It’s ridiculous how happy jeans days make teachers.
Funding, legislation, timing, curriculum, programming, professional requirements, lack of respect, misperceptions, hefty demands, mountains of paperwork, and days of meetings can be discouraging.
Trying to please administration, colleagues, students, and parents can be downright crazy-making.
Doing all of this in fancy clothes day in and day out can be stifling—especially when your work requires your being on the floor, tying dirty shoes, playing on the playground, or wiping snotty noses.
So giving teachers the opportunity to wear jeans—to work in his/her comfort clothes—to do something special—well…it’s really nice.
Granted…we are asked to donate money to a good cause for most of these days: $2. [I’m reminded of scenes from the 80’s movie “Better Off Dead.” “I want my two dollars!”] But, somehow, still, it’s a privilege…
Especially when we know where the money is going.
My status this morning said, “While kids across the country are dressing up for Halloween and anxiously awaiting free candy, teachers at my school are dressing down for Thursday and happily giving money to support a coworker diagnosed with Leukemia. Halloween jeans have never felt this good.”
Shortly after school started, one of my coworkers was diagnosed with Leukemia. The diagnosis came out of nowhere and left many of us feeling punched in the gut. Our staff and students have responded with an outpouring of love through cards, visits, prayers, T-shirts, bracelets, and…jeans.
If you are reading this, I want to ask you to join me and the JES community in praying for Julie. She is a fighter. A woman of faith. A believer in miracles. A hoper in Peace. Pray for Julie’s healing of the body and spirit…and pray for the teachers in your life who give selflessly of themselves each day for hardly any money yet willingly give what they have for the simple pleasure of wearing jeans and supporting those they love.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
The Lost Is Found
About an hour ago, an excited “woo-hoo!” sounded from upstairs. I was having a personal moment of celebration because what was lost had been found. If Luke had written a parable about my predicament, he would have written:
Suppose a teacher has six flash drives and loses one. Doesn’t she check the pockets of all of her pants and jackets until she finds the one that is missing? And when she finds it, doesn’t she picture message all of her friends and say, “Hoooray! I have found my lost flash drive!” and doesn’t she hold the flash drive in the air and grin in the presence of her parents? In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the need for joy and celebration in both everyday life and the church. It was the final sermon in a series of sermons on fasting—on the focal passage of the Lord’s Prayer—on losing to find. It was a slap in the face to me that I had completely botched the last week of fasting—which was less of a giving up of something specific than it was of an adding intentional praise.
Last week was probably the hardest week I’d had since returning to school. I wrote my confession on Thursday, so I don’t need to write it again, but I will add that I left school on Friday feeling totally exhausted and defeated. As I realized through another sermon last night, I had allowed myself to see school as a giant and myself as a grasshopper. I had allowed doubts, frustrations, insecurities, and failures to cloud the certainty of my call back into the public schools.
I began today with the determination to try a do-over of last week’s fast. I was determined that, somehow, I would find encouragement in my days and focus on the positive…
When I got to school this morning, I had a note waiting for me. It was a thank you note that said something to the extent of, “Thank you for giving so selflessly of yourself without expecting anything in return. You are a blessing to J’Ville.” [I left the note at school so that I could refer back to it when having a rough day.]
When I got home from work today, I had a FB message waiting for me. It said, “Hey friend. Prayers for you this day that you would hop high in very tall grass. I know that you will find a path of grace and peace in all the weeds that seem to be in the way to something beautiful in public schools.”
When I receive words like these, I have no trouble keeping my determination…
But I still have little doubt that my determination will be challenged once students return to classes tomorrow and the reality of my still being behind sets in.
Yet I’m going to do my best to remain positive…to celebrate the small things…to not lose my flash drive again but to totally lose myself…and to remember that I, alone, am limited but that I, with Christ, “can do all things.”
