Typos and Other Major Transgressions

I am a pretty great speller.  I remember studying for spelling tests in elementary school and almost always making a 100!  I'm really good at grammar too; I make a living teaching it.  So, you can imagine my embarrassment when my Aunt called me out on the typos in this blog.  I try to spell check, really I do!  It's just when it's your words, you don't always catch the wrong ones!  As many times as I've read and reread my posts, I have never noticed a published typo! 

Even since the typos were brought to my attention, I have been trying to find time to get online and try to find them and fix them.  I've mentally obsessed over this way more than I should have.  Since I'm kindof a perfectionist, this came as a big blow to my pride.  It also came, however, with a good lesson learned...

I have a tendency to find fault with others when I shouldn't.  I resist correcting the facebook walls of others on a daily basis.  (Sometimes I share errors I've seen with my English teacher friends and we cringe at the thought!)  I used to circle mistakes in the church bulletin instead of listening to the sermon. On a non-grammatical but equally shameful note, just last week I corrected Skip for singing a song lyric slightly wrong.

As appreciative as I was for my Aunt's candor, a part of me was embarrassed (and in utter disbelief).  My mom, who reads my blog and prints it off to share with others, had never mentioned my mistakes.  When I asked if she had ever noticed, she admitted she had.  Yet, in all the bragging and discussing we've done since I started this blog, she'd never said anything about them.  She didn't feel the need to point out my flaws; she appreciated the good stuff and moved past the rest.  That's love! And that was the lesson.  Love more, judge less, and proofread.

Fitting In

     Skip and I started visiting churches almost a year ago.  It was a tough decision to leave my home church of 16 years, but ultimately, we felt that was the direction God had for us.  We’ve settled at a great church just down the road from our house and have been trying to get plugged in.  That’s hard sometimes when Skip is on the road and I am left to join in on activities alone.  We’ve made a great “friend couple” in Kimberly and Jason who look after me when Skip is away.  We’ve joined a Sunday morning growth group, are going to Financial Peace University on Sunday evenings, and I go to Zumba in the FLC twice a week.  I’m putting faces to names and learning my way around the many classroom buildings.  But, I’ve been struggling with feeling like Blackwelder Park is my church.  I still feel a little like a visitor.

     At my home church, I knew everyone.  The church was much smaller and I had grown up there.  People knew me and missed me when I was gone.  I sang in the choir, did special music solos, even had the lead in a Christmas play or two over the years.  I was the “it” girl at church.  People liked me and wanted my opinion and asked me to serve on committees.  This did nothing for me spiritually, but it was great for my ego.  And is probably a little to blame for feelings I’ve had toward my new church.

     Last night, God began to speak to these feelings I’ve been having through Crazy Love, a book I’ve been reading during my devotion time at night.  The chapter was about being lukewarm.  Here are the scriptures that stepped on my toes and woke me up a little:

       “Woe to you when all men speak well of you, for that is how their fathers treated the false prophets.” Luke 6:26

       “But all their works they do to be seen of men; they make their phylacteries wide and the tassels on their garments long; they love the place of honor at banquets and the most important seats in the synagogues; they love to be greeted by name in the marketplace…” Matthew 23:5-7.

     Wow.  Talk about a smack in the face.  I’ve been focusing on my feelings of not fitting in rather than focusing on the growth I’ve experienced in my walk with the Lord.  My worship on Sunday morning is genuine and my fellowship with my Father is growing.  So what if not everyone knows my name.  Maybe that will come with more time; maybe it won’t.   I don’t think it’s wrong to want to feel a sense of belonging, but I can’t make that my focus.  I have to show up with a servant’s heart and a willingness and longing for worship. Someday, I still hope to feel at home at our new church home.  But, if I never make the “in crowd” at church again, I know my place in the Kingdom is secure and the King knows my name and misses me when I’m gone. 

Blessed

     It was a normal morning.  I took the extra time to fix coffee and ran into my room exactly 7 minutes before the bell rang.   At 8:40am, I had hardly noticed that Megan hadn’t been in to say good morning and “love on” my Success kiddos.  The morning was going quickly.  When our new guidance counselor, Erin, came to my door and asked to speak to me privately in the hall, I (who am usually terrified by those kinds of things) wasn’t even alarmed.  Until she said, “Megan has been in a car accident.”  Megan was fine but Anna had “head injuries.”  They were taken by ambulance to the hospital.  I decided in an instant to leave and go be with them at the hospital.  I planned to go alone.  I even suggested I go alone.  Angi and Lee, two other Freshman Academy family members, had other plans.  They were going.   When I reasoned, “we can’t just shut down the freshman academy for the day,” Erin said, “no, but we can shut down guidance and we’ll cover for y’all as long as you need.”  In the panic of the moment, I took a huge sigh of relief and took off for the ER. 

