Story 2011

There's an age we all reach when we begin to sort out our dreams from our reality. For me, I think it hit me at about 16. I wanted to be a forest ranger, and I believed the life would suit me. I consumed Thoreau, Emerson, and every naturalist poet I could find to fuel my dreams. When I got to Florida State University, I couldn't pass chemistry to save my life. My roomie, Pam, used to coach me through each week's lessons, and it began to dawn on me that I might have chosen the wrong path. I chose Journalism, but in my first class, one of the essays the professor read aloud was mine, and he mocked my imagery and my anthropomorphism, saying I was completely ill-equipped to be a serious writer. So I went back to my default dream, education, because deep in my heart was a child who wanted acceptance, and I knew that as a teacher I could give children what I needed for myself. I don't regret that decision. I am a good teacher, and I understand how to reach and teach children. I value a child's innocence and spirit, and have guarded many kids from the harsh realities of the world around them, while trying to equip them with the skills they need to live their lives.

But something in me never let go of the writer within, and I have spent my free time writingwritingwriting, trying to make it work. Trying to make something meaningful, relevant, and worthwhile out of my words. So this week, I'm going to Chicago. A group called Story 2011 is meeting, and I'm going to try to pass muster within this "creative collective." I actually have my friend from Hobby, Laurel, to thank. She shared her blog with me --From Snowflakes to Hotcakes. Laurel kind of explores various topics that are a part of her life, and she wrote about a book she was following called A Thousand Gifts. Laurel's writing encouraged me to start my own blog; I felt compelled to get started on reading A Thousand Gifts as well. The author, Ann Voskamp, shares her life through A Holy Experience. Ann writes with very few words. In a whisper, she can share a shout. In a handful of words, she can express a heartful of desire, desperation, delight. Over time, I've been learning that I can let God define my time and talents, and then refine me to fulfill the purpose He has for my life.

So wish me luck, would you? I'm going to learn from Ann and other Christian writers and artists who have dreams similar but much larger than my own. Let me take this writing and commit it to Him, and then see what happens next. I am excited...ready...and very hopeful that I can learn to yield, surrender, and follow, and that my reality can finally match His dreams for me.

Let's Just Close the Library

First the unthinkable happened- our district decided that in order to save money, they were going to lay off all of our certified, qualified librarians from their professional positions in school libraries. Each librarian was offered the opportunity to return to the classroom. Because we are required to have a master's degree in library science, current school librarian state certification, a current teaching certificate in our grade level, and a bachelor's degree in education, we can be classroom teachers. Most librarians believe the library is the largest classroom in every school. But the news was hard to hear, and harder to accept. Some of our librarians retired before they wanted to do so, others left the teaching profession, some left the state, and a handful returned to the classroom. With this one school board decision, we lost a wealth of expertise, dedication, and talent in our schools. The hole left by these wonderful, gifted educators is huge, and they are missed every single day.

I didn't think it could get any worse, but I was wrong.

Now there is a dangerous trend underway in our local school libraries to close the library in order to use the aide who was hired to run the library to provide coverage for teachers who need to participate in planning meetings. Our aides are pulled to provide study hall, silent reading time, lunch duty, recess duty, etc. which requires hanging a CLOSED sign on our library doors. Most of our library aides are currently serving students for half the number of hours previously served by full-time librarians because they are being tasked with other duties. Some of our libraries are closed half-the-week, if you look at the total number of hours available to serve our students. This trend negates the fact that open, accessible libraries staffed with full-time certified librarians is one of the most influential factors in accelerating student achievement.

