To know that God IS
(that God exists),
To know what kind of God, God is
(holy, just, love),
To be constantly aware of God
(fully aware of God's presence in all times and all places
rather than acutely aware of God's presence in some times and places but
completely unaware in others),
and to be constantly obedient to God
(in both thought and action):
This is reverence and
This is what we pray for when we pray
"Hallowed be thy name."
Let God be given the reverence that God's nature and character deserve.
And may your lives show God's holiness, justice, and love to all who surround you.
--paraphrased from the work of theologian William Barclay.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Kay, Jenny, and Two Things Right
Another thing you may be interested in knowing about me is that I am a people pleaser. I like to do the "right" thing and have the approval of those around me--especially on actions and issues that I feel strongly about. While this people pleasing tendency has resulted in many good things--high quality work, open doors of opportunity, the chance to meet many wonderful people--it has also resulted in many bad things--fear, shame, unwarranted stress, high blood pressure, and the constant worry that I will do something "wrong."
I'm sure there are other times when this has happened, but I can think of two specific times that I went against others' approval and logic and did what I felt was best...and it was...I have absolutely no doubt.
The first time was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible shape. Making the two and a half hour drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to be there. So a dear friend and I went. When we arrived, we were the only people there to support our friend. A few residents of the nursing home where her father had lived were there, but no one else made the trip. We sat with her on the family pew so that she wouldn't be alone, and we rode with her in the family car to the graveside service. We stood beside her in the freezing rain and watched as they lowered her father's casket into the ground, and then we followed her home so that she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, making the trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
The second time was when I decided to go to counseling. Despite outside sentiment that going to counseling showed a major weakness in my faith and relationship with God; despite the fact that my going would be looked down upon by many church-goers; and despite the fact that I was surrounded by loving friends and family, I went. Over the last three and a half years, I attended 115 counseling sessions with an Episcopal priest who showed me the unconditional love and grace of God. Week in and week out, she listened to my jumbled up thoughts and feelings on life, death, vocation, call, love, hate, grief, and God and helped me see myself and the God that I adored in life-altering ways. A steady safe place, my counselor allowed God to work through her and our therapeutic relationship to change me.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, taking that step toward asking for help is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
My friend whose father's funeral I attended died a sudden death due to an enlarged heart; I was privileged to be part of her funeral in 2006. And my counselor with whom I had taken steps toward becoming whole told me last Friday that she was leaving her counseling office to return to full-time parish ministry.
Kay is in heaven with her father now. Jenny is returning to her home in the church to follow the call that God has placed in her life. And I am here in my office, feeling both happy and sad, writing this note, hoping that it will please those who read it, and knowing that I have done at least two things "right" in my life.
I am humbled and grateful today.
I'm sure there are other times when this has happened, but I can think of two specific times that I went against others' approval and logic and did what I felt was best...and it was...I have absolutely no doubt.
The first time was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible shape. Making the two and a half hour drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to be there. So a dear friend and I went. When we arrived, we were the only people there to support our friend. A few residents of the nursing home where her father had lived were there, but no one else made the trip. We sat with her on the family pew so that she wouldn't be alone, and we rode with her in the family car to the graveside service. We stood beside her in the freezing rain and watched as they lowered her father's casket into the ground, and then we followed her home so that she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, making the trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
The second time was when I decided to go to counseling. Despite outside sentiment that going to counseling showed a major weakness in my faith and relationship with God; despite the fact that my going would be looked down upon by many church-goers; and despite the fact that I was surrounded by loving friends and family, I went. Over the last three and a half years, I attended 115 counseling sessions with an Episcopal priest who showed me the unconditional love and grace of God. Week in and week out, she listened to my jumbled up thoughts and feelings on life, death, vocation, call, love, hate, grief, and God and helped me see myself and the God that I adored in life-altering ways. A steady safe place, my counselor allowed God to work through her and our therapeutic relationship to change me.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, taking that step toward asking for help is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
My friend whose father's funeral I attended died a sudden death due to an enlarged heart; I was privileged to be part of her funeral in 2006. And my counselor with whom I had taken steps toward becoming whole told me last Friday that she was leaving her counseling office to return to full-time parish ministry.
Kay is in heaven with her father now. Jenny is returning to her home in the church to follow the call that God has placed in her life. And I am here in my office, feeling both happy and sad, writing this note, hoping that it will please those who read it, and knowing that I have done at least two things "right" in my life.
I am humbled and grateful today.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
What Of The First?
So,
in the end,
life becomes
a question of death?
In the end,
is dying what really matters?
Do twilight redemption and healing
overshadow brokenness and hurt
and is it really that easy
to overlook a lifetime of pain?
