Week Four Fast: Food. Success! I successfully made it through my week of fasting the grocery store and CVS. The only time I stepped foot into the grocery store was when I was shopping for Mrs. Flora, and even then I only bought the items that she needed. The week was hard. I missed shopping for deals. But I prayed a lot, saved quite a bit of money, and learned that I could survive without buying gifts. Because of my fasting momentum, I was even able to go into Hallmark and only purchase what I went to buy. That is huge.
Week Five Fast: Division.
I began this week’s fast by joining my church. I’ve been going to Antioch for quite some time, but I hadn’t felt led to move my membership until three Sundays ago. I waited that Sunday because I hadn’t talked about it with my family—and because we only sang one verse of the invitation hymn. I waited last Sunday because we didn’t sing an invitation hymn at all. I almost waited yesterday because so many people responded to the invitation. But I walked my two pews of an aisle and stood beside the pastor and declared my desire to stand alongside him and the church as we move forward together. I didn’t realize until later how truly significant it was—and is—that I joined the church the week that our pastor challenged us to fast division…the thoughts that separate…the things that keep us apart.
The timing of each week’s fast has been serendipitous.
When I think of division, I think of separation. Misunderstanding. Bitterness. Discord. Battles. Lack of harmony. Absence of unity. Situations unresolved. Fear of being seen.
When I think of division, I do not think of peace. When I think of division, I do not think of compassion…or love.
Is it any surprise, then, that my devotion from yesterday was a prayer for peace and that my devotion for today is a prayer for compassion?
Prince of Peace, whose peace cannot be kept unless it is shared, I seek to receive your peace and communicate peace to others today…I know that if I want peace in my heart, I cannot harbor resentment. I seek forgiveness for any negative criticism, gossip, or destructive innuendos I have spoken. Forgive any way that I have brought bitterness to my relationships instead of helping bring peace into misunderstandings. You have shown me that being a reconciler is essential for a continued, sustained experience of your peace. Most of all, I know that lasting peace is the result of your indwelling Spirit, your presence in my mind and heart…Show me how to be a communicator of peace that passes understanding. Help me picture the people with whom I am to be a peacemaker, bringing healing reconciliation, deeper understanding, and open communication.
And who do I picture? My students and colleagues. Especially my 5th graders…although today I failed miserably at being a communicator of peace.
Gracious God, repeatedly in the Gospels I read the words, “He had compassion.”…Thank you, Lord, that you have resources, people, and unanticipated strength to help me do today what those around me cannot imagine possible—show compassion and love. Break through my protective layers and the protective layers of those I meet with blessings we cannot anticipate. Then, send me to the broken-hearted to communicate Your healing power.
And where has God sent me? Back to the public schools. To work with students, teachers, staff, and parents. Especially 5th graders…although most of the time I feel that I fail miserably at breaking through their walls.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the great things,
The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul.
The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,
The sudden storms beyond our control.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the small things,
The little pin-prick troubles that annoy,
The persistent worries, buzzing and unrelenting,
The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy.
(--Annie Johnson Flint)
God’s grace is great enough.
God’s strength is strong enough.
God’s desire for unity is powerful enough.
I am so glad.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Dear Students...
Dear Students,
I started teaching long before you were born. What I remember most about that first year of teaching is how ignorant I was. I didn’t know how to work with you. I didn’t understand the developmental differences between grade levels, and I didn’t know how to put into practice the things I’d learned in college. But I did my best to figure it out.
I showed up every day and taught as well as I could. Sometimes, as well as I could was a total failure. Sometimes you were bored. Sometimes you were out of control. Sometimes I yelled at you. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Sometimes I went home at the end of the day and cried. Shoot. Sometimes I’d close my door and cry. Teaching is hard. Especially when you, students, act like you don’t care or when you don’t treat your classmates and me with kindness and respect.
But I kept showing up. And I kept trying my best. And, most importantly, I kept loving you. I don’t think I’ve told you I love you. But I do. I love you because you are you. Not because of anything you have done or will do. I love you for you.
As my first year turned to my second, and my second to third, and my third to fourth, all the way up to eight, I became a better teacher. I learned how to work with you and I learned the differences between you as a 1st grader and you as a 5th grader. I had a lot of fun with you and you had a lot of fun with me.
