Reunited, And It Feels So Good!

Josh and I are counting ourselves pretty lucky to have friends who not only flew all the way to Idaho to spend part of their Christmas vacation with us, but who also spent their second anniversary with us.

Brett and Rebecka were here for almost a whole week! We spent much of our time laughing over games and college memories, but we also spent time talking about literature, and the Word, driving around the scenic mountains of northern Idaho, going side-ways while driving around the scenic mountains of Idaho (whoops!), and watching the new TV series, "Once Upon a Time." Brett and Rebecka also spoiled our two dogs, Ivan and Stella, both of whom have been pacing the house all day long searching for their new-found friends.

Brett and Rebecka were here to witness our rival basketball game, as well as the dodge-ball game at half-time between CV teachers and the opposing school's teachers. I haven't busted out my dodge-ball moves since college, and sadly, CV did not walk away victorious.

Brett and Rebecka asked many questions and pointed out cultural differences I have already gotten used to. It seemed almost shocking to realize much of Idaho's culture shock has already waned for me, like the size of butter sticks, camp-trailer main streets, and multiple bars in towns of 500 or less.

We had one unexpected visitor, this week, one who was quite unwelcome. Amid the remodeling of our bathroom, Josh and I also did a quick remodel so that Brett and Rebecka would have their own room while they were here.

Josh was outside, and I heard a tell-tale "squeak," then a furry little head popped out from behind a dresser.

I started screaming and crying almost simultaneously, while Ivan and Stella sat in the doorway looking confused. The mouse ran right by them unscathed from their dog-like brilliance.

Josh rushed in to my hysterics, set several traps, then we left to pick Brett and Rebecka up from the airport. Peanut butter was the first bait, but the little rodent scraped the peanut butter off, then scurried away.

The last day of Brett and Rebecka's stay, we found more signs of our unwanted tenant. Josh set up more traps, this time with cheddar cheese, and the little rascal wasn't quite so skilled. My husband is my hero!

It was so good to have friends. I take for granted people who I can just pick up right where I left off with, and Brett and Rebecka are those kinds of friends.

This will be a Christmas to remember!

In two short days, Josh and I will jump in our Jeep Grand Cherokee and head for Rapid City to spend several days with Don and Patty, as well as my mom and dad, and Tom, Andrew, and Austin.

This is a Christmas of transition in terms of traditions and settings, but where there is family, there is celebration.

To each of you traveling this Christmas, be sure to take lots of pictures, sing lots of Christmas songs, and enjoy your family!

Much love to each of you!

Sunday Morning Thoughts

I'm up early, which is strange- can't sleep. The Christmas tree lights are on, the valley is still dark, our two Schnauzers are curled up at my feet, there is a hot cup of coffee on the table beside me, and Josh is sleeping.

The day hasn't quite started yet, and even though our small house is peaceful and unchanged, with flecks of snow nestled around the edges, my heart is restless, ready for the change coming.

Josh and I spent last night in Weippe with Don and Patty, who I am ever proud to call parents, and very blessed to call friends. We've spent hundreds of evenings in their house- laughing, eating, crying, joking- but this time, we didn't sit around the table to play games, we sat around a very bare living room, with boxes decorating the floors.

It will be so hard to tell Don and Patty goodbye as they head for South Dakota. Josh and I are so excited for the adventures that lie ahead for them, but we're grieving for ourselves.

This will be a lonely valley.

I guess this isn't a blog where I have much to say. Change can be exciting and we can be eager for it, but when we have to sit back and watch others go first, driving Change, it's really hard to be left at the curb, waving goodbye.

Please join me in prayer for Don and Patty as they go. I know God has something wonderful in store for them! And I know God can take care of Josh and I here, too.

Love Wins

Something hit me this week. Last year, as a first-year teacher, it seemed like everything revolved around God teaching me humility, and grace, and strength. Ashley had to grow and change and mature into Mrs. Blain, and some days were so much less eloquent than others. I hadn't stopped to think about God teaching me love through my call as a teacher, because I thought I was learning love through marriage. Teachers need to have classroom management and structure and consistency. But love?

So many days I feel like I sell my students short, because I can't give them enough (fill in the blank). Time. Energy. Joy. Acceptance. Safety. Hope. Authenticity.

But love?

This year could not be more different from that first year as a high school teacher. I was learning classroom management, and how to deal with cranky parents, and students who didn't want to learn, and co-workers who didn't care about anyone other than themselves. But this year, nothing is about me, really. This year, it's about my students. And love.

The weariness, the brokenness, the vulnerability. I see it so clearly in my students faces, in their actions and their words. I see it in their exhaustion and anger. I even see it in their grades. So many of my students come to school to simply get away from home. The students with perfect attendance seem to be failing their classes. It's not about getting the grades, it's about getting out.

I've been paying attention to my relationship with students. So many of them don't know how to have healthy relationships with anyone, so I try to be intentional about praising them, listening to their stories, showing them it's okay to be angry, but that they have to use words, not actions, to convey that anger. And some days, that is so hard.

I'm seeing my love for these students grow and morph the longer I teach in rural Idaho.

Just when I think I have love figured out, God reveals something new, like with my students. They are so inept at times to show or even accept love; they can't earn it- I simply choose to give it.

And that's how Christ's love is for me. I've been trying to wrap my head around that revelation this week, then tonight, a new thought hit me: God loved me the moment I was born, and that love will be constant until the day He embraces me at His throne. He loves me the same now as He did when I cheated on a spelling test in the first grade, or when I stayed up with a friend and stroked her hair after a break-up, or when I spewed anger at a co-worker. God's love doesn't change, or waver, or get lost amid my own flaws. God hurts when I hurt, and hurts when I sin, but His love never runs out or becomes less.

I want to love like that.

Unconditional, raw, can't-earn-it-or-lose-it love.

Because love wins.

If I can show students that kind of love, then Love really does win, because that kind of love is Christ.

Our world is about to drastically change in Idaho. Don and Patty are moving, and Josh and I will be void of family. I've yelled at God quite a bit these last few months, over many things. My family...miles. Josh's family...change. A baby...loss. My grandma...cancer. Josh's grandpa...Lou Gehrig's. Loneliness. Darkness. Cold.

Some days, I vacillate on one question: Why should we stay?

Force? No. Expectations? No. Certainly not for "scenic" Idaho. I have no loyalties to this dark and gloomy state!

But for Love? For Christ? I'm seeing the unmistakable call placed on Josh's life as Eternal Hope Wesleyan Pastor, and the call placed on my life as CVHS teacher, Mrs. Blain.

Even though I still yell at God, I can't help but feel excitement over being a part of this call, this love.

I pray that Love will spread like wildfire! No pain is wasted, in me, in Josh, in my students, in our church, or our family.

Love wins. And that is worth staying for.

Trick Or Treat!

Well, kids, it's time for the LesslieBlain Odyssey's inaugural Halloween post, so get out your favorite costume and your bowl of goodies. Here goes.

This is the first year that Ashley and I have given candy to trick-or-treaters. I'd like to share a few of our favorite quotes from the kids who visited our house.

As I opened the door to two very young kids, I said "Hi guys!" A three-year-old girl quickly piped back "Hi guys!"

When Ashley asked a girl if she was supposed to be a fairy princess, she confidently replied "No. I'm a fairy princess."

One very eager boy, before we had given him any candy, spouted out "Thank yo-- I mean trick or treat!"

Ashley opened the door to one very short, very stout trick-or-treater who only had visible eyes. She said, "Happy Halloween! Are you having fun tonight?" The candy hunter replied in a deep, not-so-childish voice, "I'm having a great time." That trick-or-treater was no eight-year-old...and he was way more trick than treat.

