I bet you think this is going to be a rant against government interference and TCAPs. You might be prepared to jump up on the soap box with me, or click away in utter disgust, because enough with the complaining already.
I hate to disappoint everyone. It is kind of a specialty of mine, though.
This post has nothing to do with the current issues in Education. (And if ever there were a big pile of issues, it is surely in public education) This post is about my current life. And some changes.
As all of you are well aware, I toiled for 18 months to complete my Master's degree. Do you like how I said toiled? That is probably extreme. I think the word "toil" should be reserved for people who really have to do hard labor. Reading, doing 10,000 power point presentations and making some posters probably doesn't count as toil. Anyway. Master's degree-check.
I have mentioned before that my little blog is only a slice of my story and the reasons for my going back to school were varied and serious. Some of those things have remained the same and some have changed. (Sorry to be vague. Boundaries, and what have you.) It has been a long, twisty journey to get where I am right now, but there is so much blessing in it. So. much.
The first detour on my teaching journey came in my Reading class. Mom had just died. I was a HOT MESS and I was seriously considering dropping out. And then I met Dr. Suzanne Harris. I mentioned this briefly in a post last summer, but Dr. Harris is an amazing woman. She overcame a horrifying childhood to become a loving teacher and now the loving Dean of the College of Education at Trevecca. I adore her. Her class was amazing. She was unique to my program in that she did not spend her teaching career teaching public school. Trevecca's education department is filled with serious warriors who gave their hearts away to kids all over Nashville. And I love them for it. Sometimes, though, my heart felt a little out of step. As the program went on, I kept coming back to the spiritual lives of children. How desperately I want them to know Jesus, and how much He loves them. I ran up against how taboo religion is in a public school.
Listen. I KNOW that there are thousands of Christian teachers who go into public schools everyday and shine their lights in completely politically correct ways. They love children and help shape their character. I totally get that.
But.
In my own heart I keep running up against this call-this call to share Christ with the littlest ones. And that's why I loved Dr. Harris. Because she spent her career teaching in Christian schools. The words she spoke about her teaching experience were picked out just for me. And it was the first step on the journey God was taking me on to where I am today.
The second detour came about when I had to make a decision about student teaching. My cohort was set to student teach in Spring 2013. If I made the choice to do that, it meant that I would not be teaching at St. B's for the 2012-2013 school year. It also meant I would be 9 months without a job. So, I knew that option was not going to work for me. At first, I thought I would just put off student teaching until Fall 2013.
Then came the final detour. (I'm sure you are like, "Finally. Longest prelude ever!") Last fall the Children's Minister at my church approached me about taking the childcare coordinator position in her ministry. This job coordinates all the childcare workers, etc., for events that happen outside of Sunday. The job has grown by leaps and bounds in the last few years and wasn't just a side gig anymore. In our earliest talks, I thought I was going to be able to do that job and continue on at the preschool. But, as time went on, it became clear there were more ways I could serve at the church, the job was going to be quite large and I had to choose.
Instead of choosing, I cried for two weeks.
Y'all. I was not interested in leaving the preschool. St. B's had been my cleft in the rock for two solid years. After six years of living in Nashville, I had finally found "my people". I could not imagine leaving. In my heart, though, I knew it was coming. Part-time pay for full time work is just not an option for me right now. Every minute I am away from my kids has to be worth it!
After I got done crying, I started praying. I knew pretty quick what direction I was to take.
Which brings me to where I am today. I am back on a church staff. Back in Children's Ministry. I work for a fabulous woman who has amazing vision for kids. (And my own kids adore her! I won't even get started on the obsession Drew and Emily have with her two teenagers!)
I did not see this coming. Seriously. But as I'm spending my summer working on curriculum and organizing, I just feel so incredibly blessed. Only God knew those deep desires of my heart, and, for now anyway, I am getting to walk in those places. And the best part? I get to work from home. It is quite literally a direct answer to a prayer I prayed about a year ago. My time with my little ones is precious to me. Even on those days when they are not being exactly precious. I am humbled and grateful that God has given me the chance to do all the things I love, all at once.
I super love being a teacher. And I super doubt that my degree will go to waste. But we all know the normal path forward is never my path. One day, I'll look back and it will all make sense...
Right??
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Why I Write a blog
I know what you're thinking.
I have no business claiming to write a blog, when I rarely, in fact, write one.
I must say I was not prepared for the emotional onslaught that would follow the "12 Days of Mom" series. When I pushed publish on that final post, I closed my computer and walked away. I thought I might be done. I have toyed with the idea of just closing her down.
My life lies in stark contrast today to the life that existed when I started this blog. And I really had to take some time to think about whether it made sense for me to keep writing here. Why was I writing? When I started this blog, it was about keeping long distance grandparents up to date on their grandson. Due to all manner of things, that sort of stopped being the purpose.
I really don't want to fill up page after page about myself. Because, hello? Narcissus, anyone? So, why would I come here to write?
I backed the thought train up and asked myself why I like to read other people's blogs. Why do I love to read about mundane, everyday things in someone else's life. Because, I really do. I prefer it to TV or magazines. It's my way to relax. But why?
All of this was swirling around in my head when it was time to read The Great Gatsby for book club. I don't know if you've heard, but there's a film version coming out. I predict a lot of gin will be consumed this month.
I started reading the book and around the three-quarter mark said out loud for the first time ever, "I simply don't like this book." I know. I KNOW. You are shaking your head in despair and disappointment. Listen. It's not that I don't appreciate the art-the amazing writing-because I get it. What I don't like is the story.
