I learned a concept in graduate school that intrigued me immensely. It was simple, and yet profound. It was on the concept of how we learn. The formula went like this: if the letter “i” stands for the Information we know or level we are at, and “1” is just one step beyond what we know, we learn best, or the most, at i + 1. I don’t learn at my greatest potential at i + 10, ten levels higher than where I am at, or even i + 2, two levels higher than where I am at. I learn best, absorb the most, make the most connections in my mind, at simply i + 1.
I loved this concept, and so decided to center my graduate thesis on it! One question I had, in my Action Research I did while teaching overseas, was: Well, what is “i” for my students?? How can I know my students the best, where they are in their level of knowledge, where they are culturally, where they are in their learning styles? How do I pursue knowing my students so well . . . so that I know how to best impact them? I learned so much while doing this research! And the concept has stuck with me to this day!
At the beginning of every semester I teach, I have students do a short writing, so that I can take their short essays home to examine. Hmmm . . . where are they at? What are their strengths and weaknesses in grammar, in structure, in formality, in organization . . . all the things I want to teach them. Also, I begin to get to know them for WHO they are. This is sooo important to me. Where do they come from, what’s their first language, what do they think about learning English, and what are their learning styles? What’s their family background, what’s going on in their lives right now? Once a week, I take 10 minutes of class to have students journal about themselves in a small notebook . . . my questions range from “What were your expectations when you first came to America?” to “What two things do you value most in life?” I often have them share briefly in class, but I also love reading their answers. Seeing their writing, but also seeing how they think, is where I get to know them. And getting to know them is where I become a better teacher.
I’ve applied this idea of going one step beyond my current level to other areas in my life. At the gym, I am careful to do a number of reps, or a weight level, or a stretching level, or a cardio length or intensity, at just one level beyond what I am comfortable at. I don’t go all crazy and go way beyond my capability! But my levels do steadily increase as I get better!
I’m learning this even in a financial class I am taking right now! I’ve learned that healthy money management occurs when we begin to integrate “principles”—saving just a little bit more than I’m already saving each month, spending just a little less than I’m spending—I begin to learn a trend, a principle, a habit, of going just a little bit beyond where I’m at, rather than focus on a certain dollar amount.
But the greatest area that I’ve tried to apply this concept is in my spiritual life. Hmmm . . . and to this moment, I’m not sure what or how to think about this. I feel immensely confused. It’s such a struggle for me, and I often want to be at i + 1,000! My main question is: Who pursues MY learning in my spiritual life, me, or God? Or both?
I think of verses like “Work out your own salvation” . . . and I wonder what part I play in my salvation. A pastor recently related to me that this means to perform good works out of, and because of, my salvation. Okay, that helps! I also think of Hebrews 12: 14—“Pursue peace, and holiness, without which no one will see the Lord” . . . and I think: does that make ME responsible to become a better person?? But then I see verse 15 right after it—“looking carefully lest anyone fall short of the grace of God” . . . and with the whole book of Hebrews, that I’m studying right now, I see that my salvation is based on grace. God’s work.
And then, I came across Lev. 20:7-8 the other day: “Consecrate yourselves, therefore, and be holy, for I am the Lord your God. Keep my statutes and do them; I am the Lord who sanctifies you.” HUH???? It’s not the “be holy” part that confuses me, it’s the “I’m the Lord who sanctifies you” that does! Where do I rest? Where do I let Him lead? And where do I actively pursue my sanctification?? My getting better as a person?
Practically speaking, when I see that I lack patience, do I manipulate something in my life that will cause me to have to wait . . . or do I let Him do that in His time? I think I fear that if I try so hard to keep being a better person that I might idolize my sanctification, love my sanctification, MY goodness, rather than love God Himself.
And even this question makes me wonder at my pride. Do I think that I want my sanctification even more than God does?? Isn’t it He who put the desire in me to pursue Him, and also to pursue holiness, because I know that’s what pleases Him.
I think of friends or mentors that I respect. Though sometimes I battle against trying to gain their approval or acceptance, I also DO want to please them. I know what would impress them or make them say “well done” and I seek for those things because a “well done” from them would really mean something. But I wonder—does God want me to seek holiness, obedience, so I can hear Him say “well done”? I want it so bad from Him. Is that what He wants?
Hebrews 11 says several times that men and women gained approval from God by their faith— approval!! I want that! -- and all of their faith was acted on by what they DID, by their obedience, though they couldn’t see how their obedience would play out to gain anything. And yet Hebrews 11 says that their faith did gain something—it gained the promises.
