About a year ago, I found myself drawn to a work of art entitled “Rock With A Hole In Its Heart.” The piece was created by a local artist and hanging at the local gallery where Barb-My-Former-Art-Teacher-But-Still-My-Friend teaches classes on weekends.
The piece is abstract. The movement, the lines, the colors—or lack thereof—and the title all spoke to me. When I looked at the piece, I saw the hole in the rock’s heart. I saw a little person sitting on a rock looking at the horizon. I saw an elephant blowing water. Then Barb pointed out the outline of a woman, faceless, featureless, with the hole where her heart would be. It reminded her of one of her works from high school. That piece is called, “The Womanless Woman.” I have that piece hanging in my room. I also now have the “Rock…” hanging in my room. And guess what I see every time I look at it? Not the rock. Not the little person looking at the horizon. Not the elephant. But the woman: the image that I didn’t even seen until Barb pointed it out. Granted, I don’t mind seeing the outline of the woman. It’s not offensive. It’s just that I can’t un-see it.
…
I was talking to a friend the other day about a mistake I made many years back. I said, “If I could go back, I would probably not do it again.” I suppose that sounds weird, but I can’t definitively say that I would not do it again because I know that I’m who I am today because of the past—good or bad—and I know that everything that I know has been learned from what I have experienced, seen, and heard. I can’t un-know, un-see, or un-hear my life.
Sometimes I want to. Sometimes I want not to feel the sting of regret. Sometimes I want not to remember difficulty, hardship, stupidity, and grief. Sometimes I want to go back and change all things bad. But I can’t.
Thankfully, I can’t forget the good things either.
…
When I got into the car on Monday, Sara Groves started singing. As she sang, I realized she was speaking to me. She was pulling at some heart strings directly connected to the broken hearts of a couple of different friends—a couple of different people who, too, wished that they could un-know, un-see, and un-hear some things. And yet…we can’t. None of us can. Full, broken, or empty hearts. And somehow…that is okay. Somehow, we are all okay.
…
I saw what I saw and I can't forget it
I heard what I heard and I can't go back
I know what I know and I can't deny it
Something on the road, cut me to the soul
I say what I say with no hesitation
I have what I have and I'm giving it up
I do what I do with deep conviction
Something on the road, cut me to the soul
Your pain has changed me
Your dream inspires
Your face a memory
Your hope a fire
Your courage asks me what I'm afraid of
And what I know of love
We've done what we've done and we can't erase it
We are what we are and it's more than enough
We have what we have but it's no substitution
Something on the road, touched my very soul
Your pain has changed me
Your dream inspires
Your face a memory
Your hope a fire
Your courage asks me what I am made of
And what I know of love
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
Maps and Puzzles
I first realized that kids were fascinated by maps when I taught at Erwin. I don’t remember what I was trying to teach, but I vividly remember standing in front of the map in my classroom and fielding question after question in rapid fire succession. I kept trying to steer us back to something somewhat musical, but I finally just gave up and answered my students’ questions.
Over ten years later—the world more technologically advanced than ever—kids still love maps. Not Google maps. Not Google earth. Not the GPS. But pull down, jump-in-fright-if-the-map-rolls-up-unexpectedly, topographical, political, geographical, continental, country, or state maps. In fact, the kids love maps so much that I have two huge maps permanently hanging in my classroom so that students can look at them whenever they want.
That being said, most kids—and I dare say most adults—are woefully ignorant when it comes to geography. I feel okay saying this because I, myself am woefully ignorant when it comes to geography. But. I’m happy to report that I’m getting better! And here is why:
I’m practicing.
And I’m practicing because I’m teaching.
And I’m teaching because the kids are interested.
The kids are interested in maps and the kids are interested in composers’ deaths and gravesites and the kids are interested in puzzles. Weird. I know.
