Chainbreaker Ethan

My dad made me laugh during church yesterday.

While sharing a story from his teenage years, he said, “When you’re dumb, you don’t know you’re dumb.”

And how had he been dumb? When given the opportunity to preach at the age of 14, the text he chose was from Revelation. He wanted to tell the church that they needed to be on fire for Christ instead of lukewarm in their faith—lest God spit them out! Little Dan was frustrated that after coming back from summer camp on a spiritual high, he had watched his fire go out at the hands of those in the church. He admitted, lover of the church he may be, that “the church has a way of squelching people’s fires.” And I thought, “Yep, dad. You’re right. As much as we try, the church so often goes wrong.”

Yet sometimes we get things right:

This past Saturday, Rebecca the Children’s Minister worked with the children to make 100 crisis bags to take to local hospitals and fire stations. The kids wanted to provide something comforting to other kids who were experiencing traumatic events.

Yesterday afternoon, our women’s ministry group served lunch to numerous couples who have been married for more than 50 years.

And yesterday morning, our entire worship service was planned around a theme selected by my bass player, Ethan. Ethan joined the praise team about a year ago, decided that he wanted to play an instrument, and learned to play the bass. He even got a bass for Christmas. Ethan also joined the adult choir. As one point last year, as a 6th grader whose voice was changing, he was singing in both the children’s and adult choirs! Ethan quickly became my errand boy. If I needed to turn on the sound system—I asked the boy to do it. If I needed an actor—I asked the boy to do it. If I needed a music stand—I asked the boy to get it. Ethan was at every praise team practice, singing his heart out, boy band faces and all.

Yesterday was Ethan’s last Sunday with us. His dad received his Permanent Change of Station orders, so the family is moving to New York. As his swan song, Ethan requested that the team learn the song, “Chainbreaker.” After weeks of properly Antioch-izing the song (AKA, making it doable for our little praise team with no drummer), we sang the song yesterday. We also centered the entire service around the theme of God being the one who could break our chains. We laid the altar with chains, we sang songs of freedom, we read scriptures of freedom, and my dad preached about freedom. If it were up to Ethan, then everyone would have left church yesterday with a souvenir chain. But chains are expensive (I did look)! So only the praise team left with commemorative chains.

Friends, I don’t know what Ethan will be when he grows up. I don’t know if he has been called into the ministry like my dad or if he will follow in his dad’s footsteps and be a military man or if he will do something completely different. But what I know is this: I hope that no church, no school, or no human being will ever squelch my boy’s fire for God and enthusiasm for life.

If you've been walking the same old road for miles and miles
If you've been hearing the same old voice tell the same old lies
If you're trying to feel the same old holes inside
There's a better life
There's a better life

If you've got pain
He's a pain taker
If you feel lost
He's a way maker
If you need freedom or saving
He's a prison-shaking Savior
If you've got chains
He's a chain breaker

We've all searched for the light of day in the dead of night
We've all found ourselves worn out from the same old fight
We've all run to things we know just ain't right
And there's a better life
There's a better life

If you believe it
If you receive it
If you can feel it
Somebody testify

If you need freedom or saving
He's a prison-shaking Savior
If you've got chains
He's a chain breaker

Ugly Shoes

Dr. Smith starts every class with a metaphor.

If I were following her lead and starting class tonight, then tonight’s metaphor would be my shoes.

I would place my shoes in front of the class and ask everyone to come up with the metaphor.

After a few moments of silence, everyone would start sharing their thoughts. I would be grateful for the thoughts and celebrate each insight, but the insight that I would most want to hear would be something like this:

If you don’t regularly care for your shoes, then they will dry out, crack, and end up looking and feeling rough and being difficult to restore. The same goes for your body and spirit.

Something I don’t talk about a lot is the fact that I pray for my shoes when I buy them. I pray that God will use them to help me bless the places I go and the people I see while wearing them. I also pray that God will honor the money I’ve spent because I hate spending money on myself—yet I believe in wearing quality shoes because I’m on my feet so much.

I bought these particular shoes over a decade ago. I’ve worn them a lot—though I only have one specific memory of wearing them before today: Spray painting rhythm sticks silver for Harnett Off Broadway while working at Erwin Elementary. I don’t remember which year’s performance needed those sticks, but I remember having on these shoes because they got showered with spray paint residue and subsequently sparkled for a long time afterward. I was not impressed.

What I will remember about wearing these shoes today is this: One of my coworkers looked at my feet at the end of the day and said, “Deaton! Those shoes look rough! They must have been through a lot.”

Since it’s Thursday, I could have easily answered yes. I have often left school on Thursdays feeling like I would quit if given the opportunity. My patience and energy have been sucked out of me and I have been left feeling rough. But today, contrary to the appearance of my shoes, I didn’t feel that way. I was tired, yes. My weeks are long. But I felt okay.

Tonight, when I got home, somewhat embarrassed by the declaration about my shoes but moreso glad to have a few hours at home before bedtime, I polished my shoes. I decided to change their reality.

