My sister and her family came to the house today. Dana’s first task was to go through the two dressers that were in “her” room (even though she’s never lived in this house) so that she could move her childhood furniture into her daughter’s room at their house. After she and my mom completed that task, Finley and I moved the empty furniture down the stairs and onto the truck, where my dad helped secure it. Griffin held open the front door. Amelia served as cheerleader and encourager.
As I worked with Finley to get the furniture down the stairs, I heard this little voice saying, “Step. Step. Step. Be careful, daddy. Step. You’re doing a good job. Step. You’re almost there. Step. Step. You can do it. Step. Step. Hooray! You made it!!”
When I asked Amelia why she hadn’t cheered for me, she said, “Because you could see where you were going.”
A few minutes later, following her big brother’s helpful lead, Amelia attempted to carry a drawer down the steps. Seeing that she was struggling, I volunteered to hold half of the drawer. “I’ve got it!” she said. “I’m going to make it! I can do this because you’re helping me and carrying the heaviest part.”
Earlier today, Amelia and Griffin had a discussion about where one of their grown-up friends works. Griffin said she didn’t work at Belk. Amelia said she did. Griffin said, “I thought she quit.” Amelia said, “She did quit. But she went back.” Finley confirmed that Amelia was correct. I asked Amelia how she knew what was going on and she responded, “Because she told me. And I listened.”
As my mom and I put the kids to bed tonight, I had the privilege of reading the bedtime story. I read Sleep, Baby, Sleep by Maryann Cusimano Love. With Amelia nestled in my arms reminding me that she’s not a baby but that I should still read “baby” because it’s what the book says, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of love for her and her big brother (who was pretending not to pay attention but really was). I read:
Sleep, baby, sleep, snuggled like a sheep. Be always like the lamb so mild, a kind and sweet and gentle child. Sleep, baby, sleep…
...Grow, baby, grown. From our arms you’ll go, unfurling like a butterfly, cocoon opening to the sky. Grow, baby, grow.
Hush, baby, hush. Growing can’t be rushed. Be always like a newborn foal with whispered wind songs in his soul. Hush, baby, hush.
Shine, baby, shine, graceful child of mine. Be like the firefly who glows no matter who the darkness grows. Shine, baby, shine.
Peace, baby, peace. All your cares release. Be always like the snowy dove who spreads her wings and sings of love. Peace, baby, peace.
Dream, baby, dream, rising like moonbeams. Be always like the dragonfly shimmering in the misty sky. Dream, baby, dream.
Sleep, baby, sleep. Our promises we’ll keep. Be the miracle you are, a wish come true on shooting star. Sleep, baby, sleep.
Some people say that we learn all we need to know in Kindergarten. Sometimes I think they are right. Amelia certainly is on to something in wholeheartedly encouraging her daddy who could not see, accepting help when she needed it, realizing that she can’t always do everything alone, and taking the time truly to listen. Little does she know that, even though I could see, her words and spirit encouraged me as well. At age 5, her life is already making a difference well beyond what she intends or knows.
Sing, baby, sing. Or should I say whistle, baby, whistle. As you are going back and forth between both while I finish this note. Do as you are singing and “sleep in heavenly peace…” For you truly are a miracle. And I am lucky to be inspired by you.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Monday, December 23, 2013
The Bells
I spent a lot of time teaching about Beethoven this month. As part of my teaching process, I showed the 4th and 5th graders Beethoven Lives Upstairs. In one scene of the film, the landlord smiles as she turns toward the window. Beethoven asks why she’s smiling and she says, “The bells. I love the bells.” With a look of deep sadness, Beethoven responds, “Ah. I did, too.” Beethoven lost his hearing around the age of 30.
Yesterday at church, Pastor Patrick told the story behind the carol, “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Longfellow wrote the carol in 1867 after his son was injured in the Civil War after his wife had burned to death when her dress caught on fire and she couldn’t get out of it. Walking down the street on a cold winter’s day, Longfellow heard Christmas bells begin to play…and then he penned this poem, turned to song:
I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."
Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Honestly, I hadn’t given this carol much thought until yesterday. But now I have. And it is so powerful that it moves me to tears.
I get it when Longfellow writes, “And in despair I bowed my head: ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said, ‘For hate is strong and mocks the song, Of peace on earth, good will to men."
And I get it when he writes, “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep; The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, With peace on earth, good will to men."
I get the journey from joy to despair and back again. I understand walking through heartache and grief, questioning everything I’ve known to be true, but deciding to rest upon peace.
Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of Love.
And even when life is difficult—wars raging, people dying, children suffering—Love, always love, is there.
Yesterday at church, Pastor Patrick told the story behind the carol, “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Longfellow wrote the carol in 1867 after his son was injured in the Civil War after his wife had burned to death when her dress caught on fire and she couldn’t get out of it. Walking down the street on a cold winter’s day, Longfellow heard Christmas bells begin to play…and then he penned this poem, turned to song:
I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."
Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Honestly, I hadn’t given this carol much thought until yesterday. But now I have. And it is so powerful that it moves me to tears.
I get it when Longfellow writes, “And in despair I bowed my head: ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said, ‘For hate is strong and mocks the song, Of peace on earth, good will to men."
And I get it when he writes, “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep; The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, With peace on earth, good will to men."
I get the journey from joy to despair and back again. I understand walking through heartache and grief, questioning everything I’ve known to be true, but deciding to rest upon peace.
Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of Love.
And even when life is difficult—wars raging, people dying, children suffering—Love, always love, is there.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Jesus Got Sick, Too
I just got home from my sister’s birthday dinner. As I drove my parents and myself home, I couldn’t help but notice the brightness of the stars and moon and remember a night many years ago when I lay in bed trying to sleep but having sleep elude me.
Propped on my husband pillow, trying to breathe through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, I had a middle of the night revelation: Jesus got sick, too, because Jesus was fully human. And not only that, but Jesus had to sleep—and probably sometimes struggled to sleep—and Jesus got aggravated—and Jesus had to use the bathroom…which was actually the subject of a conversation I had earlier in the week when talking about the bathroom break that I created between my 2nd and 3rd grade classes.
All that being said, as I write this tonight, through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, with the Christmas tree in the corner of my eyes, I am not surprisingly thinking about Jesus…and remembering a declaration that I penned awhile back.
I close with that declaration tonight.
Why I Choose Jesus
2.23.12
I choose you...
...not just for raising Lazarus from the dead but for crying when he died.
...not just for sending the rich man away but for leaving the door open for another chance.
...not just for feeding the 5,000 but for having compassion on their needs.
...not just for welcoming children but for once being a child yourself.
...not just for speaking to and forgiving the woman at the well but for valuing the lives, work, and
witness of women.
...not just for calling Zacchaeus down from the tree but for seeing him in the tree in the first place.
...not just for standing against hypocrisy and legalism but for eating with, communing with, laughing
with, and valuing the outcast and those who believed they were unlovable.
...not just for dying a cruel death but for living into, though sometimes struggling with, your call.
...not just for teaching us to pray but for praying for us through agonizing tears.
...not just for being fully God and fully human but for living your humanity in the context of community.
...not just for speaking straightforward truth but for leaving us with story, parable, and thoughts that are sometimes hard to understand.
...not just for breaking bread and drinking wine but for cursing the fig tree when you were hungry and it did not have fruit for you to eat.
...not just for words but for silence.
...not just for the sacrifice of your blood but for the breath of your creation.
...not just for your death but for your life.
...not just for eternity but for right now.
Jesus, I choose you not for judgment but for redemption.
I choose you not for showing up but for being all-present.
I choose you not for comfortable assurance but for hope.
Jesus, I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
Propped on my husband pillow, trying to breathe through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, I had a middle of the night revelation: Jesus got sick, too, because Jesus was fully human. And not only that, but Jesus had to sleep—and probably sometimes struggled to sleep—and Jesus got aggravated—and Jesus had to use the bathroom…which was actually the subject of a conversation I had earlier in the week when talking about the bathroom break that I created between my 2nd and 3rd grade classes.
All that being said, as I write this tonight, through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, with the Christmas tree in the corner of my eyes, I am not surprisingly thinking about Jesus…and remembering a declaration that I penned awhile back.
I close with that declaration tonight.
Why I Choose Jesus
2.23.12
I choose you...
...not just for raising Lazarus from the dead but for crying when he died.
...not just for sending the rich man away but for leaving the door open for another chance.
...not just for feeding the 5,000 but for having compassion on their needs.
...not just for welcoming children but for once being a child yourself.
...not just for speaking to and forgiving the woman at the well but for valuing the lives, work, and
witness of women.
...not just for calling Zacchaeus down from the tree but for seeing him in the tree in the first place.
...not just for standing against hypocrisy and legalism but for eating with, communing with, laughing
with, and valuing the outcast and those who believed they were unlovable.
...not just for dying a cruel death but for living into, though sometimes struggling with, your call.
...not just for teaching us to pray but for praying for us through agonizing tears.
...not just for being fully God and fully human but for living your humanity in the context of community.
...not just for speaking straightforward truth but for leaving us with story, parable, and thoughts that are sometimes hard to understand.
...not just for breaking bread and drinking wine but for cursing the fig tree when you were hungry and it did not have fruit for you to eat.
...not just for words but for silence.
...not just for the sacrifice of your blood but for the breath of your creation.
...not just for your death but for your life.
...not just for eternity but for right now.
Jesus, I choose you not for judgment but for redemption.
I choose you not for showing up but for being all-present.
I choose you not for comfortable assurance but for hope.
Jesus, I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Say Something
If you know me fairly well, then you know that I don’t give up on people or institutions very easily. If I believe in someone or something, then I am one of the most loyal people you will ever meet.
As such, I find it strange that I’ve been walking around singing lyrics from A Great Big World’s song, “Say Something,” today. What’s even stranger is that I’ve only heard the song twice, and neither of those times was recently.
Yet all day, I’ve been singing:
“Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you…
Say something, I'm giving up on you…
And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye.”
The strangest thing, though? I’m actually doing it.
I’m giving up,
letting go,
accepting limitations,
saying goodbye.
To persons who, for whatever reasons, do not accept my friendship,
To institutions that, for whatever reasons, do not accept who I am.
Somehow, while singing my mysterious ear worm today, I realized that this surrender has been happening for quite some time. It’s been a quiet surrender for the past year or so: a gradual understanding that I cannot be all things to all people no matter how hard I try or how deeply I desire to be so.
Some people choose me. Some people don’t. The same goes with organizations and institutions. So instead of chasing the ones who don’t, I’m actively choosing to embrace the ones who do—like you, reader—and trusting a Love bigger than myself with the rest.
I don’t understand Love. I don’t understand the vastness of it all—its presence in stark opposites—its miraculous appearance in a baby who grew to be a man who looked into the face of brokenness and said, “I see light in you, too.” Yet I know that Love is vast enough to surround all and not give up on any…even as Love tells me it’s okay to set some free.
As such, I find it strange that I’ve been walking around singing lyrics from A Great Big World’s song, “Say Something,” today. What’s even stranger is that I’ve only heard the song twice, and neither of those times was recently.
Yet all day, I’ve been singing:
“Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you…
Say something, I'm giving up on you…
And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye.”
The strangest thing, though? I’m actually doing it.
I’m giving up,
letting go,
accepting limitations,
saying goodbye.
To persons who, for whatever reasons, do not accept my friendship,
To institutions that, for whatever reasons, do not accept who I am.
Somehow, while singing my mysterious ear worm today, I realized that this surrender has been happening for quite some time. It’s been a quiet surrender for the past year or so: a gradual understanding that I cannot be all things to all people no matter how hard I try or how deeply I desire to be so.
Some people choose me. Some people don’t. The same goes with organizations and institutions. So instead of chasing the ones who don’t, I’m actively choosing to embrace the ones who do—like you, reader—and trusting a Love bigger than myself with the rest.
I don’t understand Love. I don’t understand the vastness of it all—its presence in stark opposites—its miraculous appearance in a baby who grew to be a man who looked into the face of brokenness and said, “I see light in you, too.” Yet I know that Love is vast enough to surround all and not give up on any…even as Love tells me it’s okay to set some free.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
This Holiday Season and Beyond
Almighty God, you have blessed me
with the joy and care of children:
Give me calm strength and patient wisdom as I work with them,
that I may teach them to love whatever is
just, true, and good,
following the example of
Peace.
