My thoughts this week have been very scattered. And so, too, this note will be. So bear with me, reader, as we journey through my mind and hopefully land on a few gems in what could be considered a jumble pile of rocks.
First, today is my grandmother’s 92nd birthday. Since I couldn’t be with her today, I sent her a card with one underlined word. G-mama always underlines special words in the cards she sends, so I wanted to do the same. There were only four words in the card, so I figured one was enough. Usually, we send each other a dollar or two in our cards. I chose not to send any money in today’s card, though, because I’m going to do what she tends to do for me on my birthday and give her one dollar for every year of her life. $92 dollars is a lot of dollars to send through the mail. So I will wait to give it to her when I visit her soon. Then hopefully I’ll get to drive her 1980’s Crown Victoria to the old lady hair salon and be with her when she uses part of her $92 for her weekly hair styling. I am grateful for G-mama. And I love her very much.
Second, I wrote last week about how I would be willing to hold my people’s sh*t if they needed it. And I would be. But I was reminded this week that that willingness is not necessarily mutual for many people in my life. Truth be known, I was reminded this week that I’m really not that important at all to some people—and the reminder hurt—and caused me to revisit feelings of loss and betrayal that are overwhelming and leave me feeling a bit lost and lonely and missing parts of a life that I used to know.
Third, I cried on the last day of school. And I realized that I’d finished my first year of teaching (part two) during the same week that I would have traveled to my organization’s annual meeting had I remained in my former job. Two years ago this week, I was in New Orleans riding pedi-cabs, laughing, and sharing delicious meals and beignets with my coworkers when we weren’t sitting in meetings. I led a workshop at the national meeting and spoke to nationally renowned leader and authors. My parents were in town for the meeting, too, so we hung out in a city far from home and I remember thinking that they’d driven a long way to be with me when it would be much closer to go to the annual meeting in years to come. I had no idea that that would be my last annual meeting and that my life would change so drastically in just three months. Fast forward two years and I’m standing in a decades-old gym in a school that is barely locally known, congratulating 5th graders that it took me most of the year to like, and I am crying. I am crying because I am proud of my students, and I am crying because I am certain that I am doing more missions now than I did in my three years of full-time vocational ministry. I am certain that I am exactly where I need to be…and yet…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being with my former staff at their annual meeting.
Fourth, Bullet stinks. When I got home from work yesterday, he was dirty and wet from running through a storm to get to the house, so I washed him in my tub, and he got mad at me, and he’s now soft and fluffy, and he was super cute when he fell asleep in my lap during a thunderstorm last night, but he still stinks. Yet I love him so much. And I’m thankful that he’s been my little alarm clock this week—waking me up before 6 each morning to play—reminding me that there is joy and excitement in each new day.
Fifth, I brought Pete the Plant home from work today. He’ll stay here for the summer. I spoke at a church a few years ago and my thank you gift was Pete the Plant. He stayed in my office at my former job. He moved home with me when I didn’t have a job. Then he moved to school with me when I finally got my classroom set up. I love Pete. He adds life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold.
Actually. I want to be like Pete.
I want to add life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold…
to dirty dog coats and gyms and pedi-cabs and birthday cards…
to human hearts and minds and bodies and souls…
even when they aren’t willing to hold my sh*t…
especially when they’ve been around a long time and are 92 years old.
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