Six days ago, my school started Spring Break (planned to coincide with Easter). Five days ago, I left for a trip to Spain. My story today comes from the very last day I spent in Spain.

Along the northwest side of Madrid stands an Egyptian temple dating from the 2nd century B.C. It was moved to Spain several decades ago, a gesture of gratitude for Spain's assistance in preserving the historical temples threatened when the Aswan Dam was created. Now it stands in Madrid, facing the east and the sun sinking behind it.

Every day, tourists pass through the doors into the mysteries of the Egyptian's ancient faiths. Into the walls are carved picture upon picture upon picture of the old gods, Isis and Osiris and Amun and Horus. Most of the gods are engaged in rituals with their human worshipers, either accepting food as an offering or bestowing a blessing upon the Pharaoh. In the last twelve centuries or so since they were first carved, the outlines have largely vanished: sometimes all that can be seen of a particular god is the crest of their crown, or the bowl of fruit they are carrying; tourists have to rely a great deal on the inscriptions to understand exactly what they are seeing.

Further in stand several rooms for offerings, each smaller than an American closet.

I plastered my rear end against a wall for some stability while I was taking photos like this one, and I got a firm reprimand from a security guard (don't touch!) for my pains.

Perhaps the most noticeable feature of the Temple was how dark it was, and how the temple grew darker as the priests moved further and further in. The innermost sanctum was shielded in almost total darkness and would have been relieved only by the lamps of the most privileged priests. In the center of this darkness sat the stone-cold statue of the Egyptian god Osiris. My photo is light only because Spain has tucked lights into the recesses of the walls, to help tourists like me take photos. Imagine this room without any light at all, and you'll have the idea:

To a Western mind, darkness symbolizes mystery and uncertainty. A secret meeting is carried out in darkness; an unknown political candidate is a 'dark horse', a wild card in the election. Ancient Egypt, then, had a faith almost the reverse of what we consider true faith today: Rather than celebrating and teaching what they knew about the spiritual realm, they confessed inadvertently by the surrounding darkness how much they didn't know, the confusion of spiritual things, the difficulty of ascertaining any real truth.

Adding to such uncertainty were the restrictions placed on the temple. A tourist sign pointed out that only the high priests were allowed into the inner altar of the temple; it was the priests that carried the statues of Osiris and Amun to their individual rooms in the temple. The greatest treasures of the temple were tucked away into secret crevices in the foundation, hidden away from all sight. Symbolically, such secrecy again suggests what a reversed faith Egypt had: Most faiths teach their followers truths; Islam teaches a five-fold way to God, and Buddhism a path to avoid suffering. Not so in Egypt, where whatever truth (or even lies) the priests had was deliberately and consistently hidden from the worshipers.

Easter celebrations generally begin with reflection upon Christian history: retellings of the Palm Sunday and Good Friday story, flowers and crosses and pictures of the open tomb on Easter day; for the kids (and for the kid in all of us), chocolate eggs might be thrown in as well. (My personal favourite are the Cadbury cream eggs).

But for me, visiting the Temple of Debod is an equally valid way to prepare for Easter: its darkness and secrecy highlight the tremendous importance of the light and truth of the Christian story. Like the Egyptian temple, the tabernacle and later the Jewish temple initially involved darkness and mystery. In the innermost portion of the building stood the Holy of Holies, which must have been quite dark and which only the priests could enter. Its secrecy symbolizes, we know, the impassable gulf between humans and a holy God.

But this darkness is not central to the Christian faith, as it is to the Egyptian faith. Matthew 27 records that at the moment of Christ's death 'the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom' . The most holy place in the temple would suddenly have been flooded with light and made public to every worshiper in the temple, the gulf between God and man suddenly bridged.

In the darkness of the Temple of Debod, there is an Easter parable. On our own, we human beings are just as dark as the inner sanctum of that Temple. Paul tells us that the unconverted mind is dark, that it cannot understand the truth of the Gospel. That we create such backwards faiths as the Egyptian one testifies to the darkness and confusion of our spiritual philosophies.

And all this darkness makes the Easter story particularly special, because that was the moment when the truth and love of God was made public for the world to enjoy. Christ himself says, "I am the light of the world" (John 8:12): His death and resurrection a spotlight into the gloom of spiritual truth, and the lamp by which we can know God.

