Thankful Thursdays: Mom and Dad

When I was doing my student teaching, my cooperating teacher asked me, "How did you become a good disciplinarian?"

Her question caught me off-guard because:
1.  I didn't realize I was a good disciplinarian.
2.  I didn't remember receiving any training regarding discipline.

She shared that it was one of the things she struggled with the most so I promised I would honestly consider her question so I could answer her.  The next day, I told her, "My discipline strategies are a natural reaction to the actions of the students.  I learned that from my parents; they were great disciplinarians."

It's a true statement.  Active model discipline was alive and well in my house when I was growing up, and I suppose I internalized more than I thought.  I learned to respect authority and honor the position of the person in authority over me.  (*ahem* That doesn't mean I never tried to flex my verbal muscle at the authority figure.  But I definitely knew what was right.  And when I forgot?  I was clearly reminded.)

But now that I consider some of the things for which I'm most thankful, I realize how much I internalized from my parents' example.  As I discussed the concept of fluency with my grad class, I realized I am a fluent reader because my parents valued reading and education.  My mom constantly read to us and made us view the regular book fairs with as much anticipation as our own birthdays.

They expected from me--not just in matters of education, but also in social situations.  I can clearly remember a circumstance from jr. high in which several of my classmates and I mercilessly played a cruel joke on another girl in the class.  When my mom heard about the situation, she called the girl's mother, asked for an address, put me in the car and drove me to her house.  The entire way there, I got a lecture on appropriate ways to treat others.  When we arrived at our destination, I wasn't just expected to apologize to my classmate.  I was expected to share the story with her mother and apologize to her also. 

That story is just one in a long string of incidents that taught me what it means to see and value other people.  (My brothers have their own stories.)  While I can promise that I wasn't a quick learner on that front, I can also guarantee my parents' consistency in teaching me what it means to appreciate others.  The fact that I can observe and understand people decently is a testament to their dedication.

Mom and Dad painted a beautiful portrait of marriage.  When I make that statement, I don't mean their marriage was always perfect.  But they made the relationship look enticing.  I knew early on that marriage is never perfect, but it can be completely fulfilling.  Mom and Dad showed us the necessity of the unified front.  It was a rare event if Ronnie, Tim or I were ever able to "divide and conquer" in order to get what we wanted.

Dad and Mom taught me that parents fulfill a lot of different roles over the course of a child's life.  When I got married, they rarely offered opinions and encouraged me to make decisions with Favorite.  But when I was 15?  They weren't just a part of the decision making process--they were the Supreme Court of decisions.

Mostly, I think I want to be a parent because of the way they value their relationships with me and my brothers.  If I can be a tenth of what they were to me, I would consider myself an awesome success.

I am thankful to have them around because they are teaching to navigate some of the rockier parts of life.  They encourage me to do it with my eyes on Christ, but they don't have delusions of grandeur about their own downfalls.  Instead, they are a realistic example of the refinement process. 

I've been blessed to have them.  To learn from them.  To laugh with them.  Now that I'm an adult (*sigh*), I realize that I need parents less than I need friends--but they've been exemplary in that position, too.

I've got a lot to learn about patience, consistency and encouragment.  But I have some pretty solid examples who are taking the modeling process fairly seriously.  By now, they probably realize their job as role model is never really over.

And I'm so grateful.

The Letter Series: A Few Randoms

Dear Admiral Criticism,

I'm learning to avoid things that just aren't my business, but allow me to share an observation that has been a long time coming:  she's your kid, not your project.

Develop your relationships any way you want, but know that you have a limited amount of time to truly get to know someone.  I promise there is more to her than her dress size or her outer appearance.  In fact, you are largely missing out on influencing some of the most important decisions she'll ever make because of your constant focus on her weight or current insufficiencies (according to you).

While you're really looking at her, don't miss all of the amazing things that are happening in her life.  She's becoming an adult--one who is really learning to make her own decisions and becoming responsible for her own stuff.  Really, this is something you'd notice if you spent more time looking at how far she's come instead of how far she has to go.  (And by the way, she gets it.  I promise she already sees the obstacles ahead.  You don't need to point them out.  Constantly.)
She's still looking for your approval.  Don't take that lightly, because there is going to come a day--probably in the very near future--that your negativity will lead her to avoid your opinion at all costs.  Instead, she'll shrug her shoulders and comment that you aren't on board, because you never have been.  Oh, and open your eyes so you know how much she is doing to please you.  Some of those decisions were for your benefit--not hers.