The last will be first and
the first will be last.
The worker hired at the end of the day
will receive the same wages as the one hired
when the day began.
The prodigal child will be
welcomed home.
But what of the first?
What of the good one who stayed?
What of the hours endured in the heat of the sun,
trying to do the right thing while
living in the midst of heartache?
What of that life of memories
left playing in the dark,
wondering aimless through grief
as celebration tramples its soul?
And what of life
if all that really matters
in the end
is death and dying?
in the end,
life becomes
a question of death?
In the end,
is dying what really matters?
Do twilight redemption and healing
overshadow brokenness and hurt
and is it really that easy
to overlook a lifetime of pain?
The last will be first and
the first will be last.
The worker hired at the end of the day
will receive the same wages as the one hired
when the day began.
The prodigal child will be
welcomed home.
But what of the first?
What of the good one who stayed?
What of the hours endured in the heat of the sun,
trying to do the right thing while
living in the midst of heartache?
What of that life of memories
left playing in the dark,
wondering aimless through grief
as celebration tramples its soul?
And what of life
if all that really matters
in the end
is death and dying?
A Favorite Teacher Reflection
My junior year of high school was a hard year. I switched towns, churches, schools, groups of friends, marching bands, class possibilities--everything.
As difficult as it was, though, my junior year of high school is the one that I'll always remember in a positive light because of Mrs. Royal, my junior English teacher.
I've always been better at math than language arts, yet Mrs. Royal taught me to appreciate literature. She also taught me good grammar...and she encouraged me to write. Had it not been for writing, then my junior year of transition would have been much more difficult than it already was.
Mrs. Royal encouraged me to write poetry and prose and she even allowed me to compose a song for one of my class projects. She told me that I was a good writer--that I had a gift of expressing myself with words--so because of her, I gained confidence in my words and began a form of expression that has carried me through both joys and sorrows.
Writing, for me, is a way that I hear God and share God.
What about you? Who is/was your favorite teacher? And what is/was the main lesson he/she taught you?
What's more...have you thanked that teacher for the impact that he/she has made on your life?
I thank Mrs. Royal every time I see her...and I thank God for allowing our paths to cross, too.
As difficult as it was, though, my junior year of high school is the one that I'll always remember in a positive light because of Mrs. Royal, my junior English teacher.
I've always been better at math than language arts, yet Mrs. Royal taught me to appreciate literature. She also taught me good grammar...and she encouraged me to write. Had it not been for writing, then my junior year of transition would have been much more difficult than it already was.
Mrs. Royal encouraged me to write poetry and prose and she even allowed me to compose a song for one of my class projects. She told me that I was a good writer--that I had a gift of expressing myself with words--so because of her, I gained confidence in my words and began a form of expression that has carried me through both joys and sorrows.
Writing, for me, is a way that I hear God and share God.
What about you? Who is/was your favorite teacher? And what is/was the main lesson he/she taught you?
What's more...have you thanked that teacher for the impact that he/she has made on your life?
I thank Mrs. Royal every time I see her...and I thank God for allowing our paths to cross, too.
A Public School Reflection
One thing you need to know about me: I support the public schools.
In fact, I'll be so bold as to say that there is nowhere in America that has more potential to meet a diverse population of children and youth for Christ than the public school system. To be a Christian teacher in the public schools, though met with the mandate of not "preaching" Christ in explicitly "Christian" language, is, to me, to be on the front lines of the mission field. A public school teacher comes into regular contact with students of all races, ethnicities, cultures, religions, socio-economic levels, and levels of family support. During those 180 days of contact, teachers have the unparalleled opportunity to be Love to their students--to embrace them, support them, show them discipline and grace, and give them the tools that they need to become the best individuals and team players that they can be. In my estimation, teachers are the hands and feet of Christ--those who, day in and day out, feed the hungry, provide water for the thirsty, welcome the outcast, clothe the naked, take care of the sick, and visit those in prison (see Matthew 25).
The process of making the decision to leave the public schools for "full-time vocational ministry" was agonizing for me, yet as much as I support the public schools and the teachers who work there, I know that my life has always been leading me in a different direction--even if it is one that I sometimes still fight against. To this day, I sometimes miss my classroom--my students, their parents, my colleagues, the programs, the equipment with which I stocked the classrooms, the educational videos and websites that I practically had memorized--and I often dream about the two schools where I spent the most time.
