What If I Told You

*The following is an excerpt of an e-mail that I wrote about one of the songs that I sang last weekend at the Women's Get-Away. This is the song that I referred to in Monday's note when I said that I had just finished practicing one of my more difficult songs.*

As for "What If I Told You?"...

One day at work, a colleague of mine asked how I was doing and then went about her business--the normal exchange--a simple level of communication that we all use.

On that particular day, I was having a terrible day. I had alot on my mind and heart, yet I knew that if I mentioned even a bit of it, then I would be met with the opposite of safety...even though this colleague was a well-known "Christian."

And so I started the song. I wish I could remember where I wrote it, but I can't. It was either at the church I was working at or my house. Or maybe it was my classroom. Or maybe it was all three. I don't know. I just remember trembling as I wrote it....and crying...and being nervous about mentioning all of those "unmentionables" in one song. I remember wondering if people would know my struggles if I put them in the song...and being petrified that they would...and believing that they would judge me and hate me...and all of those terrible things.

And yet...I wrote the song anyway...and each time I've sung it--which has been less than a handful of times--I've felt like I was laying my soul bare for the world to see...and yet...I knew--I know--that I was really just reflecting everyone's soul in some way...and that is hard...and difficult...and sad...to realize the commonality of the human struggle but the fear that we each carry as we muddle through each day--to know that we are all broken and that we all struggle and that there needs to be less shame and more grace and forgiveness yet the shame keeps us silent and allows fear of judgment to lock us in the judgmental prison of self...

Anyway...here are the words. I will record it one day...I just need to find the time, the money, and the studio...

"What If I Told You"
by D. Deaton

You ask me how I’m feeling
But you do really want to know
I wonder what you’d think
If I let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But never at what’s inside
I wonder what you’d think
If you knew all that I hide

What if I told you I’m a sinner
And just yesterday
I drank till I blacked out on my black couch
So I could take the hurt away
And when I woke up to my family
The kids were crying, my husband not home
What is this thing I call life, oh I hate my life
I need help, but I’ve nowhere to turn

You ask me how I’m feeling
But you don’t seem to want to know
I’ve known you for years now
But I can’t let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But I can’t let you see inside
‘Cause you’d cringe, you’d preach, you’d shudder
If you knew all that I hide

What if I told you that I’m angry,
I’m a liar, a gossip, a cheat
I steal from my company, look at pornography
I’m a glutton, I’m full of greed
I’m a criminal, an adulterer
I’m divorced, I’ve aborted a child
I don’t walk the straight path, I feel all alone
I’m depressed, I question and doubt

I just need for you to love me with the love that you profess
I just need for you to show me a piece of God’s tenderness

You ask me how I’m feeling
And I want to let you know
My heart is screaming out here
I need to let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But will you look at what’s inside
Will you climb the wall around me
So I no longer have to hide

Three Pain, Two Kiss

Every once in awhile, I feel God's presence so powerfully that it hurts...yet sometimes the Spirit's presence is as gentle as a kiss.

On Friday afternoon, as I was preparing for my part in a Women's Getaway (sponsored by SC WMU), I was taken off guard by the tears that poured down my face and the painful goose bumps that covered my body as my heart, soul, and mind registered that I was not alone in the multi-purpose building at Camp La Vida. I had just finished singing one of my more difficult songs when I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotion that I know only as God. I sensed the realness of the pain and hardship that so many people--including me--carry around, and in that moment I believe that God and I were weeping together...though I cannot, for the life of me, discern anything that God was "saying"...except "Yes. Sing this song. Someone needs to hear it."

