A Wildfire, a Lab and a Grammy on a Mission…

I’ve decided to throw my hat in the ring for the Grandma of the Year award. I don’t know if it’s an actual accolade, but after a day this summer, I’m convinced I’ve earned my nomination.

It all began with a call from my daughter Sarah. Her Labrador, Jackson, had decided to turn his digestive system into an all-you-can-eat buffet, and the emergency vet was now his temporary residence. A few thousand dollars later, Jackson was ready for pickup at 4:00. Sarah, unfortunately, had a pesky thing called a job and couldn’t get him at the allotted pick up time.

“No problem,” I said, confident in my abilities to handle both grandchild and lab retrieval in one heroic swoop.

Babysitting (or should I say Grammy-sitting) went off without a hitch. My granddaughter, Margot, was peacefully snoozing when my other daughter, the one without a TV, called with some breaking news.

“Have you been listening to the news?” she asked.

“No,” I replied, chuckling because, well, no TV. How was I supposed to listen to the news? Plus, I was a grandma, when the baby napped, I napped.

“Wildfire! Evacuate! You’re within five miles!” she exclaimed.

“Seriously?” I stood in her new home, not a remote cabin but ten minutes from Tacoma. I looked outside—no signs of a fire. But hey, who am I to argue with breaking news? I scooped up the baby, the dog, some files, and extra diapers and we were out the door in three minutes.

So, where does one go when fleeing an unexpected wildfire? Conveniently, it was almost 4:00, so I aimed my escape route toward the emergency vet to pick up Jackson. The GPS took us on a scenic route, carefully skirting the fire. However, our journey hit a snag when we found ourselves on a gravel road—closed for construction.

“I wouldn’t get ticketed for evacuating on a closed road, right?” I reassured myself as we found a different route.

Arriving at the vet, I pondered the logistics. How to handle a baby, a dog, and potential chaos? A quick call to the vet warning them of my impending arrival brought reassurance. We entered the vet like a hurricane, with me holding a baby and a leash of a healthy dog. After a brief moment of confusion, the techs brought out Jackson, who could hardly walk he was so drugged and loaded the dogs. In the distance, smoke billowed.

Now, what’s the logical next step for a Grammy, a baby, and two dogs during an evacuation? Bass Pro Shop, of course. Picture us strolling through the outdoor haven, two dogs and a baby, as if evacuating from a forest fire is just another day’s adventure.

All’s well that ends well. Sarah took her drugged dog home, and Margot, the Golden Retriever, and I enjoyed a post-evacuation glass of wine on the deck. The news reported the fire was under control, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of adrenaline. While I might not win Grandma of the Year (I’m pretty sure someone out there donated a kidney or birthed their grandchild), I’ll happily accept the runner-up spot. Evacuating with flair—that’s my Grammy style!

Baby Babble – Words Matter…

The sweetest thing happened on my recent vacation to Orcas Island. The whole family was together and it was late at night. My oldest daughter left her precious baby, Margot, with me in our cabin so she and her husband could join their cousins playing games, laughing and telling stories in the big cabin.The young adults had picked a cabin where they could be a little bit louder and not wake sleeping babes. No problem. I settled in to play cards with my son and son-in-law in the quieter cabin while 14 month old Margot slept.

But she wasn’t quite asleep when mom and dad left. She was sitting in her port-a-crib in the back bedroom talking to herself. Exhausted after a day at the beach, she was talking herself to sleep. That wonderful sweet baby babble came drifting from her room. Her voice would get high and then low and she would be loud and then soft. Most of the sounds were repetitive consonant sounds but occasionally she would throw in some vowels to make the babble sound more like actual words.

All of the sudden all three of us clearly heard her say, “I love you.” It wasn’t perfect but she was practicing those three words over and over. “I wuv lou,” and “I lav too,” One of those “I love you’s” came out crystal clear… “I love you.” We all heard it and stared at each other as if to ask, “Did you hear what I heard?” She practiced that phrase over and over for about ten minutes. I think baby Margot has about fifteen other single words in her vocabulary, but on that night she very clearly said, “I love you.”

Why did she say that? Why was she practicing saying those three words? Why? Because she hears them several times a day, every single day. Those words might not have complete meaning yet, but in her little, barely one-year-old mind, those words mean, “you’re valuable, you can trust me, you are safe and you are accepted and welcome.” Baby Margot knew these words expressed an intangible acceptance and joy and that they were important words to hear and say. She learned those words from mom and dad who modeled their meaning to her. These were important words and she knew she wanted to say them too.

The point? Speak lovingly to your children. It matters. Speak words that build children up and speak to their character and their future. From day one, speak life and love into your child’s life. The babies are listening and they are tucking our words into their hearts. Words have power.

