One More Try

I have a very vivid memory of playing rhythm sticks with my kindergarten students during my first year of teaching. While the lesson was a success and I was having fun with my job, I remember thinking, “Is this really what I’m called to do for the rest of my life?”

Four years later, I started classes in divinity school. I taught music during the day; I studied at night. Eventually one night of classes turned to two nights turned to three, until I ran out of night-class options and had to make a decision: continue teaching or finish my graduate degree. I chose the latter.

For the next two years, I was a full-time student. I threw myself into my classes and learned everything I could learn. I worked as a church-secretary and became nationally certified to do the work. I served as a music-minister. I assisted one of my professors. I went to pastoral counseling for spiritual direction. I grew leaps and bounds and felt that the work that I was doing to complete my degree was setting me up for the rest of my career—I just wasn’t sure what that career would be.

Shortly after finishing my graduate degree, I was offered a job working with the organization that I had wanted to work with since the summer after my freshman year of college. Even though the call would move me to South Carolina, I knew that it was where God was leading, so I took the job and relocated life to Columbia. I found an amazing little apartment that overlooked Lake Murray and I dove into my work with everything I could give. The move away from family and friends wasn’t easy, and figuring out the new language and expectations of the job wasn’t easy either. But I did it. And I was content. I was making friends and making a difference through my work—especially through my work of educating about human exploitation…yet just as quickly as the door to my dream job had opened, it closed. Sudden. Unexpected. Forceful. The end.

One stormy afternoon, as I packed up my stuff to move out of my amazing little apartment that overlooked Lake Murray, I found myself wanting to jump into the lake’s waters, fully clothed, so that the lake could wrap her arms around me and hold me as I cried. As I floated on my back, rain crashing onto my arms and face, ears listening to the sounds of nature as she poured our her fury, I found myself repeating a lyric that I had learned only weeks before: “This is what we’re made for, standing in the downpour, knowing that the sun will shine. Forget what lies behind you, heaven stands beside you, you’ve got to give it one more try. One more try.”

This past Friday, my principal called me into her office. “Ms. Deaton,” she said. “I’ve got something to tell you. You’re going to be our 2016-2017 Teacher of the Year!” After we finished our conversation and I was presented with a beautiful vase of flowers, I went straight to car duty. I could hear thunder rolling and rain falling, so I knew that we were in for a difficult dismissal. Pants legs rolled up, baseball hat and rain-jacket in place, umbrellas left in the library for fear of lightning strike, my team and I walked boldly into the parking lot to get our students home.

As I stood in the parking lot on Friday afternoon, soaking wet from the worst car-rider weather of my three years at Johnsonville, I couldn’t help but smile. “This is what we’re made for, standing in the downpour,” I sang…

Because, friends, the sun had shone. Heaven had stood beside me through shell-shocked brokenness and confusion to home to chaplaincy to my school where, seven years after I walked away from another wonderful classroom, I was given a lovely little hut overlooking the playground.

Walking away from teaching the first time was not easy. My heart was—as it continues to be—in the public schools. Yet I knew, in my gut, that walking away was what I needed to do.

Though my graduate degree pays me absolutely nothing when I look at my paycheck, and though my three years of vocational ministry seem like a distant dream, they pay me everything I need when I look at my colleagues and students and know that my work isn’t necessarily about rhythm sticks but that it is about influencing lives by showing up and being fully-present every day—not wondering what’s next, not longing for something more, not being so off-balance that my angst comes out on those around me—but being present, ready to face the good and the bad and the everything in between, with stubborn, steady love.

“This is what we’re made for. Standing in the downpour. Knowing that the sun will shine. Forget what lies behind you. Heaven stands beside you. You’ve got to give it one more try…”
One moment, one day at a time.
…One more try.

Amen.

What Makes Me Smile

In a dilemma on Monday morning, I asked a coworker to give me a challenge for the week. She said, “Pickle.” Due to a conversation that I wrote about a few weeks ago, I immediately started laughing. So…“Write about and draw something--or some things--that make you smile--that make you feel happiness or joy inside,” became the question of the week.

