Cut From The Same Cloth, Yet...

Cut from the same cloth
Woven from threads of love, hope
Yet each one unique

You. Your neighbors. Your family and friends. Those you have yet to meet.
We are all cut from the same fabric of humanity.
Skin and bone, flesh and blood.
Fear and worry, hope and possibility.

So this Christmas, as you pause to reflect upon the story of Jesus joining the ranks of humanity, remember that you are part of something bigger and know that your life and work matter.

You are both cut from and in the process of helping weave the fabric of humanity.

May you feel the strands of Love that are woven into you and
May you weave strands of hope, joy, and peace into the lives around you,
Each one the same, yet each one unique.

A Trip To The Walmart

I skipped my Thursday post again last week. I was out for a night on the town with my friend Stacey.

Stacey is blind. She was my guest speaker in my special needs class that night. After class, as we were heading home, Stacey and I decided that neither of us wanted to cook when we got home. First Friday was last Friday. Stacey and I were both supposed to take desserts or sweets. After working all day and sitting in class that night, we didn’t have baking in us. So we went to the Walmart.

Going to the Walmart with someone who is blind is interesting. As I searched the clearance aisle for good finds, I found myself saying, “Look at this!” Then I remembered that Stacey couldn’t see with her eyes, so I put the item in Stacey’s hands so that she could see with her hands. The most interesting of these finds was a huge mouse trap. I triple checked to make sure the trap wasn’t going to go off when I gave it to Stacey to see. It didn’t. And she agreed that it was a huge mouse trap! Don’t worry. I didn’t buy it.

After we’d walked the aisles of the Walmart—that Stacey had memorized—and found everything we needed to provide proper desserts and sweets for Friday—including a fruit cake—we went to the checkout line. I wish I could have recorded the people behind me as they watched Stacey in the checkout line. True to form, she did everything herself—unloaded her cart—stacked it on the conveyor belt—separated her stuff from mine—and paid with her card. The paying part was what got the onlookers. Without seeing a thing with her eyes, Stacey got out her card, put the chip into the reader, and completed her transaction. The people behind me just watched. She didn’t have to sign her name on Thursday night. I asked what she’d have done had she had to sign her name. She said that she’d have just tried to get an S on the screen and then scribble everything else. I told her that I basically did the same thing—just put a D and scribbled the rest of my name on a screen.

“Miss D, we need to do this more often,” announced Stacey as we made the final leg of our journey. I agreed. And the next time we hang out, I’ll feel more comfortable leading Stacey to the passenger side of my car and I’ll remember to describe the weird things I’m seeing as I drive instead of saying, “What is that?!”

There are people in this world who inspire us simply by being themselves. Stacey is one of those people to me.

On Things That Just Happen

Few weeks ago, I declared that I was not going to skip Thanksgiving this year. I announced that I would be talking about thankfulness with my students and that we would be singing a song entitled, “We Are Thankful.” We did. And we discussed things that we were thankful to have, to be, to do, and to be hopeful for in the future.

As I gave examples of each of these categories to my classes, I said things like, “I am thankful to have my computer and my car. I am thankful to have my glasses and a house…I am thankful to be a daughter and an aunt. I am thankful to be a teacher and a friend…I am thankful that I get to play the piano and guitar. I am thankful that I get to go to my nephew’s ballgames and my niece’s recitals…And I am thankful that one day I will be a better teacher. But when I was younger, when I grew up, I wanted to be a zookeeper.” And after I gave examples of each category, my students talked. And I listened. I let a sense of Thanksgiving fill my heart.

I didn’t post last Thursday. I let our crazy Thanksgiving family portrait speak for itself and went to bed happy and exhausted after a good day with family. I spent the next two days doing homework for ten hours a day and then emerged yesterday to go to both church and to visit my best friend on her birthday. The latter was an unplanned visit, but it was a visit I wanted to make. After all, the zookeeper needed to visit her astronaut A on her big day.

My best friend’s birthday always falls over Thanksgiving break. Believe it or not, I have a vivid memory of Thanksgiving break around 20 years ago. I was home from my studies at Meredith and it was cold outside. A’s birthday was coming and I didn’t know what to get her, so I got out my guitar and wrote her a song. I typed up and printed out the lyrics and glued them onto an old blue clock. I decorated the clock with shiny stickers and colored decorations with pencil doodles. I have no idea why I decided that presenting the lyrics on an old clock was a good idea. But I did it. And I clearly remember it to this day.

