Egypt, Part I

Egypt—where the Nile snakes its way placidly along the verdant banks bringing life to an otherwise barren land; where smog and dust hang hazily over the grand buildings of Cairo; where you can reach out a hand and touch history and explore the places you’ve only read about before—it’s over, and I’m trying to accept that.

Oh, it’s not completely disappointing to be home. I’m an American, and a rather spoiled one at that, but the adventure and intrigue of an ancient culture is a little hard to let go. Not to mention saying goodbye to the most intelligent, funny, and inspiring group of people I may have ever had the privilege of spending ten days with.

As promised, I shall try to give you bits and pieces about the trip, though I make no promise on whether it shall become an unwanted inundation. So, as our guide would say, Yalla Beena! Let’s go!

Day 1:Pyramids, Sphinx, and the Egyptian Museum

The very first thing we did was visit the most iconic Egyptian site ever: the pyramids on the Giza Plateau. I had prepared myself to be underwhelmed. I half expected them to not be so impressive alongside modern skyscrapers, but I was delighted to be awed by the majestic structures. Something that is important to understand is that no one seems to know anything for sure about the ancient findings in Egypt. There are many things that are generally accepted to be fact, but an incredible amount of information is just guesswork. I found this alternately intriguing and annoying. One thing I feel we can confidently confirm is that the pyramids were not constructed by aliens.

The long line to enter the Great Pyramid moved at a decent speed, and we soon stepped inside a rustic tunnel that led us further into the heart of the pyramid. As we moved forward, we begin meeting people coming out who looked a bit hot and bedraggled. What could be ahead of us to leave one in this state? Our questions were soon answered. 

The comfortable tunnel we had been enjoying narrowed down to a passage where you had to bend at the waist and climb up a ramp akin to what you would put on a chicken house. The space wasn’t too confining for one person, but there was a steady stream of people coming back down the ramp, and it was far from comfortable for two to pass.

Finally, we emerged into the Grand Gallery of the pyramid. Here, the roof soars away many feet above your head. Short of Google, I have no way to tell you how high, but it is impressive. However, you are now faced with another ramp to climb, though at least you can stand up straight for this one. At the top of that ramp, there is a short tunnel that you have the choice of duck-walking through or crawling, and at the far end you find yourself at last in the King’s Chamber.

I hope you don’t find this disappointing, but there’s really not much to see in the King’s Chamber other than a large stone box that is said to be the sarcophagus of Pharaoh Khufu. For me, though, it wasn’t so much what to see as it was the fact that I was inside a pyramid. It was a crazy “Wow” moment that I felt like I wasn’t appreciating as much as I should at the time as I was still puffing around like a demented hippo from the climb up. That quickly became normal—the frantic feeling I should be soaking up more than I had the capacity to hold in the moment (maybe also the puffing). I wished for more eyes and a better memory more than once.

The trip back down the ramps was much better than going up. Although the guards stationed along the route kept yelling at people to move and go. I couldn’t quite understand the logic, because it was impossible to move any faster than the person ahead of you. Another tourist muttered to me something about this being “just like a man.” Eventually we were back at the section where you had to climb bent over. We knew from observation on the way up that going backward seemed to work better, so that’s what we did. It was great. I backed down as quickly as I could with little regard to who I was running into. Because my back was to them, there was no guilt or awkward eye contact. I plowed ahead unceremoniously, and eventually exited the confines of the stone walls and stood in the open once more under the big blue sky.

We walked over to the second tallest pyramid on the plateau and our guide gave us a small speech about it, then we headed toward the Sphinx. Before seeing the Sphinx, we were given another speech about a mortuary temple that is also on the premises. For me, the Sphinx was neat to see because it’s something you see in pictures and I can now say I’ve seen it, but it was smaller than I thought it would be and I’m completely unsatisfied with information about it.

I will apologize now to all my friends who are foodies. You would have loved trying the different kinds of foods we encountered, but I have no eloquent words for food. We did eat, but I’m afraid you will find few details on that part of the trip here. Any food-related trivia that appears you can probably thank some other observant Egypt traveler for.

In the afternoon we visited the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. Our guide escorted us inside and we followed her about to all the main attractions—the Narmer palette which depicts the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt and is one of the earliest examples of Hieroglyphics, the screaming mummy of a young prince who, along with his mother, helped plot the murder of his father, and treasures from the tomb of Yuya and Tuya, a noble couple. Of course, we were whisked along much too quickly for my liking.

One of the high points of the visit to the museum was the room containing treasures from the tomb of Tut. I don’t think I’m usually too given to fits of annoyance and anger, but I have to admit I was tested a few times while in Egypt, and this was one of those times. I have been of the understanding my whole life that museums are places to be taken slowly, where you soak up information and ask questions and read every placard. Not here. The room where Tut’s things were located was jammed with people and some random guide kept yelling at everyone to “Hurry! Hurry! Move! Move! Go!” It made me honestly feel quite stubborn, like I wanted to dig my heels in and not give an inch. You should be pleased to know I eventually exited without making a scene.