My last post was too long. It's an occupational hazard, I suppose: detailed description and storytelling simply goes along with being an English teacher. But I have tried to scale back today's post, breaking it up into two short stories:

JUNIORS STORY

My 11th grade students just finished a unit on Modern Poetry, which including readings of Eliot and cummings and Auden and other old favourites. But what we closed the unit out with was the best: an abridged version of T.S. Eliot's post-conversion 'Four Quartets'. As I read the poem aloud, my students listened in silence. It was silent a moment more when I'd finished, and then Jessica raised her head and announced that 'Four Quartets' was her new favourite poem.

Gorgeous as it is, the poem is even better when clearly understood, and we took more than twenty minutes to walk through some of Eliot's rich imagery and allusive style, in passages like this one:

Prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

As I pointed out to my students, the 'fire' here alludes to the fire of Pentecost, the moment in which the Holy

Spirit descended on humans; the moment in which God communicates Himself directly to the individual believing heart. And so, this 'communication . . . tongued with fire' pictures the believer's hope: that God will steadily reveal Himself to them personally, unexpectedly.

All this is really deep stuff (I swear, I haven't told you the half), and I wasn't sure how my students would react to it. Later that night, though, I got on Facebook and discovered that Jessica had updated her status, with this quote, which pictures the eventual reunion between God and the church in Heaven:

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well

When the tongues of flame are in-folded

Into the crowned knot of fire

And the fire and the rose are one.

I was thrilled for the rest of the night. Partly, it's exciting to see them falling in love with a poem that I loved in graduated school.

But it's also exciting to see them falling in love with a poem that is so spiritually rich. As they identify with quotes such as the one above, so they will retain and identify with the deeper truth of the poem: that as we human beings let go of human logic and error and rely on God, so He will eventually reveal His truth to us.

SHOWER STORY

In July, our middle school teacher Kate is getting married, and so we who are at the school and the Bible study threw a brunch shower for her. A bunch of girls pitched in with the food (egg bake, tea, coffee, mini scones with lemon curd), everyone brought a gift, and we had a really great ninety minutes of chatting and eating and opening gifts.

About ten of us were there; all together, we fit nicely into my living room:

The shower started with recipes (I gave Kate my recipe for Potato Soup). I asked her to read the titles aloud, which means that now I have to lay hands on the 'Banana-Chocolate Cupcakes with Ganache' recipe or on the 'Yummy Mexican Thingies with Cheese' recipe.

And we talked a lot, particularly about our students. One of the 11th grade students has been very clearly growing in her faith (so exciting!), so that dominated the conversation before gifts.

Kate received a number of useful gifts, including this potholder that says 'I Love Prague' on it. Obvious, but very fun!

With the wrapping paper scattered around the floor, the women started to give advice for the upcoming marriage: enjoy each others' interests; keep your marital fights to yourself, instead of talking about them with friends; resolve differences before going to bed, devote the first year to your marriage and to each other, instead of taking on lots of extra responsibilities. Honestly, I think some of us single people could have started taking notes! As the shower finished up, we prayed for their marriage and for their move back to the Czech Republic as a couple in the fall. And here, I think, is the real ministry of a shower like this: All of us teachers and Bible study people came together as a community, supporting each other (and particularly Kate) with tangible gifts such as oven mitts and prayers and spiritual advice.

As I look back on this post, I realize how different the two stories are that I've shared: a classroom experience, formal and teacherly on the one hand; on the other, three hours spent comfortably among friends, encouraging each other. And yet, both experiences are equally part of my ministry here in the Czech Republic. Perhaps these differences are the crux of Christian service, for each of us (not just for those overseas): Real ministry happens in the blend, the boundary between formal and informal; between personal and professional; it happens both as we deliberately instruct each other in God's truth and also as we demonstrate His love to others.

Even with my students, I walk this line. A few days ago, I was their teacher reminding them that forgetting to do homework is unacceptable. Sunday night, though, I put on my informal hat and attended an evangelistic concert in which another student was performing (my version of attending the school football game). And as we build that relationship, we (both students and teachers, and teacher with teachers), have the privilege of ministering Christ to one another, as members of His body.