     12 “short” hours later, Anna is stitched up and at home watching movies with her grandma and favorite aunt.  Megan is bumped and bruised and having her moments, but she will be ok too.  We joked today in the waiting room that she’ll now be making her kids sit in car seats (like Anna was properly today) AND wear bicycle helmets until they’re 40. 

     There are so many other outcomes that could have come out of this day.  It’s hard to believe that at the end of it, anyone could feel more blessed than yesterday, but I think we do.  Even Megan and Matt.  In a time when teaching in more frustrating than ever, when state rules changes daily and teachers find out by reading the daily news, when kids value their sneakers more than their education, it’s such a blessing to feel the arms of an entire high school reaching out and hear prayers going up for one of our own.  

Dads

I have never really had a dad. Growing up, I saw my father mostly on Thanksgiving and Christmas.  When he divorced my mom when I was an infant, he pretty much divorced me too.  I don’t say this to sound pitiful.  Truth be told, I had a much better childhood than most of the people I know with a mom and a dad.  God knew what He was doing.  He gave me an awesome Mom and put several Godly men in my life to be great stand in fathers.

In middle school, I met Jenilee and when we joined at the hip, I got a new set of parents.  A dad came built in.  Darol was a great dad.  He took his family to church every time the doors were open and when my cat Boss died, he came over to my house and buried it for my grief stricken mother and me.  He cooked breakfast all the time and went to all of Jenilee’s (boring) track meets.  When we went out to dinner, he paid for mine too.

The summer of my freshman year in college, I started working with the youth at Phaniels Baptist Church.  Since I was pretty much a kid myself, I got “adopted” by a lot of the parents of my youth.  That’s when I got Ronald Taylor.  Many know Ronald as “the fish man.”  He’s Brett and Andrea’s dad.  They know they are two lucky kids.  I got lucky when Ronald came into my life too.  For the past five years, he’s cooked for my Relay for Life team after he got off work, on a Friday, for FREE.  Before we got married, he gave Skip some words of wisdom.  I didn’t have a Dad to do that, so he it for me.  A week or so after we got  married, he called and asked if Skip was treating me right.  He’s an awesome dad.

Dan Talley was another father I got from my time at Phaniels.  Since he had three kids of his own, he knew a little bit of how to deal with a 19 year old kid.    I had so much to learn, I’m amazed I made it a summer, much less 7 years working with their youth.  My first year, I did everything wrong, so I was pretty surprised the following spring when Dan called me at school to ask if I wanted to come back for the summer.  He was one of the deacons who hired me the first time.  He saw how much I loved the kids and he liked me.  He spent the next several years defending my honor every time I did something wrong or the preacher called me in for “a talking to.”  He went to camp with us one sweltering summer and forced us to wash cars to raise money for mission trips.  He cared about every kid in the youth group with his own daughter Michelle, and he cared about me.  He was a great dad.

Dan got to meet The Father this weekend.  Dan loved to hunt.  Apparently, he was hunting Saturday morning and God called him home.  What an amazing way to go.   I think maybe that was the beginning of his reward for a life well spent.  He was a devoted man of God.  He was a deacon; he was a Gideon.  He was on the youth council for years after his own children graduated.  He was one of the many men God put in my life to show me what Godly men look like.  Even though I haven’t seen him as often lately as I once did, I’m going to miss him.  He was a great dad.

Car Trouble

     Last Thursday, Mom got a call from Nanny at work.  Nothing was "wrong," her car battery was just dead.  She wanted to make a quick trip to the library and to Subway and was frustrated to have her wings clipped.  I put a call into our personal mechanic, Skip, who stopped by after work Thursday night to give her a jump.  Today, when she went out for an afternoon doctor's appointment, the battery was dead again.  I would need to take her to an appointment rescheduled for later in the afternoon.

     Sunday morning, driving home from church, Skip's transmission went out.  This car has been a blessing and a frustration for him for as long as I can remember.  The car was a gift from his grandparents and took him from West Virginia to Georgia and finally home to me in North Carolina.  It's also spent it's fair share of time broken down on the side of the road and in greasy garages across 5 states.  We have decided, however, that the car I affectionately call the "Christmas Taurus" (green car, red door) should be retired.  We simply cannot afford to put $1500 in a car that probably wouldn't sell for that much in great condition.  But- we are not in a position to buy a car and take on car payments either.  So, this morning during our prayer time together, we asked the Lord what to do about the car situation.

     On the way to the doctor's office today, Nanny and I commiserated about our car woes.  It was then that she told me that she planned to hang up her keys.  Her walking is getting worse and she just doesn't feel comfortable behind the wheel anymore.  I was relieved (we've been concerned about her driving for a while now) and terribily sad at the same time.  I remember riding all over town with Nanny when I was a little girl.  When she had to brake, she would sling her right arm out to protect me.  Today, we made a tentative plan on how she will get to future appointments without driving herself.        

