I did something new on my way home today.
I paid attention to how many houses have gutters vs. how many houses do not.
“Why did I do this?” you might ask.
Because a friend told me that she needed to clean the gutters at her house.
So I was thinking about gutters.
Which is something I don’t usually do.
Except when the gutters near my classroom leak, or completely fall off,
Or when I see a gutter growing a tree.
Here is what I noticed.
More houses than not did not have gutters,
Except for when I got into my neighborhood.
Then it was reversed.
After a brief moment of research, I learned this about gutters:
“Depending on the roof style of a house, gutters may not need to be all around the house. All roof planes which pitch downward are typically guttered. Gutters are usually installed on the bottom edge of downward-pitched roofs to channel water away from the foundation where it could seep into the basement, splash up dirt onto the foundation, or fill up basement window wells, which also could seep into the basement. Flat roofs should also be guttered because leaving water on a flat roof can cause leaks and rotting. They may be installed with a slight pitch to all-around guttering or to one or more downspouts.”
So why do most of the houses on my way home not have gutters while most of the houses in my neighborhood do?
I don’t know.
But I’m thinking about it.
Because a friend brought gutters to my attention.
And because gutter-knowledge is something that I can expand upon.
When I was in divinity school, one of my professors introduced the idea that instead of faith being something that grows in a linear line with periods of flat plateau, faith is something that grows in loops, constantly moving forward, constantly having moments of “ups” and “downs.”
I like this image because I think it allows us to see how faith so often grows by issue, event, question, struggle, etc.
I think that we live our lives, doing our best to make it through each day, dealing with whatever is in front of us—whatever has been brought to our attention—whatever is presented to our minds for such a time as this.
When someone that we know is diagnosed with cancer, we struggle with how, when, and why God answers prayers for healing.
When someone that we know tells us that someone once told her that if she couldn’t believe in the story of creation exactly as it was written in the Bible then she might as well not believe anything at all, we consider if that statement is true.
When someone that we know comes out, we struggle with issues of sexuality.
When someone that we know loses a job, we struggle with issues of God’s faithfulness and discernment.
When someone that we know is killed or commits suicide, we struggle with issues of life and death.
When we are finished with our struggle—when we have landed in a place where we feel comfortable in our beliefs—when we learn everything that we want to know—then we move forward—and onto something else.
So…when someone that we know has to clean the gutters on her house, we begin to notice gutters and wonder about their function.
Or at least I do.
Today.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Making The Most Of Me--Version One
Each year, The Harnett County Reading Council hosts a Young Author’s Writing Competition. This year’s theme is “Making The Most of Me.” Writers are supposed to write about life-events and decisions that have helped them make the most of themselves. What a difficult theme for the elementary writer! As an adult, I get it. Even so, I have struggled with this year’s theme.
After a lot of editing this entry to 500 words, here is version number one for my “Making The Most of Me” entry. This is the first time I have ever entered prose. I will post version number two on Thursday. It is a poem.
---------
I am a people pleaser. I like to do what’s right and have the approval of those around me. Even so, I can think of two specific times when I went against others’ approval and did what I felt best.
The first time I followed my heart and did what was best 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 condition. Making a long drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to do it. So I did. When I arrived at the funeral, I was the only person there for my friend. I sat with her on the family pew, rode with her to the graveside, and stood beside her in the freezing rain as she watched her father’s casket being lowered into the ground. I then followed her home so she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all the things I've done in life, making that trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
The second time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I decided to go to counseling. For many years, anxiety, depression, and intense feelings of self-loathing weighed me down. I stuffed those feelings inside and tried to cover them with people-pleasing work and relationships, yet I was deeply broken. Despite the common sentiment that going to counseling shows a major weakness of faith and a shallow relationship with God, and despite the fact that my going to counseling would be looked down upon by many church-goers, I found the strength to ask for professional help.
Week in and week out, my counselor listened to my jumbled thoughts and helped me see myself and the God that I adore in life-altering ways. She showed me the unconditional love and grace of God and provided for me a steady, safe place. Through my time in counseling, I learned the importance of finding my voice—of giving words to my thoughts and feelings and allowing people to help carry the griefs, hurts, heartaches, and joys that I too often try to carry alone. Knowing that there was someone who unconditionally supported, cared for, and cheered for me allowed me to see all of the other people in my life who were and always had been doing the same. Counseling changed my perspective and allowed me to see the world through different eyes.
Of all the things I've done in life, taking that step toward help is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
As a people-pleaser, I don’t like receiving signs of disapproval, yet I’ve learned that I must follow my heart and do what I feel is best…
…I’ve learned that being myself is the best way of making the most of me.
After a lot of editing this entry to 500 words, here is version number one for my “Making The Most of Me” entry. This is the first time I have ever entered prose. I will post version number two on Thursday. It is a poem.
---------
I am a people pleaser. I like to do what’s right and have the approval of those around me. Even so, I can think of two specific times when I went against others’ approval and did what I felt best.