One of the songs that I use as a springboard for a unit that focuses on basic geographical skills is “Hello To All The Children of the World.” In short, the song introduces the word “hello” in nine different languages from nine different countries: England, France, Spain, Australia, Germany, Japan, Italy, Israel, and Russia. [England’s and Spain’s languages, of course, cover America and Mexico as well]. As I’ve pointed to each of these countries on the map, I’ve learned where they are (not that they are overly difficult to find), and in the process I have paid attention to the countries around them. Not only that, I have watched a Little Big Shots video clip of Nathan-The-Four-Year-Old reciting all of the countries of Africa in under a minute.
So when I saw “The Global Puzzle” at Barnes and Noble last week, and the box challenged me to see if I could put together the puzzle without looking at the picture, I knew that I had to accept the challenge. With my mom. I don’t do puzzles without my mom.
My mom put together the border, North America, and Australia. Together, we sorted what we thought were the countries of Africa, Europe, Asia, and South America. After we sorted, we began putting together the continents. And it was hard—not because we’d sorted wrong but because we didn’t know where exactly the countries went on each continent! At one point, I gave up on country placement and moved to my puzzle forte: puzzle shape placement. Two hours after we started, combining both of our talents, mom and I had the world together. Now we will glue it together and I will take it to school where my students will think it incredibly fascinating.
There, I will add it to my classroom of real maps and globes—did I mention that I have seven globes in my room?—and I will continue in my attempt to teach my students basic geographical skills so that they won’t grow up geographically ignorant.
Now. Go find a map and locate a country about which you’ve always wondered. Then tell me about it. I’d sure like to know.
Over ten years later—the world more technologically advanced than ever—kids still love maps. Not Google maps. Not Google earth. Not the GPS. But pull down, jump-in-fright-if-the-map-rolls-up-unexpectedly, topographical, political, geographical, continental, country, or state maps. In fact, the kids love maps so much that I have two huge maps permanently hanging in my classroom so that students can look at them whenever they want.
That being said, most kids—and I dare say most adults—are woefully ignorant when it comes to geography. I feel okay saying this because I, myself am woefully ignorant when it comes to geography. But. I’m happy to report that I’m getting better! And here is why:
I’m practicing.
And I’m practicing because I’m teaching.
And I’m teaching because the kids are interested.
The kids are interested in maps and the kids are interested in composers’ deaths and gravesites and the kids are interested in puzzles. Weird. I know.
One of the songs that I use as a springboard for a unit that focuses on basic geographical skills is “Hello To All The Children of the World.” In short, the song introduces the word “hello” in nine different languages from nine different countries: England, France, Spain, Australia, Germany, Japan, Italy, Israel, and Russia. [England’s and Spain’s languages, of course, cover America and Mexico as well]. As I’ve pointed to each of these countries on the map, I’ve learned where they are (not that they are overly difficult to find), and in the process I have paid attention to the countries around them. Not only that, I have watched a Little Big Shots video clip of Nathan-The-Four-Year-Old reciting all of the countries of Africa in under a minute.
So when I saw “The Global Puzzle” at Barnes and Noble last week, and the box challenged me to see if I could put together the puzzle without looking at the picture, I knew that I had to accept the challenge. With my mom. I don’t do puzzles without my mom.
My mom put together the border, North America, and Australia. Together, we sorted what we thought were the countries of Africa, Europe, Asia, and South America. After we sorted, we began putting together the continents. And it was hard—not because we’d sorted wrong but because we didn’t know where exactly the countries went on each continent! At one point, I gave up on country placement and moved to my puzzle forte: puzzle shape placement. Two hours after we started, combining both of our talents, mom and I had the world together. Now we will glue it together and I will take it to school where my students will think it incredibly fascinating.
There, I will add it to my classroom of real maps and globes—did I mention that I have seven globes in my room?—and I will continue in my attempt to teach my students basic geographical skills so that they won’t grow up geographically ignorant.
Now. Go find a map and locate a country about which you’ve always wondered. Then tell me about it. I’d sure like to know.
Monday, March 20, 2017
Corridor of Daggers
One of my friends has erased her finger prints by using so much hand sanitizer over the years. After being sick for the past few days, I’d gladly erase my own finger prints by way of hand sanitizer if it’d keep me from feeling like this again.
