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.
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**“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**
Thursday, August 29, 2013
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.
Monday, August 12, 2013
No Struggle Today
I’m not a big fan of endings. I’ve always had a hard time saying goodbye, letting go, moving on to new times and places. Even when the ending is positive—when it makes sense, when it must happen—even then I often struggle.
But I haven’t struggled today. Today ended this round of McDonald’s Monopoly game. As many of you know, I became slightly obsessed with winning this go-round. Some of you even offered properties and codes to help in the quest. But we were denied. Granted, I have nine instant win pieces sitting beside me right now:
1 small frappe/smoothie
2 regular McFlurries
1 medium fry
1 Redbox rental code
3 breakfast sandwiches
2 $10 promo codes from EA sports
1 free Shutterfly book.
And I have 115 online entries to win a Fiat and 2 Redbox rental codes, 2 40-Point Coke Rewards bundles, and another EA sports credit.
But nothing really big. Not even $50. And the sad thing? I’m pretty sure I OD’d on McDonalds while trying to gather Kentucky, Ventnor, Pennsylvania, Boardwalk, Mediterranean, Vermont, Virginia, TN, and/or Short Line RR. I have everything else…like I’m sure half of the rest of the world does, too.
So. Yes. I’m glad that Monopoly ended today…even though we didn’t win. And I’m glad, really glad, that I don’t gamble. Or play the lottery. Or put my ultimate faith and hope in the things of this world.
That being said, if you have any leftover game pieces and/or codes, then I’ll be happy to take them and/or enter them for you. See. I told you: I have a hard time with endings :-).
But I haven’t struggled today. Today ended this round of McDonald’s Monopoly game. As many of you know, I became slightly obsessed with winning this go-round. Some of you even offered properties and codes to help in the quest. But we were denied. Granted, I have nine instant win pieces sitting beside me right now:
1 small frappe/smoothie
2 regular McFlurries
1 medium fry
1 Redbox rental code
3 breakfast sandwiches
2 $10 promo codes from EA sports
1 free Shutterfly book.
And I have 115 online entries to win a Fiat and 2 Redbox rental codes, 2 40-Point Coke Rewards bundles, and another EA sports credit.
But nothing really big. Not even $50. And the sad thing? I’m pretty sure I OD’d on McDonalds while trying to gather Kentucky, Ventnor, Pennsylvania, Boardwalk, Mediterranean, Vermont, Virginia, TN, and/or Short Line RR. I have everything else…like I’m sure half of the rest of the world does, too.
So. Yes. I’m glad that Monopoly ended today…even though we didn’t win. And I’m glad, really glad, that I don’t gamble. Or play the lottery. Or put my ultimate faith and hope in the things of this world.
That being said, if you have any leftover game pieces and/or codes, then I’ll be happy to take them and/or enter them for you. See. I told you: I have a hard time with endings :-).
Thursday, August 8, 2013
When Everything Falls In Place
Yesterday was Stanley’s 5th birthday. It also happened to be the day that mom and dad had arranged with Amelia to celebrate her half birthday. My parents do this for all of their grandchildren—take them out to eat on/around their half birthdays, buy them a book from a bookstore,take them to get dessert. When my mom told Amelia that it was Stanley’s birthday, she went into party planning mode. She gets this naturally from her mother. She got out the birthday hats and banner. She helped my mom bake a cake. She chose Stanley’s birthday outfit. She did everything she possibly could to make Stanley’s birthday one that he would remember…only “he’s stuffed so he doesn’t really have birthdays,” she later said.
I love Stanley. I do. But would I have thrown a party and cooked a steak dinner with dessert in honor of his birthday? Probably not. Yet. Everything fell into place for this to happen. My sister had steaks she had been waiting to eat with my parents. My parents were in town for Amelia’s half birthday. Amelia, lover of stuffed animals and creator of joy, was super excited about Stanley’s birthday. And so. We celebrated. And it was good.
A few months ago while the boys were at Nana Camp, they asked if they could move the boxes and instruments out of the closet where they were designing a fort. After I told them they could, they busily began excavating my things until they had everything out. With nowhere to put what was once tucked away, I left the spoils of their labor in a pile on my office floor. I’ve been looking at it ever since…
When I packed up my music classroom in 2007, I commented that the only way I’d consider teaching again was if I could teach with Barb, My Art Teacher. The likelihood of elementary art and music positions opening in a place that convenient for two people who live in differing counties is very slim…
But a position opened at Barb’s school shortly after I returned to NC last fall. It opened. It closed. And I began spending time with my 83-year-old friend who had only recently agreed to have someone visit with her and clean her house. I completed a unit of clinical pastoral education that grew and stretched me in ways that I didn’t know possible. I applied for a teaching job at a friend’s school whom I truly admire. I applied for a residency at a hospital in Wilmington. I could have accepted both positions but neither felt right. So I planned to do another unit of clinical pastoral education and I was content with the direction that life was taking me. Chaplaincy was on my mind and in my heart…
And then a position opened at Barb’s school again. And this time? It felt right. This time? Everything fell into place.
Despite what has happened with the legislature. Despite that many are fleeing the public schools rather than turning toward them. Despite my aversion to writing lesson plans. Despite that I may not have a classroom for part of the year. I am heading wholeheartedly back into a job that I was called away from five years ago. And I’m heading there with Barb.