The first time I followed my heart and did what was best 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 condition. Making a long drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to do it. So I did. When I arrived at the funeral, I was the only person there for my friend. I sat with her on the family pew, rode with her to the graveside, and stood beside her in the freezing rain as she watched her father’s casket being lowered into the ground. I then followed her home so she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all the things I've done in life, making that trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
The second time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I decided to go to counseling. For many years, anxiety, depression, and intense feelings of self-loathing weighed me down. I stuffed those feelings inside and tried to cover them with people-pleasing work and relationships, yet I was deeply broken. Despite the common sentiment that going to counseling shows a major weakness of faith and a shallow relationship with God, and despite the fact that my going to counseling would be looked down upon by many church-goers, I found the strength to ask for professional help.
Week in and week out, my counselor listened to my jumbled thoughts and helped me see myself and the God that I adore in life-altering ways. She showed me the unconditional love and grace of God and provided for me a steady, safe place. Through my time in counseling, I learned the importance of finding my voice—of giving words to my thoughts and feelings and allowing people to help carry the griefs, hurts, heartaches, and joys that I too often try to carry alone. Knowing that there was someone who unconditionally supported, cared for, and cheered for me allowed me to see all of the other people in my life who were and always had been doing the same. Counseling changed my perspective and allowed me to see the world through different eyes.
Of all the things I've done in life, taking that step toward help is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.
As a people-pleaser, I don’t like receiving signs of disapproval, yet I’ve learned that I must follow my heart and do what I feel is best…
…I’ve learned that being myself is the best way of making the most of me.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Marigold's Rescue
Edited out: A couple of weeks ago, I went to Barnes and Noble for the sole purpose of finding journals that might appeal to boys. I realize that what I’m getting ready to say is going to sound stereotypical, but most of the journals that we have to give as writing prizes are geared toward girls—adorned with purples, pinks, and bright greens; with flowers, dots, and hearts. While I know that there are boys who would be happy with these journals, I also know that most of the boys who write for the weekly writing challenges are more into gaming, hunting, and traditional sports playing. Now, before you scream offense, please note the qualifications with both of those sentences. I know that we have girls who are into gaming, hunting, and traditional sports playing, too. This is precisely why we let students choose their prize journal…and if at student chooses something that he/she might get picked on for, then we give it to him/her in a discreet way at the end of the day.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to Barnes and Noble for the sole purpose of finding more prize-journals for school. I did not accomplish my purpose. Instead, I walked away with zero prize-journals and seven bags of presents for friends and family members—including baby gifts for the two pregnant baristas in the store Starbucks. Yes, folks: this is typical of Deanna at the Barnes and Noble clearance sale.
One of that day’s gifts that I’m most excited about giving is an American Girl sewing/activity kit that I bought for Amelia. This past summer, she took an American Girl sewing class at a day-camp and had a really nice time. I wasn’t sure if Amelia was still interested in American Girl dolls—I think we all know how interests can come and go in the worlds of the children that we love—so I wrote my sister to check on the current American Girl doll interest level. We are still high on the interest-level scale and it doesn’t seem to be fading, so I took a risk and bought the American Girl stuff—hoping and trusting that Amelia would be happy with her gifts either way. She really is a positive, grateful child.
Something you should know about Amelia’s American Girl doll collection: Most of Amelia’s dolls were purchased second-hand. I find this neat because 1) the dolls are evidently very expensive and I’m a fan of not spending more money than is absolutely needed, and 2) Amelia has no idea nor does she care that someone before her once took care of the dolls. She loves her dolls as if she is the only person ever to love them—yet—she’d still love them if she were knowingly the fifteenth person to care for them. Here’s how I know this to be true:
Amelia and Griffin are on fall break this week. [Yes. They’re in elementary school.] For their first night of fall break, they came to spend the night at the house. Even though I was in and out at church all day yesterday, I still got to spend a few hours with these two amazing kids who had grown about ten inches since the last time I’d seen them (okay—that may be an exaggeration). During lunch, Amelia was excited to share that she had gotten a new doll. Knowing her propensity toward American Girl dolls, I asked if it was an American Girl doll. She informed me that it wasn’t. It was another kind of doll that she had rescued from a consignment sale. Did you hear that? My niece rescued a doll from a consignment sale!
Evidently, this doll was in bad shape. My sister said that it looked like she had been at the bottom of the toy bin for a very long time. Amelia said that she was really dirty, that her hair was a mess, and that her face was dented in. But for some reason, Amelia really wanted her. She saw potential in the doll. She wanted to save her. Amelia couldn’t rest until she’d rescued the doll.
Marigold, as she has now been named—although I heard Amelia say “Miracle” which would have been appropriate—is currently clean, with a new hairstyle, and with less sunken-in cheeks. She has been washed with a Clorox-wipe, brushed with a tiny brush, plumped up, and properly dressed. Marigold is now part of Amelia’s doll family, non-American Girl doll though she may be.
I don’t think I need to tell you how proud this story makes me. Amelia, age seven, believes in redemption without even knowing what redemption is. She sees potential in the people and things around her and then works to save what needs to be rescued—name-brand or not. And, really, what can be more beautiful than that?
A couple of weeks ago, I went to Barnes and Noble for the sole purpose of finding more prize-journals for school. I did not accomplish my purpose. Instead, I walked away with zero prize-journals and seven bags of presents for friends and family members—including baby gifts for the two pregnant baristas in the store Starbucks. Yes, folks: this is typical of Deanna at the Barnes and Noble clearance sale.