She's never going to be perfect.  OK?  But she's still pretty great.  I hope you figure that out before it's too little too late.  Recognizing those things doesn't mean you completely ignore her flaws, but it can't hurt to balance all of your snarky comments with a bit of verbal affirmation, can it?

--A Concerned Observer


Dear Students,

English is hard--especially when we need to address what literature is meant to do for us as readers.  Unfortunately, group work in class doesn't mean the requirements are going to be easier.  In fact, because you have the benefit of other opinions/help, it's probably going to be more difficult.  But I feel obligated to push you to discovery in the classroom, and, often, that means pushing your thinking processes beyond normal parameters.

I feel like it's my job to ensure you are capable of thinking for yourselves.  How could that be possible without a ton of practice opportunities?

You're Welcome.

Your Teacher

Random Questions: Why Are You in Grad School?

Sometimes I'm a little vocal about the fact that grad school hasn't been the *best* experience for me.  In fact, I'm usually a little jealous of friends and colleagues who seem to be gleaning interesting material from their classes.  After all, the classroom discussion was one of the major reasons I entertained the idea of grad school at all.

After a few frustrated statements to the members of my small group, one man looked and me and asked, sincerely, "So why are you in grad school?"

I gave a couple of mostly honest answers:  I do feel that educators should constantly pursue learning.  It would allow me the opportunity to teach dual-credit classes.  I could apply to work at a community college if the requirements for secondary educators hit rock bottom.  (Or maybe it's to develop enough intelligence to avoid products like Jergens Natural Glow?  Orange is a beautiful color, but it was never meant to be a skin color.)

Then, people remind me that I'll make more money, and I try to pretend like that's something I value.  But let's be honest (since that's a major goal of mine here):  I just don't care that much about the money.  Favorite and I aren't getting independently wealthy, but we don't do without either. 

If I were being completely honest about grad school,though, I'd tell people that it's a way of moving forward with my life.  Because, let's do a little more of that honest thing here, there hasn't been a lot of progress on just about every other front.  And lack of progress can lead dry, dusty people to do crazy things--almost anything for a little refreshment.

Honestly, I thought a class or two might help the bike feel a little less stationary.  Instead, it's been a repetitive reminder of what I would've ignored had things been a little less stagnant.  More recently, it has spawned prayers that God will make an oasis on arid, forgotten soil (Isaiah 44).

So why am I in grad school?

Because I'm pursing the only opportunities available for me right now.  But I'm praying that won't always be the case.

A Little More Conversation

I write for the sake of conversation.  For me, a period has never been the end of the story and one blog post can't be the end of the discussion.  Books and sermons are just a jumping off point.  News stories give us a direction.  Magazine articles hit the refresh button on forgotten topics. 

In my classroom, no subject is off limits.  I'm careful to steer the direction of a few of those conversations (like the one about pornography, for example), but I rarely put out a fire if there are willing participants and viable topics--even if it goes beyond the boundaries of the lesson plan that day.

But the older we get, the shorter the conversations get.  Most of them become a practice in defending an opinion and less about really listening to someone else.  How is is possible for us to "get" people if we aren't even willing to allow them to be a part of the discussion?

In his sermon today, PastorJosh discussed the ridiculous things we say to hurting people.  I've been at the wrong end of most of those comments.  Likely, none of you have been exempt either.  But the most ridiculous thing we do to a hurting person is ignore him/her.

See, the easiest way to deal with something is to pretend it doesn't exist.  So if we close our eyes, turn our heads or keep ourselves fairly isolated, we never have to address another person's hurt at all.

I'm not sure why we do that.  (And by "we," I mean *ahem* me...)  Maybe it's because we don't know what to say or how to react.  But I loved PastorJosh's initial advice to the congregation today:  Shut up and listen.

