It’s no secret that I’m a crier. In fact, I have very talented tear ducts. They cry in joy and in sorrow, and they cry prayers and allow release. They cry over meaningful stories and they cry over ridiculous jokes. They cry when I’m full of energy and they cry when I’m exhausted from life. They cry if someone talks about putting in contact lenses and they cry for other people when those people cannot cry for themselves. Yet. Seldom do they cry raw, flowing tears when I’m around anyone else. Those tears—those deeply hurting, lonely, sad, frustrated, agonizing, almost-full-body tears—are usually reserved for God alone.
I remember one specific time, though, when I cried those tears in front of a dear friend, and she pulled me into her arms and let me weep. I burrowed my head into her shoulder and sobbed—for mean words and heartbreak and failed plans and misunderstanding and the work-dementors that were sucking life from me at the time. She held me as I cried and she didn’t flinch when my tears literally wet her shoulder. In that moment, I was so broken that I couldn’t even apologize for falling apart. All I could do was let someone support my weight and…cry.
…
As my first class approached the doorway today, I heard someone crying—and these were not petty, passing, she skipped me in line, tears—these were those deeply hurting, almost-full-body tears. By sheer good fortune, the guidance counselor was in my room at that moment, so she got the rest of the class settled while I held the crying kid. Literally. I wrapped my arms around his sobbing little body and held him to my heart. “Breathe, sweetie,” I said. “Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Breathe with me. In and out.” After a few moments, I noticed that I had started rocking him back and forth, still gently whispering, “In and out. Breathe in and out.” After another few moments, I felt the fight leave his body and his breathing fall into rhythm with mine. After another few moments, I gave him the option of going to his seat or going to lie down in the back of the room until he was ready to join class. He chose the latter. Then he did join class and had a wonderful time.
I have no idea why he came to music class sobbing. Had something bad happened at home? Had something bad already happened at school? Had he been blamed for something he didn’t do? Had he gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing? Had he eaten breakfast? Had he gotten enough sleep? I have no idea. But what I do know that is that he needed to cry.
…
A student on Tuesday needed to cry, too. He went from his normal attitude of “I hate music” to a place of deeply sad tears in a matter of minutes. One moment, he and his friends were defiantly choosing to sit at the back of the room under the refocus table so that they could talk and be silly, but the next minute all three of them were covering their heads with their shirts and crying. Not wanting to stop the rest of class from a strangely productive and focused music lesson, I went on with the lesson. After class, on my way into the building for lunch, I was bombarded by other students telling me that the three were crying because one of them was moving and the friendship posse was going to be separated.
As I stood in the class’s classroom, waiting for their supervision to arrive, thinking about how I wasn’t going to have time to eat lunch, wondering what in the world I was supposed to do with the kids for the next however long I had them, I felt someone come from behind on the right and latch on for a side hug. This particular class has a couple of huggers, so I didn’t think anything of it. Until I looked down. And I saw the top of “I hate music”’s hoodie. And I realized that a kid who ordinarily doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist was burrowed into my right shoulder, sobbing.
One of his classmates said, “Ms. Deaton, you’re going to miss lunch.”
I said, “No worries. I’ll be fine. I’ll stand here for a few more minutes.”
So I did. Holding “I hate music.”
He cried. He didn’t say a word. Then he wiped his tears and walked away.
I left the room with a tear-soaked shirt, wondering what in the world had just happened.
I guess “I hate music” needed to cry. And I guess maybe “I hate music” knew that music didn’t hate him.
…
Sometimes, friends, we all just need to cry.
And sometimes the safety of loving arms is exactly where we need to land.
My arms are open.
I often imagine God’s arms open as well.
Are yours?
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Monday, April 27, 2015
I Just Did Something Right
For most people, afternoon car rider duty is a burden. Not to me. I’m a fan of car duty. In many ways, it’s one of my favorite parts of each day. My team and I get to see cute animals and try to break the speed record for loading cars most efficiently…and we get to meet parents that otherwise we wouldn’t have reason to meet. Sometimes these parent interactions are for praise. Sometimes they are for discipline. Sometimes they are just for fun. One of my favorite afternoons of car rider duty happened a couple of months ago when a parent got herself blocked into the car-rider-parking-lot-grid-lock only to realize that both of her girls were staying late for a school dance. I couldn’t help it. I laughed at her ahs she drove away with no children. Then I went and told her girls. They laughed at her, too .
Last week, a parent asked how her son had been in music class that morning. I told her that other than taking a toy to class and momentarily distracting his classmates he had done fine. She asked if it was his My Little Pony. I said yes. She said that his classmates liked to pick on him because he likes My Little Pony. I said that, at least in this instance, they weren’t picking on him because of the type of toy he had—just that it was a toy and students weren’t supposed to have toys at school. She confirmed that he shouldn’t have had a toy—that he was supposed to leave it in the car—and then the conversation went on to a natural end…only I walked away thinking about what she had said, feeling really bad for her son, knowing that he gets picked on because of the toys that he chooses to play with…
Recently, my mom has been working to de-clutter the attic and other storage areas of our house. Because she, too, likes to purchase sale items to give to people but then often forgets that she has them, and because the grandchildren are getting older, she had a stockpile of toys to give away. She made a box for me and told me to take it to school. I did. And when I looked through it on Friday morning, amongst lots of other gifts and toys, I saw a My Little Pony Pinkie Pie…
Each week, B selects an art challenge and I select a character education challenge for students to complete. If students choose to do the challenge, then they very simply drop their work in the collection slot and hope that we select their work for recognition. If selected, students get to help lead the pledge during the morning announcements on Fridays and receive a small prize. Some students complete the challenge each week. Some students only do select challenges. Recently, the student from above, whom we’ll call Joe, has been completing the challenges…
After giving all of the other students their prizes on Friday morning, I signaled for Joe to bend down to the prize box with me. I pulled out the My Little Pony Pinkie Pie and asked if it was something that he would like as his prize. His eyes immediately lit up, but then he remembered that his show of excitement wasn’t “cool” and said that he’d rather have something else. He looked at the other toys and selected something more traditionally masculine. I looked at him and said, “That’s fine. You can have that, too. But is this something that you would like? Because if it is, then I can take it to car rider duty this afternoon and no one in your class will know that it was your prize.” His eyes lit up and again, a smile spread across his face, and he nodded yes. Then he took his masculine toy and went back to class.
