When God Shows Up

“I’ve already heard it all.”

On those occasions when someone at my house had decided to play hooky from church, this was the justification. The very fact that an excuse was needed betrayed some guilt; and since several of us had been to church most of our lives, it seemed to make some sense.

Mike liked to say he was ‘born in the pew.’ As I know where he WAS born, this was a typical Mikonian exaggeration. I know that I spent my first Christmas in the Lincoln Park First Baptist nursery when I was 2 ½ weeks old. At any rate, together we logged a lot of Sunday School and church growing up. Then, we both attended Wheaton College where students were required to take 25 hours of Bible, theology, philosophy, and contemporary Christian thought. So, yeah, we thought we’d heard it all…mostly.

That has to pose a challenge to the man of God, the mouthpiece, whose task is to bring a word, a message, a thought, to the congregation. 

But, if you believe as I do, it is not the messenger or even the surface message that should get us to those  services. It is the Holy Spirit, that ethereal and very real portion of the Godhead that illuminates any service, if we come with even mild expectation and if we listen to Him. (I will ascribe to traditional roles here.)

I don’t know how this works with the unbeliever, but for the rest of us, we are promised that we are inhabited by the Holy Spirit so He makes Himself known, even when we are too busy, too tired, too distracted. 

And so I find myself driving out to my home church on these snowy Sunday mornings. I’m a front-row parishioner…..they told us that the music is less loud down front and that seems to be true…there’s fellowship and music and that time for illumination.

Last Sunday, as I slipped into my usual place, the band took the stage. A man I don’t know stationed himself at stage Down Left and tuned his guitar. I couldn’t help but remember that this was Mike’s spot, another reason to sit close. Then, as the band began to lead us in worship, I noticed that his part was not so complicated….some nice chords and runs…and I realized that THIS would have been a place for Mike.

Few things made him happier and more nervous than being asked to play at church. He knew, and it was not too subtle, that he was the slow one in the fast group. Some of our musicians are professional and Mike was a plugger. When asked to play, he would camp out in his music room and practice and practice and practice. He would polish his guitar, make sure that he had extra strings and show up early for rehearsal. On Sunday play day, he would pick out something comfortable and not too uncool to wear on stage and arrive early for run-through. I could watch him concentrate as he played and then smile ever-so-slightly when he ran past a challenging measure.

He loved to play with the Oakbrook Band. He knew that he was serving the Lord and that he was using whatever talent he had to that end. After he became ill, the requests to play became less and then, as he kept defying his doctors, they picked up. His last time to play was about 2 months before he died.

Whenever he was up there, friends would pull me aside and tell me how seeing Mike made them so happy. I believe it reinforced the reality of God’s power.

So, I watched the band and the guy in Mike’s place. It was grand and a bit sad.

Then, one of our pastors approached the podium and brought the message. And I, who could say that I’ve heard it all, heard something new; God had a message for me on that day. I’m always pleased and surprised when I hear it again and I hear something new. This is the power of the Spirit; I live in a close consciousness to His presence these days.

And then our pastor led us in communion: in our church, both elements pass together. We partake as we feel ready. Communion unites the believers and I believe this is the first time I celebrated without Mike at my side. And that’s when it happened.

I held the cup in one hand and the bread in the fingers of the other. I prayed briefly and then put the elements in my mouth. And then I realized that I had been weeping, probably for a long time. Not sobs or wails…just streams of tears running down my face so quickly, I could do nothing to stem them or blot them away. The lights were down although I’m not embarrassed by honest emotion. I clasp the empty cup in my fist and saw that it was shaking.

Then, the wave passed, the lights came up and the service was over. I had met closely with my God, savored a memory, and cleansed myself of some sadness.

God continues to bless me and permits me to bless others. There is much joy and very little sorrow here. And, one little piece of grief is now past.

