Lesson(s) Learned

                As I sit here tonight (the night before the new school year starts), tons of questions are floating through my mind. Checklists with seemingly no end are reeling through my mind like the credits from a major motion picture, and the nervousness/excitement of what this year may hold is as real to me as the night-before-Christmas-jitters we all experienced as children. Though the results of this year’s relationships, the educational successes, and the individual struggles are yet to be written, the expectations are there. The goals have been set. The plans and prayers are in place to achieve everything we (my students and I) set out to do.                 Despite everything that’s couch-potatoeing in the forefront of my mind right now with simple and menial concerns of my first-world mindset, I can’t help but revert back to wh...

Fences. They take a long time to build, but they always serve a purpose. They keep important things in. They keep harmful things out. They serve to protect, to guard, and oftentimes, to make one feel safe. Though they all perform the same basic functions, no two fences look alike. And maybe they shouldn't. Some match buildings or houses, others divide vast amounts of landscape. Some are new and fresh and beautiful. Others are old, worn out, yet still in place for a purpose. No two fences are the same. Some are small, some are large. Some are just plain old all-natural wood. Others are painted and decorated-to-the-hilts. Some have latches and keys and various deviations of "keep out" signs, others don't. they're more friendly and inviting. Yet, they all still serve a purpose. Keep important things in. Keep harmful things out. No matter how big or how small or how plain or how decorated our "fences" in life may be, there's one thing to be said f...

I couldn't help it. I went out to Atlantic beach with my parents tonight to enjoy some fireworks, and it hit me. A distant memory flashed before me as if it just happened yesterday. Confession time: I was a strange child. I guess being the middle child of five requires you to go to extreme measures to stand out. To be unique. To get the attention every child (ahem, every person) likes and requires to feel significant. All that to say this: as one of my childhood quirks, I was scared of fireworks. That's right. As everyone else was enjoying the first-hand sights, I was overly fearful of the sound of fireworks. As a result, I'd go into my aunt's living room and shove pillows into my ears until the madness was over. I don't know when or how I eventually overcame this strange fear of mine, but tonight, as I sat on the beach with my parents, I realized how very glad I am that I no longer fear fireworks. Rather, I can now enjoy them as the sign of freedom that they are. Y...

I must confess. Yesterday, as I was driving home to Jacksonville from Lynchburg, I passed a church (Who am I kidding? I probably passed 140,000+ churches… traversing through the “Bible Belt” of the country and all…), and when I typically pass by churches on-the-side-of-the-road, what do you think I notice? Yes, I notice the amount (or lack of amount) of cars in the parking lot (…I’m such a Baptist. Eeee.).  That’s an obvious give-away. See it; count it. Don’t see it; don’t count it. Done and done. I also seemingly assume and assess the church’s community-friendliness based upon some non-essential (and probably very faulty) means. Like this one church. In South Carolina. Literally perched up right next to a palm reader’s palace. Had a “Revival: Thursday –Sunday” sign out front. I wondered if the palm reader had been invited to the revival. By a person, and not just a sign. See, those kinds of things are what I wonder about when I pass churches on my road trips. And , wh...

Though I couldn’t put my finger on what it was or why, I was having a sad day and just had a longing feeling that I needed God today more than ever. While I do praise Him for that ability to want Him and to long for Him on the sad days, these thoughts entered into my mind: Feasts and famines. Mountain tops and valleys. Ebbs and flows. Winters and Spring times. Ups and downs. Promised Lands and Desert Wastelands. Highs and lows. Scripture’s sprinkled with them. And, if we’re all honest about it, our lives are littered with them. Your life. My life. The guy-next-door ‘s life. Even the woman-living-down-the-street-in-the-cul-de-sac’s life is not immune to them. What I’m referring to are the sad times, the thrilling times, the confusing times, the tormenting times, the I’m-so-happy-I-have-sprinkles-on-my-ice-cream-cone times, and the run-of-the-mill, regular, in-between times of life. I guess part of It we could just label as (or write off as) “that’s life.” That’s the way ...

