Category: Thinking about Relationships

A Thankful Teacher

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about Relationships, Thinking about SchoolLeave a comment

Yesterday was THE day. It was my “D” Day. Okay, maybe it was my “C” Day — my classroom day. It was the first of two workdays to prepare my room for the arrival of twenty-four children who will bring with them noise, energy, questions, answers, ideas, and creativity. Our district has us pack everything away so that the room can be cleaned. Bulletin boards were covered; desks and counters were cleared. It was a barren space.

Yesterday we began making it look like a classroom again — specifically, my classroom again.

When I say we, I mean WE. Us. My own work crew: my family.

That afternoon as I walked away from a classroom that has bulletin boards moved and redecorated, textbooks open and sorted, flyers copied, folded, stacked, and readied for kiddos and their parents, things sorted, moved, tossed, refilled, and a space that is looking welcoming again, I realized that it never would have happened so quickly had I not had the amazing energy and help of my family. And it’s been like that for nineteen years.

As a teacher, I have so much to do. Everyday in the classroom brings work, work, and more work. Days are long — and they don’t end when students exit the building. The stressors are many — legislators, administrators, parents, children, and obligations outside of the classroom.

But that’s only a VERY SMALL part of it, because more than anything, there are the things in this world of education for which I am grateful.

My family — husband and sons, parents, sisters, brother, nieces, and nephews — have all offered support and encouragement as I entered into a new profession with three children at home. I remember when Mr. Gorgeous, the boys, and I were sitting in Wendy’s in Spearfish, SD while on vacation as we told our boys that I was returning to college to complete a teaching degree. Their first response was, “Cool, can I be in your class?” What an amazing response and even today, I remain thankful.

As I worked on my BA, they tolerated requests for quiet, let me practice teaching  them, and critiqued my ideas. (Honestly, the five year old always gave interesting suggestions.) Later, I completed my MS. Again, they were quiet when I needed them to be, served as “lab rats” of a sort as I completed my reading specialization. My husband cooked, folded clothes, herded children and a dog, and helped keep house. Even today, when I get  ready to start a new school year, the boys ask when they will need to be in the room to help get it ready. John saws, builds, cuts, laminates things, picks up fast food, and reminds me to sleep. I could be a teacher without them, I suppose, but it wouldn’t be nearly as easy or half as fun. I am thankful.

When I went to work in a middle school there was a man who taught in the room next door. He became my unofficial mentor. His ideas and leadership were amazing. There were my friends with whom I taught — men and women who gave me ideas and helped me be a better teacher because they challenged me. And today, I work with a team of educators who are amazing at what they do — who help me be a better elementary teacher, who laugh with me, and who encourage me to be a better person. I am thankful.

So far this summer, we’ve made approximately 2,000 trips to our local stores, and at least 1500 visits to Amazon searching for and purchasing exactly the right things for my classroom. Okay, I’m probably exaggerating a little bit. Still to complete my classroom set of composition books, I needed two more. I am thankful for the dear person who sent a giant bag of school supplies to our school, because in the there somewhere were two compositions books and I was saved another trip to the store. It’s not only that generous person, it’s the kind, thoughtful people at our own church who filled four backpacks for our neighborhood school. There are people who bring extra tissue boxes to schools for classrooms full of kids with colds and allergies resulting in runny noses. And so many more… these people — these caring people — make being a teacher manageable; they are some of the many ones for whom I thankful.

And then there are the parents. The parents who prepare their children for school, help them with their homework, and make sure they get the sleep they need. There are the parents who purchase supplies for their child’s classroom. Things like board games, neon colored whiteboard markers, bags of pens, pencils, markers, and crayons, extra paper, and still more tissues — things that make being a teacher a little bit more fun and whole lot easier. Oh yeah, did I mention the Coffee House Gift Cards? How could I be a teacher without my Chai? Yes, I am grateful for parents who see a need and meet it; those who provide support for teachers, schools, and their child. I am thankful.

Of course, I can’t forget my students. The well-behaved and the ornery, the ones who learn easily and those who struggle for every single lesson learned. There are the ones who challenge me daily  with their behavior and their mouth, those who always need to have the last word. Then, there are the ones who bring a dandelion bouquet to their teacher on the first day of school or the jar of flowers from their yard. They are the main reason I do what I do and I am thankful that they share their days, curiosity, and energy with me. I am thankful.

Yes, being a teacher has it’s challenges, but there is SOOOOOOOOO much for which to be grateful — and I am.

I am thankful.

 

An Unexpected Victory

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment

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I was eight.

Our family was hosting one of the best people in the whole world, my Grandmother.

I was on my knees on the blue upholstered kitchen chair, asking every kid’s favorite questions, “What are you doing?” and, “Why’d you do that?”

Grandmother was exceedingly patient as she answered every question I asked. Finally, she asked if I wanted to learn how to make the cinnamon rolls that she was making for our family. I said, “Yes!”

And learn, I did.

Honestly, I don’t remember kneading the dough, using the rolling pin, spreading the butter, or adding the cinnamon and sugar. I didn’t roll them up and I definitely didn’t cut them. I might have put them in the pan, but honestly, I don’t know.

