Well, folks. If for some odd reason you’ve ever wondered about the educational beliefs that drive me, wonder no more. Here they are...
But before I post, I must say this: I’ve spent a lot of time over the past couple of weeks hammering out this “Leadership Framework.” I completed the assignment for a graduate school class, but I found myself struggling to focus solely on my work in the schools because church life is so important to me. In fact, Christian Education was my focus during my years in divinity school. And that’s where the tension lies. When I was in divinity school, I struggled to focus solely on my work in church because school life is so important to me. In both graduate degree programs, I have found my heart split...and trying to apply my learning to more than just what the courses are supposed to prepare me for.
Several people have asked me recently what I plan to do when I finish my current graduate degree. I find myself honestly responding, “I have no idea. I know I’m supposed to be doing the program, but I have no idea what I’m going to do with the degree.” And I don’t. But I’m hashing out my passions and beliefs and praying that God will reveal the way. I’m not overly concerned. But I am glad to be finished with this assignment :-).
Philosophy of Education
I believe that education begins when we are born and ends when we die. Whether the learning is ours or the persons’ around us, and whether it is mental, physical, spiritual, or emotional, education is what happens each time we are exposed to something new and forced to do something with or about it. I believe that education is a process. It is continuous. It does not always begin and end with concept introduction, rather it is more often grown with time, intention, and experience. Education is formal in schools and churches. Education is informal in homes and relationships. I believe that education is trying, falling down, getting up, and trying again. Education is learning to walk and then acquiring the stamina to use the skill for good.
Philosophy of Leadership
I believe that leadership is the person or group of persons who lead whatever or whomever is being led. I believe that strong leadership is the person or persons willing to lead by humble, active example. I believe that leaders should lead with purpose and integrity, out of a sense of personal calling, and that leadership’s purpose should not be personal gain but organizational, group, and individual progress. I believe that strong leadership fosters success through relevant feedback, timely encouragement, wise decisions, difficult conversations, and a growth mindset for both itself and those being led. As a result, strong leadership creates thriving, healthy, positive, and growing organizations, groups, or individuals.
Vision for Learners
Learners learn in a variety of ways (musical-rhythmic, visual-spatial, verbal-linguistic, logical-mathematical, bodily-kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalistic, and existential) and at varying speeds and will be given the time, space, and opportunity to do so. Furthermore, learners will gain relevant, practical skills and knowledge to help them live as healthy individuals who make positive contributions to society.
Vision for Teachers
Teachers are experts in educational and developmental theory, practice, and learning. Life-long learners themselves, teachers will be knowledgeable of their content area and how to relate it to learners’ lives. Teachers will enjoy working with students and peers and be both leaders and team players as needed to foster a positive, safe, and healthy learning environment.
Vision for the Organization
The educational organization makes formal education possible. The educational organization will:
• Provide not only a safe, well-maintained building and recreational space but also a safe, orderly learning environment;
• Seek to be sustainable and environmentally responsible whenever possible;
• Supply both the technological and non-technological tools needed for learning and make those tools available and accessible to students and teachers alike;
• Create a positive organizational culture and climate by planning and investing in ongoing community partnerships and promoting healthy lifestyles by providing physical and emotional support systems for students, parents, and teachers;
• Center all actions and activities on shared goals and values;
• Celebrate accomplishments both big and small.
Vision for the Professional Growth
Professional growth is the cornerstone for professional success. Professional growth will:
• Be ongoing and provide opportunities not only for strengthening content knowledge and work effectiveness but also for strengthening self-awareness and intra- and inter-personal communication and understanding;
• Be relevant and meaningful and lead to proactive change in thought and/or action;
• Be a combination of what all stakeholders need to know to be on the same page and what individual stakeholders desire to know to be stronger and more effective in areas identified as strengths and/or weaknesses;
• Occur in the regular work environment and at special trainings.
Method of Vision Attainment
Attaining any vision or goal takes time, determination, focus, and patience. Vision attainment is a journey filled with ups and downs, successes and failures, bumps and bruises, efficient pathways and unexpected detours, and long hours of listening and allowing others to help navigate and lead. I plan to attain my visions by bunkering down for the journey, enjoying the ride with whomever I meet along the way, and doing everything I can to leave the wake of my path better than it was before I walked it.
Showing posts with label divinity school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label divinity school. Show all posts
Monday, April 17, 2017
Monday, April 25, 2016
One More Try
I have a very vivid memory of playing rhythm sticks with my kindergarten students during my first year of teaching. While the lesson was a success and I was having fun with my job, I remember thinking, “Is this really what I’m called to do for the rest of my life?”
Four years later, I started classes in divinity school. I taught music during the day; I studied at night. Eventually one night of classes turned to two nights turned to three, until I ran out of night-class options and had to make a decision: continue teaching or finish my graduate degree. I chose the latter.
For the next two years, I was a full-time student. I threw myself into my classes and learned everything I could learn. I worked as a church-secretary and became nationally certified to do the work. I served as a music-minister. I assisted one of my professors. I went to pastoral counseling for spiritual direction. I grew leaps and bounds and felt that the work that I was doing to complete my degree was setting me up for the rest of my career—I just wasn’t sure what that career would be.
Shortly after finishing my graduate degree, I was offered a job working with the organization that I had wanted to work with since the summer after my freshman year of college. Even though the call would move me to South Carolina, I knew that it was where God was leading, so I took the job and relocated life to Columbia. I found an amazing little apartment that overlooked Lake Murray and I dove into my work with everything I could give. The move away from family and friends wasn’t easy, and figuring out the new language and expectations of the job wasn’t easy either. But I did it. And I was content. I was making friends and making a difference through my work—especially through my work of educating about human exploitation…yet just as quickly as the door to my dream job had opened, it closed. Sudden. Unexpected. Forceful. The end.
One stormy afternoon, as I packed up my stuff to move out of my amazing little apartment that overlooked Lake Murray, I found myself wanting to jump into the lake’s waters, fully clothed, so that the lake could wrap her arms around me and hold me as I cried. As I floated on my back, rain crashing onto my arms and face, ears listening to the sounds of nature as she poured our her fury, I found myself repeating a lyric that I had learned only weeks before: “This is what we’re made for, standing in the downpour, knowing that the sun will shine. Forget what lies behind you, heaven stands beside you, you’ve got to give it one more try. One more try.”
This past Friday, my principal called me into her office. “Ms. Deaton,” she said. “I’ve got something to tell you. You’re going to be our 2016-2017 Teacher of the Year!” After we finished our conversation and I was presented with a beautiful vase of flowers, I went straight to car duty. I could hear thunder rolling and rain falling, so I knew that we were in for a difficult dismissal. Pants legs rolled up, baseball hat and rain-jacket in place, umbrellas left in the library for fear of lightning strike, my team and I walked boldly into the parking lot to get our students home.
As I stood in the parking lot on Friday afternoon, soaking wet from the worst car-rider weather of my three years at Johnsonville, I couldn’t help but smile. “This is what we’re made for, standing in the downpour,” I sang…
Because, friends, the sun had shone. Heaven had stood beside me through shell-shocked brokenness and confusion to home to chaplaincy to my school where, seven years after I walked away from another wonderful classroom, I was given a lovely little hut overlooking the playground.