I even gave out candy to the kids on my bus - as they got off, of course. One fourth grader was so blown away by the gesture that he forgot what holiday it was, and blurted out "Thanks! Merry Christmas!"

Hope you had a great Halloween! See you next time.

Oh, and Ashley and I also found this hilarious. Especially the last video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YQpbzQ6gzs&feature=youtu.be&noredirect=1

Light Shines Through the Darkness

The last few weeks in Kooskia, Idaho, have been dreary. When winter rolls in, so does the darkness.

Living in the valley spurs Josh and I to cherish our quickly fading sunlight.

This morning, we woke up to phone calls, we dressed quickly, then headed out the door.

On the way up the mountain, I noticed today was not a dreary day. It was chilly, so fog was rolling through the hills, but as we continued to drive up, sun beams burst through the fog. The light was present, and the light was warm.

We have a couple in our church. He's 70ish, but you'd never know, and she's somewhere close in age, but even harder to guess.

They're fit- they're active. They travel everywhere. They love people and animals and even put on a church camp for disabled adults and kids. The community has embraced them for nearly thirty years, and our small church has embraced them, too, so the heart strings are rooted deep.

Josh and I are still reeling in shock.

Last night, Beth went to pick apples. The apple season is coming to an end, and Beth hates waste. She talks about the land as a blessing, and being good stewards of the land means using what is provided, not wasting.

Phil wasn't home yet, so Beth loaded up on the new four-wheeler Phil got her for her birthday, rallied up their nine adopted dogs, and made her way to the off-road apple orchard on their property.

It was nearly dark when Phil made his way home. Winter calls darkness in early. He said something just wasn't quite right- some of the dogs were home, but a few weren't, and neither was the four-wheeler.

With tears in his eyes this morning, Phil, still in yesterday's boots and chaps, said "I expected to find her stuck. Not dead."

Beth had gathered five bags of apples, and was on her way home, when somehow, the rig flipped on top of her. And that's how Phil finally found her. He'd searched all over their property, gone to every pond, when one of those three dogs came to him, and then led Phil back to his wife.

Phil said, "Some people are married for years and get tired of each other. We never did."

Saturday, Phil is asking for close friends to come up to the ranch to juice Beth's apples. He said, "If I let Beth's apples rot, she's gonna yell at me in the afterlife! She'll say, 'You wasted my apples!'" I can't think of a better way to hold memorial for this dear woman- it's so Beth.

Darkness may last for a while, and sometimes it seems as though it will never clear, but light bursts through the dreary fog, and brings warmth, and life, and hope.

Church will start in a few hours, and our small body of 25 will tearfully listen as Josh brings a message from the beatitudes.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

God knew even before we did.

Though the darkness may last for the night, joy comes in the morning, and that joy is Jesus, because separation is only momentary.

And Beth wins.

Some Titles Will Forever Be Inferior

The Casting Crowns song "Praise You in This Storm" has been on my heart all week. It has been a song that's been resonating, because for the first time, it's personal.

Josh and I were just to the point of telling family and friends that we were pregnant. We were both so excited. For a brief moment, life seemed so perfect.

But Tuesday morning, I woke up, and didn't feel well. I called in sick, and as the day progressed, thought it might me wise to go to the doctor.

We lost the baby.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

This has been a week of pain- mental, physical, and emotional pain.

If my heart forgets momentarily of the loss, my body reminds me.

I've been yelling at God.

We already lost one baby- I thought surely he was promising this one to us. We would have loved it fiercely. Why is it that women who mistreat their bodies and their babies seem to have child after child, unwanted and unloved? But we can't seem to have one.

One baby.

Just one.

"I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried,
You hold in Your hands
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn,
I'll praise you in this storm"

Northwest Women's Retreat was this last weekend, and our speaker talked about moments like these. She used the illustration of the harvest- the fields specifically. She said sometimes, our lives, the soil, are like clay. The soil is hard and dry, and God has to reach down and break us apart. It's painful. The soil resists, and it hurts. But then God plants seeds. When it is time to water, he takes our tears, and waters those seeds, and the harvest is plentiful. New life- new growth. Hope.

No tears go to waste. And right now, mine are plentiful.

In my moments of rational thought, I know this. But in the moments of my greatest hurt and inability to wrap my head around understanding, I just don't get it.

And then the song comes back to mind.

"I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say 'Amen', and it's still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
'I'm with you'
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away."

God hurts, too. God cries, too. God sees. And he's still with Josh and I. I can't just praise God when life is good. He is worthy of my praise all the time.

God tills, and cultivates. He plants and tends. And then he reaps. And the harvest is plentiful.

I cry out, wondering why God didn't save the baby, but then I see that God did. Because the baby is with him.

My heart aches- and I know Josh's does, too.

But one day, there will be reunion, with our Maker, and two babies.

And that is something to look forward to.

Until then, our tears will be caught in the Maker's hands. The field may be dry now, but moisture is coming, and with that a healthy harvest.

Lord, I don't understand your plan, but I know that it is perfect. I know I do not weep alone, but also that I do not weep in vain. No pain is wasted, nor are my tears. Be the parent Josh and I cannot be. Love our baby.

I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker, of heaven and earth. I am in desperate need of your help to stand, Father.

You are the deliverer, the comforter, the healer, and the lover. Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. And I cling to that promise, sweet Jesus.

Further Insight...

I love teaching...so very much...but some classes are more behaved than others. I think back to what my mentor teacher said during student teaching..."Find one thing to love in every student."

That can be so hard!

My last hour class this year is for language remediation. If you take the one or two kids from every class who are trouble makers, then throw them all into one class at the end of the day, what would you anticipate to be the outcome?

Now multiply that by 1,000.

I've been weary...I've been frustrated...I've even been angry.

Last Friday was quite possibly the worst day, classroom management wise, of my entire teaching experience. It was ugly.

This week, the class structure has been completely changed, and the students have been slightly beaten into submission.

But here's where my heart is in turmoil.

The students were asked to anonymously write three reasons they were misbehaving in the class, or three things about the class that frustrated them.

So many students wrote, "It's not the class that gets me going...it's what I'm thinking about. I'm either thinking about the fight I left to come to school this morning, or the fight that will happen when I get home."

These students have been the hardest to love, and yet they're the ones who need love the most.

Oh, Lord, how often do I fail at expressing the greatness of your face?

My students have been processing and thinking, but so have I. And I have much to change.

On a completely unrelated note, Josh and I have a puppy named Stella...who is a total glutton.

As a 7-week-old puppy, she would gorge her own food, then gorge Ivan's. Ivan has since learned to snarf just as fast as Stella. Stella even ate dogfood filled with ants...and consequently found herself the object of an ant attack. Her beard was loaded with the cranky black insects, and she earned herself a bath. She couldn't even walk correctly because her stomach was bulging and tight.

We knew Stella just couldn't help herself, but she's taken herself to an all-time low.

Stella ate through a zip-loc bag of chocolate cookies. Yes. She did.

And it's time for an intervention.

Suggestions?

We All Have a Story to Tell

My English II students have kicked the year off with "The Pearl," by John Steinbeck. If you've read Steinbeck ("Of Mice and Men," "The Grapes of Wrath," or "East of Eden") then you know how gloomy and raw he can be.

"The Pearl" is all about the pain of wanting a thing too much and the tragedy that thing can befall humanity when it is found. Very seldom does life work the way it was intended, and humanity becomes animalistic and broken.

This particular Steinbeck work revolves around the journey of a native Mexican family who find the pearl of the world amid great poverty, then have to fight to keep that pearl and risk everything. As the story begins, the native roots focus strongly on tradition and culture. The protagonist, Kino, lives by the beat of the Song of the Family, a song his father and grandfather lived by, but occasionally, the Song of Evil creeps in.