Imagine you are 6 years old, and you're in a vibrant, active first grade classroom. You read books every day. You enjoy browsing for them, choosing them, checking them out, reading them, and repeating that process day after day. But you can't. Because it's Tuesday and the library's closed. So you have your heart set on getting a chance to go to the library on Wednesday, but you can't. Because the library's closed again. You have to wait until Thursday to get a new book, but by then you've waited a long time for another opportunity to fulfill your need for new books. On Thursday, you check out two more books, and you read them Thursday, take them home to read with your family, and bring them back to school on Monday. You want to take your books back for new ones, but you can't. They've closed the library so the library aide can cover a class for a teacher who's in a meeting. So you wait until Tuesday, but it's closed again for teacher meetings. And it's closed again on Wednesday, so you can't go back for new books until Thursday. Some folks will say, So What?? But what research tells us (proven, in-depth research) is that children who have flexible access to books through their open libraries are outscoring and outreading children with limited access. It's not rocket science--when we read more, we achieve more. And maybe it IS rocket science, because children who read more and achieve more become rocket scientists, and doctors, and technicians, and educators.

Our schools are under a lot of pressure to make things happen. When librarians were in our school libraries, they could provide instruction for students as part of the collaborative team on each campus. By replacing them with library aides, you're asking paraprofessionals to fill some awfully big shoes, and you're not compensating them in terms of salary or preparation for their duties. By eliminating full-time librarians in all of our schools, there is no professional librarian managing the operational budget of the library, which includes time, as well as tens of thousands of dollars in assets (both print, non-print, and equipment). So we're losing ground academically, as well as fiscally. Where is the public in all of this? Where is the outcry? There should be many loud objections, conscientious objectors if you will, but instead there seems to be an apathetic acquiescence to the inevitable.

I hope every educator I know will stand firm when they see their library closing again and again. It makes no sense to misappropriate library resources. It's not what's best for kids, and that is supposed to be the bottom line. I'm going to Be the One to speak up, and to protect and defend our libraries for all users-- children, parents, and teachers. Please join me!

Birthday Girls

Everything I ever needed to learn about birthdays, I learned from my mother. She had a gift for making our celebrations unique, and there was something we knew for sure: our mother was happy we were born. I wish every child had that same gift. I meet children every day who have not been given that belief...and I fear they will spend their lives trying to find out if their existence matters to any one or anyone. Perhaps this is why my brothers and I each have tender hearts for children...we treasure what we were given.

The first birthday party I can remember happened when I turned 5. We were moving to Okinawa, and spent a few days at my uncle's house in California before taking a bus to Seattle and then a long flight through Alaska and on to Japan. My uncle was one of Merrill's Marauders, and had suffered through the Bataan Death March. He had the courage of a giant even though malaria left him nearly crippled. He lived in a little trailer park, and we stayed with him until our father sent for us from Okinawa. My mom said I could invite some of the kids in the trailer park, so I invited every single one. She was flabbergasted when 30 children showed up, and somehow she made that little pink cake stretch to feed the gang I'd invited. That was perhaps my first experience with loaves and fishes! My mom was a talented seamstress, and made all of my clothes. On my 7th birthday, she sewed my bedspread, dust ruffle, vanity and stool skirt, etc. out of pink dotted swiss cotton, and I was awash in girlhood. She believed in homemade parties, homemade cakes, homemade lemonade, homemade games...she coached us through pin the tail on the donkey and musical chairs. I remember her proud, happy smile when we managed to blow out each candle, making each secret wish. I'm afraid in our Chuck E. Cheese world, today's little birthday girl might be unimpressed with my mom's parties, but she made each of us the center of attention on our special day. As my children came into the world, I tried to follow my mother's footsteps. We didn't always have a big budget, but it was not about the presents, it was about the presence of people who loved and adored you, and were happy to celebrate your birth.

My mom told me she remembered only one of her birthdays. She hadn't seen her father for many years after her parent's divorce, and he showed up in Minneapolis with a little yellow dress and matching overcoat. The father she'd lost remembered little Ginny's birthday that year, but he stayed only long enough to give his gift. It was the last time she ever saw him.

