Fear is a powerful thing.
Sometimes it motivates.
Most of the time it paralyzes.
Sometimes we choose to face our fears.
Most of the time our fears unwantedly chase us.
Fear is real.
Fear is deep.
Fear is not logical.
Fear makes way too much sense.
Fear is a powerful thing.
God help us overcome the chains that bind—
The known, the unknown, the understood, the misunderstood,
The knowledgeable, the ignorant, the tangible, what we cannot see.
Help us live in the truth that
“There is no fear in love,
For perfect love drives out fear,”
Suddenly, gradually,
When we’re ready, when we’re not.
Fear is a powerful thing.
But not as powerful as Love.
Monday, June 29, 2015
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Bullet Ate My Cookie
We all have those moments that stick with us whether we choose them or not. For instance, tonight at supper with the boys and girl, I recalled a story from my childhood in which I put my unwanted pickles in the greenery at Hardees one week and came back to find a tree in the same spot the next. I then declared, “I grew a pickle tree!” That event happened well over 20 years ago, yet I still remember it vividly. Why? I have no idea. It’s not like I’m a pickle tree advocate.
More recently, during a regular week-night dinner with my parents, my dad asked me to tell him what had made me laugh that day. I thought. And thought. And thought. And I could think of nothing. Then I thought, “That’s sad. I can’t think of one thing that made me laugh today.” Then I continued to think, “What’s even sadder is that today was not abnormal. I don’t ever laugh much at work. And that’s not good.” And it wasn’t good. And I hope maybe somehow that will change next year. Because laughter really is a very good thing.
And so, tonight, I offer a couple of incidents with Bullet that have made me laugh this week:
1) My family was at the house tonight to have an early birthday celebration for my mom. Her birthday is Sunday. Bullet has finally learned that my family will not hurt him, but he still doesn’t like spending very much time with them. He’s also learned that if he stays quiet enough then he can stay in the garage or driveway without being banished to his porch. Quite often, when the family is here, Bullet will find a way into the house and look around until he spots my dad, get a pat on the head, and then take himself back outside. He just doesn’t like being in the house with so many people.
So this evening, when I heard Bullet insistently knocking on the door while the family was still here, I knew that something must be wrong. Sure enough, storm clouds had begun to gather and thunder had begun to roll, and Bullet’s fear of storms had overridden his fear of the family. I let him in. He went and hid. Now he’s sleeping on the couch between my dad and me, looking up for comfort every once in awhile, knowing that he is very, very loved…and very, very spoiled. No. This isn’t a roll on the floor laughing story, but something about this still makes me laugh. Maybe it’s because he’s being so ridiculously and fearfully sweet.
2) My dad got new tires this week. Before he could order the tires, we had to figure out what tires were already on his car. As he shone the flashlight on the small codes that told us what size Bridgestone he was riding on, I bent down to look more closely. Immediately, Bullet walked over, lay on his back, opened his arms and legs, and basically said, “Oh good. You got down on my level to pet me. Thank you. Now pet me.” So I did. And then I remembered a time when I was helping mom and dad look for something under their bed and Bullet came over and started pawing at my hand and licking me, basically saying, “Oh good. You got down on my level to play with me. Thank you. Now let’s play.”
3) Every night that I’m home supper, Bullet thinks that we need to go for a walk after I finish eating. He runs toward the door, stops to look back at me and move his head toward the door to tell me to come on, gets to the door, does a little dance, scratches the door to tell me that it’s time to go out, and then runs outside in sheer happiness. He runs ahead of me, peeing all over everything, but never getting too far ahead without stopping to look back and make sure I’m coming. If he’s not finished walking when I’m ready to come home, then he ignores me and keeps walking. If I start coming back to the house and he realizes that I’ve left him, he bullets himself back to me as fast as he can. And then he collapses when he comes back in…kind of like he has collapsed from fear right now.
4) Bullet is fat. He loves to eat and he eats a lot. Every time he hears someone go into the kitchen and open anything with a wrapper, he thinks that we are getting him food. Every time we eat a meal at the kitchen table, he sits beside us and begs. He’s actually annoyingly cute when he sits up on his back legs and begs, sometimes with the tip of his little tongue out.
Sometimes, instead of eating at the table, my mom and I will eat in the den and watch a show. When this happens and Bullet thinks he is really hungry, he’ll rest his paws on my left leg and look at me with great expectations. Sometimes, if he thinks he is super hungry, he’ll leap across my lap and try to eat the food out of my hand. This is what he did on Monday—only I wasn’t eating chicken or a burger or anything that he likes. I was eating a cookie that I had made out of Funfetti cake mix!
To my knowledge, Bullet had never eaten a cookie, but for some reason he decided that he really wanted my cookie. Sitting anxiously with his paws on my legs, Bullet waited hopefully for me to give him a piece of the food treasure in my hand. When I didn’t—because it was a cookie—he jumped across my lap, stuck out his tongue, and licked my cookie! Very surprised by his actions, I looked at him and said, “Bullet—do you really want my cookie? It’s not chicken or anything.”
