I was looking through some old poems this week when I came across a series of haiku that I wrote on my first international trip. On day one, after what seemed like an Amazing Race adventure to get there, my aunt and I climbed on a tour bus in Iceland and went to what was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. I remember standing there breathless, tears in my eyes, because I was so taken by the beauty. When I could think again, I wrote. And I kept on writing. All through the trip to Iceland and on to Scandinavia, I wrote. Because it’s the only thing I could do to try to capture the amazement of the world:
(i)
This raging water
May be the most beautiful
I have ever seen
(ii)
Rich diversity
I am beyond overwhelmed
And simply amazed
(iii)
Volcano erupt
Mold and decorate the land
Green moss, brown boulders
(iv)
It’s a big small world
People everywhere the same
Yet very diff’rent
(v)
11:45pm
Late, brilliant color
Magnificent, deep, beautiful
Baltic Sea nights.
(vi)
Nothing compares to
The majesty of nature
Unadult’rated
Friends: This world really is a beautiful place…and even the world around us will show its beauty when we open our eyes to see.
When is the last time that something captured your spirit and took your breath away? What was it? Please share. I’d love to hear.
Showing posts with label haiku. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haiku. Show all posts
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Cut From The Same Cloth, Yet...
Cut from the same cloth
Woven from threads of love, hope
Yet each one unique
You. Your neighbors. Your family and friends. Those you have yet to meet.
We are all cut from the same fabric of humanity.
Skin and bone, flesh and blood.
Fear and worry, hope and possibility.
So this Christmas, as you pause to reflect upon the story of Jesus joining the ranks of humanity, remember that you are part of something bigger and know that your life and work matter.
You are both cut from and in the process of helping weave the fabric of humanity.
May you feel the strands of Love that are woven into you and
May you weave strands of hope, joy, and peace into the lives around you,
Each one the same, yet each one unique.
Woven from threads of love, hope
Yet each one unique
You. Your neighbors. Your family and friends. Those you have yet to meet.
We are all cut from the same fabric of humanity.
Skin and bone, flesh and blood.
Fear and worry, hope and possibility.
So this Christmas, as you pause to reflect upon the story of Jesus joining the ranks of humanity, remember that you are part of something bigger and know that your life and work matter.
You are both cut from and in the process of helping weave the fabric of humanity.
May you feel the strands of Love that are woven into you and
May you weave strands of hope, joy, and peace into the lives around you,
Each one the same, yet each one unique.
Monday, November 28, 2016
On Things That Just Happen
Few weeks ago, I declared that I was not going to skip Thanksgiving this year. I announced that I would be talking about thankfulness with my students and that we would be singing a song entitled, “We Are Thankful.” We did. And we discussed things that we were thankful to have, to be, to do, and to be hopeful for in the future.
As I gave examples of each of these categories to my classes, I said things like, “I am thankful to have my computer and my car. I am thankful to have my glasses and a house…I am thankful to be a daughter and an aunt. I am thankful to be a teacher and a friend…I am thankful that I get to play the piano and guitar. I am thankful that I get to go to my nephew’s ballgames and my niece’s recitals…And I am thankful that one day I will be a better teacher. But when I was younger, when I grew up, I wanted to be a zookeeper.” And after I gave examples of each category, my students talked. And I listened. I let a sense of Thanksgiving fill my heart.
I didn’t post last Thursday. I let our crazy Thanksgiving family portrait speak for itself and went to bed happy and exhausted after a good day with family. I spent the next two days doing homework for ten hours a day and then emerged yesterday to go to both church and to visit my best friend on her birthday. The latter was an unplanned visit, but it was a visit I wanted to make. After all, the zookeeper needed to visit her astronaut A on her big day.
My best friend’s birthday always falls over Thanksgiving break. Believe it or not, I have a vivid memory of Thanksgiving break around 20 years ago. I was home from my studies at Meredith and it was cold outside. A’s birthday was coming and I didn’t know what to get her, so I got out my guitar and wrote her a song. I typed up and printed out the lyrics and glued them onto an old blue clock. I decorated the clock with shiny stickers and colored decorations with pencil doodles. I have no idea why I decided that presenting the lyrics on an old clock was a good idea. But I did it. And I clearly remember it to this day.
