897. Thank you for my little Mac Air that got thrown onto a cement floor yesterday and didn't even flinch. Well, it reminded me that it has been 72 days since it has been backed up.

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful, for I have taken refuge in you; in the shadow of your wings will I take refuge until this time of trouble has gone by. I will call upon the Most High God, the God who maintains my cause. He will send from heaven and save me; he will confound those who trample upon me; God will send forth his love and his faithfulness. Psalm 57:1-3

And He took bread and gave thanks for it, and broke it, and gave it to them. Luke 22:19

And all day long, Dear Lord God, may this be true for me. May I give thanks for the bread, Your gifts to me in abundance, and break it into bite-sized chunks, and give it to them, that clump of confused, distracted, discouraged, whispering doubtfulness to whom I am trying to explain what is important and true.

Dear Lord God.

Eucharisteo.

Giving thanks.

And may I be like Your Son, who made careful preparations. Then spoke with calm grace with full awareness of the suffering that awaited Him. Grace to those who would shortly betray Him and deny Him and run away from Him. And knelt down, a towel slung around his hips, and washed away the grime.

And after He offered them His body and blood, His all, they fussed and squabbled, totally off-task, about future seating arrangements. And it was okay. He prayed for them. Again and again, seeking strength from His Father. Nevertheless, not my will, but Yours, be done.

So yesterday was rough.

So I have totally rewritten today’s lesson plans.

And prayed through the list of names.

Giving thanks for each one.

And for this opportunity to serve the least of these, once again, in His name.

Eucharisteo.

The first day of school

Give us this day our daily bread. Matthew 6:11

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. Matthew 6:34

Sift, sort, stack.  My brain is fumbling for a rosary of sorts, the tranquility of a rhythm or mental lingering which encourages the faithful to meditate on the mysteries of the Lord.

Mild panic attacks rise up while angling through the muddle of nameless teenagers in the locker hallway or staring blankly as the loudspeaker reminds homeroom teachers to submit hot lunch orders.  The musical note signaling the end-of-class is so gentle it cannot be heard over the raucous buzzing between my ears. 

Breathe in, breathe out. The stack of unstapled rubrics, essay and in-class quizzes piles high (the inherited stapler choked time and time again in fits of crumpled chomps) against conflicting resolutions of immediate feedback and aching brain cells.  

This Youtube video clip would have both beautifully framed the question at hand and demonstrated my hip teacherness, if, of course, I could have download the most recent version of Adobe Flash Player (past perfect tense).

Humidity causes the office printer to misfeed every time, didn’t cha know? 

Why is my next class lined up in front of the room three doors down? Ah.  Switching rooms.  Ah, yes.  Grab that stack of papers and head out the door.  

But then I settle into the after-dinner couch with my pencil, some sort of makeshift roster, and a small bowl of leftover “when hell freezes over” birthday dessert (Nicole came to the literary bash dressed as a gleaming Beatrice). A familiar peace descends.  Paragraph by paragraph, my students sort themselves out with distinct voices and familiar patterns.  And tug at those dusty heartstrings. I smile in the margin with happy faces and happy notes: strong word choice, excellent example, and solid conclusion. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

Give me this day my daily bread.