Thinking at Odds

Jasmine's home, Thursday, February 16, 2012

            Lacing her shoes for Thursday night’s Mixed Doubles Night, Jasmine lets out a sigh, certain that Davie would miss the night.  The elders could ex-communicate her only from church, not a private club, but what about Davie?  Could they order him away from a club none of them attends?  Or even from just Mixed Doubles Night?  

            She wonders whether the elders were made aware of the connection she and Davie have at Glendale.  If so, it wasn’t from Jasmine, who had never been given the chance to share her story.  But what might Davie have said?  And what might the elders have ordered of him?  

            Glendale Racquet Club was Davie’s escape.  Naïve people think pastors have it easy.  They’re working in a Christian environment, serving Christians, and reporting to Christians. What, they ask, could be sweeter than that?  Jasmine knew better.  Just two weeks ago, during a water break between sets, Davie asked, “What would I do without you guys?” then he smiled at Jasmine, adding, “and gals!”  Just as he began the next line, “I’d –,“ the group finished it with him: “go bonkers!”  They’d heard him say it plenty of times before.  Sweating out a fast-paced match of tennis with plenty of overhead slams was Davie’s way of letting out his steam, releasing his stress, and keeping him sane, so he could return to work the next day and be the loving, caring, thoughtful, and patient pastor the church needed him to be.  Could the elders foresee the impact on their church if they stripped him of his outlet so he'd “go bonkers”?

            Jasmine formally met Davie the week Pres. Obama announced he’d just had Osama bin Laden assassinated.  Gabbie had been prodding Jasmine and Mindy to join Mixed Doubles Night, which needed more women, and they finally did that night.  When the regulars discovered Davie had recognized Jasmine from his church, the group gave the newbie to Davie as his partner for the night.  Neither had seen the other play.  Jasmine took a breath.  What if she didn’t know where to position herself, or which shots to take and which to surrender, or when to race to the net and when to protect back court?  New partners, even strong ones, usually have to lose a few games before they can gel enough to win.  And what if she didn’t play up to his standards?  To her relief, her worries were unfounded.  From the start, the two knew exactly where to be, what to poach at the net, how to support each other, and how to set one another up for the winning shot. 

            That first set was close.  Jamine and Davie were up 6-5 against Theresa and BD, Davie’s standard Men’s Doubles partner.  But they were receiving serve, and no one had yet broken serve, so they expected to go into a tie-breaker.  Unless Davie and Jasmine could break serve, right here, right now, at ad-out, set point.  BD served to Davie, who returned it back court to Theresa’s backhand, fast with heavy top-spin, then Davie rushed the net.  Theresa sent it down the line to Jasmine, who pulled BD over with a tight cross-court shot to the front alley.  BD raced forward, opening center court.  But Davie and Jasmine’s center left was also open. BD seized the window, bypassed Davie at the net, and sent his shot to the ad court’s center back line.  Jasmine raced back and to the left and made it in time for her two handed backhand to send a straight low one, passing BD, to the center deuce court back line.  Davie, at the net, ran center, seeming to switch court sides.  Theresa, seeing Davie move right, hit a drop shot short to the ad court.  But Davie had tricked her and side stepped back to the ad side just in time to volley a winner, a short fast one to the alley in the ad court.

            Exhilarated, Jasmine decided to finish off the night with the Mixed Doubles Night tradition: drinks at The Alley.  Glendale’s own sports bar, The Alley, was all prepped for the players with tables combined to form an extra long one, seating 16.  The full group went that night and Jasmine sat between Gabbi and Mindy and across from Gentry, who sat next to BD, who sat next to Davie.  When the group had ordered their drinks and it was time to toast, Steve made it easy: “To a great night of tennis and to the death of America’s Number One Most Wanted Terrorist.”  As they toasted, Jasmine noticed she and Davie were the only two of the sixteen who toasted with a pop, not a beer.  Thankfully, she appeared to be the only one who noticed, as no one seemed to pay any mind to one another’s drink orders. 

After toasting, Gentry asked Davie, “So is murder okay as long as it’s to a terrorist?” Davie smiled and teased, “Better than if it’s to a non-terrorist, right?”  After a moment, Davie shook his head and admitted, “I really don’t have an answer about what to do with a man like Osama bin Laden.  Other than stay away from him!”  “And hope he stays away from you!” BD added, to everyone’s laughter.

Theresa looked serious.  “What about criminals in our own country, really bad ones – murderers and serial rapists – do you think we should put them to death?"  “I oppose capital punishment,” Davie replied.  Jasmine looked up, interested.   “A lot of Christians cite ‘an eye for an eye’ to support their favor of it,” Theresa said.  Davie nodded, “To them, I cite the Sixth Command, ‘Do not kill,’ and the higher law of Jesus to pray for our persecutors.”  Jasmine nodded, “Shouldn’t ‘pro-life’ mean ‘anti-death’?”  Davie smiled at Jasmine.  “I like how you think.”