But I’ll tell you a secret, student, I was very sad. On the outside, I was fine. But on the inside I felt very alone. During my eighth year of teaching, one of my friends died and a few of my other friends and I began growing apart. It was all very hard. One thing led to another and I decided that I needed to stop teaching. I needed to learn to be content with myself and I needed to follow a life-long dream of finishing my graduate degree and working in full-time ministry. So I did.
And now, five years later, I’m back with you. I’m back to going to bed and getting up early even though I prefer going to bed and getting up late. I’m back to not being able to run errands or eat out for lunch; to not being able to take naps; and to making considerably less money than my other career. But you know what? I’m happy. I’m happy because I get to spend my days with you.
So the next time you doubt if anyone cares, think about me.
I care about you.
I choose you.
I love you.
I respect you.
Give me a chance.
Together we can do great things.
Love,
Ms. Deaton
I started teaching long before you were born. What I remember most about that first year of teaching is how ignorant I was. I didn’t know how to work with you. I didn’t understand the developmental differences between grade levels, and I didn’t know how to put into practice the things I’d learned in college. But I did my best to figure it out.
I showed up every day and taught as well as I could. Sometimes, as well as I could was a total failure. Sometimes you were bored. Sometimes you were out of control. Sometimes I yelled at you. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Sometimes I went home at the end of the day and cried. Shoot. Sometimes I’d close my door and cry. Teaching is hard. Especially when you, students, act like you don’t care or when you don’t treat your classmates and me with kindness and respect.
But I kept showing up. And I kept trying my best. And, most importantly, I kept loving you. I don’t think I’ve told you I love you. But I do. I love you because you are you. Not because of anything you have done or will do. I love you for you.
As my first year turned to my second, and my second to third, and my third to fourth, all the way up to eight, I became a better teacher. I learned how to work with you and I learned the differences between you as a 1st grader and you as a 5th grader. I had a lot of fun with you and you had a lot of fun with me.
But I’ll tell you a secret, student, I was very sad. On the outside, I was fine. But on the inside I felt very alone. During my eighth year of teaching, one of my friends died and a few of my other friends and I began growing apart. It was all very hard. One thing led to another and I decided that I needed to stop teaching. I needed to learn to be content with myself and I needed to follow a life-long dream of finishing my graduate degree and working in full-time ministry. So I did.
And now, five years later, I’m back with you. I’m back to going to bed and getting up early even though I prefer going to bed and getting up late. I’m back to not being able to run errands or eat out for lunch; to not being able to take naps; and to making considerably less money than my other career. But you know what? I’m happy. I’m happy because I get to spend my days with you.
So the next time you doubt if anyone cares, think about me.
I care about you.
I choose you.
I love you.
I respect you.
Give me a chance.
Together we can do great things.
Love,
Ms. Deaton
Monday, September 30, 2013
Dear Grocery Store, I Miss You Already...
Week Two Fast: Hurriedness. Success. Totally. I felt the slow-down in body and spirit.
Week Three Fast: Isolation. Success. Sort of. I tried really hard to make new connections with those around me but didn’t successfully spend time with anyone outside of my normal people—school people at school, family, Flora, and Barb. I’m going to continue working on this one while seeking to be mindful of personal boundaries.
Week Four Fast: Food. Food. Sigh.
My guess is that most of my fellow church-goers are fasting food (and drinks) such as chocolate, ice cream, candy, desserts, red meat, coffee, soft drinks, and fast food. Upon thinking about each of these things and considering the cost of fasting from them, I realized that I could somewhat easily do each of them—except for coffee—and that’s only because I didn’t want to have a caffeine headache on top of the headache that I’d likely grow while leading my students in instrument playing each day this week . I did, however, decide that I would fast from going out for coffee…unless given the opportunity to work on week three’s isolation fast by hanging out with a friend.
“So what should I fast?” I pondered. And then it hit me: the grocery store.
Food Lion. IGA. CVS (that I sometimes treat as a grocery store).
Not going to the grocery store is going to be a bigger challenge and sacrifice for me than not eating or drinking any particular food or drink.
I love going to the grocery store.
I love shopping for deals. I love buying things for school. I love buying things for other people. All at the grocery store. In fact, I went to the grocery store over 20 times in September and bought everything from crayons to citronella candles to coffee—lots and lots of coffee for the coffee club at school.