A few days ago I came across the last birthday card my mother gave to me, three weeks before she died. I used to do her shopping for her, which included a trip to the store for birthday cards as she was strictly a Hallmark girl. She used a little flowered notecard for my birthday and wrote: "Dear Rob, I couldn't make it to Hallmark to pick out your card this year, but I want you to know that I could not be more proud of the woman you are today. We have become more than mothers and daughters, we are best friends. I love you 60,000,000 ways. Use this check to buy yourself something special--and you're not allowed to buy milk or eggs. Love, Mom"

Last weekend I went to Houston to help Avery celebrate her 9th birthday. Christi's got my mom's knack for creating special occasions. Avery had requested monster fingers for dinner, so after the Children's Museum, we picked up a couple dozen crab claws and steamed them up for supper. She'd requested an ice cream cake, so we had that ready for her, all 9 candles reminding me of the generosity of this life I've grown to love as a grandmother. I carried on our little tradition, buying a new charm for the silver bracelet I started for Avery a couple of years ago. Each of us made her the center of our attention...surrounding her with the love and laughter she so deserves. My mom's legacy is with us...I hear her voice in my head and my heart as I celebrate the blessings of grandchildren. I watch our little birthday girl fill her cheeks with one big breath, eager to extinguish all 9 candles in one attempt. Her eyes are sparkling, dancing, as she giggles and laughs with all of us. Watching my little birthday girl makes my heart ache for my mom, but I'm grateful, ever so grateful, for a mother who loved me so well.

Back to Skool

School days, school days, back to Golden Rule days...okay, maybe not.
It is, after all, 2011, and not many of our children even know what we mean if we refer to the Golden Rule. How many adults adhere to this ethic of reciprocity? Or its inverse, the Silver Rule...don't treat others the way you would not like to be treated? We probably don't use these rules enough in theory or in practice. But as I watched the neighborhood little ones queue up at the busstop, I was trying to remember my first day of school. We were in Okinawa, and our school was a rough little quonset hut.






It was kind of an open school concept, with several classrooms in the hut. We rode a little bus across the island, and I got off at the wrong bus stop and had to walk home by myself. Somehow I found my way down a busy highway, past a dozen little Japanese shops. When I got home, my mom was frantic, and I was safe and sound. I had the safety and security of a loving home ...something I believe every child deserves.



One of the back to school customs I loved when my kids were little was one that's still practiced in Germany. All first graders receive a "schulteute" on their first day of school, and it's filled with candy, toys, and school supplies. It's just a simple, lovely celebration of that rite of passage...when your sphere of influence completely changes because your kids have this overwhelming thing called "school" to master.



These aren't my family's images...just wanted you to see what a schulteute looks like!



I've watched all the little faces of Bryan ISD's children as they've returned to school this week. Some had a refreshing summer, with vacations, family time, excitement and restoration. Others have had to endure loneliness, hunger, and insecurity as the "safe zone" called school wasn't open or available for them. It's such an illustration of the "haves" and "have nots"...the new backpacks, school clothes, bright new shoes...and the old backpacks, the ripped clothes, the old sneakers. Some are so apprehensive, anxious, excited; others are completely unimpressed. Our new superintendent has a big push: Be the One. I think I get it...I know what he means...be the one to dream, imagine, create, solve, take responsibility, make a difference. It really does all come down to that one child, that one teacher. I have a special prayer for all my teacher friends, and for all the teachers my grandchildren will encounter this year...I think first and foremost I pray that we are all gentle with one another. The world is a nervous enough place, I want our children to feel confident and secure in their knowing...that school will be a safe place to grow and learn. And more than that, I pray that this year will be a complete adventure...with joy at every turn, that 'being the one' won't completely exhaust them, and that the year will be one of blessing and delight. I was reading in Ann Voskamp's book, One Thousand Gifts, a quote by Tagore that exemplifies what I think teachers must do to make it. If we can live like this:
I slept and dreamt life was joy. I awoke and saw life was service. I acted, and behold, service was joy.
And, okay, when the going gets tough and we finally reach the end of the day or the end of the week, perhaps we should throw in that Jimmy Buffett quote, too, "It's five o'clock somewhere."