Listening is really the most vital part of talking, and it's mostly ignored.  There is a world of people out there who are just waiting for their turns to talk.  You ever been in that kind of conversation?  There's a lot of words being thrown around, but you aren't even heard?

(What's the purpose of that kind of conversation anyway?  It rarely changes opinions.  It almost never helps someone make a decision.  And, for me, it usually results in spending less time with the person who just likes to hear the sound of his/her own voice...  Or giving myself another speech about shutting my mouth already...)

It doesn't mean we become mute head nodders.  (Doesn't that sound like a church name?  The Evangelical Gospel Church of the Mute Head Nodders.)  But in order for an exchange to happen, we have to understand that we are only part of the equation.  We can't just be heard; we have to hear, too. 

And after we hear, wouldn't it be great if we really wanted the conversation to continue?  Let down the defensiveness?  Opened our hearts to really "listening" to the other people--not just what they are saying, but what they are saying?

It wouldn't just change our relationships.  It would revolutionize all of our interactions. 

I'll warn you, though:  it's a commitment.  I'm learning that investments, or pouring in, is exhausting, overwhelming and demanding.

But it's also a little exhilirating--Christ in me, the hope of glory (Thank Him that He's willing to reveal the mystery.  Col. 1:27).

Thankful Thursdays

Link-ups haven't been my thing.  I follow several, and really appreciate a few of them.  (Hey, who doesn't enjoy reading everyone's answers to the Wednesday Hodgepodge?) 

When I read Thankful Thursdays, however, I realized how I need to spend more time practicing gratitude (instead of constantly complaining about grad school).

I really am thankful for a ton of things--most of which revolve around God's provision in my life.  I've always been drawn to His identification as Jehovah Jireh.  I can't tell you why specificially, but the picture of God as provider is a deeply intimate image.

When BigBro and SILSheena moved, I grieved.  It's difficult to find friends; it's even more difficult to find couple friends--especially ones that don't require a trial period in which you dance around what you really are in hopes of sucking them in before they finally get to know you.  But without much difficulty, God pushed us through the doors of our church and directly into the laps of PastorJosh and Courtney.  They haven't been a replacement for BigBro and SILSheena (how would that even be possible?!), but they've filled a hole in our lives.  I'm so grateful for their easy personalities and tendencies to laughter.

And this has been an interesting time of re-learning things I had known and pushed to the back of my consciousness--like that God desires intimacy with us.  Like that God will give wisdom to any to ask and believe He will provide.  Like I really enjoy spending time in the Word and singing as loud as possible in my car. 

In the James:  Mercy Triumphs study, Beth Moore reminded us (quickly, it wasn't the point of the lesson) that her mind was so broken she had to rehabilitate it with scripture.  Clearly, this is something I've been lacking--but God is tenderly reminding me of things I know and pushing me beyond the the track I tend to circle to a new understanding of who He is.  Every Sunday sermon has been another lesson in bending my knee to His authority.  This season of waiting has been a reminder that God will redeem anything to bring glory to Himself.

In addition, I'm thankful God has given me Favorite (even when I don't deserve him) and has given us time to spend together.  And since I don't want to waste it, I'll check in with you tomorrow :)

The Elusive Curtains, Now With Actual Curtains

When Favorite and I built our house, I had certain requirements for a master suite.

1.  All of our clothes will go in the closet (possibly with the exception of underwear).
2.  There will be no dressers or chests of drawers in our bedroom.
3.  Our room will be as clutter-free as possible.
4.  We will paint the walls a dark color to make it as conducive to sleep as possible.
5.  I will be able to enter the closet from the master bathroom.

To date, we've really mastered all of those things.  The addition of curtains has brought a sense of coziness the room was really missing (not that it wasn't beautiful before).

Picture from the door before curtains--ignore those ugly, U-G-L-Y, curtains on the french doors.

Another shot of the ugly, mismatched curtains and the dog's corner.  I actually spray painted that desk with a stone-looking spray paint.  It works well for the room right now, but it's a temporary fix.

I know I've pointed out those ugly curtains, but Wow.  I mean, just wow.  They are hideous.  In my defense, I picked them up at Walmart praying they would match, but knowing that I just needed something to cover those french doors so I didn't imagine all sorts of things staring in my windows at night.  (You know, I'm quite the looker...)