I wrote:
Two little girls from two country towns and two different dreams
When she grows one wants to be a zookeeper and the other wants to walk in space
But each goes to church on Sunday to learn about the word of God
And each one prays one common prayer, that God will send her a friend from above
Two college girls from two country towns and two different dreams
The astronaut wants to be an elementary teacher and the zookeeper just wants to sing
But each one still goes to church to learn about the word of God
And each one still prays one common prayer, that God will send her a friend from above
On a rock in the woods up in the mountains sit two children of God
They look below them and see peaceful waters flowing over the rocks and down the hill
The astronaut cries, “Please don’t walk in front of me,” and the zookeeper cries, “Please not behind,”
Just walk beside me and be my friend so that together we’ll sink or swim
Two grown girls from two different towns and two different lives
The zookeeper teaches music class and the astronaut helps raise a small child
But each one still goes to church to learn about the meaning of love
And each one still prays one common prayer, “Thank you God for the friend from above.”
A few months ago, A and I sang the song to A’s older daughter. Her daughter grinned from ear to ear. That same daughter grinned yesterday as she played with the teddy bear that I put in A’s present bag because I knew that the bag would be invaded by said daughter.
What A’s daughter did not see was the fancy Hallmark card that I gave her mother. And on the inside, I wrote two haiku:
Some things just happen ~ No marked beginning or end ~ Such is our story
We are all grown up ~ Astronaut and zookeeper ~ Still thankful for friends
And I am thankful. For friends and family and time and good meals and children and laughter and cars and words and journeys and love.
You?
As I gave examples of each of these categories to my classes, I said things like, “I am thankful to have my computer and my car. I am thankful to have my glasses and a house…I am thankful to be a daughter and an aunt. I am thankful to be a teacher and a friend…I am thankful that I get to play the piano and guitar. I am thankful that I get to go to my nephew’s ballgames and my niece’s recitals…And I am thankful that one day I will be a better teacher. But when I was younger, when I grew up, I wanted to be a zookeeper.” And after I gave examples of each category, my students talked. And I listened. I let a sense of Thanksgiving fill my heart.
I didn’t post last Thursday. I let our crazy Thanksgiving family portrait speak for itself and went to bed happy and exhausted after a good day with family. I spent the next two days doing homework for ten hours a day and then emerged yesterday to go to both church and to visit my best friend on her birthday. The latter was an unplanned visit, but it was a visit I wanted to make. After all, the zookeeper needed to visit her astronaut A on her big day.
My best friend’s birthday always falls over Thanksgiving break. Believe it or not, I have a vivid memory of Thanksgiving break around 20 years ago. I was home from my studies at Meredith and it was cold outside. A’s birthday was coming and I didn’t know what to get her, so I got out my guitar and wrote her a song. I typed up and printed out the lyrics and glued them onto an old blue clock. I decorated the clock with shiny stickers and colored decorations with pencil doodles. I have no idea why I decided that presenting the lyrics on an old clock was a good idea. But I did it. And I clearly remember it to this day.
I wrote:
Two little girls from two country towns and two different dreams
When she grows one wants to be a zookeeper and the other wants to walk in space
But each goes to church on Sunday to learn about the word of God
And each one prays one common prayer, that God will send her a friend from above
Two college girls from two country towns and two different dreams
The astronaut wants to be an elementary teacher and the zookeeper just wants to sing
But each one still goes to church to learn about the word of God
And each one still prays one common prayer, that God will send her a friend from above
On a rock in the woods up in the mountains sit two children of God
They look below them and see peaceful waters flowing over the rocks and down the hill
The astronaut cries, “Please don’t walk in front of me,” and the zookeeper cries, “Please not behind,”
Just walk beside me and be my friend so that together we’ll sink or swim
Two grown girls from two different towns and two different lives
The zookeeper teaches music class and the astronaut helps raise a small child
But each one still goes to church to learn about the meaning of love
And each one still prays one common prayer, “Thank you God for the friend from above.”
A few months ago, A and I sang the song to A’s older daughter. Her daughter grinned from ear to ear. That same daughter grinned yesterday as she played with the teddy bear that I put in A’s present bag because I knew that the bag would be invaded by said daughter.
What A’s daughter did not see was the fancy Hallmark card that I gave her mother. And on the inside, I wrote two haiku:
Some things just happen ~ No marked beginning or end ~ Such is our story
We are all grown up ~ Astronaut and zookeeper ~ Still thankful for friends
And I am thankful. For friends and family and time and good meals and children and laughter and cars and words and journeys and love.
