I collect orange fish. My mom collects piano figurines. Finley The Brother-in-Law collects Rubik’s Cubes. Whenever I see a Rubik’s Cube that looks like it belongs in Finley’s collection, I buy it for him. This Christmas added two new cubes to the collection—a pastel cube like I had growing up and a tiny cube deemed the world’s smallest Rubik’s cube. I thoroughly mixed up each cube, then Finley promptly solved the puzzles. I have no idea how he did them, but he did. He said that there is a series of tricks and moves that makes solving the cubes possible. I believe him. I just don’t have the spatial and/or logical intelligence to see them.
I remember attending a workshop on different intelligences during my early years of teaching. That workshop was the first time I’d ever taken an intelligence inventory that listed musical intelligence as a real thing. I silently chuckled as I checked every indicator for musical intelligence and realized, for the first time, that the things that I think are perfectly normal—like harmonizing with the hum of an air conditioner or composing a full rhythmic composition to the sounds of the Wal-mart check out line—are only normal to those of us with a musically geared brain. The rest of the teachers at my table thought me a bit odd.
Other than musical intelligence, my intelligence indicator leaned toward both intra- and inter-personal intelligences. As an intuitive feeler, this makes a lot of sense. I genuinely care about and want to know people. I genuinely want for people what makes them the best versions of themselves. I read about these things. I study them. I stay in counseling. Yet my intelligence and my desires are where I fear that I struggle as much as I excel. Sometimes in my desire to be genuine with people and have them be genuine with me, I often go wrong—cross invisible boundary lines or fail to meet unspoken expectations—and I sometimes invoke equally as deep hatred and love in those around me.
I just got back from having my legs waxed. Some of you will remember that I embarked on my first leg-waxing journey over spring break this year. Since this December has been unseasonably hot, I decided that I’d end the year by returning to the place where my journey started. I wanted to start the new year with clean-shaven legs. Out with the old. In with the new.
As I lay on the waxing table and felt the warm wax applied to my legs, I knew what was coming next. I knew that in a few seconds I would hear and feel a rip and that it would hurt. Yet I still jumped every time the hairy wax came off my legs and I still inwardly winced, “Ouch! That hurts!”
I knew what was coming. I set myself up for it. Yet it still hurt.
I know that loving people is hard. I know that most relationships—however close or distant—will one day end—or at least fade into the background. I know that each time I open up to someone, share a bit of my story, or take a bit of someone’s story into my heart, that we each run the risk of getting hurt. I know that one day I could find myself unfriended and blocked from Facebook. I know that trust can be betrayed and my stupidities used against me. I know that out of nowhere I can receive a message telling me that I am no longer respected, that I ruined someone’s life, or that while I am a great person, I think too much and ask too many questions.
I know what could happen. I stay prepared for it. And yet it still hurts. Every time.
As 2015 comes to a close, I have over 1,100 friends on Facebook. I am surrounded by real-life friends, family members, coworkers, and church members who love me and whom I love in return. I am blessed. I am grateful beyond measure. I truly am. Please hear that. And yet the seven people who have completely blocked me from Facebook over the years are the ones that keep haunting me today.
Joe The Counselor says that this is human nature—to focus on the one 8 on the scorecard of 10’s—and I know that Joe is right. I know that relationships are two-sided. I know that I am not solely responsible for everything that happens between two or more people. I know this. I know it. I know it. And yet having a connection forcefully ripped from my life still hurts and makes me wonder if something is terribly wrong with me. Joe says that this is human nature, too—to wonder if we’re good enough even though we know, in our core, that we, in our fumbling nature, are.
Finley has the spatial and logical intelligence to solve a Rubik’s cube. The steps are clear. The tricks are straightforward. The puzzle can be solved. It is complicated, but it can be done. I don’t have that intelligence. And my inter- and intra-personal intelligences don’t come with tricks and steps that make solving problems easy.
Yet this much is clear:
I know the risks of love. Of wanting the best for people. Of building relationships that very well may fall apart. I know I will do stupid things. I know that things and people may be yanked from my life with little to no preparation while I know that other things and people will stay and fight not to be removed like the stubborn hair that grows on my toes. And so. As 2015 ends and 2016 begins, I will keep on loving. Because it is all I know to do. And it is what I want to do.
As Ed Sheeran says in song Photograph: “Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes. But it’s the only thing I know. When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes. It is the only thing that makes me feel alive.”
Keep loving with me, friends.
For God is love.
And Love really is the only thing that we know.
And it really is the only thing that keeps us alive.
Love is…
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Monday, December 28, 2015
On The Third Day of Christmas
“JG, why are you still playing Christmas music?” Amelia the 2nd Grade Niece inquired yesterday. “Christmas is over.”
“Actually, Amelia, Christmas is not over. In the church calendar, Christmas actually starts on Christmas day and lasts for the twelve days after Christmas until January 6th when we mark the wise men coming to visit Jesus…although the wise men probably didn’t visit Jesus until he was two-years-old and he probably wasn’t in a stable…but still…we remember their coming on January 6th—Epiphany—and that’s the end of Christmas. It’s twelve days of Christmas. That’s where the song comes from.”
“Oh! I get it now!...I can actually sing the whole Twelve Days of Christmas in the right order…I should learn how to play it on the piano…” Amelia continued happily talking. And when we arrived at my aunt’s house, she did just that. She sat down and figured out how to play the entire song on the piano—silently singing it in her head—leaving the rest of the family to hear only the repetition of notes, wonder what day she was on, and hope that she would quickly arrive at five golden rings since she’d be on the homestretch from there.
Amelia is such a delightful child.
I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve her affection, but I currently hold it and will not complain.
When she arrived in Florida yesterday, Amelia hugged me and stuck by my side as if she hadn’t seen me for weeks. We spent Christmas Eve together.
When I got back to G-mama’s house after going to see Star Wars this morning, Amelia ran into my room and hugged me as if she hadn’t seen me for weeks. We spent a good bit of time together yesterday.
When we went to walk on the beach with the family today, Amelia stayed by my side, held my hand, made up songs with me, and talked with me as if we hadn’t seen each other for weeks. We had lunch together today.
If I’m honest, then I will admit that I wasn’t overly excited about going to the beach today because I wanted to take a solid nap in the World’s Most Comfortable Bed. Yet I knew something to be true:
If I didn’t go to the beach with my sister’s family, then Amelia would be sad. And it won’t always be that way. Amelia won’t always think that Aunt Dee with her super hairy legs is super cool. Instead of sitting on the couch snuggling with me while absentmindedly playing with the leg hair that hasn’t been shaved or waxed since August, Amelia will one day want to play on her phone or spend time with the friends that she thinks are the greatest people in the world.
So I went to the beach.
And neither Amelia nor I were sad.
And when we came back to G-mama’s house, Amelia played the twelve days of Christmas on the pump organ that used to belong to my great-grandmother.
And I watched as a beautiful little soul celebrated the third day of Christmas surrounded by a family who adores her.
And I thought about Jesus once being a child like her—full of energy and life—not seeing outward appearances but looking straight into eyes and hearts of love.
And I smiled.
“Actually, Amelia, Christmas is not over. In the church calendar, Christmas actually starts on Christmas day and lasts for the twelve days after Christmas until January 6th when we mark the wise men coming to visit Jesus…although the wise men probably didn’t visit Jesus until he was two-years-old and he probably wasn’t in a stable…but still…we remember their coming on January 6th—Epiphany—and that’s the end of Christmas. It’s twelve days of Christmas. That’s where the song comes from.”
“Oh! I get it now!...I can actually sing the whole Twelve Days of Christmas in the right order…I should learn how to play it on the piano…” Amelia continued happily talking. And when we arrived at my aunt’s house, she did just that. She sat down and figured out how to play the entire song on the piano—silently singing it in her head—leaving the rest of the family to hear only the repetition of notes, wonder what day she was on, and hope that she would quickly arrive at five golden rings since she’d be on the homestretch from there.
Amelia is such a delightful child.
I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve her affection, but I currently hold it and will not complain.
When she arrived in Florida yesterday, Amelia hugged me and stuck by my side as if she hadn’t seen me for weeks. We spent Christmas Eve together.
When I got back to G-mama’s house after going to see Star Wars this morning, Amelia ran into my room and hugged me as if she hadn’t seen me for weeks. We spent a good bit of time together yesterday.
When we went to walk on the beach with the family today, Amelia stayed by my side, held my hand, made up songs with me, and talked with me as if we hadn’t seen each other for weeks. We had lunch together today.
If I’m honest, then I will admit that I wasn’t overly excited about going to the beach today because I wanted to take a solid nap in the World’s Most Comfortable Bed. Yet I knew something to be true:
If I didn’t go to the beach with my sister’s family, then Amelia would be sad. And it won’t always be that way. Amelia won’t always think that Aunt Dee with her super hairy legs is super cool. Instead of sitting on the couch snuggling with me while absentmindedly playing with the leg hair that hasn’t been shaved or waxed since August, Amelia will one day want to play on her phone or spend time with the friends that she thinks are the greatest people in the world.
So I went to the beach.
And neither Amelia nor I were sad.
And when we came back to G-mama’s house, Amelia played the twelve days of Christmas on the pump organ that used to belong to my great-grandmother.
And I watched as a beautiful little soul celebrated the third day of Christmas surrounded by a family who adores her.
And I thought about Jesus once being a child like her—full of energy and life—not seeing outward appearances but looking straight into eyes and hearts of love.
And I smiled.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Love
I made a B in organ. I practiced harder for that class than any other and I made a lot of progress, yet I still made a B. I was so mad. Yet I already had a blemish in my GPA from my epic B-Failure in freshman English so I tried not to let it bother me too much. (But it still did bother me.)
Grades are somewhat important in the Deaton family. While I’ve come to realize that the goal of 98 or higher on every assignment was a self-imposed goal that built a wall of unrealistic expectation and subsequent fear of failure around my heart, academic achievement is, indeed, something that is valued in my family system. Straight A’s are not demanded or rigidly enforced, but there is a desire to do well and a hope that one’s best will be honored by the grades that he or she receives.
Such is the reason that in the middle of our family Christmas celebration today, we found ourselves in a flustered discussion about a grade that Jack The Oldest Nephew received in his art class. For what was clearly an A+ project to everyone in the family and our very own Barb the Best and for what was displayed in his school’s display cabinet for a couple of months, Jack received a C.
Outraged, all of the adults were expressing comments of disbelief and discussing ways that the grade could have been adjusted, yet Jack was fine. He admitted the even he was a little surprised by the grade since he knew that the teacher liked his piece, yet he also admitted that the teacher had a rubric for all projects and that he had intentionally not completed one part of the rubric.
“He wanted us to use at least three different colors,” Jack said, “but I knew that I was making this for you, so I just wanted to use orange. It’s a coat hanger and two other kinds of wire that I twisted into the shape of a fish. I wanted it to look sort of like a Nemo fish, so I only put orange beads on part of the fins. And I cut up an orange Fanta can and wove it through this wire mesh stuff for the body.”
Somewhere in the sea of adult disbelief, I heard Jack’s mom mention that he knew that his grade might suffer for only using one color but that Jack wanted to do it anyway because he knew how much Aunt Dee would like it.
I didn’t cry in that moment but a lump formed in my throat and I got a bit teary-eyed. I’m crying now.
Jack sacrificed his grade for me.
He spent hours designing and crafting an orange fish for my collection, knowing that his work might not receive the marks that it deserved because he had intentionally gone against standard expectations.
Jack did that for me!
Have I mentioned that I’m crying?
Love came down at Christmas and lay in a humble feeding trough that held him in the first days of his growing into a man who would feed millions with words of hope, peace, purpose, and joy, even in the midst of judgment, misunderstanding, lack of appreciation, and lies.
Sometimes Love makes sacrifices that we don’t feel that we deserve or that we just can’t believe have happened even when they are staring us in the face.
And yet love does what Love must do to reach the hearts of those it cares about the most.
Jack reached my heart today with a gift more profound that anything I can explain.
Love is here.
Love is alive.
May Love be yours this Christmas.
May Love be yours tonight.
Grades are somewhat important in the Deaton family. While I’ve come to realize that the goal of 98 or higher on every assignment was a self-imposed goal that built a wall of unrealistic expectation and subsequent fear of failure around my heart, academic achievement is, indeed, something that is valued in my family system. Straight A’s are not demanded or rigidly enforced, but there is a desire to do well and a hope that one’s best will be honored by the grades that he or she receives.
Such is the reason that in the middle of our family Christmas celebration today, we found ourselves in a flustered discussion about a grade that Jack The Oldest Nephew received in his art class. For what was clearly an A+ project to everyone in the family and our very own Barb the Best and for what was displayed in his school’s display cabinet for a couple of months, Jack received a C.
Outraged, all of the adults were expressing comments of disbelief and discussing ways that the grade could have been adjusted, yet Jack was fine. He admitted the even he was a little surprised by the grade since he knew that the teacher liked his piece, yet he also admitted that the teacher had a rubric for all projects and that he had intentionally not completed one part of the rubric.
“He wanted us to use at least three different colors,” Jack said, “but I knew that I was making this for you, so I just wanted to use orange. It’s a coat hanger and two other kinds of wire that I twisted into the shape of a fish. I wanted it to look sort of like a Nemo fish, so I only put orange beads on part of the fins. And I cut up an orange Fanta can and wove it through this wire mesh stuff for the body.”
Somewhere in the sea of adult disbelief, I heard Jack’s mom mention that he knew that his grade might suffer for only using one color but that Jack wanted to do it anyway because he knew how much Aunt Dee would like it.
I didn’t cry in that moment but a lump formed in my throat and I got a bit teary-eyed. I’m crying now.
Jack sacrificed his grade for me.
He spent hours designing and crafting an orange fish for my collection, knowing that his work might not receive the marks that it deserved because he had intentionally gone against standard expectations.
Jack did that for me!
Have I mentioned that I’m crying?
Love came down at Christmas and lay in a humble feeding trough that held him in the first days of his growing into a man who would feed millions with words of hope, peace, purpose, and joy, even in the midst of judgment, misunderstanding, lack of appreciation, and lies.
Sometimes Love makes sacrifices that we don’t feel that we deserve or that we just can’t believe have happened even when they are staring us in the face.
And yet love does what Love must do to reach the hearts of those it cares about the most.
Jack reached my heart today with a gift more profound that anything I can explain.
Love is here.
Love is alive.
May Love be yours this Christmas.
May Love be yours tonight.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
"Are We Dirty Or Something?"
This afternoon as I was stealthily trying to place this year’s mass Christmas gift in boxes (mass Christmas meaning that the gift goes to a large group of people), one of my coworkers came in and said, “What. Are we dirty or something?” I laughed and said no and then feverishly continued stuffing boxes.
This year’s mass Christmas gift that warranted my coworker’s question? A washcloth.
This year’s mass Christmas writing?
Friends: This was written for my coworkers…but I challenge you to adapt it for yourself—for whatever profession in which you find yourself—for whatever messes you clean up.
As someone working in the public schools, you clean up a lot of messes—
both figuratively and literally.
From runny noses to broken hearts,
from spilled drinks to empty bellies,
from dirty clothes to disconnected minds,
from cluttered desks to rigid tests,
you are tasked with facing and overcoming whatever obstacles may hinder learning.
Sometimes, it may seem that you are ill-equipped for this task.
And maybe, in many ways, you are.
Maybe we all are.
But maybe in the most important way possible,
you are equipped with everything you need for this task and more:
Love.
Love came down at Christmas.
This Christmas Season and in all the days to come,
may Love—
real,
sometimes tough,
always steady,
unconditional
Love—
help you clean all of the messes that you encounter
both here and beyond.
Amen.
This year’s mass Christmas gift that warranted my coworker’s question? A washcloth.
This year’s mass Christmas writing?
Friends: This was written for my coworkers…but I challenge you to adapt it for yourself—for whatever profession in which you find yourself—for whatever messes you clean up.
As someone working in the public schools, you clean up a lot of messes—
both figuratively and literally.
From runny noses to broken hearts,
from spilled drinks to empty bellies,
from dirty clothes to disconnected minds,
from cluttered desks to rigid tests,
you are tasked with facing and overcoming whatever obstacles may hinder learning.
Sometimes, it may seem that you are ill-equipped for this task.
And maybe, in many ways, you are.
Maybe we all are.
But maybe in the most important way possible,
you are equipped with everything you need for this task and more:
Love.
Love came down at Christmas.
This Christmas Season and in all the days to come,
may Love—
real,
sometimes tough,
always steady,
unconditional
Love—
help you clean all of the messes that you encounter
both here and beyond.
Amen.