We received a lot of answers.

As I read through these answers this afternoon, I found myself smiling quite a bit. The most common yet nonetheless wonderful answer was friends and family. I never tire of hearing about how much my students love their families…and I never stop praying that their families love them back.

What jumped out at me this afternoon, though, were the unique answers—the ones that made me either laugh or cry, or the ones that were wise beyond their years.
In the laughter category, I read:
• “Unicorns make me happy because they are like horses and they pupe rainbows.”
• “I smile when I do my terminator voice.”

In the wisdom category, I read:
• “A day without laughter is a day wasted,”
• “What makes me happy is friends and family. As long as I have those I am fine.”
• “I smile when I fail because it shows that I’m not afraid to make mistakes.”

In the tears category, I read:
• “What makes me happy is God. Because he mead a eather (earth) and mead (made) me and my failmy. I thank God for what he dune for me. When I got in a carasint (car accident) I thot my grammom was not ok. But God bless me. That is a good God. And that makes me happy. Aman. If you pray, God will make a change.”
• “What makes me smile is that I see my mom and I see my dad and my brothers. What makes me smile is playing and fishing and just having fun with my family. What makes me smile is playing at school and having fun. What makes me smile is playing and dancing with Ms. Deaton. What makes me smile is playing with Mr. G. What makes me smile is doing art with Ms. K and what makes me smile is reading with Mrs. H and what makes me smile is doing stuff with Mrs. A.T. and what makes me smile is knowing my teacher loves me.”
I literally wept when I read that last line. Honestly, I find myself wiping away tears as I write this now.

Because, friends, this is what life is about. The doing is great. The special things. The actions, activities, and events. The plans we make. The prayers we pray. The gifts we give. Those are all great. But when it all comes down to it, the consistent being is what matters—the being the presence of grace, hope, forgiveness, journey, and faith in such a way that those around us—friends, family, students, patients, clients, colleagues, strangers—know that we love them.

“What makes me smile is knowing that my teacher loves me.”

May that statement be said of me…

And may it be said of you, too, friend…whatever it is that you teach—in life or in a classroom—every day.

Aman.

Oh Crap!

Each Spring, birds arrive at Deaton Manor and make it their home. They surround the house with singing and build nests anywhere they can find. In the bird house. In hanging baskets. In flowerpots. In empty spaces in the garage. As I write this note today, two of them are playing outside the window. Talking away. Enjoying this beautiful day.

Because of this yearly bird presence at the house, I’ve seen the lost, misplaced, and/or startled bird look many times. Mostly, the frantic, wings flapping rapidly, desperate to find a safe place look occurs when a bird accidently flies into the garage or when an intruder comes near a nest.

In those moments when a bird is stuck in the garage, I feel particularly helpless. I stand there and point to wide-open doors and tell the bird how to escape—sometimes attempting to guide it with a broom or other long object—but I guess I’m not fluent in bird because the bird usually just ends up panicking more. One time, a bird got stuck inside the garage for many hours. It would try to get out, fail, panic, and then return to a temporary resting place that it’d found on the garage door. It was awful. There was nothing I could do except hope that it didn’t run into the window so many times that it committed accidental bird suicide. I watched that happen one time, too. It was very sad.

So today during 5th grade music when a bird suddenly flew through the door of my classroom, I involuntarily said, “Oh crap!” and ducked for cover. The bird was heading straight toward me, already in a panic. In that split second, I had no idea what I was supposed to do! I knew that I didn’t have a garage door or anywhere else on which the bird could perch. I knew that the windows that it might try to fly through were over my students’ heads. I knew that there was only one way out of the room—which was the direction from which the bird had come. And I knew that there was no way to have class with a bird flying frantically around the room!

All I could think to do was open the other door and hope that between the two openings the bird would escape. Meanwhile, I had to continue ducking for cover, hoping that the bird wouldn’t run into me or poop on my head, and I had to figure out what to do with my students who, naturally, were as surprised as me! I didn’t want a bird pooping on their heads either!

Thankfully, before I could even get the second door open, the bird turned itself around and safely exited the room.

