Tag Archives: teaching

Warrior On, Momma

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Recently, I was hired for three speaking engagements for our local hospital system.  I was honored, humbled and awed by the requests.  One of the talks was for a leadership group that met monthly, and my talk corresponded to the chapter about leadership on the frontier from the book the group had been reading.  Before visions of Walt Disney’s “Frontier Land” flash before your eyes, the frontier in question is being intentional about leading and looking for ways to serve those who have been misaligned, neglected, forgotten, hurt, or misunderstood.  I shared lessons learned as a quarter of a century (How could that be true?) educator, peppered with anecdotes and tales from the trenches classrooms of children ranging from 2nd grade to college seniors.  At the conclusion, my challenge to the group was two-fold:  1) ask God to break your heart, because from the depth of sadness we often find our passion and 2) don’t think too highly of yourself.  The latter being a message for me as well.  I have had successes as an educator, but I have had equally as many failures, steps backwards, and misunderstandings.  And there I stood before vice-presidents, presidents, and top-notch health care executives asking them to remember every leadership lesson I shared that day was taught to me by children.  Physician: heal thyself, and teacher: educate thyself.

One of the greatest lessons I have learned in life (and one of my leadership points) came from one of my life’s saddest moments. After enduring the heartbreak of losing Reed and trying to help Sister and Sawyer heal from the bus crash, I quickly came to the realization that much of what I think I know about other people’s lives is wrong.  This education arose through the wisdom of those who had walked in our shoes but was refined by those who had no idea the advice they were proffering was not helpful and worse yet, at times, hurtful.  While our valley of grief was long and arduous, it was still worthwhile, producing gentler and kinder versions of ourselves.  We became a people who realized that much of the ugly in the world is a direct result of sadness and hurt.  As a teacher, this education was better than anything I have ever learned in a book or in a classroom.  I had to walk a journey of a million steps in pain to produce a heart that recognizes when a student seems to be out of sorts, there is typically some type of hurt or sadness behind it.  Serving others came naturally to me before my darkest day, but loving those who appear “unlovable in the moment” became my rally cry afterwards.

I honestly wish that all educators would have an earth shattering, heartbreaking moment. Many have already experienced their own sadness, but for those who have not, the result would be eye-opening.  Sadly, I know this be true, because of experiences one of my children has had over and over again.

Six years ago, my oldest daughter began to experience hives.  At first, the outbreaks appeared to perhaps have an environmental trigger (akin to seasonal allergies), and then a suggestion was made that maybe water might be to blame.  Swimming produced hives, but showering and using our hot tub did not.  Time and again, we went back to the proverbial drawing board. None of the “causes” were the real culprit. She has been poked and prodded (one visit required 17 vials of blood), written incessant journals of food and activity logs, and tried all sorts of medications, creams, and ointments.  We have even tried homeopathic remedies, but not a single thing made any difference.  Meanwhile, she has endured urticarial (the scientific name for hives) episodes every day – EVERY DAY – for the last six years.  Some outbreaks would be small clusters.  Others would be large nodules, and worst of all, would be the times  hives the size of dinner plates covered her body.

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Photo by Steph Moon of Moon Photography (Even for the prom, the hives were present.)

 

While some notice the welts that would appear at whim, very few notice the side effects.  Sleep would be elusive due to eruptions happening or the uncomfortable nature of itching and scratching.  Outbreaks are also mentally and emotionally draining.  How many teenage girls do you know that want to sit in class and suddenly have red and enflamed clusters of hives break out? Fashion accessories they are not. On top of it all, how does a student maintain focus and concentrate when pain is a constant companion?

Removing my teacher hat and simply being my child’s momma, we have seen every possible specialist with the hopes of finding a definitive diagnosis.  We have logged hours in clinics and hospitals, in the car travelling great distances to talk to the “best of the best”, and in the library reading every possible article and study on raising a child with chronic illness.  Often we shared these studies with her school, in the hopes of helping others to understand how debilitating chronic illness is.  Some times our efforts seemed to be in vain, when it was suggested that

  • These hives are all in her head.
  • Pretty sure this is a sign of anxiety. (She does NOT have anxiety.  Trust me, among the myriad of doctors, we checked and double-checked.)
  • She is doing this for attention.

