Ho Ho Ho, Let my People Go!

Nothing says Christmas like a plague of locusts, but I think Exodus: Gods and Kings is a well-timed holiday movie. The miraculous account of Moses, leading the Hebrews out of slavery in Egypt is an amazing story that points directly to the life and death of Jesus – the Christmas baby.

Not even Hollywood could dream up an event like the Exodus: pestilence, catastrophic death and destruction, and a dramatic escape of 1 million people. It’s where the phrase “biblical proportions” probably came from. Kim Kardashian not withstanding.

The Old Testament of the Bible is the history book of God’s chosen people, the Israelites. The Exodus is the event that they hang their yarmulkes upon. Over 100 times in the OT God identifies himself as “the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt”. The Israelites are continually prompted to remember their deliverance from slavery and oppression.

Hopefully you know the story. If not see the movie. Or read about it in the book of …  you know, Exodus. In a nutshell, God calls Moses to lead the Hebrews out of Egypt. Pharaoh says no and there’s a bunch of plagues. With the last plague, the death of the first-born, God brings the hammer. Moses instructs his people to kill a lamb and paint the blood on the doorposts of their houses. Then God sent an angel to wipe out all the first-born sons in Egypt. But if the angel saw the blood on the doorposts, he passed over that home and nobody died. Pharaoh finally relents and the Exodus begins.

Later on God gives his people a set of rules, laws, and ceremonies. They are told to annually remember their deliverance from Egypt as well as their salvation from death with a feast. The main course: a sacrificed lamb. This feast is known as The Passover.

Fast-forward about 1,000 years to Jesus and the Christmas story: the crowded inn, the stable (possibly home to a lamb or two), and the Angel of the Lord visiting the shepherds … who were watching their … lambs. Zip ahead 33 years. On his final night, Jesus and his pals enjoy a last supper. The meal they were eating was the Passover Feast. He’s then arrested, beaten, and crucified. Jesus was killed during Passover. Was that a mere coincidence? I guess maybe. But I think not because the spiritual significance is too hard to miss. Jesus was our sacrificial lamb. Like blood on a doorpost, his shed blood allows our own personal escape from the slavery of sin and death.

I think the Exodus account is a primary reason to believe the Bible’s authenticity. What I love about the Bible, what keeps me reading through times of doubt, is that  it was written over a span of 1,500 years, on three continents, by 40 different authors and still maintains a harmony of themes and messages – like that of The Passover.

The point of the Exodus is to demonstrate the tremendous lengths God will take to save his people. He could have had Moses do an Obi-Wan-Kenobi mind warp on Pharaoh so the Hebrews could exit Egypt like a joyous crowd leaving a football game. Instead God went with the dramatics. He went overdrive on the special effects. He performed miracles and landed a definitive blow upon the Egyptians so his chosen people would know he meant business, he could be followed, and he could be trusted. It showed them that God was only one responsible for their rescue.

I imagine that the Bible’s miracles prevent many folks from believing. Just to get the Hebrews to the promised land, God toppled the walls of a fortified city and parted another large body of water. Then there are all of Jesus’ miracles. Somewhere along the way, God stopped doing the spectacularly outward feed-5,000-people type miracle and went with the quiet inward miracles. The kind that happen in your heart.

The kind of miracle that can turn a convicted felon into a worldwide prison minister. Or one that can give a former WWII POW forgiveness toward his Japanese captors. Or take a shy, stage-fright-filled kid and turn him into a teacher. It would be cool if God used a giant outward miracle to right some of the world’s issues. Instead, he’s decided to use people to feed the poor, care for the orphaned, and rescue those trapped in slavery.

Christmas itself was one of God’s quiet miracles. He ditched the special effects and went back to silent film era. No fireworks, wall-crumbling announcements, or computer-generated explosions. Instead it was just a young couple, a smelly barn, and some lowly shepherds. As with the Exodus, the birth of Jesus demonstrates the distance God will travel to save, deliver, and redeem, not just his chosen people, but all of mankind.

God gave us his son to reveal that he can be trusted and followed. To say that he alone is responsible for our salvation.

And that’s the greatest miracle of all.

A Non-Wish-List Christmas

I’m finally ready for Christmas.

