I must admit that I wasn’t overly excited about going on a cruise. I was very concerned about motion sickness and about being stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean. I also had fears of hitting an iceberg and sinking in the Atlantic. It didn’t matter that we were sailing south to the Bahamas.
Before we left port two weeks ago today, the kids decided that they needed to go exploring and that Aunt Dee would go with them. As Aunt Dee recovered from being herded onto the ship with hundreds of people and faced all fears of dying, I witnessed the kids excitedly take in the ship and make sure that I was close behind. During those moments, I received a text from one of my friends that instructed me to have a good time. I responded: “It’s kind of hard not to have a good time when the kids are calling my name.”
And so it was. And not just because of the kids. But with the adults as well. We really did have a lovely cruise. And it helped that we didn’t hit an iceberg…and that a massive stomach virus didn’t infect the ship.
So, now, to my memorable/poignant moments with the kids, all of whom were thrilled to be on their first cruise together, none of whom took for granted what a blessing it was to be able to go:
Jack (oldest nephew): Even though we were sailing to the Bahamas, it was still a bit chilly on the ship, so on our sea day, immediately after going down the water slide one time, Jack and his brothers found themselves scrambling to drink hot chocolate and to get under towels to stay warm. Griffin and Amelia, though not in their bathing suits, did the same. At one point, Jack took responsibility for taking the younger children to get more hot chocolate. He said, “Charlie, get on your shoes. Griffin and Amelia, make sure you stay with me. Everyone stay with me. Okay?” And so Jack took charge of the hot chocolate excursion and he taught everyone to put vanilla ice cream in the mug both to cool down and add more sweetness to their drinks :-). That same night, I sat beside Jack at dinner. He was being adventurous and ordered alligator fritters for his appetizer and a gourmet burger off the adult menu for his meal. The burger was topped with sautéed onions, which he was hesitant to try, but he liked them—as did he like the bit of lobster that his mom let him try. After trying three new things in one meal and eating his way through a truly manly burger, Jack said, through his boyishly radiant grin, “I’m being very manly tonight. This might put more than my one hair on my chest.” :-)
Henry (2nd oldest nephew): As Henry lay in his beach chair trying to get warm on that sea day, Amelia realized that she, too, was cold. Griffin was snuggled up with Jack. Charlie was snuggled up with Gretchen. So Amelia decided to bunker down next to Henry, and Henry gladly scooted over to make room for her. Later that night, Henry was tired and not feeling well, so I told him that if he’d come sit beside me then I’d rub his back. Without a moment’s hesitation, Henry was beside me and I was rubbing his back. Two days later, while docked in Freeport, Bahamas, Henry’s eyes about popped out when I showed him my ice cream cone skills. I perfected my soft-serve ice cream cone technique (the spiral) while at Summer Ventures in 1994. Hen perfected his soft-serve ice cream cone technique (the up-down) twenty years later while on our cruise :-).
Charlie (youngest nephew): Speaking of ice cream, Charlie wore an ice cream mustache, or should I say goatee, for most of the cruise. In case you don’t know, soft-serve ice cream is served at all hours of the day—and, yes, it’s free. But what I remember about Charlie is how extremely excited he was on the last night of cruise. Though I didn’t see it happen, Charlie was invited onto stage to be a contestant in the Hasbro Game Show. He won his event and got to compete for the grand prize. He finished third overall and was awarded a handheld Simon, a card game, and a $20 Hasbro gift card. I’m not sure if it was that experience, the ice cream, or his burning the midnight (9:30ish) oil, but Charlie was so happily excited that he was literally bouncing up and down—and grinning—and sparkling like only Charlie can do.
Griffin (3rd oldest nephew): Griffin loves his cousins, especially Jack. In fact, I think that if Jack asked Griffin to fly to the moon and back, then Griffin would figure out a way to do it—unless it involved getting his face wet and then Griffin would hesitate—Griffin hates getting his face wet. Anyway, on the first night of the cruise, Griffin and Jack sat beside each other at dinner. At one point, I looked over and Griffin had his head on the front of Jack’s shoulder and both of them were laughing as hard as they could. It was a picture of pure joy—a picture that makes me smile as I write these words today. I also smile as I think of Griffin in the gift shop on our last full day. My mom agreed to spend $10 on each kid. Griffin, who loves gifts almost as much as he loves Jack, set off shopping. On his own, Griffin chose a small flashlight. The boy likes flashlights, too. But when he couldn’t convince Jack to get a matching flashlight because Jack wanted a plastic container to put his iPod in at the beach, Griffin suddenly wanted that same plastic container; after all, he hadn’t seen it before. Flashlight back on the rack, plastic container ready to be purchased, Griffin abruptly changed his mind again because he spotted a neoprene waterproof pouch—and there was no doubt that the pouch was waterproof—it said so on the tag. He wasn’t sure about the plastic container, and the pouch was bigger so that he could put more stuff in it. Guess who else had exchanged his plastic container for the neoprene pouch? That’s right: Jack. Charlie had selected his stuffed animal. Amelia had selected her mermaid ornament. Henry had selected a smaller neoprene pouch. And Jack and Griffin had selected their waterproof pouches…which…I must say really were good, practical, matching souvenirs.