And there it was. Finally, my mind strung together a long line of random thoughts I had been having and my soul said, "I love stories". I can appreciate the beauty of amazing words put together in extraordinary ways. But what really gets my blood pumping, what I'm passionate about, is a person's story. (Perhaps we will discuss at another time why I don't like the story in Gatsby...but do I really need to explain it???)
What I love about people is that each of them carries with them a different story. And I want to know it. Every single detail of their story, no matter what kind of details are held within. This is how I connect with other humans. And this is why I hate small talk, and cocktail parties. Because when people are talking about the surface details of their life, I really want to say, "Tell me about yourself as a kid". I will go ahead and mention that I rarely do this. Maybe I should. I think I've also mentioned that I'm somewhat of a social nightmare. So, I think diving deep at a cocktail party is rather unwise. For me, anyway!
All of this mental workout led me back to my blog. And why I blog. Because it is my story. Granted, it is not all of my story. It never really can be, because it is rare that our own stories aren't somehow intertwined with someone else's stories. There is nothing worse than having someone else tell your story.
So, I've decided to keep coming here and writing down some of my stories. Maybe you are like me-maybe the story is what connects us. Maybe reading about my mundane life is how you will relax. Maybe something I face, or something I am wrestling with connects with you. It is the very worst feeling to believe you are facing something alone. Sharing my story might help you know that you are so not alone.
I don't know that it matters to anyone but me that I'm going to continue to blog. But it was an important conclusion for me to reach. To understand what it is I love about reading and, to follow, what I love about writing.
So, here's to some stories! You know I can't go a week without making a total fool of myself. Maybe at the very least you can get a good laugh!
I have no business claiming to write a blog, when I rarely, in fact, write one.
I must say I was not prepared for the emotional onslaught that would follow the "12 Days of Mom" series. When I pushed publish on that final post, I closed my computer and walked away. I thought I might be done. I have toyed with the idea of just closing her down.
My life lies in stark contrast today to the life that existed when I started this blog. And I really had to take some time to think about whether it made sense for me to keep writing here. Why was I writing? When I started this blog, it was about keeping long distance grandparents up to date on their grandson. Due to all manner of things, that sort of stopped being the purpose.
I really don't want to fill up page after page about myself. Because, hello? Narcissus, anyone? So, why would I come here to write?
I backed the thought train up and asked myself why I like to read other people's blogs. Why do I love to read about mundane, everyday things in someone else's life. Because, I really do. I prefer it to TV or magazines. It's my way to relax. But why?
All of this was swirling around in my head when it was time to read The Great Gatsby for book club. I don't know if you've heard, but there's a film version coming out. I predict a lot of gin will be consumed this month.
I started reading the book and around the three-quarter mark said out loud for the first time ever, "I simply don't like this book." I know. I KNOW. You are shaking your head in despair and disappointment. Listen. It's not that I don't appreciate the art-the amazing writing-because I get it. What I don't like is the story.
And there it was. Finally, my mind strung together a long line of random thoughts I had been having and my soul said, "I love stories". I can appreciate the beauty of amazing words put together in extraordinary ways. But what really gets my blood pumping, what I'm passionate about, is a person's story. (Perhaps we will discuss at another time why I don't like the story in Gatsby...but do I really need to explain it???)
What I love about people is that each of them carries with them a different story. And I want to know it. Every single detail of their story, no matter what kind of details are held within. This is how I connect with other humans. And this is why I hate small talk, and cocktail parties. Because when people are talking about the surface details of their life, I really want to say, "Tell me about yourself as a kid". I will go ahead and mention that I rarely do this. Maybe I should. I think I've also mentioned that I'm somewhat of a social nightmare. So, I think diving deep at a cocktail party is rather unwise. For me, anyway!
All of this mental workout led me back to my blog. And why I blog. Because it is my story. Granted, it is not all of my story. It never really can be, because it is rare that our own stories aren't somehow intertwined with someone else's stories. There is nothing worse than having someone else tell your story.
So, I've decided to keep coming here and writing down some of my stories. Maybe you are like me-maybe the story is what connects us. Maybe reading about my mundane life is how you will relax. Maybe something I face, or something I am wrestling with connects with you. It is the very worst feeling to believe you are facing something alone. Sharing my story might help you know that you are so not alone.
I don't know that it matters to anyone but me that I'm going to continue to blog. But it was an important conclusion for me to reach. To understand what it is I love about reading and, to follow, what I love about writing.
So, here's to some stories! You know I can't go a week without making a total fool of myself. Maybe at the very least you can get a good laugh!
Thursday, March 14, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day 12
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
Well, here we are. Day 12. Can I tell you something? I have no idea how to close this deal out. When I started, I didn't really think about what it would look like to finish. (Welcome to all of my life...) I suppose in my mind I imagined twelve neat and tidy stories with the last one wrapping everything up nicely. This process, for me, has been anything but neat and tidy. I'm a big ol' giant mess currently. And finishing this series just reinforces the whole finality of the whole thing. I mean, I know I can write stories about her whenever I want. I know I can think about her and talk about her whenever I want. But passing that dreaded "year" mark did not bring the relief I was hoping for at all. It is a difficult thing knowing I will face this hole in my life for the rest of my life.
Also, I know all of these stories have painted an amazing picture of my Mom. I meant for it to be that way. Did Mom have flaws? Of course. Did we always get along in an amazing way? Of course not. I thought long and hard about writing these stories. I want to live my life and write about my life in a real way. No single person out there is looking to see more things they are not living up to. I surely hope none of these stories has made you feel that way. Mom would not approve!! At the same time, I decided if you get terminal cancer and pass away before you're sixty, then we get to talk about only the best parts of you! Sometime I hope to share all of Mom's story. It is a story full of hope and grace. Mom's life was not easy, not for even one single day. That's honest truth. But, I have never known anyone who fought harder for joy and love.