Now, when Bullet doesn’t like the food offered to him, he refuses to eat it. His dog bowl often has peas and carrots remaining in it from dog-food beef stew. Naturally, I figured he’d refuse to eat the cookie when he realized what it was. But I was wrong. He ate the whole thing. And I laughed. And all week I’ve laughed every time I’ve remembered the moment when Bullet ate my cookie.
Maybe you're laughing, too?
More recently, during a regular week-night dinner with my parents, my dad asked me to tell him what had made me laugh that day. I thought. And thought. And thought. And I could think of nothing. Then I thought, “That’s sad. I can’t think of one thing that made me laugh today.” Then I continued to think, “What’s even sadder is that today was not abnormal. I don’t ever laugh much at work. And that’s not good.” And it wasn’t good. And I hope maybe somehow that will change next year. Because laughter really is a very good thing.
And so, tonight, I offer a couple of incidents with Bullet that have made me laugh this week:
1) My family was at the house tonight to have an early birthday celebration for my mom. Her birthday is Sunday. Bullet has finally learned that my family will not hurt him, but he still doesn’t like spending very much time with them. He’s also learned that if he stays quiet enough then he can stay in the garage or driveway without being banished to his porch. Quite often, when the family is here, Bullet will find a way into the house and look around until he spots my dad, get a pat on the head, and then take himself back outside. He just doesn’t like being in the house with so many people.
So this evening, when I heard Bullet insistently knocking on the door while the family was still here, I knew that something must be wrong. Sure enough, storm clouds had begun to gather and thunder had begun to roll, and Bullet’s fear of storms had overridden his fear of the family. I let him in. He went and hid. Now he’s sleeping on the couch between my dad and me, looking up for comfort every once in awhile, knowing that he is very, very loved…and very, very spoiled. No. This isn’t a roll on the floor laughing story, but something about this still makes me laugh. Maybe it’s because he’s being so ridiculously and fearfully sweet.
2) My dad got new tires this week. Before he could order the tires, we had to figure out what tires were already on his car. As he shone the flashlight on the small codes that told us what size Bridgestone he was riding on, I bent down to look more closely. Immediately, Bullet walked over, lay on his back, opened his arms and legs, and basically said, “Oh good. You got down on my level to pet me. Thank you. Now pet me.” So I did. And then I remembered a time when I was helping mom and dad look for something under their bed and Bullet came over and started pawing at my hand and licking me, basically saying, “Oh good. You got down on my level to play with me. Thank you. Now let’s play.”
3) Every night that I’m home supper, Bullet thinks that we need to go for a walk after I finish eating. He runs toward the door, stops to look back at me and move his head toward the door to tell me to come on, gets to the door, does a little dance, scratches the door to tell me that it’s time to go out, and then runs outside in sheer happiness. He runs ahead of me, peeing all over everything, but never getting too far ahead without stopping to look back and make sure I’m coming. If he’s not finished walking when I’m ready to come home, then he ignores me and keeps walking. If I start coming back to the house and he realizes that I’ve left him, he bullets himself back to me as fast as he can. And then he collapses when he comes back in…kind of like he has collapsed from fear right now.
4) Bullet is fat. He loves to eat and he eats a lot. Every time he hears someone go into the kitchen and open anything with a wrapper, he thinks that we are getting him food. Every time we eat a meal at the kitchen table, he sits beside us and begs. He’s actually annoyingly cute when he sits up on his back legs and begs, sometimes with the tip of his little tongue out.
Sometimes, instead of eating at the table, my mom and I will eat in the den and watch a show. When this happens and Bullet thinks he is really hungry, he’ll rest his paws on my left leg and look at me with great expectations. Sometimes, if he thinks he is super hungry, he’ll leap across my lap and try to eat the food out of my hand. This is what he did on Monday—only I wasn’t eating chicken or a burger or anything that he likes. I was eating a cookie that I had made out of Funfetti cake mix!
To my knowledge, Bullet had never eaten a cookie, but for some reason he decided that he really wanted my cookie. Sitting anxiously with his paws on my legs, Bullet waited hopefully for me to give him a piece of the food treasure in my hand. When I didn’t—because it was a cookie—he jumped across my lap, stuck out his tongue, and licked my cookie! Very surprised by his actions, I looked at him and said, “Bullet—do you really want my cookie? It’s not chicken or anything.”
Now, when Bullet doesn’t like the food offered to him, he refuses to eat it. His dog bowl often has peas and carrots remaining in it from dog-food beef stew. Naturally, I figured he’d refuse to eat the cookie when he realized what it was. But I was wrong. He ate the whole thing. And I laughed. And all week I’ve laughed every time I’ve remembered the moment when Bullet ate my cookie.
Maybe you're laughing, too?
Monday, June 22, 2015
Basil Salt, Tarragon, And What We Know
I don’t remember how it happened.
Why Barb was going through our kitchen cabinets looking for spices in the early years of our friendship is beyond me, but what isn’t beyond me is the result of said search:
“You have garlic salt, onion salt, seasoning salt, sea salt, regular salt. I’m surprised you don’t have basil salt or something.”