Suppose a teacher has six flash drives and loses one. Doesn’t she check the pockets of all of her pants and jackets until she finds the one that is missing? And when she finds it, doesn’t she picture message all of her friends and say, “Hoooray! I have found my lost flash drive!” and doesn’t she hold the flash drive in the air and grin in the presence of her parents? In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the need for joy and celebration in both everyday life and the church. It was the final sermon in a series of sermons on fasting—on the focal passage of the Lord’s Prayer—on losing to find. It was a slap in the face to me that I had completely botched the last week of fasting—which was less of a giving up of something specific than it was of an adding intentional praise.
Last week was probably the hardest week I’d had since returning to school. I wrote my confession on Thursday, so I don’t need to write it again, but I will add that I left school on Friday feeling totally exhausted and defeated. As I realized through another sermon last night, I had allowed myself to see school as a giant and myself as a grasshopper. I had allowed doubts, frustrations, insecurities, and failures to cloud the certainty of my call back into the public schools.
I began today with the determination to try a do-over of last week’s fast. I was determined that, somehow, I would find encouragement in my days and focus on the positive…
When I got to school this morning, I had a note waiting for me. It was a thank you note that said something to the extent of, “Thank you for giving so selflessly of yourself without expecting anything in return. You are a blessing to J’Ville.” [I left the note at school so that I could refer back to it when having a rough day.]
When I got home from work today, I had a FB message waiting for me. It said, “Hey friend. Prayers for you this day that you would hop high in very tall grass. I know that you will find a path of grace and peace in all the weeds that seem to be in the way to something beautiful in public schools.”
When I receive words like these, I have no trouble keeping my determination…
But I still have little doubt that my determination will be challenged once students return to classes tomorrow and the reality of my still being behind sets in.
Yet I’m going to do my best to remain positive…to celebrate the small things…to not lose my flash drive again but to totally lose myself…and to remember that I, alone, am limited but that I, with Christ, “can do all things.”
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Time Out
I’ve had to put myself in time-out two times this week.
A variety of factors have combined to produce a very bad mood.
Rather than submitting my coworkers to my terrible disposition, I’ve locked myself in my room and tried to work my way through my frustrations.
It hasn’t worked.
I’m still quite aggravated by the many factors I cannot control and the many more that I can but don’t seem to have the time or organizational system in place to influence.
This morning as I was preparing to do the morning announcements, I realized that we have a teacher workday on Monday. When I learned this fact, I literally cheered. I need a workday. My colleagues need a workday. The kids need a break. We all need a breather…
And so, friends, I confess my current negativity tonight.
I admit my utter humanity and inability to always remain a calm, non-anxious presence in the midst of high stress and seeming chaos.
And I acknowledge that I, chaplain-at-heart though I be, too, need a chaplain to listen, support, and respect me for the person I am and work I attempt to do…
Even when that work leads me to put myself in time-out.
A variety of factors have combined to produce a very bad mood.
Rather than submitting my coworkers to my terrible disposition, I’ve locked myself in my room and tried to work my way through my frustrations.
It hasn’t worked.
I’m still quite aggravated by the many factors I cannot control and the many more that I can but don’t seem to have the time or organizational system in place to influence.
This morning as I was preparing to do the morning announcements, I realized that we have a teacher workday on Monday. When I learned this fact, I literally cheered. I need a workday. My colleagues need a workday. The kids need a break. We all need a breather…
And so, friends, I confess my current negativity tonight.
I admit my utter humanity and inability to always remain a calm, non-anxious presence in the midst of high stress and seeming chaos.
And I acknowledge that I, chaplain-at-heart though I be, too, need a chaplain to listen, support, and respect me for the person I am and work I attempt to do…
Even when that work leads me to put myself in time-out.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Amelia's Manners
Amelia and Griffin aren’t the most athletic children in the world, so, after her first week of school, when Amelia responded that her favorite part of Kindergarten was sports, we were all surprised.
Currently, though she still likes sports, Amelia’s favorite part of Kindergarten is Letterland. Evidently, every letter of the alphabet has a name and story, and the names and stories are so interesting that they’re going to have an entire Letterland program.
Last night, after we properly greeted one another, Amelia and I decided to make cookies. She put on her apron that said, “Curious Chef,” and got to work immediately. With adult supervision, she sounded out a few words, picked out a couple of site words, told me when to stop when setting the oven temperature, measured the borrowed oil, cracked the eggs, mixed the dough, got out the baking sheets, rolled the balls of cookie dough, put the triangular marks on the cookies, shaped the giant triangular cookie, and told me when to stop when setting the timer.