But it was shortly after this that our guide gave us 30 minutes to explore on our own and then meet again by the exit. This was a moment of pure panic. I had no idea where to start. The rooms stretched out on every side, I was completely turned around and had no idea where the exit was, and there was absolutely no way to see everything I wanted to see. We girls all stuck together and Jane did a great job at navigating. There were a lot of crates sitting about waiting to be shipped to the Grand Egyptian Museum, but there were still a lot of things to see. I loved the miniature carvings of everyday life, the toys, the tools used for building and surveying, mummified bread, the scribe’s room, and a few ancient wigs.

Back at the Eileen Hotel we relaxed a bit (this was day one, where I still thought I might be able to keep up with journaling), then headed out to look for food. I know some of you saw my status where I said the Egyptian driving was terrible. I would like to revise that statement. Egyptian driving is extremely skilled, just a different breed than what we have in the States. There are lines on the road, but they don’t really mean anything as a four-lane road can easily become six lanes. The constant honking is not in annoyance, just a mode of communication letting others know you are there. Add to that the jumble of cars, taxis, horse drawn carts, motorcycles, and busses all moving at different speeds, and it’s like an obstacle course. To cross the road, you simply strike out toward the middle, dodging vehicles and waiting in between lanes for a car to pass before moving on. I am not brave of heart, and these crossings always terrified me, so I did my level best to always cross with some other more confident person. 

As it happened, our first day in Egypt was also the first day of the month-long Muslim celebration of Ramadan. During Ramadan, the sincere believers fast from dawn to sunset. After the age of fifteen, you are not allowed to eat, drink, smoke, or chew gum during the fast. You are also expected to do more praying and giving. It was very interesting to observe this, as about 90% of Egypt is Muslim. There were many lights and foil streamers decorating the city as well.

We spent a fair amount of time on the balcony of our hotel just watching the hustle and bustle below. From there, you could see rows of tables set up in the street and loaded with people and food, and the instant the sunset prayer call was finished there was an instantaneous digging in. A couple of guides were sure to inform us that Ramadan now was good, but when it came in the summer it was more difficult. That was certainly not hard to believe!

Day 2: Saqqara Necropolis, Serapeum, Dahshur

I haven’t mentioned it yet, but the weather was absolutely beautiful the entire trip. In the mornings you might desire a jacket, but it soon warmed up to pretty much perfect.

Our first stop on Day 2 was at the Saqqara Necropolis. This area is filled with burial places: pyramids, tombs, and mastabas. There are also temples and other structures that served some religious purpose. This is where you will find what is considered the first pyramid in ancient Egypt, although it isn’t a true pyramid, but rather a step pyramid belonging to an innovative king named Djoser. 

Here, too, we went down into a tomb that was highly decorated. Please note whenever I mention entering a tomb, you can be assured that the earlier mentioned “chicken ramps” play a part, as well as generally a few sets of stairs somewhere. Part of the interior of this tomb was made of alabaster, and when a light was shone on it, you could see the figure of a king. In another part of the complex, I was delighted by the art. Everything I had read about ancient Egyptian art praised its intricate designs, but I always felt a bit dubious because the pictures only looked moderate to me. To my delight, I discovered that in real life the carvings were, indeed, detailed and talented! In this area there were a lot of depictions of fish and butchering cows. At least, those were the pieces that caught my attention.

After leaving the necropolis, we ventured to the Serapeum. The Serapeum of Saqqara was, to quote Google, “a burial place for Apis bulls, sacred animals of the god Ptah.” Basically, the Serapeum is a huge underground catacomb full of tombs for large beasts. I have to say this was one of my favorite structures. I’m not sure what it was that I loved—perhaps the elegant arches (though I’m not sure how many were original to the construction?) and spaciousness. It was easy to imagine flickering candles in the niches along the walls. One sarcophagus had been partly finished, then left in the middle of a passageway for some unknown reason. Why did the workmen abandon it? What was the story of its half-finished presence? These questions with no certain answers are, for me, part of the charm of ancient Egypt. 

 Next we traveled only a small distance to Dahshur. This is the place of a few more pyramids. Here we ventured into the Red Pyramid. This was a better experience than the Great Pyramid because it was much less crowded. There were maybe ten or so other visitors while we were inside. The one negative was the stench, which some believe to be a result of bat droppings. The Red Pyramid is considered the first true pyramid “in the Whoooole World,” to quote our guide, although you don’t quite get the effect without the appropriate hand motions. We then headed over to the Bent Pyramid where a few of us opted out of climbing inside and just waited in the beautiful weather for the others to emerge. 

 We picked up lunch and ate in the tour van on the way back to Cairo. The tour company, by the way, was called The Magic Carpet. We did have many interesting moments wafting about in the Carpet vans. That being said, if you ever get the chance to visit Egypt, I’d highly recommend them. They did a great job of getting us in and out of places and making sure we stayed with the schedule.