What I do know, is that she explained everything she did – and why. She told me what could go wrong and how I could make them in the most efficient way.

Yesterday, over four years since we lost her, I made those rolls. In my head, I could hear her talking about rolling out the dough, about having patience as I did so. (She knew I would need that advice.) I let them raise and then I baked them, topped them with a light vanilla glaze and gave one to my husband.

Apparently, I’ve never made them for him before… oops.

He asked if they were hard to make – I said they weren’t, just a little time consuming. He suggested I make them again.

I will.

There were other times that she visited us. On one visit, she made me a set of dishes out of bleach bottles and then hand painted beautiful purple pansies on them. Another time she brought a doll bed that she had made.

As an adult, I was still receiving amazing gifts: homemade oatmeal raisin cookies, delicious meals whenever our family would travel through her neighborhood, a soda can rocking chair, a “sofa” door stop and precious conversations. When I met Mr. Gorgeous, I wrote her a letter telling her all about him. She kept that letter. Several years later, we stopped to visit her and she pulled it out of her Bible and gave it to me – truly a treasure.

There are many items from my Grandmother — and from other amazing people that I value.

But honestly, what I prize most highly are the moments, the memories.

That afternoon when Grandmother taught me how to make cinnamon rolls is so clear in my mind that I even remember what she was wearing.

Weird, I know.

There are other moments, other memories that I love to look back on. The Saturday when my best friend’s dad made pancakes for breakfast, and the day when she and her mom taught me to make sour cream sugar cookies – with REAL sour cream, not the store-bought kind. When my second-mom taught me to sew. How my mom taught me to make the absolute best hot chocolate ever made. The way my other Grandma would sit in church and clear her throat to get my mom and aunt to slow down the hymns they were playing. When my Great-Grandmother let us kids wade in her ditch and play with the water strider spiders. The way one of my Aunt’s house always smelled of coffee and Baby Magic Baby Lotion.

We all have these kinds of moments. A friend of ours in Iowa came to church and told about her neighbor girl. One summer, the girl was old enough to be on her own while dad worked on the farm, but she was lonely and a little bored. She showed up at our friend’s house and asked what she was doing. Evelyn invited her in and told her she was making cookies. The girl asked if she could learn how. Evelyn obliged. Once a week the little girl knocked on her door and Evelyn conducted a cooking class for her neighbor girl. They made pies, cookies, cakes, bread, and other things. What amazing memories they made together – no wonder that little girl went there once a week.

You see, our world has become so tech centered that we’ve forgotten to keep creating moments – to continue making memories.

For years, I’ve believed that the key to making home a place to which people want to return lies within the good memories that those places — and those people — hold.

It’s true about churches, too, by the way.

Instead of playing on a tablet or a phone, let’s teach kids to make jam, to build a bird house, to change a tire, to plant a garden, to paint a fence, to sew a pillow – or to make cinnamon rolls.

On Wednesday, our son asked we could have cinnamon rolls on Saturday. Mr. Gorgeous and I, while at the store, bought a roll of “cinnamon rolls” – you know the kind where you peel off the paper, hit the tube on the edge of the counter, put hunks of dough in a pan, and then bake? Yeah, those.

After we came home, I started thinking about that summer afternoon when I was eight. I wondered if I could still remember what I had learned from that precious lady and I decided to find out. My Grandmother was a great teacher – and I felt unexpectedly victorious as my family inhaled a pan of Grandma’s cinnamon rolls.

While I don’t like to make resolutions, I think this year, I will set a goal of looking back and treasuring more of those kinds of memories. But more than that, I’m going to focus on helping others – my husband, my family, my students, my church, and my friends – create amazing memories of taking adventures, learning things, laughing, and being with amazing people.

In 2018, let’s make memories with the people in our lives, shall we?

 

A Different Drum Beat

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Communication, Thinking about God, Thinking about Relationships, Thinking about SchoolLeave a comment

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Two very recent events are on my mind this morning.

The first, a twelve hour marathon session of Parent/Teacher Conferences where I talked to 20 parents. (Had few who didn’t make it.) We looked at “data” also known as test scores. We looked at grades and reviewed goals we had set in October. Parents asked questions and I tried to answer them honestly. A few children were embarrassed as I talked about their chatty ways and I broke a few hearts as I gave parents the lists of missing assignments from their cherubs. And unintentionally, I overwhelmed a parent or two as I suggested some activities that they could engage in at home to help their child. You see, I understand that some single parents schedules are so tight that an extra ten minutes carved out of three jobs, three kids, and managing a household seems impossible to find. And then I listened.

As always, my favorite part of each conference is something that I’ve practiced for the past 17 years as a teacher. It’s the last three minutes when I take time to list the positive qualities of their child. I’ll be honest and tell you that if I’d had a rough week with a student I have to TRY to come up with the good stuff, but usually, I look at the little one’s eyes and all of those great things fill my mind. Things like kindness, caring, finding humor, commitment to hard work, learning how to self-advocate and ask questions, improved manners, and acting respectfully. In my mind, these are the things that matter. Yes, they need to be able to read and write, to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. But seriously, the person inside is the one I love to watch develop.