Trying to hold back her blush, Jasmine mused that she also likes how Davie thinks.  Growing up in an evangelical church in Colorado Springs, Jasmine hadn’t found too many within her own Christian community who do.  Her own family found her to be an odd duck.  Despite her insistence that her politics were informed by Jesus’ compassion for the poor, the sick, and the oppressed, and despite her endless citations of Jesus’ teachings like the beatitudes and the separation of the sheep and goats, her family continued to berate her for what they called “thinking at odds.”  She had never asked them what they meant by that, but she was certain that whatever it meant, it wasn’t true.  And now, she had just found another Christian who, at least in one way, thinks like her.  Together, perhaps the two of them could be “thinking at evens.”  Most stunning, he was on the pastoral staff at her own church.

At home, Jasmine usually kept her politics to herself.  Her husband Tim, a loyal Republican, didn’t know Jasmine votes Democrat more than she votes with him.  She considers her marriage like her town: at odds, with closet progressives.  Those who have never been to Colorado Springs might think it’s a cozy little mostly white homogenous town.  It is mostly white, but it has its share of Hispanics, of which Gabbie is one-half, and African Americans, like BD.  Jasmine would love to see her hometown more diversified, but she wouldn’t call it homogenous.  Not with two military bases and the Air Force Academy, headquarters to numerous Christian groups, a smattering of hippies and environmentalists, and all the techies and average folks that make up the town.  No, Jasmine smiled, this city that’s red turning purple in a state that’s purple turning blue is surely less “homogenous” than it is “thinking at odds.”  Maybe she’s right where she belongs.

And, maybe, she also found herself right where she belongs at Glendale’s Mixed Doubles Night.  Driving home that night, she wonders about her evening’s tennis partner who is also her own church’s youth pastor.  Could he also be a closet progressive?

 © 2018 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.
Continue to Coaching from the Sidelines

The Introduction

            The Image flashes.  That one that comes fifty times a day, every day, tormenting Jasmine with ecstasy and agony. It’s the image of her first official introduction to Davie at Glendale Racquet Club that Thursday night when, upon Gabbie's encouragement, insisting the group was seeking more female players, Jasmine and Mindy joined Mixed Doubles Night . . .  

Glendale Racquet Club, Thursday, May 5, 2011

            When Jasmine and Mindy arrived at Glendale's Mixed Doubles Night, they saw a gathering of players between Courts 1 and 2 by the net.  Gabbie hadn't yet arrived.  A young African American in his 20s was stretching, two players were pulling out racquets, a blond female in her 40s was teasing one of them while bouncing a tennis ball, and two others were standing, waiting for the rest to get ready.  All chatting and laughing, the players were plainly good friends.  Would Jasmine and Mindy fit in, or would they be invading a tight-knit clique?  Jasmine found herself curiously transfixed by one of the male players, roughly 5 foot 10 with a modest build, the type Jasmine finds especially attractive: muscular in the upper arms and thighs, without the bulging calf muscles or the shine of overdoing it.  To Jasmine, weight lifting is good until it reaches that perfect plateau, before it’s more ego-building than body-building.

He stood clutching his racquet head with both arms around it, like it was a faithful friend.  Standing firm with his racquet clutched gave him a sexy edge, but professional-sexy, and definitely athletic.  Did he know that if she were to pull out her cell phone and capture him on her phone he could pass for some tennis pro posing for a photo op? She felt this impulse within her to pull it out and snap a shot, but her better mind stopped her.  Awkward.  Instead, she tried to capture it indelibly in her mind.

            Mindy moved quickly from back court to the net, while Jasmine found herself in slow motion, wishing Gabbie was on time and could do the introductions.  She wasn't good at these.  Especially when she was transfixed with something forbidden.  The Image continued, like a short video, and the best part comes next when she’s about eight feet from Mr. Almost Tennis Pro, when he looks over to her.

           

Did he know she had been looking at him, admiring him?  He seemed not to notice Mindy, his gaze fixed upon Jasmine.  For a heartbeat that felt like Eternity, their eyes locked.  In that instant when time was stopped, Jasmine felt that she was watching a high speed train pass in warp speed.  The train whisked with countless cars, each car carrying volumes of books, each volume carrying memorials of some faraway place and time, each memorial shared by Jasmine and this young man with whom her eyes were locked.  Did he see the train too? 

