Our Papaw

 

 

My papaw loved a good song that celebrated Jesus. A few days ago he sat with my mom and chose every song we will hear here today. I’m pretty sure he sang them to her word for word, even though he was weak. It’s just the kind of guy my papaw was. He was praising his savior all the day long.

When I was a kid, I would sneak down to his shop to tell him dinner was ready & he’d often be covered in sawdust and listening to an a-track (when the rest of the world was listening to CDs). All of his music praised the lord just like my Papaw  continued doing until his very, very last day.

I too enjoy music. Probably some Papaw wouldn’t approve of, shamefully. But there’s a song that I’ve had on repeat a lot lately. The chorus says:

dream small

Don't buy the lie you've got to do it all

Just let Jesus use you where you are

One day at a time

Live well

Loving God and others as yourself

Find little ways where only you can help

With His great love

A tiny rock can make a giant fall

Yeah, five loaves and two fish can feed them all

So dream small

My Papaw always told me he was proud of us, but the things he mentioned, weren’t worldly accolades. He was proud we went to church, we serve others, we work hard. When I hear these lyrics, I think of how well he lived in his 88 and a half years. Over 32,000 days, my papaw loved God and others as himself. He found little ways where only he could help. From making little Christmas trees for school children that hang on trees from Kernersville to Pinehurst, to welcoming new babies with the most beautiful little chairs that sit in nurseries all the way from here to Texas, to helping with any and every church function he could—the Resurrection Run 5k, the Tribulation Trail, and passing out bulletins every single Sunday he was able.  He walked at the church in the early mornings, praying for the church family. He loved to visit with the weak and the hurting. It brought him such joy to serve others, oftentimes with two Nehi drinks in hand. Many people sit in church now that didn’t before because of my Papaw’s gentle witness to them. 

He and my dad are thick as theives. This was true even before we lost my Memaw. In college, I had called home in a panic because I had locked my keys in the trunk of my little red Honda. My dad told me he’d be right there to get the hide a key under my car, I couldn’t seem to find it alone. When he pulled up, I was relieved he had papaw with him. He’d only get so aggravated with me over it with my grandpa there. I was especially glad Papaw was there when we discovered that my keys weren’t actually locked in my car, but under a book in my dorm room. Neither one said a word that made me feel dumb, but let’s be honest, that was Papaw’s example. And I’m fairly certain they fed me dinner.

When my sister broke her ankle in high school playing soccer. Papaw was the one who drove her to school. He’d get her wheel chair out of the truck, help her in and wheel her all the way to D building to her first class. Along the sidewalk, Papaw became known as Papaw to other Mustangs. He never met a stranger. He made us feel so special, but he made others feel special too. 

Papaw was so humbled by the outpouring of love over the past couple weeks. He had no idea how many lives he had touched. He weapily told us he didn’t do it for a pat on the back, he did it for the lord. We all knew that. It was very evident in every word he spoke and every kind deed he did. My dad says my grandpa had more love in his pinky finger than most do  in their whole hearts, and how lucky are we that were loved by such a man.

In Paul’s letter to the Philippians he says in chapter 1 verse 21 

21 For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.

Like Paul, my Papaw had some really tough trials in his life, but his faith always grew stronger.  He was born a tiny little baby that his family didn’t have much hope would survive infancy. He worked so hard at all jobs he took on whether it was hauling feed, raising chickens or making Chatham central sparkle. He lost children, he lost his wife.

What Papaw had to lose in life he will gain in heaven. But he saw that his purpose here on earth was to live as light of hope amidst the darkness. He was truly the hands and feet of Jesus. Even in his last days he continued to be a blessing to others. No matter when asked how he was, he would say he was “blessed beyond measure.” His kindness touched so many lives and I know without a doubt he’s rejoicing in heaven, but we sure are missing him here today. We will miss him always. 

Big Dreams

When I started this little blog, it was really just a way to record memories of my little girl's milestones.  I never dreamed when I wrote the first blog post that a few months later I'd be announcing our second {unplanned} addition.  And really, this just became a place to get my thoughts out of my head.  I've often thought about my internal thoughts as a burden, because I worry and overthink, and writing about that helps me.  I share that with others, because maybe their thoughts weigh them down too.

Friday, our big girl was excitedly telling me all about her life's goals.  She's dreamed of becoming an engineer for a while now.  To add to that though, she told me she wanted at least 4-5 kids and she wanted to write Bible studies.  She wouldn't charge me for her studies, so I could use them with my ladies group.  Sweet, right? :) 

As she eagerly told me these dreams, I was seriously impressed that my 10 year old had thought of all the details she had planned, but I candidly told her, maybe sometimes the dreams she has might not be the ones God has planned for her.

I have always had big dreams, but somewhere along the way, I became a very practical person.  I love kids and I love being a teacher, but part of the reason I decided to become a teacher was in the very rural community I grew up in, I knew I'd be able to find a job.  I honestly feel ill equipped to be a teacher at times, because school was really easy for me.  I didn't have to grapple or work hard and I worry that I will never reach all my students because of that.  However, because I did love school so much, I'm always excited to make school their safe place, a place where learning is fun, and learn new ways to help all my students. My mom was a really amazing teacher, and I'm happy I get to follow in her {impossible to fill} footsteps. 

I sometimes wonder if I should have dreams outside the four walls of my classroom, but today I was driving home from church and I thought about the students who sit down in my classroom this year.  I'm certain that I was meant to learn something from them.  And hopefully teach them a few things too.  When I went home in June, I fully anticipated going back into my 3rd grade classroom.  In mid June, it looked like I would teach a 1st and 2nd grade combination class.  In August, I was given the news it could be Kinder/1st or maybe a 2nd/3rd.  I took a deep breath, and said, "I would really like the 2/3." And just so happened that stuck.  To all my teacher friends who have tackled any combination class, you're educational rockstars, because it's hard work. I'm constantly chasing my tail, just like Millie girl. But I'm certain that this was His plan.

Was it mine? Not really.  But of course, being a stepmother, having the girls 13 months apart, moving my girls during their elementary school years, tackling every grade from kindergarten to 5th weren't either. If my girl doesn't become an engineer, it'll be okay.  If she asks me to order the Bible studies she writes from Amazon, I will ;) I just hope to instill in her that big dreams are wonderful.  Following the Lord's calling might pull us away from those dreams a bit. It might seem practical, it might be scary, it might be something we aren't really qualified for, but it really might be just where we are meant to be. 

