'Twas the Night Before School Starts

'Twas the night before school starts,
Summer break was now through.
The teachers were ready
Their classrooms were, too.

Their lessons were planned,
Their posters were hung,
They were tucked in and waiting
For the bell to be rung.

The children were up
playing video games.
They had a reprieve
before school starts again.

But their teachers were dreaming...

I think we all start the school year with a dream of some sort.

Mine is fairly simple - I want to teach as many young men and women as much as I possibly can in the limited time available.

If I'm painfully honest, I'll admit that while I hope they do well on standardized tests, I have doubts that the ability to get a high score on standardized tests proves much other than they are good test takers. I've seen far to many excellent students do poorly on them. I'll spend time working with them to insure that they do as well as possible, but I'll never be sure that it's the best use of our time together.

If I take the time to roll it around in my mind and use the kind of word choice that I like to see in my students, teach may not be the right word at all. I want to mentor them as they learn. I want to point them toward the discovery of new insights. I want to inspire them to be more - more curious, more motivated, more disciplined - as the days pass.

The idea that I am the gatekeeper of all information is simply outdated. There's simply too much information to keep in the corral. Instead in this "brave new world," I see myself as their guide. Sometimes I walk in front of them, sometimes beside them, and sometimes, I step back and let them lead, calling encouragement and warning from behind.

(It all sounds rather poetic doesn't it? Well it is my dream after all and so I can envision it as I see fit.)

The beginning of the year is ripe with possibilities. It's a chance to be better, to do better than I did last year, to improve, to tweak, to reinvent. The fact that it never gets old tell me that I chose wisely.

Let Me Tell You a Story...

Several things have happened in the last week that led me to this point. I'd share them all with you, but you don't know the people involved or the backstory, so truth be told, it might not mean that much to you anyway.

When I was a little girl, not much older than my youngest grandson, I went forward at a revival and made a profession of faith, mainly because the song my mother was singing as an invitation scared me absolutely to death. A couple of years later, Daddy baptized me in a pond in the neighbor's pasture. The thing I remember most is that my sandals got stuck in the mud on the way out which caused me to giggle which caused my Daddy to give me a very stern look.

In retrospect, I probably didn't even understand what those two actions indicated, but being the daughter of a preacher and in church as much as I was at home, I thought I did. The denomination in which I grew up placed a lot (and that should read A LOT) of emphasis on the things a person did to show that they were a Christian. My problem was that I just didn't seem to be able to get it right.

I had good intentions. I went to church. I purposed in my heart to make good choices on Sunday, but by lunchtime on Monday, things had usually gone fairly well south. This led to an endless cycle of error, guilt, and apology (to God and occasionally to other people) with a dose of fear thrown in for good measure. I told my sixth grade Bible study students that I can remember waking up in the night so consumed with fear that Jesus had returned and I had missed it that I would creep through the house to my parents' room just to make sure they were still there.

As I got older, my rebellious tendencies grew, but the cycle didn't change. The harder I worked, the worse the inevitable fall affected me. Finally, I gave up. I couldn't do it right, so I wouldn't even try. I pursued (and rather relentlessly) satisfaction from my work, my social life, but at night, when the lights were off and I was alone, it did nothing to fill the aching hole nor stop the unceasing longing that consumed me.

Throughout those years, I had encounters with God. I heard him speak clearly, call me, reassure me of His love. I believed every word in the Bible was true. I believed that Jesus was God's only Son, born of a the Virgin Mary, crucified for the sins of the world and resurrected to give us new life. But in spite of all that head knowledge, nothing really changed inside me. I was far more concerned about what I wanted to do with my life than what Jesus wanted me to do with my life and any obedience that happened was a result of fear rather than love.

My pastor once gave this illustration: If you walk into the street and have an encounter with a log truck, you will be changed by the experience. The people who see you will know that you have been changed. An encounter with the Creator of the Universe, a being with power so far beyond a simple log truck that it is beyond our understanding, should produce an even greater change.

I'm a pretty visual person, so that's really stuck with me.

It's what happened to me one sunny, summer morning.

