Life Impacting Moment: When A Former Student Dies

*Last week, after one of my former students unexpectedly died, his family asked me to sing "Beautiful Boy" at his funeral. They also requested that I say a few words to honor his life. The following words are what emerged after a week of prayer and struggle. My deepest prayer was--and is--that these words speak exactly what needs to be said--and in exactly the way it needs to be heard. Amen and Amen.*

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I drove here this afternoon directly from work. Today, I taught music to a little over one hundred students, completing my week of six hundred. In my ten years of teaching, I’ve taught thousands of students—some of whom I remember clearly—some of whom, sadly, I do not. Andrew Thomas is a student that I remember.

As a 3rd grader at Gentry, Andrew was one of the first students I ever taught. As a 5th grader at Erwin, Andrew was one of the first students from Erwin that I took to Harnett Off Broadway. We played boomwhackers that year—and did the Chicken Dance—and did something with “Sugar Sugar.” The kids dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt—hair slicked back—the 60’s look—and joined together with students from Gentry to dramatically end the performance—which was something that we did every year for six years. Andrew was part of that first group of students…and he was part of figuring out what to do when a student has so much energy that he cannot sit still or stop drumming—or stop talking .

If I’m honest, though—and I’ve been forced to be honest with myself all week—I remember Andrew not so much because he was my student—but because he is John and Sherry’s son, Jonathan and Mary Kathryn’s brother—and because he died much too young…

One of my favorite Psalms is Psalm 139. Listen to its words now:
1 O LORD, you have searched me and known me.
2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from far away.
3 You search out my path and my lying down,
and are acquainted with all my ways.
4 Even before a word is on my tongue,
O LORD, you know it completely.
5 You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is so high that I cannot attain it.
7 Where can I go from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
9 If I take the wings of the morning
and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
10 even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me fast.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light around me become night,”
12 even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
all the days that were formed for me,
when none of them as yet existed.
17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
18 I try to count them—they are more than the sand;
I come to the end—I am still with you.
19 O that you would kill the wicked, O God,
and that the bloodthirsty would depart from me—
20 those who speak of you maliciously,
and lift themselves up against you for evil!
21 Do I not hate those who hate you, O LORD?
And do I not loathe those who rise up against you?
22 I hate them with perfect hatred;
I count them my enemies.
23 Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my thoughts.
24 See if there is any wicked way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
I don’t understand how life happens to us, folks. I don’t understand why the pathway seems so smooth for some but so bumpy for others. I don’t understand why some of us struggle with deep darkness while others of us do not. I don’t understand why some of us emerge from that darkness while others cannot find the way out. I don’t get it, friends. I truly don’t get it.

But I do get this:

• God is an inescapable God who loves us. When darkness surrounds us, God is there. When we feel that our pain is so great that it will consume us, God is there. When we feel joy so deep that it radiates through our bodies, God is there. And not only that, but God is big enough to hear our raw, honest prayers along the way and to wait with us as those prayers are being answered. God was with Andrew Thomas.
• God is a God of love—of redemption—of community. And God did not create us to go at life alone. We are born from another and connected to humanity through both life and death. Andrew’s life made a difference to those who loved him, and Andrew’s death will make a difference in ways that only time will tell.
• God created each of us in our mother’s wombs and called each of us good. God knitted each one of us together and called each of us beautiful. Andrew Thomas was a beautiful boy.

From all that I’ve gathered, Andrew’s path was one mixed with joys and sorrows and both his happiness and darkness were very real. But so was the love of God and of the people in his life—the people who have helped me remember him—the people who are here to honor his life today.

Before you go to sleep tonight, friends, say a prayer.
It may not seem like it now,
But every day, in every way,
Through God’s time and redemption
Life really will get better.

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BEAUTIFUL BOY (DARLING BOY) by John Lennon

Close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone, he's on the run
And your daddy's here
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy

Before you go to sleep, say a little prayer
Everyday, in every way it's getting better and better
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy

Out on the ocean, sailing away
I can hardly wait to see you come of age
But I guess we'll both just have to be patient!
Cause it's a long way to go! A hard row to hoe!
Yes it's a long way to go
But in the meantime....