One of the reasons I was (am) so angry at her cancer is because it seemed like her life was on the up-tick for the first time in a while. It felt like a corner had been turned. That maybe her final chapter would be an easy one. Instead, her final days were lived out in one of the hardest ways possible. I'm still working on reconciling all of that in my heart. It's a dirty job.
I'm putting my hope in the fact that she is sporting one hell of a crown.
I'm all out of words. So, I leave you with a list of things that I will forever remember about Mom.
1. Bananas with milk and sugar
2. Clover flower necklaces
3. Her "neapolitan" bathrobe
4. How she was a morning person
5. The song she sang to us when it was time to go to church (which, by the way, was all the time!)
6. The one time she stopped answering to Mom and would only answer to Shelia (not her name) because she couldn't handle hearing "Mom" another single time.
7. The summer fun schedule she made out each year during summer break.
8. Her love of bread dough. Raw.
9. Her lap
10. Her love
Well, here we are. Day 12. Can I tell you something? I have no idea how to close this deal out. When I started, I didn't really think about what it would look like to finish. (Welcome to all of my life...) I suppose in my mind I imagined twelve neat and tidy stories with the last one wrapping everything up nicely. This process, for me, has been anything but neat and tidy. I'm a big ol' giant mess currently. And finishing this series just reinforces the whole finality of the whole thing. I mean, I know I can write stories about her whenever I want. I know I can think about her and talk about her whenever I want. But passing that dreaded "year" mark did not bring the relief I was hoping for at all. It is a difficult thing knowing I will face this hole in my life for the rest of my life.
Also, I know all of these stories have painted an amazing picture of my Mom. I meant for it to be that way. Did Mom have flaws? Of course. Did we always get along in an amazing way? Of course not. I thought long and hard about writing these stories. I want to live my life and write about my life in a real way. No single person out there is looking to see more things they are not living up to. I surely hope none of these stories has made you feel that way. Mom would not approve!! At the same time, I decided if you get terminal cancer and pass away before you're sixty, then we get to talk about only the best parts of you! Sometime I hope to share all of Mom's story. It is a story full of hope and grace. Mom's life was not easy, not for even one single day. That's honest truth. But, I have never known anyone who fought harder for joy and love.
One of the reasons I was (am) so angry at her cancer is because it seemed like her life was on the up-tick for the first time in a while. It felt like a corner had been turned. That maybe her final chapter would be an easy one. Instead, her final days were lived out in one of the hardest ways possible. I'm still working on reconciling all of that in my heart. It's a dirty job.
I'm putting my hope in the fact that she is sporting one hell of a crown.
I'm all out of words. So, I leave you with a list of things that I will forever remember about Mom.
1. Bananas with milk and sugar
2. Clover flower necklaces
3. Her "neapolitan" bathrobe
4. How she was a morning person
5. The song she sang to us when it was time to go to church (which, by the way, was all the time!)
6. The one time she stopped answering to Mom and would only answer to Shelia (not her name) because she couldn't handle hearing "Mom" another single time.
7. The summer fun schedule she made out each year during summer break.
8. Her love of bread dough. Raw.
9. Her lap
10. Her love
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Eleven
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
Well, it turns out that yesterday, the day, was a non-writing day. While it was a non-writing day, it was a pro look like a slob and eat ice-cream day. So there's that. Onward and upward...
There are certain opportunities that come around in life that simply overwhelm. They overwhelm in the moment and they overwhelm in hindsight. I was afforded one of these opportunities around 11 years ago. And when I look back, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
I was working in the Children's Ministry department of my church in Knoxville. My job was in flux. (Oh wait. That would sum up my entire "career" there...) I was trying to decide what to do with the church and the church was trying to decide what to do with me. During this time I was approached by the missions pastor (at the time...a lot of flux was going around...) and he asked me how I would feel about leading a trip of Children's Ministry folks who would provide children's programming for a missionary conference in Central Europe.
Let me take a minute and back the story up. When I was in high school I was given another amazing opportunity. I joined two great friends from my church and a few other girls from across the state and traveled to Santiago, Chile to serve missionary kids at a conference. I was young and the whole experience was overwhelming and amazing all at the same time. I walked away from that trip with a huge heart for missionary kids. I had spent my life learning about missionaries. But that trip gave me eyes to see the missionaries as real people, not just names on paper. They were real families, living real lives. They missed their grandparents, they felt torn between cultures, they experienced all the same things I experienced, but with about 10 extra layers of stuff to deal with.
When I was given the chance to get to know a whole new group of them? Well, I didn't hesitate to say yes!
The first year we traveled to the conference we left on December 31, 2001. Three and a half months after 9/11. I was terrified and had worked out several scenarios of what I would do if we ended up with a terrorist on our flight. You think I'm kidding. The scary plane ride aside, the trip was one of the most rich and fulfilling experiences of my life. It was hard work and there were team "dynamics" that I was ill-equipped to deal with, yet had to deal with. But, in the middle of all that real life stuff, I met some of the most amazing kids I would ever meet. I fell head over heels in love with all those Central Europe MKs.
The following year, as I began to assemble the team, Big Dan decided to stay home. He had gone on the trip the year before and he loved it as well. But, it was his first year in law school, and missing class wasn't an option. This left a unique opening on the team. You'll never guess who wanted to go...
MOM.
Of course you guessed. Because by now you know she did not miss the opportunity for an adventure. (Well, and I guess you knew this post was going to be about her, too, huh?)
