Shining example: The shoeshine stand that delivers clean water

Shining example: The shoeshine stand that delivers clean water: Leon McLaughlin’s story might make a script for a feel-good kids’ movie. The plot goes like this: A humble shoeshine man operates from a stand in an important city building. ...



This is good stuff!

A Band Aid

I haven't written a word in many months. Oddly enough, I've had more thoughts in my head, more words in my heart than I ever did before life changed. I simply have been unable to sort through them... to share them... to gently hand over with tentative hands my gaping, dripping wounds, only to have someone try to slap a band aid over them. Every word I type at this moment is a stuggle. Of course, I'm writing for me now - so I guess I'm ready to hand over some things. The fact is, I'm dressing my own wounds at this point. I've applied pressure (LOTS OF PRESSURE), I've protected myself against infection, and I've covered them up. I cover them up with laughing, with busyness, with pure determination. That way, if someone tries to slap on a tiny band aid, it's just an extra layer, not an inadaquate bandage. Ironically, my dad is the one who taught me how to do this. This was not an overt lesson, nor was I an attentive student. He just modeled, and I watched. My dad had a pretty crappy childhood by the world's standards, though he seemed to recall it with fondness. He was always poor, one of seven children. His mom was often sick (requiring a lengthy stay in the hospital), and his dad drank more than his liver could handle. You would never hear my dad complain about these things though. He spoke of foster parents and Children's Centers with fondness, of his mom and dad as a great love story, and of his childhood meanderings with laughter. His dad passed a year before I was born, and for my whole life, tears filled his eyes whenever he spoke of my grandfather. My dad worked harder than any man I've ever known, but he didn't complain. He lived for weekends - time with his family. I guess this is why I still feel a sense of frustration for my dad. He lived for his family. Why couldn't he catch a break? Why couldn't he see his daughter marry? Why couldn't he see his grandchildren grow up? Why did he have to die a death that had him suffering until the bitter end? Why? I could ask that question all day. You know what happened when Job asked that question? It wasn't pretty. I know that "God is God and I am not." (Steven Curtis Chapman) Caring for my dad throughout the life of this disease, watching him die slowly, has had a profound effect on me. I still wake up in the middle of the night seeing his eyes roll back into his head, drool drip down the side of his mouth,all the while thanking God that he had me there so that my dad would not be alone. I still kick myself for not stopping the elevator when he grabbed my hand that day, for not fighting for him harder, for not dropkicking that physical therapist when I had the chance. I still wish I had stayed that night at hospice like my husband suggested. Then I would have been able to usher him into Heaven. Every day life goes on as normal. Every day people everywhere around me suffer as I do and worse. Every day, I go through the motions of real life.... but life is not the same. Life will never be the same. I hate that I'm writing these words. I hate that I'm whining. I hate that there are so many in the world who's lives are sooooo, sooooo, sad. Having said all that, I am more attuned, now more than ever,to the simple beauties I encounter every day. My cat giving birth, for instance, has been such a beautiful experience. To watch God's design in action has brought unspeakable joy to our home. To see people on a Sunday morning who have been a part of my life in so many ways, in so many stages.... fills my heart so that I feel like it will burst. To serve our teen girls last week.. to know that they were safe and sound.. to teach young people... to want so much for them... sometimes there is so much to say that all I can say.. is nothing. As I watch my children tackle every moment of life with enthusiasm and curiosity, I'm reminded that my dad LIVED. He didn't just die. He lived. And I have to live, really live - the way my children live - the way my husband lives. The way God desires for me to live. Anyway, I don't know if any of this makes any sense to anyone else. It's been rather cathartic for me though. Time to rebandage.

There is a Door

"There is a door. And it waves to me."

I woke up with these words in my head this morning. Yep, I'm one of those weird ones. I awake in the morning (or if I'm intensely lucky, the middle of the night) with ideas in my head: lesson plans, songs, answers to math problems.... Today, I woke up with the first two sentences of a book that I think I'm supposed to write. My voice was silently saying them before I ever opened my eyes. (It's no wonder I don't wake up rested. I can't stop thinking!) Yeah, I know. I sound like one of those crazy, eccentric people who hears voices, isolates herself, and writes weird stuff. I'm not though. Really. (Am I trying to convince myself or you?)

Lately, I've just been feeling this, well, stirring. I guess that's what I'd call it. I've been feeling a need to write.. a need to write and sing. I guess the artsy fartsy part of my brain is taking over. Maybe it's hormones, maybe it's Spring, maybe I should just have a baby instead. :) I don't know. I just know that, with summer approaching, when I should be focusing on gardening, painting, and building sand castles with my kids at the beach, I can't get rid of this sense of urgency to write. So.... I will write. I'll let you know how it goes. (Maybe this can just be a short, children's book. Wouldn't that be lovely?)

world war

My heart is heavy tonight. What does that even mean anyway? Does it mean that I experience physical pain in my heart? Yes. Does it mean that inexplicable and, somewhat surprising, tears flow freely? Yes. Does it mean that I have this strange desire to suddenly solve the problems of the world in thirty minutes like my favorite T.V. shows? Most definitely. If only. If only..... I guess I know how this all began today. It seems that a girl I went to high school with - a girl I barely remember - was murdered last night. Murdered! She was tracked down from CT to Rhode Island, and stabbed to death in her car! Why? A conflict with a coworker. A conflict. Exactly what type of conflict, what level of annoyance constitutes murder? I turn on the news, and story after story tells the tale of another bold, brainless monster who feels he or she is entitled. Entitled to money, power, a better job, a better life... I begin to ask myself, is it the parents' fault? Where does the blame lie?