All day, students asked about the My Little Pony Pinkie Pie. I told them that it was a character education prize and that it already belonged to someone. They were jealous.
That afternoon, when I saw Joe on his way to the car rider line in the library, he looked at me with excitement. Before he could say anything, I said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got it, buddy. It’s already in the library.” He smiled. When I got to the library, Joe looked at me and signaled that he was ready for me to secretly drop the pony into his bookbag. I said, “I’m gonna take it directly to your car, okay?” He smiled.
So in the midst of calling car rider names, I delivered a My Little Pony Pinkie Pie to Joe’s mom. I explained to her what I was delivering. She cried. And when Joe got to the car, and I told him that his mom had it, he was practically jumping out of his skin with excitement.
I smiled. I, too, got a bit teary eyed. I prayed that Joe would enjoy his new My Little Pony and that he would grow to be exactly who he is meant to be—whoever that is—never having to hide. And then I thought to myself, “I just did something right. Thanks, God.” Amen.
Last week, a parent asked how her son had been in music class that morning. I told her that other than taking a toy to class and momentarily distracting his classmates he had done fine. She asked if it was his My Little Pony. I said yes. She said that his classmates liked to pick on him because he likes My Little Pony. I said that, at least in this instance, they weren’t picking on him because of the type of toy he had—just that it was a toy and students weren’t supposed to have toys at school. She confirmed that he shouldn’t have had a toy—that he was supposed to leave it in the car—and then the conversation went on to a natural end…only I walked away thinking about what she had said, feeling really bad for her son, knowing that he gets picked on because of the toys that he chooses to play with…
Recently, my mom has been working to de-clutter the attic and other storage areas of our house. Because she, too, likes to purchase sale items to give to people but then often forgets that she has them, and because the grandchildren are getting older, she had a stockpile of toys to give away. She made a box for me and told me to take it to school. I did. And when I looked through it on Friday morning, amongst lots of other gifts and toys, I saw a My Little Pony Pinkie Pie…
Each week, B selects an art challenge and I select a character education challenge for students to complete. If students choose to do the challenge, then they very simply drop their work in the collection slot and hope that we select their work for recognition. If selected, students get to help lead the pledge during the morning announcements on Fridays and receive a small prize. Some students complete the challenge each week. Some students only do select challenges. Recently, the student from above, whom we’ll call Joe, has been completing the challenges…
After giving all of the other students their prizes on Friday morning, I signaled for Joe to bend down to the prize box with me. I pulled out the My Little Pony Pinkie Pie and asked if it was something that he would like as his prize. His eyes immediately lit up, but then he remembered that his show of excitement wasn’t “cool” and said that he’d rather have something else. He looked at the other toys and selected something more traditionally masculine. I looked at him and said, “That’s fine. You can have that, too. But is this something that you would like? Because if it is, then I can take it to car rider duty this afternoon and no one in your class will know that it was your prize.” His eyes lit up and again, a smile spread across his face, and he nodded yes. Then he took his masculine toy and went back to class.
All day, students asked about the My Little Pony Pinkie Pie. I told them that it was a character education prize and that it already belonged to someone. They were jealous.
That afternoon, when I saw Joe on his way to the car rider line in the library, he looked at me with excitement. Before he could say anything, I said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got it, buddy. It’s already in the library.” He smiled. When I got to the library, Joe looked at me and signaled that he was ready for me to secretly drop the pony into his bookbag. I said, “I’m gonna take it directly to your car, okay?” He smiled.
So in the midst of calling car rider names, I delivered a My Little Pony Pinkie Pie to Joe’s mom. I explained to her what I was delivering. She cried. And when Joe got to the car, and I told him that his mom had it, he was practically jumping out of his skin with excitement.
I smiled. I, too, got a bit teary eyed. I prayed that Joe would enjoy his new My Little Pony and that he would grow to be exactly who he is meant to be—whoever that is—never having to hide. And then I thought to myself, “I just did something right. Thanks, God.” Amen.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
A Haiku-ish Mood
Coffee on my pants
On a Thursday afternoon.
Oh well. It’s worth it.
Thursday is coffee day. Barring something odd to the week, B and I visit our local coffee shop every Thursday afternoon after school. Most of the time, I go back to school to do the work that I don’t get done in the music room—organizing the morning announcement spreadsheet—updating the school-wide incentive bulletin board—going through the answers to the weekly art and character education questions.
Today was no different…only today the barista left coffee on the bottom of my mug so I got coffee on my pants when I rested the mug on my leg…and today B was in a haiku-ish mood, so she began to count the syllables of my statement, “I got coffee on my pants,” and then we proceeded to write the above haiku.
For those of you who know B, you know that she is an amazing artist. You also know that she thinks that she is not an amazing artist even though her doodles put the average person’s best work to shame. What you probably don’t know, though, is that B is a wonderful haiku writer. She says that her love of all things Japanese has given her this secret talent. Maybe so. Regardless, it’s a secret talent that makes me smile—because it’s so unexpected.
