Life is just fun and games!

I love my job! I teach at a Sylvan Learning Center in the evenings this year, and I love it! Tonight, little Tammy came in all excited when she saw that she was going to be at my table. She's gotta be around 6 years old, and for her life is a party. We don't really do "Math"; we play lots of games instead (Math games, of course!):
"Ok, honey, are you ready to play a game with me?"
"Yeah!" wide-eyed and eager, she looks at me. "Can we play Tic-tac-toe-three-in-a-row?" (that's always the name of the game to her; no short cuts, if you please)
"Not right now, but after we play this game we can." I motion to the flashcards or to the counters we are going to use to learn how to add or subract.
And so it goes.

Tonight the game was "How do you say . . .?" She wanted to say everything in Spanish but did not really know any Spanish words (except "gracias" which she thought meant "hi"). So when we were doing flash cards of addition facts, she tried to make up words that she thought sounded Spanish enough for the number she was supposed to be saying. After she had finally said the answer in English, I would give her the correct Spanish word. The conversation went something like this:
me: "OK, Tammy, what's this?"
her: "8 plus 7 is blooshabawshme"
me: "No, sweetie, blooshabawshme isn't a word. If you'll say it in English, I'll tell it to you in Spanish.
her: "Ok. 15.
me: "Yes! That's right! Quince."
her: "Keen-say??" giggle giggle
me: "Here's your next one."
her: after looking at the card, "How do you say nine in English?"
me: "Do you mean in Spanish? Nueve."
her: "New-ev-ay?" giggle giggle
Meanwhile, Peter was working away at his assignment and wishing aloud that he was learning Spanish.

I love my job!

I wonder . . .

A friend e-mailed me an obituary notice for an old mutual acquaintance. He was buried today—12 hours ago. He was someone that many people trusted, someone who used them and abused them, someone who never admitted the terrible wrongs he did but rather moved away to a new place after he could no longer pull the wool over the eyes of those he was harming. Hearing that he was dead was a shock (not nearly as much of a shock as finding out all those years ago what kind of person he was, but a shock nonetheless).

I guess I had thought that he would go on living forever somewhere far away from me, continuing his lifestyle of hurting people while getting everything that he wanted from them. I bore him no hatred because of the grace God gave me to forgive him. Instead I pitied him for the life he chose willingly, a life devoid of truth and freedom. How could he truly have known the Son of God, I wondered, since the Son of God came to earth to free us from our sins and he was embracing and wallowing in his. God’s Word clearly says that those who are not living a life of repentance from sin do not know Jesus Christ. I wondered, too, what would happen to his soul when he died—was he truly one of God’s children or was he merely pretending?

The news media has had far too many tales to tell in this past decade of spiritual leaders who have been unmasked as evil men. But the true picture of Christianity cannot be manifested by hypocrites and frauds any more than the fresh and vital goodness of perfectly ripened fruit can be communicated by its rotten counterpart. Their brand of Christianity is not worth having, and I pity them.

Now he is dead, and there is no more wondering where he is or what he is doing or who else he is hurting. Now I just wonder about his wife: what kind of hurt is she feeling? Does she feel free of him? And I wonder about his children: are they denying the truth still? Or are they becoming truth-seekers?

night

I should be in bed, but I'm not. I'm blogging. Actually, I am getting caught up on some blogs that I haven't visited in a while. I guess it's about time I did. I missed a lot. But then again, it gives me something else to do rather than trying to decide the things that must be decided for tomorrow: what do I eat for lunch? what should I wear? And it gives me something else to do to stay up till late tonight. . . . as usual =) Strange: I wanted to go to bed when I got home.