A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly rough Thursday, I decided to change my reality. I decided that I had to shift my spirit lest I constantly be in a state of cracked ugliness—especially on Thursday afternoons.

Shoe polish helped my shoes. Prayer, deep breathing, picking my battles, accepting my boundaries, and calling on the name of Jesus helped my spirit.

Are my shoes now back in perfect condition? No. Are my Thursdays now wonderful? No. But both are better because both have been tended to.

I think I’ll try to tend more often and more intentionally. And I think I’ll keep my eyes open for more metaphors. I think it will make Dr. Smith proud.

Blind Inspiration

“Welcome to Stacey B. and Deanna!”

I chucked when I read that statement on the white board last Thursday night. Stacey and I had gone to speak to this semester’s Special Needs class at Campbell and the professor had welcomed us with those words. I felt a bit like a rock-star with the one word name, but I made sure to let the class know that, despite my rock-star looks, I wasn’t actually a rock-star. I was, instead, just an elementary music teacher serving as chauffer to the guest of honor for the night: a vision impaired teaching hero.

I wrote about my adventures with Stacey after she helped me with a presentation last semester. That night, we went to the Walmart and Stacey amazed me with her knowledge of the store. She has the aisles memorized. This past Thursday night, however, we simply went out to eat. I took her to the local Mexican restaurant and we had a delicious meal together. Like last semester, we had a great time, and I went to bed that night with a deeper respect for someone for whom I already had great respect.

For Stacey, not being able to see is normal. Born prematurely, she received too much oxygen in the incubator that saved her life but left her blind. When her twin sister began reaching for things and tracking objects with her eyes, Stacey did not. It was then that her parents realized that something was wrong and that her parents decided that they would be her biggest advocate. When schools told them that they could not teach Stacey because she was blind, Stacey’s parents said, “Yes you will.” Stacey went to “regular” public schools her entire life, then proceeded to a “regular” college, and then earned her master’s degree from a “regular” university. When others were out partying, Stacey was scanning pages of textbooks so that her computer could read them to her. When others were skimming hundreds of pages of reading, Stacey was listening to them all—unable to skim without the ability to see—listening as fast as she could but still being limited by the speed of the computer.

Stacey has a “regular” teaching degree. She did her student teaching in “regular” elementary school classroom, but she has chosen to teach vision impaired students the technological and life skills that they need to succeed in the world. No doubt, current technology makes things a bit less complicated for students today, yet things are still not nearly as easy as they are for those of us who can see.

Take, for instance, eating. While preparing for last Thursday night’s class, Stacey and I decided that it would be fun to ask the students to eat cake off of a small place. Stacey confessed that this is always difficult—especially in places where you are often expected to stand—like wedding receptions and other celebratory events. Stacey made the cake and provided the forks. The professor provided the plates and napkins. The students in class all struggled to get the cake on their forks and get the forks to their mouths without making a mess. They said they felt helpless, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I caught myself wanting to cheat—and I caught myself thinking, “I’ll just wait to finish my piece of cake when I can see again—because then it won’t be so hard and messy.”

For Stacey, eating without seeing has been her life’s reality. So is it more difficult for a seeing person to suddenly take away her sense of sight and expect her to be successful at a task? Maybe so. But the lesson was real nonetheless: There are so many things we take for granted.

Driving. Walking freely. Reading the directions on the side of the cake box. Reading a menu. Seeing in color. Seeing the face of a loved one. Seeing the crinkly little feet of a newborn baby. Dreaming in color. Watching a movie. Watching a game. Being able to avoid running over your dad who is working on the lawnmower in the yard while you are riding your bike (this is one of my favorite stories from Stacey’s childhood—she forgot that he was working in the yard and rode her bike right over him!)

Again, for Stacey, not being able to see is what she has always known. She has learned to live her life in such a way that she sees everything she needs to see. She would never want anyone to feel sorry for her or treat her any differently than we would treat a non-vision-impaired person. And yet…I must admit that Stacey inspires me…and she challenges me not to take the simplest things in life for granted…not even the knowledge of knowing that there is food on my fork when I place it in my mouth.

Who is someone who inspires you and challenges you to life to the fullest? Make sure you tell him/her thank you today.

Spelling Bee Cooperation

Today was the annual school spelling-bee and my fourth year serving as pronouncer for the event. I really enjoy this job, but it’s surprisingly difficult.

Each year, the national spell bee people produce an official list of spelling bee words, complete with word origin, pronunciation, part of speech, definition, and sentence. If the word is a homonym or one that sounds like another word, then the pronouncer must share that information. All other information is up to pronouncer discretion or shared upon participant request.

While the words are in a formal list, each school has freedom to select which words it will use. Additionally, each participant is given a number and referred to as that number for the entire bee. Since one never knows if a participant will get his/her word correct, one cannot pre-number the words.

Therefore, the pronouncer must keep track of which word she is on, who the word belongs to (by number), if the participant gets the word right or wrong, how the information will influence other rounds, what round she is in, etc. I was reading, calling, marking, and making notes all at the same time.

Again, I enjoyed it, but it was surprisingly difficult. I’m glad I am fairly organized.