Upon our arrival back in Cairo, we visited the Museum of Egyptian Civilization. As before (and as at later dates) our guide gave us the highlights, then turned us loose for a time. This museum had one of my favorite displays—the hall of mummies. I’ve been fascinated with mummies for years, and now here I was in the midst of 22 of the most famous mummies in the world! They were presented in a very elegant and respectful manner. The color schemes were navy and gold, and the halls were quiet and lit with a very ambient glow. Pretty much every chamber housed both the mummy and the royal coffin in which it had been found. Here we found the mummy of the murdered king I mentioned earlier, along with a mummy that had suffered from polio, as well as the mummy of the Pharaoh who may have been in power at the time of the Exodus. A couple intriguing things was catching a glimpse of the toe-prints that were still visible and the different hair styles that had survived amazingly well.

The other part of the museum was not terribly large, but there was still a lot to see in the limited amount of time we had (30 minutes again, by the way). One such artifact was a tent made of leather and used for body purification rituals about 3,000 years ago. It was in stunning shape with brilliant colors. Another thing I really enjoyed was a small model of what looked like stairs going up one side and down the other of a rooftop. The placard said this was an ancient clock and you could tell time by which steps were in shadow and which were in sunlight. Also available for viewing was the statue of Akhenaton, the heretic king of ancient times. He is one of my favorite historical figures of Egypt, just because he completely bucked the system and did his own thing.

Back at Eileen Hotel there was nothing to do but wait for the van to pick us up again later and take us to the train station, so we struck out en masse across the city looking for food stuff, which was fun in its own right—not just because people watching is always fun, but also because I got a kick out of watching people in our group delight in new foods.

The van arrived to pick us up and head for the train station at about 7:00 if I recollect correctly. Unfortunately, the train station is fairly new and the roads are not well-marked to reach it, so our driver bumbled about unsuccessfully for a time, trying this route and that. He stopped three times to ask for directions, and at one point performed a U-turn on a moderately busy road. The last guy he asked was on a motorcycle and led him to the correct turn. The time was tight enough that alternatives for “if we miss it” were being discussed, but the touring company representative raced us through security and we marched down the platform at the double, all the way to the very last car of the train, #13, if you happen to be superstitious.

 We made it with about 4 minutes to spare till departure time. We flung bags and baggage into our sleeping compartments, then congregated in the hallway to watch the world go by. The train ride was something I looked forward to quite a bit, and it did not disappoint. I delighted in the strange experiences and tried briefly to figure out how Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express could have happened in a similar setting. No worries, I wasn’t planning a murder myself.

 The room Kari and I shared was 11/12 and was about in the middle of the car. It wasn’t long until the porter came to helpfully prepare our room for supper. I didn’t much like eating in the room because I couldn’t see the scenery slipping by outside although it was already dark. Jeanie came by after a while and informed us we did have a connecting door to the next room which neither of us had noticed, so we ended up opening that and conversing with the next-door neighbors for a bit, which was also a little funny because you couldn’t necessarily always see who you were talking to. After supper most of us went six cars forward to the lounge car, called a Club Car in this case. We sat about and chatted and looked out the windows, then at the urging of the porter headed back to our rooms. He seemed concerned that we were still up as he planned to serve us breakfast at 4:30. So to bed we went, sponge baths in the sink and all. Let me just make a note here that I had no trouble going to sleep the whole trip, but sleeping on the train was amazing because of the lulling qualities.

Day 3: Valley of the Kings, Hatshepsut’s Temple, Deir el-Medina, Temple d’Amon

 Breakfast came as promised about 4:30. I struggled with eating, especially since the meal included three different types of bread and a bag of chips. We disembarked at 6:00 at Luxor. A van met us and ferried us to the Nefertiti Hotel. All of our luggage was left in the lobby there. Some of us went up on the rooftop to survey the lay of the land, and I was so glad we did! It was a beautiful sight, with the Nile meandering by, hot air balloons aloft, the gentle light of morning, and an ancient temple just to the left of us a bit. I’m not sure if I caught on at the moment, but the hill we saw on the west bank is where Hatshepsut’s Temple is located. Just behind the hill is the Valley of the Kings.

At 7:00 we loaded back up and headed out to the Valley of the Kings. This was yet another highlight for me, as I’ve been a fan of The Golden Goblet ever since 5^th grade or so. There were no khefts in the Valley, though, just lots of tourists.

 We were privileged to enter 5 tombs. The tomb of Tutankhamun and the tomb of Seti I (both of which cost extra) are the only names I can give you without consulting maps and more intelligent people. Tut’s tomb is small, but super crowded. It came back to me with a vengeance how much I hate having to push and shove my way forward to view. Interestingly, Tut’s mummy is the only one left in the Valley. All the others have been moved. One feature that surprised me was a brilliantly painted wall featuring a number of baboons.

 The tomb of Seti I is considered one of the most beautiful tombs, as well as one of the largest. This is because tombs were worked on as long as the owner was alive, so the longer they lived, the larger the tomb. This tomb was my favorite by far. There was one section where no carving was done, but you could see the drawings they had made, intending to add decoration. Below I have included a little map to show you what the route down into the tomb looks like, as well as a picture of the beautiful blue color used on the tomb ceiling.

