shouts of joy

It's easier to look back right now. I look back and see an open door full of opportunity, sorta like the one I see right now. But looking back it was easier then. The view isn't full of overwhelm, but it looks more like freedom. It was a beautiful frame of broken pieces being liberated. She didn't know that then. But now, looking back ... that was easy ... easier than what's ahead. People tell me that my anxiety about the future beyond next week is related to maturity, "When you're my age you'll see it differently." "It changes when you turn 30." "Don't worry, it gets better." (what?) Okay, so if you're right, if it is maturity, what am I suppose to do for the next four years? And shouldn't their be some kind of progress? And why does the idea of anything beyond the next couple of weeks make me want to run far away toward solace? If it is maturity, wouldn't you expect to see some "maturing" from age ...

It's an overcast day in the Inland Empire. I'm drinking coffee at a local shop and beginning my work on finals for my last quarter. I'll be graduating in June as Kristina R. Rhuman M.A. As I use this weather to do what it calls me to do - contemplate - my arms are sore as I type from the spin class I went to this morning, strange it's my arms and not my legs. I excepted to see my friends, but saw no familiar faces. But it didn't bother me much, because I know those faces aren't far away. If I call they will come. And that is more than enough. I've lived here in the IE for 9 months now. My skin is sun-tinted and my freckles are loud. My hair is longer and sun bleached from the days spent at the beach. When I think about turning 26 next month I feel determined and scared. Even worse is my thoughts on June, where will I go when my student loans are no longer deferred and Cambodia calls me to come home.The past 9 months have gone by too fast. I'd like 10 ...

Here we are at #teachersummercamp. Two of my teacher friends, Sonya and Chelsea, also took summer classes this summer. Sonya is a teaching principal at a small school in Oakhurst, CA and Chelsea is a teacher/chaplain at a school in Sacramento, CA. They are some of the best teachers I know with huge hearts and a passion for teaching about Jesus. I have enjoyed our #teachersummercamp adventures even though Sonya was at another campus several hours away, we've kept in touch. And every Monday we share/exchange articles, YouTube videos, or stories that we found entertaining or intriguing. These two women have been lifesavers over the past year. We started #teachersummercamp 6 weeks ago and have finally finished. They will start school again in just a couple of weeks. I'm glad that they are allowing me to stay a member in the teaching club even though I will be taking classes this year and substituting instead of teaching full-time. They bring sunshine to a cloudy day. Bes...

She swung the door to my classroom open, as if it were her bedroom and then let it slam behind her. "Hey, can I sit in here and work on things?" Slightly confused by her abrupt, rather authoritative demeanor and immediate action to plop on the futon in the corner, I replied as cool as possible, "Sure." "Also, could I listen to music? Mr. S lets me, so you wouldn't be the only one."  As she began to pull out her phone and ear buds, I quickly reminded her of the school policy that still applies in my classroom: no phones, ipods or other electronic devices to be used on campus without permission. She didn't roll her eyes as far back as I'd seen before, from somewhere she had picked up my vibes and I felt a mutual respect. "Well, I guess I'll just read," was her next response. "Great," I answered, "'cause I just sat down to do some blogging." Since it was my prep period and my heart had been heavy with some pre...

The space in between two peaks lies a distance that seems dream-shattering. We look for the trail, the bridge, some kind of escape, but there isn't one. Our human eye can only measure a mean distance. The space is so far, the trek is so long, the goal seems out of any man's reach. But with time it won't matter, because it's the time that will bridge the distance, providing us a season to climb down from our peak, into the valley, through the abode and back up the next peak. It was just yesterday I sat in church. As I sat there I fought to hold in the bursts of laughter that wanted to escape during the reverence of the song service. How ironic that I, a lone high school teacher from Salem, would be sitting in a sanctuary in Portland in a row of seven of my own classmates from college. The boy on my left: a fond, old memory of camping trips, rock climbing, long weekends spent at Priest Lake, and a cousin of my best friend. There on my right: another kind of fond memor...

when did the sun fade? and these clouds that have settled, from where do they stretch? when once the life was green and vibrant trees tall and strong now they droop and weep closing in on this frozen ground filtering through a scale of gray if I could box this up and send it off i would send it to the north pole where I believe it belongs the only thing I can box are a few personal items my thoughts are not those they aren't my own but if I could box them I would categorize and organize alphabetize and synchronize I would box them and send them to the north pole far away I would send them so the riddles wouldn't rattle at night and rock my body to wake stealing such sweet dreams without asking stealing what's mine and replacing with fear oh, how I wish I could box them I would label and address them and send them to the north pole oh, how I'd like to transport this grief and vexation pack it and ship it bury what is rotten and pluc...