Rehash Redemption

It had been a long drive back from Ohio, and she had spent the majority of it pondering why she had disliked a book she had listened to on tape. She told me all about its problems, and how she managed to rewrite it during her drive.

I smirked as she talked about it. She was getting riled, and I was finding it hilarious. I mean, seriously, rehashing a book for over two hours, changing the plot, mending the characters...? And now I got to listen to this rehashing and I hadn't even read the book.

But on my drive home I rehashed my own book. The story of my life. The mistakes, the regrets, the frustrations. I changed the plot, I mended the characters, and I got myself riled.

Suddenly it hit me. I was doing the same thing. Rehashing how I wanted it to go, but not being able to make any kind of true difference in how it went down. Rehashing is silly. It's silly to the listener, and pointless to the rehasher.

I felt bad that I had laughed at her, now that I realized I do the same rehashing, even more uselessly. So I called her up. I admitted my own obsession with rehashing.

We laughed about hashing and rehashing, and sent each other a few texts rich in hashtags. We were greatly amused by these, since we are not big Twitter users. But then, towards the end of our conversation, she sent me:

##redemption (which she pointed out is supposed to be read as rehash redemption)

I giggled. But an hour later, the truth of that still lingered.

What would happen if instead of rehashing failures, frustrations, mistakes, and loneliness I rehashed redemption?

What if when the usual wave of rehashing takes my thoughts over, I had an immediate comeback of rehashing? If I had an immediate source of encouragement? Of knowing truth and having it cycle through my head even more frequently than the list of my failures do?

Grace racing through my head, rather than condemnation. Knowing the Truth and letting it set me free.

The past few mornings, I have woken up to the greeting of a quiet reminder:

rehash redemption.

As soon as I begin to feel frustrated with myself, I remember whose I am. I remember that I am forgiven, and that my failures are no longer relevant.

In the rehashing of failures, despair and hopelessness are born.
But in the rehashing of redemption, freedom and joy are born.

Because they're mine

The morning sun was just starting to illuminate the gray clouds on my quiet drive to school.

To the hum of my engine, I began to pray my usual morning prayers. But I was drained already, though it was hardly even 7:30. Several of my students had told me they might be moving, and the disciplinary issues in my classroom were getting a little tougher.

One of my most "unloveable" students told me there was a big possibility he could be moving. The night before I had mourned his walking out of my life, but today I pondered why I had had such an extreme reaction to his announcement. It's not like he's given me so many reasons to love him. He's a pure stinker.

Another student came to mind. As I was praying for her... I told God about how much I loved her. How much I love the "stinkers." I felt a quiet tug at my heart... why? 

Why do you love them?

I fumbled for words to explain the love and devotion I feel towards each of my students, especially the ones that don't give me reasons to love them. It felt horrible to realize that "Superteacher" as I try to be, there are some kids who are just unloveable.  But yet, I love them. Not because they're brilliant, not because they're kind. And certainly not because I'm Superteacher. But because they're mine.

Because they're mine. 

The words hung in the frozen air, and echoed back to me...
I knew there was a deeper lesson for me to learn. So I waited. I listened.

You are Mine.

There in that quiet, chilly morning I began to understand love in a different way. To understand the kind of love the Father has for me... not because of my brilliance, my own excellence, goodness, or anything else. But because I am His. 

Now I try to start every morning with a reflection on that moment. On what it means to be His. It has given me passion, purpose, and love so much more than I thought possible.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine."

-Isaiah 43:1