I’ve joined the Grandma club…

I haven’t been blogging too much recently. Why? Because I have been so busy since I became a…Grammy! Yes, the special and very elite club – I have joined. I have a new screen saver on my phone that needs to be changed at least weekly to show my granddaughter’s beauty and growth. I have a new charm for my bracelet, grandma’s only charm and I have a car seat in my car. Not just one I borrowed, but a real car seat, in case I need to take my granddaughter out to lunch or to Target to buy the newest Cat and Jack outfit.

During my Christmas vacation, my daughter and her husband asked if I would spend the day with beautiful baby Margot. They were going skiing and so I was free to spend the whole day with Margot. After arriving at their house very early in the morning, and cooking her quinoa, avocado, and banana for breakfast (Baby-led weaning, this grammy knows some things.) Margot and I decided to walk to Starbucks for Grammy’s breakfast. My own home is so deep in suburbia that there aren’t many stores or exciting places to walk to. But my granddaughter’s neighborhood is in the city. Margot’s parents are hipsters that ride their bikes to work and walk to the grocery store. Grammy was going to slide right into this cool neighborhood and show off her adorable grandbaby.

We set off. My first task was to buckle her into her stroller. I fumbled my way through that, glad no one noticed my moment of incompetence and off we went. Almost immediately we met a group of three older adults who were walking their beautiful Golden Retriever. Probably, they were grandparents too, but they didn’t have their baby with them. Still, I politely commented on how cute their dog was. Margot kicked her legs enthusiastically as their dog looked a lot like her puppy at home. We traveled on. I’m sure the cars that drove past noticed what a young grandma I was and how my granddaughter was especially advanced and wearing a cute outfit hand-picked by me.

We arrived at Starbucks and there was a mother and her young son in line in front of us. They were in the middle of a deep conversation about whether the little boy wanted almond or soy milk when the boy looked at Margot.

“Mom, look how bendy that baby is,” He said to his mother as Margot entertained him by putting her toes to her ears.

“Oh yes, she is flexible.” His mom agreed. “Can you still touch your toes?” she asked him.

He bent down and touched his little blue crocs.

“Yep.”

“Ah, but can you bite your toenails?” I asked him.

“Uh, no,” he replied, obviously impressed with my grandbaby’s superiority.

I raised my eyebrows and smirked at him. Ah, my competitive side sneaking out again.

Margot and I took my latte and headed back home. We ran into another dog, a Burmese Mountain dog walking with his older owner. The dog licked Margot’s socks and she squealed. I remembered the days before having a grandbaby when I used to walk my dog. Now, I have been promoted to stroller pusher.

When I was a young mother, I used to smile at other mothers’ kids. I might ask how old the baby was and then tell her how old my children were. But deep down, much of that kind curiosity was fueled by my competitive spirit. Is their child sitting up yet? Boy, their baby doesn’t have much hair or that baby looks skinny compared to my plump, healthy baby. But why the need for comparison? Probably, a little bit, is just to know that my child is doing things other babies do and have that knowledge that my child is progressing and growing appropriately. That’s probably fairly natural and normal. But… there is also a little part that is me needing just a little recognition and wanting to show off my baby.

A classic example of this happened to me 22 years ago. I had all three of my children at the grocery store. Tom and Hannah were obediently holding the cart and baby Sarah was sitting in the car seat. Sarah, was just a young baby, maybe six weeks old. Another mom approached and started chatting us up. She commented on Sarah’s beautiful red hair and then said, “She is just so tiny. So petite. I mean, I had a ten-pound baby so other average-sized babies look so small. I’m just not used to how small they are”

I grinned and replied, “Actually Sarah weighed eleven pounds, two ounces.” The lady looked shocked, didn’t say a word and turned on her heels, and left.

The last pair of people we passed on our walk were two ladies that were probably in their sixties and may have pushed their own grandbaby strollers. From a distance, they smiled warmly at us but as they got closer, their looks turned more quizzical. They nodded their heads and kept walking. Hmmm, that was not the interaction I was expecting. I leaned forward to look at Margot in her stroller. Bad Grandma moment! Margot’s cute little headband with the big pink bow had slipped down and was completely covering her eyes as if her grandmother had blindfolded her. At that moment, I felt humbled. Maybe not the perfect grammy. Maybe just a grammy who really loves her grandbaby. And the truth is all moms and grandmas and other relatives love their babies and all of them deserve a moment to brag and be listened to without it being a big competition.

Fighting for our Fur Babies…

Sunny

Wednesday night, after bible study I was heading home when my daughter Sarah called to say she was taking her dog (an adorable chocolate lab named Juniper) to the emergency vet. Juniper had been playing hard with her puppy brother, and little brother put a gash on both sides of her neck. Juniper had developed a fever and was throwing up. Ironically, on the east coast, one of my other grand dogs, Sunny, had just had knee surgery that same day and was home resting comfortably with some nice pains meds, a full leg cast and the cone of shame.

