The Strolling Piano

We were in the agriculture building

Looking at the fruits and vegetables

When I heard someone hit a few chords on the piano, 

Which I thought was odd because I’d never heard music in that building before. 

So I turned to where the sound was coming from and

Saw a woman sitting at a piano near the entrance of the building. 

“Weird,” I said to myself, 

As I continued looking at peppers,

And talking with my friends.

 

A few moments later, 

It got weirder.

The woman playing piano was rolling toward us!

Lights flashing, speakers blasting, 

She was on a Strolling Piano that moved kind of like a Roomba vacuum cleaner. 

She would stop. 

She would spin. 

She would move forward. 

She would turn at an angle. 

The movements were sporadic,

Not at all with the music she was performing,

And we were all dumbfounded to be seeing

This full-sized-piano-Roomba-vacuum-cleaner

Amongst the fruits and vegetables.

 

After a few minutes,

The side door to the building opened,

The Strolling Piano went through the door,

The door closed,

And she was gone.

 

After her disappearance,

Which happened just as suddenly as her appearance,

We looked at each other, laughing in disbelief, and said,
“Did that really just happen?

I feel like I’m on a sit-com or something that isn’t real!”

 

But it was real.

Outside the building,

On the walkway,

She continued performing.

“Good evening, North Carolina State Fair!

I’m Maria with the Strolling Piano and

I’m so glad to be with you tonight.”

 

We kept staring in astonishment

Until we finally located the man with the remote control.

Even then, the Strolling Piano filled us with so many questions and

Became the highlight of our 2024 NC State Fair Visit…

 

Which, by the way,

We were so confused by the whole experience that

No one thought to take a picture! :-p

 

What has astonished, confused, or amazed you lately?

I’d love to hear.

 

Laugh

One night while we were eating dinner last year, 

My dad asked me what had made me laugh that day.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table thinking,

“I don’t remember anything that made me laugh today.”

And I remember that making me sad. 

 

…

 

Recently,

I wrote that one of my friends calls me Serious Dee. 

I know that I am serious.

I think a lot. 

I plan a lot. 

I come up with contingency plans a lot.

But I don’t want to be so seriously planned 

That I miss the spontaneous joys of life.

I don’t want to be so serious that I don’t laugh.

 

…

 

My new art teacher is very young.

She is full of life, energy, and joy.

Having come from a very rough school

Where gang-life was alive and active,

Everything is wonderful at GW.

She is super gung-ho about teaching,

And she laughs a lot.

 

…

 

Last week,

I made the comment that I wanted to be seen as

Calm and present,

Not distant and aloof.

 

…

 

I have a picture of Jesus laughing hanging above my bed.

It’s one of my favorite pictures of him.

It’s so encouraging,

To think of Jesus laughing.

 

…

 

 

Dear God: In the seriousness of life—in the seriousness of stress, anxiety, politics, and work—help us to find and celebrate joy each day. Whether our energy is ecstatic or whether it is calm, may we still laugh. May we be present. And each day, Jesus, may we love. Always in your love. Amen.

Duty and Call

 

1^st Grade Student: Ms. Deaton, can I tell you something?

 

Me: Yes.

 

Student: You can’t tell anybody, okay?

 

Me, feeling a little worried about what I was getting ready to hear, not knowing if I was going to need to tell somebody about neglect or abuse: Okay.

 

Student, reaching in his pocket: I found this on the playground.

 

Me, concerned that he had found some type of weapon or a condom…

 

Student, opening his hand: Now don’t tell anybody.

 

Me, relieved to see that it was a 50/50 raffle ticket…

 

Student, excited, with a sense of awe and wonder: You see these numbers? I’m gonna use them  to win the lottery!

 

He was so proud of himself, and so very hopeful, and all I could do was smile as he stuck the ticket back in his pocket…and silently ask him for forgiveness because I knew that I was going to tell his story.

 

Here is this kid whose parents are dead,

Who lives with his grandparents (who evidently play the lottery 😊),

Who loves to wear either a bowtie or a huge (fake) golden chain,

Whose skin is brown,

Yet whose innocence sees nothing but goodness and possibility in this world.

 

…

 

Friends:

Let’s do our part to fill the world with goodness and possibility so that everyone—

Those young AND those old,

Those with AND those without significant childhood trauma,

Those who have everything AND those who scrape to get by,

Those who fit in AND those who are different and unique,

Those with white skin AND those with brown and black skin—

Has an opportunity for happiness, love, and joy.

 

Standing against society’s injustices may be hard.

Recognizing privilege may be hard.

Naming personal judgments may be hard.

Doing something about the wrongs we see may be hard.

But it’s our call if we profess to follow Christ and

It’s our duty to common humanity if we do not.

 

Amen.

Observations of No Voice

 Teaching with no voice is not much fun. It’s made for a frustratingly exhausting week, and it will end tomorrow night with a program that’s looking and sounding about as rough as me.

 

That being said, I haven’t been firing on all cylinders this week, but I’ve had enough brain space to observe the following things:

 

1)    1.  Students with a lisp say, “Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate” as “Five little pumpkins shitting on a gate.” It’s funny.

 

2)    2.  Some students are understanding and kind when you have no voice. Other students are not. Some students make fun of you and call you grandpa when you have no voice while other students stick up for you and defend your honor. Some students ask if you’re okay and give you hugs to feel better when you’re sick. Others do not. Most students fall somewhere in the middle of concern and excitement and then wander around the room and talk/sing really loudly because they know that you will have trouble stopping them.