Then I bent down, ran my fingers through my hair, exhaled, and laughed. The kids laughed, too, all starting to talk at once. One of them said that the look on my face was priceless. Another said that he didn’t know what was going on—that I was teaching and then all of a sudden he heard me say, “Uh oh!” and bend down and then he saw the bird. It took us at least five minutes to get settled again, and then I saw it:

The bird had, indeed, pooped!

In the 5-10 seconds during which this entire episode occurred, the bird had pooped behind my desk. The poop landed on a yellow envelope of Honors Chorus music that was sitting on a cloth-covered chair.

Thank you, bird, for having good aim, even in your moment of panic.
Thank you, too, for providing my 5th graders with the one moment of their three years of music with me that they will never forget.
And finally, thank you for making me laugh. Yes, you startled me as much as you startled yourself. But you made me laugh. And laughter is what so many of us need these days. I think it helps us make it through the crap that life drops our way. I know it did today.

Where My Demons Hide

Okay, okay. I admit. I’m a little behind on technological times. I still have a phone with actual buttons and my Willard is almost a decade old, but I like to think that I’m capable of catching up with the times if I so choose. I just haven’t yet chosen.

I guess it’s no wonder, then, that I didn’t realize until sometime last year that people actual make a living making music cover videos on YouTube. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but I accidently stumbled upon one such artist and was so amazed by his work that I kept listening to his songs. In the months since then, I’ve continued listening to his work—and many other independently funded artists’ works—and in the process caught up on a lot of the current pop music that I often miss out on by listening to books on CD.

One of the songs I’ve frequently heard and even caught myself singing along with is “Demons” by Imagine Dragons. It wasn’t until hearing yet another cover of the song on TV, though, that I actually paid attention to the words.

A few weeks ago, on Palm Sunday, a live performance of “The Passion” was aired on Fox. My parents and I recorded the special but hadn’t had a chance to watch it until last Saturday—and even then it was only me. Honestly, I didn’t know exactly what the production entailed—just that it was a modern version of the last week of Jesus’ life, that it was set in New Orleans, and that it was rumored to be quite powerful.

I must admit: When the special first began I wasn’t overly impressed. I thought that the next two hours were simply going to be filled with songs and narration like a modern music awards show—but I was wrong. It was similar. Yet it was so much more. It was focused and centered around a life-changing theme. And it presented Christ’s message of love, grace, and hope in a powerful way.

Not surprisingly, I cried a few times. And not surprisingly, I ordered the CD. Yes. The CD. I like to have something to hold and look at.

As I was listening to my new CD yesterday, I suddenly found myself sobbing. I’m not talking about leaking a few tears, I’m talking about full blown “ugly-crying” (as Mister Pastor Patrick said on Sunday morning). Out of the blue, I felt like my heart was going to explode in gratitude for Christ’s unwavering love and grace.

The song was “Demons” by Imagine Dragons. The characters were Judas and Jesus. The emotions were defeat and anguish. Judas was defeated by his own humanity and anguished over his inability to escape his demons. Jesus was defeated by misunderstanding and betrayal and anguished over his friends’ inability to accept unconditional love. On some days, I am Judas. On others, I am closer to Jesus. I get it. The core of me gets it. Even without a lot of modern technology, I get it. And maybe using this little piece modern piece of technology, you get it, too?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8oe4KHMUVE
"Demons" as sung in The Passion
Judas: When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale
I wanna hide the truth

Jesus: I wanna shelter you

Judas: But with the beast inside

Judas and Jesus: There’s nowhere we can hide

Judas: No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed

Jesus: This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

Judas: When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide

Jesus: It’s where your demons hide

Judas: At the curtain’s call
It's the last of all
When the lights fade out
All the sinners crawl

Jesus: So they dug your grave
And the masquerade
Will come calling out
At the mess you made
Don't wanna let you down

Judas: But I am hell bound

Jesus: Though this is all for you

Jesus and Judas: Don't wanna hide the truth

Judas: No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed

Jesus: This is my kingdom come

Judas: This is my kingdom come
When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide

Jesus: It’s where your demons hide

Judas: They say it's what you make
I say it's up to fate
It's woven in my soul
I need to let you go

Jesus: Your eyes, they shine so bright
I wanna save that light
I can't escape this now
Unless you show me how

Judas: When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

Come Back

April is National Poetry Month. In honor of this fact, I read some poetry this afternoon. I found a poetry book while weeding out some books over Spring Break.

