Heather Holleman's Blog, page 222

In Dark, Murky, Unclear Places

Today the flair moment comes when a horticulture professor tells us that Kate’s avocado plant will thrive now that it’s in soil and not water. Last summer, we kept the spouted avocado plant in water so long, and it didn’t do well. But we just transplanted a new sprouted seed into dark, nutrient rich soil.

Moving that seed–with all those roots and the new stem leafing on top–seemed strange to me because the water was so clear, so refreshing, and so very lit with glorious sun. Isn’t that the best environment? Isn’t that the obvious goal for flourishing? Clarity! Light!

Now, the roots go into a dark and unclear environment.

I learn from soil science about the particular nutrition this soil offers. I learn the beauty of darkness. I learn that roots exposed to too much light endure unimaginable stress; they need the darkness to absorb nutrients and anchor themselves. When placed in light, roots grow frantically and abundantly to try and avoid the light. It only looks like thriving.

Roots grow away from light. Roots grow to where they find the moisture and nutrients they need–downward and hidden, dark and unclear–because that’s where they thrive.

I look at the newly planted avocado in that dark rich soil. I see two process at work: the stem that reaches upward, absorbing all the light, and the roots that seek the hidden, dark place of rest that receives all it needs.

When part of me stays underground, and if things feel unclear or murky, I rest in the Lord because I know that sometimes, when the light fades and clarity leaves, it’s because I’m here to absorb what I need for the next stage of growth.

A Few More Questions

Over the years, I’ve compiled so many “Name Games” because I essentially ask 45 questions over the course of a semester. My rationale is all about teaching students to know themselves, to build rapport with one another, and to feel comfortable articulating ideas. And, it’s just fun. And I answer them, too! Maybe you’ll use some of these around your Thanksgiving table.

1. What’s one question you wish people would ask you about yourself?

2. What’s a question you wish everyone would stop asking you?

3. What’s your favorite quote? Why?

4. What music do you wish everyone would listen to (and then listen!)

5. What’s the closest you’ve come to a sublime experience? Where were you?

6. What’s your best memory of a “food experience”?

7. What most concerns you about the younger generation?

8. What small, ordinary thing most fascinates you if you think about it?

9. What show or movie could you watch over and over again?

10. Where do you want to travel next?

Present Blessings

Today we remember present blessings—right at this moment—that show God’s care and love.

We set our minds to discern, to see, to experience the fullness of Christ now. In a minivan, around a table, while making a bed—all provide rich opportunities to rest in His presence.

Some Questions Around the Table

For the holidays, I’ve been thinking of some questions for times reconnecting with family. Enjoy this list!

What question do you like people to ask you about yourself right now?
What’s something funny or surprising that happened to you lately?
When did you do something you thought you couldn’t do this year?
What’s a song you want everyone to listen to?
What are you most learning?
What’s a current struggle?
When was the last time you felt really good about yourself?
Would you tell us about an encounter you had with a stranger, a strange place, or a strange animal?
What’s something that made you experience wonder or awe this year?
What’s something you experienced in childhood that children today don’t experience?

 

Don’t Ask

Today I ask my students to tell me the question they love people to ask them about themselves. So many of them say the question they don’t want people to ask them.

Don’t ask about my career plans. Ask about books I’m reading, fascinating things I’m learning, or about my friends. But don’t ask me about my future. It stresses me out! 

Good to know.

The Someplace, Something, or Someone New

This morning I take note of God’s process of restoration in Psalm 80: 8-11. Following great disappointment and destruction, the psalmist records how God worked in the past. He writes:

You brought a vine out of Egypt; you drove out the nations and planted it. You cleared the ground for it, and it took root and filled the land. The mountains were covered with its shade, the mighty cedars with its branches. It sent out is boughs to the Sea, its shoots as far as the River. 

Something about those verbs resonates so deeply in terms of what God does to restore. He brings us out of where we were; He drives out enemies, plants us in the new thing, and we take root. I think of the trust it required of the Israelites to live in the awareness of God working even when it took time and especially even in the midst of opposition.

There’s a necessary coming out from where we are, a clearing, a planting, and a rooting. Whenever God calls us to some new place, new work, or even new people, we might consider the process of what it takes to flourish. And maybe when I do not see the results quickly, I consider how God is clearing ground for the new thing coming.

Ask What They Know and What They’ve Seen

Everywhere I go, I ask. I want to learn from people. During a blood draw, at the grocery store, with students: I ask what they’ve learned and all they’ve seen. Do they have wisdom to share?

Every day, you learn from everyone.

Embracing All the Coziest Things

I love watching other people feel cozy.

Last night, I attend a college Bible study of girls reading Guarded by Christ. I arrive at the leader’s apartment, and I’m immediately impressed with the coziness of college girls in their flannel shirts, PSU sweatshirts, and fleece leggings. I notice the furry moccasins, the holiday socks, and the hairstyles pulled back for comfort. They lounge on bean bags or overstuffed couch pillows. They pull out their Bibles and their journals as they sit in a cozy circle.

It was all so cozy. 

I wished I had been in sweatpants and my own flannel shirt. Instead, I looked like my regular old professor self, and I wasn’t cozy at all.

So today, in a free moment between grading and picking up a daughter from school, I run into a store and find the same pants and sweatshirts I see all my students wearing. I run my hands over the warm, soft interior.

And now I’m at home, cozy as can be in clothes more fit for younger girls. But who cares? I’m home in every sense of the word.

Once again, the teacher learns from the student.

 

The Coast Is Clear

Today I hear someone announce that “the coast is clear” when ushering students into the classroom. I can’t remember the last time I used the expression. I was mostly like a child: Maybe I whispered it during a game of Man Hunt or Kick-the-Can or Hide & Seek. Maybe I cried it out to friends as we tried to cross a highway on our bikes. Maybe I heard it on a walkie-talkie.

It’s such a sneaky kind of phrase. It’s urgent and hopeful. Run now! The coast is clear! Do it now!

I thought of risk and danger, of boats coming ashore in hostile territory, and of arriving somewhere clear of enemies.

The coast is clear now, but danger lurks. Take caution, but move now. I think of clear coasts in life and that thrill of racing ahead and knowing you’ll make.

 

“An Artist Is Never Poor”

Last night, I watch the 1987 Danish film, Babette’s Feast (it won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film that year). I hear the main character say this wonderful line: “An artist is never poor.”

I thought of the day I realized I was rich in poems, in birds, in friendship, and in beauty. I thought of the wealth of words I spend however I want. I think of the indulgence of it and this daily feast of wonders recorded in words.

An artist is never poor.