Monday, December 14, 2015
Lost in Wonder, Love, and Praise
My parents and I led a candlelight service together last night. As we were discussing worship plans, my dad raised the all-important musical question: Are we going to sing all of the verses of the hymns or just the first and last? I said, “One thing I’ve learned this Advent Season is that we miss a lot of really good words when we don’t pay attention to or skip over the verses of familiar songs, so we’re going to sing all of them.”
On the first Sunday of Advent to fit with the theme of hope and during yesterday’s Advent service centered on peace, we sang “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.” Other than the words of the first verse that always resonate with me—Peace on the earth, good will to men, from heaven’s all gracious king—the words that have been speaking to me this year are the second and third verses:
Yet with the woes of sing and strife the world has suffered long,
Beneath the angel strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong.
And man at war with man hears not the love song which they bring;
Oh hush the noise ye men of strife and hear the angels sing.
All ye, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,
Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
On the second Sunday of Advent, to fit with the theme of love, we sang these unfamiliar words to a familiar hymn-tune (Bring a Torch):
Love has come, a light in the darkness!...
Love is born! Come share in the wonder. Love is God now asleep in the hay. See the glow in the eyes of His mother; what is the name her heart is saying? Love! Love! Love is the name she whispers. Love! Love! Jesus, Immanuel.
Love has come—He never will leave us! Love is life everlasting and free. Love is Jesus within and among us; Love is the peace our hearts are seeking. Love! Love! Love is the gift of Christmas. Love! Love! Praise to you God on high!
And these:
Love divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven to earth come down. Fix in us thy humble dwelling, all thy faithful mercies crown. Jesus, thou are all compassion, pure, unbounded love thou art. Visit us with thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.
Breathe, oh breathe, thy loving Spirit, into every troubled breast! Let us all in thee inherit, let us find the promised rest. Take away our bent to sinning; Alpha and Omega be. End of faith, as its beginning, set our hearts at liberty.
Come, Almighty, to deliver, let us all thy grace receive…Pray and praise thee without ceasing, glory in thy perfect love.
Finish, then, thy new creation; pure and spotless let us be. Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee. Changed from glory into glory till in heaven we take our place. Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise.
Oh God, music is such a powerful thing.
So help us as we sing, this Advent Season and beyond,
To pay attention to the words of longing and confession that have been sung by
So many people throughout the years from throughout the world.
Help us to hear—to really hear—your words of compassion, freedom, and grace and
Help us to get lost in your wonder, love, and praise.
Always.
Amen.
On the first Sunday of Advent to fit with the theme of hope and during yesterday’s Advent service centered on peace, we sang “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.” Other than the words of the first verse that always resonate with me—Peace on the earth, good will to men, from heaven’s all gracious king—the words that have been speaking to me this year are the second and third verses:
Yet with the woes of sing and strife the world has suffered long,
Beneath the angel strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong.
And man at war with man hears not the love song which they bring;
Oh hush the noise ye men of strife and hear the angels sing.
All ye, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,
Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
On the second Sunday of Advent, to fit with the theme of love, we sang these unfamiliar words to a familiar hymn-tune (Bring a Torch):
Love has come, a light in the darkness!...
Love is born! Come share in the wonder. Love is God now asleep in the hay. See the glow in the eyes of His mother; what is the name her heart is saying? Love! Love! Love is the name she whispers. Love! Love! Jesus, Immanuel.
Love has come—He never will leave us! Love is life everlasting and free. Love is Jesus within and among us; Love is the peace our hearts are seeking. Love! Love! Love is the gift of Christmas. Love! Love! Praise to you God on high!
And these:
Love divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven to earth come down. Fix in us thy humble dwelling, all thy faithful mercies crown. Jesus, thou are all compassion, pure, unbounded love thou art. Visit us with thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.
Breathe, oh breathe, thy loving Spirit, into every troubled breast! Let us all in thee inherit, let us find the promised rest. Take away our bent to sinning; Alpha and Omega be. End of faith, as its beginning, set our hearts at liberty.
Come, Almighty, to deliver, let us all thy grace receive…Pray and praise thee without ceasing, glory in thy perfect love.
Finish, then, thy new creation; pure and spotless let us be. Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee. Changed from glory into glory till in heaven we take our place. Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise.
Oh God, music is such a powerful thing.
So help us as we sing, this Advent Season and beyond,
To pay attention to the words of longing and confession that have been sung by
So many people throughout the years from throughout the world.
Help us to hear—to really hear—your words of compassion, freedom, and grace and
Help us to get lost in your wonder, love, and praise.
Always.
Amen.
Thursday, December 3, 2015
The Blind Leading The Blind
If you were to come to my school each morning around the time the bell rings, you would see a really beautiful thing: The blind leading the blind. Literally.
No. Students aren’t ignorantly wondering the hallways trying to figure out where to go. They know where to go. Rather, it’s one teacher helping another teacher get her students to class.
While most buses unload at the side of the school so that students can go directly to breakfast before going class, the special needs bus unloads at the front of the school where their teacher meets them.
At the beginning of the year, the teacher took the entire class to breakfast. Each student who was able would carry his/her tray back to the classroom to eat. As the year has progressed, though, the process has changed. Instead of every student going to the cafeteria, some go with the teacher to get food while some go with the vision impaired teacher to the classroom. This is where it gets beautiful.
Our vision impaired teacher, S, is blind. Seeing that our special needs teacher needed help in the mornings—and she would say that she saw it—she volunteered to help. Her job became to take a few students directly to class.
S now always takes C to class. C is non-verbal and in a wheelchair.
Most of the time S takes P, too. P is blind and the reason S comes to our school each day. I’m glad for this reason. P knows people by the sound of their keys and the feel of their bellies.
P loves C. One day after C wasn’t at school, P literally cheered when C returned and said, “I missed you.”
Because of this love, one of the things that P really enjoys doing is taking C to class.
So the picture is this: P rolling C down the hall, S following behind, singing a song that she made up. “Good morning, good morning, good morning to you.” S singing often causes C to smile and clap his hands. Did I mention that C loves music and that C can rock the beginning of the ABC song?
In those moments, it is literally the blind leading the blind leading one who cannot speak for oneself. And they are all happy. And safe. And they all belong right where they are—with us—at school—learning.
At the end of Proverbs, the writer writes “an inspired utterance his mother taught him.” In the middle of this utterance, he pens one of the most challenging yet important commands of scripture:
Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy.
I’m not really sure why, but when I see S walking with P pushing C down the hall and when I hear her singing to C and imagine C’s smile and I hear P greet everyone with a friendly hello just because that’s who P is, I can’t help but think of these verses and know that there are people speaking up and living fairly and defending the rights of the least of these—not because there is anything wrong with the least of these—but simply because they can—and because they are alive—and they are loved and able to give love in return.
May we each live with boldness and courage of S, who “sees” the world clearly though she sees nothing at all; the trust and simple excitement of C, who slobber kisses hands to say, “I love you;” and the whimsical openness and love of P who genuinely cares how everyone is doing and dreams of one day becoming a bus driver and owning a boat.
Oh God, thank you for these amazing teachers.
And thank you for the beauty of the blind leading the blind.
Thank you for the beauty of the blind leading me.
Amen.
No. Students aren’t ignorantly wondering the hallways trying to figure out where to go. They know where to go. Rather, it’s one teacher helping another teacher get her students to class.
While most buses unload at the side of the school so that students can go directly to breakfast before going class, the special needs bus unloads at the front of the school where their teacher meets them.
At the beginning of the year, the teacher took the entire class to breakfast. Each student who was able would carry his/her tray back to the classroom to eat. As the year has progressed, though, the process has changed. Instead of every student going to the cafeteria, some go with the teacher to get food while some go with the vision impaired teacher to the classroom. This is where it gets beautiful.
Our vision impaired teacher, S, is blind. Seeing that our special needs teacher needed help in the mornings—and she would say that she saw it—she volunteered to help. Her job became to take a few students directly to class.
S now always takes C to class. C is non-verbal and in a wheelchair.
Most of the time S takes P, too. P is blind and the reason S comes to our school each day. I’m glad for this reason. P knows people by the sound of their keys and the feel of their bellies.
P loves C. One day after C wasn’t at school, P literally cheered when C returned and said, “I missed you.”
Because of this love, one of the things that P really enjoys doing is taking C to class.
So the picture is this: P rolling C down the hall, S following behind, singing a song that she made up. “Good morning, good morning, good morning to you.” S singing often causes C to smile and clap his hands. Did I mention that C loves music and that C can rock the beginning of the ABC song?
In those moments, it is literally the blind leading the blind leading one who cannot speak for oneself. And they are all happy. And safe. And they all belong right where they are—with us—at school—learning.
At the end of Proverbs, the writer writes “an inspired utterance his mother taught him.” In the middle of this utterance, he pens one of the most challenging yet important commands of scripture:
Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy.
I’m not really sure why, but when I see S walking with P pushing C down the hall and when I hear her singing to C and imagine C’s smile and I hear P greet everyone with a friendly hello just because that’s who P is, I can’t help but think of these verses and know that there are people speaking up and living fairly and defending the rights of the least of these—not because there is anything wrong with the least of these—but simply because they can—and because they are alive—and they are loved and able to give love in return.
May we each live with boldness and courage of S, who “sees” the world clearly though she sees nothing at all; the trust and simple excitement of C, who slobber kisses hands to say, “I love you;” and the whimsical openness and love of P who genuinely cares how everyone is doing and dreams of one day becoming a bus driver and owning a boat.
Oh God, thank you for these amazing teachers.
And thank you for the beauty of the blind leading the blind.
Thank you for the beauty of the blind leading me.
Amen.
Monday, November 23, 2015
Connections
During my last class on Friday afternoon, one of my students kept giving me a thumbs up. At first, I thought that she was just giving me a thumbs up—as in—“I get it, Ms. Deaton,” or, “You’re doing a great job, Ms. Deaton.” When she kept giving me the thumbs up, though, I started to think, “What if that means something? What if she needs to go to the restroom and she’s trying not to interrupt class?” So I looked at her and asked, “R, are you just giving me a thumbs up or does that mean something?” “It means that I have a connection,” she said. “Oh, okay! Well…what’s your connection?”
“You know what you just read? ‘Cats stayed with cats. Dogs stayed with dogs. Like stayed with like. And that’s just the way that it was.’ That’s segregation,” she connected. “You are exactly right,” I responded, smiling. “And I’ve heard that you guys have been studying about that in class.”
I was proud of that connection. But I was even prouder of the original connection that let me know what she and her grade-mates were studying.
My assistant principal walked into the music hut with her clipboard and computer at the end of what has become one of my difficult classes. The phrases “bouncing off the walls” and “running in circles” could have been coined by the boys in this class. I cringed. Thankfully, the official unannounced observation was for the next class.
Friends: Even though I do nothing different during observations than I do during normal lessons, observations are still no fun. They make me second-guess my every word and action and amplify every student minor offense into major misdemeanor. So when one of my students wandered out of his seat at least 10 times, sometimes telling me things that correlated with the lesson, sometimes not, I began to wonder how my evaluation would be influenced. But then this happened:
“Ms. Deaton. This is just like black people and white people. Black people and white people used to not get along. Just like the cats and dogs didn’t get along.” “You’re exactly right, C. That’s a great connection.”
(Background: We’re working on a program called “The Unity Tree.” In the program, cats and dogs at first hate each other but then learn to get along.)
A few minutes later, I asked C to share his connection with the class. At the moment I asked him, he was distracted by a puzzle on my desk.
(Sidenote: Elementary students are fascinated by 500-1000 piece puzzles.)
But as soon as C heard his name, he stood straight up, faced the class, and clearly and confidently said: “Black people and white people used to not like each other…” (pause) “…until people like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. stood up to stop sl--” (pause with intense thinking face that knew that slavery wasn’t the right word but couldn’t think of the right word) “the stuff.” (pause) “That’s just like the cats and dogs in our program didn’t like each other until someone stood up to say that it was wrong.”
I was so proud of C in that moment that I almost burst. And…that momentous connection had occurred during an observation! Score!
Out of his chair ten times or not, C was paying attention and making connections far beyond anything I actually expected…yet somehow always hope.
Friends: We never know when the words that we say or the things that we do will connect with the eyes, ears, and brains upon which they fall. So may we always act in such a way that when they do, we can celebrate with joy and add the connection to our list of things for which to be grateful instead of our list for which to be ashamed. Amen.
“You know what you just read? ‘Cats stayed with cats. Dogs stayed with dogs. Like stayed with like. And that’s just the way that it was.’ That’s segregation,” she connected. “You are exactly right,” I responded, smiling. “And I’ve heard that you guys have been studying about that in class.”
I was proud of that connection. But I was even prouder of the original connection that let me know what she and her grade-mates were studying.
My assistant principal walked into the music hut with her clipboard and computer at the end of what has become one of my difficult classes. The phrases “bouncing off the walls” and “running in circles” could have been coined by the boys in this class. I cringed. Thankfully, the official unannounced observation was for the next class.
Friends: Even though I do nothing different during observations than I do during normal lessons, observations are still no fun. They make me second-guess my every word and action and amplify every student minor offense into major misdemeanor. So when one of my students wandered out of his seat at least 10 times, sometimes telling me things that correlated with the lesson, sometimes not, I began to wonder how my evaluation would be influenced. But then this happened:
“Ms. Deaton. This is just like black people and white people. Black people and white people used to not get along. Just like the cats and dogs didn’t get along.” “You’re exactly right, C. That’s a great connection.”
(Background: We’re working on a program called “The Unity Tree.” In the program, cats and dogs at first hate each other but then learn to get along.)
A few minutes later, I asked C to share his connection with the class. At the moment I asked him, he was distracted by a puzzle on my desk.
(Sidenote: Elementary students are fascinated by 500-1000 piece puzzles.)
But as soon as C heard his name, he stood straight up, faced the class, and clearly and confidently said: “Black people and white people used to not like each other…” (pause) “…until people like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. stood up to stop sl--” (pause with intense thinking face that knew that slavery wasn’t the right word but couldn’t think of the right word) “the stuff.” (pause) “That’s just like the cats and dogs in our program didn’t like each other until someone stood up to say that it was wrong.”
I was so proud of C in that moment that I almost burst. And…that momentous connection had occurred during an observation! Score!
Out of his chair ten times or not, C was paying attention and making connections far beyond anything I actually expected…yet somehow always hope.
Friends: We never know when the words that we say or the things that we do will connect with the eyes, ears, and brains upon which they fall. So may we always act in such a way that when they do, we can celebrate with joy and add the connection to our list of things for which to be grateful instead of our list for which to be ashamed. Amen.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
I Just Glued The World Together
In the middle of my 4th grade class this morning, I received this text from my mom: “I just glued the world together.” I smiled.
When I got a chance, I responded, “Hooray! Now we’re all safe! ”
She said, “I do feel more secure .”
Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy, friends?
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could take everything that’s disjointed in the world, turn it into a puzzle, and then work with those we love to put it all together in a way that makes perfect sense and creates a perfectly beautiful picture?
And yet we know it’s not that easy.
From terrorist attacks to
unjust wars to
cancer diagnoses to
sudden death to
broken relationships to
overdue bills to
shattered dreams to
feeling abandoned by God.
There isn’t a lot of security in those things.
There isn’t a special glue that can be applied to life to help hold all things together.
Or is there?
…
I won’t see my Thursday and Friday classes next week because of Thanksgiving break. In preparation for Thanksgiving break, I’m sharing a book with many of my students entitled, “Giving Thanks.” [They’re fascinated by the fact that the title is Thanksgiving reversed!] The book is an illustrated version of a Native American Good Morning Blessing. It is a blessing that the children of certain tribes, to this day, are taught to pray.
Because Native American (or American Indian) culture is so deeply rooted in nature, it is no surprise that the book acknowledges thanks to everything from rain to food to the sun and the moon. Today, after we finished reading the book, I asked my students to consider: How might each day change if we greeted every part of it with thanksgiving? I’m not sure that most students really got the question, but I got it. Do you?
…
Friends, I don’t begin to pretend that greeting each day and situation with thanksgiving will magically make everything in life better.
Giving thanks will not stop terrorist attacks and unjust wars;
It will not cure cancer or prevent sudden death;
It will not heal all broken relationships and pay overdue bills;
And it will not mend shattered dreams or magnify God’s never-wavering presence.
Yet…
It will change the heart and mind.
And it will remind us of Love.
And Love is secure.
And combined with thanksgiving just might be the glue that holds the world together.
When I got a chance, I responded, “Hooray! Now we’re all safe! ”
She said, “I do feel more secure .”
Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy, friends?
