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?

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...

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!

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?!"

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.

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 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”