A Rough Start

 

I must confess, the beginning of this school year was rough.  

 

The transition out of summer was especially difficult because I had a great summer and building my school stamina was especially difficult because, well, it’s always difficult. I’m actually still building it.

 

For the first week, I just went through the motions—my heart was not really in it and my head was not at all in the game.

 

But then I went to church and realized two things: 1) I am called to love my neighbor as myself and my neighbors are my students and colleagues, and 2) I was boring myself with my lessons.

 

My heart changed with the first realization, and my lessons changed with the second.

 

Some days are still rough. Teaching during Covid is far from sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows. But I’m making it. And it’s things like this that keep me going:

 

Teaching Mariachi music and watching my Hispanic students’ eyes light up when they hear their own language and recognize something from their culture. “I love this stuff!” one kid exclaimed this week, and it warmed my heart.

 

Passing around instruments and watching my students experience them. Most of them will not continue with music after elementary school, but all of them (if they stay with me from Kindergarten to 5^th grade) will have at least held a trumpet, trombone, flute, clarinet, saxophone, violin, mandolin, and guitar (and seen, in person, the French horn and banjo) once in their lives.

 

Being asked questions I don’t know the answers to—especially questions of how a composer or musician died! I have no idea why kids are so fascinated with people’s deaths, but they are. They always want to know if someone is dead or alive. If the answer is alive, then they are amazed and want to know how old the person is. If the answer is dead, then they want to know how old the person was when they died, how they died, and how old they would be if they were still alive. I’ve started front-loading my research to include these details, but sometimes I can’t find them, or I forget what I read, or I get one story mixed up with another…and so I get to show them how to do research…or how to do a math problem…which is always neat.

 

Pulling down the map and watching hands go up with stories and questions. Kids are starved for geographical knowledge. In fact, if I let them, then my lessons could easily turn into geography lessons due to student interest. 

 

Receiving the occasional hug or “I love you.” With Covid, hugs aren’t freely given anymore, but ever so often a student’s need for a hug will erupt and they will come in for the hug. That happened yesterday with a student who used to be one of my most challenging students but has somehow become one of my most beloved.  That hug was just what both of us needed at the end of a long day.

 

What about you? What keeps you going each day? Please share. I’d love to hear.

 

Betrayal

 

“If you need someone to trust, then you chose the right person,” she said.

But then she stopped answering my texts and calls    

And I found out three days later that she had shared my story

Without my permission and

Changed my life forever.

 

Betrayal hurts.

 

I suppose that’s why I fell apart when catching Mama Cat yesterday.

 

Over the past month, we had worked to build her trust

And then bam!

We betrayed that trust,

Trapped her and

Changed her life forever.

 

I know.

Cats aren’t humans.

I know.

Mama Cat doesn’t feel the same emotions as me.

I know.

We’re doing what’s best for her.

She needs medical care to be the best cat she can be

And not overpopulate the neighborhood.

 

But still.

 

The whole process hurt me on a level far deeper than passing sadness.

 

It hooked me.

 

The sadness was one of betrayal.

Of being blindsided.

Of one person having power over another.

Of being caught when you least expect it.  

 

And it hurt.

 

Maybe you hurt today, too.

Not because you had to trap a cat.

But because of something else.

Maybe you feel the sting of betrayal.

Maybe you feel the emptiness of loss.

Maybe you don’t even know why you’re feeling what you feel.

You just know that you hurt.

 

If so, friend:

Know that you’re not alone.

 

Jesus: You were betrayed. You were hurt. You experienced loss. You wept. You understand. So take our deepest hurts and spread healing balm on them in a way that only you can. Amen.

Bifocals

 

Yesterday was my 44th and 1/6 birthday.

Just two days previous,

The eye doctor told me what I already knew:

I’m getting old.

 

Not only has my prescription changed for the worse,

But also…

I need…

Bifocals.

 

Progressive lenses.

“Just a teensy-weensy amount,” she said.

But my gracious did that teensy-weensy amount make a huge difference in my ability to read—

At least on the machine in the doctor’s office.

 

I’m not looking forward to my new lenses.

Not because they mean that I’m old; I’m not as shamed of my age.

But simply because I don’t do well with glasses changes.

I feel sick for days on end.

 

Headaches, stomach aches, weird depth perception.

I’ve had to return glasses because I couldn’t adjust to them.

I’m anxious this will be the same.

And yet…I know that I must give ‘em a try.

 

There is no point to this note.

No inspirational spin.

Just a simple, honest confession:

I’m getting old and I need bifocals.

 

There I said it.

 

Is there something you need to confess today? 😊

A Quiet Sadness

 

It’s a quiet sadness,

Losing a long-time friend to Covid.

It’s a subtle grief that hits at random times:

Reading an e-mail,

Watching a widower walk down the street alone,

Reading a prayer during Sunday morning worship.