Three poems jumped out at me, two of which I’ll share tonight.

One:
Comment, by Dorothy Parker
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Roumania.

Since reading that fun little verse, I’ve learned that Marie of Romania was a real person. And while she seems like a perfectly honorable person in Romanian history—one who even visited the United States—I mostly like this poem because it’s super fun to read dramatically aloud. Try it!

Two:
Come Back Safely, by Sylva Gaboudikan
even to say good-bye
even if it’s the last time
even reluctantly

even to hurt me again
even with the harsh acid
of sarcasm that stings

even with a new kind of pain
even fresh from the embrace
of another. Come back, just come.

I teared up the first time that I read these words. I just did the same as I typed them out.

During his sermon yesterday, Mister Pastor Patrick unknowingly helped me name something that I’ve been trying to name for years. While discussing the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene, Patrick explained that Jesus was the first person to truly see Mary Magdalene. Jesus saw through Mary’s brokenness and believed in her as the woman that she actually was: a beautiful child of God. No matter what she did—or had done. No matter how lonely she was—or she would become. Jesus saw her and believed in her. He loved her and transformed her. Then he was gone. He was dead. And she was devastated—left with a hole in her heart where love and friendship used to be.

I am very thankful that I’ve not lost many friends to death. But I have lost many friends. When natural time and distance play their part in the losing, I understand the loss. I understand the seasons of life and that people come and go as one progresses along life’s journey. Because of my tremendous capacity to love and remember, I miss these friendships and think of them often. Sometimes I feel as if I have credits rolling through my brain, listening all of the characters from various points of life.

It’s when someone cuts me off that I find myself devastated like Mary. It happens suddenly—possibly after clues of its coming—but suddenly nonetheless. Drastically. A cut. A nail. A figurative death. And then they are gone. Someone who has been a friend—who has seen me and whom I have seen—who has loved me and whom I have loved—who has laughed with me and whose tears I have dried—is gone. And it hurts. And it leaves a hole in my heart. And I grieve from the depths of my being.

For Mary, there was resolve to this deep grief in this life. Jesus returned. He came back and restored her broken heart, offering such deep hope and transformative power that Mary’s life and story would rise above society’s discrimination and be remembered for thousands of years to come.

For me, though, there likely will not be resolve in this life. For whatever reason, friends likely will not return. Restoration likely will not occur. And yet I live with quiet hope and open my arms and heart with unconditional love and forgiveness. “Come back,” my soul prays, “just come.”

Pay Attention

I think it’s an unspoken understanding that we, as humans, want other people to pay attention to us. Though sometimes we many want to remain unnoticed, most of time we want to be seen and heard. Children demonstrate this fact loudly and openly when they act out to receive attention. Teenagers demonstrate this fact loudly and openly when they film themselves doing ridiculous stunts in hopes of becoming a YouTube sensation. Adults demonstrate this fact loudly and openly when we leave passive-aggressive or cryptic messages on Facebook. Truth be told, sometimes the lines of action between children, teenagers, and adults get crossed so blurrily that adults end up acting out like children.

As a human teacher, then, it’s no surprise that I want my students to pay attention to me. I want them to listen and learn and I want them to gain knowledge and information that will help shape their lives in a positive way. This is always my hope—to be heard—but oftentimes I get the impression that my students hear more of the teacher in Charlie Brown than they do me…especially when it comes to the morning announcements.

So this afternoon when one of my students repeated something I’d said on this morning’s announcements, I smiled.