I’ve found that IGA has a discount dairy counter that’s regularly updated with items that need to be sold quickly. I like to stop by and see what’s there.
I’ve found that Food Lion has a discount corner that’s stocked with very random things. I like to stop by and see what’s there, too.
Plus I just like to walk up and down the aisles and look at things. If I find a super good deal, then I purchase it. Sometimes I go into the grocery store just to kill time and end up leaving with an armful of stuff. Last week, while waiting for my Chinese food to cook, I called Barb and said, “Hey B. This is Deanna the Food Lion shopper…” and then proceeded to as her advice about purchasing some supplies for her classroom.
I really like the grocery store.
And it’s not lost on me that going to the grocery store is a luxury.
And so…this week I fast the grocery store. And it’s already been a challenge.
Tonight, when I went to get supper for my mom and myself, I ended up right beside Food Lion (see picture that I took from my car window). As stupid as this sounds, it physically hurt to know that I couldn’t go in. The same thing happened as I drove by the reduced price dairy counter at the IGA. You see. Tomorrow is Terrific Treat Tuesday at school and I really wanted to check on the Starbucks Iced Coffee and cookie dough. But alas…I made myself keep driving. And I prayed.
I’ll be praying a lot this week…which, after all, is the point—to structure my days around prayer and to pray this day for daily bread.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Mrs. Flora Ate My Ribs
I went to visit Mrs. Flora last night.
On my way, I called to see if she wanted anything for supper.
She did. Chinese food. Egg rolls and chicken fried rice.
She also needed a few of her grocery store staples: grapefruit, bananas, cereal, English muffins, frozen dinners, Hershey’s Kisses, hot chocolate, chocolate chip cookies, brownie mix, and ice cream. Breyers. Mint Chocolate Chip.
As I unloaded the groceries, Mrs. Flora unloaded the Chinese food. She spoke about how good it smelled and how tasty it looked. She asked what everything was. “We each have two egg rolls,” I explained. “And this is the chicken fried rice you wanted, and these are my ribs and pork fried rice.”
I had gotten myself enough food to have for lunch today.
“We probably need real plates for our food, don’t we?” Mrs. Flora asked.
“I don’t need a plate,” I responded. “I’ll probably just eat out of the container. But you can get yourself a real plate if you’d like.”
While I went into the other room to put away the frozen items, Mrs. Flora got out two plates. She opened the eggs rolls and uncovered the ribs. She asked what the chicken fried rice was again, so I told her.
She then began to carefully and happily serve our plates: two ribs for Flora, two ribs for Dee; two egg rolls for Flora, two egg rolls for Dee; half of the pork fried rice for Flora, half of the pork fried rice for Dee. Then the plates were full.
Licking her fingers, Mrs. Flora declared, “This sure smells good…We’ll need something to eat with. I think we need spoons for the rice. And a lot of paper towels.”
After getting spoons for the rice and paper towels for our hands, Mrs. Flora noticed the container of chicken fried rice. “What’s that?” she asked. “Chicken fried rice,” I replied. “But I don’t think we need it :-).”
“No. I don’t think we need it either,” Mrs. Flora agreed.
After finding our seats in the den so that we could watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, Mrs. Flora and I ate our Chinese food together.
She pronounced everything delicious and declared her gratitude for my bringing food.
I texted Barb and said, “Mrs. Flora is eating my ribs.”
She chuckled. I laughed.
And I de-onioned the chicken fried rice for lunch today.
I really enjoy my time with Mrs. Flora. It’s simple. Familiar. Worthwhile. Funny. And it always ends with a hug and smile of thanks.
What more could one ask than that?
Except for maybe some ribs :-).
On my way, I called to see if she wanted anything for supper.
She did. Chinese food. Egg rolls and chicken fried rice.
She also needed a few of her grocery store staples: grapefruit, bananas, cereal, English muffins, frozen dinners, Hershey’s Kisses, hot chocolate, chocolate chip cookies, brownie mix, and ice cream. Breyers. Mint Chocolate Chip.
As I unloaded the groceries, Mrs. Flora unloaded the Chinese food. She spoke about how good it smelled and how tasty it looked. She asked what everything was. “We each have two egg rolls,” I explained. “And this is the chicken fried rice you wanted, and these are my ribs and pork fried rice.”
I had gotten myself enough food to have for lunch today.
