Seen and Heard

**Today’s Throwback Thursday note goes back to Johnsonville. I used to do the morning announcements every day.  While I don’t do the announcements at Greenwood, the premise of this note is still the same. We all want to be seen and heard—children, teenagers, and adults alike.**

 

I think it goes unspoken that we, as humans, want other people to pay attention to us. 

Though there are times when  we may want to remain unnoticed, most of time we want to be seen and heard.

Children demonstrate this fact loudly and openly when they act out to receive attention. 

Teenagers demonstrate this fact loudly and openly when they film themselves doing ridiculous stunts in hopes of becoming a YouTube sensation. 

Adults demonstrate this fact loudly and openly when we leave passive-aggressive or cryptic messages on Facebook.

Truth be told, sometimes the lines of action between children, teenagers, and adults get crossed so blurrily that adults end up acting out like children.

 

As a human teacher, then, it’s no surprise that I want my students to pay attention to me. 

I want them to listen and learn and I want them to gain knowledge and information that will help shape their lives in a positive way. 

This is always my hope—to be heard—but oftentimes I get the impression that my students hear more of the teacher in Charlie Brown than they do me…especially when it comes to the morning announcements.

 

So this afternoon when one of my students repeated something I said on this morning’s announcements, I smiled.

She had heard every word and decided to imitate the act of kindness that I had shouted out. 

 

The other day, I posted a Stephen Sondheim lyric that says, 

“Careful the things you say; Children will listen. 

Careful the things you do; Children will see and learn. 

Children may not obey, but children will listen. 

Children will look to you for which way to turn; 

To learn what to be. 

Careful before you say 'Listen to me’; Children will listen."

 

They really do listen.

They really do pay attention.

And they really do just want us to pay attention to them.

And they are us.

And we are them.

Children. Teenagers. Adults.

Wanting to be seen and heard.

 

Amen. 

 

—edited from a post originally made on 4.7.16

Pay Attention to the Zeros

 

I opened my bank account app last week and saw an advertisement for a new savings account with an interest rate much higher than my current account. 

I read the details and decided that it was a no brainer to start the account. 

I went through the online steps and opened the new account, 

Transferring money from one account to the other while leaving enough money in the original account to not get a service charge. 

I figured I would close out the original account but couldn’t figure out how to do it online. 

I stopped by the bank the next day. 

 

First, I was shocked at how skeletal the staff was. 

Second, while meeting with the branch manager because there were no other non-tellers there, I was shocked when she told me that I needed to keep $15000 in the account to not incur a service charge. 

“Oh,” I said. “Well I can’t do that. I don’t have $15000! I read $1500 .”

She said, “Oh, that’s okay. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll change the interest rate on your current account and we’ll just close out the new one.”

“Wow! That sounds great. And how much do I need to keep in the one I already have?”

“Just $1000.”

“That’s a huge difference!”

“Yeh. We don’t offer the account that you have anymore. You were grandfathered in.” 

“Oh, okay. Well, thank you for changing the interest rate and closing the other account!”

 

I learned two things through this encounter.

One. Always pay attention to the zeros! :-)

Two. Go inside the bank ever so often and see if they will adjust your interest rates. 

 

Don’t laugh. But my interest rate went from .01% to 1.0%.

I know. It’s not a lot either way.

But it’s a 100% increase to my functional savings account.

(I keep long-term savings at another bank with a much better interest rate.)

And despite a few moments of waiting,

It was a painless process that resulted in a positive change.

 

We live in a time when most companies give very little.

Few places, other than fast food joints, honor loyalty and most do very little to reward commitment. 

I know that my bank would have never increased my interest rate on its own even though I have been a customer since 1995.

If anything, they’d have just lowered it to less than the practically nothing that it already was. 

So I guess that sometimes we must look out for ourselves.

The sad thing is that I didn’t realize that I could!

If I hadn’t messed up the 0’s, then my account would still be the same. 

 

May you seek and be granted positive change where you need it today. 

It’s possible.

Sometimes, we just have to ask. 

 

Amen. 

More Than Satisfactory To Me

One of my closest college-friends was completely tone deaf. For years, she refused to sing in public because her elementary music teacher told her she couldn’t sing. As a little girl, her teacher’s words crushed her spirit, and I knew this. Therefore, I vowed never to tell a student that he or she couldn’t sing.

 

The truth is that everyone can sing. Some people may have more talent than others and some people may sing melodies best sung in the shower. Yet everyone can sing.

 

So I try not to discourage my students in their singing or in any other musical endeavor. Realistically, most of my students will not continue in their musical studies. I try to prepare those who will, but I also try to mold all of my students into responsible and respectful partakers of music.  

 

I expect my students to pay attention to our lessons and to try the challenges that I present them, but I don’t grade them on performance capability as much as I grade them on performance effort.

 

All that being said, I find myself writing quite a few comments when I do grades—especially since my grades are limited to Satisfactory, Needs Improvement, and Unsatisfactory.

 

I worked on grades this afternoon. I demonstrated a lot of hope and grace.

 

Yet as I drove home, I found myself not showing myself much grace.

 

I wasn’t trying to be overly harsh or judgmental. I wasn’t beating myself up for anything in particular. I just noticed that my self-talk wasn’t very positive. I noticed myself saying things like my friend’s elementary music teacher said to her. 

 

Then I noticed myself singing a song I wrote many years ago: “Sometimes I feel like I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. But sometimes I feel like he can’t do a thing through. Look at me, I am nothing. Look at them, they are everything. Look at me. I am nothing. Look at me.”