A Personal Relationship

A few years ago, when my girls were tiny, my mom invited me to a women's fellowship gathering at her church.  I left the girls with grandpa, put on a long dress (which was the expectation at the time), and kind of groaned inside. Women's ministry events were not my passion.  If I'm at all honest, it is because I was floundering in my walk with Jesus.  We weren't in church.  Not entirely because I didn't want to be, but the girls were a lot, I didn't want to leave them in a nursery at a place where I didn't know everyone. I was a little jealous of a lot of the girls I grew up with, surrounded by their families for support and having the same ladies in the nursery to watch their children that watched many of us when we were little.  My heart wasn't in the best place.

But I still remember that Saturday.  I remember the lady standing up there and talking with us.  I don't remember exactly what she said, but it was at that exact moment God placed a seed in my heart.  I needed sisters (not just my incredible biological one) to love and support my faith walk.  I needed to, in turn, encourage and love them in theirs.  

It took a fun week at a local VBS at my teacher bestie's church to nudge us to finding our own church.  Our church made it easy to get involved and I quickly was able to volunteer in the preschool ministry that my girls were a part of.  I joined a ladies small group and we had fun together.  Yes, we prayed and studied the Bible, but we did a Color Run, an escape room, picnic, it made learning together fun.  When we moved, we moved within an easy drive of our church, but during the week small group was a little bit too far.  I joined an online small group in the fall of 2019.  I went to one Zoom meeting.  I didn't like it.  It felt weird and impersonal.  Well, God had plans to teach me all about that too..ha!

Last summer, I had the opportunity to lead a teacher Bible study online (yay, Covid!), and that seed God planted in my heart to cultivate real friendships with other believers began to bloom.  I'll probably never stand on a stage and speak to a group like the lady did at that ministry event.  I'm an okay public speaker thanks to countless Gold Card award evenings (North Moore High School did a great job producing well-rounded graduates), but I get splotchy and nervous in my old age.  I wish I was great at sitting down and reading my Bible every day, but I'm not.  I wish my faith was always strong, but it isn't.  I have learned that having this sisterhood isn't a requirement for salvation, but it makes my journey way more sweet.  Iron sharpens iron.  I hope that as much as a I get from our weekly readings and meetings, the sweet women I meet with do too.

In the winter when I was choosing a book, I prayed that God would lead and guide our group.  I came across a book that we could read together, and that the author was in the process of publishing a kid version of the book.  I knew that many in our group had little girls and these books were written especially for women/girls. We read through our grown up book by March and I went ahead and bought the girl version.  This summer has allowed my girls and some of their closest buddies to read and learn together too.

Y'all when I was their age, I saw faith and loving Jesus as something very formal.  Dresses, lacy socks, church, organs, pews, hymnals.  While these were wonderful and meaningful parts of my testimony, I do not want my girls to have a formal relationship with their savior.  I want it to be a personal relationship.  I talk to God in my car, I read my Bible from an app, I listen to worship music on my morning runs. I get it wrong a lot, but because my relationship is personal and not formal, I can acknowledge my failures.  I know Jesus already paid my price.  His mercies are new every morning.

At the end of the day, my testimony isn't glamorous and I fall short so many times.  I hope that my children see that and know it's okay.  That God doesn't expect perfect, just good and faithful servants. If you don't have a church or a friend that supports you in your faith walk, my prayer is that you find those and know you have a friend in me.  If you need some recommendations on studies or books, I have a small little shelf I can share with you.  I'm grateful God plants seeds in us and I'm so thankful for that personal relationship with Christ.

All My Fears

My prison turns to ruin when Your love moves in.

I hummed these lyrics today, over and over.  Turns out these words were on my heart for a reason.

These times we're living in, they're full of a lot of unknown.  I have candidly admitted a lot of my shortcomings to myself and my small group ladies lately. I know that I worry.  I know that I put a lot of pressure on myself.  I have always told others that I'm replaceable at work (that's one of the things I remember telling a coworker before we listed our home and were planning on moving).  There will be other teachers to take my place, and they'll be great. Now at home, I'd like to think I'm a little more irreplaceable, but after telling my youngest she was being an idiot this morning, I doubt I will be winning mother of the year anytime soon either.

So, back to the unknown.  I like to think I have some control over things.  Outcomes and data are something we are forced to look as teachers.  I want to do things within my classroom to encourage positive outcomes. I want to love people and them to see God's light through that love. I just want to promote peace and harmony and I'd probably drive a VW van cross country living that hippie life had I been born in a different time.

Well, my fears this year are brought to the forefront every time the phone rings.  Today I got the dreaded call that we will be learning at home for two weeks, and you know, there's nothing I can do about it.  And His love filled my heart and I didn't cry (a month ago I might have).  I didn't get angry, because I knew we can handle it.  I'm not thrilled.  No teacher ever went to school to impact the lives of children to do so through a screen. Or on a hybrid schedule.  But we've been given the unique opportunity to teach students EXACTLY where they are physically and that's actually pretty awesome. 

On the flip side, our family has been facing some personal uncertainty and I've been mostly at peace about it until lately.  When the sand in the hourglass is running out, I guess that's where your true judge of character is.  Those lyrics came back today and I thought about the context of the song.  It compares our fears to walls of Jericho.  You know, Joshua and his army didn't bomb the city.  They followed God's orders. They marched around the city.  God brought those walls down.  So what does He command of us in today's time? In John 13:34 Jesus commands us to love one another just as he loved us.

So, love your family, love your friends, love your students, love your neighbors.... I'm not saying I've got remote teaching down pat.  I'm not saying I'm completely at peace with the uncertainty we are facing.  I'm just saying Jesus didn't let the world get in the way of sharing the love and we can't either.  When I'm less focused on me and more focused on others, that's when I feel most at peace and closest to God.  I'm still very humbly human, but I'm going to love my way through all my fears.

Year 13 & a Feel Good Story

When I was named Teacher of the Year for our school I was instantly forwarded a packet of essays to complete.  One of the questions was about what event significantly shaped you as a teacher and how it could encourage other teachers to remain in the profession.  Y'all, I'm just a regular girl teaching in a regular classroom.  Retaining teachers isn't really part of my job description.  Sadly this year, one of my teacher besties is being displaced and I would like nothing more than to retain her position.  I realize that's not what the question was asking me, and I needed to reread a little of those words February Rachel had, because June Rachel is TIRED. I'm not sure an empty classroom, void of all the love that was poured into it can convey, but I left school today feeling as empty as the place I had called my second home for the school year.  I figured I might not be the only tired teacher that needed a little positivity as we go into summer.

When I graduated from UNCG in 2007 I was convinced I was going to change the world.  As a North Carolina Teaching Fellow, I had traveled the state, learned about different school systems, met with district and community leaders and I was sure I had my whole career planned out.  However, I was still a little bit of a realist.  I had grown up in the very southernmost corner of Randolph County, attended school in Moore County where my mother taught, and I knew I wanted to work outside of her shadow.  Upon moving home, I also wanted to work with a diverse population of students in the county I lived in.  My very first interview at Ramseur Elementary, I was offered a third grade position.  This was it!  I was ready.

