When Sky High Met Duck Dynasty

I would like to have more time to journal. I want to record the sweet details of how J (age 6) reacted to being named quarterback, how J (17, h.s. senior) plans to perform a 7-minute drum battle at the senior tea, and the amazing plays N (age 15) made in his football game last night (final score 36-0).

Instead, I'm so far behind with everyday chores that I had to take dirty clothes to the laundromat where I threw $22 into a slot and ran 5 triple loads simultaneously in order to "catch up." (some). There isn't a clean table or countertop in the house to be found.

This was my first week as a new teacher at a school district far, far away. It was also homecoming week at that school. The students dressed up according to daily themes.

I arrived on my first day to a class full of super heroes. Super Women, Green Lanterns, and Iron Men.

Day 2 was "hick/camo" day. Picture a room full of characters from the TV series Duck Dynasty. Some of the boys decided to wear Daisy Dukes. That was a baaaaaad idea.

A student knocked on the door during my quiet planning time and asked if she could come into the room and search for a Trojan (the school's mascot). I chuckled...never before did I think I'd have to respond to that request as a teacher! Tradition dictates that a little statue of a Trojangets hidden somewhere in the building and there's a big prize for the person who finds it/him.

I terrified them. College professor speaking Spanish faster than they could understand. They terrified me. Camo-boot-wearing superheroes who chew gum, roll their eyes, and zone out periodically.

Of course, I know that most students are "dizzy" during homecoming week.

Note to self (jotted down on a napkin or a sales receipt).

"Next week will be better."

I Like Therapy Tooooo Much!

A gentleman from our church supports an orphanage in Liberia that serves blind children. As a congregation, we pitch in by donating recyclable bottles and cans. Every other year or so, the orphanage's director and his family visit us and every few months, the children write letters to thank us for our support.

They often write, "we like __the gifts/turkey/candy_______ toooooo much," as is the way to say "very much" in their language. Translated to English, the phrase sounds a bit silly, like when I say, "I like Occupational Therapy tooooo much!"

My first therapy appointment, to treat tendinitis in the right hand, was strange. The therapist put my arm in a waterless whirlpool machine filled with small pieces of corn. She took measurements of the angles of my joints and the strength of my fingers. And she fed me Italian chocolates.

There is a table in the OT room. Several therapists sit on one side while patients sit on the other. It's a clean, bright, cheerful environment, with photos of the employees' children and pets on the wall.

This week, I met Doris, an elderly woman whose hand is crippled. I chatted with Lisa, a retired systems analyst who told me about a gift store located near my work. The therapist, Natalie, told me about wag.com, where I can order soap, dog food, vitamins and more...all delivered to my home for free.

I learned that some folks supplement their large breed dog food with canned beans and carrots. I got strange ultrasound treatment on my arm.

And it was nice to relax for an hour.

I think I like occupational therapy too much!

WANTED

I've been thinking lately about how nice it is to feel wanted, and how absolutely awful it is to feel unwanted.

Certainly, we've all experienced childhood playground rejection. We've seen the real physical pain that a child goes through when he/she is insulted or criticized by peers or, perhaps, we've felt that pain ourselves.

Adult loneliness, I believe, is no less painful. Consider the individual rejected by his/her family or the church member who feels ostracized by members of a congregation. Or the employee who senses that his/her co-workers don't really care if he/she comes in each morning.

A few weeks ago I was contacted by a local school district who needed, yes, again, a Spanish teacher. I quickly said "no" and kept my eyes open for a someone I could refer the position to.

And then, yesterday, I interviewed for that same position, a .2 (on my lunch hour every other day) assignment.

The principal and head teacher were extremely kind and grateful.

"You're an angel with wings," I was told. The "computer guy" rushed to give me computer access and passwords and a lesson in "all things D" in my beautiful smart classroom.

The principal managed to convince the B.O.D. to consider me a .3 teacher so that I could be paid more for planning time. Wow! (I'll earn more than a third of my regular full time salary by teaching on my lunch hour). Wow!!!

It's nice to feel wanted. God wants all of us to know that we are wanted. Have I done my part to share that news with the people around me that I find abrasive or even cruel?

Everyone is significant. Every last jailhouse man, woman, child, prisoner, orphan, widow...



Bethel Church in Redding, CA came up with 4 things to know that will boost your faith:

1. God is good- because He is better than we think we must change the way we think!

2. Nothing is impossible- through faith we enter into realms that were formerly defined as impossible.

3. Everything was won at Calvary- Jesus's death on the cross was ultimate victory.

4. Everyone is significant- the Father decided you were worth the life of his Son!

What would you add to the list?

She Gets Me

It's a beautiful thing to know someone so well that they just "get" you.

Yesterday morning I hopped online early to record attendance for the week. I discovered that my oldest, now a senior in high school, had been working on his online application to Pitt.

He didn't even tell me he was willing to apply there.

I was ecstatic. I did "the pierogi dance" and vowed to call my grandmother. She would understand.

"Pitt! And he's willing to play football for them!" "And, he is thinking about Penn State again."

"Really?!," she asked."That's wonderful!"

I knew she would get it.

I come from a loooooong line of Penn State graduates. My great aunt was crowned "Miss Penn State" before she became the model for an illustrated Jiff Peanut Butter advertisement.