My students are growing up
in an unsteady and confusing world, God.
Show them that
righteousness gives more life than evil,
that light has more power than dark.
Help them to take heartache and failure not
as a measure of self
but as a chance to grow.
Help them to know that they are
persons of worth and value,
even when friends and family tell them it isn’t so.
Grant my students, colleagues, and me,
in all of our doubts and uncertainties,
the space to thrive.
Give us wisdom.
Surround us with grace.
And fill me, O God,
with a holy love that is contagious…
this holiday season and beyond.
Amen.
with the joy and care of children:
Give me calm strength and patient wisdom as I work with them,
that I may teach them to love whatever is
just, true, and good,
following the example of
Peace.
My students are growing up
in an unsteady and confusing world, God.
Show them that
righteousness gives more life than evil,
that light has more power than dark.
Help them to take heartache and failure not
as a measure of self
but as a chance to grow.
Help them to know that they are
persons of worth and value,
even when friends and family tell them it isn’t so.
Grant my students, colleagues, and me,
in all of our doubts and uncertainties,
the space to thrive.
Give us wisdom.
Surround us with grace.
And fill me, O God,
with a holy love that is contagious…
this holiday season and beyond.
Amen.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Probably Not. She Lost The Son of God.
At the end of church yesterday, we sang a congregational version of the modern Christmas classic, “Mary Did You Know.” We sang it more quickly than normal, with a driving beat, and I sang at the top of my lungs. Then, after the song ended, I thought to myself, “Probably not. Mary probably didn’t know that her baby boy would do all of those great things. And that’s okay. Because she chose to be his mom nonetheless.”
Mary, 12 year old Mary,
chose to say yes to God when
God asked her to do the unthinkable.
God asked Mary to do something that could have literally gotten her killed.
It didn’t.
But Mary likely still greeted death:
death of reputation,
death of family hopes,
death of fulfilled expectations,
death of tradition,
death of childhood.
Mary also likely felt
the hurt of being
the center of attention
as an outcast.
Yet Mary chose this.
She chose it because she knew
being the mother of the Messiah was
who she was meant to be—
no matter what.
Mary wasn’t a perfect mom.
She lost the son of God, for goodness sake!
But Mary did her best to raise her son because
She loved him.
And she made the choice,
took the risk,
embraced the ridicule,
accepted the many deaths
that came from
following her call and
living into who she was created to be.
Did Mary know that being herself would lead her to raise a son that would cause the blind to see, the deaf to hear, the lame to leap, the dumb to speak, and the dead to live again? Probably not. She probably didn’t know she’d leave him at the temple either! But she chose to be his mom nonetheless. And the sleeping child in her arms turned out to be the biggest blessing imaginable: the great I am.
Mary, 12 year old Mary,
chose to say yes to God when
God asked her to do the unthinkable.
God asked Mary to do something that could have literally gotten her killed.
It didn’t.
But Mary likely still greeted death:
death of reputation,
death of family hopes,
death of fulfilled expectations,
death of tradition,
death of childhood.
Mary also likely felt
the hurt of being
the center of attention
as an outcast.
Yet Mary chose this.
She chose it because she knew
being the mother of the Messiah was
who she was meant to be—
no matter what.
Mary wasn’t a perfect mom.
She lost the son of God, for goodness sake!
But Mary did her best to raise her son because
She loved him.
And she made the choice,
took the risk,
embraced the ridicule,
accepted the many deaths
that came from
following her call and
living into who she was created to be.
Did Mary know that being herself would lead her to raise a son that would cause the blind to see, the deaf to hear, the lame to leap, the dumb to speak, and the dead to live again? Probably not. She probably didn’t know she’d leave him at the temple either! But she chose to be his mom nonetheless. And the sleeping child in her arms turned out to be the biggest blessing imaginable: the great I am.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Self-Discovery Progress Report
Progress reports went home today. Here is my progress in the subject of self-discovery. All three discoveries were made this week.
1) I am not a good music student. Last night at choir practice (I’m a seasonal Christmas Cantata Choir Member—sounds official, huh?) I found myself wanting to talk to and make jokes with my neighbors. I also caught myself singing quite a few times after the conductor signaled for us to stop. I wasn’t trying to be annoying. Melodies, word patterns, and neat motifs just kept getting stuck in my head and I accidentally, mindlessly, kept singing/humming them. At one point I realized, “This is what my students do,” and then I made an intentional effort to be a good student. I must admit, though, sitting quietly while not singing was much more difficult than talking, joking, or humming.
2) I am not good at standing still. After asking my 1st grade students to stand in place and practice singing their program music, I noticed myself absent-mindedly wandering to the middle of the room. I suddenly realized, “This is happens to these kids, too. They’re singing. Getting lost in the music. And suddenly their way far away from their seats. Ugh.”
3) I’m not above (figuratively) throwing a 3rd grader under the bus. Yesterday, while waiting for car duty to begin, I noticed a Highlights Hidden Picture puzzle on one of the computers in the library; a 3rd grade student hadn’t closed the window after printing out the picture. Naturally, I decided to find some hidden pictures as the car-riders filed in for dismissal. As I searched, a 2nd grade student, M, sat beside me to help. [She is the same student who “helped” me type morning announcements on Monday and typed "bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb6666666666666666". I surely did read it.]
About ten minutes later, I found myself standing beside Cone 3 in the car-rider line being scolded by a 2nd grader, complete with grim face, finger pointing, and all.
“You left on your computer, Ms. Deaton. You didn’t log out when you finished. You are wasting electricity. You are wasting power. You are keeping someone from using the computer. You have been bad. Very bad.”
In the middle of my scolding, I found myself defending my actions. “But, M,” I said.
“No. I don’t want to hear it,” she said, turning her head away from me. “You left on your computer. You have been bad. That’s it.”
“But, M,” I continued. “Do you know, H? He’s a 3rd grade student who is very loving and kind like you (because he is). He’s the one who left on the computer. I just used it afterwards. And it’ll cut itself off. Don’t worry.”
M was walking to her car by the time I finished my defense. And then I thought, “Oh good Lord. I just defended myself to a 2nd grader by throwing a 3rd grader (figuratively) under the bus.”
So there you have it, folks. I, Deanna Deaton, K-5 music teacher for nine years, am a non-standing-still, talkative, silly, humming, bad music student who doesn’t like to be in trouble and will therefore defend herself to a 2nd grader by blaming her computer log-out ignorance on a 3rd grader.
Pretty awesome, huh? :-)
1) I am not a good music student. Last night at choir practice (I’m a seasonal Christmas Cantata Choir Member—sounds official, huh?) I found myself wanting to talk to and make jokes with my neighbors. I also caught myself singing quite a few times after the conductor signaled for us to stop. I wasn’t trying to be annoying. Melodies, word patterns, and neat motifs just kept getting stuck in my head and I accidentally, mindlessly, kept singing/humming them. At one point I realized, “This is what my students do,” and then I made an intentional effort to be a good student. I must admit, though, sitting quietly while not singing was much more difficult than talking, joking, or humming.
2) I am not good at standing still. After asking my 1st grade students to stand in place and practice singing their program music, I noticed myself absent-mindedly wandering to the middle of the room. I suddenly realized, “This is happens to these kids, too. They’re singing. Getting lost in the music. And suddenly their way far away from their seats. Ugh.”
3) I’m not above (figuratively) throwing a 3rd grader under the bus. Yesterday, while waiting for car duty to begin, I noticed a Highlights Hidden Picture puzzle on one of the computers in the library; a 3rd grade student hadn’t closed the window after printing out the picture. Naturally, I decided to find some hidden pictures as the car-riders filed in for dismissal. As I searched, a 2nd grade student, M, sat beside me to help. [She is the same student who “helped” me type morning announcements on Monday and typed "bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb6666666666666666". I surely did read it.]
About ten minutes later, I found myself standing beside Cone 3 in the car-rider line being scolded by a 2nd grader, complete with grim face, finger pointing, and all.
“You left on your computer, Ms. Deaton. You didn’t log out when you finished. You are wasting electricity. You are wasting power. You are keeping someone from using the computer. You have been bad. Very bad.”
In the middle of my scolding, I found myself defending my actions. “But, M,” I said.
“No. I don’t want to hear it,” she said, turning her head away from me. “You left on your computer. You have been bad. That’s it.”
“But, M,” I continued. “Do you know, H? He’s a 3rd grade student who is very loving and kind like you (because he is). He’s the one who left on the computer. I just used it afterwards. And it’ll cut itself off. Don’t worry.”
M was walking to her car by the time I finished my defense. And then I thought, “Oh good Lord. I just defended myself to a 2nd grader by throwing a 3rd grader (figuratively) under the bus.”
So there you have it, folks. I, Deanna Deaton, K-5 music teacher for nine years, am a non-standing-still, talkative, silly, humming, bad music student who doesn’t like to be in trouble and will therefore defend herself to a 2nd grader by blaming her computer log-out ignorance on a 3rd grader.
Pretty awesome, huh? :-)
Monday, December 2, 2013
On Mass Murder
My pastor did it again; he delivered a sermon that shed new light on a story that I’d heard many times before.
Yesterday’s light-shedding was on the story of King Herod and the three Wisemen. Specifically, he led me to think about Herod.
Over the years, Herod, though not a Jew himself, earned the title “King of the Jews” through hard work and government-pleasing decisions. In the process of obtaining this title, Herod became obsessed with power and began living a paranoid, possessive, self-absorbed reality.
Herod had people killed if he even suspected a threat or sensed disloyalty, so it’s no surprise that he was not happy when three strange men, obviously from a far away land, arrived in Jerusalem asking for the newly born King of the Jews. It’s also no surprise that he quickly devised a plan to find and destroy this newly born babe. Noone, and he meant no one, was going to usurp Herod’s power—not today, or tomorrow, or any day in the future.
And so…when Herod’s first plan to capture Jesus failed, Herod went into survival mode. Ruled by fear of losing the status that consumed him, Herod made a decree that he likely never imagined himself making: kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under. Mass murder. To kill one, unknown child who could possibly, one day, pose a threat to Herod’s throne.
Sometimes, when we’re in survival mode—when we’re trying to hold on to everything we know—good or bad—we do things we never thought we’d do. As my pastor said, “When Herod was young,I’m sure he never said, ‘When I grow up, I want to be a mass murderer.”
Likewise, I would wager that none of us ever said, “When I grow up, I want to be an adulterer. Or an addict. Or a thief. Or a liar. Or a murderer.”
But sometimes, when the world is falling apart, and all that we have worked for is slipping away, and thoughts of being alone scream louder than anything sane, and we see nothing in front of us except a string that is slipping away, we think, say, and do things we never dreamed possible. We order the mass murder of all males under the age of two,along with dreams of fidelity, freedom, righteousness, humility, integrity, and truth.
Whether we like it or not, life really does come down to a battle between two kingdoms: the kingdom of God and the kingdom of self. When Jesus was born into this world, he ushered in the kingdom of God which stood in stark contrast to Herod’s kingdom of self…and Herod wasn’t yet ready to lay down his crown.
Lyrics from two songs come to mind as I wrap up this note:
“Grasping to a string in the cold, dark stale air. It won’t get you very far. It won’t get you anywhere. It’s crying out in the night and standing for what it right that’ll heal the hurt.It’ll heal the hurt…” (--D.Deaton)
(and)
“I will rise up, rise up. And bow down and lay my crown. At his wounded feet.” (--Caedmon’s Call)
This holiday season, as we wait in anticipation to celebrate the radically, unsettling but all-together world changing birth of the King of the Jews, ask yourself to what strings you are grasping and if you are ready to begin letting go. When Jesus was born, Herod wasn’t yet there and henceforth made a horrific decree. Yet if we believe in the redemption that Jesus was born to provide, then maybe one day Herod got there. And maybe his crown is now at Jesus’ feet. And maybe ours can be, too.
Yesterday’s light-shedding was on the story of King Herod and the three Wisemen. Specifically, he led me to think about Herod.
Over the years, Herod, though not a Jew himself, earned the title “King of the Jews” through hard work and government-pleasing decisions. In the process of obtaining this title, Herod became obsessed with power and began living a paranoid, possessive, self-absorbed reality.
