What a Job!

There was a time in my life when I DREADED Sunday nights. The closer to bedtime it got, the worse my mood got. I hated it because it was a reminder that I was about to start another week of going to a meaningless job, sitting behind a desk, doing useless things. It wasn't a hard job, it paid well, they treated me nicely...but I absolutely HATED it because I knew it wasn't where I was supposed to be. This was not supposed to be my life, just punching that time clock over and over and over again.

I never thought, never DREAMED, that I would be in a place in my life where I would crave being at my job. But, and I give God ALL the glory for this, I have arrived at that place in my life. For the last four years that I have taught seniors at Calvary Academy, I've had a peace that only comes when you are doing what you know God has called you to do.

When I say I love my job, that's an understatement. I can't believe I get to do this, day after day. And it's because of 2 reasons: first, I love English, and I love to teach. As cocky as it may sound, I'm good at it. I can make the kids love Shakespeare, improve their grammar skills, and teach them to write better.

But it's the second reason that is such a blessing to me: the kids. I love my students. Not in a you-have-to-love-everybody-with-the-love-of-God kind of love...I really love them. They try so hard, day after day, to navigate a life filled with personal issues, school responsibilities, jobs, extra-curricular activities, and family demands.

I think about how I felt when I went through some severely trying personal issues, all while working a 50-hour a week job and taking a full college load. I remember thinking how unfair it was that I had to go through all that and that life wouldn't stop for me. I couldn't take time off from my job because I still needed to get paid. The college professors wouldn't excuse me from assignments or attendance, even though I had not one but TWO traumatic events going on at the same time in my life. I was still expected to keep going through life, keep showing up, keep performing well, and deal with everything on my own time.

I've thought about that a lot lately as I interact with these kids. They go through so much, and yet for the most part they are not excused from their responsibilities because of their personal issues. So many deal with parents fighting and/or divorcing, and the kids still have to show up and do well in classes, or it affects their transcript. There's no place on a college application to explain that the 1st semester D of 10th grade Biology happened because of a really hard time at home. When they break up with their boyfriend/girlfriend, there's no time of "mourning" that's allowed by their teachers. And many of them have to still see this person in the classroom and in the hallway! How hard would that be in our adult lives if we got a divorce and then had to come into contact with that person every day?

And then there's the pressure of the future. Did they do well enough in school for the right colleges to look at them? Are they performing well enough on the football field/basketball court/baseball team/cheerleading squad to actually stand out among everybody else that's competing for the same things? Their coach expects them to do their best and push themselves to the limit, even if they really need to be at home doing the Calculus homework they forgot about. Their teacher expects them to have everything finished for class, even if they were at practice really late the night before. And they don't have full control over their decisions yet, so they also have to answer to parents for what they do.

I know a lot of you reading this are adults that are far removed from those that are this age, and you may be rolling your eyes at the degree of sympathy that I feel for these kids. But I've got to tell you, I admire them. They do something EVERY DAY that impresses me. They come into my English class and do their work, learn the material, take the tests. But they also make me laugh, open up about their lives, ask advice, and in general they make me feel just about as blessed as someone could feel. I thank God for calling me to do this, and I thank my students for making it so easy to love my job and to love them.

The Legacy of Music

Last night at rehearsal, I got so overwhelmed by how sweet God was to give us all the gift of music. I love music. Music has always been a core part of who I am...my earliest memories of what my family WAS include music. It was always an understood, integral piece of our identity. In my mind, there were three major components that defined us: we were Christians...we loved laughter...and we had to have music.

When we were little, I would lie in bed as my mother played piano in the living room. She was the church pianist, and she would practice the music for the coming week. Her music was like my security blanket, and as I drifted off to sleep her music held me, covered me, reassured me that all was the way it was supposed to be. My dad, too, would play the guitar, sitting on a stool in our bedroom doorway at night. I would slide in and out of sleep, and the guitar was always there, my dad humming softly. Later, my sister and I learned that we loved singing together; we knew, only as sisters could, how to blend our voices together, harmonizing almost instinctively with each other. It was a common bond, something that to this day I share only with her.

My favorite memory of our family singing together is sharply bitter-sweet. During the last week of mom's life she was in Grace Home, a precious Hospite place that allows the dying to spend their last days in a beautiful environment with their family. During the first few days, she was completely coherent, alert, aware of everything. My dad, two sisters, and I would gather around her bed, and we would sing. Whatever anyone started, we would all join in - "Great Is Thy Faithfulness," "The Old Rugged Cross," "Amazing Grace," "It Is Well With My Soul" - all the hymns of her childhood that spoke of God's love, mercy, and faithfulness. That was so typical of my mom - even in her last hours, she wanted nothing more than for all of us to focus on loving and praising God. She had new favorites, too, and we would wait for her to start one and then we'd all join in: "Thank You," "Lord I Give You My Heart," "Your Grace Still Amazes Me," and "You Are My King."