The second thing that has added to my thought process today was standing at the kitchen window watching snow flakes fall from the sky while smelling the stew in the crock pot. For the most part, today’s snow flakes are small, close together, and falling swiftly to the ground in an organized pattern. As I watched though, I noticed one gigantic snowflake — larger than a quarter, floating to the ground — not falling. In fact, it was dancing in the breeze. As I watched, it moved to the left and then angled to the right. The breeze caught it and pushed it upward about three feet where it began to float back to the ground once again. At one point two breezes must have collided because the snow flake began twirling as it was floating downward. Every time that flake neared the ground, it was pushed upward again to continue its dance. I’m sure it will make it to the ground. It’s course and it’s timing cannot be predicted because of the winds around it.

People — children included — are a lot like that snowflake. Moving at their own pace to become who they are intended to be.

And that’s okay.

I’ve watched as the world increased its speed. We’ve moved from family nights to children moving from activity to activity and falling into bed exhausted. One girl I taught a year or so ago left school and went to gymnastics for two hours. From the gym she traveled to another gym, doing homework and eating in the car as Mom took her to basketball practice. She finished her homework in the car on the way home. When they got home, she would shower, play 20 minutes of video games and then go to bed. The next day was a repeat. Weekends were spent in tournaments for one sport or other — hers or her brothers. When was she a child?

Instead of families eating together, single parents (and other parents, too) move from job to job while a babysitter feeds their kids and sometimes send them off to bed. While vacations are still enjoyed, they are often weekends here or there, rather than a week of a time together, resting, playing, and making memories.

Some of these changes are by choice; some are necessities.

All of these life choices are valid — but all of them have a price that must be paid.

I’ve also watched as we’ve set timelines and timetables for growing up, maturing, acting “like a fourth grader,” becoming an adult, being responsible, and in general, being successful.

Why?

Well, if we listen to the “experts” we will discover that it is through the use of a matrix that we will be able to measure and define growth, performance, maturity, development, or success. In some ways, I agree with this. But in others, I disagree.

I know and understand that there have to be measures, standards, baselines, and expectations. But somewhere in the midst of all of these things, there needs to be room for the snowflake that dances at its own pace as it falls from the sky to the ground. There needs to be room for the young adult who needs a little bit of help — and we need to stop whining about them needing it. (After all, we adults are responsible for creating the mess that they are trying to navigate.) We need to welcome the child who moves at their own pace instead of speeding through life, missing the dancing snowflakes.

As a high school student, I was often told that I marched to the beat of my own drummer. I was relatively confident and self-assured and I didn’t have any problem marching to that different beat. Unfortunately, there are children and adults all around who would like to march to the beat of their drummer, but they are ridiculed and belittled because they don’t fit the matrix. Perhaps they grow differently than we expected them to. Or maybe, they’d rather dance in the breeze than fall in line with the rest of the snowflakes.

Somewhere in our orderly world of expectation, we need to make room for the dreamers, the dancers, and the divas. We need to let their world slow down so that they can grow and go at their own pace — whether they are children or adults.

The Bible says that we should, “Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6, KJV) While the obvious meaning is spiritual, there is more to it than that. We need to train a child to find value in small things, in time spent together, in learning opportunities, in dancing in the rain, and moving at their own pace — so that they can go their own way.

As the verse says, “…in the way HE should go…” (It didn’t say, “…in the way WE should go…”)

Let’s find a way to combine expectation with freedom so that children — and adults — feel welcome and accepted no matter where they are on the matrix.

Let’s find a way to offer grace so that we can listen to their drum beat instead of trying to make them play ours.

Counting Stars

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships, Thinking about SchoolLeave a comment
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“When I consider the heavens…the moon and the stars which You created, What is man that you are mindful of him?” Psalm 8, adapted.

2016 has come and gone. For some, it seems to have been a year of nothing but loss, grief, and pain. For others, a year of change. Still others have celebrated great successes and joys. But most of us have lived through a normal year where both good and bad things have happened in our lives and in the world around us.

My mom was a single mom starting the summer between my fourth and fifth grade years. She taught me a lot of things by simply living her life – she walked her talk and if it is true that character is “caught” as much as it’s taught, I hope that I caught the character with which she lived her life. The things that she taught me can be boiled down to specific sayings that have not only colored my world, but have helped me to become who I am. Among those sayings, there is one that seems to apply to looking back at the old year: “Two men looked out through prison bars. One saw mud; the other saw stars.”

Come along with me as I look for the stars in the past year – and then, maybe, spend some time looking for your own stars.

The year began at home with three of my men – I am so blessed to have a husband who loves me and helps to make an amazing home. Two of our boys, Phil and Ben are with us, and while living with adult sons is sometimes a challenge, it is also something that makes our days brighter and fills them with laughter and conversation.

Nate and Maira traveled out to join us for a week. Wisconsin followed it’s traditional winter pattern and was very cold while they were here, but our hearts were warmed by their presence and our time together. We spent a couple of days with them down in Iowa with family. The memories we have of that time are precious ones.

