Defining Moments: (Motorcycle) Helmet of Salvation

On Tuesday afternoon, I put a Carolina Tiger Rescue sticker on my car. After visiting the facility in July and learning what the Rescue does, I decided to become a member and supporter. I toured the facility with my aunt, my sister-in-law, and my nephews, and we had a great time while learning a lot. We also enjoyed a lovely meal in downtown Pittsboro afterward and found an interesting thrift shop near the restaurant. One of my nephews bought a gift for his grandmother; another bought a motorcycle helmet for himself. Does he ride a motorcycle? Nope. Does he have use for the helmet? Nope. But he thought it was cool, so he bought it.

Six years ago July, I was sitting in the outdoor chapel at my favorite camp listening to one of my friends speak during worship. My friend was speaking about putting on the armor of God and making that armor accessible to girls today. The passage she read was from Ephesians 6:
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.
Her entire message was good, but the part that deeply impacted me was the part about the helmet of salvation. No. She didn’t suggest wearing a motorcycle helmet as a reminder of God’s salvation—although that image definitely provides one of great protection—especially when the helmet sits so large on the body like it did on my nephew—but she did offer a suggestion: brush your hair.

Profound, huh? For me it was.

I am a hair farmer. I grow my hair. I give it away. I grow it again.
I wash it. I let it dry naturally.
I wear it down until it starts to bother me. I pull it back. I put it in a ball when it’s long enough.
And that’s about it.

For awhile there, I was putting up my hair immediately after getting up. I was leaving it up all day, taking it down at night, and going to bed. There were many days when I didn’t brush it at all because I didn’t really need to.

But then my friend spoke. And she suggested that every time we brush our hair, we imagine putting on the helmet of salvation. And I thought the idea was brilliant. So I started brushing my hair (almost) every day.

Just this morning, I was running late, so I considered just pulling back my hair and leaving. But then I looked at my brush and thought about how anxious I’d been feeling at work and decided that I needed that helmet of salvation—a helmet of protection from the anxiety of this world—from stress, fear, negativity, jealousy, anger, frustration, and more. So I intentionally stopped and brushed my hair, and I prayed for God to surround and protect me with light, grace, and salvation.

Will you do the same with me tomorrow and in the days to come?
Will you wear your helmet of salvation?
Not your thrift-store motorcycle helmet of bulk—
but your prayers for hope and the mind of Christ—
your breath for peace and the heart of God…
which is, my dear friends, the heart of love.

Defining Moments: To Shave Or Not To Shave

I remember shaving my left forearm when I was in elementary school. I don’t know what inspired me to do this. I suppose I was curious as to the function of the razor. So I shaved my left forearm. Thankfully the hair grew back normally.

I do not, however, remember first shaving my legs. I don’t know what inspired me to do this either. I suppose I was following peer pressure. So I shaved my legs. And my leg hair has never been the same.

Not trying to gross anyone out, but, thanks to my dad, I have man legs.

One summer at camp, a friend dared me not to shave my legs for the summer. I took the dare. As I entered the movie theatre one weekend afternoon, the ticket-taker tore my ticket stub, looking down as he did, and said, “To the left, sir.” Then he looked up and realized I was a woman and was mortified. I laughed. I have man legs.

I also have terrible vision. When in the shower, I cannot see my legs well enough to accurately shave them. So I need to shave in the bathtub. Then, more often than not, I get razor burn. So I prefer to shave with an electric razor. Then, sometimes I still get razor burn.

Shaving is a pain. Literally. And it takes up time that I could use for something else—like sleeping. So all in all, shaving is not a priority for me. Is it any wonder, then, that shaving is an activity that I often skip?

[Point of clarification: I’m talking about my shaving my legs. A Garbage Pail kid that I had as a kid instilled in me an aversion to stinky arm-pit hair.]

Back up to late last December…I hadn’t shaved for quite sometime, yet my family was preparing to go on a cruise and my parents had requested that my leg hair be gone for the trip. It was a reasonable request. My legs do look much better shaven, and I’ve taken reasonable shaving requests before. I actually took a request to shave that summer I took the dare, and I shaved my legs for my birthday. It was my birthday present to everyone else!