 

3)     3. Young fast-food workers are often not properly trained and are paid so little that many have little to no motivation to go above and beyond and figure things out on their own. Twice now, I’ve waited for over 30 minutes at one particular restaurant in the past few weeks. Most recently, when I went inside, an older worker was standing there with her arms crossed. When I said I’d been waiting outside for thirty minutes, she simply rolled her eyes and said, “That’s what you get when you put a bunch of young people in here.” I thought to myself, “Maybe. Or maybe they’ve learned from you.” Children must be carefully taught. We can’t assume that they know or know how to do anything. Contrary to popular belief, teenagers are just big kids. Rules, procedures, routines, customer service, content area—all of it—children must be carefully taught.

 

Oh God: Help us to teach our children well. Help us to teach them a strong work ethic, to be considerate of persons who are sick, and to speak well. And God? Help me to get my voice back so that I can use it for good. In fact, help all of us to use our voices for good. Amen. 

Daaaaaaaaaaaaam!

Toward the end of my 4th grade class today, one of the students commented, “Daaaaaaaam!” Outwardly, I told him to be careful with his language. Inwardly, I laughed. Daaaaaaaaaam! What a day! For me it wasn’t a bad day. It was busy and a little crazy learning to navigate between tabs while hoping that lag-time didn’t make songs unrecognizable. But I’ve heard so many different things from so many different people. One friend wrote: “First day of 2nd grade. Website crashed. We gave up. We yelled a lot. Fingers crossed for a better day 2.” Others wrote of long lines waiting to pick up supplies. Others went to school in person and are already experiencing mask fatigue. Others are still trying to figure out which way is up. And…Daaaaaaaaaam! That’s about the best way to describe it all. I’m chuckling over here…thankful that at the end of day 1, I am able to laugh. 😊 What about you? How was your day? School-related or not? I’d love to hear.

Jesus Walking On Water

I can’t remember very many times that I’ve laughed while reading scripture. But last night I chuckled and then straight up laughed while reading the accounts of Jesus walking on water.

I first read the account out of Mark and chuckled:

“When evening came, the boat was in the middle of the lake, and [Jesus] was alone on land. He was the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them. About the fourth watch of the night he went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw him and were terrified.”

Did anyone catch anything sort of funny in that excerpt?

It’s noteworthy that Jesus saw the disciples struggling in the evening but didn’t go out to them until the fourth watch of the night—between 3am and 6am. That’s a lot of time that Jesus let the disciples strain at the oars.

What’s funny to me, though, is that this account says that he was about to pass by them! Like…he was on a casual stroll on the lake and was just going to walk right by the boat if he wasn’t noticed! 😊 I wonder if he’d have kept going if the disciples hadn’t thought him a ghost. I wonder if he’d have passed right by them, left the disciples straining at the oars, walked to the other side of the lake, and waited for the disciples to arrive. I’m not sure how else Jesus was planning to get to the other side anyway. And I’m not sure why it took the disciples so long to get across the lake. You’d think that maybe they were hanging out in the middle of the lake so that they could go and get Jesus the next morning…

And then in John, I straight up laughed:

“…By now it was dark, and Jesus had not yet joined them. A strong wind was blowing and the waters grew rough. When they rowed three or three and a half miles, they saw Jesus approaching the boat, walking on the water, and they were terrified. But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the shore where they were heading.”

Did anyone catch anything funny in that excerpt?

It’s noteworthy that the disciples had only rowed three to three and a half miles. There was no reason for them to be hanging out in the lake all night unless, maybe, they really were waiting to go back and get Jesus from the shore—or, maybe, they were clueless without him.

What’s funny to me, though, is that “they were willing to take him into the boat!” They were willing! Hahahaha! Imagine the scene. Jesus was standing in the lake in the middle of a storm, wet from head to toe, and they knew it was him, yet they had to decide if they were going to let him into the boat! Or at least that’s how this passage makes it sound. THEN, they were WILLING to take him into the boat. Did they really consider just leaving Jesus, a friend, their master, in the middle of the lake?! Probably. Because, when we’re scared, we do stupid things…

Dear God: When we’re straining at the oars and the storm doesn’t calm and you don’t seem to be coming to save us, help us to keep straining at the oars until we realize that you are beside us…and then help us not to be so ignorantly afraid that we consider anything other than being willing to let you in the boat. Thank you for being creative enough to walk on water. And thank you for being patient with us when we are just plain dense. Amen. And Amen.

Don't Give Up. Persevere!

The boys came to visit on Saturday. When I got home from class, they were there. We had a good time hanging out. Playing games together, laughing, and talking. My dad made the boys laugh so hard while we played Crazy Bridge (our family card game) that all they doubled over in hysterics. I laughed, too. But what made me laugh the most was my oldest nephew trying to convince everyone that one could grow out of an allergy if he simply exposed himself to it long enough.

H: “You can’t grow out of an allergy, J.”
J: “Yes you can. Remember when I had a shrimp allergy? I decided to attack it head on. I pushed through. I persevered. And now I can eat shrimp without getting sick!”
H: “You were never allergic to shrimp.”
J: “Yes I was. But I worked hard. I didn’t give up. And you’re not going to give up either. So here’s my new training regiment for you. You’re going to take off your shirt and roll around in the grass for 10 minutes a day. Then pretty soon you’ll be over your grass allergy.”

A little while later, while the boys were playing a game of football that they invented during the NC State game that our Wolfpack lost miserably, my youngest nephew found himself tackled on the floor. Giggling happily, he said, “I’m working on overcoming my allergy to Bullet!”