I gave a shout-out to a 2nd grade boy who showed kindness yesterday. He was one of my helpers but sat down and started to find his page number before realizing that he’d forgotten to give his neighbor a book. Just as he got up to get the missing book, he realized that he could give her his book—open to the proper page—and get himself another book. He was very sweet and chivalrous with his actions and had no idea that I was watching him. I told that little

Just as today’s helpers were finishing book distribution, one of my helpers came to my desk and said, “I forgot to give Alex a book so I gave him mine and got myself another one.” I inwardly smiled and said, “Well that was very nice of you. You just showed kindness, just like I gave a shout-out for on the announcements this morning.” She proudly nodded her head, grinned, and walked back to her seat.

Just the other day, I posted a Stephen Sondheim quote that says, "Careful the things you say; Children will listen. Careful the things you do; Children will see and learn. Children may not obey, but children will listen. Children will look to you for which way to turn; To learn what to be. Careful before you say 'Listen to me’; Children will listen."

They really do listen.
They really do pay attention.
And they really do just want us to pay attention to them.
And they are us.
And we are them.
Children. Teenagers. Adults.
Wanting to be seen and heard.

More Than Satisfactory To Me

One of my closest college-friends was completely tone deaf. For years, she refused to sing in public because her elementary music teacher told her she couldn’t sing. As a little girl, her teacher’s words crushed her spirit, and I knew this. Therefore, I vowed never to tell a student that he or she couldn’t sing.

The truth is that everyone can sing. Some people may have more talent than others and some people may sing melodies best sung in the shower. Yet everyone can sing.

So I try not to discourage my students in their singing or in any other musical endeavor. Realistically, most of my students will not continue in their musical studies. I try to prepare those who will, but I also try to mold all of my students into responsible and respectful partakers of music.

I expect my students to pay attention to our lessons and to try the challenges that I present them, but I don’t grade them on performance capability as much as I grade them on performance effort.

All that being said, I find myself writing quite a few comments when I do grades—especially since my grades are limited to Satisfactory, Needs Improvement, and Unsatisfactory.

He is an excellent musician when he is focused, but his non-task related talking sometimes keeps him from learning.

She has worked really hard this semester. I am very proud of her.

He is a strong leader. When he is on task and has a positive attitude, then his classmates follow. When he is distracted or has a negative attitude, his classmates follow as well. We are working to channel his leadership skills for good.

I worked on grades this afternoon. I demonstrated a lot of hope and grace.

As I drove home from work today, I found myself showing myself much less grace.

I wasn’t trying to be overly harsh or judgmental. I wasn’t beating myself up for anything in particular. I just noticed that my self-talk wasn’t very positive. It hasn’t been for the past few days. I noticed myself saying things to myself like my friend’s elementary music teacher told her.

I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that I spontaneously started singing, “Sometimes I feel like I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. But sometimes I feel like he can’t do a thing through. Look at me, I am nothing. Look at them, they are everything. Look at me. I am nothing. Look at me.”

Then I mashed into, “I do not understand what I do in this life, Lord, for what I want to do I don’t do but what I hate I do. It is no longer you who has control of me. It’s my humanness. It’s Satan’s evil scheme. Oh, Lord, I’m running to you with open arms and a broken soul. Oh Lord, I’ve tried it on my own, I’ve wondered so far from home, with persistence I’ve run. But now I want to slow down. So help me see clearly what I need to see the morning I wake up. Slow me down, and help me hear the rain fall instead of looking for the sun to come up. Slow me down.”

Last night, after answering a friend’s inquiry, “What’s been on your mind lately?,” she responded by asking, “Not to sound cliché, but have you prayed about all of this?” I said, “I feel like my life is pretty much a running dialogue with God.” She said, “I know. But sometimes that’s different than intentional moments of prayer.”

I had an intentional moment of prayer this afternoon.

“Okay, child, I’m looking, and I’ll tell you what I see—the beautiful you that I created you to be. I don’t care what they can say and I don’t care what they can do, it’s you I love. It’s you. Look at you,” Deanna, “You are something. Don’t look at them. They don’t have everything. Look at you. You are something. Look at you.”

And as long as you keep trying—or even when you don’t—you are more than satisfactory to me.