As of today, after 55 years of ministry, my dad is “officially” retired. These past few months have been an emotional roller coaster for him and those who know him best, and I’m sure that upcoming days and months will be the same.
As much as choosing to retire is a blessing, it is also a great unknown that greets those in the helping professions with the challenge of learning to take care of themselves and their families first and foremost. It is a sudden void that that challenges persons who have built their lives upon helping others truly to know and believe that who they are is not the work that they do but the being that the Creator created them to be. It is joy mixed with sorrow. It is celebration mixed with grief. It is letting go and holding on. It is two steps forward and one step back until a new cadence settles in.
After a week of cleaning out my dad’s office—of figuring out what to take and what to leave—of throwing away and packing up—of laughing and crying—my dad, mom, and I spent the evening eating, laughing, and playing cards with our boys. Having just moved themselves, the boys, too, were tired, so it was nice to sit around the dining room table and be a family together—to take a break from packing and unpacking and trying to adjust to a new life and space and to just exist in that space. Being with those boys—the oldest of whom is turning 14 tomorrow—was exactly what my dad needed on this official retirement day. It was exactly what we all needed, truth be told.
In the Book of Common Prayer, there is a prayer entitled “For those we Love.” For my dad whom I love and will continue to love on his roller coaster of retirement. And my mom who patiently walks with him. For my boys and girl who have my heart. For the rest of my family, far and near. For friends and coworkers, for church members and colleagues. For those whom I love but who no longer love me back. I pray this prayer tonight:
Almighty God, I entrust all who are dear to me to your never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come, knowing that You are doing for them better things that I can desire or pray for; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen.
And amen.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Monday, March 28, 2016
No Paddle Day
I’ve never been canoeing--
Much less canoeing on a ten day river trip through two states.
But I have a friend who is doing just that--
With a group of teenage girls from the camp where she works.
They left on the Lumber River in NC last Wednesday and will be extracted at a beach in SC this Saturday.
By Friday, the group had arrived in SC and begun canoeing the Little Pee Dee River.
By Saturday night, the girls were ready to go to bed by 7pm.
Needless to say, they were exhausted.
Because of the exhaustion, but more so because of the theological significance of the day,
Yesterday was a no paddle day.
A day of staying put.
A day of discussing the power of life, death, and resurrection.
A day of exploring the beauty of creation.
A day of rest.
I don’t need to say that we live in a busy world.
Just waking up each day is to experience a fast-paced, motion- and noise-filled world.
I don’t need to say that there is always more to do.
Just making a to-do list on which you need to add a to-done category just to feel accomplished is to experience the never-ending list of tasks to do.
I don’t need to say that people are tired.
Just looking at the dark circles under eyes and the sleep aids the fill pharmacy aisles is to witness America’s need for sleep.
And yet…
I rarely hear of people taking a no paddle day.
A day of staying home.
A day of discussing the power of light, darkness, and redemption.
A day of taking in the beauty of creation.
A day of rest.
Being the orange-fish collector that I am, I have a Finding Nemo saying on my wall:
Just keep swimming.
And while I believe in this little phrase and know that ultimately,
no matter how weary we become from life’s demands,
especially the demands that we have absolutely no interest in but that we must do nonetheless,
We must keep going.
We must keep persevering until we make it to the other side.
This is what life requires.
Nemo knows this.
Yet, my friend and her girls know something, too,
Something that God Godself has known since the very beginning:
Sometimes we must take a day and designate it as a
No paddle day.
A day of being,
A day of discussing the power of joy, grief, and journey.
A day of meditating on the wisdom of creation.
A day of rest.
Much less canoeing on a ten day river trip through two states.
But I have a friend who is doing just that--
With a group of teenage girls from the camp where she works.
They left on the Lumber River in NC last Wednesday and will be extracted at a beach in SC this Saturday.
By Friday, the group had arrived in SC and begun canoeing the Little Pee Dee River.
By Saturday night, the girls were ready to go to bed by 7pm.
Needless to say, they were exhausted.
Because of the exhaustion, but more so because of the theological significance of the day,
Yesterday was a no paddle day.
A day of staying put.
A day of discussing the power of life, death, and resurrection.
A day of exploring the beauty of creation.
A day of rest.
I don’t need to say that we live in a busy world.
Just waking up each day is to experience a fast-paced, motion- and noise-filled world.