 

Continuing on, I heard the response: 

 

“Okay, child, I’m looking, and I’ll tell you what I see—the beautiful you that I created you to be. I don’t care what they can say and I don’t care what they can do, it’s you I love. It’s you. Look at you,” Deanna, “You are something. Don’t look at them. They don’t have everything. Look at you. You are something. Look at you.”

 

By the end of the song, I felt a little better. And I knew one thing for certain: 

 

As long as I keep trying—or even when I don’t—I am more than satisfactory to God. 

 

And you are too, friend.

You are too. 

 

Amen. 

 

—edited from “More Than Satisfactory To Me,” 4.4.16

Walking Before, Beside, and Behind

The past few times I’ve been to Disney World, I’ve been with my friend Amy The Disney Expert. 

I have done no planning whatsoever

And literally just followed her around the parks. 

Though a bit shorter, Amy walks much faster than me and so I have images in my head of watching her weave through the crowds and me trying to keep up.

Sometimes, it’s nice to have someone walk ahead of you, to lead you, to guide you, to keep you safe.

 

When we went to the symphony a few weeks ago, our bus broke down about a mile away from the concert hall. 

One of the fourth grade teachers announced to the students that we were at our drop off location and that we were going to walk the rest of the way.

The student students did not question.

They simply got off the bus and formed one gigantic line. 

The other three teachers scattered themselves amongst the line and helped when we got to major crosswalks.

I had the directions on my phone, and so I was the leader upfront, slowly guiding all of the people behind me. 

Sometimes, it’s nice to have people walking behind you, following you, so that you can keep them safe.

 

A couple of weeks ago, a friend brought me a newspaper article that had featured my work with blackout poetry.

As I sat in choir practice, listening to Tamara The Music Director work with the low voices,

I got out the paper and read the article.

Jana My Fellow Alto and pew mate, looked at me and burst out laughing.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. 

When she sent it to me, I laughed too.

I looked utterly ridiculous, and yet fully myself, sitting in the middle of choir practice, on a church pew, reading the newspaper, with toboggan on my head.

Sometimes, it’s nice to have people beside you, just experiencing life with you, finding ways to laugh, enjoying the journey, knowing you are safe. 

 

Wherever you are today,

Walking behind,

Walking before,

Or walking beside,

May you experience moments of life’s goodness and joy 

And may you know when it is time to change course and position.

Life is a series of going behind, before, and beside, 

A constant movement from one to the other, 

And God is with us in each transition, 

A steady presence through it all, 

Our ultimate safety and rest. 

 

Amen. 

 

No Paddle Day

Today’s Throwback Thursday goes back to 3.28.16. If we were tired then, how much more tired are we now?! Oh God. Help us find rest. Amen. 

 

 ——-

 

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.

Create

It’s nice to have a friend with whom to create.

 

Heidi the Librarian got me into writing blackout poetry

But I got her into making tin art.

We started by taking classes together at a local art gallery.

After a couple of classes, I purchased my own supplies and begin tin arting at home.

On a particularly difficult Saturday for Heidi, I asked if she wanted to come create. She did.

I don’t remember what she made that day, but I do know that that Saturday changed the course of our lives for the next few years. 

Heidi began coming to the house on many weekends and eventually we established a routine of her daughter coming and all of us getting coffee and food and playing games with my parents.

Unfortunately, life and schedules have kept Heidi and her daughter from coming to create for the past three months.

But over the weekend, they finally returned, and Heidi created her best piece yet.

 

I’ve always said that Heidi and I have different styles.

But our different styles were never more noticeable than on Saturday.

Heidi had a commission for a grizzly bear.

I needed to make some hearts for a door prize for a retreat that I’m helping lead in April.

Heidi spent 5 to 6 hours working on her one piece and she didn’t finish. 

While she was working, I deconstructed several tins, cleaned up a bit, made seven different simple hearts, wrote my blackout poem, and decided to do my own version of a grizzly bear. I then made two quilt hearts out of scrap tin. 

Heidi was working with intricate details and wavy lines. 

I was working with geometric shapes and straight lines. 

Our work is so very different.

 

Yet isn’t that the beauty of art?

Isn’t it the point of creating?

Give two people the exact same materials and they will express what is on their heart or mind in different ways.

The finished products will vary and the results will reflect personality and headspace as much as talent and skill.

And it’s not really a matter of comparison or one being better than the other. 

(Although I admit that I oftentimes think my work amateur compared to Heidi’s). 

It’s a matter of creation. 

Of expression. 

Of connection. 

Creating is a matter of catharsis. 

 

Tin art may not be your thing. 

Or blackout poetry.

And that’s OK.

Because there are so many different ways to create.

Painting, drawing, sculpting, dancing, making music, acting, landscaping, architecturing, woodworking, scrapbooking, model making, stain glass window making, puzzling, sewing, quilting, knitting, crocheting, retreat planning, sermonizing, writing. 

Whatever your way, 

Whatever your interests,

Get out there and use your hands and create.

Creating is an act of resistance. 

And it is so much fun with a friend!

 

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 it. 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 a performance for the student who otherwise would not have been able to 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 first 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 showing up for a friend during a major time of crisis.

 

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.

 

Amen. 

 

—Originally posted on 3.14.16. It’s Throwback Thursday! 

The Dark

I have two favorite characters from the Harry Potter series. 

One is Dobby. 

The other is the mandrake species. 

I like Dobby because of his loyalty to Harry and the ultimate sacrifice that he makes to save him. 

