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.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
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.
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