  

 Lurking about in these tombs are guys that try to be oh-so-helpful. They are eager to point out special features, take pictures, or give you directions—all for a tip, of course. I saw one of these men following a woman as she fled from a tomb, flapping her arms wildly in his direction and barraging him with heated words, something down the line that she refused to pay. He pattered along after her, calmly insistent that she must. I felt sorry for her because terms and conditions of these types of arrangements were a little difficult to catch on to.

 We also ran into a little French lady that was trying to ask us about our coverings. Of course, she had never heard of Mennonites, but as we struggled to explain, another woman overheard us. “Mennonites?” she said, “I’m one, too!” Now there was nothing evident in her appearance to label her as a Mennonite, and I’m afraid the poor little French woman was left even more confused by the explanation that we don’t all look alike.

 After leaving the Valley of the Kings, we headed to Hatshepsut’s Temple. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with Hatshepsut, but she was a Queen who illegitimately took over the throne and ruled as Pharaoh. I think I caused Jeanie a bit of a shock when I said I admired her tenacity to get what she wanted. But do let me be clear here: I believe also that she was very self-serving and definitely not a good role model. Her temple was one I was looking forward to seeing, and I must admit I was disappointed just a little. I think it is one of the more beautiful and elegant temples—almost modern in its simplicity—but close up it is just a little… dull? There’s not much to see that makes it stand out. From afar I still think it is stunning, particularly lit up at night.

 After the temple we headed to Deir el-Medina. This was a village of the finest artisans who worked on the tombs in the valley of the kings. We were told several times that no one knew where the kings’ tombs were except these workers, but I had some trouble believing that. For some reason it seemed unrealistic. I mean, everyone would have known of the existence of this village. Were they not allowed visitors? Did no one follow them to see where they went?

 At the same site were a couple of tombs of the artisans that we were allowed to enter. They are considered to have some of the finest art of ancient Egypt inside. They were definitely smaller than the tombs of the kings, but they were very beautifully done. A couple of scenes that caught our eye was that of the god Anubis doing chest compressions and another of the god Ra depicted as a murderous rabbit. OK, so I know that’s not really what it shows, but where’s the fun in taking everything as it is meant to be?

 There was also a smallish temple to be toured at this site, but there was little to make it stand out, so I shall skip directly to a more interesting temple—the Temple d’Amon (Medinet Habou).

 Now, I’m not promising I haven’t gotten some of these temples mixed up, but here’s what I think I remember. Number one, I’d like you to take a look at that massive doorway. There was once a huge door that blocked that entrance. Inside, you can still see where the door would have been set. Something that made this location interesting is the fact that the wonderfully talented designers made some serious mistakes here. The first was in the case of the door. The hinges landed in the middle of the carving of a god, so you can see where they had to plaster it over and re-carve it. The carvings are super deep, too, perhaps in an effort to keep them from being defaced like so many of Hatshepsut’s carvings.

 A second mistake occurs inside the temple. There is a window platform that was meant for the royal couple to stand at and observe ceremonies in the courtyard. However, there was apparently some poor planning, and the pillars along that side of the court had to be redesigned and spaced differently in order to not block the view from the window. I really like this because it’s a break from the Egyptians’ love of symmetry and it makes them more human, somehow. 

 This temple was also used as a refuge by Coptic Christians, and there are gouges in the floor that they made to tie up livestock or prisoners, I’m not sure which because I thought this guide said prisoners but a later guide showed us similar gouges and said they were for livestock, so who knows.

 There were the ever-present lurkers here as well. I just wanted to wander about and enjoy things in a decidedly introverted way, but it gets a little difficult when there’s always someone at your elbow hoping you’ll give them a tip. I was sorely tempted to start tipping them just to leave me alone, but I wasn’t convinced that would even work so I cut my self-guided tour short and went to wait by the exit with a few of the others.

 I think the only other place we stopped before heading back to the hotel was at these two random statues sitting stoically in the middle of nowhere. I’m sure some other person could give you better information about them, but I have none. Please enjoy them just as they are.

 Back at the hotel I tried to take a nap which proved a mite difficult with the cheerful guy calling, “Room service!” at the door and popping in with a bottle of water, or the maintenance man poking his head in to fix our hot water heater. Which, make no mistake, I was glad he did, but it did make napping a bit of a challenge.

 We had heard that at 5:00 the Luxor Museum would be open, so with hearts full of hope, we girls set out to walk there. I was the only one with the capability of maps on my phone, so I was in the lead. The walk would have been fine except for the ever-present taxi drivers of the horse carriages who kept insisting that we take a ride. This was a lot different from what I remember in Zimbabwe. There, if you declined, they soon left you alone, but not these guys! They would follow you and keep trying to talk to you and sometimes there would be two or three of them all at once. This isn’t to count the random other people who kept trying to talk to us and be of help and ask where we were from.

 By the time we made it down to the museum, I was completely finished. And wouldn’t you know it? The museum was closed. Deciding to make lemonade from the lemons, we wandered down to the edge of the Nile. It was a bit quieter there, and we discovered more of our party had also ended up there. I was very glad to see them at that point. While the others chatted and enjoyed the sunset, I took a moment to sit by myself and decompress, getting over being so upset about the harassment from the taxis.