I like the mandrake because I can relate to how it screams whenever it is uprooted and moved to a different pot.

I’ve long paralleled personal growth to the mandrake—

To outgrowing one pot, needing to be moved to a larger pot to live more fully and freely, but not liking the process of being moved and so fighting it with literal and figurative screams. 

 

The analogy grew even deeper on Sunday, though, when Pastor Ann mentioned that sometimes darkness can be a good thing.

Nicodemus went to Jesus in the dark. 

He felt free to visit, free to question, free to search, and free to grow.

Pastor Ann suggested that it is in periods of darkness in our own lives that we are most vulnerable and open to growth.

I had always thought of darkness as a negative thing—

As being away from light

And light being the presence of goodness and God.

But in this context,

Darkness is the soil where a seed takes route and begins to grow.

Darkness is safety and space and shelter and exactly what is needed for life.

And so the mandrake grows in darkness.

And when it is yanked from that darkness into piercing light, it hurts.

It is like being born.

And being born is not easy.

And so it screams.

It stays in light for but a few moments 

And then it enters back into darkness where it will continue to grow.

 

I know.

The analogy breaks down at some point because we do not always scream when we’re in the light.

And we need to be in light to be fully alive. 

But I like this idea of soil being dark.

Of growth occurring in the dark.

Of the transition out of darkness into light sometimes being difficult. 

And of the movement, out of darkness, into light, back to darkness, back into light, 

Each time expanding the pot,

Each time expanding the space,

Each time becoming more than we were before. 

 

Friends,

We are living in dark times.

But God is here.

Even in the dark,

God is here.

And we are primed and ready for change. 

We are in a place of possible growth. 

Somehow, oh God, 

May it be so. 

Amen. 

 

 

Spaghetti Table

We had a spaghetti dinner at church on Saturday night. 

It was a partly candle-lit sitdown meal,

Complete with salad, spaghetti, dessert, and sparkling grape juice.

Additionally, we had live entertainment,

Flute and castanet, 

Piano,

Singing wait staff,

And soloists. 

We used real plates, silverware, and glasses.

We provided an Olive Garden style salad.

We offered vegetarian spaghetti or spaghetti with meatballs.

We offered bread with garlic and bread without.

And, knowing my church, I’m surprised we didn’t have a gluten-free pasta option.

We fed members of the church,

We fed community members,

And we provided takeout plates for people who wanted to deliver food to shut ins. 

One man came 30 minutes early, while the kitchen staff was deep in preparation,

And waited patiently for two to go plates.

I figured that he was getting a plane for himself and his wife.

Instead, he was getting a plate for his supper and Sunday’s lunch.

His loneliness made me sad. 

 

When we gather around the table,

Whether it be the spaghetti table or the communion table,

We are gathering together the body of Christ and living out the Kingdom of God on earth.

For a moment,

We set aside our differences,

Our partisan political views,

Our theological nuances,

Our socioeconomic status,

Our education achievements, 

All of our unique preferences, 

And simply fellowship together at the table 

Set with 

Time 

Intention

The fruits of the earth 

The gifts of the Spirit 

And 

Love. 

 

As nations are at war, 

And persons are in endless battles,

May we do more communing around the table, 

The spaghetti table of grace. 

Follow The Drinking Gourd

 **Throwback Thursday, 2.25.16**

 

One of my most vivid memories is of an experience that I had on a women’s retreat in Charleston, SC. Late one night, as I walked through the large yard separating the house from the beach, I looked to the sky and located the big dipper. Almost immediately, I started singing “Follow The Drinking Gourd,” imagining myself as a slave running for freedom, walking under the cover of night, having little more to guide me than a constellation in the sky. I quickly determined that I would have been caught.

 

I have been teaching “Follow The Drinking Gourd” for many years. It’s one of the units that my students enjoy the most, and this year has been no different. Between an excellent Reading Rainbow video about the song, the real gourds that one of my coworkers gave me, the textbooks, and a super interactive game by National Geographic, I have been able to present information that has truly fascinated and resonated with many of my students.

 

Since taking some time away from the classroom and working heavily on educating about and fighting against human exploitation, I have found myself fighting back tears more than once when students have breathed a sigh of relief that slavery is no longer legal—or when they’ve asked if slavery still exists and I’ve had to lie to them—or at least highly edit the truth…

 

…Because the truth is that slavery is still very much alive in this world—this country not excluded.

 

The truth is that hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children are held against their will, used, beaten, demeaned, destroyed, bought, and sold every day.

 

The truth is that slaves are brought to America not just from Africa but from destinations around the world.

 

The truth is that slaves are held in or sent out of America from households just around the corner. 

 

The truth is that the clothes and shoes that we wear and the coffee and chocolate we eat and drink is likely produced by slaves.

 

The truth is that slaves are not just working in homes and fields but in restaurants, hotels, nail salons, and massage parlors in our own cities.

 

The truth is that some of my students are vulnerable to becoming slaves themselves—to being lured by the promise of money and a better life but landing instead in invisible chains nearly impossible to break.

 

The truth is that most of the sex workers that we often condemn and the persons seen in the pornography that many Christians secretly watch and that is creating addictions in children as young as 8-years-old are modern day slaves. 

Held against their will. 

Used. 

Beaten. 

Demeaned. 

Destroyed. 

Bought. 

Sold. 

Every day.

 

But I can’t tell my students that. My students are far too young to hear of these atrocities from their public school music teacher. So I tell them stories of the past and teach them songs of courage and hope and pray that they will grow to learn about and fight the slavery that indeed exists under the drinking gourd and beyond.