      Nanny told me she would probably sell her car for "whatever she could get for it."  I heard the answer to our prayer from this morning as clearly as if the Lord had used an audible voice and not just the voice of my sweet Nanny.  I excitedly offered to buy the car from her to replace Skip's.  A 1997 Grand Prix with 80,000 miles isn't worth a whole lot of money, but it's in good condition and what's more, we can afford it!  But, Nanny said "no."  She would not sell it to us.  Skip could use it as long as we need it, but we could not pay her for it.

     It is a bittersweet realization that our car troubles are solved because her driving days have ended.  Although, I should not be surprised that once again, Nanny is coming to the rescue.  She and my Papa bought my first car.  She sent me enough money in college that I did not have to work my freshman year.  Just Saturday, she gave me a wad of money for Skip and I to go out to dinner that night. 

     I hope that I will always be the one who can take her to the bank, the bread store, to Wal-mart and the doctor's office.  I pray I never get frustrated by an inconvenience in my day.  I hope I will remember everyday that it will take more years than either of us has left to repay her kindness; but with any luck, I'll be given enough years to at least make a dent.

Happy Birthday to Lou! Happy Birthday to Lou!

      Spend 5 minutes in my presence and you know how much I love my Mama.   A girl should only get one good “mama” in a lifetime.  I’ve known plenty who didn’t even get that.  So, having two great mamas is like, a miracle.  When I married Skip, I got another great mama in Skip’s mom, Lou Anne.  Unlike my mom, we don’t have a whole lot in common (except for teaching English and our shared adoration of Skip), so I learn a lot from her.

     LouAnne has this authentic love for the Word of God.  Right after Skip and I started dating, she began praying verses she picked out for all of her children (including me).  Mine was about patience and Skip was about being a rebel; talk about mother’s intuition.  When Skip was searching for a new job and I was scared about our finances, she always reminded me to put my hope and trust in the Lord.  And it worked!  I could have easily despaired during those months had it not been for her encouragement. 

     Being LouAnne’s daughter-in-law has also taught me a great deal of patience.   I like to have a plan.  I love a calendar.  Dates and times make me happy.  Sometimes, they make me “unspontaneous” and a little uptight.  LouAnne assures me that before she became and Erdmom of four, she was the same way.  It’s hard to imagine her with a color coded calendar like mine, but I try.  I also try to relax a little when the answer is “I don’t know yet” to even the simplest “when’s dinner?” question.  It’s good for me.  She’s good for me.  I think I’ll keep her.

Happy Birthday LouAnne!  You know I love you!

Why I Work- Part Two

     We passed the 10 day mark Wednesday at school. To those who don’t work in the school system, this milestone means nothing to you. For those of us who do, it means class changes, parent contacts, and common assessments need to be planned if not completed. This usually means the countdown to Thanksgiving has begun and we are no longer calling our students “the kid in the blue shirt,” but learning their names, their sports, and their enthusiasm (or lack of) about our given subject.

     This is the beginning of my seventh year teaching and, so far, so good. It’s shaping up to be a good year. And the older I get, the more serious I take my role as a teacher. I read Jodi Picoult’s book Nineteen Minutes over Labor Day weekend and have been haunted by the lives of the teenagers depicted in the novel. (If you work in a school, you need to read this book.) Every day this week, as my students have entered my classroom, I’ve wondered if they have a suicide stash tucked under their mattress or if extreme bullying is going on right under my nose. In light of the world some of these kids live in, sometimes teaching them to circle prepositional phrases is the easiest part of the job.

     As a high school teacher, I get to watch students experience the most exciting and important transition of their lives to date. I get to cry on their last day of high school and take a tiny bit of credit for the people they are going to be. If I’ve done my job right, I leave the slightest of fingerprints on the memories of their high school years. I was reminded of significance of my job last night as hung out with a 2010 graduate. (Teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but the kids in that class were definitely mine.)

     Drew came over last night to visit and drop off a late wedding gift. I cooked dinner and we talked for hours. I half expected her to rush in, eat and rush out. A beautiful, young girl, fresh out of high school, probably has tons better things to do than hang out with me. But as the sun went down, we were still talking up a storm. Since Skip was out of town, she volunteered to spend the night and keep me company. About half way through the night, deep in conversation, I realized that I was no longer talking to a flighty, teenage chatterbox; she is now an adult. One who can talk about her future career and making a wise purchase buying a new car. I remember Drew when she was a bouncy, carefree freshman. I am so proud of the young woman she has become. I am so proud to say grew up hanging out in my room.

     It’s moments like that remind me why I became a teacher. Thanks Drew; you can sleep on my couch anytime.