B has been teaching our 3rd graders about Japanese art for the past few months. This week is haiku-illustration week—hence B’s haiku-ish mood. As we looked at haikus together after our 3rd grade classes today, we found a few that we really liked. Those of you who know B will be happy to know that she posted them on her Pinterest page. And so…here they are—from funny to poignant. Which do you like best?
April celebrates
National Poetry Month.
This is a haiku.
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don’t make sense.
Refrigerator.
Inside everyone,
the infinite traveler
longs to be set free.
--William C. Hannan
Wake butterfly—
It’s late, we’ve miles
to go together.
--Matsuo Basho
And now…a haiku for my B…and the rest of my teaching peeps:
This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Teaching changes lives.
Thanks for changing lives, friends;
For helping set free infinitely traveling butterflies.
True. We’ve got a long way to go.
Miles and miles to go.
But I believe we make it:
Together.
On a Thursday afternoon.
Oh well. It’s worth it.
Thursday is coffee day. Barring something odd to the week, B and I visit our local coffee shop every Thursday afternoon after school. Most of the time, I go back to school to do the work that I don’t get done in the music room—organizing the morning announcement spreadsheet—updating the school-wide incentive bulletin board—going through the answers to the weekly art and character education questions.
Today was no different…only today the barista left coffee on the bottom of my mug so I got coffee on my pants when I rested the mug on my leg…and today B was in a haiku-ish mood, so she began to count the syllables of my statement, “I got coffee on my pants,” and then we proceeded to write the above haiku.
For those of you who know B, you know that she is an amazing artist. You also know that she thinks that she is not an amazing artist even though her doodles put the average person’s best work to shame. What you probably don’t know, though, is that B is a wonderful haiku writer. She says that her love of all things Japanese has given her this secret talent. Maybe so. Regardless, it’s a secret talent that makes me smile—because it’s so unexpected.
B has been teaching our 3rd graders about Japanese art for the past few months. This week is haiku-illustration week—hence B’s haiku-ish mood. As we looked at haikus together after our 3rd grade classes today, we found a few that we really liked. Those of you who know B will be happy to know that she posted them on her Pinterest page. And so…here they are—from funny to poignant. Which do you like best?
April celebrates
National Poetry Month.
This is a haiku.
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don’t make sense.
Refrigerator.
Inside everyone,
the infinite traveler
longs to be set free.
--William C. Hannan
Wake butterfly—
It’s late, we’ve miles
to go together.
--Matsuo Basho
And now…a haiku for my B…and the rest of my teaching peeps:
This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Teaching changes lives.
Thanks for changing lives, friends;
For helping set free infinitely traveling butterflies.
True. We’ve got a long way to go.
Miles and miles to go.
But I believe we make it:
Together.
Monday, April 20, 2015
On My Knees
When I left my house on Saturday morning, I wasn’t expecting to end up on my knees three times before arriving home that afternoon. But sometimes the thing one least expects is the exact thing that needs to happen.
In Isabelle’s mind, age three, when someone celebrates her birthday, he/she deserves to hear a loud singing of the “Happy Birthday” song. To sing it quietly in a restaurant is not acceptable.
And so…after a delicious birthday lunch honoring my friend Rachel, Isabelle, Angela, Rachel, and I processed into the restaurant’s parking lot for delicious cupcakes and Isabelle’s rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
To help Isabelle voice the song, I bent down so that I was on eye level with her, which meant that we were looking up at Rachel as we sang. It’s amazing how different the world looks—quite literally—when you allow yourself to see it from a different angle.
As I knelt on my knees in the parking lot, I noticed Angela’s back passenger’s side tire. It looked really low. So I got up, walked to the tire, kicked it, and realized that it was very low. Then I got back onto my knees and checked the tire for a nail or other metal impaling object, but I felt nothing. Yet the tire wasn’t safe to drive on for very long, so we made a plan to get to the nearest gas station.
A few minutes later, Rachel led the way, with Angela and Isabelle in the middle, and me following behind. As we processed down the road in our three cars, I thought to myself, “This is a perfect image of what friends do. When one has a need, the others surround her to make sure she is taken care of.”
When we got to the gas station, I once again found myself on my knees—this time putting air into Angela’s tires while once again looking for nails. As I knelt in yet another parking lot and Angela, Isabelle, and Rachel and I talked once again, I couldn’t help but smile at the whole situation. Gravel digging into my knees and all, it was such a uniquely beautiful moment of friendship.
…
Many years ago, I found myself very burdened for the people in my life. I made it a habit to go regularly into my prayer room and spend time in prayer for those for whom I was burdened. I vividly remember one of those prayer sessions when all I could do was cry—and I was crying so deeply and passionately that I literally collapsed onto the bed. As I lay there and wept, feeling completely helpless yet praying for God to hear the prayers in my tears, I suddenly found myself thinking, “Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends.” No. I’m not Jesus. And, no, I wasn’t offering to die for my friends. But I was laying down my life for them—quite literally—prostrate—praying the most fervent prayers that I could pray—loving in the deepest way that I could love.
…
I haven’t been visiting my prayer room recently. Life and work have hijacked my time and transformed my prayers into words and thoughts prayed throughout the day, every day, with pretty much every breath that I take.
But maybe I should start revisiting my prayer room.
And maybe I should hit my knees more often—
Not necessarily to sing Happy Birthday or to check tire pressure in parking lots,
Although those adventures are welcome—
But to offer prayers of safety, hope, courage, and peace
For the people that I so dearly love—
Three-month-olds, three-year-olds, and 93-year-olds alike.
Join me?
In Isabelle’s mind, age three, when someone celebrates her birthday, he/she deserves to hear a loud singing of the “Happy Birthday” song. To sing it quietly in a restaurant is not acceptable.