 

**A brief update: Time and circumstance have changed my teaching a bit, but I still introduce my older students to Wade in The Water, Harriet Tubman, and Follow The Drinking Gourd.**

Belovedness

I’ve heard it said that maybe Jesus’s perfection was not in his moral superiority, but in his being the only person ever to live into the fullness of who God created him to be.

 

If God whispers our identity into being before we are born,

And the world constantly tries to form us into itself,

Away from our identity in God,

Then a person who does not listen to the world, rather listens to God‘s voice,

Is a person not missing the mark, 

A person living into God’s design and perfection. 

 

When God created humanity,

God called us good.

Adam and Eve, 

In their original insecurity,

Forgot that they were created as God’s beloved

And decided to pursue knowledge for themselves, 

Thus realizing their nakedness and sin. 

 

When Jesus was baptized, 

God said this is my son, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.

Jesus then went into the wilderness and was tempted for 40 days. 

Yet he remembered who he was—

God’s beloved—

And was able to resist temptation.

 

So maybe if we,

In our original insecurity,

Could do as Jesus did,

And remember our worth and value in God, 

Then we could stop seeking security and validation from the things in this world 

And actually enjoy life and work and rest. 

 

We are God’s beloved,

Created in the image of God,

Sustained by the spirit of God,

Redeemed by the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. 

 

We are fully loved. 

We are fully valued.

And we are able to withstand the temptations of this world by remembering who and whose we are.

 

May we surround one another with voices of belovedness today. 

Not moral reprimands. 

Not reminders of how messed up and sinful we are. 

Not slaps on the hand and knives to the heart. 

But belovedness: 

Possibility, goodness, grace, forgiveness, and love. 

 

Amen. 

 

**This is my sermon response to Pastor Ann’s sermon on 2.22.26.**

Who We Are

I think that we each just want to be

loved for who we are. Period. Not the idea
of who we could be. Or the roles in
which we function. Or the services, gifts, and talents

that we offer. But who we are. Good, bad,
ugly. I think we each need to know that
we are honored and adored not by virtue of
performance and perfection but by the triumph of waking
up each day, breathing, and giving life a try.
I think that we each need places of unconditional
acceptance: places to call home. We each need to
know that, to someone, we are not second best--
to someone, we are the cream of the crop,
the top notch, the best thing since sliced bread.
Ideally, I think, we each receive that love from
our families. Ideally, our hunger for acceptance is satisfied

by the seeds that gave us birth or the
partnership that promised to honor and cherish. Ideally, we
find comfort and peace in the place we lay
our heads. No pretense. No intimidation. No fear. Just
rest. And satisfaction. And joy. But when those things
are not there. When we are uncertain of our
value. When we question and doubt the inherent beauty
of existence. When we feel used, or reduced to
function and performance, or we fear failure and disappointment.
When we're forced into a mold that was not
ours to live, paralyzed by discomfort, lost. When our
spirits are not nurtured and allowed the freedom to
soar--to explore the world and discover the depths
of creation, the places where we fit, the points
at which we flourish--we slowly begin to die:
our bodies exhausted, our hearts wounded, our minds numb,
our spirits suffocated and…then what? I suppose we
pick up the pieces and begin to live again.
I suppose we apologize for reducing people to ideas
and roles and function, for identifying individuals by what
they do rather than who they are--what they
like, how they love, when they dream--for not
celebrating unique personality but honoring the status-quo. I suppose
we vow never to let anyone feel as if
she is not loved for who she is. Period.
I suppose we fill the gaping hole called needy
beast with the unfathomable love of God, manifest both
in God's still small, unexplainable voice and the loud
voice of tangible community, and let that love transform
the very core of our being. I suppose we
allow ourselves to feel again, to experience and release
emotion, however raw and difficult, however many tears it
brings, and give it permission to bridge the gap
between knowledge and understanding. We are
all loved for who we are. We are all
created to be who we are. But I think
we each just need to be reminded of that
fact through words and deeds and actions and gifts
and time—that we each need to know that
we are loved for who we are. Period. Over
and over and over and over and over again.

 

—Written in the middle of the night, 

March 3, 2007, 

While sitting at the old desktop computer in my office. 

Originally written in three word phrases, 

Like the Trinity.

This final version is 9 (3x3) words on each line. 

Superwoman

I started this semester taking two different courses: Foundations of Worship and Writing Your Spiritual Autobiography. 

 

The worship class ends tonight. It has planted fresh ideas of worship in my mind and heart and I am so very grateful for how it has influenced me. 

 

The autobiography class ends next week. It has reminded me of the importance of story and challenged me to improve my writing with more sensory detail. It has also forced me to look back on my life and consider what stories are worth sharing for the sake of common humanity. This journey of looking back has been very emotional and caused me to shed many tears. 

 

I’ve written five stories, but I’ve also bound five volumes of poems from five different years. 

 

Starting in seventh grade, long before computers were an American household norm, I would gather the random scraps of paper, napkins, or yellow legal pads that I’d scribbled poems or lyrics on and then copy their words into a blank book. 

 

I did this for over fifteen years until I started writing more on the computer than by hand. At that point, 2004 to be exact, I started printing the poems and lyrics and binding them into yearly books. 

 

This is what I’ve done since taking the autobiography class. I’ve printed and compiled a few years’ poems.  And in the process, I’ve read and remembered. It has been both a joy and a sorrow. 

 

I have laughed at myself and how dramatic I am. I have wondered at myself and what in the world I was trying to say. And I have wept with myself and wanted to go back and give my lost, hurting, broken self a great big hug. 