I asked my sophomore students to pen their songs... What beat do they march to? What defines them? What sets them apart? What rhythm might their life song take?

The honesty of several students shocked me. Some of my students are broken and weary.

Here are a few of the songs that stood out.

"My song would involve a lot of pain and anguish. It would scream instability as well as misunderstanding. Their wouldn’t be a light at the end of the tunnel, no happy ending, and certainly no signs of family. In my song I would be alone facing the problems of the world, experiencing no mercy or remorse, just pain and anguish. My mask may be impenetrable but my song is raw and vulnerable."

"My song would probably be a mix of sadness and happiness. I’m generally a happy person but then again, I’m sad at times also. It’s usually easy to tell when I am sad about something. But the majority of the time my song is a happy one which I’m guessing that is what a lot of peoples songs are. My music would mainly be a mix of slow music and rap or something in that area."

"My song would be about… a happy, but troubled girl who tries not to show the troubled side of her. So she tries to fit in. She is a small girl with a big personality, but doesn’t know what to do with her personality (meaning how to make it have a purpose in her life). She is scared, it’s part of her troubled side, same with her past, so she hides that along with everything else she is holding inside from the world. She wants to not care anymore, but puts up with too many judging people. She’s a cute young lady who is clean cut, but on the inside she is a mess. One of her favorite things to do is listen to songs she can relate to, and think about the lyrics. The beat would be slow, a soft tune, not depressing, but one that makes you think. It would be one of those nice slow songs by John Mayer or He is We. You could even put it as a rap, but it would relate more to Indie."

"My song is a very different one. As I walk around and move about my day, there is a beating drum faintly in the background playing endlessly. And then when something strikes my emotions, whether it be for good or bad, a bass guitar and electric guitar join in with the drum changing the tempo of my day. What happens next is entirely dependent on the day, the people, and what is happening. Because at that moment there is a silence. Then all at once every instrument starts up loudly, capturing my attention and the words vary on what is happening. It could be a song of idle bliss, or a song of utter chaos and anger. Sometimes it turns into a song with an underlined meaning that hides from plain sight, building up and up until it almost bursts into a song of panic and sadness, with anger and hate exploding from my soul. And then all at once, everything goes silent."

"My song, I would have to say, is the Song of Difference. Why? I’ll tell you. My whole life I never fit in with all the other kids because I choose to be who I am and not who others choose to make me into. I am independent! I am proud! I am me and no one will change it. I don’t’ care what others think of me or the names I’m called. What I care about is myself and the people who choose to accept me how I am. My song sounds rebellious, almost metal but more of a postcore style.

"My song is the song of peace. One of the things I cherish most is when everyone gets along, with no fighting or rudeness towards others. Also, in my song I am for standing up for others. I could live my whole life being there for people. If it is for friends, family, strangers or enemies. If they need help I am there. My song would be fast with the sound of laughter in it. It would have a lot of percussion in it. I would listen to my song morning and night and when I am down or sad."

One student mentioned the band He is We. Here is one of the band's songs I stumbled upon today, which has surprisingly striking lyrics.

Happily Ever After
He is We

Let me riddle you a ditty, it's just an itty bitty, little thing on my mind.
About a boy and a girl, trying to take on the world one kiss at a time.
Now the funny thing about, ain't a story without it, but the story is mine.
And I wish you could say, that it ended just fine.

We all want to know, how it ends.

Oh, happily ever after, wouldn't you know, wouldn't you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who'd like to know, I'd like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?

Inhale, breathe steady, exhale, like you're ready, if you're ready or not.
Just a boy and a girl gonna to take on the world, and we want to get caught.
In the middle of a very happy ending, let's see what we've got, let's give it a shot.
Let's give it a shot.

We all want to know, how it ends.

Oh, happily ever after, wouldn't you know, wouldn't you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who'd like to know, I'd like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?

We all have a story to tell.
Whether we whisper or yell.
We all have a story, of adolescence and all it's glory.
We all have a story to tell.

Oh, happily ever after, wouldn't you know, wouldn't you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who'd like to know, I'd like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?

We all have a story to tell.
We all have a story to tell.
We all have a story to tell.
We all have a story to tell.

These kids really all do have a story to tell, and some of them have lived entire lifetimes in their fifteen years.

I catch myself saying, "God, why am I here!" I can get so angry, and lonely, and tired.

And then I get a glimpse of how my students feel. And I'm convicted. Because I know Love, and I have hope, and eternal joy is coming!

What better place to be then here, where students are hungry for hope, and joy, and Love?

Kooskia, Idaho may be broken, but He is whole.

Refreshing Wisdom

My father-in-law, Don, is turning fifty. Tomorrow! The joy of birthdays ebbs and flows, but fifty should be a memorable one. Josh and I had dinner with Don and Patty, as well as an older gentleman, Harold, from the Weippe church.

Dinners with Don and Patty are always a bit reviving for me. There aren't many people I feel free to let my hair down with here, and Josh is kind of in the same boat. When you become "the pastor" or "the teacher," the circle of trust shrinks a bit. I don't know if that happens to everyone, but it sure has happened to us, so we relish the moments when we can be real.

Sitting around a card table on our porch, waiting to eat food from Dutch ovens, laughing back and forth as we shared stories, Harold was asked to pray for the food.

"Lord, today was a good day. And you've given us lots of good days. Thanks for saving us..."

Harold finished praying, then he told us a story.

Back in Harold's youth, he knew a man who turned every opportunity into a "God moment."

This un-named friend was out late one evening, and someone tried to rob him. With a gun in his ribs, Harold's friend began to laugh. The robber said, "What's so funny," and the man reached around to his wallet, opened it, and showed the robber just how much money he had: zero.

Harold's friend asked the robber if he'd like to come up to his apartment for some food. "I don't have any money, but I've got food, and you're welcome to it."

Harold said they talked late into the evening, and by 4:00 in the morning, the robber was on his knees yelling, "Lord! Save me!"

And then Harold said something that is still echoing around in my brain.

"How many opportunities do we miss? How many opportunities have I missed?"

And me as well.

How many?

A man who tried to rob Harold's friend found Christ on the floor with the man he tried to rob. I've snubbed people for far less.

Harold gave me a new perspective on ministry tonight. And it's hard. But again I say, God never promised that it would be easy, as I am finding with most things in this life. Yes, some seasons are smoother than others, and some people are easier to love, but that shouldn't halt ministry, and it shouldn't staunch Love.

Today was a good day. It may not have been my birthday, but I'll cherish this one.

Lord, thanks for saving us.

Shine

Once upon a time, Josh Blain and Ashley Lesslie traveled for an entire summer together, going from camp to camp with two other great friends. In those days, Josh and Ashley were young and energetic. They could stay up all night, and function coherently the next day. This could go on for weeks.

But such is no longer true. Josh and Ashley are old, and their bodies demand more than just a few hours of sleep to function at all, let alone coherently.

One thing remains true, though, and that is that Josh and Ashley LOVE camp!

We just spent one wonderful albeit tiring week in Vancouver, Washington, with eight to twelve year-olds. Josh was the camp speaker this year, and did a wonderful job! The kids listened and understood, and many gave their testimonies the last night around a bon-fire, and God spoke greatly to young hearts.

The theme of this year's camp was SHINE, based on Matthew 5:14-16, “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."

Josh used a lantern he named Larry to illustrate the idea of either conforming to the darkness, or letting God transform the darkness into light.