Herod had people killed if he even suspected a threat or sensed disloyalty, so it’s no surprise that he was not happy when three strange men, obviously from a far away land, arrived in Jerusalem asking for the newly born King of the Jews. It’s also no surprise that he quickly devised a plan to find and destroy this newly born babe. Noone, and he meant no one, was going to usurp Herod’s power—not today, or tomorrow, or any day in the future.
And so…when Herod’s first plan to capture Jesus failed, Herod went into survival mode. Ruled by fear of losing the status that consumed him, Herod made a decree that he likely never imagined himself making: kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under. Mass murder. To kill one, unknown child who could possibly, one day, pose a threat to Herod’s throne.
Sometimes, when we’re in survival mode—when we’re trying to hold on to everything we know—good or bad—we do things we never thought we’d do. As my pastor said, “When Herod was young,I’m sure he never said, ‘When I grow up, I want to be a mass murderer.”
Likewise, I would wager that none of us ever said, “When I grow up, I want to be an adulterer. Or an addict. Or a thief. Or a liar. Or a murderer.”
But sometimes, when the world is falling apart, and all that we have worked for is slipping away, and thoughts of being alone scream louder than anything sane, and we see nothing in front of us except a string that is slipping away, we think, say, and do things we never dreamed possible. We order the mass murder of all males under the age of two,along with dreams of fidelity, freedom, righteousness, humility, integrity, and truth.
Whether we like it or not, life really does come down to a battle between two kingdoms: the kingdom of God and the kingdom of self. When Jesus was born into this world, he ushered in the kingdom of God which stood in stark contrast to Herod’s kingdom of self…and Herod wasn’t yet ready to lay down his crown.
Lyrics from two songs come to mind as I wrap up this note:
“Grasping to a string in the cold, dark stale air. It won’t get you very far. It won’t get you anywhere. It’s crying out in the night and standing for what it right that’ll heal the hurt.It’ll heal the hurt…” (--D.Deaton)
(and)
“I will rise up, rise up. And bow down and lay my crown. At his wounded feet.” (--Caedmon’s Call)
This holiday season, as we wait in anticipation to celebrate the radically, unsettling but all-together world changing birth of the King of the Jews, ask yourself to what strings you are grasping and if you are ready to begin letting go. When Jesus was born, Herod wasn’t yet there and henceforth made a horrific decree. Yet if we believe in the redemption that Jesus was born to provide, then maybe one day Herod got there. And maybe his crown is now at Jesus’ feet. And maybe ours can be, too.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Pizza Crust, Pomegranates, and Peace
Last weekend, as I was eating pear and gorgonzola pizza from Brixx Pizza, I said to my friends, speaking of the pizza’s crust, “This would be good communion bread.”
Today, as I was harvesting the fruit from a pomegranate, I thought to myself, referring to the inner structure of the fruit, “This is sort of like the Church universal: one fruit made of a bunch of smaller sections, all fundamentally the same, separated only by thin skins that allow for differences.”
One of the things that was important to my professors in divinity school was learning to think theologically. I didn’t have to learn this skill, however. It’s been part of me for as long as I can remember—this ability to see bits of God and the body of God’s people in things like pizza and pomegranates—without even trying.
Sometimes, though, when I know I should be thinking theologically, I struggle. I struggle to get beyond my passionate humanity and see where God is present in situations that seem void of good. Tuesday was one of those days.
As I sat in a room that represented everything I hate in this world—lies, betrayal, manipulation, hypocrisy, betrayal, spite, arrogance, close-minded judgment, and false humility—I had to work hard to think theologically because all I wanted to do was shoot daggers at the people who were trying to hurt a dear friend.
I employed all of the theological strategies that I knew. I recited memory verses. I prayed with words. I prayed with breath. I prayed with my body. I said flash prayers for everyone I saw. I named my thoughts. I named my emotions. I embraced silence. I embraced lack of technology. I imagined where Jesus would be if he were there. I didn’t know if he’d be with me or other people who had been called to the room or with my friend or her family or the people who were trying to hurt them. I finally decided that he would have been walking around making sure everyone was okay—delivering water and snacks and smiles as needed.
At the end of the day, when hurt had prevailed, I found myself saying, “God, where were you in this? Aren’t you the God of justice and truth? Aren’t you the God of righteousness and redemption? Aren’t you the God of unity and humility? I don’t understand all of this. I don’t understand it at all.”
And I didn’t. And I don’t. Yet I know that God was there. And I know that God is here. And I know it because of this:
“Peace is not the absence of conflict and struggle in our lives. Peace is the incredible presence of Love.”
And love was there.
And love is here.
And love will hold each and every one of us.
On days like Tuesday.
On days like today’s Thanksgiving Day.
In pizza crust, in pomegranates, in peace.
The incredible presence of Love is here.
And I am so theologically-thinking grateful.
Today, as I was harvesting the fruit from a pomegranate, I thought to myself, referring to the inner structure of the fruit, “This is sort of like the Church universal: one fruit made of a bunch of smaller sections, all fundamentally the same, separated only by thin skins that allow for differences.”
One of the things that was important to my professors in divinity school was learning to think theologically. I didn’t have to learn this skill, however. It’s been part of me for as long as I can remember—this ability to see bits of God and the body of God’s people in things like pizza and pomegranates—without even trying.
Sometimes, though, when I know I should be thinking theologically, I struggle. I struggle to get beyond my passionate humanity and see where God is present in situations that seem void of good. Tuesday was one of those days.
As I sat in a room that represented everything I hate in this world—lies, betrayal, manipulation, hypocrisy, betrayal, spite, arrogance, close-minded judgment, and false humility—I had to work hard to think theologically because all I wanted to do was shoot daggers at the people who were trying to hurt a dear friend.
I employed all of the theological strategies that I knew. I recited memory verses. I prayed with words. I prayed with breath. I prayed with my body. I said flash prayers for everyone I saw. I named my thoughts. I named my emotions. I embraced silence. I embraced lack of technology. I imagined where Jesus would be if he were there. I didn’t know if he’d be with me or other people who had been called to the room or with my friend or her family or the people who were trying to hurt them. I finally decided that he would have been walking around making sure everyone was okay—delivering water and snacks and smiles as needed.
At the end of the day, when hurt had prevailed, I found myself saying, “God, where were you in this? Aren’t you the God of justice and truth? Aren’t you the God of righteousness and redemption? Aren’t you the God of unity and humility? I don’t understand all of this. I don’t understand it at all.”
And I didn’t. And I don’t. Yet I know that God was there. And I know that God is here. And I know it because of this:
“Peace is not the absence of conflict and struggle in our lives. Peace is the incredible presence of Love.”
And love was there.
And love is here.
And love will hold each and every one of us.
On days like Tuesday.
On days like today’s Thanksgiving Day.
In pizza crust, in pomegranates, in peace.
The incredible presence of Love is here.
And I am so theologically-thinking grateful.
Monday, November 25, 2013
The Plant Murdering Musician
In the past, I’ve killed two cacti and numerous aloe plants because I’ve cared for them too much.
Last night, I killed my favorite home plant: Purple Jew. That’s the plant’s given name. Not what I named him. I liked his given name so much that I didn’t rename him.
I got home from a lovely girl’s weekend to Wilmington yesterday afternoon and almost immediately fell into a funk. There were various reasons why the funk set in, but the biggest reason was an appointment that I’m dreading tomorrow. The appointment represents everything that I hate in this world and thoughts of it have made me so angry that I’ve shut down a few times. Last night was one of those times. I was in such an angry funk that I even got mad at The Mentalist. I was practically yelling at Jane toward the end of last night’s episode, and I’d never come anywhere close to doing that!
All that being said, I went straight to bed as soon as The Mentalist was over. I didn’t stop to consider that the world was beginning to freeze…
I got up early to go to school today. I figured out how to procure a substitute for tomorrow, went to school, worked until 6pm, came home and ate supper. Immediately after supper, I found myself playing piano in the music room. Shortly after, my friend Rebecca came over to practice a song for our church’s Thanksgiving service on Wednesday night. As we were preparing to part ways, I went to the porch for the first time since arriving home from girl’s weekend…
And that’s when I saw it: Purple Jew is in trouble. He froze last night. He’s wilting. I very well may have murdered him by my angry funk neglect last night. I promptly rushed him to the laundry emergency room and said a prayer that he would survive. Only time will tell if Purple Jew will survive.
I’ll tell you what will survive, though, even through my dreaded tomorrow: Laughter. Music. Friendship. Love.
And for those things during this Thanksgiving week, I am so very grateful.
Last night, I killed my favorite home plant: Purple Jew. That’s the plant’s given name. Not what I named him. I liked his given name so much that I didn’t rename him.
I got home from a lovely girl’s weekend to Wilmington yesterday afternoon and almost immediately fell into a funk. There were various reasons why the funk set in, but the biggest reason was an appointment that I’m dreading tomorrow. The appointment represents everything that I hate in this world and thoughts of it have made me so angry that I’ve shut down a few times. Last night was one of those times. I was in such an angry funk that I even got mad at The Mentalist. I was practically yelling at Jane toward the end of last night’s episode, and I’d never come anywhere close to doing that!
All that being said, I went straight to bed as soon as The Mentalist was over. I didn’t stop to consider that the world was beginning to freeze…
I got up early to go to school today. I figured out how to procure a substitute for tomorrow, went to school, worked until 6pm, came home and ate supper. Immediately after supper, I found myself playing piano in the music room. Shortly after, my friend Rebecca came over to practice a song for our church’s Thanksgiving service on Wednesday night. As we were preparing to part ways, I went to the porch for the first time since arriving home from girl’s weekend…
And that’s when I saw it: Purple Jew is in trouble. He froze last night. He’s wilting. I very well may have murdered him by my angry funk neglect last night. I promptly rushed him to the laundry emergency room and said a prayer that he would survive. Only time will tell if Purple Jew will survive.
I’ll tell you what will survive, though, even through my dreaded tomorrow: Laughter. Music. Friendship. Love.
And for those things during this Thanksgiving week, I am so very grateful.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
The Simplest Things
So. When you’re putting together a performance for two hundred or so kids, it’s very easy to get tired of the music you have selected. As such, I tried to avoid tonight’s performance music as much as possible during classes today.
During one of my classes, while my students were doing non-performance related musical activities, my phone rang. When I heard it, I thought, “Oh. The phone is working now.” It hadn’t been working for two days. Phone service in the music hut comes and goes according to the weather.
Expecting to hear a teacher’s voice as I always do, I was surprised to hear a student’s voice on the other end of the line.
The voice said, “Ms. Deaton? Hey. This is _____. I just wanted to tell you thank you for reading my name on the intercom this morning.”
Truly touched by his thank you, I responded, “Well, you’re certainly welcome. Congratulations on your award, by the way. I’d love to read what you wrote.”
He said, “Okay. When I get it back, I’ll let you read it.”
I said, “That’ll be great. Maybe you can read it on the morning announcements, too.”
He said, “Okay. Thanks again.”
Wow.
The simplest things sometimes make the biggest difference.
Like asking 1st graders if they want to read the announcements and then letting them do so even though they “can’t really read that well” and need you to read the announcements phrase by phrase so they can do repeat after me…
Or saying thank you instead of taking someone’s work for granted…
Or encouraging children to thank you to our Veterans and keeping it so simple that, for the first time, a Veteran feels truly honored for his work…
Or holding the door…
Or giving a hug…
Or teaching a class how to express feelings…
Or looking someone in the eye and saying, “I love you. And I believe in you.”
The simplest things sometimes make the biggest difference.
What is something simple you have for someone recently? What is something simple that someone has done for you?
During one of my classes, while my students were doing non-performance related musical activities, my phone rang. When I heard it, I thought, “Oh. The phone is working now.” It hadn’t been working for two days. Phone service in the music hut comes and goes according to the weather.
Expecting to hear a teacher’s voice as I always do, I was surprised to hear a student’s voice on the other end of the line.
The voice said, “Ms. Deaton? Hey. This is _____. I just wanted to tell you thank you for reading my name on the intercom this morning.”
Truly touched by his thank you, I responded, “Well, you’re certainly welcome. Congratulations on your award, by the way. I’d love to read what you wrote.”
He said, “Okay. When I get it back, I’ll let you read it.”
I said, “That’ll be great. Maybe you can read it on the morning announcements, too.”
He said, “Okay. Thanks again.”
Wow.