Before you cross the street take my hand
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy

Before you go to sleep, say a little prayer
Everyday, in every way it's getting better and better
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy

Darling, darling, darling
Darling boy.

Confession: But By The Grace of God

A coworker asked me the other day how I remained so positive.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.
Because here’s the truth.
I’m really not a very positive person. At all.

In fact, when left on its own,
The script in my head is one of the most damning places one could ever be.
“You’re such a stupid piece of crap. You should just stay in bed instead of getting up and subjecting the world to your junk. You’re overbearing and ridiculously annoying. You think too much and talk too much and no one wants to be around you. You’re a pitifully sad excuse of a
minister and teacher.”

Those are the thoughts that stay with me, folks.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

When I’m rested and my appreciation tank is full,
I can quieten the lies.
But when I’m tired and overly stressed,
They are all that I can hear.
And when they’re all I can hear,
I get really messed up.
I feel lonely. So I talk more. Then I feel like I say too much and annoy people. So then I get mad at myself and want to disappear. But then I get lonely again. And when I say lonely, I mean deep down irrationally alone. So I talk about it and try not to turn it inward. But then I get mad at myself for burdening the world with my mess. And then I shut down and want to disappear because I dislike myself so much And cannot believe that anyone else would actually want me around.
Crazymaking, huh?

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

I’ve had to learn how to soften the lies and I have to face them every day.
Counseling has helped me build new neuro-pathways and
given me language for a new script.
I’ve learned to breathe and to give the Spirit space to settle.
I’ve learned the value of silence and contemplative prayer.
I’ve learned that I’m not alone in my damning thoughts and
that I do not have to carry them alone.
I’ve learned that people are praying for me, too…

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

We’re in this together.
And I believe in you.
Which is one positively true statement,
Even when I don’t believe in myself.

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

*Selah*

Defining Moments: Please Fill This Emptiness

“I just saw some of your favorite artist’s work,” I read. “There’s a big display in an art gallery in Miami.”
“I love him,” I replied.
“I like him, too. His work makes me feel. And that’s a good thing in art.”

His work makes me feel, too, and it’s made me feel deeply since the moment I laid eyes upon it at Pop Art Gallery in Downtown Disney in July 2011.

After spending the week at a work event in Orlando, FL, my friend Amy and I stopped at Downtown Disney to get some food and visit some shops before beginning the drive back to South Carolina.

When we walked in Pop Art Gallery, Amy and I parted ways, each walking around the store to take in the sights on our own.

As soon as I looked at Fabio Napoleoni’s display wall, I was mesmerized. I stood there and gazed upon his paintings and prints, and I wept.

I felt sort of stupid standing in the middle of a busy store crying, but I couldn’t help it. Fabio’s work spoke to me in a way that no artist’s work had spoken to me before. I got it. It made me feel. And so I soaked it in respectful awe until Amy came around the corner, shook her head at my tears, and laughed at me for wearing my heart on my sleeve (and everything I own).

Fast forward a few months and find my brother at Downtown Disney. Having unsuccessfully been able to find Fabio’s work cheaper online and having been unable to get his images out of my mind, I asked my brother if he’d see if the piece that had resonated with me most deeply was still there. It was. And not only that, but Fabio was going to be at the gallery that next weekend. If I purchased the canvas then he would sign, date, and Remarque it for free.

I purchased the canvas. “Please Fill This Emptiness.” And to this day, when I look at it, I get it:
I get feeling beaten down. Exhausted. No energy left to keep going.
I get longing for love. Reaching. Hoping against hope that love will come.
I get being surrounded by beauty but only being able to stare at nothing.
I get being shielded by friends and family stepping in to hold the weight of the world.
I get it.

And tonight,
as I process the suicide of a former student and member of my youth group,
as I feel the hurts of those who have been emotionally damaged and abused,
as I still grieve Kay’s death and mourn the loss of baby Sam just two short months ago,
as I cry for students whose parents are so absent that they do not realize their child has no underwear,
I am reminded that I am not the only one who gets it—
Who prays each day,
God, please fill this emptiness.
Please.
Fill this emptiness.
Amen.