A Great Way to Spend a Snowy Saturday

I got a call the other day…actually a FACEBOOK message…from a friend of mine. He’s the music director at Kokomo High School which was to host the ISSMA district solo and ensemble competition.

That’s Indiana State School Musical Association in case you didn’t know. It looked like 7 or 8 schools, including one from 75 miles away, traveled to our school for this event. My friend was looking for helpers; I had the morning free; and honestly, I miss being around high school kids.

So I got my tank filled this morning. Students from 5^th grade up were included in the mix. My coordinating parent found a nice job and spot for me:

 

1.    1) Keep the musicians moving.

2.     2L Check off the names

3.      3)When the performer comes out, hand him his card, marked wit his award, so he can get his medal.

4.      4)Save the judge’s score sheets until a Runner comes to collect them.

5.      5)Keep the noise down in the hall.

Some actualities came up for which I had no instructions; classroom teachers wing it all the time but I found that when you are following someone else’s directions, you are less comfortable with solving problems on your own.

I was parked outside the ‘STRINGS’ room so I got to rotate violinists, cellists and bassists, in solo and then ensemble, as they entered, played and then exited. And in between, while kids waited, some gathered around just to chat. I am still a bit of a kid magnet. Kids offered their personal tips for stage fright, they choices for costume, and their questions about where to eat lunch.

Congratulations, ALEX!!!

The schedule was optimistically packed and what was supposed to end by 11:30 ran until 1. It was so much fun to spend a snowy morning in my old stomping ground, missing the kid part of teaching.

And added bonus: my talented nephew, Alex Bolinger, took a GOLD  medal in the trombone solo.

Musings on a Snowy Afternoon

When I step back and look, really look, I marvel at how God has made major decisions so easy for me. As I’ve mentioned before, it often takes 3 taps on the head to get my attention, but these big things announce themselves with crystal clarity.

So, the closing of the Kokomo home. So, the move to the lake. And, so the stepping away from teaching at Kokomo High School, my professional home for 39 years. Because of some HR regulations, I am ‘on leave’ this year; retirement filing has a due date

 and I’m already on top of that.  

I will retire from KHS this spring

 It’s time.

I don’t want to be one of those oldsters who decry the good old days. Public Education has changed over the years as has society. I could harp of what I wish ‘they’ still did; I’m sure that some old timers had similar thoughts when I began.

I began as a naïve college grad, knowing very little, including that I knew very little. They handed me some books, a gradebook, a red pencil, (wow!) and classrooms of students. “Go get ‘em,” they said. The school board had established local goals for my classes; I had a list of the goals. It was up to me, all up to me, that I achieve those goals.

Malcolm Gladwell maintains, in Outliers, that it takes about 10,000 hours to learn a craft. That’s about 5 years of teaching time. And as I look back, that’s about how long it took for me to figure out such things as time and class management: how to read the face of the confused, bored, troubled, or bright; how to plan and execute lessons and evaluations; how to manage my personal life with my professional life; and how to raise concerns that needed to be raised and forget those that should be forgotten.

I suppose most jobs have similar skills; mine included relationships with 80 – 150 students each semester. 

I look back on those days, remembering my learning curve which was at 90 degrees all of the time, and am grateful for colleagues who nurtured me, for free. I began at a time when teachers worked without expecting extra compensation: we wrote and rewrote curriculum, tests, book evaluations, and classroom inventory. It was expected. Nobody talked about ‘on the clock.’

I’m not saying that this system was fair or right. It was the system. And everybody followed it. Over the last 10 years, the extra-classroom load has exploded: with it have come demands for compensation. Personally, I would have preferred being released from the load, letting someone else do it and collect the money. But that’s rarely a choice.

Kokomo High School back in the day

This naïve, sheltered, college grad landed in a typical school in a blue collar town. When I started, kids could drop out at 16. And at 16, they could find good-paying jobs in manufacturing. In fact, one fun thing they would do was to  come back to see their teachers, waving their pay stubs.