Amelia (niece): Amelia is probably the happiest, most joyful, full of life person I know. Throughout the cruise, she could be seen with a smile on her face, enjoying whatever she was doing—whether it be getting dressed, going down a water slide, playing putt-putt, eating, walking, playing with her cousins, talking to any of the adults, watching a show, or dancing just because she felt like dancing. My most poignant moment with Amelia, however, happened on that sea day whenever everyone was trying to stay warm. I had left everyone in their chairs and gone to the back of the deck to watch the ocean. A few minutes later, Amelia came to stand beside me. Eventually, we ended up sitting on the deck, me cross-legged style, her sitting in my lap. As we sat there together, Amelia played with the rings on my hands, or simply held my hands in or over hers. She looked up at me with her wide eyes and slightly freckled nose and said, “Well what about the Pilgrims?” and we proceeded to have a long talk about the Mayflower and Thanksgiving and the other things she’d learned in school. I have no idea what made her think about Pilgrims while cruising to the Bahamas. What ever makes Kindergarten students think of what they do? But I know that I will always remember that moment of having her near, looking into the ocean, no land in sight, talking, sharing each other’s warmth, knowing, beyond any shadow of doubt, that we each were loved.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Monday, January 27, 2014
Reflections on a Bahaman Cruise
I recently missed two days of note writing.
“Why did you miss two days of note writing?” you might ask.
“Because I was on a family cruise,” I would say.
“And how was your cruise?” you would inquire.
“It was good,” I would respond. “I had a really nice time.”
And I did.
On our way home last Tuesday, my mom, dad, and I went around the car round-robin and shared our most memorable/poignant moments with/about each person on the trip. Here are the moments I shared:
Dad (dad): I woke up not feeling well on Saturday morning. After getting up to speak to my parents, I leaned into my dad and let him hold me for a few minutes. He hugged me and rubbed my back and I let him be my dad without putting up a fight.
Mom (mom): My mom is never happier than when she is with her children and/or grandchildren. Our family had six rooms on the same hall. Five rooms were beside each other, four of which shared a balcony, but one room was down the hall near the elevators that we used to get to our dining room. One night, as we walked to dinner, I found myself behind mom and Amelia, holding hands, happily swinging their arms as they talked. I knew, in that moment, that my mom was as happy as she could be…and just the sight of it made me smile.
Deanna (self): On Sunday night, as we speedily made our way back from the Bahamas, I stood on our balcony and watched the moon cascade across the ocean. On Monday morning, as we slowly made our way into port, I stood on our balcony and watched the sun rise. It’s hard to describe how lovely those moments were.
Dana (sister): On Sunday night, as we speedily made our way back from the Bahamas, I stood on our balcony and watched the moon cascade across the ocean. For awhile, Dana joined me on the balcony, reporting bathroom humor jokes from a comedy show her family had attended, laughing really hard at the memory of Griffin and Amelia laughing, making me laugh in the process. Afterward, she got her camera and took pictures of the beautiful night.
Finley (brother-in-law):Unfortunately, I got sick on Saturday. I was nauseous all day but tried not to let the feeling stop me. Finley was very concerned about my well-being and made sure I had everything I needed. When I needed a drink, he bought me ginger ale and delivered it to my door. I was, and still am, grateful.
G-mama (grandmother): G-mama was my roommate,so we shared a lot together, including a bedside breakfast from room service the morning after I was sick. The night that I was sick, G-mama and I each lay in our beds in a sleepy stupor and had a long conversation. I have absolutely no idea what we talked about, but we talked for at least 30 minutes as G-mama tried to find the energy to finish getting ready for bed and I tried not to throw up.I don’t know why, but I loved this moment. I also loved when G-mama told Henry that even though he was short, G-daddy was an excellent basketball player. Hen doesn’t know yet if he’ll be tall, but he knows he wants to play basketball, and in that moment he heard that he could do it no matter what.
June Gail (aunt): JG was my traveling buddy. Before the cruise, I asked if she’d look at one of the dayexcursions and tell me if she wanted to go. She wrote back and said, “I don’t even need to look. If you want to go, then I’ll go.” And so we went. To the zoo. And we watched the world famous Ardastra Zoo and Garden flamingos perform.And we went on a city tour of Nassau, Bahamas, and spoke to a lot of vendors at the Straw Market. And when I said, “Thanks for bringing the crackers,” as I ate a little snack, she said, “I’ve done this a time or two.” And she has. And I am glad.
Shearin (aunt): G-mama doesn’t like to get up in the mornings, so she was very concerned about getting up and disembarking the ship on the final morning of the trip. After she’d been waking up for about 30 minutes and we’d been talking about her getting up, G-mama found herself face to face with Shearin. Shearin walked into the room, opened the curtains, and told G-mama to get up. And G-mama did! Immediately. The drill sergeant spoke. G-mama listened. And I laughed :-).
Paul (uncle): Paul and I took naps at the same time on our super balcony on Friday. I liked that moment. And I liked when JG and I wandered off the ship in Nassau and Paul waved at us from the balcony. It was neat to see him see us and to turn to get Shearin to wave as well.
Gretchen (sister-in-law): On Friday night, the entire family went to a Motown show. As we waited for the show to begin, I started a game of slaps with Charlie. The game quickly turned into a massive game of slaps with all of the kids, Gretchen, and me. My sister captured a picture of Gretchen with a huge grin of laughter on her face as she played slaps with Griffin. Gretchen and Griffin are an abnormal pairing, so this image is one that truly makes me smile.
Daniel (brother): On Sunday night, during our last dinner, my mom sat with Daniel, Gretchen, and the five kids. After they finished eating, Gretchen and the boys left to go to a game-show that we’d all planned to attend. Surprisingly, when the older boys left, Griffin contentedly stayed behind. Daniel stayed behind as well. Griffin was eating fried chicken on the bone for the first time and it was so good that he wanted to finish his meal. Not wanting to pick up the bones, however, Griffin asked Daniel to help him remove the meat. Daniel did. And he waited patiently for Griffin to eat all he wanted and for Amelia and mom to have dessert. After everyone at his table finished eating, Daniel went to the game-show in just enough time to see Charlie called on stage to play—and win. Daniel was very proud of Charlie. I was very touched by him.