Maybe my tolerance for pain has lessened as I’ve gotten older, but I declare that I was absolutely miserable and felt a little like death at the height of this little bug on Thursday night.
It started Wednesday night with a sore throat. I jolted myself awake in the wee hours of Thursday morning and spent around ten minutes talking myself down from a panic attack of being sick, alone, and not able to breath. I woke up Thursday morning not feeling great, but I got up and got dressed because missing work is discouraged. The closer it came to leaving time, the more certain I felt that I really didn’t feel well, so I made the decision to stay home. I sent all appropriate messages and then went back to sleep.
When I woke up, I felt worse. And as the day progressed, I continued to feel worse. From no fever to a baby fever to a fever of 102; from a nauseous stomach to one that couldn’t keep anything down; from a sore throat to a sorer throat…I was not in good shape.
Different people had different ways to know that I was really sick: My mom knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t leave the house to volunteer for Harnett Off-Broadway; I almost always volunteer for my non-HOB nights. And my dad knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t have enough energy to let Bullet off the porch.
When I wrote Olga-Bullet’s-Real-Mom to ask her to take care of Bullet, she asked if I needed anything. In my fever-induced drunkenness, I asked for Gatorade and Ibuprofen. Sometime later, after a mystery Adam Sandler movie, during Home Alone 2, both of which I only saw bits and pieces because of said fever-induced drunkenness, Olga knocked on the door and delivered Gatorade, Ibuprofen, and raspberries for tea. She wanted to help her neighbor, and she did helped her neighbor indeed.
My fever broke sometime during the night that night. I was up and down all night—hot, cold, sweating, freezing, trying to swallow through what felt like a corridor of daggers. A good friend brought Lysol to the house on Friday so that I could disinfect my sick living quarters. I spent Friday resting. I spent Saturday resting—although I did move my resting position to the movie theatre to see Beauty and The Beast (which was very good) and then to Urgent Care to receive a negative strep throat diagnosis but medicine anyway because my throat looked so bad. I had to work yesterday, but every moment not working was resting. I had to work today, and go to class tonight, but in between I took a nap.
My throat is still very sore. The corridor of white daggers still there. For now I have all fingerprints. But if sanitizing my hands to avoid walking this corridor again is what I need to do, then I will be a glad sanitizer, disappearing fingerprints and all.
Maybe my tolerance for pain has lessened as I’ve gotten older, but I declare that I was absolutely miserable and felt a little like death at the height of this little bug on Thursday night.
It started Wednesday night with a sore throat. I jolted myself awake in the wee hours of Thursday morning and spent around ten minutes talking myself down from a panic attack of being sick, alone, and not able to breath. I woke up Thursday morning not feeling great, but I got up and got dressed because missing work is discouraged. The closer it came to leaving time, the more certain I felt that I really didn’t feel well, so I made the decision to stay home. I sent all appropriate messages and then went back to sleep.
When I woke up, I felt worse. And as the day progressed, I continued to feel worse. From no fever to a baby fever to a fever of 102; from a nauseous stomach to one that couldn’t keep anything down; from a sore throat to a sorer throat…I was not in good shape.
Different people had different ways to know that I was really sick: My mom knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t leave the house to volunteer for Harnett Off-Broadway; I almost always volunteer for my non-HOB nights. And my dad knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t have enough energy to let Bullet off the porch.
When I wrote Olga-Bullet’s-Real-Mom to ask her to take care of Bullet, she asked if I needed anything. In my fever-induced drunkenness, I asked for Gatorade and Ibuprofen. Sometime later, after a mystery Adam Sandler movie, during Home Alone 2, both of which I only saw bits and pieces because of said fever-induced drunkenness, Olga knocked on the door and delivered Gatorade, Ibuprofen, and raspberries for tea. She wanted to help her neighbor, and she did helped her neighbor indeed.
