Cruise Director

This is our Zane.  He is the amazing miracle we weren't expecting.  Well, they both are really.  But that's why his name fit so well. Supposedly, it means "The Lord is gracious."   

This kid is crazy.  His favorite afternoon activity is to do head stands on our couch.  He loves to read, but can't just read one book at a time.  We currently have three bedtime books in addition to the Bible we read each night.  He is also our cruise director--he must know what the plan is and how exactly it's going to be executed.  If he doesn't like the itinerary, he'll tell you without hesitation.  

He's addicted to video games (Skylanders, Donkey Kong Country, and Lego Harry Potter currently) and loves Ben 10 and Pokemon on TV.  He's still scared of Halloween masks, and while he won't admit it anymore, he's not at all a fan of "dress up people."  I don't blame him.  Mascots are pretty weird.

He's also our worrier.  He has his life mapped out, but the thought of things not going as expected is of deep concern to him.  His big plan is to live in an apartment first and then build a house in our backyard. It will be black with flames. He and his wife will come in and have dinner with us most nights, and he plans to help his dad mow the lawn. But his plan has a few cracks in it.  Tonight he asked me, "Mom, what if my wife doesn't want to live here?"  A few weeks ago, he sighed deeply and said, "I just don't know what to do with my life.  I don't even know what I'm going to do for a job!" Life's tough all over these days--even when you're 7.

He's sweet, loveable, and absolutely hates fighting and raised voices. He hates being in trouble or having anyone upset with him.  My heart aches for him as I think of what life may throw at him one day.    But when it does, I'm trying to tell myself what I tell him:

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes" (Matthew 6:34--The Message).

The Lord is gracious indeed.

Sacred Sunday Cover

So my fabulous friend Julie is blogging this month on 31 Days of Music.  She has an alliterative theme for each day, and today is obviously Sacred Sunday.  You really should check it out.  As I read it and listened to the video attached, I was struck by the differences in the music from her church to mine.  Now of course we have differences as all churches will, but overall I was struck by the stark difference in formality.  Of course, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir is about as formal as you get, and I realize that the music may not be quite like that every Sunday in her home church. Regardless, it got me thinking, so I decided to do a "cover", or my own version of Sacred Sunday tonight.

The bigger churches in our denomination (independent churches of Christ/Christian churches) have made the choice to move away from formality in the singing portion of our worship.  Generally, we don't sing hymns anymore.  Instead we sing choruses or popular songs written by artists you'll find on KLove.  I'm making absolutely no value judgements about what's better.  Frankly, I think there is a time and place for both. 

 I've posted a video for one of the songs we sang today, both in worship time and as a closing.  I was struck by its beauty and simplicity.  As I listen to the Julie's choir sing, begging God to show "pity in my deep anguish" I hear echoes of the same cry in "all the poor and powerless...and all the thieves who come confess, know that You are holy."  Both songs speak to our deep yearning for God.  We long to be close to Him, yet we are so disgustingly far from Him, filthy with our sin.  Both songs also talk about His forgiveness, and overwhelming love for us.  His awesome power, might, and holiness.  Why aren't we shouting about it from the mountains?  Telling it to the masses?

Why haven't I?  

Home

Today I went to my parent's house to help with a few things.  It was a quick day trip and I was able to be of some help.  But as I was driving up, I thought about the idea of "home."  I wasn't going "home" this morning, I was going to my parent's house. Yet on my return trip, I couldn't wait to get "home."  Coming "home" wasn't about the bricks and mortar, it was about these guys:

Home stopped being an address a long time ago.  I love my parents so very much, but their house isn't my home anymore.  When they move, I may miss going to the town to see them, but I will be anxious to see them wherever they are.  I have a feeling it will be that way with these guys too.  Houses are great, but they're not homes.  I'm not really home until I'm with these three yahoos.  And home is a pretty great place to be.

Playing It By Ear

Every Friday, my friend Julie and I are going to have a conversation--a bloggersation really (so sorry).  We're both going to blog about the same topic, and as I have mentioned a time or two, her stuff is far superior and you should be reading her blog too.  If nothing else, our bloggersation will be much more interesting if you get her side of it each Friday. 

This week she suggested we talk about being a church pianist.  She still faithfully serves, and as many of you know, I've taken a break these last few years to teach Sunday school with my husband instead.  Throughout the course of that time, several people have asked me if I've missed it or if I'd like to get back into playing. The general answer to that is no. I definitely miss playing.  More importantly, having a reason to play.  Life is too full as it is for me to have time to sit down and play the piano for fun.  I do sometimes, but I always feel guilty about the laundry, the papers to grade, the cleaning, the kids to hang out with...you get the picture. 

So what are some things I don't miss about playing for church?  Getting up ridiculously early on Sunday morning to go practice again with the band.  Spending an hour or two on a Wednesday or Thursday night practicing with the band.  Being asked to play things on a moment's notice and expected to know how to play songs without music.  Being asked to just fill time on the spur of the moment.  Playing in five or more sharps.  And most importantly, the thing I don't miss is that as pianists in churches with bands, we don't play music anymore, we play chords.  We're given a guitar chart and asked to improvise or fill in based on what the leader has heard on KLove or Youtube. 

However, I do miss the band; there was a definite camaraderie playing with people who share a love of music.  I miss seeing the congregation worship.  I miss helping the congregation worship.  I miss worshiping in a way I've only experienced when serving.  But for now, teaching 4th grade boys Sunday School is how we serve.  So as Julie says, if you're in church on Sunday and there's music, thank those people who have shown up to share their gift with you.