While teaching in Durand, I enjoyed sunrises and sunsets on my journey to and from work. I experienced safety on the roads and a mechanically sound vehicle with no flat tires. During those nine months, amazing fifth graders – eighty of them – made me laugh and think. They made my days hard sometimes, but most of the time, they made each day fun and better than the day before. The cherry on the top was reading them four historical fiction novels and having them fall in love with classic literature. Of course, there was that one day (maybe it was three or four days, actually), when a secretary gave me a long john with Persian Roll frosting. (My sisters will understand the significance of this delightful event.)

In April, we celebrated the fact that we have had an amazing daughter for four years as Maira and Nate celebrated their fourth anniversary. We love them, miss them, and we are proud of them.

Leading Craft and Chat mornings for the ladies at our church… So yeah, some days they love me – some days they may not, at least not as much… Giggle.

Saying good-bye to my students in May was, as usual, difficult. It was compounded by the fact that shortly after the end of the school year, the decision was made for me to look for a job closer to home. I’m so thankful that many of those students have chosen to say in touch with me on Insta-Gram.

Two weeks spent in Colorado and New Mexico. Time with my dad and second mom, my mom, son, daughter, sister, brother-in-law, nieces and nephews, grand dog Max, Zoey, friends, Scrabble games, the mountains, the desert – time of blessing, joy, and rest. The one down side was not having Mr. Gorgeous there with me.

Being hired to work at Meadowview Elementary as a member of the fourth grade team. It’s an amazing school with an incredible, caring, and learning staff.

Taking Dilly Bars to the firemen and policemen in our town on the 4th of July as a gift from our Church.

Starting school with fourth graders who make me laugh and smile every day.

Having an amazing eye surgeon who wasted no time getting surgery scheduled and saving the vision in my right eye. So incredibly thankful.

A presidential election that – no matter how it turned out – reminds us that we live in a nation where we get to participate in our government, where certain rights are given to us, and where we can say what we want about the political process – even when we should maybe keep our mouths shut.

Thanksgiving – so much for which to be thankful. Celebrating first at school, then at Church and finally at home.

Cold, cold, cold days with wind chill in frigid ranges that remind me to be thankful for warmer days.

A Christmas celebration where I was once again reminded of the hope that we have due to the birth of a tiny baby who didn’t even own a crib, but who laid in a hay trough.

My – how many stars I have for counting.

How about you?

So What Now?

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment
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At this Thanksgiving Season, I wish so much for all of us… (Please forgive my overuse of the word “so.”)

It’s Thanksgiving. Time to evaluate, once again, and note the things for which I am thankful . . . and yet . . .

I’m so tired… Tired of angry words and name calling. Tired of blaming and dire predictions and a sense of separation, competition, and impending doom. I’m so tired of insurance that barely pays and jobs that do the same. I’m so tired of hearing that police officers will not be going home to their families because of misplaced anger and frustration. I’m so tired of knowing that there are children in this world who go to bed hungry. I’m so tired of feeling like no matter what I do to help those around me, it will never be enough.

I’m so tired of being tired.

I’m so heartbroken that I’ve become accepting of the negativity that surrounds me. So heartbroken that those around me have become entrenched in their ideology and beliefs to the point of choosing to not even listen to differing points of view. So heartbroken that there are times when I too have failed to listen to the hurting people who surround me. And yes, I am heartbroken that there are members of our family and others who we’ve loved and cared for, who have gone before us and are not here to celebrate Thanksgiving with us today.

But, I’m so full… No, not of tough turkey or pumpkin pie. Instead,  I’m so full of the blessings that surround me. So full of love that has been a part of my world for my whole life. The love of parents and siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. So filled by the love of a good man who chose me, even though he deserves better, and the love of three sons and a beautiful daughter-in-love. The love of a spoiled rotten dog who thinks I do no wrong — except when I trim his toe nails. I’m so full from the welcoming hugs and smiles of fourth graders who think I’m funny and who work hard to learn from a slightly crazy teacher. And I’m so full from the love of congregations who have allowed us to minister beside them.

Yes, I’m full…so full.

There are so many things that break my heart — things that break God’s heart — in this world today. War, hunger, hatred, anger, fear, homelessness, loss, rejection, bitterness, grief… and more. Still, that is not the whole story, is it?

In this world there is so much more…

There are so many who extend the hand of friendship and grace. There are so many who give their time to make a difference in the world around them, who work to feed the hungry, house the homeless, and comfort the grieving. There are so many who do their jobs as soldiers to help bring war to an end. So many who work to break down walls of hatred and anger to build bridges of friendship. And so many who simply make the world better by giving of themselves.

Yes, there is so much hurting and pain…

Yes, there are so many who work to be the hands of feet of Jesus in a world that is hurting and lost.

So what am I doing to make a difference this thanksgiving? So what are you doing?

So what now . . .

It’s About the People

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment

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My grandmother had breast cancer. Her daughter, my mom, had breast cancer – twice. Let’s face it, my chances of getting cancer are pretty high. I’ve known that for years and do what I can to mitigate that risk.