Short of “appalled” and “righteous indignation”, I have no other words for these suggestions.  I will be honest.  I have cried more tears than I knew possible; many of those tears wept while lying in my bed grieving my child’s journey. No momma dreams of her child having a debilitating, chronic illness. While some call me “strong”, they might be shocked to learn there are definitely things that sentence me to my bed because life is simply that overwhelming. Yet somehow in those painful moments quietly tucked under the covers, my eyes are drawn to a God who I know loves us and my sweet girl more than I ever could.  

During these times, He reminds me there are the teachers and school nurses whose hearts have been broken and who try to understand what our girl is going through.  There are also doctors who look your sweet child in the eye and say, “I believe I know what you have.  No more pokes and prods. No more journals.  And while there isn’t a cure, there is a treatment for which I think you would be an ideal candidate.”  Even more so, this amazing physician held my child’s hands and lovingly reassured her that she would no longer slip through the cracks and told her emphatically “No! None of this is in your head.” and cried with her.

I have learned many lessons through this saga, and as the treatments continue (Praise the Lord successfully so far!), I am sure there will be others to learn.  Throughout my career, I have always tried to err on the side of compassion, but for the times I failed, I am truly sorry. For my students of the past, present and future: I can only offer that today because our struggles, I am a better person for it.  So when you come to my classroom or office, just know I will listen and together we will make a plan for you to be successful. For every educator – no scratch that – for every human being: ask God to show you the sufferings of others and how you can be a shining light in the midst of their storms.  For all the mommas who have children with illnesses seen and unseen, who search for answers even when they aren’t the ones wanted, who have shed tears and have lost sleep, and who have had to explain their child’s illness over and over, just know you hold a special place in my heart and more importantly in my prayers.

For you sweet mommas, I have two words: Warrior On!

 

 

 

Patriotism: Teach Your Children Well

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American flag – photo credit Euclid Library

I’ve always been interested in politics.  Well, at least since the summer of 6th grade.  I was visiting my Nanny and Granddaddy and while they were busy running a wholesale nursery business, I watched the national conventions (for both major parties I might add).  All the fanfare of speeches promising to make America better had me hooked. Not that at that time in my life I had strong opinions about what was wrong with my country, but the passion for citizenship was alluring. I have never had an interest in running for office, but I believe the election process is one that we should all teach our children.

I am a product of the Weekly Reader voting booths.  I remember the pomp and circumstance with which the whole experience was created and carried out back in my days at Gentian Elementary School in Columbus, Georgia. The school used actual voting booths (complete with the little patriotic curtains) as we marched solemnly to cast our votes for either Jimmy Carter or Ronald Reagan.  The excitement was palpable even if we were marching silently in straight lines to make our mark on history.

Jumping forward in time, I have always taken my children (even in car seats) to the voting booth with me.  I read each word to them, and we discuss our choices (even though only my vote counted).  I am THAT mom.  The one huddled in the corner of the room so as not to disturb other voters.  This election season one of my children has reached voting age, and I am thrilled he will be exercising his right to do so, which leads to today’s message.

Having formerly lived in primary states, the caucus system was a somewhat new experience for me.  I wish my voting record (including reading ballots WORD FOR WORD to my kiddos) or my re-creation of my childhood voting booth for the last twelve years for my children’s school would be enough alone to speak to my patriotism.  It would not because I would only be fooling myself. The truth is until Reed was twelve I had never participated in a caucus before.

After learning about the caucus process, Reed really wanted to attend and watch (obviously being too young to participate).  For those who knew my red-headed wonder, his passion for a new idea or learning concept had no limits.  In his enthusiasm, he attempted to persuade his Social Studies teacher to offer extra credit to all who attended a caucus of their choice.  In Mr. W’s defense, I think he thought Reed was looking for a few extra points, when in reality he was trying to encourage his classmates to get out and learn.  I don’t know what the final outcome was of those extra points, but I do know that my sweet boy attended his first caucus and was thrilled by the experience.

I didn’t tag along with Reed that year because we had already made plans to have dinner guests that evening.  If I knew then, what I know now, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  Reed only lived one more week of life, but that one evening of learning is one that has never left me.  He cared more about what makes this country great than he worried about missing an hour of dinner with great friends.

We need more of that in America.

There are many times in life when the student becomes the teacher.  That night was no different.  I remember his enthusiastic conversation as I picked him up.  He was genuinely proud to be a part of history in the making, agog over the choice he would have made in the straw poll.  I secretly took pride and felt disappointed at the same time.  Proud of my young man for growing up and living out his passion for learning and disappointed that I wasn’t there to enjoy it with him.