The Christmas after that conversation, I made B some basil salt. If I’m not mistaken, she still has it…in the prescription bottle in which I presented it…with very much laughter.
In the years since my basil salt creation, my palette has been exposed to many new spices, and I’ve been much more adventurous with my food than in the first two decades of life. But here at home, we’re still pretty conservative with our spice usage: salt, pepper, garlic, onion, basil, and seasoning salt.
…
Here is the recipe for Deaton Beans: Bacon and Canned Green Beans. Cook the bacon. Drain most of the bacon grease. Cook/heat the green beans in remaining bacon grease. When of the green-bean liquid has cooked out, sprinkle the cooked bacon on top of the beans and serve. Deaton Beans are delicious.
But when a choir member gave us fresh green beans last week, my sister decided that we needed a special recipe. I can’t remember the exact recipe, but I know that it included bacon, garlic, basil, and…tarragon. When she told us that she had used tarragon, both my mom and I, completely independent of one another, said, “Tarragon?! We have tarragon?!” Dana’s beans were good—a nice experiment with spice—and evidently I like tarragon—but…well…they weren’t Deaton Beans.
…
Here is the recipe for Deaton Carrots: Carrots, salt, pepper, butter, sugar, and basil. Boil the carrots to desired crunchi- or mushi-ness. Drain. Add salt, pepper, butter, sugar, and basil to taste.
Here is the recipe for Deaton Spinach: Frozen chopped spinach, salt, pepper, butter, and white vinegar. Cook the spinach according package directions. Add salt, pepper, butter, and vinegar to taste. We use approximately one lid-ful of vinegar.
…
I cooked supper tonight. Sort of. A family friend brought us pork tenderloin, so I cooked the side-dishes. When it came time to prepare the carrots and spinach, I had a choice to make: Be adventurous and use something from the recesses of our spice cabinet—like tarragon—or stick to what we know.
Possibly boringly but comfortingly, I chose the latter.
…
Sometimes, friends, it’s fun to be adventurous. Sometimes, truth be known, it’s necessary.
But sometimes, in the middle of a long run of stress, sticking to what we know is exactly what we need…and it is exactly what we needed tonight.
Why Barb was going through our kitchen cabinets looking for spices in the early years of our friendship is beyond me, but what isn’t beyond me is the result of said search:
“You have garlic salt, onion salt, seasoning salt, sea salt, regular salt. I’m surprised you don’t have basil salt or something.”
The Christmas after that conversation, I made B some basil salt. If I’m not mistaken, she still has it…in the prescription bottle in which I presented it…with very much laughter.
In the years since my basil salt creation, my palette has been exposed to many new spices, and I’ve been much more adventurous with my food than in the first two decades of life. But here at home, we’re still pretty conservative with our spice usage: salt, pepper, garlic, onion, basil, and seasoning salt.
…
Here is the recipe for Deaton Beans: Bacon and Canned Green Beans. Cook the bacon. Drain most of the bacon grease. Cook/heat the green beans in remaining bacon grease. When of the green-bean liquid has cooked out, sprinkle the cooked bacon on top of the beans and serve. Deaton Beans are delicious.
But when a choir member gave us fresh green beans last week, my sister decided that we needed a special recipe. I can’t remember the exact recipe, but I know that it included bacon, garlic, basil, and…tarragon. When she told us that she had used tarragon, both my mom and I, completely independent of one another, said, “Tarragon?! We have tarragon?!” Dana’s beans were good—a nice experiment with spice—and evidently I like tarragon—but…well…they weren’t Deaton Beans.
…
Here is the recipe for Deaton Carrots: Carrots, salt, pepper, butter, sugar, and basil. Boil the carrots to desired crunchi- or mushi-ness. Drain. Add salt, pepper, butter, sugar, and basil to taste.
Here is the recipe for Deaton Spinach: Frozen chopped spinach, salt, pepper, butter, and white vinegar. Cook the spinach according package directions. Add salt, pepper, butter, and vinegar to taste. We use approximately one lid-ful of vinegar.
…
I cooked supper tonight. Sort of. A family friend brought us pork tenderloin, so I cooked the side-dishes. When it came time to prepare the carrots and spinach, I had a choice to make: Be adventurous and use something from the recesses of our spice cabinet—like tarragon—or stick to what we know.
Possibly boringly but comfortingly, I chose the latter.
…
Sometimes, friends, it’s fun to be adventurous. Sometimes, truth be known, it’s necessary.
But sometimes, in the middle of a long run of stress, sticking to what we know is exactly what we need…and it is exactly what we needed tonight.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
When I Grow Up, I Won't Work in The Medical Profession...But I'm Thankful For Those Who Do
My friend Kelli leads her 1st grade team in a college readiness project each year. This year, the New York Times caught wind of the project and did a report on it. If you’re curious about it, take a look here: http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/02/08/education/edlife/is-your-first-grader-college-ready.html?referrer&_r=0. I think it’s pretty cool. Really cool, actually.
