One of my most vivid memories is of an experience that I had on a women’s retreat in Charleston, SC. Late one night, as I walked through the large yard separating the house from the beach, I looked to the sky and located the big dipper. Almost immediately, I started singing “Follow The Drinking Gourd,” imagining myself as a slave running for freedom, walking under the cover of night, having little more to guide me than a constellation in the sky. I quickly determined that I would have been caught.
I have been teaching “Follow The Drinking Gourd” for many years. It’s one of the units that my students enjoy the most, and this year has been no different. Between an excellent Reading Rainbow video about the song, the real gourds that one of my coworkers gave me, the textbooks, and a super interactive game by National Geographic, I have been able to present information that has truly fascinated and resonated with many of my students.
Since taking some time away from the classroom and working heavily on educating about and fighting against human exploitation, I have found myself fighting back tears more than once when students have breathed a sigh of relief that slavery is no longer legal—or when they’ve asked if slavery still exists and I’ve had to lie to them—or at least highly edit the truth…
…Because the truth is that slavery is still very much alive in this world—this country not excluded.
The truth is that hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children are held against their will, used, beaten, demeaned, destroyed, bought, and sold every day.
The truth is that slaves are brought to America not just from Africa but from destinations around the world.
The truth is that slaves are held in or sent out of America from households just around the corner.
The truth is that the clothes and shoes that we wear and the coffee and chocolate we eat and drink is likely produced by slaves.
The truth is that slaves are not just working in homes and fields but in restaurants, hotels, nail salons, and massage parlors in our own cities.
The truth is that some of my students are vulnerable to becoming slaves themselves—to being lured by the promise of money and a better life but landing instead in invisible chains nearly impossible to break.
The truth is that most of the sex workers that we often condemn and the persons seen in the pornography that many Christians secretly watch and that is creating addictions in children as young as 8-years-old are modern day slaves. Held against their will. Used. Beaten. Demeaned. Destroyed. Bought. Sold. Every day.
But I can’t tell my students that. My students are far too young to hear of these atrocities from their public school music teacher. So I tell them stories of the past and teach them songs of courage and hope and pray that they will grow to learn about and fight the slavery that indeed exists under the drinking gourd and beyond.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Monday, February 22, 2016
The Rabbit In The Moon Is Clear Tonight
I confess. I was very ill about going to work today. I went to be ill last night and I woke up ill this morning. I didn’t want to be at home sick or at the hospital with an emergency, and I am indeed grateful for a job, but I just wasn’t feeling it today…until Barb the Art Teacher and I laughed so hard that we cried during lunch…and then my mood magically improved. I guess laughter does that.
A brief background: I can’t see the man in the moon. Despite demonstrations, diagrams, and explanations, I just can’t see it. Barb has trouble seeing it, too, but she can see the rabbit in the moon (popular in Mayan/Aztec culture) and thought I might be able to see it, too. As soon as she showed me the rabbit, I could see it! Needless to say, I was very excited, and I’ve looked at the rabbit in the moon many times in the years since B introduced him to me.
On Sunday, January 24 of this year, at 7:24pm, I received a text from B that said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I understood exactly what she meant and didn’t think anything more of the text until a few days passed and I stumbled across it in my inbox. I chuckled. Then a few more days went by and I stumbled across it again. I chuckled more. A perfectly normal and clear message when I received it, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight,” suddenly sounded like a code message. When I mentioned this thought to B after dropping off a load of wood for the burn pile, she agreed with me. She then proceeded to give me another code-like phrase to help me successfully navigate my truck out of her yard: “Drive up through the blueberries.” I responded by saying, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I drove through the blueberries laughing and left B laughing in her yard.
A few days ago, I randomly texted B a message that only said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” She responded, “Drive up through the blueberries.” That was the extent of the conversation.
Then lunch happened today.
B eats the same thing for lunch each day: a “lettuce” sandwich, “diet” chips, carrots, and a pickle. When she reached into her lunch bag to get the Ziploc bag that held the pickle, she said, “My pickle is leaking.” I reverted to adolescence and burst out laughing. In response, she said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I said, “Drive up through the blueberries.” She said, “Stop making me laugh so hard or I’m going to pee myself.” I said, “Then your pickle really would be leaking.”