As it turns out, I wasn’t.  Nothing was quite like the poverty, the demands, the schedule.  My students were challenging.  Many weren’t native English speakers, nearly all of them came from broken homes, most did not achieve proficiency.  I was not wearing a superhero cape.  When my husband and I got married in 2009, I relocated to Kernersville and took a position there.  I cried and cried.  Oddly enough, those students, especially the difficult ones, were my heart and soul.  Even though I felt I never could do enough, I loved my students so much and we all grew tremendously those years I worked there.

 Fast forward to Summer 2018, I received a Facebook message from a parent of a child that I had taught back in 2009.  This student, in the fourth grade, was reading magazines I brought from home about chainsaws, because all he talked about was quitting school and working at his dad’s sawmill. His best buddy was barely reading in fourth grade.  I still remember pulling level D books for him and it was a struggle to get through them.  In her message, the mother invited me to attend these boys’ graduation from Eastern Randolph. We had just closed on our home in Sophia, and I was exhausted, but I hopped in my car and drove across the county.  I saw my very last class of Ramseur students walk across the stage.  I heard their names called.  Students that struggled, that had very few role models, that wanted to quit school at nine years old.  When I saw them after graduation, the boys hugged me, one lifting me slightly off the ground.  I whispered, “Buddy, I am so, so proud of you,” and he excitedly showed me his diploma.  “I’m so glad you were my teacher, Mrs. Henley.  I never forgot about you,” was his response.

There are times, especially as elementary school teachers, we cannot immediately see the fruits of our labors.   It’s important to note that the impact we make as teachers goes beyond the year we teach a child. While I have learned that you do not have to be a superhero to be a good teacher, that moment when I saw my students walk across the stage, I felt like I could fly. 

I really hope to always have an impact on the children I teach and I'm so grateful to have had that moment with my students when they achieved success.  Year 13 was certainly one for the books.  Virtual teaching, multiple home visits, a lot of blurred boundaries, because my students' families definitely became an extension of my own.   If you stuck with me this long, I'm curious, teacher friends... What are your moments that made the difference?

Quarantine Diaries

I haven't written a post in a while, because a variety of things.  I have had a tough year with my little class. I love my job, it's a huge part of who I am, but it has been heavy this year.  My girls have been amazing, and I'm so proud of them, but there's not as many cute stories to tell now that they are older.  Brent has transitioned well to high school and recently finished the classroom portion of his drivers' education program.  Time has been marching...

And then last weekend, it came to a screeching halt. With the COVID-19 virus spreading rapidly, life here has rapidly changed.  In one week's time, I have gone from teaching in front of a classroom children to trying to figure out how to work from home.  I've NEVER (not since I was home with only one baby) contemplated working from home.  It is NOT my jam.

It's scary, this unknown.  I'm a planner.  I cried when I looked in my calendar. I got a new calendar.  One that wasn't already written in.  It helped.  Not seeing those best laid plans that weren't going to be.  Reagan's birthday 5k that was cancelled, every single running club practice that wasn't going to happen, the Girl Scout meetings that wouldn't take place, church services that would only be online... it was too much.

We've planned a pretty awesome quarantine birthday for my nearly nine year old.  We will still run a little race (maybe not quite a 5k since she's recovering from the flu...a whole other can of worms that happened this week), we have gifts that Amazon will be delivering to our doorstep, she wanted to go to Pinewood (our country club) for dinner, so I bought her favorite meal from there to recreate here at home.  We will put a fancy tablecloth on the table, let the girls sip water from wine glasses, and sing happy birthday.  It's not the birthday we had planned, but my girl had already given her birthday to raising money for others through her 5k, I hope that she will let us spoil a little.

This morning was our first morning of this new normal.  Last week Reagan was diagnosed with Flu A which she graciously shared with her Dad.  I took sick leave from work Tuesday-Friday and worked on getting them well. Anna and I drank a lot of elderberry syrup and we stayed well.  We aren't now... I read the articles about it not being friends with the new virus.  Today we were homeschooling and remote working.

I woke up early, blared worship music, got everyone dressed, made breakfast.  I had scheduled our day because David went in to his office today and I was working from home.  The girls stayed on schedule until 9:30.  It was harder than I thought, it wasn't peaceful, but we all survived.  Tomorrow is a new day.  It's predicted to rain and be chilly again, but by Friday the sun should come out.  We will pray and appreciate this time together.  I can't fix this, but I can lead by example for my girls.  They don't seem phased at all yet.  I'm so glad they have each other to pal around with.  But my heart hurts.  It hurts for time missed with my class.  It hurts for the sick.  It hurts for the sweet milestones my girls will miss at school and with their classmates.  It hurts because I am fearful.  It just plain hurts.

Romans 12:12 hangs in our dining room.  It is one of my favorite verses, and I'm claiming it as our quarantine verse. Hope, Patience, Prayer.  Sending virtual hugs to all our friends.
 

Get Out of Your Own Way

It's been a busy season for our family.  Just the every day has seemed busy.  And I'll be the first to say, I love a schedule, a calendar, and things to embrace our time.  Meaningful events, hopefully, and not being busy for the sake of being busy. 

Over the summer the girls and I were lucky enough to get the chance to serve the elderly through a project at our church.  We visited a local nursing home and the girls met residents and created art with them.  Seeing these seniors smile and engage with the youngsters from our church was nothing less than heartwarming.  After several sessions, the church held an art gala at the nursing home for the residents and the families from our church to attend.  The day of the gala my oldest daughter was in a particularly and uncharacteristic grumpy mood.  She didn't want to participate and wanted to cling behind my back.  I pulled her to the side tucked my arm around her little waist and whispered, "sweetie, sometimes you have get out of your own way and do what's right for those around you.  These residents are happy you, especially you, are here.  God would want you to celebrate with them."  Reluctantly, she went over to a resident who she had crafted with and smiled when she reached out for a hug.  Later she told me she was glad she was able to look outside of herself and make room for others (in much simpler, sweeter terms).

As soon as those words popped out of my mouth "get out of your own way," I knew I've been guilty of not doing this.  I think back to when I made a grade level move that I didn't want.  I'm ashamed now of how selfishly I acted.  Thankfully, I was able to look beyond me, and see in the faces of six year olds, why I was where I was.  I wish, though, I had been able to do that initially.  It would have saved me a lot of uncomfortable emotions.  Or maybe the time, I stood silent at a memorial service, when I wanted to speak.  I ended up using this blog to share the words I still wish I could have shared that day.  There are lessons we pass to our littles that are often lessons we are still learning.  Learning to get out of my own way is one of those lessons.