            “I know you,” he said.  He did see the train.  He knows we know each other.  He gazed again into Jasmine’s eyes, searching for the where, when, and how.  “Not high school,” he said.  Of course not.  Go deeper.  Further.  “Not college either,” he continued.  You’re nowhere near warm.  I don’t know how, but we know each other.  “Do you attend Quail Canyon?”  That’s it?  We “know” each other from church?  From passing in the hallways between services?  Just an ordinary acquaintance from church?  She looked again at him, this time at his full face and features, his oval-shaped face with distinctive dimples, straight eyebrows, and deep, dark brown eyes, all sitting under a generous head of dark brown hair, not quite curly but with wavy whisks.  Then she knew: the youth pastor at her church.  Looking straight into her was Pastor David standing buff, athletic, and perfectly beautiful in his shorts.   Never before had she noticed how muscular he is, especially in his thighs.  Of course, never before had she seen him in shorts.

            A confused mixture of emotions circulated through her system, none of them willing to dominate and take center stage and none of them willing to exit: flattery that he recognized her, let down that their acquaintance came from a place as mundane as church, and relief that their acquaintance was mundane, for, after all, she was married. 

            At each flash of the Image, Jasmine marvels and thanks her angels she managed the right reply: “Yes, I do.”  He grinned wide, looked again into her eyes  -- did he know she was married?  Had he seen her at church with her husband or only when she was alone?  He held out his hand for a shake, “Call me Davie.”

 © 2018 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.

Continue to Thinking at Odds

Context: Jasmine's 3rd to 5th Grade Sunday School: BE FILLed Forever

            Rachel Snowden. She was the one who had fought with her brother one Sunday and forgot her Bible, but got a starring role in spite of it.  All because her name was “Rachel” and the story was about Jacob and Rachel.  That must have been more important than breaking Mr. Casey’s number one rule: bring your Bible.  After all, he was the one who had started “BE,” short for Bibles for Everyone.  Mr. Casey took delight in that acronym, which he punned with the project’s motto: “To BE, you need a Bible!”  Every few years, the church held a benefit to raise funds for Bibles for the sanctuary, the classrooms, and every member, third grade on up, who didn’t already have one.  Mr. Casey’s love for kids and his commitment to projects like BE made him so popular everyone called him Mr. C.  Jasmine couldn’t wait to join his fifth grade Sunday school class.

How could Jasmine have forgotten fifth grade?  Not just forgotten it, but buried it.  Now the memories roared back to her like a waterfall.  The year had started out on a low note when Jasmine wanted to know why Noah would let God drown the world, and then it raced up and down wildly like a roller coaster for the rest of the year.  Some weeks, Jasmine was very good and Mr. C very pleased.  Like the week when God asked Abraham to sacrifice  his son and Jasmine did not say Abraham should have refused.  She did not say the order wasn’t fair because Isaac was innocent.  Why should Isaac be killed?  Tortured, even, for doing nothing wrong?  No, Jasmine was a good girl that week, and she didn’t say any of that.  Instead she said, “Abraham must have been very brave.”  Mr. Casey smiled at Jasmine, gave her his glimmering eye, and said, “That’s right, Jasmine, he must have been very brave.”  On weeks like that, Jasmine  found herself at the top of the coaster, elated on her high.  Other weeks, she came crashing down again -- like that week when she wanted to know why God commanded Joshua to commit genocide, or that week when she asked why God would harden Pharaoh’s heart and then send ten horrifying plagues -- ending with the deaths of innocent children, no less – to the people because their leader’s heart was hardened, and hardened by God Himself?  On weeks like that, Mr. C gave her the “just like Eve” scowl.  Some questions, pure and simple, were off limits.

            Perhaps Jasmine could have coasted through the ups and downs more easily had she not liked Mr. Casey so much, even almost worshipping him.  Not only had he been the one to start BE, but he was also the mastermind behind Jasmine’s favorite program, FILL, short for “For Food Increases Life Lunch Program,” her community’s summer lunch program for low income children.  As a social studies teacher at the middle school, Mr. C knew many of the middle schoolers were on the free lunch program.  He then learned a third of kids at the church’s neighborhood elementary school received free lunches at school, and well over half qualified for either free or reduced lunches.  As one with a big heart, he worried over them, and aas one with a big drive, he decided to do something.  Mr. C. loved how his two acronyms went together: “BE Filled.”

For a modest church, FILL was a big project, but Mr. C. was persuasive, and the congregation voted to try it.  That’s where Jasmine and her mother spent every Thursday during the summer.  The first year, the summer before Jasmine entered fourth grade, they served food, and the following summer, they graduated to what Jasmine considered the best job of all: baking bread and cookies.  Each Thursday that Mr. C came, at the end of FILL, he passed Jasmine his signature smile, eye twinkle, and wink.  Code for “Excellent work.”  Sometimes, he even added, “Nice going, Jazzie!”  Mr. C was the only adult to use Jasmine’s favorite nickname.  Other adults called her Jasmine, and only her very best friends called her “Jazzie.”  When Mr. Casey used this name for her, she knew she must be, to use his favorite phrase, “in his favor.”