Do I continue to try to seek approval from God, or do I joyfully accept the fact that I am already completely approved by God because of the work of His Son, the precious God-blood of Jesus? How do my works compare to His??? Why would I even try?
And yet . . . I am called to obedience. There is no doubt in my mind that I am called to obedience. Perhaps it is both—I am completely accepted. The work is finished. The sin is covered. I am not atoning for sin, nor in fear that God will take away my salvation, His love, or His approval. But I also continue to seek His approval by LIVING in faith, because I know that’s what pleases Him.
Is it complicated or simple? My mind often wants to know—so, what’s the final answer? But perhaps I cannot know this completely right now. Perhaps I will simply trust His Word. It IS finished. And yet, walk in obedience. Perhaps I will go back to the i + 1 principle. This is where I am. This is what I know and believe. And as I study His Word, walk with Him, I can tuck one more principle into a belt of truth… waiting for more to come . . . one at a time. And just be satisfied with that.
And just as I’m applying certain learning principles to my students that they are unaware of, perhaps He, my great Teacher, is applying even greater learning principles to my life . . . and I am unaware.
Jesus, let me keep my eyes on You. If You want me to think about this, help me. If I need to simplify and simply focus on You, trust You, let go of control, direct me. Be my Teacher! And help me to see that You already are.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Dare I be bold ...
It's all Him. Really. If I should do this, He'll equip me... If I should move on, He'll provide too... I cannot do it on my own, no one else can do it for me... God, I come boldly to Your throne. It's gonna be You or nothing. It's on the line, and I know You let me put it there. I'm Your daughter. The daughter of a God in charge of all things. You've got the resources. You ask me to ask. You say to not shrink back, but come to You with confidence. If You're all I am in what I live for, then You're all I've got in Who I can ask. But I'm not scared to ask. I didn't deserve this place, this intimacy, with You, but You gave it to me. I have an inheritance. You said, God, You said. Teach me, humble me, if I'm wrong. I know You will. But for right now, I'm waiting. You said. And have a feeling You are delighting at my boldness with You. What father wouldn't want His daughter to ask for the very things He has promised? Thank You Jesus. Gifts, attention, provision, I don't deserve. And yet You give.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Battle
I recently watched the Lord of the Rings series. It was sooo good! So inspiring.
I drew comparisons to my own life. Every time someone stood up in courage, I thought of the events in my life that required courage. I watched those who stepped out in the face of utter terror. Whether the elves, or men, dwarfs, or hobits. Whether small or strong. Whether fighting in a literal battle field, or fighting the thoughts of the mind and heart, again and again, the screen splashed of those painfully stepping out to do what they knew was right, in the face of all odds against them.
In the third of the trilogy, Aragon must go into the haunted mountain to call the dead to help him. As horses and men shook in fear just outside the passageway to the mountain, Aragon states with slow force, “I do not fear death,” and marches through into the darkness. His faithful few follow. The King of the Dead with his legions surrounds Aragon, mocking in defiance: “I do not suffer the living to pass.” Though fear shows in his eyes, Aragon does not miss a beat, “you will suffer me.” He pulls out the sword he knows has strength . . . and the dead submit to this king of man.
Later, Aragon lines up his men outside of the evil Mordor. The all-seeing Eye has been focused on the hobbits sent within its gates to be rid of the evil ring of power. Aragon knew that a distraction, a diversion, would take the Eye’s attention off of the hobbits, so he lines his men up to fight against Mordor. The numbers are against him: one to hundreds. But at this moment Aragon does not see his life or the lives around him as the greatest value. He sees purpose. He sees good and evil. He foresees. He sees legacy. Generations to come. He sees that if most good men die in order to let a few good men rule, it is worth it. If he dies, in order that Frodo destroy the evil, he has fought a battle worth fighting. “Today we fight!” he declares to his troops. And at the face of death, he rushes ahead of all the rest . . . his sword drawn straight out toward the enemy.
His courage makes me ask what I am willing to suffer for, to sacrifice. And I think of the times that I have endured. The bravest moments that I have fought the voice of evil that plays in my head: “you are mine.” I have fought it, refused to identify with it. I have stood in the face of evil, and though shaking in my own weakness and fear, declared with authority that good will win, that a King does reign, and that evil will bow its knee. I look back to those moments with reverence. I think of the fellowship of the few that stood by me, not able to carry my load, but able to cry with me and then look me in the eyes and say that I will make it. I think of the King that fought ahead of me.