But when I got into the bathtub on December 29, 2013, I had a full meltdown. I imagine it sounds ridiculous—especially since I actually like how clean shaven legs look and feel—but I was sobbing real tears of anguish at the thought of shaving my legs.

I sent a text to a friend that said:

If a woman doesn’t shave then she is thought disgusting. In general. I know people who are horrified if I don’t shave. Like something is wrong with me. But there’s no reason for shaving other than it’s what is expected for females in America. To me, it just takes time and resources that produce trash that fills up our landfills. And yet. I feel like I must fit the societal norm. Like if I don’t shave my legs then my family and friends will be ashamed to be around me in shorts. Most people don’t mind shaving. I get that. And I suppose that shaving isn’t a huge deal for them. It’s an extension of their shower. But I can’t shave in the shower because I’m that blind. So it takes effort. And I’d really rather do other things. Yet. I let outside forces control my actions.

I sat in the bathtub for around thirty minutes that night. I cried. I prayed. I thought. I wrote. And I got out of the tub with legs as hairy as they were when I got in. I was tired of letting outside forces control me.

I shaved on New Year’s Eve, willingly, as a symbol of getting rid of the old and welcoming the new…

On Friday afternoon, I came home from school to pack for an overnight retreat with some of the girls from my church. I was weary from a long week, so I reclined on the couch to take a little nap after changing clothes and packing. It was at that moment that I realized that I was going to the beach with unshaven legs. I thought, “Uh oh. Some of the girls may think I’m gross. I guess I should shave. But if I shave then I won’t get to nap. And I’m sleepy. And I’m going to be driving a lot this weekend. Oh well, hairy legs. You’re staying hairy. I’m taking a nap.”

The focus of the girls’ retreat was being yourself. The girls talked about the importance of knowing who God had created and was creating them to be and living into that creation instead of the creation of the world. There I was, walking around with hairy legs and shorts, personally not caring that my legs weren’t shaven, but feeling self-conscious that the girls were thinking poorly of me.

And so…I asked if I could share a testimony and told my bathtub story and declared that, sometimes, when life gets really busy and someone dies and work demands so much, we have to make choices and set priorities and that, for me, shaving is nowhere near the top of my priority list. And that’s okay.

I think the girls understood. They even asked why we shave our legs in the first place. I smiled. Then I took my hairy legs down to the dock, listened to the sound of waves and water, and silently thanked God for creating and loving me for me...hairy legs and all.

Defining Moments: Flying Orange Fish

Well over a decade ago, one of my coworker’s daughters and a mutual friend of ours stopped by my classroom to chat. While there, they each picked up an instrument—one of which was, oddly enough, a trombone—and began to play around. One thing led to another and I suggested that they come to the house to make some music and shortly after that we found ourselves having making music together every Tuesday night…

Back up even further to a rainy night at an Atlanta Braves game and find Angela and me brainstorming names for our two person band. We’d been singing together for a few years and recorded one CD, so we wanted a name other than Angela and Deanna. We threw out a plethora of names in an attempt to land on one. And the one we landed on was actually the name of a hymn medley that we put together for a church event…

While sitting on my bathroom floor—and I have no idea why we were sitting on the bathroom floor—A and I decided to singing “Amazing Grace,” “I’ll Fly Away,” and “Victory in Jesus” at our event the next day. We entitled the medley, “The Amazing Flying Victory” and it quickly became one of our most popular songs…which I suppose is why we decided to name our band The Amazing Flying Victories, or AFV for short…

Once A joined those Tuesday night music making sessions, AFV found itself with two more members. We went from one guitar or piano and two voices to the possibility of two guitars, a bass, a keyboard, a djembe, and various pieces of non-pitched percussion—with three or four voices…

I don’t remember the exact moment I decided the band needed a logo, but when that moment occurred, Barb was there with a design. We mass produced the design on each of our band notebooks, on our band suitcases, and on our t-shirts—and it was the image on our band CD. So just what was this image? A flying orange fish…

I began collecting orange fish in 2000. I had the privilege of leading a particularly meaningful worship service at camp that summer. During that worship service, I served communion on an orange fish cutting board. The collection started there…

As part of our school-wide incentive plan, classes receive an eaglet when they do something particularly right or good. During the second week of school, I decided that I would award one eaglet per day during the morning announcements. I named this eaglet the D-eaglet…

B sketched an initial design for the D-eaglet that was an eaglet holding a French horn. She also sketched a few other specialized eaglets that haven’t yet been revealed or introduced. Yet one day it hit me: I already have a design for the D-eaglet. B designed it years ago. It is uniquely me. It is simply designed and easy to produce. And it makes me happy…

The band has dissolved. The non-Angela friendships have, too. But the flying orange fish lives on as the D-eaglet. And I couldn’t be more proud.