Though she didn’t put the cookies into the oven, she did something that I thought notable. She said, “Excuse me, please, Nana. Dee and I need to put the cookies in the oven.” At another point during our visit last night, she said, “Yes ‘mam,” and called me, “Miss Aunt Dee.”
Amelia has never been a rude child. Her parents raise her and her brother well. In fact, they are both creative, imaginative, inventive, and caring children.
A couple of weeks ago, after my sister rescued a crate, a few tennis balls, and some records for me—yes, records—the big black things that most of my students have never seen—the crate cracked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Amelia said, “I’ll fix it!” She ran out of the room, got her mending supplies, ran back into the room, and mended the crate with blue painters tape. She then told she couldn’t handle the smell of my feet anymore and moved to the other side of the room. After Griffin sillily and voluntarily smelled my feet and made a really ugly face, they both went upstairs to get their shoe deodorant and spray my shoes. (The shoes I was wearing really did stink, as did my feet ).
So yes. Amelia has never been a rude child. But I can tell she’s learning manners in Kindergarten.
I am proud.
Currently, though she still likes sports, Amelia’s favorite part of Kindergarten is Letterland. Evidently, every letter of the alphabet has a name and story, and the names and stories are so interesting that they’re going to have an entire Letterland program.
Last night, after we properly greeted one another, Amelia and I decided to make cookies. She put on her apron that said, “Curious Chef,” and got to work immediately. With adult supervision, she sounded out a few words, picked out a couple of site words, told me when to stop when setting the oven temperature, measured the borrowed oil, cracked the eggs, mixed the dough, got out the baking sheets, rolled the balls of cookie dough, put the triangular marks on the cookies, shaped the giant triangular cookie, and told me when to stop when setting the timer.
Though she didn’t put the cookies into the oven, she did something that I thought notable. She said, “Excuse me, please, Nana. Dee and I need to put the cookies in the oven.” At another point during our visit last night, she said, “Yes ‘mam,” and called me, “Miss Aunt Dee.”
Amelia has never been a rude child. Her parents raise her and her brother well. In fact, they are both creative, imaginative, inventive, and caring children.
A couple of weeks ago, after my sister rescued a crate, a few tennis balls, and some records for me—yes, records—the big black things that most of my students have never seen—the crate cracked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Amelia said, “I’ll fix it!” She ran out of the room, got her mending supplies, ran back into the room, and mended the crate with blue painters tape. She then told she couldn’t handle the smell of my feet anymore and moved to the other side of the room. After Griffin sillily and voluntarily smelled my feet and made a really ugly face, they both went upstairs to get their shoe deodorant and spray my shoes. (The shoes I was wearing really did stink, as did my feet ).
So yes. Amelia has never been a rude child. But I can tell she’s learning manners in Kindergarten.
I am proud.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Living In The Real World Is Tough Business
For the better part of three years, I devoted my life to educating women and teenagers about issues of human exploitation. I studied facts concerning human trafficking, bullying, pornography, media exploitation, and land exploitation. I spoke. I wrote. I coordinated a statewide symposium, created an interactive prayer exhibit, and set up an informational booth at state and national meetings. I changed my habits, signed petitions, and attempted only to buy fair trade coffee and chocolate and to not use Styrofoam if at all possible. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how people refused to become involved in fighting issues of human exploitation once they had been exposed to their realities…
Then I stopped working for WMU and everything changed.
The realities of human exploitation weren’t on my radar screen every day.
Only. They were. Just in different ways.
Most of them ways I cannot control.
Hospitals are bound by hygiene rules that require disposable products. My job at the hospital was to serve as a chaplain, not educate about human exploitation.
Mrs. Flora really likes paper towels and paper plates. My job is to spend time with her and help her shop, not try to change her ways.
Schools are underfunded and pushed for time. My job at the school is to teach music…although I suppose, in time, I could lobby for changes that encourage environmentally responsibility.
