Controlled Chaos

I have learned much during my years of teaching, but probably the most important thing I have learned is just to slow down and enjoy the journey. Yes, there is a balance in there and it's not the easiest thing to find or maintain.

Boundaries have to exist.
Procedures must be established.
Structure can never be overrated.

But kids do not stay kids forever.

No matter the age or the classroom, teachers spend a lot of time with their students. A lot of time. During that time, we learn about their struggles and fears; we share in their triumphs and milestones; we hurt for them when they hurt. Often times, most times, all the time, we take them home with us in our hearts. More than once have students occupied my dreams.

And I am not alone.

If you know a teacher, you'll find that his or her conversations almost always revolve around their students. My family has lived each school year with me since the youngest was three years old, and that youngster is now a year and a half away from having her own classroom one day. I am excited for her and worried for her, all the same time. This journey in education is not an easy one.

We all know the stereotypes for teachers. Some people think we are terribly underpaid and for the most part, I would agree enthusiastically. Granted, as the middle will often say (at least I think he's the one), nobody really gets paid what they think they're worth. Besides, the Lord has never let me go hungry. Other people think we have too many breaks and/or too much time off and to that I would say, no, nope, and notta. Because you see, those breaks and days off aren't really days off, at least not as many as you might think. And, if I may be brutally honest here, those days and breaks are entirely necessary to the mental health of every teacher you know and most likely the reason they keep signing those contracts.

I mean, that and the kids.

To put this in perspective, Christmas Break is just a few weeks away for me and while I will most definitely be doing Christmas-y things, I will also be grading high school exams, calculating semester grades, tweaking note presentations, researching historical documentaries, checking state standards,  writing lesson plans, and writing senseless papers that correlate with overpriced courses somebody deemed necessary to maintain teacher certification. I do the same thing during the summer, minus, of course, all the days that I successfully procrastinate what needs to be done until the PANIC MONSTER rests squarely on my shoulders. It is the life of a teacher.

Back to the students, though.

They entertain me. They aggravate me. They make me laugh and on more than one occasion, have made me cry. They will never know the impact they make on my life; not just me impacting them through what is hopefully a stellar lesson. One reason that I am so excited for the youngest to embark on her own teaching career is because I want her to have those same experiences. Her life will be changed in a way she can never anticipate- even though those low days can be very hard to overcome. Like most things in life, however, the good will far outweigh the bad and those are the very memories that I personally keep tucked away close to my heart.

So back to the slowing down part.

This has not been a typical week on the second and third floors of this land we call high school. As if the upcoming Christmas Break was not enough of a distraction, I decided to put lesson plans on hold and just let the kids (aka young adults) create. I opened up my classroom during planning periods and as a result, have had plenty of company throughout the day. I've watched painters paint and crafters craft. I've heard talkers talk and laughers laugh, and yes... a few bickering sessions here and there. If I looked (or listened) to all of this with the wrong perspective- and maybe wrong isn't the right word; but there was a time this chaos would have overwhelmed me. For now, I am looking at it differently.

Controlled chaos.

A glitter-loving former teacher friend of mine from long ago would be pleased, I think. I always admired her way of enjoying her students through a glitter-infused classroom even while she gave them an excellent education. Hopefully I'm learning to find my own sense of balance. Maybe it's the kind of thing that comes with experience. After all, I have been reminding the young people in my life that come Monday, things get serious as we wrap up a semester and prepare for exams. You could almost look at that as dark days ahead.

But then again, Christmas Break is coming.








By the way, if you are a procrastinator like me, fix yourself a cup of coffee and go back to the link embedded in PANIC MONSTER above. Maybe you will be able to relate and in that way, my weirdness will seem a little less weird.

Laugh A Lot (and out loud)

With the exception of this particular day in this particular picture taken in April of this year, I have laughed more in the last two months than I have in the last two years.

There's a lesson in that, kids.

I could say so many things. For some time now, I would not say those things out of consideration for others. Now I choose not to say those things because there is no need. The older I get, the more I walk through, and the more I see around me... well, the more I am convinced that this life is seriously too short to live unhappy. Trying to explain myself, my actions, my path simply became too exhausting.

And there is just no time for that.

Even if others don't get it- even if they don't get me. What else is new? I don't get most adults, to tell the truth, so I figure it all evens out in the end. The one thing I do get is the One who has never left me, who is always one step ahead of me, who loves me recklessly. It makes no sense, and yet it makes perfect sense.

We are all created with purpose. There is a plan. I will never grow weary of saying that and I will never be convinced that it is not true. We all have a place and though seasons in life may change, His plan for us never expires. It never fades out. That plan takes us over mountains, around blind corners, down the straight stretches and, oddly enough, across detours that often turn out to be the most scenic routes.