B immediately ran to the bathroom. I stayed in her classroom crying. B and I were both still laughing when she got back to her room. And for the rest of the day, I’ve been in better spirits.
Thank you, laughter (and friendship), for making that so.
A brief background: I can’t see the man in the moon. Despite demonstrations, diagrams, and explanations, I just can’t see it. Barb has trouble seeing it, too, but she can see the rabbit in the moon (popular in Mayan/Aztec culture) and thought I might be able to see it, too. As soon as she showed me the rabbit, I could see it! Needless to say, I was very excited, and I’ve looked at the rabbit in the moon many times in the years since B introduced him to me.
On Sunday, January 24 of this year, at 7:24pm, I received a text from B that said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I understood exactly what she meant and didn’t think anything more of the text until a few days passed and I stumbled across it in my inbox. I chuckled. Then a few more days went by and I stumbled across it again. I chuckled more. A perfectly normal and clear message when I received it, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight,” suddenly sounded like a code message. When I mentioned this thought to B after dropping off a load of wood for the burn pile, she agreed with me. She then proceeded to give me another code-like phrase to help me successfully navigate my truck out of her yard: “Drive up through the blueberries.” I responded by saying, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I drove through the blueberries laughing and left B laughing in her yard.
A few days ago, I randomly texted B a message that only said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” She responded, “Drive up through the blueberries.” That was the extent of the conversation.
Then lunch happened today.
B eats the same thing for lunch each day: a “lettuce” sandwich, “diet” chips, carrots, and a pickle. When she reached into her lunch bag to get the Ziploc bag that held the pickle, she said, “My pickle is leaking.” I reverted to adolescence and burst out laughing. In response, she said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I said, “Drive up through the blueberries.” She said, “Stop making me laugh so hard or I’m going to pee myself.” I said, “Then your pickle really would be leaking.”
B immediately ran to the bathroom. I stayed in her classroom crying. B and I were both still laughing when she got back to her room. And for the rest of the day, I’ve been in better spirits.
Thank you, laughter (and friendship), for making that so.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Message from a 1st Grader
Believe it or not, I have another 1st grade story to share…
At the beginning of class today, one of my students, A, came directly to my desk instead of going to his seat. When I got up to greet the class, he followed me. After I hugged him and he didn’t go sit down—which is usually what happens when I have a lingerer—I asked if he needed something. He said he wanted to tell me something. I said okay and started to listen but continued monitoring the rest of the class. I often do this, too, because most of the time students want to tell me something completely random—like their uncle’s girlfriend is having a birthday this weekend or their bug bite itches—have me acknowledge them, and then return to their seats.
Since A never said anything—he’s a pretty quiet kid—and the class came in a bit crazy, I quickly started the welcome song for focus. A went to his seat, sang along, completed our entire class welcome routine, but evidently didn’t forget that he wanted to tell me something because he came right back to me the moment we finished our welcome and said, “Can I tell you now?”
Realizing that he really wanted to tell me something but assuming it was something quick, I gave A my full attention. The class quickly slipped back into crazy but I tried my best to focus on A. At first, I had no idea what he was talking about because he was reciting something about his sister. Then I realized that he was sharing a voice-mail message that his mom had left on Sunday night.
“Oh, oh, oh!” I said. “You’re telling me a message that your mom left you! Do you not live with your mom?”
“No,” he said, “she lives in another town. But she called on Sunday night and this is what she said.”
He then proceeded to speak the clearest and most confidently I’d ever heard him speak, quoting his mom’s message verbatim, as if her words were the greatest words he’s ever heard.
She didn’t say anything profound. She wasn’t imparting life wisdom to her children. She had very simply called them, missed them, said that’d try to call back around 6 that night, and told them that she loved them.
Yet her words were absorbed by her 1st grade son’s heart and mind like water is absorbed by a sponge.
And he was so happy.
And he was so proud.
And he was so affected by his mom’s phone call that he had to tell his music teacher about the call four days later.