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could take everything that’s disjointed in the world, turn it into a puzzle, and then work with those we love to put it all together in a way that makes perfect sense and creates a perfectly beautiful picture?
And yet we know it’s not that easy.
From terrorist attacks to
unjust wars to
cancer diagnoses to
sudden death to
broken relationships to
overdue bills to
shattered dreams to
feeling abandoned by God.
There isn’t a lot of security in those things.
There isn’t a special glue that can be applied to life to help hold all things together.
Or is there?
…
I won’t see my Thursday and Friday classes next week because of Thanksgiving break. In preparation for Thanksgiving break, I’m sharing a book with many of my students entitled, “Giving Thanks.” [They’re fascinated by the fact that the title is Thanksgiving reversed!] The book is an illustrated version of a Native American Good Morning Blessing. It is a blessing that the children of certain tribes, to this day, are taught to pray.
Because Native American (or American Indian) culture is so deeply rooted in nature, it is no surprise that the book acknowledges thanks to everything from rain to food to the sun and the moon. Today, after we finished reading the book, I asked my students to consider: How might each day change if we greeted every part of it with thanksgiving? I’m not sure that most students really got the question, but I got it. Do you?
…
Friends, I don’t begin to pretend that greeting each day and situation with thanksgiving will magically make everything in life better.
Giving thanks will not stop terrorist attacks and unjust wars;
It will not cure cancer or prevent sudden death;
It will not heal all broken relationships and pay overdue bills;
And it will not mend shattered dreams or magnify God’s never-wavering presence.
Yet…
It will change the heart and mind.
And it will remind us of Love.
And Love is secure.
And combined with thanksgiving just might be the glue that holds the world together.
Monday, November 16, 2015
I'm Ready Now
If you would have walked into the Fellowship Hall around 7:45am yesterday, then you may have wanted to turn and leave. The praise team was getting ready for the early service and we were sounding and looking rough after a little break. After I hit the ceiling with the guitar while picking it up for the first time, I popped my left hand in a painful way while changing chords on the first song. During a perfectly natural, “Ouch I just hurt my hand” hand-shaking-out motion, my ring flew off my finger and my pick fell on the floor. Neither me nor my keys-player could remember what key we were supposed to play our songs in and my keys-player didn’t remember that he was supposed to have his keyboard set to a trumpet sound on one of the songs. Our vocalist was doing fine until I tried to break into harmony and then she went into the harmony part with me, leaving no melody to be heard. At this point, all three of us of us just stopped and laughed because there wasn’t much else to do.
Before calling the rehearsal quits, though, we decided to run our last song. We’d introduced it as a special music two weeks before and had scheduled to follow-up with it as a congregational song yesterday.
“I just let go and I feel exposed, but it’s so beautiful—cause this is who I am,” we sang. “I've been such a mess, but now I can't care less—in you I rest.”
As we sang, the silliness quietly turned serious, and I found myself singing from a place I hadn’t sung in quite awhile.
“I was so caught up in who I'm not. Can you please forgive me?”
Tears began to fill my eyes—as they are filling them as I write this tonight.
“I've nothing left to hide—no reasons left to lie. Give me another chance.”
Tears began falling from my eyes as we continued to sing:
“Lord I'm ready now, all the walls are down, time is running out, and I want to make this count.
I ran away from you and did what I wanted to, but I don't want to let you down. Oh Lord I'm ready now. Lord I'm ready now.”
When we finished the song, my goofy little praise team and I shared a powerful moment of silence during which all three of us recognized God’s presence in the room.
God truly is amazing, you know? In the middle of what was a purely unintentional not-so-spiritual time of worship preparation, God made God’s presence known in a way that I did not expect. As I spontaneously poured out my heart and released what I think may have been the final bit of residual hurt from a cut-off that had cut me to the core, I knew that God was listening, that God was forgiving me—and that God was giving me another chance—daily giving me another chance.
God does the same for you, too, friends—for all of us. Listens, forgives, and daily gives second chances.
And you want to know something interesting? We didn’t even end up singing that song in worship. The guest preacher, my dad, ended his sermon in a way that absolutely did not lead into the feel and message of the song. He ended on a high note of praise. We decided to, as well.
“My heart is filled with thankfulness
To Him who walks beside
Who floods my weaknesses and strengths
And causes fear to fly
Whose every promise is enough
For every step I take
Sustaining me with arms of love
And crowning me with grace”
Amen.
Before calling the rehearsal quits, though, we decided to run our last song. We’d introduced it as a special music two weeks before and had scheduled to follow-up with it as a congregational song yesterday.
“I just let go and I feel exposed, but it’s so beautiful—cause this is who I am,” we sang. “I've been such a mess, but now I can't care less—in you I rest.”
As we sang, the silliness quietly turned serious, and I found myself singing from a place I hadn’t sung in quite awhile.
“I was so caught up in who I'm not. Can you please forgive me?”
Tears began to fill my eyes—as they are filling them as I write this tonight.
“I've nothing left to hide—no reasons left to lie. Give me another chance.”
Tears began falling from my eyes as we continued to sing:
“Lord I'm ready now, all the walls are down, time is running out, and I want to make this count.
I ran away from you and did what I wanted to, but I don't want to let you down. Oh Lord I'm ready now. Lord I'm ready now.”
When we finished the song, my goofy little praise team and I shared a powerful moment of silence during which all three of us recognized God’s presence in the room.
God truly is amazing, you know? In the middle of what was a purely unintentional not-so-spiritual time of worship preparation, God made God’s presence known in a way that I did not expect. As I spontaneously poured out my heart and released what I think may have been the final bit of residual hurt from a cut-off that had cut me to the core, I knew that God was listening, that God was forgiving me—and that God was giving me another chance—daily giving me another chance.
God does the same for you, too, friends—for all of us. Listens, forgives, and daily gives second chances.
And you want to know something interesting? We didn’t even end up singing that song in worship. The guest preacher, my dad, ended his sermon in a way that absolutely did not lead into the feel and message of the song. He ended on a high note of praise. We decided to, as well.
“My heart is filled with thankfulness
To Him who walks beside
Who floods my weaknesses and strengths
And causes fear to fly
Whose every promise is enough
For every step I take
Sustaining me with arms of love
And crowning me with grace”
Amen.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Wow. That Really Changes Things.
Today was rough. I’m not sure if it was me returning to “real” life after being away at a conference, if it was student behavior, or if it was a combination of both, but I was more than ready to call the day quits by the end of my last class. In fact, I turned and walked toward the board during that class and said to myself, “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not let frustration invade your being. Do not angrily raise your voice. You can do this. The day is almost over. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.” I breathed myself to the end of the day.
…
When I learned the concept of being a “non-anxious presence” during my courses at divinity school, I immediately made it my goal to become a non-anxious presence. When I declared this goal to one of my professors, he laughed at me. What he knew that I didn’t know was that it is next to impossible to be a non-anxious presence. We can take steps toward being non-anxious. We can have moments of non-anxiety. We can live with a less-anxious presence. But it is very rare for a person truly to live as a non-anxious presence. My goal was indeed laughable. Yet it is still my goal. As my latest fortune cookie read: “It is far worse to live without goals than to live in fear of not accomplishing them.”
...
So…today I worked very hard to be non-anxious. I activated all non-anxious strategies—breath, prayer, body awareness, silence, sharing, firm voice rather than yelling voice, breath, and prayer—and, well, I didn’t fully fail. I didn’t fully succeed either. But I didn’t fully fail. And I suppose that’s a good thing, eh?
…
In counseling on Tuesday night, I talked with Joe The Counselor about some of the situations that test my limits of non-anxiety—or I suppose I need to say less-anxiety if I want to be more accurate. For as many hours as I have been in counseling; for as many years as I have worked through the issues that are my monsters; for as many words as I have written about self-worth and value, grace and redemption, hope and resurrection, limitless love for all of God’s creation; there are still memories and realities that hook me—there are still words and accusations that hit me with such force that they knock me into the fetal position where all I know to do is cry.
As I shared these thoughts with Joe, desperately hoping that he could help me identify the root of one such reality that invokes so much anger and frustration in me that I truly do not like the person whom I hear and feel reacting, Joe patiently listened. Then he said something that I will not soon forget:
“Bear with me here,” he said. “You might not be ready to hear this. But what if the next time this reality arises, you say, ‘Thank you, (reality), for being my teacher,’ and letting the situation teach you whatever it is that you need to learn rather than letting it frustrate you to the point that you cannot think straight?”
I didn’t know what to say.
Until I finally said, “Wow. That really changes things.”
Think:
Thank you, student who is driving me crazy, for being my teacher.
Thank you, visceral memory that is punching me in the gut, for being my teacher.
Thank you, person who dislikes me and speaks ill of me, for being my teacher.
Thank you, stranger who cuts me off in traffic because you didn’t follow traffic signs, for being my teacher.
…
In my inevitably failed mission of living as a non-anxious presence, I now have one more tool to employ when my monsters attack: Thankfulness.
In every situation, friends, good and bad, there is something to be learned.
And for that, friends, there is reason to be thankful.
Thank you, God, for being our teacher.
In all things.
Even when our feeble, human attempts at love are laughable.
Amen.
…
When I learned the concept of being a “non-anxious presence” during my courses at divinity school, I immediately made it my goal to become a non-anxious presence. When I declared this goal to one of my professors, he laughed at me. What he knew that I didn’t know was that it is next to impossible to be a non-anxious presence. We can take steps toward being non-anxious. We can have moments of non-anxiety. We can live with a less-anxious presence. But it is very rare for a person truly to live as a non-anxious presence. My goal was indeed laughable. Yet it is still my goal. As my latest fortune cookie read: “It is far worse to live without goals than to live in fear of not accomplishing them.”
...
So…today I worked very hard to be non-anxious. I activated all non-anxious strategies—breath, prayer, body awareness, silence, sharing, firm voice rather than yelling voice, breath, and prayer—and, well, I didn’t fully fail. I didn’t fully succeed either. But I didn’t fully fail. And I suppose that’s a good thing, eh?
…
In counseling on Tuesday night, I talked with Joe The Counselor about some of the situations that test my limits of non-anxiety—or I suppose I need to say less-anxiety if I want to be more accurate. For as many hours as I have been in counseling; for as many years as I have worked through the issues that are my monsters; for as many words as I have written about self-worth and value, grace and redemption, hope and resurrection, limitless love for all of God’s creation; there are still memories and realities that hook me—there are still words and accusations that hit me with such force that they knock me into the fetal position where all I know to do is cry.
As I shared these thoughts with Joe, desperately hoping that he could help me identify the root of one such reality that invokes so much anger and frustration in me that I truly do not like the person whom I hear and feel reacting, Joe patiently listened. Then he said something that I will not soon forget:
“Bear with me here,” he said. “You might not be ready to hear this. But what if the next time this reality arises, you say, ‘Thank you, (reality), for being my teacher,’ and letting the situation teach you whatever it is that you need to learn rather than letting it frustrate you to the point that you cannot think straight?”
I didn’t know what to say.
Until I finally said, “Wow. That really changes things.”
Think:
Thank you, student who is driving me crazy, for being my teacher.
Thank you, visceral memory that is punching me in the gut, for being my teacher.
Thank you, person who dislikes me and speaks ill of me, for being my teacher.
Thank you, stranger who cuts me off in traffic because you didn’t follow traffic signs, for being my teacher.
…
In my inevitably failed mission of living as a non-anxious presence, I now have one more tool to employ when my monsters attack: Thankfulness.
In every situation, friends, good and bad, there is something to be learned.
And for that, friends, there is reason to be thankful.
Thank you, God, for being our teacher.
In all things.
Even when our feeble, human attempts at love are laughable.
Amen.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Do It Anyway
I’ve been to a lot of North Carolina Music Educator’s Conferences and sat through countless hours of workshops, but until yesterday I’d never been to an ordination service in the middle of the conference. Here’s how it happened.
Confession: I’m terrible with Facebook Invites. For some reason, I often don’t see my FB invites until it’s too late to plan to attend the event. Such was the case with yesterday’s ordination. I hadn’t seen the FB invite until yesterday morning when I opened my computer to check in to my workshop and FB told me that I had an event happening near me. When I clicked on the event, I was somewhat shocked to see that, indeed, the event was happening near me. In fact, it was happening one block away from where I’ve practically lived for the past three days.
As if that wasn’t interesting enough, the event was scheduled to happen during an hour when I didn’t have a workshop. The chances of that being the case were slim to none; there have been workshops offered every business hour since Saturday at 9am! And so…I decided that I would attend my first mid-conference ordination service. I’m so glad that I did.
Not only was I able to worship in a beautiful sanctuary and remember my ordination in another beautiful sanctuary, but I was also able to see a couple of friends whom I hadn’t seen in many years and together support God’s call on the life of another woman in ministry. I can think of few things more sacred than that.
While the entire service was quite meaningful, there was one particular moment during the charge to the candidate that reached beyond the candidate and straight into my heart.
"People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway."
--Mother Teresa
I cried.
And I silently prayed that my friend would remember those words when times got hard.
And I silently prayed that I would do the same.
For you see, friends, life and ministry do not just happen inside the churches where Reverends are called out and affirmed,
But also in everyday life, in everyday circumstances, in everyday places,
Like the schools for which I have been at a conference learning to be a better Reverend teacher.
Confession: I’m terrible with Facebook Invites. For some reason, I often don’t see my FB invites until it’s too late to plan to attend the event. Such was the case with yesterday’s ordination. I hadn’t seen the FB invite until yesterday morning when I opened my computer to check in to my workshop and FB told me that I had an event happening near me. When I clicked on the event, I was somewhat shocked to see that, indeed, the event was happening near me. In fact, it was happening one block away from where I’ve practically lived for the past three days.
As if that wasn’t interesting enough, the event was scheduled to happen during an hour when I didn’t have a workshop. The chances of that being the case were slim to none; there have been workshops offered every business hour since Saturday at 9am! And so…I decided that I would attend my first mid-conference ordination service. I’m so glad that I did.
Not only was I able to worship in a beautiful sanctuary and remember my ordination in another beautiful sanctuary, but I was also able to see a couple of friends whom I hadn’t seen in many years and together support God’s call on the life of another woman in ministry. I can think of few things more sacred than that.
While the entire service was quite meaningful, there was one particular moment during the charge to the candidate that reached beyond the candidate and straight into my heart.
"People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway."
--Mother Teresa
I cried.
And I silently prayed that my friend would remember those words when times got hard.
And I silently prayed that I would do the same.
For you see, friends, life and ministry do not just happen inside the churches where Reverends are called out and affirmed,
But also in everyday life, in everyday circumstances, in everyday places,
Like the schools for which I have been at a conference learning to be a better Reverend teacher.
Thursday, November 5, 2015
A Big Little Reminder
Last week, I had a parent come to me and share that she and her daughter were moving.
The parent’s main concern was that they might be leaving before this year’s field trip to the NC Symphony.
She said, “All my daughter has been talking about for the past six weeks has been this trip to the symphony. She comes home every week talking about all of the things that she’s learning in music class and how excited she is about the field trip.”
Inwardly shocked by what the mom had just told me, I outwardly carried on a conversation that ultimately led to the student remaining enrolled at my school through yesterday’s field trip.
Now…I suppose that it’s every teacher’s goal to actually teach her students some things.
And while I work really hard to teach my students to understand and experience music
and while I work even harder to help my students understand that music is not an isolated subject but a subject connected to every other
and while I work even harder to let my students know that they are safe with me and that they are loved,
I must confess that I didn’t really think that my students were actually learning anything—
That they might actually be going home and telling their parents about music class—
That I might actually be accomplishing my goals.
Even when I see progress—
Even when I give an assessment that clearly shows that musical knowledge has grown—
I still didn’t necessarily believe that my students were actually learning beyond my hut.
Until last week’s conversation.
While talking to that parent,
I felt as if an educational angel were shining a light upon me and confirming that I’m doing the work that I need to be doing right now—
Not just because I know that I’m doing more ministry now than when I was in full-time ministry—
But because I’m helping ignite a spark for learning in my students—
Because I’m helping “inspire” them, which is exactly what a student said after yesterday’s concert.
I don’t know about you, friends, but I think that every once in awhile each of us needs to be reminded that our lives are making a difference.
Consider this your reminder tonight.
No matter who we are. Where we come from. What we look like. How well we perform.
Each of our lives makes a difference to someone somewhere somehow.
Even when we don’t really believe it.
purp
The parent’s main concern was that they might be leaving before this year’s field trip to the NC Symphony.
She said, “All my daughter has been talking about for the past six weeks has been this trip to the symphony. She comes home every week talking about all of the things that she’s learning in music class and how excited she is about the field trip.”
