Anger Issues

 

I have a student who is a very good musician. 

He is super sweet when he’s in a good mood,

But he has major anger issues when he’s not. 

He’s been doing well in my class this year,

Sitting at my desk and drawing to keep himself focused and calm,

But last week, he wandered away from my desk and started bothering some classmates.

When I told him to come back over to my desk—

Not because he was in trouble but because he does better at my desk—

He got mad.

He started mumbling.

“Man, I hate school.

I’d rather be doing ANYTHING but school.

I hate school.

I hate everything about it.

I’d give anything to not be here—

I’d go anywhere else.”

And he kept on going.

Then a classmate joined in,

“It’s okay.

This torture will be over soon

And then we can go to lunch.”

“I hate lunch.

Lunch isn’t even fun anymore.”

And they just commiserated with one another

About how horrible everything was.

All the while,

I was listening and trying not to take it personally.

Especially the part about
“This torture will be over soon.”

 

There’s a lot I could say about this situation,

But I think what strikes me most is

The little sting that stung when I heard my class called torture.

I know, these two children have no idea what true torture is.

But in their 4^th grade brains,

Sitting through music class while learning a Preamble Rap

Was torture.

What a dramatically strong word for something so minor as

Being redirected and then not liking a song!

And what a powerfully stupid word to hurt me.

 

But it did.

A little.

Because words are so very powerful--

Even words from children who have no idea what they’re saying.

 

So may we choose our words wisely,

What we say and what we write,

And may we model healthy emotional expression to the children

Who are hurting,

And my goodness are they hurting.  

 

Amen.

Little Pumpkin

 

Each year during fall,

I buy little pumpkins and gourds for my classroom.

They serve not only as decorations but also as

Visual examples for lessons with Kindergarten and 1^st grade.

 

Last week, I unpacked my pumpkins during my exceptional children’s (EC) class.

One of the students immediately became fascinated by the pumpkins

And started playing with them.

He even drew faces on them.

I later found out that he was mimicking a shape activity that they had done

On the smartboard in their classroom!

 

As the class left, I gave one of the pumpkins to the EC teacher.

Two days later, she wanted to use the pumpkin in a teaching activity

But the pumpkin was gone.

When she asked the fascinated student where the pumpkin was,

He said, “Home.”

She said, “L! That pumpkin wasn’t yours!”

He said, “Ms. Deaton. Musica.”

She said, “Ms. Deaton gave it to me!”

 

As the teacher was telling me this story, laughing,

I got choked up.

“He knows my name?” is all I could think and say.

He’s autistic.

He doesn’t talk much.

When he does, it’s usually gibberish Spanish because he’s either happy or mad.

He comes to music with his EC class and with his mainstreamed class,

But he doesn’t usually directly participate in the lesson, and

He’s never said my name.

Not to me.

But he said it to his teacher.

“Ms. Deaton. Musica.”

And it made me cry!

 

I make it a point to say my student’s names every time they come to class.

I try to say their names when I see them in the mornings, in the afternoons, and in the hallways.

I know that names are important.

But I didn’t know that MY name was so important until

I heard that teacher say it as L said it.

“Ms. Deaton. Musica.”

 

I AM

Ms. Deaton,

Musica.

And inasmuch as the title sometimes drives me crazy,

It is a privilege

To be a pumpkin bearer

And a joy sharer

To the least of these,

Our children.

 

Amen.

A Prayer for Western NC

 

Oh God,

Western North Carolina is broken.

The layers of trauma and hurt are as complex and deep

As the mud and waters that lay stagnant

In homes and communities shattered

By the power of Nature’s force.

 

For all who have lost physical possessions and are trying to put the pieces back together,

Lord, have mercy.

 

For all who have lost loved ones to certain death,

Lord, have mercy.

 

For all living in the uncertainty of a loved one’s whereabouts,

Lord, have mercy.

 

For all who are stranded with no power, food, or water,

Lord, have mercy.

 

For linemen, rescue workers, and all who are on the ground to provide disaster relief,

Lord, have mercy.