Sometime in the 80, local manufacturing leaders wanted to impress upon educators that those low skill jobs were disappearing and we needed to sell kids on staying in school and getting more training. Our state guys then changed the law, making 18 the age when kids could drop out of school. Somewhere else in there, attendance and graduation rates became tied to school funding. After that, schools did not want to expel even the most egregious. Schools looked for all sorts of creative ways to keep kids in school and get kids to graduation.

So, the reality was that classrooms were full of kids who a generation ago, could have been out and working. Now we were trying to get them to do algebra and advanced English. Frustrating for everybody.

Threaded through this adventure have been many attempts to craft education to meet the needs of students and society. Take good old English 9.

Since 1973, we’ve had goals, behavioral objectives, measureable benchmarks, measurable objectives, goals (again), course outlines with text page numbers (redone every time we got a new textbook), course standards, state standards, numbered objectives and whatever we have now. I can’t say what we have now as the last year was a bit of a blur for me.

And about that blur: when I started teaching, I had a great principal, a man whose goal was a cohesive staff and a motivated student body. He created a family atmosphere at my first school. I saw how staff interacted with students and knew that I wanted my own children to be a part of this. Alas, by the time my kids were in school, times had changed, not to something bad, just something different.

My first principal BLED the school colors

This first principal would let me storm into his office with my ideas about how school could be so much better; about how this or that was a problem; about what I would do if I was running things. I was too young to realize how inappropriate these audiences were. But he never winced, wiggled, or told me my time was over. He sat patiently, let me blow off steam and then would respond with something that made sense in the moment. I’m betting I amused him but he never smiled or laughed. It was as if I, the genius young teacher, had illuminated him to something new.

And his assistant was a sainted man who toiled in quiet on things like the schedule and the calendar, and who taught what, and so forth. It was also his job to guide/advise staff when they messed up.

One day, this man showed up at my door during my prep period. “Do you have time to talk?” he asked.

Sure.

Someone (actually a SOMEBODY someone) had overheard me complaining about a student who had cheated on a test. I’m 99.99% sure that even then, I did not name the student. However, SOMEBODY was offended and wanted me to be reprimanded. And here came my boss to talk it over.

The entire interview took only a few minutes so it was quite a while later that I reflected on our conference.

He drew two student desks side by side, sat at one and signaled me to sit at the other. We talked. He made his point. But he had orchestrated a situation that could have been HE YELLS FROM HIS DESK while teacher cowers in corner. (I’ve had supervisors who preferred that method)

When he was done, we went back to what we had to do; no bruised feelings but points were made. What a gracious, confident man he was.

BTW, this same man showed up at my classroom door several years later, hand delivering a phone message from my babysitter. He handed it to me and I opened it. “Your daughter has a 117 degree temperature.” Before I could even react, he said, “Lynne, I’m sure this is wrong. But, why don’t you go home and make sure. I’ll cover your class until you return. And if you can’t come back today, don’t worry about it. Now, go ahead.”

His examples in these incidents, plus his work ethic and his genuine love of people…..I believe he helped make me the teacher I am today. 

I guess teaching can just be a job….and if that’s the case, it doesn’t pay all that well. But for most of the people I know, it’s more: it’s life. It’s that kid whose eyes light up, finally, when he gets it. It’s that girl who needs an extra ounce of care during a hard time. It’s the guy, the big guy, who seeks just one adult he can talk to. Sure, it’s curriculum and the art and craft of teaching, but it’s so much more.

Every teacher I know has worked through personal difficulties....I did. There’s something about the structure and schedule at school that lends a sense of control when circumstances defy control. And so there are times, within the family, some teachers stand along side that one who needs.

I may give off the aura of competence, however everybody at KHS knew of my husband’s illness. Certainly, everybody knew that the last school year was difficult. My husband was now dying. I was spread pretty thin.