That stuff that’s been in my office since the boys piled it there will be moving to Johnsonville Elementary School sometime next week. It’s moving to one of the lowest performing schools in the county and it’s going with a teacher who knows that she has been called into the classroom for this time at this place.
Did I see it coming? No! Not at all. But everything has fallen into place. And so, I celebrate. And it will be good. Just like Stanley’s birthday party.
I love Stanley. I do. But would I have thrown a party and cooked a steak dinner with dessert in honor of his birthday? Probably not. Yet. Everything fell into place for this to happen. My sister had steaks she had been waiting to eat with my parents. My parents were in town for Amelia’s half birthday. Amelia, lover of stuffed animals and creator of joy, was super excited about Stanley’s birthday. And so. We celebrated. And it was good.
A few months ago while the boys were at Nana Camp, they asked if they could move the boxes and instruments out of the closet where they were designing a fort. After I told them they could, they busily began excavating my things until they had everything out. With nowhere to put what was once tucked away, I left the spoils of their labor in a pile on my office floor. I’ve been looking at it ever since…
When I packed up my music classroom in 2007, I commented that the only way I’d consider teaching again was if I could teach with Barb, My Art Teacher. The likelihood of elementary art and music positions opening in a place that convenient for two people who live in differing counties is very slim…
But a position opened at Barb’s school shortly after I returned to NC last fall. It opened. It closed. And I began spending time with my 83-year-old friend who had only recently agreed to have someone visit with her and clean her house. I completed a unit of clinical pastoral education that grew and stretched me in ways that I didn’t know possible. I applied for a teaching job at a friend’s school whom I truly admire. I applied for a residency at a hospital in Wilmington. I could have accepted both positions but neither felt right. So I planned to do another unit of clinical pastoral education and I was content with the direction that life was taking me. Chaplaincy was on my mind and in my heart…
And then a position opened at Barb’s school again. And this time? It felt right. This time? Everything fell into place.
Despite what has happened with the legislature. Despite that many are fleeing the public schools rather than turning toward them. Despite my aversion to writing lesson plans. Despite that I may not have a classroom for part of the year. I am heading wholeheartedly back into a job that I was called away from five years ago. And I’m heading there with Barb.
That stuff that’s been in my office since the boys piled it there will be moving to Johnsonville Elementary School sometime next week. It’s moving to one of the lowest performing schools in the county and it’s going with a teacher who knows that she has been called into the classroom for this time at this place.
Did I see it coming? No! Not at all. But everything has fallen into place. And so, I celebrate. And it will be good. Just like Stanley’s birthday party.
Monday, August 5, 2013
G-Mama Lights The Way
For as long as I can remember, my grandmother’s house has been decorated with candles. My sister always enjoyed lighting the candles before family meals…
Until G-mama discovered battery-operated candles. At that point, the wax candles in G-mama’s house, slowly but surely, were replaced by battery-operated candles that light with a button rather than a flame. During the replacement process, the battery-operated candle movement moved its way into the rest of the family and now many of our houses are lit by candles that won’t burn down the house…
They won’t burn down a campsite either.
We should know. G-mama’s light sources lit the way for us to set up camp at Stone Mountain on Friday night.
I can’t remember the exact numbers, but I think that G-mama showed up on our campsite through two small lanterns, one battery-operated candle, one jar candle, and three taper candles. Griffin and I had to change the battery-operated candle so that it could light my little tent. But it worked with new batteries and was super helpful when I crawled into bed each night…and when I heard rain pouring down on Saturday night and had to rig a little curtain out of a Nemo sheet because I hadn’t put the rain guard over my door before going to sleep.
The small lanterns helped us change the batteries in the above candle as well as the big lantern whose batteries were dying.
But it was the jar candle and taper candles that proved most helpful—a jar candle that was really ugly because it had once been melted and taper candles that were old and partially burned but had been abandoned. Naturally, my sister didn’t pack candlesticks. Who packs candlesticks for camping? So we made our own. Out of plastic water bottles.
With a little bit of water to anchor the bottle, the plastic water bottle served as the perfect camping candlestick. And when the candle burned down, it dropped through the bottle opening, landed in the water, and the flame extinguished. Or maybe the flame extinguished before hitting the water. I don’t know. I wasn’t watching. All I know is that the candle was burning one moment and it was safely out the next. Which was really neat. And I know that just one candle provided enough light to penetrate the darkness.
After Amelia and I returned from our first trip to the potty on Friday, my sister asked us if the bathhouse was very far. Amelia responded, “No. We were talking the whole time.” While her answer was very cute and heartwarming—and a testament to her extraverted nature—it wasn’t completely correct. Our campsite was a few minutes away from the bathhouse—not somewhere you’d want to venture to in the middle of the night. But it was easy to find on that last night-time trip to running water and electricity because of…the bright light of the taper candle.
It was a beacon to a campsite full of love and laughter and light…provided by G-mama.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
A Music Making, Word Collecting, Hair Farmer
I am a hair farmer and collector of words.
Growing and gleaning.
Waiting and acting.
Giving and receiving.
Encouraging and being encouraged.
I am a “music maker and dreamer of dreams.
A mover and shaker of the world forever it seems.”
Who are you, dear reader?
Dear, wonderful child of God?
Growing and gleaning.
Waiting and acting.
Giving and receiving.
Encouraging and being encouraged.
I am a “music maker and dreamer of dreams.
A mover and shaker of the world forever it seems.”
Who are you, dear reader?
Dear, wonderful child of God?
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