*I smile*

I think Jack may have been a little misguided in his advice to his younger brothers. Granted, we were all laughing during his declaration of perseverance and his prescription for H overcoming his grass allergy, yet his words really stuck with me: “I pushed through. I kept going. I didn’t give up. I persevered.”

This afternoon, in between school and school, I was really tired. As I sat at my little desk in the little hut where I’m a Monday guest, I wanted to do nothing more than, well, nothing. But then I heard my nephew say, “I pushed through. I kept going. I didn’t give up. I persevered.”

So…I sat at my little desk in the little hut where I’m a Monday guest, I got out my Willard, and I worked. And the longer I worked, the less tired and more content I became…because I was accomplishing tasks on the never-ending to do list.

There is a time for rest. I try hard to carve out a weekly day of Sabbath and to include daily activities that give me life.
There are times to surrender. Sometimes it’s best to let go of something we like or an idea that we think is wonderful—especially if it just keeps making us sick—like shrimp or grass or mushrooms.
But there are also times to work—to use the minutes given to us to produce something bigger than ourselves.

J may have spoken his words of perseverance facetiously on Saturday night, but somehow I think he knows what they truly mean. And I pray, oh do I pray, that he—and my other nephews—and niece—and students—and you, friends—will do just what he said when the going gets rough but there is success on the other side:

Push through.
Keep going.
Don’t give up.
Persevere.
Succeed.
Eat shrimp.
Roll in the grass.
Celebrate!
Then pat yourself on the back—
albeit itchy from trying—
and rest in the successful peace of a job well done.

What Makes Me Smile

In a dilemma on Monday morning, I asked a coworker to give me a challenge for the week. She said, “Pickle.” Due to a conversation that I wrote about a few weeks ago, I immediately started laughing. So…“Write about and draw something--or some things--that make you smile--that make you feel happiness or joy inside,” became the question of the week.

We received a lot of answers.

As I read through these answers this afternoon, I found myself smiling quite a bit. The most common yet nonetheless wonderful answer was friends and family. I never tire of hearing about how much my students love their families…and I never stop praying that their families love them back.

What jumped out at me this afternoon, though, were the unique answers—the ones that made me either laugh or cry, or the ones that were wise beyond their years.
In the laughter category, I read:
• “Unicorns make me happy because they are like horses and they pupe rainbows.”
• “I smile when I do my terminator voice.”

In the wisdom category, I read:
• “A day without laughter is a day wasted,”
• “What makes me happy is friends and family. As long as I have those I am fine.”
• “I smile when I fail because it shows that I’m not afraid to make mistakes.”

In the tears category, I read:
• “What makes me happy is God. Because he mead a eather (earth) and mead (made) me and my failmy. I thank God for what he dune for me. When I got in a carasint (car accident) I thot my grammom was not ok. But God bless me. That is a good God. And that makes me happy. Aman. If you pray, God will make a change.”
• “What makes me smile is that I see my mom and I see my dad and my brothers. What makes me smile is playing and fishing and just having fun with my family. What makes me smile is playing at school and having fun. What makes me smile is playing and dancing with Ms. Deaton. What makes me smile is playing with Mr. G. What makes me smile is doing art with Ms. K and what makes me smile is reading with Mrs. H and what makes me smile is doing stuff with Mrs. A.T. and what makes me smile is knowing my teacher loves me.”
I literally wept when I read that last line. Honestly, I find myself wiping away tears as I write this now.

Because, friends, this is what life is about. The doing is great. The special things. The actions, activities, and events. The plans we make. The prayers we pray. The gifts we give. Those are all great. But when it all comes down to it, the consistent being is what matters—the being the presence of grace, hope, forgiveness, journey, and faith in such a way that those around us—friends, family, students, patients, clients, colleagues, strangers—know that we love them.

“What makes me smile is knowing that my teacher loves me.”

May that statement be said of me…

And may it be said of you, too, friend…whatever it is that you teach—in life or in a classroom—every day.

Aman.

Oh Crap!

Each Spring, birds arrive at Deaton Manor and make it their home. They surround the house with singing and build nests anywhere they can find. In the bird house. In hanging baskets. In flowerpots. In empty spaces in the garage. As I write this note today, two of them are playing outside the window. Talking away. Enjoying this beautiful day.

Because of this yearly bird presence at the house, I’ve seen the lost, misplaced, and/or startled bird look many times. Mostly, the frantic, wings flapping rapidly, desperate to find a safe place look occurs when a bird accidently flies into the garage or when an intruder comes near a nest.

In those moments when a bird is stuck in the garage, I feel particularly helpless. I stand there and point to wide-open doors and tell the bird how to escape—sometimes attempting to guide it with a broom or other long object—but I guess I’m not fluent in bird because the bird usually just ends up panicking more. One time, a bird got stuck inside the garage for many hours. It would try to get out, fail, panic, and then return to a temporary resting place that it’d found on the garage door. It was awful. There was nothing I could do except hope that it didn’t run into the window so many times that it committed accidental bird suicide. I watched that happen one time, too. It was very sad.

So today during 5th grade music when a bird suddenly flew through the door of my classroom, I involuntarily said, “Oh crap!” and ducked for cover. The bird was heading straight toward me, already in a panic. In that split second, I had no idea what I was supposed to do! I knew that I didn’t have a garage door or anywhere else on which the bird could perch. I knew that the windows that it might try to fly through were over my students’ heads. I knew that there was only one way out of the room—which was the direction from which the bird had come. And I knew that there was no way to have class with a bird flying frantically around the room!

All I could think to do was open the other door and hope that between the two openings the bird would escape. Meanwhile, I had to continue ducking for cover, hoping that the bird wouldn’t run into me or poop on my head, and I had to figure out what to do with my students who, naturally, were as surprised as me! I didn’t want a bird pooping on their heads either!