My students were, typically, the best. I would make a mistake recording a grade. Someone would come to my desk with the mistake. I would apologize and fix it. So often, the student would say, “That’s ok, Mrs. B.” And I would acknowledge but tell him that I needed to do a good job for him. Then, because such things are never private, I would remind my students to keep me to the task. I will always remember with affection the many students I’ve grown to know.

But, now that last year’s fog has cleared, one thing about last year remains troubling. Our school, probably all schools, are trying to respond to new demands for accountability. I get it. Tax payers want to see what they are getting. And schools want them to be satisfied.

Multiple administrators presented information, held meetings, sent explanatory emails….explaining THIS THING each teacher was to do. Several friends who were about to retire announced that they weren’t going to do it. I believe there were some threats about withholding separation funds.

I know that several colleges held group sessions during multiple weekends to get it completed. Even if I had wanted to, that was not an option for me at this time.

I was a bit foggy anyway and these instructions were heavy in educational jargon. I would take notes, try to formulate questions and then seek answers. The fog never lifted.

THIS THING was a trial run, some sort of practice document, to teach us all how the real thing would be done. I believe the instructions changed but I’m not sure. What I AM sure of….Mike ill, teaching my classes…..that was all I could handle. THIS THING pushed me over the edge.

And still, I tried, I really tried, to complete THIS THING. I completed it as best as I could. I was told it was not good enough. So be it.

But on this snowy afternoon, I still remember my frustration at my failure in this area. And I knew that every supervisor knew that my husband was fading. Someone, anyone, all of them, might have stepped up and told me I could skip it. It would have made no difference except there would be one box not checked.

And I can’t help but compare how I was nurtured early in my career and reflect on the last semester. That compassionate touch was missing. And, I think that’s sad, not just for me but for those learning how to teach and how to support each other.

I’m sure, because I’ve seen it, that education continues to evolve. I also see clearly, that I am no longer the kind of teacher that the new school requires. All good. God has gifted me. He’ll show me the next chapter.

CCCCCCCold and SHHHHHHriving

Back from San Antonio. Back from illness. Time to work a bit at the cottage.

So I drove up last week, intending to spend at least a week. Sister Kris flew in from LA with her wit, charm, and her specific skills in home decorating.

It is a new challenge to put together a coherent home, rooms that 'flow into each other,' that 'express (my) inner decorator' that (Kris) knows is in there, that fulfills my wish that this home will be functional, comfortable, and low maintenance.

Little sis has many gifts in this area and we worked, fun work, all week.

She popped in from 75 degree weather to what is called the Polar Vortex, Part II. From last Wednesday to today, the temperature outside has not risen above  single digits.... it has fallen to double digits below. And then there's the wind, whooshing across the lake with its fluffy cover, creating a blinding swirl of snow.

Kris was intent on going for walks..... several were minutes in length. Saturday, we got a slight reprieve and stayed out for 30 minutes. Brrrrrr.

So our days became..... rising to watch the sun come up across the lake. (Watching the lake wake up, said Kris); a small breakfast with much coffee and then errands. We found that the day was 'warmer' than the nighttime..at least we could see to drive. Then, afternoon and evenings were spent doing things inside and watching DVDs by the fire.

As we are planning a trip for the sisters and nieces, Kris put her considerable acumen to work and organized my loosy goosy notes. We sent out a note to our travel mates, wrote some specific questions for the travel agent, and placed it all in a folder. Kris is good with folders.

Our trips out produced paint samples, towels, and rugs for testing out the way the sun shines here and there. Kris painted strips in several rooms, in interesting corners where the light varies from time to time. And then we would discuss, hold up this picture, spread out that rug, and nod and smile.

By evening, we gathered by the fire and watched movies. Cuddled under throws, it was a great way to end the day.

Until last night, there was little to disturb us. However, last evening, the wind picked up and blew drifts all over the place while whooshing through the trees. Hoosiers are hearty but no one in tornado land likes Big Wind. So, this morning, I checked the Indiana Department of Transportation to see if the roads were passable.