Additionally:
Coffee, creamer, sugar, non-sugar sweetener, hot chocolate, tea, chocolate, candy, and treats are expensive. Fair trade products are considerably more expensive. Teachers are underfunded, too.
Students watch a lot of TV and movies, play a lot of video games, and listen to a lot of music. As a result, many of them think that parents and teachers are buffoons, that being mean is funny, that they are entitled to whatever they want, and that using graphic language and having thoughts that include words such as “suck” and “balls” is perfectly normal. I teach elementary school. Detailed sex education, including the dangers of pornography, is not in our curriculum.
After work on Tuesday, I wrote both my former boss and assistant and said something like this: “Educating about human exploitation is a whole lot easier than living in it every day. Seeing it played out is really hard. And I feel so helpless in doing anything about it. Living in the real world is tough business.”
And it is.
I’m still doing what I can to fight exploitation. But providing mugs for coffee club and taking my own cup into McDonalds seems so small when I look outside and see kids throwing other kids on the ground and realize that they are watching unhealthy images that will forever stay in their minds. Yet I will continue to do what I can—not the least of which is pray—and I will ask you to do the same.
This is not theory anymore, friends. It’s not education. It is real life. And real life in the real world is tough business.
Then I stopped working for WMU and everything changed.
The realities of human exploitation weren’t on my radar screen every day.
Only. They were. Just in different ways.
Most of them ways I cannot control.
Hospitals are bound by hygiene rules that require disposable products. My job at the hospital was to serve as a chaplain, not educate about human exploitation.
Mrs. Flora really likes paper towels and paper plates. My job is to spend time with her and help her shop, not try to change her ways.
Schools are underfunded and pushed for time. My job at the school is to teach music…although I suppose, in time, I could lobby for changes that encourage environmentally responsibility.
Additionally:
Coffee, creamer, sugar, non-sugar sweetener, hot chocolate, tea, chocolate, candy, and treats are expensive. Fair trade products are considerably more expensive. Teachers are underfunded, too.
Students watch a lot of TV and movies, play a lot of video games, and listen to a lot of music. As a result, many of them think that parents and teachers are buffoons, that being mean is funny, that they are entitled to whatever they want, and that using graphic language and having thoughts that include words such as “suck” and “balls” is perfectly normal. I teach elementary school. Detailed sex education, including the dangers of pornography, is not in our curriculum.
After work on Tuesday, I wrote both my former boss and assistant and said something like this: “Educating about human exploitation is a whole lot easier than living in it every day. Seeing it played out is really hard. And I feel so helpless in doing anything about it. Living in the real world is tough business.”
And it is.
I’m still doing what I can to fight exploitation. But providing mugs for coffee club and taking my own cup into McDonalds seems so small when I look outside and see kids throwing other kids on the ground and realize that they are watching unhealthy images that will forever stay in their minds. Yet I will continue to do what I can—not the least of which is pray—and I will ask you to do the same.
This is not theory anymore, friends. It’s not education. It is real life. And real life in the real world is tough business.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Happily Ever After: Till Death Do Us Part
Each year, the North Carolina Reading Council holds a Young Author’s Writing Competition. A couple of years before I stopped teaching in 2007, I decided to enter the adult category of the competition. This year, I’ve decided to do the same.
This year’s theme is “Happily Ever After: What’s Your Story?”
This is my story:
Hey there—My name is Deanna,
And you are…? Of course I will
Pray with you. And you want to know if I can
Perform your wedding ceremony, too? Am
I ordained? No. I am not ordained. But I can still perform your wedding.
Love is what matters tonight. The legal stuff can come tomorrow…
Your mom had a stroke on Sunday? She means
Everything to you? Blood is still coursing through her
Veins but her eyes will never open again?...
Enter, now, into this sacred partnership of love. Promise, now, to honor and
Respect one another for as long as you both shall live.
And remember these witnesses surrounding you tonight:
Father, mother, sister, nurses, friends—affirming your new lives together while standing in
the grief of life falling apart…You want
To take home a copy of the vows? Of course I’ll make you a copy…And you’re right. This has been an
Extraordinary event. One that I will not forget…You will
Remove life support after midnight? But you want to say your goodbyes right now? Take your
time. You have much to celebrate. I will come back. And I will stay with your mom until her soul
passes into happily after ever.