And so…after a delicious birthday lunch honoring my friend Rachel, Isabelle, Angela, Rachel, and I processed into the restaurant’s parking lot for delicious cupcakes and Isabelle’s rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
To help Isabelle voice the song, I bent down so that I was on eye level with her, which meant that we were looking up at Rachel as we sang. It’s amazing how different the world looks—quite literally—when you allow yourself to see it from a different angle.
As I knelt on my knees in the parking lot, I noticed Angela’s back passenger’s side tire. It looked really low. So I got up, walked to the tire, kicked it, and realized that it was very low. Then I got back onto my knees and checked the tire for a nail or other metal impaling object, but I felt nothing. Yet the tire wasn’t safe to drive on for very long, so we made a plan to get to the nearest gas station.
A few minutes later, Rachel led the way, with Angela and Isabelle in the middle, and me following behind. As we processed down the road in our three cars, I thought to myself, “This is a perfect image of what friends do. When one has a need, the others surround her to make sure she is taken care of.”
When we got to the gas station, I once again found myself on my knees—this time putting air into Angela’s tires while once again looking for nails. As I knelt in yet another parking lot and Angela, Isabelle, and Rachel and I talked once again, I couldn’t help but smile at the whole situation. Gravel digging into my knees and all, it was such a uniquely beautiful moment of friendship.
…
Many years ago, I found myself very burdened for the people in my life. I made it a habit to go regularly into my prayer room and spend time in prayer for those for whom I was burdened. I vividly remember one of those prayer sessions when all I could do was cry—and I was crying so deeply and passionately that I literally collapsed onto the bed. As I lay there and wept, feeling completely helpless yet praying for God to hear the prayers in my tears, I suddenly found myself thinking, “Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends.” No. I’m not Jesus. And, no, I wasn’t offering to die for my friends. But I was laying down my life for them—quite literally—prostrate—praying the most fervent prayers that I could pray—loving in the deepest way that I could love.
…
I haven’t been visiting my prayer room recently. Life and work have hijacked my time and transformed my prayers into words and thoughts prayed throughout the day, every day, with pretty much every breath that I take.
But maybe I should start revisiting my prayer room.
And maybe I should hit my knees more often—
Not necessarily to sing Happy Birthday or to check tire pressure in parking lots,
Although those adventures are welcome—
But to offer prayers of safety, hope, courage, and peace
For the people that I so dearly love—
Three-month-olds, three-year-olds, and 93-year-olds alike.
Join me?
Thursday, April 16, 2015
So Much Boils Down To Feeling Safe
Have you ever had a conversation that helped you realize something that you didn’t know you needed to realize?
As I chatted with a friend yesterday afternoon and said something that seemed a bit too random to be truly random—although it was something that had just popped into my mind—I found myself being faced with this request: “Tell me what you know. Because that was a bit too random.”
So. I started talking about all of the things that I know. I said things like, “I know you’re a tremendous person and leader. I know that you’re very capable of doing good and that you add something important to this world. I know that I hope good things for you and that you will be an excellent mom when you choose to have kids and if you are able to have kids. I know that I think baby humans and puppies are super cute but that I don’t think I could successfully raise either. And I know that I sometimes I wish I could go back and start over again so that I could be a better friend to people. Steady. Stable. Strong. And…safe.”
Steady. Stable. Strong. Safe.
Safe…
So much boils down to feeling safe.
When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Not afraid that
I’ll ask too many questions,
Want to know too much,
Offer too many gifts,
Share overwhelming information,
Think too deeply,
Come on too strong,
Demand unrealistic outcomes,
Be too mean.
When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Comfortable.
Loved.
Believed in.
Free to be fully themselves.
Safe.
So often, when things go wrong in friendships, in relationships,
It’s because someone has made someone else feel unsafe—
Plain and simple…
Though it’s really not simple at all.
I didn’t know I needed to realize this. But. I did.
So much boils down to feeling safe.
God, forgive us (forgive me) for all the times we’ve (I’ve) made someone feel unsafe.
And God, help us mend what’s been broken,
Slowly, steadily, securely,
Until we feel safe again.
Amen.
------
My friend Holli came to visit today. She arrived at school just before car rider duty ended—just in time to see my J and L go to their car. My J is the student who brought me lunch the Friday before Spring Break. He is also the student who won the county writing competition and who I went to the reception to support. Furthermore, he and L own my favorite car rider duty dog, Zoe.
Since Holli had her dog with her, I introduced them all to one another. “J and L—this is my friend Holli and her dog Julius Caesar.” J’s response, “You didn’t tell me you had friends!”
He sounded truly offended that I hadn’t shared this bit of information with him!
I smiled and said, “Well, yes. I have friends, J.” He approved.
Then Holli said, “This is going on the internet later.” I said, “It sure is.”
And there it is, my friends. My cute school story from the day.
Chased only by this cute story: I love dogs. My dad loves dogs. Holli loves dogs. My mom doesn’t love dogs. Who has Julius Caesar gravitated toward since he’s been at the house?
As he jumped on the couch with my mom, we heard this laughing statement, “Out of everyone in this house, why did you choose me?”
Then he came to me. And slept on my hand as I finished this post.
As I chatted with a friend yesterday afternoon and said something that seemed a bit too random to be truly random—although it was something that had just popped into my mind—I found myself being faced with this request: “Tell me what you know. Because that was a bit too random.”
So. I started talking about all of the things that I know. I said things like, “I know you’re a tremendous person and leader. I know that you’re very capable of doing good and that you add something important to this world. I know that I hope good things for you and that you will be an excellent mom when you choose to have kids and if you are able to have kids. I know that I think baby humans and puppies are super cute but that I don’t think I could successfully raise either. And I know that I sometimes I wish I could go back and start over again so that I could be a better friend to people. Steady. Stable. Strong. And…safe.”