The simplest things sometimes make the biggest difference.
Like asking 1st graders if they want to read the announcements and then letting them do so even though they “can’t really read that well” and need you to read the announcements phrase by phrase so they can do repeat after me…
Or saying thank you instead of taking someone’s work for granted…
Or encouraging children to thank you to our Veterans and keeping it so simple that, for the first time, a Veteran feels truly honored for his work…
Or holding the door…
Or giving a hug…
Or teaching a class how to express feelings…
Or looking someone in the eye and saying, “I love you. And I believe in you.”
The simplest things sometimes make the biggest difference.
What is something simple you have for someone recently? What is something simple that someone has done for you?
Thursday, November 14, 2013
A Blessing For The Exhausted
I left my house this morning at 7:00. I got home tonight at 9:00. In between those hours I worked, drove, went to counseling, and rescued twenty five stones from a dump site.
I’m tired.
Not flat exhausted. But tired.
And I know I’m not the only one.
Joe, my counselor, read me a blessing at the end of our session tonight. I want to share that blessing with you here. When he finished reading this blessing, he said, “I know that maybe not all of it resonated with where you are right now, but I hope that at least some of it did. You are doing good, hard, work. And your ability to really feel is truly a gift.”
“It did resonate with me,” I said. “The rhythm of the heart. The rain. The twilight imagery. I actually drove into the sunset tonight on the way here. It was really neat to suddenly find myself under the colors. And the silence of the stones. I’m planning to get some stones after I leave here tonight. It’s neat that this blessing mentions the silence of stones.”
What of these words resonate with you tonight, friends? Feel free to share.
--------------
A B L E S S I N G
For One Who is Exhausted
By John O’Donohue
When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like endless, increasing weight.
The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laborsome events of will.
Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.
The tide you never valued has gone out,
And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.
You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken in the rush of days.
At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept teach will frighten you.
You have traveled too far over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.
Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.
Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.
Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.
Stay clear of those vexed in spirit,
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.
Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.
©John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us (New York: Doubleday, 2008), p.125, 126.
I’m tired.
Not flat exhausted. But tired.
And I know I’m not the only one.
Joe, my counselor, read me a blessing at the end of our session tonight. I want to share that blessing with you here. When he finished reading this blessing, he said, “I know that maybe not all of it resonated with where you are right now, but I hope that at least some of it did. You are doing good, hard, work. And your ability to really feel is truly a gift.”
“It did resonate with me,” I said. “The rhythm of the heart. The rain. The twilight imagery. I actually drove into the sunset tonight on the way here. It was really neat to suddenly find myself under the colors. And the silence of the stones. I’m planning to get some stones after I leave here tonight. It’s neat that this blessing mentions the silence of stones.”
What of these words resonate with you tonight, friends? Feel free to share.
--------------
A B L E S S I N G
For One Who is Exhausted
By John O’Donohue
When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like endless, increasing weight.
The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laborsome events of will.
Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.
The tide you never valued has gone out,
And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.
You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken in the rush of days.
At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept teach will frighten you.
You have traveled too far over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.
Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.
Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.
Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.
Stay clear of those vexed in spirit,
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.
Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.
©John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us (New York: Doubleday, 2008), p.125, 126.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Full, Expanded Circle
I’m looking out over the Winston Salem skyline as I write these words tonight. The sun is setting in the distance with beautiful oranges and purples and reds while the moon is shining bright just over my head. To my right, atop one of the tallest buildings in town, the American flag stands tall, one last reminder to say thank you to a veteran today.
I’ve attended fifteen hours of workshops and seminars over the past two days. The North Carolina Music Educator’s Professional Development has filled my Veteran's Day weekend, yet I’ve observed and learned a lot, and I’m glad for the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and add tools to my music teaching tool belt. My existing tools are still being dusted off after five years of disuse, so it’s nice to have some new ones.
Six years ago, I came to this conference immediately after leading worship with my now defunct band. I stayed until Tuesday and returned to real life to attend whatever class I was taking at the time. During that last conference, my body was here but my mind was not. In fact, I sat in the sessions reading books for divinity school. At that time, I was in the process of deciding whether to continue teaching or whether to pursue full-time ministry, and I had subconsciously begun a spiral downward that would land me in a very dark place in coming months.
After class that Tuesday night, I called a friend whom I often stopped by to visit and was greeted with the phrase, “We don’t know where Kay is.” Within an hour, we were standing at Kay’s house watching rescue workers roll away her body. After getting my band settled that Sunday, Kay, my friend, mentor, and music minister at the church, sick with a stomach virus, had gone home to fight the virus only to have the force of her sickness cause her heart to stop. The next few days were met with grieving, cleaning, planning, preparing for a funeral, and trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my band members and I were the last people to see Kay alive. I think I may have taken off that Wednesday from work.
As I watch darkness settle in tonight, I can’t help but think of the darkness that consumed me for so long after Kay died. I continued with life. I did everything I could not to let it interfere with my work; however, it was a reality I couldn’t shake. Yet just as I am seeing stars, planets, and man-made lights come into view before my eyes tonight, I know that I was surrounded by God’s presence and the presence of people who were light to me when I couldn’t find light within myself.
I stood in line at Starbucks this morning and thought to myself, “This little corner coffee shop is going to make more money in one day than I will make in an entire month.” I bought my food last night and today and thought to myself, “I’m not going to be reimbursed for this even though I’m working.” I listened to a colleague share about the challenges of a forced week of vocal rest. I thought, “She has devoted so much of herself to her job for so long that she has literally damaged her voice.”
For the past two days, during and between conference sessions, I have experienced so many different thoughts and emotions that it’s hard to put them on this page. Yet the overwhelming feelings that surround me right now are feelings of gratefulness and peace.
This is the first year I’ve focused on Veteran’s Day at school. I’m sad to admit that Veteran’s Day is a holiday that I have often overlooked. But not this year. This year I’m very mindful of the role that the men and women of our military play toward keeping our country safe and free and toward helping give dignity to many persons around the world. I’m very mindful of the sacrifices they make when leaving their families and loved ones to answer the call of duty. Teaching at a school where your students, parents, and colleagues are either in or married to someone in the military will open your eyes and shake your core as military planes fly overhead and practice bombs are dropped in the distance. So today I am humbly grateful to people beyond myself…but I am also grateful that life has brought me full-circle while allowing that circle to expand along the way.
Am I back in a profession to which I didn’t expect to return? Yes. Am I making tens of thousands of dollars less than I was? Yes. Do I know all of the latest tricks of the trade? No. Am I the best music teacher in the world? Absolutely not. Am I sad as I remember losing Kay? Yes. Do I curse the darkness that afterwards ensued? No. Could I have stopped it? I don’t think so. Do I regret going to South Carolina? No. Do I know that walking away from teaching for five years was exactly what I needed to do? Yes. Do I know that God has been with me every step of the way? Absolutely. And do I know that where I am right now is exactly where I need to be? Yes. Yes. Absolutely yes.
And so, for now, I am at peace.
Sun completely set. Moon shining even brighter. Flag still standing tall. Knowing that darkness must come for the night…but that joy will come in the morning…and then my students will challenge it :-)…yet everything will be okay.
I’ve attended fifteen hours of workshops and seminars over the past two days. The North Carolina Music Educator’s Professional Development has filled my Veteran's Day weekend, yet I’ve observed and learned a lot, and I’m glad for the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and add tools to my music teaching tool belt. My existing tools are still being dusted off after five years of disuse, so it’s nice to have some new ones.
Six years ago, I came to this conference immediately after leading worship with my now defunct band. I stayed until Tuesday and returned to real life to attend whatever class I was taking at the time. During that last conference, my body was here but my mind was not. In fact, I sat in the sessions reading books for divinity school. At that time, I was in the process of deciding whether to continue teaching or whether to pursue full-time ministry, and I had subconsciously begun a spiral downward that would land me in a very dark place in coming months.
After class that Tuesday night, I called a friend whom I often stopped by to visit and was greeted with the phrase, “We don’t know where Kay is.” Within an hour, we were standing at Kay’s house watching rescue workers roll away her body. After getting my band settled that Sunday, Kay, my friend, mentor, and music minister at the church, sick with a stomach virus, had gone home to fight the virus only to have the force of her sickness cause her heart to stop. The next few days were met with grieving, cleaning, planning, preparing for a funeral, and trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my band members and I were the last people to see Kay alive. I think I may have taken off that Wednesday from work.
As I watch darkness settle in tonight, I can’t help but think of the darkness that consumed me for so long after Kay died. I continued with life. I did everything I could not to let it interfere with my work; however, it was a reality I couldn’t shake. Yet just as I am seeing stars, planets, and man-made lights come into view before my eyes tonight, I know that I was surrounded by God’s presence and the presence of people who were light to me when I couldn’t find light within myself.
I stood in line at Starbucks this morning and thought to myself, “This little corner coffee shop is going to make more money in one day than I will make in an entire month.” I bought my food last night and today and thought to myself, “I’m not going to be reimbursed for this even though I’m working.” I listened to a colleague share about the challenges of a forced week of vocal rest. I thought, “She has devoted so much of herself to her job for so long that she has literally damaged her voice.”
For the past two days, during and between conference sessions, I have experienced so many different thoughts and emotions that it’s hard to put them on this page. Yet the overwhelming feelings that surround me right now are feelings of gratefulness and peace.
This is the first year I’ve focused on Veteran’s Day at school. I’m sad to admit that Veteran’s Day is a holiday that I have often overlooked. But not this year. This year I’m very mindful of the role that the men and women of our military play toward keeping our country safe and free and toward helping give dignity to many persons around the world. I’m very mindful of the sacrifices they make when leaving their families and loved ones to answer the call of duty. Teaching at a school where your students, parents, and colleagues are either in or married to someone in the military will open your eyes and shake your core as military planes fly overhead and practice bombs are dropped in the distance. So today I am humbly grateful to people beyond myself…but I am also grateful that life has brought me full-circle while allowing that circle to expand along the way.
Am I back in a profession to which I didn’t expect to return? Yes. Am I making tens of thousands of dollars less than I was? Yes. Do I know all of the latest tricks of the trade? No. Am I the best music teacher in the world? Absolutely not. Am I sad as I remember losing Kay? Yes. Do I curse the darkness that afterwards ensued? No. Could I have stopped it? I don’t think so. Do I regret going to South Carolina? No. Do I know that walking away from teaching for five years was exactly what I needed to do? Yes. Do I know that God has been with me every step of the way? Absolutely. And do I know that where I am right now is exactly where I need to be? Yes. Yes. Absolutely yes.
And so, for now, I am at peace.
Sun completely set. Moon shining even brighter. Flag still standing tall. Knowing that darkness must come for the night…but that joy will come in the morning…and then my students will challenge it :-)…yet everything will be okay.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Love's Peace
It’s my junior English teacher’s fault, this writing that I do. At the height of my angst driven teenage years, she encouraged me to write. I had written before, but I’d never really shared with anyone. She encouraged me to share. So I did. And she read. And gave me feedback. And put up with my emotions riding the roller coaster that is a seventeen year old’s emotional life…
Fast forward eleven years. Standing in my classroom before my first class arrives, I look outside and see a beautiful autumn tree framed against a gorgeous blue sky. I write…
Fast forward nine more years. Sitting on my couch after a good day’s work, I think of my daily commute and smile as I think of the scenery that paints the way…
And though I know I’ve posted this poem before, I’m posting it again tonight, and blaming it on my junior English teacher, and on the God who created a fascinatingly complicated and lovely world.
Love’s Peace
10.5.04
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
It’s unspoken understanding that transcends the what’s,
What’s filling the silence only as nervous energy drawn by
Connection too deep for words.
Beauty lives where senses are heightened and
Awareness of creation is so red that it dances a waltz for the very first time.
What’s fade into the background as
Sweet fragrance takes center stage and
Presence becomes undeniable.
Capture the moment in picture—
Oils or pastels or watercolors feverishly transforming canvas
From barren white to radiant color.
Capture the moment in song—
Harps or keys or drums bursting forth from soft rustle
Creating vibrations so simple and powerful and they invoke passionate tears.
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
Humility envelopes any thought of pride:
There is Love much bigger than life and
Love’s Peace decorates the world today.
