Courage Revisted

 

Last year as summer ended and the school year began,

I wrote about courage.

 

Quoting a Celine Dion song, I wrote:

 

“Courage, don’t you dare fail me now

I need you to keep away the doubts

I’m staring in the face of something new

You’re all I’ve got to hold on to

So, courage, don’t you dare fail me now.”

 

I went on to write:

 

Courage: the ability to do something that frightens you.

 

Courage: the mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty

 

Courage: the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, new things, etc., without fear; bravery.

 

Courage: being a public-school teacher in a society that constantly tries to undermine the importance of diversity, equality, accessibility, experience, and education.

 

I add this year:

 

Courage: starting again in new, smaller space and trying to figure out how to make it work.

 

Oh God: Shed light on this new year and grant me the courage to face the year with steadiness, hope, and belief in the work that I do. Help me to stand boldly for what is good and right and help me to educate my students’ whole selves. Grant courage to my colleagues as well, and grant courage to my students to face the year with an openness for growth and learning that results in healthy and whole human beings. Help us all to navigate through the fears, doubts, and worries that are setting in as a new school year begins, and help us to land on the possibilities of what can be when we face the year with You.

 

Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong. Do everything in love. (1 Corinthians 16: 13-14)

 

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)

 

Amen.

Music

 

It was a weekend of music for me.

Friday was the first ever Elementary Honors Chorus Clinic during the day.

Friday night was Amelia-the-Niece’s girls choir concert with the Raleigh Symphony Orchestra.

Saturday was the Lee County Arts Festival,

Including the Elementary Honors Chorus performance.

And yesterday was Charlie-the-Nephew’s All-State Band concert in Greensboro.

I feel very cultured!

 

I walked away from the weekend with a few thoughts:

 

Musicians tend to be resilient. One of the Elementary Honors Chorus students got too hot, locked her knees, and passed out. Two songs after she left stage, she walked back onto stage and finished the concert sitting down. Everyone clapped.

 

Musicians tend to be kind and encouraging. Even though the competition is stiff for a spot in an honors band, once a person makes it in, they tend to be encouraged by the other people in the band. During the middle school performance yesterday, a couple of trombonists had solos. After they finished, another trombonist gave each of them fist bumps to tell them they did a good job. It made me smile.

 

Musicians tend to know how to work together. Evidently, at the rehearsal for Amelia’s concert, the orchestra and the choir weren’t balanced. So, the orchestra worked to play quieter, and on the night of the performance, the two groups sounded amazing together.

 

Musicians tend to come together from all walks of life to focus on common good. It’s really a beautiful thing to hear and watch.

 

And…on a different note (pun intended)…audience members can be very rude with talking and gum smacking. Please do not smack your gum in the middle of a classical music concert—or ever 😊.

 

Music makes this world a better place.

 

May we all learn to be

Resilient

Kind

Encouraging

Able to work with others

Part of something bigger than ourselves

Good

And non-gum smacking.

 

Amen.

Light Bearers and Torch Snuffers

I went to school to de-personalize my room today. It was kind of depressing—packing up all of the things that make the room comfortable. And it was kind of confusing—trying to figure out what was essential vs. non-essential. I never did figure out the stapler and staple remover. After “work,” I took a load to the thrift store and went to the grocery store. I am the primary errand runner in the family now. I don’t like my mom and dad going out because, well, Covid. When I got home, I was tired and feeling a little…sad. But I had mail! My spirits lifted a bit. Then I opened my mail and my spirits lifted a lot. “Dear Deanna, Enclosed is a small gift from Trinity’s love fund, for each of the teachers affiliated with Trinity. We want to offer our support during this difficult time. Please use this however you see fit. I pray for God’s peace and guidance for you and your loved ones. In Christ, Pastor Ann” Wow. Just. Wow. A simple gesture, but one that means the world to me— A teacher, Thought of, prayed for, and supported because of the work I do, Will do, In a crazy and uncertain world. God, on days that are dreary—literally and figuratively— Thank you for rays of light—tangible and emotional— That brighten the world. Help us to be light-bearers rather than torch snuffers. Always. Amen.

Thinking Cap

I keep my heat on 69. Usually, I am plenty warm, but over the weekend, I was really cold. While sitting in my office working, I put on both a hat and fuzzy lounge socks—neither of which I usually wear in the house. As the weekend progressed and I continued to work in my hat and fuzzy lounge socks, I came to think of my hat as my thinking cap. It thought me through a book, a book summary, four commentaries, and sixteen pages of typed notes…all for a retreat that I’m planning for March.

I shared a quote from my studies on Saturday, but I want to share an expanded version of the quote again here, along with a prayer that goes with it. May you read these words and be both blessed and challenged today, friends.