After months of struggling with a lifestyle that was so out of whack that it boggles the mind to consider it, I came to the point of surrender. I had started attending church again, and my pastor helped me to see that my understanding of grace was flawed. I came to realize that the ability to "do" Christianity had never been mine at all. We are saved because Jesus wants us to be saved, because He paid the ultimate price to secure my identity as a child of God. Living the Christian life happens because we are filled with the power of Christ through the work of the Holy Spirit.

Trying to "be" a Christian under your own steam is like trying to use your computer without plugging it in - just a lot of futile hammering away.

One morning I took a walk, and I talked with God, much like I'm talking to you right now. I confessed my failures and my flawed understanding of grace. I told Him that I had come to see that I didn't have the right to choose my own destiny. Rather, as someone who had long ago given myself to Him, I recognized that my sole purpose (and thank you Rick Warren for that life-altering book) was to do, well, whatever it was He wanted me to do.

It will sound cliche, but I swear that it's true, I felt my heart grow wings and soar. Have you seen the commercial for Claritin, the one where they peel the film off the landscape and the sky is bluer and the grass is greener? That actually happened.

That conversation with God changed me. It is changing me. And on the day when I pass from this life to the next one, it will change me forever. I don't just have head knowledge. I have heart knowledge.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not perfect. There are still failures and I still have to apologize to God, but I rest assured that Jesus sacrifice is enough to cover any sin I commit. I read the Word and, with the help of His Spirit, follow His guidelines because He is enough, because I love Him so much for never giving up on me - even when I had given up on myself, because I am sure that every single Word is for my good and His glory.

I've quit trying to figure out if I was saved as a child or on that sunny, summer morning. What matters to me is that I'm safe in Jesus' arms right now. I'm His daughter and His servant, all that at the same time, and there's NO WHERE else and NO ONE else that I'd rather be.

I remember who I was, and I'm so sorry for all the missed opportunities, but I am so happy that there are opportunities ahead to tell my story and opportunities to know Him, to love Him. And I hope, no, I pray, right now, wherever you are and however you came to read this, that He tears that film off your eyes and you run to Jesus, fall into His arms and let Him forgive you of all your sin and fill you with His joy and His purpose.

More than a cheeseburger

It's Saturday and DW is on duty, so I went to the Farmer's Market this morning and availed myself of the bounty of the cool and wet summer we are enjoying here in Deep Southern Illinois. As I stood at the counter slicing cucumbers and onions, I was listening to the radio - unusual for me as I usually bask in the quiet when I am home alone.

As I listened to the weekend edition of Focus on the Family, a man (sorry folks, I didn't catch his name) was talking about healthy eating and exercise (two of my least favorite topics). He gave some interesting information about the way food products are developed, so interesting in fact that I may try to track down his name and book on the Focus web site, but what really impacted me had more to do with the way I view healthy eating and exercise (see parenthetical note above).

From his perspective, our eating and exercise habits are acts of worship. We eat healthy foods and engage in exercise because our bodies don't belong to us - they belong to the FATHER, and he needs bodies that are able to work, bodies with sufficient energy and clarity of thought to complete the tasks he sets before us. Just as his children avoid other things that hurt our minds, our hearts and our relationships (porn, illicit sexual relationships, gossip, lying, drunkeness, etc.), they should avoid eating habits that harm the body that Christ purchased with his own blood.

Radical thinking, eh?

It's not about how I look. It's about how I function. God doesn't care what size I wear, but he does care if my habits hurt me.

I look Daniel and his friends - in spite of having the most delectable things in the world available, they chose to eat fruits and vegetables, and they looked better and thought better than any of the other young men that the king had chosen.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't think it is a sin to eat the occasional cheeseburger or ice cream sundae.  But after hearing this guy speak, I also think that my attitudes about eating and exercise could use some work. I think maybe I'll start with what I bought at the market this morning.

Born to be Wild? Nope.

I am a teacher. I may dream of other careers, think about how exciting they might be and what adventures I could have, but there's not doubt in my mind that encoded in my DNA it says - This one's a teacher.

It really doesn't matter if I'm in my high school classroom or presenting to other teachers or rolling around in the floor with the preschoolers at church, I love to see the light of recognition, that "light bulb moment."