What about the times, I did decide let go and let God?  Well, I was able to enjoy a pregnancy after a horrible scare.  I am able to share the Bible and sing and dance with toddlers and preschoolers on Sundays.  We live and work in a community where we've been welcomed with open arms.  I've made some of my best adult friends through church, work, scouts, and through the children that once sat in my classroom.  My life is so much better for the times I got out of my own way.

What's holding you back?  Is it you?  Is there something God is leading your towards that you are standing still on?  My hope for this new {school} year is that I'm able to see beyond myself ... for the little ones I tuck in each night, and the eighteen I get for 180 days.  We get one chance to do this life.  I want to do it right.

Not Enough

A few weeks ago I talked with my little pals at church about sharing--sharing even when we don't feel we have enough.  I had packed a bottle of oil & flour for the kids to see the story come to life and as I brought home these items, I couldn't help but think of the times where I have felt like I don't have enough.

We've all heard you cannot pour from an empty cup, and if you haven't, take those words to heart. But what about when your cup is only a quarter full? Or you just have enough for one aspect of your life (teacher friends, you get this, right?).  What do we do then?

I think back just a year ago.  It was January and my colleague across the hall popped in during specials time to me all but sobbing at my kidney table.  Luckily, not only a colleague but the dearest of friends, she understood, closed my door and let me regain my composure within my planning period.  You see, at this point I felt I had nothing left to give.  My school babies were struggling.  They were NOT going to reach proficiency (and there was nothing short of a miracle I could do to get them there). My baby was struggling.  Her little reading assessment running man was in the yellow, and I felt I was failing her.  My oldest daughter had just had head lice and my whole house was bagged and washed and I tore a muscle in my shoulder from standing over her for hours going through every strand of hair.  I was completely floundering.  I had NOTHING left to give anyone.... but yet somehow, I did.  I kept my PTA position running, my class GREW tremendously (even if that didn't mean they passed), lice came and went, and my baby was back on track by the end of the year. I gleaned as much from the preschool lessons I taught at church (as I still do), and God worked through my devotions, time with my small group, and built my weary heart back up through small successes that moved mountains.

I often wonder how people without faith live without it.  After the rough winter, my husband and I sat down and reevaluated our goals.  When we got married, our plan was to not stay in our home and we always wanted to move closer to our families.  This was detoured by babies and a poor housing market. We decided to trust that if God wanted this to happen, we were going to do our part.  We listed our house in April, had multiple offers the first week on the market, and were lucky enough to sign paperwork that same week.  Three kids and a staged house while working full time was not in the cards for long--thank goodness.  I anxiously awaited the final puzzle piece of our move after we closed on our new house in June.  And somehow, I ended up finding a job just a five minute drive from home. My little reader has read over 150 books to me since September. We all have a little more time together within our four walls and outside of the brick and mortar of the school building or running here and there and everywhere in the minivan.  Because I'm the new girl, I have a few fewer responsibilities at work (much to the celebration of my family), which has allowed me time to start a running club, really focus on my fifth graders, and find a better balance between work and home.  Sometimes a fresh start isn't the scariest of things after all.

After a time I felt not enough, I look back and realize that somehow I was.  Not because of me, but because of blind faith and admitting that I was on empty. Somehow something even greater was in the cards for us.  Today Anna's teacher bragged on her reading.  She's come so far in just a quick year. If you had told me a year ago that I'd be sitting in the living room of a new home, with my children happily adjusted and enthusiastic about school, I might have wanted to believe you.  I might have thought that sounded like only a farfetched dream. But tonight it's not.  It's a real blessing.

Like the widow trusted God and Elijah's request for the oil & flour to be made into bread, even when she didn't have enough, He still takes that not enough and makes it plenty.  When I felt like I couldn't possibly handle one more blow, somehow we weathered the storm and came out with even more than I could have imagined.  Not every day is perfect, there are still days I feel defeated, but I've learned to appreciate the journey with a little more focus on Him and a lot less on me.

It's Jesus

One of my dearest friends and I would laugh when we began handling situations more adult-like and chalk it up to our thirties.  And really, once I closed the door on my twenties, I became much more comfortable in my own skin.  Much more confident in my ability to make decisions, and really just genuinely happy with my own life. I became more introspective, while being able to stand up for my beliefs.  I became a little less of a doormat and more of an advocate for my own children, for my classroom full of children, and for myself. 

This Sunday, I made the trip south to visit with my family.  I sat in a pew among some of the best people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  The salt of the earth as my high school principal would say of the natives of my little hometown: population 1700.  The pastor discussed something my church's pastor had recently, and while not the jest of either of the sermons, something that really hit home for me was maybe it wasn't being thirty (and some change) that has changed me.  It's Jesus.

Perhaps growing up in my faith took me 30+ years.  I'll be honest, my seven year old has taught me more about unshakable faith than most adults.  But, really knowing Jesus, being more faithful in prayer, working really hard to instill in our three babies a devout love for the Lord, that's what's changed.  

I typically have a worship song that hits home with each current season of life, and right now, my girls and I are totally belting out Hillsong United's "Who You Say I Am."  Maybe it is a mixture of both wisdom with age and being grounded in Christ, but overall, the reason I am able to be more confident, optimistic, hopeful, grateful...It's Jesus. I want to be that person He says I am.

Making the Back to School Rush a Little Easier... Part 1

I keep a big family calendar in our kitchen and write important dates and events on it to keep everyone informed.  Five schedules are tough to keep up with and this makes it a little easier.  However, that calendar is glaring at me like flashing neon reminding me it is nearly August.

It is not that I dread going back to work.  I absolutely love my job.  I do, however, try really hard to keep it all in balance.  After all, I have 18 years with these kids in my house and only 1 with my students.  I have to make all that time count. This year is a little different.  We are asking my girls to do something I never had to do.  They are starting a brand new school.  To soften the blow, I'm going to too, but all the same, CHANGE IS HARD.

So while my friends have been posting about what they are planning for their students (and I do have plans for my nearly fifty 5th graders that I get to teach language arts & social studies to), today I wanted to share something that I'm doing for the littles that share my last name. If anyone knows tired, it is mothers to little babies and teachers in August/September (and May too, but that's another story). Now, thankfully, I have survived those newborn days, but I am anticipating a huge crash in a couple weeks. I've been praying for some guidance and wisdom on how to handle this.  I've been praying over my sleeping six and seven year olds nightly that they make new friends and love their new school as much as I already do.

Today at church, I had a little free time on my hands as we finished this month's lesson a little early in the storytime room, and I asked what I could do to help the prep team.  In that room I helped prepare some things for our rising kinder babies.  As I was helping, I realized that prepping in this way could help me so much.  A few years ago I did freezer meals before school started (I'll share a few recipes when I get to that point this summer) and that was amazing.  This prep though, is JUST for my girls.