Friends, take what you will from this story—the importance and power of words, the impact of a phone call, the need for presence, the need for love, the brokenness of family, the reminder that kids crave their parents attention, the challenge to focus your attention on the person in front of you instead of all of the distractions around you. As for me, I’ll take the memory of A’s bright eyes and determined mouth boldly reciting a phone message of hope and I’ll pray that hope, not jaded disappointment, will be the dominant force that pushes him through the 1st grade and beyond.
At the beginning of class today, one of my students, A, came directly to my desk instead of going to his seat. When I got up to greet the class, he followed me. After I hugged him and he didn’t go sit down—which is usually what happens when I have a lingerer—I asked if he needed something. He said he wanted to tell me something. I said okay and started to listen but continued monitoring the rest of the class. I often do this, too, because most of the time students want to tell me something completely random—like their uncle’s girlfriend is having a birthday this weekend or their bug bite itches—have me acknowledge them, and then return to their seats.
Since A never said anything—he’s a pretty quiet kid—and the class came in a bit crazy, I quickly started the welcome song for focus. A went to his seat, sang along, completed our entire class welcome routine, but evidently didn’t forget that he wanted to tell me something because he came right back to me the moment we finished our welcome and said, “Can I tell you now?”
Realizing that he really wanted to tell me something but assuming it was something quick, I gave A my full attention. The class quickly slipped back into crazy but I tried my best to focus on A. At first, I had no idea what he was talking about because he was reciting something about his sister. Then I realized that he was sharing a voice-mail message that his mom had left on Sunday night.
“Oh, oh, oh!” I said. “You’re telling me a message that your mom left you! Do you not live with your mom?”
“No,” he said, “she lives in another town. But she called on Sunday night and this is what she said.”
He then proceeded to speak the clearest and most confidently I’d ever heard him speak, quoting his mom’s message verbatim, as if her words were the greatest words he’s ever heard.
She didn’t say anything profound. She wasn’t imparting life wisdom to her children. She had very simply called them, missed them, said that’d try to call back around 6 that night, and told them that she loved them.
Yet her words were absorbed by her 1st grade son’s heart and mind like water is absorbed by a sponge.
And he was so happy.
And he was so proud.
And he was so affected by his mom’s phone call that he had to tell his music teacher about the call four days later.
Friends, take what you will from this story—the importance and power of words, the impact of a phone call, the need for presence, the need for love, the brokenness of family, the reminder that kids crave their parents attention, the challenge to focus your attention on the person in front of you instead of all of the distractions around you. As for me, I’ll take the memory of A’s bright eyes and determined mouth boldly reciting a phone message of hope and I’ll pray that hope, not jaded disappointment, will be the dominant force that pushes him through the 1st grade and beyond.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Just Another Day In Elementary School
Something weird happened during 1st grade music today: a student got a piece of plastic stuck between his teeth.
Instead of placing his coat on the back of his chair, one of my students evidently decided to put part of his coat in his mouth.
Maybe he had a little piece of food lingering from lunch. Maybe that little piece of food was bothering him so much that he needed to remove it. And maybe the little piece of plastic on his coat seemed like the perfect thing to remove that little piece of food.
I don’t know.
For some reason, my student decided to stick a piece of plastic between his teeth. And it got stuck. It got really stuck.
When I first noticed that something was wrong, I thought that the kid was trying to pull out a tooth and that he had pulled a string from his coat to help him do this. Thinking this a bit odd, I started some dance music for the rest of the class and walked back to check on the tooth removal operation.
I quickly noticed, though, that he wasn’t trying to remove a tooth and that the thing dangling from his mouth wasn’t a thin string but a somewhat thick piece of plastic. Thankfully, when I looked at what was going on, I didn’t see blood gushing from his gums. I also didn’t see any reason that that little piece of plastic should be so wedged in his mouth.
Then it hit me: My 1st grader had the remainder of a price tag stuck in his mouth. Having put the “T” behind his teeth, close to the roof of his mouth, he had gotten it so tightly wedged that he couldn’t get it out. When he pulled the plastic forward and down, the “T” simply hit his teeth. The harder he pulled, the more futile his attempt to dislodge it. Unless, of course, he had been trying to pull out a few teeth!