My fever broke sometime during the night that night. I was up and down all night—hot, cold, sweating, freezing, trying to swallow through what felt like a corridor of daggers. A good friend brought Lysol to the house on Friday so that I could disinfect my sick living quarters. I spent Friday resting. I spent Saturday resting—although I did move my resting position to the movie theatre to see Beauty and The Beast (which was very good) and then to Urgent Care to receive a negative strep throat diagnosis but medicine anyway because my throat looked so bad. I had to work yesterday, but every moment not working was resting. I had to work today, and go to class tonight, but in between I took a nap.
My throat is still very sore. The corridor of white daggers still there. For now I have all fingerprints. But if sanitizing my hands to avoid walking this corridor again is what I need to do, then I will be a glad sanitizer, disappearing fingerprints and all.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Snowy Sabbath
I like church. Really, I do. Please hear that. I like joining together with my community of believers and worshipping with the choir, praise team, and wider congregation. As messed up as the church can be, I like doing more through the church than I can do alone. I like church. I believe in the church. But I declare that sometimes it’s nice to have a day off from church.
I accidently woke up early yesterday. I think my body thought it was a school day. I saw that it was snowing outside but I left my alarm set for church and went back to sleep. A little while later, I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing and then to pots and pans being put up. In a state of semi-consciousness, I listened to the sounds of the kitchen and mused about how productive my parents were being so early in the morning. Then I looked at the clock. It was 9:15. My parents should have been leaving for church. At that point I literally said aloud, “Something is weird here.”
On the next multiple of five (I only get up on multiples of 5), I popped out of bed and went downstairs. When I saw my dad in his pajamas, I knew: Church had been cancelled. I asked anyway: “Was church cancelled?!” When he said yes, I cheered. I literally cheered. I clapped. I jumped up and down. Then I ran into my parents’ bedroom where my mom was working at her computer and I hugged her. As I squeezed her and rejoiced, she said, “You’re not supposed to be this happy about missing church.” Then she smiled at my excitement. Then I ran back into the kitchen, arms fully extended for a hug, and threw my arms around my dad and said, “Thank you so much” (although I knew that the decision was not completely his). Then I jumped up and down and clapped some more. Then I cried.
I was so happy and relieved to have a day off that I couldn’t hold back the tears. Then I volunteered to cook breakfast so that mom and dad could prepare for their visit to see my grandmother.
Last week was extremely busy. Six days of early mornings and very late nights with no down time in between takes its toll on an almost-40-year-old. This week will be mostly the same, just without the stress of preparing for Harnett Off-Broadway. Yesterday was supposed to be another work day. But with the blessing of the snow, the day ended up being a day off. It was rest for the weary. It was true Sabbath. And it happened because I didn’t have to go to church.
Swirly, dancing white
Calm silence nourishing souls
Peaceful rest, Sabbath
I like church. Really, I do. Please hear that. But I declare that sometimes it’s nice to have a day off.
God, thanks for a day off yesterday. Amen.
I accidently woke up early yesterday. I think my body thought it was a school day. I saw that it was snowing outside but I left my alarm set for church and went back to sleep. A little while later, I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing and then to pots and pans being put up. In a state of semi-consciousness, I listened to the sounds of the kitchen and mused about how productive my parents were being so early in the morning. Then I looked at the clock. It was 9:15. My parents should have been leaving for church. At that point I literally said aloud, “Something is weird here.”
On the next multiple of five (I only get up on multiples of 5), I popped out of bed and went downstairs. When I saw my dad in his pajamas, I knew: Church had been cancelled. I asked anyway: “Was church cancelled?!” When he said yes, I cheered. I literally cheered. I clapped. I jumped up and down. Then I ran into my parents’ bedroom where my mom was working at her computer and I hugged her. As I squeezed her and rejoiced, she said, “You’re not supposed to be this happy about missing church.” Then she smiled at my excitement. Then I ran back into the kitchen, arms fully extended for a hug, and threw my arms around my dad and said, “Thank you so much” (although I knew that the decision was not completely his). Then I jumped up and down and clapped some more. Then I cried.