What about you, reader? What is your “Happily Ever After?”
This year’s theme is “Happily Ever After: What’s Your Story?”
This is my story:
Hey there—My name is Deanna,
And you are…? Of course I will
Pray with you. And you want to know if I can
Perform your wedding ceremony, too? Am
I ordained? No. I am not ordained. But I can still perform your wedding.
Love is what matters tonight. The legal stuff can come tomorrow…
Your mom had a stroke on Sunday? She means
Everything to you? Blood is still coursing through her
Veins but her eyes will never open again?...
Enter, now, into this sacred partnership of love. Promise, now, to honor and
Respect one another for as long as you both shall live.
And remember these witnesses surrounding you tonight:
Father, mother, sister, nurses, friends—affirming your new lives together while standing in
the grief of life falling apart…You want
To take home a copy of the vows? Of course I’ll make you a copy…And you’re right. This has been an
Extraordinary event. One that I will not forget…You will
Remove life support after midnight? But you want to say your goodbyes right now? Take your
time. You have much to celebrate. I will come back. And I will stay with your mom until her soul
passes into happily after ever.
What about you, reader? What is your “Happily Ever After?”
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Sufficient Grace and Tennis Balls
I’ve been wearing my rain gear for car duty this week. I realize that I look somewhat ridiculous in rain boots and a rain coat but I want to be properly dressed and prepared. Rain is something I can prepare for. Violence is not.
Don’t worry. I’ve not had a violent encounter this week. But I have had the realization that if someone were to get angry at car duty then there would be nowhere to hide. We are quite vulnerable standing in that parking lot. What’s more. I told my parents last night that if someone were to open fire at car duty then they’d be hearing my name on the news for being a teacher who sacrificed her life for her students. In a brief moment of clarity yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t hesitate to throw myself over my students to save them…I’d probably just crush them in the process.
I also told my class of 5thgraders yesterday that they’d be hard pressed to find someone who cares for them much more than I. I inwardly chuckled as I watched them think aloud and come to the conclusion that I was right.
I have a problem with caring. I care a whole lot.
…
In other news, my devotion this morning confessed:“Gracious Lord Jesus, Master of things great and small, I need to talk to you about how often I sweat the small stuff. I pray about the big challenges and receive your guidance and power. Then little annoyances blow my cool and I get suited up with your full armor only to fight little skirmishes over trifles. It’s good to know that your grace is sufficient for all things.”
And for what was God’s grace sufficient today? Tennis balls.
I’ve been trying to get tennis balls on the bottoms of my chairs since school began. I need them to help minimize noise. I got most of the chairs covered a couple of weeks ago, but I ran out of tennis balls. I bought more balls on Tuesday evening and began cutting them for the chairs today. After covering the legs of three chairs, I looked around the room to see how many more balls I needed to cut. It was in that moment that I realized that two more tennis balls had been taken from the bottom of my chairs. The total number of stolen, sliced open tennis balls is now four.
For the next few moments, I was irrationally angry. I was angry at my students, their parents, television and the media, big corporations, the church, government, and myself. I was angry that someone had taken my tennis balls. I was confused as to why they wanted busted-open balls. I was mad at the thought that my students were taking the tennis balls just to see if they could get away with it—because they think that breaking the rules and stealing is fun. I was furious that I’d let them get away with it. How in the world could a kid take a tennis ball off of the bottom of a chair without me noticing? I was sad at the thought that my students could want a tennis ball so badly that they must steal a busted one. I was in quite a mood.
Then I remembered my devotion from this morning and realized, quite quickly, that the tennis balls were “small things” and “little annoyances.” So I confessed my frustration to God and a friend. Asked for forgiveness. Took a few deep breaths. Said a few prayers for my students. Focused on picking up 75 pizzas for Parent Involvement Night at school. And let my mood dissipate.
It certainly is good to know that God’s grace is sufficient for all things…and that I bought extra tennis balls.