Walking away from teaching the first time was not easy. My heart was—as it continues to be—in the public schools. Yet I knew, in my gut, that walking away was what I needed to do.
Though my graduate degree pays me absolutely nothing when I look at my paycheck, and though my three years of vocational ministry seem like a distant dream, they pay me everything I need when I look at my colleagues and students and know that my work isn’t necessarily about rhythm sticks but that it is about influencing lives by showing up and being fully-present every day—not wondering what’s next, not longing for something more, not being so off-balance that my angst comes out on those around me—but being present, ready to face the good and the bad and the everything in between, with stubborn, steady love.
“This is what we’re made for. Standing in the downpour. Knowing that the sun will shine. Forget what lies behind you. Heaven stands beside you. You’ve got to give it one more try…”
One moment, one day at a time.
…One more try.
Amen.
Four years later, I started classes in divinity school. I taught music during the day; I studied at night. Eventually one night of classes turned to two nights turned to three, until I ran out of night-class options and had to make a decision: continue teaching or finish my graduate degree. I chose the latter.
For the next two years, I was a full-time student. I threw myself into my classes and learned everything I could learn. I worked as a church-secretary and became nationally certified to do the work. I served as a music-minister. I assisted one of my professors. I went to pastoral counseling for spiritual direction. I grew leaps and bounds and felt that the work that I was doing to complete my degree was setting me up for the rest of my career—I just wasn’t sure what that career would be.
Shortly after finishing my graduate degree, I was offered a job working with the organization that I had wanted to work with since the summer after my freshman year of college. Even though the call would move me to South Carolina, I knew that it was where God was leading, so I took the job and relocated life to Columbia. I found an amazing little apartment that overlooked Lake Murray and I dove into my work with everything I could give. The move away from family and friends wasn’t easy, and figuring out the new language and expectations of the job wasn’t easy either. But I did it. And I was content. I was making friends and making a difference through my work—especially through my work of educating about human exploitation…yet just as quickly as the door to my dream job had opened, it closed. Sudden. Unexpected. Forceful. The end.
One stormy afternoon, as I packed up my stuff to move out of my amazing little apartment that overlooked Lake Murray, I found myself wanting to jump into the lake’s waters, fully clothed, so that the lake could wrap her arms around me and hold me as I cried. As I floated on my back, rain crashing onto my arms and face, ears listening to the sounds of nature as she poured our her fury, I found myself repeating a lyric that I had learned only weeks before: “This is what we’re made for, standing in the downpour, knowing that the sun will shine. Forget what lies behind you, heaven stands beside you, you’ve got to give it one more try. One more try.”
As I stood in the parking lot on Friday afternoon, soaking wet from the worst car-rider weather of my three years at Johnsonville, I couldn’t help but smile. “This is what we’re made for, standing in the downpour,” I sang…
Because, friends, the sun had shone. Heaven had stood beside me through shell-shocked brokenness and confusion to home to chaplaincy to my school where, seven years after I walked away from another wonderful classroom, I was given a lovely little hut overlooking the playground.
Walking away from teaching the first time was not easy. My heart was—as it continues to be—in the public schools. Yet I knew, in my gut, that walking away was what I needed to do.
Though my graduate degree pays me absolutely nothing when I look at my paycheck, and though my three years of vocational ministry seem like a distant dream, they pay me everything I need when I look at my colleagues and students and know that my work isn’t necessarily about rhythm sticks but that it is about influencing lives by showing up and being fully-present every day—not wondering what’s next, not longing for something more, not being so off-balance that my angst comes out on those around me—but being present, ready to face the good and the bad and the everything in between, with stubborn, steady love.
“This is what we’re made for. Standing in the downpour. Knowing that the sun will shine. Forget what lies behind you. Heaven stands beside you. You’ve got to give it one more try…”
One moment, one day at a time.
…One more try.
Amen.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Wow. That Really Changes Things.
Today was rough. I’m not sure if it was me returning to “real” life after being away at a conference, if it was student behavior, or if it was a combination of both, but I was more than ready to call the day quits by the end of my last class. In fact, I turned and walked toward the board during that class and said to myself, “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not let frustration invade your being. Do not angrily raise your voice. You can do this. The day is almost over. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.” I breathed myself to the end of the day.
…
When I learned the concept of being a “non-anxious presence” during my courses at divinity school, I immediately made it my goal to become a non-anxious presence. When I declared this goal to one of my professors, he laughed at me. What he knew that I didn’t know was that it is next to impossible to be a non-anxious presence. We can take steps toward being non-anxious. We can have moments of non-anxiety. We can live with a less-anxious presence. But it is very rare for a person truly to live as a non-anxious presence. My goal was indeed laughable. Yet it is still my goal. As my latest fortune cookie read: “It is far worse to live without goals than to live in fear of not accomplishing them.”
...
So…today I worked very hard to be non-anxious. I activated all non-anxious strategies—breath, prayer, body awareness, silence, sharing, firm voice rather than yelling voice, breath, and prayer—and, well, I didn’t fully fail. I didn’t fully succeed either. But I didn’t fully fail. And I suppose that’s a good thing, eh?
…
In counseling on Tuesday night, I talked with Joe The Counselor about some of the situations that test my limits of non-anxiety—or I suppose I need to say less-anxiety if I want to be more accurate. For as many hours as I have been in counseling; for as many years as I have worked through the issues that are my monsters; for as many words as I have written about self-worth and value, grace and redemption, hope and resurrection, limitless love for all of God’s creation; there are still memories and realities that hook me—there are still words and accusations that hit me with such force that they knock me into the fetal position where all I know to do is cry.
As I shared these thoughts with Joe, desperately hoping that he could help me identify the root of one such reality that invokes so much anger and frustration in me that I truly do not like the person whom I hear and feel reacting, Joe patiently listened. Then he said something that I will not soon forget:
“Bear with me here,” he said. “You might not be ready to hear this. But what if the next time this reality arises, you say, ‘Thank you, (reality), for being my teacher,’ and letting the situation teach you whatever it is that you need to learn rather than letting it frustrate you to the point that you cannot think straight?”
I didn’t know what to say.
Until I finally said, “Wow. That really changes things.”
Think:
Thank you, student who is driving me crazy, for being my teacher.
Thank you, visceral memory that is punching me in the gut, for being my teacher.
Thank you, person who dislikes me and speaks ill of me, for being my teacher.
Thank you, stranger who cuts me off in traffic because you didn’t follow traffic signs, for being my teacher.
…
In my inevitably failed mission of living as a non-anxious presence, I now have one more tool to employ when my monsters attack: Thankfulness.
In every situation, friends, good and bad, there is something to be learned.
And for that, friends, there is reason to be thankful.
Thank you, God, for being our teacher.
In all things.
Even when our feeble, human attempts at love are laughable.
Amen.
…
When I learned the concept of being a “non-anxious presence” during my courses at divinity school, I immediately made it my goal to become a non-anxious presence. When I declared this goal to one of my professors, he laughed at me. What he knew that I didn’t know was that it is next to impossible to be a non-anxious presence. We can take steps toward being non-anxious. We can have moments of non-anxiety. We can live with a less-anxious presence. But it is very rare for a person truly to live as a non-anxious presence. My goal was indeed laughable. Yet it is still my goal. As my latest fortune cookie read: “It is far worse to live without goals than to live in fear of not accomplishing them.”