We love Pittsburgh.

I'm so grateful to still be able to call Grandma. She understands my lifestyle (hungry boys, lots of laundry).

She laughs at my jokes.

Sometimes I tell jokes to people and they look at me with a puzzled stare. For instance, at a work luncheon I recently announced that "I met John and Mary's (pizza) at Fisher Price." That statement works in Spanish but comes out sounding weird in English. I'm speaking Spanish a lot these days, at least in my head.

Or last night, I was describing OT to my mother-in-law, explaining how some of the patients get arm and shoulder messages as part of their therapy. "What, I asked, do I have to do to get prescription?!" (Instead, I get to insert my arm into a strange dry whirlpool machine filled with ground up corn).

That blank look again.

Oh well.

Grandma loves cats. I don't.
She understands football and stocks. I don't.
She gets me when most people don't. Thank goodness.

Searching for Ana

I had a dream last night about Ana. In my dream she was locked away in a mental hospital (residential facility). She was still beautiful but her eyes looked more dull and her face showed wrinkles. The man who loved her, handsome, Irish (Bobby), visited her in this place. And he was sad and tired.

Ana was my childhood best friend. She went to a different school, a private school, and I would run to meet her when she got off the bus in her uniform. We co-authored stories, co-painted murals, drank coffee and laughed.

I could barely keep up with her mind and her imagination. We went to the private tennis clubs wearing crazy clothes and one each of each other's shoes. We spent weekends reading to one another in her room, part of a flat with very tall ceilings on the other side of town.

Her parents worried about her - she was impulsive and violently artistic. The quality of her painting made people pause. Their jaws dropped whenever her work was on display.

I miss her terribly. We now live thousands of miles apart and I can't find her on Facebook or through Google.

While I've asked from time to time, my father, who still communicates with Ana's father through an Engineer's alliance, does't seem to have any leads.

Accidental Pharisees

Yesterday I read a book review at Challies-dot-com on the book Accidental Pharisees by Larry Osborne. I'll offer a few quotes from both Osborne and Rev. Challies...

"Osborne is concerned that a new kind of legalism is creeping up within Christianity—even Christianity that focuses on being theologically-correct and gospel-centered. He hears these constant calls for zeal and sees behind it all a subtle pride that will inevitably work itself out in legalistic ways."

It’s easy to see the scriptural misalignment in the crazy guy on the street corner with the “Turn or Burn” sign. The same with the cut-and-paste theology of people who toss out the Scriptures they don’t like. It’s also easy to spot it in the pompous coworker with a big Bible on his desk, a chip on his shoulder, and a tiny heart in his chest—the self-proclaimed great witness for the Lord—whom everyone tries to avoid and no one wants to eat lunch with. But we seldom see it in the mirror.

We don’t have freedom to lie, steal, slander, turn a deaf ear to the poor, hoard the gospel, worship idols, or fornicate. But we do have freedom in many other areas. And it’s this freedom that can drive the fledgling legalist within all of us crazy. Once the Holy Spirit places a clear call on our life to do something (or not do it), it’s hard for most of us to fathom why everyone else didn’t get the same memo.

I loved that last line "hard for most of us to fathom why everyone else didn't get the same memo." I know peace and joy, why wouldn't everyone else want to?!

The simple fact is that once we have found our passion, once we have found that implication of the gospel that stirs our hearts, we find it inconceivable that anyone else would have a different passion, that they can’t see things the way we do. And it is not long before we begin to criticize or exclude them.

Osborne describes a situation I know well. I've seen competition between churches, miscommunication between family members, and even disagreements over the "best" worship music stem from these tendencies. My first reaction to the book review was to think of the names of several people I knew who should read it!

"If there is any sin we can spot in others from a thousand paces but cannot see in ourselves even when staring in the mirror, it is pride."

Yesterday I complained about a co-worker whose lifestyle, work habits, and personality are not like my own. Perhaps "by accident" I was prideful and intolerant. How easy it is to fall into the trap of judgement.

What I Want Their Teachers To Know About Us, on the First Day of 2nd and 4th Grade

Dear Teachers,

I'm not confident that it is a good idea to share these things with you. So Instead of saying these things directly, I merely hope and pray that you know...

1. Our school clothes come from the second hand store. It's the only way I can manage to clothe this large family. By the time the uniforms make their way down to boy #4, the knees of the pants are threadbare and the rubber sole of the sneaker is already beginning to detach. Please don't let other children make fun of him.

2. My children ran wild all summer. They were unsupervised, covered in dirt, and loud. I believe that kids are "free" from the tyranny of schedules and jobs for such a short time during childhood so we "underschedule" summertime, or at least try to. It may take them a few days and a few good scrubbings to get all the grime and wild behavior out. 

3. I work a second, and sometimes a third job to pay the rising cost of tuition. 

I understand the school's need to fundraiser but please know, we are already tapped. Our family and social networks are very small. When school is off or a child is sick, I have to rely on the older children, who then miss days of high school.

4. Their hearts are tender. They are eager to please but they still make kid mistakes. Please don't be too stern or critical with them. Let them keep their childhood joy intact.

Thank you.

M.o.b.