At their end of year awards program, the first grade team teachers chose to continue with this project by announcing where each first grade student wanted to attend college and what they wanted to be when they grew up. I enjoyed listening to this part of the ceremony. From what I remember, most students wanted to be police-people or fire-fighters. A few wanted to be teachers. One girl wanted to be a construction worker. No one wanted to be president. And I can’t remember if anyone wanted to be a doctor. I don’t blame them if they didn’t. I know I certainly didn’t want to be a doctor. Nor do I want to be one now.
It never fails that I leave the hospital, doctor’s office, or dentist office thankful that God didn’t call me into the medical field. I suppose that if God had called me into the field, then my gifts, talents, interests, and tolerances would have been much different than they are now. But still. I’m always grateful that I don’t have to do the work of medical personnel each day—and that there are people who do do the work—and who are good at it.
My mom had some really good doctors and nurses while she was in the hospital this week. She has a really good family doctor, too, that willingly answered my texts of distress this afternoon and had her nurse call to check in with the patient. I am grateful.
And so tonight, I offer my first public prayer of thanksgiving and supplication for those in the medical profession—and those who will one day be in the medical profession like some of our first graders who will undoubtedly decide not to be police-people but servants of public health. Whether it be physical, mental, or emotional needs to which they attend—which, in most cases it is all of the above—the work that they do is so important—and, I believe, will become increasingly more important in years to come—especially in regards to mental health—which, I believe, is something that we cannot keep ignoring unless we want to continue seeing horrific tragedies like that of Charleston this week.
Loving God, giver of life and health: Daily strengthen and comfort the men and women who work to prevent and relieve pain and suffering and give to them the power of healing as they minister to the needs of those who cross their paths. Fill them with a sense of purpose and help them always to know that the work that they do is important and that the lives that they influence will forever be tied to the labor of their time and hands. Grant discernment. Grant hope. Grant integrity. Grant wisdom. Tonight, tomorrow, and in all the nights and tomorrows to come. Amen.
At their end of year awards program, the first grade team teachers chose to continue with this project by announcing where each first grade student wanted to attend college and what they wanted to be when they grew up. I enjoyed listening to this part of the ceremony. From what I remember, most students wanted to be police-people or fire-fighters. A few wanted to be teachers. One girl wanted to be a construction worker. No one wanted to be president. And I can’t remember if anyone wanted to be a doctor. I don’t blame them if they didn’t. I know I certainly didn’t want to be a doctor. Nor do I want to be one now.
It never fails that I leave the hospital, doctor’s office, or dentist office thankful that God didn’t call me into the medical field. I suppose that if God had called me into the field, then my gifts, talents, interests, and tolerances would have been much different than they are now. But still. I’m always grateful that I don’t have to do the work of medical personnel each day—and that there are people who do do the work—and who are good at it.
My mom had some really good doctors and nurses while she was in the hospital this week. She has a really good family doctor, too, that willingly answered my texts of distress this afternoon and had her nurse call to check in with the patient. I am grateful.
And so tonight, I offer my first public prayer of thanksgiving and supplication for those in the medical profession—and those who will one day be in the medical profession like some of our first graders who will undoubtedly decide not to be police-people but servants of public health. Whether it be physical, mental, or emotional needs to which they attend—which, in most cases it is all of the above—the work that they do is so important—and, I believe, will become increasingly more important in years to come—especially in regards to mental health—which, I believe, is something that we cannot keep ignoring unless we want to continue seeing horrific tragedies like that of Charleston this week.
Loving God, giver of life and health: Daily strengthen and comfort the men and women who work to prevent and relieve pain and suffering and give to them the power of healing as they minister to the needs of those who cross their paths. Fill them with a sense of purpose and help them always to know that the work that they do is important and that the lives that they influence will forever be tied to the labor of their time and hands. Grant discernment. Grant hope. Grant integrity. Grant wisdom. Tonight, tomorrow, and in all the nights and tomorrows to come. Amen.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Beautiful Wishes
Have I mentioned recently that I’m an ENFJ? I will talk to you, hang out with you, dream with you, do everything I can to help you, believe in you, show up for you, think of and pray for you every time I see something that reminds me of you, and care for you for as long as you will let me. And then, when you decide that the intensity of our friendship has run its course, I will keep on loving you…and hope to God that the relationship comes to a peaceful point of closure.
Closure is so very important to me. Many times, time and circumstance provide natural closure. An understood goodbye. A farewell of mutual respect and well-wishes. People come. People go. Relationships fade. Mutual distance forms. It’s taken 37 years, but I’ve finally learned that. Yet I still haven’t learned how to hang in the balance of non-closure…how to move beyond statements like, “You have a HUGE heart and mean well, but I have no desire to have a friendship with you,” and then silence. Or just one-sided silence without the words. That’s not closure. That’s a cut off. And cut-offs are really hard for me...and they make me feel incredibly unimportant and unwanted.
I suppose that this need for mutual closure is part of the reason why it was important to me to say good-bye to my friends and coworkers who are leaving JES this year, and why it bothers me that I didn’t get to speak to them all. Truth be known, it bothers me that I didn’t get to tell my friends and coworkers who will be returning to have a good summer before leaving today. Closure. Temporary or permanent. For a friendship or a school year. It’s stupidly and ridiculously important to me.