As the class began to fall apart from a minute of unsupervised dancing, I began to feel a bit panicked. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with a 1st grader with a coat hanging from his mouth! I knew the weight of the coat was not good for his teeth but I also knew that I couldn’t get the plastic dislodged without gloving up and doing a lot of work that I wasn’t capable of doing in the middle of a falling-apart class.
Then it hit me: Cut the plastic! The tag might still be lodged in my student’s mouth but at least the coat wouldn’t be hanging from it as well. So I cut the plastic.
Then I remembered: Thursday is nurse day at my school!
A little while after sending my 1st grader to the nurse, the nurse called to see if his class was still with me. They were leaving. My student was leaving, too. The class was going back into the building. My student was going home. With a piece of plastic hanging from his mouth, stuck between his teeth. The nurse couldn’t dislodge it either.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.
“Me either,” I responded.
Then we both laughed in disbelief,
I silently wished some dentist luck,
And I taught two more plastic-free classes.
Thankfully :-).
Instead of placing his coat on the back of his chair, one of my students evidently decided to put part of his coat in his mouth.
Maybe he had a little piece of food lingering from lunch. Maybe that little piece of food was bothering him so much that he needed to remove it. And maybe the little piece of plastic on his coat seemed like the perfect thing to remove that little piece of food.
I don’t know.
For some reason, my student decided to stick a piece of plastic between his teeth. And it got stuck. It got really stuck.
When I first noticed that something was wrong, I thought that the kid was trying to pull out a tooth and that he had pulled a string from his coat to help him do this. Thinking this a bit odd, I started some dance music for the rest of the class and walked back to check on the tooth removal operation.
I quickly noticed, though, that he wasn’t trying to remove a tooth and that the thing dangling from his mouth wasn’t a thin string but a somewhat thick piece of plastic. Thankfully, when I looked at what was going on, I didn’t see blood gushing from his gums. I also didn’t see any reason that that little piece of plastic should be so wedged in his mouth.
Then it hit me: My 1st grader had the remainder of a price tag stuck in his mouth. Having put the “T” behind his teeth, close to the roof of his mouth, he had gotten it so tightly wedged that he couldn’t get it out. When he pulled the plastic forward and down, the “T” simply hit his teeth. The harder he pulled, the more futile his attempt to dislodge it. Unless, of course, he had been trying to pull out a few teeth!
As the class began to fall apart from a minute of unsupervised dancing, I began to feel a bit panicked. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with a 1st grader with a coat hanging from his mouth! I knew the weight of the coat was not good for his teeth but I also knew that I couldn’t get the plastic dislodged without gloving up and doing a lot of work that I wasn’t capable of doing in the middle of a falling-apart class.
Then it hit me: Cut the plastic! The tag might still be lodged in my student’s mouth but at least the coat wouldn’t be hanging from it as well. So I cut the plastic.
Then I remembered: Thursday is nurse day at my school!
A little while after sending my 1st grader to the nurse, the nurse called to see if his class was still with me. They were leaving. My student was leaving, too. The class was going back into the building. My student was going home. With a piece of plastic hanging from his mouth, stuck between his teeth. The nurse couldn’t dislodge it either.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.
“Me either,” I responded.
Then we both laughed in disbelief,
I silently wished some dentist luck,
And I taught two more plastic-free classes.
Thankfully :-).
Monday, February 8, 2016
Miss D's Handling It
Barb The Art Teacher’s 2nd grade daughter, Dae, was given a music project to complete for class. Her task? Design and create a working musical instrument. The examples sent home with the assignment? None that a 2nd grade child could do on her own.B and I brainstormed lots of fun instruments that Dae could make. But Dae was set on one idea: a xylophone. Even though B had to explain to Dae that a xylophone made from sticks would not work, Dae was not deterred. In fact, she was never even the slightest bit concerned about the project because Dae wholeheartedly believed one thing: Her project was going to be great because Miss D was handling it.
Did Miss D know that Miss D was handling Dae’s project? No. But Dae knew it. So after a very busy day at work today—2 duties, 6 classes, no planning, 1 rehearsal, and 1 meeting—Miss D went to Dae’s house to handle the project.