I think of one of my favorite students, J, who, during my first year of teaching appeared as the voice of God. As I taught a rhythm stick lesson to my kindergarten classes, I wondered what I was doing and what impact I could possibly be making on the world. Very simply, I prayed, "God, show me why I'm here." At the begining of my next class period, J walked in, gave me a hug, grinned at me, and said, "Who, who, who gave you that necklace? Your huzzzzzband?" In my mind, he had just said, "I am why you are here, Miss Deaton." For the next seven years, I loved J with everything I had. I checked up on him, tutored him, laughed with him, cried for him, and did everything I could to make sure he had a chance to make it in this world. I don't know where he is now--time and distance have separated us--but I pray that he remembers his elementary music teacher and knows that she loved him and believed in him--unconditionally.
So teachers: thank you. Thank you for what you have done and/or are doing to impact this world with God's love. The way I see it, there are few jobs more worthwhile than teaching--even when the hours are long, the paperwork endless, the testing/assessments/legalities overwhelming, the colleague and parent relationships stressful, and the immediate returns not seen. You are making a lasting impact on entire generations of students, and I believe that you will be remembered in eternity for your selfless acts of love and grace. I respect you immensely. And I love you.
And non-teachers: consider becoming involved with the public schools. Pray for your local schools, their students and teachers, and be open to ways that you can be involved. Volunteer. Read. Tutor. Cut paper. Chaperone. Adopt a teacher. Provide her/him with supplies that slashed budgets eliminate. Save box tops for education and Campbell's soup labels. Provide food for students who will go home without food for the night or weekend. Provide shoes and clothes for students whose parents cannot--or will not--provide for them. Host a teacher appreciation event for a local school. Attend local school plays and concerts. The possibilities are endless. Please, just consider something.
Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (excerpt from Matthew 25)
In fact, I'll be so bold as to say that there is nowhere in America that has more potential to meet a diverse population of children and youth for Christ than the public school system. To be a Christian teacher in the public schools, though met with the mandate of not "preaching" Christ in explicitly "Christian" language, is, to me, to be on the front lines of the mission field. A public school teacher comes into regular contact with students of all races, ethnicities, cultures, religions, socio-economic levels, and levels of family support. During those 180 days of contact, teachers have the unparalleled opportunity to be Love to their students--to embrace them, support them, show them discipline and grace, and give them the tools that they need to become the best individuals and team players that they can be. In my estimation, teachers are the hands and feet of Christ--those who, day in and day out, feed the hungry, provide water for the thirsty, welcome the outcast, clothe the naked, take care of the sick, and visit those in prison (see Matthew 25).
The process of making the decision to leave the public schools for "full-time vocational ministry" was agonizing for me, yet as much as I support the public schools and the teachers who work there, I know that my life has always been leading me in a different direction--even if it is one that I sometimes still fight against. To this day, I sometimes miss my classroom--my students, their parents, my colleagues, the programs, the equipment with which I stocked the classrooms, the educational videos and websites that I practically had memorized--and I often dream about the two schools where I spent the most time.
I think of one of my favorite students, J, who, during my first year of teaching appeared as the voice of God. As I taught a rhythm stick lesson to my kindergarten classes, I wondered what I was doing and what impact I could possibly be making on the world. Very simply, I prayed, "God, show me why I'm here." At the begining of my next class period, J walked in, gave me a hug, grinned at me, and said, "Who, who, who gave you that necklace? Your huzzzzzband?" In my mind, he had just said, "I am why you are here, Miss Deaton." For the next seven years, I loved J with everything I had. I checked up on him, tutored him, laughed with him, cried for him, and did everything I could to make sure he had a chance to make it in this world. I don't know where he is now--time and distance have separated us--but I pray that he remembers his elementary music teacher and knows that she loved him and believed in him--unconditionally.
So teachers: thank you. Thank you for what you have done and/or are doing to impact this world with God's love. The way I see it, there are few jobs more worthwhile than teaching--even when the hours are long, the paperwork endless, the testing/assessments/legalities overwhelming, the colleague and parent relationships stressful, and the immediate returns not seen. You are making a lasting impact on entire generations of students, and I believe that you will be remembered in eternity for your selfless acts of love and grace. I respect you immensely. And I love you.
And non-teachers: consider becoming involved with the public schools. Pray for your local schools, their students and teachers, and be open to ways that you can be involved. Volunteer. Read. Tutor. Cut paper. Chaperone. Adopt a teacher. Provide her/him with supplies that slashed budgets eliminate. Save box tops for education and Campbell's soup labels. Provide food for students who will go home without food for the night or weekend. Provide shoes and clothes for students whose parents cannot--or will not--provide for them. Host a teacher appreciation event for a local school. Attend local school plays and concerts. The possibilities are endless. Please, just consider something.
Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (excerpt from Matthew 25)
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Bumblebee
I'm posting two versions of a poem that I originally wrote when I was teaching.