“We probably need real plates for our food, don’t we?” Mrs. Flora asked.
“I don’t need a plate,” I responded. “I’ll probably just eat out of the container. But you can get yourself a real plate if you’d like.”
While I went into the other room to put away the frozen items, Mrs. Flora got out two plates. She opened the eggs rolls and uncovered the ribs. She asked what the chicken fried rice was again, so I told her.
She then began to carefully and happily serve our plates: two ribs for Flora, two ribs for Dee; two egg rolls for Flora, two egg rolls for Dee; half of the pork fried rice for Flora, half of the pork fried rice for Dee. Then the plates were full.
Licking her fingers, Mrs. Flora declared, “This sure smells good…We’ll need something to eat with. I think we need spoons for the rice. And a lot of paper towels.”
After getting spoons for the rice and paper towels for our hands, Mrs. Flora noticed the container of chicken fried rice. “What’s that?” she asked. “Chicken fried rice,” I replied. “But I don’t think we need it :-).”
“No. I don’t think we need it either,” Mrs. Flora agreed.
After finding our seats in the den so that we could watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, Mrs. Flora and I ate our Chinese food together.
She pronounced everything delicious and declared her gratitude for my bringing food.
I texted Barb and said, “Mrs. Flora is eating my ribs.”
She chuckled. I laughed.
And I de-onioned the chicken fried rice for lunch today.
I really enjoy my time with Mrs. Flora. It’s simple. Familiar. Worthwhile. Funny. And it always ends with a hug and smile of thanks.
What more could one ask than that?
Except for maybe some ribs :-).
Monday, September 23, 2013
There Is So Much
I’ve been thinking about a school-year prayer guide for a couple of weeks now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there is so much to pray that I’m just going to make a guiding list of nouns and see what details come as I pray each day. I encourage you to do the same.
Below is the weekly list:
Monday: Classroom Teachers, Enhancement Teachers, Assistants, Specialists, and Coaches.
Tuesday: Students.
Wednesday: Bus Drivers and Office, Custodial, Cafeteria, and Other Support Staffs.
Thursday: School Administrators and District Superintendents and Staff.
Friday: Parents, Guardians, and Families.
Saturday: City, County, State, and National Legislatures and Lawmakers.
Sunday: Church, Denominational, and Business Partners.
Specifically today, I stand in awe of and pray for teachers and school personnel who are also parents—especially those who are parents of children living at home. For their dedication to their students during the day, I am grateful. For their unwavering love for their children at night, I am humbled. For packing lunches or providing lunch money—for cooking supper and cleaning house—for washing clothes and driving a taxi—for sitting through practices and cheering at games—for coordinating family schedules more complicated than battle plans…I am amazed at the determination that I see in teachers and school personnel to not only be great teachers but to also, and more importantly, be great parents as well.
Tonight, I pray for strength and rest for those teacher parents; for courage and encouragement; for creativity and discernment; for multiplied time to do it all.
Tonight, I think, also, of a poem that I wrote a few years ago but recently updated:
Declaration of the Swagger Wagon Chauffeur
1/23/05; updated 9/18/13
Yes, one calls me wife,
But wife is not my name.
I love, I support, I walk beside—
But wife is not all of who I am.
Yes, four call me mom,
But mom is not my name.
I give care, I tend house, I drive a dirty mini-van—
But mom is not all of who I am.
Yes, some call me teacher,
But teacher is not my name.
I teach, I play, I line-lead,
But teacher is not all of who I am.
And, yes, some call me friend,
But friend is not my name.
I spend time, I listen, I laugh and joke—
But friend is not all of who I am.
All parts make the whole:
The sum is who I am.
I am a person who has journeyed long—
I am who I am.
Thank you, readers—especially those of you who are teachers—for being YOU.
-------
If you’d like a printable copy of this prayer guide, then just comment here and I’ll send you a file.
Below is the weekly list:
Monday: Classroom Teachers, Enhancement Teachers, Assistants, Specialists, and Coaches.
Tuesday: Students.
Wednesday: Bus Drivers and Office, Custodial, Cafeteria, and Other Support Staffs.
Thursday: School Administrators and District Superintendents and Staff.
Friday: Parents, Guardians, and Families.
Saturday: City, County, State, and National Legislatures and Lawmakers.
Sunday: Church, Denominational, and Business Partners.