It also disturbed me that it made me so upset. I was thankful Jeanie explained it later—we feel vulnerable and helpless, and there’s nothing we can say or do to make them go away, so our anger is rooted in fear. That made perfect sense to me, not sure why I hadn’t figured it out sooner.

 At any rate, we eventually walked back towards the hotel, detouring to meet Heath’s for supper. After supper we walked back to the hotel, taking a shortcut through the souk, or market, that is right beside the Nefertiti. We girls all ended up on the rooftop enjoying the view. No picture can do it true justice, but maybe you can imagine it.

 And so ends Day 3. I’m going to stop here for now. I think this is the longest part of my report finished. I’m hoping I’m halfway through, at least. But I need a break, and I reckon you do, too, if you’ve survived reading this long. I'm not sure why some of my format is doing weird things; I've tried to fix it and can't manage to make it do what I want, so there's that. Stay tuned for Part II.

Until next time, take care.

Christmas Spirit

“I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.” 
–Tiny Tim in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol

Christmas is nearly upon us. How time goes so fast, I’ll never know. It seems but mere moments ago I was eleven or twelve and thought Christmas took forever to arrive, and now I stand amazed wondering where the year has gone. But I am not writing today to talk about the eccentricities of time. Rather, I’m here today to awaken you to a reality that perhaps you’ve never noticed. Unless you’re more observant than I am, which is by no means out of the realm of possibility.

I’m here to talk about Christmas Spirit and the myths surrounding it.

If you’re like me, you’ve probably always assumed that Christmas Spirit was one of those things that crept into the air sometime in late November or early December. Rather like fog rolling in off the water, it slowly envelopes everyone. Or maybe more like catching a cold, I’ve believed there’s always plenty to go around and everyone gets infected sooner or later.

Then, after December 25 has been successfully celebrated or survived (depends on how you view the day—I love it, but I know of at least one former co-teacher who didn’t—not even sneaking into his classroom and putting up decorations helped!)the Christmas Spirit slowly dissipates like the cold morning air in the desert after the sun comes up, or maybe like your checking account over the holidays. And by February, all Christmas Spirit has more or less vanished.

But I’ve slowly become aware that’s not how it works.

Neither is Christmas Spirit something that you can attain by just trying hard enough. You simply aren’t able to force enough smiles or bake enough cookies or hang enough paper chains. You aren’t able to catch the Christmas Spirit simply by sacrificing your vocal cords and your sleep to sing carols, tossing an extra bill into the Salvation Army bucket, or wrapping another gift. Not even reading the Christmas Story straight from the book of Luke can do it for you.

Grand gestures of self-denial and self-sacrifice aren’t enough. You know the stories. You probably grew up with them like I did—Uncle Arthur’s depiction of the child who gives away their favorite toy to someone more destitute, Max Lucado’s illustration of the compassionate child in Jacob’s Gift, the school program based on the story of “The Night the Bells Rang” and the child who gave his all. Somehow, we start to believe that our aptitude for self-sacrifice, even if it is only done of duty, is an auspicious start.

Yet none of these heroic acts are enough to instill in my soul the true meaning of the season.

This isn’t to say that all the normal Christmas activities are unnecessary. In fact, in their proper context they are likely indicative of success. But these things alone cannot instill within one’s heart the warm glow of the Reason for the season.

The Christmas Spirit, much like cinnamon hard candy, doesn’t go from zero to amazing without some work. It takes the right ingredients, sure, but there’s a lot of work that goes into stirring that pot of sugary goo before it’s ready to cool and harden. There’s the risk of getting cinnamon burns when you make the mistake of hovering where you shouldn’t.

In exactly the same way, the joyful outpouring of seasonal cheer takes preparation and work. It’s not something that just shows up. We have to be aware, year-round, of the choices we make. We need to practice self-denial and compassion and true giving long before we reach the end of the year. We’ve got to take risks loving those who may not show us consideration back.

Only when we enter the holidays already entrenched in the beauty and light of the love of our Father will we be able to fully recognize and appreciate the depth of His blessing on our attempts to celebrate that birth in the stable. The Christmas Spirit is not something you get once a year—it’s something you live all year and are given a special blessing for each December.  

Now that I think of it, perhaps I should've written this in June. But of course, I wasn't thinking about Christmas in June. Which sort of highlights my point. 

Maybe I'm crazy, I'm certainly open to other opinions, but I've begun to believe that the Christmas Spirit we long for, the joy and peace and goodwill we sing of, are ours to have every Christmas, if we dedicate the rest of our year to living in the will of the Father. We don’t have to get to December 20 and question why that feeling hasn’t hit yet. We don’t need to stress about the perfect new dress or getting the Christmas letter written or even what games to plan for the school Christmas party, because while those things might be part of the way your exuberance for Christ shines out, they in themselves are not what makes up Christmas at all.

The tiny Baby in the manger didn’t come for one night. He came for a lifetime.

And so maybe Dr. Suess and Charles Dickens were more right than I ever realized before. Christmas can’t be bought in a store, but it must be kept all the year to finally find fulfillment in the true Spirit of Christmas each holiday season.