Thankfully, before I could even get the second door open, the bird turned itself around and safely exited the room.

Then I bent down, ran my fingers through my hair, exhaled, and laughed. The kids laughed, too, all starting to talk at once. One of them said that the look on my face was priceless. Another said that he didn’t know what was going on—that I was teaching and then all of a sudden he heard me say, “Uh oh!” and bend down and then he saw the bird. It took us at least five minutes to get settled again, and then I saw it:

The bird had, indeed, pooped!

In the 5-10 seconds during which this entire episode occurred, the bird had pooped behind my desk. The poop landed on a yellow envelope of Honors Chorus music that was sitting on a cloth-covered chair.

Thank you, bird, for having good aim, even in your moment of panic.
Thank you, too, for providing my 5th graders with the one moment of their three years of music with me that they will never forget.
And finally, thank you for making me laugh. Yes, you startled me as much as you startled yourself. But you made me laugh. And laughter is what so many of us need these days. I think it helps us make it through the crap that life drops our way. I know it did today.

Dresses, Continents, and Students--Oh My!

5th grade music today:
I’m trying to explain the concept of culture so that my students understand more of the differences that they will hear and see during the lesson.
I explain what “culture” I know best, setting up the explanation by telling my students that my dad is a preacher and that I have, therefore, been to a lot of different churches in my life.
“There are some churches that I’ve been to where, if I, as a female, would have worn pants, then I would have been out of place. The culture of those churches is one where people are expected to wear their very best and women are expected to wear dresses. There are other churches that I’ve been to, though, where I could wear jeans and it be perfectly acceptable. Neither of those things is wrong. It’s just a different belief system—a different way of doing things—a different culture.”
The kids seemed to understand what I saying, so we moved on.
Then a kid raised his hand.
“Do you remember when you were talking about the church that didn’t want women wearing pants? That’s because it’s in the Bible that women shouldn’t have anything between their legs.”
Umm…I’ve heard a lot of things that the Bible says that the Bible really doesn’t say, but I’ve never heard that one!
Trying to keep a straight face and not show my surprise and possible dismay, I very calmly responded, “That’s actually not in the Bible—at least not the Christian bible—but…” and then I quickly moved the conversation to how clothing has changed over the years and reminded the boys that boys used to wear gowns to bed. We’d learned this fact while learning about Beethoven.

Fast forward to 3rd grade music:
I’ve been trying to help my 3rd graders learn their continents, only they get really confused about the difference between city, state, country, and continent. I’m also trying to help them learn their planets—but we haven’t focused on the latter as much.
We’ve been working with information about the continents for a couple of weeks now, though. We’ve sung and danced and rapped and watched videos and played games.
So toward the end of the lesson today, as I was transitioning to the planets, I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked at what happened next.
I said, “So. We know that there are seven continents on our planet. But remind me what planet we live on?”
In response, I had a whole bunch of students yell, “North America!”
In that moment, I gently hit my forehead and asked again, “What planet do we live on?”
“The United States of America!” “No,” I pitifully shook my head and asked one more time, “ What planet do we live on?”
Then someone said, “Earth! We live on planet earth!”
Thank God!

Friends:
My school is in the city of Cameron in the state of North Carolina in the country of The United States of America on the continent of North America on planet Earth.
And the Bible says nothing about women wearing dresses because women are not supposed to have anything between their legs.
Please pass along this information as you see fit.
Especially to the children in your life!
:-)

Willard Gets A Facelift

Willard is eight-and-a-half years old.
He was named after Willard the Walmart Greeter,
an older man in Asheboro, NC,
whom I once almost ran over with two carts full of summer camp stuff.
Willard’s best school friend is Wilhelmina.
She’s three years old.
Willard is a Dell Inspiron 1420.
Wilhelmina is a MacBook pro.
Wilhelmina comes from a nicer family than Willard.
She is lighter, younger, and faster than Willard.
Yet Willard is my steady old man:
persistent, tried, and true.

Such is the reason that I paid for Willard to have plastic surgery this week.

After leaping off of the sound system and knocking the energy out himself,
Willard got up with a completely disfigured face and two broken hinges.
While friends and family members suggested that I send Willard into a quiet yet noble retirement,
I knew that my Willard’s insides were still strong and that he was not ready to call it quits.
So yesterday, I sent my Willard home with Dr. Jeff for a brief surgical procedure.

After deciding that Willard’s procedure was routine and safe enough for me not to take a personal leave day for a family member’s surgery,
I was teaching class when I received the good news:
“Willard is out of surgery, is awake and alert. Everything went well and he will be coming home today!”
And he did!
Dr. Jeff delivered Willard to my mom early this afternoon, so that
Willard was waiting for me with a brand new face and mended hinges when I got home.

Willard will be reunited with Wilhelmina tomorrow,
And I know that she will find him more useful and handsome than ever—
Old man computer though he be.

The Rabbit In The Moon Is Clear Tonight

I confess. I was very ill about going to work today. I went to be ill last night and I woke up ill this morning. I didn’t want to be at home sick or at the hospital with an emergency, and I am indeed grateful for a job, but I just wasn’t feeling it today…until Barb the Art Teacher and I laughed so hard that we cried during lunch…and then my mood magically improved. I guess laughter does that.