Fast forward eleven years. Standing in my classroom before my first class arrives, I look outside and see a beautiful autumn tree framed against a gorgeous blue sky. I write…
Fast forward nine more years. Sitting on my couch after a good day’s work, I think of my daily commute and smile as I think of the scenery that paints the way…
And though I know I’ve posted this poem before, I’m posting it again tonight, and blaming it on my junior English teacher, and on the God who created a fascinatingly complicated and lovely world.
Love’s Peace
10.5.04
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
It’s unspoken understanding that transcends the what’s,
What’s filling the silence only as nervous energy drawn by
Connection too deep for words.
Beauty lives where senses are heightened and
Awareness of creation is so red that it dances a waltz for the very first time.
What’s fade into the background as
Sweet fragrance takes center stage and
Presence becomes undeniable.
Capture the moment in picture—
Oils or pastels or watercolors feverishly transforming canvas
From barren white to radiant color.
Capture the moment in song—
Harps or keys or drums bursting forth from soft rustle
Creating vibrations so simple and powerful and they invoke passionate tears.
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
Humility envelopes any thought of pride:
There is Love much bigger than life and
Love’s Peace decorates the world today.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Jeans for Julie
It’s ridiculous how happy jeans days make teachers.
Funding, legislation, timing, curriculum, programming, professional requirements, lack of respect, misperceptions, hefty demands, mountains of paperwork, and days of meetings can be discouraging.
Trying to please administration, colleagues, students, and parents can be downright crazy-making.
Doing all of this in fancy clothes day in and day out can be stifling—especially when your work requires your being on the floor, tying dirty shoes, playing on the playground, or wiping snotty noses.
So giving teachers the opportunity to wear jeans—to work in his/her comfort clothes—to do something special—well…it’s really nice.
Granted…we are asked to donate money to a good cause for most of these days: $2. [I’m reminded of scenes from the 80’s movie “Better Off Dead.” “I want my two dollars!”] But, somehow, still, it’s a privilege…
Especially when we know where the money is going.
My status this morning said, “While kids across the country are dressing up for Halloween and anxiously awaiting free candy, teachers at my school are dressing down for Thursday and happily giving money to support a coworker diagnosed with Leukemia. Halloween jeans have never felt this good.”
Shortly after school started, one of my coworkers was diagnosed with Leukemia. The diagnosis came out of nowhere and left many of us feeling punched in the gut. Our staff and students have responded with an outpouring of love through cards, visits, prayers, T-shirts, bracelets, and…jeans.
If you are reading this, I want to ask you to join me and the JES community in praying for Julie. She is a fighter. A woman of faith. A believer in miracles. A hoper in Peace. Pray for Julie’s healing of the body and spirit…and pray for the teachers in your life who give selflessly of themselves each day for hardly any money yet willingly give what they have for the simple pleasure of wearing jeans and supporting those they love.
Funding, legislation, timing, curriculum, programming, professional requirements, lack of respect, misperceptions, hefty demands, mountains of paperwork, and days of meetings can be discouraging.
Trying to please administration, colleagues, students, and parents can be downright crazy-making.
Doing all of this in fancy clothes day in and day out can be stifling—especially when your work requires your being on the floor, tying dirty shoes, playing on the playground, or wiping snotty noses.
So giving teachers the opportunity to wear jeans—to work in his/her comfort clothes—to do something special—well…it’s really nice.
Granted…we are asked to donate money to a good cause for most of these days: $2. [I’m reminded of scenes from the 80’s movie “Better Off Dead.” “I want my two dollars!”] But, somehow, still, it’s a privilege…
Especially when we know where the money is going.
My status this morning said, “While kids across the country are dressing up for Halloween and anxiously awaiting free candy, teachers at my school are dressing down for Thursday and happily giving money to support a coworker diagnosed with Leukemia. Halloween jeans have never felt this good.”
Shortly after school started, one of my coworkers was diagnosed with Leukemia. The diagnosis came out of nowhere and left many of us feeling punched in the gut. Our staff and students have responded with an outpouring of love through cards, visits, prayers, T-shirts, bracelets, and…jeans.
If you are reading this, I want to ask you to join me and the JES community in praying for Julie. She is a fighter. A woman of faith. A believer in miracles. A hoper in Peace. Pray for Julie’s healing of the body and spirit…and pray for the teachers in your life who give selflessly of themselves each day for hardly any money yet willingly give what they have for the simple pleasure of wearing jeans and supporting those they love.
Monday, October 28, 2013
The Lost Is Found
About an hour ago, an excited “woo-hoo!” sounded from upstairs. I was having a personal moment of celebration because what was lost had been found. If Luke had written a parable about my predicament, he would have written:
Suppose a teacher has six flash drives and loses one. Doesn’t she check the pockets of all of her pants and jackets until she finds the one that is missing? And when she finds it, doesn’t she picture message all of her friends and say, “Hoooray! I have found my lost flash drive!” and doesn’t she hold the flash drive in the air and grin in the presence of her parents? In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the need for joy and celebration in both everyday life and the church. It was the final sermon in a series of sermons on fasting—on the focal passage of the Lord’s Prayer—on losing to find. It was a slap in the face to me that I had completely botched the last week of fasting—which was less of a giving up of something specific than it was of an adding intentional praise.
Last week was probably the hardest week I’d had since returning to school. I wrote my confession on Thursday, so I don’t need to write it again, but I will add that I left school on Friday feeling totally exhausted and defeated. As I realized through another sermon last night, I had allowed myself to see school as a giant and myself as a grasshopper. I had allowed doubts, frustrations, insecurities, and failures to cloud the certainty of my call back into the public schools.
I began today with the determination to try a do-over of last week’s fast. I was determined that, somehow, I would find encouragement in my days and focus on the positive…
When I got to school this morning, I had a note waiting for me. It was a thank you note that said something to the extent of, “Thank you for giving so selflessly of yourself without expecting anything in return. You are a blessing to J’Ville.” [I left the note at school so that I could refer back to it when having a rough day.]
When I got home from work today, I had a FB message waiting for me. It said, “Hey friend. Prayers for you this day that you would hop high in very tall grass. I know that you will find a path of grace and peace in all the weeds that seem to be in the way to something beautiful in public schools.”
When I receive words like these, I have no trouble keeping my determination…
But I still have little doubt that my determination will be challenged once students return to classes tomorrow and the reality of my still being behind sets in.
Yet I’m going to do my best to remain positive…to celebrate the small things…to not lose my flash drive again but to totally lose myself…and to remember that I, alone, am limited but that I, with Christ, “can do all things.”
Suppose a teacher has six flash drives and loses one. Doesn’t she check the pockets of all of her pants and jackets until she finds the one that is missing? And when she finds it, doesn’t she picture message all of her friends and say, “Hoooray! I have found my lost flash drive!” and doesn’t she hold the flash drive in the air and grin in the presence of her parents? In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the need for joy and celebration in both everyday life and the church. It was the final sermon in a series of sermons on fasting—on the focal passage of the Lord’s Prayer—on losing to find. It was a slap in the face to me that I had completely botched the last week of fasting—which was less of a giving up of something specific than it was of an adding intentional praise.
Last week was probably the hardest week I’d had since returning to school. I wrote my confession on Thursday, so I don’t need to write it again, but I will add that I left school on Friday feeling totally exhausted and defeated. As I realized through another sermon last night, I had allowed myself to see school as a giant and myself as a grasshopper. I had allowed doubts, frustrations, insecurities, and failures to cloud the certainty of my call back into the public schools.
I began today with the determination to try a do-over of last week’s fast. I was determined that, somehow, I would find encouragement in my days and focus on the positive…
When I got to school this morning, I had a note waiting for me. It was a thank you note that said something to the extent of, “Thank you for giving so selflessly of yourself without expecting anything in return. You are a blessing to J’Ville.” [I left the note at school so that I could refer back to it when having a rough day.]
When I got home from work today, I had a FB message waiting for me. It said, “Hey friend. Prayers for you this day that you would hop high in very tall grass. I know that you will find a path of grace and peace in all the weeds that seem to be in the way to something beautiful in public schools.”
When I receive words like these, I have no trouble keeping my determination…
But I still have little doubt that my determination will be challenged once students return to classes tomorrow and the reality of my still being behind sets in.
Yet I’m going to do my best to remain positive…to celebrate the small things…to not lose my flash drive again but to totally lose myself…and to remember that I, alone, am limited but that I, with Christ, “can do all things.”
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Time Out
I’ve had to put myself in time-out two times this week.
A variety of factors have combined to produce a very bad mood.
Rather than submitting my coworkers to my terrible disposition, I’ve locked myself in my room and tried to work my way through my frustrations.
It hasn’t worked.
I’m still quite aggravated by the many factors I cannot control and the many more that I can but don’t seem to have the time or organizational system in place to influence.
This morning as I was preparing to do the morning announcements, I realized that we have a teacher workday on Monday. When I learned this fact, I literally cheered. I need a workday. My colleagues need a workday. The kids need a break. We all need a breather…
And so, friends, I confess my current negativity tonight.
I admit my utter humanity and inability to always remain a calm, non-anxious presence in the midst of high stress and seeming chaos.
And I acknowledge that I, chaplain-at-heart though I be, too, need a chaplain to listen, support, and respect me for the person I am and work I attempt to do…
Even when that work leads me to put myself in time-out.
A variety of factors have combined to produce a very bad mood.
Rather than submitting my coworkers to my terrible disposition, I’ve locked myself in my room and tried to work my way through my frustrations.
It hasn’t worked.
I’m still quite aggravated by the many factors I cannot control and the many more that I can but don’t seem to have the time or organizational system in place to influence.
This morning as I was preparing to do the morning announcements, I realized that we have a teacher workday on Monday. When I learned this fact, I literally cheered. I need a workday. My colleagues need a workday. The kids need a break. We all need a breather…
And so, friends, I confess my current negativity tonight.
I admit my utter humanity and inability to always remain a calm, non-anxious presence in the midst of high stress and seeming chaos.
And I acknowledge that I, chaplain-at-heart though I be, too, need a chaplain to listen, support, and respect me for the person I am and work I attempt to do…
Even when that work leads me to put myself in time-out.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Amelia's Manners
Amelia and Griffin aren’t the most athletic children in the world, so, after her first week of school, when Amelia responded that her favorite part of Kindergarten was sports, we were all surprised.
Currently, though she still likes sports, Amelia’s favorite part of Kindergarten is Letterland. Evidently, every letter of the alphabet has a name and story, and the names and stories are so interesting that they’re going to have an entire Letterland program.
Last night, after we properly greeted one another, Amelia and I decided to make cookies. She put on her apron that said, “Curious Chef,” and got to work immediately. With adult supervision, she sounded out a few words, picked out a couple of site words, told me when to stop when setting the oven temperature, measured the borrowed oil, cracked the eggs, mixed the dough, got out the baking sheets, rolled the balls of cookie dough, put the triangular marks on the cookies, shaped the giant triangular cookie, and told me when to stop when setting the timer.
Though she didn’t put the cookies into the oven, she did something that I thought notable. She said, “Excuse me, please, Nana. Dee and I need to put the cookies in the oven.” At another point during our visit last night, she said, “Yes ‘mam,” and called me, “Miss Aunt Dee.”
Amelia has never been a rude child. Her parents raise her and her brother well. In fact, they are both creative, imaginative, inventive, and caring children.
A couple of weeks ago, after my sister rescued a crate, a few tennis balls, and some records for me—yes, records—the big black things that most of my students have never seen—the crate cracked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Amelia said, “I’ll fix it!” She ran out of the room, got her mending supplies, ran back into the room, and mended the crate with blue painters tape. She then told she couldn’t handle the smell of my feet anymore and moved to the other side of the room. After Griffin sillily and voluntarily smelled my feet and made a really ugly face, they both went upstairs to get their shoe deodorant and spray my shoes. (The shoes I was wearing really did stink, as did my feet ).
So yes. Amelia has never been a rude child. But I can tell she’s learning manners in Kindergarten.
I am proud.
Currently, though she still likes sports, Amelia’s favorite part of Kindergarten is Letterland. Evidently, every letter of the alphabet has a name and story, and the names and stories are so interesting that they’re going to have an entire Letterland program.