By “ready” I don’t mean my shopping is finished. I mean I’m finally able to embrace all things Christmas. I really admire people who can start shopping in November, put their tree up before Thanksgiving, and listen to the Burl Ives Christmas album on Black Friday.

I’m not like that. Every year it takes until mid-December for my sleeping yuletide heart to awaken. But I’m now one with the Christmas season. I’m a candle-lighting, carol-trolling, ginger-snap-baking, Amazon Prime-shopping fool. Bring on the Soul Cakes, baby. I have two week to soak in the season. I’m marinating in merry measure. There are a few things to do, but nothing very stressful. The one thing I won’t be doing is making a wish list of gifts I want under the tree.

This will be my first non-wish-list Christmas. There is nothing I need or want badly enough to ask for it as gift. Or perhaps, when you’ve seen how the other side of the world lives, another book, or gadget, or sweater simply doesn’t matter that much. My time in Mozambique this past summer showed me how blessed I am and how much stuff I have compared to a large part of the world.

A few years ago I was turned onto a movement called Advent Conspiracy [adventconspiracy.org]. AC’s goal is to encourage Americans to celebrate Christmas differently. This is done by spending less on those who don’t need much and giving more to the needy and less-fortunate around the world.

How do you know if someone doesn’t need much? If they live in America and have more than two clean shirts, they’re doing pretty well. The average American lives on $90 a day. Approximately one billion people live on less than one dollar a day. And around 2.6 billion live on less than two dollars per day. Meanwhile, Americans shell out $450 billion on holiday shopping. Imagine if we each took our portion of our Christmas budget and gave some of it away: to the homeless, to the refugees fleeing from ISIS, or to the African orphans. Did you know that 25 bucks will provide a family of five access to safe water for a year? Or that there are nearly 30 million people held in slavery today? Think about what a sliver of that $450 billion would do for a thirsty family or for a non-profit trying to rescue trafficking victims.

The idea here is to rein things in, not to stop shopping, or to pour a dose of guilt into your hung-with-care stockings. Maybe two gifts for that special someone instead of three. Or pool your resources and get dad a “from all us kids” gift. Take what’s left over and help World Vision feed the hungry or Living Water International dig a well. There, no guilt.

The Life for Mozambique team that I am apart of is conducting an Advent Conspiracy campaign titled, “One Day” to raise money for our two orphanages in Mozambique. Shoppers can buy a day’s worth of meals for one or both orphanages. Or they can gift a day’s, a week’s, or a month’s operating costs for the orphanages. Please contact me if you’re interested in helping our children in Mozambique.

Don’t tell the folks at Advent Conspiracy, but I’m still going to shop for my family members. I can’t help it. I love to buy Christmas presents. I’m donating toward the One Day campaign too. Those little Mozambican kids are now a huge part of my heart. I can’t wait to go back and not a day goes by where I don’t think of those children.

Wait, I just thought of what to put on my wish list. Dad, Christy, and Jenny, if you’re reading this … forgo the Christmas shopping and feed some kids in Mozambique in my name.

And if you’ve already bought me something, save it until July. Advent Conspiracy doesn’t pertain to birthday presents.

The Only Autograph that Matters

“But I've got a blank space baby

And I'll write your name.”

-- Taylor Swift / God

My family and I moved to Los Angeles in 1988. Upon arriving at LAX my mom recognized a famous football player in the baggage claim area. She grabbed the book I was reading (Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella) and sprinted toward him, hurdling Samsonites like O. J. Simpson in those old car-rental commercials. She returned with his signature on Shoeless Joe’s inside front cover. The football player was actually Orenthal James in the flesh! She made it back alive and I still have the book.

His signature, along with the words, “Peace to you,” didn’t do anything for me. I don’t understand the need to get something signed by an athlete. You’ll never catch me in line for an autograph. Nor do I go to ballgames early, hang over railings, and stick pen and paper into an outfielder’s grasp. And I’m certainly not going to spend any money for an autograph. Athletes are vilified if they don’t do autographs before or after games. Those who do, are known as the good guys. Autographs these days are a big business, as is autograph authentication. Why the fuss over some dried ink? What makes it so special?