You?
Monday, August 22, 2016
Estonia and Poland--Haikus from The Trip
***I may have lost mostly of my photos from my Scandinavian Adventure—the verdict is still out—but thankfully my notes and poems were backed up in that mysterious cloud of invisible information—and some of those notes included a few pictures! As seen in my middle of the night revelation that has resulted in my enrolling in graduate school (see last Thursday’s note), even though I was very far away from real life, my brain continued to think and my heart continued to feel deeply about things having nothing to do with the trip. Some of those “feels” (as a good friend would say) are seen here.***
Friday, 7.22.16, Tallin, Estonia
Today's my birthday
I am in a foreign place
This is rather neat
Professor Umbridge
She clears her throat like Umbridge
God grant me patience
If he wants to try
Let him try. Challenged is not
Incapable. At all.
Large Crowds of people
Pouring through the doors. Tourists.
If only worship.
7.23.16, Sea Day Poems
The day is lazy
A much needed day of rest
Vacation is hard
I want to be more
Than a negative mem'ry
There was so much more
I often wonder
Are the trails I leave behind
Lasting or fading
7.24.16, Gdansk, Poland
Morning bells ringing
Chiming the hour with bright song
Tickling the senses
Sometimes holding on
Suffocates pathways of breath.
Inhale. Let go. Breathe.
I’ve made huge mistakes
Turned left on a one way street
Yet some things were right
Friday, 7.22.16, Tallin, Estonia
Today's my birthday
I am in a foreign place
This is rather neat
Professor Umbridge
She clears her throat like Umbridge
God grant me patience
If he wants to try
Let him try. Challenged is not
Incapable. At all.
Large Crowds of people
Pouring through the doors. Tourists.
If only worship.
7.23.16, Sea Day Poems
The day is lazy
A much needed day of rest
Vacation is hard
I want to be more
Than a negative mem'ry
There was so much more
I often wonder
Are the trails I leave behind
Lasting or fading
7.24.16, Gdansk, Poland
Morning bells ringing
Chiming the hour with bright song
Tickling the senses
Sometimes holding on
Suffocates pathways of breath.
Inhale. Let go. Breathe.
I’ve made huge mistakes
Turned left on a one way street
Yet some things were right
Thursday, August 18, 2016
A 3AM Conversation That Changed My Life (With Haikus)
It took me most of the trip to get used to the time difference. With the exception of the two days that we were in St. Petersburg, we were six hours ahead of home; in St. Petersburg, we were seven. When I was getting up, everyone here was either in bed or getting ready for bed. When I was going to bed, everyone here was preparing for supper or enjoying a late afternoon storm. When I was touring the world, everyone here was exploring dream land or beginning to explore what the workforce would present him/her with for the day.
I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that I had a fully functioning conversation with one of my friends on July 20th at 3:00 in the morning.
I’m not exactly sure what caused me to wake up at 3am—I suppose it was the sound of the text coming through—but I had indeed been asleep but was at that moment awake, my body clock sensing 9pm. I will admit: sometimes a text will awaken me and I will do my best to carry on a text conversation, but it will come out completely incoherent because, well, I’m asleep. For instance, I fell asleep yesterday afternoon and awoke when I heard a ding accompanied with this question: “How was your TOY interview? How do you feel?” I responded: “I don’t know that I’ll win becussd of my luck is school Invigorating but I was myself and the osslicsyiom too. J fix my best.”
So there I was, lying in my bed en route to Russia, fully awake but not in the mental space to have been premeditating thought, having the following conversation as a continuation of a previous talk about her going to graduate school:
Friend: I’m considering an online program so I can do it in my home and not in an intimidating classroom.
Me: I’ve been secretly thinking about going back…I’ve not talked about it at all.
Friend: For what?
Me: School administration.
Friend: I thought so. You’re terrific at public speaking. You could totally lead faculty meetings.
Me: Well thank you.