Good thing I don't need to drive to Kokomo because several major routes are closed by police order. My friends from the high school continue to wonder if all of these canceled days will move the end of the school year.

Our drive to Fort Wayne followed an east/west road where the drifting was minimal. We left early and arrived at the Fort Wayne International Airport (little gem) with time to spare. On my return to the lake, I saw several less patient SUVs upside down in the middle of the highway. And another reminder to slow down.

My 'sisters' in my small group are meeting tomorrow night and if it's safe, I'm headed back to Kokomo in the morning. Then, my plans are to finish up the sorting --- what's coming with me and what I'm leaving behind --- and gather documents for selling the house and finishing my taxes.

My self-designated goal of the end of March is in sight. God is good, so good to me.  And you.
I've heard rumors of warmer weather ahead. Soon? Hope so.

Catching UP

What follows is a quick summary of a very great trip. Right near the end, I started to sniffle with a sore throat. Dang. Getting a cold.

As I was surrounded by 4000 cruisers, many of whom were children, plus my own party getting over 'something,' well, it was not unexpected.

My usual therapy for a cold: Big Bottle O' Nyquil and Tylenol Sinus. This is not a copyrighted remedy. Feel free to borrow, because it has worked for years and years. These medicines would sooth symptoms and I certainly wouldn't miss school.

(I guess I bought into the fantasy that as I was not 'at school,' I would be missing a lot of viruses.)

(looks better than I)

By Sunday, I was turning the corner. Great. Just as expected.
By Monday night, I took a nosedive. Much more ill. Slight fever. And that 'hit by a truck' thing.

As I was visiting in a house of school kids and working people, I figured I'd just sip tea and sit around and get well. Except it didn't work. So by Thursday, the doctor was called and I got some serious medicine. 5 days of doses.  It took 5 days.

I am not the most patient person, when it comes to seasonal illness. Growing up in my parents' house, the nurse-mom would suffer no fools when it came to missing school. You had to be bleeding, a lot, to even interest her in a stay-home note. A little delirium would help. And, this from the former 'frail' toddler over whom she hovered. Quite the 180 degree turn by the time I tried to play her.

Her attitude DID inform me, in my attendance at my job and my children's attendance at school. Of course, the hub never missed work. He was NEVER that ill, even when he was.

So this last week has been tough on me. TOUGH. I have flopped around, sipping fluids and sleeping. A lot of sleeping.

Yes, I know. It's going around. From my cross country contacts, it's going ALL OVER around.

The worse part of this for me is that I have crashed on one of two New Year's Resolutions: I was going to write 30 minutes a day. My goal is to write out, in save able documents, a chronology of the last 5 years. I've been cooking at this idea and then finding all sorts of reasons NOT to sit down and do it. January 1 was my first day of discipline.

I discovered, however, that when my head hurts, when my sinuses cry out for me to just puncture them, I can't think well enough to write. I hope that works. It may be just another lame excuse for writer's block.

Or maybe, God wants me to slow down a bit. I'm still pretty thick when it comes to hearing Him. It often takes 3 taps on the head to get my attention. For the last week, it took a fever, a headache, a sore throat, and a cough.

(Better now.)

Smile 'til your face hurts

I can’t describe the Disney Fantasy any better than that. But I’ll try.

I’ve been on a few cross country adventures since June. THIS was the trip with the hub’s stamp of approval. I doubt that he would have joined us but he was excited to read about all that this ship has to offer. He and I talked about taking our kids and grandkids on this most special adventure.

Gramma and Noah in the 'Duck"

Staff told us that Disney Cruise Lines decided to bring the Disney stamp to this industry. Its ships, 4 in all, are chocked full of goodies, activities, adventures and just plain old fun for children from infant to geriatric. As I walked the deck, family groups from youngest to less young strolled along. As this is vacation time from school, many of these groups had their own T-shirts in bright colors to identify themselves.