 

For all who will try to take advantage of those whose lives have already been devastated,

Lord, have mercy.

 

For all who feel helpless but can only offer prayers and financial support,

Lord, have mercy.

 

The aftermath of Helene is going to linger long and hard.

Help us as we recover and rebuild.

Help us to be community in action and

To be the answer to our own prayers.

Help us to go and do,

To be hands and feet and ears and hearts.

Always.

 

Amen.

A Dream Come True

 

My mom has been playing piano for 73 years.

She started lessons when she was 8

And been playing ever since.

 

For as long as I can remember,

Daily piano playing has been part of my mom’s life.

I remember the Story and Clark in the dining room of the parsonage in Tabor City,

I remember it in the living room at the house on Forest Avenue, and

I remember it in the living room of the parsonage in Bunnlevel.

I remember getting the Yamaha Baby Grand when we moved into our current house,

And it is her joy to play it.

 

Two years ago this winter,

My mom invited a family friend into the house with his recording equipment.

Together, they recorded 17 of her favorite songs.

Because of various life circumstances,

Nothing happened with those 17 songs until a couple of months ago…

When the wheels of producing a CD finally began to turn.

 

With the help of my sister and another family friend,

My mom produced a very professional, top-notch CD.

My mom’s dream was to gift this CD to friends and family members

Who have encouraged her along the way.

 

Her dream came true yesterday when she gave away 30 physical CDs

And shared the web address to her online playlist with many others.   

 

I think what’s so special about my mom’s playing is that it’s not just playing.

It’s her heart.

And she has now shared that heart with the world,

 

To say that I am proud is an understatement.

I know of my mom’s hard work and her dedication to the craft,

And I know that she considers playing piano her highest act of worship.

 

I am blessed beyond measure to be the beneficiary of my mom’s practice,

And I consider it pure joy to have witnessed her concert yesterday

And to have seen the tears of humility and gratitude stream down her face.

 

…

 

One of my mom’s shirt’s says:

God grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change,

Courage to change things when I can, and

Wisdom to know when to play the piano.

 

May I be so wise as my mom,

And use my talents for the betterment of others

And building of God’s kin-dom of Love.

 

Amen.

Cowering in Fear

Don’t let her fool you. 

Annie is not a sweet cat. 

By all outward appearances, she appears sweet. 

She’s pretty and fluffy and soft and plump.

She even has moments where she’s very loving and 

Requests attention.

But in her nature is an attack cat.

I think her early days as a single, street mom were all about survival 

And I don’t think that three years of being the queen of the household has taken that out of her. 

 

On Sunday morning, I heard a skirmish. 

I knew it was the cats. 

Then I heard a bang. 

I knew that one of them had knocked something down.

I fell back asleep. 

When I got up, I noticed that the laundry basket was lying on the floor in the bathroom.

I remembered the earlier noises

At the same moment that I noticed a tail sticking out from behind the bathroom door.

Sigma was hiding behind the bathroom door, 

Cowering in fear.

 

I put the pieces together. 

Annie had chased Sigma upstairs. 

Sigma had tried to climb the laundry basket to get away from his attacker. 

The laundry basket had fallen and scared both cats. 

Sigma hid behind the bathroom door while Annie nonchalantly went and sat at the top of the stairs, 

Taking her place of authority 

And viewing her queendom. 

 

Feeling more secure with me in the room,

Sigma came out from behind the door and explored the bathroom.

A few moments later, I picked him up and carried him past Annie

So that he could be free from Annie’s jail.

 

I think sometimes we assume that people are nice, or doing okay,

Because outward appearances show us as much.

But, like Annie, insides are scarred by wounds,

Or simply a nature,

We just don’t see…

Until they say explode,

Fall apart,

Say something mean,

Or attack,

Literally or figuratively,

And leave us wondering what just happened.

 

I don’t want to be someone who doubts the authenticity of everyone and everything I see,

But I also don’t want to be someone who forgets that people and situations aren’t always as they appear.