*We then wandered off topic for about ten minutes, but I was feverishly counting syllables and write the following haikus*
Crazy idea
In the middle of the night
Falling into place
It’s making sense now
The diverse path I have trod
A call coming clear
Racing heart running fast
To the edge of excitement
It is time to leap
A profound moment
Or is this a vivid dream
Only time will tell
Everything that’s me
Has been leading to this time
I think I’m ready
Keeping the haikus to myself, I came back around to the conversation by saying this: I will be contacting Campbell when I get home. It’s probably too late to start in the Fall. But I think I am heading back to school, friend. It’s as if some pieces of my life just shifted into place. At 3am. Thank you.
Then my friend inserted clapping hands and the emoji for a-okay, and I fell asleep.
I didn’t mention this experience until a week after returning from my trip (which was over two weeks after the above conversation occurred). Unlike the text that I found on my phone yesterday when I woke up from my nap, I remembered the conversation vividly—yet my conscious self filled my subconscious self with all kinds of doubts to refute the certainty of that night. I secretly researched the program and contacted Campbell and found out what I needed to do to enroll in classes. I talked myself out of it. I talked myself back into it. I felt good about the things I might learn in class; I really do like administrative things. I felt really weird to think about having the title principal attached to my name; it still feels weird and I’m not even sure it’s what will happen. I imagined myself failing. I imagined myself succeeding. But what I couldn’t imagine was going through this semester without being in class one night per week—which is somewhat insane considering that a lot of things are going to be very different and unknown at both school and church with changes in staff and personnel.
My acceptance letter into the School of Education at Campbell University was mailed today. As soon as I settle upon a class, I will be enrolled in the Master of School Administration program. My top spiritual gift is administration. I guess it’s time to do something with that little known fact that made its voice clear at 3am in the middle of the Baltic Sea, on a vacation that truly changed my life.
I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that I had a fully functioning conversation with one of my friends on July 20th at 3:00 in the morning.
I’m not exactly sure what caused me to wake up at 3am—I suppose it was the sound of the text coming through—but I had indeed been asleep but was at that moment awake, my body clock sensing 9pm. I will admit: sometimes a text will awaken me and I will do my best to carry on a text conversation, but it will come out completely incoherent because, well, I’m asleep. For instance, I fell asleep yesterday afternoon and awoke when I heard a ding accompanied with this question: “How was your TOY interview? How do you feel?” I responded: “I don’t know that I’ll win becussd of my luck is school Invigorating but I was myself and the osslicsyiom too. J fix my best.”
So there I was, lying in my bed en route to Russia, fully awake but not in the mental space to have been premeditating thought, having the following conversation as a continuation of a previous talk about her going to graduate school:
Friend: I’m considering an online program so I can do it in my home and not in an intimidating classroom.
Me: I’ve been secretly thinking about going back…I’ve not talked about it at all.
Friend: For what?
Me: School administration.
Friend: I thought so. You’re terrific at public speaking. You could totally lead faculty meetings.
Me: Well thank you.
*We then wandered off topic for about ten minutes, but I was feverishly counting syllables and write the following haikus*
Crazy idea
In the middle of the night
Falling into place
It’s making sense now
The diverse path I have trod
A call coming clear
Racing heart running fast
To the edge of excitement
It is time to leap
A profound moment
Or is this a vivid dream
Only time will tell
Everything that’s me
Has been leading to this time
I think I’m ready
Keeping the haikus to myself, I came back around to the conversation by saying this: I will be contacting Campbell when I get home. It’s probably too late to start in the Fall. But I think I am heading back to school, friend. It’s as if some pieces of my life just shifted into place. At 3am. Thank you.
Then my friend inserted clapping hands and the emoji for a-okay, and I fell asleep.
I didn’t mention this experience until a week after returning from my trip (which was over two weeks after the above conversation occurred). Unlike the text that I found on my phone yesterday when I woke up from my nap, I remembered the conversation vividly—yet my conscious self filled my subconscious self with all kinds of doubts to refute the certainty of that night. I secretly researched the program and contacted Campbell and found out what I needed to do to enroll in classes. I talked myself out of it. I talked myself back into it. I felt good about the things I might learn in class; I really do like administrative things. I felt really weird to think about having the title principal attached to my name; it still feels weird and I’m not even sure it’s what will happen. I imagined myself failing. I imagined myself succeeding. But what I couldn’t imagine was going through this semester without being in class one night per week—which is somewhat insane considering that a lot of things are going to be very different and unknown at both school and church with changes in staff and personnel.