I teach sixth grade Sunday School at the church I attend, and much to my surprise, they are a hoot! I expected it to be tough, but to tell you the truth, it's a cake walk compared to some of  my high school English classes. Oh don't get me wrong. They have their moments, but the love that God has given me for these little brothers and sisters overwhelms me in a way that I had not imagined.

Tomorrow is the evangelical focus lesson for this series of lessons, and as I prepared to teach them, the Spirit urged me to read the verses again. I need to know where the WORD proclaims the truths that the A B Cs of Salvation teach. So, I did, and in doing so was blessed again with the mysterious simplicity of the plan of salvation.

We're reading the story of King David. David had a relationship with God that blows my mind. He wasn't a priest or a prophet. He was a soldier and a king. He operated in the worldly realm, making worldly decisions and getting his hands dirty, really dirty. Yet David had this intimate relationship with the Father as evidenced by the Psalms he wrote. And David, like the rest of us, sinned. He blew it big time in spite of his closeness with God. When confronted with that sin, David grieved. He admitted his sin. He believed God could forgive. He confessed that sin in prayers and songs that are preserved to this day in the book of Psalms.

In order for David to be forgiven, he had to go through the elaborate ritual of sacrifice that was part of Old Testament life. You and I don't have to endure that part because we have the ultimate sacrifice in Jesus. As I looked up verses for my sixth graders, scouring the list for the most simple wording, this is what I found...

Admit -
Romans 3:23 ...all have sinned...

Believe
I John 2:2 ...He (Jesus) Himself is the propitiation (or substitute) for our sins

Confess
I John 1:9 ...If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

The apostle John speaks later about how gratitude for that "saving" from the punishment that we really should receive (the punishment of death that is required for all who sin) should impact our behavior, but our behavior has nothing at all to do with the "saving" part. That's all Jesus. How simple and yet how mind-blowing.

Maybe you have accepted the gift of salvation already and you can rejoice with me. Maybe you are like a former student with whom I spoke this week who is in search mode, looking for a truth to live by. Maybe you are among the millions of other people who think that if they are "good" that will be enough to save them in the end. To quote Beth Moore - it will never be enough.

I think about my own life. The years I spent trying to fill a God-sized hole in my heart with teaching. With righteous behavior and in frustration at my inability to act righteously, with sin. It was never enough. It's like trying to sweeten your iced tea with flour (which just makes a goopy iced tea colored mess - don't try it at home). Oh, the difference when I learned to accept the gift Jesus so graciously offered and put it on like a new coat and live in it, roll around in the beauty of it, marvel at the perfection of it and allow it to warm me and change me.

Whoever you are, right here, right now, won't you accept His gift, too? That gift is yours for the taking. No sin, big or small, has the power to separate you from Jesus if you confess it. Truth be told, it's what we were really born to do.

Evangelizing the Guy at the Next Table

When my co-teachers suggested that we take our sixth graders to McDonalds for breakfast and Sunday School, it sounded like a fun idea. It didn't occur to me at the time that there would be other people in McDonald's.

If you know me very well, you know that my teacher voice is loud and proud. I don't need a mic at Honors Night to be heard. As a matter of fact, I don't think I need a mic anywhere. It's a good thing because McDonald's is a little loud on Sunday morning.

Once the kids had finished eating and had done their warm-up, I launched into our lesson on prayer - from the diaphragm. There were lots of distractions, so I really had to work to keep the kids' attention. As I went through the notes I had prepared, the Holy Spirit prompted me to include a couple of other things about prayer (using the salt and pepper shakers as visual aids no less). It worked out well because I was able to talk about our freedom as Americans to talk about Jesus and prayer in McDonalds as a segue to share some information I had found on Voice of the Martyrs about persecution of Christians around the world. Once we were finished, Jeff took over again to do the worksheets. It was then that I glanced to our right.