However, I do have some autographs. Dear ol’ dad gave me a baseball signed by Stan Musial. A friend once took my ball cap to a preseason fan expo at Angels Stadium. She came back with Garret Anderson’s “signature” scrawled all over the bill. It looked to be written by a kindergartner with fine-motor issues.

In order to be valuable, I think an autograph has to be from somebody who was pretty dang monumental; either in their athletic feats, character, leadership abilities, or all of the above. Or, I don’t know, maybe because they changed the world. Players like Garret Anderson had fine careers, but the Hall of Fame isn’t calling them anytime soon. And yet, today’s fans push and shove each other for autographs from back-up bench-warmers and rookie relievers. Because they can hit and throw a ball? These are things I’ve been doing since I was three years old.

There are, however, some autographs I would like to own, from people who did things a little more important than hitting a ball successfully three out of 10 times. John Hancock’s for one. Imagine that baby in a frame over the fireplace. Or how about George Washington’s on the rental paperwork from Valley Forge? A light bulb signed by Edison. Throw in Ben Franklin’s on the receipt from the kite store. I wonder if people clamored for Shakespeare’s or Mozart’s signature. Or perhaps it was enough for them to simply enjoy a night at the theatre or symphony. Mother Teresa’s or Jonas Salk’s? People who toiled unselfishly for the betterment of others. That’s what I call monumental.

You know whose autograph I’d like: Jesus’. Talk about doing something monumental. Jesus wrote the book on monumental. Dying for my sins. Coming back from the grave. Defeating death. Holding the universe together. Reconciling mankind with its creator. Dolling out grace, peace, strength, comfort, and love as abundantly as a puppy giving out kisses. Unconditionally.

I bet Jesus’ autograph would fetch a handsome sum at Sotheby’s. Unfortunately, there isn’t a piece of paper on earth containing his handwriting. But there is one in heaven. The bible talks about God having a Book of Life. I don’t know if God has an actual, tangible book on his nightstand. Perhaps he’s digitalized it. The Kindle of Life. It doesn’t matter. All I know is that I want my name written in it. In God’s handwriting. His autograph.

In the New Testament of the Bible, the Book of Life represents God’s roster of believers. This book is also called the Book of Life of the Slaughtered Lamb, in which the names of the elect have been “inscribed from the foundation of the world”. Also, Jesus said of his followers that, “their names are written in heaven”.

I don’t think we have to change the world or do something monumental to get our name in God’s book. In fact, there’s nothing one can DO to earn an autograph in his book. Jesus did the work. We just have to believe it. And then set out on changing the world one loved-one at a time.

The Old Testament mentions the possibility of not being found in the Book of Life or having one’s name blotted out of it. This means separation from God for eternity. I don’t think God has a vat of White Out or that he uses one of those big pink erasers from elementary school. I don’t think God really blots out names. It’s just his way of saying that your name isn’t written in his book. Sometimes it’s easy to think that God does blot out the names of his children. I used to think that I was one screw up away from God’s giant pink eraser. But now I know that God uses screw-ups and messy people, like me, to help others and share his love. It’s taken me a long time to learn this.

I think God signs our names in permanent ink. Think the Sharpie of Heaven. Christians believe in something called the Assurance of Salvation. Those who believe in Christ are anchored in eternity. Salvation is certain for all of those whose names are written in the Book of Life. I don’t care if my name is written on the first page or the last page of God’s book. Just as long as it’s there. But, I am kind of curious as to what color with which God writes. I have an inkling that he writes in only one color.

Red.

Blood red.

And that’s a signature for which I’ll surely stand in line.

The Purely Unpredictable Playoffs

Giants in a sweep or Royals in seven?

Giants in seven or a Royal sweep?

If this post-season has proven anything, it’s that anything is possible. Predictably unpredictable. It’s been a great post-season. The only thing missing is more games. There’s been more sweeps than in the local broom factory. We’ve seen three games over the minimum. Thankfully, the Royals were able to eliminate Ron Darling and the TBS broadcasts. He is so bad. It’s like Tim McCarver came out of retirement. We’re also due for some instant-replay or catcher’s interference controversy. But let’s not be greedy. There’s still at least four games to go.