Do you see the whole picture of the opportunity I was given here? My heart just swells with gratitude when I think about it. My mom and I had the opportunity to travel together to Budapest, Hungary to minister to missionary kids. This was like the be all, end all of full circle moments.
Mom went on the trip because she loved adventure. She went on the trip because she loved missionaries and their kids. But mostly, she went on the trip because she loved me. She always loved the things that were most important to me. She wanted to see the faces of the ones I had told her all about. She wanted to see the places I saw and go the places I went. What mattered to me, mattered to her. (And I know my siblings would all say the same...)
So, off we went like Thelma and Louise on a crazy trans-atlantic adventure. I'll start by telling you that we nearly lost her in the Amsterdam airport. Like, for real. She took off like a shot (because I may have mentioned we needed to move fast), only she took off in the complete wrong direction!! It was a close call!
We roomed together, and ate together, and prayed together and cried together. If she were here right now, I'd remind her about the "cabbage hall". We had to walk in this one hallway every morning. It had a very distinct smell. I almost hurled every day. We would hold our breath and run down the hallway.
After the conference, we had time to explore Budapest. We walked arm and arm in and out of shops, trying to stay warm! AND as if all of that were not enough, we got to travel to Germany at the end of our trip. Some friends of ours (the same man who made all these trips happen for me) were on the brink of moving to Germany to be missionaries. They were trying to figure out where they would be living. We were more than happy to help them explore! :) Never mind the fact that I'm pretty sure it was a record breaking-ly COLD winter, we made the best of it and made memories as fast as we could.
When you lose someone important you think about what you might do if you had just one more day with them. If I had one more day, I would for sure want to spend it with mom and my siblings piled on a couch somewhere. But, if I had two days? We would bundle up, take off arm and arm, and see the sights.
Well, it turns out that yesterday, the day, was a non-writing day. While it was a non-writing day, it was a pro look like a slob and eat ice-cream day. So there's that. Onward and upward...
There are certain opportunities that come around in life that simply overwhelm. They overwhelm in the moment and they overwhelm in hindsight. I was afforded one of these opportunities around 11 years ago. And when I look back, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
I was working in the Children's Ministry department of my church in Knoxville. My job was in flux. (Oh wait. That would sum up my entire "career" there...) I was trying to decide what to do with the church and the church was trying to decide what to do with me. During this time I was approached by the missions pastor (at the time...a lot of flux was going around...) and he asked me how I would feel about leading a trip of Children's Ministry folks who would provide children's programming for a missionary conference in Central Europe.
Let me take a minute and back the story up. When I was in high school I was given another amazing opportunity. I joined two great friends from my church and a few other girls from across the state and traveled to Santiago, Chile to serve missionary kids at a conference. I was young and the whole experience was overwhelming and amazing all at the same time. I walked away from that trip with a huge heart for missionary kids. I had spent my life learning about missionaries. But that trip gave me eyes to see the missionaries as real people, not just names on paper. They were real families, living real lives. They missed their grandparents, they felt torn between cultures, they experienced all the same things I experienced, but with about 10 extra layers of stuff to deal with.
When I was given the chance to get to know a whole new group of them? Well, I didn't hesitate to say yes!
The first year we traveled to the conference we left on December 31, 2001. Three and a half months after 9/11. I was terrified and had worked out several scenarios of what I would do if we ended up with a terrorist on our flight. You think I'm kidding. The scary plane ride aside, the trip was one of the most rich and fulfilling experiences of my life. It was hard work and there were team "dynamics" that I was ill-equipped to deal with, yet had to deal with. But, in the middle of all that real life stuff, I met some of the most amazing kids I would ever meet. I fell head over heels in love with all those Central Europe MKs.
The following year, as I began to assemble the team, Big Dan decided to stay home. He had gone on the trip the year before and he loved it as well. But, it was his first year in law school, and missing class wasn't an option. This left a unique opening on the team. You'll never guess who wanted to go...
MOM.
Of course you guessed. Because by now you know she did not miss the opportunity for an adventure. (Well, and I guess you knew this post was going to be about her, too, huh?)
Do you see the whole picture of the opportunity I was given here? My heart just swells with gratitude when I think about it. My mom and I had the opportunity to travel together to Budapest, Hungary to minister to missionary kids. This was like the be all, end all of full circle moments.
Mom went on the trip because she loved adventure. She went on the trip because she loved missionaries and their kids. But mostly, she went on the trip because she loved me. She always loved the things that were most important to me. She wanted to see the faces of the ones I had told her all about. She wanted to see the places I saw and go the places I went. What mattered to me, mattered to her. (And I know my siblings would all say the same...)
So, off we went like Thelma and Louise on a crazy trans-atlantic adventure. I'll start by telling you that we nearly lost her in the Amsterdam airport. Like, for real. She took off like a shot (because I may have mentioned we needed to move fast), only she took off in the complete wrong direction!! It was a close call!
We roomed together, and ate together, and prayed together and cried together. If she were here right now, I'd remind her about the "cabbage hall". We had to walk in this one hallway every morning. It had a very distinct smell. I almost hurled every day. We would hold our breath and run down the hallway.
After the conference, we had time to explore Budapest. We walked arm and arm in and out of shops, trying to stay warm! AND as if all of that were not enough, we got to travel to Germany at the end of our trip. Some friends of ours (the same man who made all these trips happen for me) were on the brink of moving to Germany to be missionaries. They were trying to figure out where they would be living. We were more than happy to help them explore! :) Never mind the fact that I'm pretty sure it was a record breaking-ly COLD winter, we made the best of it and made memories as fast as we could.