Steady. Stable. Strong. Safe.
Safe…
So much boils down to feeling safe.
When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Not afraid that
I’ll ask too many questions,
Want to know too much,
Offer too many gifts,
Share overwhelming information,
Think too deeply,
Come on too strong,
Demand unrealistic outcomes,
Be too mean.
When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Comfortable.
Loved.
Believed in.
Free to be fully themselves.
Safe.
So often, when things go wrong in friendships, in relationships,
It’s because someone has made someone else feel unsafe—
Plain and simple…
Though it’s really not simple at all.
I didn’t know I needed to realize this. But. I did.
So much boils down to feeling safe.
God, forgive us (forgive me) for all the times we’ve (I’ve) made someone feel unsafe.
And God, help us mend what’s been broken,
Slowly, steadily, securely,
Until we feel safe again.
Amen.
------
My friend Holli came to visit today. She arrived at school just before car rider duty ended—just in time to see my J and L go to their car. My J is the student who brought me lunch the Friday before Spring Break. He is also the student who won the county writing competition and who I went to the reception to support. Furthermore, he and L own my favorite car rider duty dog, Zoe.
Since Holli had her dog with her, I introduced them all to one another. “J and L—this is my friend Holli and her dog Julius Caesar.” J’s response, “You didn’t tell me you had friends!”
He sounded truly offended that I hadn’t shared this bit of information with him!
I smiled and said, “Well, yes. I have friends, J.” He approved.
Then Holli said, “This is going on the internet later.” I said, “It sure is.”
And there it is, my friends. My cute school story from the day.
Chased only by this cute story: I love dogs. My dad loves dogs. Holli loves dogs. My mom doesn’t love dogs. Who has Julius Caesar gravitated toward since he’s been at the house?
As he jumped on the couch with my mom, we heard this laughing statement, “Out of everyone in this house, why did you choose me?”
Then he came to me. And slept on my hand as I finished this post.
Monday, April 13, 2015
A Bad Feeling
Going back to work today wasn’t too bad. Tomorrow will likely be more difficult because I’ll have less adrenaline. But today was okay…except that I carried an underlying sense of anxiety all day—because of the book that I’m reading.
I’ve read the book before—a clearance book from the Books-A-Million in Columbia—but I don’t remember anything about it. The basic plot is of a twenty-something going home for her brother’s wedding, only her brother is uncertain as to whether or not he should go through with the wedding because he has fallen in love with another woman. He must figure out what to do and she must face her past.
The book is fine. Decently written. Decently read. But I’ve been so worried about the fiancé that I’ve been anxious for the entire four hours that I’ve been reading (with my ears)—and evidently in the hours when I’ve not been listening in my car—that I haven’t really been able to enjoy it.
The writer doesn’t share the fiancé’s point of view. The only things we know about her come from the narrator’s perspective. So we don’t know what she’s thinking—how she’s feeling—if she has any clue that her wedding is likely going to be cancelled and that a ten year relationship is likely going to end—or if she’s going to have a huge bomb dropped on her. Regardless, she’s in a really bad situation…and no matter what happens, she’s going to be really hurt. She’s either going to be marrying a man who loves another woman or she’s going to be forced to walk away from the man she thought she’d be with forever—and neither are really fair to her—nor are the lies she’s been told—or the information that’s been kept secret—or the choices that have not been given to her to make.
I know. You may be thinking. This is a fictional character, Rev. Dee. But is it really? Isn’t this the story of so many people? Maybe not the possibility of a cancelled wedding on the wedding weekend—although I know that that happens more often than any of us want to admit—but the unfairness, the lies and half-truths, the secret information, the choices not offered, the imbalance of power, the not-knowing how to have a really difficult conversation. Might this be your story, too?
I remember struggling with similar thoughts as I walked up and down the halls of the hospital where I served as chaplain. On so many occasions, I felt horrible knowing that I knew difficult information that families did not know—yet I couldn’t say a word. I held an unfair power advantage in the situation—and sometimes I had to have conversations with people, trying to remain present and non-anxious, knowing that their loved-one was dying—knowing that their hearts were going to break momentarily—when all information was made known. I hated the knowing. And I hated imagining how I’d feel if I were on the other side of myself.
So I guess that’s what this book has done to me—made me imagine how it would feel to be the fiancé unknowingly waiting for life-changing information to be shared with her—and it’s a bad feeling. The blind ignorance. The shock. The feeling of being second-best—of somehow not being good enough. It’s just…a bad feeling.
So for everyone who may be remembering and/or feeling any of those feelings tonight—
For whatever reason—
I offer prayers for peace and comfort right now.
And for everyone who is in any type of relationship—
For however long—
I offer prayers for honesty and respect;
for ears to hear and hearts to listen; and
for healthy wisdom and endurance to do the hard work of love—
wherever that work may lead.
Amen.
I’ve read the book before—a clearance book from the Books-A-Million in Columbia—but I don’t remember anything about it. The basic plot is of a twenty-something going home for her brother’s wedding, only her brother is uncertain as to whether or not he should go through with the wedding because he has fallen in love with another woman. He must figure out what to do and she must face her past.
The book is fine. Decently written. Decently read. But I’ve been so worried about the fiancé that I’ve been anxious for the entire four hours that I’ve been reading (with my ears)—and evidently in the hours when I’ve not been listening in my car—that I haven’t really been able to enjoy it.