I wrote:

Two little girls from two country towns and two different dreams
When she grows one wants to be a zookeeper and the other wants to walk in space
But each goes to church on Sunday to learn about the word of God
And each one prays one common prayer, that God will send her a friend from above

Two college girls from two country towns and two different dreams
The astronaut wants to be an elementary teacher and the zookeeper just wants to sing
But each one still goes to church to learn about the word of God
And each one still prays one common prayer, that God will send her a friend from above

On a rock in the woods up in the mountains sit two children of God
They look below them and see peaceful waters flowing over the rocks and down the hill
The astronaut cries, “Please don’t walk in front of me,” and the zookeeper cries, “Please not behind,”
Just walk beside me and be my friend so that together we’ll sink or swim

Two grown girls from two different towns and two different lives
The zookeeper teaches music class and the astronaut helps raise a small child
But each one still goes to church to learn about the meaning of love
And each one still prays one common prayer, “Thank you God for the friend from above.”

A few months ago, A and I sang the song to A’s older daughter. Her daughter grinned from ear to ear. That same daughter grinned yesterday as she played with the teddy bear that I put in A’s present bag because I knew that the bag would be invaded by said daughter.

What A’s daughter did not see was the fancy Hallmark card that I gave her mother. And on the inside, I wrote two haiku:

Some things just happen ~ No marked beginning or end ~ Such is our story

We are all grown up ~ Astronaut and zookeeper ~ Still thankful for friends

And I am thankful. For friends and family and time and good meals and children and laughter and cars and words and journeys and love.

You?

When Broken

When Broken…11.21.16

An internal auditor came to speak to us during class tonight. In typical nerd fashion, I found her information quite fascinating, and I not only took a lot of notes but I also asked a lot of questions. I will spare everyone the details, but I must share this: If ever you see any part of the Fraud Triangle, then consider it a red flag. “And just what is the Fraud Triangle?” you ask. Well, here is your answer:

Point One: Pressure. Pressure can cause a person of integrity to commit fraud even though he/she ordinarily would not. Most people live their lives with good intentions but intense pressure can tempt us in ways we didn’t think possible. Medical bills, addiction, living beyond means, unexpected death. Any or all of those things can put undue pressure on a person and cause him/her to think, “If I can just pay of this bill—if I can just control this situation—if I can just take care of this—then I can rid of this pressure and then start over.”

Point Two: Rationalization. A person will only willingly work so hard before he/she feels that he/she deserves some type of validation or encouragement. When that validation or encouragement doesn’t come through healthy avenues, then sometimes we start to think thoughts like, “I don’t get paid enough for everything that I do, and it doesn’t look like I’m ever going to, so I might as well take what I deserve.”

Point Three: Opportunity. When there is a crack in the system—a loophole—an occasion for secrecy—a thought of, “Well, no one is watching…”—and pressure and/or rationalization are whispering in a person’s ear, sometimes temptation is too strong and a person gives into the opportunity to break the rules—whatever the rules may be.

People will do crazy things when they are broken.

All people. Not just those that we think of as “different” or “other” or “immoral” or “them.”

Under any circumstance. Not just shady situations.

No one is above pressure, rationalization, or opportunity.

No one is above just flat out messing up when we are broken.

So maybe we should stop judging so readily and start extending grace more freely.

And maybe we should start asking for and receiving help when we find ourselves gliding along the lines of a triangle like fraud.

From A Tired Brain

Traffic jam of thought
So much to say yet nothing
Words at a stand-still

And that’s all I’ve got. Except for this:

I’ve got good people
Strong, resilient, determined
Diverse, beautiful

Never Any Less

“I always have one main goal for all of the classes I teach. I want my students to leave my class with more poker chips than they came with.” --Alice Hammel, Teaching Music to Students with Autism

Imagine that each of us is born with a certain amount of poker chips. As we go through our first years of life, people constantly add to our pile or take away from our pile. They add to it by paying attention to us, talking to us, spending time with us, saying kind things to us, making sure that we have everything we need. They take away from it by ignoring us, yelling us, saying mean things to us, not caring when we are lacking that which we need.

By the time we enter Kindergarten, we arrive with different numbers of chips. Some of us arrive with a bunch. Some of us arrive with only a few.