…to be continued…
“Why did you miss two days of note writing?” you might ask.
“Because I was on a family cruise,” I would say.
“And how was your cruise?” you would inquire.
“It was good,” I would respond. “I had a really nice time.”
And I did.
On our way home last Tuesday, my mom, dad, and I went around the car round-robin and shared our most memorable/poignant moments with/about each person on the trip. Here are the moments I shared:
Dad (dad): I woke up not feeling well on Saturday morning. After getting up to speak to my parents, I leaned into my dad and let him hold me for a few minutes. He hugged me and rubbed my back and I let him be my dad without putting up a fight.
Mom (mom): My mom is never happier than when she is with her children and/or grandchildren. Our family had six rooms on the same hall. Five rooms were beside each other, four of which shared a balcony, but one room was down the hall near the elevators that we used to get to our dining room. One night, as we walked to dinner, I found myself behind mom and Amelia, holding hands, happily swinging their arms as they talked. I knew, in that moment, that my mom was as happy as she could be…and just the sight of it made me smile.
Deanna (self): On Sunday night, as we speedily made our way back from the Bahamas, I stood on our balcony and watched the moon cascade across the ocean. On Monday morning, as we slowly made our way into port, I stood on our balcony and watched the sun rise. It’s hard to describe how lovely those moments were.
Dana (sister): On Sunday night, as we speedily made our way back from the Bahamas, I stood on our balcony and watched the moon cascade across the ocean. For awhile, Dana joined me on the balcony, reporting bathroom humor jokes from a comedy show her family had attended, laughing really hard at the memory of Griffin and Amelia laughing, making me laugh in the process. Afterward, she got her camera and took pictures of the beautiful night.
Finley (brother-in-law):Unfortunately, I got sick on Saturday. I was nauseous all day but tried not to let the feeling stop me. Finley was very concerned about my well-being and made sure I had everything I needed. When I needed a drink, he bought me ginger ale and delivered it to my door. I was, and still am, grateful.
G-mama (grandmother): G-mama was my roommate,so we shared a lot together, including a bedside breakfast from room service the morning after I was sick. The night that I was sick, G-mama and I each lay in our beds in a sleepy stupor and had a long conversation. I have absolutely no idea what we talked about, but we talked for at least 30 minutes as G-mama tried to find the energy to finish getting ready for bed and I tried not to throw up.I don’t know why, but I loved this moment. I also loved when G-mama told Henry that even though he was short, G-daddy was an excellent basketball player. Hen doesn’t know yet if he’ll be tall, but he knows he wants to play basketball, and in that moment he heard that he could do it no matter what.
June Gail (aunt): JG was my traveling buddy. Before the cruise, I asked if she’d look at one of the dayexcursions and tell me if she wanted to go. She wrote back and said, “I don’t even need to look. If you want to go, then I’ll go.” And so we went. To the zoo. And we watched the world famous Ardastra Zoo and Garden flamingos perform.And we went on a city tour of Nassau, Bahamas, and spoke to a lot of vendors at the Straw Market. And when I said, “Thanks for bringing the crackers,” as I ate a little snack, she said, “I’ve done this a time or two.” And she has. And I am glad.
Shearin (aunt): G-mama doesn’t like to get up in the mornings, so she was very concerned about getting up and disembarking the ship on the final morning of the trip. After she’d been waking up for about 30 minutes and we’d been talking about her getting up, G-mama found herself face to face with Shearin. Shearin walked into the room, opened the curtains, and told G-mama to get up. And G-mama did! Immediately. The drill sergeant spoke. G-mama listened. And I laughed :-).
Paul (uncle): Paul and I took naps at the same time on our super balcony on Friday. I liked that moment. And I liked when JG and I wandered off the ship in Nassau and Paul waved at us from the balcony. It was neat to see him see us and to turn to get Shearin to wave as well.
Gretchen (sister-in-law): On Friday night, the entire family went to a Motown show. As we waited for the show to begin, I started a game of slaps with Charlie. The game quickly turned into a massive game of slaps with all of the kids, Gretchen, and me. My sister captured a picture of Gretchen with a huge grin of laughter on her face as she played slaps with Griffin. Gretchen and Griffin are an abnormal pairing, so this image is one that truly makes me smile.
Daniel (brother): On Sunday night, during our last dinner, my mom sat with Daniel, Gretchen, and the five kids. After they finished eating, Gretchen and the boys left to go to a game-show that we’d all planned to attend. Surprisingly, when the older boys left, Griffin contentedly stayed behind. Daniel stayed behind as well. Griffin was eating fried chicken on the bone for the first time and it was so good that he wanted to finish his meal. Not wanting to pick up the bones, however, Griffin asked Daniel to help him remove the meat. Daniel did. And he waited patiently for Griffin to eat all he wanted and for Amelia and mom to have dessert. After everyone at his table finished eating, Daniel went to the game-show in just enough time to see Charlie called on stage to play—and win. Daniel was very proud of Charlie. I was very touched by him.
…to be continued…
Thursday, January 23, 2014
The Same Thing
You look at me and say:
I stole a lot of things when I was younger.
I used to do drugs.
I once drank so much that I blacked out and ended up in bed with someone I didn’t know.
I’ve had to have someone hold my hair back while I throw up more times than I care to admit.
He told me he didn’t want the baby and took me to get it taken care of and now I feel very empty.
I’ve been the other woman.
God makes me angry.
I don’t know if I even believe in God anymore, yet I’m their pastor.
I look at you and say:
Yes.
And.
I love you.
I’m trying to look at myself and say the same thing.
We all need people to say the same thing.
I stole a lot of things when I was younger.
I used to do drugs.
I once drank so much that I blacked out and ended up in bed with someone I didn’t know.
I’ve had to have someone hold my hair back while I throw up more times than I care to admit.