Looking back to last semester at K-State, I remember the many nights I holed up in my office with a foot-high stack of papers to grade; besides that, church, and the occasional 'soup night' on Friday with friends, I didn't have much of a social life. Looking back to the beginning of the semester, I also remember many nights munching on a salad at home and planning lessons. Now, I am away from home for supper more often than I am there, balancing Bible study and roommate dinner and English conversations with a Czech language partner. Although I know that my primary responsibilities center on the school, I've also found that a great deal of ministry happens outside the school and even outside my relationships with students as I develop other relationships with Czech people and with fellow believers here. In this blog post, I want to give you a glimpse into the goings-on outside of school.

NOTES NOT-ON-SCHOOL

Czech Partner Story

About six weeks ago, a SEND leader set up me with a Czech language partner: a university student who wanted to practice conversational English with an echte English speaker. What we wanted, of course, was a chance to introduce the student to Christ and share our faith with her. At that time, I also wanted to stretch myself beyond the four school walls, and so I agreed. Mike set me up with Sarka (actually pronounced Sharka), a PhD student in agriculture and ecology at a university on the northwest side of Prague.

In early February, Sarka and I agreed to meet up at the Dejvicka Starbucks (primarily because I felt that was the easiest place for me to find); we were to meet at 6:30 P.M. on the first floor, right after we walked in the door. I was to know her by the purple coat she'd be wearing. At 6:30 sharp, I hurried through the Starbucks door, located a table directly in front of the entrance, and waited. And waited. Five minutes passed, then ten, and still she did not show up. Finally, I decided to check the upstairs level: I trotted up the stairs, and there at the top of the stairs, was a young woman in a purple coat. She'd been sitting there exactly as long as I had, since in Europe the 'first floor' actually means 'the first floor off the ground, as distinct from the ground floor'.

In spite of the confusing start, we've managed to build a stronger relationship. Last week, we actually met in Sarka's dorm room on the university campus (its decor is super-sparse; think hospital room sparse) instead of in public, drank tea and ate grapes. As we've met eat time, we've talked about her work and her environmentally-conscious beliefs, her dream of marrying her boyfriend and living in the country with a

horse, and the corruption in the Czech government.

A great deal of ministry here in Europe centers on strong, long-term relationships; people are not interested in five-minute gospel presentations from someone they hardly know. It's important that we do meet regularly, that I build a friendship with her instead of simply trying to convert her. As I get to know Sarka week-by-week, I hope to move on to more spiritually-meaningful topics and share my own faith with her. At this time, she seems marginally religious and not particularly interested in religious matters, so do pray that God will open the 'channels of communication' in regards to spiritual matters, beyond the day-to-day business of work and studies and teaching and walking in the countryside.

Bible Study Story

Every Wednesday, ten women (or so) from the International Church of Prague hold a Bible study; every week, this Bible study is preceded by supper. Usually, the food is delicious, so much so that one of our participants

has facetiously named it the 'Get Delicious Recipes Every Week Bible Study'. As a group, we've made pasta bakes, crepes, cinnamon rolls, tomato soup, toasted cheese, broccoli cheese soup, and French toasted for each other, and enjoyed every bit of it. I think for each of us, eating supper is a good time to lay aside the stresses of the week and enjoy each others' company, a sort of mini-Sunday in the middle of the week.

Last week, I led our Bible study for the first time. I planned a nice little word search on 'teach' and created beautiful handouts listing important verses; I printed the handouts and laid them aside in a useful place. That afternoon, I got home and discovered that I couldn't find the handouts and that all I had was a list of verses on the computer. And so I improvised: I scrawled the verse references onto a tiny square of scratch paper on my desk, tucked in in my pocket, and headed off to Bible study.

At Bible study, I pulled the square of paper out of my pocket and read the references aloud. The first verse was Psalm 25:8-9:

Good and upright is the Lord,

Therefore He teaches sinners in the way.

The humble He guides in justice,

And the humble he teaches His way.

Being a teacher, I'd planned what I wanted everyone to get out of this verse: that just as God is a 'good and upright' teacher, so we human teachers are also responsible to be 'good and upright' in our behaviour, that we cannot expect to teach others Christ unless we ourselves are walking with Him. And so I asked, 'According to

this verse, who is supposed to be teaching?'. My Bible study peers, like 5th graders, all responded in unison: God. Talk about a discussion fail! Eventually, however we moved on to deeper revelations: not only that we believers should be walking with God as we teach, but also that God is good to us, that He is continually teaching us and leading us, that we too need to be humble to receive His teaching.