During the first break on Friday night, I was greeted by a participant who wanted to know if I knew sign language. As she spoke to me, using broken sign language and finger spelling, I knew that she was mentally and physically challenged, and I wondered if the weekend of sitting and listening--which are both challenging to her--would still be a good weekend for her. Yet she was not concerned about that. She simply wanted to know if maybe she could teach me sign language sometime because I had led a song that used some sign language and she thought it would be neat to help me learn more. After we finished talking, we both went to the snack station to get a drink. She bought two drinks--one for her and a friend--but she needed my help making change. She said, "Can you help me make change? I don't know how to do it." I helped her...and then promptly went back to my room and sobbed, knowing that I had, at the last minute, decided to sing the song with sign language, realizing that that one small, spur of the moment decision had made a huge impact on its observer, and recognizing that I didn't know anymore sign language and that I didn't know how I was supposed to effectively lead her...or all of the other many people groups or person's with disabilities or needs that I so often take for granted.

And then on Saturday, as the missionary spoke, I found myself taken off guard again by the feelings of utter inadequacy and humility that I felt as I was reminded of just how small I am, just how limited my view of God and God's work is, and just how much I am not immune to the message of my own music (or I suppose I should say the music that God sings through me). When I next opened my mouth, I was so overcome by the reality of God's call on all believers' lives--including mine--and God's love for all of God's creation--even me--that I openly wept as I tried to come to terms with the fact that God had called me to SC WMU and that even when I do not feel as if I am doing anything good to further the Kingdom of God's love, I must keep going and trying and hoping and believing...

Yet as I stood and talked with one of many women who poured out words of affirmation, blessing, and support of my ministry, my dear friend Gail gently and graciously came up behind me, touched my shoulder, kissed me on my right cheek, and quietly walked away. And the weekend before, after the Friday night worship service in Erwin, my dear friend Lisa embraced me, gave me a kiss on my right cheek, held my shoulders in her hands, looked me with tears in her eyes, then quietly walked away. It was as if each of them were saying, "Thank you." It was as if God were saying to me, "These women love you because you love them--because you love me--and you allowed me to speak to them through you today. I love you, too, Deanna. And I love that you love me and desire to share my message of love and redemption with this world."

Thank you for speaking, God...and thank you for being in both the pain and the kiss.

Writing of Lament and Intention

Sometimes,
I wish that I just had hours and hours to write.
That words would flow onto the page without hestitation or judgment of error.
That thoughts would emerge from my mind and become reality for the world to see:
not because of need for attention or belief that my thinking is in any way
new or fresh or revolutionary or inspiring,
but because of need for relationship--
because of this deeply rooted need to share my life's journey with others and to both remind and be reminded that none of us is alone--
because of this this need to laugh and cry and struggle and rejoice with people--
because of this this need to proclaim that, somehow,
despite all logic and human comprehension,
prayers ARE answered,
God IS alive and working,
and life IS worth living.
Yet...time eludes me and stitled thoughts are joined by backspace and delete
and I'm left with this writing of lament and intention instead.

Enumpive

I have a qwerty keyboard. I do. I'm just three times faster with my old school numbers/quick text than I am with qwerty--not to mention that I can write messages without looking at what I'm doing when I use the quick text feature. The problem comes when I don't proofread what I send before sending it and I've either typed something wrong or that quick text doesn't recognize and, as a result, something doesn't make sense or comes out wrong. For instance, "Are you dating someone?" comes out "Are you eating someone?" if I don't fix it :-).



Well...last night, very quickly, I tried to post "Favorite things about the [rented] town car so far..." Only, I typed something wrong and posted "ENUMPIVE things about the town car so far..." and didn't check it before I posted. IMMEDIATELY, I received a rush of messages from confused friends and family members across both North and South Carolina. I was amazed at how quickly curiousity settled upon my Facebook wall. I had people thinking I'd used a scholarly vocabulary word, looking it up in the dictionary, and having cross state conversations with people they hitherto had never conversed.



My sister provided me with the best response, though...one I laughed so hard at that I cried! :-)



Here it is, folks--"A Few of My Enumpive Things"--sung to the tune of "A Few of My Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music.



Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

Happy young Acteens and warm woolen mittens

Fancy new Birkenstocks tied up with strings

These are a few of my enumpive things



New Lincoln Town Cars and crisp apple streudels

Quick text and Stanley and butter with noodles

Road trips that fly with the moon on their wings

These are a few of my enumpive things



When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my enumpive things

And then I don't feel so bad



Dee in new dresses and big piles of cashes

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

Cute orange fishes that dive into springs

These are a few of my enumpive things



When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my enumpive things

And then I don't feel so bad...