He told me he didn’t want the baby and took me to get it taken care of and now I feel very empty.
I’ve been the other woman.
God makes me angry.
I don’t know if I even believe in God anymore, yet I’m their pastor.
I look at you and say:
Yes.
And.
I love you.
I’m trying to look at myself and say the same thing.
We all need people to say the same thing.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Please Don't Make Me Swallow A Sword
Today was a weird day.
Tired tapped on my shoulder last night and wrapped itself around me like a cloak that refuses to come off. So I’ve been tired. And sluggish. And sort of out of it. But not out of it enough not to be able to learn a couple of things today:
1) The first cloned sheep was named Dolly because she was cloned from a mammary gland. For some reason, this makes me laugh.
2) Gregor Mendel, the father of modern genetics, twice failed the certification exam to become a high school science teacher.
3) I could never be a sword swallower in a circus act. Just watching the act on video made me gag and feel like I was choking.
4) Looking at someone’s vocal chords is gross…especially if the chords are swollen from not enough water, too much throat clearing, and too much vocal strain (which is a hazard of teaching).
5) There truly are good people in this world, people who look at you and say, “I have seen a lot of things in my life. There [isn’t] anything you could [say] that would make me run.”
I read a newsletter article earlier in the week that presented two fundamental differences in views on God. One view holds God to be a holy God whose holiness will not allow God to be in the presence of sin. The other view holds God to be a forgiving God whose grace allows each of us to remain in God’s presence as we are still developing holiness. The article stated that a person’s view of God influences how he/she lives out his/her faith. Persons who hold the first view tend to focus heavily on morality and living in contrast to “the world.” Persons who hold the second view tend to focus heavily on journey and living with love in “the world.”
I tend to lean toward the latter.
And so, friends, with a weird head full of random knowledge from the day, I look now at you and say, “I have seen a lot of things in my life. [And] there isn’t anything you could say that would make me run.”
…except maybe that I have to swallow a sword for you. I could handle looking at your vocal chords if I had to. But I’m not sure about the sword swallowing…so how about you not ask :-).
Tired tapped on my shoulder last night and wrapped itself around me like a cloak that refuses to come off. So I’ve been tired. And sluggish. And sort of out of it. But not out of it enough not to be able to learn a couple of things today:
1) The first cloned sheep was named Dolly because she was cloned from a mammary gland. For some reason, this makes me laugh.
2) Gregor Mendel, the father of modern genetics, twice failed the certification exam to become a high school science teacher.
3) I could never be a sword swallower in a circus act. Just watching the act on video made me gag and feel like I was choking.
4) Looking at someone’s vocal chords is gross…especially if the chords are swollen from not enough water, too much throat clearing, and too much vocal strain (which is a hazard of teaching).
5) There truly are good people in this world, people who look at you and say, “I have seen a lot of things in my life. There [isn’t] anything you could [say] that would make me run.”
I read a newsletter article earlier in the week that presented two fundamental differences in views on God. One view holds God to be a holy God whose holiness will not allow God to be in the presence of sin. The other view holds God to be a forgiving God whose grace allows each of us to remain in God’s presence as we are still developing holiness. The article stated that a person’s view of God influences how he/she lives out his/her faith. Persons who hold the first view tend to focus heavily on morality and living in contrast to “the world.” Persons who hold the second view tend to focus heavily on journey and living with love in “the world.”
I tend to lean toward the latter.
And so, friends, with a weird head full of random knowledge from the day, I look now at you and say, “I have seen a lot of things in my life. [And] there isn’t anything you could say that would make me run.”
…except maybe that I have to swallow a sword for you. I could handle looking at your vocal chords if I had to. But I’m not sure about the sword swallowing…so how about you not ask :-).
Monday, January 6, 2014
Love Conquers...
Sometimes things just happen. Such was the case with the harmony part to one of my songs many years ago. To this day, one of my all-time favorite parts of any of my music is the second verse to the song, “Compromised The Truth.” Not only am I drawn to the words, but I’m also drawn to the harmonies that my best friend Angela created as she listened to the song for the first time. In fact, her harmonies were so strong that we decided to include one of the most vulnerable things I’ve ever written on our first CD…and the song was then only one month old.
I was reminded of this song and its harmonies during church yesterday. As my pastor courageously confessed his struggles against fear, he read this text from 1 John 4:18-19:
There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us.
I immediately began singing the second verse of “Compromised The Truth.”
Patrick went on to share his thoughts that maybe Jesus was afraid that night he served his last supper. Maybe Jesus experienced a deep amount of fear before going to the garden to pray for his friends only to have a friend betray him. Even so, Jesus lay down his life for his friends. Because, well, he loved us. And love conquers fear.
Love conquers fear.
Love overshadows mistakes.
Love extends forgiveness.
Love exudes grace.
And God is…love.
I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life.
I’ve allowed fear to paralyze me. I’ve allowed lies to deceive me. I’ve allowed temptation to sway me. I’ve allowed worry to consume my mind.
I’ve compromised the truth more times than I care to admit.
Yet love still holds me.
And beautiful surprises still emerge.
And life still happens.
Amen and amen.
------
Compromised The Truth
(www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton)
I taught her how to hide, to turn from the ones she loves
I taught her to enjoy the night and I taught her to fear the light
Oh I taught her how to run and I taught her how to lie
And I taught her how to cry, oh I taught her how to hide
Oh I should have, cause I could have told her differently
Oh I should have, cause I could have shown her differently, yeh
Oh I should have, cause I could have, but I didn’t, no I didn’t
Instead I compromised the truth for me
Well there is no fear in love cause perfect love drives out fear
And perfect love comes from Christ and not the other guy who tries to satisfy
The demands of this world and the needs of the flesh
And the guilt of the soul that keeps us from praying but keeps us saying
Oh I should have, cause I could have told her differently
Oh I should have, cause I could have shown her differently, yeh
Oh I should have, cause I could have, but I didn’t, no I didn’t
Instead I compromised the truth for me
I’m sorry that I compromised the truth
For me
I was reminded of this song and its harmonies during church yesterday. As my pastor courageously confessed his struggles against fear, he read this text from 1 John 4:18-19:
There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us.