Inwardly shocked by what the mom had just told me, I outwardly carried on a conversation that ultimately led to the student remaining enrolled at my school through yesterday’s field trip.
Now…I suppose that it’s every teacher’s goal to actually teach her students some things.
And while I work really hard to teach my students to understand and experience music
and while I work even harder to help my students understand that music is not an isolated subject but a subject connected to every other
and while I work even harder to let my students know that they are safe with me and that they are loved,
I must confess that I didn’t really think that my students were actually learning anything—
That they might actually be going home and telling their parents about music class—
That I might actually be accomplishing my goals.
Even when I see progress—
Even when I give an assessment that clearly shows that musical knowledge has grown—
I still didn’t necessarily believe that my students were actually learning beyond my hut.
Until last week’s conversation.
While talking to that parent,
I felt as if an educational angel were shining a light upon me and confirming that I’m doing the work that I need to be doing right now—
Not just because I know that I’m doing more ministry now than when I was in full-time ministry—
But because I’m helping ignite a spark for learning in my students—
Because I’m helping “inspire” them, which is exactly what a student said after yesterday’s concert.
I don’t know about you, friends, but I think that every once in awhile each of us needs to be reminded that our lives are making a difference.
Consider this your reminder tonight.
No matter who we are. Where we come from. What we look like. How well we perform.
Each of our lives makes a difference to someone somewhere somehow.
Even when we don’t really believe it.
purp
Monday, November 2, 2015
A Very, Very Good Thing
Until Jack the Nephew came along, the Harry Potter series intimidated me. Not because of subject matter, character, or plot line. But because the books are so thick!
But when Jack started reading and liking the series, I decided that it was time for me to tackle it as well. With my ears, of course. But still: thick printed books make for long audio books.
Considering that I’ve now read the entire series twice (which is hundreds of hours of reading—with my ears, of course), watched each of the movies at least three times, and made Harry Potter references a regular part of conversation, I think it’s safe to say that I’m glad that Jack unintentionally nudged me toward overcoming my book-intimidation.
On Friday night, my sister and her family held their annual Halloween party. This year’s theme? Zombies vs. Harry Potter. Being the terrible Halloween-er that I am, I dressed as a muggle who sort of felt like a zombie after finishing the week’s work, but I enjoyed identifying other people’s costumes nonetheless. My sister dressed as Moaning Myrtle and wore a toilet seat around her neck. My brother-in-law dressed as Oliver Wood. Griffin the Nephew dressed as Harry Potter. Amelia the Niece dressed as Jenny Weasley—complete with red hair. And Dumbledore, Valdemort, Professor Umbridge, Rita Skeeter, Hedwig, MadEye Moody, Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry’s petronas, a nitch, and a dementor were some of the other characters who attended the party.
In the spirit of the weekend, my sister asked if I’d like to join the family at the North Carolina Symphony on Saturday. They were playing music from…Harry Potter! I said yes. And I wore my brother-in-law’s Gryffindor robe so that I’d more fully belong :-).
After we waded through the sea of families dressed in all sorts of costumes, and climbed all the way to the top of the auditorium—literally—our seats were on the back row—and after I climbed all the way back down to the foyer because we forgot to get programs—I noticed something interesting: The guest symphony conductor was a woman.
As my sister and I discussed how unusually neat it was to have a woman conductor, Amelia looked at me and said, “Is it not normal to have a female conductor?”
I said, “No, sweetpea. Most of the time, when you go to a symphony concert, the conductor is a man. It’s actually very unusual to see a female conductor. We get to see something special today.”
She said, “Oh. It’s not unusual for me. I don’t go to very many symphony concerts.”
Shortly after this conversation, we noticed that the guest illusionist (think stage magician) was also a woman. As a result, the same conversation ensued. Neither my sister nor I had seen many—if any—female illusionists—so we both realized the significance of the concert. Amelia, though—Amelia thought absolutely nothing about the fact that women were leading the day’s events. For Amelia, strong, female leadership is just normal.
This, to me, friends, is not a result of magic or a reality only of fictional literature.
This, to me, friends, seems the result of many slow years of change—years that are still changing.
And this, to me, is a very, very good thing.
But when Jack started reading and liking the series, I decided that it was time for me to tackle it as well. With my ears, of course. But still: thick printed books make for long audio books.
Considering that I’ve now read the entire series twice (which is hundreds of hours of reading—with my ears, of course), watched each of the movies at least three times, and made Harry Potter references a regular part of conversation, I think it’s safe to say that I’m glad that Jack unintentionally nudged me toward overcoming my book-intimidation.
On Friday night, my sister and her family held their annual Halloween party. This year’s theme? Zombies vs. Harry Potter. Being the terrible Halloween-er that I am, I dressed as a muggle who sort of felt like a zombie after finishing the week’s work, but I enjoyed identifying other people’s costumes nonetheless. My sister dressed as Moaning Myrtle and wore a toilet seat around her neck. My brother-in-law dressed as Oliver Wood. Griffin the Nephew dressed as Harry Potter. Amelia the Niece dressed as Jenny Weasley—complete with red hair. And Dumbledore, Valdemort, Professor Umbridge, Rita Skeeter, Hedwig, MadEye Moody, Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry’s petronas, a nitch, and a dementor were some of the other characters who attended the party.
In the spirit of the weekend, my sister asked if I’d like to join the family at the North Carolina Symphony on Saturday. They were playing music from…Harry Potter! I said yes. And I wore my brother-in-law’s Gryffindor robe so that I’d more fully belong :-).
After we waded through the sea of families dressed in all sorts of costumes, and climbed all the way to the top of the auditorium—literally—our seats were on the back row—and after I climbed all the way back down to the foyer because we forgot to get programs—I noticed something interesting: The guest symphony conductor was a woman.
As my sister and I discussed how unusually neat it was to have a woman conductor, Amelia looked at me and said, “Is it not normal to have a female conductor?”
I said, “No, sweetpea. Most of the time, when you go to a symphony concert, the conductor is a man. It’s actually very unusual to see a female conductor. We get to see something special today.”
She said, “Oh. It’s not unusual for me. I don’t go to very many symphony concerts.”
Shortly after this conversation, we noticed that the guest illusionist (think stage magician) was also a woman. As a result, the same conversation ensued. Neither my sister nor I had seen many—if any—female illusionists—so we both realized the significance of the concert. Amelia, though—Amelia thought absolutely nothing about the fact that women were leading the day’s events. For Amelia, strong, female leadership is just normal.
This, to me, friends, is not a result of magic or a reality only of fictional literature.
This, to me, friends, seems the result of many slow years of change—years that are still changing.
And this, to me, is a very, very good thing.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Word of God Speak
When I was in middle school, I wore a jeans jacket stocked with pens, mechanical pencils, and a multitude of highlighters—highlighters of every color—most of them fat like magic markers. I carried the pens and pencils in my right inside pocket. I carried the highlighters in my left inside pocket. Hidden away. Like a secret stash. Yes. I am a nerd.
For some reason, I have a vague yet somewhat specific memory of going to youth Bible study in the sanctuary one night. We usually had Bible study in the church library. What I remember about that night is lying on the floor in the aisle of the sanctuary and laying out all of my pens, pencils, and highlighters in preparation for the night’s study. Do I remember anything else? No. I remember nothing else from that study. Just the pens, pencils, and highlighters. Yes. I am a nerd.
During that period of my life, I used a small, hardback The Student Bible. I’m pretty sure that I chose this bible because it includes a clearly laid out bible-reading guide. It’s sort of neat to see little middle school x’s in the boxes beside the scriptures that I read over twenty-five years ago. It’s also neat to see some of my middle school thoughts jotted in the margins. I don’t use my The Student Bible that often anymore, but I still keep it beside my bed for quick reference.
…
On Sunday morning, Mister Pastor Patrick preached from Acts 17:16-34. Here is abstract of his sermon: In this interesting story about Paul speaking to the intellectual elite in Athens, we see Paul’s willingness to engage a particular culture where it is. He speaks their philosophical language, he talks about their gods. And yet, Paul holds up the Gospel as the one, true truth and God as the one, true God. Ours is a mission of One, of the One truth and the One true God. We must move beyond even our own idols to preach this truth.
As I discussed Sunday’s sermon with my dad, I made the comment that I didn’t remember ever reading the passage that Patrick had preached from but that I really liked it. I was drawn to the fact that the people of Athens had prepared an altar to THE UNKNOWN GOD. Maybe it was the fear of missing a god and having that god punish them that led them to do it. But maybe it was because they knew on some level that there was a god bigger than any of their gods—but that they just didn’t know that god’s name…until Paul told them.
I was also really drawn to verses 27 and 28: God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being.
For in him
We live
And move
And have our being.
Wow.
…
On Sunday afternoon, as I was laying down for my Sunday afternoon nap, I reached for a Bible so that I could read next Sunday’s scripture passage. I wanted to ruminate while resting . The first Bible I found was my The Student Bible. As I was turning to Acts 21, I decided to take a detour through Acts 17. Remember, I couldn’t recollect reading the passage before that morning (even though I knew I’d probably read it for one of my divinity school classes.)
When I got to Acts 17, I laughed. Evidently, during my middle school years, I’d read Acts 17 and been drawn to verses 27 and 28. They were underlined. Probably with one of the pens or pencils that I carried on the inside of my jeans jacket.
…
The Word of God is timeless, friends.
And it speaks to us exactly when we need it.
Middle school. Middle life.
For in Christ,
The living Word,
We live
And move
And have our being.
Amen.
For some reason, I have a vague yet somewhat specific memory of going to youth Bible study in the sanctuary one night. We usually had Bible study in the church library. What I remember about that night is lying on the floor in the aisle of the sanctuary and laying out all of my pens, pencils, and highlighters in preparation for the night’s study. Do I remember anything else? No. I remember nothing else from that study. Just the pens, pencils, and highlighters. Yes. I am a nerd.
During that period of my life, I used a small, hardback The Student Bible. I’m pretty sure that I chose this bible because it includes a clearly laid out bible-reading guide. It’s sort of neat to see little middle school x’s in the boxes beside the scriptures that I read over twenty-five years ago. It’s also neat to see some of my middle school thoughts jotted in the margins. I don’t use my The Student Bible that often anymore, but I still keep it beside my bed for quick reference.
…
On Sunday morning, Mister Pastor Patrick preached from Acts 17:16-34. Here is abstract of his sermon: In this interesting story about Paul speaking to the intellectual elite in Athens, we see Paul’s willingness to engage a particular culture where it is. He speaks their philosophical language, he talks about their gods. And yet, Paul holds up the Gospel as the one, true truth and God as the one, true God. Ours is a mission of One, of the One truth and the One true God. We must move beyond even our own idols to preach this truth.
As I discussed Sunday’s sermon with my dad, I made the comment that I didn’t remember ever reading the passage that Patrick had preached from but that I really liked it. I was drawn to the fact that the people of Athens had prepared an altar to THE UNKNOWN GOD. Maybe it was the fear of missing a god and having that god punish them that led them to do it. But maybe it was because they knew on some level that there was a god bigger than any of their gods—but that they just didn’t know that god’s name…until Paul told them.
I was also really drawn to verses 27 and 28: God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being.
For in him
We live
And move
And have our being.
Wow.
…
On Sunday afternoon, as I was laying down for my Sunday afternoon nap, I reached for a Bible so that I could read next Sunday’s scripture passage. I wanted to ruminate while resting . The first Bible I found was my The Student Bible. As I was turning to Acts 21, I decided to take a detour through Acts 17. Remember, I couldn’t recollect reading the passage before that morning (even though I knew I’d probably read it for one of my divinity school classes.)
When I got to Acts 17, I laughed. Evidently, during my middle school years, I’d read Acts 17 and been drawn to verses 27 and 28. They were underlined. Probably with one of the pens or pencils that I carried on the inside of my jeans jacket.
…
The Word of God is timeless, friends.
And it speaks to us exactly when we need it.
Middle school. Middle life.
For in Christ,
The living Word,
We live
And move
And have our being.
Amen.
Monday, October 26, 2015
I Wasn't Expecting That...
I recently told someone that my weeks had fallen into such a steady routine and that if anything gets off schedule then it could completely throw me off.
Mondays are work (first go at the week’s lessons and updates as needed, continued work on the week’s announcements), meetings, home for TV with my parents, and note writing. Also, beginning on Monday, each work-week afternoon includes setting up coffee for the next day on my way to afternoon duty.
Tuesdays are work and counseling or dinner with friends.
Wednesdays are school work, brief rest, and church work (worship service planning, choir practice, worship team e-mail).
Thursdays are work (compiling school-wide incentive data, e-mailing PTO, updating the incentive bulletin board, judging a school-wide writing challenge), home for TV with my parents, and note writing. The last Thursday of each month is dinner with a friend.
Fridays are work (handing out school-wide writing challenge prizes, changing the writing bulletin board, making a writing book, working on lesson plans) and either home or time with family and friends.
Saturday is my Sabbath--with as much rest and as little work as possible.
Sunday is church (two worship services), cleaning/nap, church (praise team practice), and weekly morning announcement preparation.
If I get off schedule, then, well, sometimes I get behind. Or if I don’t get behind, then I sometimes find myself ill that something has intruded upon my schedule.
Today, I found myself both behind in my work (from getting off schedule last week) and feeling ill that something had intruded upon my schedule.
Tonight was the Little River Baptist Association Annual Meeting. It was also the night that my dad was planning to announce his retirement (effective March 2016).
As my dad’s daughter, I knew that I needed to be at the meeting. As a teacher fighting a cold and feeling like poo, I knew that I had little desire to be at the meeting. But I went. And I’m glad that I did.
Not only was I there to support my dad (and mom), but I was also there to see a couple near the top of my “nicest people in the world” list.
We met many years ago when B and I started teaching and the wife of the couple, Betty, became our favorite volunteer.
As we talked tonight, and caught up, and I shared my heart for JES, I confessed my desire to be a chaplain in the schools—to support and encourage the many teachers who do and give so much to their work and students. I also confessed my wish for Betty to come volunteer at JES. She really was/is an amazing volunteer!
As I started to leave tonight, I mentioned that I was going to go to Starbucks to get some coffee. Betty agreed that that was a great idea and then reached into her purse to get something. I thought that she was reaching for a card but instead she was reaching for $10 to pay for my coffee.
As I was saying thank you, she continued reaching in her purse. Still thinking that she was reaching for a card, I was shocked when she handed me $100 and told me to use it however I felt led for my ministry—at school.
Speechless, I hugged her and said, “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
She said, “I wasn’t either. This was a God-thing. I just felt led to do it.”
Then we both cried.
Folks, Betty comes from humble means. She does not have $100 to spare. And yet, hearing my heart tonight and having a heart for the public schools herself, she sacrificed out of the goodness of her heart.
Because she believed in me.
And my ministry.
And to think that I almost missed it because it wasn’t part of the schedule…
God: Thank you for structure. Thank you for schedules. Thank you for giving us the opportunity and ability to organize our lives so that we can make the most of our days. But God, when that structure and those schedules become so confining that they cause us to begin missing life, forgive us. Help us always to remain open to you and your leading—even when it interrupts our plans—and even when it doesn’t seem to make sense. And, God, help my dad as he begins to transition into retirement. I love you, God. Amen.
Mondays are work (first go at the week’s lessons and updates as needed, continued work on the week’s announcements), meetings, home for TV with my parents, and note writing. Also, beginning on Monday, each work-week afternoon includes setting up coffee for the next day on my way to afternoon duty.
Tuesdays are work and counseling or dinner with friends.
Wednesdays are school work, brief rest, and church work (worship service planning, choir practice, worship team e-mail).
Thursdays are work (compiling school-wide incentive data, e-mailing PTO, updating the incentive bulletin board, judging a school-wide writing challenge), home for TV with my parents, and note writing. The last Thursday of each month is dinner with a friend.
Fridays are work (handing out school-wide writing challenge prizes, changing the writing bulletin board, making a writing book, working on lesson plans) and either home or time with family and friends.
Saturday is my Sabbath--with as much rest and as little work as possible.
Sunday is church (two worship services), cleaning/nap, church (praise team practice), and weekly morning announcement preparation.
If I get off schedule, then, well, sometimes I get behind. Or if I don’t get behind, then I sometimes find myself ill that something has intruded upon my schedule.
Today, I found myself both behind in my work (from getting off schedule last week) and feeling ill that something had intruded upon my schedule.
Tonight was the Little River Baptist Association Annual Meeting. It was also the night that my dad was planning to announce his retirement (effective March 2016).