...
So…today I worked very hard to be non-anxious. I activated all non-anxious strategies—breath, prayer, body awareness, silence, sharing, firm voice rather than yelling voice, breath, and prayer—and, well, I didn’t fully fail. I didn’t fully succeed either. But I didn’t fully fail. And I suppose that’s a good thing, eh?
…
In counseling on Tuesday night, I talked with Joe The Counselor about some of the situations that test my limits of non-anxiety—or I suppose I need to say less-anxiety if I want to be more accurate. For as many hours as I have been in counseling; for as many years as I have worked through the issues that are my monsters; for as many words as I have written about self-worth and value, grace and redemption, hope and resurrection, limitless love for all of God’s creation; there are still memories and realities that hook me—there are still words and accusations that hit me with such force that they knock me into the fetal position where all I know to do is cry.
As I shared these thoughts with Joe, desperately hoping that he could help me identify the root of one such reality that invokes so much anger and frustration in me that I truly do not like the person whom I hear and feel reacting, Joe patiently listened. Then he said something that I will not soon forget:
“Bear with me here,” he said. “You might not be ready to hear this. But what if the next time this reality arises, you say, ‘Thank you, (reality), for being my teacher,’ and letting the situation teach you whatever it is that you need to learn rather than letting it frustrate you to the point that you cannot think straight?”
I didn’t know what to say.
Until I finally said, “Wow. That really changes things.”
Think:
Thank you, student who is driving me crazy, for being my teacher.
Thank you, visceral memory that is punching me in the gut, for being my teacher.
Thank you, person who dislikes me and speaks ill of me, for being my teacher.
Thank you, stranger who cuts me off in traffic because you didn’t follow traffic signs, for being my teacher.
…
In my inevitably failed mission of living as a non-anxious presence, I now have one more tool to employ when my monsters attack: Thankfulness.
In every situation, friends, good and bad, there is something to be learned.
And for that, friends, there is reason to be thankful.
Thank you, God, for being our teacher.
In all things.
Even when our feeble, human attempts at love are laughable.
Amen.
Monday, March 30, 2015
My People
“This is a bit overwhelming,” I said. “But it’s good. It’s really good. I’m so glad that my people are finally getting to meet my people.”
Gentry, Erwin, Johnsonville.
Camp Mundo Vista, Camp La Vida.
Friendship, FBC Erwin, Antioch.
Harnett Central, Meredith, Campbell, Wake Med.
Friends, family.
My people got to meet my people. To see each other. To put faces to names. To hear each other. To worship together. And short of my getting to see all of my people myself, hug lots of necks, and sing with my friends again, it is the thing I was most excited to happen at my ordination last night.
To those who were there in person: Thank you.
And I’m curious: What words from last night’s service spoke the most to you? Have any words been going through your mind today? (And I’m not necessarily looking for words about me. I’m genuinely curious as to how the Spirit spoke to you.)
To those who sent words and prayers in your absence: Thank you.
For everyone: Here is the program order.
------
Order of Worship
for the Ordination of Deanna Deaton
March 29, 2015, 6pm
Welcome
Presentation of Candidate
Call to Worship
Congregational Hymn #235: When I Survey The Wondrous Cross
Invocation
Special Music: You Are
Scripture Reading, Isaiah 55: 8-12
Homily and Prayer
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 1 and 3): The Servant Song
Scripture Reading, Romans 12: 1-8
Charge to the Church
Litany of Affirmation and Support
Special Music: A Follower’s Prayer
Scripture Reading, John 15: 9-17
Charge to and Prayer for the Candidate
Laying on of Hands
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 2), The Servant Song
Deanna’s First Ordained Communion
Presentation of Church Gift
Benediction
Gentry, Erwin, Johnsonville.
Camp Mundo Vista, Camp La Vida.
Friendship, FBC Erwin, Antioch.
Harnett Central, Meredith, Campbell, Wake Med.
Friends, family.
My people got to meet my people. To see each other. To put faces to names. To hear each other. To worship together. And short of my getting to see all of my people myself, hug lots of necks, and sing with my friends again, it is the thing I was most excited to happen at my ordination last night.
To those who were there in person: Thank you.
And I’m curious: What words from last night’s service spoke the most to you? Have any words been going through your mind today? (And I’m not necessarily looking for words about me. I’m genuinely curious as to how the Spirit spoke to you.)
To those who sent words and prayers in your absence: Thank you.
For everyone: Here is the program order.
------
Order of Worship
for the Ordination of Deanna Deaton
March 29, 2015, 6pm
Welcome
Presentation of Candidate
Call to Worship
Congregational Hymn #235: When I Survey The Wondrous Cross
Invocation
Special Music: You Are
Scripture Reading, Isaiah 55: 8-12
Homily and Prayer
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 1 and 3): The Servant Song
Scripture Reading, Romans 12: 1-8
Charge to the Church
Litany of Affirmation and Support
Special Music: A Follower’s Prayer
Scripture Reading, John 15: 9-17
Charge to and Prayer for the Candidate
Laying on of Hands
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 2), The Servant Song
Deanna’s First Ordained Communion
Presentation of Church Gift
Benediction
Monday, March 23, 2015
The Willing
Sermon writers write sermons differently. Some write manuscripts. Some write outlines. Some draw thinking maps. Some handwrite their notes. Some type them. Some do neither. Some keep their notes in theirs heads.
I haven’t yet perfected my system. I don’t prepare many sermons. So I may do any of the above. Yesterday I typed out a strange combination of manuscript, outline, and incomplete sentences. I used my notes as a springboard for the message and filled in gaps as I felt led.
This may not make a bit of sense to anyone but me, but here are my notes from yesterday’s sermon. Jesus was willing. So, too, may we be.
(Imaginative Prayer: Lazarus’s Death)
(Imaginative Prayer: Lazarus’s Resurrection)
Read John 11:45-57.
Have you ever had to make a really difficult decision that you knew would change your life forever?
2007. Tough decision. Keep teaching. Go to divinity school. Sat in principal’s office. Struggled. Prayed. Could continue in my ministry at school. Been there for 8 years and had built the program. Could quit my job and finish my MDiv. Either way, life would change. Chose MDiv. But before I did, I shed many tears.
In this passage, Jesus was faced with a tough decision. Continue with ministry on earth—continue doing lots of good on earth—and try not to ruffle too many feathers. Or raise Lazarus from the dead and mark himself as target for death. Chose to raise Lazarus. But before he did, Jesus wept.
Yes, He wept for seeing the grief of those around him. His friends. His safe place. His home in a time when he didn’t have home.
But maybe, too, he wept from the weight of it all—from exhaustion—from what he knew would result from following his heart—his call—from the pain of letting go and diving into what would be—which was pain far greater than any one person should have to endure.
And yet. Tears and all. Jesus was willing to do what he needed to do. Raise a friend from the dead. Bring happiness back into his friends’ lives. Show his total and complete power to save. All good things. And yet. They (the Pharisees and Sadducees) set his murder plot into motion. And he knew they would—all because they didn’t want to lose political power and control.