Wishing you many joyful moments from now until the 25^th!

 

Which of These Three?

As the school year is about to commence, many new teachers will enter their classrooms. You might be nervous. You might be scared of making mistakes. But being a teacher doesn't depend on being perfect. There's another quality that is even more important when it comes to being a success. Can you find it?

Please note, there is nothing wrong with enjoying social life or being organized. Some teachers really do seem to do it all. ;)  

And so it was that at the beginning of a new school year, three teachers pulled into the teacherage yard and begin a new adventure together. Miss Right was there to teach 6^th, 7^th, and 8^th. Miss Social had agreed to teach 3^rd, 4^th, and 5^th, and Miss Imperfect nearly bounced up and down in her excitement to meet the 1^st and 2^nd graders.

The first thing all three did, of course, was speed to school and begin unloading their respective cars.
 
Miss Right had possibly a hundred posters explaining the parts of speech, how to place your hands on a keyboard, and the series of steps needed for all types of complicated equations. Her art supplies for the year and science projects were carefully organized and labeled in coordinated boxes. All extra activity pages and History worksheets were filed alphabetically and chronologically, and her students’ desks were placed in rigid rows with a neatly typed handbook containing lists of dos and don’ts and classroom procedures displayed prominently atop each.
 
Miss Social’s boxes and bags were not quite so neatly arranged, but her color schemes were natural and neutral and modern-looking. She possessed cute beanbags and an exquisite job chart. Her incentive plans were on full display, and her bulletin boards were minimalist. Her classroom was set up as quickly as humanly possible, because her cousin had invited her to go out for coffee with a group of youth. It didn’t much matter that the border corners didn’t meet up or that she hadn’t completely studied her lessons. She knew how to divide, right? And she could still find a subject and verb in a sentence. So surely that was good enough. She would not be a slave to the studies.
 
Miss Imperfect was struggling. Her method of organization was something down the lines of “Bless her heart, she tried.”

No matter how she attempted, she couldn’t get the bulletin board she was working on to look right. She finally gave up and sat down at her desk. School hadn’t been easy for her, but someone had told her once that the best teachers were those who had struggled to learn, so she took solace in that thought. She had been shown at teacher prep how to set up her gradebook and lesson plans, but now they lay before her like foreign objects. And so she watched from her window, discouraged, as Miss Right left her perfectly ordered classroom and went home to make a three-course meal. She felt a small despair begin to fill her spirit as Miss Social bounded energetically out the door to jump into a pickup with four other youth. And finally, all alone, overwhelmed, and dismayed, she bowed her head and prayed, “Dear God, I don’t know where to start! Please just show me the first thing to do!”
 
As the first week of school came to an end, the schoolboard chairman and his wife showed up to ask how things had been going.
 
Miss Right was the first to speak. Her class had doubled lessons three days the first week. She’d sent homework home with them because she believed in working them hard. Their first art projects were displayed neatly on the wall. She’d handed out three sets of sentences for students to write and had made 2 of the boys run laps. Nothing was going to get by on her watch! And by the way, would one of the men be available to help on the math unit about measures? She wanted to have her class build a doghouse as they worked with linear systems.
 
Miss Social yawned while she waited to speak. Her class was just buzzing along. They thought the story hour book was hilarious. They’d had a lot of fun playing White Lightening at recess. And art had been wild—three children got paint on their clothes—but everything was going great. She wondered how much they could check in class. It seemed like she spent so much time grading after the dismissal bell rang. She hopped off the counter where she had been idly swinging her legs, and went to fill her Stanley cup with water. She was trying to get in the required amount each day. Plus, she had challenged her students to see who could walk or run a mile each day without missing, so she really needed to go do that before she left for supper plans.
 
Poor Miss Imperfect was trembling. Dean wasn’t catching on to vowels. Kimberly hadn’t understood a single syllable about naming words. And Cody had fallen out of his chair three times in five minutes. The last time he had said he was pretending to fish like an Indian. It never crossed Miss Imperfect’s mind to mention to Mr. Chairman about how she had hugged Kimberly while she cried about her kitten that had been mauled by a dog. She never thought to explain how she’d had a serious talk with Cody about the difference between pretending and truth. And it never crossed her mind to mention the special prayer her class had had that morning for the missionaries after Dean told a story about his uncle in Guatemala. She wished she had everything under control like Miss Right and Miss Social. Every morning, her drive to school was peppered with “Dear God, please give me wisdom,” prayers.
 
Reports of school begin making their way home to the parents.
 
Miss Right’s class complained about all the work they had to do. They grumbled that their teacher never listened to their side of the story. They were pretty sure she didn’t like them. And she never smiled.
 
Miss Social’s students talked about the crazy things that happened in their classroom. Jefferson and Tianna had a prank war going on. And everyone talked when Miss Social went out of the room to send a voice message.
 
Miss Imperfect’s first and second graders talked about the funny pictures she drew to go with their spelling words. They groaned about putting their heads down on their desks. And they colored countless pictures for Miss Imperfect, because they knew each one would be hung proudly—albeit lopsidedly—on the wall behind her desk.
 