I am exceedingly proud of my husband. The enemy tried his hardest to shut Josh's mouth, but the enemy lost! God put passion and fire into Josh as he shared what was layed on his heart, and it was difficult to miss the calling in Josh's life.

I spent the week with a cabin of six campers, and one co-counselor. I have missed weeks like these! It may be exhausting, but it's also refreshing. And I would argue that kids' camp isn't just for kids.

We head for Chicago this weekend for my graduation, then back in time for one last camp.

I'll close with some of my favorite pictures from the week, but also with yet another request for your prayers. Josh and I covet them, especially as we travel and jump into another camp.


Josh holding Larry the Lantern as an illustration.


Josh preaching during the morning rally.


My cabin, the Sunshine Hearts.


Six wonderful campers, and three wonderful co-counselors.


Josh and I sporting our SHINE t-shirts the last day of camp.


Campers dancing to "I'm in the Lord's Army."


Patty Blain teaching about keeping oil (Christ) in your lamp (heart).


Jodi Hess teaching about Amy Carmichael.


One of my campers was an expert animal imitator!

Wisdom Over Coffee

Summer travels are still rolling. Josh and I returned from our Kansas extravaganzas last Saturday, then hit the road once again for district conference in Vancouver, WA. I can hardly believe how quickly this summer is running out. I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to see while in the Mid-West, but the moments I had with friends I absolutely cherish. We had planned to take a southern route through New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Nevada, but when it all boiled down to spending one extra day with my parents, we opted for more card games and laughs and stayed one more night.

Josh was ordained on Thursday, and Don and Patty, as well as grandparents Elmore and Phyllis, were there to share in the joy of that service. Elmore prayed over Josh, which made the service emotional, but also very special. It was after his prayer that Elmore shared with General Superintendent Dr. Jo Anne Lyon that Josh is a sixth generation pastor, which all started with Elmore's great-grandpa who was a circuit rider for the Methodist church.



After the service ended and we received many hugs from our northwest family, six Blains went out for coffee and desserts.

It was over blackberry ice cream and mozzarella sticks that one of my favorite conversations took place: how to best serve in ministry.

Elmore and Phyllis are retired from the ministry, Don and Patty are in a 25-year stretch of ministry, and Josh and I are just starting.

And here is the wisdom I gathered: love your people, cry with them, and walk with them.

No ministry is perfect, and I know Josh and I will botch it up, but what a joy it is to serve, to love people, cry with them, and walk with them. Josh and I may never have all of the right answers, and we may not be the best counselors, but we can love and cry and walk.

After conference, six Blains and a family of Hawks went to the coast for one very wonderful day. We walked the beach, laughed at our dogs, and ate some marvelous clam chowder at Mo's.









Next up for summer travels, Kids' Camp. We'll make the trek back to Vancouver, and this year, Josh is the camp speaker. Please be in prayer for him!

In between miles on the road, we're also trying to finish our bathroom renovation. I keep thinking to myself...this, too, shall pass!

Love you to all-

Almost Perfect

I've worn the hat of teacher this year, and student, and wife, and daughter, and friend. But I have greatly missed the hat of aunt.

The longer I stay with Blake and Tina, the more I fall in love with my nephews, Martin and Eugene.

They are precious, and life is good.

Martin mimicks everything. Mannerisms, simply sayings, body language...he pretty much covers it. He wants to do everything the "big kids" are doing, and sometimes he succeeds, and other times gets severely frustrated at being two feet tall.

Eugene just soaks up loving.

I can write about these wonderful nephews all day long, but let me just leave you with pictures, since they're each worth a thousand words.

Continued Thought

Many of you emailed with great wisdom and love to yesterday's blog.

Thank you.

Time is precious, and it means so much to have your thoughts on this topic.

I'm still processing.

Some of you emailed saying I have a right to be hurt and angry, which makes me think you understand exactly where I'm coming from. You, too, somewhere along the road, have had hurt from the church.

Some of you responded with caution. Thank you. I in no way want my heart to become bitter or hardened because of this, and I also don't want to portray my home church as bitter or hardened. They have laws I don't understand, some I don't agree with, and I'm questioning the purpose of those laws. But I have peace knowing God is in control, and not me. He'll lead and direct so much more gracefully than I, and he'll lead in love when I believe I would probably lead in frustration.

Some of you responded with love. Just when I think I've gotten that practice down, I realize I have so much further to go. Your example reminds me to continue in that mind and heart. Thank you for loving me when I am reeling with hurt and anger and emotion.

Some of you called me out. Thank you for being honest and bold with me. My past hurts should not be directed on this new pastor. He's trying to adjust to a new church and that encounter was probably tough for him, too. Did he handle it perfectly? Nope, but neither did I.

Others of you responded with passion...which makes me think you're my dad. Thank you for being my protector. While you may speak with biting words at times, I think your words are filled with love because of that passion. You don't speak with so many words often, but when you do, I listen. I am more like you than I realize because my passion, too, often clouds my filter.

My heart is resting with the Psalms.

119:145-152 "I call with all my heart; answer me, O LORD, and I will obey your decrees. I call out to you; save me and I will keep your statutes. I rise before dawn and cry for help; I have put my hope in your word. My eyes stay open through the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promises. Hear my voice in accordance with your love; preserve my life, O LORD, according to your laws. Those who devise wicked schemes are near, but they are far from your law. Yet you are near, O LORD, and all your commands are true. Long ago I learned from your statutes that your established them to last forever."

For those who continue to seek God's law, I know these peripheral human laws will be corrected.

I really vacillated over whether or not I should have written yesterday's blog. Part of me thinks, yeah, I probably should have waited until my emotion thinned out a bit, but the other part of me is so thankful to each of you for sharing your wisdom, your love, and your passion.

Thanks for walking with me. Now that's the body of Christ.

A Rude Awakening

I try so hard to forgive the wounds from my childhood in a church full of loving people who I think meant well. But sometimes, those wounds resurface, and I'm angry all over again.

As a 15-year-old who just spent her first summer in Jamaica, I came home knowing God had called me into missions, I just didn't know what that meant. Five men came to me after I spoke to my church, telling me I had to be married to do that, and my husband would have to be the missionary.

I was so crushed. I thought God wanted to use me, not just make me a wife.

And so began the stubborn pride in me to be single and prove to everyone I knew that God could use women, single, in the ministry.

God broke down a lot of that pride in me. He placed a calling in my life to be a teacher, then he introduced me to Josh Blain, the man who stole my heart and who I longed to serve alongside. God has used Josh as a beautiful example of what unity and partnership should look like. Josh has given me a glimpse of the true joy of marriage because he walks beside me, he doesn't make me follow. He and I are in ministry together.

I thought I was okay with those wounds. I've spent many years working through them, begging God to take them away. But yesterday, they resurfaced.

Without going into a full-out soap-box, let me just say I hate denominations. People get so wrapped up in a title that they forget the body, and Christ's church is divided.

I was asked to sing at my home church while on my travels, something I enjoy doing and look forward to. The church just got a new pastor, I met him Saturday, and really had a great impression of him.

Sunday morning came, I lugged my guitar to church, and was asked to "step into the office," a sign that should have told me something bad was coming.

Remember, I had a great first-meeting with the new pastor, so when he said, "Our by-laws state that only Baptists can sing at church," I thought he was completely joking.

I burst out laughing, then heard the following statement come out of this new pastor's mouth.

"We can't let just anyone sing. If a Mormon came in and wanted to sing a song, we wouldn't let them."

Wow. And 'denomination' just became a dirty word.

Forget the fact that I am a Christ follower. I didn't realize Wesleyans were grouped with Mormons. Forget the fact that I got saved in that church, and the fact that I grew up there. Forget the fact that I traveled on three missions trips while at that church, and followed God's leading into the ministry.