            The first time Mr. C called her Jazzie in fifth grade Sunday School was the week the class dramatized Jacob and Rachel’s courtship.  That morning, Rachel Snowden’s little brother had thrown a fit, and she and her family raced out quickly to make it to church on time – but without her Bible.  Mr. C started with his distinctive scowl: part scowl with head set away, nose crunched, forehead wrinkled, eyelids squinted, and his eyes cast to the side, and part tease with a faint smile.  Since he really liked Rachel, his faint smile turned to a wide grin while he pulled out one of the classroom Bibles and gave it to her.   Then he gave her an extra twinkle and said, “But you won’t need it yet, Rachel.  Today, you’ll need this script.”  Handing her the first script, he added, “And you have one of the important parts, the part of Rachel.”  

Conveniently, the class also had a Jacob, who was given the second script.  These two might have begun with the starring roles that day, but it was Jasmine who ended as the star.  After playing out the courtship drama, Mr. C asked the class what they had learned.  Remembering Isaac’s courtship of Rebekah, Jasmine compared their stories. “If I love someone, I want to catch him quick like Isaac.  I don’t want to wait forever like Jacob!”  The class laughed.  Mr. C nodded, “Jacob waited very a long time.  Did any of you catch how long he had to wait?”  Eager to please him, Jasmine piped in, “Fourteen years!”  “Right!” he affirmed.  “He didn’t wait quite ‘forever,’ did he?  He waited fourteen years, which, to Jacob, was ‘but a few days.’”  “That’s forever!” John objected.  Jasmine spoke up again, “He served but a few days equaling fourteen years equaling forever!”  The class cheered.  Mr. C smiled.  To his class of eleven year olds, fourteen years might as well be “forever.”  “You have me there, Jazzie!” he replied, elating her with her favorite nickname.  Then he praised her even more when he added her time-frame into the memory verse: “So Jacob served seven years for Rachel and they seemed but a few days because of his love for her, and then he served another seven years, equaling forever!”

             Now Jasmine was a fifth grade teacher herself.  How could she help her students feel as elated as she felt on that day?  She could follow in many of Mr C’s footsteps -- his heart, his drive, and the twinkle in his eye -- and she could throw in a love of curiosity.  No off-limits questions.  She and her fifth graders, she vowed, will BE FILLed forever with curiosity.

 © 2018 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.

See 3: The Introduction
Start at Beginning: 1: Why did Noah let God drown the world?

Does a Beer do Anything to Tempt a Guy?

The Alley, Glendale Racquet Club, Colorado Springs, Saturday, February 11, 2012

            “Do you think a beer does anything to tempt a guy?”  Jasmine is trying to put yesterday's command out of her mind, but she can't shake it.  Everything she sees and hears seems to be reminding her of Mr. Praeger's order, including the three male 20-somethings sitting at the next table over.  Mindy, Jasmine’s tennis partner, sitting next to her, looks over to the small round table with the racquetball players drinking beer, and teases, “Sure!  It begs, ‘Drink me, please!’”  Jasmine rebukes herself for asking such a curious question.  She’s been so careful, especially at church, and, even more especially, at Glendale.  Until now.  What if they figure out what she’s referring to?  Or, worse, whom?  Their laughter, thankfully, suggests they haven’t.

 “’Drink me now!’” Mindy continues, “It cries out from the bottom shelf in the refrigerator!”  “Next to the orange juice!” Gabbi pipes in.  “That’s exactly it!” Kristina exclaims, “I even ask my boyfriend, ‘why isn’t the orange juice begging you to drink it?’ ‘Nah,’ he says, ‘Only the beer can talk to me!’”  As her three friends break into peals of laughter, Jasmine sighs relief they don’t appear to be on to her.  “And nothing’s ever their fault!” Gabbi continues.  “No, of course not,” says Kristina.  “Can I tell you my latest with my boyfriend?”  Please.  Jasmine hopes her face won’t show her urgency to change the subject.  As Kristina begins to share a story about her cat and her boyfriend, the waitress arrives with their pop, ready to take their lunch orders. Whew!  That was close.