So no matter your beliefs or ideologies, think about living out your patriotism for one little red-headed wonder (who would have advocated for extra credit for all of us). Step out of your comfort zone, learn something new, and be a part of what makes America AWESOME!  I know Reed would be proud of my plans for the evening.

Revolutionary love

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A few weeks ago, I was invited to be the speaker at a neighboring school for their Pay It Forward day. The students completed acts of service throughout the day, and I spoke twice in the afternoon, once to senior high and later to junior high students. Many hours of preparation went into the big day, because the message would be life-changing – not because I spoke it, but because kindness is transformational. Intertwining stories of my family and our darkest hour with humor and heartfelt truths of compassion, not only from friends and family but also from complete strangers, was a beautiful tale to tell.

The oldest students would have been nine or ten years old when our tragedy occurred; so other than the few in the audience who know us personally the story would be new. Delicately balancing the human side of a major news story is hard work, exhausting at best and gut-wrenchingly aching at worst as my mind, body, and soul are transported back, reliving each moment. ALL. THE. MOMENTS. The beautiful ones AND the ones so painful that some days I look in the mirror and want to high five the girl on the other side because I don’t know if she truly knows how awesome and amazing it is she survived.

In the end, I wanted my young friends to leave not feeling sorry for us, but rather to be inspired by the acts of kindnesses lavished upon our family.

Early in my presentation, I wanted a gauge of how honest and sincere my audience would be. The measure of sincerity was simple. Raise your hand if someone somewhere at some time in the world has been kind to you. Every hand in the room was raised.

Then, I upped the ante. Raise your hand if you have ever felt lonely, isolated, different, afraid, left out, unsure or insignificant. Only one brave hand was raised. The rest were liars.

Little did they know, I completely expected those results, because I wanted them to squirm a little bit before I shared my mission – creating revolutionaries. Genuine change requires some struggle, including confronting your own battles.

Sharing some basic facts about my family, I eventually expounded on our loss and pain but mostly explained why I could be considered an expert in receiving kindnesses. I wanted the precious scholars to know no matter how limited they or their budgets may appear to be, there is no kindness too small which does not leave a person transformed. If something appears to be an obstacle, plan big and DREAM BIGGER to reach out to those who are hurting.

What I didn’t share was the firestorm known as the political hot button issue at the center of our sadness. Truth be told, I lied (in omission) to them all. I never spared the truth about the hardships we have had (and still endure) as a part of that day. I openly told how the girl, who went from doing everything, relied on everyone else to do most anything. My heart was bare when sharing how much these acts of compassion truly taught me about community and love – transforming, selfless revolutionary love. What I didn’t share was the black part of my heart early on in our story.

Very few know this story, but given the news of recent days and weeks, it is time to finally come clean.

I hold many different titles, but even fewer know that for a brief period in my life I was our town’s chief crane inspector. Okay, not really. My then three year old was. I was just the chauffeur. The rebuilding of our lives came agonizingly slow, while our little town’s infrastructure was booming. The baby of our family has been and most likely always will be infatuated with construction cranes. After dropping off the big kids at school, we would drive from construction site to construction site “inspecting” the crane’s work. The final one in our tour was completing a new expansion at our county jail which at the time housed the woman who killed my son and ripped our lives apart.

Every day, while sipping on sweet tea, I wished for the crane operator to be unsuccessful in his endeavor to securely place the large preformed concrete walls. Just drop the wall and she will hurt as much as I do. Dark was that corner of my heart. The news of the amazingness known as my son and the other three children who were gone tapered off and all that was left were court cases, commentaries on illegal immigration, and sound bites from her attorneys, who in an attempt to humanize their client crossed the line when suggesting a conviction would mean her elderly parents might not ever get to see her again. Really? I am fairly certain I am not ever going to see my child again on this earth. EVER. It was all too much for me and my brokenness.

But it was through that brokenness, God showed me how much my darkness was only hurting me and how it was not now or ever going to be a part of the solution. I wanted to be better. Different. Transformed by my heart and through my darkness. Realizing my son would never want hate and bitterness to be a part of his legacy, I chose forgiveness and began carefully and tenderly (with God’s divine grace) choosing love over everything else.

With every tragedy (and by every – I mean EVERY SINGLE ACT – especially the ones on the news, where someone is left hurting), I am reminded that choosing love is a revolutionary act of defiance. The world perpetuates evil. Choosing to love in the face of darkness is an uncommon act. Everything about my sweet boy was not common, and in honoring him, choosing love was the granddaddy of all antidotes to hurt and a slap in the face of darkness.

