Making Time for Grace

What does it look like to live in grace on a college campus? As we live today, do we really have time to live as grace-filled people? What would it look like to make grace a priority in our daily schedules and agendas?

These were the questions that got us talking yesterday in a Lenten reading group that I've joined. There were nine of us there, and many of us were meeting for the first time or only knew each other by name--six students, a professor, a maintenance staff member, and me. You wouldn't think this would be the place to take up tough life questions, but we'd agreed to read The Cure together and to meet weekly to talk through the chapters, so there we were, digging right into the hard questions. 

I suppose that where we landed was a bit ironic: we got to this discussion after reading a chapter that emphasized that we don't do anything that brings us God's grace--the whole point is that he sees the brokenness, shamefulness, and shortcomings in each one of us, yet seeks us out in spite of ourselves. We fail at "being good," and yet God offers us his love, his mercy, his forgiveness, his renewing and transforming power.

So what's this about "making time" to live in grace? Our discussion wasn't about trying to earn God's love. Quite the opposite. Rather, we talked about what it would look like if we were to stop wearing our masks--to stop trying to fool others into thinking that we have it all together, to freely acknowledge that we are much in need of grace. 

One of out student leaders reflected on how we rush past each other in hallways and on sidewalks, often exchanging a superficial "Hi, how ya doing?" and "Fine" even when we or our neighbors aren't fine. And that's where the question came in: what would it look like if we made time to live in grace? What would it look like if we made the time it takes to linger, to share together in our need for grace and the thanksgiving that we have for it?

Our group had a few practical ideas: maybe we would allow more time for traveling between classes, meetings, and other responsibilities--valuing sidewalk conversations enough to plan time for them into the day instead of always rushing from here to there. Instead of filling our schedules to the top, we'd allow some open spaces each day, expecting the unexpected in our relationships with others and allowing time to listen and learn together.   

Along with turning the clock forward tonight, I'll also be making some adjustments to my calendar. I  think the students had it right: living together in a community of grace works better when we intetionally allow for the time it takes to travel the road together.

Goals, Habits, and Nudges

I'm not much for New Year's resolutions, but I'm definitely a goal setter. Here we are in the last few hours of February, and I'm blogging because I want to meet the goal I set for myself to blog at least once a month....which isn't as often as I'd like, but is the start of a habit. Today started with goal-keeping, too: I logged 3.1 miles on the treadmill, just enough to get me to my goal of 52 miles for the month of February. Most days, I also complete my goal of doing at least a little leisure reading (which feels more like a gift to myself than a task!), and the Habit List app has helped me to stay accountable for the scholarly writing time that I've aimed to carve out each week.

In this shortest month of the year, it's been a challenge to keep goals. February is a busy time, and the cold weather and dark mornings can make it hard to stay energized. But I do try to stick to my goals--not because the milestones themselves are so important, but because I'm trying to develop a set of habits and practices--to go beyond doing and to work on becoming or even being a particular kind of person. Last fall, reading some of David Smith's ideas about practices got me thinking: it's not just what we produce, but who we are from day to day--all those little moments that add up. 

For me, meeting goals requires a lot of help. This blog entry? Inspired in part because I've got a great accountability partner who is a prolific writer--and who sent me an encouraging note earlier this week asking how my blogging was going. (Thanks, Troy!!) Running? If I weren't using RunKeeper to set and track monthly distance goals on my phone, I can assure you that my total distance this month would at best have been closer to 40 miles. Seeing a graph every time I log another run ("You've accomplished 78% of your goal!") and receiving motivational emails are both big helps--which still surprises me, given that this feedback is automated. How about my goal for academic writing? That one is especially challenging, so I'm glad that I have both a tracking app and the social support of a whip-smart writing group. They keep me honest about my progress (no, I may not bring that same piece back to the group for yet another round!) and they help me remember that this is something I want to do--something I'm motivated to make time for and that is worth the hard work.

It's that mix--goals that I've set personally, attention to habits, and a system that guarantees me some external nudges--that has me thinking. How might this same combination of goals, habits, and nudges help those I'm responsible for teaching and growing? 

More specifically, when I'm teaching courses or working with faculty on professional development, how might I help others to identify goals that are important to them? To establish and maintain the kinds of habits and regular practices that help them to be stewards of the time and talents entrusted to them? To take advantage of external nudges like private tracking systems (such as the Habit List app) and social networks (like accountability partners and learning groups)? 

I'm hoping you have ideas and resources to share. If you'll send them my way, I'll write about them in my next blog post. Thanks in advance for the nudge!

Good "Goodbyes"

We have a rule in my family: we don't leave angry, and we don't leave without saying goodbye. Life is too short and too full of surprises, and one way to show each other we care is to commit to "good goodbyes."