I was so happy and relieved to have a day off that I couldn’t hold back the tears. Then I volunteered to cook breakfast so that mom and dad could prepare for their visit to see my grandmother.
Last week was extremely busy. Six days of early mornings and very late nights with no down time in between takes its toll on an almost-40-year-old. This week will be mostly the same, just without the stress of preparing for Harnett Off-Broadway. Yesterday was supposed to be another work day. But with the blessing of the snow, the day ended up being a day off. It was rest for the weary. It was true Sabbath. And it happened because I didn’t have to go to church.
Swirly, dancing white
Calm silence nourishing souls
Peaceful rest, Sabbath
I like church. Really, I do. Please hear that. But I declare that sometimes it’s nice to have a day off.
God, thanks for a day off yesterday. Amen.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Love Can Build A Bridge
“Tell your kids that they moved a grown man to tears today. No. I’ll just tell them myself.”
We have no costumes. No make-up. No overly fancy choreography. No medley of show-tunes.
But we have a group of kids who love to sing. And we have a very clear theme to sing about and a very poignant message to share: Love.
Love gives us purpose.
Love gives us hope.
Love gives us reason for living and giving.
Love helps us bridge any gaps that keep us apart.
We’ve only had about six hours to practice with our kids this year. Thank God for Alasha The Queen Bee Guidance Counselor who has loaned me her room and artistic talents and helped pull everything together. Two schools and 33 classes between them doesn’t leave me much time for anything. Yet I hope that when the kids look back on Harnett Off Broadway this year they will remember the theme by which I try to live every busy day: Love.
“What you did today, boys and girls, was really good. When you have a message to share and when you sing from your hearts, you don’t need all of that other stuff. Music has the power to move people. And what you all did today moved me. And not just me. There were people all around this auditorium who had tears in their eyes as well. So. Don’t worry about all of that other stuff. Just do what you do well and be yourselves tomorrow night. Let the music in your hearts do its work.”
We have no costumes. No make-up. No overly fancy choreography. No medley of show-tunes.
But we have a group of kids who love to sing. And we have a very clear theme to sing about and a very poignant message to share: Love.
Love gives us purpose.
Love gives us hope.
Love gives us reason for living and giving.
Love helps us bridge any gaps that keep us apart.
We’ve only had about six hours to practice with our kids this year. Thank God for Alasha The Queen Bee Guidance Counselor who has loaned me her room and artistic talents and helped pull everything together. Two schools and 33 classes between them doesn’t leave me much time for anything. Yet I hope that when the kids look back on Harnett Off Broadway this year they will remember the theme by which I try to live every busy day: Love.
“What you did today, boys and girls, was really good. When you have a message to share and when you sing from your hearts, you don’t need all of that other stuff. Music has the power to move people. And what you all did today moved me. And not just me. There were people all around this auditorium who had tears in their eyes as well. So. Don’t worry about all of that other stuff. Just do what you do well and be yourselves tomorrow night. Let the music in your hearts do its work.”
Monday, March 6, 2017
Unexpected 7th Grade Blessing
Yesterday was this year’s Harnett County Young Author’s Celebration. For a couple of reasons, I didn’t get the invitation until the beginning of last week and didn’t have time to talk to the other school winners, so I wasn’t sure if anyone else was going. [Johnsonville had the most entries in the county, two student winners, and three Forever Young (adult) winners.] Since today started two of the busiest weeks of my year, I really just wanted to stay home and take a long Sunday afternoon nap. But I’m a strong supporter of the Young Authors program, and I knew I needed to show that with my actions and not just my words. So I went. And I’m glad I went.
I must admit that I feel a bit silly sitting on stage with all of the student winners. I fear that it appears like I want to be honored. But that’s not it. I want to sit on stage with the students from my school so that they don’t feel alone. I want to be on stage with them to give them courage. And I want to read my writing aloud to model public speaking—not just to my students but to all the kids on stage.