Version One: As the music teacher, I often got dumped upon and treated as less than equal by some classroom teachers and administrators. On this particular day, someone made their lack of communication my emergency--and it wasn't the first, or last, time they'd done it.
Bumblebee
10/05/04
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
But how hard is it,
Is it that hard?
To communicate,
share,
discuss,
or explain,
Expectations,
needs,
wants,
desires,
and to ask for help
In advance
not on demand,
not making lack of communication
an urgent problem?
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
I guess we should just rename ourselves
Bumblebees.
Version Two: Because I, myself, find myself overly busy right now, this poem came to mind as I thought about what to post for work today. What should have been a quick post has ended up taking more time than planned because of the rewrite...but, hey...at least this one isn't angry and has a somewhat positive message :-).
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
But we should never forget
Never ever forget
To communicate, share, discuss, and explain,
Expectations, needs, wants, desires, Christ
And to ask for help when we need it,
In advance,
Not on demand, and
Not making lack of communicationan or planning an urgent problem
for those around us.
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
Maybe we should just rename ourselves
Bumblebees?
Writer's Block--Version Two
I want to write.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry:
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart, mind, and soul.
When I feel this overwhelmed--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the chaos inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some days are too disjointed to make sense.
Life and theology and passion and to-do lists doesn't always fit together.
So maybe there are times when words don't either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Or maybe it's a call to silence.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry:
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart, mind, and soul.
When I feel this overwhelmed--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the chaos inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some days are too disjointed to make sense.
Life and theology and passion and to-do lists doesn't always fit together.
So maybe there are times when words don't either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Or maybe it's a call to silence.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Writer's Block
I've wanted to write all day.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry.
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart and soul.
When I feel my heart breaking--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the ones breaking inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some things are too painful to make sense.
Life doesn't always fit.
So maybe there are times when words don't fit either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry.
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart and soul.
When I feel my heart breaking--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the ones breaking inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some things are too painful to make sense.
Life doesn't always fit.
So maybe there are times when words don't fit either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
like a lake
so much hurt and preservation
like a tendril round my soul
so much painful information
no clear way on how to hold it
when everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
standing at this waters edge
looking in at God's own heart
I've no idea where to begin
to swallow up the way things are
everything in me is drawing in
closing in around this pain
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
bring the wind and bring the thunder
bring the rain till I am tried
when it's over bring me stillness
let my face reflect the sky
and all the grace and all the wonder
of a peace that I can't fake
wide open like a lake
everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I am fighting to stay open
I am fighting to stay open
open open oh wide open
open like a lake
--sara groves
...
when my sister and her family came to visit a few weeks ago, we had a picnic by the lake. as we were finishing up a lovely lunch, my sister's eyes got really big and she said, "run! rain's coming!"
and sure enough, before we could gather up the kids and the picnic supplies, we were momentarily covered with rain.
a perfectly clear day turned into a small but quick storm in the blink of an eye.
sometimes my days are like that, too.
a perfectly good day, filled with accomplishments and a pleasant, open mood, can see a storm roll in before i can gather up my emotions and run to shelter. i suddenly find myself drenched in tears and shut down to either sadness or anger.
today it's sadness. i'm looking grief in the eyes and feeling the sting of change. i am standing in the storm waiting for it to pass. and i know that it will. and then i can clean up the mess and once again look out into the openness of the lake.
like a tendril round my soul
so much painful information
no clear way on how to hold it
when everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
standing at this waters edge
looking in at God's own heart
I've no idea where to begin
to swallow up the way things are
everything in me is drawing in
closing in around this pain
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
bring the wind and bring the thunder
bring the rain till I am tried
when it's over bring me stillness
let my face reflect the sky
and all the grace and all the wonder
of a peace that I can't fake
wide open like a lake
everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I am fighting to stay open
I am fighting to stay open
open open oh wide open
open like a lake
--sara groves
...
when my sister and her family came to visit a few weeks ago, we had a picnic by the lake. as we were finishing up a lovely lunch, my sister's eyes got really big and she said, "run! rain's coming!"
and sure enough, before we could gather up the kids and the picnic supplies, we were momentarily covered with rain.
a perfectly clear day turned into a small but quick storm in the blink of an eye.
sometimes my days are like that, too.
a perfectly good day, filled with accomplishments and a pleasant, open mood, can see a storm roll in before i can gather up my emotions and run to shelter. i suddenly find myself drenched in tears and shut down to either sadness or anger.
today it's sadness. i'm looking grief in the eyes and feeling the sting of change. i am standing in the storm waiting for it to pass. and i know that it will. and then i can clean up the mess and once again look out into the openness of the lake.
Monday, August 30, 2010
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