Jesus was willing. Come what may. So, too, should we be…
After finishing my degree, I went to work in a full-time ministry position. The job was both wonderful and terrible—being away from home was hard—learning a new system was hard. Yet God called me away much more quickly than I had projected and I ended up back in the schools where I began—only things are so different now—so much more difficult with testing and policies and the world’s brokenness.
No one ever said being a light in darkness would be easy.
Being willing to follow Christ to the cross often results in difficulty and pain.
Yet Jesus was willing to bring difficulty and pain—and even death—to himself for the sake of the greater good.
So, too, should we be.
(Blow out Lenten candle)
I haven’t yet perfected my system. I don’t prepare many sermons. So I may do any of the above. Yesterday I typed out a strange combination of manuscript, outline, and incomplete sentences. I used my notes as a springboard for the message and filled in gaps as I felt led.
This may not make a bit of sense to anyone but me, but here are my notes from yesterday’s sermon. Jesus was willing. So, too, may we be.
(Imaginative Prayer: Lazarus’s Death)
(Imaginative Prayer: Lazarus’s Resurrection)
Read John 11:45-57.
Have you ever had to make a really difficult decision that you knew would change your life forever?
2007. Tough decision. Keep teaching. Go to divinity school. Sat in principal’s office. Struggled. Prayed. Could continue in my ministry at school. Been there for 8 years and had built the program. Could quit my job and finish my MDiv. Either way, life would change. Chose MDiv. But before I did, I shed many tears.
In this passage, Jesus was faced with a tough decision. Continue with ministry on earth—continue doing lots of good on earth—and try not to ruffle too many feathers. Or raise Lazarus from the dead and mark himself as target for death. Chose to raise Lazarus. But before he did, Jesus wept.
Yes, He wept for seeing the grief of those around him. His friends. His safe place. His home in a time when he didn’t have home.
But maybe, too, he wept from the weight of it all—from exhaustion—from what he knew would result from following his heart—his call—from the pain of letting go and diving into what would be—which was pain far greater than any one person should have to endure.
And yet. Tears and all. Jesus was willing to do what he needed to do. Raise a friend from the dead. Bring happiness back into his friends’ lives. Show his total and complete power to save. All good things. And yet. They (the Pharisees and Sadducees) set his murder plot into motion. And he knew they would—all because they didn’t want to lose political power and control.
Jesus was willing. Come what may. So, too, should we be…
After finishing my degree, I went to work in a full-time ministry position. The job was both wonderful and terrible—being away from home was hard—learning a new system was hard. Yet God called me away much more quickly than I had projected and I ended up back in the schools where I began—only things are so different now—so much more difficult with testing and policies and the world’s brokenness.
No one ever said being a light in darkness would be easy.
Being willing to follow Christ to the cross often results in difficulty and pain.
Yet Jesus was willing to bring difficulty and pain—and even death—to himself for the sake of the greater good.
So, too, should we be.
(Blow out Lenten candle)
Monday, July 21, 2014
Defining Moments: Whispered Identity
My preferred seat of meeting or learning is at the back of the classroom near a window, away from the door. As such, I try to make a point to be early to classes or meetings on the first day so that I can get a seat in which I will feel both comfortable and safe. I am not a seat hopper. I believe in the sanctity of the seat. Once I find my seat, I return to my seat. And if someone takes my seat, then I feel a slight sense of panic. I’m not a confronter, though. [I’ve only seen one person confront a seat stealer, and that moment was priceless.] Instead, I sit as close to my original seat as possible or try to find another seat at the end of a row.
February 15, 2007, however, was a day that I found myself completely displaced. I have no idea why my seat was taken by the time I managed to drag a very weary body and soul into class, but it was. And so were all the seats around it. I think it may have been visitation day at the divinity school. So I had to sit somewhere really weird—near the middle of the class or something—and it was horrible—because all I wanted to do that day was disappear.
I had a really bad day that day. If you remember a day seven and a half years later, then you know it was a really bad day. I remember standing in the bathroom after getting to divinity school from elementary school work, wanting desperately to go home and sleep, but knowing that I needed to go to class. I needed to go to class not because of anything special but because going to class is what I did. I only missed one class during my entire under-graduate career, and if I missed a class during my divinity school career then it was because I had mono.
I am a people-pleaser.
Students going to and participating in class is pleasing to (most) professors.
So I went to class.
I always went to class.
But I almost skipped class that day.
And if I had, then I would have made one of the biggest mistakes of my life—
which would have been fitting on February 15, 2007—
but instead, that class became one of the biggest blessings of my life.
“I believe that as God is forming us from golem, God holds us to God’s chest and whispers into our ear who God desires us to be. Once we are born, the world begins telling us who it wants us to be. Family. Friends. Society. The church. So many voices tell us who to be. They wage battles within us, trying to form us into their image. But I think that our life’s journey is learn to hear through those outside voices and into the voice of God—the voice that once whispered to us who we were created us to be. This is perfection—being exactly who God desires—and Jesus was the only person ever to reach perfection—the only person ever to live into the fullness of who he was created to be—despite all that the world tried to make him.”
As my professor spoke that day, I sat in a strange seat surrounded by strange people and wept.
It was as if he was speaking those words directly to me and
I was being held against God’s chest as he did.
It was also as if God were telling me,
“I created you.
I believe in you.
I’ve got you.
Even when all else fails.
You are not who they tell you that you are.
You have failed but you are not a failure.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Always.”
That moment forever changed my view of God, life, and self.
And to think I almost missed it.
And that it happened in the wrong seat...
Thank you, Dr. Brock, for allowing God to use you to change me.
February 15, 2007, however, was a day that I found myself completely displaced. I have no idea why my seat was taken by the time I managed to drag a very weary body and soul into class, but it was. And so were all the seats around it. I think it may have been visitation day at the divinity school. So I had to sit somewhere really weird—near the middle of the class or something—and it was horrible—because all I wanted to do that day was disappear.
I had a really bad day that day. If you remember a day seven and a half years later, then you know it was a really bad day. I remember standing in the bathroom after getting to divinity school from elementary school work, wanting desperately to go home and sleep, but knowing that I needed to go to class. I needed to go to class not because of anything special but because going to class is what I did. I only missed one class during my entire under-graduate career, and if I missed a class during my divinity school career then it was because I had mono.
I am a people-pleaser.
Students going to and participating in class is pleasing to (most) professors.
So I went to class.
I always went to class.
But I almost skipped class that day.
And if I had, then I would have made one of the biggest mistakes of my life—
which would have been fitting on February 15, 2007—
but instead, that class became one of the biggest blessings of my life.
“I believe that as God is forming us from golem, God holds us to God’s chest and whispers into our ear who God desires us to be. Once we are born, the world begins telling us who it wants us to be. Family. Friends. Society. The church. So many voices tell us who to be. They wage battles within us, trying to form us into their image. But I think that our life’s journey is learn to hear through those outside voices and into the voice of God—the voice that once whispered to us who we were created us to be. This is perfection—being exactly who God desires—and Jesus was the only person ever to reach perfection—the only person ever to live into the fullness of who he was created to be—despite all that the world tried to make him.”
As my professor spoke that day, I sat in a strange seat surrounded by strange people and wept.
It was as if he was speaking those words directly to me and
I was being held against God’s chest as he did.
It was also as if God were telling me,
“I created you.
I believe in you.