I immediately began singing the second verse of “Compromised The Truth.”
Patrick went on to share his thoughts that maybe Jesus was afraid that night he served his last supper. Maybe Jesus experienced a deep amount of fear before going to the garden to pray for his friends only to have a friend betray him. Even so, Jesus lay down his life for his friends. Because, well, he loved us. And love conquers fear.
Love conquers fear.
Love overshadows mistakes.
Love extends forgiveness.
Love exudes grace.
And God is…love.
I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life.
I’ve allowed fear to paralyze me. I’ve allowed lies to deceive me. I’ve allowed temptation to sway me. I’ve allowed worry to consume my mind.
I’ve compromised the truth more times than I care to admit.
Yet love still holds me.
And beautiful surprises still emerge.
And life still happens.
Amen and amen.
------
Compromised The Truth
(www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton)
I taught her how to hide, to turn from the ones she loves
I taught her to enjoy the night and I taught her to fear the light
Oh I taught her how to run and I taught her how to lie
And I taught her how to cry, oh I taught her how to hide
Oh I should have, cause I could have told her differently
Oh I should have, cause I could have shown her differently, yeh
Oh I should have, cause I could have, but I didn’t, no I didn’t
Instead I compromised the truth for me
Well there is no fear in love cause perfect love drives out fear
And perfect love comes from Christ and not the other guy who tries to satisfy
The demands of this world and the needs of the flesh
And the guilt of the soul that keeps us from praying but keeps us saying
Oh I should have, cause I could have told her differently
Oh I should have, cause I could have shown her differently, yeh
Oh I should have, cause I could have, but I didn’t, no I didn’t
Instead I compromised the truth for me
I’m sorry that I compromised the truth
For me
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Smiling Back At Me
I almost quit.
I almost walked out of the hospital in March and didn’t go back.
But I decided to stay the course.
And I’m so glad that I did.
My one unit of Clinical Pastoral Education profoundly changed my life.
As I begin 2014, I can’t help but think back on 2013 and be grateful for the year that I had. As I wrote in last year’s beginning of the year note, I “got myself into God” and God did amazing things in, with, in-spite-of, and through me.
I learned that all I can really do in life is celebrate when I realize it’s safe to wear comfy shoes and then show up with my comfy shoes on and see what happens. Sometimes it will be wonderful. Sometimes it will not. But as long as I remain present, for however long or short I stay, life is there.
I learned that with as much as I’ve lost, there is so much more. With the death of one dream, there is the space for another to grow. With the loss of one hope, there is the addition of countless others. With the absence of one friend, there is the presence of many more. I am blessed. I am abundantly blessed. And no matter how much I’ve lost, there is so much more.
I learned that the gift giver must give. I am a natural gift giver. Giving gifts is an extension of my arms. But not everyone can receive those gifts without feeling as if the extension comes with strings attached. For some, gifts are or have been used to purchase affection, manipulate actions, or influence love. For some, receiving gifts sparks panic or creates guilt so deep that it overwhelms genuine care and good intention. I learned that this year. And I learned that I must be mindful not only of my need to give but also of the receivers’ abilities to receive. I must weigh the price of the gift with the emotional depth of connection. I must consider when not giving a gift is actually a better gift than anything I could create or buy. But I must not stop giving, for to stop giving is to suffocate a central part of who I am.
I learned that God is unpredictable. Never would I have imagined that I would be teaching again, yet my teaching stuff is unpacked, my music classroom is set, and my bedroom and car are both full of stuff to be taken to my greatest place of ministry yet. After I chose to stay the chaplaincy course in March, I chose to embrace the chaplaincy course for the long-haul. When I thought I was heading heart-first into more chaplaincy work, God was steering me toward the lowest performing school in the county and making it so abundantly clear that it was where I needed to be that all I could do was cry tears of excitedly ironic relief. God is so unpredictable. Yet. It’s kind of neat to see where God leads…especially when every experience prepares you for the next…and a preacher surprises you so profoundly that you truly desire to attend worship for the first time in years.
I was emotionally ambushed that day that I almost quit in March. Everything I thought I’d been doing right was evidently wrong and my ability to please people had failed. I was hurt. I was confused. I was exhausted. And I was ready to give up. Yet I didn’t. I dug down deep and found parts of myself that I didn’t know existed.
And my eyes were opened.
And my life was changed.
And my feet were freed to walk right back into the public schools to find the good that is, to give to my heart’s desire, and to sing with an unpredictable God who is smiling back at me.
I almost walked out of the hospital in March and didn’t go back.
But I decided to stay the course.
And I’m so glad that I did.
My one unit of Clinical Pastoral Education profoundly changed my life.
As I begin 2014, I can’t help but think back on 2013 and be grateful for the year that I had. As I wrote in last year’s beginning of the year note, I “got myself into God” and God did amazing things in, with, in-spite-of, and through me.
I learned that all I can really do in life is celebrate when I realize it’s safe to wear comfy shoes and then show up with my comfy shoes on and see what happens. Sometimes it will be wonderful. Sometimes it will not. But as long as I remain present, for however long or short I stay, life is there.
I learned that with as much as I’ve lost, there is so much more. With the death of one dream, there is the space for another to grow. With the loss of one hope, there is the addition of countless others. With the absence of one friend, there is the presence of many more. I am blessed. I am abundantly blessed. And no matter how much I’ve lost, there is so much more.