Defining Moments: Les Miserables

I was not happy when my youth minister announced that we were going to see Les Miserables.

I wanted to see Phantom of the Opera.

I was ignorantly dumb.

By the time intermission arrived and “One Day More” had reached its final peak, I was literally on the edge of my back-row-of-the-balcony seat.

Honestly, I didn’t fully understand the story-line. My 9th grade self didn’t follow the plot line of the French revolution and the schoolboys that would “wet themselves with blood.”

But I didn’t care.

All I knew is that I was deeply moved by my first Broadway musical and that I one day wanted to play the role of Eponine and belt out “On My Own” with such sadness of reality that I could make grown men cry.

I bought the poster. I bought the soundtrack. I learned all of the words to the original London cast’s soundtrack. And ever since that fateful moment during the summer after my freshman year, I have jumped at the opportunity to see Les Miserables. I may be wrong, but I think I’ve seen it six times on stage—and of course I saw the movie.

The ironic thing? I’m not a fan of Phantom of the Opera.

I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that when I learned that the theme of this year’s Harnett County Reading Council’s writing competition is “Dare to Dream,” I immediately began to sing, “I Dreamed A Dream.”

I sang and I wrote. Sang and wrote. Until the poem that follows emerged…22 years after original inspiration.

Thank you, old youth minister, for laying the foundation for this poem…and the many years of wonderful musical theatre that followed my first show.

------

Dare To Dream: When Tomorrow Comes
With excerpts from Les Miserables

And the music played and
the crowd cheered on and
then she sang and
I cried.

“…I dreamed a dream of times gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving…”

But love did die yet
God was forgiving and
she kept singing so
I wept.

“…Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine un-tasted…”

And we had everything but
we had nothing and
I tried to sing but
I sobbed.

“…But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dreams to shame…”

And the tigers did come and
Shame consumed me and
I tried to sing but
I choked.

…Light slipped away…

Yet dreams are stronger than shame and
Hope is more resilient than heartache and
Sacred silence is louder than thunder and
I dared to dream again.

“…When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes…”

Defining Moments: FBC Erwin Times Three

“I hope you’re paying attention to this,” Lori declared. “You need to know how it’s done so that you can marry my girls when they get married.”

“I’m not ordained,” I replied, “so I can’t marry your girls.”

Looking somewhat surprised and confused, “You’re not ordained?”

“Nope.”

“Do you want to be?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll ordain you. Consider it done.”

And. Well. It’s done.

…

For a long time, I wouldn’t even consider working at a church. I knew too much about church politics to willingly subject myself to church ministry, and yet I somehow found myself applying for a youth ministry job in the spring of 2001. I honestly don’t remember who or what convinced me to apply for the job, but I did.

So when the music minister at FBC Erwin, Teresa, told me that her church was looking for a youth minister as well, I thought to myself, “What the heck. I’ve already applied for one job. Why not just go on and apply for this one, too.” I remember that moment and decision quite vividly—standing among my music teaching colleagues in Teresa’s then brand new office.

The interview at the first church went fine. It was a lead-the-youth-for-a-trial-lesson-and-then-answer-some-questions event. They wanted to know what I could offer their church and I told them. Nothing tricky. No curveballs. I walked away feeling fine.

The interview at FBC Erwin, though, was a doozy. After figuring out where I was supposed to be in the church, I made my way to a large conference table surrounded by lots of people. I sat down and the interview began and I found myself answering all kinds of questions—and these questions weren’t about what I could offer the church. These questions were about me. They probed by thoughts on God and the church and hit all kinds of hot topics. At one point, after the pastor asked what I’d do if one of the youth came to me struggling with same-gender attraction and I’d emphatically answered that I’d first let the kid know that he/she was loved—period—and that I’d then go from there—everyone took an audible breath—realizing how deeply intense the interview had become. I think it surprised all of us. But it was a good surprise that I really appreciated. It’s always good to know who you are working with—not just what they say they can do for you.