While the girls went out with their daddy, I worked on some lunch box notes for their lunches.  I STINK at this after like day 2, and wanted a way to send a little sunshine in their lunches or snack since they are at a new place with new people. I'll print these on cardstock, cut them, pop them in the kitchen drawer and boom, there they are ready to pack.  These were still prepared with just as much love (I really carefully picked fonts and quotes especially for my babies), and there's tons on Pinterest for the future when I'm truly tired.

Here's a little sampling of the very simple lunchbox love for Rea and A.

Hopefully it'll make the back to school craziness a little less crazy for all 3 of us.  I'm not a perfect teacher or a perfect momma.  In fact, I've said many times that my position, my job, I'm completely replaceable.  They will find a capable and able and amazing teacher to fill my position.  But I'm the only mother my girls have and right now my focus is on their new school year.  They've seen (and will see) me work really hard.  I want them to know I think they are worth me working hard for too. 

Oh no, Joe!

The past month we've been following the story of Joseph with our preschoolers at church.  As a storytelling volunteer, I get the opportunity to really reiterate the bottom line for our tiniest friends.  A lot of times, these stories are warm and familiar, like Joseph and his coat of many colors. Praying that I get the point to our little guests, I always try to brush up on these stories at some point throughout the week.  Many times in my Christian walk, I think back to these truths from the Bible and get too comfortable with the story, missing that bottom line myself.

So, each week in May we followed Joseph.  He went from being highly favored by his father to being sold into slavery by his jealous brothers.  "Oh no, Joe!" my little friends would echo clasping their hands at their cheeks like Kevin McCallister (Home Alone).  I'm such a people pleaser in my everyday life, that sometimes I don't understand why my best efforts end up with me feeling like I'm being thrown in a hole.  Like the truth I wanted my littles to understand this month though, God always has a plan.

He won over Potiphar, his master, and Joseph continued to live as God would want him to.  However, living according to God's law meant that Joseph lost favor with Potiphar.  And again, Joseph found himself in unfortunate circumstances.  He was thrown into prison.  "Oh no, Joe!" In prison, Joseph was put in charge of the other prisoners.  One of these prisoners was the Pharaoh's baker.  When the baker returned to the Pharaoh's charge, he eventually mentioned to the Pharaoh that Joseph could help interpret dreams.  The Pharaoh had had a dream that Joseph helped him understand and in turn, helped Egypt prepare for a famine. 

Eventually those brothers traveled to help their family acquire grain.  Their family had not been prepared for the famine and needed the grain in order to survive.  Joseph recognized and forgave his brothers. All because he was patient and believed that God had a plan for him, Joseph was able to forgive and be reunited with his family.

Sure, I'm sure most of us have heard Joseph's story.  But thinking about how he trusted God in these times is impressive.  Over the past month, I've watched my friends trust God, even in such adversity that I'm sure I'd question my faith. The grownups in our house have been making some changes and decisions for our family, and while relatively we've remained unmarked and unharmed, they are scary nonetheless. I worry so much about if we are doing right by Brent and the girls.  I want so badly for all the pieces to neatly fall into place, but in this world, rarely is it that simple or easy.  I know that.  I want to trust God's perfect plan.  I also want to have it all sketched out in my to do list.  Those things contradict each other.

One of my sweet friends told me she wanted to pray specifically for me, my small group, without me saying a word, included me in their prayers.  It's not that I don't covet those prayers, but asking for someone to pray for me is something I find hard.  Not because of pride, but because I worry that will seem selfish.  There are other people who are climbing mountains compared to my little molehill.  But you know, I think that part of this journey has been for me to learn that it's okay for me to let someone else think of me.  I worry all the time that I'm not selfless enough.  There was a time in my life where I was not selfless at all.  I guess I'm trying to make up for that.  I don't need to.  Jesus paid that price for me.  So, to survive this busy time right now, I'm just going to be a little more like my friend, Joe.  God's got this, so I don't have to.

#realisthenewperfect

I guess I was born trying to be perfect.  It wasn't something my parents pushed on me.  They didn't have to.  I wanted to be the fastest, the smartest, the friendliest.  I'll admit when my A- in my high school calculus class bumped me from being my class's salutatorian, I might have cried a little.  They already made me write my speech. Or when I came up a few seconds short in the regional cross country meet from making all region, I might have been a little more than rationally bummed out. Coastal running is my thing though!  After they redrew the conferences and we ended up in the western region, I never came close.  At those moments, I learned that perfection isn't always obtainable.  I tore my ACL my senior year playing soccer on a team that had a losing record, but I still had a lot of things going for me.  I accepted a pretty prestigious teaching scholarship to attend my mom's Alma mater and I wasn’t scarred from graduating third in my class after a tragedy took the life of one of my closest friends just a week before graduation.

I joke with people that when I graduated college that I was convinced that I was going to change the world. It’s not that I don’t think teachers cannot change the world, but that picture that I had created in my mind was not what my classroom was like at all.  That first year, I might have danced the Soulja Boy but I also had a desk thrown at me.  I might have helped kiddos really learn to read and multiply, but they still didn’t reach proficiency. I did want to quit.  But I didn’t.  Not without a lot of encouragement from coworkers, family, and friends, I survived that first year and I had an amazing second year to follow.  All those real events were not perfection, but they are some of the building blocks that made me the person I am today.

Because of real life happenings, I realized that picture perfect flawlessness doesn’t really exist. People exist, love exists, but there’s a lot of things out there outside the realm of my control.  When I had these babies, I decided that I really was going to go more with the flow… especially when the second one arrived exactly thirteen and a half months after her older sister.  Real was the way to go.

Even so, there are days that I feel like I fail.  I fail my girls.  I fail my students.  Luckily, my husband has NEVER expected me to be perfect and reminds me constantly that I am the only person in the world holding me to these crazy standards.  That said, I want so badly to help everyone do well.  I want to be a valuable part of a team and on days where I’m my harshest critic, I just feel anything but.

I say all this to say, mommas, if you feel like your kids are getting less than your best, they aren’t.  My girls haven’t stopped crawling on me and kissing on since we got home.  One is literally laying across me right now. They do not care that I fed them fast food for dinner and they love telling me all about their days.  They aren’t keeping score with their friends’ moms that packed them bento box perfect lunches or made them the best 100th day of school project.  And teachers, you are changing the world.  One hug, fist bump, high five at a time.  I tell my students they ARE NOT numbers on papers, but you know what, teachers, YOU ARE NOT either.  While I hold myself to perhaps unreachable expectations, I have to realize how far we’ve come since day 1, and some of that distance cannot be measured by Lexile and percentages.