Hate mongering, fear inducing rhetoric, social media memes shared virally, and us vs. them mentalities will never solve any problem. Evil will never go away, but none of these go-to platforms offer any sincere opportunities for hope. So here’s a thought: STOP doing them. STOP saying hurtful things. STOP posting divisive things. Stop teaching this rhetoric to your children.

And while we are at it STOP focusing on our differences. STOP pointing them out.

STOP taking tragedies like mine, Sandy Hook, Ferguson, or San Bernardino and reducing it a sound bite, a meme, a rally cry, an ideological platform, a banner flag because behind all of that chaos are real people who are truly hurting and who never asked to be a poster child.

The real issue is HURT. Even if my young friends lied it about it, pain is real and isolating.  At the root of every hurt is a genuine, amazing and awesome person – who deserves better in this world and of this world.

While real conversations can and SHOULD take place, the issues have never been illegal immigration, gun control, skin color, terrorism, or mental health issues.

The real issues are the lack of understanding, the lack of respect, and the LACK of love.

How do we uplift and honor instead of tear down and divide?

After we stop doing all those other things, let’s lead with kindness. Let’s call it our gift to the world. They will never see that one coming. Look for ways to help others. Make that our new habit. Have real conversations with eyes and ears that can see the hurt others bring to the table. Be the voice of change for those who have no voice. Stand up, beside, and behind those who are hurting, especially those different from ourselves. Give generously with your time, your resources, your mind and your soul, and not to mention your heart. Smile at everyone. Read to your children about all kinds of people and whisper in their ears they are what make the world a better place. Buy a stranger a meal or a cup of coffee. Celebrate you and celebrate others! Hold hands and pray, and when it doesn’t look like that is working, hold on a little longer. Envelop those you love (and those who are hurting) in hugs that leave everyone better.

Be genuine.

Be sincere.

Choose hope.

Be hope.

Be brave and inspirational and kind.

Never forget kind.

The world is watching.

High five that guy or girl in the mirror, for at least trying to change the world.

And, be revolutionary in your love!

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It is well . . . just trust

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When I went back to teaching full-time this fall, I really spent a lot of time with God asking if this was truly what he wanted for my life. While I like to pretend I am superhuman, in reality I know I am anything but. If my life was a balancing act before returning to my career as an educator, deep in my heart, I knew I would be giving up some things in order to keep my sanity. Just what things was the question.

Writing? Speaking? Time with family and friends? Volunteering?

None of those items did I really want to put on the back burner. They were all too precious in my sight.

My prayer time with God probably sounded a little whiny. God, every time I think I am done with my book, you tell me I am not. How am I going to finish it while working full-time? And what about my blog? Lord, throughout the last few years there have been dry patches because of dark times when my writing was put on the back-burner, what if this job takes that away too? Are you asking for this season to be over? I am not sure I am ready. And speaking? Lord, how can I do that while teaching classes at the university?

Like the proverbial frying pan of cartoon fame, God stopped my crazy train of swirling what-ifs with a song. Reed’s song. When our kiddos were little, our bedtime routine consisted of getting ready for bed, reading a book, saying our prayers, and then a bedtime song. Each of my kids had their favorite requests which would be sung every night. One day during my internal thought wrestling, Reed’s song which was a childhood vespers song, sung in the midst of the north Georgia mountains in my years spent at summer camp.

Seek ye first, the kingdom of God

And his righteousness.

And all these things shall be added unto you.

Hal-le-lu, Hal-le-lu-jah.

 The very hard truth was God knew the balance I needed in my life and provided it in a way I never saw imaginable. Instead of taking away the things I loved and in reality draw me closer to him, God showed me the many (and trust me the list is lengthy) distractions I have in my daily routine. Those needed to go, and I need to daily trust that God has a plan.

I am very protective of family time; so, while that might have to become more creative at times, I knew those precious moments would remain a safe harbor. Writing has become both my release and my platform. But speaking was the one which I adore and in my small “let’s put God in a box” plan, I believed would be the one which would go by the wayside.

Ironically, not knowing God’s plans is my specialty because not only have I not given up any speaking engagements but my number of requests to be a speaker has grown leaps and bounds. In the two months since I walked through the door God held open, I have had more speaking engagements and requests than I had the previous year AND to add a cherry to the top, my employer is supportive of me doing so!

How little was my faith! If God asks for a mustard seed, I was offering less than a grain of sand. Where was my trust?