But then I also remember the times I have not been so brave. I have seen the battle and it overwhelmed me. I went part of the way, but not all. I listened to the truth of those close to me, but then I stopped. In the weakest moment . . . the moment of tears and exhaustion . . . the moment I’m so tired of fighting . . . the moment I start to wonder . . . the moment the other side begins to look more attractive than this battlefield . . . no. No, I shake my head. I am afraid. That is way too much. And I am way too little. No . . . I don’t need to fight for something greater than myself. The moments I’ve turned inward to fear or the ugliness of wanting power for myself. I think of the friends that stood by me, even while I gave in to self-pleasing desires . . .
At the same time Aragon is fighting for Frodo, the hobbit Frodo is taking the evil ring of power to the top of Mordor to throw it into the lava-flowing river below. To be rid of both its evil effects and power. He has traveled hundreds of miles. He has fought a multitude of evil forces. He has gone without sleep and food. He has been stabbed by sword, thrown about, strangled, poisoned and spun into a web by a giant spider. He has climbed mountains and hid from and outrun screeching Orks on giant flying birds. And here he is now. On the edge of the cliff. About to throw the evil ring of power into the lava . . . about to be finished with his mission. But he stops. He looks at the ring and turns inward. While others fight for this greater good just outside of Mordor, while his best friend Sam is fighting off the evil Gollum, Frodo has the opportunity to be rid of the evil ring forever . . . and yet, he decides at that moment that the ring is his. That his desire for power, that his love of self, that the voice calling out to him, are all greater than his courage to do what must be done. He gives in. He gives up. He does not fight the battle.
I look back at those moments with sadness. With shame. While so many are fighting the battle around me, I decide to turn inward. I take my eyes off of the King calling us to courage. The One with His outdrawn sword, and I look at the gold glittering in front of me. I listen to the voice that seems sometimes enchanting, yet other times terrifying. It is easier to give in. I lose my courage.
But . . . I am not alone.
I cannot count how many times each of the characters in The Lord of the Rings was rescued by another fighting alongside them. It was never any one person that was a picture of strength on their own, and none of them could ever do it alone. When one character was in the very hands of death, no hope around him, another somehow manages to be at the scene at that pivotal moment of rescue. When the hobbits return to the Shire they were from, no one knew of the heroes they were, of the kingdoms of men that bowed down to them. No one knew of the battles they had fought, the death they had encountered. And yet, they four, as they sat at a table surrounded by friends and family laughing and dancing around them, they four knew. They knew the fellowship of those who fought one alongside the other. They knew the greater purpose. They knew the battle. I think of friends of whom I have that deep fellowship with. Often, words cannot tell of closeness found in fighting the battle together.
But The Lord of the Rings can only be a shadow of reality . . . really, only a type, of sorts. One great message it misses. Yes, my king fights ahead of me. But my King also fights for me. And His victory is sure. I fight too. But oh, that great battle is not mine to win. How relieving it is to know that in those darkest moments, He is there fighting. Not merely alongside me, but for me.
But this time . . . this time . . . let me fight too! Let me take up that Sword. Let me be brave. Let me have courage!
But Lord God, in the darkest moment, be my King of the battle. Rescue me. Take me up on Your horse when death has me gripped in its hands. Be gentle with me in my weakness, but teach me courage.
I drew comparisons to my own life. Every time someone stood up in courage, I thought of the events in my life that required courage. I watched those who stepped out in the face of utter terror. Whether the elves, or men, dwarfs, or hobits. Whether small or strong. Whether fighting in a literal battle field, or fighting the thoughts of the mind and heart, again and again, the screen splashed of those painfully stepping out to do what they knew was right, in the face of all odds against them.
In the third of the trilogy, Aragon must go into the haunted mountain to call the dead to help him. As horses and men shook in fear just outside the passageway to the mountain, Aragon states with slow force, “I do not fear death,” and marches through into the darkness. His faithful few follow. The King of the Dead with his legions surrounds Aragon, mocking in defiance: “I do not suffer the living to pass.” Though fear shows in his eyes, Aragon does not miss a beat, “you will suffer me.” He pulls out the sword he knows has strength . . . and the dead submit to this king of man.