Three Places

My friend at work was presenting a theory or concept that who we are and what we are about can be tied to "three places" and I was trying to get her to expound on that idea a little. It intrigued me. What does that mean? Can it be said that you can find out who I am if I give you a closer look at the three places that mean the most to me? I am willing to give it a try.

I found a picture first of our colt in a small pasture when she was just a wee little one. I have never been an experienced horse woman. I am a horse lover, but not an equestrian. Horses represent something inside of me that I cannot get out of my system. I want the attitude of freedom you see in a horse...yet I know they are crazy-tied to their herd and do not want to be alone. When we were kids we'd visit my grandparents on their farm in North Dakota, and I must confess I love the smell of manure. There's nothing like a good old whiff of barn. When we lived on a small farm in Indiana, our neighbor raised hawgs, and I cannot tolerate that smell at all. But give me an old barn that once housed cows and horses, and I'm in hog heaven. As far as places go, I want the habitat of horses...the wide open fields, the pastures, the barely standing barb wire fence. I want the old windmill and the rusty weather vane, the round bales and the wagon full of square bales. I want the horse with grass coarsely tossed across his flanks, hooves firmly planted and listening through the dirt. Horses remind me of my children, and the relationships we share. There is a hierarchy within those relationships, a give and take, a need and want that we share with one another. Horses are extremely loyal, and I have tried hard to instill that in our family. That no matter what, we are loyal to one another.






The second place that matters to me is the old homestead, and that's kind of funny coming from a military kid because we never really had one. My folks retired in Texas, and 931 Cottonmouth Drive became home to us but I was already a teenager by then. In the backyard there was a huge live oak, and over the years my brothers built a fort in the top of the tree. I guess I hammered in a few footholds and climbed up and down their makeshift ladder, but it was a boys clubhouse and hide-out. It represents shelter to me. Stacy was the last to leave home, and we all moved off to college and our adult lives, but the tree weathered every storm and I always checked on the old tree when I'd come home to visit. It still stands at 931 Cottonmouth Drive. It's a lot worse for wear; all our old boards have fallen off, limbs have broken and dropped to the ground; lumber's been extracted to prevent passers by from being injured; but there's a skeleton of a tree left in the yard. That tree represents everything wonderful about the home my parents created for us. We had our ups and downs like all families do, but the analogy between this tree and the giving tree is real to me.








Finally, my place is Arlington. Arlington is where my parents are buried, but more importantly, it represents the life we were blessed to live. Our parents taught us that freedom isn't free, and my father was willing to give the ultimate sacrifice to insure we all lived in the world he wanted for us. He instilled those same values in my brothers. All of us kids chose public service as a way of life. As a military wife, my mother bore the brunt of my father's career choices, raising us alone for so many many days. I see Arlington, and I think of her sacrifices as well. My parents taught us how to love, and Arlington represents that love for me.

So those are my three places, and maybe there is something to this theory after all. Does each place represent who I am and what I am all about? I think maybe they do. It doesn't mean I'm done with places or traveling, or putting down new roots, but something tells me no place I go can replace these places; they are my geography, my history, my places on this life map.

Love is a resting place

It was time to go back to school this week, so I had a chance to reflect on our summer and all the busy-ness and lazy-ness of the weeks behind me. My car accident in May started the summer off with too many tests, too many doctor visits, too many questions about my health, but I tried to set it all aside and let God be mine, because He told me once in Psalm 66 that He would not reject my prayers or withhold His love for me, so I was counting on His promise in every way.

I had a chance to take care of each of my children, as they needed me in various ways, and that is a privilege that I try not to take for granted. I was glad I was able to be with Lauren as she changed offices; I was happy to care for Christi and Ryan's children while they took a much-needed break; it was wonderful to celebrate birthdays with Charlotte, Lauren, and Michelle; and I counted down the days until Carlisle's visit with his family.