“We wish that God would cure all cancer…do away with hunger, disaster, and injustice. We would like the vengeful strength of God to be shown, and very mightily, against all who are lined up opposite us. But God’s strength seldom works that way; evil often falls of its own weight eventually. Usually, instead of fighting for us as we watch, he strengthens us to fight for ourselves. God’s strength is not always found in armies of angels. God’s strength is found in the consoling, the uplifting, and the strengthening of his people—like you and me.

Paul was arrested, beaten, and stoned—probably killed. Yet he rang out that God strengthened him. Strength, not in force or vengeance. But strength of Spirit and purpose.

In the face of our world, we might ask for bombs. God gives us himself instead. And at that moment, Buechner says, we look like persons who have asked for crust but have been given instead of the whole loaf of bread. For we are not given merely what God does—but God himself.

Father,
Strength of our souls, power of our existence,
Help us find your power not according to the world’s standards—
But in peace instead of war
In joy rather than bawdiness
In silence rather than the noise of conflict
Help us, because of the strength of you in us,
To do all we can as your instruments
To rely on the Spirit
To face all situations with hope—
Not the hope of vindication, but the hope of love and peace
Even as your strength works out your will.
Through Christ our Lord,
Amen.”

(--taken from Devotionally Yours, Philippians, pg. 98)

We ask for crust, but God gives warm, delicious bread. We ask for what God does, but God gives himself. Thanks be to the God of Jesus, bread, and thinking caps. Amen.

Unexpected 7th Grade Blessing

Yesterday was this year’s Harnett County Young Author’s Celebration. For a couple of reasons, I didn’t get the invitation until the beginning of last week and didn’t have time to talk to the other school winners, so I wasn’t sure if anyone else was going. [Johnsonville had the most entries in the county, two student winners, and three Forever Young (adult) winners.] Since today started two of the busiest weeks of my year, I really just wanted to stay home and take a long Sunday afternoon nap. But I’m a strong supporter of the Young Authors program, and I knew I needed to show that with my actions and not just my words. So I went. And I’m glad I went.

I must admit that I feel a bit silly sitting on stage with all of the student winners. I fear that it appears like I want to be honored. But that’s not it. I want to sit on stage with the students from my school so that they don’t feel alone. I want to be on stage with them to give them courage. And I want to read my writing aloud to model public speaking—not just to my students but to all the kids on stage.

When I got to the celebration yesterday, I saw my principal and one of my coworkers sitting in the audience. I also saw one of my students on stage! My coworker was not only the student’s teacher but also a Forever Young winner, so I grabbed her to go on stage with me. As we sat with the students, listened to them read, and watched them get their awards, I noticed a late-comer walking down the aisle. She looked frustrated. As soon as she made it to stage, her name was called to read. She read. Beautifully. Then she came to sit by me because it was the only seat left on stage.

After pictures were made, snacks were eaten, and everything was over, I went to my car to go home. As I was getting into my car, I saw my stage neighbor walking toward me. At first, I thought that she and her family were having car trouble. But then I heard her say, “I just wanted to tell you thank you for reading today. You did a really good job and it was really inspiring. It’s nice to know that older people still write and that not everyone has given up on it. Writing is so important.”

Humbled, I properly thanked my stage neighbor for her for her compliment (and overlooked that she called me old ), and then we had a fifteen minute conversation about writing, emotional expression, Harry Potter, literature, and band. I’m pretty sure she’d have kept on talking if I hadn’t realized that her mom was just sitting in the car waiting for her. But kudos to her mom for encouraging her to come talk to me. My stage neighbor, a 7th grader, had seen me walking to my car, wondered if it was me, debated whether or not she should speak to me, but finally walked over because her mom told her to go on and talk to me.

Knowing that it took a lot of courage for a 7th grader to speak to a stranger, I prayed through the whole conversation that God would give me the words that she most needed to hear, the questions that she most needed to answer, and the encouragement that she most needed to take away. I hope that I offered all of those things. And I hope that I will never forget the moment when I drove away yesterday and said aloud, “Well. I wasn’t expecting that. I guess it’s a good thing I came. Thank you, God, for guiding me to come. And thank you for unexpected blessings.” Amen.

Beautiful Wishes

Have I mentioned recently that I’m an ENFJ? I will talk to you, hang out with you, dream with you, do everything I can to help you, believe in you, show up for you, think of and pray for you every time I see something that reminds me of you, and care for you for as long as you will let me. And then, when you decide that the intensity of our friendship has run its course, I will keep on loving you…and hope to God that the relationship comes to a peaceful point of closure.