Specifically today, I stand in awe of and pray for teachers and school personnel who are also parents—especially those who are parents of children living at home. For their dedication to their students during the day, I am grateful. For their unwavering love for their children at night, I am humbled. For packing lunches or providing lunch money—for cooking supper and cleaning house—for washing clothes and driving a taxi—for sitting through practices and cheering at games—for coordinating family schedules more complicated than battle plans…I am amazed at the determination that I see in teachers and school personnel to not only be great teachers but to also, and more importantly, be great parents as well.
Tonight, I pray for strength and rest for those teacher parents; for courage and encouragement; for creativity and discernment; for multiplied time to do it all.
Tonight, I think, also, of a poem that I wrote a few years ago but recently updated:
Declaration of the Swagger Wagon Chauffeur
1/23/05; updated 9/18/13
Yes, one calls me wife,
But wife is not my name.
I love, I support, I walk beside—
But wife is not all of who I am.
Yes, four call me mom,
But mom is not my name.
I give care, I tend house, I drive a dirty mini-van—
But mom is not all of who I am.
Yes, some call me teacher,
But teacher is not my name.
I teach, I play, I line-lead,
But teacher is not all of who I am.
And, yes, some call me friend,
But friend is not my name.
I spend time, I listen, I laugh and joke—
But friend is not all of who I am.
All parts make the whole:
The sum is who I am.
I am a person who has journeyed long—
I am who I am.
Thank you, readers—especially those of you who are teachers—for being YOU.
-------
If you’d like a printable copy of this prayer guide, then just comment here and I’ll send you a file.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Abandoning Hurriedness
A few years ago, I ordered my grandmother a new copy of the devotional book, “Quiet Moments with God.” She had used hers to the point that it was falling apart. Evidently, when I gave her the new book I asked if I could one day have the old one. My mom handed it to me on Monday night after returning from a one week visit to Jacksonville. I smiled as I looked at all of the underlining and dog-eared pages that G-mama left in the book. I imagined her reading each day’s devotion and God speaking to her as she read. For some reason, these moments of imagination have filled me with a quiet sense of peace.
This week, our pastor asked us to fast from hurriedness. This fast has undoubtedly meant different things to different people, and for me it’s been a calming of my spirit. I have been breathing more deeply and attempting not to rush around. Even though I have been late waking up most mornings, I have returned to my bedside each day to read the pages from G-mama’s old devotional book. I usually do my devotional reading at night, but this week I have added an intentional morning prayer-time.
This morning, I considered skipping my prayer-time. But in the spirit of fasting hurriedness, I didn’t. And I’m so glad I didn’t. As I read, my prayer was this:
Almighty God, help me be a creative thinker today. I know that beyond my education and experience there are solutions to problems I will not think of without your gift of knowledge.
I think of times in the past when I’ve received this supernatural gift. You revealed answers to problems that I had not achieved with my own analysis. As I prayed faithfully and waited patiently, the startling “Ah-ha!” dawned on me. You gave me insight I could never have grasped by myself. By divine inspiration you helped me know what was happening beneath the surface of perplexities or relational conflicts. You allowed me to see what you see. I gave you the credit and the glory.
Now as I begin this day, once again I confess how much I need the gift of knowledge. People I love are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up. Please use me to discover and communicate your answers.
Thank you for transforming my imagination so that it can be a holy river-bed through which you can pour your creative ideas. Help me picture reality from your perspective and then claim what you want. I look forward to an inspired day.
Yesterday, after teaching three classes of students who were wildly and somewhat disrespectfully energetic, I found myself standing in the midst of a fourth class of the same. As I rested my hands on my baby file cabinet and hung my head in momentary defeat, I breathed in and out, praying for the students chattering around me, praying that God would give me wisdom to know what to say to them. After a few seconds, I quietly raised my head and said, “Boys and girls. I need you to know that I am feeling a little frustrated right now.” Not knowing what to do with my emotional confession, the students asked me why I was frustrated. I told them that I had already had three classes that had not made good choices and that they we doing the same. I asked them to forgive me for my frustration but to understand how discouraging it is when students refuse to listen. In the momentary shock of silence, I continued with class.