 

I want to be someone who sees people for all of who they are—

Even when it’s hard—

And who knows how to respond to what I see.  

 

Sometimes with a love that stays—

Like my love for Annie.

Sometimes with a love that walks away.

Sometimes with a love that reports to DSS or CPS.

Sometimes with a love that fights back.

Sometimes with a love that goes to therapy.

Sometimes with a love that prays.

Sometimes with a love that harbors the refugee.

Sometimes with a love that sets one free,

Like I did with Sigma.

Sometimes with a love that chooses to put disbelief aside

And allows uncomfortable reality to settle in and

Grief to begin.

Sometimes with a love that simply cries.

 

Oh God: Give us the wisdom and discernment to know and love others for all of who they are…even if there are parts unseen…especially if there are parts unseen. Amen.

Gracious

I was recently talking to an old Christian camp friend about the

Hot button issues of

Immigration

The LGBTQ+ Community

Pro-life vs. Pro-choice policies

Racism

And

Sexism.

Fun, huh?

 

She made a comment that brought tears to my eyes.

She said:

These are the things my husband and I talk about.

We wonder aloud at how 160+ years ago,

The church was on the wrong side of slavery and

Ask ourselves if given a comparable space and distance,

We might discover that we’re on the wrong side of things now.

We finally settle on this thought:

When we get to heaven,

We would rather hear God say,

“You thought me more gracious than I am.”

Than

“You thought me more harsh than I am.”

 

I don’t know about you,

But in serving a God who deems himself “love,”

And throughout scripture welcomes the outcast

And loves the unloveable,

I would much rather be more gracious than I ought

Than be more harsh than I should.

 

The gospel of Jesus Christ is one of life-giving freedom.

We are saved from fear and damnation, and

Are given a glimpse of eternal life…

May we live as though we’ve been set free to love.

May we live as though God so loved the world.

 

Amen.

Mistake

 

I made a mistake yesterday.

I asked two political questions.

I wasn’t trying to be divisive.

I was genuinely curious as to the answers to my questions.

But both questions garnered answers that were mean-spirited

And I found friends being questioned and attacked for no good reason,

So I took both posts down.

 

I was reminded of a couple of things, though.

 

There are vastly different definitions of Christian in America today.

There is one version of Christian that holds to holiness, purity, and righteousness.

This version is very serious about morality and usually takes scripture literally.

There is another version of Christian that holds to love, grace, and forgiveness.

This version is very serious about welcoming people to Christ’s table and takes scripture as God’s story that is continuing to unfold.

Both are very committed to their faith and their understanding of God.

And while both believe that “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son so that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life,”

How they interpret that verse and idea is not the same.

 

We, as an American society, have lost the ability to have conversations about hard things.

We resort to name calling and hurl insults at people we’ve never met

And then we assume that the other person is an idiot.

We are so certain that we are right and that “they” are wrong

That we cannot agree to disagree and to treat people with dignity and respect.

We all have thoughts.

We all have opinions.

There are many things about which there is no absolute right or wrong.

But dignity and respect, treating people as human beings,

Is not negotiable.

Life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness is not negotiable.

Or it shouldn’t be.

But we’ve made it so.

 

Sometimes it all feels like too much.

Sometimes I feel defeated.

I did yesterday.

Instead of napping,

I found myself on my knees,

Kneeling beside my bed,

Praying with tears

Because I didn’t have words.

 

Help, was all I knew to say.

Help free us from the fear

That you just might

Love us all.

 

Amen.

Prayer For Peace

 

Tamara played a version of “Make Me A Channel of Your Peace”

For the prelude yesterday morning.

It was based on the Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi:

 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

 

I’ve sung two versions of this song in my life.

I wrote one for a friend’s ordination

And I arranged one for a church.

Both the friend and the church are in my past now,

But the songs are still in my head.

I’m glad.

Maybe if I start singing them again,

Then they’ll become self-fulfilling prophecies.

What’s more, maybe if I simply start praying this prayer each day,

Then it will become part of me,

Like the Lord’s Prayer,

And John 3:16.