Closure is so very important to me. Many times, time and circumstance provide natural closure. An understood goodbye. A farewell of mutual respect and well-wishes. People come. People go. Relationships fade. Mutual distance forms. It’s taken 37 years, but I’ve finally learned that. Yet I still haven’t learned how to hang in the balance of non-closure…how to move beyond statements like, “You have a HUGE heart and mean well, but I have no desire to have a friendship with you,” and then silence. Or just one-sided silence without the words. That’s not closure. That’s a cut off. And cut-offs are really hard for me...and they make me feel incredibly unimportant and unwanted.

I suppose that this need for mutual closure is part of the reason why it was important to me to say good-bye to my friends and coworkers who are leaving JES this year, and why it bothers me that I didn’t get to speak to them all. Truth be known, it bothers me that I didn’t get to tell my friends and coworkers who will be returning to have a good summer before leaving today. Closure. Temporary or permanent. For a friendship or a school year. It’s stupidly and ridiculously important to me.

And so…here is my simple attempt to take a step toward closure where closure is due tonight. Wherever it is due. Past friendships. Past jobs. Current friendships. Current jobs. I make for you Beautiful Wishes. Now and always. Love and Amen.

Be well, my friend, wher-
Ever you go. May God
Add God’s richest,
Unfathomable blessings to you. As they say,
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” so
Invite peace to rest in your soul and bask in the
Fullness of God’s steady purpose and grace. And remember:
Unicorns and fairies and minions really can exist inside your mind. So
Let them. And laugh. And don’t let anyone take a-
Way your joy or your spirit. They are yours. And they are beautiful. And
I love them. I love you. And I want the best for you.
So, be well, my friend, wherever you go. And know that my
Heart goes with you, cheering you on,
Encouraging your courage to fully live,
Saying now and always, forevermore: “I believe in you. No take backs.”

My Nick

Christmas 2013 was my first Christmas at Johnsonville. About two weeks before leaving for Christmas break, my mom asked if there was a student whose family needed gift-assistance. We were given the opportunity to help one of the students in the self-contained special education classroom. His name was Nick. I must admit that I don’t remember much about Nick before that Christmas, but since that Christmas Nick has become “My Nick” and I have grown to love him very much.

The first year of buying for Nick’s family was hard. I knew very little about him or his family and we had very little information to go by. Yet we bought what we could and prayed that God would bless it.

Since Nick was on my radar screen by spring semester, I asked him to join Harnett Off-Broadway. He did. He was faithful in his practicing and he showed up for the big performance. Granted, he showed up having not eaten and my family ended up buying him a snack and soda from the vending machines. But still. He was there. And I was so very proud of him. Truthfully, he was the first special needs student I’d ever asked to perform at Harnett Off-Broadway.

I started noticing Nick in class, too. He’s really very smart. He pays attention to what is being taught and absorbs the information that teachers want all of their students to absorb. I remember one particular lesson last year when Nick was the only student in his class who could answer the question I was asking. His words weren’t exactly easy to understand, yet still, I was so very proud of him. He had already started becoming “My Nick.”

I don’t remember the exact point of possession when Nick became mine, but he was mine all year this year. I hugged him most mornings when he got off the bus and checked on him many afternoons before going to car duty. Nick’s mom died this year. I visited the funeral home and his house with his other teachers and we made sure he had everything he needed as he grieved. My family adopted his family for Christmas again this past Christmas. We knew much more of what to buy. And once again, I asked Nick to join Harnett Off-Broadway. He and one of his classmates were some of the only students I asked to join me two years in a row. Nick’s main part was to play the E handbell. The E played on the syllable –kie of the word “cookie” in one of the songs. Nick asked if I’d take him a chocolate chip cookie on the night of the performance. The bakery didn’t have a chocolate chip cookie that day but they did have a chocolate chip scone. Nick didn’t care. He happily ate what he thought was a really fat cookie.

While Nick was still one of my best music students this year, his favorite thing to do with me was to answer the weekly art and/or character education question and receive a prize for his work each on Friday. He also got to help the other winners and me lead the Pledge and School Song on the morning announcements. Because Nick is “My Nick,” I may have selected his work more than anyone else’s and I may have given him special prizes. I may also have kept his work and turned it into a little book. Don’t fault me, though. If you knew Nick, you’d probably have done the same thing—especially since he answered the questions on his own time and truly did have some of the best drawings and written answers we received.

“My Nick” graduated today. When I thought about this reality last night, I cried. When I thought about this reality this morning when I got to school, I cried. When I watched him receive his certificate and listened to his awards, I cried. And then I went to his classroom one last time, bent down beside him as he played on the computer, patted him on the back and gave him a hug and said, “Hey Buddy. I’m proud of you. And I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” He looked up from his game, nodded his unique Nick nod, grabbed my hand, and said, “I love you, too.” I walked away from him before I started crying.

