After three years of marriage, and two cross-country moves, I think I finally have every box of my old bedroom's contents removed from my parents' house (and boy are they thankful!).
I had a great chat with a dear friend from Idaho tonight, and after I got off the phone, Josh was pouring over his Sunday school lesson, so I grabbed a box and started sifting through it.
It's so funny to me that I didn't realize the calling to become a teacher until my second year of college. It wasn't until God made it blatantly obvious that I was not to become a doctor that I realized he was calling me to be a teacher. Looking back, I think God made that calling clear from an early age- I just refused to see it. I never played with toys as a child, instead, I dug discarded mail out of the post office trashcan and pretended to write letters to students (and what an incredible infringement of privacy, and most likely a felony!). So it is also funny to me that three of the boxes I just transported home are not full of trinkets or clothes, but letters. And notes. And pictures.
I have three boxes FULL of paper!
I think God made no mistake in calling me to be a teacher, an English teacher.
The box I pulled out tonight was overflowing with old music programs, college acceptance letters, and much to my surprise, emails sent and received while in Jamaica over the course of three different summers.
My initial thoughts while reading were, "How was I ever so accident prone?" I went to the Jamaican E.R. twice, and received many death threats, but for some reason, I kept going back.
I also wondered, "How on earth did my mom and dad let me travel to a foreign country, alone, at the age of fifteen?!" The first summer I flew down there was a miscommunication, and no one was at the airport to pick me up for nearly three hours. I remember, vividly, the horror I felt as Jamaican men whistled and cat-called, saying "Come 'ere, sweet ting, get in my car. I'll take you home." I think back to clutching my bags and sobbing as hot rain poured from the sky, and I thought intensely about turning around and catching the first flight back to the United States.
But I'm so glad my mom and dad said 'yes' to Kingston. My youth pastor and his wife said, "She can do it- she'll be okay," and my parents trusted that God had a plan.
Almost daily, I have memories of Jamaica. I remember it's people and poverty, it's sun-kissed beaches and tropical waters, it's danger and crime. And it's missionaries.
Rex and Jan Harmon and Quentin and Sally Reese made such a huge impact in my life. Their examples of faith stretched me and encouraged me. Looking back, I think it was that first trip to Jamaica in 2002 that really pushed me to make my faith in Christ personal and authentic because for the first time in my life, being a Christian wasn't easy. Desperation had never felt or looked more real, and I wanted to cling to Hope.
One day, I would really love to take Josh to Kingston, and visit the people of Trench Town. I talk about that Caribbean island so often, and what a joy it would be for Josh to see the group of people who will forever be in my heart, and meet the missionaries who impacted me so greatly.
To each of you who shared in those Jamaican memories, thank you for investing in me. Thank you for praying for my safety, preparation, and use. Thank you for supporting my financial needs. Thank you, Kevin and Sharla, for seeing something in me that I didn't see in myself. Mom and Dad, thank you for trusting God to take care of me when you were thousands of miles away. Rex and Jan, Quentin and Sally, thank you for pouring your love into a 15-year-old girl from Haven, Kansas. Rex and Jan, thank you for continuing to impact the kingdom in Jamaica.
Some of my favorite memories took place in Jamaica. And that island will forever be imprinted on my heart.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Pain is Pain
I found myself stunned today, silently pleading that God would give me wisdom I knew I didn't have.
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird continues to hit the heart of readers some fifty years after its original publication date. The responses from my students in Idaho to the injustices of deep South racism made me fall in love all over again with the book I read as a 16-year-old, but my students in Kansas today made me remember why this book continues to appeal to teenagers: it's relevant.
Charles Lamb once said, "Lawyers, I suppose, were children once."
Quite a packed quote.
If children are viewed as honest, carefree, naive, selfless, and innocent beings, contrast them with the stereotype that tends to be placed on lawyers: lying, uptight, all-business, selfish, greedy, and desensitized beings. Are all lawyers this way? Absolutely not. But the lawyers who fit this list of adjectives, unfortunately, tarnish the names of a profession, not just their own.
One of Lee's most prevalent themes in the novel is the loss of innocence.
Lawyers, too, were once innocent and naive, as children are. But the harsh realities of their profession wore their innocence away. Slowly over time or quickly in one instance makes no difference. Innocence lost cannot be regained.
And so I posed the question: "Can you remember an age or a specific moment where you felt your innocence was lost?"
The first student said, "When my grandpa died. We were really close." He was age 8.
The second student said, "When I got cancer." She was age 4.
The next student said, "When my dad left." He was age 4.
And the next student said, "When I visited my mom in prison. I couldn't hug her when it was time to say goodbye." He was age 7.
The classroom was very quiet, because I didn't call on the next student to share.
I had a hard time recovering, so I just stopped, praying for wisdom.
For many of my students today, their innocence wasn't just worn down over time, it was ripped out of their hands before they even knew what was happening.
Jerry Bridges said, "God never allows pain without a purpose in the lives of His children. He never allows Satan, nor circumstances, nor any ill-intending person to afflict us unless He uses that affliction for our good. God never wastes pain. He always causes it to work together for our ultimate good, the good of conforming us more to the likeness of His Son."
Romans 8: 28 and 29 say, "...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters."
I told my students that they each have a story, and their stories matter. No pain is wasted. I thanked them for sharing their stories with me, and went silent again.
The silence hung for about ten seconds, then the bell rang and the students were dismissed. But I cannot get names off of my heart this evening.
I've carried home the hurts of my students today, but I'm also rejoicing in Hope. Hope endured pain, for us, and I know that we don't hurt alone or unnoticed. And as Josh said after I shared today's events with him, "Pain is pain, and kids are kids," in Idaho, and here in Kansas. And I believe our God can handle our hurts.
Our stories really do matter.
What's yours?
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird continues to hit the heart of readers some fifty years after its original publication date. The responses from my students in Idaho to the injustices of deep South racism made me fall in love all over again with the book I read as a 16-year-old, but my students in Kansas today made me remember why this book continues to appeal to teenagers: it's relevant.
Charles Lamb once said, "Lawyers, I suppose, were children once."