I’ve got you.
Even when all else fails.
You are not who they tell you that you are.
You have failed but you are not a failure.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Always.”
That moment forever changed my view of God, life, and self.
And to think I almost missed it.
And that it happened in the wrong seat...
Thank you, Dr. Brock, for allowing God to use you to change me.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Defining Moments: One Moment in One Class during One Summer
The boys and I went to “play bowling” today. I think it’s ironic that they say “play bowling” because I always said the same thing.
On the way, we stopped at our local coffee shop to get everyone “coolachies” (Henry’s name for frappuccinos). As we were leaving the coffee shop, I first ran into a friend whom I hadn’t seen since we spent the summer together at Governor’s School in 1993 and then into one of my Divinity School professors and his wife.
When I got back into the car, the boys asked why my professor’s van was so low to the ground. I explained to them that he has Parkinson’s disease and is confined to his wheelchair, so he rides in a van equipped for the chair.
We talked about Parkinson’s disease and how it affects the body and as we talked I recalled a specific night in my professor’s class that changed my life.
The class was Ethics, Religion, and Spirituality in the Helping Professions. It was one of two summer school classes that I was taking in the summer of 2006. The syllabus included a one night discussion of how personality type influences spirituality, but the discussion ended up lasting only a few minutes at the end of that one class.
Yet that one discussion planted a seed in my heart that has grown to fruition in the years that have followed.
In 2007, I paid my own way to become a certified Myers Briggs Type Indicator administrator. I went to a one week class and focused specifically on the Myers Briggs Personality Type theory that was based on the work of Carl Jung.
After that class and further MBTI discussions with another one of my divinity school professors, I led a women’s retreat on how personality type affects spirituality and led training sessions at summer camps to help camp staff members learn how to understand themselves and how they could best relate to fellow staff members.
I have had countless type theory discussions with friends, family members, and coworkers, and I have seen how understanding type theory has helped strengthen and heal relationships with others, God, the church, and self.
Though many doubt the benefits and accuracy of the MBTI, and though I know that there are other effective theories and indicators, I wholeheartedly believe in the benefits of understanding Myers Briggs type theory and I believe that proper understanding can positively influence home, church, school, and corporate environments.
The moment happened so quickly—a passing discussion at the end of one class period in one
summer school session—a moment probably unnoticed by the rest of the class but one that began
a quietly gentle revolution in me.
Thanks, Dr. Hatcher, for providing me with that moment and for having the courage to keep
fighting for life and changing lives when it seems that so much is falling apart.
---
My cousin, Stephen, with whom I often “played bowling,” posted an article about those doubts today. Here’s the link: http://www.vox.com/2014/7/15/5881947/myers-briggs-personality-test-meaningless). And here was my response: I don't agree with this article. For one, the MBTI isn't a test. It's an indicator. The results are meant to indicate a person's tendencies for how he/she gains energy, subconsciously takes in information, consciously makes decisions with that information, and organizes the information for the world to see. The theory is that we are each born with preferences--like right or left handedness--and that when we understand our preferences then we can better understand ourselves and how we interact with the world. It is not supposed to give definitive information to be used to put people in rigid categories or to say what jobs people would be best at. Anyone of any type can do any job. Personality type is not the full definitive mark of a person. But understanding type--how we interact with the world and receive and process information--is VERY helpful in understanding ourselves, our reactions, and how we can be our best. And just because we are a certain type doesn't mean that we don't use the other functions. In fact, the theory states that, over time, we develop and strengthen our non-preference tendencies to become more well-rounded people. If someone wants to use the MBTI for purposes other than it was intended, then maybe it is not fully accurate in the scientific community, but maybe the MBTI is less about scientific certainty than it is about helping persons understand themselves and how they can best function at work and in relationships. Then again, I am an NF--I see possibilities and how things relate to people--not pure raw data and absolute black and whites.
On the way, we stopped at our local coffee shop to get everyone “coolachies” (Henry’s name for frappuccinos). As we were leaving the coffee shop, I first ran into a friend whom I hadn’t seen since we spent the summer together at Governor’s School in 1993 and then into one of my Divinity School professors and his wife.
When I got back into the car, the boys asked why my professor’s van was so low to the ground. I explained to them that he has Parkinson’s disease and is confined to his wheelchair, so he rides in a van equipped for the chair.
We talked about Parkinson’s disease and how it affects the body and as we talked I recalled a specific night in my professor’s class that changed my life.
The class was Ethics, Religion, and Spirituality in the Helping Professions. It was one of two summer school classes that I was taking in the summer of 2006. The syllabus included a one night discussion of how personality type influences spirituality, but the discussion ended up lasting only a few minutes at the end of that one class.
Yet that one discussion planted a seed in my heart that has grown to fruition in the years that have followed.
In 2007, I paid my own way to become a certified Myers Briggs Type Indicator administrator. I went to a one week class and focused specifically on the Myers Briggs Personality Type theory that was based on the work of Carl Jung.
After that class and further MBTI discussions with another one of my divinity school professors, I led a women’s retreat on how personality type affects spirituality and led training sessions at summer camps to help camp staff members learn how to understand themselves and how they could best relate to fellow staff members.
I have had countless type theory discussions with friends, family members, and coworkers, and I have seen how understanding type theory has helped strengthen and heal relationships with others, God, the church, and self.
Though many doubt the benefits and accuracy of the MBTI, and though I know that there are other effective theories and indicators, I wholeheartedly believe in the benefits of understanding Myers Briggs type theory and I believe that proper understanding can positively influence home, church, school, and corporate environments.
The moment happened so quickly—a passing discussion at the end of one class period in one
summer school session—a moment probably unnoticed by the rest of the class but one that began
a quietly gentle revolution in me.
Thanks, Dr. Hatcher, for providing me with that moment and for having the courage to keep
fighting for life and changing lives when it seems that so much is falling apart.
---
My cousin, Stephen, with whom I often “played bowling,” posted an article about those doubts today. Here’s the link: http://www.vox.com/2014/7/15/5881947/myers-briggs-personality-test-meaningless). And here was my response: I don't agree with this article. For one, the MBTI isn't a test. It's an indicator. The results are meant to indicate a person's tendencies for how he/she gains energy, subconsciously takes in information, consciously makes decisions with that information, and organizes the information for the world to see. The theory is that we are each born with preferences--like right or left handedness--and that when we understand our preferences then we can better understand ourselves and how we interact with the world. It is not supposed to give definitive information to be used to put people in rigid categories or to say what jobs people would be best at. Anyone of any type can do any job. Personality type is not the full definitive mark of a person. But understanding type--how we interact with the world and receive and process information--is VERY helpful in understanding ourselves, our reactions, and how we can be our best. And just because we are a certain type doesn't mean that we don't use the other functions. In fact, the theory states that, over time, we develop and strengthen our non-preference tendencies to become more well-rounded people. If someone wants to use the MBTI for purposes other than it was intended, then maybe it is not fully accurate in the scientific community, but maybe the MBTI is less about scientific certainty than it is about helping persons understand themselves and how they can best function at work and in relationships. Then again, I am an NF--I see possibilities and how things relate to people--not pure raw data and absolute black and whites.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Full, Expanded Circle
I’m looking out over the Winston Salem skyline as I write these words tonight. The sun is setting in the distance with beautiful oranges and purples and reds while the moon is shining bright just over my head. To my right, atop one of the tallest buildings in town, the American flag stands tall, one last reminder to say thank you to a veteran today.
