Spiritual Amnesia

I've known many people who suffer from amnesia, dementia, Alzheimer's, or something of the sort throughout my life. The affliction of forgetfulness in the most cruel and confusing ways. It's affected my family and friends; how terrible for them, we all say, that this has happened. But I've come to believe over the past couple of years that I suffer from it too, in my own way. I have Spiritual Amnesia of the worst kind.

Let me begin by telling you some things I know to be true, deep down to the insides of my bones: God takes care of me. God helps me through the challenges of my life. God has never and will never let me down. These are the facts.

God proves these facts to me time and time again. He has put friends, people, circumstances, opportunities, blessings, and too-good-to-be-true-coincidences directly in my path time and time and time again.

 I was feeling lost and directionless during my senior year of college, wanting to do meaningful work but not knowing where to start. He put Teach for America on my radar and I sailed through the three-month application and interview process, disbelieving that I kept getting promoted to the next round time after time.

I was feeling lonely and weird when I lived in a new city in a new apartment. He put friends, roommates, an amazing church, and family right in my way to surround me with intelligent, talented, kind people. 

I was feeling sick of the dating game and so over the ups and downs of heartbreak after heartbreak. He put Brian Edward Whartnaby in my life, completely out of the blue, for the last first date of my life.

I felt defeated and burned out from teaching at a charter school in CPS. He put connections and last-minute Skype interviews right in my path to bring me to a fantastic community and the amazing group of 24 kids that are in my class at Calvin Christian School. 

All of this has happened to me in the last few years! And that's only the big stuff! What about the little stuff?

What about finding my thoughtful, wise, and caring mentor at church? What about generous donors who funded a technology project I started for my classroom? What about the joy I find in cooking for the first time in my life? What about the new brothers and parents and relatives I gained when I joined Brian's family, and the love and support I feel from them? What about awesome trips I've gotten to take? What about the love and friendship of friends that continues to grow through the different stages of life? What about the encouraging phone calls from my dad that come at just the right time? What about the proud sight of a second grade Reader's Theater performance? What about my newfound ability to wake up at 5:00 a.m. on a consistent basis? What about finally having a school day that goes exactly as you planned it? What about the simple joy of seeing Brian working at the kitchen table when I come home from work each day? What about a sunny day with blue skies making for a crisp and perfect October day? 

What about all those things? They didn't just happen. They weren't coincidence. They were carefully orchestrated, put in my path to prove to me, yet again, that I am not alone or without help.

And yet, in spite of all of those things, I forget. I forget God.

I get bogged down in my work at school. At the fact that I am on my third year in a row of teaching a new grade-level, a new curriculum, and a new school. At the fact that I'm tired and weary down to my toes at the end of every day. At the fact that I feel guilty for being a walking zombie when I'm supposed to be a supportive, attentive spouse. At the piles of ignored laundry and dishes. At the fact that I haven't had energy to go on a run since the school year started. I get bogged down in it all. Even in my silly first world problems and superficial insecurities, I get bogged deeply down in the midst of it all and I forget. I forget all of those things that happened and more. I look up and ask God: Why don't you ever help me? Why don't you look out for me? Why am I always fending for myself? Why am I alone in this? I forget that God has always helped me; God has always come through.

And then it hits me. I have a lucid moment of awakened understanding in the middle of my complaining, exhaustion, and piles of papers: I am with you. I love you. I always take care of you. Don't you remember, Anna? Have you already forgotten?

This weekend I was with my mom's side of the family for a wonderful and rambunctious reunion. One of the best things about this side of the family is the life and memory of my cousin Nikki. She passed away 5 years ago from brain cancer, but was a big influence on all of our lives in lots of different ways. Her motto, which I was reminded of this weekend, was this: Trust in God. He will help you. Our family loves those words and remember them when we think of her.

Those words are simple to say, but hard to live. Nikki was someone who didn't forget things, especially not any one of her cousin's birthdays or what they got for Christmas last year. She had her own struggles to face, but she definitely didn't have the forgetful problem I have. Her words are hope for sufferers of Spiritual Amnesia like myself. Trust in God, Anna. He will help you!

He always has. He always will.

And don't you forget it. 

Advent

Yesterday was Christmas. It finally got here.

It wasn't the usual explosion of cheer that December 25th brings. I'm 24 now, and so it was a chill and happy day at home. My brother, Heidi, parents, and I opened a few presents. We ate a steak dinner at home, then we all took naps. We talked about the coming year and made a few plans. We watched a movie. I never actually left the house. It was a long and peaceful day. But I'm still waiting for something.

This year, the Christmas season has been characterized not by the day of December 25th, but by the waiting. The leading up to something. The patience. The Advent season. For good things to come (more on one especially wonderful thing soon), some necessary things to come, and some other things that I'm not sure if they're coming at all.

My church really follows a cool tradition during Advent, with reverent readings and candle lightings and the whole shebang. Sometimes, in times like those, I feel the wait for what's to come to be an exciting and almost magical thing. But for the most part, in the day-to-day, I'm weary in the waiting. The term Advent, in itself, means the arrival. So I suppose I'm waiting on another arrival.

Let me tell you what I mean. As much as I am a teacher on Christmas break who does not want to even think about school, this whole waiting thing actually happens to be all about my life at school.

This year, much more than last year at least, I am aware of the challenges and home lives that make up the realities for my kids every day. I'm asking more questions and am overwhelmed at what six and seven-year-olds are accepting as normal, not because they want to, but because they have to, because they don't know anything different.

Parents in jail, parents with cancer, parents who aren't around, 

parents who are, parents who were shot last week.

Food that isn't there, gas tanks and bank accounts that aren't getting filled, 

presents that weren't wrapped.

Missed rent checks, missed job interviews, missed bus rides. 

Missed payments and the cold that kicks in when the heat is shut off.

Shootings down the street, sirens up the block, 

and bed bugs on the floor where he sleeps.

Cuss words and candy bars for dinner.

And this is the world we have for our kids? This what they wait for? 

And I know I should be positive, not thinking about only the struggles and challenges when there are so many good things to see and be thankful for, but at times waiting for this Advent can be overwhelming. I'm longing for it to be resolved, but here I sit, patiently looking ahead. I feel like Lucy when she was told that it's always winter and never Christmas.

Of course, in my own stupidity, I get stretches of time where I think I can fix things. Where I can patch it up. Where I can speed up the Advent, hurry along the arrival of The Way Things Are Supposed To Be. It's hard for a girl who was brought up as a Dutch Reformed kid to realize that even diligent work towards a redeeming cause might not produce the results that you want. So here I still wait. In one week and a half I'll go back to school and walk past the litter on the street right back up to my classroom. And I'll still be working and waiting for that world I want for my kids.

A perfect little thing happened on Christmas yesterday. My Grandpa Gesch was asked to pray before lunch. He can hardly maneuver around my house anymore and needs my dad to cut up his steak for him. But one thing he'll always be able to do really well, no matter his age or physical limitation, is pray. And he said, on Christmas, that God should help us remember to be loving to each other, to show kindness every day, and to take care of each other by giving each person around us what he or she needs. It was beautiful. And while I can't do many things, one thing I can do while I wait is to love my kids. I can't fix their entire world, although I will continue to do everything I can to try, but here in the meantime, in the midst of the waiting, I have my mission: I want to love. I want to be kind. I want to take care of people. That's the stuff that helps make the wait worthwhile.