Last night, after we properly greeted one another, Amelia and I decided to make cookies. She put on her apron that said, “Curious Chef,” and got to work immediately. With adult supervision, she sounded out a few words, picked out a couple of site words, told me when to stop when setting the oven temperature, measured the borrowed oil, cracked the eggs, mixed the dough, got out the baking sheets, rolled the balls of cookie dough, put the triangular marks on the cookies, shaped the giant triangular cookie, and told me when to stop when setting the timer.
Though she didn’t put the cookies into the oven, she did something that I thought notable. She said, “Excuse me, please, Nana. Dee and I need to put the cookies in the oven.” At another point during our visit last night, she said, “Yes ‘mam,” and called me, “Miss Aunt Dee.”
Amelia has never been a rude child. Her parents raise her and her brother well. In fact, they are both creative, imaginative, inventive, and caring children.
A couple of weeks ago, after my sister rescued a crate, a few tennis balls, and some records for me—yes, records—the big black things that most of my students have never seen—the crate cracked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Amelia said, “I’ll fix it!” She ran out of the room, got her mending supplies, ran back into the room, and mended the crate with blue painters tape. She then told she couldn’t handle the smell of my feet anymore and moved to the other side of the room. After Griffin sillily and voluntarily smelled my feet and made a really ugly face, they both went upstairs to get their shoe deodorant and spray my shoes. (The shoes I was wearing really did stink, as did my feet ).
So yes. Amelia has never been a rude child. But I can tell she’s learning manners in Kindergarten.
I am proud.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Living In The Real World Is Tough Business
For the better part of three years, I devoted my life to educating women and teenagers about issues of human exploitation. I studied facts concerning human trafficking, bullying, pornography, media exploitation, and land exploitation. I spoke. I wrote. I coordinated a statewide symposium, created an interactive prayer exhibit, and set up an informational booth at state and national meetings. I changed my habits, signed petitions, and attempted only to buy fair trade coffee and chocolate and to not use Styrofoam if at all possible. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how people refused to become involved in fighting issues of human exploitation once they had been exposed to their realities…
Then I stopped working for WMU and everything changed.
The realities of human exploitation weren’t on my radar screen every day.
Only. They were. Just in different ways.
Most of them ways I cannot control.
Hospitals are bound by hygiene rules that require disposable products. My job at the hospital was to serve as a chaplain, not educate about human exploitation.
Mrs. Flora really likes paper towels and paper plates. My job is to spend time with her and help her shop, not try to change her ways.
Schools are underfunded and pushed for time. My job at the school is to teach music…although I suppose, in time, I could lobby for changes that encourage environmentally responsibility.
Additionally:
Coffee, creamer, sugar, non-sugar sweetener, hot chocolate, tea, chocolate, candy, and treats are expensive. Fair trade products are considerably more expensive. Teachers are underfunded, too.
Students watch a lot of TV and movies, play a lot of video games, and listen to a lot of music. As a result, many of them think that parents and teachers are buffoons, that being mean is funny, that they are entitled to whatever they want, and that using graphic language and having thoughts that include words such as “suck” and “balls” is perfectly normal. I teach elementary school. Detailed sex education, including the dangers of pornography, is not in our curriculum.
After work on Tuesday, I wrote both my former boss and assistant and said something like this: “Educating about human exploitation is a whole lot easier than living in it every day. Seeing it played out is really hard. And I feel so helpless in doing anything about it. Living in the real world is tough business.”
And it is.
I’m still doing what I can to fight exploitation. But providing mugs for coffee club and taking my own cup into McDonalds seems so small when I look outside and see kids throwing other kids on the ground and realize that they are watching unhealthy images that will forever stay in their minds. Yet I will continue to do what I can—not the least of which is pray—and I will ask you to do the same.
This is not theory anymore, friends. It’s not education. It is real life. And real life in the real world is tough business.
Then I stopped working for WMU and everything changed.
The realities of human exploitation weren’t on my radar screen every day.
Only. They were. Just in different ways.
Most of them ways I cannot control.
Hospitals are bound by hygiene rules that require disposable products. My job at the hospital was to serve as a chaplain, not educate about human exploitation.
Mrs. Flora really likes paper towels and paper plates. My job is to spend time with her and help her shop, not try to change her ways.
Schools are underfunded and pushed for time. My job at the school is to teach music…although I suppose, in time, I could lobby for changes that encourage environmentally responsibility.
Additionally:
Coffee, creamer, sugar, non-sugar sweetener, hot chocolate, tea, chocolate, candy, and treats are expensive. Fair trade products are considerably more expensive. Teachers are underfunded, too.
Students watch a lot of TV and movies, play a lot of video games, and listen to a lot of music. As a result, many of them think that parents and teachers are buffoons, that being mean is funny, that they are entitled to whatever they want, and that using graphic language and having thoughts that include words such as “suck” and “balls” is perfectly normal. I teach elementary school. Detailed sex education, including the dangers of pornography, is not in our curriculum.
After work on Tuesday, I wrote both my former boss and assistant and said something like this: “Educating about human exploitation is a whole lot easier than living in it every day. Seeing it played out is really hard. And I feel so helpless in doing anything about it. Living in the real world is tough business.”
And it is.
I’m still doing what I can to fight exploitation. But providing mugs for coffee club and taking my own cup into McDonalds seems so small when I look outside and see kids throwing other kids on the ground and realize that they are watching unhealthy images that will forever stay in their minds. Yet I will continue to do what I can—not the least of which is pray—and I will ask you to do the same.
This is not theory anymore, friends. It’s not education. It is real life. And real life in the real world is tough business.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Happily Ever After: Till Death Do Us Part
Each year, the North Carolina Reading Council holds a Young Author’s Writing Competition. A couple of years before I stopped teaching in 2007, I decided to enter the adult category of the competition. This year, I’ve decided to do the same.
This year’s theme is “Happily Ever After: What’s Your Story?”
This is my story:
Hey there—My name is Deanna,
And you are…? Of course I will
Pray with you. And you want to know if I can
Perform your wedding ceremony, too? Am
I ordained? No. I am not ordained. But I can still perform your wedding.
Love is what matters tonight. The legal stuff can come tomorrow…
Your mom had a stroke on Sunday? She means
Everything to you? Blood is still coursing through her
Veins but her eyes will never open again?...
Enter, now, into this sacred partnership of love. Promise, now, to honor and
Respect one another for as long as you both shall live.
And remember these witnesses surrounding you tonight:
Father, mother, sister, nurses, friends—affirming your new lives together while standing in
the grief of life falling apart…You want
To take home a copy of the vows? Of course I’ll make you a copy…And you’re right. This has been an
Extraordinary event. One that I will not forget…You will
Remove life support after midnight? But you want to say your goodbyes right now? Take your
time. You have much to celebrate. I will come back. And I will stay with your mom until her soul
passes into happily after ever.
What about you, reader? What is your “Happily Ever After?”
This year’s theme is “Happily Ever After: What’s Your Story?”
This is my story:
Hey there—My name is Deanna,
And you are…? Of course I will
Pray with you. And you want to know if I can
Perform your wedding ceremony, too? Am
I ordained? No. I am not ordained. But I can still perform your wedding.
Love is what matters tonight. The legal stuff can come tomorrow…
Your mom had a stroke on Sunday? She means
Everything to you? Blood is still coursing through her
Veins but her eyes will never open again?...
Enter, now, into this sacred partnership of love. Promise, now, to honor and
Respect one another for as long as you both shall live.
And remember these witnesses surrounding you tonight:
Father, mother, sister, nurses, friends—affirming your new lives together while standing in
the grief of life falling apart…You want
To take home a copy of the vows? Of course I’ll make you a copy…And you’re right. This has been an
Extraordinary event. One that I will not forget…You will
Remove life support after midnight? But you want to say your goodbyes right now? Take your
time. You have much to celebrate. I will come back. And I will stay with your mom until her soul
passes into happily after ever.
What about you, reader? What is your “Happily Ever After?”
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Sufficient Grace and Tennis Balls
I’ve been wearing my rain gear for car duty this week. I realize that I look somewhat ridiculous in rain boots and a rain coat but I want to be properly dressed and prepared. Rain is something I can prepare for. Violence is not.
Don’t worry. I’ve not had a violent encounter this week. But I have had the realization that if someone were to get angry at car duty then there would be nowhere to hide. We are quite vulnerable standing in that parking lot. What’s more. I told my parents last night that if someone were to open fire at car duty then they’d be hearing my name on the news for being a teacher who sacrificed her life for her students. In a brief moment of clarity yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t hesitate to throw myself over my students to save them…I’d probably just crush them in the process.
I also told my class of 5thgraders yesterday that they’d be hard pressed to find someone who cares for them much more than I. I inwardly chuckled as I watched them think aloud and come to the conclusion that I was right.
I have a problem with caring. I care a whole lot.
…
In other news, my devotion this morning confessed:“Gracious Lord Jesus, Master of things great and small, I need to talk to you about how often I sweat the small stuff. I pray about the big challenges and receive your guidance and power. Then little annoyances blow my cool and I get suited up with your full armor only to fight little skirmishes over trifles. It’s good to know that your grace is sufficient for all things.”
And for what was God’s grace sufficient today? Tennis balls.
I’ve been trying to get tennis balls on the bottoms of my chairs since school began. I need them to help minimize noise. I got most of the chairs covered a couple of weeks ago, but I ran out of tennis balls. I bought more balls on Tuesday evening and began cutting them for the chairs today. After covering the legs of three chairs, I looked around the room to see how many more balls I needed to cut. It was in that moment that I realized that two more tennis balls had been taken from the bottom of my chairs. The total number of stolen, sliced open tennis balls is now four.
For the next few moments, I was irrationally angry. I was angry at my students, their parents, television and the media, big corporations, the church, government, and myself. I was angry that someone had taken my tennis balls. I was confused as to why they wanted busted-open balls. I was mad at the thought that my students were taking the tennis balls just to see if they could get away with it—because they think that breaking the rules and stealing is fun. I was furious that I’d let them get away with it. How in the world could a kid take a tennis ball off of the bottom of a chair without me noticing? I was sad at the thought that my students could want a tennis ball so badly that they must steal a busted one. I was in quite a mood.
Then I remembered my devotion from this morning and realized, quite quickly, that the tennis balls were “small things” and “little annoyances.” So I confessed my frustration to God and a friend. Asked for forgiveness. Took a few deep breaths. Said a few prayers for my students. Focused on picking up 75 pizzas for Parent Involvement Night at school. And let my mood dissipate.
It certainly is good to know that God’s grace is sufficient for all things…and that I bought extra tennis balls.
Don’t worry. I’ve not had a violent encounter this week. But I have had the realization that if someone were to get angry at car duty then there would be nowhere to hide. We are quite vulnerable standing in that parking lot. What’s more. I told my parents last night that if someone were to open fire at car duty then they’d be hearing my name on the news for being a teacher who sacrificed her life for her students. In a brief moment of clarity yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t hesitate to throw myself over my students to save them…I’d probably just crush them in the process.
I also told my class of 5thgraders yesterday that they’d be hard pressed to find someone who cares for them much more than I. I inwardly chuckled as I watched them think aloud and come to the conclusion that I was right.
I have a problem with caring. I care a whole lot.
…
In other news, my devotion this morning confessed:“Gracious Lord Jesus, Master of things great and small, I need to talk to you about how often I sweat the small stuff. I pray about the big challenges and receive your guidance and power. Then little annoyances blow my cool and I get suited up with your full armor only to fight little skirmishes over trifles. It’s good to know that your grace is sufficient for all things.”
And for what was God’s grace sufficient today? Tennis balls.
I’ve been trying to get tennis balls on the bottoms of my chairs since school began. I need them to help minimize noise. I got most of the chairs covered a couple of weeks ago, but I ran out of tennis balls. I bought more balls on Tuesday evening and began cutting them for the chairs today. After covering the legs of three chairs, I looked around the room to see how many more balls I needed to cut. It was in that moment that I realized that two more tennis balls had been taken from the bottom of my chairs. The total number of stolen, sliced open tennis balls is now four.
For the next few moments, I was irrationally angry. I was angry at my students, their parents, television and the media, big corporations, the church, government, and myself. I was angry that someone had taken my tennis balls. I was confused as to why they wanted busted-open balls. I was mad at the thought that my students were taking the tennis balls just to see if they could get away with it—because they think that breaking the rules and stealing is fun. I was furious that I’d let them get away with it. How in the world could a kid take a tennis ball off of the bottom of a chair without me noticing? I was sad at the thought that my students could want a tennis ball so badly that they must steal a busted one. I was in quite a mood.