When you lose someone important you think about what you might do if you had just one more day with them. If I had one more day, I would for sure want to spend it with mom and my siblings piled on a couch somewhere. But, if I had two days? We would bundle up, take off arm and arm, and see the sights.
Monday, March 11, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Ten
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
A few nights ago, I was hanging out with Drew before bed. He has been doing some work around the house to earn an allowance. That night, he was admiring one of his dollar bills (he refuses any sort of coin payment) and decided he wanted to put it under his pillow. I laughed and said, "It will be just like the tooth fairy came!" Then we discussed the reasons why he still has not lost a single tooth, and he pointed out that it might be worth investing in some fake teeth as a money making scheme. Then he looked me right in the eyes and said, "Mom, is the tooth fairy real??"
Well, shoot.
This is one of those moments that, if you're a raging, psycho parenting freak like myself, you've prepared yourself for. Most normal people probably don't plan for stuff like this, but we've established I'm far outside the "normal" box. I think you'll see from my response that I totally nailed it...
"Do you think the tooth fairy is real?"
See? Nailed it.
Guh.
I know where this is headed. This is headed for a discussion around a jolly old elf. I got kind of sad thinking we were headed there. If I'm honest, I'd tell you that I'm surprised Drew has believed in Santa this long. He's a gigantic skeptic. I was gloomy until I remembered how Mom handled it when I asked her if Santa was real.
I can't remember exactly how old I was when I asked her if Santa was real. I can remember feeling nervous to ask her, fearing somehow I was going to disappoint her. There was no real pressure to believe in Santa at my house growing up. I mean, we did, but when we asked, Mom told us the truth. But the way she did it took away the sting of the disappointment and helped me understand where the "warm" feeling came from at Christmas time.
When I asked her, she pulled me onto her lap (which does little to narrow down the time table-I sat on her lap well into my twenties!) and told me the story of St. Nicholas. You know, the real guy. I'm sure if she'd had access to Google, she would've shown me a picture. She shared with me his heart for Christ and his heart for children. Because I had watched Mom give to those in need so many times, I totally understood the story. She talked with me about why we gave and received gifts, why it was fun to have surprises, and why she let us believe in Santa. She wanted to be sure I knew she hadn't lied to me-that Santa was for fun, and she also wanted me to know that the fun wouldn't be over now that I knew the bigger story.
Christmas wasn't ruined at all for me when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Mom made Christmas magical every year, and it was even more special when I understood the heart behind it. Not to mention the fun of being in on the "secret" before any of my siblings!
So. The day of revealing is drawing nigh for me. I can't wait to tell Drew about St. Nicholas. I hope that I am able to convey the warmth and excitement about giving that Mom did. Besides, I won't mind having my own little "elf" for helping on Christmas Eve, either!
A few nights ago, I was hanging out with Drew before bed. He has been doing some work around the house to earn an allowance. That night, he was admiring one of his dollar bills (he refuses any sort of coin payment) and decided he wanted to put it under his pillow. I laughed and said, "It will be just like the tooth fairy came!" Then we discussed the reasons why he still has not lost a single tooth, and he pointed out that it might be worth investing in some fake teeth as a money making scheme. Then he looked me right in the eyes and said, "Mom, is the tooth fairy real??"
Well, shoot.
This is one of those moments that, if you're a raging, psycho parenting freak like myself, you've prepared yourself for. Most normal people probably don't plan for stuff like this, but we've established I'm far outside the "normal" box. I think you'll see from my response that I totally nailed it...
"Do you think the tooth fairy is real?"
See? Nailed it.
Guh.
I know where this is headed. This is headed for a discussion around a jolly old elf. I got kind of sad thinking we were headed there. If I'm honest, I'd tell you that I'm surprised Drew has believed in Santa this long. He's a gigantic skeptic. I was gloomy until I remembered how Mom handled it when I asked her if Santa was real.
I can't remember exactly how old I was when I asked her if Santa was real. I can remember feeling nervous to ask her, fearing somehow I was going to disappoint her. There was no real pressure to believe in Santa at my house growing up. I mean, we did, but when we asked, Mom told us the truth. But the way she did it took away the sting of the disappointment and helped me understand where the "warm" feeling came from at Christmas time.
When I asked her, she pulled me onto her lap (which does little to narrow down the time table-I sat on her lap well into my twenties!) and told me the story of St. Nicholas. You know, the real guy. I'm sure if she'd had access to Google, she would've shown me a picture. She shared with me his heart for Christ and his heart for children. Because I had watched Mom give to those in need so many times, I totally understood the story. She talked with me about why we gave and received gifts, why it was fun to have surprises, and why she let us believe in Santa. She wanted to be sure I knew she hadn't lied to me-that Santa was for fun, and she also wanted me to know that the fun wouldn't be over now that I knew the bigger story.
Christmas wasn't ruined at all for me when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Mom made Christmas magical every year, and it was even more special when I understood the heart behind it. Not to mention the fun of being in on the "secret" before any of my siblings!
So. The day of revealing is drawing nigh for me. I can't wait to tell Drew about St. Nicholas. I hope that I am able to convey the warmth and excitement about giving that Mom did. Besides, I won't mind having my own little "elf" for helping on Christmas Eve, either!
12 Days of Mom-Day Nine
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
Um, so sorry about my unannounced absence. Big Dan and I spent the weekend with some soul friends doing what the four of us do best-eating, sleeping and being hilarious. It was a beyond welcome hiatus from reality. I took my computer along, but I couldn't risk the ugly cry ruining all the laughing. So, I'll be a few days behind on these posts. It seems appropriate-running behind is the Hamilton way.
Some of you know that I work at a church. Some of you knew me when I worked at another church. Some of you have no idea that I have ever worked at a church. Now you know-I work at a church.