The blame lies with me. The blame lies with us. Sinners. We all have entitlement issues, don't we? We all think the world owes us. People owe us. God owes us. The truth is, we deserve nothing. I have the nerve to be angry that my dad is losing his fight with brain cancer. I have the nerve to believe that I am entitled to have my dad with me longer; that he is entitled to a longer, healthier life, that my kids are entitled to their grandfather. Who do I think I am? I am merely a speck on another speck in this garganuous unexplored universe.

YET, God saw fit to make a way for me to spend eternity with Him. The potter saw fit to become the clay. The Prince became the pauper. Why? So that I, the pauper, could become a Prince, a child of the king, a child of God. Jesus said, "Here on Earth, you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart [BUT TAKE HEART], because I have overcome the World." The war is won. When all is said and done, the battles I win, the battles I lose, mean victory. I can't solve the problems of the world in 30 minutes. But I can tell the world, one person at a time, about the one who did with one death and one ressurection. Whew! What a relief!

A Dumb Sheep

It still amazes me that I can read a certain passage of scripture a hundred times and suddenly, one day, read it with eyes wide open, as if it's a new passage.

Today I read Psalm 23. Funny, I have read it forever. I memorized it in my Catholic school days. I've studied it piece by piece. Yet, today, I am right there. I am a sheep. I am dumb. I am tired. I am in a green meadow full of good food, and leaning into rest. I picture myself sitting in the warm sun, listening to the trickling of a nearby stream, without a care in the world. Why? My shepherd is there with me.

He takes care of me. Sometimes, I don't even give it a second thought, except that if he wasn't there, I would surely feel his absence. Even though I know that there are many wolves prowling behind the rocks a stone's throw away, I am not afraid. His rod and staff scare them away. When we're walking, he gently holds the rod against me so that I do not fall off of the craggy cliffs. Sometimes I'm stubborn, and I try to go a different way - where the grass looks greener. Then he has to be a little firmer with the staff. But he always leads me beside the still water, where I drink more than I could possibly hold. I am refreshed. I am at peace. I am at rest. Wow! Who wouldn't want to be a dumb sheep?

You know, I've been privileged with lovely times of sweet conversation with other woman. As a Christian, and a pastor's wife, I've heard many valuable nuggets of Truth. But honestly, when I sit before my Shepherd - exhausted, anxious, overwhelmed, unsure, He restores my soul like no human word of wisdom can do. I encourage you to let Him lead you to rest in the meadows. And I leave you with Psalm 23:

The Lord is my shepherd, I have all I need.
He lets me rest in green meadows, he leads me beside peaceful streams.
He renews my strength.
He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.
Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me.
Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.
You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.
You honor me by anointing my head with oil.
My cup overflows with blessings.
Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life,
and I will live in the house of the Lord forever. (Psalm 23, NLT)




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LIFE

It's been such a long time since I have felt the need or have had the opportunity to blog, that I almost forgot I had one! I stumbled upon it quite by accident, actually, through a series of catch-ups with various social networks of which I'd lost connection. Well, give me a few (or few hundred) snow days, and I'm all caught up!
I look out my window on days like these and find myself continually vacillating between the feelings of absolute depression, and complete contentment. A birch tree without leaves is not a lovely sight to behold; yet, throw on some white, glistening snow and a hungry blue jay, and, voila: beauty in the ugly. Life in death. I keep reminding myself that, although I can't see them, those daffodil bulbs are sprouting through the frozen ground. The snow - that cold, hard, insurmountable pile of snow is, even now, keeping them warm. At this very moment, the trees are preparing to send out their leaves. With white, gray death surrounding me, the promise of life is my hope, my promise, my guarantee.
Is that what Jesus thought of while he was hanging in unimaginable physical, spiritual, and emotional pain on the rugged cross? Was he reminded of His very creation and the illustration of His plan given to us by it? Was His hope, His promise, His guarantee of His resurrection what gave Him the courage to press on until "it was finished"? More importantly, was the promise of MY life even while I was dead, forefront in His mind?
I still won't apologize for thinking green is prettier than white, blue is more beautiful than gray. I will probably still complain every time I have to put on my coat, boots... and every time I have to warm up my car to pull out of the driveway. Make no mistake though, I know the hope I have: the hope of Spring... the promise of new life.

Freewrite

Sometimes, I stumble on here out of boredom. Sometimes I just feel a need to write about nothing particular. Tonight, for instance, I have nothing specific to say, but I feel a need to say something. I'm doing a freewrite, I suppose. I've done this exercise with students. The theory is that, if one writes for a full sixty seconds whatever is in his mind, without putting the pen down, something spectacular will arise up from the paper :) Is it happening yet? No? Well, I shall keep on writing then.

So, the past several days, I have been in my new classroom. What a feet that has been!! I've been unpacking boxes, moving furniture, dusting, hanging blinds, hanging curtains, hanging bulletin boards, hanging, hanging, hanging! Good grief! Maybe I'll get to planning a lesson soon! The truth is though, I love this part of the process. Setting up the classroom is truly the fun part of teaching. Don't get me wrong, teaching in and of itself is satisfying and energizing, but putting together the classroom is the mark we put on our school before we ever say a word to the students. It says "This is who I am! This is what is important to me!" Am I clean? Organized? Creative? Colorful? Environment is the key to a healthy class. I'm so thankful to be able to create mine.

Well look at this! I've found something to say. Something that I will look back on and read one day and say, "Yep, I remember that process. It was tough, but it was fun, and it was worth it." I feel like I say that about a lot of things in my life. And I guess that's a good thing.