Recently, I went to the doctor for a check-up. My doctor is associated with the famed Mayo Clinic. We feel blessed to have doctors who are a part of a medical community that is so prestigious and on the cutting edge of medical treatment. As a result of their expertise, they analyze and check family history more than any doctor I’ve ever had. I was a bit disconcerted when, at the conclusion of my physical, due to my family history, I learned my probability of having a heart attack and of having breast cancer in cold, hard, percentages. One is pretty low – the other, not so much. But then I knew that already.

That’s the world we live in, isn’t it?

Everything, it seems, comes down to the numbers. In fact, we measure almost everything. We know the percentage of bran in our cereal, the calories in each bite of food, the amount of octane in our gasoline, our intelligence quotient, our body mass index and weight, how “successful” a teacher is, and who doesn’t know their credit score? Even children have not escaped our apparent need to quantify things. We check their weight and height and place them on a growth curve, we conduct cognitive ability tests, and as they grow, we assign them grades and measure their growth academically.

We measure other things too. How many people attended a concert, a class, a sporting event, or a church service.

When used as a diagnostic tool, as a means of identifying a problem, I think numbers can be good – much of the time. Unfortunately, we now live in a world where metrics are the order of the day.

DISH TV sent out a representative to set up our service. At the end of the service call, the technician told us that he hoped we were satisfied with his service. We said we were. He continued by telling us that we would receive a call to conduct satisfaction survey and that anything less than a 10 would be considered a failing grade by his supervisor. As a result, he hoped that we would be able to give him a “10” rating on a scale of 1 to 10.

Our Ford garage has a similar system. When they call, if we give the service department less than a 4 on a four-point scale, they are reprimanded by their employer. To combat that, they tell customers so that they will be on the service crew’s side and give them the score they require to be considered successful.

What does that say about quantifying satisfaction?

Some numbers cannot be manipulated – but they can be interpreted. There is some truth in the adage that says you can force statistics to support whatever you want them to say simply by the way you explain them. By changing the question asked, we get a totally different perspective. What does that tell us about the information that we acquire from our need to use numbers to analyze and assign value to products and even people? If we can force the data to say what we want it to, what good is the data?

So should we stop collecting data, stop relying on matrices that tell us what and how and sometimes, why?

As much as I might like to say yes, I cannot. And really, the world is never going to stop collecting “data,” is it? No, we need these kinds of numbers – within reason.

There are times when I will write a list of things to accomplish. I measure the success of my day – or the failure – by the number of things that remain to be finished at the end of the day. That really is a form of data isn’t? Oh no! I’ve been assimilated!

The thing that I keep coming back to is the truth that behind most every number is a person, a situation.

If that is true, some questions must be asked.

How can we assume that numbers tell the whole story? What makes us believe that EVERYTHING in life can be quantified? Why do we believe that a lack of numerical growth is synonymous with NO growth – even personal, relational, or spiritual? What can we do when numbers cause us to believe that we are less than God made us to be? How can we help people who have determined their worth – or lack thereof – by the numbers?

You may have noticed that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.

It all started when I worked at an insurance company and I struggled to meet the metrics required to get my quarterly bonus. Actually, no. It really started when I found out that professional teachers were going to be graded based on theories advanced by non-educators. I’ve continued to think about this when my students have come to me after a test feeling totally defeated because they couldn’t pass the test, or when they got their report card and they got a 2 instead of a 3 or a 4. (For you old school folks, think D rather than a B or A.) It began to come to head in my heart and my mind when I found out I had a 17% chance of having a heart attack and an 83% chance of getting cancer. And honestly, it solidified in my mind at district assembly for our church when a speaker talked about the things that we track and how it may be time for us to look at things differently. (By the way, I agree with what he had to say – sometimes we track the wrong things.)

Why does success have to be quantified?

Why must growth be measured numerically?

Why can we not see that every number represents a PERSON?

It is imperative that we remember that life doesn’t always go as planned. Illnesses happen. We lose people we love. We hear people we care about fighting. Our night is interrupted – and so is our sleep. Emotions are impacted by circumstances beyond our control. All of these things impact performance. This is part of the danger of trying to quantify success or growth.

Stories of success abound. They surround us every day. Instead of looking at the numbers, it’s time to start seeing the people again. It’s time to see the creation of God – the broken, the hurting, the lost. Time to see those who are serving, loving, caring, and healing. It’s not all about the numbers. We can start making it about the stories, about the people again.

It’s time.

A Place Called Home

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships1 Comment
A Colorado Columbine –The state flower always means home to me.
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Home.

What is it? Where is it?

Is our home town the town in which we were born? Is home the place we lived as a child? Is it the place in which we’ve spent most of our life? Or, is it where we live now?

A few weeks ago, I left our home to go to my home. While visiting at one home, I traveled to another home. Then, when I left those homes, I returned to our home.

How can that be?

How can so many places have a claim on my heart, a claim that makes me call each of them home?