Quite a packed quote.
If children are viewed as honest, carefree, naive, selfless, and innocent beings, contrast them with the stereotype that tends to be placed on lawyers: lying, uptight, all-business, selfish, greedy, and desensitized beings. Are all lawyers this way? Absolutely not. But the lawyers who fit this list of adjectives, unfortunately, tarnish the names of a profession, not just their own.
One of Lee's most prevalent themes in the novel is the loss of innocence.
Lawyers, too, were once innocent and naive, as children are. But the harsh realities of their profession wore their innocence away. Slowly over time or quickly in one instance makes no difference. Innocence lost cannot be regained.
And so I posed the question: "Can you remember an age or a specific moment where you felt your innocence was lost?"
The first student said, "When my grandpa died. We were really close." He was age 8.
The second student said, "When I got cancer." She was age 4.
The next student said, "When my dad left." He was age 4.
And the next student said, "When I visited my mom in prison. I couldn't hug her when it was time to say goodbye." He was age 7.
The classroom was very quiet, because I didn't call on the next student to share.
I had a hard time recovering, so I just stopped, praying for wisdom.
For many of my students today, their innocence wasn't just worn down over time, it was ripped out of their hands before they even knew what was happening.
Jerry Bridges said, "God never allows pain without a purpose in the lives of His children. He never allows Satan, nor circumstances, nor any ill-intending person to afflict us unless He uses that affliction for our good. God never wastes pain. He always causes it to work together for our ultimate good, the good of conforming us more to the likeness of His Son."
Romans 8: 28 and 29 say, "...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters."
I told my students that they each have a story, and their stories matter. No pain is wasted. I thanked them for sharing their stories with me, and went silent again.
The silence hung for about ten seconds, then the bell rang and the students were dismissed. But I cannot get names off of my heart this evening.
I've carried home the hurts of my students today, but I'm also rejoicing in Hope. Hope endured pain, for us, and I know that we don't hurt alone or unnoticed. And as Josh said after I shared today's events with him, "Pain is pain, and kids are kids," in Idaho, and here in Kansas. And I believe our God can handle our hurts.
Our stories really do matter.
What's yours?
Friday, August 24, 2012
Pity Party: Table for One
A new school year is well underway.
After the transition and 2,000 mile trek back to Kansas this summer, I think I anticipated my students to be different from the faces that stared back at me in Idaho, but I'm realizing they're the same energetic and promising smiles and summer-sunned students. Yes, Kansas has it's differences, but there are also many comparisons to the CV Rams who sunk into my heart as I started a career in teaching.
We are one week down already, which is hard to believe. In terms of first-days, this year's was virtually flawless. I think I stood, mouth agape, at the end of the day thinking, "That could not have gone ANY better."
My students kicked off the school year with research over the Civil Rights Movement as we get ready to move into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.
As students presented and shared, it hit me: during an era when people had to fight for basic rights and recognition, they were also fighting for something no one can take away. Worth.
Worth has been something I've been processing all summer, and the reason I've been hesitant to blog.
School ended quite poorly for me in Idaho. I loved my students, and many of my coworkers, but I let my boss push me into a corner the last week of school over a grade issue, and his bully behavior made me feel...cheap. And very weak. And if I'm being totally honest, worthless.
In the midst of an ethical dilemma, I did the wrong thing. I was naive. I was scared to tell my authority no. I was weak.
And I hate that.
And so I not only allowed a wayward leader to bully me, I allowed that broken and misguided leader to determine my worth. Even though he is thousands of miles away, that "worthless" thought has whispered through my head all summer.
The injustice of what happened makes me angry. But I can't do anything- nothing- to change it.
The hurt runs in so many directions, but the widest path of hurt is at myself for knowing the right thing to do and not doing it. I play the what-if game often.
"What if I had stood up for myself?"
"What if I had more experience and had known what to do!"
"What if the union had backed me?"
What if...what if...what if...
I can so easily throw a pity party for myself, but how pointless is that? It doesn't help, it doesn't change anything, and it doesn't glorify God.
I was convicted while listening to my new students present about the fight for civil rights this week.
During an era in which the majority said "you're worthless," a determined group of people said, "no, we're not; we're worth it," and they pressed on. They fought, hard, and they did not let the broken and misguided leaders determine their worth.
This summer I have felt like King David. "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?"
But Jesus told his followers to not let their hearts be troubled, not to grow weary.
The pity party is a farce!
The admission ticket to that party is worthlessness, and that ticket is single admittance.
The world may whisper, "You're worthless!" But God whispers, "You're worth it!" And so he sent his son...for us.
For me.
For my own inadequacies and my own failures. For my own sins.
And he gives more grace.
More than I'll ever deserve, and more that I am ever so thankful for.
And I have worth, because I have Him.
And He has you.
Therefore, a table for one won't be big enough, and we don't want to miss the party...
After the transition and 2,000 mile trek back to Kansas this summer, I think I anticipated my students to be different from the faces that stared back at me in Idaho, but I'm realizing they're the same energetic and promising smiles and summer-sunned students. Yes, Kansas has it's differences, but there are also many comparisons to the CV Rams who sunk into my heart as I started a career in teaching.
We are one week down already, which is hard to believe. In terms of first-days, this year's was virtually flawless. I think I stood, mouth agape, at the end of the day thinking, "That could not have gone ANY better."
My students kicked off the school year with research over the Civil Rights Movement as we get ready to move into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.
As students presented and shared, it hit me: during an era when people had to fight for basic rights and recognition, they were also fighting for something no one can take away. Worth.
Worth has been something I've been processing all summer, and the reason I've been hesitant to blog.
School ended quite poorly for me in Idaho. I loved my students, and many of my coworkers, but I let my boss push me into a corner the last week of school over a grade issue, and his bully behavior made me feel...cheap. And very weak. And if I'm being totally honest, worthless.
In the midst of an ethical dilemma, I did the wrong thing. I was naive. I was scared to tell my authority no. I was weak.
And I hate that.