And this is perhaps what I find so crucial about Bible study: As long as we teachers are supposed to be guiding our own students in biblical truth, it's vitally important that we are learning truth of our own from each other, that we are encouraging each other to walk with Christ and to live in Him day-to-day. At Bible study, we have the chance to offer each other prayers and encouragement and so contribute to each other's ministry across Prague. A few weeks ago, we studied the spiritual gifts (something I haven't done since junior high), and this is what we took away from that study: Whatever our personal gift happens to be, the most important thing is this: that we love each other as Christ - a genuine, unconditional, active love.

Perhaps this love will be expressed as we eat together and talk together and pray together in Bible study. Perhaps it will be expressed in other ways: This Saturday, for instance, we are holding a bridal shower for my friend Kate, who'll be getting married in July this year. Either way, the point is that we continually reach out to each other, lifting each other up in thoughts and kind, Christlike words and actions.

NOTES ON CZECH

I've noticed that I tend to create "Notes on Czech" based on what I actually have photos of. Given my busy schedule, I don't really have time to go out and take extra photos. So this week I have pictures of parks, and you get a note on "Parks in Prague".

I arrived in January to a frozen tundra, and now, the leaves and flowers are coming out on all the trees. It's absolutely gorgeous here. I was also told when I first arrived that Prague is known for mini-parks all over the city; Jill Dagan pointed me towards a mini-park just around the corner from their house. It's a common experience to simply stumble across a large park on a walk from Point A to Point B. Near the school, there's a park with a fantastic view of the city and the castle. Go there on a warm day, and you'll see Czech people sprawled across the lawn munching on a snack, drinking beer, or simply soaking in the sun (sometimes they're making out too, in which case you simply hurry the other way).

In the city, there are intentional parks, parks that are planned and part of the city's national heritage. Around the castle there are a number of parks that are opening for the spring, and offering gorgeous views of the city:

I love how you can see the castle in the background here:

Sometimes, you simply 'happen upon' the park. It's a park without a name, a tiny patch of green and trees and leaves tucked away into a busy corner of the city. This park is a little corner between a busy street right of Malostranska, down in the hubbub of the tourist section of the city. Along the benches you see echte Czech sitting and enjoying the day, and tourists munching on corn-on-the-cob from the local food stand:

A well-known park near my house is "Letensky Sady' (I think 'sady' means 'park'). One warm day in March, I took a long walk there with my camera; about halfway through, I took off my coat and stuffed it into my bag and trekked along in just a sweatshirt. As you can see, Letensky Sady is up above the level of Prague and offers gorgeous views of the city below. I love the colours in this photo:

Last Sunday evening, I took a walk down in the "Little Town" and happened upon this park. It's tucked away between a restaurant and a tourist store selling tableclothes and postcards. The park dates back to the 1200s, when local monks started an orchard there; today, the trees there are the descendants of those orchard trees, and large peacocks inhabit the park. I unfortunately did not have my camera with me that day, so no pictures of the peacocks . . . yet. I'm planning a return.

As usual, I woke up about 5:45 this morning; my alarm was set for 6:20.

Unfortunately, this early rising is a rather regular occurrence in the Czech Republic: we are so far north that the sun is teetering on the horizon before 6:00 in the morning. In summer, I'm told, the skies will begin to lighten at 4:30. And as usual, I rise with the sun (I've inherited the early-rising-gene from both my parents). What this means is that my project for next week is to run to IKEA on the outskirts of Prague and replace my lacy curtains with dark red ones, or a similarly dark colour.

In spite of my increasingly early schedule, it's been a good week, one marked by the chance to get to know some students better and to moderate some deep theological discussions in class. Let me share a few of these stories with you.

NOTES ON SCHOOL

Alex's Story

At noon every Monday and Wednesday, I toodle down to the lunchroom to keep track of lunch attendance. At

first, I stood in the hallway and simply marked off student names as they entered the cafeteria; more recently, I've made a deliberate effort to take a cup of tea and sit on the lunchroom myself and chat with my students. And I've made a deliberate effort to have deeper chats whenever possible.