Don’t worry. I’ve not had a violent encounter this week. But I have had the realization that if someone were to get angry at car duty then there would be nowhere to hide. We are quite vulnerable standing in that parking lot. What’s more. I told my parents last night that if someone were to open fire at car duty then they’d be hearing my name on the news for being a teacher who sacrificed her life for her students. In a brief moment of clarity yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t hesitate to throw myself over my students to save them…I’d probably just crush them in the process.
I also told my class of 5thgraders yesterday that they’d be hard pressed to find someone who cares for them much more than I. I inwardly chuckled as I watched them think aloud and come to the conclusion that I was right.
I have a problem with caring. I care a whole lot.
…
In other news, my devotion this morning confessed:“Gracious Lord Jesus, Master of things great and small, I need to talk to you about how often I sweat the small stuff. I pray about the big challenges and receive your guidance and power. Then little annoyances blow my cool and I get suited up with your full armor only to fight little skirmishes over trifles. It’s good to know that your grace is sufficient for all things.”
And for what was God’s grace sufficient today? Tennis balls.
I’ve been trying to get tennis balls on the bottoms of my chairs since school began. I need them to help minimize noise. I got most of the chairs covered a couple of weeks ago, but I ran out of tennis balls. I bought more balls on Tuesday evening and began cutting them for the chairs today. After covering the legs of three chairs, I looked around the room to see how many more balls I needed to cut. It was in that moment that I realized that two more tennis balls had been taken from the bottom of my chairs. The total number of stolen, sliced open tennis balls is now four.
For the next few moments, I was irrationally angry. I was angry at my students, their parents, television and the media, big corporations, the church, government, and myself. I was angry that someone had taken my tennis balls. I was confused as to why they wanted busted-open balls. I was mad at the thought that my students were taking the tennis balls just to see if they could get away with it—because they think that breaking the rules and stealing is fun. I was furious that I’d let them get away with it. How in the world could a kid take a tennis ball off of the bottom of a chair without me noticing? I was sad at the thought that my students could want a tennis ball so badly that they must steal a busted one. I was in quite a mood.
Then I remembered my devotion from this morning and realized, quite quickly, that the tennis balls were “small things” and “little annoyances.” So I confessed my frustration to God and a friend. Asked for forgiveness. Took a few deep breaths. Said a few prayers for my students. Focused on picking up 75 pizzas for Parent Involvement Night at school. And let my mood dissipate.
It certainly is good to know that God’s grace is sufficient for all things…and that I bought extra tennis balls.
Monday, October 7, 2013
One Opposite of Division? Peace.
Week Four Fast: Food. Success! I successfully made it through my week of fasting the grocery store and CVS. The only time I stepped foot into the grocery store was when I was shopping for Mrs. Flora, and even then I only bought the items that she needed. The week was hard. I missed shopping for deals. But I prayed a lot, saved quite a bit of money, and learned that I could survive without buying gifts. Because of my fasting momentum, I was even able to go into Hallmark and only purchase what I went to buy. That is huge.
Week Five Fast: Division.
I began this week’s fast by joining my church. I’ve been going to Antioch for quite some time, but I hadn’t felt led to move my membership until three Sundays ago. I waited that Sunday because I hadn’t talked about it with my family—and because we only sang one verse of the invitation hymn. I waited last Sunday because we didn’t sing an invitation hymn at all. I almost waited yesterday because so many people responded to the invitation. But I walked my two pews of an aisle and stood beside the pastor and declared my desire to stand alongside him and the church as we move forward together. I didn’t realize until later how truly significant it was—and is—that I joined the church the week that our pastor challenged us to fast division…the thoughts that separate…the things that keep us apart.
The timing of each week’s fast has been serendipitous.
When I think of division, I think of separation. Misunderstanding. Bitterness. Discord. Battles. Lack of harmony. Absence of unity. Situations unresolved. Fear of being seen.
When I think of division, I do not think of peace. When I think of division, I do not think of compassion…or love.
Is it any surprise, then, that my devotion from yesterday was a prayer for peace and that my devotion for today is a prayer for compassion?