Gabbi and Kristina are Jasmine and Mindy’s favorite opponents.  The foursome can usually be found at The Alley, Glendale Racquet Club’s sports bar, for brunch on Saturday, after a close match of tennis.  All four joined Glendale the same year, quickly discovered they make an ideal competitive match, and became fast friends.  None of Jasmine’s tennis friends attends Quail Canyon Community Church, a modestly sized church for Colorado Springs of a thousand congregants, nor for that matter, does anyone that she or her mixed doubles partner Davie know of.  They had both agreed to be on the look-out at Glendale, and at church, for anyone who might frequent both places.  Amazingly, as far as they knew, they were the only two who were members of both Glendale and Quail Canyon.  Jasmine prays this is still the case, or she’ll surely be found out -- especially with mistakes like that.  She wonders if it’s okay to make such a prayer.

Mindy attends a Presbyterian church; Gabbi calls herself a “typical Catholic,” meaning she never goes to Mass; and Kristina keeps her distance from all things church.    Reflecting on Kristina’s anti-church views, Jasmine is almost tempted to make another “mistake.”  Early in their friendship, when Jasmine first mentioned her attendance at Quail Canyon, Kristina replied, “I like Jesus.  But I don’t like church.”  She discounted her need to attend with a cliché phrase Jasmine had heard before: “My relationship with Jesus is a personal thing.”  Whenever Jasmine hears people say that, she rolls her eyes, thinks it’s a cop-out, and isn’t about to trust their “relationship with Jesus” could be too “personal.”

But Kristina’s story is complicated.  She had probably caught Jasmine rolling her eyes, so she took the chance to share her story.  Kristina was raised in what she calls “an ultra fundamentalist church,” strict home, and was homeschooled through elementary school.  She’d have been homeschooled all the way, just like her two older siblings, had she not “taken the matter into her own hands.”  For middle school, she had made up her mind: either she would refuse to do any of the homeschool work her mother assigned to her, or she would attend a regular school and work hard for good grades.  To her parents’ credit, they agreed to the latter and enrolled her in a private Christian school.  Kristina would have preferred the local public school, but the compromise was fair, and she more than kept her end of the deal, graduating Salutatorian from The Springs Christian High.  As proud as she was of her academic achievement, Kristina says she’s more proud of her real challenge: pretending all through school that she gave her whole heart to Jesus Christ, her Lord and Savior. “If church makes me ‘love him with my whole heart,’ then he won’t get my whole heart.”  At that, Kristina looked up to the sky and said, “Sorry, Jesus!  Hope you understand!”  Jasmine smiled, “I bet He does.”  “Thanks,” said Kristina, “Too bad my parents don’t.”

Jasmine knew Kristina would understand her story too.  Maybe too much.  Wishing not to get scarred by Kristina’s cynicism, she resisted her temptation to spill the beans.  She pondered whether she could still “love Jesus with her whole heart” and not go to church.  She had been willing to trust the possibility for Kristina, but for no one else, least of all herself.  Now she was seeing it in a new way.  Could it be possible for her too?  Could she hold a strong bond with Jesus away from church?   

Jasmine found herself surprisingly pleased that she was about to find out.  Even her husband Tim had taken the news admirably.  Sure, he was dismayed, and she was working to regain his trust, but Jasmine was grateful he was secure enough within himself he wasn’t letting her indiscretion ruin their marriage.  Nor was he even upset with Davie, a friend of his from Quail Canyon's Lunch Fridays for Men. Both in their late 20s/early 30s, Tim and Davie had been assigned to the same table group and had become friends, something Jasmine hadn't known until she broke the news to Tim about the elders' command of her exit from church.  Upon hearing of it, he replied, “Isn’t this between us?  You, me, and David and his wife Pam?  Why does the church have to get into  it?” 

“Because David’s on their staff.”

“OK, so they can check in, but they don’t have to kick you out, do they?” 

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“I’m the one who should be mad, and they’re the ones playing the Drama King role.  I didn’t know our church was run by such morons!” 

Jasmine was startled.  She had never heard her husband talk like that about anyone, least of all church leaders.  He had always respected them, and now he was red in the face and calling them names.  She had been sweating over what his reaction to her news would be, and she had imagined anger like that, but directed at her, not them.  Instead, Tim had said Davie had good taste, that she and Davie both had stopped in time to do any real damage, and that the church elders were the ones to blame for over-reacting.  Jasmine was silently smirking at his rage at the church.  Could the church’s harsh treatment have helped to deflect her husband’s anger against her?  Or were they scapegoats?  Still, if the eviction had been a favor, a chance to find out first hand if she could “love Jesus without going to church,” and even a deflection of her husband’s anger, then why was she still so bothered by it? 

It really wasn’t the blackball that mattered.  It was the implication gushing out of the elder’s words, tone, body language, and aura.  It was his “prayer” that Jasmine kept replaying like one of those unshakable radio jingles.