And so…here is my simple attempt to take a step toward closure where closure is due tonight. Wherever it is due. Past friendships. Past jobs. Current friendships. Current jobs. I make for you Beautiful Wishes. Now and always. Love and Amen.
Be well, my friend, wher-
Ever you go. May God
Add God’s richest,
Unfathomable blessings to you. As they say,
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” so
Invite peace to rest in your soul and bask in the
Fullness of God’s steady purpose and grace. And remember:
Unicorns and fairies and minions really can exist inside your mind. So
Let them. And laugh. And don’t let anyone take a-
Way your joy or your spirit. They are yours. And they are beautiful. And
I love them. I love you. And I want the best for you.
So, be well, my friend, wherever you go. And know that my
Heart goes with you, cheering you on,
Encouraging your courage to fully live,
Saying now and always, forevermore: “I believe in you. No take backs.”
Closure is so very important to me. Many times, time and circumstance provide natural closure. An understood goodbye. A farewell of mutual respect and well-wishes. People come. People go. Relationships fade. Mutual distance forms. It’s taken 37 years, but I’ve finally learned that. Yet I still haven’t learned how to hang in the balance of non-closure…how to move beyond statements like, “You have a HUGE heart and mean well, but I have no desire to have a friendship with you,” and then silence. Or just one-sided silence without the words. That’s not closure. That’s a cut off. And cut-offs are really hard for me...and they make me feel incredibly unimportant and unwanted.
I suppose that this need for mutual closure is part of the reason why it was important to me to say good-bye to my friends and coworkers who are leaving JES this year, and why it bothers me that I didn’t get to speak to them all. Truth be known, it bothers me that I didn’t get to tell my friends and coworkers who will be returning to have a good summer before leaving today. Closure. Temporary or permanent. For a friendship or a school year. It’s stupidly and ridiculously important to me.
And so…here is my simple attempt to take a step toward closure where closure is due tonight. Wherever it is due. Past friendships. Past jobs. Current friendships. Current jobs. I make for you Beautiful Wishes. Now and always. Love and Amen.
Be well, my friend, wher-
Ever you go. May God
Add God’s richest,
Unfathomable blessings to you. As they say,
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” so
Invite peace to rest in your soul and bask in the
Fullness of God’s steady purpose and grace. And remember:
Unicorns and fairies and minions really can exist inside your mind. So
Let them. And laugh. And don’t let anyone take a-
Way your joy or your spirit. They are yours. And they are beautiful. And
I love them. I love you. And I want the best for you.
So, be well, my friend, wherever you go. And know that my
Heart goes with you, cheering you on,
Encouraging your courage to fully live,
Saying now and always, forevermore: “I believe in you. No take backs.”
Thursday, June 11, 2015
My Nick
Christmas 2013 was my first Christmas at Johnsonville. About two weeks before leaving for Christmas break, my mom asked if there was a student whose family needed gift-assistance. We were given the opportunity to help one of the students in the self-contained special education classroom. His name was Nick. I must admit that I don’t remember much about Nick before that Christmas, but since that Christmas Nick has become “My Nick” and I have grown to love him very much.
The first year of buying for Nick’s family was hard. I knew very little about him or his family and we had very little information to go by. Yet we bought what we could and prayed that God would bless it.
Since Nick was on my radar screen by spring semester, I asked him to join Harnett Off-Broadway. He did. He was faithful in his practicing and he showed up for the big performance. Granted, he showed up having not eaten and my family ended up buying him a snack and soda from the vending machines. But still. He was there. And I was so very proud of him. Truthfully, he was the first special needs student I’d ever asked to perform at Harnett Off-Broadway.
I started noticing Nick in class, too. He’s really very smart. He pays attention to what is being taught and absorbs the information that teachers want all of their students to absorb. I remember one particular lesson last year when Nick was the only student in his class who could answer the question I was asking. His words weren’t exactly easy to understand, yet still, I was so very proud of him. He had already started becoming “My Nick.”
I don’t remember the exact point of possession when Nick became mine, but he was mine all year this year. I hugged him most mornings when he got off the bus and checked on him many afternoons before going to car duty. Nick’s mom died this year. I visited the funeral home and his house with his other teachers and we made sure he had everything he needed as he grieved. My family adopted his family for Christmas again this past Christmas. We knew much more of what to buy. And once again, I asked Nick to join Harnett Off-Broadway. He and one of his classmates were some of the only students I asked to join me two years in a row. Nick’s main part was to play the E handbell. The E played on the syllable –kie of the word “cookie” in one of the songs. Nick asked if I’d take him a chocolate chip cookie on the night of the performance. The bakery didn’t have a chocolate chip cookie that day but they did have a chocolate chip scone. Nick didn’t care. He happily ate what he thought was a really fat cookie.