I don’t need to say that there is always more to do.
Just making a to-do list on which you need to add a to-done category just to feel accomplished is to experience the never-ending list of tasks to do.
I don’t need to say that people are tired.
Just looking at the dark circles under eyes and the sleep aids the fill pharmacy aisles is to witness America’s need for sleep.
And yet…
I rarely hear of people taking a no paddle day.
A day of staying home.
A day of discussing the power of light, darkness, and redemption.
A day of taking in the beauty of creation.
A day of rest.
Being the orange-fish collector that I am, I have a Finding Nemo saying on my wall:
Just keep swimming.
And while I believe in this little phrase and know that ultimately,
no matter how weary we become from life’s demands,
especially the demands that we have absolutely no interest in but that we must do nonetheless,
We must keep going.
We must keep persevering until we make it to the other side.
This is what life requires.
Nemo knows this.
Yet, my friend and her girls know something, too,
Something that God Godself has known since the very beginning:
Sometimes we must take a day and designate it as a
No paddle day.
A day of being,
A day of discussing the power of joy, grief, and journey.
A day of meditating on the wisdom of creation.
A day of rest.
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Dresses, Continents, and Students--Oh My!
5th grade music today:
I’m trying to explain the concept of culture so that my students understand more of the differences that they will hear and see during the lesson.
I explain what “culture” I know best, setting up the explanation by telling my students that my dad is a preacher and that I have, therefore, been to a lot of different churches in my life.
“There are some churches that I’ve been to where, if I, as a female, would have worn pants, then I would have been out of place. The culture of those churches is one where people are expected to wear their very best and women are expected to wear dresses. There are other churches that I’ve been to, though, where I could wear jeans and it be perfectly acceptable. Neither of those things is wrong. It’s just a different belief system—a different way of doing things—a different culture.”
The kids seemed to understand what I saying, so we moved on.
Then a kid raised his hand.
“Do you remember when you were talking about the church that didn’t want women wearing pants? That’s because it’s in the Bible that women shouldn’t have anything between their legs.”
Umm…I’ve heard a lot of things that the Bible says that the Bible really doesn’t say, but I’ve never heard that one!
Trying to keep a straight face and not show my surprise and possible dismay, I very calmly responded, “That’s actually not in the Bible—at least not the Christian bible—but…” and then I quickly moved the conversation to how clothing has changed over the years and reminded the boys that boys used to wear gowns to bed. We’d learned this fact while learning about Beethoven.
Fast forward to 3rd grade music:
I’ve been trying to help my 3rd graders learn their continents, only they get really confused about the difference between city, state, country, and continent. I’m also trying to help them learn their planets—but we haven’t focused on the latter as much.
We’ve been working with information about the continents for a couple of weeks now, though. We’ve sung and danced and rapped and watched videos and played games.
So toward the end of the lesson today, as I was transitioning to the planets, I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked at what happened next.
I said, “So. We know that there are seven continents on our planet. But remind me what planet we live on?”
In response, I had a whole bunch of students yell, “North America!”
In that moment, I gently hit my forehead and asked again, “What planet do we live on?”
“The United States of America!” “No,” I pitifully shook my head and asked one more time, “ What planet do we live on?”
Then someone said, “Earth! We live on planet earth!”
Thank God!
Friends:
My school is in the city of Cameron in the state of North Carolina in the country of The United States of America on the continent of North America on planet Earth.
And the Bible says nothing about women wearing dresses because women are not supposed to have anything between their legs.
Please pass along this information as you see fit.
Especially to the children in your life!
:-)
I’m trying to explain the concept of culture so that my students understand more of the differences that they will hear and see during the lesson.
I explain what “culture” I know best, setting up the explanation by telling my students that my dad is a preacher and that I have, therefore, been to a lot of different churches in my life.
“There are some churches that I’ve been to where, if I, as a female, would have worn pants, then I would have been out of place. The culture of those churches is one where people are expected to wear their very best and women are expected to wear dresses. There are other churches that I’ve been to, though, where I could wear jeans and it be perfectly acceptable. Neither of those things is wrong. It’s just a different belief system—a different way of doing things—a different culture.”
The kids seemed to understand what I saying, so we moved on.
Then a kid raised his hand.
“Do you remember when you were talking about the church that didn’t want women wearing pants? That’s because it’s in the Bible that women shouldn’t have anything between their legs.”