Later, Aragon lines up his men outside of the evil Mordor. The all-seeing Eye has been focused on the hobbits sent within its gates to be rid of the evil ring of power. Aragon knew that a distraction, a diversion, would take the Eye’s attention off of the hobbits, so he lines his men up to fight against Mordor. The numbers are against him: one to hundreds. But at this moment Aragon does not see his life or the lives around him as the greatest value. He sees purpose. He sees good and evil. He foresees. He sees legacy. Generations to come. He sees that if most good men die in order to let a few good men rule, it is worth it. If he dies, in order that Frodo destroy the evil, he has fought a battle worth fighting. “Today we fight!” he declares to his troops. And at the face of death, he rushes ahead of all the rest . . . his sword drawn straight out toward the enemy.
His courage makes me ask what I am willing to suffer for, to sacrifice. And I think of the times that I have endured. The bravest moments that I have fought the voice of evil that plays in my head: “you are mine.” I have fought it, refused to identify with it. I have stood in the face of evil, and though shaking in my own weakness and fear, declared with authority that good will win, that a King does reign, and that evil will bow its knee. I look back to those moments with reverence. I think of the fellowship of the few that stood by me, not able to carry my load, but able to cry with me and then look me in the eyes and say that I will make it. I think of the King that fought ahead of me.
But then I also remember the times I have not been so brave. I have seen the battle and it overwhelmed me. I went part of the way, but not all. I listened to the truth of those close to me, but then I stopped. In the weakest moment . . . the moment of tears and exhaustion . . . the moment I’m so tired of fighting . . . the moment I start to wonder . . . the moment the other side begins to look more attractive than this battlefield . . . no. No, I shake my head. I am afraid. That is way too much. And I am way too little. No . . . I don’t need to fight for something greater than myself. The moments I’ve turned inward to fear or the ugliness of wanting power for myself. I think of the friends that stood by me, even while I gave in to self-pleasing desires . . .
At the same time Aragon is fighting for Frodo, the hobbit Frodo is taking the evil ring of power to the top of Mordor to throw it into the lava-flowing river below. To be rid of both its evil effects and power. He has traveled hundreds of miles. He has fought a multitude of evil forces. He has gone without sleep and food. He has been stabbed by sword, thrown about, strangled, poisoned and spun into a web by a giant spider. He has climbed mountains and hid from and outrun screeching Orks on giant flying birds. And here he is now. On the edge of the cliff. About to throw the evil ring of power into the lava . . . about to be finished with his mission. But he stops. He looks at the ring and turns inward. While others fight for this greater good just outside of Mordor, while his best friend Sam is fighting off the evil Gollum, Frodo has the opportunity to be rid of the evil ring forever . . . and yet, he decides at that moment that the ring is his. That his desire for power, that his love of self, that the voice calling out to him, are all greater than his courage to do what must be done. He gives in. He gives up. He does not fight the battle.
I look back at those moments with sadness. With shame. While so many are fighting the battle around me, I decide to turn inward. I take my eyes off of the King calling us to courage. The One with His outdrawn sword, and I look at the gold glittering in front of me. I listen to the voice that seems sometimes enchanting, yet other times terrifying. It is easier to give in. I lose my courage.
But . . . I am not alone.
I cannot count how many times each of the characters in The Lord of the Rings was rescued by another fighting alongside them. It was never any one person that was a picture of strength on their own, and none of them could ever do it alone. When one character was in the very hands of death, no hope around him, another somehow manages to be at the scene at that pivotal moment of rescue. When the hobbits return to the Shire they were from, no one knew of the heroes they were, of the kingdoms of men that bowed down to them. No one knew of the battles they had fought, the death they had encountered. And yet, they four, as they sat at a table surrounded by friends and family laughing and dancing around them, they four knew. They knew the fellowship of those who fought one alongside the other. They knew the greater purpose. They knew the battle. I think of friends of whom I have that deep fellowship with. Often, words cannot tell of closeness found in fighting the battle together.
But The Lord of the Rings can only be a shadow of reality . . . really, only a type, of sorts. One great message it misses. Yes, my king fights ahead of me. But my King also fights for me. And His victory is sure. I fight too. But oh, that great battle is not mine to win. How relieving it is to know that in those darkest moments, He is there fighting. Not merely alongside me, but for me.
But this time . . . this time . . . let me fight too! Let me take up that Sword. Let me be brave. Let me have courage!
But Lord God, in the darkest moment, be my King of the battle. Rescue me. Take me up on Your horse when death has me gripped in its hands. Be gentle with me in my weakness, but teach me courage.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)