Last Monday, I had one with Alex. Alex (or Alexandra, which is her given name) turned to me, perched beside her on a table, and asked whether I'd always planned on becoming an English teacher. I hemmed and hawed a bit (As a 13-year-old, I'd wanted to teach Christian fiction, and as a college student, I deliberately avoided an education degree), and then turned the question back on her: What did she want to do, after graduating next year? Alex confessed that originally she'd intended to be a dentist, but she wasn't sure she wanted to spend her life shoving her hands in people's mouths.

And so we talked about life choices: I encouraged her not to stress out about having her life planned to a T in 11th grade and told her I'd be praying for her. I shared with her how radically God changed some of my plans (two years ago, I thought that in 2011 I'd be starting my first year of a PhD program). Alex shared some of her own experiences: She hadn't intended to come to a Christian school at all, but God led her here when her plans to attend an intensive high school in the Czech Republic fell through. Looking back, we both saw how God had directed us to a good place, how all His plans are good.

Rachel's Story

My 10th grade class includes a student named Rachel, a sweet 17-year-old that moved from the States to the Czech Republic late last year. Her family and I are the "newbies" here at CISP. A few days back, I caught her after class just to chat, but as the other student filed out, I could see that Rachel was visibly upset. As we talked, she shared with me how difficult it was for her to make her opinion and voice heard in English class.

As a teacher, I suggested a way to rearrange the classroom to encourage Rachel to speak up more often and more comfortably (moving her place in class closer to my position at the front of the room). I high-fived her when she spoke up in class last time. But I also got to talk with her on a deeper level: She told me that in her Bible class, she had deliberately chosen to do an assigned presentation on Psalm 121. There, the Psalmist "lifts up [his] eyes to the hills" and asks "where does [his] help come from"; ultimately, he concludes, his "help comes from the Lord". Rachel told me how comforting she found this verse, knowing that God alone was her help.

I like this verse as well, particularly after climbing four mountains in Colorado over the past few years. What I love about it, I told Rachel, was that the Psalmist asks a question in the first portion: the question indicates that he has no clue at first where help is going to come from. For the Psalmist, this moment is one where he feels utterly alone, staring at the hills and wondering how in the world there will ever be help for him. And

even in these moments, I told Rachel, God is still with us, is still our help.

A 12th grade story

My 12th graders read Martin Luther's "95 Theses" as part of their Renaissance literature unit. I'd planned a class of reviewing the various arguments Luther made and debating when to get involved in theological debates, and when to let sleeping dogs lie. But the 12th graders had a different idea, and our class took a far deeper turn.

A question about whether Luther was "Catholic" or "Christian" prompted a mini lecture in church history, explaining that until the 1500s all Christians were Catholic; there simply wasn't any other option. Luther was originally Catholic, and then as his views on Scripture and on faith strengthened, he gradually broke away from the Catholic church. To assist our discussion, we compared current Catholic and Protestant differences (prayers to the saints & Mary, the importance of baptism, the role of priests, etc).

At this point, another student complained about "Catholic hate": he felt perhaps we were being unfair to Catholics, condemning them too roundly and too universally. Of course, the point of doctrine is not to hate people at all, and so I explained that what we as believers must be concerned about is not Catholicism / Protestantism per se. What we must be concerned about is bad doctrine, wherever such doctrine appears. If it is in the Catholic church, we must correct such doctrine (praying to Mary, for instance). If it is in the Protestant church, than we must correct that too (such as the current universalism debate that Rob Bell ignited).

As student debate started to wind down (or reach a stalemate), I tried to wrap up our discussion for everyone.

What the gospel boils down to, I told my students is this: Christ died and rose again, and in Him alone are we saved. After that, as we love Christ and grow in Him, we will gradually correct our doctrine and our behaviour to fall in line with His expectations.

As I've taken the effort to deliberately engage myself in students' spiritual lives, I've enjoyed the chance to get to know each of them and to encourage both those who are believers and those who are not. Recently, someone told me that the spiritual life is a journey: though there is that point in time when we are converted, Christ is still working in us before and after that point, always drawing us closer to Him. As my students and I talk, I get to help them walk along their journey closer to God; occasionally, they encourage me in my own spiritual journey.

NOTES ON CZECH

I want to share my love of Czech architecture with you today. A friend told me, as we were walking through Prague, that I was 'such a photographer'; I'd been fussing about not having my huge Pentax with me to snap photos of clouds scudding across the sky over the Vltava.