 

Jennifer and I became friends in 1995 when we both began our music education majors at Meredith College. The department was small—only a handful of music majors—so we went through almost all of our classes together and survived the program whose motto was “Suffering Builds Character!”

 

What I remember most about Jennifer was her maturity. She had a wise, old soul—a beautiful soul—and I always respected her for that. Jennifer also had a beautiful smile. It radiated from her core. Jennifer was a genuinely kind person.

 

[I also remember that Jennifer once hit a parked car as she was parking for marching band practice at NC State. Jennifer often drove us to practice. When she did, she always whipped her car into its space. I was always afraid that she would hit a car. Then one day she did. And now I think of her almost every time I park my own car! 😊]

 

After college, Jennifer married and moved to Hayesville, which is about as far west as you can go in NC. I moved to Lillington. Jennifer began teaching band. I began teaching general music. For years, our paths crossed at the Meredith College gathering at the North Carolina Music Educator’s Conference and we always greeted each other with warm smiles and hugs. In time, though, the Meredith gathering stopped happening so our paths stopped crossing…until two years ago. We ran into each other for what would be the last time. Neither of us had heard of Covid in November 2019. How were we to know that the dreaded disease would take her life just two years later?

 

Jennifer and I were long-time friends who held a mutual respect for one another, yet I can’t pretend that we were close over the past 20 years. We were evidently close enough for me to put my head on her shoulder and pose for a picture one time in college, but life took us down different paths with different close friends, and still…her death is a quiet sadness that I carry with me.

 

At Jennifer’s funeral on Saturday, the pastor likened Jennifer to the Beatitudes of scripture: a merciful, pure, peacemaker who hungered and thirsted for righteousness and knew that she could rejoice and be glad because her reward was in heaven. Jennifer’s Facebook page is full of stories of how Jennifer impacted lives. My Messenger inbox is full of messages honoring Jennifer’s memory…

 

I may not have known her as well as some, but I can honestly say that if my life and work are only half as inspiring, impactful, and far-reaching as Jennifer’s, then my life and work will not have been in vain.

 

It’s a quiet sadness,

Losing a long-time friend to Covid.  

It’s a subtle grief that hits at random times.

God: Take the grief. Take the sadness. Take all of the hearts that are lost and broken and hurting and fill them with your quiet hope. Come to us in the stillness, in the devastating quiet, and whisper your subtle peace.

Amen.

And amen.

Creative Movement CDs

 

I’ve been walking down memory lane recently.

It started when I found my old mix CDs.

It’s continued as I’ve grieved the loss of one of my college friends to Covid.

Some of the memories have been good.

Some have been sad.

But one memory in particular has been just plain funny-weird.

 

Do you remember when creative movement was a big thing in the church?

 

Well, evidently, I was so enthusiastic about creative movement that I made not one, but two, “Creative Movement Songs” CDs!

 

I, who have done two creative movements in my entire life,

And struggled through both of them because I was so self-conscious,

Made TWO CD’s full of songs that I thought would be good for creative movement.

 

Who did I think was going to choreograph said creative movements?

Certainly not me!

I can’t even choreograph a song for my Kindergarten students,

Much less teenagers or adults!

 

Speaking of teenagers or adults—

Who did I think was going to perform said imaginary creative movements?

I didn’t have a group of teenagers or adults waiting around to do creative movements in front of the church.

 

And yet…not one, but two, CD’s did I make!

 

And it just makes me laugh.

 

And in the midst of the grief of losing a friend,

And in the midst of the stress of teaching (and the education system in general),

And in the midst of a polarized society and faith system that I struggle to understand,

It’s been good to laugh.

 

I think that sometimes in the midst of the heaviness of life,

It’s easy to feel that laughter is a betrayal to grief and suffering.

But laughter, I think, is a gift from God,

Used to heal broken souls and connect us to something bigger than ourselves.

 

So what is something that has made you laugh, or at least smile, recently?

 

Did you do something in your younger years that makes you chuckle?

 

Do you have a memory of a loved one that makes you smile?

 

Do you have students, children, or grandchildren who do the darndest things?

 

Please share your memories. I’d love to hear. I think we all need to hear.  

Poor Ann

 

I’ve felt bad for her for days now.

Every once in awhile,

She’ll enter my mind

And I’ll simply say,

“Poor Ann,”

And then I’ll sigh.

 

The thing is,

Ann isn’t a real person.

She popped out of a page of “The Giver” a few days ago,

And planted herself in my heart.

 

“Ann was very ordinary,

Unremarkable.

She looked small.

No one had ever smiled at her.”

 

Poor Ann.

To be so ordinary and unremarkable that she shrank into smallness.

To not be smiled at.

It’s all very, very sad.

 

The thing is,

Maybe Ann is real,

And maybe I know her.

 

Maybe her name isn’t Ann.

Maybe her name is one of the many students I teach.

Or maybe her name is one of the many people that I pass by each day.