I learned that the gift giver must give. I am a natural gift giver. Giving gifts is an extension of my arms. But not everyone can receive those gifts without feeling as if the extension comes with strings attached. For some, gifts are or have been used to purchase affection, manipulate actions, or influence love. For some, receiving gifts sparks panic or creates guilt so deep that it overwhelms genuine care and good intention. I learned that this year. And I learned that I must be mindful not only of my need to give but also of the receivers’ abilities to receive. I must weigh the price of the gift with the emotional depth of connection. I must consider when not giving a gift is actually a better gift than anything I could create or buy. But I must not stop giving, for to stop giving is to suffocate a central part of who I am.
I learned that God is unpredictable. Never would I have imagined that I would be teaching again, yet my teaching stuff is unpacked, my music classroom is set, and my bedroom and car are both full of stuff to be taken to my greatest place of ministry yet. After I chose to stay the chaplaincy course in March, I chose to embrace the chaplaincy course for the long-haul. When I thought I was heading heart-first into more chaplaincy work, God was steering me toward the lowest performing school in the county and making it so abundantly clear that it was where I needed to be that all I could do was cry tears of excitedly ironic relief. God is so unpredictable. Yet. It’s kind of neat to see where God leads…especially when every experience prepares you for the next…and a preacher surprises you so profoundly that you truly desire to attend worship for the first time in years.
I was emotionally ambushed that day that I almost quit in March. Everything I thought I’d been doing right was evidently wrong and my ability to please people had failed. I was hurt. I was confused. I was exhausted. And I was ready to give up. Yet I didn’t. I dug down deep and found parts of myself that I didn’t know existed.
And my eyes were opened.
And my life was changed.
And my feet were freed to walk right back into the public schools to find the good that is, to give to my heart’s desire, and to sing with an unpredictable God who is smiling back at me.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Sing, Baby, Sing
My sister and her family came to the house today. Dana’s first task was to go through the two dressers that were in “her” room (even though she’s never lived in this house) so that she could move her childhood furniture into her daughter’s room at their house. After she and my mom completed that task, Finley and I moved the empty furniture down the stairs and onto the truck, where my dad helped secure it. Griffin held open the front door. Amelia served as cheerleader and encourager.
As I worked with Finley to get the furniture down the stairs, I heard this little voice saying, “Step. Step. Step. Be careful, daddy. Step. You’re doing a good job. Step. You’re almost there. Step. Step. You can do it. Step. Step. Hooray! You made it!!”
When I asked Amelia why she hadn’t cheered for me, she said, “Because you could see where you were going.”
A few minutes later, following her big brother’s helpful lead, Amelia attempted to carry a drawer down the steps. Seeing that she was struggling, I volunteered to hold half of the drawer. “I’ve got it!” she said. “I’m going to make it! I can do this because you’re helping me and carrying the heaviest part.”
Earlier today, Amelia and Griffin had a discussion about where one of their grown-up friends works. Griffin said she didn’t work at Belk. Amelia said she did. Griffin said, “I thought she quit.” Amelia said, “She did quit. But she went back.” Finley confirmed that Amelia was correct. I asked Amelia how she knew what was going on and she responded, “Because she told me. And I listened.”
As my mom and I put the kids to bed tonight, I had the privilege of reading the bedtime story. I read Sleep, Baby, Sleep by Maryann Cusimano Love. With Amelia nestled in my arms reminding me that she’s not a baby but that I should still read “baby” because it’s what the book says, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of love for her and her big brother (who was pretending not to pay attention but really was). I read:
Sleep, baby, sleep, snuggled like a sheep. Be always like the lamb so mild, a kind and sweet and gentle child. Sleep, baby, sleep…
...Grow, baby, grown. From our arms you’ll go, unfurling like a butterfly, cocoon opening to the sky. Grow, baby, grow.
Hush, baby, hush. Growing can’t be rushed. Be always like a newborn foal with whispered wind songs in his soul. Hush, baby, hush.
Shine, baby, shine, graceful child of mine. Be like the firefly who glows no matter who the darkness grows. Shine, baby, shine.
Peace, baby, peace. All your cares release. Be always like the snowy dove who spreads her wings and sings of love. Peace, baby, peace.
Dream, baby, dream, rising like moonbeams. Be always like the dragonfly shimmering in the misty sky. Dream, baby, dream.
Sleep, baby, sleep. Our promises we’ll keep. Be the miracle you are, a wish come true on shooting star. Sleep, baby, sleep.
Some people say that we learn all we need to know in Kindergarten. Sometimes I think they are right. Amelia certainly is on to something in wholeheartedly encouraging her daddy who could not see, accepting help when she needed it, realizing that she can’t always do everything alone, and taking the time truly to listen. Little does she know that, even though I could see, her words and spirit encouraged me as well. At age 5, her life is already making a difference well beyond what she intends or knows.
Sing, baby, sing. Or should I say whistle, baby, whistle. As you are going back and forth between both while I finish this note. Do as you are singing and “sleep in heavenly peace…” For you truly are a miracle. And I am lucky to be inspired by you.
As I worked with Finley to get the furniture down the stairs, I heard this little voice saying, “Step. Step. Step. Be careful, daddy. Step. You’re doing a good job. Step. You’re almost there. Step. Step. You can do it. Step. Step. Hooray! You made it!!”
When I asked Amelia why she hadn’t cheered for me, she said, “Because you could see where you were going.”
A few minutes later, following her big brother’s helpful lead, Amelia attempted to carry a drawer down the steps. Seeing that she was struggling, I volunteered to hold half of the drawer. “I’ve got it!” she said. “I’m going to make it! I can do this because you’re helping me and carrying the heaviest part.”