My acceptance letter into the School of Education at Campbell University was mailed today. As soon as I settle upon a class, I will be enrolled in the Master of School Administration program. My top spiritual gift is administration. I guess it’s time to do something with that little known fact that made its voice clear at 3am in the middle of the Baltic Sea, on a vacation that truly changed my life.
Monday, August 15, 2016
Icelandic Haikus
***I wrote a lot of haikus while on my Scandinavian Adventure. I seem currently to be treading in the middle of haiku sea. Sometimes I was inspired by what I saw, sometimes by something someone said, sometimes something that happened, sometimes because my mind is just always turning. The following haikus are from Iceland.***
7.14.16—En route to Iceland
Tiny little dot
Moving fast across the sea
Adventure begins
7.15.16—Iceland Day One (Thingvellir National Park, The Geysirs, Gullfoss Waterfall)
This raging water
May be the most beautiful
I have ever seen
Rich diversity
I am beyond overwhelmed
And simply amazed
Volcano erupt
Mold and decorate the land
Green moss, brown boulders
Little grazing sheep
Roam where you may, all over
Just come when I call
Don’t punish the slaves
Swedish law arrests the “Johns”
We should do the same
We need the church. It’s
Not community, rites. It’s
The Body of Christ.
7.16.16—Iceland Day Two (Reykjavik City Tour, Hallgrims Church, The Blue Lagoon)
I know one language
Right now I feel ignorant
Dumb American
It’s a big small world
People everywhere the same
Yet very diff’rent
Middle of nowhere
Floating salty blue lagoon
Happy accident
Very thorough guide
Thank you for information
Communication’s key
Put me on a bus
If I ever need to rest
Natural sleep aid
Words are our weapons
Our people don’t carry guns
These are our heroes
Modesty? No need.
We are all women here. Still,
Where is my towel?
I was fast asleep
I did not mean to hit you
Forgive me, oh please?
Time to go to bed
Morning will come in three hours
It’s quite light outside
(So what)
For the large organ
For the large bells and steeple
For lines of tourists
(No wonder)
Jesus turned tables
People think the church is dead
Few attempt to come
(Church is)
Alive in people
Thriving when God’s Spirit moves
More than large buildings
7.14.16—En route to Iceland
Tiny little dot
Moving fast across the sea
Adventure begins
7.15.16—Iceland Day One (Thingvellir National Park, The Geysirs, Gullfoss Waterfall)
This raging water
May be the most beautiful
I have ever seen
Rich diversity
I am beyond overwhelmed
And simply amazed
Volcano erupt
Mold and decorate the land
Green moss, brown boulders
Little grazing sheep
Roam where you may, all over
Just come when I call
Don’t punish the slaves
Swedish law arrests the “Johns”
We should do the same
We need the church. It’s
Not community, rites. It’s
The Body of Christ.
7.16.16—Iceland Day Two (Reykjavik City Tour, Hallgrims Church, The Blue Lagoon)
I know one language
Right now I feel ignorant
Dumb American
It’s a big small world
People everywhere the same
Yet very diff’rent
Middle of nowhere
Floating salty blue lagoon
Happy accident
Very thorough guide
Thank you for information
Communication’s key
Put me on a bus
If I ever need to rest
Natural sleep aid
Words are our weapons
Our people don’t carry guns
These are our heroes
Modesty? No need.
We are all women here. Still,
Where is my towel?
I was fast asleep
I did not mean to hit you
Forgive me, oh please?
Time to go to bed
Morning will come in three hours
It’s quite light outside
(So what)
For the large organ
For the large bells and steeple
For lines of tourists
(No wonder)
Jesus turned tables
People think the church is dead
Few attempt to come
(Church is)
Alive in people
Thriving when God’s Spirit moves
More than large buildings
Poetic Thoughts from Sweden, Finland, and Russia
***You never know what will inspire a haiku (or some other type of short poem). A beautiful landscape. Sunset. Building. A rude person. A rich person. A beautiful person. An unreadable sign and language. Inspiration is all around us. Just look for people counting syllables on their fingers. They are probably using following inspiration onto the haiku sea.***
7.17.16—From Iceland to Sweden
No need to jump line
Didn’t learn in primary
Skipping is not nice
We are so wasteful
Consuming, devouring. More.
It is sickening
This is new to me
I have no traveled the world
This really is privilege
Don’t take for granted
Movie in my hand
Move on my screen
I think I will go to sleep
Underground exits
Not just in video games
Curves and lights exist
7.18.16—Stockholm, Sweden, and the Boat
Diverse people. Real.