Yes, happiness is fleeting. It is an emotion that, like opinions, can change with the wind. Choosing happiness, however, is a tangible thing. I look at it as calibrating a compass (if that is even a real thing). Setting my mind, your mind, on things above (Col. 3:2). And to be fair, I have also cried much in the last two months. Go figure that one out. I cry because I am so inadequate, and I laugh because He makes me more-than-adequate.

I suppose all that could tie in with the joy vs. happiness lesson. We'll save that for another day. For now, laugh often and not only that, laugh so others can hear. They might think you strange, but that's okay.

He is laughing right along with you.

A cheerful disposition is good for your health; and gloom and doom leave you bone-tired (Pro. 17:22).

I Have Been Waiting For You

I have not posted anything new since...

Well, I don't know. I didn't look. Most thoughts on most days, I've just been keeping to myself. Job security, you know. But, today. Today something happened that if I didn't write about and share for the whole world (or at least the small and sparse neighborhood that my blog followers reside in)-

Well, if I didn't put it out there, then that would totally be on me.

And that would not be good.

In the Bible class I teach, we have been talking about leadership and accountability and joy in the journey. Yes, they all go together; and no, I still have not a clue why the good Lord has placed me where He has chosen.

Me? Teaching a Bible class? Of impressionable high school girls?

Seriously.

But as I presented a lesson this morning, my thoughts wandered back to an event that took place earlier in the morning. An event that very much reminded me God is always with me. He is always there for me. He is always prepared for me. And the thought occurred, if I don't share that story through the gift of writing He has given me (don't laugh), then shame on me.

So this is how it went down.

I woke up to the fella of the house grumbling. Cat #1 left an unsavory sight very close to the litter box; like, right next to the litter box- but not in the litter box. Catch my drift? Cat #2, based on the color of what was left behind (totally separate incident, by the way) left another kind of an unsavory mess on our beautiful, gray couch. Evidently, it was the night of the cats and not one of them had a happy intestinal system.

The fella tackled the litter box debacle. I tackled the couch. Neither of us were happy. Good morning to us all.

I arrived to work somewhat calm. After I cleaned the couch and before I assembled the required ingredients for a presentable image (concealer, hair spray, that kind of stuff), I hit the play button on some mellow worship music and tried to settle down. I kept the same thing playing, courtesy of Bluetooth, on my drive to work. When I put the car in neutral, music still playing, I stayed motionless in my seat trying to absorb every ounce of peace before I opened the door- I teach high school, you know. Watching the clock tick away, I knew I had reached the point of no return- being on time, that is; and popped the trunk, opened the door, and began to gather my belongings.

This is where it gets interesting.

I slung my pocketbook over my shoulder, tucked a full coffee cup in the crook of my arm, held a plate full of leftovers in my hand of the same arm, and pulled my ever-so-handy-dandy pink roller bag-thing with my free hand.

Do you even get that picture?

It took me about five steps with coffee already spilling onto my beautiful pink sweater (yeah, I'm a fan of pink) to realize this was never going to work. I had too far to walk to even pretend that I had a chance in you-know-what of making this happen. I knew I would have to sacrifice something.

Pocketbook? Pink roller bag? Nope. Needed both of those to function for the day. Plate full of leftovers? Man, that was so tempting, but I knew that making that choice would come back to haunt me at 12:35 pm when the lunch bell rang.

Full cup of coffee? Specially brewed at home with my favorite creamer?

Good Lord, say it isn't so.

It was so, and with a sigh and a resolute acknowledgement of acceptance, I retraced my steps back to the car and placed my coffee inside. The thought occurred that maybe I would have to time to come back out and retrieve it before the morning bell, but the thought also occurred...

No. No way that will happen.

So I made my decision and was halfway through the parking lot when I looked up to see a smiling face and heard these six simple words:

I have been waiting for you. 

Now, I didn't hear the audible voice of God at the moment, but as the words of a sweet, smiling girl fell upon my ears, it was as if the Lord spoke to my heart saying the same thing.

I have been waiting for you.
I am prepared for you.

You have to understand that I don't often, if ever, have someone standing at the curb waiting for me. But today, there she was... waiting. My little friend who I have come to love so much surely followed the leading of the Lord when she wandered out that way looking for me.

Looking for me.

Within the space of about five minutes and hugs and words of  I miss you, I had an extra set of hands that helped me with everything from that coffee cup in my car to keeping me company along the way. You have to understand that because of logistics and such, we do not see each other that often. I will forever understand and appreciate that this was no coincidental encounter. It was an appointment and a reminder, and one I am so glad I didn't miss.

I would gladly clean up cat nonsense any day of the week or hour of the day to have that moment again.