Umm…I’ve heard a lot of things that the Bible says that the Bible really doesn’t say, but I’ve never heard that one!
Trying to keep a straight face and not show my surprise and possible dismay, I very calmly responded, “That’s actually not in the Bible—at least not the Christian bible—but…” and then I quickly moved the conversation to how clothing has changed over the years and reminded the boys that boys used to wear gowns to bed. We’d learned this fact while learning about Beethoven.
Fast forward to 3rd grade music:
I’ve been trying to help my 3rd graders learn their continents, only they get really confused about the difference between city, state, country, and continent. I’m also trying to help them learn their planets—but we haven’t focused on the latter as much.
We’ve been working with information about the continents for a couple of weeks now, though. We’ve sung and danced and rapped and watched videos and played games.
So toward the end of the lesson today, as I was transitioning to the planets, I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked at what happened next.
I said, “So. We know that there are seven continents on our planet. But remind me what planet we live on?”
In response, I had a whole bunch of students yell, “North America!”
In that moment, I gently hit my forehead and asked again, “What planet do we live on?”
“The United States of America!” “No,” I pitifully shook my head and asked one more time, “ What planet do we live on?”
Then someone said, “Earth! We live on planet earth!”
Thank God!
Friends:
My school is in the city of Cameron in the state of North Carolina in the country of The United States of America on the continent of North America on planet Earth.
And the Bible says nothing about women wearing dresses because women are not supposed to have anything between their legs.
Please pass along this information as you see fit.
Especially to the children in your life!
:-)
Monday, March 21, 2016
I Believe In You, Dad
Tonight was my dad’s last annual meeting as Director of Missions of the Little River Baptist Association. I was nervous for my dad all day.
For those of you who don’t know my dad, you need to know that he can be a funny man. He’s one of those people who can hear a joke or story, remember it, and then sense when it is appropriate to share it. He is a wonderful speaker. He doesn’t write sermon manuscripts. He reads, studies, prays, jots notes on scratch pads or the back of junk mail, discerns where the Spirit is leading him, and then speaks. He connects with his audience. He makes people laugh. He makes people cry. And he’s very natural in his speaking…
Unless he’s nervous.
When he’s nervous, or when he feels like he needs to give an “official” speech, my dad sometimes tries to be too formal. He practices his words or writes out full paragraphs and tries to stay on topic and therefore changes his speech pattern. He tries to sound important. He’s more serious than he usually is. And he forgets to cry.
My dad is a crier. There are many mornings when I find him in tears at the breakfast table because he is deeply moved by his morning devotion. God’s presence is just so real in my dad’s life that it comes out of his eyes. So for my dad to speak without crying is just not normal.
As I was leaving for work this morning, I told my dad that I’d be thinking about him today and encouraged him not to think too much about what he was going to say tonight. I challenged him to be himself, to speak from his heart, and not try to sound too fancy, and I reminded him that it wasn’t going to be the last time he ever spoke to a church in the association. He mumbled something in his morning grogginess, I patted him on the back, we said our daily “I love you’s,” and then I said, “I believe in you, Dad,” and went to my car.
In typical Deanna-morning-fashion, I quickly realized that I’d left my breakfast in the microwave and promptly returned to the house to get it. Before leaving again, I heard Dad say, through tears in his eyes, “Well, Dee. I believe in you, too.”
I’m pretty sure that my dad didn’t know what to say when I told him that I believed in him.
But I do.
And tonight as he spoke to the association as Director of Missions for the last time—thankfully fully himself: tangents, tears and all—I kept right on believing on him.
And I will keep believing in him tomorrow and the next day and the next and the next.
And I think maybe I should tell him more often.
In fact, I think maybe we should tell everyone more often: “I believe in you.”
Because God believes in us.
And God desires to be so present in our lives that God’s love flows out of our hearts and our eyes.
Like my dad,
Who “loves baby Jesus,” and
In whom I believe.
For those of you who don’t know my dad, you need to know that he can be a funny man. He’s one of those people who can hear a joke or story, remember it, and then sense when it is appropriate to share it. He is a wonderful speaker. He doesn’t write sermon manuscripts. He reads, studies, prays, jots notes on scratch pads or the back of junk mail, discerns where the Spirit is leading him, and then speaks. He connects with his audience. He makes people laugh. He makes people cry. And he’s very natural in his speaking…
Unless he’s nervous.