As my dad’s daughter, I knew that I needed to be at the meeting. As a teacher fighting a cold and feeling like poo, I knew that I had little desire to be at the meeting. But I went. And I’m glad that I did.
Not only was I there to support my dad (and mom), but I was also there to see a couple near the top of my “nicest people in the world” list.
We met many years ago when B and I started teaching and the wife of the couple, Betty, became our favorite volunteer.
As we talked tonight, and caught up, and I shared my heart for JES, I confessed my desire to be a chaplain in the schools—to support and encourage the many teachers who do and give so much to their work and students. I also confessed my wish for Betty to come volunteer at JES. She really was/is an amazing volunteer!
As I started to leave tonight, I mentioned that I was going to go to Starbucks to get some coffee. Betty agreed that that was a great idea and then reached into her purse to get something. I thought that she was reaching for a card but instead she was reaching for $10 to pay for my coffee.
As I was saying thank you, she continued reaching in her purse. Still thinking that she was reaching for a card, I was shocked when she handed me $100 and told me to use it however I felt led for my ministry—at school.
Speechless, I hugged her and said, “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
She said, “I wasn’t either. This was a God-thing. I just felt led to do it.”
Then we both cried.
Folks, Betty comes from humble means. She does not have $100 to spare. And yet, hearing my heart tonight and having a heart for the public schools herself, she sacrificed out of the goodness of her heart.
Because she believed in me.
And my ministry.
And to think that I almost missed it because it wasn’t part of the schedule…
God: Thank you for structure. Thank you for schedules. Thank you for giving us the opportunity and ability to organize our lives so that we can make the most of our days. But God, when that structure and those schedules become so confining that they cause us to begin missing life, forgive us. Help us always to remain open to you and your leading—even when it interrupts our plans—and even when it doesn’t seem to make sense. And, God, help my dad as he begins to transition into retirement. I love you, God. Amen.
Monday, October 19, 2015
That's All
When one works two very public jobs that each have weekly—sometimes daily—deadlines to meet, the private things in her life—like cleaning her car and room—sometimes fall by the waste-side.
Such is the reason that I spent around 15 hours cleaning my room this weekend. It was full of un-put-away clothes from last week and stuff that had been gathering from my car for the past couple of months. I’m pretty sure I had at least ten paper purple Hallmark bags full of gifts to sort through and a couple of other bags of random stuff. When I brought home a new Vera Bradley travel duffel bag the other night, my mom said, “Dee. You didn’t need another bag.” I just smiled and thought, “Yes. Yes, mom, I did. Because all of my other bags were occupied and I really didn’t want another purple paper Hallmark bag.”
“And just what was in all of those purple paper Hallmark bags?” you ask.
Gifts.
Some gifts purchased for specific people.
Some gifts purchased because I knew that one day I’d find someone to give them, too.
Some gifts purchased simply because I liked them.
So my job this weekend, after putting away my clothes, was to unpack those gifts and either prepare them for immediate give-away or find somewhere to store them until Christmas. In order to do the latter, I had to make storage space…which added a few hours to the cleaning process…because things got much-much worse in my room before they got better…which…they finally did get better. Thankfully.
I discovered something sad during the unpacking process, though: one of the gifts I was most excited about giving was broken. Evidently, I left the bag in the car for too long and stacked too much stuff on top of it too many times for the mug not to break. A glass picture frame broke as well.
The mug that broke was part of a series called “That’s All.” I bought this particular mug for one of my friends who has been fighting cancer for the past couple of years. The mug said: “You’re the strongest person I know. That’s all.”
Initially, when I realized that the mug was cracked, I was pretty upset. But I almost immediately had this thought: Even those of us who appear to have it all together have cracks. Even the strongest of us have weaknesses. This will not be a drinking mug. But it will be a pretty awesome object lesson.
And that it is, friends.
In so many ways.
Such is the reason that I spent around 15 hours cleaning my room this weekend. It was full of un-put-away clothes from last week and stuff that had been gathering from my car for the past couple of months. I’m pretty sure I had at least ten paper purple Hallmark bags full of gifts to sort through and a couple of other bags of random stuff. When I brought home a new Vera Bradley travel duffel bag the other night, my mom said, “Dee. You didn’t need another bag.” I just smiled and thought, “Yes. Yes, mom, I did. Because all of my other bags were occupied and I really didn’t want another purple paper Hallmark bag.”
“And just what was in all of those purple paper Hallmark bags?” you ask.
Gifts.
Some gifts purchased for specific people.
Some gifts purchased because I knew that one day I’d find someone to give them, too.
Some gifts purchased simply because I liked them.
So my job this weekend, after putting away my clothes, was to unpack those gifts and either prepare them for immediate give-away or find somewhere to store them until Christmas. In order to do the latter, I had to make storage space…which added a few hours to the cleaning process…because things got much-much worse in my room before they got better…which…they finally did get better. Thankfully.
I discovered something sad during the unpacking process, though: one of the gifts I was most excited about giving was broken. Evidently, I left the bag in the car for too long and stacked too much stuff on top of it too many times for the mug not to break. A glass picture frame broke as well.
The mug that broke was part of a series called “That’s All.” I bought this particular mug for one of my friends who has been fighting cancer for the past couple of years. The mug said: “You’re the strongest person I know. That’s all.”
Initially, when I realized that the mug was cracked, I was pretty upset. But I almost immediately had this thought: Even those of us who appear to have it all together have cracks. Even the strongest of us have weaknesses. This will not be a drinking mug. But it will be a pretty awesome object lesson.
And that it is, friends.
In so many ways.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Spiraling Gutter
I did something new on my way home today.
I paid attention to how many houses have gutters vs. how many houses do not.
“Why did I do this?” you might ask.
Because a friend told me that she needed to clean the gutters at her house.
So I was thinking about gutters.
Which is something I don’t usually do.
Except when the gutters near my classroom leak, or completely fall off,
Or when I see a gutter growing a tree.
Here is what I noticed.
More houses than not did not have gutters,
Except for when I got into my neighborhood.
Then it was reversed.
After a brief moment of research, I learned this about gutters:
“Depending on the roof style of a house, gutters may not need to be all around the house. All roof planes which pitch downward are typically guttered. Gutters are usually installed on the bottom edge of downward-pitched roofs to channel water away from the foundation where it could seep into the basement, splash up dirt onto the foundation, or fill up basement window wells, which also could seep into the basement. Flat roofs should also be guttered because leaving water on a flat roof can cause leaks and rotting. They may be installed with a slight pitch to all-around guttering or to one or more downspouts.”
So why do most of the houses on my way home not have gutters while most of the houses in my neighborhood do?
I don’t know.
But I’m thinking about it.
Because a friend brought gutters to my attention.
And because gutter-knowledge is something that I can expand upon.
When I was in divinity school, one of my professors introduced the idea that instead of faith being something that grows in a linear line with periods of flat plateau, faith is something that grows in loops, constantly moving forward, constantly having moments of “ups” and “downs.”
I like this image because I think it allows us to see how faith so often grows by issue, event, question, struggle, etc.
I think that we live our lives, doing our best to make it through each day, dealing with whatever is in front of us—whatever has been brought to our attention—whatever is presented to our minds for such a time as this.
When someone that we know is diagnosed with cancer, we struggle with how, when, and why God answers prayers for healing.
When someone that we know tells us that someone once told her that if she couldn’t believe in the story of creation exactly as it was written in the Bible then she might as well not believe anything at all, we consider if that statement is true.
When someone that we know comes out, we struggle with issues of sexuality.
When someone that we know loses a job, we struggle with issues of God’s faithfulness and discernment.
When someone that we know is killed or commits suicide, we struggle with issues of life and death.
When we are finished with our struggle—when we have landed in a place where we feel comfortable in our beliefs—when we learn everything that we want to know—then we move forward—and onto something else.
So…when someone that we know has to clean the gutters on her house, we begin to notice gutters and wonder about their function.
Or at least I do.
Today.
I paid attention to how many houses have gutters vs. how many houses do not.
“Why did I do this?” you might ask.
Because a friend told me that she needed to clean the gutters at her house.
So I was thinking about gutters.
Which is something I don’t usually do.
Except when the gutters near my classroom leak, or completely fall off,
Or when I see a gutter growing a tree.
Here is what I noticed.
More houses than not did not have gutters,
Except for when I got into my neighborhood.
Then it was reversed.
After a brief moment of research, I learned this about gutters:
“Depending on the roof style of a house, gutters may not need to be all around the house. All roof planes which pitch downward are typically guttered. Gutters are usually installed on the bottom edge of downward-pitched roofs to channel water away from the foundation where it could seep into the basement, splash up dirt onto the foundation, or fill up basement window wells, which also could seep into the basement. Flat roofs should also be guttered because leaving water on a flat roof can cause leaks and rotting. They may be installed with a slight pitch to all-around guttering or to one or more downspouts.”
So why do most of the houses on my way home not have gutters while most of the houses in my neighborhood do?
I don’t know.
But I’m thinking about it.
Because a friend brought gutters to my attention.
And because gutter-knowledge is something that I can expand upon.
When I was in divinity school, one of my professors introduced the idea that instead of faith being something that grows in a linear line with periods of flat plateau, faith is something that grows in loops, constantly moving forward, constantly having moments of “ups” and “downs.”
I like this image because I think it allows us to see how faith so often grows by issue, event, question, struggle, etc.
I think that we live our lives, doing our best to make it through each day, dealing with whatever is in front of us—whatever has been brought to our attention—whatever is presented to our minds for such a time as this.
When someone that we know is diagnosed with cancer, we struggle with how, when, and why God answers prayers for healing.
When someone that we know tells us that someone once told her that if she couldn’t believe in the story of creation exactly as it was written in the Bible then she might as well not believe anything at all, we consider if that statement is true.
When someone that we know comes out, we struggle with issues of sexuality.
When someone that we know loses a job, we struggle with issues of God’s faithfulness and discernment.
When someone that we know is killed or commits suicide, we struggle with issues of life and death.
When we are finished with our struggle—when we have landed in a place where we feel comfortable in our beliefs—when we learn everything that we want to know—then we move forward—and onto something else.
So…when someone that we know has to clean the gutters on her house, we begin to notice gutters and wonder about their function.
Or at least I do.
Today.
Making The Most Of Me--Version One
Each year, The Harnett County Reading Council hosts a Young Author’s Writing Competition. This year’s theme is “Making The Most of Me.” Writers are supposed to write about life-events and decisions that have helped them make the most of themselves. What a difficult theme for the elementary writer! As an adult, I get it. Even so, I have struggled with this year’s theme.
After a lot of editing this entry to 500 words, here is version number one for my “Making The Most of Me” entry. This is the first time I have ever entered prose. I will post version number two on Thursday. It is a poem.
---------
I am a people pleaser. I like to do what’s right and have the approval of those around me. Even so, I can think of two specific times when I went against others’ approval and did what I felt best.
The first time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible condition. Making a long drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to do it. So I did. When I arrived at the funeral, I was the only person there for my friend. I sat with her on the family pew, rode with her to the graveside, and stood beside her in the freezing rain as she watched her father’s casket being lowered into the ground. I then followed her home so she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all the things I've done in life, making that trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
The second time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I decided to go to counseling. For many years, anxiety, depression, and intense feelings of self-loathing weighed me down. I stuffed those feelings inside and tried to cover them with people-pleasing work and relationships, yet I was deeply broken. Despite the common sentiment that going to counseling shows a major weakness of faith and a shallow relationship with God, and despite the fact that my going to counseling would be looked down upon by many church-goers, I found the strength to ask for professional help.
Week in and week out, my counselor listened to my jumbled thoughts and helped me see myself and the God that I adore in life-altering ways. She showed me the unconditional love and grace of God and provided for me a steady, safe place. Through my time in counseling, I learned the importance of finding my voice—of giving words to my thoughts and feelings and allowing people to help carry the griefs, hurts, heartaches, and joys that I too often try to carry alone. Knowing that there was someone who unconditionally supported, cared for, and cheered for me allowed me to see all of the other people in my life who were and always had been doing the same. Counseling changed my perspective and allowed me to see the world through different eyes.
Of all the things I've done in life, taking that step toward help is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
As a people-pleaser, I don’t like receiving signs of disapproval, yet I’ve learned that I must follow my heart and do what I feel is best…
…I’ve learned that being myself is the best way of making the most of me.
After a lot of editing this entry to 500 words, here is version number one for my “Making The Most of Me” entry. This is the first time I have ever entered prose. I will post version number two on Thursday. It is a poem.
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I am a people pleaser. I like to do what’s right and have the approval of those around me. Even so, I can think of two specific times when I went against others’ approval and did what I felt best.
The first time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible condition. Making a long drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to do it. So I did. When I arrived at the funeral, I was the only person there for my friend. I sat with her on the family pew, rode with her to the graveside, and stood beside her in the freezing rain as she watched her father’s casket being lowered into the ground. I then followed her home so she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all the things I've done in life, making that trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
The second time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I decided to go to counseling. For many years, anxiety, depression, and intense feelings of self-loathing weighed me down. I stuffed those feelings inside and tried to cover them with people-pleasing work and relationships, yet I was deeply broken. Despite the common sentiment that going to counseling shows a major weakness of faith and a shallow relationship with God, and despite the fact that my going to counseling would be looked down upon by many church-goers, I found the strength to ask for professional help.
Week in and week out, my counselor listened to my jumbled thoughts and helped me see myself and the God that I adore in life-altering ways. She showed me the unconditional love and grace of God and provided for me a steady, safe place. Through my time in counseling, I learned the importance of finding my voice—of giving words to my thoughts and feelings and allowing people to help carry the griefs, hurts, heartaches, and joys that I too often try to carry alone. Knowing that there was someone who unconditionally supported, cared for, and cheered for me allowed me to see all of the other people in my life who were and always had been doing the same. Counseling changed my perspective and allowed me to see the world through different eyes.
Of all the things I've done in life, taking that step toward help is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
As a people-pleaser, I don’t like receiving signs of disapproval, yet I’ve learned that I must follow my heart and do what I feel is best…
…I’ve learned that being myself is the best way of making the most of me.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Marigold's Rescue
Edited out: A couple of weeks ago, I went to Barnes and Noble for the sole purpose of finding journals that might appeal to boys. I realize that what I’m getting ready to say is going to sound stereotypical, but most of the journals that we have to give as writing prizes are geared toward girls—adorned with purples, pinks, and bright greens; with flowers, dots, and hearts. While I know that there are boys who would be happy with these journals, I also know that most of the boys who write for the weekly writing challenges are more into gaming, hunting, and traditional sports playing. Now, before you scream offense, please note the qualifications with both of those sentences. I know that we have girls who are into gaming, hunting, and traditional sports playing, too. This is precisely why we let students choose their prize journal…and if at student chooses something that he/she might get picked on for, then we give it to him/her in a discreet way at the end of the day.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to Barnes and Noble for the sole purpose of finding more prize-journals for school. I did not accomplish my purpose. Instead, I walked away with zero prize-journals and seven bags of presents for friends and family members—including baby gifts for the two pregnant baristas in the store Starbucks. Yes, folks: this is typical of Deanna at the Barnes and Noble clearance sale.
One of that day’s gifts that I’m most excited about giving is an American Girl sewing/activity kit that I bought for Amelia. This past summer, she took an American Girl sewing class at a day-camp and had a really nice time. I wasn’t sure if Amelia was still interested in American Girl dolls—I think we all know how interests can come and go in the worlds of the children that we love—so I wrote my sister to check on the current American Girl doll interest level. We are still high on the interest-level scale and it doesn’t seem to be fading, so I took a risk and bought the American Girl stuff—hoping and trusting that Amelia would be happy with her gifts either way. She really is a positive, grateful child.
Something you should know about Amelia’s American Girl doll collection: Most of Amelia’s dolls were purchased second-hand. I find this neat because 1) the dolls are evidently very expensive and I’m a fan of not spending more money than is absolutely needed, and 2) Amelia has no idea nor does she care that someone before her once took care of the dolls. She loves her dolls as if she is the only person ever to love them—yet—she’d still love them if she were knowingly the fifteenth person to care for them. Here’s how I know this to be true:
Amelia and Griffin are on fall break this week. [Yes. They’re in elementary school.] For their first night of fall break, they came to spend the night at the house. Even though I was in and out at church all day yesterday, I still got to spend a few hours with these two amazing kids who had grown about ten inches since the last time I’d seen them (okay—that may be an exaggeration). During lunch, Amelia was excited to share that she had gotten a new doll. Knowing her propensity toward American Girl dolls, I asked if it was an American Girl doll. She informed me that it wasn’t. It was another kind of doll that she had rescued from a consignment sale. Did you hear that? My niece rescued a doll from a consignment sale!