At last the school year came to a close. Miss Right had signed her contract for another year after asking for a pay raise. Miss Social had declined to sign, and everyone knew there was a wedding in the future. Miss Imperfect had signed her contract for the next year as well. She had had a rough start with running her classroom, but she’d grown a lot as a teacher after seeking out and acting on advice from trusted sources.
 
Miss Right watched her graduating class walk across the stage with a quiet sense of pride. At least 3 out of the 5 were straight A students. And they better be. She had certainly put enough work into them.
 
Miss Social made sure everyone saw her hugging her children goodbye at the play day. She really did like them a lot. Although James could be a pest.
 
Miss Imperfect watched her class load into the school van on the last day with a smile on her face. “God, help them to grow in a way that pleases You,” she whispered. “I want them to be strong and true.” And then she waved goodbye.
 
Which of these three will you be?

Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. (Proverbs 31:29)
 

Roll the Tent

 Inspired by a real event

And so it happened that the Smith family (because Smith is a good name for those who wish to remain anonymous) took their annual camping trip. There was good food, lots of laughter, singing around the campfire, and cousins. This last element is the one most worthy of our attention.

James, Jerry, and John (because names that start with J are convenient) shared one tent, and Barb, Beth, and Brenda shared another. No one knew exactly how it started. It just began as these things do. Maybe someone hid a drink behind a tree or covered a pair of shoes with sticks and leaves. That part isn’t so important. But what is integral to the story is that a war broke out. This was not a war of words and cannons. No, it was a war of wits and boasts.

“You’d better watch out!”

“What are you whispering about over there?”

“You just wait and see!”

An aura of distrust soon settled over the campsite.

But nightfall came, surprisingly, peacefully enough. The funny stories the uncles were telling slipped away gradually into low murmurs and yawns, and soon enough everyone dispersed to their tents.

Jim, Jerry, and John moved in a clumsy state of tiredness about their tent, then, at peace in heart and body, they soon fell asleep, attuned to the noises of nature around them.

Barb, Beth, and Brenda, however, felt the night was just beginning. There was so much to talk about. So many little details of life to catch up on. So many questions about the future and ponderings on things past, that quite a little time had passed before they began to bumble about by some form of artificial lighting and prepare for bed.

It was then that Brenda remembered something. “Girls!” she said, “I almost forgot!” and she held up, in the dim light, a small padlock. (Because what girl doesn’t take a padlock along when she goes camping?)

“Surely we can do something with that!” said Beth, her eyes lit with mischief and her voice soft with conspiracy.

Barb agreed. “Their tent!” she whispered triumphantly. “The door of their tent!”

Beth unzipped their own tent flap and looked out. Through the silhouette of the tree branches they could see the night sky, sprinkled liberally with stars. An owl called from far away. Water ran gently down the little creek behind their tent. Nothing else seemed to be moving. “I think they’re sleeping,” she whispered to the others.

But who would do the deed? Brenda said they would be suspicious of her right away, it was best If she didn’t do it. Barb said she had to live with Jerry. She didn’t want to put up with the consequences of the action for the rest of her life. And so they both turned to Beth.

“But I…” Beth begin.

“You’re perfect!” Barb said.

“We’ll go with you,” Brenda added.

“They’ll never know, we won’t tell,” Barb persuaded.

And finally Beth relented.

The three crept silently across the intervening space between the two tents. There was just enough light to avoid a clump of shrubs to one side, and Beth bit her lip only once to silence the gasp of pain when she stepped on a sharp stick.

They halted before the boys’ tent. A gentle snore issued from the darkened interior. The three culprits stifled their giggles, and Brenda handed the open padlock to Beth. Carefully, she inserted the shank through both zippers of the door, then closed it with a gentle click. The sound seemed loud in the peaceful silence of the campground. The three held their breath, but the steady rhythm of sleeping sounds did not change. Turning, they crept back the way they had come.

Sometime later, when all was silent in the girls’ tent, a dark figure who had been tossing and turning in the boys’ tent, awoke. John, feeling the call of nature, sat up and fumbled for his phone. Turning the light on, he stood up, partially bent over, and headed for the door, doing his best not to step on the other two. Confidently, he reached for the zipper to let himself out of the tent. He hadn’t moved it far when he could tell, even in the darkness, something peculiar was going on. The zipper was certainly moving, but the flap wasn’t coming open.

John shone his light on the zipper pull, thinking he must have pulled both by accident, and tried again. This time, he could clearly see he was pulling the correct one, but the other was mysteriously coming along with it. He put his phone down and grabbed the two zipper pulls, trying to force them apart. He pulled until one of them seemed to be bending, but still the door would not open. He knelt on the floor, trying to peer through the tiny space between the two zippers to see what could be holding them together. In the moonlight, he saw the faint silver shine of a padlock. He knelt back on his heels and muttered an exclamation half aloud. Then he played his light around the tent, wondering if there was another way out. Of course, there wasn’t.