I was so hurt.

Because I am Wesleyan, I'm not good enough. And all of my childhood insecurities came flooding back.

I looked at my dad's face, and it donned on me. This guy was being serious.

The pastor said, "Are you mad at me?"

I didn't know what to say. A weak "No" slipped out.

"Okay. Good."

He left, and I turned to my dad, and instantly burst into tears.

Rejected by my home church. That one stung.

I tried to sit through the worship, but I could not regain my composure. I hate that one man's words cut me so deeply. I finally wrote my dad a note telling him I was going to walk home, stood up, and walked out of the doors, telling myself I would never go to church there again if it meant more hurt.

My mom walked home with me, and talking through some of that emotion was good. But if I'm being totally honest, I'm still reeling. I am so hurt and angry and disappointed and disgusted.

Denominations divide the body of Christ. People who think their name gets them to heaven or qualifies them for more holiness than others make me so frustrated. I understand that it wasn't the pastor's opinion- he's new and is trying to follow the church constitution, but I'm still hurt by him.

Shouldn't we all be working on the same goal? Shouldn't we all have the same focus? Shouldn't we walk together and love one another with fierceness?

I fail to understand.

In 1 Corinthians 1, Paul is getting onto the church for this very issue. People were following Paul, and Peter, and several other missionaries, and Paul called them on it, saying, "Shouldn't we be followers of Christ?"

Verses 10-13 state it much more eloquently than I am, but that's the gist. Jesus never said, "Be Baptist," or "Be Wesleyan," or "Be Church of Christ." He called both Jew and Gentile to follow him. But people's rules make that simple practice difficult.

And the body takes a beating.

Any wisdom out there? I would certainly welcome it.

Reflections of a First-Year Teacher

What a whirlwind!

First, thank you to each and every one of you who has been praying for me this year as I embarked on my first-year teacher journey. I would not have maintained my physical, emotional, and mental states without those prayers.

Friday was graduation, which Don, Patty, and Andrew were able to come down for, a true joy! The keynote speaker was Billy Mills, the 1964 Olympic gold medalist in the 10,000-meter run. Mills is the only American to have ever won the gold in that race, and travels the country as a motivational speaker.

The premise of Mills' message was perseverance and perspective, two topics I have hit on with my students all year, but two topics I feel God has impressed on my heart this year as well.

When students wanted to give up- especially my seniors- I would write one word on my board: persevere. I told them I understood the feeling of wanting to give up. With graduate school this first year of teaching, I must admit, I wanted to give up often, but prize was so alluring. This year has been a constant learning process, for me and my students. Life is not easy, but it's worth pressing on.

Mills also talked quite a bit about perspective. He is a Native American, and has dealt with many poor perspectives from coaches, teammates, fans, and peers. But he walked on.

Perspective is a common theme of literature. For one of the creative writing topics my seniors had to write a monster story, but from the monster's perspective, which often changes the story.

My perspective of these students, this valley, education as a student, and now as a teacher, have all shifted greatly these last nine months.

And I can't help but see God as the adhesive agent to all of it.

Without him, all things fall apart. Perspective doesn't matter, and life simply buckles.

I feel like I've gotten very old in this last year. In fact, Friday right before graduation, Josh pulled my first gray hair. I sure hope my wisdom from these last weeks and months didn't come out with it! Gray hairs and all, I love teaching. I couldn't imagine doing anything else.

To capture the true feeling of my moment, I tried to snap a picture. I observed many teacher-attitudes today. One teacher was dancing, one was laughing from pure hpyeractivity, one was (I'm quite certain) hung over, one was sad as he was retiring, and one was just cranky. Emotions ran the full gambit.

My mood?

Contentment. Joy. Stillness. Peace.

Can you tell?

Finally The Ruler of My Own Kingdom

My English IV students...Seniors...are currently looking graduation in the eye, 14 more days until their blessed tasseled walk, but before they can gain a diploma, they must finish the creative writing unit started two weeks ago.

It's killing them.

Their first short story was to be a Faust. We read an excerpt, watched a blip of "The Little Mermaid," then they were released. They needed a central character who wanted something, but to gain it, had to sell a portion of freedom, or even, their soul. Lords, devils, contracts, and flawed characters turned up some fairly clever tales.

Next up, plays. Students read a bit of Endgame, an absurd drama by Samuel Beckett, one of my favorites. Solomon would be proud. Meaningless, meaningless. All is meaningless...in a Beckett play, at least.

On to Frankenstein. Students' short stories had to be from the perspective of the monster, a bit of inspiration from the hit production Wicked.

But the assignment that just about made my seniors keel over from their own guttural wailing was the humor segment.

Did you know Steve Martin, that's right- the father of the bride, the father of a dozen children, and the self-proclaimed lover of mixed-nuts, wrote a book of short stories. And they are all funny.

Or at least I thought so. I copied off about eight of them, making a packet for each student thinking, "They'll definitely want to keep these hilarious stories!"

But my seniors? They felt...other...emotions.

I told my students that if they read their humor stories out loud in class and made me laugh, I would give them fifteen bonus points. And let's just face it- fifteen points could make or break graduation for a few of these highly lovable albeit procrastinating seniors.

Here is the story that broke my laugh bubble today. Fifteen points well deserved.

Once upon a time, in a mystical far away world, there was a small kingdom called Englishfoura. This kingdom was ruled over by a benevolent queen named Blaina. Under her wise rule, the assignment crops flourished and the grade harvesters prospered. Her loyal subjects were happy, and so was she.

One day, however, a twisted thought entered her head. "I'm bored with all of this. I think I'll assemble my subjects and make a decree."

And that is exactly what she did. So on the allotted day, the subjects assembled before their queen, looking eagerly to their loved leader. They were confident that something wonderful was in store for them, so they thought nothing of the papers that were being passed among them.

"Everyone open your papers," she called.

The people eagerly opened them, but to their horror and dismay, they found that the papers contained a collection of incredibly lame 'humorous' short stories.

"Now," the queen said with an evil gleam in her eye, "read them ALOUD."

The terrified people groaned inwardly, but did as they were told, and for the space of an hour, they suffered.

When the poor souls had finished, they looked hopefully back to the queen; perhaps there was a good reason for this?

But it was not to be.

The queen let loose a maniacal laugh that filled them with dismay.

"Now," she cried, "write one YOURSELF!"

And so began the dark times. The happy kingdom was transformed into a hopeless wasteland, filled with despair and sorrow. No one could bring themselves to create such horrible humor.

But every story has a hero, and this one is no exception.

For traveling the land, there was a character of infinite coolness; a man of unspeakable awesomeness. Wielding the Sword of Sarcasm, he lived to defend the witless and destroy the sharp of tongue; restoring good humor wherever he went.

And that is exactly what he was here to do.

He marched into Blaina's black fortress, intent on restoring order to the land. Her guards moved to stop him, but they shied away when they realized it was futile.

Finally, he arrived in the throne room.

An evil laugh filled the air. "Good, you must have come with another stack of bad humor papers! I can't wait to give them all bad grades! There is no way they can succeed with this assignment!"

The Sword of Sarcasm rang as it was drawn.

"I have come to end this madness," he declared.

"NOOOOOOO!" screamed Blaina.

With unfathomable skill, he wielded the Sword of Sarcasm, destroying all of the bad humor papers that were stacked in the room. Having finished his first grisly task, he lifted his hand and blasted Blaina with a bolt of pure awesomeness.

The madness left her eyes, and the black clouds over the countryside began to disperse.

So the queen was restored to good sense, the awesome dude returned to his home, and the subjects never had to write humorous stories ever again. Everyone lived happily ever after.