I’m giving myself this pep talk, but I bet I’m not the only person out there that needs the reminder that real is the new perfect.  You can photoshop every blemish and filter out all your imperfections, but at the end of the day they real, the actual, that’s what makes memories, that’s what makes the difference. Don't be too hard on yourself.

Being Third

In today's culture, winning is best.  In the words of Ricky Bobby, "If you aren't first, you're last." I started a Bible study co-written by two lovely teachers (who happen to reside in NC!) last week and it couldn't have hit more on time for my teacher, momma, wife, fallible heart. I sat and prayed over the scriptures I read carrying away one big idea that has made an impact on my life. Right now. Something I've discussed with my littles.  Something that we are working hard to implement as our family: Being third.  {By the way... you can check out this amazing Bible Study here: http://bonniekathryn.com/bible-study-sign/}

Tonight, I spent like 2 hours making dinner.  Only one of my family members ate it.  Only one other even tried it (it was NOT bad, but I have not so adventurous eaters---a grown man included). I got up from the table, choked back tears and left.  Ya'll, I got in my minivan and left. I'm 32 years old.  I'm not sure why stupid stuff hurts my heart, but it does. And then I remembered this line I highlighted: Faithfulness does not depend on the actions and behaviors of others (or something like that).  I did what I should have (maybe I should have picked something different to prepare), and despite the fact that over half of my family ate microwavable popcorn for dinner, it didn't really matter.  In the grand scheme of things it was fine.  I really didn't have to cry in the parking lot of the Food Lion, even though at that moment in time, it felt like I should.  I know this is a stupid story to share, but for me it's important to realize and admit my shortcomings.  My love language is words of affirmation.  So, hearing "yuck" and "I don't even want to try it" after putting forth quite a bit of effort into today's meal just crushed me.  Knowing that about myself, and knowing my family like I do, I pretty much set myself up for tonight's dinner fiasco.

What does this have to do with being third?  Who is really before me? This week's lightbox message has been a lit up reminder to our household:

This is SO hard.  I think back to my 1990s self with those trendy WWJD bracelets.  There have been a lot of times in my life where  I did NOT do what Jesus would have wanted me to do.  Even today, it's hard to be pure in mind and actions all the time.  We are human.  I wish we had more of this.  Wish my kids acted differently.  Wished I could eat anything I wanted and my metabolism would keep up.  I don't always want to let others go first.  Maybe even that dinner was more to my tastes than my families.  Maybe, deep down, I was thinking of my preferences before theirs.

This being third has also been a theme in our current church series "One Another." {You can catch this sermon series here: http://subsplash.com/thesummitchurch/s/cfb7ceb/  If you don't have a home church and want somewhere to worship on Sundays, you are more than welcome to join us ANYTIME!} In this series, we've discussed how our walk with Christ isn't alone, it's interconnected with others.  Other followers and other nonbelievers, and how our actions can show others Jesus' love. I'm not the best at voicing my faith aloud (I'd much rather just type it out...), but if my actions show His love, those actions speak louder than any words ever could.  Do I have to travel to Africa on missions? Do I have to organize volunteer efforts in our community? Do I have to teach at a Christian school? No.... even those are all wonderful ways to serve our God.  I need to live third. I need to carry the burdens, forgive, submit, honor, be kind, and genuinely love others just as Jesus did.

So, while this little lightbox message won't make it's way to my classroom this year (at least in black and white and lights), it's stamped on my heart. Jesus. Others. Self. In the words of Rachel Henley, "If you aren't third, you probably aren't doing it right."

Heaven Sparkles and the Mailbox is the Best Place to Visit: Interviews with Rea & A

This summer has gotten off to a slow start... Cloudy skies, cooler than average temperatures, and rainy afternoons don't make for the best sightseeing or pool days.  We've made the most of it and today on my seventh day of summer break, I thought we'd take a time out and just see how these tiny people are thinking these days.

Anna:
What is your favorite color? Pink & Yellow
What is your favorite treat? Chocolate
What is your favorite sport? Basketball, because I'm good at dribbling the ball!
What is your favorite tv show? Paw Patrol of course. 
What is your favorite book? The one about sea turtles (I'm not really sure what she is talking about here.....)
What is your favorite restaurant? Olympic, because I love their cheese grits.
What is your favorite place to visit? The mailbox (eh... maybe too many Amazon boxes have arrived lately)
Where do you WANT to visit some day? The Science Center 
Who is your best friend? Drew
What’s your favorite thing to do with Reagan? Play with our toys
What’s your favorite thing to do with Brent? Watch movies
What’s your favorite thing to do with Dad? Eat popcorn
What’s your favorite thing to do with Mom? Make a secret hideout
What is the nicest thing someone has done for you? Make me ice cream
Can you tell me something that scares you? BLOOD!
What do you think heaven looks like?  I think it looks like outside with fun things to do.
What is the best thing about you?  I play with lots of friends and I think about unicorns.
If you could be anyone for a day, who would you be and why?  I would be Reagan because she's funny!

Reagan:
What is your favorite color? Blue
What is your favorite treat? Cake!
What is your favorite sport? Soccer
What is your favorite tv show? My Little Pony
What is your favorite book? Wild Kratts
What is your favorite restaurant? The Cafeteria, because they make yummy breakfast
What is your favorite place to visit? Gramma and Grandpa's
Where do you WANT to visit some day? This summer I want to visit the new park.
Who is your best friend? Joel
What’s your favorite thing to do with Anna? Play with toys
What’s your favorite thing to do with Brent? Play outside
What’s your favorite thing to do with Dad? Snuggle
What’s your favorite thing to do with Mom? Snuggle
What is the nicest thing someone has done for you? You always make me food and if I don't like it, you make me new food.
Can you tell me something that scares you? Heights (true story, I've climbed in many a Chickfila PlayPlaces to get this kid down)
What do you think heaven looks like?  I think it looks like clouds with sparkles.
What is the best thing about you?  I can be a kind friend.
If you could be anyone for a day, who would you be and why? God, because He is good & powerful.

I guess none of these really surprised me, but I actually kept the girls separate when I asked them, just so I could hear their earnest responses.  They get lumped together a lot: the girls.  Like they are one little entity; however, they are very distinct little people.  It's easy to get caught up during the school year with the work that seems to surmount around me, and I adore the summer for the very reason I get to stop and just be Reagan and Anna's mommy.  My house becomes a place we live and have fun instead of where we throw our stuff down, eat and sleep.  I LOVE my job and know I'm not cut out to do this 12 months a year, but I do love the two months when this becomes my life.  I hear all the time about how fast kids grow, and while that's true, there's something magical about each age.  A few summers ago I spent my time tracking feedings and poopy diapers and I DO NOT miss that at all.  This age is much more fun.  I love that Anna only wants to be her sister, Reagan loves visiting Gramma and Grandpa's house "in the country," and that both girls seem to have an affinity for red headed little boys. All these answers will probably change by the end of the summer, but I'm enjoying looking for the sparkles in the heavens and maybe a couple less trips to the mailbox (summer budget, you know!). 