Later, as my students and I talked, one of them raised her hand and asked, “Why don’t you yell at us, Miss D?” Inwardly smiling at her confusion and rejoicing that she had noticed my lack of raised voice over our three weeks together—that have not been without major challenge—I responded, “Well. One. I don’t like yelling because it hurts my voice. But, two. I don’t want to yell at you. You’ve been yelled at too much, and I think there are other ways to communicate with you.”
I don’t know if anyone will remember that conversation but me. But what I do know is that People I love—students and parents and teachers—are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice—more than 40 minute music lessons and more than momentary periods of relief. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up—years of neglect, months of feeling uncared for, days and nights of stress, weeks of feeling unappreciated—and I need something beyond myself to discover and communicate God’s answers of silence, grace, redemption, and love.
Fasting hurriedness helped me find that something beyond myself today…
And then it gave me five minutes to laugh at my dad who graciously made me a ham sandwich for lunch and then packed it in a gallon-sized, standing bottom, Ziploc Christmas bag. I still laugh when I think about it…and I then smile when I think about the six good reports that I gave teachers today.
This week, our pastor asked us to fast from hurriedness. This fast has undoubtedly meant different things to different people, and for me it’s been a calming of my spirit. I have been breathing more deeply and attempting not to rush around. Even though I have been late waking up most mornings, I have returned to my bedside each day to read the pages from G-mama’s old devotional book. I usually do my devotional reading at night, but this week I have added an intentional morning prayer-time.
This morning, I considered skipping my prayer-time. But in the spirit of fasting hurriedness, I didn’t. And I’m so glad I didn’t. As I read, my prayer was this:
Almighty God, help me be a creative thinker today. I know that beyond my education and experience there are solutions to problems I will not think of without your gift of knowledge.
I think of times in the past when I’ve received this supernatural gift. You revealed answers to problems that I had not achieved with my own analysis. As I prayed faithfully and waited patiently, the startling “Ah-ha!” dawned on me. You gave me insight I could never have grasped by myself. By divine inspiration you helped me know what was happening beneath the surface of perplexities or relational conflicts. You allowed me to see what you see. I gave you the credit and the glory.
Now as I begin this day, once again I confess how much I need the gift of knowledge. People I love are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up. Please use me to discover and communicate your answers.
Thank you for transforming my imagination so that it can be a holy river-bed through which you can pour your creative ideas. Help me picture reality from your perspective and then claim what you want. I look forward to an inspired day.
Yesterday, after teaching three classes of students who were wildly and somewhat disrespectfully energetic, I found myself standing in the midst of a fourth class of the same. As I rested my hands on my baby file cabinet and hung my head in momentary defeat, I breathed in and out, praying for the students chattering around me, praying that God would give me wisdom to know what to say to them. After a few seconds, I quietly raised my head and said, “Boys and girls. I need you to know that I am feeling a little frustrated right now.” Not knowing what to do with my emotional confession, the students asked me why I was frustrated. I told them that I had already had three classes that had not made good choices and that they we doing the same. I asked them to forgive me for my frustration but to understand how discouraging it is when students refuse to listen. In the momentary shock of silence, I continued with class.
Later, as my students and I talked, one of them raised her hand and asked, “Why don’t you yell at us, Miss D?” Inwardly smiling at her confusion and rejoicing that she had noticed my lack of raised voice over our three weeks together—that have not been without major challenge—I responded, “Well. One. I don’t like yelling because it hurts my voice. But, two. I don’t want to yell at you. You’ve been yelled at too much, and I think there are other ways to communicate with you.”
I don’t know if anyone will remember that conversation but me. But what I do know is that People I love—students and parents and teachers—are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice—more than 40 minute music lessons and more than momentary periods of relief. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up—years of neglect, months of feeling uncared for, days and nights of stress, weeks of feeling unappreciated—and I need something beyond myself to discover and communicate God’s answers of silence, grace, redemption, and love.
Fasting hurriedness helped me find that something beyond myself today…
And then it gave me five minutes to laugh at my dad who graciously made me a ham sandwich for lunch and then packed it in a gallon-sized, standing bottom, Ziploc Christmas bag. I still laugh when I think about it…and I then smile when I think about the six good reports that I gave teachers today.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
A Fast And A Conversation
A Fast, A Conversation, and A Poem…9.16.13
Well folks. I did it. I took off one week (minus two hours for a preplanned chat) from Facebook and I survived. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t even break the fast first thing yesterday morning. Strangely enough, I didn’t even think about it until the pastor mentioned it at worship. Maybe it’s because I started the fast last Sunday night? Maybe it’s because I couldn’t make myself get out of bed and was therefore running late for church? Maybe it’s because I’d gotten out of the habit? I actually think it might be the latter because I haven’t been on Facebook today…even though I got an e-mail about the thousands of notifications that I’ve missed.