The end.

And so live the residents in the happy kingdom of Englishfoura, along with their first-year ruler, Blaina, wife to King Blaino, and owner of Sir Ivan.

Life is good, and only 29 more days until I can smooch my nephews.

Give me the Son, With all His Beams Full Dazzling!

You would think, after countless moments of God revealing his faithfulness, I would expect him to pull through before I expected him to ignore me.

Until today, the sun forgot about the existence of Kooskia, Idaho, leaving us off its daily appearance list. We live in the valley that the sun boycotts, but today, those cheery rays graced us once again.

Monday, it hailed. Tuesday, it snowed. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, it rained. Six weeks of dark and wet weather. That's 42 days...1,008 hours...60,480 minutes...3,628,800 seconds. Can you sense my depression expanding!?!?

But today, yellow beaming, warmth dripping, full-body surrounding SUN!!!

Josh is in the yard, with one of the cutest 8-year-olds I've ever seen, doing yard work. The mower is running, the boy is laughing, Josh is hollering over the noise, and I'm digging out fifteen hard-earned dollars for David, our new 3rd grade landscaper.

This morning our church had its first community event. Alongside the Chamber of Commerce, Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church put on an Easter egg hunt in the park. Nearly 150 kids, with probably 150 additional adults, showed up, baskets in tow, ready to "hunt the wabbit."

I checked my watch when Josh announced the hunt to begin- 10:02. At 10:04, there were no more eggs to be found. In two minutes, 150 children gathered over 2,000 Easter eggs! What a sight to see!

Along with the sun, God has remembered that Josh and I are still here, trying to reach this valley with His light. The winters are so long, but the Light is coming! Hope is on His way.

Doors are opening, and we find ourselves so very blessed.

Josh has been asked to speak at the community bachiloriette the end of May, my senior students have asked me to give the benediction at their graduation ceremony, and Josh has been asked to preach at the community Church in the Park this summer. Slowly, we are seeing the community embrace us, and we are praying that God will grow the body here in this little valley.

The winters may be long...as C.S. Lewis states in Narnia, "Always winter, never spring"...but the plum trees are showing their blooms, the grass is beginning to grow, the hills are turning green, and the Light is eating the dark. As promised, the Son will thrive.

Happy Easter!

A Revolutionary Conversation

I think I finally caught a glimpse of the allure of the epic toddler battle leading to the question, "Why."

For no particular reason other than sheer curiosity, and maybe slight boredom, I used no word other than "Why" for an entire conversation with my husband. Josh was the guinea pig- and he played along quite smoothly.

Because of one leading question, "Why," we spent ten minutes talking first about a topic neither of us can actually remember, which segued into the galaxy's make-up, Facebook, the Pope's childhood traumas of insecurity and his personal blame for his little brother's death (which Pope you ask? It doesn't matter- I'm fairly certain it applies to them all), the king and queen of England, drugs, conception of viruses, and finally, beauty.

Keep in mind, to really play along, the "Why" asker must change voice inflection, and the answerer must be willing to bend the truth with creativity. Or sheer tomfoolery.

Our conversation end piece, beauty, satiated me. After probably 200 "Why's," Josh finally said something noteworthy, true, timeless, and raw. It was absolutely cheesy, and yet, profound.

Ready? Here goes.

"People have to be ugly."

"Why?"

"Because if everyone is ugly, then no one can be beautiful."

"Why?"

"Because if everyone was beautiful, then beauty would only be skin deep. And there would be no room for someone who has a good heart to be called beautiful."

"Okay."

Try it. It will blow your mind.

WARNING: This activity will make you question the title of "adult." Be prepared to feel like a toddler when participating in this toddler activity.

Bathrooms as Photo Galleries?

I need your help understanding something.

I'm not incredibly old, and I work with teenagers every single day, but sometimes, I'm totally clueless to their behavior.

Of all the places to capture photos of yourself, the restroom? It makes absolutely no sense to me at all. Three times this week while using the restroom, I've noticed female students standing in front of the mirrors, snapping shots of themselves for what I can only assume will end up on Facebook or MySpace.

A. I'm never letting students go to the bathroom again, because now I know why they ask, and it is most definitely not to go potty.
B. How appealing can it be to have a picture of yourself, trying to look sexy, with three toilets in the background? If that's sexy, then I have failed.

I thought this was the new fad in northern Idaho only, but I just logged off of my own Facebook page and saw four...count them...FOUR other bathroom profile pictures from my own friend list, which includes mostly mid-westerners.

I'm lost. The bathroom is the last place I want to snap a picture of myself.

On a side note, this week I had a team meeting with the cranky mother who sent me on an early spring break. The four male faculty teachers in attendance surrounded me with their presence, one of them declaring he would absorb a punch if the meeting should come to that.

When the mom entered, my blood pressure sky-rocketed. I had an instant migraine from the pulsing blood in my brain.

The loner the meeting went, the more tense I became, but I was vocal. I truly do want to see the student successful, so I wanted my voice to be heard.

The longer the meeting went, though, the stranger the facial expressions of the men sitting around me.

They each cocked their heads a bit, their eyes grew slightly more narrow than usual, and they looked confused. It wouldn't have caught my attention had they not all been making this face at me.

At the tail end of the meeting, the mother did apologize to me in front of everyone, but at the same time, she told me to get over it. Let the past be the past. Move on! Let bygones be bygones. I'm sorry, but if someone chews you out, tells you you're a horrible teacher, then hangs up on you, saying, "Let the past be the past" is the very worst way to indicate remorse. Then she actually said these words: "You should be glad I hung up on you. I felt cuss words coming, so I did what I had to."

In my brain, I was having my own conversation.

"No. Being cussed out is one thing, but being hung up on infuriates me. I hate it- it's the ultimate sign of disrespect in my book when dealing with other adults."

"I'd rather be cussed out, because at least the other person is willing to get the frustration out and then move on to productive conversation. At least I get my say. Being hung up on severs communication. As nasty as being cussed out is, at least communication is still going on."

Again, cue the narrow eyed, head cocked, confused look from the other teachers.

The meeting ended, I grabbed my things, and speedily walked down to my classroom. Another teacher followed me in, and I said, "Okay- what is it? Do I have a big booger on my nose or something? Am I covered in sweat???!"

My teacher friend looked at me and said, "Ashley, you are covered in hives!"

My body betrayed me!!! I was trying to look so calm. I was breathing deeply- I was tightening muscles and letting them relax. I was doing everything I could think of to appear calm.

Curse you, hives!

Now I know, to preserve and document moments like those, I need to walk down to the restroom, snap a picture of myself, and then upload to this blog.

What was I thinking?!

Is a Week Too Long?

Rather than travel all over the Northwest, Josh and I opted to stay home this spring break, but I'm beginning to think we've both caught cabin fever.

The following conversation occurred during dinner tonight, when Josh starting choking and coughing. Me, being the helpful, loving wife that I am, offered, "Quick! I'll give you the Heimlich!"

Now here's where I started to realize we've both officially lost it...

Assume a German accent.

Josh: "Heimlich- that's the boy who steals my lunch money."

Ashley: "Yeah. Every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday."

We both looked at each other in total shock, then burst up laughing for a very hearty two minutes.

We need to get out more, but acting like children with German accents is, in all honesty, quite a hoot!

Breakfast for a King

Breakfast together is not a normal occurrence in our household. Josh really isn't one to want cereal or fruit- he usually goes straight for burgers or Ramen, which takes place around noon. I'm really the one in our family of two who wants some sort of breakfast before heading to school.

Today, though, Josh woke up and got to work on breakfast.