One of that day’s gifts that I’m most excited about giving is an American Girl sewing/activity kit that I bought for Amelia. This past summer, she took an American Girl sewing class at a day-camp and had a really nice time. I wasn’t sure if Amelia was still interested in American Girl dolls—I think we all know how interests can come and go in the worlds of the children that we love—so I wrote my sister to check on the current American Girl doll interest level. We are still high on the interest-level scale and it doesn’t seem to be fading, so I took a risk and bought the American Girl stuff—hoping and trusting that Amelia would be happy with her gifts either way. She really is a positive, grateful child.
Something you should know about Amelia’s American Girl doll collection: Most of Amelia’s dolls were purchased second-hand. I find this neat because 1) the dolls are evidently very expensive and I’m a fan of not spending more money than is absolutely needed, and 2) Amelia has no idea nor does she care that someone before her once took care of the dolls. She loves her dolls as if she is the only person ever to love them—yet—she’d still love them if she were knowingly the fifteenth person to care for them. Here’s how I know this to be true:
Amelia and Griffin are on fall break this week. [Yes. They’re in elementary school.] For their first night of fall break, they came to spend the night at the house. Even though I was in and out at church all day yesterday, I still got to spend a few hours with these two amazing kids who had grown about ten inches since the last time I’d seen them (okay—that may be an exaggeration). During lunch, Amelia was excited to share that she had gotten a new doll. Knowing her propensity toward American Girl dolls, I asked if it was an American Girl doll. She informed me that it wasn’t. It was another kind of doll that she had rescued from a consignment sale. Did you hear that? My niece rescued a doll from a consignment sale!
Evidently, this doll was in bad shape. My sister said that it looked like she had been at the bottom of the toy bin for a very long time. Amelia said that she was really dirty, that her hair was a mess, and that her face was dented in. But for some reason, Amelia really wanted her. She saw potential in the doll. She wanted to save her. Amelia couldn’t rest until she’d rescued the doll.
Marigold, as she has now been named—although I heard Amelia say “Miracle” which would have been appropriate—is currently clean, with a new hairstyle, and with less sunken-in cheeks. She has been washed with a Clorox-wipe, brushed with a tiny brush, plumped up, and properly dressed. Marigold is now part of Amelia’s doll family, non-American Girl doll though she may be.
I don’t think I need to tell you how proud this story makes me. Amelia, age seven, believes in redemption without even knowing what redemption is. She sees potential in the people and things around her and then works to save what needs to be rescued—name-brand or not. And, really, what can be more beautiful than that?
Monday, September 28, 2015
Fury
My first upside down roller-coaster was the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds. I was at Carowinds with my youth group from Tabor City Baptist City Church. That same day was the same day that I learned never to wear jeans shorts to an amusement part. Wet jeans from water rides. Walking around all day. Let’s just say that it’s not a good idea!
I revisited the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds on Saturday. I rode in the front car. The ride was a bit jerkier than the newer coasters, but it is still a fun ride. And I’m not so sure that I’d have had the courage to ride it again had I not been gently coerced onto the Fury 325 as soon as I arrived at the park.
For those of you who don’t know, the Fury 325 is the World’s tallest and fastest giga coaster. It is 325 feet high, has an 81 degree angle of descent, and travels approximately 95 mph. The track is quite intimidating as it towers over the rest of the park and the super-long line is quite daunting. Yet it was that super-long line that gave me the space to find the courage to actually ride.
Folks: I am not a young whipper-snapper anymore. I get dizzy if I spin around with my students just once and I get motion sick if I even think about reading while riding in a car or doing anything while riding on a boat. My bones are starting to ache and my family medical history is starting to become my medical history and, before Saturday, I genuinely wasn’t sure if I would be able to ride roller coasters anymore—and that was a very sad thought to me—because my nephews love roller coasters—and I do, too, truth be told.
So…when I got to Carowinds on Saturday and I saw the Fury 325, I immediately snapped a picture, sent it to my mom, and said, “I’m thinking about making Jack proud.” Jack is my oldest nephew who currently wants to be a roller coaster designer and operator. By the time my mom wrote me back and said that she hoped I wasn’t thinking about it too seriously, I was able to immediately respond, “I DID IT! IT WAS AWESOME!” Shortly after that, my sister-in-law wrote me and told me that Jack was super impressed. I felt as if all of my worldly goals had been accomplished in that moment!
Once I made it down that crazy steep drop and realized that I wasn’t going to die, I embraced my inner child, screamed super loud, and released my hands from the safety bars to pretend like I was flying. I did this on every ride that I rode and I rode every ride that I could ride and I would have ridden more had the park not closed. Needless to say, after overcoming what had become a really huge fear, I had a really great time at Carowinds.
Yesterday at church, Mister Pastor Patrick reiterated a point that I think we too often forget: It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. If we look at the story of God and God’s people, then we see God’s desire for this freedom: freedom from death, freedom from slavery, freedom from fear, freedom from anything that separates us from the love and goodness of God.