And what did I do instead of getting online? I lay in bed and prayed first thing in the morning. I paid more attention to what was happening in the rooms I was in during the day. (If nothing was happening, I sat in the silence.) I shopped for major deals in the evenings. I sat with Bullet and/or cleaned during the nights. I visited friends and family on the weekend. I made a new friend. I thought about what was and wasn’t important to share with the world. I realized just how dependent society had become at communicating through Facebook—especially about dates, times, and events. I wrote three poems. I worked on a song that I can’t seem to finish. I prayed for my students. And I waited impatiently to be able to share my favorite conversation of the week. So here goes:
Me: You’re supposed to rest on Sunday, Mrs. Effie. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go to church and then I’m going to rest. But tonight I’m going to go home and clean the garage for mom and dad and take care of Bullet.
Mrs. Effie: That’s why I like you so much, Sweetpie.
(I’m thinking, “Because I like dogs?”)
Mrs. Effie (continuing): You’re kind. You love your family. You love the church. And you love black people.
Me (a bit surprised by her statement but grinning from ear to ear and nodding in agreement): Well. Yes. Yes I do.
Mrs. Effie: You love black people. White people. Any color people. It doesn’t matter. You just love people.
Me: Yes. I do. And I. Love. YOU.
Mrs. Effie (grinning): And I. Love. YOU.
Well folks. I did it. I took off one week (minus two hours for a preplanned chat) from Facebook and I survived. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t even break the fast first thing yesterday morning. Strangely enough, I didn’t even think about it until the pastor mentioned it at worship. Maybe it’s because I started the fast last Sunday night? Maybe it’s because I couldn’t make myself get out of bed and was therefore running late for church? Maybe it’s because I’d gotten out of the habit? I actually think it might be the latter because I haven’t been on Facebook today…even though I got an e-mail about the thousands of notifications that I’ve missed.
And what did I do instead of getting online? I lay in bed and prayed first thing in the morning. I paid more attention to what was happening in the rooms I was in during the day. (If nothing was happening, I sat in the silence.) I shopped for major deals in the evenings. I sat with Bullet and/or cleaned during the nights. I visited friends and family on the weekend. I made a new friend. I thought about what was and wasn’t important to share with the world. I realized just how dependent society had become at communicating through Facebook—especially about dates, times, and events. I wrote three poems. I worked on a song that I can’t seem to finish. I prayed for my students. And I waited impatiently to be able to share my favorite conversation of the week. So here goes:
Me: You’re supposed to rest on Sunday, Mrs. Effie. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go to church and then I’m going to rest. But tonight I’m going to go home and clean the garage for mom and dad and take care of Bullet.
Mrs. Effie: That’s why I like you so much, Sweetpie.
(I’m thinking, “Because I like dogs?”)
Mrs. Effie (continuing): You’re kind. You love your family. You love the church. And you love black people.
Me (a bit surprised by her statement but grinning from ear to ear and nodding in agreement): Well. Yes. Yes I do.
Mrs. Effie: You love black people. White people. Any color people. It doesn’t matter. You just love people.
Me: Yes. I do. And I. Love. YOU.
Mrs. Effie (grinning): And I. Love. YOU.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Midmorning Daydream
Yesterday, the first prayer of my day was
for a friend with whom I haven't spoken in quite some time.
I had dreamed about her the night before.
Today, the first prayer of my day was
"May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, oh Lord, my strength and redeemer."
I have no idea what I dreamed last night.
Which is weird.
I usually dream in active, vivid color.
Right now, the prayer of my heart continues to be the prayer of my morning as I
Daydream of a time when all of my students
(and my friend)
(and all persons everywhere)
will know they are (or can be) safely loved and that
(at least in my eyes) there is redemption and grace.
for a friend with whom I haven't spoken in quite some time.
I had dreamed about her the night before.
Today, the first prayer of my day was
"May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, oh Lord, my strength and redeemer."
I have no idea what I dreamed last night.
