Take It and Run
First, let me give you just one little glimpse of why I love it here. I just walked up the stairs from my classroom and outside, around on a winding path that leads to the door to the teachers’ lounge. (It’s time for my morning tea.) The gym, where kids are having PE right now, is across the courtyard from where my classroom is. There is a giant magnolia tree in the courtyard and a nice grassy patch, and a sweet little bronze sculpture of a child reading on a bench under the tree. Flowing loudly from the general direction of the gym are strains of Lenny Kravitz’s “It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over.” The PE faculty have some great taste in music. Yesterday it was James Brown’s “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag.” It’s a good place to be. So back to how I got my job.
I was working as a freelance graphic designer/artist/portrait painter/whatever I could get my hands on, and had been doing so for about two years. I believe that God gives us, a lot of times, what we don’t want, so that it’s really obvious when we find what we do want. So I was made really certain of the fact that I cannot be my own boss. I’m not motivated enough, or even if I am, I just can’t do the manager’s job as well as the artist’s job. It’s just too much to ask of a creative soul to tell her that she has to produce the work but then also get out there and hock it. It’s exhausting. I know that people do it, and I think those people are freaks of nature who consume way too much caffeine and probably don’t sleep as well as I do at night. That’s entirely unfair and insensitive of me, but I think you understand where I’m coming from.
SO. I had just returned from working all summer in the kitchen at Kanakuk Camp, the one out in Durango, Colorado. Good times. That’s actually when I was working on the Behold The Lamb of God artwork in my free time when I wasn’t cracking 400 eggs or hovering over the tilt skillet making scads of pancakes. (More on that later.)
I was back home in sweltering Nashville, sitting on my front porch in the sun with no work in sight and no cash in the bank. I told God, in earnest, that I was ready for something else. I told him that I would pick up and run with whatever he handed me. It’s one of the few times in my life where I actually thought it advisable to strike a deal with the Big Guy, to stick my big toe in his swirling sea of possibility. Well….the NEXT DAY, a friend called me and, long story, said they were looking for an art teacher at Ensworth. I laughed at him. Then I fell silent. Oh gosh. This is what God’s going to hand to me. I called and made an appointment, went in and handed over my resume (which did NOT list “education degree” but rather “graphic design degree”). I went in the next day for an interview. Rose, the lovely lady who is the chair of our department and has taught at Ensworth for as long as I’ve been alive, said later that the minute she met me, she knew I was the one. Apparently they had had about seventeen applicants and nine interviews, and she had dismissed each one, thinking they were going to have to just not hire anyone. Then, “in walked Evie” (I’m just a little proud of that part of the story).
Have I mentioned that I had never set foot in a classroom in this capacity and was hired six days before school started? Yep. Time to PANIC. I read whatever I could get my hands on, went in and did a total overhaul on the room (used to be a science lab, so there’s a wonderful lot of storage space and there’s even a greenhouse attached to the room — I love it). I painted my desk bright blue and hung paper lanterns. I installed curtains with huge orange poppies on them. I braced myself. I have never been more filled with terror, more dizzied by fear of tiny children, than I was when that first class walked in. Let’s just say that, since then, I’ve created my own way of doing things in the classroom, and it works for me. It helps that I’m a really good actress, and that I like to make my kids laugh. Comfort and ease, to me, are two of the most important “auras” to create for the children in a creative environment.
So here I sit, six years later, planning lessons on Chinese Dragons and the psychedelic art of Peter Max and adhering paint stir sticks to puppets for the second graders’ upcoming show. Little blessings, they’re made of paper and glue.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
Oh man, Evie, it is so good to hear from you. What a touching snapshot of your life story.
Thanks so much for posting this! A great reminder that God still leads His dear children along - and I needed the reminding!
Thank you Evie. I love this post!
Thanks Evie! Right now I feel like you did, peeking around the corner of God’s plan. Any day now…
May we all have the humility to follow Him when He offers His hand. =)
Love the last line. Congrats on all the fulfilling years!
Thanks for the hope.
I don’t come here as often as I’d like, but on the odd occasions that I do have a couple minutes to head over and read, it’s always when you have just posted something I needed to hear. I’m beginning to Someone is Up To Something
I’m a first time, non-ed degree, little folks art teacher as well so this was especially encouraging to me. Thanks!
I want to be a child in that classroom.
I’m liking a PE class where they play Lenny K and the Godfather of Soul. When I was a kid those were considered brain and possibly spirit damaging. I might have liked gym better with some rockin’s inducement.
Evie, always a treat to read your posts. Danielle loves the “Famous” piece you did for her this Christmas. Can’t wait to read more from you. Thanks for this.
Thinking about going into teaching myself for a career change, this is a beautiful piece of work.
Love the curtains and lanterns, and I’m right there with ya on freelancing. Tried it, and I’m definitely not cut out for it. I think you are in the right place, and you would have been wasted as a freelance designer.
God is awesome. Thank you for reminding me.