As a photographer, though, I am in love with light. And so I love the lampposts adorning the streets and bridges throughout Prague. Let me share a few photos with you. Some of these have already showed up on my Facebook account, but I think they're worth showing again:

I'm listening to John Denver tonight on iTunes ('Sunshine on my Shoulders') and writing a short post, bringing you up to speed on recent school events.

NOTES ON SCHOOL

Last Saturday, CISP held a charity fundraiser: parents and kids donated books and clothes and knick-knacks, volunteered to run games, sold food, and ran an auction to raise money for an orphanage in Belarus and the European version of Ronald MacDonald house.

Originally, I'd signed up to help sell the donated clothes, but it turned out that the booth did not really need me to sit behind it. So I broke out my camera and started taking pictures of some of the crazy goodness there. If you've been on my Facebook page, you may have seen some of these already; this time, though I provide commentary!

The event (which we called 'March Madness') was a success, we were told: We raised over 75,000 Kc (about $3000 USD, which is a significant sum over here). I have to wonder, though, whether we bought half the stuff ourselves.

Here, some of the middle-schoolers get into the clothes-shopping action:

And our 10th grade science teacher gets ready to enter an ugly-sweater contest with something she found in the donated clothes:

If we weren't buying stuff, we were fooling around with it. My 10th grade students Aris, Ana and Amy latched on to the typewriter, trying to figure out how it worked. They asked me to give them a hand, and I had to confess that even I was too young to really know how a typewriter worked.

Besides the bazaar with its ugly sweaters and ancient typewriters, we also had an auction. The local youth pastor Jimmy got in on the auction action. Turned out, he was quite a good auctioneer: he wheedled his roommate (our Bible teacher) into bidding on prints for their man-pad, and he coaxed the menfolk into a competition of who-loves-his-wife-enough-to-buy-a-restaurant-coupon contest. Most of the restaurant coupons went for more than 500 Czech crowns, and some were nearly 1000 crowns - very good prices, in general.

Perhaps the most interesting of all our fundraisers involved a goldfish: We lined up glass jars on a table (with the pictures of 10th grade students, the PE teacher, and the youth pastor) and asked people to sponsor one of these people to swallow the goldfish. All the money put into the jars went directly to charity.

At one point, I walked over to this row of jars and jingled the 40 Kc or so in my hands, wondering which jar I should donate to. Personally, I wanted to see a student swallow the goldfish (does that make me a bad teacher?), but still I hesitated. At least, I hesitated until my 10th grade student Helena came running up and demanded that I donate to her jar - in other words, that I put her 40 crowns closer to swallowing a goldfish.

At this point, those of you who keep up with me on Facebook know what happened next.

Jimmy (the youth pastor) got the most money in his jar.

But he pulled 1000 crown bill out of his pocket -

- dangled it in the air a moment, in front of the whole crowd gathered for the auction -

- hesitated, -

- and dropped it in Helena's jar!

Up she came, and down went the goldfish - the whole thing.

Impressive, really. I'm told her brothers were jealous.

Fun as the event was, it had an even more important purpose: Working together (and donating a Saturday) taught the kids the value of showing generosity towards people who are in need. Perhaps for a missionary kid, whose family is very often on the receiving end of charity, this kind of lesson is particularly valuable. An event like March Madness provides a good 'training ground' for students enthusiastically practice charity and giving, donating a Saturday (or favourite clothes, or the heeby-jeebies associated with swallowing a fish) to mature as generous, Christ-like individuals.

NOTES ON CZECH

My life has been inexplicably busy recently, all the more so as I've started splitting week nights between suppers with my roommate, Bible study with fellow teachers, and tea (or cake) with my language partner. And so, for this post only, the 'Notes on Czech' is cancelled.

Perhaps in the next update, I will sing the praises of the Czech lamp-posts (one of my newest cultural fascinations).

Probably, many of you have never heard of Lilias Trotter. A few of you have, most likely because I've recommended her biography or her writings to you.

Lilias Trotter established one of the first Muslim missions in the early 1900s, working in northern Algeria and taking multiple trips down into the Sahara to reach out to the tribes there. Amidst her journeying and teaching and speaking, she penned several devotionals which still speak to readers today. About two weeks ago, I shared her writing with the school staff during morning devotions, and over the past several days, she has been speaking to me personally. I want to share what I've learned with you.