I’ve attended fifteen hours of workshops and seminars over the past two days. The North Carolina Music Educator’s Professional Development has filled my Veteran's Day weekend, yet I’ve observed and learned a lot, and I’m glad for the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and add tools to my music teaching tool belt. My existing tools are still being dusted off after five years of disuse, so it’s nice to have some new ones.
Six years ago, I came to this conference immediately after leading worship with my now defunct band. I stayed until Tuesday and returned to real life to attend whatever class I was taking at the time. During that last conference, my body was here but my mind was not. In fact, I sat in the sessions reading books for divinity school. At that time, I was in the process of deciding whether to continue teaching or whether to pursue full-time ministry, and I had subconsciously begun a spiral downward that would land me in a very dark place in coming months.
After class that Tuesday night, I called a friend whom I often stopped by to visit and was greeted with the phrase, “We don’t know where Kay is.” Within an hour, we were standing at Kay’s house watching rescue workers roll away her body. After getting my band settled that Sunday, Kay, my friend, mentor, and music minister at the church, sick with a stomach virus, had gone home to fight the virus only to have the force of her sickness cause her heart to stop. The next few days were met with grieving, cleaning, planning, preparing for a funeral, and trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my band members and I were the last people to see Kay alive. I think I may have taken off that Wednesday from work.
As I watch darkness settle in tonight, I can’t help but think of the darkness that consumed me for so long after Kay died. I continued with life. I did everything I could not to let it interfere with my work; however, it was a reality I couldn’t shake. Yet just as I am seeing stars, planets, and man-made lights come into view before my eyes tonight, I know that I was surrounded by God’s presence and the presence of people who were light to me when I couldn’t find light within myself.
I stood in line at Starbucks this morning and thought to myself, “This little corner coffee shop is going to make more money in one day than I will make in an entire month.” I bought my food last night and today and thought to myself, “I’m not going to be reimbursed for this even though I’m working.” I listened to a colleague share about the challenges of a forced week of vocal rest. I thought, “She has devoted so much of herself to her job for so long that she has literally damaged her voice.”
For the past two days, during and between conference sessions, I have experienced so many different thoughts and emotions that it’s hard to put them on this page. Yet the overwhelming feelings that surround me right now are feelings of gratefulness and peace.
This is the first year I’ve focused on Veteran’s Day at school. I’m sad to admit that Veteran’s Day is a holiday that I have often overlooked. But not this year. This year I’m very mindful of the role that the men and women of our military play toward keeping our country safe and free and toward helping give dignity to many persons around the world. I’m very mindful of the sacrifices they make when leaving their families and loved ones to answer the call of duty. Teaching at a school where your students, parents, and colleagues are either in or married to someone in the military will open your eyes and shake your core as military planes fly overhead and practice bombs are dropped in the distance. So today I am humbly grateful to people beyond myself…but I am also grateful that life has brought me full-circle while allowing that circle to expand along the way.
Am I back in a profession to which I didn’t expect to return? Yes. Am I making tens of thousands of dollars less than I was? Yes. Do I know all of the latest tricks of the trade? No. Am I the best music teacher in the world? Absolutely not. Am I sad as I remember losing Kay? Yes. Do I curse the darkness that afterwards ensued? No. Could I have stopped it? I don’t think so. Do I regret going to South Carolina? No. Do I know that walking away from teaching for five years was exactly what I needed to do? Yes. Do I know that God has been with me every step of the way? Absolutely. And do I know that where I am right now is exactly where I need to be? Yes. Yes. Absolutely yes.
And so, for now, I am at peace.
Sun completely set. Moon shining even brighter. Flag still standing tall. Knowing that darkness must come for the night…but that joy will come in the morning…and then my students will challenge it :-)…yet everything will be okay.
I’ve attended fifteen hours of workshops and seminars over the past two days. The North Carolina Music Educator’s Professional Development has filled my Veteran's Day weekend, yet I’ve observed and learned a lot, and I’m glad for the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and add tools to my music teaching tool belt. My existing tools are still being dusted off after five years of disuse, so it’s nice to have some new ones.
Six years ago, I came to this conference immediately after leading worship with my now defunct band. I stayed until Tuesday and returned to real life to attend whatever class I was taking at the time. During that last conference, my body was here but my mind was not. In fact, I sat in the sessions reading books for divinity school. At that time, I was in the process of deciding whether to continue teaching or whether to pursue full-time ministry, and I had subconsciously begun a spiral downward that would land me in a very dark place in coming months.
After class that Tuesday night, I called a friend whom I often stopped by to visit and was greeted with the phrase, “We don’t know where Kay is.” Within an hour, we were standing at Kay’s house watching rescue workers roll away her body. After getting my band settled that Sunday, Kay, my friend, mentor, and music minister at the church, sick with a stomach virus, had gone home to fight the virus only to have the force of her sickness cause her heart to stop. The next few days were met with grieving, cleaning, planning, preparing for a funeral, and trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my band members and I were the last people to see Kay alive. I think I may have taken off that Wednesday from work.
As I watch darkness settle in tonight, I can’t help but think of the darkness that consumed me for so long after Kay died. I continued with life. I did everything I could not to let it interfere with my work; however, it was a reality I couldn’t shake. Yet just as I am seeing stars, planets, and man-made lights come into view before my eyes tonight, I know that I was surrounded by God’s presence and the presence of people who were light to me when I couldn’t find light within myself.
I stood in line at Starbucks this morning and thought to myself, “This little corner coffee shop is going to make more money in one day than I will make in an entire month.” I bought my food last night and today and thought to myself, “I’m not going to be reimbursed for this even though I’m working.” I listened to a colleague share about the challenges of a forced week of vocal rest. I thought, “She has devoted so much of herself to her job for so long that she has literally damaged her voice.”
For the past two days, during and between conference sessions, I have experienced so many different thoughts and emotions that it’s hard to put them on this page. Yet the overwhelming feelings that surround me right now are feelings of gratefulness and peace.
This is the first year I’ve focused on Veteran’s Day at school. I’m sad to admit that Veteran’s Day is a holiday that I have often overlooked. But not this year. This year I’m very mindful of the role that the men and women of our military play toward keeping our country safe and free and toward helping give dignity to many persons around the world. I’m very mindful of the sacrifices they make when leaving their families and loved ones to answer the call of duty. Teaching at a school where your students, parents, and colleagues are either in or married to someone in the military will open your eyes and shake your core as military planes fly overhead and practice bombs are dropped in the distance. So today I am humbly grateful to people beyond myself…but I am also grateful that life has brought me full-circle while allowing that circle to expand along the way.
Am I back in a profession to which I didn’t expect to return? Yes. Am I making tens of thousands of dollars less than I was? Yes. Do I know all of the latest tricks of the trade? No. Am I the best music teacher in the world? Absolutely not. Am I sad as I remember losing Kay? Yes. Do I curse the darkness that afterwards ensued? No. Could I have stopped it? I don’t think so. Do I regret going to South Carolina? No. Do I know that walking away from teaching for five years was exactly what I needed to do? Yes. Do I know that God has been with me every step of the way? Absolutely. And do I know that where I am right now is exactly where I need to be? Yes. Yes. Absolutely yes.