Earlier today, Amelia and Griffin had a discussion about where one of their grown-up friends works. Griffin said she didn’t work at Belk. Amelia said she did. Griffin said, “I thought she quit.” Amelia said, “She did quit. But she went back.” Finley confirmed that Amelia was correct. I asked Amelia how she knew what was going on and she responded, “Because she told me. And I listened.”
As my mom and I put the kids to bed tonight, I had the privilege of reading the bedtime story. I read Sleep, Baby, Sleep by Maryann Cusimano Love. With Amelia nestled in my arms reminding me that she’s not a baby but that I should still read “baby” because it’s what the book says, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of love for her and her big brother (who was pretending not to pay attention but really was). I read:
Sleep, baby, sleep, snuggled like a sheep. Be always like the lamb so mild, a kind and sweet and gentle child. Sleep, baby, sleep…
...Grow, baby, grown. From our arms you’ll go, unfurling like a butterfly, cocoon opening to the sky. Grow, baby, grow.
Hush, baby, hush. Growing can’t be rushed. Be always like a newborn foal with whispered wind songs in his soul. Hush, baby, hush.
Shine, baby, shine, graceful child of mine. Be like the firefly who glows no matter who the darkness grows. Shine, baby, shine.
Peace, baby, peace. All your cares release. Be always like the snowy dove who spreads her wings and sings of love. Peace, baby, peace.
Dream, baby, dream, rising like moonbeams. Be always like the dragonfly shimmering in the misty sky. Dream, baby, dream.
Sleep, baby, sleep. Our promises we’ll keep. Be the miracle you are, a wish come true on shooting star. Sleep, baby, sleep.
Some people say that we learn all we need to know in Kindergarten. Sometimes I think they are right. Amelia certainly is on to something in wholeheartedly encouraging her daddy who could not see, accepting help when she needed it, realizing that she can’t always do everything alone, and taking the time truly to listen. Little does she know that, even though I could see, her words and spirit encouraged me as well. At age 5, her life is already making a difference well beyond what she intends or knows.
Sing, baby, sing. Or should I say whistle, baby, whistle. As you are going back and forth between both while I finish this note. Do as you are singing and “sleep in heavenly peace…” For you truly are a miracle. And I am lucky to be inspired by you.
Monday, December 23, 2013
The Bells
I spent a lot of time teaching about Beethoven this month. As part of my teaching process, I showed the 4th and 5th graders Beethoven Lives Upstairs. In one scene of the film, the landlord smiles as she turns toward the window. Beethoven asks why she’s smiling and she says, “The bells. I love the bells.” With a look of deep sadness, Beethoven responds, “Ah. I did, too.” Beethoven lost his hearing around the age of 30.
Yesterday at church, Pastor Patrick told the story behind the carol, “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Longfellow wrote the carol in 1867 after his son was injured in the Civil War after his wife had burned to death when her dress caught on fire and she couldn’t get out of it. Walking down the street on a cold winter’s day, Longfellow heard Christmas bells begin to play…and then he penned this poem, turned to song:
I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."
Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Honestly, I hadn’t given this carol much thought until yesterday. But now I have. And it is so powerful that it moves me to tears.
I get it when Longfellow writes, “And in despair I bowed my head: ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said, ‘For hate is strong and mocks the song, Of peace on earth, good will to men."
And I get it when he writes, “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep; The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, With peace on earth, good will to men."
I get the journey from joy to despair and back again. I understand walking through heartache and grief, questioning everything I’ve known to be true, but deciding to rest upon peace.
Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of Love.
And even when life is difficult—wars raging, people dying, children suffering—Love, always love, is there.
Yesterday at church, Pastor Patrick told the story behind the carol, “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Longfellow wrote the carol in 1867 after his son was injured in the Civil War after his wife had burned to death when her dress caught on fire and she couldn’t get out of it. Walking down the street on a cold winter’s day, Longfellow heard Christmas bells begin to play…and then he penned this poem, turned to song:
I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."
Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Honestly, I hadn’t given this carol much thought until yesterday. But now I have. And it is so powerful that it moves me to tears.
I get it when Longfellow writes, “And in despair I bowed my head: ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said, ‘For hate is strong and mocks the song, Of peace on earth, good will to men."
And I get it when he writes, “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep; The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, With peace on earth, good will to men."
I get the journey from joy to despair and back again. I understand walking through heartache and grief, questioning everything I’ve known to be true, but deciding to rest upon peace.
Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of Love.
And even when life is difficult—wars raging, people dying, children suffering—Love, always love, is there.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Jesus Got Sick, Too
I just got home from my sister’s birthday dinner. As I drove my parents and myself home, I couldn’t help but notice the brightness of the stars and moon and remember a night many years ago when I lay in bed trying to sleep but having sleep elude me.
Propped on my husband pillow, trying to breathe through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, I had a middle of the night revelation: Jesus got sick, too, because Jesus was fully human. And not only that, but Jesus had to sleep—and probably sometimes struggled to sleep—and Jesus got aggravated—and Jesus had to use the bathroom…which was actually the subject of a conversation I had earlier in the week when talking about the bathroom break that I created between my 2nd and 3rd grade classes.
All that being said, as I write this tonight, through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, with the Christmas tree in the corner of my eyes, I am not surprisingly thinking about Jesus…and remembering a declaration that I penned awhile back.
I close with that declaration tonight.
Why I Choose Jesus
2.23.12
I choose you...
...not just for raising Lazarus from the dead but for crying when he died.
...not just for sending the rich man away but for leaving the door open for another chance.
...not just for feeding the 5,000 but for having compassion on their needs.
...not just for welcoming children but for once being a child yourself.
...not just for speaking to and forgiving the woman at the well but for valuing the lives, work, and
witness of women.