A brief background: I can’t see the man in the moon. Despite demonstrations, diagrams, and explanations, I just can’t see it. Barb has trouble seeing it, too, but she can see the rabbit in the moon (popular in Mayan/Aztec culture) and thought I might be able to see it, too. As soon as she showed me the rabbit, I could see it! Needless to say, I was very excited, and I’ve looked at the rabbit in the moon many times in the years since B introduced him to me.

On Sunday, January 24 of this year, at 7:24pm, I received a text from B that said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I understood exactly what she meant and didn’t think anything more of the text until a few days passed and I stumbled across it in my inbox. I chuckled. Then a few more days went by and I stumbled across it again. I chuckled more. A perfectly normal and clear message when I received it, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight,” suddenly sounded like a code message. When I mentioned this thought to B after dropping off a load of wood for the burn pile, she agreed with me. She then proceeded to give me another code-like phrase to help me successfully navigate my truck out of her yard: “Drive up through the blueberries.” I responded by saying, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I drove through the blueberries laughing and left B laughing in her yard.

A few days ago, I randomly texted B a message that only said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” She responded, “Drive up through the blueberries.” That was the extent of the conversation.

Then lunch happened today.

B eats the same thing for lunch each day: a “lettuce” sandwich, “diet” chips, carrots, and a pickle. When she reached into her lunch bag to get the Ziploc bag that held the pickle, she said, “My pickle is leaking.” I reverted to adolescence and burst out laughing. In response, she said, “The rabbit in the moon is clear tonight.” I said, “Drive up through the blueberries.” She said, “Stop making me laugh so hard or I’m going to pee myself.” I said, “Then your pickle really would be leaking.”

B immediately ran to the bathroom. I stayed in her classroom crying. B and I were both still laughing when she got back to her room. And for the rest of the day, I’ve been in better spirits.

Thank you, laughter (and friendship), for making that so.

Just Another Day In Elementary School

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

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

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

I don’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.
“Me either,” I responded.
Then we both laughed in disbelief,
I silently wished some dentist luck,
And I taught two more plastic-free classes.
Thankfully :-).

I'm Ready Now

If you would have walked into the Fellowship Hall around 7:45am yesterday, then you may have wanted to turn and leave. The praise team was getting ready for the early service and we were sounding and looking rough after a little break. After I hit the ceiling with the guitar while picking it up for the first time, I popped my left hand in a painful way while changing chords on the first song. During a perfectly natural, “Ouch I just hurt my hand” hand-shaking-out motion, my ring flew off my finger and my pick fell on the floor. Neither me nor my keys-player could remember what key we were supposed to play our songs in and my keys-player didn’t remember that he was supposed to have his keyboard set to a trumpet sound on one of the songs. Our vocalist was doing fine until I tried to break into harmony and then she went into the harmony part with me, leaving no melody to be heard. At this point, all three of us of us just stopped and laughed because there wasn’t much else to do.

Before calling the rehearsal quits, though, we decided to run our last song. We’d introduced it as a special music two weeks before and had scheduled to follow-up with it as a congregational song yesterday.

“I just let go and I feel exposed, but it’s so beautiful—cause this is who I am,” we sang. “I've been such a mess, but now I can't care less—in you I rest.”

As we sang, the silliness quietly turned serious, and I found myself singing from a place I hadn’t sung in quite awhile.

“I was so caught up in who I'm not. Can you please forgive me?”

Tears began to fill my eyes—as they are filling them as I write this tonight.

“I've nothing left to hide—no reasons left to lie. Give me another chance.”

Tears began falling from my eyes as we continued to sing:

“Lord I'm ready now, all the walls are down, time is running out, and I want to make this count.
I ran away from you and did what I wanted to, but I don't want to let you down. Oh Lord I'm ready now. Lord I'm ready now.”

When we finished the song, my goofy little praise team and I shared a powerful moment of silence during which all three of us recognized God’s presence in the room.

God truly is amazing, you know? In the middle of what was a purely unintentional not-so-spiritual time of worship preparation, God made God’s presence known in a way that I did not expect. As I spontaneously poured out my heart and released what I think may have been the final bit of residual hurt from a cut-off that had cut me to the core, I knew that God was listening, that God was forgiving me—and that God was giving me another chance—daily giving me another chance.

God does the same for you, too, friends—for all of us. Listens, forgives, and daily gives second chances.

And you want to know something interesting? We didn’t even end up singing that song in worship. The guest preacher, my dad, ended his sermon in a way that absolutely did not lead into the feel and message of the song. He ended on a high note of praise. We decided to, as well.

“My heart is filled with thankfulness
To Him who walks beside
Who floods my weaknesses and strengths
And causes fear to fly
Whose every promise is enough
For every step I take
Sustaining me with arms of love
And crowning me with grace”

Amen.

A Laugh At My Expense

Last Wednesday night, I posted a status about a conversation with my mom that made me laugh so hard that I almost wrecked. Yesterday, as the congregation sang the song that sparked the conversation, I looked at Mom and smiled. We both understood the others’ smile. We both allowed our spirits to soar.

Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that matter the most—
The little things that make a big difference—
The smiles and laughter that propel our bodies through our days.

And so, dear friends, I post tonight’s note in hopes of making you laugh—solely at my expense!

On Friday afternoon, a friend and I went to get pedicures. While sitting in the pedicure chair, I did the same thing that I did over Spring Break: I decided to get my legs waxed.

Since that Spring Break adventure, I’d had my legs waxed two more times. Each time, I’d been taken into the official wax room and asked to lie on the waxing table so that the wax technician (not sure what else to call her) could do her job. First the back of my legs. Then the front. Then the feet. Then the tweezing of stray hair—especially on the feet and knees.

Though at a different nail place on Friday, I fully expected to go through the same process. I was wrong.