When I was 15 years old, I experienced what was termed "a call to ministry" in the church I grew up in. (Baptist, remember?) I think I would probably still call it that, but in case those terms are not familiar, it has meant to me, that I'm a church person. Only in the last couple of years has some of the fog cleared around this for me. I have realized how much I love, and have always loved, the local church. It's my place. Some of it is a comfort thing. I know how to navigate there. I know what's expected. I know where I fit and what I do well. I also know the things I won't be asked to do-anything music related. One summer at camp I talked my way into the worship band as the "egg shaker". I live in Nashville now. Even the "egg shakers" are professionals.
My love for the church comes straight from one place. Mom.
Mom and I have very different stories of how we came to the church. Mom was in her twenties, with me slung on her hip when she fell madly in love with Jesus. The grace she had been longing for her entire life, well, she found it. And when she did, she wanted to make sure others found it, too.
Some of my earliest memories of Mom are memories at church. I remember being 3 and 4 with her teaching my "Mission Friends" class. She was a hands on teacher-I feel like I remember making banana fritters every year as we studied a certain country. (No idea exactly where we would be studying that required making banana fritters...perhaps the curriculum was stretching it a bit!) We learned what missionaries did and we prayed for them.
Mom was also THE QUEEN of VBS. When I was very young we attended a church that was 20 or so minutes away from our home. So, everyday of VBS, Mom drove a great big blue church van and picked up as many kids as would fit on her way. Many of them were from our own neighborhood. She made crafts and signs and banners. She taught every grade and led every special area. She served cookies. She served red kool-aid. She LOVED kids.
It wasn't long before Mom was employed by a church. It was her first job after being home with us for many years. Church was place where she finally felt she belonged.
My first job after college was working at my home church. My mom was my secretary. Bahahahahaha! We laughed about it then and we laughed about it many times after that. In case you are thinking we had a traditional employer/employee relationship, you can think again.
As with any place filled with people, church was not always easy for Mom. Sometimes when life gets too real, people don't really know what to do. It's hard to know how to help people who have been hit by one of life's tidal waves, it is. But even in her hardest days, her greatest longing was to find a place again. A church where she fit and felt a part. I'm SO grateful that she did. Because in those last weeks her people-her church people-did not shy away from her suffering. They came around her and loved her in ways both tangible and intangible. And so many from her communities before were there.
I know church can be hard. I know for some of you reading this church has not offered what you were hoping for. I try to keep in mind that it's only part of God's plan for my walk with him. But, it is a part. When we bump up against others, it exposes those places in us that need examining. Maybe the point of church is not to make us feel good, but to show us the places we need to grow, and to let go.
My memories of Wednesday night supper, of hymn singing, and youth choir and VBS are all wrapped up by the memory of Mom. I'm thankful she passed along her love of the church to me. I hope I am doing the same for Drew and Emily.
Um, so sorry about my unannounced absence. Big Dan and I spent the weekend with some soul friends doing what the four of us do best-eating, sleeping and being hilarious. It was a beyond welcome hiatus from reality. I took my computer along, but I couldn't risk the ugly cry ruining all the laughing. So, I'll be a few days behind on these posts. It seems appropriate-running behind is the Hamilton way.
Some of you know that I work at a church. Some of you knew me when I worked at another church. Some of you have no idea that I have ever worked at a church. Now you know-I work at a church.
When I was 15 years old, I experienced what was termed "a call to ministry" in the church I grew up in. (Baptist, remember?) I think I would probably still call it that, but in case those terms are not familiar, it has meant to me, that I'm a church person. Only in the last couple of years has some of the fog cleared around this for me. I have realized how much I love, and have always loved, the local church. It's my place. Some of it is a comfort thing. I know how to navigate there. I know what's expected. I know where I fit and what I do well. I also know the things I won't be asked to do-anything music related. One summer at camp I talked my way into the worship band as the "egg shaker". I live in Nashville now. Even the "egg shakers" are professionals.
My love for the church comes straight from one place. Mom.
Mom and I have very different stories of how we came to the church. Mom was in her twenties, with me slung on her hip when she fell madly in love with Jesus. The grace she had been longing for her entire life, well, she found it. And when she did, she wanted to make sure others found it, too.
Some of my earliest memories of Mom are memories at church. I remember being 3 and 4 with her teaching my "Mission Friends" class. She was a hands on teacher-I feel like I remember making banana fritters every year as we studied a certain country. (No idea exactly where we would be studying that required making banana fritters...perhaps the curriculum was stretching it a bit!) We learned what missionaries did and we prayed for them.
Mom was also THE QUEEN of VBS. When I was very young we attended a church that was 20 or so minutes away from our home. So, everyday of VBS, Mom drove a great big blue church van and picked up as many kids as would fit on her way. Many of them were from our own neighborhood. She made crafts and signs and banners. She taught every grade and led every special area. She served cookies. She served red kool-aid. She LOVED kids.
It wasn't long before Mom was employed by a church. It was her first job after being home with us for many years. Church was place where she finally felt she belonged.
My first job after college was working at my home church. My mom was my secretary. Bahahahahaha! We laughed about it then and we laughed about it many times after that. In case you are thinking we had a traditional employer/employee relationship, you can think again.
As with any place filled with people, church was not always easy for Mom. Sometimes when life gets too real, people don't really know what to do. It's hard to know how to help people who have been hit by one of life's tidal waves, it is. But even in her hardest days, her greatest longing was to find a place again. A church where she fit and felt a part. I'm SO grateful that she did. Because in those last weeks her people-her church people-did not shy away from her suffering. They came around her and loved her in ways both tangible and intangible. And so many from her communities before were there.