Then I remembered my devotion from this morning and realized, quite quickly, that the tennis balls were “small things” and “little annoyances.” So I confessed my frustration to God and a friend. Asked for forgiveness. Took a few deep breaths. Said a few prayers for my students. Focused on picking up 75 pizzas for Parent Involvement Night at school. And let my mood dissipate.
It certainly is good to know that God’s grace is sufficient for all things…and that I bought extra tennis balls.
Monday, October 7, 2013
One Opposite of Division? Peace.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, September 2, 2013
In A Year
I’ve been collecting Coke Rewards points for some time now. Friends and family members have helped in the collection and enabled me to enter various sweepstakes, donate points to two schools, purchase a travel bakery set that I was able to give to a friend, and buy a garden set that I used today.
When the garden set arrived, I was living in South Carolina. While working for SC WMU, I tried to develop a green thumb under the tutelage of one of my coworkers and took responsibility for the office plants. I have a vivid memory of taking my garden set to work and repotting and pruning many of our plants. I remember my excitement as one of the dying plants came back to life in the weeks that followed, and as I pruned some flowers in the backyard today, I found myself wondering about that plant. Is it still alive? Or did it finally stop living and wander to plant heaven?
So much can change in a year.
Last year at this time, restless though I was, I was filling my calendar for the 2012/2013 church year. I was planning to drive across the state of SC to speak about missions and to educate about issues of human exploitation. I was finalizing details for a large student event and laying the foundation to mentor three teenage girls. I was editing the statewide newsletter, managing Facebook pages, and envisioning ways to make communication stronger. We had just finished posting the summer camp prayer guide and I was starting to write another prayer guide that would carry us through the year.
Then life pushed me into the unknown and God did God’s own pruning--not with Coke Rewards points garden tools on office plants but with the sword of the Spirit, the shield of faith, the gospel of peace, the belt of truth, breastplate of righteousness, and the helmet of salvation in my life.
One year later, instead of educating about human exploitation, I am working on the front lines of fighting it. Instead of laying foundations to mentor three teenage girls, I am laying foundations to mentor over 700 kindergarten through 5th grade students. And instead of writing a prayer guide for missions, I am living those prayers every day. Yet still, I am being led to write…and I am envisioning ways to make communication stronger.
In coming days, I’d like to write a prayer guide for the public school year. I don’t envision writing a different request for every day of the year but I do hope to write a prayer for each day of the week. If you have a request you would like for me to work into the prayers, please let me know. I will do my best to reflect your heart as well. This guide won’t be sent in newsletter form to 12,000 people across the state of SC, but, somehow, I believe it will make a difference.
After all, a lot can change in a year.
When the garden set arrived, I was living in South Carolina. While working for SC WMU, I tried to develop a green thumb under the tutelage of one of my coworkers and took responsibility for the office plants. I have a vivid memory of taking my garden set to work and repotting and pruning many of our plants. I remember my excitement as one of the dying plants came back to life in the weeks that followed, and as I pruned some flowers in the backyard today, I found myself wondering about that plant. Is it still alive? Or did it finally stop living and wander to plant heaven?
So much can change in a year.
Last year at this time, restless though I was, I was filling my calendar for the 2012/2013 church year. I was planning to drive across the state of SC to speak about missions and to educate about issues of human exploitation. I was finalizing details for a large student event and laying the foundation to mentor three teenage girls. I was editing the statewide newsletter, managing Facebook pages, and envisioning ways to make communication stronger. We had just finished posting the summer camp prayer guide and I was starting to write another prayer guide that would carry us through the year.
Then life pushed me into the unknown and God did God’s own pruning--not with Coke Rewards points garden tools on office plants but with the sword of the Spirit, the shield of faith, the gospel of peace, the belt of truth, breastplate of righteousness, and the helmet of salvation in my life.
One year later, instead of educating about human exploitation, I am working on the front lines of fighting it. Instead of laying foundations to mentor three teenage girls, I am laying foundations to mentor over 700 kindergarten through 5th grade students. And instead of writing a prayer guide for missions, I am living those prayers every day. Yet still, I am being led to write…and I am envisioning ways to make communication stronger.
In coming days, I’d like to write a prayer guide for the public school year. I don’t envision writing a different request for every day of the year but I do hope to write a prayer for each day of the week. If you have a request you would like for me to work into the prayers, please let me know. I will do my best to reflect your heart as well. This guide won’t be sent in newsletter form to 12,000 people across the state of SC, but, somehow, I believe it will make a difference.
After all, a lot can change in a year.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Betrayal
Relationships are hard. Family, friend, and work relationships. Romantic and platonic relationships. In-person and long-distance relationships. Relationships are just plain hard…especially when they are met with a betrayal.
I’ve been thinking a lot about betrayal today because today is an event anniversary for me. Today marks a time in my life when I was deeply betrayed and life began to drastically change course.
As I’ve reflected upon this betrayal today and remembered the reversal of, “If you’ve needed a friend to trust, then you’ve chosen the right one,” I’ve noticed my mind wandering to Judas and Jesus.
I’ve considered the story of Jesus’ final meal with his friends and how Judas kissed Jesus before Judas completed his betrayal. Judas handed over Jesus to his enemies with the hope that Jesus would assert his authority on earth. I don’t know that Judas was necessarily trying to hurt Jesus, rather, he was trying, in his own way, to hasten Jesus’ Kingdom. Judas’ plan backfired and led to Jesus’ death, which was horrible. Yet Jesus’ death made way for hope, forgiveness, resurrection, and redemption…and I believe that if Judas had not killed himself before Jesus arose then Jesus would have embraced him with open arms.
I get this.
I wonder if Judas ever told Jesus that if he needed someone to trust then he could trust Judas. Jesus must have seen something in Judas. Jesus must have enjoyed Judas’ presence and believed in his ability to manage money. Jesus must have cared for and loved Judas because that’s what Jesus did with everyone, not to mention those he chose to keep by his side.
I suppose we never enter a relationship predicting betrayal…or if we do, then I think we hold to a deep-seated hope that our fear is wrong. Yet with every relationship we enter,we run the risk of being betrayed…or of being the betrayer.
[I’d be remiss if I didn’t confess that I, too, have been the one to betray or to push persons away from very unhealthy behavior. And for those times in my life and to the persons I have hurt, I am deeply sorry.]
And yet, we keep forming relationships. And we keep opening ourselves to love and living our lives alongside those for whom we care and feeling kisses of both passion and betrayal and finding ourselves faced with the options of hope, forgiveness, resurrection, and redemption.
---------
**“You Came Into My Life” is a song that popped into my head as I drove home today. I wrote it many years ago, but I think it fits this post well. The recording isn’t wonderful, but I posted the lyrics.
http://www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton/songs**
I’ve been thinking a lot about betrayal today because today is an event anniversary for me. Today marks a time in my life when I was deeply betrayed and life began to drastically change course.
As I’ve reflected upon this betrayal today and remembered the reversal of, “If you’ve needed a friend to trust, then you’ve chosen the right one,” I’ve noticed my mind wandering to Judas and Jesus.
I’ve considered the story of Jesus’ final meal with his friends and how Judas kissed Jesus before Judas completed his betrayal. Judas handed over Jesus to his enemies with the hope that Jesus would assert his authority on earth. I don’t know that Judas was necessarily trying to hurt Jesus, rather, he was trying, in his own way, to hasten Jesus’ Kingdom. Judas’ plan backfired and led to Jesus’ death, which was horrible. Yet Jesus’ death made way for hope, forgiveness, resurrection, and redemption…and I believe that if Judas had not killed himself before Jesus arose then Jesus would have embraced him with open arms.
I get this.
I wonder if Judas ever told Jesus that if he needed someone to trust then he could trust Judas. Jesus must have seen something in Judas. Jesus must have enjoyed Judas’ presence and believed in his ability to manage money. Jesus must have cared for and loved Judas because that’s what Jesus did with everyone, not to mention those he chose to keep by his side.
I suppose we never enter a relationship predicting betrayal…or if we do, then I think we hold to a deep-seated hope that our fear is wrong. Yet with every relationship we enter,we run the risk of being betrayed…or of being the betrayer.
[I’d be remiss if I didn’t confess that I, too, have been the one to betray or to push persons away from very unhealthy behavior. And for those times in my life and to the persons I have hurt, I am deeply sorry.]
And yet, we keep forming relationships. And we keep opening ourselves to love and living our lives alongside those for whom we care and feeling kisses of both passion and betrayal and finding ourselves faced with the options of hope, forgiveness, resurrection, and redemption.
---------
**“You Came Into My Life” is a song that popped into my head as I drove home today. I wrote it many years ago, but I think it fits this post well. The recording isn’t wonderful, but I posted the lyrics.
http://www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton/songs**
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Willard Pride
I got Old Man Willard when I started full-time graduate school in 2007.
That summer, I was working at a camp and one of my primary jobs was to supply shop at Walmart.
As I was exiting the store one day, with two full carts of stuff, I rounded the corner and almost ran over Willard the Walmart Greeter.
That day, I named my computer Willard. Willard is a Dell Inspiron.
Last week, I was entrusted with a school laptop. Currently, I have a MacBook Air, but I will likely need to exchange it for a MacBook Pro. Either way, I’m thrilled to have a school laptop. I’ve never had one before.
And their names? Respectively--Little Willamina and Willamina.
Here’s to hoping for a good year with Willard and the Willaminas…mixed computer types they be.
--------------
On a more serious note:
Sometimes my pride gets the best of me. So when it does, I must remember:
I am not savior of this world.
I cannot single-handedly and instantly change the culture of any system or organization. I can influence the system and initiate new movement but I cannot instantly cause change…good or bad.
I do not always know the best way to complete a task.
I will not always be the best.
I do not and will not know everything.
Not everyone likes, respects, and/or connects with me, nor can I make them.
And all of this? All of it is okay.
That summer, I was working at a camp and one of my primary jobs was to supply shop at Walmart.
As I was exiting the store one day, with two full carts of stuff, I rounded the corner and almost ran over Willard the Walmart Greeter.
That day, I named my computer Willard. Willard is a Dell Inspiron.
Last week, I was entrusted with a school laptop. Currently, I have a MacBook Air, but I will likely need to exchange it for a MacBook Pro. Either way, I’m thrilled to have a school laptop. I’ve never had one before.
And their names? Respectively--Little Willamina and Willamina.
Here’s to hoping for a good year with Willard and the Willaminas…mixed computer types they be.
--------------
On a more serious note:
Sometimes my pride gets the best of me. So when it does, I must remember:
I am not savior of this world.
I cannot single-handedly and instantly change the culture of any system or organization. I can influence the system and initiate new movement but I cannot instantly cause change…good or bad.
I do not always know the best way to complete a task.
I will not always be the best.
I do not and will not know everything.
Not everyone likes, respects, and/or connects with me, nor can I make them.
And all of this? All of it is okay.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Clean Underwear
**Cute Story Alert**
Last weekend the kids came for the third session of Nana Camp 2013.
On Friday night, as they were preparing for their baths, Amelia came downstairs with a distressed look on her face. She couldn’t find any clean underwear.
“Aunt Dee, may you help me find my underwear?”
I looked. But I couldn’t find clean underwear either. Evidently, she had worn it all during a week at the beach.
I suggested that she turn her underwear inside out. No.
I suggested that she go without underwear for the night so that we could wash her underwear for the morning. No.
“You have to have clean underwear to go to bed,” she said.
A few weeks earlier, on our camping trip, she had declared: “This is how you get ready for bed: You take a shower, put on clean underwear and pajamas, brush your teeth, and go to bed.”
Clearly, dirty underwear was not an option for Amelia, so a quick trip to the store did I make.
With 11-year-old Jack.
Not being a frequent Maxway shopper, I wasn’t sure where the little girl’s underwear was shelved. After a few minutes of walking around the store, passing ladies underwear and bras along the way, Jack sheepishly said, “This is kind of weird.”
Chuckling, I said, “I bet it is. You don’t have any little sisters."
“Nope. I’ve never done this before.”
When we finally found the little girl’s underwear, we spent about five minutes trying to decide if “4” and “4T” were the same thing. One we realized they were, we identified three options for Amelia: Dora, Disney Princesses, or Minnie Mouse. Immediately dismissing Dora, we discussed the merits of the other two and decided on Minnie Mouse.