Realistically, I don’t know that I’ll see Nick again. I’ll do my best to find out how he’s doing and pray that he receives the education, speech therapy, and opportunities he deserves. But that’s not the same as seeing “My N” every school day and loving the mess out of him every opportunity I could. I find this reality very sad, and it makes getting out of school not as exciting as it once was as a kid.

When my mom asked about helping a family at Christmas two years ago, I had no idea that her simple inquiry would cause me to see a student that I may have otherwise never truly seen. And only did I see him, but I came to love him. I still love him. I will always love him. “My Nick” has blessed my life. And I will forever be grateful that Johnsonville brought us together and allowed us to share life…and a cookie.

Sometimes We Just Need To Cry

It’s no secret that I’m a crier. In fact, I have very talented tear ducts. They cry in joy and in sorrow, and they cry prayers and allow release. They cry over meaningful stories and they cry over ridiculous jokes. They cry when I’m full of energy and they cry when I’m exhausted from life. They cry if someone talks about putting in contact lenses and they cry for other people when those people cannot cry for themselves. Yet. Seldom do they cry raw, flowing tears when I’m around anyone else. Those tears—those deeply hurting, lonely, sad, frustrated, agonizing, almost-full-body tears—are usually reserved for God alone.

I remember one specific time, though, when I cried those tears in front of a dear friend, and she pulled me into her arms and let me weep. I burrowed my head into her shoulder and sobbed—for mean words and heartbreak and failed plans and misunderstanding and the work-dementors that were sucking life from me at the time. She held me as I cried and she didn’t flinch when my tears literally wet her shoulder. In that moment, I was so broken that I couldn’t even apologize for falling apart. All I could do was let someone support my weight and…cry.

…

As my first class approached the doorway today, I heard someone crying—and these were not petty, passing, she skipped me in line, tears—these were those deeply hurting, almost-full-body tears. By sheer good fortune, the guidance counselor was in my room at that moment, so she got the rest of the class settled while I held the crying kid. Literally. I wrapped my arms around his sobbing little body and held him to my heart. “Breathe, sweetie,” I said. “Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Breathe with me. In and out.” After a few moments, I noticed that I had started rocking him back and forth, still gently whispering, “In and out. Breathe in and out.” After another few moments, I felt the fight leave his body and his breathing fall into rhythm with mine. After another few moments, I gave him the option of going to his seat or going to lie down in the back of the room until he was ready to join class. He chose the latter. Then he did join class and had a wonderful time.

I have no idea why he came to music class sobbing. Had something bad happened at home? Had something bad already happened at school? Had he been blamed for something he didn’t do? Had he gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing? Had he eaten breakfast? Had he gotten enough sleep? I have no idea. But what I do know that is that he needed to cry.

…

A student on Tuesday needed to cry, too. He went from his normal attitude of “I hate music” to a place of deeply sad tears in a matter of minutes. One moment, he and his friends were defiantly choosing to sit at the back of the room under the refocus table so that they could talk and be silly, but the next minute all three of them were covering their heads with their shirts and crying. Not wanting to stop the rest of class from a strangely productive and focused music lesson, I went on with the lesson. After class, on my way into the building for lunch, I was bombarded by other students telling me that the three were crying because one of them was moving and the friendship posse was going to be separated.

As I stood in the class’s classroom, waiting for their supervision to arrive, thinking about how I wasn’t going to have time to eat lunch, wondering what in the world I was supposed to do with the kids for the next however long I had them, I felt someone come from behind on the right and latch on for a side hug. This particular class has a couple of huggers, so I didn’t think anything of it. Until I looked down. And I saw the top of “I hate music”’s hoodie. And I realized that a kid who ordinarily doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist was burrowed into my right shoulder, sobbing.

One of his classmates said, “Ms. Deaton, you’re going to miss lunch.”
I said, “No worries. I’ll be fine. I’ll stand here for a few more minutes.”
So I did. Holding “I hate music.”
He cried. He didn’t say a word. Then he wiped his tears and walked away.
I left the room with a tear-soaked shirt, wondering what in the world had just happened.
I guess “I hate music” needed to cry. And I guess maybe “I hate music” knew that music didn’t hate him.

…

Sometimes, friends, we all just need to cry.
And sometimes the safety of loving arms is exactly where we need to land.
My arms are open.
I often imagine God’s arms open as well.
Are yours?

A Haiku-ish Mood

Coffee on my pants
On a Thursday afternoon.
Oh well. It’s worth it.

Thursday is coffee day. Barring something odd to the week, B and I visit our local coffee shop every Thursday afternoon after school. Most of the time, I go back to school to do the work that I don’t get done in the music room—organizing the morning announcement spreadsheet—updating the school-wide incentive bulletin board—going through the answers to the weekly art and character education questions.

Today was no different…only today the barista left coffee on the bottom of my mug so I got coffee on my pants when I rested the mug on my leg…and today B was in a haiku-ish mood, so she began to count the syllables of my statement, “I got coffee on my pants,” and then we proceeded to write the above haiku.

