Epic Fail

“I expect you to fail.”

Perhaps not the most encouraging words, especially from a principal in the year’s first chapel, but maybe students could see its deeper message: permission to be human, permission to stop the charade of having it all together, permission to try new things without guaranteed success, permission to work at--maybe even joy--things without having obvious talent, permission to fall flat on one’s face without losing face. In short, they heard “Free to Fail,” the first part of this year’s theme.

Our culture’s rat-raced obsession with success doesn’t quite fit that: athletes shuttled from one skill-enhancing clinic to another in expectation of better college prospects, students cramming extra tutoring--in lieu of sleep--into the nightly homework load for chances of a higher GPA or raised SAT scores, moms threatening sons that forgotten homework leads to flipping burgers at McDonalds, dads verifying that the current coach can ensure their daughters a Div. I scholarship, and the list goes on.

Why do we avoid at all costs our inevitable failures? Why do we fear anything that is less than advancement maximized at every opportunity? Why do we enslave ourselves to minimizing every shortcoming, or at least hiding it from others, even ones who likely share it? Why do we lash out when we perceive that someone is holding us back?

Being “Free to Fail” calls us to what we often forget: God’s love. It reminds us who we are is not based on our getting ahead or our falling behind. It beckons each one of us to see our identity as One Loved by God, not by the number of things we cross off our to-do list or the sum of our failures. And, if we can begin to see our own worth wholly tied to the grace poured out on the cross, maybe we can see that about others and their failures too.

Running on Empty

Earlier this week, quiet stillness reigned in the classrooms at CCCS. Aside from teachers hanging one last poster on the wall or dusting off textbooks from summer storage, these open doors led into empty seats, empty tables, empty whiteboards, empty homework trays.

Admittedly, I initially thought, "This is the calm before the storm. Come the first days of school, quiet stillness will be long forgotten. Enjoy the silence while it lasts."

Moments later, though, I caught a vision through the windows of another classroom. Even though not a single student was around to fill the air with her voice, plop a rear end down in those seats, or strew her backpack contents over the tables, the room was a flurry of activity.

It was anything but empty! Prayers for the students offered by teachers and parents hovered in the air. Excited anticipation placed itself on the seats in the front row, while fear claimed the spots in back. The lofty goals and dreams for future success had written themselves all over the boards. Stacked up high on the tables were stories, of both joy and hardship, that each student would experience through the school year.

In these very first days of school, I have seen this vision becoming reality as the rooms fill with physical bodies when the bells ring. In a way, maybe that reality is part of catching glimpses of God, going in and out of the doors with the students, filling the seemingly empty spaces around them, calling them to live out their fears, hopes, joys, sorrows, and anything else filled with Him too.