When we got home, Amelia was playing in the bathtub. Upon looking at her new three-pack of underwear, she said, “Hmm. I think I was hoping for princesses or something.”
Expecting that reaction, I said, “Yes. We knew that. And we figured you already had Princess underwear. So we decided on Minnie Mouse so that every time you wore it you would think about Jack and me going to get it for you.”
My mom chimed in by saying, “And the same you came to Nana Camp with no underwear.”
As Amelia considered what I’d just said, about thinking about Jack and me every time she wore the new underwear, a smile formed on her face until she was flat out grinning.
“Yeh…” she said, beaming with love.
Love causes us to do and feel strange things.
I think of Jack’s willingness to put himself in a weird situation so that Amelia wouldn’t suffer from dirty underwear and I think of the smile that grew on Amelia’s face as she realized that her big cousin and I had chosen underwear just for her.
I’ve thought about this story many times this week, and each time it’s crossed my mind I’ve smiled at its sweetness.
I hope you’ve smiled too.
And I hope you have on clean underwear as you prepare for bed. If so, Amelia will be proud.
Last weekend the kids came for the third session of Nana Camp 2013.
On Friday night, as they were preparing for their baths, Amelia came downstairs with a distressed look on her face. She couldn’t find any clean underwear.
“Aunt Dee, may you help me find my underwear?”
I looked. But I couldn’t find clean underwear either. Evidently, she had worn it all during a week at the beach.
I suggested that she turn her underwear inside out. No.
I suggested that she go without underwear for the night so that we could wash her underwear for the morning. No.
“You have to have clean underwear to go to bed,” she said.
A few weeks earlier, on our camping trip, she had declared: “This is how you get ready for bed: You take a shower, put on clean underwear and pajamas, brush your teeth, and go to bed.”
Clearly, dirty underwear was not an option for Amelia, so a quick trip to the store did I make.
With 11-year-old Jack.
Not being a frequent Maxway shopper, I wasn’t sure where the little girl’s underwear was shelved. After a few minutes of walking around the store, passing ladies underwear and bras along the way, Jack sheepishly said, “This is kind of weird.”
Chuckling, I said, “I bet it is. You don’t have any little sisters."
“Nope. I’ve never done this before.”
When we finally found the little girl’s underwear, we spent about five minutes trying to decide if “4” and “4T” were the same thing. One we realized they were, we identified three options for Amelia: Dora, Disney Princesses, or Minnie Mouse. Immediately dismissing Dora, we discussed the merits of the other two and decided on Minnie Mouse.
When we got home, Amelia was playing in the bathtub. Upon looking at her new three-pack of underwear, she said, “Hmm. I think I was hoping for princesses or something.”
Expecting that reaction, I said, “Yes. We knew that. And we figured you already had Princess underwear. So we decided on Minnie Mouse so that every time you wore it you would think about Jack and me going to get it for you.”
My mom chimed in by saying, “And the same you came to Nana Camp with no underwear.”
As Amelia considered what I’d just said, about thinking about Jack and me every time she wore the new underwear, a smile formed on her face until she was flat out grinning.
“Yeh…” she said, beaming with love.
Love causes us to do and feel strange things.
I think of Jack’s willingness to put himself in a weird situation so that Amelia wouldn’t suffer from dirty underwear and I think of the smile that grew on Amelia’s face as she realized that her big cousin and I had chosen underwear just for her.
I’ve thought about this story many times this week, and each time it’s crossed my mind I’ve smiled at its sweetness.
I hope you’ve smiled too.
And I hope you have on clean underwear as you prepare for bed. If so, Amelia will be proud.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Not For Failing
I have another confession.
I know the music classroom is where I’m supposed to be for now. The peace that I feel combined with the windows and doors that have flung wide open have made that perfectly clear.
However.
I must admit that saying, “I’m going back to the classroom,” has been a struggle.
It’s not been a struggle because I’m ashamed of the call.
It’s been a struggle because of my pride.
Even though I know that finishing divinity school, moving to SC and working for WMU, teaching piano to Griffin and Amelia, caretaking for Mrs. Flora, completing a unit of CPE, nannying Journey the Dog, and spending extra time with my family has grown and positively changed me beyond what I ever could have imagined, part of me still feels as if I have failed.
Part of me feels as if people are thinking, “Oh. She didn’t make it in the ministry, so she’s going back to teaching.”
As if I’m living into the idea that, “Those who can’t, teach.”
But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.
I happen to think that teachers are some of the most important persons in the world. I hold teachers in highest regard and find them to be the most patient, creative, caring, giving, loving, self-sacrificial, multi-tasking, intelligent, and capable persons I know. I believe that teachers teach because they can make a difference—not because they can’t do anything else.
I want to scream these facts to the world. I want people to know. I want people to understand that re-entering the music classroom is something that I am choosing because it is where I have been led…however bumpy the leading may have been.
My pride wants people to know that I’m not going back into the classroom because I failed—because I didn’t make it in the ministry—because I was stupid to leave the school system in the first place and lose five years of benefits and retirement.
My pride wants people to know that teaching is my ministry for this time in life—that it’s not just a job that I’m doing because I can’t do anything else. (For the record, I turned down two jobs before taking my current position).
My pride is struggling with projected criticism and turned up noses at work the legislature has recently deemed a factory to be run like a business instead of a person-forming place of learning and welcome that I know to be vitally important work. And I guess, truth be known, my pride is struggling to reconcile these thoughts with myself.
So there you have it folks: My circular, somewhat ridiculous, but all-together true confession on this first official teacher workday and the day that I signed my contract.
I imagine I’m not the only person with a confession tonight. A fear, anxiety, worry, concern, regret, broken heart, ill feeling, unpopular belief, skeletal closet, or something else. And while you may not want to make that confession here (or maybe you do), I hope that you will speak it aloud to yourself and the God in whom you believe. There is something healing about speaking the truth.
Speak away, my friends. And know that this fumbling music teacher will be singing a prayer of peace, strength, and courage for you…and herself…tonight.
I know the music classroom is where I’m supposed to be for now. The peace that I feel combined with the windows and doors that have flung wide open have made that perfectly clear.
However.
I must admit that saying, “I’m going back to the classroom,” has been a struggle.
It’s not been a struggle because I’m ashamed of the call.
It’s been a struggle because of my pride.
Even though I know that finishing divinity school, moving to SC and working for WMU, teaching piano to Griffin and Amelia, caretaking for Mrs. Flora, completing a unit of CPE, nannying Journey the Dog, and spending extra time with my family has grown and positively changed me beyond what I ever could have imagined, part of me still feels as if I have failed.
Part of me feels as if people are thinking, “Oh. She didn’t make it in the ministry, so she’s going back to teaching.”
As if I’m living into the idea that, “Those who can’t, teach.”
But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.
I happen to think that teachers are some of the most important persons in the world. I hold teachers in highest regard and find them to be the most patient, creative, caring, giving, loving, self-sacrificial, multi-tasking, intelligent, and capable persons I know. I believe that teachers teach because they can make a difference—not because they can’t do anything else.
I want to scream these facts to the world. I want people to know. I want people to understand that re-entering the music classroom is something that I am choosing because it is where I have been led…however bumpy the leading may have been.
My pride wants people to know that I’m not going back into the classroom because I failed—because I didn’t make it in the ministry—because I was stupid to leave the school system in the first place and lose five years of benefits and retirement.
My pride wants people to know that teaching is my ministry for this time in life—that it’s not just a job that I’m doing because I can’t do anything else. (For the record, I turned down two jobs before taking my current position).
My pride is struggling with projected criticism and turned up noses at work the legislature has recently deemed a factory to be run like a business instead of a person-forming place of learning and welcome that I know to be vitally important work. And I guess, truth be known, my pride is struggling to reconcile these thoughts with myself.
So there you have it folks: My circular, somewhat ridiculous, but all-together true confession on this first official teacher workday and the day that I signed my contract.
I imagine I’m not the only person with a confession tonight. A fear, anxiety, worry, concern, regret, broken heart, ill feeling, unpopular belief, skeletal closet, or something else. And while you may not want to make that confession here (or maybe you do), I hope that you will speak it aloud to yourself and the God in whom you believe. There is something healing about speaking the truth.
Speak away, my friends. And know that this fumbling music teacher will be singing a prayer of peace, strength, and courage for you…and herself…tonight.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Here's Hoping
Text conversation with a friend from last night:
Friend: Are you going to school tomorrow or Friday?
Me: Well. I may go tomorrow with B. But my first official day is Friday. I’m getting pretty nervous. And I’m thinking about school stuff.
Friend: It takes over your brain that’s for sure.
Me: I have this fear of my first week being a colossal failure and the kids deciding they don’t like me and the whole year being hell.
Friend: I haven’t slept all week thinking about school.
Me: What are your thoughts?
Friend: Kids are more forgiving than that. You know what you’re doing. It will come back to you.
Me: Thanks. I hope so!
----
And I do hope so. I hope that as I fall back in to this teaching gig I will be able to burst into a chorus of, “It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now,” and go forward with authenticity of call and peace. I hope that I will remember the best of my teaching days while successfully learning the new grading, planning, discipline, technological, and curricular systems. I hope that I will feel comfortable in my own teaching skin and that my classroom will be a safe place of music and light and love…
But it’s nowhere near that right now! I did go to the school today with B. I met some people, helped set up furniture in the art room, and stood in the music room turning in circles, wondering how in the world I was going to set it up—knowing that I can’t set up anything until all of the stuff in the room is farmed out to where it belongs. I prayed for all of the students who would enter and exit the room and for all of the activity that would occur within its walls. I put up my family calendar. And then I walked away until tomorrow.
As I fall asleep tonight, I will pray some of the same prayers that I began praying last night, adapted from the Book of Common Prayer:
Eternal God, bless all schools, colleges, and universities, and especially JES, that we may be lively centers for sound learning, new discovery, and the pursuit of wisdom; and grant that those who teach and those who learn may find peace, safety, truth, love, and rest; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Almighty God, heavenly Father, you have blessed me with the joy and care of children: Give me calm strength and patient wisdom as I bring them up, that I may teach them to love whatever is just and true and good, following the example of our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
Almighty God, I entrust all who are dear to me to your never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come, knowing that you are doing for them better things than I can desire or pray for; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
And amen.
Friend: Are you going to school tomorrow or Friday?
Me: Well. I may go tomorrow with B. But my first official day is Friday. I’m getting pretty nervous. And I’m thinking about school stuff.
Friend: It takes over your brain that’s for sure.
Me: I have this fear of my first week being a colossal failure and the kids deciding they don’t like me and the whole year being hell.
Friend: I haven’t slept all week thinking about school.
Me: What are your thoughts?
Friend: Kids are more forgiving than that. You know what you’re doing. It will come back to you.
Me: Thanks. I hope so!
----
And I do hope so. I hope that as I fall back in to this teaching gig I will be able to burst into a chorus of, “It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now,” and go forward with authenticity of call and peace. I hope that I will remember the best of my teaching days while successfully learning the new grading, planning, discipline, technological, and curricular systems. I hope that I will feel comfortable in my own teaching skin and that my classroom will be a safe place of music and light and love…
But it’s nowhere near that right now! I did go to the school today with B. I met some people, helped set up furniture in the art room, and stood in the music room turning in circles, wondering how in the world I was going to set it up—knowing that I can’t set up anything until all of the stuff in the room is farmed out to where it belongs. I prayed for all of the students who would enter and exit the room and for all of the activity that would occur within its walls. I put up my family calendar. And then I walked away until tomorrow.
As I fall asleep tonight, I will pray some of the same prayers that I began praying last night, adapted from the Book of Common Prayer:
Eternal God, bless all schools, colleges, and universities, and especially JES, that we may be lively centers for sound learning, new discovery, and the pursuit of wisdom; and grant that those who teach and those who learn may find peace, safety, truth, love, and rest; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Almighty God, heavenly Father, you have blessed me with the joy and care of children: Give me calm strength and patient wisdom as I bring them up, that I may teach them to love whatever is just and true and good, following the example of our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
Almighty God, I entrust all who are dear to me to your never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come, knowing that you are doing for them better things than I can desire or pray for; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
And amen.
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