Evidently, this doll was in bad shape. My sister said that it looked like she had been at the bottom of the toy bin for a very long time. Amelia said that she was really dirty, that her hair was a mess, and that her face was dented in. But for some reason, Amelia really wanted her. She saw potential in the doll. She wanted to save her. Amelia couldn’t rest until she’d rescued the doll.
Marigold, as she has now been named—although I heard Amelia say “Miracle” which would have been appropriate—is currently clean, with a new hairstyle, and with less sunken-in cheeks. She has been washed with a Clorox-wipe, brushed with a tiny brush, plumped up, and properly dressed. Marigold is now part of Amelia’s doll family, non-American Girl doll though she may be.
I don’t think I need to tell you how proud this story makes me. Amelia, age seven, believes in redemption without even knowing what redemption is. She sees potential in the people and things around her and then works to save what needs to be rescued—name-brand or not. And, really, what can be more beautiful than that?
A couple of weeks ago, I went to Barnes and Noble for the sole purpose of finding more prize-journals for school. I did not accomplish my purpose. Instead, I walked away with zero prize-journals and seven bags of presents for friends and family members—including baby gifts for the two pregnant baristas in the store Starbucks. Yes, folks: this is typical of Deanna at the Barnes and Noble clearance sale.
One of that day’s gifts that I’m most excited about giving is an American Girl sewing/activity kit that I bought for Amelia. This past summer, she took an American Girl sewing class at a day-camp and had a really nice time. I wasn’t sure if Amelia was still interested in American Girl dolls—I think we all know how interests can come and go in the worlds of the children that we love—so I wrote my sister to check on the current American Girl doll interest level. We are still high on the interest-level scale and it doesn’t seem to be fading, so I took a risk and bought the American Girl stuff—hoping and trusting that Amelia would be happy with her gifts either way. She really is a positive, grateful child.
Something you should know about Amelia’s American Girl doll collection: Most of Amelia’s dolls were purchased second-hand. I find this neat because 1) the dolls are evidently very expensive and I’m a fan of not spending more money than is absolutely needed, and 2) Amelia has no idea nor does she care that someone before her once took care of the dolls. She loves her dolls as if she is the only person ever to love them—yet—she’d still love them if she were knowingly the fifteenth person to care for them. Here’s how I know this to be true:
Amelia and Griffin are on fall break this week. [Yes. They’re in elementary school.] For their first night of fall break, they came to spend the night at the house. Even though I was in and out at church all day yesterday, I still got to spend a few hours with these two amazing kids who had grown about ten inches since the last time I’d seen them (okay—that may be an exaggeration). During lunch, Amelia was excited to share that she had gotten a new doll. Knowing her propensity toward American Girl dolls, I asked if it was an American Girl doll. She informed me that it wasn’t. It was another kind of doll that she had rescued from a consignment sale. Did you hear that? My niece rescued a doll from a consignment sale!
Evidently, this doll was in bad shape. My sister said that it looked like she had been at the bottom of the toy bin for a very long time. Amelia said that she was really dirty, that her hair was a mess, and that her face was dented in. But for some reason, Amelia really wanted her. She saw potential in the doll. She wanted to save her. Amelia couldn’t rest until she’d rescued the doll.
Marigold, as she has now been named—although I heard Amelia say “Miracle” which would have been appropriate—is currently clean, with a new hairstyle, and with less sunken-in cheeks. She has been washed with a Clorox-wipe, brushed with a tiny brush, plumped up, and properly dressed. Marigold is now part of Amelia’s doll family, non-American Girl doll though she may be.
I don’t think I need to tell you how proud this story makes me. Amelia, age seven, believes in redemption without even knowing what redemption is. She sees potential in the people and things around her and then works to save what needs to be rescued—name-brand or not. And, really, what can be more beautiful than that?
Monday, September 28, 2015
Fury
My first upside down roller-coaster was the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds. I was at Carowinds with my youth group from Tabor City Baptist City Church. That same day was the same day that I learned never to wear jeans shorts to an amusement part. Wet jeans from water rides. Walking around all day. Let’s just say that it’s not a good idea!
I revisited the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds on Saturday. I rode in the front car. The ride was a bit jerkier than the newer coasters, but it is still a fun ride. And I’m not so sure that I’d have had the courage to ride it again had I not been gently coerced onto the Fury 325 as soon as I arrived at the park.
For those of you who don’t know, the Fury 325 is the World’s tallest and fastest giga coaster. It is 325 feet high, has an 81 degree angle of descent, and travels approximately 95 mph. The track is quite intimidating as it towers over the rest of the park and the super-long line is quite daunting. Yet it was that super-long line that gave me the space to find the courage to actually ride.
Folks: I am not a young whipper-snapper anymore. I get dizzy if I spin around with my students just once and I get motion sick if I even think about reading while riding in a car or doing anything while riding on a boat. My bones are starting to ache and my family medical history is starting to become my medical history and, before Saturday, I genuinely wasn’t sure if I would be able to ride roller coasters anymore—and that was a very sad thought to me—because my nephews love roller coasters—and I do, too, truth be told.
So…when I got to Carowinds on Saturday and I saw the Fury 325, I immediately snapped a picture, sent it to my mom, and said, “I’m thinking about making Jack proud.” Jack is my oldest nephew who currently wants to be a roller coaster designer and operator. By the time my mom wrote me back and said that she hoped I wasn’t thinking about it too seriously, I was able to immediately respond, “I DID IT! IT WAS AWESOME!” Shortly after that, my sister-in-law wrote me and told me that Jack was super impressed. I felt as if all of my worldly goals had been accomplished in that moment!
Once I made it down that crazy steep drop and realized that I wasn’t going to die, I embraced my inner child, screamed super loud, and released my hands from the safety bars to pretend like I was flying. I did this on every ride that I rode and I rode every ride that I could ride and I would have ridden more had the park not closed. Needless to say, after overcoming what had become a really huge fear, I had a really great time at Carowinds.
Yesterday at church, Mister Pastor Patrick reiterated a point that I think we too often forget: It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. If we look at the story of God and God’s people, then we see God’s desire for this freedom: freedom from death, freedom from slavery, freedom from fear, freedom from anything that separates us from the love and goodness of God.
I suppose it may seem like a stretch to connect a fear of roller coasters to God. After all, roller coaster riding is a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure. And yet…the fear that I felt as I stood in line to ride the Fury 325 was so much bigger than a roller coaster. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of getting older—of losing my abilities to do things I love. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being able to breathe—of the anxiety and panic that come with the feeling of not being able to catch a good breath. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being good enough for my nephews—of disappointing them because I couldn’t do an activity that they hold dear to their hearts. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of looking stupid—of having heads turn toward me in sympathy should I get sick.
I spoke about these fears with the friends who were with me. And I wrote about these fears with my youth minister who wasn’t able to attend Carowinds that day. I asked her to pray for me—as stupid as that sounded—after all, I was going on a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure—and she did. And I felt those prayers. And I celebrated with my friends as I walked off that ride having overcome my fears.
It’s hard to know exactly what Jesus would do if he were around today, but part of me thinks that he’d have been in line to ride roller coasters with my friends and me, and part of me thinks that he’d really like them. I guess that’s why I found it so easy to imagine him with me and to hear him say, “It is for freedom that I have set you free, Deanna. Not to do ridiculously stupid things that will inevitably hurt you or others but to do things that will allow you to grow and trust and to have faith and believe and to allow you to live life to the fullest—in me—who has set you free. These fears that are binding you are bigger than this roller coaster—they are fears not of God—they are paralyzing you—but you can overcome them. Today. I am with you. Today. I will not forsake you. Today. Tomorrow. And in all the days to come.”
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free, friends.
And it is for overcoming damning fears that God cheers with Fury.
I revisited the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds on Saturday. I rode in the front car. The ride was a bit jerkier than the newer coasters, but it is still a fun ride. And I’m not so sure that I’d have had the courage to ride it again had I not been gently coerced onto the Fury 325 as soon as I arrived at the park.
For those of you who don’t know, the Fury 325 is the World’s tallest and fastest giga coaster. It is 325 feet high, has an 81 degree angle of descent, and travels approximately 95 mph. The track is quite intimidating as it towers over the rest of the park and the super-long line is quite daunting. Yet it was that super-long line that gave me the space to find the courage to actually ride.
Folks: I am not a young whipper-snapper anymore. I get dizzy if I spin around with my students just once and I get motion sick if I even think about reading while riding in a car or doing anything while riding on a boat. My bones are starting to ache and my family medical history is starting to become my medical history and, before Saturday, I genuinely wasn’t sure if I would be able to ride roller coasters anymore—and that was a very sad thought to me—because my nephews love roller coasters—and I do, too, truth be told.
So…when I got to Carowinds on Saturday and I saw the Fury 325, I immediately snapped a picture, sent it to my mom, and said, “I’m thinking about making Jack proud.” Jack is my oldest nephew who currently wants to be a roller coaster designer and operator. By the time my mom wrote me back and said that she hoped I wasn’t thinking about it too seriously, I was able to immediately respond, “I DID IT! IT WAS AWESOME!” Shortly after that, my sister-in-law wrote me and told me that Jack was super impressed. I felt as if all of my worldly goals had been accomplished in that moment!
Once I made it down that crazy steep drop and realized that I wasn’t going to die, I embraced my inner child, screamed super loud, and released my hands from the safety bars to pretend like I was flying. I did this on every ride that I rode and I rode every ride that I could ride and I would have ridden more had the park not closed. Needless to say, after overcoming what had become a really huge fear, I had a really great time at Carowinds.
Yesterday at church, Mister Pastor Patrick reiterated a point that I think we too often forget: It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. If we look at the story of God and God’s people, then we see God’s desire for this freedom: freedom from death, freedom from slavery, freedom from fear, freedom from anything that separates us from the love and goodness of God.
I suppose it may seem like a stretch to connect a fear of roller coasters to God. After all, roller coaster riding is a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure. And yet…the fear that I felt as I stood in line to ride the Fury 325 was so much bigger than a roller coaster. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of getting older—of losing my abilities to do things I love. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being able to breathe—of the anxiety and panic that come with the feeling of not being able to catch a good breath. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being good enough for my nephews—of disappointing them because I couldn’t do an activity that they hold dear to their hearts. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of looking stupid—of having heads turn toward me in sympathy should I get sick.
I spoke about these fears with the friends who were with me. And I wrote about these fears with my youth minister who wasn’t able to attend Carowinds that day. I asked her to pray for me—as stupid as that sounded—after all, I was going on a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure—and she did. And I felt those prayers. And I celebrated with my friends as I walked off that ride having overcome my fears.
It’s hard to know exactly what Jesus would do if he were around today, but part of me thinks that he’d have been in line to ride roller coasters with my friends and me, and part of me thinks that he’d really like them. I guess that’s why I found it so easy to imagine him with me and to hear him say, “It is for freedom that I have set you free, Deanna. Not to do ridiculously stupid things that will inevitably hurt you or others but to do things that will allow you to grow and trust and to have faith and believe and to allow you to live life to the fullest—in me—who has set you free. These fears that are binding you are bigger than this roller coaster—they are fears not of God—they are paralyzing you—but you can overcome them. Today. I am with you. Today. I will not forsake you. Today. Tomorrow. And in all the days to come.”
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free, friends.
And it is for overcoming damning fears that God cheers with Fury.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
T-shirts
A few months ago, I attended a group meeting where the main speaker shared about a project that the group had participated in. We even got t-shirts for our participation. As the speaker shared, though, and I heard many things for the first time, I began to feel disconnected from the group. In all honesty, I hadn’t done anything for the project…because I didn’t know much about the project…yet…I had the project t-shirt. After the meeting, I wrote the group-leader and said: “I don’t feel like I deserve the t-shirt. Yet I want to deserve the t-shirt. I want to be part of this. I just need to know how.”
When I was in college at Meredith, we joked that there was a t-shirt for everything--because there was. And I’m pretty sure that it’s the same way at other colleges.
When I worked at camps during the summers, I always came home with three or more camp t-shirts.
When I taught at Gentry and Erwin for 8 years, I collected quite a few shirts.
When I worked as a youth minister, I made sure to order each of my youth t-shirts.
In fact, I have t-shirt quilts from each of the above chapters of my life.
When I’ve been on event-planning teams, one of the ideas that’s always been brought up has been an event t-shirt.
When I worked in full-time ministry, one of the ideas that I kept bringing up was the idea of a nice work t-shirt.
When an art gallery messed up a Fabio canvas during shipping, they offered me a Fabio t-shirt as compensation. I was thrilled to get the t-shirt.
When I arrived at Johnsonville, one of the first things I did was get a school t-shirt.
T-shirts are a sign of pride. T-shirts are a sign of belonging.
Tonight, I bought two more Johnsonville shirts. Tonight’s purchase made Johnsonville shirt #13. Thirteen, friends. And remember: this is only the beginning of my third year at Johnsonville. At this rate, I’ll be able to make five more t-shirt quilts by the time I retire!
After I bought my t-shirts tonight, I put them on. I didn’t want to misplace them. Someone asked me to turn around so that she could see the back of the shirts. I did. Then I said, “And if you want to see the colors of the other one, then here it is.” I pulled up my top layer of Johnsonville-wear. After I showed off my second shirt, I said, “And if you want to see the original shirt, then here.” I pulled up my second layer of Johnsonville-wear and revealed my original shirt. I told the principal that it would be fun to have someone layer a bunch of Johnsonville-wear and make a comedy skit out of it at a meeting. I told my mom that it would be fun to wear a bunch of Johnsonville-wear to school one day and take off one shirt in between each class, thus teaching each class with a different outfit. I’m not sure that either my principal or my mom thought my ideas as fun as I did, but…alas…I still think both things would be fun. After all. I have 13 shirts from which to choose!
But you know what?
I’m proud of my 13 shirts.
I’m proud to show that I am part of Johnsonville and to be a walking billboard for it.
Do we have our issues? Yes. But doesn’t every school?
I’m proud to be part of a team that conquers mountains every day--
Paperwork, legislation, emotional and physical obstacles.
I’m proud to work in the public schools,
In a profession that changes lives.
I’m proud to be a teacher who voluntarily submits herself to being exploited.
I’m proud that I get the opportunity to change the world every day.
So I will gladly display the name of the group of which I am part—
Which right now is Johnsonville.
And I will gladly wear my group t-shirts—
One or thirteen at a time.
When I was in college at Meredith, we joked that there was a t-shirt for everything--because there was. And I’m pretty sure that it’s the same way at other colleges.
When I worked at camps during the summers, I always came home with three or more camp t-shirts.
When I taught at Gentry and Erwin for 8 years, I collected quite a few shirts.
When I worked as a youth minister, I made sure to order each of my youth t-shirts.
In fact, I have t-shirt quilts from each of the above chapters of my life.
When I’ve been on event-planning teams, one of the ideas that’s always been brought up has been an event t-shirt.
When I worked in full-time ministry, one of the ideas that I kept bringing up was the idea of a nice work t-shirt.
When an art gallery messed up a Fabio canvas during shipping, they offered me a Fabio t-shirt as compensation. I was thrilled to get the t-shirt.
When I arrived at Johnsonville, one of the first things I did was get a school t-shirt.
T-shirts are a sign of pride. T-shirts are a sign of belonging.
Tonight, I bought two more Johnsonville shirts. Tonight’s purchase made Johnsonville shirt #13. Thirteen, friends. And remember: this is only the beginning of my third year at Johnsonville. At this rate, I’ll be able to make five more t-shirt quilts by the time I retire!
After I bought my t-shirts tonight, I put them on. I didn’t want to misplace them. Someone asked me to turn around so that she could see the back of the shirts. I did. Then I said, “And if you want to see the colors of the other one, then here it is.” I pulled up my top layer of Johnsonville-wear. After I showed off my second shirt, I said, “And if you want to see the original shirt, then here.” I pulled up my second layer of Johnsonville-wear and revealed my original shirt. I told the principal that it would be fun to have someone layer a bunch of Johnsonville-wear and make a comedy skit out of it at a meeting. I told my mom that it would be fun to wear a bunch of Johnsonville-wear to school one day and take off one shirt in between each class, thus teaching each class with a different outfit. I’m not sure that either my principal or my mom thought my ideas as fun as I did, but…alas…I still think both things would be fun. After all. I have 13 shirts from which to choose!
But you know what?
I’m proud of my 13 shirts.
I’m proud to show that I am part of Johnsonville and to be a walking billboard for it.
Do we have our issues? Yes. But doesn’t every school?