“Don’t return to this church or contact Pastor David ever again,” commanded John Prager, the head elder.  Jasmine could almost hear his thoughts: How does this happen and why am I stuck with the job of dealing with it?  She was tempted to reply: Because you agreed to be an elder?  And accountability is what elders do?  Instead, Jasmine took the safe road: “I came here to ask for accountability.  I thought I would be receiving prayer.”   The elder gave a condescending smile, “Don’t worry.  We’ll keep you accountable.  You did the right thing by coming to us.  Just stay away from church, make no contact with David, and you’ll be just fine.”

Then, to placate her, he put his hands on her and prayed.  But in place of a prayer of thanksgiving for taking a wise course to move forward in truth, love, and purity, it was quite a different sort of prayer.  “Our Father in Heaven, thank You for bringing this young lady to us.  We pray You will forgive her.  In the Name of Your Son cleanse her heart, purify her mind, and transform her by the renewing of her mind, and  help her to flee youthful lusts.  Thank You for your great mercy upon this repentant sinner, Lord.  Amen.”

Mr. Prager – she had always known him as “John,” but Mr. Prager seemed more appropriate now – shook his head, sighed, shook his head again, and muttered, “Women.  Always the thorn.  Always the tempters.  I'm sure that was St. Paul’s thorn – women.”  

Why was he assuming she had tempted him?  Does a beer do anything to tempt a guy?  If a guy’s tempted to drink, do they call up the beer can, look sternly in judgment at that can, and tell that beer can where it can no longer go? 

Why hadn't she had the courage to ask that question?  No, like a wimp, she stood there silent.  The elder then looked at her and spoke the last words she had heard spoken by anyone at Quail Canyon:  “You’re just like Eve.”  

 © 2018 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.

Continue to The Introduction

Context: Jasmine, 5th Grade Teacher: He's betting on your passion

Jasmine hadn’t set out to teach fifth grade.  It happened like her marriage to Tim: she followed a detour sign.  Her dream was to teach high school drama and direct the high school’s show.  Since most high schools offer only one or two theater or drama classes, the drama teacher also teaches English.  Jasmine thought she had hit Lady Luck with a high school gig of drama, musical theater, three sophomore English classes, and Theater Director.  Theater Director came with a little extra pay.  But that was just for the two main performances.  Little did she realize how much more it involved.

Overwhelmed with grading essays proving the cliché true – Johnny really can’t write – running the theater program, and taking on an abundance of “optional” extra performances, she finally had a face-to-face with the Principal.  “You could skip the cameos at the middle schools, the community centers, and even the Performing Arts Center your predecessors so diligently worked to set up,” he said, “but you might not recruit enough students and you might lose funding for the drama program.” 

“That doesn’t sound ‘optional.’  Can my pay be increased for this not-quite-optional ‘optional’ work?” 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Greene, it can’t,” he replied.  He never calls me “Mrs. Greene.”   “We welcome and encourage your choice to continue the extra commitments developed by your predecessors, but we don’t require it, and we don’t have the funding to pay for it.” 

“So what happens if I skip the optional extras and we lose students and funding?”  “You need at least fifteen students in each drama class to keep it.  If you fall below that, we’ll cut the drama class, and if you lose funding, you either work on an extra low budget or do some fundraising.” 

“Doesn’t the school want to make sure that doesn’t happen?” 

“We hope not, but don’t worry, you’ll still have a job with us if it does.”  He added with a smile, “we have plenty of English classes that need a teacher.”

Then it came.  A whisper of mystery.  On occasion, and never when she’s expecting it, a whisper comes – some soft voice from far away, off her radar.  She’s learned to keep the whispers secret.  People don’t understand them.  Even Christians who are supposed to believe in the Holy Spirit neither get nor trust these whispers.  One time -- in fifth grade, of course -- Jasmine naively shared a whisper with some Christian friends, and they looked at her like she was from another planet.  She reminded them of their recent lesson of Elijah when the voice of the Lord was not in the wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but “in a still small voice” (I Kings 19:11-13).  They mocked her: “You’re comparing yourself to Elijah?!”

From that moment on, Jasmine learned to keep her whispers to herself.  None had come for quite some time, but just when the Principal told her the school was in need of plenty of English teachers, a whisper arrived: He’s betting on your passion.