Instead of being taken into the official wax room, I was asked to return to my pedicure chair. The wax technician then brought out a sheet and a trash bag and placed them over the foot basin. A few minutes later, she brought out all of her waxing equipment…and then…rip!

Right there in front of God and everyone, the wax technician waxed my legs!

The ladies sitting beside me watched in both fascination and horror. They asked a lot of questions, and we discussed the pros and cons of leg-waxing. They all determined that it would hurt too much to get theirs done.

Meanwhile, I sat there trying not cringe too badly with every rip…and I twisted myself into some really odd sitting positions while trying to position my legs so that the wax technician could reach them. I didn’t realize I needed to stretch before having my lower legs waxed!

Meanwhile still, my friend sat across the room with her toes under the dryer and just laughed at me.

I’m happy to report that three days later, my legs are still silky smooth. But folks: I’m glad that I’m not overly self-conscious about my non-waxed legs because, well, they were on display for all the world to see on Friday…becoming non-hairy…one…rip…at a time.

Go and laugh. And cringe. You know you want to :-).

Not My Proudest Moment, But...

A good friend recently shared with me a conversation that she had with her youngest son after visiting a zoo. I giggle every time I think about it. The conversation went something like this:

Son: Did you see the size of the balls on that tiger?!
Friend: Yes. He did have large testicles. Your brothers would have probably appreciated seeing those.

She went on to say to me, “Not my proudest moment as a mother, but…”

I don’t remember what was after the “but” because the statement that I hear is this:

Not my proudest moment, but there is laughter…

-------

A few weeks ago, on the very day that my church voted to make me the permanent part-time music minister, I threw a little fit after worship. The Sunday night before, the praise team and I had spent a couple of hours moving our equipment to the sanctuary and setting it up for the summer’s blended worship services. I knew that a wedding was scheduled in the sanctuary for the next week and I knew that we would need to remove my guitars and other things from the stage, but I didn’t know that we would have to move everything and undo the hours of work that we’d just done. As a team of good-hearted men swarmed the stage to help clear all of the equipment, I got really frustrated. In my frustration, I became mean. In my meanness, people began treading lightly because they knew that I was frustrated. And…yeh…it was ugly.

Not my proudest moment, but there is grace…

-------

Yesterday, while we leading the first hymn, “Come All Christians, Be Committed,” I had the thought: “Wait. This hymn-tune sounds very familiar. Wait. I think it might be the same tune as ‘The Servant Song,’ and we’re singing that next. Is it the same tune?!” Yes. Yes it was. Eek! On the night that I’d planned the music for yesterday’s service, I’d paid so much attention to song lyrics and incorporating both the choir and praise team that it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d chosen the same hymn-tune. Oops.

Not my proudest moment, but there is faith…

-------

The rental house that my family and I rented at Hyco Lake last week was on a lane that had a roller coaster-like hill. My oldest nephew, Jack, absolutely loves roller coasters. In fact, if given a choice at this point in life, he would be a roller coaster designer and operator. Naturally, I decided that it would be fun to put the car in neutral as Jack and I descended the hill while going to the store on Tuesday. I used to do this all the time at the camp where I worked. What wasn’t so natural was deciding to leave the car in neutral and let it roll back down the hill upon our return. But. I did. Then we rolled back up. And down. And up. And down. Until the car ran out of momentum. Like the Pirate Ship. Or some other amusement park ride. Jack was grinning. I was, too. It was really fun.

Not my proudest moment, but there is joy…

-------

And through it all,
Through all of our non-proud moments of humanity—
When being a mature role model goes out the window,
When acting as a Christ-like minister is impossible,
When planning ahead messes up—
There is laughter and joy and grace and faith…
And love.
Yes, through it all:
There is love.

Bullet Ate My Cookie

We all have those moments that stick with us whether we choose them or not. For instance, tonight at supper with the boys and girl, I recalled a story from my childhood in which I put my unwanted pickles in the greenery at Hardees one week and came back to find a tree in the same spot the next. I then declared, “I grew a pickle tree!” That event happened well over 20 years ago, yet I still remember it vividly. Why? I have no idea. It’s not like I’m a pickle tree advocate.

More recently, during a regular week-night dinner with my parents, my dad asked me to tell him what had made me laugh that day. I thought. And thought. And thought. And I could think of nothing. Then I thought, “That’s sad. I can’t think of one thing that made me laugh today.” Then I continued to think, “What’s even sadder is that today was not abnormal. I don’t ever laugh much at work. And that’s not good.” And it wasn’t good. And I hope maybe somehow that will change next year. Because laughter really is a very good thing.

And so, tonight, I offer a couple of incidents with Bullet that have made me laugh this week:

1) My family was at the house tonight to have an early birthday celebration for my mom. Her birthday is Sunday. Bullet has finally learned that my family will not hurt him, but he still doesn’t like spending very much time with them. He’s also learned that if he stays quiet enough then he can stay in the garage or driveway without being banished to his porch. Quite often, when the family is here, Bullet will find a way into the house and look around until he spots my dad, get a pat on the head, and then take himself back outside. He just doesn’t like being in the house with so many people.

So this evening, when I heard Bullet insistently knocking on the door while the family was still here, I knew that something must be wrong. Sure enough, storm clouds had begun to gather and thunder had begun to roll, and Bullet’s fear of storms had overridden his fear of the family. I let him in. He went and hid. Now he’s sleeping on the couch between my dad and me, looking up for comfort every once in awhile, knowing that he is very, very loved…and very, very spoiled. No. This isn’t a roll on the floor laughing story, but something about this still makes me laugh. Maybe it’s because he’s being so ridiculously and fearfully sweet.