For those of you who know B, you know that she is an amazing artist. You also know that she thinks that she is not an amazing artist even though her doodles put the average person’s best work to shame. What you probably don’t know, though, is that B is a wonderful haiku writer. She says that her love of all things Japanese has given her this secret talent. Maybe so. Regardless, it’s a secret talent that makes me smile—because it’s so unexpected.

B has been teaching our 3rd graders about Japanese art for the past few months. This week is haiku-illustration week—hence B’s haiku-ish mood. As we looked at haikus together after our 3rd grade classes today, we found a few that we really liked. Those of you who know B will be happy to know that she posted them on her Pinterest page. And so…here they are—from funny to poignant. Which do you like best?

April celebrates
National Poetry Month.
This is a haiku.

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don’t make sense.
Refrigerator.

Inside everyone,
the infinite traveler
longs to be set free.
--William C. Hannan

Wake butterfly—
It’s late, we’ve miles
to go together.
--Matsuo Basho

And now…a haiku for my B…and the rest of my teaching peeps:

This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Teaching changes lives.

Thanks for changing lives, friends;
For helping set free infinitely traveling butterflies.
True. We’ve got a long way to go.
Miles and miles to go.
But I believe we make it:
Together.

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

What Matters Most In This World

Have you ever had a week when you had something big to do, only to have more big things added?

That was/is this week for me.

Many weeks ago, I found out that the boys were coming to stay at the house for part of their spring break.

Then the snow hit. And Harnett Off-Broadway (my biggest school performance of the year) got rescheduled to this week.

And the only time my main speakers for my ordination service could come was this Sunday.

And a couple of deadlines at school came due this week.

And Holy Week begins Sunday.

And yet. The boys were at the house for part of their spring break.

I looked at Jack and Henry on Tuesday night and said, “Oh guys. I have so much to do. But the most important thing I can be doing right now is spending time with you.” And so we went to ate and played games together. We had late night snacks and laughed together. I admittedly fell asleep in my room while the boys still giggled in theirs. The sound of their laughter is so beautiful to me. I know all too well that they are only young once and that these years will pass too quickly.

I had planned to go to work early this morning. I had some kazoo sorting to do for today’s HOB dress rehearsal and I needed to finish the program for Sunday night’s ordination, yet shortly after I got up, I heard the door to the boys’ room open and saw Jack poke his head around the corner.

I spoke to him to let him know it was okay to come into the bathroom, and as soon as he walked into the bathroom I knew that he was sick. He was clutching his stomach and had tears in his eyes and all he could say was, “I really don’t feel good.” I guided him to the toilet when I realized that he was going to throw up. I rubbed his back while he vomited. I wet a wash cloth and wiped his face and placed it on his forehead. I tucked him in to my bed because I didn’t want him to go back into the room with his sleeping brothers. I got him something to drink, put the trashcan by my bed, left a roll of tissue on the night-stand (he’s had a cold this week), and made sure mom and dad knew that he wasn’t feeling well.

As I got my breakfast together, I realized that I was leaving later than I had all week. I shrugged my shoulders and quietly said to myself, “Oh well. This is what you do when you love someone. And this is only a small fraction of what parents do every day.”

Harnett Off-Broadway is important. I have 41 extremely excited students to lead.

My ordination is important. I will get to spend Sunday evening with most of my favorite people, and those people will get to see and meet each other and lots of different paths are going to collide.

Meeting deadlines is important. It directly impacts my job performance.

Holy week is important. It’s the biggest week of the year in the church calendar and music plays an integral part.

And yet…

Through the tears in his eyes, Jack kept looking at me this morning and saying, “Thank you, Aunt Dee.” And when I hugged him just before leaving, he said, “I love you, Aunt Dee.” I said, “I love you, too, buddy. Feel better.”

In that moment, everything else faded to the background.
Work is work. And there will always be more work to do.
But love is love. And love is what matters most in this world.

Give Me An F

Hi. My name is Ms. Deaton. I work at a failing school.
Officially. My school was given its grade last week.
We were given an F. For failure.
We didn’t meet someone’s expectations for us.

They saw our data.
They analyzed our test scores.
They locked in our before, middle, and after.
They looked at papers and numbers and statistics black and white,
And they definitively decided that we weren’t good enough.
They gave us an F. For failure.

But here’s what they don’t know:
We’re not failing.
We may not be thriving.
But we’re not failing.
We’re figuring it out.