Defining Event: Kay's Death

It’s been a rough week, folks. Not necessarily at work—though I’ve had my fair share of rough patches. But inside my head and on the shards of my broken heart.

Those of you who have been reading my notes for awhile will know about whom I speak when I mention Kay. I write about her each year around the second week of November, yet this year’s writing is early because of how heavily she’s been on my mind this week.

It started Sunday night. As I prepared to go to my dad’s associational meeting that evening, I found myself filled with unexplainable anxiety. I wasn’t late. I wasn’t on the program. I wasn’t scheduled to see anyone new. I was just deep down, butterflies in my stomach, back quivering anxious.

As I stood in line to register, though, I realized where the feeling was coming from: The last time I went to an associational meeting at that church and stood in that same line, I was standing in line behind Kay.

The first wave of deep grief hit on my way to praise team practice that night. In addition to remembering Kay’s death, I realized that most of the people who were in my life at that time are gone, too—not to physical death but to time’s natural passing.

That wave of grief colored much of my Monday, and then another, much deeper, wave of grief overwhelmed me on Tuesday. I remembered every vivid detail of the last moments I saw Kay, the phone conversation that told me something was wrong, the hours that I stood outside her apartment waiting for the rescue squad prepare her body for transport, the minutes after I got home, the days I spent helping clean her apartment--the sights, the smells, the confusion, the hurt. I sobbed on the way to counseling. I sobbed in counseling. I sobbed on my way home from counseling. I sobbed as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. And I woke up yesterday feeling like I’d been run over by a truck…

Sunday is homecoming at church. The choir is singing “Find Us Faithful” for our choral anthem:

We're pilgrims on the journey
Of the narrow road
And those who've gone before us line the way
Cheering on the faithful, encouraging the weary
Their lives a stirring testament to God's sustaining grace

Surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses
Let us run the race not only for the prize
But as those who've gone before us
Let us leave to those behind us
The heritage of faithfulness passed on through godly lives

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
May the fire of our devotion light their way
May the footprints that we leave
Lead them to believe
And the lives we live inspire them to obey
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone
And our children sift through all we've left behind
May the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover
Become the light that leads them to the road we each must find

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

For some reason, the choir has struggled with this anthem. As we practiced last night and I listened to their hesitation in singing, I thought about the message of the song—the message of single-minded devotion to God that I’ve been trying to get the choir to share—and I thought about…Kay.

I thought about her cheering on the faithful and encouraging the weary. I revisited those moments of literally sifting through all she’d left behind. And I stopped rehearsal and leaned against my podium and shared some of the burden that I’d been carrying all week.

My choir listened. My choir heard. And then they sang the anthem the best they’d ever sung it shortly afterward.

I imagine Kay would have been happy had she been sitting in the sanctuary with us last night. I imagine she would have sat on the front pew with her eyes closed, hands in receiving position, smiling as she listened—just as she listened to my band play on the last morning of her life. And I imagine she’d be smiling with me now—the day after the day after completely falling apart—celebrating just how far I’ve come and just how much farther there is to go.

Defining Moments: I Think I'll Ride A Bike Now

10 Nesmith Street
Tabor City, NC 28463
910-653-2216

Such was my address and phone number for most of my childhood.
And what a wonderful place to grow up:
A dead end street lined with beautiful live oak trees,
Not much traffic,
Children laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns,
Running to the railroad tracks to wave at the conductor…

Nesmith Street began with railroad tracks and ended with a forest.
While I realize, now, that this probably wasn’t a great idea,
We—the Nesmith Street Gang—spent a lot of time racing on the railroad tracks and leaving coins to be squished by the train.
We also made it a point to race for the train tracks when we heard the conductor blowing his whistle.

We had a childhood fascination with seeing the conductor wave at us,
So I suppose it only makes sense that on the day that
Everyone else hopped on their bikes and raced to the end of the street,
Leaving little Dee running behind in their dust,
Little Dee decided that it was time to learn to ride a bike.