While Nick was still one of my best music students this year, his favorite thing to do with me was to answer the weekly art and/or character education question and receive a prize for his work each on Friday. He also got to help the other winners and me lead the Pledge and School Song on the morning announcements. Because Nick is “My Nick,” I may have selected his work more than anyone else’s and I may have given him special prizes. I may also have kept his work and turned it into a little book. Don’t fault me, though. If you knew Nick, you’d probably have done the same thing—especially since he answered the questions on his own time and truly did have some of the best drawings and written answers we received.
“My Nick” graduated today. When I thought about this reality last night, I cried. When I thought about this reality this morning when I got to school, I cried. When I watched him receive his certificate and listened to his awards, I cried. And then I went to his classroom one last time, bent down beside him as he played on the computer, patted him on the back and gave him a hug and said, “Hey Buddy. I’m proud of you. And I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” He looked up from his game, nodded his unique Nick nod, grabbed my hand, and said, “I love you, too.” I walked away from him before I started crying.
Realistically, I don’t know that I’ll see Nick again. I’ll do my best to find out how he’s doing and pray that he receives the education, speech therapy, and opportunities he deserves. But that’s not the same as seeing “My N” every school day and loving the mess out of him every opportunity I could. I find this reality very sad, and it makes getting out of school not as exciting as it once was as a kid.
When my mom asked about helping a family at Christmas two years ago, I had no idea that her simple inquiry would cause me to see a student that I may have otherwise never truly seen. And only did I see him, but I came to love him. I still love him. I will always love him. “My Nick” has blessed my life. And I will forever be grateful that Johnsonville brought us together and allowed us to share life…and a cookie.
The first year of buying for Nick’s family was hard. I knew very little about him or his family and we had very little information to go by. Yet we bought what we could and prayed that God would bless it.
Since Nick was on my radar screen by spring semester, I asked him to join Harnett Off-Broadway. He did. He was faithful in his practicing and he showed up for the big performance. Granted, he showed up having not eaten and my family ended up buying him a snack and soda from the vending machines. But still. He was there. And I was so very proud of him. Truthfully, he was the first special needs student I’d ever asked to perform at Harnett Off-Broadway.
I started noticing Nick in class, too. He’s really very smart. He pays attention to what is being taught and absorbs the information that teachers want all of their students to absorb. I remember one particular lesson last year when Nick was the only student in his class who could answer the question I was asking. His words weren’t exactly easy to understand, yet still, I was so very proud of him. He had already started becoming “My Nick.”
I don’t remember the exact point of possession when Nick became mine, but he was mine all year this year. I hugged him most mornings when he got off the bus and checked on him many afternoons before going to car duty. Nick’s mom died this year. I visited the funeral home and his house with his other teachers and we made sure he had everything he needed as he grieved. My family adopted his family for Christmas again this past Christmas. We knew much more of what to buy. And once again, I asked Nick to join Harnett Off-Broadway. He and one of his classmates were some of the only students I asked to join me two years in a row. Nick’s main part was to play the E handbell. The E played on the syllable –kie of the word “cookie” in one of the songs. Nick asked if I’d take him a chocolate chip cookie on the night of the performance. The bakery didn’t have a chocolate chip cookie that day but they did have a chocolate chip scone. Nick didn’t care. He happily ate what he thought was a really fat cookie.
While Nick was still one of my best music students this year, his favorite thing to do with me was to answer the weekly art and/or character education question and receive a prize for his work each on Friday. He also got to help the other winners and me lead the Pledge and School Song on the morning announcements. Because Nick is “My Nick,” I may have selected his work more than anyone else’s and I may have given him special prizes. I may also have kept his work and turned it into a little book. Don’t fault me, though. If you knew Nick, you’d probably have done the same thing—especially since he answered the questions on his own time and truly did have some of the best drawings and written answers we received.
“My Nick” graduated today. When I thought about this reality last night, I cried. When I thought about this reality this morning when I got to school, I cried. When I watched him receive his certificate and listened to his awards, I cried. And then I went to his classroom one last time, bent down beside him as he played on the computer, patted him on the back and gave him a hug and said, “Hey Buddy. I’m proud of you. And I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” He looked up from his game, nodded his unique Nick nod, grabbed my hand, and said, “I love you, too.” I walked away from him before I started crying.
Realistically, I don’t know that I’ll see Nick again. I’ll do my best to find out how he’s doing and pray that he receives the education, speech therapy, and opportunities he deserves. But that’s not the same as seeing “My N” every school day and loving the mess out of him every opportunity I could. I find this reality very sad, and it makes getting out of school not as exciting as it once was as a kid.
When my mom asked about helping a family at Christmas two years ago, I had no idea that her simple inquiry would cause me to see a student that I may have otherwise never truly seen. And only did I see him, but I came to love him. I still love him. I will always love him. “My Nick” has blessed my life. And I will forever be grateful that Johnsonville brought us together and allowed us to share life…and a cookie.
Monday, June 8, 2015
An Un-Desked Prayer
My classroom is a mess. I’ve not been in it very much over the past two weeks, and when I have been there it’s been for testing—which means that I’ve not been able to do anything to tidy it.
My desk was a mess before testing began. But now the whole room is in shambles.