Be a Shepherd

A few weeks ago I had the honor of sharing part of the Christmas story with the youngest attendees at church.  While a bit ill prepared, I had the best time sharing with these tiny people one of the best parts of the story that is certainly applicable to our lives in 2016 (almost 2017).  And though I'm not sure if the 2, 3, and 4 year olds took away the deeper meaning I did from the shepherds' story, I left feeling more festive than I had this whole holiday season.

You see, this year, especially the second half of the year, has been really tough.  I guess because I grew up a bit privileged, perhaps a tiny bit spoiled and completely used to getting my way.  That said, my heart is big, and I would do anything to help, as long as I have advanced notice.  Changes in schedules, changes in surroundings, changes in procedures mess me up in a big way.  Those shepherds, they didn't really have advanced notice.  Angels just showed up and told him that the Messiah had been born, and upon this discovery, they didn't just muse over the good news and rejoice in their inner circle.  They packed up, went to Bethlehem and saw that baby. When they left, they rejoiced and shared with EVERYONE that Jesus had been born (this part of the story, I'm sure most of my little listeners understood).

Being a shepherd wasn't the most glamorous job back in the day and herding stinky animals probably was tough.  I feel a bit like I'm herding wild animals for my day job. It's not so glamorous either. It's easy to get lost in the daily grind, but I keep chugging along. In Bible times, shepherds weren't seen as valued or high class in society, but God sent the angels to them.  And they did not disappoint, they spread the good news of the savior's birth. When I first entered the teaching field with hopes of changing the world, I wasn't so wearied.  Herding classes of children that each year bring new and different challenges for several different administrations with different expectations has left me somewhat jaded.  But if I see myself like God sees me, and see the great big things He has done, then I can share good news too (not just that stuff in the common core).

All this said, if you asked me a couple days ago what I wanted to resolute in the new year, I would have said "manage my time better" or "eat healthier, drink less Diet Mountain Dew" or maybe even a "stay more active." Truth is, these are things I try to do most of the time, I just slack off sometimes, and when I do, it's more for my mental stability than anything.  Sometimes, I need a brain break with Candy Crush, Chick-fil-a has some pretty healthy options these days and they don't even serve Pepsi products. What I want to do, more than anything, is to be more like a shepherd.  Instead of focusing on my own circumstances that I may not be the happiest with, I want to share the good news.  I serve an amazing God.  My greatest blessings could never be wrapped up, but warm my heart by holding my hands. A town that I used to just reside in, has allowed us to put down roots.  I have friends that I can call and they would drop everything to just help.  My family has grown this past year by two tiny feet and two huge blue eyes and being an auntie is pretty special. There are so many immeasurable blessings that I don't deserve, but I do not take for granted. If you ask me how I'm doing, not in spite of anything, but because of everything, I'm just fine. I have good news to share. My resolution this year: Be a shepherd.

Memories

When I was in college, my expository writing professor said that sometimes you cannot write about things that leave you emotional because your piece will lack literary direction.  So, be forewarned, if you haven't figured it out already because I'm certainly not a literary master, that I may be rambling without clear purpose. My poor first graders would never be able to pick out the main idea, but writing is what makes me feel better.  Some people like to talk, some people turn to alcohol, some exercise; I like to write.

This week, my husband went to visit his stepdad at the hospital.  When he came home, he told me he wasn't well, but he thought that he'd pull out of it.  A couple hours later, we found out that wasn't going to be the case.  While Keith's death wasn't expected, it was not exactly a surprise.  Ever since my mother-in-law lost her battle with cancer almost 7 years ago, Keith had slowly lost his spunk in living.  If ever a man loved his wife, Keith loved Faye.  He thrived taking care of her, insuring her happiness, and loving her big family...well, big.

David's family is kind of huge.  He is one of five boys. All the boys have families and his mom was married to his stepdad longer than she was to his dad.  David's dad called Keith his "husband in law" and we all got together in the same home for the holidays.  While that may seem a little crazy, it worked.  In fact, after Faye's passing, Keith and even his new wife would attend family functions at the Henleys.  For all the things I gained when I married my husband, what I gained most is family.  A family that loves immensely, looks past what society says when it comes to how you should respond to situations, and just accepts everyone.  We fill up several rooms, sit at cafeteria style picnic tables and there is no more laughter to be had when our family gets together.

When David and I were about to get married, his mom's health was really deteriorating, and we spent a lot of weekends in her and Keith's home.  A lot of times, the three of us (Brent, too), spent nights in the "vasement" (Brent's four year old nasal voice was so cute) of the Johnson house.  Keith loved Brent.  He was his PawPaw Keith... and not his step-grandpa... He was the real deal.  He gave him piggyback rides, rode him on the Gator, let him feed the fish in the Koi pond, all those wonderful things grandpas do.  He and Faye accepted me like a daughter, even before David decided he wanted to make it official. They gave the biggest hugs, let me sit on their couch when I'd had a bad day at work (they lived closer to my school than I did at the time), always had snacks and drinks, and always loved me SO big.

This week when I realized Keith was gone, it was almost like losing David's momma all over again.  Keith was like our link to how life was she was here.  He loved like she would have.  He would rub my girls heads at Christmas and talk about how crazy Faye would have been about having two more granddaughters after a whole lot of little boys down the bloodline.  He was our family. Even if he didn't have to be.  He chose us; even when he could have moved on.

Memories are what we have when time moves on.  And death is a reminder that time really does move on more quickly than we have control over.  I'm just forever grateful for the example of big, unbiased love that I was lucky enough to receive from a man who probably didn't realize how much we really loved him in return.

P.S. Don't get married in August... It's hot as hell. Our smiles are fake, but the love is still real.

Legacy

When I first started teaching in the fall of 2007, I drove about 20 minutes to work.  Every day I would play the same Nichole Nordeman song and pray.  I was so young and scared.  Really.  Scared that I would royally screw up the impressionable twenty something eight year olds that looked at me every day. I was just 22. Scared that I had no idea where exactly my life was going to go.  I moved back in with my parents after college and while I had a long time boyfriend, it didn't seem quite right, and I clung to the hope that I was going to change the world. Nothing else mattered if I could just make my mark on the world.