2) My dad got new tires this week. Before he could order the tires, we had to figure out what tires were already on his car. As he shone the flashlight on the small codes that told us what size Bridgestone he was riding on, I bent down to look more closely. Immediately, Bullet walked over, lay on his back, opened his arms and legs, and basically said, “Oh good. You got down on my level to pet me. Thank you. Now pet me.” So I did. And then I remembered a time when I was helping mom and dad look for something under their bed and Bullet came over and started pawing at my hand and licking me, basically saying, “Oh good. You got down on my level to play with me. Thank you. Now let’s play.”

3) Every night that I’m home supper, Bullet thinks that we need to go for a walk after I finish eating. He runs toward the door, stops to look back at me and move his head toward the door to tell me to come on, gets to the door, does a little dance, scratches the door to tell me that it’s time to go out, and then runs outside in sheer happiness. He runs ahead of me, peeing all over everything, but never getting too far ahead without stopping to look back and make sure I’m coming. If he’s not finished walking when I’m ready to come home, then he ignores me and keeps walking. If I start coming back to the house and he realizes that I’ve left him, he bullets himself back to me as fast as he can. And then he collapses when he comes back in…kind of like he has collapsed from fear right now.

4) Bullet is fat. He loves to eat and he eats a lot. Every time he hears someone go into the kitchen and open anything with a wrapper, he thinks that we are getting him food. Every time we eat a meal at the kitchen table, he sits beside us and begs. He’s actually annoyingly cute when he sits up on his back legs and begs, sometimes with the tip of his little tongue out.

Sometimes, instead of eating at the table, my mom and I will eat in the den and watch a show. When this happens and Bullet thinks he is really hungry, he’ll rest his paws on my left leg and look at me with great expectations. Sometimes, if he thinks he is super hungry, he’ll leap across my lap and try to eat the food out of my hand. This is what he did on Monday—only I wasn’t eating chicken or a burger or anything that he likes. I was eating a cookie that I had made out of Funfetti cake mix!

To my knowledge, Bullet had never eaten a cookie, but for some reason he decided that he really wanted my cookie. Sitting anxiously with his paws on my legs, Bullet waited hopefully for me to give him a piece of the food treasure in my hand. When I didn’t—because it was a cookie—he jumped across my lap, stuck out his tongue, and licked my cookie! Very surprised by his actions, I looked at him and said, “Bullet—do you really want my cookie? It’s not chicken or anything.”

Now, when Bullet doesn’t like the food offered to him, he refuses to eat it. His dog bowl often has peas and carrots remaining in it from dog-food beef stew. Naturally, I figured he’d refuse to eat the cookie when he realized what it was. But I was wrong. He ate the whole thing. And I laughed. And all week I’ve laughed every time I’ve remembered the moment when Bullet ate my cookie.

Maybe you're laughing, too?

I'll Take It

I think something died in my hut.

It certainly smells like it.

But the whole room smells so bad that we can’t figure out where the dead carcass might be.

In the ceiling? In the wall? In the floor? In some hidden corner?

Or there might not be a dead carcass.

Who knows.

All we know is that my room stinks.

Really badly it stinks.

And for someone with a strong sensitivity to smell,

It’s made for a sickeningly frustrating week.


Instead of coming home extremely ill today, though, I came home smiling. Even with arms still sticky from an emergency freezer clean-out in the workroom (which last year pushed me over the edge around this time of year), I am smiling. Here are the four reasons why:


1) As one of the assistants picked up her class this morning, I noticed that we were dressed alike: khaki capri pants with an orange tank top under our Team Julie shirts. I looked at her and said, “We’re twins!” Then I said, “Look kids! We’re twins! If I were walking down the road, then I wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.” Then we heard someone say, “Noooo! You don’t look alike, Ms. Deaton. Ms. E has a streak in her hair.” I said, “Oooh. So if I go get a streak in my hair, THEN we’ll be twins.” “Noooo! Your shoes don’t match.” “Her hair is shorter than yours.” “You don’t have on socks, Ms. D.” So on and so forth. Here’s the thing: Ms. E is black; Ms. D is white. It’s very clear that we’re not twins. But that one obvious fact never crossed the kids’ minds. I looked at Ms. E and said, “I love how kids think.” And I do.


2) Kindergarten. Students are singing and dancing. A tiny,cute, curly-headed boy urgently walks behind my desk, insistently taps me on the hip, then looks up at me and says, "Do you have any chips?" I wasn't sure that I'd understood him, so I said, "What, baby?" He said, "I need some chips. "I chuckled and said, "No, baby. I don't have any chips." He said, "Okay," and then walked back to his place and continued dancing. I was laughing so hard that I called Barb to share. She said, "It's sort of like, 'Got milk?'" and laughed, too. Then, at the end of the day, as this student sat in the car-rider line, I said, “Hey. Did you ever get your chips?” He said, “No. I got some cookies.”


3. This week’s character education writing challenge was to write about someone who has persevered. As I read this week’s submissions, I found myself feeling a full range of emotions. Some stories were of book characters. Some were original works of fiction. Some were heart-breaking stories of reality that helped me better understand the things our students deal with. And one was the emphatic declaration, “I am perseverance”—although I’m pretty sure that this emphatic declaration was more of an accident than a statement. I’m pretty sure that the student didn’t know how to turn the word perseverance into “someone who perseveres” or any other form of the word. Regardless, what she wrote was pretty awesome. It was something like this: “I am perseverance because I didn’t give up when my teacher gave me a problem that was hard. At first, I didn’t understand it but I kept trying until I got it right. I am perseverance. Now, every time my teacher gives me a new problem, I know that I can do it. I am perseverance.”