Also, those curtains kept me from waking up completely freaked out because Barky (Hogamedes) spotted some deer/turkey/birds/foxes/etc. walking in the backyard and went absolutely crazy--barking, running into the glass.

We made do with the uncovered windows.  It was bright when there was a full moon, but it wasn't such a huge deal.  At least, I didn't think so until we finally put curtains up.



They actually match! (Ignore the spotty picture.  Not a photographer.  It's amazing I can work a camera at all.)

Isn't this a huge improvement from the blue, suede curtains?!

We're not entirely done.  And if you think I'm crazy because I'm excited over this much progress, you clearly don't know my decorative inabilities.  First of all, I'm shocked I finally found curtains to match ($86 for all four panels--did I mention that?!)  Secondly, I'm a little surprised we actually got them up.  I have had an entire collection of pictures laying on the rug in the front room since December.  I still can't commit to any sort of arrangement.

But I digress.

There are a few more things to do...like...

That empty space over my bed needs something.  I found a great mosaic-type picture in Kohl's.  It was a tree in various blues and grays.  While I think it would be perfect, I'm not willing to give $150 for it.  I've also considered doing something with the verse from our wedding:  "Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away" (Song of Songs 8:7).  Or we could even do six frames with various patterns or pictures.  I'm just not sure yet.

In addition, I eventually plan to move the dog's space and put a small chair and lamp in this corner of the room.  Favorite also wants to get rid of the desk, buy a small flat screen and mount it to the wall.  I'm not against that, but I like that I can hide cords in the drawer of the desk so I can charge things like my Nook. 

It's nothing I'll have to worry about in the near future, because we have other areas of the house (*ahem* sidewalk) that will require some attention before I can justify spending money on another flat screen television--especially since the only time we watch television in the bedroom is in the morning.

So there you have it--my bedroom curtains.  I'll keep you updated with more pictures from the house as we upgrade...slowly.  Very, very slowly.  (And likely with panic.)

From Friday to Sunday: Hopeful Expectation

Good Friday was filled with torture, hatred and death.

Easter Sunday is joy, love and Resurrection.

And Saturday?  I've heard few things said about the Saturday that sits in between those days.

I'm not a Bible scholar.  I've never taken a seminary class (though I've entertained the idea), and I have no formal training when it comes to the life of Christ.  But I can tell you that the idea of Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday sits heavy with me.

Saturday was the day of enduring loss.

The Disciples had placed their faith in a Jesus who was dead.  They didn't even stick around to watch Him die.  Instead, they scattered--presumably to avoid association with the "criminal" who was beaten beyond recognition.

I don't know what they did in those hours (with the exception of Peter).  I don't know where they went.  I can only imagine how they reacted when everything they had believed was torn down.

I don't know those men.  But I do know despair; it is the complete loss of hope.  And in that day that Jesus was taken off the cross and in the tomb, I imagine despair hit all of them.

But Sunday.

This morning, Beth Moore posted that Jesus was up before the first sun rays met the horizon.  I cried when I read her words, because she completely understood the absence of hope in Mary's heart when she went to the tomb.  Jesus was dead.  Hope was gone.  The world was a different place than it had been the week before.

And yet, that tomb had already been changed.  The stone was rolled away.  Christ renewed hope--first in the life of Mary Magadalene, then in the hearts of all those who heard about the miracle.

We've seen Friday.  And I'd venture to say a lot of us live in Saturday.  We don't know what to do with ourselves when hope has been decimated--often before our eyes. 

Like the disciples, I abandon what I know.  I crumble in a heap, cry bitter tears and attempt to put the pieces back together--even when I don't know the pattern.

And just when it seems like things can't get any darker, I find myself at an empty tomb and hear the quiet statement, "Wait for Me with hopeful expectation.  I AM alive."

Today, we have the privilege to know that Friday will bring Sunday.  We know that Christ wins.  But the difficulty comes in remembering Easter is the answer to every Friday.  Every Saturday.  Every waiting period in which hope seems to have disappeared entirely.

We look to the cross--not to see Him hanging there, but to know that love didn't pull a vanishing act on that hill.  His sacrifice became our answer--the hope that fills despair to bursting.