I know church can be hard. I know for some of you reading this church has not offered what you were hoping for. I try to keep in mind that it's only part of God's plan for my walk with him. But, it is a part. When we bump up against others, it exposes those places in us that need examining. Maybe the point of church is not to make us feel good, but to show us the places we need to grow, and to let go.
My memories of Wednesday night supper, of hymn singing, and youth choir and VBS are all wrapped up by the memory of Mom. I'm thankful she passed along her love of the church to me. I hope I am doing the same for Drew and Emily.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Eight
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
I was 19 years old when I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time. I fell madly, deeply, head over heels in love with them. Truthfully, I had a big, giant crush on the entire state of Colorado.
The summer following my freshman year of college I participated in a college student discipleship program in St. Louis, MO. The program include intense small group bible study, leadership training, a job, and a ministry placement. We were busy. Also, the job was at Six Flags Mid-America. I could write around 25 posts just on that experience alone. "Gooooood morning! (afternoon, evening) welcome to THUNDER river!" Next time you are visiting a theme park, and you ride a water ride? Take an extra moment and thank the ride attendee. He or she has probably been there most of the day standing in wet shoes.
While my job was not my all time favorite, my ministry placement was definitely favorite. I worked as a jr. high ministry intern with a large church. It was this group that took me on my maiden voyage to Colorado. It was an amazing trip. And all I could think about was how in the world I was going to get back there. One morning, during a meeting for all the adults at camp, the ministry running the camp shared about a new opportunity that would be available for the following summer. "The Rock at Ute Trail Ranch". "The Rock" (most all the staff rebuffed the name and called it "Ute Trail") would be a backpacking camp catering to youth groups. Bring your whole group for a time of bonding and spiritual growth in the wilderness of Colorado. I could hardly believe my ears. I started praying right then and there that somehow I would get to work there. It would be a loooooong shot. I had only anecdotal backpacking experience (sort of like most people in college), and after all, I was on my very first trip to Colorado ever. None of it daunted me. I stalked that camp like a 7th grade ex-girlfriend. The minute applications came available, I filled mine out. And then I started waiting...
Against all odds and the better judgment of the camp leadership I was hired to be a guide at Ute Trail. Again, I could veer off here and write about 100 posts about my time there. But, I'm sure by now you're wondering what in the world this has to do with Mom.
My decision to go to a brand new camp in the middle of nowhere Colorado was met with hesitation from most people in my life. But not Mom. Here's the thing about Mom, she would take an adventure anywhere she could get it. And while I'm a more cautious version of her, deep in my bones, I love an adventure myself.
In order to get myself and all of my gear to Lake City, Colorado, it was going to cost way more than we had for me to fly. I was unsure about how any of it was going to work out. That's when Mom made "the decision". It was crazy. It was not popular. Looking back, I'd say it wasn't super fair to my siblings. Mom decided she and I would drive cross country to Colorado. She would drop me off at camp and then make the return trip on her own. Oh yes. She did.
Our trip out to Colorado ranks at the very top of the list when it comes to memories. It was a hilarious trip. We loaded Mom's car with enough stuff to last me a summer and then we threw in a case of Slim Fast shakes to drink on the way. I know that seems like it might not be true, but all of the story is exactly what happened.
Our first day we drove through Kentucky and to St. Louis. We stayed the night at Missouri Baptist College, where I lived the summer before. Mom was able to meet some of the important folks from that summer. It was amazing to have her there.
The next day we embarked on what would be the longest day of our lives. You want to know why? Because we had to drive across Kansas. I don't know if you've ever driven across Kansas. If you haven't, I warn you, never do it. You might love Kansas. And I'm sure off the beaten path there are many hidden treasures in Kansas. But along the interstate, where your drive straight for 11 million hours? Mind.numbing. We became completely delirious.
We drove, and drove, and drove. Finally, we crossed the border into Eastern Colorado, which by the way, bears a striking resemblance to Kansas. I needed those mountains to come into view. I needed to remember why I decided to do this crazy thing anyway. As we moved westward (feeling pretty much like pioneers...) the mountains appeared. We oohed and ahhed. And then we laughed hysterically, because, WE DROVE ACROSS THE COUNTRY! By this time we were starving, and then by the time we got to dinner, we were so exhausted we could barely eat.
We spent the night in Colorado Springs (with me declaring in that very 19 year old way that I would live there someday...I haven't been back since...) and the next morning we began our journey to Ute Trail. And it was quite a journey. There was almost too much awesome to take in. Beautiful scenery everywhere. As we crept higher in elevation, the roads got more narrow and windier. "What are we doing here??" we kept asking each other!
As we pulled into Ute Trail, I heard my mom draw in her breath. The place, quite frankly was a bit of a shambles. Part of our work for the summer would be repairing some of the buildings and other structures on the campus. Mom met the director and his family. She met a friend of mine from the summer before. She got to spend the night in one of the cabins with me. Gah! When I really stop to remember-what an unbelievable thing she did for me.
The next morning she was leaving early. She had a very long drive back to Tennessee, all on her own. As I walked her out of the cabin she grabbed me and started crying really big, loud sobs. So loud they echoed up and down the valley at the crack of dawn. "Shhhh!!", I kept saying. She insisted that she was not leaving me in that "God forsaken" place. She told me it wasn't too late. I could just get in the car and go right back home with her. It was tempting. I didn't want to let her go. She had been my cheerleader in this endeavor. She encouraged when no one else did. She even made me stationary so I could write my friends. (You know, in the dark ages before readily accessible email...) The one person who really believed I could do it was about to get in her car and drive away.
