the perspective of grace

Well, at this point in the story, I'm sitting in the school office at the end of a slow, semi-successful day. I played a crazy game with my 4th graders, which involved their sprinting to the whiteboard from their seats in order to touch an illustrated vocabulary card, shouting "I DO!" in response to my question, "Who likes to go bike riding?" My attempt to teach the structure of three-word phrasal verbs to my 9th graders went pretty well - they seemed to understand what I said. High school doesn't start classes for another two weeks, for which I am thankful. I still have much to prepare for my 10th grade English class and 12th grade Philosophy class. Yes, I said Philosophy. I'm going to be a Philosophy teacher. Yikes.

Personally, I'm feeling a little more confident in my being here. Actually, the picture above illustrates that confidence quite nicely. While at a friend's house last week, I browsed through her library and encountered a book full of M.C. Escher's works. This particular piece caught my eye immediately.

I've always been an admirer of Escher. His works are mind-boggling and perplexing, for he was able to create deceptively possible images through the use of perspective. It makes one wonder whether he had the superhuman ability to enter into his own works, gaze at all angles of their artistic construction, and then somehow re-arrange everything from every possible perspective before re-entering the real world. His art has an otherworldly sense about it, and yet its meaning is often very concrete.

The piece above caught my attention because its subjects are living, breathing, eating, loving, thinking creatures (quite humanlike), but they exist on entirely different geometric (or terrestrial) planes. There are three sets of living creatures in the same place, but they literally live on different perspectives. One is obvious: the normal up-and-down (right-side-up) geometric plane through which we view the world from our position, taken captive by gravity. The other two planes exist when you tilt your head to view the piece from one side to another.

The name of this work is entitled Relativity. I wonder why.

Interestingly enough, this wood engraving is a good illustration of how God is working in my life. Through the process of time and the mercy of God, He has begun an understanding in my mind and heart that although the people with whom I work, worship and live may be on another cultural and theological perspective, we remain in the same place. Different planes of perspective perhaps, but the same place nonetheless. And that place is both physical and spiritual. I not only live and work alongside with them, but I am also bound to them as a fellow part of Christ's Body.

And if I do not love them regardless of our differences, how can I be called one who follows Christ? Did not our Lord place on his church a new command? Love one another.

Should I be surprised that the command isn't, Be right and prove it to others? But alas, brothers and sisters, this is my own command to obey 99% of the time. Please pray for me, that my strength to love would come not from my own weak reserves, but from the working of the Spirit of God within me.

home, part 2

"Well, I'm back."

The last words of J.R.R. Tolkien's Return of the King reflect a bit of where I'm at right now. Sam just returned to his home at Bag End after watching Frodo, Gandalf, Bilbo, and others board a ship bound for the Undying Lands. I've always enjoyed reading over the last part of that epic story because it has an unfinished feel to it: the life-threatening, adrenaline-pumping adventure of the Fellowship has ended, but the journey still continues for Samwise Gamgee.

Now, I haven't just returned from an epic adventure that resulted in the salvation of the world, but my time at home was high-pitched, fast-paced, full of life, joyful reunions, and deep conversations.

Seeing my mom and dad from the top of a O'Hare escalator thrilled my heart and reassured me that I had finally returned to a place of love, warmth, and security.

Opening the door of my house to the faces of old friends filled me with old memories and new thoughts of true, God-given fellowship.

Having a deep conversation with my 89-year-old grandma who told me she has a greater hunger for God than she has ever had floored my "I've already arrived" pride and ushered me into a self-defeating, joyful place of humility.

Talking with my dad about all my life struggles over a Starbucks mocha and listening to his humble-yet-assured responses gave me a sense of security and confidence in God which still tells me, "Blessed is he who trusts in the Lord."

And now, I'm back. Here in Parral. Without being too dramatic, this city has showed me more of my weakness and insecurity than college did. It's a place where I'm tested and often found wanting, because of my blasted sense of self-reliance. But, it's a place that God uses to lift a hidden veil in my soul, touching an exposed nerve and revealing my obvious need for Him.

I still feel slightly melancholic about leaving goodness of home life and embracing the fact that it will be several more months before I'm able to see my family and friends again. However, a conversation with a good friend and his wife over break has helped me see this place in a different light.

He encouraged me to view Parral as my home, even though it is far from my idea of home. Christ is my home, he told me, and wherever he places me, there is my home, for I am there with him. Love those around you like family and old friends, he said, for that is the example he left us: he came to our home, a far cry from his heavenly dwelling, and loved us as family and friends.

And this is our calling. Let us live it obediently and confidently in the grace He has provided.