I suppose it may seem like a stretch to connect a fear of roller coasters to God. After all, roller coaster riding is a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure. And yet…the fear that I felt as I stood in line to ride the Fury 325 was so much bigger than a roller coaster. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of getting older—of losing my abilities to do things I love. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being able to breathe—of the anxiety and panic that come with the feeling of not being able to catch a good breath. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being good enough for my nephews—of disappointing them because I couldn’t do an activity that they hold dear to their hearts. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of looking stupid—of having heads turn toward me in sympathy should I get sick.
I spoke about these fears with the friends who were with me. And I wrote about these fears with my youth minister who wasn’t able to attend Carowinds that day. I asked her to pray for me—as stupid as that sounded—after all, I was going on a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure—and she did. And I felt those prayers. And I celebrated with my friends as I walked off that ride having overcome my fears.
It’s hard to know exactly what Jesus would do if he were around today, but part of me thinks that he’d have been in line to ride roller coasters with my friends and me, and part of me thinks that he’d really like them. I guess that’s why I found it so easy to imagine him with me and to hear him say, “It is for freedom that I have set you free, Deanna. Not to do ridiculously stupid things that will inevitably hurt you or others but to do things that will allow you to grow and trust and to have faith and believe and to allow you to live life to the fullest—in me—who has set you free. These fears that are binding you are bigger than this roller coaster—they are fears not of God—they are paralyzing you—but you can overcome them. Today. I am with you. Today. I will not forsake you. Today. Tomorrow. And in all the days to come.”
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free, friends.
And it is for overcoming damning fears that God cheers with Fury.
I revisited the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds on Saturday. I rode in the front car. The ride was a bit jerkier than the newer coasters, but it is still a fun ride. And I’m not so sure that I’d have had the courage to ride it again had I not been gently coerced onto the Fury 325 as soon as I arrived at the park.
For those of you who don’t know, the Fury 325 is the World’s tallest and fastest giga coaster. It is 325 feet high, has an 81 degree angle of descent, and travels approximately 95 mph. The track is quite intimidating as it towers over the rest of the park and the super-long line is quite daunting. Yet it was that super-long line that gave me the space to find the courage to actually ride.
Folks: I am not a young whipper-snapper anymore. I get dizzy if I spin around with my students just once and I get motion sick if I even think about reading while riding in a car or doing anything while riding on a boat. My bones are starting to ache and my family medical history is starting to become my medical history and, before Saturday, I genuinely wasn’t sure if I would be able to ride roller coasters anymore—and that was a very sad thought to me—because my nephews love roller coasters—and I do, too, truth be told.
So…when I got to Carowinds on Saturday and I saw the Fury 325, I immediately snapped a picture, sent it to my mom, and said, “I’m thinking about making Jack proud.” Jack is my oldest nephew who currently wants to be a roller coaster designer and operator. By the time my mom wrote me back and said that she hoped I wasn’t thinking about it too seriously, I was able to immediately respond, “I DID IT! IT WAS AWESOME!” Shortly after that, my sister-in-law wrote me and told me that Jack was super impressed. I felt as if all of my worldly goals had been accomplished in that moment!
Once I made it down that crazy steep drop and realized that I wasn’t going to die, I embraced my inner child, screamed super loud, and released my hands from the safety bars to pretend like I was flying. I did this on every ride that I rode and I rode every ride that I could ride and I would have ridden more had the park not closed. Needless to say, after overcoming what had become a really huge fear, I had a really great time at Carowinds.
Yesterday at church, Mister Pastor Patrick reiterated a point that I think we too often forget: It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. If we look at the story of God and God’s people, then we see God’s desire for this freedom: freedom from death, freedom from slavery, freedom from fear, freedom from anything that separates us from the love and goodness of God.
I suppose it may seem like a stretch to connect a fear of roller coasters to God. After all, roller coaster riding is a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure. And yet…the fear that I felt as I stood in line to ride the Fury 325 was so much bigger than a roller coaster. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of getting older—of losing my abilities to do things I love. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being able to breathe—of the anxiety and panic that come with the feeling of not being able to catch a good breath. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being good enough for my nephews—of disappointing them because I couldn’t do an activity that they hold dear to their hearts. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of looking stupid—of having heads turn toward me in sympathy should I get sick.
I spoke about these fears with the friends who were with me. And I wrote about these fears with my youth minister who wasn’t able to attend Carowinds that day. I asked her to pray for me—as stupid as that sounded—after all, I was going on a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure—and she did. And I felt those prayers. And I celebrated with my friends as I walked off that ride having overcome my fears.
It’s hard to know exactly what Jesus would do if he were around today, but part of me thinks that he’d have been in line to ride roller coasters with my friends and me, and part of me thinks that he’d really like them. I guess that’s why I found it so easy to imagine him with me and to hear him say, “It is for freedom that I have set you free, Deanna. Not to do ridiculously stupid things that will inevitably hurt you or others but to do things that will allow you to grow and trust and to have faith and believe and to allow you to live life to the fullest—in me—who has set you free. These fears that are binding you are bigger than this roller coaster—they are fears not of God—they are paralyzing you—but you can overcome them. Today. I am with you. Today. I will not forsake you. Today. Tomorrow. And in all the days to come.”