 

In reading poems from 2007, I found this piece appropriate to share. Our theme at school this year is a superhero theme. But sometimes, we all become weary super heroes. 

 

So I have this

Unrealistic expectation of myself:

Perfection; plain and simple.

(Except that it’s not so plain and simple.)

Reaching for the goal of being all things to all people is

Wearing me down.  Always showing up as asked, wanted, suggested, or needed--

On time, ready to perform well above standard and to

Make every effort to please every opinion in every word and

Action--is really quite complicated.  In fact, right

Now, I would just like to rest.

 

Friends: Whether you find yourself learning about something new or reminiscing about the past, may you honor your journey and find rest today. 

 

Amen. 

Weird Plastic

 

Today’s Throwback Thursday takes us to Johnsonville for A Glimpse Into Elementary Life, 2.11.16

 

Something weird happened during 1st grade music today: a student got a piece of plastic stuck between his teeth.

 

Instead of placing his coat on the back of his chair, one of my students evidently decided to put part of his coat in his mouth.

 

Maybe he had a little piece of food lingering from lunch? Maybe that little piece of food was bothering him so much that he needed to remove it? And maybe the little piece of plastic on his coat seemed like the perfect thing to remove that little piece of food?

 

I don’t know.

 

But for some reason, my student decided to stick a piece of plastic between his teeth. And it got stuck. It got really stuck.

 

When I first noticed that something was wrong, I thought that the kid was trying to pull out a tooth and that he had pulled a string from his coat to help him do this. Thinking this a bit odd, I started some dance music for the rest of the class and walked back to check on the tooth removal operation.

 

I quickly noticed, though, that he wasn’t trying to remove a tooth and that the thing dangling from his mouth wasn’t a thin string but a somewhat thick piece of plastic. Thankfully, when I looked at what was going on, I didn’t see blood gushing from his gums. I also didn’t see any reason that that little piece of plastic should be so wedged in his mouth.

 

Then it hit me: My 1st grader had the remainder of a price tag stuck in his mouth. Having put the “T” behind his teeth, close to the roof of his mouth, he had gotten it so tightly wedged that he couldn’t get it out. When he pulled the plastic forward and down, the “T” simply hit his teeth. The harder he pulled, the more futile his attempt to dislodge it. Unless, of course, he had been trying to pull out a few teeth!

 

As the class began to fall apart from a minute of unsupervised dancing, I began to feel a bit panicked. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with a 1st grader with a coat hanging from his mouth! I knew the weight of the coat was not good for his teeth but I also knew that I couldn’t get the plastic dislodged without gloving up and doing a lot of work that I wasn’t capable of doing in the middle of a falling-apart class.  

 

Then I thought: Cut the plastic! The tag might still be lodged in my student’s mouth but at least the coat wouldn’t be hanging from it as well.  So I cut the plastic.

 

Then I remembered: Thursday is nurse day at my school!

 

A little while after sending my 1st grader to the nurse, the nurse called to see if his class was still with me. They were leaving. My student was leaving, too. The class was going back into the building. My student was going home. With a piece of plastic hanging from his mouth, stuck between his teeth. The nurse couldn’t dislodge it either.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.

“Me either,” I responded.

Then we both laughed in disbelief,

I silently wished some dentist luck,

And I taught two more plastic-free classes.

Thankfully J.

The Frozen River

I recently finished a book called the Frozen River.

It is a fictional work inspired by the life of an 18th century midwife named Martha Ballard.

The author learned about Martha Ballard from a small devotional book that mentioned Ballard. 

From there, she did research into Martha’s life. 

Martha Ballard delivered over 1000 babies and never lost a mother during childbirth.

She had quite a few children of her own, but lost three to diphtheria.

Her husband taught her to read and write and encouraged Martha to keep a day book. 

She did.

As a result, over 250 years later, we still remember her.

She was not a war hero.

She was not a political figure who signed the Declaration of Independence.

No. She was just an ordinary woman with some extraordinary gifts

Who simply spent many days at home. 

 

On Saturday, we celebrated my niece’s 18th birthday. 

As she opened her gifts, I asked if I should be recording who gave her what. 

She said no, that she’d remember. 

I encouraged her to write it down anyway because in a few years she would forget. 

 

So much life happens so fast that 

Despite our best intentions, we tend to forget the every day events and moments. 

 

I suppose that sometimes we want to forget.

I suppose that sometimes we want to move through the difficult parts of living and not look back.

But I would argue that it’s good to record even the hard times

Because they are part of common humanity. 

 

Common humanity hasn’t changed much over the years. 

They may take different technological forms,

But we still have the same basic hopes and dreams of people hundreds of years ago. 

And sometimes it’s good to be reminded that we’re not alone, 

Even if the person walking with us is walking with us only in story and memory. 

 

My mom has a ten year journal.

Jessy The Spanish Teacher does, too. 

They handwrite a little bit each day and then they are able to compare their writings to the same day from previous years. 

Martha Ballard had a day book that she filled in with feather quill and ink. 

I type notes and poems and little vignettes from life and school. 

I print and bind the poems. 

I also keep spreadsheets and lists, 

Lots of lists, 

That help me remember. 

 

It doesn’t matter how we record and remember. 

It just matters that we do…

So that future generations will not only remember us 

But also know that they are not alone in their

Common humanity. 

 

Your life is important, friend. 

Even the mundane. 

So write away. 

You never know when what you have to stay will 

Connect with and influence 

Someone’s life for the better. 