My life has been a bit transient – I moved around a lot. With divorced parents, I traveled back and forth between the homes of my mother and father. Later, I attended college in Idaho, Oklahoma, and Colorado. My husband and I married nearly thirty years ago. Since then, we’ve lived in six different states.

I’ve lived in farm houses, mobile homes, apartments, dorm rooms, basement rooms, town homes, country houses, city houses, and one Sears kit home. Some of the places I have lived were lovely houses filled with comfortable furniture. Some were small, cramped apartments with a kitchen barely large enough to turn around. We’ve lived in four parsonages – houses loaned to us by the church we were pastoring at the time. Even now, we are living in a church-provided house. I will be honest and tell you that I look forward to the day when John and I own a house where we can install beautiful mission-style moulding and trim around the doors and windows, a sliding barn door or two with a yard where we can install a fountain flowing into a small, man-made stream that ends in a pond next to a patio with a fire pit. Until then, we are blessed to live in whatever house God provides.

No matter where I’ve lived, it has been a home. It may not have been my favorite home, but it was my home none-the-less.

There are numerous schmaltzy sayings about home:

Home Sweet Home; There’s No Place Like Home; No matter what it looks like on the outside – on the inside it feels like home; Home is where our story begins; Home is where you hang your heart; What I love the most about my home is who I share it with; A house is made of bricks and stone – a home is made with love alone; Family makes a house a home…and the list goes on.

I think the most annoying thing about most of these sayings is that they are true.

There… I said it.

There really is no place like home.

Thirty years ago, I decided that for the rest of my life, wherever Mr. Gorgeous went I too would go. Wherever we lived, I would strive with all that was in me to create comfort and warmth, to fill it with love, and to make it into the home that we would enjoy. If it’s true that a man’s home is his castle, I wanted John’s castle to be the place where he always CHOSE to go. I wanted it to be the place where he felt welcome and cared for — and eventually I wanted to give the same gift to our children. I wanted our home to be the place where he — where they belonged.

And doesn’t that perfectly describe, “home?”

There are some former “homes” that I do not visit. Yet, there are places where I’ve never actually lived that I refer to as home and visit whenever I am able. Why is that?

I guess it goes back to one of the definitions of home – a place filled with love. Some “homes” were filled with love, but the surrounding circumstances were not. So, knowing that I cannot return to that house where I felt surrounded by care, I choose to not visit the places where I felt less cared for. On the other hand, I’ve never lived in my Mom’s apartment, but Mom is there and that means that it’s home.

Okay, I’ve talked in circles which means it’s probably time to land this thing.

So I guess to summarize, home is the place where love lives.

Home is the place where my sisters hug me, tease me, and drink coffee with me. It’s the place where my nieces and nephews sing silly songs from their childhood and make peanut butter benders. Scrabble games – with me usually being beaten – define my mom’s home. It can be lunch with good friends at a place we’ve enjoyed before. It can be sitting on the patio, working in the garage, or feeding the horses that describe home at dad’s. Home at our kids is defined by big black dogs and storytelling with much laughter. When our boys are together, home is shared memories, confessions from childhood, laughter until my stomach hurts, political debate, and hugs. Home with Mr. Gorgeous – well, he’s there – and that place could be anywhere.

Home is the place that God gives us to remind us of His love and care for us. For those of us with happy, love-filled homes, our earthly home is an appetizer – it is helping us to long for our heavenly home.

Someday, when I leave my earthly home, I will journey to the home that He is busy preparing for me. It will be the place where I will spend eternity, where I will be in the presence of Jesus, my Savior. For all of the amazing things that home is to me now, in that day, I will truly be home and I will have no desire to improve it, to build mouldings, or to travel to visit another of my homes. Because, honestly, on that day I will truly, finally be home.

LIVING WITH ALZHEIMER’S: a long good-bye

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships2 Comments

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NOTE: I would never intentionally invade my sister’s privacy. I am telling this with her permission. For her courage to allow me to share, I am extremely grateful. Thank you  — I love you, sis!

His name isn’t important, but he is. He’s a husband, father, son, uncle, brother, cousin, and brother-in-law. In fact, he’s my brother-in-law. I’ve watched as he romanced my sister, raised strong, independent daughters, became a member of our clan, lived as an outdoors man, cooked like a chef, and worked diligently at his chosen profession in the medical field. When my husband was my fiancée, my sister and her family came to spend some time getting to know my guy. I marveled at the instant connection between our two men, their similar humor, their mutual respect. They became friends – and family.

A few years ago, my brother-in-law began to forget things. Don’t we all? But for him, it was more than the norm. At one point, he lined up pictures on his dresser and every morning would go through the names of the ones in those pictures because he was determined to not forget those he loved. He knew that something was wrong and as was his character, he set out to “fix” it. The diagnosis of Early Onset Alzheimer’s ended his career a bit sooner than he had intended. And it changed life as we had known it for everyone who loves him.

This disease is a thief. To begin, it steals in small ways that are barely noticeable, it causes confusion, and frustration. As it continues to affect the mind, it steals recent memory, familiar behaviors, loved personality traits, and independence. In the later stages, it takes the ability to speak and be understood. The disease runs its course in 8 to 20 years, on average.