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free, friends.
And it is for overcoming damning fears that God cheers with Fury.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
T-shirts
A few months ago, I attended a group meeting where the main speaker shared about a project that the group had participated in. We even got t-shirts for our participation. As the speaker shared, though, and I heard many things for the first time, I began to feel disconnected from the group. In all honesty, I hadn’t done anything for the project…because I didn’t know much about the project…yet…I had the project t-shirt. After the meeting, I wrote the group-leader and said: “I don’t feel like I deserve the t-shirt. Yet I want to deserve the t-shirt. I want to be part of this. I just need to know how.”
When I was in college at Meredith, we joked that there was a t-shirt for everything--because there was. And I’m pretty sure that it’s the same way at other colleges.
When I worked at camps during the summers, I always came home with three or more camp t-shirts.
When I taught at Gentry and Erwin for 8 years, I collected quite a few shirts.
When I worked as a youth minister, I made sure to order each of my youth t-shirts.
In fact, I have t-shirt quilts from each of the above chapters of my life.
When I’ve been on event-planning teams, one of the ideas that’s always been brought up has been an event t-shirt.
When I worked in full-time ministry, one of the ideas that I kept bringing up was the idea of a nice work t-shirt.
When an art gallery messed up a Fabio canvas during shipping, they offered me a Fabio t-shirt as compensation. I was thrilled to get the t-shirt.
When I arrived at Johnsonville, one of the first things I did was get a school t-shirt.
T-shirts are a sign of pride. T-shirts are a sign of belonging.
Tonight, I bought two more Johnsonville shirts. Tonight’s purchase made Johnsonville shirt #13. Thirteen, friends. And remember: this is only the beginning of my third year at Johnsonville. At this rate, I’ll be able to make five more t-shirt quilts by the time I retire!
After I bought my t-shirts tonight, I put them on. I didn’t want to misplace them. Someone asked me to turn around so that she could see the back of the shirts. I did. Then I said, “And if you want to see the colors of the other one, then here it is.” I pulled up my top layer of Johnsonville-wear. After I showed off my second shirt, I said, “And if you want to see the original shirt, then here.” I pulled up my second layer of Johnsonville-wear and revealed my original shirt. I told the principal that it would be fun to have someone layer a bunch of Johnsonville-wear and make a comedy skit out of it at a meeting. I told my mom that it would be fun to wear a bunch of Johnsonville-wear to school one day and take off one shirt in between each class, thus teaching each class with a different outfit. I’m not sure that either my principal or my mom thought my ideas as fun as I did, but…alas…I still think both things would be fun. After all. I have 13 shirts from which to choose!
But you know what?
I’m proud of my 13 shirts.
I’m proud to show that I am part of Johnsonville and to be a walking billboard for it.
Do we have our issues? Yes. But doesn’t every school?
I’m proud to be part of a team that conquers mountains every day--
Paperwork, legislation, emotional and physical obstacles.
I’m proud to work in the public schools,
In a profession that changes lives.
I’m proud to be a teacher who voluntarily submits herself to being exploited.
I’m proud that I get the opportunity to change the world every day.
So I will gladly display the name of the group of which I am part—
Which right now is Johnsonville.
And I will gladly wear my group t-shirts—
One or thirteen at a time.
When I was in college at Meredith, we joked that there was a t-shirt for everything--because there was. And I’m pretty sure that it’s the same way at other colleges.
When I worked at camps during the summers, I always came home with three or more camp t-shirts.
When I taught at Gentry and Erwin for 8 years, I collected quite a few shirts.
When I worked as a youth minister, I made sure to order each of my youth t-shirts.
In fact, I have t-shirt quilts from each of the above chapters of my life.
When I’ve been on event-planning teams, one of the ideas that’s always been brought up has been an event t-shirt.
When I worked in full-time ministry, one of the ideas that I kept bringing up was the idea of a nice work t-shirt.
When an art gallery messed up a Fabio canvas during shipping, they offered me a Fabio t-shirt as compensation. I was thrilled to get the t-shirt.
When I arrived at Johnsonville, one of the first things I did was get a school t-shirt.
T-shirts are a sign of pride. T-shirts are a sign of belonging.
Tonight, I bought two more Johnsonville shirts. Tonight’s purchase made Johnsonville shirt #13. Thirteen, friends. And remember: this is only the beginning of my third year at Johnsonville. At this rate, I’ll be able to make five more t-shirt quilts by the time I retire!
After I bought my t-shirts tonight, I put them on. I didn’t want to misplace them. Someone asked me to turn around so that she could see the back of the shirts. I did. Then I said, “And if you want to see the colors of the other one, then here it is.” I pulled up my top layer of Johnsonville-wear. After I showed off my second shirt, I said, “And if you want to see the original shirt, then here.” I pulled up my second layer of Johnsonville-wear and revealed my original shirt. I told the principal that it would be fun to have someone layer a bunch of Johnsonville-wear and make a comedy skit out of it at a meeting. I told my mom that it would be fun to wear a bunch of Johnsonville-wear to school one day and take off one shirt in between each class, thus teaching each class with a different outfit. I’m not sure that either my principal or my mom thought my ideas as fun as I did, but…alas…I still think both things would be fun. After all. I have 13 shirts from which to choose!