Why does my mind always sneak back to all we have lost or given up or did without or waited for or wished was different, but forgets about God’s amazing steadfast presence? While in the seasons of being a red-shirted freshman sitting on the sidelines of life, I yearned to someday go back to my career. But like Charlie Brown and Lucy with the football, I believed that I would end up disappointed. Through our journeys through seemingly endless dark valleys and never-ending turbulent seas and storms, God has always been there through each tear-stained, worrisome step, why would I doubt that he would not have a plan to bring me the desires of my heart?

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Like those years long ago, when a tiny (and tad bit homesick) girl missed the comforts of her own house, the vespers song brought the peace of God’s love, a new (to me) worship song brought in waves of grace of divine dimensions which calmed my heart a couple days ago. Soothed by the lyrics, I transformed them into my own personal prayer.

Maybe, just maybe, my heart needed the reminder that all is well, through dark moments AND through absolutely amazing experiences of new opportunities waiting to be savored. GOD.HAS.A.PLAN. All he asks of me is to trust Him, just as the song proclaimed

Let go my soul and trust in him

the waves and wind still know his name.

 His love is everlasting, and I truly needed a refresher course in the promise of his guidance in burdens AND blessings. Of all the songs that could have been chosen for worship on the first Sunday of Advent, what a blessing this one was chosen for his girl.

Wherever you are today and whatever you are facing – may God’s steadfast presence whisper to your soul.

May Emmanuel (God with us) be the best Christmas blessing you have ever fully embraced.

Photo courtesy: Licensed under Public Domain via Commons – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:North_georgia_mountains.JPG#/media/File:North_georgia_mountains.JPG

 

 

What they didn’t tell us about teaching

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There are so many things I love about being a teacher. While the pay is not always indicative of how much we educators pour our hearts into our students, the non-tangible fringe benefits are out of this world. The opportunity to see a student master a topic that previously caused them to struggle is amazing. To see a scholar tackle a problem in a new and creative way is awe inspiring. Watching your students grow into incredible people who are truly making an impact in the world is breathtaking. And then there is what happened at a burger restaurant . . . that completely caught me off-guard.

I recently took my university students to their first professional conference. Thanks to the generous work of a colleague’s grant and the devotion of the science department, outside of paying for a couple meals, my future science teachers were able to attend the two day event for free. After seeing the long lines at most restaurants, my little group decided to head to a “Five Guys Burgers and Fries” for our evening meal. When we got up to leave, I realized that a darling young woman whom I had taught in middle school and her significant other were also there. As my group was on the way out, I stopped by the table to say hello. When she introduced me to her beau, I was humbled by her word choice, “Jeff, this is Miss Stevens, my absolute favorite teacher!”

Wow! What an introduction! As my group loaded up in the van to return to the hotel, one of my students whom I had hoped to inspire with the energy and enthusiasm known as the Minnesota Science Teachers conference blurted out, “That was better than ever earning teacher of the year!” So true, my young friend.

Forming relationships with former students and their families is just one more endearing benefit to being a teacher. Last summer, I had the opportunity to put my crafting skills to work to help one such family. I had taught two of their children and was extremely close to their third and youngest as she formerly dated my son. Over the years, our families have transformed from colleagues (the momma is also a teacher) to close friends. The oldest of their children was getting married and had her heart set on a having a chandelier for her outdoor venue. The bride could not find what she wanted, and that is where I come in.

I believe all teachers would go to great lengths to use creativity and innovative ideas to help students make knowledge their own. I guess I could say the same about sharing my talents when someone needs help. Can’t find the decoration of your dreams? Let’s see if we can put our thoughts together and make it happen.  (I tell my university students all the time that we cannot teach resilience, but we can sure model it!) After some initial brainstorming, the bride’s mom, sister, and I got down to business to create a chandelier to meet (and hopefully exceed) her bridal dreams. We spent countless hours shopping and crafting, but in the end, the finished product was more than worth it.

First we found the perfect chandelier to “up-cycle”. It may not look like much, but trust me, just like a struggling student, I saw its potential from the first moment I laid eyes on it at our local Habitat for Humanity ReStore.

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Next we removed all the electrical components and spray painted it. The one thing we learned is that while Chicago may be the Windy City, it has nothing on southwestern Minnesota. We also learned you can get spray paint out of your good jeans, but that is a story for another day.

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The next step was to add the flowers and greenery. A few trips to Hobby Lobby resulted in some of the best greenery, roses and faux hydrangeas to coordinate with the live ones that would be coming from the bride’s grandmother’ garden for wedding day.