Diff’rent lives, different views.
One voice. One God. Strength.
In darkness.
You are there, God.
In brilliant color.
You are beautiful, God.
Let me blow you a kiss.
7.19.16—Helsinki and Porvoo, Finland, and the Boat
History is important
Not everything new is good
Be careful moving forward
Underneath riches
Everything is not okay
You are human too
Stripped naked. Stripped bare.
No honors. No awards. No
Make-up, titles, labels. No
Pretense. Just human.
Late, brilliant color
Magnificent, deep, beauty
Baltic Sea nights
Do not try so hard
Who are you when you are “off”
Do you even know?
Out on these blue seas
I hope you find yourself here
Peace is yours to take
7.20.16—St. Petersburg, Russia
Wide open spaces
Room to grow happiness
The landscape looks sad
Is this how you feel?
Seeing but not seeing words.
I will help you read.
7.17.16—From Iceland to Sweden
No need to jump line
Didn’t learn in primary
Skipping is not nice
We are so wasteful
Consuming, devouring. More.
It is sickening
This is new to me
I have no traveled the world
This really is privilege
Don’t take for granted
Movie in my hand
Move on my screen
I think I will go to sleep
Underground exits
Not just in video games
Curves and lights exist
7.18.16—Stockholm, Sweden, and the Boat
Diverse people. Real.
Diff’rent lives, different views.
One voice. One God. Strength.
In darkness.
You are there, God.
In brilliant color.
You are beautiful, God.
Let me blow you a kiss.
7.19.16—Helsinki and Porvoo, Finland, and the Boat
History is important
Not everything new is good
Be careful moving forward
Underneath riches
Everything is not okay
You are human too
Stripped naked. Stripped bare.
No honors. No awards. No
Make-up, titles, labels. No
Pretense. Just human.
Late, brilliant color
Magnificent, deep, beauty
Baltic Sea nights
Do not try so hard
Who are you when you are “off”
Do you even know?
Out on these blue seas
I hope you find yourself here
Peace is yours to take
7.20.16—St. Petersburg, Russia
Wide open spaces
Room to grow happiness
The landscape looks sad
Is this how you feel?
Seeing but not seeing words.
I will help you read.
Monday, August 8, 2016
One Orange Croc in Front of the Other
When I was in Jacksonville in June for Operation Surprise G-mama, my aunt June Gail (now otherwise known as the Fred who took me to Europe in July) took me to buy new shoes. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have concerned myself with buying new shoes. I have a lot of shoes in my closet and most of them are in decent shape. But on this day, I actually did need new shoes: I needed a new pair of waterproof shoes because I had worn out every other pair that I had. My pink Keens have a noticeably broken side, my brown Crocs with the cute Jibbetz have no traction, my orange and yellow Croc flip flops have no traction, and my waterproof Birkenstocks are no longer wearable because the glue holding the shoe together has come lose. So, alas, I really did need a new pair of waterproof shoes.
The store that we went to didn’t have the shoes that JG took me specifically to buy and it didn’t have a pair of Keens like the pink ones that I have worn to the point of fashionable death, but it did have Crocs. So I bought a pair of orange Crocs, and I have since worn those Crocs to Europe and back.
As I write this note today, I am looking at the Atlantic Ocean from the East Coast of America. I am with a group of kids and adults from a church that I’ve been working with for one week every summer for the past decade. For nine years, we met at a lovely retreat center in the mountains of North Carolina, yet this year we have come together at the coast. This week always serves as a marker for me—a definite point of keeping time—a clear unit of tracing where life has taken me in the year since the group and I last met.
To say that a lot has happened since last year’s camp is an understatement. I completed another year of school, taught the best of my life, was named Teacher of the Year, but then had to say goodbye to most of my friends as they packed up their rooms at JES and went somewhere else. I learned new and meaningful music with the choir and praise team, planned moving worship services, began dreaming for the future of Antioch, but then had to say goodbye to my pastor as he packed up his family to move back to Texas. I surprised my grandmother for her birthday, went to a beautiful lake in NC for family vacation, helped run another successful Nana camp, and then had the opportunity to travel across the Atlantic Ocean and see it from the other side.
