Broken Alabaster Boxes

Life. A vapor.  Slipping as sand, Thro the hour glass of life.  Slipping and sliding, Cascading thro the narrow opening of seconds and minutes and hours. Tho slow it may seem, One thing is constant.  It is forever moving.  One day the last grain of sand will slide thro the narrow opening.  One day the time for that hour glass will be done.  One day that will be me.  Sometimes I try to catch the sand as it slides thro.  Sometimes I try to reclaim the sand that has already passed. And sometimes in frantic haste I clutch and grab and pant to preserve.  All is futile.  All without hope.  The only choice I have that truly brings hope, Is to give that hour glass to Him.  To take this vessel I have, Only one, And place it the hands of the Maker. To take my grains of sand, This moment, This child, This task, And by the grace of God, ...

The evening air blows cooler as the sun slides towards the horizon. The moderation in temperature is welcome, tho slight. Everything from the waving palms to the people walking the roads look relieved for the coolness. And I feel the same relief. The days have been cooler now with the rain. It comes down in sheets, drenching any, even with an umbrella. The children come to school in hoodies and wet shoes and complain about the coldness. In reality it's still 75 or 80. Games are played indoors at recess, the rain driving hard against the roof, and sometimes dripping from leaks. It's been good to be busy again. When I first arrived, time tended to drag. I had less to do, and I didn't know many people. But as I have gotten out in the community that has changed. This past week has been particularly busy,  with something scheduled every night. The days are filled with school and other duties, the evenings mostly with church or ministry oriented things. Other weeks our ...

The drumming of a passing shower. Crickets every night outside my window.  Children calling to each other as they walk the road.  Bussing, jammed together, music throbbing, people calling to each other.  The evening sky, clouds tinted pink and the moon emerging.  The harbor at sunset.  Faces of friends looking up into our windows, seeing if we are home.  Sitting on our steps, watching people walk by.  School children singing. Calling greetings on Sunday afternoon walks. The bizarre that happens. Cool breeze in evening. 

Eight o'clock and we gather for teachers chapel. One teacher assigned for playground duty. The rest gathered around the table. Twenty minutes for devotions, sharing, and prayer. I have enjoyed the blessing of fellow teachers who are focusing on the same issues and struggles and who are together seeking God. 8:20 the bell rings. Kids scramble to their lines, assigned by grade. Shirts tucked. Shoes tied. Basketballs handed over to teachers.  "Ms., I finished my homework."  "Ms., Josiah stepped on my foot."  "Do we have Language Arts test today?" Sometimes it takes long to quiet them, or get them in a straight line. Sometimes I send them running around the school for not obeying promptly.  Then we file in. We have 10 minutes in our classroom before chapel. Pencils grind sharp. Books and papers are set in my desk to be scored from yesterday's homework. Assignments written on the board are copied into notebooks. Lunch is ordered....

Five faces uplifted. Five pairs of ears listening, at least they were suppose to be. Together in the morning for classroom devotions, I told them of 2 friends, both from bad homes. Brothers who worked with me. One works hard, loves his family, and is looking to better himself despite life's circumstances.  The other, is experimenting with drugs and alcohol, hanging with bad characters, and wreaking havoc in his life.  And I contrasted the two. Who will go far? Who will succeed?  And when we prayed, the young voice leading out, lifted up James in prayer to Him Who cares.  He Who looks down on our classroom.  And on James. 

White eyes peering out of dark faces. Hands reaching up to clutch at mine. Voices at our door, asking, "Wata, Ms. Can I have some wata?" Shouts of happy children at play, The basketball thumping.  Or walking down the road, chatting together. Good days. When they are excited to learn and work hard in school. Bad days. When the test score comes back a failure, Or their attitudes turn sour. And normal days. Their laughter sounding from our classroom. There's Josiah, head bent over his work. Struggling to comprehend. And so excited when he only has 2 mistakes to correct. Selena, body jiggling as she laughs, Her face split in a big grin. Shachri, smart, working hard, but often in a rush. Teja, intellegent, a reader, currently reading Pilgrim's Progress. Anton, his face alight with a goofy grin. When you get them all laughing, it's sure to be hard to get them stopped.  Chapel...

"It was now dark, and Jesus was not come to them." They could not see Him.  Could not sense his presence.  He was not there. They thought. It was dark. The darkness was real. Not hypothetical.  Not imagined.  Real. And they wondered at His absence.   They forgot. Forgot His faithfulness.  His trustworthiness. Because they could not see.  Because it was dark. But He was there.  He knew. To Him, there was no darkness.  No uncertainty.  No questions. Him they could trust. But they did not always.  And I do not always.  It is a choice.  A choice to trust that He will come in the darkness.  Every time.