We’re figuring out how to
Feed students who do not eat unless they are at school;
Find shoes for students walking on holes or hanging onto soles with duct tape;
Fit shirts, pants, coats, and underwear to students who are in need;
Finance the treasure box;
Fix discipline issues with limited options for consequences in a society centered around the rights of “me”;
Finagle the daily schedule to include childhood;
Fabricate lessons with no textbooks;
Free generations from bonds of illiteracy;
Fell the fences that separate rich from poor, haves from have-nots;
Fill classrooms of twenty-eight students with positive energy and love when the deficits of some are so great that they fight to get their fill.

Learning doesn’t happen in a bubble.
Intelligence is not all test scores and black and white.
Knowledge is not all facts and figures and strategies and tools and rules and data and samples and bubbles and statistics and interventions and
Students are not robots who objectively regurgitate information during pencil-and-paper-sit-absolutely-still-in-the-absolute-quiet-that-absolutely-never-happens-in-this-absolutely-overstimulated-world tests.

My name is Ms. Deaton. I work at a school that they say is a failure. An F.
Well let them give me their F.
I’ll give them mine.
And I’ll stand with some of the most courageous heroes that I know and boldly proclaim that our school is figuring things out by
Failing to believe that we can be reduced to or diminished by an F.

Just Two Haiku-like Thoughts About Working In The Helping Professions

One
This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Service changes lives.

Two
This important work:
Not by choice alone. Call leads.
Mustard seed of faith.

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If you have dedicated your life to helping and serving others, thank you.
If you know someone who has done the same, tell him/her thank you as well.
Not because it’s a special week.
Just because.

Defining Moments: Stanley G. Deaton

Today is Stanley’s 6th Birthday.

He was born at the Build-A-Bear at Four Seasons Mall during late afternoon August 7, 2008.

My friend Krista was there for his birth and helped pick out his first outfit: a blue button up shirt with a cute little sweater vest. We were on our way home from my 2nd year at Candlestick.

For his first year and a half, Stanley lived an unassuming life. He slept beside me each night and spent the rest of the day playing with the other stuffed animals in my room/apartment.

Then came a trip to Birmingham in January 2010 and everything changed for my sweet little boy.

Riding in the backseat of Boss’s Honda Pilot, I found myself sitting beside Stanley and T-Bow, Boss’s brand new stuffed cat.

As we were talking about T-Bow and how her niece and nephew had given her to her—yes, T-Bow is a girl—I said, “You should start taking T-Bow with you everywhere you go and take a picture of her so that your niece and nephew know more of what you do as Executive Director. You could actually share it on Facebook so that everyone would know what you do. You do so many things that people don’t know you do. This could be a cool way to show people.”

While Boss may have quickly forgotten about the conversation, I did not.

In fact, just a couple of weeks later, Stanley made his public debut at a planning meeting in Wilmington, NC.

From that point forward, Stanley has gone with me to almost every special meeting, event, vacation, performance, and special occasion in my life. He traveled around South Carolina and made many friends there. He’s been to Birmingham, AL; Orlando, FL; Phoenix, AZ; New Orleans, LA; Jamaica; the Bahamas; the beach; the mountains; and many places in between. His wardrobe has more than quadrupled from that one shirt and sweater vest and he has both lost and gained weight through his years.

Since leaving SC, life has slowed down a bit for Stanley. He is still my constant traveling companion, riding with me to and from everywhere I go, but most days, I don’t do anything out of the ordinary—just go to school, church, or counseling or to visit friends and family members in the area.

Evenso, Stanley is still a well-loved monkey who I am honored to call monkey-son.

I had no idea that a passing comment to Boss would change the way I traveled and move a quiet, unassuming stuffed monkey into a position of popularity. In fact, at one point during my ministry in SC, I think Stanley was more popular than me! :-) Sometimes in life we choose our defining moments. Sometimes our defining moments choose us. This moment was a little of both, I think. And I am so glad.

Happy Birthday, Stanley G. Deaton. Here’s to many more years of life, work, and travel.

Pete The Plant and Other Scattered Thoughts

My thoughts this week have been very scattered. And so, too, this note will be. So bear with me, reader, as we journey through my mind and hopefully land on a few gems in what could be considered a jumble pile of rocks.

First, today is my grandmother’s 92nd birthday. Since I couldn’t be with her today, I sent her a card with one underlined word. G-mama always underlines special words in the cards she sends, so I wanted to do the same. There were only four words in the card, so I figured one was enough. Usually, we send each other a dollar or two in our cards. I chose not to send any money in today’s card, though, because I’m going to do what she tends to do for me on my birthday and give her one dollar for every year of her life. $92 dollars is a lot of dollars to send through the mail. So I will wait to give it to her when I visit her soon. Then hopefully I’ll get to drive her 1980’s Crown Victoria to the old lady hair salon and be with her when she uses part of her $92 for her weekly hair styling. I am grateful for G-mama. And I love her very much.