The writer doesn’t share the fiancé’s point of view. The only things we know about her come from the narrator’s perspective. So we don’t know what she’s thinking—how she’s feeling—if she has any clue that her wedding is likely going to be cancelled and that a ten year relationship is likely going to end—or if she’s going to have a huge bomb dropped on her. Regardless, she’s in a really bad situation…and no matter what happens, she’s going to be really hurt. She’s either going to be marrying a man who loves another woman or she’s going to be forced to walk away from the man she thought she’d be with forever—and neither are really fair to her—nor are the lies she’s been told—or the information that’s been kept secret—or the choices that have not been given to her to make.
I know. You may be thinking. This is a fictional character, Rev. Dee. But is it really? Isn’t this the story of so many people? Maybe not the possibility of a cancelled wedding on the wedding weekend—although I know that that happens more often than any of us want to admit—but the unfairness, the lies and half-truths, the secret information, the choices not offered, the imbalance of power, the not-knowing how to have a really difficult conversation. Might this be your story, too?
I remember struggling with similar thoughts as I walked up and down the halls of the hospital where I served as chaplain. On so many occasions, I felt horrible knowing that I knew difficult information that families did not know—yet I couldn’t say a word. I held an unfair power advantage in the situation—and sometimes I had to have conversations with people, trying to remain present and non-anxious, knowing that their loved-one was dying—knowing that their hearts were going to break momentarily—when all information was made known. I hated the knowing. And I hated imagining how I’d feel if I were on the other side of myself.
So I guess that’s what this book has done to me—made me imagine how it would feel to be the fiancé unknowingly waiting for life-changing information to be shared with her—and it’s a bad feeling. The blind ignorance. The shock. The feeling of being second-best—of somehow not being good enough. It’s just…a bad feeling.
So for everyone who may be remembering and/or feeling any of those feelings tonight—
For whatever reason—
I offer prayers for peace and comfort right now.
And for everyone who is in any type of relationship—
For however long—
I offer prayers for honesty and respect;
for ears to hear and hearts to listen; and
for healthy wisdom and endurance to do the hard work of love—
wherever that work may lead.
Amen.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
An Odd Spring Break Adventure
It didn’t occur to me that I could have gone out of town for Spring Break until it was too late to make proper plans. So. I’ve spent the week at home.
I rested Monday.
I took an adventure on Tuesday.
I saw a friend and babysat my boy and girl yesterday. We watched “Big Hero Six.” It was very good.
Today I saw two other friends, visited Massage Envy for a massage, and got stranded in Target during a flash flood warning.
And tomorrow I will…I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll do a bit of nothing. [Update: I stayed home all day and cleaned a bit while watching a “Cold Case” marathon. I also finished a puzzle with my mom.]
It’s been a good week. Nothing overly abnormal except for Tuesday’s adventure…which was, hands down, my memorable Spring Break experience.
Those of you who know me well know that leg-shaving is not at the top of my priority list. The way I see it, there are much more important things that I could do with my time. Even reading these sentences, some of you are probably cringing at the thought of hairy legs. Non-hairy legs are the cultural norm for women; it’s what we are expected to show the world. But, truthfully, it doesn’t bother me not to have clean-shaven legs. I’ve even gotten used to the looks that I so often get—the up and down glances and looks of confusion as to why a female would not have clean-shaven legs.
But here’s the deal: it bothers me knowing that my natural legs bother some of the people whom I love.
And so, on Tuesday morning, as I sat in the pedicure chair of my local nail salon, I looked at my natural legs and wondered: Do they wax legs here? It turns out they do.
Spring Break is a time when people tend to spend a lot of money doing things they ordinarily would not do—visit Disney, go on a cruise, rent a house in the mountains or at the shore, redecorate the house, buy a new car.
“I normally wouldn’t wax my legs,” I thought. “It’s nothing I’ve ever done, and it’s likely nothing I’ll do again. What the heck. Let’s do it.” So I did.
As I lay on the table in the little waxing room, feeling the warm wax being gently placed on my skin only to be coldly and harshly ripped away a few moments later, I thought to myself, “Ouch. This sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad.” As I continue to lay on the table in the little waxing room, I further thought to myself, “This is taking just as much time—if not more time—than shaving. Yet. I’m not doing the work. I’m just laying here. Laying here is nice. Except for the frequent hair-ripping that sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad. And my legs should stay non-hairy a bit longer than a regular shave. And that’s good.”
Well over two hours after my leg-waxing adventure began, I left the nail salon with lovely painted toes and hair-free legs. I was one of only two people in the salon when I adventurously agreed to go through with the crazy procedure, but when it came time to actually begin the process, the salon had filled up and the owner was running run back and forth between customers. Right front leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty minutes while the owner did other peoples’ nails. Left front leg, knee down. Right back leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty more minutes. Go buy coffee for me and the nail salon owner. Left back leg, knee down. Then knees. Then done. Thankfully, I had work to do while I waited. And thankfully, I was in a pleasant mood for my Spring Break adventure.
Sometimes life isn’t full of grand vacations to exotic locations. Sometimes work keeps us at home. Sometimes family. Sometimes finances. Sometimes health. But one thing I’ve learned this week is this: There are adventures around us waiting to be had. It could be in rescuing the dog from a thunderstorm at 5:30 in the morning or buying food for the family’s new pet or losing the Easter eggs that you hid in your own backyard or finding a note of encouragement at the bottom of a pile of papers in your really messy office. Whatever they are, there are adventures around us waiting to be had. And who knows…maybe your adventures—like mine—will result in things positive…like clean-shaven legs.
What adventures have you had this week?
I rested Monday.
I took an adventure on Tuesday.
I saw a friend and babysat my boy and girl yesterday. We watched “Big Hero Six.” It was very good.
Today I saw two other friends, visited Massage Envy for a massage, and got stranded in Target during a flash flood warning.