As with those who gamble, those of us who have a bunch of chips are more willing to take risks and try new things because we have more to fall back on if we mess up or lose. If, however, we only have a few chips, then we are less likely to take risks. Things become more calculated and we have to decide what we are willing to risk and what we are determined to hold onto.

The same holds true for the rest of our lives.

I have a new goal for all of the classes I teach—and all of the relationships I keep. I want my students to leave my class and my people to leave my presence with more poker chips in their love tank buckets than they came with—and never any less.

Never any less.

One Of Those Days

Today was not my best day. Actually, Thursdays in general are tough. I begin and end my days with challenging classes and the ones in between aren’t always easy. Sometimes it’s okay. Sometimes it bothers me. Today it bothered me. I felt like students not following directions and students being disrespectful was not part of a larger system or pattern of behavior but single-handedly my fault.

Today, I kept hearing professors and workshop presenters say that if kids are consistently “acting up” then it’s up to the teacher to change something in what he/she is doing—because the lessons must not be good enough or the rules not clear enough or the discipline not consistent enough.
And I kept thinking, “This must be my fault. Ms. X can keep them quiet. They seem to respect her. They must not respect me. Class must be boring. I guess I really am a boring music teacher.”

On other days, I hear professors and workshop presenters say that perfectly still silence does not always equal learning. I hear them affirming that kids learn through movement, discussion, and singing and I know that my classes are full of students with special needs and that students with special needs need special considerations. I know that I’m a reflective teacher. I know that I care about my kids. I know that my kids—at least most of them—know that I care about them. I know that what happens in my 40 minutes per week with my students is directly affected by what happens in their classrooms—that their classroom teacher’s discipline structure (or lack thereof) influences their behavior everywhere else in the school. I have watched this reality play out for 13 years.

But today wasn’t one of those days.

I know that I’m weary. I know that no amount of work seems to get me caught up with the stuff I need to do for school, church, or graduate school—not to mention the things that I want to do with my friends and family. I know that I am beyond burdened by some of my students’ lives. Kids are being exposed to perverted, harmful, and dangerous situations younger and younger and I just want to scream at a society that is so broken that on one hand it encourages children to believe that adults are stupid and that they are entitled to anything they want but on the other hand ignores children or treats them as disposable toys. I know that these factors contributed to the negative self talk that planted itself in my head this morning as I watched a challenging child roll onto the floor, put his arms in his shirt, and attempt to do the worm with the rest of his body while the rest of the class watched the distraction. Nothing could make him get up. Nothing could keep the rest of the class focused. And nothing could keep me from thinking, “Is this my fault? This must be my fault. I must not be strict enough.”

Last night, as I was anticipating this day, I updated the serenity prayer. I posted it in my status on Facebook, but I want to include it at the bottom of this note. Because maybe you aren’t a teacher, but maybe you work a job or have a family situation in which you sometimes feel helpless. Maybe you have tried the things you know to try but maybe they just aren’t working. And maybe your self-talk gets pretty negative, too, and maybe on days like today it leaves you feeling so very defeated. So maybe you need to rewrite this prayer for yourself. And maybe together if we keep praying, a loving, steady, just God will put all things in order—even if it’s only within our own minds, hearts, and souls.

God grant me the serenity to accept the students I cannot change;
The courage to influence those whom I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.
Teaching one lesson at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting disrespectful and overly talkative classes as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world full of broken people
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that You can and will make all things right
if I surrender to Love--
That I may be reasonably happy with my life's work
and supremely happy with You forever in the next.
Amen.

Don't Give Up. Persevere!

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

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

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

*I smile*

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today Is Enough

I usually stay after class on Monday and Thursday nights to either do homework or work on these notes. I like having an academic space to myself. It’s peaceful and makes me feel very scholarly, not to mention it doesn’t allow me to climb into my bed and sleep. Tonight, however, I knew that staying after class was not an option. I accidently left my travel charger at church, so when Willard’s battery ran down toward the end of class, Willard was out of commission until I got home. So…I went to dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile, and it was nice—sitting, eating, talking, catching up.