So now we have the first all-wildcard World Series. For some baseball purists, this is an abomination of biblical proportions. Two teams, who weren’t able to win their divisions, are now poised to become World Champs. Personally, I don’t have a problem with it. With expansion and multiple divisions, I like the current format. More teams are playing meaningful games deep into September. The roster moves made at the trading deadline become critically important. In some ways, the Billy Beane trade of Yoenis Cespedis for Jon Lester was the climatic moment of the season. Too bad it wasn’t for Oakland. Instead Lester coughed up a lead because he forgot how to hold a runner and the (We’ll Never Be) Royals stole second, third, and the wildcard game from the A’s.

In the current format, it’s not the best teams that advance; it’s the hottest teams. Which, I think, makes baseball the greatest of all sports. With only five teams in each league (you could call it four teams because one is quickly eliminated) making the playoffs, anybody can beat anybody in a short series. Sure basketball and hockey give us the David and Goliath 8-seed victory over a 1-seed, but those teams usually bow out in the next round. Occasionally an NFL wildcard team will scoot all the way to the Super Bowl, but more often than not we see the top teams playing for the trophy in February. When the NFL, NBA and NHL cut their playoff teams in half, we’ll see much more unpredictability in those sports too.

I would have a problem with my favorite team missing the playoffs by a game or two because of a few bad losses in April. The wildcards give slow-starting teams a safety net. To wind up in the World Series, a team has to be good enough over a 162-game schedule AND get hot in October. Clearly the Angels, Tigers, and Nationals weren’t both. Bad teams in April can become good teams by September (Angels and Pirates). Great teams in April and can become bad teams by September (A’s and Tigers). Meanwhile, the Giants proved that a team can take the summer off, just as long as it is good in the spring and the fall. What we had this year are two leagues without a dominant team, opening the door for upsets, sweeps, walkoffs, and unpredictability.

I like that the Royals, one of my favorite teams as a kid, are back in World Series. I like that the Giants, who have won two recent titles can still manage to look like underdogs, while knocking off the Pirates, Nats, and Cards. It’s funny that Dodger fans are irked by the Giants’ success. Here in LA we have passive-aggressive rooting. Angel fans pull for the Giants just to tick off the Dodger fans. And most of all, I love that the Royals, with the 19^th highest payroll, are still playing while the top six spending teams are home hunting, fishing, and upgrading their Range Rovers (the Giants are 7^th).

Now, that instant replay is here for good and McCarver is retired, I have one more baseball wish. This one will really anger the baseball purists. But it’ll bring me more joy than Michael Morse showed on his homerun trot (the top scene of October so far for me). I think it’s time to bring the designated hitter to the National League. Yes, I’m a fan of the DH. I was raised in an American League city. I follow the Angels more than any other team. I am steeped in all things American League. But after watching the NL post-season games, it’s time to completely take the bat out of the pitcher’s hands. Because isn’t that what the managers do anyway? Nothing drives me crazier than when a pitcher steps up with runners on and two outs. Bye-bye run-scoring opportunity. At least with less than two outs the pitcher can bunt. Furthermore, the complete game has virtually become extinct. Lockdown bullpens call for managers to change pitchers every half inning. Thus, after the 5^th or 6^th innings, the pitchers stop coming to the plate. It’s pinch-hitter time. Which to me at least, is the same as having a DH for half of the game.

Ok, what’s going to happen this week? Nobody knows for sure. Both teams are rested. The Giants have the experience, the better manager, and the killer P’s (Panik, Posey, Panda, and Pence). The Royals have the speed, defense, and a bullpen for the ages. Hopefully we’ll get a full seven games. Maybe the final play will be of speedy Lorenzo Cain trying to score from second on a single by DH Billy Butler. Pence charges and makes a goofy armed throw. Posey places the tag. Panda loses his chew in anticipation of the call. Panik’s in a panic. Cain’s called out. Ned Yost challenges the decision. The umps confer. They change the call, saying that Posey was in the base path. Kauffman Stadium erupts in Morse-esque euphoria.

And predictably, baseball purists united as one, spontaneously combust.