Years ago, I worked in nursing homes. We didn’t have a great deal of understanding of the disease at that time. To be honest, what I saw was the result of this unforgiving disease. One woman was loved and cared for, but insisted she was being held captive. She would become violent in her attempts to “escape” the prison. Another awoke every morning and dressed in a suit jacket with matching slacks, shoes, and purse. She wandered from room to room to room to conduct “business,” as she had done for years prior to becoming ill. The last, a mother; she waited daily for her daughters to visit, but didn’t recognize them when they did. All three of these ladies were amazing, gifted women. Yet, so much of their lives, their character, and their personality no longer existed.

Americans have gained an awareness of the disease due to the fact that many well-known people have suffered with the disease. The list includes musician Glenn Campbell, actor Charles Bronson, actress Rita Hayworth, author E.B. White, Denver Broncos owner, Pat Bowlin, and President Ronald Reagan. According to the Alzheimer’s Association, 500,000 Americans currently suffer with the disease. It normally strikes those over the age of 65, but early onset has been noted in adults in their 40s.

A few years ago, John and I, some of our kids, along with my sister and her husband drove from Colorado to Galveston, Texas to catch a cruise ship. We made amazing and treasured memories during those nine days. On the way home, we had stopped for the evening, my brother-in-law and I were watching a travel show on TV. The others were busy doing other things. The program showed some scenes from Europe when he looked at me and managed to break my heart with these words that are forever branded on my brain. He said, “You know, they tell I’ve been all around the world, but the hell of it is that I can’t remember any of it.”

My sister has responded to this curve ball with all of the strength and character that she has shown in every difficult situation during her life. She has arranged her life to become the caregiver her husband needs. She has worked to create thousands of memories that she and the rest of the family will treasure for years. The memories have been well documented in photo after photo. Their girls have stepped up to the plate as well. They’ve supported their mom and they continue to love their dad. One of them cooked with him once a month to refresh the memory of all the meals he had prepared. The other created a photo album showing the phases of his family – some he recalls, some he doesn’t. And yes, the rest of the family does what we are able to do. Mostly, all of us just love him.

We love his wife and daughters too. The knowledge of what is to come weighs on their minds and hearts, especially on my sister’s. My concern for them is that they will try to do too much. Because of their love for him, I fear that they will want to do everything and they may forget to take care of themselves. That has also become a job for the family and for their friends. We get to love, pray for, and take care of them.

Frankly, all of us get the blessing of caring for the caregivers – not only the caregivers of one who is experiencing a long-term illness, not only the caregivers who are in our own family, but all of the caregivers who are around us. What other caregivers should we notice? While there are many, allow me to suggest two. Stay-at-home moms who would love to have adult conversations and quiet time alone. When our oldest was born, a lady from our church called and asked if she could come over. I was exhausted and really didn’t want company, but I reluctantly said yes. She came into our apartment, hugged me, kissed my son, sat me down, brought me an iced tea to drink while I fed our son, and then she washed the dishes. When she finished, she held my son and sent me to bed. I napped for about an hour. It was desperately needed – and a tremendous blessing. Next, adult children caring for their elderly parents. The roles are reversed and that in itself creates tremendous stresses that we can help alleviate simply by listening and praying, taking in a prepared meal, running errands, and by loving them. Other caretakers are in our world and if we open our eyes, we will see them.

While each of these situations is difficult, I know personally about the struggles associated with Alzheimer’s because that’s where we are living. The heart breaking part of this particular disease is the sense of loss experienced by those who love the disease’s victim. We watch as he struggles, forgets, changes. Each of his losses is a loss for us as well. With every personality change, loss of strength, forgotten memory – his loved ones have also lost the opportunity to make that particular connection with him. It is a long, painfully slow good-bye. No matter what we think about this disease, the reality remains – we are saying good-bye – one memory, one ability, one day at a time.

 

Strangely wordless . . .

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Communication, Thinking about God, Thinking about Relationships, Thinking about SchoolLeave a comment

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I haven’t written a blog in a couple of months. I’ve wanted to… but for some reason, I’ve been somewhat “wordless.”

It’s not for want of ideas. I’ve had several, some of them were good ones, too.

I’ve considered writing about friendships, Valentines, laughter, politics (don’t worry — sanity soon returned), creativity, options, and a few other things… but every time I started to write, I found myself with a topic, but for some  reason, I was strangely wordless.

Then, I seemed to be surrounded by grieving people.

A young boy lost his father to a tragic illness. A 10 year old girl who lost her mom some time ago welcomed me into her world of pets and interestingly enough, classic rock and opera. Friends have lost loved ones.

Recently, a boy whose mother died a few years ago became upset after missing part of a recess due to a poor decision on his part. I watched as his silent anger became evident in a stiff stance and tension in his arms and neck, in silent tears that poured down his cheeks. I asked God to give me words — and suddenly I knew that He was telling me to choose silence.

So I did.