And tomorrow I will…I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll do a bit of nothing. [Update: I stayed home all day and cleaned a bit while watching a “Cold Case” marathon. I also finished a puzzle with my mom.]
It’s been a good week. Nothing overly abnormal except for Tuesday’s adventure…which was, hands down, my memorable Spring Break experience.
Those of you who know me well know that leg-shaving is not at the top of my priority list. The way I see it, there are much more important things that I could do with my time. Even reading these sentences, some of you are probably cringing at the thought of hairy legs. Non-hairy legs are the cultural norm for women; it’s what we are expected to show the world. But, truthfully, it doesn’t bother me not to have clean-shaven legs. I’ve even gotten used to the looks that I so often get—the up and down glances and looks of confusion as to why a female would not have clean-shaven legs.
But here’s the deal: it bothers me knowing that my natural legs bother some of the people whom I love.
And so, on Tuesday morning, as I sat in the pedicure chair of my local nail salon, I looked at my natural legs and wondered: Do they wax legs here? It turns out they do.
Spring Break is a time when people tend to spend a lot of money doing things they ordinarily would not do—visit Disney, go on a cruise, rent a house in the mountains or at the shore, redecorate the house, buy a new car.
“I normally wouldn’t wax my legs,” I thought. “It’s nothing I’ve ever done, and it’s likely nothing I’ll do again. What the heck. Let’s do it.” So I did.
As I lay on the table in the little waxing room, feeling the warm wax being gently placed on my skin only to be coldly and harshly ripped away a few moments later, I thought to myself, “Ouch. This sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad.” As I continue to lay on the table in the little waxing room, I further thought to myself, “This is taking just as much time—if not more time—than shaving. Yet. I’m not doing the work. I’m just laying here. Laying here is nice. Except for the frequent hair-ripping that sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad. And my legs should stay non-hairy a bit longer than a regular shave. And that’s good.”
Well over two hours after my leg-waxing adventure began, I left the nail salon with lovely painted toes and hair-free legs. I was one of only two people in the salon when I adventurously agreed to go through with the crazy procedure, but when it came time to actually begin the process, the salon had filled up and the owner was running run back and forth between customers. Right front leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty minutes while the owner did other peoples’ nails. Left front leg, knee down. Right back leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty more minutes. Go buy coffee for me and the nail salon owner. Left back leg, knee down. Then knees. Then done. Thankfully, I had work to do while I waited. And thankfully, I was in a pleasant mood for my Spring Break adventure.
Sometimes life isn’t full of grand vacations to exotic locations. Sometimes work keeps us at home. Sometimes family. Sometimes finances. Sometimes health. But one thing I’ve learned this week is this: There are adventures around us waiting to be had. It could be in rescuing the dog from a thunderstorm at 5:30 in the morning or buying food for the family’s new pet or losing the Easter eggs that you hid in your own backyard or finding a note of encouragement at the bottom of a pile of papers in your really messy office. Whatever they are, there are adventures around us waiting to be had. And who knows…maybe your adventures—like mine—will result in things positive…like clean-shaven legs.
What adventures have you had this week?
Monday, April 6, 2015
Don't You Remember?
In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the [angels] said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ” Then they remembered his words.
“Do not fear,” is the phrase that the angels usually spoke to those whom they visited. But as Patrick pointed out at the sunrise service yesterday morning, “Do not fear,” is not what Mary and her friends heard when they arrived at the tomb on Easter morning. Instead, they almost received a reprimand—“Don’t you remember?” they said. “Don’t you remember that Jesus told you that he would be killed but that in three days he would rise again? Don’t you remember that he told you not to fear—not to worry? Don’t you remember that today is the third day? Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember?”
“Of course they didn’t remember,” I said to myself as Patrick finished asking those questions. “Of course they didn’t remember.”
I didn’t remember that a student had promised to bring me a sandwich until he pulled the sandwich out of his book-bag the next day.
On Thursday, I had a sandwich conversation with one of my 4th graders. I have no idea why we were talking about sandwiches, but he asked what I liked on my sandwiches. I said, “Not onions.” He said, “Do you like ham?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Do you like cheese?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Then I’ll make you a ham and cheese sandwich.” I said, “Okay!”
Then I thought nothing more of the conversation. I even forgot that we’d had it…until the next morning when he said, “Oh! I have your sandwich for you.” Then I remembered.
Figuring that he’d pull out a squished sandwich in a sandwich bag, I had to fight back tears when he pulled out a full lunch box. “I packed a little dessert for you, too. And a napkin. And a bottle of water. And I put one of those little lemonade packets in there so that you can mix it with the water and have lemonade.”
Did I say that I was fighting back tears?
I’ve told this story quite a few times since Friday. I even announced the student’s kindness on the morning announcements that day. Yet if I had remembered the student’s words from the day before, then I wouldn’t have been so surprised…not that being surprised is a bad thing…but…
If I couldn’t remember a simple sandwich promise from the day before, then of course Mary and her friends didn’t remember Jesus’ promise of resurrection from weeks before.
And if I can be moved to tears and be led to share a simple sandwich story with the world, then how much more should I not be moved to tears and led to share the amazing story of life that comes through Jesus Christ.
Jesus is risen. He is risen indeed.
And I bet he’d bring each of us a sandwich.
“Do not fear,” is the phrase that the angels usually spoke to those whom they visited. But as Patrick pointed out at the sunrise service yesterday morning, “Do not fear,” is not what Mary and her friends heard when they arrived at the tomb on Easter morning. Instead, they almost received a reprimand—“Don’t you remember?” they said. “Don’t you remember that Jesus told you that he would be killed but that in three days he would rise again? Don’t you remember that he told you not to fear—not to worry? Don’t you remember that today is the third day? Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember?”