Jasmine knew this was a whisper she should trust.  They had come since she was a little girl, and one of them, at age eight, had saved her life.  Her family had joined a few other families camping.  She and a couple of other kids, older ones, twelve or so, decided to go inner tubing down the river.  The older ones didn’t want little Jasmine tagging along, and let her trail far back behind them.  The water was so refreshing, the sky so blue, and the air so fresh from last night’s rain, she didn’t mind they left her alone.  She was reveling in her inner tube, floating down the river.  Then a whisper of mystery came: Hang off to the right.  Get out by that tree.  Jasmine didn’t want to get out yet; she wanted to keep floating.  But she had learned to trust the whispers, so she groaned and obeyed.  When she made it onto to land by the tree, she saw what lay before her about thirty yards ahead on the river: the start of a rocky, whitewater adventure she would never have been prepared for; then, another eighty to hundred yards beyond that came the nightmare scene: a waterfall.  Why hadn’t they told her there was a waterfall?! 

“Jazzie!  Jazzie!  Where are you?!”  I turned back and saw my dad racing toward me and I called back, “I’m here, Dad!  I’m okay!”  He raced to me like a sprinter at the finish line, picked me up, twirled me around, hugged me so hard I almost lost my breath, planted a big kiss on my cheek, and then hugged me again.  Then he let the two twelve year olds give me a hug too.  Their faces were pale, ghost--like, and one of them, head bowed, croaked, “We are so sorry,” and the other one nodded, head also down, eyes big, and face white.  I nodded, “I’m okay.”  Dad looked at them and said, “That’s what matters.  I hope you two have learned a lot from this.”  Big eyed, they both nodded.

That night, lying in her sleeping bag, listening to the crickets and reviewing the image of the waterfall, Jasmine prayed thanked her whisper and promised to obey.  She had kept her promise too.  What about this one? What does the whisper mean?  He’s betting on your passion?  She recalled the principle’s last words, “We have plenty of English classes that need a teacher.”  He spoke as if he didn’t care one way or another if the drama program was lost.  Jasmine asked the whisper what it meant, but whispers only came when they felt like it, not when Jasmine wanted them.  She turned it over in her mind  again: He’s betting on your passion. 

The interpretation hit her hard: he wants the drama program, and he wants her to do everything in her power to make it strong, and he’s “betting on her passion” that she will.  He wants her to be paid by one thing alone: her passion.  Maybe her passion should say “no.”

A week later, Jasmine’s husband Tim came home from work where he works as a Child Protective Services case worker, across the street from Jefferson Elementary School.  He often joins some of the teachers at lunch at the Crescent Café next door.  “Do you think you’d ever like to teach fifth grade?” he asked. 

 “Fifth grade?  You know I’m endorsed for secondary.  I don’t have an endorsement to teach fifth grade.” 

“That might not matter.  Jefferson Elementary just lost all of its fifth grade teachers, and quite a few of the other teachers too.  Eight teachers, including all three fifth grade teachers, started the day together with a joint proclamation that they will not be renewing their contracts for next year at Jefferson Elementary.” 

“You’re kidding?  Are they that mad about the fences going up?” 

“They’re that mad.”

On the local evening news, one of the fifth grade teachers was being interviewed: “We’ve been calling for a reasonable plan to prepare for terror emergencies, but the school barricaded our grounds like a prison. We won’t be coming back.”  Then the Principal was interviewed: “We understand the teachers’ concern in light of last month’s shooting threat, but this is the most ‘reasonable’ solution we have right now.  We hope they’ll change their minds.”  “And if they don’t,” the reporter asked the Principal, “will you be able to hire eight teachers by August?”  “We have a beautiful school; we have wonderful children; and we feel confident we can recruit strong, qualified teachers,” he affirmed. 

Standing in front of the fence for an ironic jest, the reporter closed the story, “If you are looking for a teaching position, beautiful Jefferson Elementary is hiring.  I’m Rachel Snowden reporting to you from Colorado Springs.”

Rachel Snowden.  Jasmine knew a Rachel Snowden.  In fifth grade.  She looked at her again.  No, she couldn’t be the same one.  But it was a sign, a neon, blinking detour sign. 

© 2018 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the author.

Continue to next Context selection: Be FILLed Forever
Start at Beginning: 1: Why did Noah let God drown the world?

Why did Noah let God Drown the World?

Quail Canyon Community Church Conference Room, Colorado Springs, Friday, February 10, 2012

“Do not return to this church or contact Pastor David ever again,” commanded  the head elder, shaking his head and letting out a sigh.  Jasmine had just been blackballed.  He then “prayed” for her and closed with the last words she heard spoken by anyone at Quail Canyon Community Church:  “You’re just like Eve.”   

Just like Eve.  Jasmine had heard those words before . . .  

January, 1990

Jasmine was eleven, sitting in Mr. C's Sunday school class.  Jasmine loved Mr. C.  He was the one who initiated both the free lunch program and the BE Bibles, and it was from him that Jasmine had heard the news two months earlier that the Berlin Wall had come down.  Mr. C. had enthusiastically praised President Reagan for calling upon Russian President Gorbechev to tear it down.  While it didn't happen under Reagan, Mr. C. gave Reagan the credit, and he was delighted to share the news of this new freedom to his fifth graders. 