And so I not only allowed a wayward leader to bully me, I allowed that broken and misguided leader to determine my worth. Even though he is thousands of miles away, that "worthless" thought has whispered through my head all summer.
The injustice of what happened makes me angry. But I can't do anything- nothing- to change it.
The hurt runs in so many directions, but the widest path of hurt is at myself for knowing the right thing to do and not doing it. I play the what-if game often.
"What if I had stood up for myself?"
"What if I had more experience and had known what to do!"
"What if the union had backed me?"
What if...what if...what if...
I can so easily throw a pity party for myself, but how pointless is that? It doesn't help, it doesn't change anything, and it doesn't glorify God.
I was convicted while listening to my new students present about the fight for civil rights this week.
During an era in which the majority said "you're worthless," a determined group of people said, "no, we're not; we're worth it," and they pressed on. They fought, hard, and they did not let the broken and misguided leaders determine their worth.
This summer I have felt like King David. "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?"
But Jesus told his followers to not let their hearts be troubled, not to grow weary.
The pity party is a farce!
The admission ticket to that party is worthlessness, and that ticket is single admittance.
The world may whisper, "You're worthless!" But God whispers, "You're worth it!" And so he sent his son...for us.
For me.
For my own inadequacies and my own failures. For my own sins.
And he gives more grace.
More than I'll ever deserve, and more that I am ever so thankful for.
And I have worth, because I have Him.
And He has you.
Therefore, a table for one won't be big enough, and we don't want to miss the party...
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Catching Up
I was a bit shocked when I logged on this morning to realize it has been several months since either Josh or I posted on our blog. Life has changed quite a bit for us.
In February both Josh and I lost a grandparent. His grandpa, Elmore, passed away from ALS on February 16, and my grandma, Karla, passed away from cancer on February 23. The day of my grandma's funeral service, we were heart sick. We were praying about the losses of two beloved grandparents, asking God how we could move forward. Then the phone rang.
A pastor in north central Kansas was curious if Josh might be interested in an assistant pastor position, primarily focused on leading youth. I jumped on the Kansas ed website, and behold, the same small town where the church was had an English opening.
We began to pray. We asked God to not only open doors in Concordia if that was the place for us, but we also asked God to close doors in Kooskia so that we would know his ministry for us there was finished.
God is good.
We flew down in late March and fell in love with the church. Pastor David offered Josh the position on a Thursday morning, and four hours later, Concordia High School called to offer me a high school language arts position. We were both ecstatic to see God's hand moving in our lives.
Getting home though, we realized how difficult it would be to tell our church people. Upon telling Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church of our plans, they decided it best to close the church and for the church body to join another local church. A definite door was closed.
I was still struggling with leaving Clearwater Valley High School. I loved my job, coworkers, and students, and didn't particularly want to leave, but God closed that door as well. I won't get into the details, but Josh and I both feel God saved us from heartache that was coming. Idaho education is messy right now, and a few things happened at the tail end of school that would have made returning in the fall difficult.
My students did ask that I speak at graduation, which was a huge honor and a wonderful way to say goodbye to CVHS. This class of seniors snuck into my heart.
Graduation was June 8, and Josh and I pulled out of Kooskia, Idaho, in a U-Haul on June 17. What a whirlwind! My cousin Samantha flew up from Texas to help us get everything packed, then helped with the driving on the way to Kansas. It was so wonderful to have her! She'll be a senior in high school this fall, so I know opportunities like these must be cherished! I think we might still be in Idaho if Sam hadn't helped.
We've already gotten to see a grandpa, a great grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, both sets of our parents, one of Josh's brothers, my brother, sister-in-law and nephews, and another of Josh's brothers and his girlfriend are coming up tonight for the 4th festivities. We are richly blessed by the closeness of family.
Concordia Wesleyan Church has already been a huge blessing. We do miss the Idaho church body that we worshiped with, but we're finding that this Kansas church body is very lovable as well. Youth camp is just a week away, and we're so excited to see what God has in store.
A whirlwind indeed!
Much love to each of you. As God has been working in our lives, I'm excited to hear how he's been working in yours!
Friday, April 27, 2012
Dead Language
One day this week, I was grading at my desk as students filtered in after lunch for Senior English. I was very focused on what I was doing, so I only semi-heard the following statement: "Mrs. Blain, did you know Greek is a dead language?"
I paused, thinking, "Hmm...something in that statement did not sound quite right."
I looked up, now very curious about the factoid, and saw one of my senior boys, beaming as if he had just shared the most shocking news I would ever hear in my entire life.
"Pardon me?"
"Greek. Did you know it's a dead language?"
Ah, the smirk on his proud face. I can still see it in my mind. He was so excited to know something shocking, edgy, and awe inspiring.
I blinked a few times, and very dryly replied, "Then what do they speak in Greece?"
******Pause******
Me again. "Do you mean Latin?"
******Pause******
A very meek, "Oh. Yes." escaped from my students lips.
I was trying so hard not to burst into laughter, then another student piped up, "You thought Greek was a dead language!?" His laughter is what truly got me going.
I couldn't help it, and I felt terrible. Giggles erupted before I could stop them, but thankfully, my fact captain joined in the laughter at his own blunder.
So, let me ask you, "Did you know Greek is a dead language?!"
Monday, March 5, 2012
King Lear Never Had a Chance
Some things...we just never quite...outgrow.
Something I thought I had put to rest in my college days reared its ugly head today in the middle of my English IV Dual Credit lecture.
We just started King Lear today, potentially the most desperate and sad of all Shakespeare's plays.
It was absolutely serious.
We had already divvied up character parts, and the King Lear character, one very witty National Merit Scholar, spoke these two words of his line: "Here now!"
These are two very ordinary words, but my student did it in the Valerie voice from The Princess Bride. You know, the very old, shaky voiced British woman?
This was something I had absolutely not anticipated, and I lost it.
Only I had just taken a very large gulp of coffee.
And it all came spewing out of my mouth and nose.
King Lear didn't have a chance.
My classroom burst into laughter for a full five minutes. When things had just started to settle down, one of my front row students yelled, "Mrs. Blain! You've broken out in hives!"