...not just for calling Zacchaeus down from the tree but for seeing him in the tree in the first place.
...not just for standing against hypocrisy and legalism but for eating with, communing with, laughing
with, and valuing the outcast and those who believed they were unlovable.
...not just for dying a cruel death but for living into, though sometimes struggling with, your call.
...not just for teaching us to pray but for praying for us through agonizing tears.
...not just for being fully God and fully human but for living your humanity in the context of community.
...not just for speaking straightforward truth but for leaving us with story, parable, and thoughts that are sometimes hard to understand.
...not just for breaking bread and drinking wine but for cursing the fig tree when you were hungry and it did not have fruit for you to eat.
...not just for words but for silence.
...not just for the sacrifice of your blood but for the breath of your creation.
...not just for your death but for your life.
...not just for eternity but for right now.
Jesus, I choose you not for judgment but for redemption.
I choose you not for showing up but for being all-present.
I choose you not for comfortable assurance but for hope.
Jesus, I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
Propped on my husband pillow, trying to breathe through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, I had a middle of the night revelation: Jesus got sick, too, because Jesus was fully human. And not only that, but Jesus had to sleep—and probably sometimes struggled to sleep—and Jesus got aggravated—and Jesus had to use the bathroom…which was actually the subject of a conversation I had earlier in the week when talking about the bathroom break that I created between my 2nd and 3rd grade classes.
All that being said, as I write this tonight, through stuffed nostrils and coughing lungs, with the Christmas tree in the corner of my eyes, I am not surprisingly thinking about Jesus…and remembering a declaration that I penned awhile back.
I close with that declaration tonight.
Why I Choose Jesus
2.23.12
I choose you...
...not just for raising Lazarus from the dead but for crying when he died.
...not just for sending the rich man away but for leaving the door open for another chance.
...not just for feeding the 5,000 but for having compassion on their needs.
...not just for welcoming children but for once being a child yourself.
...not just for speaking to and forgiving the woman at the well but for valuing the lives, work, and
witness of women.
...not just for calling Zacchaeus down from the tree but for seeing him in the tree in the first place.
...not just for standing against hypocrisy and legalism but for eating with, communing with, laughing
with, and valuing the outcast and those who believed they were unlovable.
...not just for dying a cruel death but for living into, though sometimes struggling with, your call.
...not just for teaching us to pray but for praying for us through agonizing tears.
...not just for being fully God and fully human but for living your humanity in the context of community.
...not just for speaking straightforward truth but for leaving us with story, parable, and thoughts that are sometimes hard to understand.
...not just for breaking bread and drinking wine but for cursing the fig tree when you were hungry and it did not have fruit for you to eat.
...not just for words but for silence.
...not just for the sacrifice of your blood but for the breath of your creation.
...not just for your death but for your life.
...not just for eternity but for right now.
Jesus, I choose you not for judgment but for redemption.
I choose you not for showing up but for being all-present.
I choose you not for comfortable assurance but for hope.
Jesus, I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
I choose you not for condemnation but for love.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Say Something
If you know me fairly well, then you know that I don’t give up on people or institutions very easily. If I believe in someone or something, then I am one of the most loyal people you will ever meet.
As such, I find it strange that I’ve been walking around singing lyrics from A Great Big World’s song, “Say Something,” today. What’s even stranger is that I’ve only heard the song twice, and neither of those times was recently.
Yet all day, I’ve been singing:
“Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you…
Say something, I'm giving up on you…
And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye.”
The strangest thing, though? I’m actually doing it.
I’m giving up,
letting go,
accepting limitations,
saying goodbye.
To persons who, for whatever reasons, do not accept my friendship,
To institutions that, for whatever reasons, do not accept who I am.
Somehow, while singing my mysterious ear worm today, I realized that this surrender has been happening for quite some time. It’s been a quiet surrender for the past year or so: a gradual understanding that I cannot be all things to all people no matter how hard I try or how deeply I desire to be so.
Some people choose me. Some people don’t. The same goes with organizations and institutions. So instead of chasing the ones who don’t, I’m actively choosing to embrace the ones who do—like you, reader—and trusting a Love bigger than myself with the rest.
I don’t understand Love. I don’t understand the vastness of it all—its presence in stark opposites—its miraculous appearance in a baby who grew to be a man who looked into the face of brokenness and said, “I see light in you, too.” Yet I know that Love is vast enough to surround all and not give up on any…even as Love tells me it’s okay to set some free.
As such, I find it strange that I’ve been walking around singing lyrics from A Great Big World’s song, “Say Something,” today. What’s even stranger is that I’ve only heard the song twice, and neither of those times was recently.
Yet all day, I’ve been singing:
“Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you…
Say something, I'm giving up on you…
And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye.”
The strangest thing, though? I’m actually doing it.
I’m giving up,
letting go,
accepting limitations,
saying goodbye.
To persons who, for whatever reasons, do not accept my friendship,
To institutions that, for whatever reasons, do not accept who I am.
Somehow, while singing my mysterious ear worm today, I realized that this surrender has been happening for quite some time. It’s been a quiet surrender for the past year or so: a gradual understanding that I cannot be all things to all people no matter how hard I try or how deeply I desire to be so.
Some people choose me. Some people don’t. The same goes with organizations and institutions. So instead of chasing the ones who don’t, I’m actively choosing to embrace the ones who do—like you, reader—and trusting a Love bigger than myself with the rest.
I don’t understand Love. I don’t understand the vastness of it all—its presence in stark opposites—its miraculous appearance in a baby who grew to be a man who looked into the face of brokenness and said, “I see light in you, too.” Yet I know that Love is vast enough to surround all and not give up on any…even as Love tells me it’s okay to set some free.
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