I quickly found that changing the world wasn't easy to do alone.  I spent a lot of my waking hours at work. Even the weekends. And it really didn't matter how much time or how much of my money I put into the prep work of teaching, most of what mattered was with the words I used, the gas I used to haul children home (I was young and dumb), the snacks I kept in my desk drawer, and those unrelenting prayers.  I had a desk thrown at me, I learned red high heels are just for Kelly Pickler and not for school teachers when I had to chase a kid clean across the playground, I tried to get kids who could barely read on a kindergarten level to pass an EOG, and I cried a whole lot.

I thought about those days recently.  When I was moved down from fourth grade to first this year, I had the hardest start to the school year I've had since 2007.  Not because the challenges were tougher, but simply because I had to start from scratch, and I felt like I wasn't doing my best job to leave the kind of legacy I wanted to.  I downloaded the song onto my phone, and once again, I started listening to it like I did all of those years ago.  This time a little voice in the back seat has started singing along and we pray together.  We pray for the other teachers (her teachers too), we pray for the students (those excelling and those struggling to have their needs met), we pray that we both will be the light just where we are in kindergarten and first grade. And while my heart has been awfully stubborn about this move; I may have cried more the first week of school than I did my first year teaching, quickly I've realized what a difference just a little prayer can make.

I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace
Who blessed Your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy
Listen to the whole song here :)

We are just ten days into school, but I'm excited to grow some six year old babies this year!  And if you had asked me about the school year nine days ago I probably would have burst into tears.  It's not going to be perfect, but if I was perfect then I probably wouldn't be a school teacher. I am certain God has put me where I'm supposed to be and I'm going to do my hardest to leave my school babies with the best foundation possible and leave that kind of legacy.

Too Soon

This afternoon I sat in the parking lot at my little girls' daycare and sobbed.  Like hysterical, crazy woman ugly cried.  I hid behind my aviators, prayed no one saw me and that God would help me pull myself together.  It's the last day of school for goodness sake, I should not be sobbing.

It's just too soon.  I sat through my little boy's fifth grade graduation yesterday.  Just 6 years ago, he was graduating from pre-k, and I had only shared his last name for a little over 10 months.  I was amused and beaming with love for this five year old to start school.  We were going to be in kindergarten at the same time at different schools and in obvious different roles.  I was ready for that change.  Fifth grade?! Middle school? How did this happen?


It's just too soon.  Last week this time, we were celebrating my first born's pre-k graduation.  Six years ago at her brother's I was praying for her.  We had been trying to get pregnant for several months and it wasn't happening as instantly as I thought it would.  And naturally, if it wasn't happening, something was wrong with me.  I wanted to hold a baby in my arms so badly.  It happened not too long after that, just the next month, I saw those two pink lines.  Now, she's going to be loading up and heading to big school with me.  She's still a baby.  How can she be old enough for elementary school?

It's just too soon.  I found out I'm switching grade levels this week.  In my tenth year of teaching when I enter my classroom, it will be the seventh different one, and I'll be teaching a new grade level for the fifth time.  The confident 30-something I am, will tell you I have a vast understanding of the K-5 curriculum, but the part of me that is constantly questioning if I'm doing all I can, if I'm reaching all the kids I should be, if I really should open up a bagel and coffee shop downtown is terrified that I just can't find my niche in this world. That for whatever reason, I'm just going to be bounced around until it's "right." Thing is, I thought it was right.  I love my fourth grade teacher friends, I love fourth grade content, and it's the grade Dr. Cooper told me I was supposed to teach, and she was like some kind of guru of teacher placements.  I'm sure I haven't failed at this, but for whatever reason, it's just not where I'm supposed to be at in the fall.  And I'll do the best job I can wherever I am; it's just. too. soon.

It was probably too soon for me to throw this all out there, but that's just who I am.  I'm not in denial about my babies growing up, I'm not angry about being asked to do something different.  I just have to get used to a lot of new. Wednesday, I moved too soon and hit the car at the stoplight in front on me.  The driver got out, rubbed my back and said, "Aw. Look it's going to be fine.  I'm fine, you're fine.  It's really okay." I'm taking those words to heart, even if it does feel just too soon.

Fearless

I looked up the dictionary definition of fearless and it said: without fear, bold or brave.  While I really doubt I am bold or brave or ever without any fear, there was once a me that approached life a little more fearlessly.  Not just the daily, but the making a difference, doing whatever it took in my chosen career path.  As a college student, I spent many evenings tutoring a sweet little Montagnard girl in her less than desirable apartment complex. When I say less than desirable, it reminded me of the commercials about starving children in third world countries.  All of the inhabitants were refugees that were grateful for the roofs over their heads.  The country girl I was just wanted to help people, I didn't really realize how my blonde, freckled self was way on the wrong side of town.  But my fearless self could see a difference in the relationships I forged and the risks paled in comparison.

These experiences made me feel invincible, like some kind of super-student teacher/graduate, so when I looked for my first teaching job, I only applied at high risk, high needs, Title 1 schools.  I had a pretty stellar resume and interviewed pretty well, and I was offered a job at my first interview.  While those three years I spent in third and fourth grade with a large minority population were rewarding, they were exhausting.  Once I got married, I decided I need to play it more safe; my fearless self had been tamed.

I was talking to my mom on the way home from work today.  It's a busy time a year for teachers, an especially busy time for me it seems, but I was chatting away and saw a little friend from my fourth grade class playing with a group of children at an older apartment complex.  This complex was hands down high class living compared to the one I visited the refugees in in college.  However, it was still run down compared to the suburban neighborhood I live in. I told my mom I thought I should turn around and check on this friend.  She nervously told me to be careful and it was like déjà vu from my UNCG days.

I turned into the parking lot, and rolled down my window.  I asked him if his homework was done (it wasn't), he introduced me to his friends and seemed so proud I was there just to see him.  I stayed about 5 minutes tops (because I wouldn't get out--I'm not as fearless as I was in my twenties). Though, it was just a tiny bit of time, it might just be what I need to get this fella to summer, and hopefully make a lasting impression.

Sometimes being a teacher is getting outside your comfort zone.  We ask kids to get out of their comfort zone all the time. And today, while it may seem a little trivial, I did that for my little buddy.  Judging by the smile that spread across his face, I feel like he realized that.  The fact that one of his friends said, "Wow, you're right, she is pretty!" didn't hurt either.  If that's the worst thing he can say about his old teacher, I'm doing okay, even if I'm pretty tough on his peers and him at this time of year.

I was a few minutes later picking up my own babies today {again}; I've been pretty booked solid. But when I loaded up Rea & A, I told my beautiful girls about how I always want them to be careful, but sometimes you have to be a little fearless.  Fearless when it comes to doing what's right to hopefully make a difference. I'm not sure they understood, but I do hope that I will set that example for them no matter what they decide they want to do with their lives.