I’m proud to be part of a team that conquers mountains every day--
Paperwork, legislation, emotional and physical obstacles.
I’m proud to work in the public schools,
In a profession that changes lives.
I’m proud to be a teacher who voluntarily submits herself to being exploited.
I’m proud that I get the opportunity to change the world every day.
So I will gladly display the name of the group of which I am part—
Which right now is Johnsonville.
And I will gladly wear my group t-shirts—
One or thirteen at a time.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Breathe...Peace
Today is the International World Day of Peace. In preparation for the day, B had the 5th graders make Pinwheels for Peace and placed them in front of the school. I’ve been working with the 5th graders on songs of peace. We’re currently writing personalized verses to the song, “What Can One Little Person Do?”
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On Friday night, I had the privilege of seeing Plumb in concert. She was headlining a women’s conference in Fayetteville. I’d never before seen Plumb and knew very little about her life or music, yet I knew I wanted to attend the concert because I’d recently heard her song “Exhale” and immediately connected with it. In short, the concert was amazing and speaking with Plumb afterward was the same.
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In my example verse for the 5th graders, I wrote that I hoped for sustainability and made a plan to use reusable shopping bags to change the world. I want my students to know that standing for peace and changing the world doesn’t have to be a huge, instantly famous action. I want them to know that, really, it’s the little things that change the world and bring peace—things that they actually can do rather than abstract concepts that seem impossible. If I’d have thought they could fully understand it, though, then I would have written about my hope for mindfulness and self-awareness and my plan to breathe.
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During one of the most difficult emotional periods of my life, one of my friends consistently told me to breathe. I remember getting mad at her for telling me to breathe because, of course, I was breathing. But one night when I found myself in fitful tears, I realized that I was holding my breath instead of exhaling. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Steady breath calms us.
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After standing in line for at least thirty minutes to meet Plumb, I had the opportunity to speak with her for a few moments. As a formality, I had her sign my newly purchased CD, but I really just wanted to talk with her. So I did. I told her how appreciative I was of the honesty and wisdom in her music and how much I resonated with “Exhale.” She explained her hope that as she inhaled and exhaled grace, the grace would find its way to those around her and surround them with a hug. As she explained this to me, she touched my shoulders to demonstrate the surrounding.
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My first counselor, Jenny, gave me an audio-book called Good Medicine. In the book, the teacher, Pema Chodron, introduces a concept that I personalized to this: Breathe in darkness, stress, gunk, and all things bad; imagine Jesus (who, according to Christian teaching “lives” in the heart) filtering out and getting rid of all of the junk; then breathe out light, grace, hope, peace, love, and all things good.
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Just before Plumb told me her hope that the air she exhales will hug those around her, I shared with her the process that I learned in Good Medicine. I told her that I breathe in darkness and breathe out light for myself, my friends, my family, my students, the world. I presented the concept to her in case she wanted to do the same.
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What can I do to change the world? Live with mindfulness and self-awareness. And breathe… peace.
mi
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On Friday night, I had the privilege of seeing Plumb in concert. She was headlining a women’s conference in Fayetteville. I’d never before seen Plumb and knew very little about her life or music, yet I knew I wanted to attend the concert because I’d recently heard her song “Exhale” and immediately connected with it. In short, the concert was amazing and speaking with Plumb afterward was the same.
----
In my example verse for the 5th graders, I wrote that I hoped for sustainability and made a plan to use reusable shopping bags to change the world. I want my students to know that standing for peace and changing the world doesn’t have to be a huge, instantly famous action. I want them to know that, really, it’s the little things that change the world and bring peace—things that they actually can do rather than abstract concepts that seem impossible. If I’d have thought they could fully understand it, though, then I would have written about my hope for mindfulness and self-awareness and my plan to breathe.
----
During one of the most difficult emotional periods of my life, one of my friends consistently told me to breathe. I remember getting mad at her for telling me to breathe because, of course, I was breathing. But one night when I found myself in fitful tears, I realized that I was holding my breath instead of exhaling. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Steady breath calms us.
----
After standing in line for at least thirty minutes to meet Plumb, I had the opportunity to speak with her for a few moments. As a formality, I had her sign my newly purchased CD, but I really just wanted to talk with her. So I did. I told her how appreciative I was of the honesty and wisdom in her music and how much I resonated with “Exhale.” She explained her hope that as she inhaled and exhaled grace, the grace would find its way to those around her and surround them with a hug. As she explained this to me, she touched my shoulders to demonstrate the surrounding.
----
My first counselor, Jenny, gave me an audio-book called Good Medicine. In the book, the teacher, Pema Chodron, introduces a concept that I personalized to this: Breathe in darkness, stress, gunk, and all things bad; imagine Jesus (who, according to Christian teaching “lives” in the heart) filtering out and getting rid of all of the junk; then breathe out light, grace, hope, peace, love, and all things good.
-----
Just before Plumb told me her hope that the air she exhales will hug those around her, I shared with her the process that I learned in Good Medicine. I told her that I breathe in darkness and breathe out light for myself, my friends, my family, my students, the world. I presented the concept to her in case she wanted to do the same.
----
What can I do to change the world? Live with mindfulness and self-awareness. And breathe… peace.
mi
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Rhythms, Routines, and Bathroom Breaks
One of my classes was a bit out of sorts this week. As the teacher and I were talking, and she was apologizing to me, she commented that this week had thrown the class out of rhythm. I thought her phrase quite profound, and I knew her phrase to be very true.
I suppose that many occupations depend on a schedule, but I can’t imagine an occupation much more schedule driven than teaching. Our daily schedule, that becomes a routine, is so set that even our bodies start working around it.
At risk of sharing too much information, I confess that my body knows when it can use the bathroom: after morning duty, noon, and just before afternoon duty—and I’m lucky that I have those moments because many teachers do not. I’ve learned that I can have one cup of coffee in the morning but that I shouldn’t drink anything else until lunchtime—which isn’t really healthy, especially for someone who uses her voice all morning. If I stay hydrated, though, then my body betrays me by doing what it is supposed to do and then I have to pee. And if that happens, then, well, I end up doing the pee-pee dance with the kids who sometimes come to my hut and have to use the bathroom as well. Then I have to run across the parking lot during classes, bang on B’s door, walk quickly to the little bathroom in her building, and hope that I get back to my hut before my class arrives.
That being said, I have made myself laugh twice this year as my body has betrayed me.
The first time was on our first First Friday a few weeks ago. While setting up the food, I ate a few snacks and poured myself a Coke. Sure enough, my body did its job, and I found myself having to pee by the beginning of my second class. I have four before lunch. I knew that I wasn’t going to make it, so I wrote the teacher who was coming third. At first I wrote: “I drank too much this morning. Must run to restroom before your class. Just wanted to let you know where I was if you get here while I’m gone.” Then I thought: “Hmm. That sounds like I’ve been drinking as a form of self-medication and that I was drinking before school. I’d better not send that.” So I edited my message and changed it to: “Consumed too many liquids this morning—drank both coffee AND soda like a dufus. Must run to the restroom before your class. Just wanted to let you know where I was if you get here while I’m gone.” The teacher understood. All was well. I got to make an emergency bathroom stop, and I didn’t make myself sound like an alcoholic.
The second time was today. I’m not sure what happened this morning—I only had one cup of coffee—but during the middle of my second class I realized that I was going to need to use the bathroom before noon. During my third class, I called the teacher of my next class to let her know where I’d be if she and her class got to my hut and I wasn’t there. Instead of stating this simply and eloquently, however, this is how the conversation went:
“Good morning, this is Ms. Orr.”
“Hi, Orr. This is Deaton. I have to pee.”
As soon as the statement exited my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it sounded and started to laugh. Orr laughed, too, and started to say, “Okay. And what would you like for me to do about this?” but I quickly began to explain the full point of my call and she quickly understood. But that didn’t mean we didn’t still laugh really hard when she brought her class. And it doesn’t mean that I haven’t laughed at myself all day. It’s as if I were saying, “Hi. My name is Deanna. And I have a confession to make.”
Which…I guess I have just made a confession. A bathroom confession. A confession about the importance of routine and schedule. A confession about rhythm. And a confession that teachers give everything and give up everything for our jobs—time, money, effort, and normal body functions included.
Monday, September 14, 2015
In The Morning, In The Night
I’ve been calendaring all night.
Catching up on the things I’ve done.
Writing in events that are to come.
It’s a bit overwhelming—
How the little boxes on the calendar are filling up.
But it’s good, too, I suppose—
Knowing that life is full of opportunity—
If I can just keep seeing the full little boxes as such.
As the night comes to a close,
And part of me feels completely overwhelmed,
And another part of me knows that I’m not the only one,
I offer two haikus for you to begin and end your own busy days:
In the morning:
Good morning, my friend.
There is beauty in today.
And beauty in you.
In the night:
Good night, child of God.
Sweet dreams be yours. Rest restore
Your body and soul.
Today. And every day.
Every busy day of opportunity.
Amen.
Catching up on the things I’ve done.
Writing in events that are to come.
It’s a bit overwhelming—
How the little boxes on the calendar are filling up.
But it’s good, too, I suppose—
Knowing that life is full of opportunity—
If I can just keep seeing the full little boxes as such.
As the night comes to a close,
And part of me feels completely overwhelmed,
And another part of me knows that I’m not the only one,
I offer two haikus for you to begin and end your own busy days:
In the morning:
Good morning, my friend.
There is beauty in today.
And beauty in you.
In the night:
Good night, child of God.
Sweet dreams be yours. Rest restore
Your body and soul.
Today. And every day.
Every busy day of opportunity.
Amen.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
It Is For Freedom That Christ Has Set Us Free
The people of Israel,
released from captive slavery,
came face to face with what seemed like an obstacle, struggled, then
decided that they wanted to go back to Egypt.
Yet it is for freedom that God has set us free.
The disciples in Jerusalem,
grieving Peter’s impending death,
heard a knock at the door,
heard Peter’s presence announced,
forgot that the same God who parted the Red Sea and moved a freed people forward
could break the chains that bound Peter to prison walls.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Adults living in fear of being called out,
Children stifled by crippling self-doubt.
Partners living in fear of doing something wrong,
Self-worth poisoned by threats of alone.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Oh God: Help us when
We look at our lives
And paint pictures of Egypt.
Oh God, please: When memories haunt us--
When the yoke of fear
Begins to bind--
When good intentions go awry and
We are rendered useless--
Help us to remember who You
Are. You have made a path through the
Desert and delivered us from chains that bind. It is
You, always You, who calls us forward.
It is You, always You, who gives life and sets us free.
It is for freedom, friends,
That Christ has set us free:
One day—one moment—one breath—at a time.
released from captive slavery,
came face to face with what seemed like an obstacle, struggled, then
decided that they wanted to go back to Egypt.
Yet it is for freedom that God has set us free.
The disciples in Jerusalem,
grieving Peter’s impending death,
heard a knock at the door,
heard Peter’s presence announced,
forgot that the same God who parted the Red Sea and moved a freed people forward
could break the chains that bound Peter to prison walls.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Adults living in fear of being called out,
Children stifled by crippling self-doubt.
Partners living in fear of doing something wrong,
Self-worth poisoned by threats of alone.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Oh God: Help us when
We look at our lives
And paint pictures of Egypt.
Oh God, please: When memories haunt us--
When the yoke of fear
Begins to bind--
When good intentions go awry and
We are rendered useless--
Help us to remember who You
Are. You have made a path through the
Desert and delivered us from chains that bind. It is
You, always You, who calls us forward.
It is You, always You, who gives life and sets us free.
It is for freedom, friends,
That Christ has set us free:
One day—one moment—one breath—at a time.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Bubbling Home
Last week, with the help of a couple of friends, and over the course of two afternoons, I sorted through the prizes that I had compiled for my school’s school-wide art/writing challenge of the week.
Each Monday morning, we announce a new challenge of the week. On Friday, we announce the week’s winners.
In the process of prize-sorting, I found a bunch of small containers of bubble-stuff.
Naturally, this week’s challenge of the week was: Imagine that a bubble came down from the sky, picked you up, and took you anywhere in the world that you wanted to go, to do anything in the world that you wanted to do. Draw a picture of this adventure and write a little bit about it.
After a night of marathon baking for tomorrow’s First Friday Treats (we have teacher treats at my school on the first Friday of every month), I just sat down to read this week’s challenge answers. I’ve been smiling a lot since sitting down…and I’m currently wishing that a bubble really could come down and take my students where they want to go: the desert, New York City, on a taxi ride, Paris, to see a parent, Hollywood, the zoo, Disneyworld, the beach, home.
And here is the line that I love the most: “And if I was to do all that I would be excited, happy, and in a good mood. I just love when you can do all those things by a bubble.”
*I smile*
Folks. Bubbles may not really come down from the sky, pick us up, and take us away. But in our minds, we can dream. And in our dreams we can smile. And in our smiles, we can glimpse a bit of the beauty that life can be.
And another: “In conclusion, sometimes, wherever you go, sometimes you get excited, but, you miss home, too.”
*I smile again.*
Folks. Sometimes we will go places—though not by bubble of course—and we will be excited. But when it’s all said and done, in our dreams and in our smiles, it’s the beauty of home that holds our hearts. The homes we are given. The homes we make. The homes where we rest. The homes where we simply fit.
I just love when we can do all those things by a bubble.
And I love when that bubble feels like coming home.
Each Monday morning, we announce a new challenge of the week. On Friday, we announce the week’s winners.
In the process of prize-sorting, I found a bunch of small containers of bubble-stuff.
Naturally, this week’s challenge of the week was: Imagine that a bubble came down from the sky, picked you up, and took you anywhere in the world that you wanted to go, to do anything in the world that you wanted to do. Draw a picture of this adventure and write a little bit about it.
After a night of marathon baking for tomorrow’s First Friday Treats (we have teacher treats at my school on the first Friday of every month), I just sat down to read this week’s challenge answers. I’ve been smiling a lot since sitting down…and I’m currently wishing that a bubble really could come down and take my students where they want to go: the desert, New York City, on a taxi ride, Paris, to see a parent, Hollywood, the zoo, Disneyworld, the beach, home.
And here is the line that I love the most: “And if I was to do all that I would be excited, happy, and in a good mood. I just love when you can do all those things by a bubble.”
*I smile*
Folks. Bubbles may not really come down from the sky, pick us up, and take us away. But in our minds, we can dream. And in our dreams we can smile. And in our smiles, we can glimpse a bit of the beauty that life can be.
And another: “In conclusion, sometimes, wherever you go, sometimes you get excited, but, you miss home, too.”
*I smile again.*
Folks. Sometimes we will go places—though not by bubble of course—and we will be excited. But when it’s all said and done, in our dreams and in our smiles, it’s the beauty of home that holds our hearts. The homes we are given. The homes we make. The homes where we rest. The homes where we simply fit.
I just love when we can do all those things by a bubble.
And I love when that bubble feels like coming home.
Monday, August 31, 2015
A Laugh At My Expense
Last Wednesday night, I posted a status about a conversation with my mom that made me laugh so hard that I almost wrecked. Yesterday, as the congregation sang the song that sparked the conversation, I looked at Mom and smiled. We both understood the others’ smile. We both allowed our spirits to soar.
Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that matter the most—
The little things that make a big difference—
The smiles and laughter that propel our bodies through our days.
And so, dear friends, I post tonight’s note in hopes of making you laugh—solely at my expense!
On Friday afternoon, a friend and I went to get pedicures. While sitting in the pedicure chair, I did the same thing that I did over Spring Break: I decided to get my legs waxed.
Since that Spring Break adventure, I’d had my legs waxed two more times. Each time, I’d been taken into the official wax room and asked to lie on the waxing table so that the wax technician (not sure what else to call her) could do her job. First the back of my legs. Then the front. Then the feet. Then the tweezing of stray hair—especially on the feet and knees.
Though at a different nail place on Friday, I fully expected to go through the same process. I was wrong.
Instead of being taken into the official wax room, I was asked to return to my pedicure chair. The wax technician then brought out a sheet and a trash bag and placed them over the foot basin. A few minutes later, she brought out all of her waxing equipment…and then…rip!
Right there in front of God and everyone, the wax technician waxed my legs!
The ladies sitting beside me watched in both fascination and horror. They asked a lot of questions, and we discussed the pros and cons of leg-waxing. They all determined that it would hurt too much to get theirs done.
Meanwhile, I sat there trying not cringe too badly with every rip…and I twisted myself into some really odd sitting positions while trying to position my legs so that the wax technician could reach them. I didn’t realize I needed to stretch before having my lower legs waxed!
Meanwhile still, my friend sat across the room with her toes under the dryer and just laughed at me.