I needed her a whole lot that summer. She pushed me to finish what I started when I wanted to quit. She listened, tirelessly, to me download everything I was experiencing. She wrote me letters.
All of us need that one person-that person who believes in you so much it comes out of them when they're around. My summer on the heights...brought to me by Mom.
I was 19 years old when I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time. I fell madly, deeply, head over heels in love with them. Truthfully, I had a big, giant crush on the entire state of Colorado.
The summer following my freshman year of college I participated in a college student discipleship program in St. Louis, MO. The program include intense small group bible study, leadership training, a job, and a ministry placement. We were busy. Also, the job was at Six Flags Mid-America. I could write around 25 posts just on that experience alone. "Gooooood morning! (afternoon, evening) welcome to THUNDER river!" Next time you are visiting a theme park, and you ride a water ride? Take an extra moment and thank the ride attendee. He or she has probably been there most of the day standing in wet shoes.
While my job was not my all time favorite, my ministry placement was definitely favorite. I worked as a jr. high ministry intern with a large church. It was this group that took me on my maiden voyage to Colorado. It was an amazing trip. And all I could think about was how in the world I was going to get back there. One morning, during a meeting for all the adults at camp, the ministry running the camp shared about a new opportunity that would be available for the following summer. "The Rock at Ute Trail Ranch". "The Rock" (most all the staff rebuffed the name and called it "Ute Trail") would be a backpacking camp catering to youth groups. Bring your whole group for a time of bonding and spiritual growth in the wilderness of Colorado. I could hardly believe my ears. I started praying right then and there that somehow I would get to work there. It would be a loooooong shot. I had only anecdotal backpacking experience (sort of like most people in college), and after all, I was on my very first trip to Colorado ever. None of it daunted me. I stalked that camp like a 7th grade ex-girlfriend. The minute applications came available, I filled mine out. And then I started waiting...
Against all odds and the better judgment of the camp leadership I was hired to be a guide at Ute Trail. Again, I could veer off here and write about 100 posts about my time there. But, I'm sure by now you're wondering what in the world this has to do with Mom.
My decision to go to a brand new camp in the middle of nowhere Colorado was met with hesitation from most people in my life. But not Mom. Here's the thing about Mom, she would take an adventure anywhere she could get it. And while I'm a more cautious version of her, deep in my bones, I love an adventure myself.
In order to get myself and all of my gear to Lake City, Colorado, it was going to cost way more than we had for me to fly. I was unsure about how any of it was going to work out. That's when Mom made "the decision". It was crazy. It was not popular. Looking back, I'd say it wasn't super fair to my siblings. Mom decided she and I would drive cross country to Colorado. She would drop me off at camp and then make the return trip on her own. Oh yes. She did.
Our trip out to Colorado ranks at the very top of the list when it comes to memories. It was a hilarious trip. We loaded Mom's car with enough stuff to last me a summer and then we threw in a case of Slim Fast shakes to drink on the way. I know that seems like it might not be true, but all of the story is exactly what happened.
Our first day we drove through Kentucky and to St. Louis. We stayed the night at Missouri Baptist College, where I lived the summer before. Mom was able to meet some of the important folks from that summer. It was amazing to have her there.
The next day we embarked on what would be the longest day of our lives. You want to know why? Because we had to drive across Kansas. I don't know if you've ever driven across Kansas. If you haven't, I warn you, never do it. You might love Kansas. And I'm sure off the beaten path there are many hidden treasures in Kansas. But along the interstate, where your drive straight for 11 million hours? Mind.numbing. We became completely delirious.
We drove, and drove, and drove. Finally, we crossed the border into Eastern Colorado, which by the way, bears a striking resemblance to Kansas. I needed those mountains to come into view. I needed to remember why I decided to do this crazy thing anyway. As we moved westward (feeling pretty much like pioneers...) the mountains appeared. We oohed and ahhed. And then we laughed hysterically, because, WE DROVE ACROSS THE COUNTRY! By this time we were starving, and then by the time we got to dinner, we were so exhausted we could barely eat.
We spent the night in Colorado Springs (with me declaring in that very 19 year old way that I would live there someday...I haven't been back since...) and the next morning we began our journey to Ute Trail. And it was quite a journey. There was almost too much awesome to take in. Beautiful scenery everywhere. As we crept higher in elevation, the roads got more narrow and windier. "What are we doing here??" we kept asking each other!
As we pulled into Ute Trail, I heard my mom draw in her breath. The place, quite frankly was a bit of a shambles. Part of our work for the summer would be repairing some of the buildings and other structures on the campus. Mom met the director and his family. She met a friend of mine from the summer before. She got to spend the night in one of the cabins with me. Gah! When I really stop to remember-what an unbelievable thing she did for me.
The next morning she was leaving early. She had a very long drive back to Tennessee, all on her own. As I walked her out of the cabin she grabbed me and started crying really big, loud sobs. So loud they echoed up and down the valley at the crack of dawn. "Shhhh!!", I kept saying. She insisted that she was not leaving me in that "God forsaken" place. She told me it wasn't too late. I could just get in the car and go right back home with her. It was tempting. I didn't want to let her go. She had been my cheerleader in this endeavor. She encouraged when no one else did. She even made me stationary so I could write my friends. (You know, in the dark ages before readily accessible email...) The one person who really believed I could do it was about to get in her car and drive away.
I needed her a whole lot that summer. She pushed me to finish what I started when I wanted to quit. She listened, tirelessly, to me download everything I was experiencing. She wrote me letters.
All of us need that one person-that person who believes in you so much it comes out of them when they're around. My summer on the heights...brought to me by Mom.
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