But you know what?
I’m proud of my 13 shirts.
I’m proud to show that I am part of Johnsonville and to be a walking billboard for it.
Do we have our issues? Yes. But doesn’t every school?
I’m proud to be part of a team that conquers mountains every day--
Paperwork, legislation, emotional and physical obstacles.
I’m proud to work in the public schools,
In a profession that changes lives.
I’m proud to be a teacher who voluntarily submits herself to being exploited.
I’m proud that I get the opportunity to change the world every day.
So I will gladly display the name of the group of which I am part—
Which right now is Johnsonville.
And I will gladly wear my group t-shirts—
One or thirteen at a time.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Breathe...Peace
Today is the International World Day of Peace. In preparation for the day, B had the 5th graders make Pinwheels for Peace and placed them in front of the school. I’ve been working with the 5th graders on songs of peace. We’re currently writing personalized verses to the song, “What Can One Little Person Do?”
----
On Friday night, I had the privilege of seeing Plumb in concert. She was headlining a women’s conference in Fayetteville. I’d never before seen Plumb and knew very little about her life or music, yet I knew I wanted to attend the concert because I’d recently heard her song “Exhale” and immediately connected with it. In short, the concert was amazing and speaking with Plumb afterward was the same.
----
In my example verse for the 5th graders, I wrote that I hoped for sustainability and made a plan to use reusable shopping bags to change the world. I want my students to know that standing for peace and changing the world doesn’t have to be a huge, instantly famous action. I want them to know that, really, it’s the little things that change the world and bring peace—things that they actually can do rather than abstract concepts that seem impossible. If I’d have thought they could fully understand it, though, then I would have written about my hope for mindfulness and self-awareness and my plan to breathe.
----
During one of the most difficult emotional periods of my life, one of my friends consistently told me to breathe. I remember getting mad at her for telling me to breathe because, of course, I was breathing. But one night when I found myself in fitful tears, I realized that I was holding my breath instead of exhaling. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Steady breath calms us.
----
After standing in line for at least thirty minutes to meet Plumb, I had the opportunity to speak with her for a few moments. As a formality, I had her sign my newly purchased CD, but I really just wanted to talk with her. So I did. I told her how appreciative I was of the honesty and wisdom in her music and how much I resonated with “Exhale.” She explained her hope that as she inhaled and exhaled grace, the grace would find its way to those around her and surround them with a hug. As she explained this to me, she touched my shoulders to demonstrate the surrounding.
----
My first counselor, Jenny, gave me an audio-book called Good Medicine. In the book, the teacher, Pema Chodron, introduces a concept that I personalized to this: Breathe in darkness, stress, gunk, and all things bad; imagine Jesus (who, according to Christian teaching “lives” in the heart) filtering out and getting rid of all of the junk; then breathe out light, grace, hope, peace, love, and all things good.
-----
Just before Plumb told me her hope that the air she exhales will hug those around her, I shared with her the process that I learned in Good Medicine. I told her that I breathe in darkness and breathe out light for myself, my friends, my family, my students, the world. I presented the concept to her in case she wanted to do the same.
----
What can I do to change the world? Live with mindfulness and self-awareness. And breathe… peace.
mi
----
On Friday night, I had the privilege of seeing Plumb in concert. She was headlining a women’s conference in Fayetteville. I’d never before seen Plumb and knew very little about her life or music, yet I knew I wanted to attend the concert because I’d recently heard her song “Exhale” and immediately connected with it. In short, the concert was amazing and speaking with Plumb afterward was the same.
----
In my example verse for the 5th graders, I wrote that I hoped for sustainability and made a plan to use reusable shopping bags to change the world. I want my students to know that standing for peace and changing the world doesn’t have to be a huge, instantly famous action. I want them to know that, really, it’s the little things that change the world and bring peace—things that they actually can do rather than abstract concepts that seem impossible. If I’d have thought they could fully understand it, though, then I would have written about my hope for mindfulness and self-awareness and my plan to breathe.
----
During one of the most difficult emotional periods of my life, one of my friends consistently told me to breathe. I remember getting mad at her for telling me to breathe because, of course, I was breathing. But one night when I found myself in fitful tears, I realized that I was holding my breath instead of exhaling. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Steady breath calms us.
----
After standing in line for at least thirty minutes to meet Plumb, I had the opportunity to speak with her for a few moments. As a formality, I had her sign my newly purchased CD, but I really just wanted to talk with her. So I did. I told her how appreciative I was of the honesty and wisdom in her music and how much I resonated with “Exhale.” She explained her hope that as she inhaled and exhaled grace, the grace would find its way to those around her and surround them with a hug. As she explained this to me, she touched my shoulders to demonstrate the surrounding.
----
My first counselor, Jenny, gave me an audio-book called Good Medicine. In the book, the teacher, Pema Chodron, introduces a concept that I personalized to this: Breathe in darkness, stress, gunk, and all things bad; imagine Jesus (who, according to Christian teaching “lives” in the heart) filtering out and getting rid of all of the junk; then breathe out light, grace, hope, peace, love, and all things good.