When I got to the celebration yesterday, I saw my principal and one of my coworkers sitting in the audience. I also saw one of my students on stage! My coworker was not only the student’s teacher but also a Forever Young winner, so I grabbed her to go on stage with me. As we sat with the students, listened to them read, and watched them get their awards, I noticed a late-comer walking down the aisle. She looked frustrated. As soon as she made it to stage, her name was called to read. She read. Beautifully. Then she came to sit by me because it was the only seat left on stage.
After pictures were made, snacks were eaten, and everything was over, I went to my car to go home. As I was getting into my car, I saw my stage neighbor walking toward me. At first, I thought that she and her family were having car trouble. But then I heard her say, “I just wanted to tell you thank you for reading today. You did a really good job and it was really inspiring. It’s nice to know that older people still write and that not everyone has given up on it. Writing is so important.”
Humbled, I properly thanked my stage neighbor for her for her compliment (and overlooked that she called me old ), and then we had a fifteen minute conversation about writing, emotional expression, Harry Potter, literature, and band. I’m pretty sure she’d have kept on talking if I hadn’t realized that her mom was just sitting in the car waiting for her. But kudos to her mom for encouraging her to come talk to me. My stage neighbor, a 7th grader, had seen me walking to my car, wondered if it was me, debated whether or not she should speak to me, but finally walked over because her mom told her to go on and talk to me.
Knowing that it took a lot of courage for a 7th grader to speak to a stranger, I prayed through the whole conversation that God would give me the words that she most needed to hear, the questions that she most needed to answer, and the encouragement that she most needed to take away. I hope that I offered all of those things. And I hope that I will never forget the moment when I drove away yesterday and said aloud, “Well. I wasn’t expecting that. I guess it’s a good thing I came. Thank you, God, for guiding me to come. And thank you for unexpected blessings.” Amen.
I must admit that I feel a bit silly sitting on stage with all of the student winners. I fear that it appears like I want to be honored. But that’s not it. I want to sit on stage with the students from my school so that they don’t feel alone. I want to be on stage with them to give them courage. And I want to read my writing aloud to model public speaking—not just to my students but to all the kids on stage.
When I got to the celebration yesterday, I saw my principal and one of my coworkers sitting in the audience. I also saw one of my students on stage! My coworker was not only the student’s teacher but also a Forever Young winner, so I grabbed her to go on stage with me. As we sat with the students, listened to them read, and watched them get their awards, I noticed a late-comer walking down the aisle. She looked frustrated. As soon as she made it to stage, her name was called to read. She read. Beautifully. Then she came to sit by me because it was the only seat left on stage.
After pictures were made, snacks were eaten, and everything was over, I went to my car to go home. As I was getting into my car, I saw my stage neighbor walking toward me. At first, I thought that she and her family were having car trouble. But then I heard her say, “I just wanted to tell you thank you for reading today. You did a really good job and it was really inspiring. It’s nice to know that older people still write and that not everyone has given up on it. Writing is so important.”
Humbled, I properly thanked my stage neighbor for her for her compliment (and overlooked that she called me old ), and then we had a fifteen minute conversation about writing, emotional expression, Harry Potter, literature, and band. I’m pretty sure she’d have kept on talking if I hadn’t realized that her mom was just sitting in the car waiting for her. But kudos to her mom for encouraging her to come talk to me. My stage neighbor, a 7th grader, had seen me walking to my car, wondered if it was me, debated whether or not she should speak to me, but finally walked over because her mom told her to go on and talk to me.
Knowing that it took a lot of courage for a 7th grader to speak to a stranger, I prayed through the whole conversation that God would give me the words that she most needed to hear, the questions that she most needed to answer, and the encouragement that she most needed to take away. I hope that I offered all of those things. And I hope that I will never forget the moment when I drove away yesterday and said aloud, “Well. I wasn’t expecting that. I guess it’s a good thing I came. Thank you, God, for guiding me to come. And thank you for unexpected blessings.” Amen.
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