When he’s nervous, or when he feels like he needs to give an “official” speech, my dad sometimes tries to be too formal. He practices his words or writes out full paragraphs and tries to stay on topic and therefore changes his speech pattern. He tries to sound important. He’s more serious than he usually is. And he forgets to cry.
My dad is a crier. There are many mornings when I find him in tears at the breakfast table because he is deeply moved by his morning devotion. God’s presence is just so real in my dad’s life that it comes out of his eyes. So for my dad to speak without crying is just not normal.
As I was leaving for work this morning, I told my dad that I’d be thinking about him today and encouraged him not to think too much about what he was going to say tonight. I challenged him to be himself, to speak from his heart, and not try to sound too fancy, and I reminded him that it wasn’t going to be the last time he ever spoke to a church in the association. He mumbled something in his morning grogginess, I patted him on the back, we said our daily “I love you’s,” and then I said, “I believe in you, Dad,” and went to my car.
In typical Deanna-morning-fashion, I quickly realized that I’d left my breakfast in the microwave and promptly returned to the house to get it. Before leaving again, I heard Dad say, through tears in his eyes, “Well, Dee. I believe in you, too.”
I’m pretty sure that my dad didn’t know what to say when I told him that I believed in him.
But I do.
And tonight as he spoke to the association as Director of Missions for the last time—thankfully fully himself: tangents, tears and all—I kept right on believing on him.
And I will keep believing in him tomorrow and the next day and the next and the next.
And I think maybe I should tell him more often.
In fact, I think maybe we should tell everyone more often: “I believe in you.”
Because God believes in us.
And God desires to be so present in our lives that God’s love flows out of our hearts and our eyes.
Like my dad,
Who “loves baby Jesus,” and
In whom I believe.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Willard Gets A Facelift
Willard is eight-and-a-half years old.
He was named after Willard the Walmart Greeter,
an older man in Asheboro, NC,
whom I once almost ran over with two carts full of summer camp stuff.
Willard’s best school friend is Wilhelmina.
She’s three years old.
Willard is a Dell Inspiron 1420.
Wilhelmina is a MacBook pro.
Wilhelmina comes from a nicer family than Willard.
She is lighter, younger, and faster than Willard.
Yet Willard is my steady old man:
persistent, tried, and true.
Such is the reason that I paid for Willard to have plastic surgery this week.
After leaping off of the sound system and knocking the energy out himself,
Willard got up with a completely disfigured face and two broken hinges.
While friends and family members suggested that I send Willard into a quiet yet noble retirement,
I knew that my Willard’s insides were still strong and that he was not ready to call it quits.
So yesterday, I sent my Willard home with Dr. Jeff for a brief surgical procedure.
After deciding that Willard’s procedure was routine and safe enough for me not to take a personal leave day for a family member’s surgery,
I was teaching class when I received the good news:
“Willard is out of surgery, is awake and alert. Everything went well and he will be coming home today!”
And he did!
Dr. Jeff delivered Willard to my mom early this afternoon, so that
Willard was waiting for me with a brand new face and mended hinges when I got home.
Willard will be reunited with Wilhelmina tomorrow,
And I know that she will find him more useful and handsome than ever—
Old man computer though he be.
He was named after Willard the Walmart Greeter,
an older man in Asheboro, NC,
whom I once almost ran over with two carts full of summer camp stuff.
Willard’s best school friend is Wilhelmina.
She’s three years old.
Willard is a Dell Inspiron 1420.
Wilhelmina is a MacBook pro.
Wilhelmina comes from a nicer family than Willard.
She is lighter, younger, and faster than Willard.
Yet Willard is my steady old man:
persistent, tried, and true.
Such is the reason that I paid for Willard to have plastic surgery this week.
After leaping off of the sound system and knocking the energy out himself,
Willard got up with a completely disfigured face and two broken hinges.
While friends and family members suggested that I send Willard into a quiet yet noble retirement,
I knew that my Willard’s insides were still strong and that he was not ready to call it quits.
So yesterday, I sent my Willard home with Dr. Jeff for a brief surgical procedure.
After deciding that Willard’s procedure was routine and safe enough for me not to take a personal leave day for a family member’s surgery,
I was teaching class when I received the good news:
“Willard is out of surgery, is awake and alert. Everything went well and he will be coming home today!”
And he did!