Prince of Peace, whose peace cannot be kept unless it is shared, I seek to receive your peace and communicate peace to others today…I know that if I want peace in my heart, I cannot harbor resentment. I seek forgiveness for any negative criticism, gossip, or destructive innuendos I have spoken. Forgive any way that I have brought bitterness to my relationships instead of helping bring peace into misunderstandings. You have shown me that being a reconciler is essential for a continued, sustained experience of your peace. Most of all, I know that lasting peace is the result of your indwelling Spirit, your presence in my mind and heart…Show me how to be a communicator of peace that passes understanding. Help me picture the people with whom I am to be a peacemaker, bringing healing reconciliation, deeper understanding, and open communication.
And who do I picture? My students and colleagues. Especially my 5th graders…although today I failed miserably at being a communicator of peace.
Gracious God, repeatedly in the Gospels I read the words, “He had compassion.”…Thank you, Lord, that you have resources, people, and unanticipated strength to help me do today what those around me cannot imagine possible—show compassion and love. Break through my protective layers and the protective layers of those I meet with blessings we cannot anticipate. Then, send me to the broken-hearted to communicate Your healing power.
And where has God sent me? Back to the public schools. To work with students, teachers, staff, and parents. Especially 5th graders…although most of the time I feel that I fail miserably at breaking through their walls.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the great things,
The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul.
The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,
The sudden storms beyond our control.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the small things,
The little pin-prick troubles that annoy,
The persistent worries, buzzing and unrelenting,
The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy.
(--Annie Johnson Flint)
God’s grace is great enough.
God’s strength is strong enough.
God’s desire for unity is powerful enough.
I am so glad.
Week Five Fast: Division.
I began this week’s fast by joining my church. I’ve been going to Antioch for quite some time, but I hadn’t felt led to move my membership until three Sundays ago. I waited that Sunday because I hadn’t talked about it with my family—and because we only sang one verse of the invitation hymn. I waited last Sunday because we didn’t sing an invitation hymn at all. I almost waited yesterday because so many people responded to the invitation. But I walked my two pews of an aisle and stood beside the pastor and declared my desire to stand alongside him and the church as we move forward together. I didn’t realize until later how truly significant it was—and is—that I joined the church the week that our pastor challenged us to fast division…the thoughts that separate…the things that keep us apart.
The timing of each week’s fast has been serendipitous.
When I think of division, I think of separation. Misunderstanding. Bitterness. Discord. Battles. Lack of harmony. Absence of unity. Situations unresolved. Fear of being seen.
When I think of division, I do not think of peace. When I think of division, I do not think of compassion…or love.
Is it any surprise, then, that my devotion from yesterday was a prayer for peace and that my devotion for today is a prayer for compassion?
Prince of Peace, whose peace cannot be kept unless it is shared, I seek to receive your peace and communicate peace to others today…I know that if I want peace in my heart, I cannot harbor resentment. I seek forgiveness for any negative criticism, gossip, or destructive innuendos I have spoken. Forgive any way that I have brought bitterness to my relationships instead of helping bring peace into misunderstandings. You have shown me that being a reconciler is essential for a continued, sustained experience of your peace. Most of all, I know that lasting peace is the result of your indwelling Spirit, your presence in my mind and heart…Show me how to be a communicator of peace that passes understanding. Help me picture the people with whom I am to be a peacemaker, bringing healing reconciliation, deeper understanding, and open communication.
And who do I picture? My students and colleagues. Especially my 5th graders…although today I failed miserably at being a communicator of peace.
Gracious God, repeatedly in the Gospels I read the words, “He had compassion.”…Thank you, Lord, that you have resources, people, and unanticipated strength to help me do today what those around me cannot imagine possible—show compassion and love. Break through my protective layers and the protective layers of those I meet with blessings we cannot anticipate. Then, send me to the broken-hearted to communicate Your healing power.
And where has God sent me? Back to the public schools. To work with students, teachers, staff, and parents. Especially 5th graders…although most of the time I feel that I fail miserably at breaking through their walls.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the great things,
The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul.
The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,
The sudden storms beyond our control.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the small things,
The little pin-prick troubles that annoy,
The persistent worries, buzzing and unrelenting,
The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy.