PS. Maybe we should push to make "enumpive" a real word. It's kind of fun to say. My friend Chris has already properly formatted it for dictionary use. And it certainly now has meaning amongst my small group of friends :-).




PPS. I feel ridiculous driving the town car. It's fancy and nice, but I'm thinking it's not one of my enumpive cars. I'm glad I get to return it on Monday!

Reflection on The Lord's Prayer

I had the opportunity to lead a retreat on Friday night and Saturday. Friday night was a worship service; Saturday was the teaching portion of the retreat. Day-retreats have a very different feel than weekend retreats, so though things went well (I think), I was EXHAUSTED by the time it was over.

The theme of the weekend was "Give Us This Day," and the content of the weekend was centered on The Lord's Prayer. While I led the music at a children's camp centered on The Lord's Prayer a couple of weeks ago, this experience was completely different in that I studied the Lord's Prayer for days in preparation for the event. As such, The Lord's Prayer remains on the forefront of my mind and heart; therefore, I wanted to share some of what I learned in this note:

While Jesus is usually portrayed as answering questions with a question or parable, Jesus directly answers his disciples' request to teach them to pray by teaching them to pray (in the Lukan account). The prayer that he models for them is very simple and symmetrical, easy to remember, and powerful in content.

There is a beginning (Our Father, in heaven--which, itself, is an awesome contradiction--approachable and loving God of compassion who is parent to all of us...yet fully other) and an ending (For yours is the Kingdom and the power and the glory forever--a doxology of praise which was added by the church for use in worship)...and two sets of three petitions in between.

The first set of petitions is about God--a countercultural notion--to BEGIN with God:

1) Hallowed (honored, revered, set apart, constantly recognized for what it is) be your Name (your character of justice and love)

2) Your Kingdom (of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control, mercy, and grace) come (here and now, not just in the future)

3) Your will be done (your will of which I am praying to be a part) on earth as it is in heaven (where Love exists untainted)

The second set of petitions is about us--not singular ME but plural US--and it covers our most basic human needs:

1) Give us this day our daily bread (Creator God, Father, take care of us in the present--all of us--not just some)

2) Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us (Jesus God, Redeemer, help us to forgive all wrongs of the past)

3) Save us and deliver us from the times of trial (Spirit God, Sustainer, guide us through all future struggles)

The simplicity of this prayer, which, in so many ways, is a summation of the entire gospel message, is so beautifully complex that I am amazed.

You?

What Is Hallowed Anyway?

To know that God IS
(that God exists),
To know what kind of God, God is
(holy, just, love),
To be constantly aware of God
(fully aware of God's presence in all times and all places
rather than acutely aware of God's presence in some times and places but
completely unaware in others),
and to be constantly obedient to God
(in both thought and action):
This is reverence and
This is what we pray for when we pray
"Hallowed be thy name."

Let God be given the reverence that God's nature and character deserve.

And may your lives show God's holiness, justice, and love to all who surround you.

--paraphrased from the work of theologian William Barclay.

Kay, Jenny, and Two Things Right

Another thing you may be interested in knowing about me is that I am a people pleaser. I like to do the "right" thing and have the approval of those around me--especially on actions and issues that I feel strongly about. While this people pleasing tendency has resulted in many good things--high quality work, open doors of opportunity, the chance to meet many wonderful people--it has also resulted in many bad things--fear, shame, unwarranted stress, high blood pressure, and the constant worry that I will do something "wrong."

I'm sure there are other times when this has happened, but I can think of two specific times that I went against others' approval and logic and did what I felt was best...and it was...I have absolutely no doubt.

The first time was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible shape. Making the two and a half hour drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to be there. So a dear friend and I went. When we arrived, we were the only people there to support our friend. A few residents of the nursing home where her father had lived were there, but no one else made the trip. We sat with her on the family pew so that she wouldn't be alone, and we rode with her in the family car to the graveside service. We stood beside her in the freezing rain and watched as they lowered her father's casket into the ground, and then we followed her home so that she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.