God, in His indescribable sweetness, allowed her to stay alert enough to go to the dedication of the grounds of our new church building. We rode there from the Hospice Grace Home in an ambulance (she was so very excited, it was her first ambulance ride, and they put the sirens on just for her), and she was wheeled in on a hospital bed, clutching her Bible and smiling and waving at everybody. She was really relieved to have made it to the dedication, and I believe that's what had kept her going until that point. We planned the trip as if we were taking a major vacation...she got a new hat, picked out an outfit, and we planned her makeup, all from her Hospice room. And on what was the last day that she was awake and conscious, she worshiped God at church, in the middle of the steel framework of our new building. She watched as Jennifer, my sister, sang "I Know My Redeemer Lives," and tears streamed down my mother's face as she raised her hands to God, eyes closed, nodding in affirmation. Again, music built the memories that would forever stay with all of us.

For my mother, music was a gateway into the presence of God. Hours later, she slipped into a coma. A few nights later, the nurse that was monitoring us told us that my mother was taking her last breaths. We gathered around her bed, and my father held her hand. And as she breathed slower and slower, we began to sing. We sung "It Is Well With My Soul" and "Your Grace Still Amazes Me" because that's how she would have wanted it. She wanted God to be praised in all things, even in her death, and so we sang her into heaven, and we worshipped.

Not a Sunday goes by when I'm in our church building now that I don't think about my Mom. I think about where her hospital bed was on that Sunday morning. I think about my sister on the stage, singing her heart out as Mom was slipping away. And I wonder how people can come into the presence of God and choose not to worship. It makes me incredibly sad that there are people that come, and they are so focused on other things that they miss that connection with God!

To me, focusing on God with music is an indescribable privilege. I want to LIVE in those moments when the music is connecting me to my Father...that's as close to heaven on earth as I can get. And when I'm standing next to people I love - my dad, my sisters - and they're there with me, singing, harmonizing, WORSHIPPING - well, that's my version of heaven.

And I'm pretty sure that's how God intended "corporate worship" to be for all of us. So many times I wonder if we've disappointed the Spirit of God with our worship service. Does He wait in anticipation for us to open the doors of the sanctuary, hovering over the stage and the seats of the congregation, searching the hearts of those filing in for hearts filled with worship? Does He feel loved enough when we're done with the service? I hope He does...I feel so indebted to God for giving us this glorious gift of music. I don't want Him to ever feel like He's wasted it on us. I am grateful to my parents for the legacy they have left me and my sisters - what a gift they gave us, to teach us that in all things, we worship. In all things, we praise. In all things, we sing.

One True Love

Woo Hoo!!! This is my first post on our new blog!!!! This is dedicated to my one true love, Amy.(ranking only second to God) I cannot imagine what my life would be like if she had not been given to me when she was. I had been hurt and was determined to either hurt everyone I came in contact with or self destruct, whichever came first. Happiness was a state I don't think that I ever truly knew or even cared to. The ability to not really care about anything or anyone led to, in my opinion, a mild level of depression. I didn't like who I was and knew that other people felt the same way. I cannot even begin to explain how it feels to KNOW people don't like you. I couldn't understand why I felt that no one loved me. I mean come on, even my biological father gave me up because I interfered with his lifestyle and freedom. Being a dad now, I hate what he did and can NEVER understand how he did it. Little did I know what was in store for me at the most unproductive, misguided and loneliest times of my life. Welcome to the Post Amy Era! A smoking (literally, Marlboro reds) little blond that could destroy guys egos and pool swagger with a few fatal strokes of a cue stick. THIS was how God chose to save me??? I guess He really knew what He was doing. I can't begin to list or rehash all the ways that she has helped me become the man I am today. All I know is that without the gift of Amy, I really don't think that I would be anything worthwhile. She has helped me see how God sees me. She exudes love and demands respect and honor. More times than I care to remember, or even believe, I have disrespected and dishonored her. She still somehow loves me. This is how God loves me. He gave me Amy as a tangible, visual example of His grace. I don't deserve it. I'm sitting here now watching my favorite two ladies asleep in the recliner, snoring away. I don't think I will ever know how she does it, but at least I am blessed enough to get to revel in the mystery of this woman's love.

Funny Josh Stuff

Josh, the absolutely drop-dead cutie-pie in the pictures on the right, is ALWAYS entertaining. I'm sure all parents think their children are one-in-a-million when it comes to their personalities, and I'm no different. A thousand times a day I soak up things he does, things he says, and all the cute things that just make Josh Josh.

Last week, Josh was throwing a fit. He's three, there's nothing startling there. Our house rule is that if there's an irrestible urge to throw a fit, it must be done in the bathroom. As long as you're inside the four walls of the bathroom, anything goes. Scream, pitch a fit to your heart's content, throw yourself on your stomach and pound your little fists on the carpet 'till they turn red and scratchy. Whatever works for you, little one.

So, Josh was throwing a fit inside the bathroom. I was holding Kristyn, waiting for Josh to finish, and then...he broke the rule. He came outside of the bathroom and BROUGHT THE FIT WITH HIM. Big no-no. As he stood in front of me with his little fists clenched and the angriest face he could make (to let me know he was "weally weally mad"), a horrible thing happened: Kristyn looked at him, her little lip and chin quivered, and she started crying.

"Josh!" I said, talking loudly so I could be heard over the tantrum, "Kristyn is really scared! You're scaring her with your face and your voice - STOP IT NOW!" And then, in mid-tirade, he froze, looked at her, and instantly pasted the sweet smile of an angel on his face.

"Kwistyn," he said, in his sweet big brother voice, "it's okay. I'm not mad at you... (his eyes cut over to me) I'm mad at Mommy! It's HER fault."

Lovely.