There were three dour-looking gentleman at the table next to ours. I smiled and said hello and one nodded at me.  It occurred to me that there was a better than average chance that they were in McDonald's (and not in church) for a reason. All of a sudden, our Sunday School outing had become a missionary journey. Once I made it back to church, I texted DW about our experience and told him that I had taught three elderly gentlemen, whether they wanted to be taught or not, as well our sixth-graders. Those gentlemen found their way into my praise and into my prayers as I sat in worship this morning.

I don't always do well in the talking to strangers department, but Jesus showed me today that I can do well in the talking around strangers department. As DW and I are out and about, the conversations that we have (in my louder than usual voice) can deliver the gospel message to the guy at the next table, the checker who scans our groceries or the lady beside us in the doctor's office waiting room. We can be purposeful in our conversations, making sure that we talk about spiritual things in the middle of our daily routines.

I'm praying that that what we discussed in sixth grade Bible study stirred up memories in those gentlemen of a time when they were little boys in Sunday School or a mother who taught them to pray. I'm praying that some little bit of what they heard sticks with them, nags at them and drives them to church next Sunday instead of to McDonalds because they heard the lesson, whether they wanted to or not.

The Waiting Room

Listened to the Beth Moore video that Pastor Chris recommended at church last night. (It was truly dynamite by the way.) On the side there was a link to a Francis Chan video from the same conference. The title was God is Faithful (or something similar), and since we are in waiting mode with our youngest and her husband, I decided to watch it.

Let me preface the rest of this by saying with honesty, I do not wait well. I get an idea and jump in with both feet. I fidget at the doctor's office, the dentist's office and while waiting for trains to clear the road. I'm not very good at doing nothing (which is not be to be confused with not being good at wasting time because I am EXCELLENT at that). As such, I always want to "fix it." I love finding ways to help God out (in spite of the fact that I cut my teeth on stories of Sarah and Rachel and all those other wives and mommas who tried to "help" God fulfill his plan). On more than one occasion God has had to send me a message to remind me that he didn't really need my "help" on this one thanks for offering anyway.

But I digress.

Francis Chan's video addressed several issues, but the one that's rolling around in my head is the idea of trust. He talked about how he just doesn't trust people completely (probably smart from my own personal experience - people have a way of stomping your trust in the ground and grinding it down into the dirt with their heels sometimes). Unfortunately, he said that his lack of trust in people sometimes bleeds over into a lack of trust in God. Definitely food for thought.

I would never say I don't trust God, but I'm afraid that my actions say it for me sometimes. Enter my need to "fix" things. I bet I've come up with half a dozen half-baked ideas for "helping" Andy and Dena as they wait for God to open the next door for ministry.  The truth of the matter is God doesn't need my help. He knows where the door is. He has the key in his hand. He will unlock it when the time is right and not until then.

The kids may have to live through some uncertain times until then. Satan will probably do his utmost to discourage them during the waiting - I know he's been working overtime on me - but in spite of Satan's attacks and my own impatience, there are only two choices. Trust - or - don't.

Last night and then again this morning, I was led (first by our pastor and then by Beth Moore) to look at the detail with which God planned our redemption. All the pieces fit together perfectly. Everything fell into place at just the right time. God perfectly orchestrated every detail of both the old covenant and the new and the way the first is a reflection of the second. He arranged the prophecies. He sent His very own Son to be our substitute and having sent Him, allowed His crucifixion at the point in time that would create the most highly symbolic comparison for future generations imaginable.  

Having gone to all the time and trouble to save us, it's a little ridiculous to assume that he won't provide an avenue for us to serve Him. (It would make about as much sense as buying a new lawn mower and then leaving it in the garage while the weeds overtake the yard).

My wonderful son-in-law loves God with his whole heart. He is a uniquely gifted song-writer, musician and speaker. God has a place of service for him, and He will place Andy and Dena there if they continue to make themselves available, and He will meet their immediate needs in the meantime. No matter how many hard knocks their trust in people have taken, they can trust God completely (and so can I) because for Him to fail us is against His very nature.

We spent the afternoon at Donnie's parents' home. It was the house where he grew up, where he took me as his bride, where his mother passed on to her eternal life in Heaven. When his dad remarried, they moved into his new wife's home and tried to consolidate their belongings. Many of "his" possessions remained at the farm.