I had to go back to work this week, in my new job, with lots of new responsibilities, and was grateful that God allowed for plenty of rest and relaxation beforehand. It made me think of His love, and the way He has taught me how to love. I would say that I don't love perfectly; I'm not sure who does. I am sometimes selfish and self-serving in my love, as I really want to be loved in return. But I hope if I've taught my children anything, it is the idea that love is a resting place. Life beats us up, it demands so much of us, it saps us, surprises us, disappoints us, and brings us both sorrow and joy. If we do not know how to turn to each other, and find rest in each other, we do not truly know how to love, nor do we understand how God loves us.



The whole family gathered at the lake as summer ended. Our friend, Tim Burkhalter (Images of His) joined us to take photos of each family. I love this one of Carlisle and Michelle, Shayleigh and little Carlisle. I look at my little boy now all grown up...and think about my Carlisle and his journey...a boy smack dab in the midst of 4 girls. I used to call him a boy sandwich. He knew some very difficult days as a teenager, and God redeemed every moment. While he had no father as a teenager, he had the loving example of other men in his life, primarily his grandfathers, to show him how a man loves his family. Today, his love is a resting place for his wife, and his beautiful daughter and son. I look into his eyes and see a man who knows what love means, and I am grateful for God's grace and unfailing protection.



I asked Ryan's grandparents to come over to the lake house so we could take their picture, and after over 60 years of marriage, Caroline climbed onto Bob's lap and told our friend Tim to have at it. He captured the sparkle and energy that keeps this couple's love as alive and vibrant as it was so many decades ago. I so admire their commitment and their stamina...they have shown their children and grandchildren that their love is a resting place.




Ryan had the example of his grandparents to guide him in creating a resting place in his home. Like Christi, he had seen the marriage of his parents come apart and they both knew firsthand about the wounds such decisions cause. When they decided to marry, I thought they were both so young, and I wanted them to wait. But they had found love in each other, and I had to let go and let God lead them into the life He'd planned for them. Today, as husband and wife, mother and father, they give each other and their 3 children the safety, security, and stability of a loving home, a resting place in a hectic world.






Last summer when we gathered at the lake, Michelle had just returned from a semester abroad in Spain, and Charlotte was still in San Francisco going to jewelry school, so we didn't have a chance to capture their friendship and sista-hood. I watched Michelle gather her "bees" into her lap at the lake, and admire the strong relationship she's created with her nieces and nephews. She has so much love to give, and always tastes the salt of another person's tears. She has a beautiful heart. So does Charlotte. Someone asked me to give one word to describe Charlotte and I had to use a hyphen: tender-hearted. I ask God every day to guide their path, each step, so they end up with a partner in life who helps them create the joyful resting place they each deserve.





I love the way Tim's photo captures this couple that we've grown to love so much. Mike is Michelle's brother (we call Carlisle's wife, Michelle, Bunny--but that's a secret). Mike and Lorena have spent the past 16 months planting a church in St. Petersburg, Florida. St. Pete is one of the most violent cities in the country. Crime is rampant, people are lost and searching for answers, and Mike has carried a burden for this city for many years. God led him to plant City on a Hill Church, and he will tell you story after story of how God has rescued and redeemed members of his church. 300-400 people gather together every week to listen to this shepherd offer God's love as a resting place for those beaten up by the troubles of their lives. Lorena's father went home to heaven just weeks before our gathering at the lake, and my prayer for her time with all of us was that she would find rest. But in between swimming, capsizing the jet ski, farkling, and cooking, I'm not sure she got much rest. She has many gifts, and shared her heart with us. She also happens to cook like Paula Deen, so we were not afraid to encourage her in the kitchen.




We weren't sure Lauren and her sweetheart, Chris, were going to make it to the lake when Chris tore the tendons apart in his hand but it's not easy to keep a good man down. They led the charge on the water, making sure the boats, rafts, fishing poles, and jet skis were ready for action each day. They are both active people, and are not afraid to be themselves. I admire that about both of them. Sometimes I'm so busy being what other people want or need me to be, that I'm not sure how to just be myself. Lauren and Chris have shared their pasts and are creating a future together, and in the process they're learning how to make it work, how to become a resting place for one another.