Dr. Jeff delivered Willard to my mom early this afternoon, so that
Willard was waiting for me with a brand new face and mended hinges when I got home.
Willard will be reunited with Wilhelmina tomorrow,
And I know that she will find him more useful and handsome than ever—
Old man computer though he be.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Making A Difference
I’m one of those people who, when asked what she wants to do with her life, will answer, “Make a difference.” For years, this desire to make a difference is
what drove me. It was at the forefront of almost everything I did and it was my main reason for going to work each day.
Then I realized something. While technology has advanced and science has come to explain a lot of things, humanity, at its core, is pretty much the same as it’s always been—broken, unjust, divided, judgmental, hungry for power, thirsty for war, and very, very, well, human. And while one life can have a positive influence on other lives, that one life will most likely be forgotten within a couple of generations and that one life will most likely have changed nothing in the world. Let’s face it, in the scheme of humanity, very few people are remembered for making a profound, prophetic mark on history.
This realization sent me into a period of depression. I became somewhat hopeless. I lost my purpose and my way. I questioned everything I did and wondered what the point was if making a difference wasn’t actually possible. I wondered if making a difference was just a pipedream that people perpetuated to boost morale.
Friends: This is a very dark place to be.
Thankfully, in the years since that initial realization, I have learned to accept its truth but to also live with knowledge that making a difference is far more than a pipedream. Yes. I will likely be forgotten within decades of my death. Even if I’m able to erect a building or start a scholarship fund, or even if I’m able to write and publish a book, the bulk of my life’s work and impact will probably be forgotten. I know this now. And I’m okay with this now. Because I’ve realized that making a difference doesn’t mean changing the course of human-kind by rewriting its history. Making a difference means influencing the lives of human-beings.
Making a difference is finding a ride to Harnett Off-Broadway for the student who otherwise would not attend. Will this student still face many hardships as she grows up? Absolutely. But for that one night, she was safe and happy.
Making a difference is singing a song of hope and encouragement with your best friend at your dad’s retirement service. Will my dad still struggle as he learns to navigate the waters of retirement? Absolutely. But for that one moment, he was at rest and peace with God, and he knew that he truly was not—and would not ever be—alone.
Making a difference is inviting a friend to dinner, talking, and laughing together.
Making a difference is following the music with your niece as she learns to read.
Making a difference is hugging a kid each morning and telling him to have a good day.
Making a difference is helping someone up when she falls down.
Making a difference is singing a song with a shut-in and seeing her face light up when she actually remembers something in a day full of forgetting.
Making a difference is doing anything you can to add light and joy to the lives of those around you anytime you can because life is the sum of all of its moments and each of us only has one life to live and God is the God of the light and joy that are slowly, steadily, and patiently fighting to redeem a broken humanity, one life and soul at a time.
what drove me. It was at the forefront of almost everything I did and it was my main reason for going to work each day.
Then I realized something. While technology has advanced and science has come to explain a lot of things, humanity, at its core, is pretty much the same as it’s always been—broken, unjust, divided, judgmental, hungry for power, thirsty for war, and very, very, well, human. And while one life can have a positive influence on other lives, that one life will most likely be forgotten within a couple of generations and that one life will most likely have changed nothing in the world. Let’s face it, in the scheme of humanity, very few people are remembered for making a profound, prophetic mark on history.
This realization sent me into a period of depression. I became somewhat hopeless. I lost my purpose and my way. I questioned everything I did and wondered what the point was if making a difference wasn’t actually possible. I wondered if making a difference was just a pipedream that people perpetuated to boost morale.
Friends: This is a very dark place to be.
Thankfully, in the years since that initial realization, I have learned to accept its truth but to also live with knowledge that making a difference is far more than a pipedream. Yes. I will likely be forgotten within decades of my death. Even if I’m able to erect a building or start a scholarship fund, or even if I’m able to write and publish a book, the bulk of my life’s work and impact will probably be forgotten. I know this now. And I’m okay with this now. Because I’ve realized that making a difference doesn’t mean changing the course of human-kind by rewriting its history. Making a difference means influencing the lives of human-beings.
Making a difference is finding a ride to Harnett Off-Broadway for the student who otherwise would not attend. Will this student still face many hardships as she grows up? Absolutely. But for that one night, she was safe and happy.