“Of course they didn’t remember,” I said to myself as Patrick finished asking those questions. “Of course they didn’t remember.”
I didn’t remember that a student had promised to bring me a sandwich until he pulled the sandwich out of his book-bag the next day.
On Thursday, I had a sandwich conversation with one of my 4th graders. I have no idea why we were talking about sandwiches, but he asked what I liked on my sandwiches. I said, “Not onions.” He said, “Do you like ham?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Do you like cheese?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Then I’ll make you a ham and cheese sandwich.” I said, “Okay!”
Then I thought nothing more of the conversation. I even forgot that we’d had it…until the next morning when he said, “Oh! I have your sandwich for you.” Then I remembered.
Figuring that he’d pull out a squished sandwich in a sandwich bag, I had to fight back tears when he pulled out a full lunch box. “I packed a little dessert for you, too. And a napkin. And a bottle of water. And I put one of those little lemonade packets in there so that you can mix it with the water and have lemonade.”
Did I say that I was fighting back tears?
I’ve told this story quite a few times since Friday. I even announced the student’s kindness on the morning announcements that day. Yet if I had remembered the student’s words from the day before, then I wouldn’t have been so surprised…not that being surprised is a bad thing…but…
If I couldn’t remember a simple sandwich promise from the day before, then of course Mary and her friends didn’t remember Jesus’ promise of resurrection from weeks before.
And if I can be moved to tears and be led to share a simple sandwich story with the world, then how much more should I not be moved to tears and led to share the amazing story of life that comes through Jesus Christ.
Jesus is risen. He is risen indeed.
And I bet he’d bring each of us a sandwich.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Officially
If you are an introvert who does not like physical touch, then I don’t suggest a big ordination service. If, however, you are an extravert who craves physical touch, then go for it…because the touches you receive and the words that you hear will propel you through the exhaustion that ensues after months of waiting.
I’ve had a lot of people call me Rev. this week. I’ve smiled.
I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I’m still floating from Sunday night. I am.
I’ve had people tell me that I was glowing at Sunday night’s service. I was.
I’ve had people joke that I suddenly have healing powers. I don’t. Yet parts of me have been healed…or least taken steps closer to redemption.
It’s hard to describe. These thoughts and feelings that I have.
Nothing extrinsic has changed.
I’ve still gone to work at school each day this week and done my best to be patient and loving with my coworkers and students. I’ve succeeded. I’ve failed. I’ve landed in between.
I’ve still gone to church a couple of times this week and done my best to be encouraging and spirit-led with my coworkers, choir, and congregation. I’ve succeeded. I’ve failed. I’ve landed in between.
I did those things last week, too.
Yet I feel different this week.
I think it’s partly because my love tank is full to overflowing.
But it’s more than that. It’s just hard to explain...
I don’t know how long the line was for people to pray for me. And I don’t know how many people the line held. But I know that I saw a lot of faces and felt a lot of hands and I know that I heard a lot of words that came from people’s hearts.
One sentence really sticks out to me, though, and it’s from one of my dearest friends from high school. “This is what you’ve been doing all along,” she said. “Now it’s just official.”
I guess maybe that’s it.
It’s official.
Called out and affirmed by hundreds of people.
Publically declared that my greatest desire in life is to love and show God’s grace to the world around me—
Wholeheartedly, in great and small tasks, through music and words, by simply showing up…
People have shown up for me. They showed up Sunday night.
And those who couldn’t show up Sunday night were still there with me.
My dad’s parents were with me in the necklace that I wore around my neck.
My mom’s parents were with me in the ring that I wore on my finger.
Kay was with me in the angel plaque that lay on the altar in the sanctuary.
People have shown up for me.
So I want to show up for people.
Officially.
Wholeheartedly.
With everything that I am.
Extraverted, craving of words of affirmation, needing hugs and all.
I’ve had a lot of people call me Rev. this week. I’ve smiled.
I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I’m still floating from Sunday night. I am.
I’ve had people tell me that I was glowing at Sunday night’s service. I was.
I’ve had people joke that I suddenly have healing powers. I don’t. Yet parts of me have been healed…or least taken steps closer to redemption.
It’s hard to describe. These thoughts and feelings that I have.
Nothing extrinsic has changed.
I’ve still gone to work at school each day this week and done my best to be patient and loving with my coworkers and students. I’ve succeeded. I’ve failed. I’ve landed in between.
I’ve still gone to church a couple of times this week and done my best to be encouraging and spirit-led with my coworkers, choir, and congregation. I’ve succeeded. I’ve failed. I’ve landed in between.
I did those things last week, too.
Yet I feel different this week.
I think it’s partly because my love tank is full to overflowing.
But it’s more than that. It’s just hard to explain...
I don’t know how long the line was for people to pray for me. And I don’t know how many people the line held. But I know that I saw a lot of faces and felt a lot of hands and I know that I heard a lot of words that came from people’s hearts.
One sentence really sticks out to me, though, and it’s from one of my dearest friends from high school. “This is what you’ve been doing all along,” she said. “Now it’s just official.”
I guess maybe that’s it.
It’s official.
Called out and affirmed by hundreds of people.
Publically declared that my greatest desire in life is to love and show God’s grace to the world around me—
Wholeheartedly, in great and small tasks, through music and words, by simply showing up…
People have shown up for me. They showed up Sunday night.
And those who couldn’t show up Sunday night were still there with me.
My dad’s parents were with me in the necklace that I wore around my neck.
My mom’s parents were with me in the ring that I wore on my finger.
Kay was with me in the angel plaque that lay on the altar in the sanctuary.
People have shown up for me.
So I want to show up for people.
Officially.
Wholeheartedly.
With everything that I am.
Extraverted, craving of words of affirmation, needing hugs and all.
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