(--Annie Johnson Flint)
God’s grace is great enough.
God’s strength is strong enough.
God’s desire for unity is powerful enough.
I am so glad.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Dear Students...
Dear Students,
I started teaching long before you were born. What I remember most about that first year of teaching is how ignorant I was. I didn’t know how to work with you. I didn’t understand the developmental differences between grade levels, and I didn’t know how to put into practice the things I’d learned in college. But I did my best to figure it out.
I showed up every day and taught as well as I could. Sometimes, as well as I could was a total failure. Sometimes you were bored. Sometimes you were out of control. Sometimes I yelled at you. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Sometimes I went home at the end of the day and cried. Shoot. Sometimes I’d close my door and cry. Teaching is hard. Especially when you, students, act like you don’t care or when you don’t treat your classmates and me with kindness and respect.
But I kept showing up. And I kept trying my best. And, most importantly, I kept loving you. I don’t think I’ve told you I love you. But I do. I love you because you are you. Not because of anything you have done or will do. I love you for you.
As my first year turned to my second, and my second to third, and my third to fourth, all the way up to eight, I became a better teacher. I learned how to work with you and I learned the differences between you as a 1st grader and you as a 5th grader. I had a lot of fun with you and you had a lot of fun with me.
But I’ll tell you a secret, student, I was very sad. On the outside, I was fine. But on the inside I felt very alone. During my eighth year of teaching, one of my friends died and a few of my other friends and I began growing apart. It was all very hard. One thing led to another and I decided that I needed to stop teaching. I needed to learn to be content with myself and I needed to follow a life-long dream of finishing my graduate degree and working in full-time ministry. So I did.
And now, five years later, I’m back with you. I’m back to going to bed and getting up early even though I prefer going to bed and getting up late. I’m back to not being able to run errands or eat out for lunch; to not being able to take naps; and to making considerably less money than my other career. But you know what? I’m happy. I’m happy because I get to spend my days with you.
So the next time you doubt if anyone cares, think about me.
I care about you.
I choose you.
I love you.
I respect you.
Give me a chance.
Together we can do great things.
Love,
Ms. Deaton
I started teaching long before you were born. What I remember most about that first year of teaching is how ignorant I was. I didn’t know how to work with you. I didn’t understand the developmental differences between grade levels, and I didn’t know how to put into practice the things I’d learned in college. But I did my best to figure it out.
I showed up every day and taught as well as I could. Sometimes, as well as I could was a total failure. Sometimes you were bored. Sometimes you were out of control. Sometimes I yelled at you. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Sometimes I went home at the end of the day and cried. Shoot. Sometimes I’d close my door and cry. Teaching is hard. Especially when you, students, act like you don’t care or when you don’t treat your classmates and me with kindness and respect.
But I kept showing up. And I kept trying my best. And, most importantly, I kept loving you. I don’t think I’ve told you I love you. But I do. I love you because you are you. Not because of anything you have done or will do. I love you for you.
As my first year turned to my second, and my second to third, and my third to fourth, all the way up to eight, I became a better teacher. I learned how to work with you and I learned the differences between you as a 1st grader and you as a 5th grader. I had a lot of fun with you and you had a lot of fun with me.
But I’ll tell you a secret, student, I was very sad. On the outside, I was fine. But on the inside I felt very alone. During my eighth year of teaching, one of my friends died and a few of my other friends and I began growing apart. It was all very hard. One thing led to another and I decided that I needed to stop teaching. I needed to learn to be content with myself and I needed to follow a life-long dream of finishing my graduate degree and working in full-time ministry. So I did.
And now, five years later, I’m back with you. I’m back to going to bed and getting up early even though I prefer going to bed and getting up late. I’m back to not being able to run errands or eat out for lunch; to not being able to take naps; and to making considerably less money than my other career. But you know what? I’m happy. I’m happy because I get to spend my days with you.
So the next time you doubt if anyone cares, think about me.
I care about you.
I choose you.
I love you.
I respect you.
Give me a chance.
Together we can do great things.
Love,
Ms. Deaton
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