Making a difference is singing a song of hope and encouragement with your best friend at your dad’s retirement service. Will my dad still struggle as he learns to navigate the waters of retirement? Absolutely. But for that one moment, he was at rest and peace with God, and he knew that he truly was not—and would not ever be—alone.
Making a difference is inviting a friend to dinner, talking, and laughing together.
Making a difference is following the music with your niece as she learns to read.
Making a difference is hugging a kid each morning and telling him to have a good day.
Making a difference is helping someone up when she falls down.
Making a difference is singing a song with a shut-in and seeing her face light up when she actually remembers something in a day full of forgetting.
Making a difference is doing anything you can to add light and joy to the lives of those around you anytime you can because life is the sum of all of its moments and each of us only has one life to live and God is the God of the light and joy that are slowly, steadily, and patiently fighting to redeem a broken humanity, one life and soul at a time.
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Bells and Cups and Singing, Oh My
Harnett Off-Broadway.
Four nights. March. Every year.
Harnett County’s Annual Celebration of the Arts.
Every school performs.
One act. 10 minutes.
Up to 45 students.
Nothing is judged. Officially.
But everything is judged. Unofficially.
“I want this year’s performance to be so good that it knocks my socks off.”
A lot of pressure.
Friends: I’m not a flashy person. I know. You’re shocked. I don’t do fancy costumes that can only be worn once. I don’t do catchy show-tunes that have little meaning. I’m too practical for the costumes and I’m too focused with teaching about life to do something that either doesn’t have a theme or doesn’t convey a message.
And so…Harnett Off-Broadway, more affectionately known as HOB, is not my favorite event of the year. I’m always afraid that my school’s performance will disappoint parents and administration. And that’s a lot of pressure for this recovering people pleaser.
The process of selecting HOB music each year is not a fun one for me. I first catch an idea or two from a song or theme and then wait for everything to fall into place. This year in particular, I had three completely different trains of thought but had decided on one of them based on its message and ease of preparation. I had discussed costuming and staging with Barb the Art Teacher and shared my thinking with some of my coworkers…and yet it didn’t feel right. One of the other ideas didn’t feel right either, but the third idea made no sense. I had bits and pieces of a production but nothing to hold it together…until the final piece fell into place.
Ever since we started practicing, I’ve told the kids that if we get this performance right then it’s going to look and sound very simple. Yet it’s not. It’s actually really hard. We’re providing our own accompaniment and singing a solid two columned page full of original lyrics. When everyone is together, I must attempt to conduct three different small groups of children. If one group gets off, then it throws off the others. The song is a recipe for disaster…or a chance to present a great world-premiere. I’m really hoping for the latter.
If it had been up to me and my performance during practice this afternoon, then I would have helped create a disaster. I kept forgetting or singing the wrong words. I kept forgetting when to play what and I kept throwing my cup on the floor. [One group is doing the cup game.] The girls I was standing near kept looking at me and laughing. I deserved it. They have become the pros. I am now the novice. They make it look easy. I made it look like the difficult task that it is.
Our performance is next Thursday night. We still have a lot of work to do in between now and then. But my hope is that my kids will keep learning and that they will keep making the very difficult look easy and that they will remember this experience as a wonderful and possibly formational time in their lives…even if it’s a time that completely stresses their teacher out!
Four nights. March. Every year.
Harnett County’s Annual Celebration of the Arts.
Every school performs.
One act. 10 minutes.
Up to 45 students.
Nothing is judged. Officially.
But everything is judged. Unofficially.
“I want this year’s performance to be so good that it knocks my socks off.”
A lot of pressure.
Friends: I’m not a flashy person. I know. You’re shocked. I don’t do fancy costumes that can only be worn once. I don’t do catchy show-tunes that have little meaning. I’m too practical for the costumes and I’m too focused with teaching about life to do something that either doesn’t have a theme or doesn’t convey a message.
And so…Harnett Off-Broadway, more affectionately known as HOB, is not my favorite event of the year. I’m always afraid that my school’s performance will disappoint parents and administration. And that’s a lot of pressure for this recovering people pleaser.
The process of selecting HOB music each year is not a fun one for me. I first catch an idea or two from a song or theme and then wait for everything to fall into place. This year in particular, I had three completely different trains of thought but had decided on one of them based on its message and ease of preparation. I had discussed costuming and staging with Barb the Art Teacher and shared my thinking with some of my coworkers…and yet it didn’t feel right. One of the other ideas didn’t feel right either, but the third idea made no sense. I had bits and pieces of a production but nothing to hold it together…until the final piece fell into place.