Yes. I sure had.
We'll just call them humiliation hives.
Guess we'll give King Lear another shot tomorrow, and I'll leave the coffee for the professionals.
Sweet Jesus, thank you for humor. Some days I take myself way too seriously.
Something I thought I had put to rest in my college days reared its ugly head today in the middle of my English IV Dual Credit lecture.
We just started King Lear today, potentially the most desperate and sad of all Shakespeare's plays.
It was absolutely serious.
We had already divvied up character parts, and the King Lear character, one very witty National Merit Scholar, spoke these two words of his line: "Here now!"
These are two very ordinary words, but my student did it in the Valerie voice from The Princess Bride. You know, the very old, shaky voiced British woman?
This was something I had absolutely not anticipated, and I lost it.
Only I had just taken a very large gulp of coffee.
And it all came spewing out of my mouth and nose.
King Lear didn't have a chance.
My classroom burst into laughter for a full five minutes. When things had just started to settle down, one of my front row students yelled, "Mrs. Blain! You've broken out in hives!"
Yes. I sure had.
We'll just call them humiliation hives.
Guess we'll give King Lear another shot tomorrow, and I'll leave the coffee for the professionals.
Sweet Jesus, thank you for humor. Some days I take myself way too seriously.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
A Farewell to Grandma Karla
My grandma's funeral service was yesterday in Topeka, Kansas. Josh and I weren't able to fly down for the service, but my grandpa did ask me to write Grandma's eulogy, and my brother Blake read it. What a privilege.
I am so honored to have had a grandma who tried to always reflect Christ. Death is bittersweet- she's free, but we'll miss her here.
Here's the eulogy I wrote, erased, rewrote, and then tweaked. It is incredibly difficult to mash someone's lifetime into a few words.
Putting into Words, What Words Can’t Really Say
Many different adjectives and nouns could describe my grandma. Grandma was a whistler, a hand-holder, and a wonderful hugger. She was a ventriloquist, a cake baker and decorator, a practical joker, a youth group leader, a traveling saleswoman, a jewelry saleswoman, and a Mary Kay consultant. While grandma spent some time doing these things, she spent a lifetime being a daughter, a sister, a mother, grandma, great-grandma, friend, and wife. She was many things to many people, but above all, she loved.
Grandma loved games! Card games, board games, picture games- she was always ready for a challenge, and a win. There are many lessons to be learned while playing games. Sportsmanship. Integrity. Honesty. Humbleness. If you watched and listened, you could glean words of wisdom and life lessons from Grandma while playing games. She once said to Grandpa after beating him at Pitch, “It was only a game…But I won!” See? Honesty.
Grandma loved life. She had a true vigor for living. She embraced her time in each of her roles with zeal. Grandma rarely complained about her odd jobs, and she almost always found something to be excited about and have fun with. Grandma loved life so much and wanted so badly to live that she conquered cancer for nearly thirty years. She decided during her first battle in the 80’s that life was worth fighting for, so she made firm resolution to not just live life, but to love it.
Grandma loved people. In her own words, she “always loved people and was a social bug.” She and grandpa made a ministry out of inviting singles to their house for dinner and games. She loved that ministry and each person who stepped into her home. She and grandpa used to lead a youth group, and by their love, teens were impacted with the love of Christ. Grandma always had jobs where she was able to work with people. Karla’s Cakes and Balloons, JC Penny’s, going door to door to sell Tupperware- each job revolved around forming positive relationships with people. And family. Any form- from immediate family to third cousins twice removed. Family was always a cherished piece of Grandma’s life, and family members were always her favorite people.
Grandma loved Grandpa. Grandpa Larry is a pest to many, a father to four, a grandpa to eleven, a great-grandpa to three, but a lover to only one, to Karla. The two were synonymous with one another. It’s impossible to think Karla without thinking Larry, or think Larry without thinking Karla. June 5th would have marked their 53rd wedding anniversary. Many people fall very short of such a landmark, but Grandma and Grandpa celebrated each year deeper in love than the previous year. Not many couples are quite so perfectly matched, but these two lived a testimony of what Christ’s love truly is. They were faithful. They were servants. They were accountable. They were authentic. And let’s face it, love is messy. It’s not easy to love, and love isn’t just some butterfly emotion you feel. Love is a choice, even when it’s hard. And after 52 years of marriage, Grandma and Grandpa still chose each other. Not the kind of choice you submit to and grit your teethe to and wait for the time pass. No. Theirs was the kind of choice you rejoice in, and celebrate, and eagerly wake up to each and every morning.
Grandma loved God. Her dad taught her to value integrity and honesty while her mom taught her to laugh and have fun, to care and love. But both taught her, as Grandma put it, to “live by the Bible...and if we didn’t want to, Daddy made us want to.” When Grandma Karla was twelve, she gave her heart to Christ and decided for herself that she wanted to follow after His example. Grandma said, “My main goal was to please God,” and she tried to reflect Christ’s actions and words throughout her life.
In October, I received word that my grandma’s cancer was back, but not just back, aggressive. I talked to my principal, scrawled out lesson plans, left my tenth and twelfth grade students, and caught a flight from Idaho to Kansas.
In the days I was able to spend with my grandparents, I asked Grandma if she was scared. She answered me simply by asking, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head?”
So often when dealing with death, language fails. Words fail. Death was never part of the plan- we weren’t meant for separation. And we simply don’t know what to say. It’s usually when we realize that death is creeping in that we begin to live.
But Grandma lived and loved fiercely. She always did. She didn’t wait until her clock began to run out, she loved throughout the whole span of her life.
I think her question, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head,” was more for herself than me.
Grandma’s voice wobbled a bit when she then looked at me and asked, “Have you ever known anyone who’s been healed?”
Tears flooded my eyes as I looked at her and said, “You, Grandma. About a year ago.” She had had cancer cells numbering in the thousands, and within weeks, they dropped below ten, and the doctors couldn’t explain it.
She said, “So I got a year? Why would God only give me a year?”