Today, when I walked into my school classroom, there it was. Again. In the same spot it was several days before, and for several days in a row now. The realization was not quite fun, but the daily reminder was starting to get just sheer frustrating. And for that reason alone, it annoyed me and nudged me to move, to correct it, to make all things right in my little 4th grade classroom. What in the world am I talking about, might you ask. (?) A poster, that's what. A smallish poster containing a chart of the United States capitals, state birds, and state flowers. And where was it? On the floor. For what seemed like the fiftieth time. As I bent down this morning to re-stick this poster back on the wall. again. again. again. again. I looked at the back, saw all sorts of mounds and clusters of different kinds of tapes. Considered stapling the poster to the wall of the classroom. Saran wrapping it. Hot gluing it. Anything. Just...

This morning, I had the great opportunity and privilege to serve some of my little current and former students alike at their GOTR (Girls on the Run) 5K race. After check-in and about an hour helping little girls get all pretty-fied with hair clips, hair colors, GOTR tattoos, and GOTR stickers, I walked to the finish line to wait for the first little runner to cross. About 25 minutes or so after the beginning alarm rang, the first little girl came racing down the finish line shoot. As she did, I experienced something I never had encountered before. Roars, chants, screams, and cheers rang joyously from a crowd of people who were perfect strangers to this girl. On her precious little face, you could see the weariness, the sweat, and the determination. As I stood there - simply amazed at the hype and the experience of it all - tears filled my eyes, and this verse's paraphrase popped into my mind:  "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a ...

Earlier this week, I realized that I did not have a Mother’s Day project for the kiddos to do, I searched frantically in my black hole of a teacher’s closet, found something quite cutesy that would work, and quickly sent off the master copies to be printed for all my little darlings. When I returned to the room with my fresh copies in hand, the students were all gone to one of their special subjects (music, p.e., art, etc.). All except one. Which one? The one that needed to be there. The one God placed there to prick my heart with the stark reality of his mere decade-long life. As this precious bright-eyed little boy stood before me, I stopped and thought to myself, “Eeeee. Now, this project wouldn’t be fair for (fill-in-the-blank). He isn’t allowed to see his mom.” What’s more unfair than a silly little project is the sobering reality of his life, reflected in the following dialogue that occurred several months ago when he transferred to my classroom mid-year: FLASHBACK Student: “...

God woke me up super early this morning with these thoughts running through my mind, so I suppose they are to help someone out there who’s struggling. I hope this letter, or FB “note,” encourages everyone out there – intended and unintended audiences alike. Unintended Audiences                 I’m sure it happens all the time in classrooms all around the world. Student A passes a note intended for Student B - only for it to be intercepted by the teacher. It’s actually quite the riot when the teacher is bold enough (and mean enough) to read the note in front of the entire classroom. It’s like a free pass into the secrets of that person’s life. The inner sanctum, if you will. The Holy of Holies, where everything is out in the open and raw before the presence of God and everyone else. But why, oh why, do people long (and maybe even love) to hear the content in the forbidden letters? Why do the unintended audiences...

Why would the little boy think to push the button? Did his Mom teach him about it, or maybe he saw someone else do it and believed he could to. (Other people are watching what you are doing) So why push the button? (Replace the button with faith as needed) 1) There is a door too big for the boy to open by himself. But by the button the door will open. 2) The boy needs to go inside. The door is between him and inside. It must be opened. Couldn't find a brick so tried the button. 3) Other people need to go in. The boy can help them by using the button to open the door for them. 4) The boy can use the button to do what it would take a man to do. 5) The boy enjoys the blast of cold/warm air each time the door opens. 6) The boy opens the door so he can receive the praises of the people around him. 7) Little boys are made to push buttons. It is just something inside them that they can not control. 8) Let's face it, seeing big doors open by pushing a button is just exciting....

Disclaimer: I have no children of my own. All of the story that follows is based off of my experience with children through teaching, years of babysitting, and observance of others' children. For those of you with children, please enjoy what you are about to read. …. Or, correct me if I’m wrong. I still have MUCH to learn. The Automaticity of a Child I observed something this morning that sure did make me smile. As I was walking into Thomas Road’s “Main Street” to get to LCA today in the wee hours of the morning, a little kindergarten-aged boy rrrraaaannnn up in front of me and pushed the button for the automatic doors to open. His little face got SO excited that the door automatically opened for him, and even more so, because HE was the one to push the button that was as big as the palm of his hand. The way he lit up at that moment was absolutely precious to say the least. His eagerness for the day excited me, and for a brief moment in time, my mind wandered into thoughts of “...