Second, I wrote last week about how I would be willing to hold my people’s sh*t if they needed it. And I would be. But I was reminded this week that that willingness is not necessarily mutual for many people in my life. Truth be known, I was reminded this week that I’m really not that important at all to some people—and the reminder hurt—and caused me to revisit feelings of loss and betrayal that are overwhelming and leave me feeling a bit lost and lonely and missing parts of a life that I used to know.

Third, I cried on the last day of school. And I realized that I’d finished my first year of teaching (part two) during the same week that I would have traveled to my organization’s annual meeting had I remained in my former job. Two years ago this week, I was in New Orleans riding pedi-cabs, laughing, and sharing delicious meals and beignets with my coworkers when we weren’t sitting in meetings. I led a workshop at the national meeting and spoke to nationally renowned leader and authors. My parents were in town for the meeting, too, so we hung out in a city far from home and I remember thinking that they’d driven a long way to be with me when it would be much closer to go to the annual meeting in years to come. I had no idea that that would be my last annual meeting and that my life would change so drastically in just three months. Fast forward two years and I’m standing in a decades-old gym in a school that is barely locally known, congratulating 5th graders that it took me most of the year to like, and I am crying. I am crying because I am proud of my students, and I am crying because I am certain that I am doing more missions now than I did in my three years of full-time vocational ministry. I am certain that I am exactly where I need to be…and yet…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being with my former staff at their annual meeting.

Fourth, Bullet stinks. When I got home from work yesterday, he was dirty and wet from running through a storm to get to the house, so I washed him in my tub, and he got mad at me, and he’s now soft and fluffy, and he was super cute when he fell asleep in my lap during a thunderstorm last night, but he still stinks. Yet I love him so much. And I’m thankful that he’s been my little alarm clock this week—waking me up before 6 each morning to play—reminding me that there is joy and excitement in each new day.

Fifth, I brought Pete the Plant home from work today. He’ll stay here for the summer. I spoke at a church a few years ago and my thank you gift was Pete the Plant. He stayed in my office at my former job. He moved home with me when I didn’t have a job. Then he moved to school with me when I finally got my classroom set up. I love Pete. He adds life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold.

Actually. I want to be like Pete.

I want to add life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold…
to dirty dog coats and gyms and pedi-cabs and birthday cards…
to human hearts and minds and bodies and souls…
even when they aren’t willing to hold my sh*t…
especially when they’ve been around a long time and are 92 years old.

Three Cheers for Cool Whip

A few weeks ago, B and I decided to feature dips for Treat Tuesday: Velveeta dip, taco dip, ranch dip, and pimento cheese. As I considered our menu, I realized that we were missing something sweet so I thought of a new dip: chocolate-chip dip. Far from revolutionary with this idea—Jason’s Deli has a delicious chocolate-chip mousse that I use as a dip with graham crackers rather than getting free ice cream—that’s how good it is—I bought a container of cool-whip, a box of chocolate pudding mix, and some chocolate chips. I mixed them together, put the mixture on a platter with some graham crackers, and an instant sweep dip was served. It was very good. So now I have two recipes in my Beginners Cookbook for Intuitive People: Chocolate Chip Dip and Cheese Potato Chips (melt cheese in microwave, pour over potato chips ).

…

Last week, B and I threw a party for our Harnett Off-Broadway students. In the past, when doing Harnett Off-Broadway, B and I have worked with two schools and thus had two parties: an ice cream sundae party with the K-2 school and a pizza party with the 3-5 schools. Since we only work at one school now, we decided to just throw one gigantic party: pepperoni pizza, cheese pizza, crazy bread, grape soda, orange soda, fruit punch soda, lemon-lime soda, vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, strawberry syrup, strawberry toppings, caramel syrup, chocolate chips, gummy bears, jelly beans, five types of sprinkles, whipped cream, cherries, and cheese-balls. After the kids finished their pizza, they were allowed to make their own sundaes. When I busted out the whipped cream, I had more than one kid ask me to squirt the whipped cream directly into their mouths. At first, I said no. Then, after everyone had gone through the line, I made a calculated decision and announced: “Alright! Everyone line up outside. Whipped cream directly in the mouth!” And so…one after one, the kids came. And one after one, B and I squirted whipped cream into milky mouths open and smiling with glee.

…

Today, I got pied in the face as part of a fund-raiser for Relay for Life. B wisely decided that I needed to wear diving gear: a snorkel, mask, and fins. I decided that I needed to wear my scrubs and an orange fish swim cap. I purchased and wore all of the above and had fifteen or so pies squished in my face. The cool thing? The dive gear was cancer awareness gear so a portion of the proceeds went to cancer research. And. The pies were made of cool-whip.

…

Three cheers for cool-whip (or I guess technically two for cool-whip, one for whipped cream)!
Hip-hip-hooray!

Three cheers for B and friendship!
Hip-hip-hooray!