And it didn’t dawn on me until now. God didn’t give her a year. He gave us a year. Grandma loved so completely and passionately. She lived a great life. God gave us a year, to soak up a little bit more of mom…sister…grandma…friend….and wife. God gave us a year to love her.
We’re all dying. Birth is initial, death is inevitable. It’s the space in-between that we call life, and that life is meant for loving. Grandma modeled that.
First Peter tells us to “love one another earnestly,” and I John tells us that whoever loves “knows God.” Love like Karla Lesslie loved.
We can’t have Life without death. Life is Christ, but we won’t meet Christ until we travel through the grave. But he’s waiting to greet us at the gates of eternity, waiting to love us. The true promise of Life lies on the brink of death. We win. Because Christ is the ultimate prize. But that doesn’t make death any easier for the people left here.
What an incredible impact Grandma Karla made. And while we will miss her, and cry for her, ultimately, we are loved and she was loved.
Paul tells us in Romans 8, verses 37-39 “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our LORD.”
Nothing. No thing will separate us from the love of God.
Grandma wins, because Grandma is with Love, and that love is Jesus Christ.
And that is worth celebrating.
I am so honored to have had a grandma who tried to always reflect Christ. Death is bittersweet- she's free, but we'll miss her here.
Here's the eulogy I wrote, erased, rewrote, and then tweaked. It is incredibly difficult to mash someone's lifetime into a few words.
Putting into Words, What Words Can’t Really Say
Many different adjectives and nouns could describe my grandma. Grandma was a whistler, a hand-holder, and a wonderful hugger. She was a ventriloquist, a cake baker and decorator, a practical joker, a youth group leader, a traveling saleswoman, a jewelry saleswoman, and a Mary Kay consultant. While grandma spent some time doing these things, she spent a lifetime being a daughter, a sister, a mother, grandma, great-grandma, friend, and wife. She was many things to many people, but above all, she loved.
Grandma loved games! Card games, board games, picture games- she was always ready for a challenge, and a win. There are many lessons to be learned while playing games. Sportsmanship. Integrity. Honesty. Humbleness. If you watched and listened, you could glean words of wisdom and life lessons from Grandma while playing games. She once said to Grandpa after beating him at Pitch, “It was only a game…But I won!” See? Honesty.
Grandma loved life. She had a true vigor for living. She embraced her time in each of her roles with zeal. Grandma rarely complained about her odd jobs, and she almost always found something to be excited about and have fun with. Grandma loved life so much and wanted so badly to live that she conquered cancer for nearly thirty years. She decided during her first battle in the 80’s that life was worth fighting for, so she made firm resolution to not just live life, but to love it.
Grandma loved people. In her own words, she “always loved people and was a social bug.” She and grandpa made a ministry out of inviting singles to their house for dinner and games. She loved that ministry and each person who stepped into her home. She and grandpa used to lead a youth group, and by their love, teens were impacted with the love of Christ. Grandma always had jobs where she was able to work with people. Karla’s Cakes and Balloons, JC Penny’s, going door to door to sell Tupperware- each job revolved around forming positive relationships with people. And family. Any form- from immediate family to third cousins twice removed. Family was always a cherished piece of Grandma’s life, and family members were always her favorite people.
Grandma loved Grandpa. Grandpa Larry is a pest to many, a father to four, a grandpa to eleven, a great-grandpa to three, but a lover to only one, to Karla. The two were synonymous with one another. It’s impossible to think Karla without thinking Larry, or think Larry without thinking Karla. June 5th would have marked their 53rd wedding anniversary. Many people fall very short of such a landmark, but Grandma and Grandpa celebrated each year deeper in love than the previous year. Not many couples are quite so perfectly matched, but these two lived a testimony of what Christ’s love truly is. They were faithful. They were servants. They were accountable. They were authentic. And let’s face it, love is messy. It’s not easy to love, and love isn’t just some butterfly emotion you feel. Love is a choice, even when it’s hard. And after 52 years of marriage, Grandma and Grandpa still chose each other. Not the kind of choice you submit to and grit your teethe to and wait for the time pass. No. Theirs was the kind of choice you rejoice in, and celebrate, and eagerly wake up to each and every morning.
Grandma loved God. Her dad taught her to value integrity and honesty while her mom taught her to laugh and have fun, to care and love. But both taught her, as Grandma put it, to “live by the Bible...and if we didn’t want to, Daddy made us want to.” When Grandma Karla was twelve, she gave her heart to Christ and decided for herself that she wanted to follow after His example. Grandma said, “My main goal was to please God,” and she tried to reflect Christ’s actions and words throughout her life.
In October, I received word that my grandma’s cancer was back, but not just back, aggressive. I talked to my principal, scrawled out lesson plans, left my tenth and twelfth grade students, and caught a flight from Idaho to Kansas.
In the days I was able to spend with my grandparents, I asked Grandma if she was scared. She answered me simply by asking, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head?”
So often when dealing with death, language fails. Words fail. Death was never part of the plan- we weren’t meant for separation. And we simply don’t know what to say. It’s usually when we realize that death is creeping in that we begin to live.
But Grandma lived and loved fiercely. She always did. She didn’t wait until her clock began to run out, she loved throughout the whole span of her life.
I think her question, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head,” was more for herself than me.
Grandma’s voice wobbled a bit when she then looked at me and asked, “Have you ever known anyone who’s been healed?”
Tears flooded my eyes as I looked at her and said, “You, Grandma. About a year ago.” She had had cancer cells numbering in the thousands, and within weeks, they dropped below ten, and the doctors couldn’t explain it.
She said, “So I got a year? Why would God only give me a year?”
And it didn’t dawn on me until now. God didn’t give her a year. He gave us a year. Grandma loved so completely and passionately. She lived a great life. God gave us a year, to soak up a little bit more of mom…sister…grandma…friend….and wife. God gave us a year to love her.
We’re all dying. Birth is initial, death is inevitable. It’s the space in-between that we call life, and that life is meant for loving. Grandma modeled that.
First Peter tells us to “love one another earnestly,” and I John tells us that whoever loves “knows God.” Love like Karla Lesslie loved.
