LORD, who am I to teach the way
To little children day by day,
So prone myself to go astray?
I teach them KNOWLEDGE, but I know
How faint they flicker and how low
The candles of my knowledge glow.
I teach them POWER to will and do,
But only now to learn anew
My own great weakness through and through.
I teach them LOVE for all mankind
And all God’s creatures, but I find
My love comes lagging far behind.
Lord, if their guide I still must be,
Oh let the little children see
The teacher leaning hard on Thee.
-“The Teacher,” by Leslie Pickney Hill
Well it’s been a bit, hasn’t it? Hey again friends! Welcome to the blog thing I do sometimes. Today I’ll be re-inviting a very specific, yet also completely unspecific, group of people back to the Party. First, a story.
School’s been out for the rainy season these past two and a half months, and we conducted a “winter camp” of sorts here at the Finca. My squad, los Tigres (named loosely based on the region of Honduras we represent and tightly based on my desire to teach them the Tony the Tiger chant in two languages) was made up of explorers ages 5 to 9. To an outsider, we were the clear underdogs. Other groups had more years of general life experience. They had more height, more vocabulary, more muscle mass. They probably had a guide who’s technically more qualified. But be careful with the underestimation.
Our first competition was this: Here’s a bag of trash. Using only its contents, plus anything else you find in nature, construct a house as a team. After 15 minutes, each house will be placed in front of a fan, and if your house stands the test of five seconds, your team gains five points toward their overall score for camp.
I sent a few outside to look for nature cosas, thinking some sticks or mud could help our cause. Addy, our youngest, came back with a large, muddy rock. And though I didn’t see it as the most practical building material for our purposes—it really couldn’t be attached to paper or sticks in any lasting way and definitely would add some extra clean-up later for yours truly—she’s really cute and I could tell it was a major find for her, so we added the rock to our pile of trash.
Then as the Tigres settled into the chaotic rhythm that is small children doing a group project, I stepped back, renounced any semblance of control, and watched the structure take form.
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By structure I mean that after fourteen or so minutes, two pieces of cereal box were tied together with some pipe cleaners, which were bent around some toilet paper rolls. And that was it. That was our shelter against the fan of fate.
“Pensamos que va a tener suficiente fuerza contra el viento?” Do we think it will be strong enough against the wind? I probed.
Addy saw her chance. She held her rock up like Simba, and put it right within our “house.” And no one objected. Then time was up.
We carried the architectural masterpiece back to the assembly area, placing it next to the others, which naturally were actual architectural masterpieces. One had an full-on staircase, another a literal front yard with a stone-rimmed blue-plastic-bag pond. One had pillars. One had its own show on HGTV.
The adolescents responsible for these marvels were not-so-subtly catching one another’s eyes, pointing with their lips (a Honduran mannerism I’ve yet to master) at our humble habitation, and chuckling among themselves.
Yet, when the fan was turned on, and the wind blew full force at all the houses, can you guess who won the five points?
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Well…everyone. Everyone won the points. Because it was a sad sad fan.
But here’s the part that got me thinking.
The other teams put their faith in the strength of their houses, the strength that came from their meticulous planning and ingenuity. Though they had the same humble materials we did, they knew the forces they were working against and built substantial walls to keep the effects at bay. That way no one would ever stop to realize, “This is just a flimsy house made of trash.” No one would point their lips at it and laugh. They’d say instead, “Wow! Those older kids really know what they’re doing.”
As for the Tigres, we couldn’t kid ourselves or anyone else. Our house was clearly no more than loosely connected paper and pipe cleaners. To put our faith in its strength would make no sense, as Addy’s rock was very clearly the only source of any success that we had.
But, say we got a bigger fan—a real industrial number, one that wasn’t sad.
Something tells me that, eventually, all of the paper and pipecleaners and plastic from all those houses –yes, the HGTV one included– would eventually reveal themselves as the flimsy trash they always have been. And blow away.
The only thing remaining would be that rock.
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Today I’m re-inviting the weak, the messy, the vulnerable paper-and-pipecleaner ones back to the Party. Those who fall short of perfection, who fall down for all to see and ridicule but keep loving forward anyway. Those who can’t do it all, can’t know it all. Those who, when they’re being completely honest, don’t actually know what’s going on. Those who know that strength and control of their own accord is a fleeting illusion.
That’s me. And that’s you too, friend. That’s the make-up of all of us human types.
But guys, this is freedom! It’s how the only real triumph can be known. It’s in this way that we are the Tigers of this story, the Mighty Mighty Tigers against all odds. Because while some may think they can put faith in their own strength, we know we can’t. Meaning we know the only enduring strength that’s actually worthy of believing in.
So let’s come back the party and meet the illuminating gaze that breaks down our walls and stills the voice that says, “As long as I am like this, I cannot be loved.” Let’s take the extended hand that is always awaiting us, to let it guide us back into the knowledge that our being immensely, infinitely loved is in fact the only constant we can ever cling to. May the winds of life throw their strongest gusts our way, because this truth isn’t going anywhere and we are not afraid.
God is the rock. And God is love.
Rock on, Tigres 🙂