A few weekends ago, a friend came over and spent the night because Josh was gone for Men's Retreat. She brought two packages of bacon with her for our one-night slumber party, and I'll just level with you: I do love bacon, but there are some things I have abandoned for the greater good. When you live with IBS, there are certain food groups you just learn to live without, and bacon, well- pork of almost any kind, is on my "NO" list.

The friend was slightly hurt, I think, that I only ate one strip, so she left the second package in our refrigerator since it was purchased for our slumber party.

If I'm being totally honest, I also hate cooking bacon. It makes your entire person smell of greasy swine all day long, leaves you with a pan full of grease you have to find creative ways of throwing out, and pops you with a vengeance every single time you fry it.

While it does make me feel like Mt. Saint Helen's erupting in my colon, it also just makes me mad. It stinks, leaves disgusting amounts of melted fat, and injures me. While it may taste yummy, the cons outweigh the pros.

So we just don't eat it often, which hurts my husband's heart, because he is a lover of bacon.

Because Josh was the one to make breakfast this morning, I let him have the kitchen to himself, and I took a few extra minutes sleeping in on this very rainy and gray morning. I had a feeling he'd find that package of bacon, and sure enough, our house began to smell and our bedroom began to get a bit smokey.

Josh was quite proud of himself, and I had to laugh a bit, because as he finished the last tasks of frying, he made the proclamation, "I love bacon...it's like meat candy!" If you know this guy at all, then you know he bleeds Starbursts and jelly beans, so comparing bacon to candy was the closet picture of heaven he could make.
But today's breakfast menu was bacon and pancakes- a mixture of two worlds.

As we sat down to eat, Josh made yet another proclamation. "I hate pancakes. You have to be a starving lumberjack to eat them."

Now this bacon candy lover of mine is putting together a chair for my classroom, singing to himself and making plans of putting Ivan in the chair box once he's finished his project.

Today is a good day.

What a Whirlwind

Finally- spring break! Call out the band and baton twirlers, we've made it!

Between Master's work and Union negotiations, new jobs and ordinations, Josh and I have been running the race of our lives. I'll try to recap what I've failed to blog...

As Josh continues to get in the groove of bus driving, I cannot help but laugh at his stories of students. A few weeks ago, one little girl was trying to finesse a toy from another little boy, so Josh intervened and asked the boy to put his toys away so he wouldn't lose them. This made the little girl angry. Josh said she looked him square in the eyes and said, "What are you? His uncle or somethin'?" To which Josh responded, "No- I'm the bus driver."

Josh and I went to the first track meet of the season, and I must admit, it was strange to be cheering for red and black and not Josh's youngest brothers' black and gold. At this meet, though, I had my first interaction with one of Josh's bus riders.

A very awkward 13 or 14-year-old girl made her claim to fame.

Josh was buying two hamburgers, and I was watching a race, so to a stranger, it probably didn't register that we were together. Out of the nowhere, I hear this teen say, "HEY!" Thinking nothing of it, I continued to watch the race, but then heard my husband respond, "Oh. Hey." I found this odd, as Josh is generally a fairly genial person, so turned to look, and found the teen holding a fist mid-air ready to be pumped, and saw Josh, one burger in each hand, just staring at her. She finally walked away and Josh resumed his burger perfection.

The girl walked off, met up with teenage friend, and then said something shocking.

"See! I told you he was cute."

I nearly died!!!! Josh was, of course, oblivious, so I enlightened him and we both had a good laugh. I told him we were going to have to buy him a blingier ring so girls would know he was taken.

Two weekends ago we drove to Hermiston, OR for Josh's ordination interview. After an hour with a panel of six, Josh passed with hugs and a few tears, and eagerly awaits his ordination service in July. I could not be more proud of this man I get to call mine.

Josh's life has been one thing after another, and life for me has been entertaining as well.

Union rights are in question with new Idaho legislation, and about four weeks ago, our Union leader called a spur of the moment meeting, telling members there was going to be a walk-out and he needed a 'yes' or 'no' count by the end of the day. In a frenzy, I called the most knowledgeable people I could think of, including my mom and mother-in-law, my nana, and a beloved professor from college.

The wisdom and counsel was unanimous- don't walk out.

My first year of teaching has inducted me to the very raw reality of education reform, and the brazen attitudes of some union members and leaders. As a Christian, I didn't feel I could be a part of such an action, especially when I view education as a ministry, not a statement. From our school, only two union members said 'no' to the walk-out, myself being one of them. As a first-year teacher, I determined I had a lot to lose, and the four women I talked with confirmed that.

The walk-out was canceled, but now I know how to respond should this happen again. And as my professor pointed out, I can use that as an opportunity to share a bit of Light with my students when they ask the question, "Why didn't you walk out?"

Friday, the last day before break, I had another raw reality: parents make personal assaults on teachers.

One very angry mother unleashed her fury on me, telling me I wanted her child to fail and that I was a horrible teacher. We're talking screaming through the phone. And then she hung up on me.

I called her to touch base- I've been in touch all semester- and it still wasn't enough. She began an altercation. And I was crushed.

After an hour with my principal- documenting, counseling, reaffirming, and praising- I was sent home. We may not always agree with our bosses, and our bosses may not always agree with us, but I am so thankful for a boss who takes care of me, backs me up, and notices the blood, sweat, and tears I pour into my job. And I am thankful for a boss who occasionally sends me home.

I came home and, with my in-laws en route to South Dakota and my husband, cried a bit more, went to lunch, came home, and crashed.

If teaching were just about teaching, anyone could do it. But teaching is also about humility. And relationships. And love. And passion. And humanness.

And I botch it up horribly sometimes. The last thing on my mind was loving this mother...or her child.

This week is a much needed reprieve.

Twelve more weeks of Master's work. Nine more weeks of this first year of teaching. A few days before baby Lesslie makes his debut in Missouri. Then ten more weeks before I can set aside my 'teacher' hat and don my 'Aunt Ashley' hat. Four weeks after that, Uncle Josh will get to razz up a very cute nephew named Martin.

Life is so good. Even when teenagers think you're cute, unions have melt downs, and parents think you are the embodiment of wicked.

I'm convinced- spring break makes it all better.

Bus Driver

Well, It's official folks, I, Joshua James Bartholomew, am the newest bus driver employed by Kamiah School District.

Ash and I see this as such a clear reminder of God' provision. Around August or September, I had inquired about any open positions at the bus garage. They were looking for a substitute, and would be happy to train me, after I passed my written test with the DMV. Well, life went on, and it never happened. Months passed.

About two months ago I called in and asked if they still needed help and if they would still train me. They said yes.

There was a new position opening up because they were adding a new route and needed a driver fast. When I started training there was also someone else training, and one of us would be a sub and one of us wound get the route position.

When I went into the district office to get the application, reference forms, fingerprint cards, etc., I brought up the fact that I had applied to substitute teach in early 2010. They pulled up my file, and all of the paperwork I had filled out earlier was exactly what they needed. I had been approved to work already, and the only thing I lacked to start working was my CDL, which was in process.

Two weeks later I was driving a new route for the school.

I am amazed at how God provides. All of the pieces fell into place at all the right times.

It's an interesting job, and the students keep me on my toes, but I'm enjoying it, and I'm thankful for God's provision.

Parent Conferences Change Perspective

I'm not gonna lie- every time parents call my room, or email asking for a conference, my heart skips a beat or two. You just can't tell when a parent is going to come in as Godzilla looking for innocent prey.

I have one student who hasn't been doing so hot, and his mom and I have been emailing back and forth all semester about his progress.

Yesterday the email read, "We need to meet."

Cue the defibrillator. I think my heart stopped.

After an hour-long conference with both parents, I am both pleasantly surprised and crushed.