            On this day, two months later, in January, Mr. C's class was studying the story of Noah’s flood.  “You see,” Mr. Casey, the teacher, affectionately known as Mr. C., said, “The entire world was filled with wickedness.  The scripture records that ‘every intent’ of every person on earth – except for one – was full of ‘only evil’ and that every human, except for one, had corrupted the earth.’”  He then asked what may have made Noah different, unique in the human race of his generation as a good man.  One said that maybe he wasn’t selfish; another said that he may have been willing to share his things with his friends; another said that maybe Noah didn’t litter all over the earth and pollute it like the others. 

The teacher nodded at all these responses.  Jasmine was unsure whether Noah really was unique, even whether he really was good.  She couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but somehow felt that he wasn’t good. 

Francine raised her hand and offered another answer: “Noah was obedient.”  To this, Mr. C grew a wide grin, and said, “Exactly, Francine.  The scripture records this is exactly what made Noah so special: He obeyed God.  Let’s look at what the Bible says in Genesis 6:22: ‘Thus Noah did; according to al that God had commanded him, so he did.’  While every other person on earth was disobeying God, Noah obeyed him.”

Mr. C. encouraged the students to obey God and to memorize two scripture verses about Noah for the following week: “But Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord” (Genesis 6:8) and “Thus Noah did; according to all that God had commanded him, so he did” (Genesis 6:22).

            It was then that Jasmine understood what disturbed her about Noah: he obeyed God.  That was it!  That’s what disturbed her.  So she raised her hand and asked, “If Noah had found favor with God, why didn’t he use his favor to ask God to save the world?”  Mr. C. looked at her stunned, even disturbed.  She didn’t know she was stepping out into dangerous, inappropriate territory by asking questions in Sunday school.  She didn’t know she was doing anything wrong by wanting to know why Noah obeyed, so when Mr. C. remained silent, she thought she’d better rephrase her question: “Why did Noah let God drown the world?”

            The entire class went silent.  Each student looked at Mr. C. with eager eyes for an answer.  Each wanted to know the same thing: why had Noah let God drown the world?  Mr. C. was flummoxed.  The lesson intended to teach obedience was about to be undermined with its opposite: disobedience.  Jasmine was suggesting that it would have been better if Noah had disobeyed God!  That it would have been better for Noah to supersede God and put forth Noah’s own, human notion that the evil world should remain.  The way she phrased her question dug deep with prickles under Mr. C.’s skin: “Why had Noah let God drown the world?”  The question suggested that little, human Noah had authority over God, the Creator of the heavens and the earth.  How insolent of her to think that Noah “lets” God!

            “Who created the heavens and the earth?” he asked Jasmine.  “God,” she replied.  “Why was Noah special,” he asked Francine. “Because he obeyed God,” replied Francine.  “Right,” he said to the full class.  Then, without answering Jasmine’s question, he turned to her and with tinge of scorn, said, “You want the knowledge of God, and the power of God, and you want to disobey to get it.  You’re just like Eve.” 

He took a deep breath, resolving to salvage the lesson she had fairly well bombed for him and asked the class to recite the memory verses: “Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord. . . . Thus Noah did; according to all that God had commanded him, so he did” (Genesis 6:8 and 22).  After the class obediently recited the verses, he took another breath to keep as calm as he could and then closed: “Now, everyone, keep reciting these verses for next week, and we’ll begin next Sunday with each of you reciting the verses.  Most of all, remember to be just like Noah and not just like Eve.”

Jasmine felt the pierce into her heart at those words “not just like Eve,” that pierce of condemnation, condemnation she couldn’t grasp or understand.  Why had she been so condemned?  What had she done wrong?

She did not know, but felt fully condemned, and ashamed, and she buried it.  She buried her condemnation, her shame, and her memories of most of fifth grade, especially this moment -- until now.

 © 2018 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.

Continue to Does a Beer do Anything to Tempt a Guy?

He who has ears to hear, let him hear!

“Oh, how blind and deaf you are toward God!

Why won’t you listen?  Why won’t you see?

Who in all the world is as blind as my own people,

who are designed to be my messengers of truth?

Who is so blind as my dedicated one, the servant of the Lord?

You see and understand what is right but won’t heed nor do it;

you hear, but you won’t listen.”

(Isaiah 42:18-20; The Living Bible)

           Hi again, it’s been a long time.  My husband is finishing a Grad program, and my writing time has been limited by additional teaching hours for our family income.  Soon, I hope to resurrect the voice.  

          Peace, Karina