At the boundary of my childhood paradise,
where the railroad tracks hugged Nesmith Street,
having missed the conductor’s wave,
I, Little Dee, began learning to ride a bike right then and there.
It didn’t take long.
I picked it up like a childhood pro.
(Or at least I think I did?)
And before long I had my very own BMX-ish-like bike and
was riding with the rest of the gang.

As I got older and my world expanded beyond Nesmith Street,
My bicycle took me there.
I rode to the church.
I rode to the school on workdays.
I rode to see friends.
I even rode to the next town over.
My bicycle gave me flight
Until my car expanded the world beyond two wheels.

My favorite professional artist, Fabio Napoleoni,
Has a painting entitled “Sometimes I Miss My Childhood,”

And sometimes, dear friends, I do:
Not much traffic,
A lot of laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns, and
Riding bikes to the railroad tracks with the very best of friends.

Just Two Haiku-like Thoughts About Working In The Helping Professions

One
This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Service changes lives.

Two
This important work:
Not by choice alone. Call leads.
Mustard seed of faith.

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If you have dedicated your life to helping and serving others, thank you.
If you know someone who has done the same, tell him/her thank you as well.
Not because it’s a special week.
Just because.

Defining Moments: If You Go, I'll Go

Third grade.

Here’s Hope, Jesus Cares For You national revival.
Associational worship service in Whiteville.
The invitation.
Butterflies in stomach.
Heart pounding.
A powerful, new feeling fills me.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say to my best friend.
“If you go, I’ll go,” she says to me.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say again to my best friend.
“If you go, I’ll go,” she says back to me again.
I went.
My pastor—my dad—was praying with someone.
I prayed with a stranger pastor.
My best friend did the same.

On the bus waiting to go home.
Bouncing from seat to seat.
Laughing.
Filled with unexplainable joy.

Baptismal pool.
Long silence.
Look up.
“Daddy, hurry up.”
His baby.
He was crying.
“I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

Now.

“If you go, I’ll go,” I say to God.
“As you, I’ll be with you,” God says to me.
“I’m going,” I say to God.
“Day by day. One step at a time. I am with you,” God says.
“Always?”
“Always.”
Amen and amen.

Defining Moments: Harry Potter

It’s all Jack’s fault.

I’m currently reading The Blood of Olympus, the fifth and final book in Rick Riordan’s Heroes of Olympus series. But before I started The Blood of Olympus, though, I was reading Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets for the third time. I’ve seen all of the movies, too. They kept me company while packing my apartment in SC.

Like I said, it’s all Jack’s fault.

What Nephew Jack reads, Aunt Dee reads. Sometimes we get to talk about the stories. Sometimes we don’t. Either way, it’s opened a whole new world of story for me, and I’m very glad.

Harry Potter used to intimidate me. I saw the books and how many pages they held and I thought to myself, “I’d never make it through that.” Even after I started listening to books on CD, I still considered Harry Potter a task too daunting to undertake.

I’d heard how wonderful the books were. I’d had numerous people recommend them to me. I was with Angela when she bought the sixth book on CD many years ago. We were on our way to a wedding in Connecticut and she was so anxious to hear Rowling’s latest installment that we stopped at a Wal-mart for the purchase along the way! She listened while I slept, and I remember waking up, listening, and being completely lost. Little did I know that a few years later, I’d be listening to that exact book, no longer lost, and totally thankful that Angela had purchased it.

She purchased all of the other books, too, and had them in a shoe box at her house when I decided to read the series (with my ears). Jack had started it (with his eyes). He loved it. I wanted to be able to speak with him intelligently. I had plenty of listening time as I drove around SC for work. It was time.

I think that the fact that I’ve started the series for the third time is testament to the fact that I liked it. And not only did I like it, but I also accidentally allowed it to change the way I think.

Don’t worry, folks, I haven’t allowed witchcraft and wizardry to take over my mind.
But I do often wish I had an invisibility cloak and the ability to disparate.
I do find myself comparing painful experiences and places to dementors.
I often imagine myself in Hogwarts and desire to meet Dobby.
I ponder the series’ themes of light and darkness, good and evil, friendship and family.
I marvel at the creativity that God has placed in the human mind.
And I connect with the notion that love has the power to withstand evil…lightning scar or not.
After all, it’s Love that I’ve built my life upon…and it’s love that leads us to read books and opens hearts and sets us free…

Come To Me...And Rest

One of my biggest accomplishments of all of my years at camp was laying the foundation for my friend Humphries to learn to play the guitar.

