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In the Role of Father

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Last week was one of the best weeks of the year: Teacher Appreciation Week. And y’all, my school does this celebration exceptionally well. Our parents fed us every day we were on campus – breakfast, lunch, and snacks all day. Students brought us gifts and cards with lovely affirming messages. We got to dress down in jeans. Food, words, and comfortable clothing: so many of my love languages happening there. I love my students. Some of them I like more than others, but that’s reality with any group of people you’re with all the time, yes? I really do love each of my students very much. Here is some evidence I have noted lately of spiritual growth in myself: I am not as concerned anymore about whether my students love me . That was a problem when I was teaching right out of college: I wanted to be loved and admired by the kids I taught. It’s to my credit, I suppose, that I don’t think I let that need of mine affect the way I interacted with them (at least not too much). But it prof
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The Need to "Eclose"

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And my butterflies are here! See the pictures? Aren’t my babies pretty? I was planning to set them free this weekend, but it’s been too wet. Maybe later today. They seem anxious to get out and see the world, precious things. I didn’t get to witness the wiggling chrysalises before their emergence this time. Side note: I’ve learned that the scientific term for that emergence is “eclosion”. That's a fun one for a wordie like me.  (Another side note: I have a friend who is inexplicably creeped out by this adventure of mine. She got the heebie jeebies when I used that phrase “wiggling chrysalises” and called me a bug breeder . As if a beautiful butterfly could actually qualify as a bug. And y’all, she’s a scientist, for Pete’s sake. Yeesh . . .) When we did the butterfly thing with my young daughters, we saw a couple chrysalises wiggling. It was a cool thing. I was sorry to have missed that moment this time around. Nevertheless, I did see a couple of the butterflies pretty freshly
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One Day . . . and Someday

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My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease when I was twelve (he was 57). He was diagnosed very early; a lot of people in our lives didn't even know for a long time, I don't think. But by the time I left for college, he was growing increasingly debilitated. Every time I came home for a summer break, I saw big declines in his functioning (in fact, family members would ask me how he was doing because for them, the decline was so gradual that they were sometimes not aware of the extent of the deterioration). The summer after my freshman year was his Puppy Dog season. Dad followed my mother around all day like a puppy dog. Always by her side. Always trying to be helpful but not sure what was going on or what to do. It was stunning to watch because my dad had always been The Man. He was a strong leader, in and out of the home. To watch him following my mother’s lead, literally tagging along at her heels minute by minute, was rather disconcerting. One day, on a hot weekday
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Caterpillars and Butterflies

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I’m doing the butterfly thing, y’all. It’s my Eastertide theme.  It started when I was trying to think of ways to make Easter more meaningful for myself, the way Christmas is . . . and I thought, decorations! I decorate the whole frickin’ house for a month and a half at Christmas (or at least I used to). What decorations can I put up for the seven weeks of Eastertide? No eggs, please. And no rabbits. For the love. I hit Google to find symbols for new life. Butterflies popped up on the list . . . and that one grabbed me. So, I got on Amazon and found some foil butterflies that I’ve put up all around my house – everywhere that my eyes happen to fall in the course of the day. (See the picture of one here on my microwave.) That’s been fun. But I decided to do more. When I was homeschooling my girls, we did the butterfly growing kit, where you get some caterpillars, watch them form cocoons, and then see them “hatch” into butterflies in a net-like cage. It was a great experience. So,
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Keeping Company

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“. . . I want you to know that I think You’re cruel.” A character in the novel I’m reading with my 8 th graders says this. Here’s the kicker: he’s saying it to God. Read the full quote: I chose You, and I can’t alter that now, but I want You to know that I think You’re cruel, just like the farmer here and Carlo and all that belong to them. And I suppose You’ll never help me again, even if I do have some help still to come, because You’re tired of me. I’m sorry I didn’t choose a better God. Yep. That’s harsh. I asked my students if it made any of them feel uncomfortable. A couple meekly raised their hands . . . but I was confident they weren’t the only ones. My pastor talked about Thomas a couple weeks ago. The poor guy gets a bad rap. Yeah, he wasn’t there when Jesus came the first time. Yeah, he didn’t believe what the others were telling him. But you know, give the man credit for hanging around and being there for the second showing. He may have doubted, but he at least stay
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Bringing the Light

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I’ve had a long acquaintance with ophthalmologists. I started wearing glasses in third grade, contacts in seventh grade. And for several years when I was young, I had to put drops in my eyes every night. It was explained to me that the muscles in the back of my eyes were tightening (something like that), and those drops relaxed them. One of the side effects of the medication was chronically dilated pupils, which meant my eyes were very sensitive to light. Case in point: a couple weeks after I first starting using the eye drops, I went to the pool. After paying at the desk in the shade, I stepped out into the sunlight again . . . and was immediately blinded. Literally. The world around me was a solid, painfully bright yellow with some vague brown outlines. I must have stood there for a while looking like an idiot because a friend eventually came and walked me in to sit down somewhere until my eyes adjusted a bit. This came to my mind again because on Easter, Pastor Garrett gave us
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It's About New Life

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Yesterday was Easter, as you know. I woke up in time for early service, so I decided to get ready and go. Picked a nice dress (checked to make sure I’d shaved my legs recently). Had a Cadbury cream egg for breakfast (don’t judge me: this is the only time of year to enjoy Easter candy – at least it wasn’t the Robin Eggs or I’d have finished the whole bag). Did my hair and makeup and hopped in the Rogue. Of course, past years have involved getting out the Easter baskets for the girls and preparing a nice Easter dinner, as much as I do that kind of thing. But with my singleness and my empty nest, it was just me this time around, and that was fine. I was walking in the sanctuary just as the introit was playing, so I snuck in and sat quietly. There was a brass ensemble joining us – love those Sundays. The bulletin said our first hymn was “Christ the Lord is Risen Today”. Of course . . . and I was so glad. Randy gestured for us to stand as Daniel played the introduction . . . . . . and i
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