So the lake visit ended too soon once again. We would never have had the chance to get together if not for Ryan's aunt and uncle, John and Linda Wilcox. They gave us a gift we will never forget. Got home, unpacked, washed and put away all the gear, and now it is time to go back to school. Gone are the "halcyon days of summer" for another year. Life's pressing in once again. But I can say that as we gathered and departed, Christ was in our midst. He assembled us from Florida, Texas, and points in between and gave us the time and opportunity to share His heart with each other. He showed us once again how He showers us with His love, and blesses us so abundantly. I have to hit my knees all too often to ask for His forgiveness, for taking it all for granted. One of the many promises I cling to is this (and I've changed it so it sounds like it's written for me): When she calls out to Me, I will answer her; I will be with her in trouble; I will rescue her and give her honor; I will satisfy her with a long life and show her My salvation. Ps 91:15-6

Fairy Dust

Ryan and Christi invited all of us to join them at Ryan's uncle's house at Lake Cherokee, and that's where the mystery began...

... the first morning of our vacation, I woke up and went into the big house. When I returned to my cabin, I found my bed made, my towels folded, and my brush, make-up, etc rearranged.

... I asked around in the house, and found out several of us had the same kind of mysterious visit. Ryan said they had not hired a housekeeper, so we knew something interesting and precious was happening.

...I left a note: Who is cleaning my room?

...and this was the response: Dear Robin, I can not tell you where we are, but I will tell you that your friends, Lovebird and Sunflower, are maids and they fixed your room.



...that evening, I returned to my cabin at bedtime. I found my bed ready, my pajamas laid out on the quilt, my towels folded by the sink.

...the next day, I left another note: Dear Lovebird and Sunflower, Thank you for making my room so pretty yesterday. I am glad I have such nice fairies on my vacation. My friends, Ashlynn, Avery, and Tori said you might like something sweet so here is a delicious cookie to share. Love, G'ma

...that evening, the cookies were eaten, and I received this reply:

..."Thank you for the cookie!" and the pattern repeated itself.

...I had a feeling I was being pranked, but I told my granddaughters that these fairies were certainly very sneaky, leaving no clues of their whereabouts. Until the day I took my nap. The girls woke me up to tell me there was a trail outside my cabin. On the path beside my door was a trail of little pebbles and cookie crumbs that led into the woods behind my cabin. Avery and Tori explained that they thought they knew where the fairies were coming from--the woods! They said the fact that there were cookie crumbs in the trail proved that it must be the path of Lovebird and Sunflower.

....each day, my bed was made, my towels folded, my pajamas prepared for me at bedtime. Finally, we reached our last day together, and I left this note:

"I have to say thank you and goodbye because I am leaving tomorrow. Thank you for being my friends. Love, G'ma P.S. Here is a tip for cleaning my room so nicely every day. (I left a few dollars on the counter.)

...that evening when I returned to my room, my bed was ready, my pajamas were left out, I had no note, and the money I left was still on the counter. I found Avery and Tori the next morning and told them what had happened. Avery had a theory. She said, "Grandma, maybe they weren't doing it for money."

...I packed my things and prepared to leave, discussing the money situation with Avery once again. I told her I would just have to think of another way to thank the fairies, and blew a kiss into the air.

...Avery said, "Grandma, can I tell you something?"

...She sparkled, "It was not really Lovebird or Sunflower. We just made that up. It was me and Tori."

...Mystery solved! Avery and Tori, two little eight-year olds, had taken it upon themselves to become lake fairies, treating us to a little make-believe. But the larger mystery remains...

...how did I get so lucky?

...Here are "the fairies" from Lake Cherokee-- Lovebird and Sunflower.