Of all of the things that I've done in my life, making the trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.

The second time was when I decided to go to counseling. Despite outside sentiment that going to counseling showed a major weakness in my faith and relationship with God; despite the fact that my going would be looked down upon by many church-goers; and despite the fact that I was surrounded by loving friends and family, I went. Over the last three and a half years, I attended 115 counseling sessions with an Episcopal priest who showed me the unconditional love and grace of God. Week in and week out, she listened to my jumbled up thoughts and feelings on life, death, vocation, call, love, hate, grief, and God and helped me see myself and the God that I adored in life-altering ways. A steady safe place, my counselor allowed God to work through her and our therapeutic relationship to change me.

Of all of the things that I've done in my life, taking that step toward asking for help is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.

My friend whose father's funeral I attended died a sudden death due to an enlarged heart; I was privileged to be part of her funeral in 2006. And my counselor with whom I had taken steps toward becoming whole told me last Friday that she was leaving her counseling office to return to full-time parish ministry.

Kay is in heaven with her father now. Jenny is returning to her home in the church to follow the call that God has placed in her life. And I am here in my office, feeling both happy and sad, writing this note, hoping that it will please those who read it, and knowing that I have done at least two things "right" in my life.

I am humbled and grateful today.

What Of The First?

So,
in the end,
life becomes
a question of death?

In the end,
is dying what really matters?

Do twilight redemption and healing
overshadow brokenness and hurt
and is it really that easy
to overlook a lifetime of pain?

The last will be first and
the first will be last.

The worker hired at the end of the day
will receive the same wages as the one hired
when the day began.

The prodigal child will be
welcomed home.

But what of the first?
What of the good one who stayed?
What of the hours endured in the heat of the sun,
trying to do the right thing while
living in the midst of heartache?

What of that life of memories
left playing in the dark,
wondering aimless through grief
as celebration tramples its soul?

And what of life
if all that really matters
in the end
is death and dying?

A Favorite Teacher Reflection

My junior year of high school was a hard year. I switched towns, churches, schools, groups of friends, marching bands, class possibilities--everything.

As difficult as it was, though, my junior year of high school is the one that I'll always remember in a positive light because of Mrs. Royal, my junior English teacher.

I've always been better at math than language arts, yet Mrs. Royal taught me to appreciate literature. She also taught me good grammar...and she encouraged me to write. Had it not been for writing, then my junior year of transition would have been much more difficult than it already was.

Mrs. Royal encouraged me to write poetry and prose and she even allowed me to compose a song for one of my class projects. She told me that I was a good writer--that I had a gift of expressing myself with words--so because of her, I gained confidence in my words and began a form of expression that has carried me through both joys and sorrows.

Writing, for me, is a way that I hear God and share God.

What about you? Who is/was your favorite teacher? And what is/was the main lesson he/she taught you?

What's more...have you thanked that teacher for the impact that he/she has made on your life?

I thank Mrs. Royal every time I see her...and I thank God for allowing our paths to cross, too.

A Public School Reflection

One thing you need to know about me: I support the public schools.

In fact, I'll be so bold as to say that there is nowhere in America that has more potential to meet a diverse population of children and youth for Christ than the public school system. To be a Christian teacher in the public schools, though met with the mandate of not "preaching" Christ in explicitly "Christian" language, is, to me, to be on the front lines of the mission field. A public school teacher comes into regular contact with students of all races, ethnicities, cultures, religions, socio-economic levels, and levels of family support. During those 180 days of contact, teachers have the unparalleled opportunity to be Love to their students--to embrace them, support them, show them discipline and grace, and give them the tools that they need to become the best individuals and team players that they can be. In my estimation, teachers are the hands and feet of Christ--those who, day in and day out, feed the hungry, provide water for the thirsty, welcome the outcast, clothe the naked, take care of the sick, and visit those in prison (see Matthew 25).