In Parables of the Christ-Life, Lilias observes the life of plants: in particular, she watches them grow and then slowly die away as the seed matures and is itself replanted. In this process she finds a picture of the Christian life itself. To the plant, Lilias points out, one thing is of utmost importance:

All gives way to the ripening seed. In the grasses the very root perishes by the time the grain is yellow, and comes up whole if you try to break the steam. They 'reign in life' above through the indwelling seed, while all that is 'corruptible' goes down into dust below. They have let all go to life - the enduring life: they are not taken up with the dying - that is only a passing incident - everything is wrapped up into the one aim: that the seed may triumph at any cost. Death is wrought out almost unconsciously: the seed has done it all.

Already you probably see where Lilias is going with this analogy: the importance of of making Christ our sole desire and delight, of letting go of all earthly desires in the hope to know Him more. And indeed, this is exactly what she says:

Can we not trace the same dealing in our souls as, slowly, tenderly, all that nourished that which is carnal is withdrawn, giving way to the forming of the Christ life in its place? His thoughts and desires and ways begin to dethrone ours as the aloe seed dethrones its leaves and casts them to the ground.

Here, I want to add one more thing: Not only must Christ's "thoughts and desires" dethrone ours, His grace must also dethrone our own efforts and self-sufficiency. Only when our self-sufficiency has been cleared out of the way will there be room for His life to grow within us, and to be visible to others.

Let me explain what I mean. Here at CISP, we glimpse God's blessings every day: a visa for our 5th grade teacher and for our middle-school English teacher, an wedding planned this summer and a new IT teacher in the fall, a new student or two added to the Wednesday night Bible study.

At the same time, so many prayers are unanswered. No building yet, no second grade teacher. Our music teacher has also not received her visa. My own teaching plans have gone wildly astray once or twice in the past week, making me wonder some days whether my students are learning much of anything.

And here Lilias' words come into play: All too often, we assume that we are somehow necessary to God, that without us His working (whether in the Czech Republic, or in the States) would fall to pieces. If we only had a building, we reason, then we could do God's work so much more effectively. If I were only a more masterful teacher, I think, my students would be distracted less and learning more, and (of course) learning more about God.

But there is an error here: It is not our skill that God seeks but the Christ-life within us, where alone we can know God and make Him known to others. What is essential is not a "heavenly energizing" nor a "conscious equipment for every service", according to Lilias. For me, her words suggest that I cannot expect a continual supply of positive answers to prayer: Perhaps there will be no building, no music teacher. Perhaps I will have days when I forget everything I've ever learned about being a good teacher. It is in this lack that we best glimpse Christ, at work in us.

Paul himself writes in I Corinthians that he "was with [the church] in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling". Apparently, he lacked that charisma, that magnetism so often associated with a strong teacher or leader; moreover, he lacked the "excellence of speech or of wisdom" presumably necessary to convince the Corinthian church of the gospel. Elsewhere, he complains of a thorn in his flesh (likely, a physical deficiency) that seemed to hinder his ministry. Clearly, Paul lacked certain characteristics we consider important to a successful life and ministry: strong people skills, persuasive speaking, good health.

It is in this lack, though, that Paul sees most clearly the hand of God. At Corinth, Paul writes that he "determined not to know anything . . . except Jesus Christ and Him crucified". Later, in Philippians, he declares that "what things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ". Like Lilias, Paul determines that all his skills and accomplishments - every spiritual gain, every academic success - must go, so that he may know Christ, and that Christ may work in Him.

What we must learn from Paul and from Lilias is this: we are inessential, but Christ is essential.

Nothing but Christ matters. In our relationship with God, we cannot endear ourselves to Him through any particular display of devotion or spirituality. All that matters is Christ in us, His life gradually replacing our own carnal concerns. In ministry, it is impossible to accomplish much of anything based on our own resources and accomplishments. What matters is that Christ be gracious to us, working through His body to reach the surrounding world.

Please note, I am not saying that our efforts and accomplishments are unimportant: Were I to cease planning lessons and studying, for instance, I would be twisting God's words, using them to excuse mere laziness. Our own efforts are valuable to God; they are simply not the crux of ministry. It is Christ that is the crux.

Nor am I saying that we are unimportant to God. In fact, we are inexpressibly important to Him, beloved by Him, treasured by Him, a constant part of His attention. But we are not needed by Him.