We can’t have Life without death. Life is Christ, but we won’t meet Christ until we travel through the grave. But he’s waiting to greet us at the gates of eternity, waiting to love us. The true promise of Life lies on the brink of death. We win. Because Christ is the ultimate prize. But that doesn’t make death any easier for the people left here.
What an incredible impact Grandma Karla made. And while we will miss her, and cry for her, ultimately, we are loved and she was loved.
Paul tells us in Romans 8, verses 37-39 “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our LORD.”
Nothing. No thing will separate us from the love of God.
Grandma wins, because Grandma is with Love, and that love is Jesus Christ.
And that is worth celebrating.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
I Am A Seed
I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately.
Last Thursday my grandpa, Elmore Blain, passed away.
Very early this morning, Ashley’s grandma, Karla Lesslie, passed away.
I want to share a thought that has encouraged me.
It might come out a bit like a written sermon, but hey, I’m a pastor. I can’t help it.
Paul writes to the church in Corinth, and talks to them about death and resurrection. Especially resurrection. They are arguing over whether or not there will be a resurrection at all, and if so, what kind of bodies the people will have, where those bodies will come from, what they will look like, how will they work, etc.
Paul says this;
“But someone will ask, 'How are the dead raised? With what kind of body will they come?' How foolish! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives it’s own body.”
- I Corinthians 15:35-38
We have four Norway Maple trees in our yard. Every year I rake up millions of seeds - the helicopter wing kind. They are small seeds, about the size of a pea. They grow into these huge, beautiful, shady, amazing trees.
Paul says the resurrection body is no more similar to our earthly bodies than a seed is to a tree. The seed is just the beginning. The seed is the starting point. The tree is like the seed in some ways. An apple seed doesn’t grow into an orange tree. A maple seed doesn’t grow into a birch. In that way the seed and the tree are the same. But the tree is so much bigger and brighter and more alive than the seed ever was, even when it was still alive and growing on the branch.
The seed is complex, beautiful, and amazing. I wonder at how something so tiny can grow into something so enormous. But it was not made to be a seed. A seed is only a small representation of what is to come. A seed is supposed to be a tree, or wheat, or a flower, or a potato. It’s not supposed to stay a seed.
The catch is that in order for the seed to become what it is supposed to be, it has to die. It has to give up its life, and be put into the ground. Think about a tree that is 100 years old, and someone being sad that the seed had to die before the tree could grow. That sadness, if it is exists at all, is so small that it starts to not be a sadness at all.
When people we love die, it hurts. I watched my grandpa take his last breath, with three other grown men, and my mom, all of us crying like babies, and my grandma clutching his arm, weeping. Ashley sat up many sleepless nights by her grandma’s side, the doctors saying, “It should be today.” every day for a week. Death hurts. We mourn. It isn’t easy.
But we weren’t made for this world. Our true life is still waiting for us. If we live forever here on this earth, we can never become who we were deeply, truly, eternally made to be. A seed isn’t supposed to stay a seed. It’s supposed to become a tree.
Later in that same passage, Paul says,
“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'"
And so Death is no longer a defeat. Death is no longer the final disaster. Death becomes a necessary transition into true life. Through faith in Christ, Death has been defeated. Through a beautiful irony, death in Christ means the beginning of true life. Bigger, brighter, stronger, more beautiful.
We should not mourn for the body that dies, and is planted in the ground. We should be filled with joy and hope that the life of one who has their hope in Christ has not ended, but only just begun.
I will end with lyrics from the song “I Am A Seed,” by David Crowder Band.
“Oh I've been pushed down into the ground
Oh how I have been trampled down
Lord I put my trust in thee
You won't turn your back on me
Oh I am a seed
Oh I am a seed
I've been pushed down into the ground
But I will rise up a tree”
Last Thursday my grandpa, Elmore Blain, passed away.
Very early this morning, Ashley’s grandma, Karla Lesslie, passed away.
I want to share a thought that has encouraged me.
It might come out a bit like a written sermon, but hey, I’m a pastor. I can’t help it.
Paul writes to the church in Corinth, and talks to them about death and resurrection. Especially resurrection. They are arguing over whether or not there will be a resurrection at all, and if so, what kind of bodies the people will have, where those bodies will come from, what they will look like, how will they work, etc.
Paul says this;
“But someone will ask, 'How are the dead raised? With what kind of body will they come?' How foolish! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives it’s own body.”
- I Corinthians 15:35-38
We have four Norway Maple trees in our yard. Every year I rake up millions of seeds - the helicopter wing kind. They are small seeds, about the size of a pea. They grow into these huge, beautiful, shady, amazing trees.
Paul says the resurrection body is no more similar to our earthly bodies than a seed is to a tree. The seed is just the beginning. The seed is the starting point. The tree is like the seed in some ways. An apple seed doesn’t grow into an orange tree. A maple seed doesn’t grow into a birch. In that way the seed and the tree are the same. But the tree is so much bigger and brighter and more alive than the seed ever was, even when it was still alive and growing on the branch.
The seed is complex, beautiful, and amazing. I wonder at how something so tiny can grow into something so enormous. But it was not made to be a seed. A seed is only a small representation of what is to come. A seed is supposed to be a tree, or wheat, or a flower, or a potato. It’s not supposed to stay a seed.
The catch is that in order for the seed to become what it is supposed to be, it has to die. It has to give up its life, and be put into the ground. Think about a tree that is 100 years old, and someone being sad that the seed had to die before the tree could grow. That sadness, if it is exists at all, is so small that it starts to not be a sadness at all.
When people we love die, it hurts. I watched my grandpa take his last breath, with three other grown men, and my mom, all of us crying like babies, and my grandma clutching his arm, weeping. Ashley sat up many sleepless nights by her grandma’s side, the doctors saying, “It should be today.” every day for a week. Death hurts. We mourn. It isn’t easy.
But we weren’t made for this world. Our true life is still waiting for us. If we live forever here on this earth, we can never become who we were deeply, truly, eternally made to be. A seed isn’t supposed to stay a seed. It’s supposed to become a tree.