Ever since we started practicing, I’ve told the kids that if we get this performance right then it’s going to look and sound very simple. Yet it’s not. It’s actually really hard. We’re providing our own accompaniment and singing a solid two columned page full of original lyrics. When everyone is together, I must attempt to conduct three different small groups of children. If one group gets off, then it throws off the others. The song is a recipe for disaster…or a chance to present a great world-premiere. I’m really hoping for the latter.
If it had been up to me and my performance during practice this afternoon, then I would have helped create a disaster. I kept forgetting or singing the wrong words. I kept forgetting when to play what and I kept throwing my cup on the floor. [One group is doing the cup game.] The girls I was standing near kept looking at me and laughing. I deserved it. They have become the pros. I am now the novice. They make it look easy. I made it look like the difficult task that it is.
Our performance is next Thursday night. We still have a lot of work to do in between now and then. But my hope is that my kids will keep learning and that they will keep making the very difficult look easy and that they will remember this experience as a wonderful and possibly formational time in their lives…even if it’s a time that completely stresses their teacher out!
Spoon Rest Thief
I was a thief for about three minutes tonight.
Shopping in the 80% off section at Cracker Barrel, I found a spoon rest that I decided to buy. Knowing that I was going to purchase it for a whopping 60 cents, I put it in my pocket so that I could continue shopping with free hands.
I said to my friend, “Don’t let me forget that I put this in my pocket.”
Needless to say, I forgot.
After I had paid for the other things that caught my eye and started walking to my car, I reached into my pocket to make sure I had everything.
In addition to the essentials—wallet, keys, phone—I found my new spoon rest.
“Oops,” I thought. “I just stole this.”
“But…it’s okay. I’ve given Cracker Barrel enough money over the years. It’s only 60 cents. They’re not going to miss it. They’re trying to get rid of the product anyway. I don’t really need to walk back into the store through the rain just to pay for this,” I thought.
A few minutes later, after saying good night to my friend and her kids, I re-approached the check-out counter at Cracker Barrel, spoon rest and new CD in hand.
I figured that if I bought something in addition to the spoon rest, then I wouldn’t look conspicuous.
But I felt so guilty that I immediately confessed my crime to the cashier.
“I momentarily stole this,” I said. “I put it in my pocket to free up my hands and then forgot I had it.”
The cashier smiled and said, “At least you brought it back. Most people wouldn’t have done that.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been teaching my kids about integrity this week. And I didn’t think that stealing a spoon rest—albeit completely unintentional—showed much integrity.”
And, well, I want to be a person of integrity.
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I’m curious: Have you ever accidently stolen something? Please share. I don’t want to be alone in my no-longer-a-crime-crime!
Shopping in the 80% off section at Cracker Barrel, I found a spoon rest that I decided to buy. Knowing that I was going to purchase it for a whopping 60 cents, I put it in my pocket so that I could continue shopping with free hands.
I said to my friend, “Don’t let me forget that I put this in my pocket.”
Needless to say, I forgot.
After I had paid for the other things that caught my eye and started walking to my car, I reached into my pocket to make sure I had everything.
In addition to the essentials—wallet, keys, phone—I found my new spoon rest.
“Oops,” I thought. “I just stole this.”
“But…it’s okay. I’ve given Cracker Barrel enough money over the years. It’s only 60 cents. They’re not going to miss it. They’re trying to get rid of the product anyway. I don’t really need to walk back into the store through the rain just to pay for this,” I thought.
A few minutes later, after saying good night to my friend and her kids, I re-approached the check-out counter at Cracker Barrel, spoon rest and new CD in hand.
I figured that if I bought something in addition to the spoon rest, then I wouldn’t look conspicuous.
But I felt so guilty that I immediately confessed my crime to the cashier.
“I momentarily stole this,” I said. “I put it in my pocket to free up my hands and then forgot I had it.”
The cashier smiled and said, “At least you brought it back. Most people wouldn’t have done that.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been teaching my kids about integrity this week. And I didn’t think that stealing a spoon rest—albeit completely unintentional—showed much integrity.”
And, well, I want to be a person of integrity.
-----
I’m curious: Have you ever accidently stolen something? Please share. I don’t want to be alone in my no-longer-a-crime-crime!
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