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The final steps were to hand string the crystal beadwork for embellishment and attach the solar crystal garden lights for the piece de resistance! Our hours spent pondering over beads in Michael’s paid off on the finished product. The lights came from our local big box hardware store.

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The wedding was beautiful. The couple stunning as was their venue atop the Stillwater (MN) Public Library. It was such a picturesque evening with ideal temperatures, lighting, and fellowship. Oh and along with the bride and her brother, I had the wonderful opportunity to catch up with these amazing women, all of whom I had the joy of teaching. That, my friends, is a priceless treasure and one I will store in my heart forever.

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A lesser known benefit of  teaching is sharing your family with the students you adore.  There have been countless moments over the years where that has happened.  When going through the wedding photos with the bride’s parents, we stumbled across this jewel.  My littlest has a penchant for catching the bouquet at weddings.  She is in the pink dress on the left hand side.  Notice her stealthy moves as she once again came away as the victor!

As school years are coming to the end, if you have the chance in the upcoming weeks to thank a favorite teacher (whether it be your own or your children’s), it will be a gift worth more than gold!

2 days: Kandy did you know?

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The greatest aspect of being a teacher is the opportunity to be a student for life, fostering the love of learning for every child in my classroom. I consider myself to not be an expert in any area because there is always, ALWAYS more to discover. Our journey to joy, our theme word for the year, has been no exception. At times, it felt like Jesus’ spittle had been rubbed on my eyes, giving them clear vision to uncover joy in some of the most amazing, and often unexpected, places.

My quiet time with God, the way I strive to start each day, held a deep well spring of joy hidden in verses I had previously overlooked. Or maybe it was God’s way of gently leading me to see what was right in front of my nose all along. Sometimes, I just want to pinch myself, the truth revealed being that exhilarating.

No secret that I celebrate the little stuff, these discoveries sometimes leave me wanting to dance, other times cry, and many times just plain speechless. Since I started this twenty-five day countdown, I vowed to be present this holiday season, my mantra was to not sweat the little stuff because I am recovering worrier, often taking on way more than I should and missing out of the little moments of life. In that vow, several times there were two days of blogs posted on the same day, but this is the first advent in a long time where I was not frazzled.

It is amazing how much more energy my spirit has had to learn when I am not running around like a crazy woman. Sometimes my sweetie looks at a gizmo or gadget and says, “Now, why didn’t I come up with this?” The take your breath away moments I have had this Christmas were equally awe-inspiring and baffling because I couldn’t believe I had never thought of them before.

All were dichotomous in the way that there was always more than meets the eye.

The baby who was born to die . . . so we could live

Our youth pastor breathed these words in a closing prayer the Sunday of our pageant. I stood by my pew with tears streaming down. Tender is the heart of a mother who has lost a child. Easter is my favorite holiday; so, I know the ultimate ending (on earth) for the sweet baby in the manger. God, in flesh, pure royalty chose to come to a world full of every possible evil to be born of humble heritage, knowing, KNOWING, he was coming to die. Although I am certain, she knew the prophesies, did Mary really know the implications of being the mother of God and what his calling on earth would be. My heart broke for hers all these years later because I remember holding that sweet little boy for the first time, laughing because his given name was present in his tiny red curls. Reed means red-haired. I could have never imagined that like Mary, I would outlive my child. Yet, because of her son someday I will see my son again. And for that, I can never be more thankful.

The first visitors were shepherds

Well, most everyone knows that. Next to tent makers and fisherman and farmers, shepherds are a pretty popular profession in the Bible. They are present in many different books of God’s word. But what most people (including me) don’t understand is that while there were plenty of them, theirs was not the most revered occupation. Later in life, Jesus even used them in some of his very own parables. What I didn’t understand was the solitary (in the field) lifestyle of the shepherd often prevented them from participating in ritual cleansings required by their faith. To many, they were lowly and unclean. No wonder, Goliath laughed at David, not only was he small in stature, but he would not have been respected by his own people either. Yet, when the King of Kings was born the first people to be told of the great news were the shepherds. Not having entertained the thought previously, I was humbled to think this is exactly what my Jesus is all about. The outcast, the reject, the lowly, the forgotten, the unclean, the huddled masses were exactly his favorites. He didn’t see shame or neglect or regret, only radiating love. From his first breath, the people the world chose to despise, were loved, loved enough to receive the first formal birth announcement.