Walking back to my car, I found myself passing through the sanctuary alone. For those of you who know the layout of FBC Erwin, then you know that the sanctuary is in a separate building from the conference table and that it is not at all necessary to pass through it to get to the parking lot. But I didn’t know that at the time, so I went back to my car the same way that I had come, and I suddenly found myself so overwhelmed by God’s presence that I fell on my knees and wept. In that moment, I knew that I had found the place from which I’d been running.

…

I worked at FBC Erwin for three years. I led the church’s women’s retreats for many years after that. I visit with the people whenever I can—speaking, singing, or playing handbells. And I’m still in touch with most of my youth and/or their parents. In fact, I was at my youngest youth’s wedding whenever the conversation from above occurred!

After giving my testimony at the church’s business meeting last night and after hearing that the church had overwhelmingly and enthusiastically approved my ordination, I found myself moved to tears by the reality of it all. I am a public school music teacher. I am a part-time music minister. I am not working in full-time vocational ministry nor do I have a secret plan to be doing so sometime soon.

And yet…fourteen years later, the church that called me out of my pattern of running has called me out as minister.

I am deeply humbled. And grateful. And somewhat in awe of the fact that Lori decided what needed to be done and actually made it happen.

***The date and time of Little (future) Reverend Deaton’s ordination service are in the process of being determined. I’ll make an official announcement when details are hashed out.***

Defining Moments: Fireflies In The Dark

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the moment I realized I should return to camp in ’97. Today, I want to share a specific moment from that summer that came to mind as I sat in my church sanctuary last night.

Late one evening, I was praying on the recreation field at camp, I noticed a beautiful moon peaking through a window in the trees. As I continued praying and looking at the moon, I noticed clouds beginning to appear, covering up the light. I knew that I could learn something from the experience, so I decided to stay and learn…only I had already decided what I was going to learn. I had decided that once the clouds moved away and I was able to see the beauty of the night sky again, I would make the parallel that sometimes we cannot see God because circumstances cloud our vision but if we wait patiently and constantly seek God’s face then circumstances will pass and we will see God’s light again.

I was wrong. I didn’t need to sit there to witness that parallel because I didn’t need to learn something I already knew. I needed to learn something else:

Fireflies.

As I sat and waited for the moon to reappear that night, I noticed a firefly. Then I noticed another and another and another until I realized that I was surrounded by little lights. I noticed how small the flickers were but now much light each radiated. I observed how the fireflies’ locations were completely unpredictable. I witnessed how beautiful the fireflies made that summer night. And then it hit me: God was trying to tell me not to forget the little things; God was trying to show me that even in the midst of darkness, there is always light.

I wrote a song about my firefly experience that night and have sung the song countless times since:

Fireflies, fireflies
Rays of hope, short feelings of peace
At the right time they come
To carry us through until the day we see the sun

But I wasn’t thinking anything about that song or experience last night when I went to drop off something in the sanctuary.

After a full morning of getting back into the swing of things at church and after a very busy praise team practice, I decided to take a few minutes for myself and sit in the holy silence of the sanctuary. If you’ve never been alone in a sanctuary at night, then I highly suggest you arrange the experience. It is a truly sacred experience.

When I first walked into the space, I couldn’t see anything. I used my phone to guide me to the first pew where I placed the clipboard I was carrying and then I sat down to breathe in the silence.

A few moments later, I noticed shapes beginning to form. The communion table. The pulpit. The piano. The organ. The chairs in the choir loft. Until eventually I could see everything in the sanctuary. Slowly, very slowly, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and the light from down the hall had seeped in enough for me to see.

As I reflected on last week and the darkness that presented itself following little Sam’s unexpected death, I realized that this is how life would be for the next little while—that as we sit in darkness, breathing in holy silence, our eyes will slowly begin to adjust and we will slowly be able make sense of it all.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
--Psalm 139: 7-12

There is no darkness too dark to consume all of life’s fireflies and sacred moments.
Praise be to God.