-----
Just before Plumb told me her hope that the air she exhales will hug those around her, I shared with her the process that I learned in Good Medicine. I told her that I breathe in darkness and breathe out light for myself, my friends, my family, my students, the world. I presented the concept to her in case she wanted to do the same.
----
What can I do to change the world? Live with mindfulness and self-awareness. And breathe… peace.
mi
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Rhythms, Routines, and Bathroom Breaks
One of my classes was a bit out of sorts this week. As the teacher and I were talking, and she was apologizing to me, she commented that this week had thrown the class out of rhythm. I thought her phrase quite profound, and I knew her phrase to be very true.
I suppose that many occupations depend on a schedule, but I can’t imagine an occupation much more schedule driven than teaching. Our daily schedule, that becomes a routine, is so set that even our bodies start working around it.
At risk of sharing too much information, I confess that my body knows when it can use the bathroom: after morning duty, noon, and just before afternoon duty—and I’m lucky that I have those moments because many teachers do not. I’ve learned that I can have one cup of coffee in the morning but that I shouldn’t drink anything else until lunchtime—which isn’t really healthy, especially for someone who uses her voice all morning. If I stay hydrated, though, then my body betrays me by doing what it is supposed to do and then I have to pee. And if that happens, then, well, I end up doing the pee-pee dance with the kids who sometimes come to my hut and have to use the bathroom as well. Then I have to run across the parking lot during classes, bang on B’s door, walk quickly to the little bathroom in her building, and hope that I get back to my hut before my class arrives.
That being said, I have made myself laugh twice this year as my body has betrayed me.
The first time was on our first First Friday a few weeks ago. While setting up the food, I ate a few snacks and poured myself a Coke. Sure enough, my body did its job, and I found myself having to pee by the beginning of my second class. I have four before lunch. I knew that I wasn’t going to make it, so I wrote the teacher who was coming third. At first I wrote: “I drank too much this morning. Must run to restroom before your class. Just wanted to let you know where I was if you get here while I’m gone.” Then I thought: “Hmm. That sounds like I’ve been drinking as a form of self-medication and that I was drinking before school. I’d better not send that.” So I edited my message and changed it to: “Consumed too many liquids this morning—drank both coffee AND soda like a dufus. Must run to the restroom before your class. Just wanted to let you know where I was if you get here while I’m gone.” The teacher understood. All was well. I got to make an emergency bathroom stop, and I didn’t make myself sound like an alcoholic.
The second time was today. I’m not sure what happened this morning—I only had one cup of coffee—but during the middle of my second class I realized that I was going to need to use the bathroom before noon. During my third class, I called the teacher of my next class to let her know where I’d be if she and her class got to my hut and I wasn’t there. Instead of stating this simply and eloquently, however, this is how the conversation went:
“Good morning, this is Ms. Orr.”
“Hi, Orr. This is Deaton. I have to pee.”
As soon as the statement exited my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it sounded and started to laugh. Orr laughed, too, and started to say, “Okay. And what would you like for me to do about this?” but I quickly began to explain the full point of my call and she quickly understood. But that didn’t mean we didn’t still laugh really hard when she brought her class. And it doesn’t mean that I haven’t laughed at myself all day. It’s as if I were saying, “Hi. My name is Deanna. And I have a confession to make.”
Which…I guess I have just made a confession. A bathroom confession. A confession about the importance of routine and schedule. A confession about rhythm. And a confession that teachers give everything and give up everything for our jobs—time, money, effort, and normal body functions included.
Monday, September 14, 2015
In The Morning, In The Night
I’ve been calendaring all night.
Catching up on the things I’ve done.
Writing in events that are to come.
It’s a bit overwhelming—
How the little boxes on the calendar are filling up.
But it’s good, too, I suppose—
Knowing that life is full of opportunity—
If I can just keep seeing the full little boxes as such.
As the night comes to a close,
And part of me feels completely overwhelmed,
And another part of me knows that I’m not the only one,
I offer two haikus for you to begin and end your own busy days:
In the morning:
Good morning, my friend.
There is beauty in today.
And beauty in you.
In the night:
Good night, child of God.
Sweet dreams be yours. Rest restore
Your body and soul.
Today. And every day.
Every busy day of opportunity.
Amen.
Catching up on the things I’ve done.
Writing in events that are to come.
It’s a bit overwhelming—
How the little boxes on the calendar are filling up.
But it’s good, too, I suppose—
Knowing that life is full of opportunity—
If I can just keep seeing the full little boxes as such.
As the night comes to a close,
And part of me feels completely overwhelmed,
And another part of me knows that I’m not the only one,
I offer two haikus for you to begin and end your own busy days:
In the morning:
Good morning, my friend.
There is beauty in today.
And beauty in you.
In the night:
Good night, child of God.
Sweet dreams be yours. Rest restore
Your body and soul.
Today. And every day.
Every busy day of opportunity.
Amen.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
It Is For Freedom That Christ Has Set Us Free
The people of Israel,
released from captive slavery,
came face to face with what seemed like an obstacle, struggled, then
decided that they wanted to go back to Egypt.
Yet it is for freedom that God has set us free.