Later in that same passage, Paul says,
“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'"
And so Death is no longer a defeat. Death is no longer the final disaster. Death becomes a necessary transition into true life. Through faith in Christ, Death has been defeated. Through a beautiful irony, death in Christ means the beginning of true life. Bigger, brighter, stronger, more beautiful.
We should not mourn for the body that dies, and is planted in the ground. We should be filled with joy and hope that the life of one who has their hope in Christ has not ended, but only just begun.
I will end with lyrics from the song “I Am A Seed,” by David Crowder Band.
“Oh I've been pushed down into the ground
Oh how I have been trampled down
Lord I put my trust in thee
You won't turn your back on me
Oh I am a seed
Oh I am a seed
I've been pushed down into the ground
But I will rise up a tree”
Gone Home
In October of 2010, I hopped a last minute flight to visit my grandma and grandpa after Grandma had been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors thought then that she would pass away within just a few months, but she didn't. She fought. Hard.
Almost eighteen months later, my grandma may have lost her fight against cancer, but she really won her fight for Life.
I was able to fly home this last weekend, and soak up a few more memories, kisses, and conversations with the grandma who baked my wedding cake, the grandma who told me as a kid to cry all my tears into buckets so I could save them, the grandma who led a beautiful example of what marriage could look like and lived that marriage for almost 53 years.
Josh's grandpa Elmore just passed away a week ago today. His service was Monday, and it was a beautiful celebration of Elmore's life. Elmore lived a life devoted to God, and has left behind a legacy of children and grandchildren who want to pursue the same Christ he did.
Josh and I are so blessed to have grandparents who have impacted the kingdom, and who have modeled Christ-likeness. Were they perfect? Absolutely not. But were they sold out believers? Absolutely yes.
I can only imagine what Grandma opened her eyes to this morning as she left this earthly home to find embrace in the Father's arms. And I can only imagine the reunion that is taking place in the lofty realms right now.
And I can't help but smile. I'm heart broken at my own loss of a grandma, but overjoyed at the freedom of pain and weariness that Grandma has found.
Today is a good day.
And Grandma wins.
Almost eighteen months later, my grandma may have lost her fight against cancer, but she really won her fight for Life.
I was able to fly home this last weekend, and soak up a few more memories, kisses, and conversations with the grandma who baked my wedding cake, the grandma who told me as a kid to cry all my tears into buckets so I could save them, the grandma who led a beautiful example of what marriage could look like and lived that marriage for almost 53 years.
Josh's grandpa Elmore just passed away a week ago today. His service was Monday, and it was a beautiful celebration of Elmore's life. Elmore lived a life devoted to God, and has left behind a legacy of children and grandchildren who want to pursue the same Christ he did.
Josh and I are so blessed to have grandparents who have impacted the kingdom, and who have modeled Christ-likeness. Were they perfect? Absolutely not. But were they sold out believers? Absolutely yes.
I can only imagine what Grandma opened her eyes to this morning as she left this earthly home to find embrace in the Father's arms. And I can only imagine the reunion that is taking place in the lofty realms right now.
And I can't help but smile. I'm heart broken at my own loss of a grandma, but overjoyed at the freedom of pain and weariness that Grandma has found.
Today is a good day.
And Grandma wins.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
The Iliad Comes to Life!
When the semester ended, six of my brightest seniors decided they'd rather be in my dual credit English class, leaving behind twelve very cranky seniors who just want to graduate. They don't want to read Hamlet, they don't want to read Faust, and they don't want to read The Iliad.
The Iliad is giving them particular grief because they just can't seem to keep the character names straight, or the allegiance of each character.
I'm pulling my hair out.
I gave them a quiz...
Everyone failed.
I tried a new, groundbreaking instruction method called the PEAK System, then gave them the exact same quiz to check for growth...
Everyone improved, but half only improved a to a higher "F".
How do I get these seniors to understand Homer's Iliad!????
Possibly one of the most random ideas I have ever had seems to have done the trick.
I bought toys.
Well, actually, Josh bought toys while he was in town picking up three wonderful OKWU students from the airport for Where's Weippe Ski Retreat, and he found an array of colorful and somewhat strange action figures, including G.I. Joe's, PEZ, and Happy Little Family.
I taped yellow on the gods, orange on the Achaeans, green on the Trojans, and pink on the Spartans. Some figures had two colors, such as Achilles, because he is both god and man, Myrmidon and Achaean, and also Helen because she was Spartan, then was stolen by a Trojan.
I thought up a funny saying for each figure, playing with them as I explained (which, if you know me well, then you know this is one of the hugest stretches of my entire life because I didn't even play with toys as a child...I played with paper I dug out of the trashcan!), then mixed all of the action figures up and told one of the boys to give a shot at his own explanation.
To my delight, he got it!
And so did boy #2, and boy #3, and boy #4.
One pricey investment in childhood action figures may have just saved my burnt out seniors from failure.
This puts a whole new twist on differentiated instruction, and while I don't think I'll be winning any awards for it, at least they've got it! And I finally learned to play with toys. Blake, you would be so proud!
The Iliad is giving them particular grief because they just can't seem to keep the character names straight, or the allegiance of each character.
I'm pulling my hair out.
I gave them a quiz...
Everyone failed.
I tried a new, groundbreaking instruction method called the PEAK System, then gave them the exact same quiz to check for growth...
Everyone improved, but half only improved a to a higher "F".
How do I get these seniors to understand Homer's Iliad!????
Possibly one of the most random ideas I have ever had seems to have done the trick.
I bought toys.
Well, actually, Josh bought toys while he was in town picking up three wonderful OKWU students from the airport for Where's Weippe Ski Retreat, and he found an array of colorful and somewhat strange action figures, including G.I. Joe's, PEZ, and Happy Little Family.
I taped yellow on the gods, orange on the Achaeans, green on the Trojans, and pink on the Spartans. Some figures had two colors, such as Achilles, because he is both god and man, Myrmidon and Achaean, and also Helen because she was Spartan, then was stolen by a Trojan.
