do" list gazing around my room, feeling the soothing peace that comes from within, the first sparks of tiredness from the early winter evening, and a tinge of anxiety from any thought related to academia or work. I had lunch with friends this afternoon, but with my friends long gone, my roommate off in some unknown place, and Eric out of town on business, I am very much alone. It is the first Friday I have been alone in quite sometime, but it's not so bad, it's actually kind of nice tonight.

There is only a brief lull before the phone will ring again, before I will feel the urge to move for something -- the tv, the refrigerator ...

These quiet moments are the ones when a hot cup of tea is nice, with a blanket to snuggle up to, a book to read, and music in the background. But sometimes these quiet moments are better filled with nothing. I find myself so, well, hyper, that I am actually uncomfortable in a moment where I can stop. Where I can rest. Where nothing is expected of me. It is like the itch to speak that I develop when there's ten seconds of silence in a conversation with someone (perhaps even five). It is so hard for me to slow down until my head hits the pillow. Even then I find myself thinking of the silliest of intricacies: I never called that person, my clothes are still at the dry cleaners, do I have anything left in the fridge to pack a lunch tomorrow, I wonder how late it is now ...

It's hard to find peace in our lives. It's hard to find rest.

God promises us peace, telling us to cast our burden's on him. He also states "All who come to me, I will give you rest." I've read those words before, carved in peaces of wood that look like they were crafted in a booth at a snazzy state fair. I've seen the words printed neatly on late-eighties styled plaques that hang on people's walls. The words make me think of an image of Jesus seated neatly and stately, a halo around his head, children looking at him in awestruck-wonder. But have I believed those words for more than a day, or even an hour? Have I lived as though those words are true? I can honestly say I need those words, I have needed them all along; all I had to do was ask and believe. God wants to give us rest. He wants to take our burdens. It's that simple. It's that good.

People would describe me as introspective. Or, at least, they have. I have been claimed in other phrases as well: passionate, soulful, whimsical, perfectionist, worrier, detail-oriented, not detail-oriented, bad at math, bad at spelling, good at writing, better at broadcast journalism than print, an excellent poet, a horrible cook, the best of cooks, a runner, athletic, about as far from athletic as anyone can be, funny, weird, dull, perky, deep, shallow, depressive, giddy, loving, sweet, shy, loud, purposeful, strange, exhausting, inspiring, encouraging, dramatic. The list could go on, and as you can see, the list is one exhaustive paradox. But the list is not me.

I sit and read literature infused with educational injustice. The author tells me about Bobby (who's name is probably not, and never even will be Bobby), and how Bobby goes to school every day without breakfast. He qualifies for free lunch, but the bus he takes is perpetually late. His free breakfast is perpetually missed. Bobby lives in a shanty of a house with a mom -- no dad -- several siblings, and a less than clean environment, with a toilet that they can't even afford to repair. It's the story of his mother working two jobs to survive, and Bobby left with no supervision. It's the story I've read time again. The only difference is the name.

Teachers have power, more power than you might think. They can motivate and inspire, but they can also reduce and belittle. Perhaps a glace at the, er, timeless (?) statement, "with great power comes great responsibility" sums up the power of a teacher. The power to form and help, not only students like Bobby, but every student. After all, these kids will be the kids who are our doctors and nurses when we're old and in the hospital. They are the future politicians and businessmen. But is it fair that some kids don't have the privileges at home for enough food or a quiet place to sleep (if those can even be considered privileges rather than rights). These kids who are oftentimes parent-less because their parents have to choose work over them -- not because they want to -- but because they don't have a choice. Is it fair that these kids are often labeled at school as not AP-level, always tired, rude, disruptive, little potential. Is it even a teacher's job to label?

Clearly, it's not only these kids who come to the classroom covered with labels that coat their identity. We all cover ourselves with labels. And though it's good to have a definition of self, to know your strengths and weaknesses, it is equally essential that we recognize these labels don't have to be stagnant. Anyone can learn -- anyone can improve.