I’m happy to report that three days later, my legs are still silky smooth. But folks: I’m glad that I’m not overly self-conscious about my non-waxed legs because, well, they were on display for all the world to see on Friday…becoming non-hairy…one…rip…at a time.
Go and laugh. And cringe. You know you want to :-).
Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that matter the most—
The little things that make a big difference—
The smiles and laughter that propel our bodies through our days.
And so, dear friends, I post tonight’s note in hopes of making you laugh—solely at my expense!
On Friday afternoon, a friend and I went to get pedicures. While sitting in the pedicure chair, I did the same thing that I did over Spring Break: I decided to get my legs waxed.
Since that Spring Break adventure, I’d had my legs waxed two more times. Each time, I’d been taken into the official wax room and asked to lie on the waxing table so that the wax technician (not sure what else to call her) could do her job. First the back of my legs. Then the front. Then the feet. Then the tweezing of stray hair—especially on the feet and knees.
Though at a different nail place on Friday, I fully expected to go through the same process. I was wrong.
Instead of being taken into the official wax room, I was asked to return to my pedicure chair. The wax technician then brought out a sheet and a trash bag and placed them over the foot basin. A few minutes later, she brought out all of her waxing equipment…and then…rip!
Right there in front of God and everyone, the wax technician waxed my legs!
The ladies sitting beside me watched in both fascination and horror. They asked a lot of questions, and we discussed the pros and cons of leg-waxing. They all determined that it would hurt too much to get theirs done.
Meanwhile, I sat there trying not cringe too badly with every rip…and I twisted myself into some really odd sitting positions while trying to position my legs so that the wax technician could reach them. I didn’t realize I needed to stretch before having my lower legs waxed!
Meanwhile still, my friend sat across the room with her toes under the dryer and just laughed at me.
I’m happy to report that three days later, my legs are still silky smooth. But folks: I’m glad that I’m not overly self-conscious about my non-waxed legs because, well, they were on display for all the world to see on Friday…becoming non-hairy…one…rip…at a time.
Go and laugh. And cringe. You know you want to :-).
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Broken Dollar Bill Bullet Intervention
I went to dinner with my friend Amy after work tonight.
Then Amy and I went to get frozen yogurt.
While we were eating our frozen yogurt,
I saw a customer ask the cashier for some tape.
She had a broken dollar bill.
I immediately started thinking about that broken dollar bill.
In just a few seconds,
I wondered how the broken dollar bill had gotten torn,
how often cashiers were asked to mend money,
how long taped-up dollar bills would last, and
how a broken dollar bill could be turned into a metaphor for life.
When I mentioned that I was wondering about the broken dollar bill,
Amy simply said,
“It happens.”
I laughed.
Folks, there are very different types of people in this world.
And my friend Amy and I are two of those very different people.
When I got home from my outing with Amy,
Bullet met me at the door and took me for a walk—
Only, Bullet is not really supposed to go on walks this week because he has stitches in his right shoulder.
Bullet had a mass removed on Tuesday. We’re waiting on biopsy results.
Bullet doesn’t seem to realize that he’s not supposed to go on walks, though.
When his girlfriend Millie came to visit, he took off running behind her.
They go exploring together a lot. Millie is four times Bullet’s size. They are funny together.
Bullet was very happy to be out and about.
I, however, was not very happy that he was not doing what was best for him.
Concerned for the little guy,
Much further away from the house than we should have been,
I picked up Bullet’s twenty-one pounds and carried him home.
He happily let me carry him,
Licking my arm,
Glad, I think, to be off of the leg on which he was hobbling.
Folks, there are a lot of creatures in this world who do not know what’s best for them.
Bullet Williams-Deaton, along with countless youth and children, are some of those creatures,
And sometimes it’s up to those of us who know and love those creatures to intervene.
Thank God that there are very different types of people in this world—
With different gifts, different talents, different ways of seeing the world—
To intervene.
I know that I’m glad that Amy intervened with my broken-dollar thinking tonight.
Then Amy and I went to get frozen yogurt.
While we were eating our frozen yogurt,
I saw a customer ask the cashier for some tape.
She had a broken dollar bill.
I immediately started thinking about that broken dollar bill.
In just a few seconds,
I wondered how the broken dollar bill had gotten torn,
how often cashiers were asked to mend money,
how long taped-up dollar bills would last, and
how a broken dollar bill could be turned into a metaphor for life.
When I mentioned that I was wondering about the broken dollar bill,
Amy simply said,
“It happens.”
I laughed.
Folks, there are very different types of people in this world.
And my friend Amy and I are two of those very different people.
When I got home from my outing with Amy,
Bullet met me at the door and took me for a walk—
Only, Bullet is not really supposed to go on walks this week because he has stitches in his right shoulder.
Bullet had a mass removed on Tuesday. We’re waiting on biopsy results.
Bullet doesn’t seem to realize that he’s not supposed to go on walks, though.
When his girlfriend Millie came to visit, he took off running behind her.
They go exploring together a lot. Millie is four times Bullet’s size. They are funny together.
Bullet was very happy to be out and about.
I, however, was not very happy that he was not doing what was best for him.
Concerned for the little guy,
Much further away from the house than we should have been,
I picked up Bullet’s twenty-one pounds and carried him home.
He happily let me carry him,
Licking my arm,
Glad, I think, to be off of the leg on which he was hobbling.
Folks, there are a lot of creatures in this world who do not know what’s best for them.
Bullet Williams-Deaton, along with countless youth and children, are some of those creatures,
And sometimes it’s up to those of us who know and love those creatures to intervene.
Thank God that there are very different types of people in this world—
With different gifts, different talents, different ways of seeing the world—
To intervene.
I know that I’m glad that Amy intervened with my broken-dollar thinking tonight.
Monday, August 24, 2015
Reflections On My First Day of School
I started teaching-year eleven today. Had I continued teaching every year since college, then I’d be starting teaching-year seventeen. Alas, I took a six-year sabbatical. My retirement account does not thank me. But my general sense of well-being does.
I don’t remember when it started, but somewhere along the way my mom and I started shaking hands on the first day of school—and before all of my other major life events, truth be told. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I woke my mom to shake her hand. We shook hands. Then she un-mummied herself, got up, hugged me, and told me she loved me.
When I returned to teaching after my six-year sabbatical, my dad decided that he would cook me breakfast each morning. I don’t know why he decided this, but I’m glad that he did. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I came downstairs to a fully cooked breakfast. I told my dad thanks, gave him a hug, and told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too.
I pray a lot. I pray for other people. I pray for myself. I pray for church. I pray for school. I pray for friends. I pray for family. I pray in the car, the shower, my bed, my classroom. I pray publically whenever someone asks. But rarely do I pray with someone, and rarely does someone pray with me. But this morning, at o’dark-thirty, a friend called and asked if she could pray for me as I began school today. She prayed. And I literally felt God’s spirit moving into and through me.
Power more than words.
Spirit breathes fresh breath to lungs.
Life courses through veins.
“Every day we wake up,” she said, “it’s a new day. A fresh start.”
Sunlight peaks through clouds.
Rise up on wings of prayer.
Today’s a new day.
“Remember,” she said. “I am proud of you for doing what you do. For standing in the trenches and fighting for your students and fellow teachers. For not giving up. For fighting the good fight. I know it’s not always easy. Keep fighting and persevering. You are needed. Your love is needed.”
A handshake.
A breakfast sandwich.
A hug.
A prayer.
A lot of love.
Encouragement.
Every day:
A new day.
A fresh start.
And not just for me, friends.
But for you as well.
I don’t remember when it started, but somewhere along the way my mom and I started shaking hands on the first day of school—and before all of my other major life events, truth be told. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I woke my mom to shake her hand. We shook hands. Then she un-mummied herself, got up, hugged me, and told me she loved me.
When I returned to teaching after my six-year sabbatical, my dad decided that he would cook me breakfast each morning. I don’t know why he decided this, but I’m glad that he did. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I came downstairs to a fully cooked breakfast. I told my dad thanks, gave him a hug, and told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too.
I pray a lot. I pray for other people. I pray for myself. I pray for church. I pray for school. I pray for friends. I pray for family. I pray in the car, the shower, my bed, my classroom. I pray publically whenever someone asks. But rarely do I pray with someone, and rarely does someone pray with me. But this morning, at o’dark-thirty, a friend called and asked if she could pray for me as I began school today. She prayed. And I literally felt God’s spirit moving into and through me.
Power more than words.
Spirit breathes fresh breath to lungs.
Life courses through veins.
“Every day we wake up,” she said, “it’s a new day. A fresh start.”
Sunlight peaks through clouds.
Rise up on wings of prayer.
Today’s a new day.
“Remember,” she said. “I am proud of you for doing what you do. For standing in the trenches and fighting for your students and fellow teachers. For not giving up. For fighting the good fight. I know it’s not always easy. Keep fighting and persevering. You are needed. Your love is needed.”
A handshake.
A breakfast sandwich.
A hug.
A prayer.
A lot of love.
Encouragement.
Every day:
A new day.
A fresh start.
And not just for me, friends.
But for you as well.
Monday, August 17, 2015
I Give Up My Right
Yesterday during the children’s sermon, as I was explaining some of the words from the hymn we’d just sung, one of the preschoolers said, “I think you’re trying to make a point.” I realized I must have been boring the kids, chuckled, and said, “I do have a point. The point is that no one can act so bad that God cannot still love and forgive him.” We were talking about Saul’s conversion and how, after being blinded by the light of Christ, he received forgiveness and his life was changed.
During the actual sermon of the day, Patrick the Pastor took his points a bit further. In talking about Saul’s conversion, Patrick wondered what would have happened had Ananias not been willing to visit Saul in his blindness and to carry God’s message of redemption to him. What if Ananias had been too afraid because of Saul’s reputation? What if he had refused to go because of their differences?
As Patrick pondered these questions, he also spoke about forgiveness—about the importance not only of God’s forgiveness to humankind but of humankind’s forgiveness toward one another. If we are to be the church alive in this world, then we must be a people who forgive—a people who can look at one another and say, “I give up my right to be angry with you.”
…I give up my right to be angry with you…
Folks…I need to confess something. While it takes a lot to make me angry at anyone other than myself, it doesn’t always take a lot for me to struggle to be around certain people. I do my best not to show it, but there are people who challenge my capacity to truly be kind and there are people who I would prefer not to keep in my company. I am not proud of this reality and it is a reality with which I struggle, so Patrick’s statement about giving up my right to be angry with someone really struck a chord in me.
It’s not really anger that I feel most of the time. Oh. I feel anger at unfair and unjust systems and toward the figure-heads who promote those systems. But toward individual people in my life, it’s usually something else. Something different. Something that made me zone out of part of the sermon for a few moments and jot down these words:
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge.
Fabio Napoleoni, my favorite artist other than Barb the Best, has a piece called Jimmy’s Revenge. I’ll include its image with this note. The story with this piece is this:
To fully understand this title you have to understand the story of Jimmy. Jimmy is that odd little boy in school (the outcast) that sits there doesn't talk much and seems to be very shy. In reality Jimmy is very observant, witty and greatly dislikes those who lack compassion, those who feed of greed and most of all those who thrive of sorrow...
And what is Jimmy’s revenge? Love bombs. Jimmy throws love bombs.
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge. And I embrace my right to throw love bombs.
And that, dear friends, is the point.
During the actual sermon of the day, Patrick the Pastor took his points a bit further. In talking about Saul’s conversion, Patrick wondered what would have happened had Ananias not been willing to visit Saul in his blindness and to carry God’s message of redemption to him. What if Ananias had been too afraid because of Saul’s reputation? What if he had refused to go because of their differences?
As Patrick pondered these questions, he also spoke about forgiveness—about the importance not only of God’s forgiveness to humankind but of humankind’s forgiveness toward one another. If we are to be the church alive in this world, then we must be a people who forgive—a people who can look at one another and say, “I give up my right to be angry with you.”
…I give up my right to be angry with you…
Folks…I need to confess something. While it takes a lot to make me angry at anyone other than myself, it doesn’t always take a lot for me to struggle to be around certain people. I do my best not to show it, but there are people who challenge my capacity to truly be kind and there are people who I would prefer not to keep in my company. I am not proud of this reality and it is a reality with which I struggle, so Patrick’s statement about giving up my right to be angry with someone really struck a chord in me.
It’s not really anger that I feel most of the time. Oh. I feel anger at unfair and unjust systems and toward the figure-heads who promote those systems. But toward individual people in my life, it’s usually something else. Something different. Something that made me zone out of part of the sermon for a few moments and jot down these words:
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge.
Fabio Napoleoni, my favorite artist other than Barb the Best, has a piece called Jimmy’s Revenge. I’ll include its image with this note. The story with this piece is this:
To fully understand this title you have to understand the story of Jimmy. Jimmy is that odd little boy in school (the outcast) that sits there doesn't talk much and seems to be very shy. In reality Jimmy is very observant, witty and greatly dislikes those who lack compassion, those who feed of greed and most of all those who thrive of sorrow...
And what is Jimmy’s revenge? Love bombs. Jimmy throws love bombs.
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge. And I embrace my right to throw love bombs.
And that, dear friends, is the point.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
The Waiting
So I’m back in the place where these twice-weekly notes began.
I’m back in the place that seems like a distant reality.
Sometimes I wonder if my time here even happened.
The years came and went so quickly.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Life forever changed.
It’s been three years since I made the journey back North from South.
It’s been three years since I truly began to actively wait.
I went to the NC Zoo on Tuesday.
On Saturday, I’ll go to Riverbanks on Columbia.
I spent a lot of time with the otter and the bears on Tuesday.
I’ll spend a lot of time with the elephants, siamongs, and bears on Saturday.
I love watching the bears.
I love standing there waiting—
For them to open their eyes, to yawn, to stretch, to scratch, to walk, to swim, to play, to eat.
I love observing their fierce beauty and imagining how it would feel to hug them.
I love seeing children get super excited and adults put words to how the bears must be feeling.
And I love standing there longing than anyone else—
Knowing that the people who stop for only a minute are missing out on the fullness of what they would see—
If they would just wait.
In today’s society, very few of us like to wait.
We want everything and we want it now.
We expect food, results, internet connections, and answers instantaneously and when they don’t come instantaneously we complain.
And yet…
So much of life is in the waiting.
And so much of life’s beauty and lessons are in the same.
When I stand and watch the bears,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively observing, paying attention to what’s going on, knowing that more is to come, but okay if nothing different happens than the experience itself.
When I try to discern purpose and call or to dream new dreams,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively teaching, giving everything I have to where I am, believing that there may be something different to come, but okay if I’m led nowhere other than to where life catapulted me three years ago.
So I’ll keep on waiting
With the bears and my students and my family and my friends
And I’ll keep on singing with all that I am.
I’ll keep on watching one moment fade into the next
And I’ll keep on praying that God will make God’s presence known.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Lives changed.
It all happens in the waiting.
From North to South and back again.
I’m back in the place that seems like a distant reality.
Sometimes I wonder if my time here even happened.
The years came and went so quickly.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Life forever changed.
It’s been three years since I made the journey back North from South.
It’s been three years since I truly began to actively wait.
I went to the NC Zoo on Tuesday.
On Saturday, I’ll go to Riverbanks on Columbia.
I spent a lot of time with the otter and the bears on Tuesday.
I’ll spend a lot of time with the elephants, siamongs, and bears on Saturday.
I love watching the bears.
I love standing there waiting—
For them to open their eyes, to yawn, to stretch, to scratch, to walk, to swim, to play, to eat.
I love observing their fierce beauty and imagining how it would feel to hug them.
I love seeing children get super excited and adults put words to how the bears must be feeling.
And I love standing there longing than anyone else—
Knowing that the people who stop for only a minute are missing out on the fullness of what they would see—
If they would just wait.
In today’s society, very few of us like to wait.
We want everything and we want it now.
We expect food, results, internet connections, and answers instantaneously and when they don’t come instantaneously we complain.
And yet…
So much of life is in the waiting.
And so much of life’s beauty and lessons are in the same.
When I stand and watch the bears,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively observing, paying attention to what’s going on, knowing that more is to come, but okay if nothing different happens than the experience itself.
When I try to discern purpose and call or to dream new dreams,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively teaching, giving everything I have to where I am, believing that there may be something different to come, but okay if I’m led nowhere other than to where life catapulted me three years ago.
So I’ll keep on waiting
With the bears and my students and my family and my friends
And I’ll keep on singing with all that I am.
I’ll keep on watching one moment fade into the next
And I’ll keep on praying that God will make God’s presence known.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Lives changed.
It all happens in the waiting.
From North to South and back again.
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