So that my students have optimum room for movement, I don’t usually keep student desks in the room. But for testing, student desks were required. After last week’s Reading EOG, the group that I was testing left the desks in place but left puzzles scattered all over the room. After last week’s Math EOG, the group that I was testing decided to use the desks as improvised Minecraft blocks and rearranged them—over and over again. Then they scattered puzzles around the room, too, and they stayed there until the custodian came to sweep the floor…at which point he put the puzzles on the tables, the chairs on the rugs, and stacked the desks against the wall.
Currently, the carpets are dirty from the chairs sitting on them. To minimize noise from the chairs, I make the chair legs wear tennis balls as shoes. These shoes gather dust bunnies very well. Dust bunnies willingly come off on the carpet when tennis balls walk on them.
So, yes. My classroom is a mess.
Yet in the midst of the mess today, I stumbled across a prayer that had been hidden by my computer for most of the year. (My computer was in the gym for the end of year awards programs that I’ve been assisting with when not testing.)
Here is the prayer that I’ve had taped to my desk all year:
Almighty God, you have blessed me with the joy and care of children: Give me calm strength and patient wisdom as I work with them, that I my teach them to love what is just and true and good, following the example of the love. Children these days are growing up in an unsteady and confusing world, God. Show them that doing right gives more life than doing wrong and that goodness and light have the power to overcome the dark. Help them to take heartache and failure not as a measure of their worth but as chances for a new start. Grant each of us, students and teachers alike, in all of our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to do what you would have us do. Give us wisdom. Surround us with grace. And fill me with love that is contagious. Amen.
When I un-desked this prayer today, I was testing one student in the center of my dirty room—although she was sitting in a spot where she didn’t have to see all of the chaos. She was using all of her test taking skills yet she couldn’t hide her consternation as she worked. I watched her positive attitude turn to what looked like defeat and I read the words, “Help them to take heartache and failure not as a measure of their worth but as chances for a new start…”
I think maybe I need to move my computer next year and remember to pray this prayer each day.
My desk was a mess before testing began. But now the whole room is in shambles.
So that my students have optimum room for movement, I don’t usually keep student desks in the room. But for testing, student desks were required. After last week’s Reading EOG, the group that I was testing left the desks in place but left puzzles scattered all over the room. After last week’s Math EOG, the group that I was testing decided to use the desks as improvised Minecraft blocks and rearranged them—over and over again. Then they scattered puzzles around the room, too, and they stayed there until the custodian came to sweep the floor…at which point he put the puzzles on the tables, the chairs on the rugs, and stacked the desks against the wall.
Currently, the carpets are dirty from the chairs sitting on them. To minimize noise from the chairs, I make the chair legs wear tennis balls as shoes. These shoes gather dust bunnies very well. Dust bunnies willingly come off on the carpet when tennis balls walk on them.
So, yes. My classroom is a mess.
Yet in the midst of the mess today, I stumbled across a prayer that had been hidden by my computer for most of the year. (My computer was in the gym for the end of year awards programs that I’ve been assisting with when not testing.)
Here is the prayer that I’ve had taped to my desk all year:
Almighty God, you have blessed me with the joy and care of children: Give me calm strength and patient wisdom as I work with them, that I my teach them to love what is just and true and good, following the example of the love. Children these days are growing up in an unsteady and confusing world, God. Show them that doing right gives more life than doing wrong and that goodness and light have the power to overcome the dark. Help them to take heartache and failure not as a measure of their worth but as chances for a new start. Grant each of us, students and teachers alike, in all of our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to do what you would have us do. Give us wisdom. Surround us with grace. And fill me with love that is contagious. Amen.
When I un-desked this prayer today, I was testing one student in the center of my dirty room—although she was sitting in a spot where she didn’t have to see all of the chaos. She was using all of her test taking skills yet she couldn’t hide her consternation as she worked. I watched her positive attitude turn to what looked like defeat and I read the words, “Help them to take heartache and failure not as a measure of their worth but as chances for a new start…”
I think maybe I need to move my computer next year and remember to pray this prayer each day.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Extraverted Roo-Cup
I’d not had a Roo Cup until this year.
Then, on a whim inspired by one of my choir members,
I suggested that my school PTO provide Roo Cups to the staff for Teacher Appreciation Week,
And all of a sudden I had my own Roo Cup.
It’s orange and everything.
It rode around in my car for a couple of weeks,
Still wrapped in its original packaging,
Because I’d heard that the first fill-up was free,
And for some reason I thought that I needed to be with someone to celebrate the free drink.
So I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until finally I asked a coworker if she’d go with me to use my Roo Cup for the first time.
She laughed at me.
But then we went.
And we met another co-worker.
And we all filled our Roo Cups,
Them for the many-th time. Me for the first.
Then we sat at the gas station and talked.
And drank our Icees and sodas from our Roo Cups.
And ate gas station potato chips.
And spoke to students and strangers.
And I declared myself a true extravert for not wanting to use my Roo Cup alone.
I’ve been reading a devotional book each night this week.
An idea that the writer keeps mentioning is that of Christ being in community with God—
God being Triune God—
Father, Son, Holy Spirit…Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer—
God being relationship with Godself—
And each of us being created to join in community relationship with Triune God and with one another.