“What’s the matter?” asked a voice. James had been awoken, whether by the light or the rustle of movement no one knows.

“We’re locked in!” hissed John. “Somebody padlocked our tent shut!”

“Do what?” James sat up.

“It had to be the girls,” John said bitterly. “At least I don’t know who else would have done it.”

It didn’t take long for the sound of their voices to awaken Jerry. He soon appraised the situation. “We gotta get out of here somehow.”

A council of war ensued. One suggested ripping the tent (Because all guys like a little destruction now and then, right?) and another thought a pocketknife would do a more precise job. For a while, that seemed to be the best idea. Next came the question of where to make the cut. John thought the door seemed the most reasonable place. Jerry opined the back of the tent seemed better, and James wondered why they couldn’t just unzip one of the windows and cut out the netting, at least for tonight. That way they wouldn’t completely ruin the tent.

And then Jerry said, “Really we should wake the girls up and make them come unlock it.”

“Right,” agreed James.

“We could yell,” shrugged John.

But that, they decided, would wake up more of an audience than they liked to view their predicament. Besides, only the girls should have to pay for this vile deed.

“Whenever we decide where to make the cut, we should go and pound on their tent,” James said.

“If I know anything about them they’ll just laugh and go back to sleep. They need to pay a little for this,” said Jerry, remembering certain other events surrounding pranks and his sister.

“Too bad we can’t just walk over there with the whole tent,” James mused.

“Hey! Do you think we could? Like what if we just sorta turned it over on its side like a hamster wheel?” asked John.

And so it was that at 3:00 in the morning, the three found themselves rearranging the contents of their tent. Working together, they managed to pull up the stakes. “Glad the ground was soft,” grunted Jerry.

Then it was time to roll, literally. Together, they pushed the front wall of the tent down and out, then stepped on it. Their backpacks and sleeping bags tumbled around their feet. The tent, surprisingly, held its shape fairly well as it settled to the ground.

The process was repeated several times. It was a bit disorienting, and nearly impossible to steer, but luckily they were just about straight across from the girls. For one moment, they thought they’d been hung up by the bushes that grew, forgotten, halfway across the clearing. But at last, peering through the window, Jerry said he thought one more roll should get them right to the girls’ door. “Then they should be able to hear us without waking up everyone else,” he said.

“Nope!” John contradicted. “Twice more. Then we’ll just roll right into them and give them a bit of a surprise wake-up call.”

James chortled gleefully.

Thunk. The tent rolled once more. The guys started the familiar process of shoving things out of the way and pushing out the tent side.

Crunch.

Brenda came suddenly awake. Something was wrong. What was on her feet? What was that noise? Why was the tent wall leaning so far to one side? “What’s going on?” she whispered, sitting up.

Beth’s first thought was a bear.

Barb only awakened when the whole tent begin to slide along the ground. “Hey!” she cried out, startled.

Everything happened so fast there was no time for consultation. The girls’ tent was a pop-up version that didn’t require stakes. Instead of just collapsing under the pressure, it had actually begun to slide across the ground.

“You can let us out, now!” said a voice. “Where’s the key?”

Brenda recognized it as John. “It’s just the guys,” she said to the others. “They’re just pushing our tent around or something. Shall we let them out?”

But before the conversation could continue, Jerry said, “Let us out before we count to ten or we’ll roll right over you!”

“Hurry!” said Beth. “Where’s the key?”

“I need a light!” said Brenda. The girls fumbled frantically in the dark tent.

“Coming!” said Barb. 

“I can’t find it,” gasped Brenda. “I put it in one of these pockets, but I don’t know which!”

“Seven,” said a voice.

“Wait!” said Barb. “Don’t you dare go over us! You’ll squash us! We’re trying to find the key!”

“Nine,” said a chorus.

“No!” cried Beth. “Please!”

“Ten!” the voices chanted.

“All right, guys, heave!” commanded Jerry. Once more they maneuvered the tent. The girls screeched, but the boys didn’t roll over them. Instead, like before, the tent slid along the ground.

Suddenly the screams from the girls’ tent became more frantic. Their tent had slid off a sudden drop and water, much to their consternation, was soaking quickly through the flimsy walls and floor. Thankfully, the creek was shallow, only a foot or so deep, but the rocks underfoot were sharp.

Uncles and fathers begin popping their heads out of their tents and shining lights on the two tents, trying to determine what the ruckus was. At last, Beth managed to get the tent door unzipped, and the girls stumbled out. Brenda found the key in a dark mysterious pocket and released the boys. The girls’ tent was pulled from the water, and the boys’ tent was dragged back across the campground to its original spot.

The rest of the girls’ night was rather unpleasant. Wet tents and sleeping bags usually are.

The rest of the guys’ night was spent in peaceful slumber after a round of congratulatory high fives.

This story is, perhaps, mostly without moral. But as I have said before, I believe almost every story has something to teach us if we look closely enough. So perhaps here, the moral is this: When things look dark and circumstances appear unsurmountable, there are times you’ve got to get willing to think creatively. Often, getting upset and ripping into things that stand in your way isn’t the only option. There are times when you’ve just got to roll the tent.