And so, for now, I am at peace.
Sun completely set. Moon shining even brighter. Flag still standing tall. Knowing that darkness must come for the night…but that joy will come in the morning…and then my students will challenge it :-)…yet everything will be okay.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Not For Failing
I have another confession.
I know the music classroom is where I’m supposed to be for now. The peace that I feel combined with the windows and doors that have flung wide open have made that perfectly clear.
However.
I must admit that saying, “I’m going back to the classroom,” has been a struggle.
It’s not been a struggle because I’m ashamed of the call.
It’s been a struggle because of my pride.
Even though I know that finishing divinity school, moving to SC and working for WMU, teaching piano to Griffin and Amelia, caretaking for Mrs. Flora, completing a unit of CPE, nannying Journey the Dog, and spending extra time with my family has grown and positively changed me beyond what I ever could have imagined, part of me still feels as if I have failed.
Part of me feels as if people are thinking, “Oh. She didn’t make it in the ministry, so she’s going back to teaching.”
As if I’m living into the idea that, “Those who can’t, teach.”
But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.
I happen to think that teachers are some of the most important persons in the world. I hold teachers in highest regard and find them to be the most patient, creative, caring, giving, loving, self-sacrificial, multi-tasking, intelligent, and capable persons I know. I believe that teachers teach because they can make a difference—not because they can’t do anything else.
I want to scream these facts to the world. I want people to know. I want people to understand that re-entering the music classroom is something that I am choosing because it is where I have been led…however bumpy the leading may have been.
My pride wants people to know that I’m not going back into the classroom because I failed—because I didn’t make it in the ministry—because I was stupid to leave the school system in the first place and lose five years of benefits and retirement.
My pride wants people to know that teaching is my ministry for this time in life—that it’s not just a job that I’m doing because I can’t do anything else. (For the record, I turned down two jobs before taking my current position).
My pride is struggling with projected criticism and turned up noses at work the legislature has recently deemed a factory to be run like a business instead of a person-forming place of learning and welcome that I know to be vitally important work. And I guess, truth be known, my pride is struggling to reconcile these thoughts with myself.
So there you have it folks: My circular, somewhat ridiculous, but all-together true confession on this first official teacher workday and the day that I signed my contract.
I imagine I’m not the only person with a confession tonight. A fear, anxiety, worry, concern, regret, broken heart, ill feeling, unpopular belief, skeletal closet, or something else. And while you may not want to make that confession here (or maybe you do), I hope that you will speak it aloud to yourself and the God in whom you believe. There is something healing about speaking the truth.
Speak away, my friends. And know that this fumbling music teacher will be singing a prayer of peace, strength, and courage for you…and herself…tonight.
I know the music classroom is where I’m supposed to be for now. The peace that I feel combined with the windows and doors that have flung wide open have made that perfectly clear.
However.
I must admit that saying, “I’m going back to the classroom,” has been a struggle.
It’s not been a struggle because I’m ashamed of the call.
It’s been a struggle because of my pride.
Even though I know that finishing divinity school, moving to SC and working for WMU, teaching piano to Griffin and Amelia, caretaking for Mrs. Flora, completing a unit of CPE, nannying Journey the Dog, and spending extra time with my family has grown and positively changed me beyond what I ever could have imagined, part of me still feels as if I have failed.
Part of me feels as if people are thinking, “Oh. She didn’t make it in the ministry, so she’s going back to teaching.”
As if I’m living into the idea that, “Those who can’t, teach.”
But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.
I happen to think that teachers are some of the most important persons in the world. I hold teachers in highest regard and find them to be the most patient, creative, caring, giving, loving, self-sacrificial, multi-tasking, intelligent, and capable persons I know. I believe that teachers teach because they can make a difference—not because they can’t do anything else.
I want to scream these facts to the world. I want people to know. I want people to understand that re-entering the music classroom is something that I am choosing because it is where I have been led…however bumpy the leading may have been.
My pride wants people to know that I’m not going back into the classroom because I failed—because I didn’t make it in the ministry—because I was stupid to leave the school system in the first place and lose five years of benefits and retirement.
My pride wants people to know that teaching is my ministry for this time in life—that it’s not just a job that I’m doing because I can’t do anything else. (For the record, I turned down two jobs before taking my current position).
My pride is struggling with projected criticism and turned up noses at work the legislature has recently deemed a factory to be run like a business instead of a person-forming place of learning and welcome that I know to be vitally important work. And I guess, truth be known, my pride is struggling to reconcile these thoughts with myself.
So there you have it folks: My circular, somewhat ridiculous, but all-together true confession on this first official teacher workday and the day that I signed my contract.
I imagine I’m not the only person with a confession tonight. A fear, anxiety, worry, concern, regret, broken heart, ill feeling, unpopular belief, skeletal closet, or something else. And while you may not want to make that confession here (or maybe you do), I hope that you will speak it aloud to yourself and the God in whom you believe. There is something healing about speaking the truth.
Speak away, my friends. And know that this fumbling music teacher will be singing a prayer of peace, strength, and courage for you…and herself…tonight.
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Bad Time
While talking about Holy Week, I made the statement that Jesus had a really bad week. Think about it. His week started out with a celebration but ended in betrayal, physical agony, and death. It was a week of extreme highs and extreme lows and it involved crying out in prayer so fervent that sweat turned to blood. I can't think of a week much worse than that! But I can think of times that have been dark. And I can relate to betrayal, agony, and death--maybe not death of my body but death of relationships and hopes and dreams. And I can feel extreme highs and lows. And I can remember crying out so hard that I felt as if blood would leak from my pores. Yet just as Jesus experienced the resurrection--because Jesus experienced the resurrection--so, too, have I experienced movements from dark to light...and during this Holy Week, I want to share parts of my darkest story with you now (and ask forgiveness for its length and for details that you may have already read). This was written in 2009 as part of a final paper for divinity school, yet, somehow, I feel like I'm still writing it today...
…While I was in Divinity School, I talked to Dr. Timothy Brock a lot about my journey. After taking seven and a half classes with him and writing a lot in each of those classes, I shared quite a bit with him and walked away either aggravated, challenged, or encouraged by his words. After taking Life Span Development and being introduced to how the Myers Briggs Personality Inventory intersects with spirituality, I began talking with Dr. Brock about the MBTI and decided to become a certified administrator. After my dear friend and mentor, Kay Simpson, died, and I found myself struggling to keep going, I received grace from Dr. Brock who supported me in going to therapy and affirmed the work that I was doing as I wandered through my dark night of the soul. After forcing myself to attend class on a day when I wanted nothing more than to sleep, I heard Dr. Brock say, “I believe that before we were born, God pulled each of us to God’s chest and gently whispered into our ears who we were supposed to be. Life on earth, then, is our quest to live into the fullness of who we were created to be. The world tries to make us into its image—oftentimes thinking that it is doing us a favor. But we must seek to live into the uniqueness of our self, just as Jesus lived into the uniqueness of his self.” When he finished talking, tears were already pouring down my face. I finally got it: I am a unique and wonderful self. And God loves me for me…
After I resigned from my position as youth minister at a local church, I did not attend one church regularly…I sometimes attended the church where Kay was on staff, and when she moved to another church, I followed her there.