Dedicated to my buddy and friend, SB. Thank you for the inspiration.

Is It Wrong to Save Pictures of Another Man?

I was cleaning over the weekend and decided to focus most of my energy on the dust bunnies that have taken up residence in my bedroom. Because I had no intention of getting out of the house, I kept my pajamas on, hair pulled up, and left the contacts on the bathroom shelf. This may seem insignificant, but trust me... that last part is what sets up this story. I folded clothes and put up clothes, sorted papers into what's important and what's not important (until I need it later, of course), and made a pile of birthday cards, Christmas cards, and Mother's Day cards.

Yes, it's been a while since I cleaned.

I pulled boxes down from the top shelf to put away keepsakes and was looking at old pictures and graduation tassels and all those things that make up a life. These are the things that I have always pictured my grandchildren sorting through some day as they attempt to "figure the old woman out". There was a particular stash of photos (tied with a ribbon, of course) of the husband as he was when we first met. Young. Military. Hair. I smiled to myself as I thought of those memories and flipped through the pictures one by one and that's when I saw it. Well, that's when I saw him, to be more specific.

Another man.

I took off my glasses to get a better look. You see, a year or so ago I was advised by the eye doctor to get bifocals. I can't see anything far away. Zip. Zilch. Nothing but a blur. That's old news. I've been like that since the fourth grade. What is new, however, is this brutally, cruel inability to see anything close up. I will squint and stretch my arm out to no avail. If I have my contacts in, reading glasses- like the kind you find on the rack at Walmart, are required to make sense of what I'm looking at; if I have my regular glasses on with no contacts, I just take them off so I can see.

It is beyond irritating.

I am fairly certain that when this particular picture was so carefully and painstakingly tucked away into my special box of special memories, I had my contacts in. If you are keeping up with this rambling, then you understand that if I didn't have on reading glasses, my vision would have been fuzzy at best. Because I was now cleaning and reminiscing with my regular glasses on, I instantly knew that something was not right in my special world. I took my glasses off and peered closely at the picture of the fellow who was smiling at me.

Lord have mercy, that was not the husband.

The young man had dark hair and was dressed in an Army uniform, much like my own man would have been in our youth. It looked like him. Kinda. I laughed all the way across the house as I thrust the picture into the face of the husband and asked, "Who is this man and why am I keeping a picture of him?" His eyes flashed recognition in a matter of seconds as he rattled off his name and asked where in the world I had found it. I told him my story and we both came to the conclusion that at some point, it had to have fallen out of an album or something and from there... well, obviously I mistook the fellow for the husband and lovingly placed him in my ribbon-tied stash.

A long story, I know, and probably one of those that just isn't funny if you're not the one in it. Nevertheless, I tend to find meaning in everything and my take from this story was two-fold:

A). Maybe bifocals aren't the devil, and
B). This is how family tales get started.

If, in fact, my future grandchildren were trying to figure me out long after I'm gone, can you imagine the stories that would have unfolded due to the discovery of grandma's mystery man? I suppose it would have spiced up a rather ordinary life.



*Dedicated to my own grandma, no mystery man in her life,
 but two good men who loved her. Gone from this world nine years today.

My Brain Is Tired

I have a hard time with what should be the simplest of decisions. Some things I am quick to act on and strangely enough, those are usually the life-altering kind of decisions. Other things I tend to camp out on for a long time. Those are the types of things that really don't matter in the long run.

Case in point: a new cell phone.

My current phone has featured a cracked screen for well over a year now. It's a lovely kind of crack, the kind that starts in one corner and spider-webs out across the screen. I've lived with it because (1) the phone is paid for and (2) I really don't care. It hasn't bothered me too terribly much. I can see what I need to see and if I'm watching a video or looking at a picture, I can flip the phone to where the crack is least intrusive.

Sounds dumb even as I write it.

A few weeks ago, however, I discovered a word search game that has successfully changed my mind on how I cope with a cracked screen. What once was not so much a bother is now very much a bother. Q's look like D's and E's might be C's. When I mentioned to the family that this could be very well be the last straw and it was time for a new phone, they looked at me like I was crazy. Really? This is what does it?

Yes. Forget the fact that the phone shuts off randomly for no reason and has crashed at least once and freezes up at the most inopportune times. I really didn't care.

But now, oddly enough, I do care.

So I have spent the last two weeks researching and reviewing and rechecking the budget to see what I can afford. I won't get locked into another contract and I won't be paying monthly payments and/or interest. Needless to say, regardless of what carrier or what brand, the options become severely limited. You would think my selection would have been pretty quick.

Not a chance.

I have made up my mind and changed my mind. I sought the advice of a son and the wisdom of a daughter. When the husband was asked, his simple reply was always You know what the checkbook looks like, which translates to Don't bother me with whatever you are going to do anyway.