These parents have restored my faith in good conferencing. They were positive, and weren't on the attack. We had a very encouraging discussion about goals and accountability for the student, as well as methods of praise at home.

I'm broken, though, over why my 10th grade student is drowning right now.

A mentor, a man this boy admired and trusted, burnt his own home down, and shot himself two weeks ago. It was all over the news- the school- the town- the paper. It's tough enough to deal with death in general, but suicide? How does a 15-year-old even begin to deal with the emotion and loss of that, especially a 15-year-old who doesn't know Christ?

My head has been reeling since my talk with the parents. College doesn't prepare you- student teaching doesn't prepare you- for the heartache you take home for your students. They are broken, therefore, I break for them.

Last night was a restless night for me. I'm usually the one to punch the alarm clock six times before finally rolling my body out of bed, but not today. Today I got up because I couldn't shut my brain off. This semester is throwing one thing after another.

I love my job, and I love my students. But I carry their pain, and it's weighing on me.

I was reading from Ruth this morning, and my eyes fell to the words "I will go where you go, and where you stay I will stay." Ruth made that declaration to Naomi. How much greater must God's declaration be to us? I find myself in constant prayer that God dwell in my classroom, because I just can't do it without him.

Would you mind writing my name on your hearts? This first year of teaching is more humbling and taxing than I ever anticipated. But it's also way more fulfilling than anything I ever dreamed.

Winter Ball Adventure

Josh just lived through his first high school dance. As a 24-year-old adult. There are reasons some parents should just keep their kids home from such functions.

One thing this wonderful husband of mine has picked up on very quickly is that there are some duties of a teacher that also fall to the spouse, especially when the teacher is the yearbook adviser.

Sporting events, concerts, knowledge bowls, and dances have all become a part of our wedded bliss, and to be completely honest, are some of the only "date nights" we're able to squeeze in during this first year of mine at CVHS.

Tonight, in an attempt to raise money to off-set the cost of yearbooks, eleven students, two teachers, a counselor, Josh, and I put on a Winter Ball.

Announcements and posters stated the ball would be "semi-formal," a component chosen by my yearbook staff. Sitting at a table taking money from students was an entertaining treat, because we were right by the main entrance.

Girl after girl entered, took one look at the dressed-down boys, and ran to the bathroom screaming and covering as best they could the formal dresses and heels they were wearing. Then girl after girl exited the bathroom in basketball shorts and t-shirts.

All seemed satisfied, until about 30 minutes later. The entire escapade repeated, only girls were changing back into formal wear and heels, pranced around for about ten minutes, then ran shrieking back to the bathroom to once again don the baggy shorts and t-shirts.

I thought this would be the highlight of the evening, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Just before we left our house, I grabbed Twister from our cupboard to take along. Josh and I received the gift for our wedding, but had never opened it.

Let me tell you, it was a hit. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. Our foreign exchange student from Taiwan was in on the fun, and his 5'0" body was twisted beneath two of Clearwater Valley's 6'4" basketball stars. At one point the exchange student screamed, "You made me bite my lip!" Then he fell off the mat holding his lips.

The most memorable moment of this night however, did not involve dancing, or Twister, or photos, for that matter.

Halfway through our designated 3-hour event, the physics teacher found me and asked if I had seen a couple recently. Then we were on the hunt.

We did a lap around the outside of the school. Then we did a lap around the inside of the school. I walked through every couple on the dance floor. Nada.

This may seem like little cause for concern, but today, just today, this same couple snuck off school property...onto private property...to..."study."

I wasn't quite sure what to do.

There is a small hall closet on the back entrance of the stage. For some reason, my gut told me to try the door. I did.

And horror of horrors, I caught my very first high school couple in the middle of..."studying."

It was awful. I had no words. I simply pointed my finger at them, then waved that finger forward.

I wanted to vomit.

Eventually a parent came. I told my story. The physics teacher told his story. And the rest is history. The parent was taking both students home, though, and I would not be surprised to hear that one of the two had to walk home.

What a night! But despite the formal changing, Twister laughing, "study" busting that went on, today was a remarkable turnover from yesterday, and I'll take that as a step forward.

Everything's Going My Way

Because I grew up in the blessed land of wheat, I often find myself living the life of an "Oklahoma" poster child. I know every song by heart, and apply them to themes of daily life.

"Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day. I've got a beautiful feeling. Everything's going my way!"

I had this song on instant replay a'la delusion today as my world as an educator, as a wife, and as a friend crumbled right before my very eyes.

Now, I realize this is my second post of "woe is me," but if the purpose of blogging truly is to keep you all up to speed on the lives of us Idaho dwellers, as well as document life for the future family clan of Josh and Ashley Blain, then I figure not every day can be a happy one, right? I'm not trying to portray the perfect Brady Bunch family, because, let's face it, sometimes life just stinks.

Today...nope...this week has been rough. Last week was rough. I live with a 7Up can in hand 24/7, and Beptobismal within arms reach at all times. Truth be told, I have two bottles of that pink chalky stuff in my desk at school, and I drink it straight out of the bottle. The measuring cups are for amateurs.

During first hour today, my prep hour, a fellow teacher swung by for mindless chatter, but that chatter turned serious, and before I knew what was happening, she was crying and I was crying. Another teacher popper her head in, then she was crying.

The crisis? Loneliness of single parents. I couldn't even find words.

Yep, I started the day off on a heavy topic.

Second hour came, a boy got mad, stormed out of my room, tossed a few choice words over his shoulder, and then I couldn't find him. I had a class full of 10th graders, and one was MIA. I was livid, he was upset, and next week's detention will be a bit more full.

Third hour proved the true imperfections of my knowledge over the "Iliad." Curse you Homer.

Fourth hour ended with 16 students cussing my name for a failed pop quiz of "To Kill a Mockingbird." Believe me, if I was the mockingbird, I would have taken the bullet.

Fifth hour...was...stinky. Literally.

Senior English. Plus immaturity. Plus male humor. Plus burritos from lunch. PLUS a one-liter bottle of Pepsi. Yep- the loudest, most grotesque flatulent of human history. And the boy simply looked at me and said, "What?"

A full can of Lysol, that's what!

Sixth hour, there was no room in the inn. Truly. We went to one computer lab...pre-arranged, I might add...full. Lab number two. Full. Library? FULL.

"Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day."

Seventh hour. Yearbook. Should be a breeze.

Disaster. Yelling. Screaming. More storming off.

"I've got a beautiful feeling."

Student: "I don't even want to be in this stupid class!"

Nothing... is... going... my way.

To top everything off, Josh called to see how my day went, quickly assessed that it went poorly, and tried to brighten life with a bit of humor.

My response was most certainly not one of Carol Brady's.

My response was, "If you don't stop, I'm going to punch you through the phone."

There went my Wife of the Year Award.

This semester has started off so poorly. I ended the first semester of my career confident that teaching was the only profession for me, confident I would always love every single one of my students, and confident I would live through this first year as an English teacher. No wonder 50% of all first year teachers quit after that notorious year.

All I can say is, "Boooo!"

Tomorrow I'll be humming "I Will Survive," and might even possibly get the full lyrics tattooed to my buttocks. Just to remind myself every day is not a musical where the wind comes sweeping down the plains. Sometimes, every day just makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry until your tear ducts have dried out and your face gives the impression that it was stung by a very large bumble bee.

I don't have anything clever or humorous to add for a closing. If I had any energy at all the "crying it out" technique might actually sound appealing. But I think I'll just go to bed, let my husband hold me, and pray tomorrow is either much, much better than today was, or that I get the Swine Flu and can call in sick.

At this point, I'm not sure which is better.