The disciples in Jerusalem,
grieving Peter’s impending death,
heard a knock at the door,
heard Peter’s presence announced,
forgot that the same God who parted the Red Sea and moved a freed people forward
could break the chains that bound Peter to prison walls.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Adults living in fear of being called out,
Children stifled by crippling self-doubt.
Partners living in fear of doing something wrong,
Self-worth poisoned by threats of alone.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Oh God: Help us when
We look at our lives
And paint pictures of Egypt.
Oh God, please: When memories haunt us--
When the yoke of fear
Begins to bind--
When good intentions go awry and
We are rendered useless--
Help us to remember who You
Are. You have made a path through the
Desert and delivered us from chains that bind. It is
You, always You, who calls us forward.
It is You, always You, who gives life and sets us free.
It is for freedom, friends,
That Christ has set us free:
One day—one moment—one breath—at a time.
released from captive slavery,
came face to face with what seemed like an obstacle, struggled, then
decided that they wanted to go back to Egypt.
Yet it is for freedom that God has set us free.
The disciples in Jerusalem,
grieving Peter’s impending death,
heard a knock at the door,
heard Peter’s presence announced,
forgot that the same God who parted the Red Sea and moved a freed people forward
could break the chains that bound Peter to prison walls.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Adults living in fear of being called out,
Children stifled by crippling self-doubt.
Partners living in fear of doing something wrong,
Self-worth poisoned by threats of alone.
Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Oh God: Help us when
We look at our lives
And paint pictures of Egypt.
Oh God, please: When memories haunt us--
When the yoke of fear
Begins to bind--
When good intentions go awry and
We are rendered useless--
Help us to remember who You
Are. You have made a path through the
Desert and delivered us from chains that bind. It is
You, always You, who calls us forward.
It is You, always You, who gives life and sets us free.
It is for freedom, friends,
That Christ has set us free:
One day—one moment—one breath—at a time.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Bubbling Home
Last week, with the help of a couple of friends, and over the course of two afternoons, I sorted through the prizes that I had compiled for my school’s school-wide art/writing challenge of the week.
Each Monday morning, we announce a new challenge of the week. On Friday, we announce the week’s winners.
In the process of prize-sorting, I found a bunch of small containers of bubble-stuff.
Naturally, this week’s challenge of the week was: Imagine that a bubble came down from the sky, picked you up, and took you anywhere in the world that you wanted to go, to do anything in the world that you wanted to do. Draw a picture of this adventure and write a little bit about it.
After a night of marathon baking for tomorrow’s First Friday Treats (we have teacher treats at my school on the first Friday of every month), I just sat down to read this week’s challenge answers. I’ve been smiling a lot since sitting down…and I’m currently wishing that a bubble really could come down and take my students where they want to go: the desert, New York City, on a taxi ride, Paris, to see a parent, Hollywood, the zoo, Disneyworld, the beach, home.
And here is the line that I love the most: “And if I was to do all that I would be excited, happy, and in a good mood. I just love when you can do all those things by a bubble.”
*I smile*
Folks. Bubbles may not really come down from the sky, pick us up, and take us away. But in our minds, we can dream. And in our dreams we can smile. And in our smiles, we can glimpse a bit of the beauty that life can be.
And another: “In conclusion, sometimes, wherever you go, sometimes you get excited, but, you miss home, too.”
*I smile again.*
Folks. Sometimes we will go places—though not by bubble of course—and we will be excited. But when it’s all said and done, in our dreams and in our smiles, it’s the beauty of home that holds our hearts. The homes we are given. The homes we make. The homes where we rest. The homes where we simply fit.
I just love when we can do all those things by a bubble.
And I love when that bubble feels like coming home.
Each Monday morning, we announce a new challenge of the week. On Friday, we announce the week’s winners.
In the process of prize-sorting, I found a bunch of small containers of bubble-stuff.
Naturally, this week’s challenge of the week was: Imagine that a bubble came down from the sky, picked you up, and took you anywhere in the world that you wanted to go, to do anything in the world that you wanted to do. Draw a picture of this adventure and write a little bit about it.
After a night of marathon baking for tomorrow’s First Friday Treats (we have teacher treats at my school on the first Friday of every month), I just sat down to read this week’s challenge answers. I’ve been smiling a lot since sitting down…and I’m currently wishing that a bubble really could come down and take my students where they want to go: the desert, New York City, on a taxi ride, Paris, to see a parent, Hollywood, the zoo, Disneyworld, the beach, home.
And here is the line that I love the most: “And if I was to do all that I would be excited, happy, and in a good mood. I just love when you can do all those things by a bubble.”
*I smile*
Folks. Bubbles may not really come down from the sky, pick us up, and take us away. But in our minds, we can dream. And in our dreams we can smile. And in our smiles, we can glimpse a bit of the beauty that life can be.
And another: “In conclusion, sometimes, wherever you go, sometimes you get excited, but, you miss home, too.”
*I smile again.*
Folks. Sometimes we will go places—though not by bubble of course—and we will be excited. But when it’s all said and done, in our dreams and in our smiles, it’s the beauty of home that holds our hearts. The homes we are given. The homes we make. The homes where we rest. The homes where we simply fit.
I just love when we can do all those things by a bubble.
And I love when that bubble feels like coming home.
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