Anniversary of his birth

Every year, Christmas is touted as the most wonderful time of the year. For many it is, but for millions of others it isolating, lonely, persecuting, or dreadful. I love Christmas (albeit not as much as I love Easter). Yet as a child, I along with every kid I knew well anxiously awaited its arrival. Wishing and dreaming of a morning filled with surprises was the highlight of the year. As parents, we have continued some of the same traditions for our children. Candles in the window, an Irish tradition, alert Mary and Joseph that there would be room in our home. Next to the tree, sits an empty manger waiting to be filled with a stand-in baby. My devotional the other day filled me with more awe than any other in a long time. In Mary and Joseph’s time, many knew the Messiah would one day come. His birth had been foretold in many different ways and through various prophets. The Israelites knew God to be a God of his promises. The exact time was not known, and yet, they waited in anxious expectation for his arrival. They waited for God’s promise to be revealed, much like children wait for Christmas packages. While today, we celebrate the anniversary of his birth, there is one component I had been missing all along. Like God’s people two thousand years ago, we are awaiting his return. He promised he would come. It has been so much easier to keep my vow to not worry over details when I used the perspective that what I am truly celebrating each year is exactly what Simeon waited for his whole life. He waited for the Messiah to come and each year on the anniversary of his birth, I am anxiously awaiting his return.

Learning is a lifelong journey. And God  truly knows this girl has a lot more to discover. May this Christmas be the one God reveals great lessons to your soul.

christmas angel

By any other name

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I almost choked on my sweet tea the other day when I saw an email in my inbox.  In the message were the instructions on how to be hip and cool with my crocheting.  Didn’t I want to be hip and cool?  Of course!  I couldn’t keep my eyeballs from looking into this!  I discovered all the cool kids were making chevron afghans.  (Yes, the chevron – the current fave in geometric design.)  When I looked at the attached picture, it showed a plain old ripple afghan like my grandmothers have made for years.  Apparently, I didn’t know my grannies were pioneers of hip fashion long before their time.  When I showed the e-mail l to my sweetie, completely nonplussed he announced, “That looks like Nanny’s afghan to me.”  My thoughts exactly!

Ripple or chevron? I guess it's all in how you look at it.

Ripple or chevron? I guess it’s all in how you look at it.

The more I thought about it, the more bothered I became by that email.  How many times does that type of marketing work?  More often than I would like to admit I am guessing.

My thoughts wondered back to teaching junior high science.  Each year at some point, I welcomed my students to the world of adulthood by letting them know a little secret: advertising is not for educated!  I would share with them that sometimes even brand names were meant to evoke a certain image: Downy and Nike were two that always came to mind.  I told them that they were too smart to be duped by ads.  Always one for the flair of the dramatic, I would quietly tip-toe around the room acting as if other grown-ups would pull out pitchforks and burning stakes if they knew I was letting children in on this little secret.  Then I would share about the moment that I caught on to the truth.  It was “The Great Cholesterol Scare of ‘85”.  I didn’t have a sage guide.  I was on my own perusing the snacks at Food World in high school. I needed to pick up peanut butter. But which one to choose? Why not the one with large label – emblazoned with NO CHOLESTEROL.  Suddenly angels appeared in Aisle 6 with rays of heavenly light shining forth.  This moment was somewhat akin to the beauty school drop-out scene in Grease. At this point in my story, most of my 7th graders were hanging on to every word.  Gently, because this was new knowledge in the information age, I explained my epiphany.  The uneducated consumer would think that this singular brand among all others on the shelf was there to protect my health, my arteries, (and not mention Truth, Justice, and the American Way).  I should buy THIS peanut butter because they cared enough to remove the horrible, evil, bad-guy Cholesterol from its product.  The reality: there was never any cholesterol in it.  Advertising is not for the educated.

Anyone who has been a teacher for more than twelve years knows that in the education world there are fads -lots of them.  I remember a former administrator was practically giddy with excitement at the speaker we were going to for a back-to-school workshop. His words were, “This is going to revolutionize what we do here”.  Because I believe that there are many ways to reach a child, I sincerely doubted this revolution was going to last long.  Once there, I knew for a fact that my hunch was right.  This workshop was twenty years ago, and the buzz-word for teaching was “cooperative grouping”.  The idea being that if we did everything in the classroom in groups, children would succeed, our lessons would reach every child, and everyone would learn at equal gains and paces.  That isn’t exactly what happened.  It is a great tool, but no one can build a house with just a hammer.  Why would we think that just one method would build a child?