The new church had had a contemporary early service for quite some time but had always struggled to find musicians for the service. When Kay arrived, she decided to rotate praise bands each week, and she asked my band and me to play on the second Sunday of each month. We agreed. My band consisted of my college suitemate, a friend who I met through camp, and a friend who was the daughter of a teacher at school. We were all teachers and we all loved making music, so we met at my house each week to practice, and we played at Kay’s church each month. Our practices consisted of a lot of talking and school debriefing, but they were the highlight of my week for well over two years. After Kay died, the band died, too. I am still not exactly sure what happened, but we never recovered.
November 11, 2006, was the second Sunday of November. As usual, the band and I met at the church at 7:30am to set up our equipment and do a sound check. What was not usual was the way that Kay walked into the sanctuary to greet us. Kay had left a message on my voice mail on Friday and told me that she was not feeling well. As soon as I saw her on Sunday, I knew that she still was not feeling well. Even so, she came in to work to print the bulletin and make sure we were okay. We asked her to sit down and listen to our songs for the day, so she did. She closed her eyes, opened her hands in a receiving posture, and looked so very content listening to us play. When we finished, she told us she was going to go home and rest. We asked if she wanted one of us to go home with her because she looked so bad. She told us she was fine and slowly walked out of the sanctuary. Kay died later that night.
Alone in her apartment, having been sick for a long time, the flu from which she was suffering caused her enlarged heart to go into cardiac arrest. I went to a music education conference immediately following church that day. I returned home on Tuesday in time to go to my night class. After my night class, I called one of my friends to check in. With panic in her voice, she said, “We don’t know where Kay is.” One hour later, we were at Kay’s apartment watching the rescue squad roll away Kay’s body. The next day, we were planning her funeral. The next we were at her apartment cleaning it out. The next day was the same. Saturday was her funeral. My band and I played at the funeral. Eight months later, I returned to Kay’s apartment to finish cleaning it out.
Kay’s death occurred during my eighth year of teaching and my fourth year of divinity school. I had continued taking night classes until that year, but that year was the last year that I would be able to do so because all of the core classes had cycled through. I was at an impasse: either quit teaching and continue taking classes or continue teaching and quit taking classes. Every bit of logic in me said that I should continue teaching. My job was steady and secure. I had benefits and was able to contribute to a retirement plan. I knew that I was working on a diverse mission field, and I had finally fallen into a groove with my planning and lessons.
Yet I was miserable. I had been miserable for a long time. I had immersed myself in church, retreats, the band, work, classes, friends, and family, and I had learned to pretend really well. Deep down, though, I hated myself. I hated who I had been, who I was, and who I was becoming. I was full of so much shame for being me that when Kay died—Kay, who knew the details of my life and still loved me—Kay, who was a safe place of unconditional love and encouragement—Kay, who, like Dr. Brock, believed that I was a unique and gifted self, created in God’s image—Kay, who died alone even though she was loved by so many—Kay, who I had taken for granted—I could not hide the shame anymore.
In January 2007, I went to talk to the campus minister, Faithe Beam. She recommended a professional counseling center in Raleigh, but I was too afraid to contact the center. I had always heard that Christians should not need counseling if their relationship with God was right, and I did not have the courage to deal with the perceived stigma of going to therapy. I struggled through two more months, progressively falling into a deeper and darker depression, but at the beginning of March I gave up the fight and contacted Triangle Pastoral Counseling Center in Raleigh, NC. Shortly after I entered my contact information, I received a phone call from Jenny, and I began sessions with her later that week. What she did not know was that I was planning to request her if given the opportunity. I never had to make the request, though, because Jenny called me first.
After an intense period of struggle and discernment, I decided to resign from my teaching job so that I could attend divinity school full-time. Once I made the decision, part of the anxiety that had gripped me went away and I knew that I had chosen the right path. I did not know where the money for my bills would come from, if my savings account would be depleted, where I would find health insurance, or how I was going to buy gifts. But I knew that I had the support of my parents, my brother, my sister, my aunt, and my friends, and, somehow, I knew that that would be enough…
Learning to function in a new ministry capacity while doing the draining emotional work of individual therapy, Family Systems, and Counseling in the Christian Congregation left me exhausted. The entire semester was one of journaling, reflecting, engaging the good and bad of my family system, and facing my demons. I learned what it meant to be a non-anxious presence and I realized that I wanted to be a non-anxious presence more than anything else. I realized, too, that my attraction toward certain people and events came from their being non-anxious. I learned to identify the root of my shame, fears, desires to please, desires to be perfect, and unwillingness to show grace to myself. Once I identified the root causes, I was able to begin re-writing my story and believe—truly believe—that I am a person of worth and value simply because I am created in God’s image. Kay had tried to tell me. Dr. Brock had tried to tell me. Faithe told me. Jenny told me each week in therapy. But until I got it for myself, God and I were not able truly to transform my life.
I went to Camp Mundo Vista as the staff worship leader in the Summer of 2007. I stayed during the weeks to help out as much as I could, but I needed to return home for therapy and family events each week. The summer was good. I made some very dear friends. However, I was still at a point of intense struggle and even at camp, the place where I feel God’s presence the most in this world, I could not leave the struggles behind. Grief consumed me. Letting go of Kay, my job, my band, and friendships overwhelmed me, and the uncertainty of being a full-time student nagged at the part of me that likes to be certain.
I went back to Mundo Vista as the camp worship leader in the Summer of 2008. I administered and interpreted the MBTI for the staff, coordinated both staff and camper worship services, worked in the office and served as camp gopher, and provided a safe, non-anxious presence for anyone who needed to talk. Just one year before, my anxiety level had been so high that I could not listen to anyone talk without filtering the conversation through my experiences and internalizing my inability to help the situation so much that I literally wanted to cut the hurt out of me. In just one year, so much healing had occurred in my life that I could feel the difference as I walked around the camp. A large portion of that healing had come through the work that I had done in my classes the semester before. Yes, I was exhausted when the semester ended and camp began, but the exhaustion was so worth the effort that I would do it all again. And it was only temporary. I lived away from everyone else over the summer—in a room of peace, silence, and seclusion, and for the first time in my life I was able to go to sleep at night without noise distracting me or fears weighing me down…and I was able to rest.
…I entered divinity school knowing that God loved me and that I had been called, yet I did not love myself enough to believe in myself or my call. I pretended. I wrote and spoke eloquently. I went through the motions of ministry. I loved others deeply and spurred them along in their faith. I appeared to have everything together. Yet I did not.
As my classes pointed out the unconditional love of Jesus Christ, though—as they taught me about God’s design for humanity to live into its fullness, God’s heart for social justice and redemption of this world, the beautiful story that I have the privilege of being part of, the men and women of faith who have gone before me, the greatness of creator God who is big enough to handle all of my doubts and questions, the community of love that exists within Triune God, and the depth of scripture that testifies of God’s faithfulness to God’s people—and as I accepted the love of professors, friends, family members, and a therapist who embodied the love of Christ, I slowly began to break down the wall of shame that I had hidden behind and embrace the person that I truly am: a child of God, redeemed, resurrected, and set free to love and serve in grace.
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