If you look at the picture attached to this note, then you’ll see the instrument that we created: a homemade boomwhacker xylophone. We started with golf tubes and a paper box, used all of the tools that you see on the table, and ended with this. And sure enough, it works.
During our meeting this afternoon, my staff was asked to discuss ways in which we communicate and collaborate with team members. Tonight, as B used her weaving skills to weave together the boomwhackers that I had precisely measured and cut, I said, “This is how we collaborate, B!” She laughed, yet we both know it is true. I see things she doesn’t. She sees things my mind can’t comprehend. Then we work together to make things happen.
Dae helped me measure and mark the golf tubes for cutting and then held the tubes while I sawed them off. She told me that they made different pitches depending on how big or small they were and then she and her brother happily played the tubes as boomwhackers were originally meant to be played and loudly declared, “I’m making music!”
And making music she was…good grade or not…Miss D handled it…and thanked God for friendship, teamwork, and collaboration along the way.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
On Amelia's 8th Birthday
On Amelia’s 8th Birthday…2.4.16
Today is my Amelia’s birthday.
She’s 8.
I adore her.
Because of another obligation, I cannot attend Amelia’s family birthday party tomorrow night. Knowing that this would make Amelia sad—she still thinks I’m wonderful and loves spending time with me—I tried to figure out another time to visit with her this week but couldn’t figure out a time to do it.
Then something unexpected happened. My appointment at Massage Envy (I’ve been going in for therapeutic massages for the past couple of months) got bumped back from 8pm to 8:30pm. This extra thirty minutes was going to give me the time I needed to see my Amelia!
Then something else unexpected happened. When I got to Joe-The-Counselor’s office, it was locked. When I called his office, I learned that he was out of the office this week. I had scheduled my appointments so far in advance that I’d scheduled an appointment before he’d blocked off this week and then we forgot to talk about it! So. There I was. Five minutes from Amelia’s house. With an unplanned hour of time. I didn’t think twice. I went to see my little girl.
Shortly after arriving at the house and surprising the whole family, I found myself standing behind Amelia as she sewed a small pillow for Stanley. Amelia got a sewing machine for Christmas. Amelia learned to do her own bobbing and threading over the past couple of weeks. Amelia is quite the 2nd grade seamstress.
“So, Amelia. Is it true that you made everyone who attended your friend-birthday party a blanket and pillow for their dolls?”
“Yep,” she said as she sewed.
“And she helped me sew recorder bags for all of the students in my recorder classroom, too,” my sister chimed in.
“Yep,” Amelia said with a humble smile on her face—as if this was completely normal activity for a now eight-year-old.
Then later, as Amelia and I snuggled on the couch, I asked if she got any special presents for her birthday. She said, “I didn’t get presents for my birthday. I asked everyone to bring something to donate to the local animal shelter.”
“Oh,” I said. “So let me get this straight. For YOUR birthday, YOU made everyone gifts and then asked for donations instead of gifts in return?”
“Yep,” she said with that same humble smile as turned her sweet, freckled face up toward mine.
“Wow!” I responded, my heart about to burst with love and pride. “You really are my favorite girl in the whole wide world.”
Amelia’s life inspires me.
And on Tuesday night,
And every time I see her, really,
Seeing her was therapy enough.
Today is my Amelia’s birthday.
She’s 8.
I adore her.
Because of another obligation, I cannot attend Amelia’s family birthday party tomorrow night. Knowing that this would make Amelia sad—she still thinks I’m wonderful and loves spending time with me—I tried to figure out another time to visit with her this week but couldn’t figure out a time to do it.
Then something unexpected happened. My appointment at Massage Envy (I’ve been going in for therapeutic massages for the past couple of months) got bumped back from 8pm to 8:30pm. This extra thirty minutes was going to give me the time I needed to see my Amelia!
Then something else unexpected happened. When I got to Joe-The-Counselor’s office, it was locked. When I called his office, I learned that he was out of the office this week. I had scheduled my appointments so far in advance that I’d scheduled an appointment before he’d blocked off this week and then we forgot to talk about it! So. There I was. Five minutes from Amelia’s house. With an unplanned hour of time. I didn’t think twice. I went to see my little girl.