Truth.

So, in the end, after adding to the virtual cart and removing from the virtual cart at least three days in a row, it was the daily walk to the mailbox that won me over. I told myself that I was wasting time, that there were word games to play, and that I would not rest easy tomorrow if I did not go for what I could afford today. Five minutes later, the transaction was complete.

What I decided on is not the moral or point of the story here. It's the fact that I struggled over the decision for so long. What was black and white became very fuzzy as I tried to unscramble all the reasonings and motivations in my mind and then put them back together... and in the end, the result was just as I knew it would be in the very beginning. I complicated what should have been very simple.

We humans are very good at that.

I don't make resolutions for the new year, but if I were to try to improve on something this year, it would be that I don't use up so much precious time on the smallest of details. It may or may not work, but shaving off a few days here and there could very well add a few days to my life.

Decisions exhaust me.

Heath & Angel

For a short time, a very short time, I was known as the second half to Heath and Angel. We dated for two weeks when I knew I was in love with him (kept that part to myself) and when he gave me a card a few weeks later that said he loved me, I asked him to marry me. No sense burning daylight, as my grandma would say. We married a few months after that and by the time the anniversary of that impromptu marriage proposal had rolled around, our firstborn had joined us. From that point on, we were simply Mom and Dad.

A little over a week ago, our second child (of three) left the proverbial nest to live on his own. We talked about how we had went from just the two of us to a family of three, then four, then five; and how it now seems we are living life in reverse... from five to four to three. Our youngest plans to stay with us through college, but we are both aware of how quickly those college years will fly.

Soon it will be back down to two.

I know we don't have as many kids as some or lack in what others would consider a remarkable story, but then again, I consider our story quite remarkable. When I was twenty-two, I fell head-over-heels in love with a fella who made me laugh. A few days ago, he still had me laughing on my forty-sixth birthday. We'll always be Mom and Dad in our little corner of the world, but it kinda feels like we're getting back to Heath and Angel and that, as corny as it may sound, makes me grin from ear to ear. Might as well enjoy it before we get to the "grand" part of the names.

I love these seasons of life.

Don't Rush Me

It's Christmas morning.

So far today, I have squeezed into new pajamas one size too small (Christmas gift, you know); dropped a cookie sheet on my big toe (upsetting the elf in the living room, I'm sure); and popped a cherry pie in the oven (thanks ever be to Marie Callender and her frozen pie wonders). Before my coffee really kicks in, I will have went a round with a ham and a sheet of aluminum foil and wondered (for the umpteenth time) why on earth I told the kids I would have Christmas dinner ready at noon.

Gotta work on that thinking before speaking thing.

We opened presents last night with everyone together, minus one girlfriend, and I successfully prolonged the much-anticipated event by insisting that gifts were opened one at a time (a strategy the husband questioned me on). My feeling was this, we have all had a good year around here. There have been lean years in the past... okay, mostly all lean years, and although there is no doubt every Christmas has went down in the books as a good Christmas, I wanted this particular good Christmas to last.

So one-at-a-time we went.

By doing so, I got to see the smile on the face of the oldest when he peeled back the paper from a sign reaffirming his much beloved Second Amendment. The last two Christmases (is that even a word?) he lived three hours northeast of us. This Christmas he lives three minutes northwest of us. I am so thankful that boy is back home working a job he loves.

The middle patiently unwrapped individual gift cards from his sister that will take a dent out of his constant desire to eat from the always convenient local drive-thrus. He announced last week that he was moving out of our house and in with his brother. I will miss hearing the lock turn on the front door and knowing he is behind it at the end of a work day, but I am so thankful we raised two boys who get along.

The eyes of the youngest practically teared up when she unwrapped tissue paper from a cat-themed organizer. When someone initially asked her what the gift was, she simply said she didn't know, but it had a cat paw on it. She is learning the hardships of holding down a job while tackling college courses and although the stress can be overwhelming, she hasn't cracked yet. I am so thankful for her perseverance.

The husband was proud of his new "Dad" sign to hang on his shed. I obviously loved my one-size-too-small pajamas. My mom shared stories of my dad's battle with a backyard mole... a story that was inspired by a gift from one of the grandkids. A girlfriend smiled at her beautiful new necklace and a boyfriend modeled his new cowboy hat for us.

And that's just a sampling.

As my dad said in his final days, "We've had good times and bad times. I wouldn't trade any of it for a dime." I have come to understand that the bad times make the good times all the more sweet, and that if it takes a solid hour of the mother insisting that each person has their moment in the living-room spotlight, then so be it. That's why I offered cocoa in the beginning.

I don't want to miss a thing.

Christmas 1999