I thought up a funny saying for each figure, playing with them as I explained (which, if you know me well, then you know this is one of the hugest stretches of my entire life because I didn't even play with toys as a child...I played with paper I dug out of the trashcan!), then mixed all of the action figures up and told one of the boys to give a shot at his own explanation.
To my delight, he got it!
And so did boy #2, and boy #3, and boy #4.
One pricey investment in childhood action figures may have just saved my burnt out seniors from failure.
This puts a whole new twist on differentiated instruction, and while I don't think I'll be winning any awards for it, at least they've got it! And I finally learned to play with toys. Blake, you would be so proud!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Vanity is not Fair
The sign of a truly great book or movie is that emotion is created or stirred within the reader/watcher.
I try to get my students to appreciate literature in its ability to make the reader mourn a character never tangible, or laugh at an invisible event seen only in the mind's own eye. I also try to relay the value of literature when it makes the reader mad.
Emotion is good, and through literature, full emotions can be experienced.
"To Kill A Mockingbird" stirs up a sense of justice and anger for the lack of justice among citizens of Alabama.
"The Iliad" stirs pride for Hector as a hero, and hurt over his death. It makes the reader hate Achilles for abusing Hector, but then love him for his selflessness to save Briseis.
"Fahrenheit 451" makes the reader stop and consider the importance of history and literature as Ray Bradbury masterfully pens a stanza from "Dover Beach," whose theme laments the loss of faith among people, which, to Guy Montag, serves as a lamentation over the loss of knowledge and memory. This lamentation pushes Montag to redeem society of its ignorance, even though he loses everything in the process.
So many wonderful books provide examples of how to live, and so many novels point toward Christ. I love picking out themes and plots that point toward Truth.
But today, as I watched the Hollywood hit "Vanity Fair," I felt only anger. There was no justice, no grace, no lamenting loss and persevering to recover the things that fell away. There was only...selfishness. Greed. Dishonesty.
There was no love.
Thakeray's 1678 masterpiece has been bouncing around in my head all day, because it is only hopelessness.
If society lost justice, heroism, faith, and perseverance, then society would be "Vanity Fair," an endless flea market of cheap shots and selfish gain.
In my anger toward the movie, I realized how empty life could be if I lived as Rebecca Sharp or Rawden Crawley.
It would be meaningless. Desperate. Lost.
The English teacher in me needs some kind of point. Some kind of purpose.
Why write "Vanity Fair?"
You can read a summary here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vanity_Fair_%28novel%29.
Your thoughts?
I try to get my students to appreciate literature in its ability to make the reader mourn a character never tangible, or laugh at an invisible event seen only in the mind's own eye. I also try to relay the value of literature when it makes the reader mad.
Emotion is good, and through literature, full emotions can be experienced.
"To Kill A Mockingbird" stirs up a sense of justice and anger for the lack of justice among citizens of Alabama.
"The Iliad" stirs pride for Hector as a hero, and hurt over his death. It makes the reader hate Achilles for abusing Hector, but then love him for his selflessness to save Briseis.
"Fahrenheit 451" makes the reader stop and consider the importance of history and literature as Ray Bradbury masterfully pens a stanza from "Dover Beach," whose theme laments the loss of faith among people, which, to Guy Montag, serves as a lamentation over the loss of knowledge and memory. This lamentation pushes Montag to redeem society of its ignorance, even though he loses everything in the process.
So many wonderful books provide examples of how to live, and so many novels point toward Christ. I love picking out themes and plots that point toward Truth.
But today, as I watched the Hollywood hit "Vanity Fair," I felt only anger. There was no justice, no grace, no lamenting loss and persevering to recover the things that fell away. There was only...selfishness. Greed. Dishonesty.
There was no love.
Thakeray's 1678 masterpiece has been bouncing around in my head all day, because it is only hopelessness.
If society lost justice, heroism, faith, and perseverance, then society would be "Vanity Fair," an endless flea market of cheap shots and selfish gain.
In my anger toward the movie, I realized how empty life could be if I lived as Rebecca Sharp or Rawden Crawley.
It would be meaningless. Desperate. Lost.
The English teacher in me needs some kind of point. Some kind of purpose.
Why write "Vanity Fair?"
You can read a summary here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vanity_Fair_%28novel%29.
Your thoughts?
Saturday, January 7, 2012
New Year, New Friends
I was actually nervous as I pulled away from our house today and drove the 7-mile drive along the river to our neighboring town. The new music teacher and I decided to get together, and I told Josh, "I'll either be back soon, which means it didn't go well, or I'll be gone a while, which means we hit it off."
I've sent Liz several notes this year, just trying to encourage her in her first year of teaching, and Tuesday she sent me an email titled, "Let's be friends." A few more emails, and we decided to meet for coffee.
Some of my favorite memories were made over coffee, including nothing but a friend, and time.
Four hours after Liz and I sat down, I decided I've finally made a friend here my heart resonates with, much like my friends from college and high school.
We talked about music, we talked about literature. We talked about education, culture shock in our small town, the need to be silly, and our love for games. We talked about God.
And I'm just thankful. God brought Josh and I here, and he knew I wanted a friend. It's awesome to see his faithfulness at work. I've been blessed with so many great friends throughout the years, and I'm excited that maybe I've stumbled upon another one. Here. It's been so hard to find a great friend here, in Kooskia.
But God is faithful.
And I am most assuredly delighted.
I've sent Liz several notes this year, just trying to encourage her in her first year of teaching, and Tuesday she sent me an email titled, "Let's be friends." A few more emails, and we decided to meet for coffee.
Some of my favorite memories were made over coffee, including nothing but a friend, and time.
Four hours after Liz and I sat down, I decided I've finally made a friend here my heart resonates with, much like my friends from college and high school.
We talked about music, we talked about literature. We talked about education, culture shock in our small town, the need to be silly, and our love for games. We talked about God.
And I'm just thankful. God brought Josh and I here, and he knew I wanted a friend. It's awesome to see his faithfulness at work. I've been blessed with so many great friends throughout the years, and I'm excited that maybe I've stumbled upon another one. Here. It's been so hard to find a great friend here, in Kooskia.
But God is faithful.
And I am most assuredly delighted.
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