And maybe she wouldn’t be so ordinary and unremarkable and small if she were only seen

And maybe she could be seen through a smile.

 

Friends: This world is full of Ann.

Let’s make it our goal to see Ann:

To find her extra-ordinary and remarkable,

To build her up,

And to smile at her until our faces hurt.

 

Everyone deserves to be seen by someone.

 

May we be a people who see,

And smile,

Today.

 

Reality TV

I wouldn’t do well in a reality TV competition.

I don’t do well with competitions in general.

I tend to turn everything into a cooperative game.

Take ping-pong, for example.

Instead of trying to score points against my opponent,

I always end up seeing how many times I can bounce the ball back and forth across the net.

At the lake last weekend, Amelia the Niece and I made it to 21.

 

Anyway.

 

Reality TV competitions are just too stressful.

Not only are competitors put under major time constraints,

On a stage with bright lights and cameras that you’re supposed to track to connect with your audience,

But also you’re expected to wait for what seems like an eternity to hear your results.

I think my heart might just beat out of my chest in the waiting.

 

Last night, on America’s Got Talent,

I watched as the members of one group huddled together in the waiting and prayed.

One guy kept saying, “Thank you, Lord,” over and over and over again.

They didn’t make it through.

 

And I watched as my Brooke,

Brooke Simpson to be precise,

Waited for her results.

She was pitted against a group of teenagers that she obviously cared for.

That’s what my Brooke does.

She cares for people.

When her name was called as the “winner” of that round,

She immediately said,

“I’m sorry,”

To her competitors.

She had made it to the finals!

She could rejoice!

But instead, she felt bad for beating her competition.

She knew that their hearts were broken even as her heart was filled with surprised joy.

 

I’d feel the same way.

 

God: Be with those who win and those who lose—the elated and the dejected—the uplifted and the downtrodden—for You are God of all. Amen.

 

PS. Consider voting for Brooke Simpson on AGT next Tuesday night? She deserves to win. 

And...We Have Kittens

 

And…we have kittens.

And their mama.

Living under our porch.

 

We don’t know where they came from.

We don’t know how they wandered into our lives.

We just know that they’re here.

And that they’ve taken up the better part of our lives

For two weeks.

 

No, we weren’t looking for cats.

No, we don’t know what we are going to do with them.

All we know is that we’re feeding mama cat who is feeding her four baby cats who are so incredibly cute that they have stolen pieces of our hearts.

 

We have one orange kitten, Alpha.

Two greyish blackish kittens, Beta and Gamma.

One black kitten, Delta.

And one mama tortoise-shell cat, Annie.

 

Annie is a young cat, probably no more than a year old.

She got pregnant as a teenager and wasn’t yet ready to be a mom.

But she’s doing the best she can.

And she’s letting us love her.

 

We’re working to human-train the kittens by talking to them while visiting with them whenever they come out of hiding…and by feeding them kitten food.

 

Beta is the brave kitten.

We’ve been able to pet him once.

Alpha and Gamma are gaining courage.

They’re starting to eat food in human company.

Delta is very skittish.

It runs away every time it sees a human.

 

We’ve spent many hours on the porch waiting for cuteness to emerge from under the porch and play.

 

Sometimes the Numbers even wander onto the porch, and that’s always very special…

 

In a world where everything is so stressful and tense,

Maybe we need more kittens.

Not literally, because there are already too many unwanted kittens in this world.

But figuratively, because everyone needs something cute in their lives to make them slow down and feel joy.

 

God: Thank you for Annie and the Alphabet and for the sense of calm joy they’ve brought to our lives. Help us, as a family, to get them human-trained so that we can find them good forever homes, and help us, as a people, to slow down and find moments of peace in a crazy world. Amen.   

Random Reminders of Goodness

 

After 4^th grade yesterday, one of my colleagues stopped by to tell me a story.

 

She said that her class was reading a book together and that “orchestra” was one of the pre-vocabulary words.

 

She asked the class if they knew what an orchestra was and they lit up.

 

“We talked about that in music yesterday!” they exclaimed!

 

“Well, what is an orchestra?” she asked.

 

“It’s a band,” a student responded.

 

“Well…sort of. But what else?” the teacher prodded.

 

“It’s like a band, but with the string family. If you don’t have the string family, then you don’t have an orchestra,” another student continued.

 

“Yes!” the teacher said. “And what are the members of the string family?”

 

“Violin, viola, cello, and bass,” the students filled in.

 

“And trumpet!” one said.

 

“No. The trumpet isn’t in the string family,” the teacher corrected. “All of the members of the string family have to have strings.”

 

“Hmmm,” pondered one boy, “a trumpet would look really weird with strings!”

 

After reporting this story, she looked at me and said, “So, they are listening!”

 

I grinned. And yes, my eyes filled with tears. I was so very grateful.

 

I still am.

 

God: Thank you for the small reminders that keep us going. Give each of us a small reminder of goodness today. Amen.