So what do ripple afghans, peanut butter, and cooperative grouping have to do with anything?  Together, not much, unless you are lucky enough to teach in classroom that allows naps and snacks while simultaneously having your students arranged in groups!  (Some days, that would be my dream classroom!)

In all honesty, this concept of being easily fooled is one of the things that strikes fear in my heart.  How many messages do our kids receive in a day?   I want to raise kiddos who love God and who are great thinkers with big hearts.  That’s a tall order!  Are we (meaning: parents, schools,  communities) giving our children as much of an opportunity to learn and to think as we are preparing them for standardized tests?   Have we been hindered by the vast availability of knowledge at our fingertips without pushing our brains to go as far as they can?  Have we settled for the quick fix rather than creatively engineering the box (not just thinking outside of one)?  Have we equipped them with the tools to see through the garbage to get to what message is really being sent to them?  Is there an app for that?

Whenever I ruminate too long on this subject, I think about all the ways I have possibly failed as a mom and trust me, the list is LONG.  Then God gives me a glimpse that perhaps we haven’t done such a bad job after all.  I had an opportunity to watch my children testing a product for a company years ago.  I could see what they were doing while simultaneously having access to the questions they were being asked.  I watched as one of my sons was asked to describe how the product looked.  Every other child in the room looked at the product and wrote down their description.  Then I saw movement unlike the others over by my boy’s spot.  Behold!  He picked up the item and inspected the underside.

That was PROUD moment for this momma!  All those things I worried about maybe were for naught because not only did he think outside of the box – he reinvented it.   If I wouldn’t have looked like a nut, I wanted to jump up and down, cheering him on!

All over the country today many are sending their kids back to school.  In a really grown-up, fast-paced world, there are a lot of distractions.  Some are good, but plenty have no reason other than to dupe our kids. With a lot of prayer and nurturing, hopefully,  all kids will learn to think on their own two feet and not be fooled by the flash and dazzle (like the chevron afghans) of the world.  Because the way I see it, a horse by any other name is a . . . well, you know what I mean.

Miss Kandy to the Rescue – 28 days to go!

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Photo by Lil’ Sprout Memories by Alyssa Francis

I have known my whole life (okay since 2nd grade) that I wanted to be a teacher.  I love learning, but more importantly I adore kids!  I have earned many different names over the year from Adjunct Professor to Ms. Stevens (my Lakeview name), but the name I cherish the most is the one given to me by my Sunday School kids – Miss Kandy.

I will never forget the time when my family was vacationing in the Twin Cities and we were taking in the “fun” (and I use that term loosely) at the Mall of America.  We were camped out at the Legoland play area, when I heard a faint shout out. “Miss Kandy!”  I thought I was hearing things.  But the sound began to crescendo like a blue shift of wavelengths suggesting the sound-maker was running toward me.  “MISSSSS KANNNNNDDDDDDYYYYY” I turned just in time to see a sweet little “L” from my Sunday School class running across (with her parents in hot pursuit) across the indoor amusement park.  How in the world she saw me through all those people is beyond me.

So it came as no surprise to me how I ended up in the place where the kids run earned its beginnings.  Reed’s Run aficionados will remember that we did not have a kids run in the first year.  The origin of the run came from the summer before the second run.  While helping chaperone the Lakeview junior high football team attending Chad Greenway’s “Day to Reach” camp in Hutchinson, I took a passel of younger siblings to Burger King to the play land.   After playing for a while, we all sat down to enjoy our snacks.  It was during that conversation that the idea was hatched.

One of the sweet girls started the ball rolling by saying, “I love Reed’s Run, but I just wish I was big enough to run in it.”  I explained that anyone, any age, can run.  “S” and her friend, “E” explained that wasn’t the problem; the problem was that 5k was too far for some little legs.  Oh really?  Well what if I put together a shorter run just for kids?  Their faces beamed over the top of their treats.

Since it was to be a kids run, it needed to be designed and organized by kids.  Within a week, we had two sweet 7th graders from Marshall on board, and the rest is, as they say, history.  True to Miss Kandy form, every child who runs in the race is rewarded for doing their best.  (Yes, there are medals awarded for top runners, but the emphasis is on fun.)

So in the end, a couple elementary kids planted the seed, a couple middle school kids got it organized, and a whole lot of kids have enjoyed their ideas and work. Thank you to “S” and “E” for sharing your really great idea over ICEES with me.  God definitely knew what He was doing when He gave me a heart for kids.  Reed’s Run was improved for the better, but the best part is that I am truly blessed because of it.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”  Matthew 19:14 (NIV)