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—edited from a post originally made on 4.7.16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.