Maybe I’m crazy,
But tonight, as I sip on another Icee that I stopped to get on my way home from an appointment in Raleigh,
And as I reflect on my inaugural Roo Cup experience,
I can’t help but think that if Jesus were humanly alive today,
Then he’d probably sit in community at gas stations,
Drinking from Roo Cups,
Eating potato chips, and
Speaking to friends and strangers alike.
Then, on a whim inspired by one of my choir members,
I suggested that my school PTO provide Roo Cups to the staff for Teacher Appreciation Week,
And all of a sudden I had my own Roo Cup.
It’s orange and everything.
It rode around in my car for a couple of weeks,
Still wrapped in its original packaging,
Because I’d heard that the first fill-up was free,
And for some reason I thought that I needed to be with someone to celebrate the free drink.
So I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until finally I asked a coworker if she’d go with me to use my Roo Cup for the first time.
She laughed at me.
But then we went.
And we met another co-worker.
And we all filled our Roo Cups,
Them for the many-th time. Me for the first.
Then we sat at the gas station and talked.
And drank our Icees and sodas from our Roo Cups.
And ate gas station potato chips.
And spoke to students and strangers.
And I declared myself a true extravert for not wanting to use my Roo Cup alone.
I’ve been reading a devotional book each night this week.
An idea that the writer keeps mentioning is that of Christ being in community with God—
God being Triune God—
Father, Son, Holy Spirit…Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer—
God being relationship with Godself—
And each of us being created to join in community relationship with Triune God and with one another.
Maybe I’m crazy,
But tonight, as I sip on another Icee that I stopped to get on my way home from an appointment in Raleigh,
And as I reflect on my inaugural Roo Cup experience,
I can’t help but think that if Jesus were humanly alive today,
Then he’d probably sit in community at gas stations,
Drinking from Roo Cups,
Eating potato chips, and
Speaking to friends and strangers alike.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Bullet's Wisdom
When I’m home for supper, Bullet thinks it mandatory to take me on an after-dinner walk. Tonight, as he walked me around the neighborhood,
I watched him as he ran around and peed on everything.
Then I watched as he lifted his leg and only one drop of pee came out.
Then I watched as nothing came out.
Then I found myself saying,
“Oops. You can try to mark your territory all you want, buddy,
But you don’t have any pee left in you.
I hope you got all the important stuff first.”
As I watched our fat little white dog bullet through the neighbors’ yards,
Trying his best to leave his mark,
I couldn’t help but think:
That’s what happens with us, too.
We run around,
From home to work to church to ballgames to meetings to friends to family,
Trying to leave our mark,
Trying to make a difference,
But the more we run,
The more we places we go,
The more we give,
The less we have to give,
Until we find ourselves showing up but leaving nothing
Because we have nothing left to give.
Our fat little white dog is currently snoring on the couch beside me.
He came home.
He drank a lot of water.
He went to visit a friend.
He came back and spent time on the porch with his favorite person in the world.
He sprawled out so that he could receive lots of touches and love.
Then he went to sleep.
Tomorrow, he’ll be ready to go back out and mark some more territory.
Eugene Cho beautifully writes:
Don't be overwhelmed.
Stay the course.
Be encouraged.
Be tenacious.
Do not quit.
Take heart.
Persevere.
Have faith.
Press on.
Trust.
God.
And Bullet says:
Go home.
Stay hydrated.
Spend time with those you love.
Enjoy nature.
Breathe deeply.
Love well.
Hug often.
Rest.
Then you can make your mark on the world.
wis
I watched him as he ran around and peed on everything.
Then I watched as he lifted his leg and only one drop of pee came out.
Then I watched as nothing came out.
Then I found myself saying,
“Oops. You can try to mark your territory all you want, buddy,
But you don’t have any pee left in you.
I hope you got all the important stuff first.”
As I watched our fat little white dog bullet through the neighbors’ yards,
Trying his best to leave his mark,
I couldn’t help but think:
That’s what happens with us, too.
We run around,
From home to work to church to ballgames to meetings to friends to family,
Trying to leave our mark,
Trying to make a difference,
But the more we run,
The more we places we go,
The more we give,
The less we have to give,
Until we find ourselves showing up but leaving nothing
Because we have nothing left to give.
Our fat little white dog is currently snoring on the couch beside me.
He came home.
He drank a lot of water.
He went to visit a friend.
He came back and spent time on the porch with his favorite person in the world.
He sprawled out so that he could receive lots of touches and love.
Then he went to sleep.
Tomorrow, he’ll be ready to go back out and mark some more territory.
Eugene Cho beautifully writes:
Don't be overwhelmed.
Stay the course.
Be encouraged.
Be tenacious.
Do not quit.
Take heart.
Persevere.
Have faith.
Press on.
Trust.
God.
And Bullet says:
Go home.
Stay hydrated.
Spend time with those you love.
Enjoy nature.
Breathe deeply.
Love well.
Hug often.
Rest.
Then you can make your mark on the world.
wis
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