Which is weird.
I usually dream in active, vivid color.
Right now, the prayer of my heart continues to be the prayer of my morning as I
Daydream of a time when all of my students
(and my friend)
(and all persons everywhere)
will know they are (or can be) safely loved and that
(at least in my eyes) there is redemption and grace.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
First Prayer of My Day Today
Dear God:
Will you speak
to her spirit
today?
Will you tell her
I love her and that
I'm glad she was born?
I'd appreciate it.
Thanks.
Love,
Dee
Will you speak
to her spirit
today?
Will you tell her
I love her and that
I'm glad she was born?
I'd appreciate it.
Thanks.
Love,
Dee
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Forty Minutes Ago
I don’t remember exactly what prompted the question—it was certainly nothing theological—but one of my students looked at me the other day and said, “Are you going to pray for us or something?” I didn’t answer his question aloud, but in my mind I thought, “Oh, yes, my dear child. Yes. I am going to pray for you. In fact, I am praying for you right now.”
In and out. In and out. Breathe in--all of the uncertainty, fear, and insecurity that is troubling him. Breathe out--light, love, peace, and all things good. In and out. In and out. Even as I teach. Silently pray. In and out. In and out.
At the end of class, as most of my students passed with either a high five or a wave, this student stopped, looked me in the eyes, and said, “I already know that you love me, Ms. D.” Then he hugged me. As I hugged him in return, I said, “Yep. I do love you.” But what I was thinking? I was thinking, “How do you already know? We just met 40 minutes ago.”
As I’ve pondered the prayer guide that earlier in the week I set myself up to write, I’ve realized that this task is too big for me to accomplish in two days. So today I’ve decided to post a prayer that I wrote during CPE instead. When I’m not breathing in and out, I’m often singing this prayer to myself:
Lord, I pray for everyone
Whose hearts are breaking today
Lord, I pray for everyone
Whose bodies are wasting away
There is so much hurt
And so much pain
So much grief
And so much anger
There are so many fears
And so many doubts
Lord we need you,
We need you,
Right now.
I don’t know how prayer works. Really. I don’t. But somehow I know that it does. And so I will keep praying.
For the students I teach. For the families from which they come. For the teachers who teach alongside me. For the administrators who work above me and the legislature who works above them. For the support staff who holds the school together. For the churches and businesses around us who want to be involved.
I pray for everyone…and their hurt and pain and grief and anger and fears and doubts.
I pray for God…and God’s peace and healing and hope and joy and courage and rest.
I pray that love will radiate from my spirit so beautifully that every person I meet—especially my students—will know that I love him (or at least that I’m trying)…even if I only met him forty minutes ago.
In and out. In and out. Breathe in--all of the uncertainty, fear, and insecurity that is troubling him. Breathe out--light, love, peace, and all things good. In and out. In and out. Even as I teach. Silently pray. In and out. In and out.
At the end of class, as most of my students passed with either a high five or a wave, this student stopped, looked me in the eyes, and said, “I already know that you love me, Ms. D.” Then he hugged me. As I hugged him in return, I said, “Yep. I do love you.” But what I was thinking? I was thinking, “How do you already know? We just met 40 minutes ago.”
As I’ve pondered the prayer guide that earlier in the week I set myself up to write, I’ve realized that this task is too big for me to accomplish in two days. So today I’ve decided to post a prayer that I wrote during CPE instead. When I’m not breathing in and out, I’m often singing this prayer to myself:
Lord, I pray for everyone
Whose hearts are breaking today
Lord, I pray for everyone
Whose bodies are wasting away
There is so much hurt
And so much pain
So much grief
And so much anger
There are so many fears
And so many doubts
Lord we need you,
We need you,
Right now.
I don’t know how prayer works. Really. I don’t. But somehow I know that it does. And so I will keep praying.
For the students I teach. For the families from which they come. For the teachers who teach alongside me. For the administrators who work above me and the legislature who works above them. For the support staff who holds the school together. For the churches and businesses around us who want to be involved.
I pray for everyone…and their hurt and pain and grief and anger and fears and doubts.
I pray for God…and God’s peace and healing and hope and joy and courage and rest.
I pray that love will radiate from my spirit so beautifully that every person I meet—especially my students—will know that I love him (or at least that I’m trying)…even if I only met him forty minutes ago.
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