A Note to Parents from Teachers

A recent Huffingtonpost.com article (here) stated that U.S. teachers work more than their peers from around the world. According to the article, American elementary school teachers spend 1,131 hours in the classroom. The study’s numbers came out to 6.3 hours per day, which I calculated to be fairly accurate based on a 180-day school year. In some countries, like Hungary and Greece, teachers logged less than 600 hours. Which means they either have really short school years or they only work three hours per day. I think sending my resume to the Athens Unified School District is a no-brainer. I wonder if they have LAUSD’s BIC program there: Baklava in the Classroom. 

Teaching is a rewarding, but challenging career. It calls for the split-second decision making skills of an NFL quarterback and the clock-management techniques of a basketball coach. Teachers must act as referee, psychologist, nurse, and breakfast-server (in my district). We have to know how to fix a copy machine as well as provide our own computer tech support. Teachers must have optimal bladder control in order to survive until recess or lunch while drinking just enough water to avoid getting parched from talking all day long. And then there’s the countless hours of grading, planning, and checking Pinterest for the latest and greatest lesson ideas.

I am honored to work alongside some serious Hall-of-Fame worthy teachers. Additionally, I have several friends who are educators. I polled many of them to find out how parents can best help those of us who have devoted our lives to teaching children. My question excluded spending money. We teachers appreciate AND NEED every donation we receive from our classroom moms and dads. And the monetary support that goes into fundraisers and PTO events is CRUCIAL. But I wanted to see what things my colleagues need from parents that don’t come with price tags.

Before I get to their answers, I would be remiss if didn’t acknowledge and praise the parents who go above and beyond to donate their time to their schools and to their child’s education. Personally, I have some outstanding volunteers this year. And it’s a pleasure to call many “former” parents friends long after their children have moved on.

And I’m sure it goes without saying that many parents feel that their child’s teacher needs to get a clue at times. But we’ll leave that for a later entry. Here’s how the teachers I know asked their classroom parents to help:

Volunteering at School

I can’t put a dollar sign on the importance of helping in the classroom. There is enough paperwork alone in one classroom to keep an administrative assistant busy all day. Helping with the clerical side of things is vital. Let’s say it saves a teacher 15 minutes at the end of the day. Over 180 school days that comes to 45 hours of work.

Volunteers can also help set up art or science projects, make photo copies, grade multiple-choice tests, work with small groups, assist during “centers” time, or give a lesson on something they know a whole lot about. Last year a grandparent, who happened to be a retired teacher, taught art lessons to my students twice a month. I bet there’s a dad out there with a great P.E. lesson to share. Some teachers need help with taking pictures on field trips and on-campus events. One colleague suggested putting together a class website. Other ideas include being a mystery reader and helping in the library or the computer lab. This last one is huge. Try getting three dozen 4^th or 5^th graders to print or save their essays to a flash drive minutes before the bell rings.

Obviously, many parents can’t come to school to volunteer. They’re either at work or at home raising the children who aren’t in school yet. If willing, these parents can take home prep work, especially for a kinder teacher and her endless amount of cutting and gluing projects.

Supporting the Teacher

I expected many teachers to request classroom help, but I never anticipated so many others to put such an emphasis on the need for more support at home.

Said a colleague: “The most helpful thing is when parents speak with respect about school, the teacher, and homework; as well as back up my disciplinary decisions.” One teacher asked parents to embrace the partnership between themselves, the student, and the teacher. Because, she said, a student’s success isn’t solely the teacher’s responsibility. The student plays a role and the parent plays a role. In other words: please teach your children independence; don’t enable them.

Another way to support the teacher is to communicate about your child’s progress or lack thereof. Also asking the teacher what needs to take place to ensure success. We really appreciate knowing what kind of things are going on at home or outside of school that could be affecting classroom performance. Let us know how the child likes class … in a constructive, sensitive way. If issues arise, and they always do, take them to the teacher first before approaching an administrator.

Some teachers requested that parents make themselves more available. A simple wave or smile at drop-off or pickup or asking if we need anything is huge. Even if we don’t need anything right at that moment, the act of asking and checking is so appreciated.

I appreciate the millions of things that parents do. Because instruction is most effective when parents and teachers can work together, communicate clearly, and support one another. I love when parents check and sign homework, send in notes following an absence, let me know in advance when a child is leaving early for an appointment, sign reading logs … and of course provide a sweet treat or two. But please no baklava. Leave that in the office for the principal. He’s Greek.