A couple of years after we first played together, I drove to Humphries house to visit. Naturally, we busted out our guitars and began to play. A little while later, we’d written a song.

It’s a simple song. The words come from scripture. I honestly don’t remember why it emerged that day. But it did. And it’s a song that I often find myself singing…especially when I’m tired…which is a lot…because working two very public jobs while also trying to be a good friend and family member, responsible citizen, and healthy self is tiring.

Yesterday’s sermon was on the importance of rest—for both the body and soul. We are our best selves when we are our rested selves. We are only able to project peace and joy when we are our rested selves. We need rest. After all, God created rest through the very act of resting.

And so…during yesterday’s early service…I sang that little song that Humphries and I wrote…and it’s been the calming earworm in my mind ever since…and while you can’t hear the music right now, I pray you take comfort in the words…and remember to rest.

Come To Me
7/3/10
Matthew 11:28-29
with Amy Humphries

Come to me
All you who labor and are tired
Come to me
And I will give you rest

Take my easy yoke
And learn from me
For I am gentle
And humble in heart

Yes, you will find rest
For your weary soul
Just come to me
My burden is light

Come to me
My burden is light
Come to me
Come to me

Defining Moments: Envy My Massage

If I were independently wealthy, I would purchase lake, beach, and mountains houses for use by my family and friends and I would invite teachers, social workers, and persons in the ministry to use the houses for either super cheap or free. I would also hire a counselor to offer super cheap or free counseling sessions to teachers, and I would hire a massage therapist to do the same. Teachers, social workers, and persons in the ministry are notorious for selflessly giving themselves to others while doing very little for their own bodies and souls. I’d like to see that change. If only I were independently wealthy…

Whether she meant to or not, Boss once let me know that I was wealthy enough to provide myself with one monthly luxury: a massage. I remember her telling me that she was a member at Massage Envy. She said that with as much driving as she did and the stress that she carried, she needed it. She liked the flexibility of the franchise. She felt that the monthly membership was a good deal. And she felt that taking care of her body was something God-honoring.

So I joined, too.

I did well at scheduling and keeping monthly my massage appointments for most of my time in South Carolina. I saw a few different massage therapists and enjoyed talking with them while they loosened the tension in my body.

During one particular massage with a non-Christian massage therapist, as I was talking through a breakout session on compassion that I was scheduled to lead the next day, I admitted that I have trouble having compassion on people who intentionally hurt and judgmentally damn other people. I confessed that I don't understand how God can be okay with this and then I heard a statement that I’ve remembered ever since:

"Maybe God has compassion on them."

Maybe God has compassion on them—on each of us, really—in the same way that I have compassion on my students who come from horrible home lives and act out of the only brokenness they know. Maybe God believes in each of our abilities to rise above our limitations and shortcomings and maybe that belief is God’s ultimate compassion.

After work today, I called my local-ish Massage Envy to see if they had any appointments available tonight. They did. As I lay on the table feeling today’s massage therapist work out the kinks and knots that have becoming increasingly more painful in the past few months, I had to make myself relax. I found my thoughts wandering back and forth between things I need to do, people for whom I desired to pray, and this line from a Sara Groves song:

“I’ve remembered the body and the mind but dissected the soul.”

I love this line. I love that it sings of the importance of a holistic approach to life. I’m mindful of it every time I get a massage, and I’m mindful that, for me, the line should read, “I’ve remembered the soul and the mind but neglected the body.”

I decided today that I’m going to attempt to be more intentional about not neglecting the body, mind, or soul. And I’m going to do this by making an effort to actually use the monthly Massage Envy membership that Boss encouraged me to get. I don’t make a lot of money and I can’t afford to buy vacation homes—but I can afford this. Thanks, Boss, for helping me realize that sometimes there are things we can’t afford not to do.