Three cheers for celebrating life!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Hip-hip-hooray!

And don’t forget the spirit sprinkles.

Puzzle Peace

Last July, after finishing a puzzle for a friend, I wrote: I’ve heard of a wide variety of prayer groups. Of quilting groups, crocheting and knitting groups, blanket-making groups, and others. Yet I’ve never heard of a puzzle group. But why not? Why not choose a specific puzzle for someone who needs prayer—something that holds meaning for the future recipient or something generic if the intended recipient is unknown—and pray for that person with every piece placed? Little did I know that nine months later, I would present a puzzle to someone who indeed needed prayer…and that that puzzle would be a life-affirming reminder of God’s ever-steady presence and love.

Thanks to Barnes and Nobles’ after Christmas sale, my mom and I had a brand new puzzle to work on during our many snow days at the beginning of the year. As we began to work on the puzzle and I realized what we were putting together, I decided for whom we were working and shifted my puzzle making thoughts not only to properly sorting the pieces for puzzle putting together ease but also to praying for my friend.

After many hours of work (and prayer), the most elaborate puzzle-piece organization of our lives, and many celebratory high-fives, my mom and I finished the puzzle and attempted to glue it together—four times. After the fourth glue attempt, we threw up our hands in glue surrender and moved the puzzle out of the family room to a place where it would not be damaged. There it sat for almost three months…until last week.

Each night last week, I fell asleep to the prayer, “God help me remember to take the puzzle to work tomorrow.” Each morning, I’d get half way to school and realize that the puzzle was still at home. On Friday morning, as I got into my car, I thought, “Lunch. Owe money. Will owe more money today. Wallet. I don’t have my wallet,” so I went back into the house to get my wallet. Then I thought, “Puzzle. I should get the puzzle.” So I got the puzzle. [Yes. I think in incomplete sentences in the morning :-).]

I modge-podged the puzzle in B’s room between two of my classes. I let it dry. I left the puzzle for my friend at the end of lunch and then I went to teach Kindergarten. Along with the puzzle, I left a note: “You are important. And your work is too. Love, Dee. PS: My mom and I put this puzzle together for you. I prayed for you with each piece I placed.”

As my Kindergarteners danced, I answered a phone call of thanks. With much noise-filtering concentration and the hope that my students wouldn’t hurt themselves in their last hour before Spring Break, I heard my friend share how the puzzle had reached her at just the right time—at the end of a very difficult week—in a moment when life and work needed to be affirmed through what she took as a reminder of God’s sovereignty and control. I listened in amazement…and I smiled…

Yesterday at church, my pastor said that God’s grace and peace are alive and working and that God’s spirit is moving, always moving, toward hope and redemption…

The puzzle creator could have never made the puzzle. Barnes and Noble could have not placed it on clearance. My mom could have decided not to buy it. She could have chosen another puzzle to complete over the snow days or she could have not chosen not to do one at all. The puzzle could have taken the puzzle glue on our first four attempts at permanently piecing it together. I could have seen my friend using modge-podge before last week and I could have had the idea to sneakily borrow it from her so that I could glue her puzzle long before last week. God could have more directly answered my night-time prayers every morning last week and I could have given my friend that puzzle on another day at another time and I have no doubt that she would have loved it.

But instead, every piece of this story’s puzzle—pun intended—came together at just the right moment and transformed individual events from meaningful to life-changing.

Is this God’s working and moving toward grace, peace, hope, and redemption or what?!

And to think…God chooses us to be part.

A Blessing For The Exhausted

I left my house this morning at 7:00. I got home tonight at 9:00. In between those hours I worked, drove, went to counseling, and rescued twenty five stones from a dump site.

I’m tired.

Not flat exhausted. But tired.

And I know I’m not the only one.

Joe, my counselor, read me a blessing at the end of our session tonight. I want to share that blessing with you here. When he finished reading this blessing, he said, “I know that maybe not all of it resonated with where you are right now, but I hope that at least some of it did. You are doing good, hard, work. And your ability to really feel is truly a gift.”

“It did resonate with me,” I said. “The rhythm of the heart. The rain. The twilight imagery. I actually drove into the sunset tonight on the way here. It was really neat to suddenly find myself under the colors. And the silence of the stones. I’m planning to get some stones after I leave here tonight. It’s neat that this blessing mentions the silence of stones.”

What of these words resonate with you tonight, friends? Feel free to share.

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A B L E S S I N G
For One Who is Exhausted
By John O’Donohue

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like endless, increasing weight.

The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laborsome events of will.

Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.
The tide you never valued has gone out,

And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.
You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.

There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken in the rush of days.

At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept teach will frighten you.

You have traveled too far over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit,
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

©John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us (New York: Doubleday, 2008), p.125, 126.