 

Amen. 

Loving The Hell Out of Them

Throwback Thursday 

Adapted from Loving The Hell Out Of Them…2.1.16

 

I have a friend who works with at-risk teenage girls. Last week, one of the girls pushed her and started to run away. Sadly, this isn’t abnormal behavior for girls who haven’t learned how to form healthy boundaries or how properly to communicate thoughts and feelings. The staff members who work with the girls know the risks involved with the work and are trained in proper restraints and mediation techniques. Even so, it’s hard to be pushed and it’s a helpless feeling to watch someone run away—literally. Yet as the organization’s main supervisor likes to say: The staff is loving the hell out of the girls. 

 

The hell.

The loneliness. Worthlessness. Betrayal. Rage.

The fears. Neglect. Abandonment. Doubts.

The abuse. Molestation. Bullying. Deep anger.

The learning difficulties. Helplessness. Aggravation. Anxiety.

The hell.

 

And so it goes with everyone in the helping professions, especially those who profess Christ. If we believe that God loves us all—Me. You. Family. Friends. At-risk teenage girls and elementary school boys. The people who bother us most, whether we know them personally or not—and we embrace common humanity, then we know that there is a battle between good and evil but that Christ has won the ultimate victory for us all. 

 

Oh, there there are obstacles in embracing this truth. 

There are those who doubt God. 

There are those who push God away. 

“Where is God?” They wonder. “God certainly doesn’t seem to be helping me,” they say. 

 

But if we, God’s people, show up.

If we try. 

If we demonstrate the love of Christ through 

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control, 

Then we are doing our part to fight against evil. 

We are doing our part to show that Love wins. 

 

True, we may not win the war. 

The war is much bigger than us. 

But we can win individual battles, 

Day in and day out, 

Helping to free people from our individual hells of 

All that tries to damn us to shame. 

 

Through steady presence and resolve, 

Through the love of Christ alone, 

May we love the hell out of one another today. 

 

Amen. 

 

The Toilet Seat

We were in the middle of the toilet seat. 

There was snow all around us,

But we were part of the “dry spot,” the “snow hole,” or whatever you want to call it. 

We had nothing. 

It was very disappointing. 

 

Sometimes we are promised things that just don’t happen. 

A raise. 

A promotion. 

A miracle cure. 

A commitment.

A snow storm. 

 

We believe what we are told and 

Get our hopes up with excitement 

Only to be let down. 

 

And then we grieve. 

We let go of what might have been. 

 

And then we wait—

Hoping once again,

But this time for something we don’t know.

 

The waiting is long. 

But the waiting can be active. 

Noticing what good is still around us and 

Creating more goodness with God. 

 

“Something will happen,” I hear Joe the Counselor say. 

 

And eventually something did. 

Snow finally fell. 

A blanket of white covered the earth. 

And school was cancelled as so many had  wished. 

 

But even if a happy ending hadn’t happened.  

Even if the toilet seat had not moved, 

Something good would have eventually come, 

Because God is in the business of making all things—

Even the best intended, broken promises—

Good. 

 

Amen. 

 

Trail of Music

Starting today, I will be instituting Throwback Thursday,

A time to look back on my fifteen years of notes and 

Bring some of them back into the light. 

 

Our first note goes back a decade, to 1.6.16. 

 

I was walking through Hobby Lobby the week before Christmas,

Impossibly stealthily,

Dangling a set of wind chimes from each hand,

When I found myself imagining that a trail of music notes was following behind me,

Gently floating as bubbles blowing in the wind. 

I mentioned this image to Barb the Great as we moved from aisle to aisle, but, honestly, I forgot about the experience until I later hung the wind chimes outside my classroom door. 

As the wind chimes once again dangled from my hands, I caught myself imagining that same trail of music notes—

Only this time I wasn’t absent-mindedly walking through the aisles of a large, retail store,

Rather I was intentionally walking around my classroom,

Hoping that the notes would subconsciously sink into my students’ lives and influence them for good.

 

Friends: 

May we be a people who not only leave behind music notes

But who also leave behind notes of grace and 

Sounds of love 

So that everyone who walks in our footsteps  may be subconsciously

affected by love

freed by grace and

changed for good.

Together, may we fill this world with trails of love.

 

Amen. 

Annie's Milk Mustache

 

I ate Lucky Charms last night. 

Annie ended up with a milk mustache. 

 

Annie rarely climbs onto my lap. 

But when I eat cereal, 

She makes her way to where I am 

And waits. 

She waits until I finish my snack 

And then she happily laps up milk 

From the spoon that I hold steadily in my hand. 

 

Yes. 

I sometimes spoon feed milk to my cat. 

 

I know. 

She’s doesn’t need milk. 

It’s probably not good for her. 

And she’s super plump and would do well to diet. 

 

But she’s just so earnest in her waiting. 

And the milk mustache is so cute. 

 

I can’t say no to her. 

 

Which, in the end, is likely a bad thing. 

 

It’s hard to say no sometimes, 

Even when we know that no is best. 

 

When we need to set a boundary. 

When we need self care. 

When we need to turn from a vice. 

When we need to stay true to our word. 

 

May we have the courage to know when and how to say no 

And then may we do it. 

Even to the cutest cat milk mustache in the world. 

 

Amen. 

Harbor Seal

 

I recently met a harbor seal.

Her name was Rose and she was delightful!

She was soft and squishy and so very happy.

She clumsily galumphed around the aquarium deck and then playfully slid where she wanted to go. 