In this end, it comes down to this: "I must decrease, but He must increase."

May the Christ-life ever increase in me.

After you readers indulged me in my love of Dante last time, I think you readers deserved a more lighthearted post. And so, today I am treating you to some pictures from my students' most recent project and a cool new food discovery.

NOTES ON SCHOOL

As a teacher, there are always parts of my job that I don't like: grading homework, for instance, or keeping track of attendance (both of which I have trouble actually remembering to do!). At the same time, these minor inconveniences are outweighed by the perks of teaching, perks far more significant than marking a bunch of reading questions or paragraphs written for class. I got one of those perks in my 10th grade class: a successful group project, one that demonstrated deep thought and even (I think) generated excitement in students.

Recently, the 10th graders studied Romantic Poetry (as in, 1800s social revolutionaries). Along with a partner, each student studied one Romantic poem in-depth throughout the unit, locating the various characteristics of Romanticism in that poem and choosing images from magazines to represent the poem. Last week, we put it all together: I blocked out two days, brought in some cardstock (what passes for posterboard here in the Czech Republic) and gluesticks, and turned the students loose.

And the results were fantastic. My university classes never really 'caught on' to the idea of a collage, though at several times I gave students the opportunity to create one for an assignment. There, the most memorable one was a bad one, notable for about eight pieces of paper smushed over a bright orange piece of cardstock as a collage.

Here at CISP, the students' artsy sides are coming out in the best way. I haven't even finished grading the collage work, but I'm already impressed by what students are doing.

More importantly, I was impressed by some of the more intangible results of the collage. A creative project (as opposed to an analysis) helped students to appreciate the 'deeper' themes of the poem more closely, even students who are generally uncomfortable in an English classroom. A few more detached students 'stepped up to the plate' for a more active role in this project, demonstrated an increasing interest in the English class.

And then, because I've put a bunch of student photos up, you get a candid shot of me. Somehow, pictures of me teaching always show me with my mouth open:

Nothing is perfect, of course: My Lord of the Flies reading schedule has been adjusted a couple of times, usually every time I wake up and realize that I'm teaching 9th graders instead of college freshmen.

Occasionally, the 11th graders still give me funny looks when I ask them to give valid reasons (in a debate) why someone might not teach Huck Finn at the high-school level - or, to be more colloquial here, to censor it. But the Romantic Poetry unit gives me hope, both for myself as a teacher and for the students - all intellectually curious, and full of potential.

NOTES ON CZECH

My dad (as many of you know) is a chocolate devotee. For much of my childhood, our house had a constant supply of Hershey's Kisses, which were doled out one at a time on special occasions. Also, our families always make some kind of chocolate dessert at a holiday, to complement the more traditional confections. Apple pie for the 4th of July? Got it, and we've got brownies too! Homemade pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving? Naturally, and don't forget the Betty Crocker Devil's Food cake.

Several years back, my dad asked why nobody ever made chocolate yogurt. Yoplait makes chocolate-flavoured 'Whips' but those things have all the texture of cardboard. Better yogurts came in strawberry, vanilla, blueberry, and even 'Red Velvet' flavours - but no chocolate flavours. Until now.

Presenting: chocolate yogurt, European-style:

The Czech Republic boasts a wide range of chocolate flavoured yougurts. Besides regular chocolate, there is straciatella (another name for 'chocolate chip') and nugat (Nutella-like yogurt). Nor is this restricted to one particular brand. Besides the Albert brand and the Florian brand featured in my photos, at least two other brands produce some kind of chocolate yogurt.

And if chocolate yogurt wasn't enough, the Czechs also invent ways to eat chocolate granola with their yogurt in the morning. My own muesli I prefer in hazelnut-flavour, like this:

Now, imagine a chocolate version of that, for breakfast. It's the Czech version of Cocoa Puffs.

Actually, I'm quite sure that most Czechs do not eat chocolate yogurt with chocolate muesli for breakfast. The fact remains, however, that they do make these culinary delights. Perhaps I should confess, too: Although I'd never eat chocolate muesli with chocolate yogurt, I do in fact eat chocolate yogurt occasionally (with hazelnut muesli!) for breakfast.

Dad? I guess I've inherited your love for chocolate. And I wish I could bring some back for you from the Czech Republic. But it's not gonna happen.