I'm blessed to work in a place where people are also quite deliberate about showing each other they care and keeping relationships in good stead. It's not so explicit as at my house, but on our campus (at least in the two office areas I've worked in) we do seem to abide by an unwritten rule that if you leave before others, you say goodbye to your neighbors and those you pass on the way out. If you are the second-to-last person out the door, you detour down the hall to wish the remaining colleague a good evening and remind them not to stay too late.

For the most part, I've taken this for granted. But yesterday was different: as sometimes happens, I got so caught up in what I was doing that I lost track of time, and the next time I looked up, it was dark--not only outdoors, but also in the halls outside my door. I wondered if I was alone. Sure enough: a quick tour confirmed that everyone else had left.

I didn't go home moping, but it did get me thinking, and it's still on my mind a day later. This is the only time in 9 years at my college that I recall leaving for the day (or being left as the last one for the day) without saying goodbye to anyone before I went. The experience twinged me with an unsettled feeling. What would it be like to experience work each day without others going out of their way to say hellos and goodbyes? Would I feel disconnected? Would I believe anyone cared? That what I did mattered? That I mattered? And what if those possibilities weren't fictional imaginings, but were the realities of people around me? What if there are people on my campus--whether faculty, staff, or students--who experience this kind of disconnectedness on a regular basis?

It's easy to get overwhelmed imagining all the lonely people. But then I think of my high school band teacher, who stood at his classroom door every morning to greet each student by name as they arrived from the buses, and did the same each afternoon to send us on our way. Those hellos and goodbyes made a difference.

My prayer this week is that we'll have the eyes to see and the hearts to notice those around us who are feeling disconnected--and that we'll take the time to reach out to them, even in ways that may seem small.

Have You Eaten?

"Mom, did you eat lunch today?" We were on the way to my daughters' piano lessons, and I was approaching the "hangry" zone--that ugly place where hunger can quickly surface as an angry or short-tempered response to something that really isn't much of a problem.

This frank, insightful question from my eldest made me laugh and reset my attitude. It also reminded me that I had a stash of dried mangoes along, so we passed those around, and between between the attitude check and the snacks, I soon found it much easier to keep my sense of humor. Good thing--because when we arrived at the piano teacher's home after 20 minutes on the road, one of the girls realized she'd forgotten her piano books, and we had to invent a different kind of piano lesson.

Staying fed has been on my mind this week.

Several of our Dordt College students, faculty, and staff returned earlier this week from AMOR trips to developing nations like Haiti and Ethiopia--places where food isn't taken for granted. Their testimonies were reminders about how much we have to be thankful for, and a reminder to keep in perspective the challenges that are sure to arise in a day's work. It can be easy to feel frustrated when things don't go as smoothly as we had hoped. But as one professor pointed out, it's a privilege when the problems we face are the glitches that arise when we do something like starting another first week of school.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not dismissing the difficulties of starting a new semester. The first weeks take a lot of energy. As we start new classes, we're working with new people on ideas that are new to some (or all) of us, trying to figure out how to find joy in doing that. We're consciously trying to get to a place where some of those interactions are easier, maybe even second nature, so that we have energy to focus on the ideas, practices, and habits of mind that we are trying to explore together. And that's just what happens inside the classroom. Behind the scenes, we also need to ensure that everything is ready, and that's complicated, too: we have many people, processes, systems, and technologies to deal with as we ensure that the books are available, the projection is working, the classroom has enough chairs, the students can log in, and so on.

But that's the point: we know that the first week (actually every week) of the semester will bring challenges both inside and outside the classroom. As Marilyn Lampert has explained, dilemmas aren't what cause problems for teachers: they're a dimension of the very fabric of teaching. Surprises and challenges are to be expected and welcomed because it means our work isn't routine and that we have daily opportunities to be creative, to solve problems, to make connections--and to do these things with grace. Think of it this way: our work as educators gives us the satisfaction of "the creative challenge and stimulation of the work itself, and the change to keep learning"--the very things that lead to a sense of reward and flow in our work (Goleman, Working with Emotional Intelligence, p. 106-107).

Getting  ready for each day and week of learning/teaching is like getting ready for a backcountry hiking adventure. I know that my hike up the mountain will take plenty of energy, will probably bring a few surprises, may require some creative problem solving. There may be times where I need some mental discipline to remind myself that this, and not a boring treadmill, is the kind of adventure I'm seeking.

I would never go hiking, let alone lead others up a trail, without ensuring that I had plenty of energy-rich food in my backpack. I want to make sure that I don't get exhausted--or even move into the hangry zone (which eats the joy out of the situation for me and everyone in my path!). Staying fueled, and planning and providing for how to so, are all part of the work, part of my responsibility....in hiking and in learning/teaching.

And that's why staying fed--physically, emotionally, spiritually--is on my mind.