Now the house is to be torn down to make way for a new home for one of the grandsons and his family, including the little one who is Afton's namesake. They will build a new home where new children will grow up, marry, and eventually join their grandmother in Heaven.

Such is life.

I think of that old hymn, "This world is not my home. I'm just passing through..."

It's truer than I realized when I was young and my children were younger. I was just beginning the journey and had little time for imagining its end. But sorting through my mother-in-law's life, her photos and keepsakes, her dishes and household items, reminds me that I, too, am destined to pass on through, and that all these things around me that seem to have so much importance will be little more than something for my girls to have to sort through.

For those who place their stock and store in things, I guess that's a pretty grim picture. Luckily, my mother-in-law wasn't that kind of person. Her true legacy is the faith I see in her son's life, the way he treats me because his mother taught him how to treat a woman with love and respect. Her legacy is the example she set for her daughters and granddaughters and one renegade daughter-in-law of grace and beauty and faith. There was always room at their table. There was always laughter, even in the difficult times. And for me, who came to them down a shameful, difficult road, there was immediate acceptance without judgment and true and unmitigated love. It was like cold spring water in the middle of a desert.

I'll miss the old house, but to tell you the truth it's not the same anymore. Dad's new home is with a good and godly woman who makes him happy. A new family has been born of two old ones. It's not the same, but it's good in the way God makes things good for those who love and serve Him.

As for me, I hope that my daughters, their husbands and children think  of me like we think of Donnie's mom. I want them to cling to what I taught them. I hope the life I live is setting the example of a godly woman. I hope they remember my life with smiles and laughter and cling to that, not an item of jewelry or a piece of furniture because in the end, that will only be something for their children to sort through. A legacy of faith is another story. It never gets old or goes out of style. It's the heirloom with eternal value.

"There's 104 days of summer vacation..."

The first full day of summer vacation...

I don't know about most of you, but I'm a creature of habit. I like a routine. I need a plan. So when school ends and summer vacation begins, no matter how eagerly I have anticipated it, I usually end up feeling a little lost for the first week or so.

It's a phenomenon that never ceases to amaze me.

One of the things I've challenged myself to do this summer is to try to write a little every day. On the surface it seems like no big deal, but as I sit here, clicking away at the keyboard, there's a furry, little face looking up at me and making a pitiful, whining noise in her throat. I'm "babysitting" my daughter's Yorkie, and evidently she is having separation anxieties of her own. Every time I sit down, she wants me to put her in her lap and reassure her that her Mommy will indeed come back and life as she knows it will return to normal. Meanwhile my hound is lying on my foot, occasionally looking up at me with a "Will you do something about that?" look on her face. Her routine has been upset as well.

I'm really not sure where this new habit will take me. I'm hoping it will put some polish on my writing skills, maybe encourage me to be more purposeful in my creative writing. It's largely self-indulgent, but hey, that's one of the perks of being a teacher, right? Summers off?

(I'm chuckling to myself as I write that  phrase because to my right is a giant pile of material that has to miraculously transform itself into lesson plans for a new class and another pile of the coffee table that needs revision while I enjoy my summer off.)

So, like Phineas and Ferb, I'm going to begin today looking for ways to spend my summer vacation. While it unlikely that my results will be as exciting as theirs, I'm hoping to eventually do more than wander from room to room, wondering what I should do next.

That's a wrap...

Two full days, hand out some report cards and call it done.

Where did the year go?

I noticed that the last time I posted, I was trying to get my ducks in a row to implement the CCSS.

That was a crash and burn.

I tried something new, and while it looked terrific on paper, the execution was something else again. Luckily, my students were gracious and second semester was much smoother. We still worked toward mastery of the standards, but in a format that was a little more familiar.

Change is never easy, but I've learned that sometimes we can make it easier on all concerned if we ease into it.

One of the changes I want to make this summer is a commitment to more disciplined writing. There's that novel that needs finishing and this blog that could use some attention. And I built a website that ALSO has a blog that's directed toward my students. Oh! And that in depth study of I John I want to do and journal.

So much for easing into things, but that's OK, it's just not my style anyway.