For someone who loves words, the words are not coming to express everything that I am feeling today.
As I walked on the beach a bit earlier, looking for sea glass, I caught myself rehearsing what I should write today. I came up with a plethora of different beginnings —some poignant, some cute—and topics—the importance of community for shared memory, a story shared in worship last night—but I couldn’t land on one, definite thing. Then I looked at my feet—the same feet that had worn those orange Crocs that I could see shining ahead in the sand—and I heard a very clear voice say, “Stop trying to figure everything out, Deanna. Just be present right here, right now, in this moment, on the beach. Feel the sand on your feet. Listen to the waves crash. Hear the children’s laughter. Watch the selfless dedication of chaperones. Life is happening right here. Not just in the awe-inspiring memories of your summer or in the anxiety-inspiring thoughts of the new year. Your note will come. Sharing your stories will come. Future days will come. But right now, just be here with me.”
When I got my orange Crocs at the beginning of the summer, I had no idea where they would take me. I had a vague notion of what it would mean to travel the world and I knew the itineraries of family vacation, the Scandinavian Adventure, and this camp, but I had no idea that at the end of it all, the foundation of my world would have expanded and that my life would be changed in ways I cannot yet express. All I knew was that I needed new waterproof shoes.
Maybe all we need to know is how to put one foot in front of the other—barefoot, dry-shoed, or bright-orange-waterproof shoed—and stay present in the moment, trusting that God will guide us to the next moment, on this side of the Atlantic or beyond.
I am overwhelmed
With gratitude. My humble
Heart sings thanks and praise.
Amen.
The store that we went to didn’t have the shoes that JG took me specifically to buy and it didn’t have a pair of Keens like the pink ones that I have worn to the point of fashionable death, but it did have Crocs. So I bought a pair of orange Crocs, and I have since worn those Crocs to Europe and back.
As I write this note today, I am looking at the Atlantic Ocean from the East Coast of America. I am with a group of kids and adults from a church that I’ve been working with for one week every summer for the past decade. For nine years, we met at a lovely retreat center in the mountains of North Carolina, yet this year we have come together at the coast. This week always serves as a marker for me—a definite point of keeping time—a clear unit of tracing where life has taken me in the year since the group and I last met.
To say that a lot has happened since last year’s camp is an understatement. I completed another year of school, taught the best of my life, was named Teacher of the Year, but then had to say goodbye to most of my friends as they packed up their rooms at JES and went somewhere else. I learned new and meaningful music with the choir and praise team, planned moving worship services, began dreaming for the future of Antioch, but then had to say goodbye to my pastor as he packed up his family to move back to Texas. I surprised my grandmother for her birthday, went to a beautiful lake in NC for family vacation, helped run another successful Nana camp, and then had the opportunity to travel across the Atlantic Ocean and see it from the other side.
For someone who loves words, the words are not coming to express everything that I am feeling today.
As I walked on the beach a bit earlier, looking for sea glass, I caught myself rehearsing what I should write today. I came up with a plethora of different beginnings —some poignant, some cute—and topics—the importance of community for shared memory, a story shared in worship last night—but I couldn’t land on one, definite thing. Then I looked at my feet—the same feet that had worn those orange Crocs that I could see shining ahead in the sand—and I heard a very clear voice say, “Stop trying to figure everything out, Deanna. Just be present right here, right now, in this moment, on the beach. Feel the sand on your feet. Listen to the waves crash. Hear the children’s laughter. Watch the selfless dedication of chaperones. Life is happening right here. Not just in the awe-inspiring memories of your summer or in the anxiety-inspiring thoughts of the new year. Your note will come. Sharing your stories will come. Future days will come. But right now, just be here with me.”
When I got my orange Crocs at the beginning of the summer, I had no idea where they would take me. I had a vague notion of what it would mean to travel the world and I knew the itineraries of family vacation, the Scandinavian Adventure, and this camp, but I had no idea that at the end of it all, the foundation of my world would have expanded and that my life would be changed in ways I cannot yet express. All I knew was that I needed new waterproof shoes.
Maybe all we need to know is how to put one foot in front of the other—barefoot, dry-shoed, or bright-orange-waterproof shoed—and stay present in the moment, trusting that God will guide us to the next moment, on this side of the Atlantic or beyond.
I am overwhelmed
With gratitude. My humble
Heart sings thanks and praise.
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)