Shortly after arriving at the house and surprising the whole family, I found myself standing behind Amelia as she sewed a small pillow for Stanley. Amelia got a sewing machine for Christmas. Amelia learned to do her own bobbing and threading over the past couple of weeks. Amelia is quite the 2nd grade seamstress.
“So, Amelia. Is it true that you made everyone who attended your friend-birthday party a blanket and pillow for their dolls?”
“Yep,” she said as she sewed.
“And she helped me sew recorder bags for all of the students in my recorder classroom, too,” my sister chimed in.
“Yep,” Amelia said with a humble smile on her face—as if this was completely normal activity for a now eight-year-old.
Then later, as Amelia and I snuggled on the couch, I asked if she got any special presents for her birthday. She said, “I didn’t get presents for my birthday. I asked everyone to bring something to donate to the local animal shelter.”
“Oh,” I said. “So let me get this straight. For YOUR birthday, YOU made everyone gifts and then asked for donations instead of gifts in return?”
“Yep,” she said with that same humble smile as turned her sweet, freckled face up toward mine.
“Wow!” I responded, my heart about to burst with love and pride. “You really are my favorite girl in the whole wide world.”
Amelia’s life inspires me.
And on Tuesday night,
And every time I see her, really,
Seeing her was therapy enough.
Monday, February 1, 2016
Loving The Hell Out Of Them
I have a friend who works with at-risk teenage girls. Last week, one of the girls pushed her and started to run away. Sadly, this isn’t abnormal behavior for girls who haven’t learned how to form healthy boundaries or how properly to communicate thoughts and feelings. The staff members who work with the girls know the risks involved with the work and are trained in proper restraints and mediation techniques. Even so, it’s hard to be pushed and it’s a helpless feeling to watch someone run away—literally. Yet as the organization’s main supervisor likes to say: The staff is loving the hell out of the girls.
The hell.
The loneliness. Worthlessness. Betrayal. Rage.
The fears. Neglect. Abandonment. Doubts.
The abuse. Molestation. Bullying. Deep anger.
The learning difficulties. Helplessness. Aggravation. Anxiety.
The hell.
They are loving the hell out of them.
…
I love you. Take a moment, be still, and thank about that. I am the Creator of the universe, the Ruler of time, the Master of all you see—and I love you. My love is so big that it fills up all of space, time, and eternity. I know that you don’t fully understand the hugeness of my love for you. You see glimpses of it now—as you feel me guiding you, drawing you closer to me, and answering your prayers. But one day you will see me face-to-face. Then you will know exactly how wide and long and high and deep my love for you really is. For now, just know that my love is so huge it cannot be measured. And it goes with you through every moment of every day. (from Jesus Calling for Kids).
And it goes with everyone. Me. You. Our family. Our friends. At-risk teenage girls and elementary school boys. The people who annoy us and bother us the most—whether we know them personally or not.
God loves all of us.
Joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control, and peace
Love all of us.
God is love and loving the hell out of all of us.
…
I think I want to love the hell out of people, too.
The hell.
The loneliness. Worthlessness. Betrayal. Rage.
The fears. Neglect. Abandonment. Doubts.
The abuse. Molestation. Bullying. Deep anger.
The learning difficulties. Helplessness. Aggravation. Anxiety.
The hell.
They are loving the hell out of them.
…
I love you. Take a moment, be still, and thank about that. I am the Creator of the universe, the Ruler of time, the Master of all you see—and I love you. My love is so big that it fills up all of space, time, and eternity. I know that you don’t fully understand the hugeness of my love for you. You see glimpses of it now—as you feel me guiding you, drawing you closer to me, and answering your prayers. But one day you will see me face-to-face. Then you will know exactly how wide and long and high and deep my love for you really is. For now, just know that my love is so huge it cannot be measured. And it goes with you through every moment of every day. (from Jesus Calling for Kids).
And it goes with everyone. Me. You. Our family. Our friends. At-risk teenage girls and elementary school boys. The people who annoy us and bother us the most—whether we know them personally or not.
God loves all of us.
Joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control, and peace
Love all of us.
God is love and loving the hell out of all of us.
…
I think I want to love the hell out of people, too.
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