4. I received one distinguished on this year’s summative evaluation: Teacher provides an environment in which each child has a positive, nurturing relationship with a caring adult. I’ll take it…


…even if I’m currently building positive, nurturing relationships in a hut that stinks.

Defining Moments: I Think I'll Ride A Bike Now

10 Nesmith Street
Tabor City, NC 28463
910-653-2216

Such was my address and phone number for most of my childhood.
And what a wonderful place to grow up:
A dead end street lined with beautiful live oak trees,
Not much traffic,
Children laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns,
Running to the railroad tracks to wave at the conductor…

Nesmith Street began with railroad tracks and ended with a forest.
While I realize, now, that this probably wasn’t a great idea,
We—the Nesmith Street Gang—spent a lot of time racing on the railroad tracks and leaving coins to be squished by the train.
We also made it a point to race for the train tracks when we heard the conductor blowing his whistle.

We had a childhood fascination with seeing the conductor wave at us,
So I suppose it only makes sense that on the day that
Everyone else hopped on their bikes and raced to the end of the street,
Leaving little Dee running behind in their dust,
Little Dee decided that it was time to learn to ride a bike.

At the boundary of my childhood paradise,
where the railroad tracks hugged Nesmith Street,
having missed the conductor’s wave,
I, Little Dee, began learning to ride a bike right then and there.
It didn’t take long.
I picked it up like a childhood pro.
(Or at least I think I did?)
And before long I had my very own BMX-ish-like bike and
was riding with the rest of the gang.

As I got older and my world expanded beyond Nesmith Street,
My bicycle took me there.
I rode to the church.
I rode to the school on workdays.
I rode to see friends.
I even rode to the next town over.
My bicycle gave me flight
Until my car expanded the world beyond two wheels.

My favorite professional artist, Fabio Napoleoni,
Has a painting entitled “Sometimes I Miss My Childhood,”

And sometimes, dear friends, I do:
Not much traffic,
A lot of laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns, and
Riding bikes to the railroad tracks with the very best of friends.

A Crappy Week

It’s been a crappy week. Not a bad week. But a crappy week. Literally.

Now, before you continue reading, you need to know that this is going to be a different post than normal. I will use language that I rarely use and write about an issue previously not-discussed in my posts. If you want to stop reading, then I understand. But if you choose to stick with me, then I think you might laugh…or be grossed out…or touched.

First, as I’ve mentioned recently, Bullet has started taking me on walks each night. It’s been during these walks that I think I’ve figured out the mystery of why dogs search so hard for the perfect place to poop. I’ve determined that they’re not really looking for a specific place to poop, rather, they’re filling time until their poop is ready to come out. And then, when everything is ready, they do their little spin—or, as Bullet often does, come to a sudden halt—squat, and poop. Has anyone else noticed this?

Second, we had a student poop in their pants earlier in the week. [I’m purposefully using incorrect grammar for the sake of anonymity.] Since the clothing closet is in the building affectionately known as The Dungeon and The Dungeon is where both Barb’s classroom and our preferred bathroom are located, I was in The Dungeon when our student came to change their pants. To keep the student from having to take home poopy pants, the adult with the student decided to clean their soiled pants in the bathroom sink. What the adult didn’t know, though, was that if you run the water in our bathroom sink for more than five seconds, it begins to back up…

Fast forward a few minutes.

“Hey Danielle, where’s Barb?” Danielle begins laughing a giggly, little girl laugh that I’ve never heard before and tries to tell me that Barb had to go into the building to use the bathroom because, as she said, “There’s shitwater in the sink in our bathroom!” Knowing that we needed to report the hygienic safety issue, Danielle, the other Dungeon teacher, and I called the office to make the report, at which point I said, “Umm, yes. We need a clean-up in aisle one. We have shitwater in the Dungeon bathroom sink.” We all laughed really hard.

Third, while telling the above story to a coworker, I heard another crappy story. Evidently, someone left two turds on the floor of another bathroom. We determined that we had a “crapper” loose in the building.

Fourth, while telling the above story to my best friend, she told me about a student at one of her schools who once decided to write on the walls of the bathroom with her own poop. She did this repetitively and her actions were so well-planned that she knew when no other classes would be in the bathroom and which bathroom to use so that a camera wouldn’t catch her going in. Additional cameras and much detective work finally caught the culprit.

Finally, while talking to a friend last night about a truly difficult topic, I said, “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this. I know it’s hard.” She said, “It’s okay. I’m used to it. I’m dealing with a lot more crap than this.” I responded, ":-) If you need someone to help you hold the crap, then I will. Well. Not literally. Because I might throw up if I have to hold real crap. But you know what I mean. If you ever want to talk. Or share emotions. Just let me know. I’m here.”

She laughed.
I laughed.
I remembered my crappy week and shook my head.
And then I remembered a time when another friend got sick after a third-world mission trip and had to collect a feces sample to help figure out what was wrong.
I ended up holding her full sample vile for a moment while her mom helped her with something else.
I literally held her crap.

And the thing is:
I’d do it again if she needed me.
And I’d do it for the friend I was talking to last night.
And I’d do it for you, too,
If you needed it.
Not that I want to.
Don’t get me wrong.
Just walking into the bathroom after the shitwater sink had been cleaned almost made me throw up!

But when you love someone—
When you really love someone—
And you know that they love you, too—
You are willing to deal with their crap,
Both literally and figuratively.
And I love my people just that much.