She followed directions sometimes but at other times she did exactly what she wanted to do. 

Her face was cute. 

Her belly button was cute. 

Her unneeded tail was cute. 

Her unique spots were cute. 

Her exhibit mates, Cerberus and Floyd, were cute. 

Her aquarium mate who performed in the sea lion show, Toby, was cute. 

Everything about the harbor seal was cute and brought me joy. 

And as I watched them galumph and swim and make noises and wave and roll over for belly rubs with their many pounds of blubber,

I suddenly knew: 

The harbor seal is my spirit animal. 

I suddenly understood:

The harbor seal is my Patronus. 

 

Oh, there are some differences between the harbor seal and me. 

Harbor seals are mostly solitary animals that simply share their space with others of their kind. 

I am a communal animal who likes to do life with people. 

And harbor seals are somewhat mean, with pointy sharp teeth. 

I like to think that I’m kind and that my teeth are strong but smooth. 

 

But I think that the pros of the harbor seal,

Like napping a lot, 

Far outweigh the cons. 

And for that reason, 

I have deemed the harbor seal worthy of being my spirit animal. 

 

The. 

End. 

 

——

 

What about you?

What’s your spirit animal?

What animal is your light in a dark world? 

What animal recently has brought you joy? 

Please share. 

I’d love to hear. 

Eternal Flame

 

Every year during January, I teach about Martin Luther King Jr..

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about his life and legacy 

And I’ve accidentally memorized portions of his, “I have a dream” speech.

I love how he basically drops the mic at the end of his speech and ends with a reference to the song “Free At Last”

I love that those lyrics from “Free At Last” are on his gravestone.

And I love how he’s buried beside his love, Coretta. 

 

In the past, 

I’ve shown my students Google images of the gravestone at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial.

I’ve gone to Google Earth and dropped a man and taken a virtual tour of the grounds. 

Google Earth showed me that the stone was in the middle of a fountain and that the fountain includes a Bible verse that MLK referenced in the “I Have A Dream” speech.

But it wasn’t until this summer when I had a chance to visit the site in person that I saw the eternal flame.

And the eternal flame moved me to tears. 

 

The plaque that goes with the flame says;

 

“The eternal flame represents the continuing effort to realize Dr. King’s ideas for “Beloved Community” which requires lasting personal commitment that cannot weaken when faced with obstacles.”

 

And here we are. 

Facing obstacles. 

Fighting once again, 

If the fight has ever even ended, 

For beloved community. 

 

So today, on this MLK, Jr. holiday, 

May we be moved to tears not only by MLK’s life and legacy,

But also by how much work there is yet to do. 

 

And then may we be empowered to do it. 

 

God calls us to live in beloved community. 

 

May we do 

And be 

Nothing less. 

 

Amen. 

 

On Worship

 

On Monday night, 

I began a six week course entitled 

The Foundations of Worship.

 

I’ve thought about worship a lot over the course of my life.

I’ve experienced worship in a variety of different styles and ways, 

And I’ve taken courses and workshops on worship before,

But I’ve never been involved in a course quite like this one.

And we’ve only had one session.

 

The professor, who is the rector and Dean at Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary,

Has an ecological, worldview-influenced view of worship.

He believes that worship restructures time and space

And connects people throughout the ages in a great symphony of praise.

In other words, 

Worship transcends this world and connects us to a spiritual reality that logic cannot explain.

 

And yet we use our logic and we use our humanity to offer what we can in worship.

When we partake of the bread and wine,

We are bringing gifts of bounty and harvest. 

When we listen to the Word, 

We are bringing gifts of openness and intellect. 

When we fill the sanctuary with flowers, 

We are bringing gifts of beauty and the fields. 

When we light candles to remind us of God’s presence,

We are bringing gifts of the elements and air. 

 

When we come together in worship, 

We are forming relationship with God and humanity. 

We are gathering all creation with unified purpose,

Healing and restoring spirits and then

Sending them out into the world to love and redeem the world through Christ. 

 

Worship happens individually, yes.

But worship is more than individual sport. 

Worship is life-changing, communal activity that

Focuses us on more than ourselves 

And helps us see “God’s kingdom come and will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

 

Worship brings us into the very presence of God 

Through confession, forgiveness, Word, music, table, and creation. 

Before Monday night, 

I had never considered the latter, 

But now I will never look at the flowers of the week the same. 

 

So may we be a people of worship, 

Who see worship as connecting and life-transforming, 

A holding space, 

A profound ritual, 

A revelation of God, 

A relationship with the cosmos, 

Now and forevermore. 

 

Amen. 

The Words of MLK, Jr

 

I teach about Martin Luther King Jr. and the music of the civil rights movement at the beginning of January each year. It’s a nice 2 to 3 week unit and the kids always enjoy it.

 

In kindergarten and 1st grades, we talk about the voice—singing, speaking, whispering, and shouting, and how each person’s voice sounds different. We listen to sound clips of MLK’s “I Have A Dream” speech and talk about how his voice is different than mine. And their teacher’s. And the principal’s. And everyone else’s. We read a very simple book about Martin and how things were not fair when he was growing up and how he wanted to help change laws. Then we “Sing About Martin” and about “PEACE” and the kids have a great time. For many of them, it’s the first time they’ve heard of MLK. 

 

In 2nd and 3rd grades, we “Shed a Little Light” and talk about segregation and integration. We read a picture book biography of MLK, and we learn that on his tombstone, it says, “Free At Last.” We look at his tombstone and then we learn “Free At Last.” It’s a crowd favorite. 