As I thought about this unusual Thursday night meal on the way home tonight, I thought back to the note I wrote a few weeks ago about showing up. I thought about how extremely important relationships are and how essential it is to make time for them. I thought about how grateful I was to find myself without a computer charger on the same day that thoughts of cinnamon flavored coffee prompted me to write my friend who is allergic to cinnamon and make plans to have a late, cinnamon-free dinner. And then I found myself thinking about a couple of my students who made my heart swell with pride this afternoon.

I’ve heard a lot of really difficult things this week. In context of Red Ribbon Week, I’ve listened to stories of bullying and drug use that have left me feeling sad. So this afternoon, when I watched two of my students who started the year giving me nothing but attitude and trouble doing their best to pay attention and listen while a good portion of the rest of their class acted as if I wasn’t even there, I found myself feeling a small amount of joy. These two students were part of a group of students who I’d asked to do an alternative music assignment in a separate setting one week. Instead of filing away their written work as busy work, I decided to read it carefully and write encouraging, interactive comments on their papers. I returned their papers to them and wondered if the comments had made a difference.

I don’t know if it was the comments, or a conscious decision on my part to more intentionally try to show loving-kindness, or an attitude shift in my heart that helped me remember that even my toughest kids are still just kids, or if it was my deliberately speaking to these particular students each morning and calling them over for the hugs that many other students daily seek out…but something seems to have shifted in the students about which I speak, and they have actually started to show an interest in music—which is something they had not done in three years—and a respect for me as their teacher—which is something they hadn’t done either.

After class, I called over one of the students and asked, point blank, what had caused the behavior change. “I got suspended because of how I had been acting, and I don’t want to get suspended again.” Part of this student’s suspension was because of behaviors in my class. I guess the suspension served its purpose…yet I have to believe that something more has shifted inside this student. Either way, I gently placed my hands on the students’ shoulders and spoke aloud how proud I was of the change—how proud I was that I was finally able to see the goodness that I knew was there. As I spoke, my eyes filled with tears that I quickly denied when another student said, “Are you crying?!”

A friend once told me that her job as a residential social worker was to love the hell out of her clients. I immediately took the phrase to heart and decided to make that one of my goals as a teacher. And guess what, friends? I’m learning—really learning—that the only way to truly do this is through relationships. And I’m being reminded that relationships take time—sometimes even years—to grow to the place where walls begin to come down and trust begins to peak through. My cinnamon-averse friend and I had to work to that place of trust. But we arrived. And had a good dinner tonight. Maybe some of my students and I are arriving, too? Or if nothing else, we arrived today. And for now, today is enough.

Communicate Love

“You all are a whole lot more stressed than I am. Then again, I have the plan in my head and you don’t.”

I heard those words come out of my mouth at the exact moment I saw the word OVERCOMMUNICATE flash before my eyes. Just before going to church to lead the music at a missions celebration, I had read a paragraph about the importance of communication in leadership.

There I was, the music minister, trying to get the choir ready to sing, yet I hadn’t even communicated with my mom, the accompanist, about the exact order of songs that we were going to sing.

And why hadn’t I done this? Because I hadn’t even communicated the final decision to myself.

I have a lot of blank books. I’m afraid to write in them. I don’t want to mess up the pages.

For years, I wouldn’t write down my lesson plans until after I’d taught them. I was afraid that my plan would go wrong.

When I was doing a lot of concerts, I often started the concerts without having a set playlist. I had an idea. But I was afraid I’d have a new idea mid-concert and then feel stuck.

I like to have a plan. But I like to be able to change the plan to fit the exact moment that it is executed.

Which…isn’t always good when working with a group.

The statement that I made at the beginning of this post was very true. My choir was stressed about what they were getting ready to do, but I wasn’t worried. I knew that they could—and would—sing well and sing the right songs at the right time—but they didn’t know it because I hadn’t communicated it to them. I had told them bits of pieces of information—each of which escaped my mouth as a plan entered my brain—but the plan hadn’t come together in their minds.

So…I started at the beginning, went step by step, laid out the plan, got everyone on the “same sheet of music” (literally), prayed, and then we went into the sanctuary and sang as well as we’d ever sung.

Lest I not communicate this properly: I am proud of my choir. I am proud to work with my choir. I believe in my choir. And I never doubt my choir—even when they doubt themselves.

I will work on my communication skills both at church and school. I will work to be a better professional leader. But I think I’ll also work to be a better communicator of appreciation, thanksgiving, and kindness. I hope you’ll join me. And I hope that together we’ll over-communicate love.