As for me, I'd rather be label-free. No strings attached to always being good at something, no pressure to not fail, no embarrassment for being seen as bad at something, no opinion before I have a chance to prove myself. My identity, my hope, lies in Christ. And though that may give fruit to attributes akin to kindness, love, and encouragement. Though my humanity may give way to flaws of pride, anger, and bitterness. None of those things can consume me. They are not my anchor.

Should Bobby's victimization of circumstance spiral him into a position that makes him believe he is less than? How can I, as a teacher, let students know that God does not see us as labels, he does not give us worth and merit from what we do? How can I let them know that he chooses us? And he is our identity.

Today is not the best of days. I have a stomach ache, had to eat oatmeal for two meals (which could be contributing to the stomach ache), and ended up having to squeeze in my online class while at work and all the class could hear was a screaming child -- compliments of my end of the speaker. I'm looking at my life and all I can think of is a person with their shirt stuck in a tire and the wheel is spinning them round and round. I know, far too graphic.

It's just that, as much as I want to be able to do it all, I don't feel like I can. My classes are way more intense this quarter, I now have to conduct student observations, and then there's still work. Though I'd like to quit work for two months, then resume, that's not really possible when someone needs to be doing my job. I could take one class now, then the other through mid-June (to lighten the load), but that just extends the schoolwork for three extra months.

So there it is. I don't know what to do; I don't know what decision to make. I pray about it, but I hear nothing ... well, nothing in the sense of an answer that I would be looking for. But then again, God often answers our prayers in different ways than we think.

Maybe this is my answer ...

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

and his understanding no one can fathom.

He gives strength to the weary

and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,

and young men stumble and fall;

but those who hope in the Lord

will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint.

The holiday's have ended and I feel an extreme lull. Perhaps if I could enter the bandwagon of New Year's optimism then I would feel more zeal for life. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I am depressed about life, it's just a let down -- that's all.

It doesn't help that the post-Christmas drag seems eminent everywhere I go. At work, no one really wanted to talk to anyone. There were few, "How was your holiday," or "I'm ready for the New Year!" Just quiet and occasional grumbles related to Christmas colds and other such ailments. I, too, joined them, wallowing in the pity of my cold, beginning my work for the New Year at a snail-like pace. But then Friday will come, and a weekend will soon pass, back to Monday, and after doing this once or twice, the idea of New Years and Christmas will be a vague vision of the past.

I still have my tree up, its branches look faded and brittle. And the wreathes hanging about my home look like something Smoky the Bear would frown on with disdain. I suppose before I create a fire I better discard these. But really and truly, I think I just need perspective. Something to look ahead to, and perhaps even more than something to look ahead to, but something to look forward to. I'm so future orientated that future plans always motivate me. Though I can't say that it helps that my future plans seemed layered in school, work, and duty. I guess that there lies my problem: only focusing on that aspect of my life ... and making it sound so dull at that.

In a way the new year is an opportunity. Sure, it's just a new month, and there are no real life changing events taking place at the moment; however, the new year is a starting point for fresh plans; a perspective that is far more appealing than leftover Christmas duties. It will be a year full of life, which is something I love, there will be birthday's and holidays, good days and bad days, learning, and even -- change. Yet perhaps the perspective that I can hold onto is that unlike the fast-paced, fly by your seat holidays (that I happen to so love) there will be peace. True in Southern-California we have no peace of snowfall and cold months with cozy fires, but we still have the long month of January and the faithful following months of February and March that give us rest after the chaos of the holidays, the excitement of the Spring and Summer, and the freshness of Fall.

Can't we find purpose in the peace of this oftentimes "too slow for our busy lives" season? While some may be thinking, "there is no rest for me amidst taxes or snow flurries," and maybe I can't relate to whatever the busyness of this season may bring for you. But I do think that most can agree that this season is naturally filled with less season-related flair. And maybe, for the sake of perspective ... and enjoyment, rather than seeing this season as a let down, we can count it as a blessing.

Happy New Year!