Each year’s bee is different. Sometimes the kids are nervous. Sometimes they are not. Sometimes the kids are dressed up. Sometimes they are not. Sometimes lots of kids get out quickly. Sometimes they do not. Sometimes the final battle lasts for a long time. Sometimes it does not. Sometimes a champion is immediately declared. Sometimes it is not. Sometimes the championship word is missed and a winner cannot be declared until another final battle has been fought and another championship word has been announced.

What made this year’s bee unique, though, was the camaraderie that the participants shared. Once it got down to just a few participants, they were openly cheering for one another—giving each other high fives and fist bumps. They wanted their competitors to spell their words correctly. They wanted to see each other succeed.

Yes. The spelling bee is a competition. Yes. Each kid wanted to win. But the view from the pronouncers chair today was one of little animosity and lots of good cheer and, well, it made this pronouncer smile…and have to look up how to spell camaraderie just to complete this note .

Worship Despite Ourselves

Sometimes I have no direction. I have a theme. I have a scripture passage. I have a sermon title. And yet I have no direction. Songs play in my head, but they don’t feel right. Songs fall under the right category in the hymnbook index, but they don’t feel right. The words aren’t what we need. The melody isn’t familiar. The message, tune, and/or tempo don’t fit with the mood or flow of the service. And so I find myself at a loss.

Sometimes I ask my mom for help. Sometimes my dad. The truth is that my mom knows more about the hymnal than I’ll ever know and that my dad knows exactly what he is hoping a worship service will convey. Sometimes their suggestions directly pull me out of my rut. Sometimes they give me a directional tug. But sometimes even they don’t feel right. So sometimes I ask my praise team members for help. And the same thing will happen. Sometimes their suggestions pull me directly out of my rut while other times they give me a directional tug.

Yesterday’s worship service was a combination of all of the above: My mom directly chose what ended up being the Call to Worship and the second and third hymns while Rebecca the Children’s Minister chose what ended up being the special music. The thing that I wrestled with was where to place the songs that we had selected…and knowing that the praise team hadn’t practiced either song that we were supposed to play.

Truth be told, I hadn’t made a final decision about the order of yesterday’s music when I arrived at church. I knew my options, and I had a pretty good idea of what we would be doing when, but nothing was solid. As the praise team’s pre-service warm-up began and the members began to rag-taggedly arrive, I quickly determined that we would do the special music and settled into practice.

Here’s what happened, though: The first time we practiced the song that Rebecca the Children’s Minister had suggested, it was me, Rebecca, and Ethan the Bass Player and Vocalist. We figured out the vocal arrangement, and then Rebecca had to go do something else. Then David the Keyboard Player arrived. So Ethan and I practiced with David. I tried to figure out which guitar style sounded best with the song—strum or pick. Then Leslie the Vocalist and Guitar player arrived. So I handed her my guitar, showed her the strum part, shared with her what we had decided for the vocalists, got out my other guitar, and began playing the pick part. The combination of everything together sounded good, but Leslie’s guitar wasn’t coming through the sound system. Then Jeff the Vocalist and Sound Guy showed up. So I shared with him what we had decided for the vocalists, practiced one verse, and then asked him to see if he could figure out what was wrong with Leslie’s guitar pick up.

By this point, quite a few people had gathered in the sanctuary for worship. The rag-tag nature of how everyone had arrived was evident in how we were set up; Jeff and I were having to yell at each other to figure out the problem with Leslie’s guitar (the sound booth is at the back of the sanctuary in a room above the sanctuary); and the choir was waiting on me in the choir room. As soon as we got the guitar amplified and our equipment set up in such a way that it did not reflect chaos, I went to the choir room to get the choir ready for the service. After a quick warm-up and a prayer, we entered the sanctuary for worship.

The choir sang the Call To Worship. It was literally a musical version of the scripture reading of the day and led perfectly into the first hymn. The praise team sang the special music. One more member of the praise team showed up to sing. Just before we began, Rebecca quietly shared with her the vocal arrangement and then we sang…

There are times when the choir and/or praise team will work on a song for weeks. We will practice long and hard and wait for just the right time to offer our song in worship. And then no one will say anything in response…or if they do then it will be a complaint—the most common of which is that the praise team is too loud and the instruments unbalanced.

Then there are times like yesterday when the choir pulls out an old song and the praise team does the same…and things are a bit scattered and crazy like the episode chronicled above…and then numerous people tell me that the music was absolutely beautiful—the harmonies, the balance, the volume, and the message. When this happened yesterday, all I could say was, “It was God.” Because surely it was. You read about the morning and the uncertainty that led to it all. What else could it have been?

Thank you, God, for using us despite of ourselves. And help us to become the prayer that we sang. Amen.

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Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.

Where there is hatred, we will show his love
Where there is injury, we will never judge
Where there is striving, we will speak his peace
To the millions crying for release,
We will be his instruments of peace

Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.

Where there is blindness, we will pray for sight
where there is darkness, we will shine his light
Where there is sadness, we will bear their grief
To the millions crying for relief,
We will be your instruments of peace.

Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whispered words of wisdom, let it be