Open House

Deb and I did again what we've learned to do in the past; we opened the front door to our home.

We live in a neighborhood where people don't necessarily know each other. We're all somewhat aware of neighbor's work patterns and their respective schedules for using the laundry room, but as a neighborhood of neighbors ours is not tight. There is no Block Watch (which in our case would be called Bear Watch); no history of shared events.

So Deb and I opened our home on Saturday night to our neighbors. Deb had hung invitations on doors the week previous. We cleaned the house (always a good thing) and went Costco shopping. We put on the Christmas music (Deb let me choose) and waited, wondering if anyone would show up. Again, our neighborhood has no history of hospitality given or received.

But people did come. Some admitted to being initially apprehensive; understandably so; but they came. Janelle and Gary (who's cancer will only give him weeks or perhaps months to live) joined us. Jerry came and gifted us some of his Native art. Sylvia (who I had not so much as even seen before) came. Jeff and Denise came, and brought Copper River salmon (in my view, always the perfect holiday gift.) And Neil and Jada brought their infant daughter, who Deb and I fought over for holding rights, but we had to give her back at the end of the evening.

We talked about our respective work and work places, our histories and families, and in some cases we even talked of our faith. And we were told more than once, "Thanks for doing this; it's never been done before." Some told us they had no experience being in a stranger's home.

Showing hospitality is what Deb and I know we are to do; joyfully and regularly. Being hospitable allows us to mirror our God Who in Himself invented and proved hospitality as our Redeemer and Reconciler.

Deb and I are now a little torn. We've been looking for a home with a bigger living room, maybe closer to the University where Deb works. But now we're torn, in that maybe we're supposed to stick around here a while longer so we can help Janelle and Gary in the days ahead, and maybe so we can host a summer barbeque.

Biology

For reasons unbeknownst to me I accepted a two-week substitute teaching job. Teaching biology.

I took biology in high school. Mrs. Kasai was an exceptional teacher. I was even her T.A. for a semester my senior year. But it doesn't necessarily mean I learned biology; at least I don't remember learning biology. I took biology in college. "Biology for Non-Majors." No kidding. Five days per week. My classmates and I did the work. Sort of. That was the class where the soon-to-retirement professor took role each day by passing an attendance sheet up and down the rows. My four buddies and I had a system. I attended class on Tuesdays and dutifully signed my amigos in as present. And, no, I didn't learn biology there either. I do remember having a book, and once passing a tapeworm in a jar from one row to the next.

And so this week I found myself "teaching biology." Payback, maybe. Ironically, the unit this week was on "viruses," and I came down with a virus of my own. NyQuil is now my bedtime friend. Biology included lots of terms that took me days to even learn how to pronounce. I told the kids in each class they knew as much about biology as I did. The kids in AP Biology easily agreed.

I learned that some classes and subjects can be "faked." English, history, music, drama and language arts have already provided me ample room for fake teaching moments. If I ever get assigned to a P.E. class I am sure I will be money. But some subjects cannot be faked. Biology is one. And while the "fake it 'til you make it" mandate did improve for me over the week, I will continue to experience a steep learning curve this next week.

I remember reading somewhere that most adults, almost all adults have moments in their work careers when they are sure they are unprepared and under-qualified to do what they're being paid to do; wondering if/when someday someone else will call them out. Being a pastor I more than relate. I also know what it is to feel under-qualified to be a husband and father, still to this day.

Grace is being given something you do not deserve. With God, it's being given a freedom and a status and a community for which I am not qualified. This week, in spite of my own virus field study (head cold) and another week of biology classes I am even more mystified by God's incredible and abundant grace to me.

And I remain thankful that surgeons and airplane pilots and people who build airplanes at Boeing don't feel under-qualified. At least I hope so.