 

In 4th and 5th grades, we listen to more of MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech and talk about planned vs extemporaneous speeches. We listen to how he references, “My Country Tis of Thee,” and we listen to the song. We look at the full line up of the music and speeches of The March on Washington and we listen to some of the musicians and learn, “We Shall Overcome.” We also talk about what one person can do to change the world. 

 

I always enjoy teaching this unit. The music is fun and the subject matter is important and the kids are usually exasperated at the conditions of legalized segregation. 

 

But I must admit: it’s getting harder and harder to teach the subject matter with racism and hatred once again becoming more commonplace. I have had students tell me that their parents have said negative things about MLK and argue against what he taught. And I dread the moment students bring up modern day hate crimes and what they’re seeing on the news about ICE and border patrol and prejudices that still exist. 

 

Clearly, because I teach about MLK and the civil rights movement of the 1960s, I know that this is not the first time in history that people have had to live through tumultuous times. I know that racism, hatred, prejudice, power, and control have existed since the beginning of time. But that doesn’t make it any easier to be part of a moment in history where they seem to be triumphing again. 

 

These days, I am constantly reminded that the history books leave out most people. We know of the key players in all of the movements that were fighting for the dignity and respect for humankind, but we don’t know of the lives of every day people who were just trying to get by. Those stories have gotten lost but will likely be lived out time and again by more every day people just trying to get by. 

 

MLK, Jr made a huge impact on the world. He influenced the world far better past his immediate sphere of influence. But for most of us, our immediate sphere of influence is all we have. And while it may not seem like much, it can be everything to people who need to know they are loved and valued and wanted. 

 

So stay the course, dear friends. Use YOUR voice to share your dream. Shed A Little Light on this world. Celebrate moments when you feel Free at Last. And believe that, somehow, We Shall Overcome. One moment at a time. 

 

Amen. 

 

Worth Fighting For

 

I have a few students who are nonverbal in their communication. 

One of my students, J, has a communication device that he brings with him to class. 

Usually, when I look at what he’s written, 

It’s the books of the Bible, in order.

But yesterday, when I looked, I saw three words that stopped me in my tracks:

 

“Worth fighting for.”

 

I don’t know why J had these words typed on his device. 

He loves gospel music. 

Maybe they are a song title or a lyric?

But they spoke to me in a major way. 

 

YOU ARE worth fighting for, 

Dear student. 

 

And YOU are worth fighting for,

Dear Teacher. 

 

And YOU are worth fighting for, 

Dear bewildered. 

 

And YOU are worth fighting for, 

Dear friend. 

 

No matter where you’ve come from. 

No matter where you’re going. 

No matter what you’ve done. 

No matter what you’ve left undone. 

No matter if you’re rich or poor, 

Black, brown, or white,

Male or female,

Cis- or trans-,

Gay or straight, 

Natural born American, immigrant, or citizen of the world, 

Jew or Gentile,

Muslim or Buddhist, 

Christian or atheist, 

YOU who are humble and seeking and willing and trying 

Are worth fighting for 

Simply because you are alive. 

 

And I’m not talking about a violent war. 

I’m not talking about abusive, shortsighted arrogance. 

I’m not talking about a gun battle. 

I’m talking about active resistance to 

Anyone or anything that tells you 

You are not worthy of the goodness of humanity 

That ties most of us together. 

I’m talking about peaceful protest to 

Rules and laws that tell you that you are 

Less than because you don’t fit patriarchal norms. 

I’m talking about open communication 

That doesn’t deem the “other” bad 

But allows room for differences that do not actively seek to control, judge, and keep down. 

I’m talking about the creative process that denounces evil by 

Creating moments of beauty, catharsis, and light. 

 

YOU are a beloved child of God. 

 

YOU are worth fighting for. 

 

Human dignity and respect are worth fighting for. 

 

J says so on his communication device. 

 

May it be so. 

 

Amen. 

 

The 12 Day of Christmas

 

Today is the 12th day of Christmas.

According to the song, 

My true love gave to me 

Twelve drummers drumming. 

 

That’s a lot of drummers!

And probably very loud. 

And that’s the point. 

By the 12th day of Christmas, 

My true love has given a hugely extravagant gift. 

The gifts have piled so high
that scarcity is no longer believable.

It is no longer subtle. 

It is almost overwhelming. 

 

And that, too, is the point of the song, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

The song dates at least to the late 1700s as an English folk song—
part memory game,

part celebration of abundance.
Over time, Christians began to use it as a teaching song,
a way to reflect on faith through repetition and accumulation.

Whether or not it was originally written as a secret code,
it became something meaningful:
a reminder that God’s gifts are layered, not sparse.

Each day builds on the last.
Nothing is taken away.
Everything is added.

 

God gives: 

Jesus 

The old and new testaments 

Faith, hope, and love 

The four gospels 

The Torah 

The six days of active creation 

Wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord.

The Beatitudes 

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control.

The Ten Commandments 

The witness of the eleven apostles 

And the church. 

 

God gives grace upon grace upon grace. 

 

We read this in John 1:

From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.

Not grace once.
Not grace only at the beginning.
But grace that keeps coming—
for the doubter,
for the weary,
for the one who thought they had missed their chance.

 

So today, on this 12th  Day of Christmas,

May we resist the urge to rush past the miracle of Jesus

As the world has already done. 

May we be countercultural as we

Receive again and

Linger in

The gifts that have been given to us.
May we trust that from Christ’s fullness—

There is still more grace to come.

Grace upon grace upon grace.

 

Amen.