The process of making the decision to leave the public schools for "full-time vocational ministry" was agonizing for me, yet as much as I support the public schools and the teachers who work there, I know that my life has always been leading me in a different direction--even if it is one that I sometimes still fight against. To this day, I sometimes miss my classroom--my students, their parents, my colleagues, the programs, the equipment with which I stocked the classrooms, the educational videos and websites that I practically had memorized--and I often dream about the two schools where I spent the most time.

I think of one of my favorite students, J, who, during my first year of teaching appeared as the voice of God. As I taught a rhythm stick lesson to my kindergarten classes, I wondered what I was doing and what impact I could possibly be making on the world. Very simply, I prayed, "God, show me why I'm here." At the begining of my next class period, J walked in, gave me a hug, grinned at me, and said, "Who, who, who gave you that necklace? Your huzzzzzband?" In my mind, he had just said, "I am why you are here, Miss Deaton." For the next seven years, I loved J with everything I had. I checked up on him, tutored him, laughed with him, cried for him, and did everything I could to make sure he had a chance to make it in this world. I don't know where he is now--time and distance have separated us--but I pray that he remembers his elementary music teacher and knows that she loved him and believed in him--unconditionally.

So teachers: thank you. Thank you for what you have done and/or are doing to impact this world with God's love. The way I see it, there are few jobs more worthwhile than teaching--even when the hours are long, the paperwork endless, the testing/assessments/legalities overwhelming, the colleague and parent relationships stressful, and the immediate returns not seen. You are making a lasting impact on entire generations of students, and I believe that you will be remembered in eternity for your selfless acts of love and grace. I respect you immensely. And I love you.

And non-teachers: consider becoming involved with the public schools. Pray for your local schools, their students and teachers, and be open to ways that you can be involved. Volunteer. Read. Tutor. Cut paper. Chaperone. Adopt a teacher. Provide her/him with supplies that slashed budgets eliminate. Save box tops for education and Campbell's soup labels. Provide food for students who will go home without food for the night or weekend. Provide shoes and clothes for students whose parents cannot--or will not--provide for them. Host a teacher appreciation event for a local school. Attend local school plays and concerts. The possibilities are endless. Please, just consider something.

Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (excerpt from Matthew 25)

Bumblebee

I'm posting two versions of a poem that I originally wrote when I was teaching.

Version One: As the music teacher, I often got dumped upon and treated as less than equal by some classroom teachers and administrators. On this particular day, someone made their lack of communication my emergency--and it wasn't the first, or last, time they'd done it.

Bumblebee
10/05/04

We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!

But how hard is it,
Is it that hard?
To communicate,
share,
discuss,
or explain,
Expectations,
needs,
wants,
desires,
and to ask for help
In advance
not on demand,
not making lack of communication
an urgent problem?

We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!

I guess we should just rename ourselves
Bumblebees.

Version Two: Because I, myself, find myself overly busy right now, this poem came to mind as I thought about what to post for work today. What should have been a quick post has ended up taking more time than planned because of the rewrite...but, hey...at least this one isn't angry and has a somewhat positive message :-).

We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!

But we should never forget
Never ever forget
To communicate, share, discuss, and explain,
Expectations, needs, wants, desires, Christ
And to ask for help when we need it,
In advance,
Not on demand, and
Not making lack of communicationan or planning an urgent problem
for those around us.

We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!

Maybe we should just rename ourselves
Bumblebees?

Writer's Block--Version Two

I want to write.

Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry:

In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart, mind, and soul.

When I feel this overwhelmed--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the chaos inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.

Some days are too disjointed to make sense.

Life and theology and passion and to-do lists doesn't always fit together.

So maybe there are times when words don't either.

Maybe this is writer's block.

Or maybe it's a call to silence.

Writer's Block

I've wanted to write all day.

Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry.

In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart and soul.

When I feel my heart breaking--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the ones breaking inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.

Some things are too painful to make sense.

Life doesn't always fit.

So maybe there are times when words don't fit either.

Maybe this is writer's block.