I turned to my classroom sink, washed my lunch dish, rinsed my coffee cup, and got myself a drink of water, looked back to the small angry boy to see that the tension was starting to leave, but still his silent tears flowed.

And I listened.

I listened to those tears. I heard emotions in the rigidity of his limbs. The things I heard were things that we might expect — thoughts about his life being unfair. Hard questions like, “Why my mom?” I sensed that he needed a hug — from a mom. I also felt disappointment at the fact that he won’t walk into the kitchen to find his mom pulling freshly baked cookies from the oven and pouring a glass of milk — just for him. I hurt with him — and I heard his silence, his pain, and his grief.

I heard him.

It seems to me that there are times when we may be so busy planning our answer, analyzing what we’ve heard, or anticipating how we will try to help someone that we fail to hear the cry of their heart. When words fail us we are finally able to hear — to listen.

One small blonde fifth grader seems to take it as personal challenge to assure that silence is NEVER heard in my classroom. I finally turned to him one day and said, “Don’t feel compelled to fill every silence with noise or movement.”

That night in my devotions, I heard my words echo in my heart — but they were from my Father in Heaven, “Marylouise, don’t feel compelled to fill every silent moment with noise or movement. Sometimes, I am calling you to be wordless so that you can truly listen.”

Even though it isn’t easy for us, there are times when all of us should choose to be wordless — no matter how strange it feels.

In our silence I wonder, what will we hear?

Laughing Again

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment

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As you probably know, the past two years have been a bit rough for us. It all started with the death of my grandmother, followed quickly by the tragic, accidental death of a former student,  and then my brother’s death, some unexpected challenges, an invitation to move to Wisconsin, resignations, packing, moving, finding new jobs, settling in to a new community and a new ministry. Mr. Gorgeous has always been a rock — he has dealt with it all, kept me sane, and helped me feel loved even in the worst of times. I, however, have not handled it like a rock. I’ve mourned, complained, whined, worked, applied for jobs, tried to make a house a home… and if I’m honest, I will tell you that I’ve been pretty joy-less while doing all of that.

Now please understand, I’ve tried to be the person that God has made me to be. I’ve encouraged, believed, and loved. With God’s strength, I’ve attended to ministry while working in a job I really didn’t enjoy with amazing people who God placed in my life to make my days bearable. Loved ones have been missed (they are still missed) and I’ve longed for friendships that were forged by years of knowing each other and working together.

Thankfully, in the midst of the stress and loss, grief and change God has been at work.

Isn’t He always?

As I’ve worked with amazing women in a not-so-fun job, God has been healing my heart and reminding me that even in the midst of difficulty, He sends people to remind us that we are accepted, cared for, and yes, even valued. While we worked to establish ourselves in a new ministry, we’ve discovered unexpected challenges and things that were not as we expected. Yet God provided a cozy house that is warm in the winter and cool in the summer, a beautiful 75 year old church with memories, a treasured history, and a vision for the future. Best of all, that church is filled with welcoming, giving, and loving people. While I’ve missed friends and family, my world has been filled with amazing people who are becoming my friends — and some are even moving into those family spaces to help me feel at home, to feel as though I belong.

In the midst of all of the difficulties, God has blessed. But even more than blessing, He has healed, touched, renewed, and restored my brokenness, hurt, grief, and pain.

He is restoring my joy.

It helps that I am spending five days a week with ten and eleven year olds — I am so blessed. Even so, beyond their freckled faces, grins, laughter, and hugs, He is restoring my joy from the inside – out.

It has been a subtle healing. I still cry when I think of my brother, the Colorado mountains, old friends, former students, and the family I am missing. I think that perhaps I always will. One of the things I’ve noticed in this healing is that since my brother died, my emotions are more easily touched and that tears flow more readily. Even with the tears, there is less grief but still, there is emotion. Some people (my sons) may be asking themselves if there will ever be a time when I won’t cry all the time. Perhaps not, but they will adjust. (They won’t have a choice. Smile.)

Healing is in process — it has begun.

I noticed that the healing had begun when I began to laugh again. Oh, I’ve “laughed” during the past two years, but I hadn’t LAUGHED.

I hope you understand the difference.

I’ve laughed when I should, but honestly, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve truly had a good old fashioned, laugh until you cry moment. Until last week. I thought it was a fluke. Then, last night, it happened again — twice. And today, I’ve laughed again and again. To tell you the truth, I’m waiting for it to happen with some regularity because I have missed the joy that that kind of laughter expresses.

I always told John that I wanted my life to be reflected in the phrase, “She loved; she laughed; she prayed.” I guess that phrase is safe once again.

I’m laughing again — and I am thankful.

As I realized that I was laughing again, I also realized that those people around me have had to deal with my joylessness. I am sorry for that — but I thank you for understanding what grief causes and for supporting me in the darkest days. I will grieve again, I know that. But I am finally moving forward from this painful, extended episode of loss and I’m relieved. I imagine that those people around me are as well.

I am thankful that the joy of the Lord that has truly been my strength will once again be evident to those who know me.

In the days to come, expect corny jokes and silliness because yes indeed, I’m laughing again!