After "Duck"

The Fantasy is Disney’s newest ship and features one special thing that the others don’t: The Aqua Duck. It’s a huge Plexiglas flume that circles the upper deck, jutting over the edge just a bit. It’s a partner ride on a blue inflated mat, taking about two minutes from start to finish. I told the boys that all I wanted from this trip was to see them ride it once. If they were charging per ride, at this point, THEY could pay for the next cruise.

As one of the few who has never been to a Disney Park, I was unprepared for the highest level of quality, detail, diversity, and cleanliness all over the ship. Staff members smile. Parents smile. Babies smile. Teens smile. Grandmas smile. AND my boys, 7 and 9, keep finding new things to smile about.

My Crew

We boarded (to staff applause) and disembarked at Port Canaveral, Florida. We sailed to St. Maarten, St. Thomas and Castaway Cay, Disney’s private island.

Our itinerary was 3 days at sea and 3 in port. On this ship, there’s childcare for babies. Kiddos 3 – 14 can go to a dedicated place, the Oceanaire Club, and stay all day and into the night. If they want to skip meals with the parents, no problem. Staff feeds them, entertains them, and if it gets late, spreads out cots for the children to sleep. While boarding, each child received a GPS band that identifies him or her if misplaced.

Teens have a dedicated space and although I did not check it out (TEENS ONLY!), I did question a few kids in the elevator. They, too, were unanimous with their votes:  great. Don’t want to leave. And, no adults.

Noise and laughter are all around. There are many kiddies not yet knee-high. And, once underway, the costumes come out. I have personally spoken to quite a few princesses and pirates. Disney stars keep popping up, for hugs and photos: Pluto and Mickey are favorites. I was present at a Disney Princess Dance, where Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Bell and Tiana glided down the winding staircase from Deck 5 to Deck 3, waving those elbow-length, gloved hands and swirling a bit in their taffetas. Once at the bottom, they were greeted by many, many, many children.

Andy and Noah in a momentary chill

We have enjoyed several live shows plus some first rate (Disney) movies. On this cruise, both “Frozen (3D)” and “Saving Mr. Banks” are playing, both of which just opened in theaters.

And then there’s the food. Cruisers always talk about the food. It’s spectacular and plentiful. Disney assigns us to one of three dining rooms. Then, we rotate each night taking our service team with us. By day 2, Anthony and Terry have our drinks ready before we arrive.

Like many cruises, the food is all over the place and available almost 24/7. Up on the pool decks, you can get pizza, burgers, wraps, and etc. between meals, just to hold you over. PLUS, they have a make-your-own-cone station, with 20 spigots, half of them kiddie height, a popular spot.

Also, and this is important, there’s plenty of adults-only space, mostly at the back of the ship. (AFT) So a gramma who has had enough of the good thing can climb up, stretch out, and enjoy the sun and heat without something sticky being dropped upon her.

I found a perch in a corner café (with very good lattes) where I could watch the interactions. Happy people meeting other happy people. And, for me, most interesting, was watching the staff. I’m not a cynic by nature but I couldn’t help looking for just a twinge of strained smile, an eye-roll after turning away from a guest, a suppressed sigh. None. NONE. Even in the kid areas where the results of diverse parenting skills are on display, lots and lots of smiles.

Got it? Smiles.

We stayed in some very nice rooms with verandahs and murphy beds (when pulled down, the ceiling is full of stars), not the most expensive on board. But there are lots of bargain rooms, internal rooms, which offer all the same fun. And on Disney, if you have an inside room, you still have a porthole: animated friends swim by all of the time.

So, I’m a fan of the Disney Cruise. We toasted to the New Year, remembering all the blessings of 2013. How blessed I am to welcome 2014 with these loved ones.

Commercial over. Cruise over. Back to the real.