Swimmin' Upstream

Teaching English wasn't my first career choice.  When I was in junior high, I was sure I'd be an endocrinologist and work with kids who had diabetes like me. By the time I was a sophomore, I decided I wanted to be a lawyer.  But as college loomed and reality set in, I was lucky enough to have Mr. Kubik, a pretty great teacher who made government class my favorite subject of the day.  I had several great teachers growing up, but his ability to make stale, boring facts seem somehow relevant in my world of  big bangs, Bon Jovi, and cruising Norfolk's main street is still pretty impressive (it was 1991, by the way).  He inspired me.  Made me think that teaching was a profession that could make a difference. I'm still glad he did.  

While this hasn't always been the case, the main focus of my classes is British literature.  For those of you who have forgotten, that's a whole lotta' big books written by a bunch of old dead white guys.  Fabulous big books, and amazing old dead white guys, but not exactly on the radar of the typical 18-year-old.  Two weeks ago, I had a parent tell me that kids are too busy to be reading books outside of school.  "These kids just don't have time with work, community service, school activities, and getting ready for college," she said.   She basically told me that I can assign anything I want, but that kids today simply don't have time to do it.  

I've been thinking about that statement a lot since then.  Also, the frustration I hear from some of my excellent middle school colleagues who say that they can't assign work outside of class and expect students to do it. Several teachers at the high school level say the same thing.   I know I'm not the first parent or educator to wrestle with these issues, but as I think about creating deeper roots of knowledge and experience for my students, I am faced with the fact that the 47 minutes I have been given with my students each day is simply not enough time to do all that I am expected to do to prepare them for what comes next.  My students have to do work outside of class.  Not copious amounts of work.  Not busy work.  Not work without meaning.  But work outside of class.  They have to read.  They have to write.  They have to write about their experiences and write about what they read.  

And what do I have to do?  I have to figure out how to do what  I saw Mr. Kubik accomplish every day.  I have to make it all seem relevant.  Purposeful. Important.  Exciting even. Some days, I get close. Others, not so much.  The only thing I know for sure is that I'm not  giving up,  even if it means I'm swimming upstream with a whole bunch of old dead white guys on my back.

Lucky 13

This summer our oldest son turned 13. To be honest, I've been looking forward to the official teenage years because I foolishly thought that I was somewhat of an expert with that age group.  After all, I've taught 14-18 year old's for the last 18 years. If that doesn't make me an expert, nothing will, right?

Wrong.  Those of you with experience raising teenagers are laughing at me right now.  Kids act differently in the classroom than they do at home.  Well, most of them. Most kids see teachers differently than they see their lame mom or dad.  Again, most.  Now don't get me wrong, Gabe is a great kid as kids go, but raising him has not been as easy as we would have thought.

In the moments of pain, frustration, and uncertainty, I have lamented that fact.  But as I've thought about it over the last few days in preparation for this 31 Days of Digging Deeper, I can't help but think that the things that are easy are not the things I value.  Sure, it'd be great if everything was handed to me on a platter and my children never ever talked back to me.  Or got in trouble.  Or challenged me in ways I could never even imagine.  It'd also be great if they never struggled, or got called names, or were treated unfairly.  But I have a sneaking suspicion that's not exactly how life is supposed to work. 

We have made so many mistakes as parents with both Gabe and Zane, his little brother.  So. Many.  Being the parent of a teenager has already brought a whole host of new issues, but with those, we get to experience a whole set of new joys we get from watching our son mature, become more responsible, and make great decisions without us.  When people talked about the terrible two's of toddlerhood,we laughed.  Two wasn't so bad.  And then he was three. Nobody had a name for that, but yikes.   When people used to talk about the terrible teenage years, we laughed then too.  Well, we're not laughing, but we're still smiling.  So far, 13 has been all it's cracked up to be and much, much more.

Skin Deep

Today I begin my 31 Days of Digging Deeper series, but all I can think about is how thankful I am that some things are only skin deep.  Now don't get me wrong, I picked the Digging Deeper title because that's what I'd like to do with various aspects of my life as a whole, but today reminded me that superficiality can be a blessing.  Let me explain.

Today I had two pre-cancerous spots removed. These weren't the first, and I'm just thankful they were caught early enough that my fabulous dermatologist was able to freeze them instead of cutting them out.  I've had that kind too.  As a fair-skinned girl who loves a good tan, I know I've earned those spots.  There were days I went without sunscreen.  A lot of days.  There were "special" occasions I tanned for weeks in little sun coffins.  I don't have to question "why me"or feel as if the universe is against me.  I did this to myself. 

As I was driving home, the two spots began to throb--one on my leg, one on my left arm.  Nothing serious by any means, but I certainly knew something had happened there. And, being the preacher's kid I am, I couldn't help but think about how those spots are a lot like sin.  Sin has a way of seeming harmless at the time.  It has a way of sneaking up on you.  It has a way of feeling good in the moment. It has a way of speaking to our superficial natures telling us things like, "It's no big deal if you only do it every now and then, " or "Everyone else looks so much better doing this-- so will you." But just like my spots, sin is something that is far easier to catch and remove if you do it early.  Freezing off the nasty stuff is much easier than the painful process it takes to cut into your life and eventually stitch it back up.  Left to fester, sin leaves scars.  I know.  I've had that kind too. 

So today, I'm thankful for things that are superficial.  I'm thankful that my fabulous husband saw the spot on my leg and encouraged me to call my doctor.  I'm thankful neither of my marks were permanent or will have any lasting effects.  I'm thankful for a loving Father who is waiting to help me catch my sin in its early stages, before it has a chance to take root and cause more permanent damage. Today I'm thankful that some things are only skin deep.