Neither of my daughters is a mom yet, although Hannah will be in about three weeks. But I could still picture both of my strong daughters fighting for their dogs like they will one day fight and advocate for their own babies. They loved them and they wanted what was best for their fur babies. I believe God loves animals. He created them and they are part of His plan.

I met Sarah and Juniper at the emergency vet. I had never been to an emergency vet, let alone on a Wednesday night during a national veterinarian shortage (who knew?) It was a full waiting room. We sat in the corner and took it all in. The young lady next to us sat with her newborn baby and aging beagle. She had her hands full. The nervous lady in a bedazzled sweatshirt who kept taking smoke breaks had a Jack Russell with rectal bleeding. Then there was the man in his forties that probably had his daughter’s rabbit. It didn’t look good for the rabbit, and he decided that the rabbit was a DNR. We all chatted and shared worried looks as we bonded in our love and concern for animals.

There was more. Animals kept coming in the front door and appearing from the back office doors. A guinea pig that was there in a cardboard box had had a tough delivery but mom and babies were doing fine. An old German shepherd mix came in with a huge gash in her side where she had run up against a stray screw in a planter. They decided to leave and head to another emergency vet where they thought the doctor would see them sooner, but soon found out that the ten hour wait we were being quoted was the fasted wait time in town. A big old Great Dane that was skin and bones came in and was seen right away. He threw up blood as he entered. I never saw him again. The camaraderie in the waiting room at the emergency vet was real. The beagle threw up twice and the mother who was literally watching her husband on a GPS running through a field at Ft. Lewis trying to get to his wife, baby, and sick dog, didn’t have enough hands to deal with dog vomit. I stopped the dog from eating the vomit and the Jack Russell’s mom bent over and cleaned it up. Someone else needed a charger for their cell phone and Sarah ran to her car and found one to loan. It was like we were connected and caring for each other. None of us wanted to be there, but yet there we were.

I am one of those people who can watch a movie and I am fine with a whole bunch of shooting and people dying but…don’t let the dog die. The worst part of our evening was when a truck pulled up to the curb and a husband and wife jumped out. The man had a very tiny black dog in his arms and they raced to the front desk. All we could hear was the nurse asking if they wanted CPR or not and then hearing the women wail. “I did everything I could do.” I looked around at my new waiting room buddies. The mother of the beagle was holding her hands over her ears and the nervous smoker was crying. My eyes welled up with tears. I think we lost a friend that night.

Juniper was triaged and told she would have a twelve-hour wait. They strongly suggested she head home and see her own vet the next day as she was running a fever and might need a stitch or two.

“Mom, did I overreact by bringing her in? All the other dogs looked so much worse?”

“No, I don’t think you were overreacting. She had a fever and two big cuts. And I think it’s always ok to care for our animals. I think it’s our responsibility.” And as I said that I pictured her fighting like a mama bear for her own babies someday. Hopefully someday soon. We left the vet in good shape but I know not everyone else did. Thankful for the veterinarians and thankful for a God who loves animals.

Sticks and Stones will Break My Bones, But Jesus will Heal Me!

I have a couple scars on my right knee and a really long one on my right ankle. These are remnants of years of playing soccer. Playing goalkeeper; colliding with other players, hitting the ground hard, those years of playing took their toll on my body. They aren’t as visible now as they once were, but they are part of my story. I am also blessed with lots of stretch marks from childbearing. I had big babies and skin that didn’t like to be stretched. All of these scars are in some way a “badge of honor.” Was there physical pain involved? You bet. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat! Do I sometimes try to hide them? Yes, sometimes I do. But I would rather have these scars and be whole than have unhealed wounds that make me broken.

I was recently having a massage when the masseuse noticed my long ankle scar that curls up my calf. “Wow, this is a doozy of a scar.” At the time, I could have done without the comments on my physical appearance, but I also wanted to say, “If that scar could talk, it would tell you all kinds of stories. Stories of great soccer games. Stories of friendships with teammates that have lasted thirty years. It would tell you the story about losing my chance to play college soccer, about the time I fell doing step aerobics and it would explain why it’s hard for me to wear boots. Plus more. Our scars hold stories.

But the scars we don’t see, the ones we have inside us, also hold stories. The times people have spoken mean, cruel words over us or the times we have felt rejected by someone’s lack of attention or brutal disregard for who we are. But here’s the thing…I would rather have scars than open, seeping wounds. Scars tell me, the issue is done, the battle is complete and I am healed. Wounds, well wounds get infected and smelly. Wounds can be ripped open right when you think they are about to heal. You can try to bury those wounds, but that doesn’t work as they simply stay there and fester.

Why don’t these wounds heal? That’s the million-dollar question. Wounds that are caused by relationships that sour, unkind words that are spoken over you or parents that didn’t know how to love you well, these wounds need to see a doctor. The doctor I like, my ultimate PCP, is Jesus, the great physician. Taking our wounds and our hurts to the throne room of Jesus is a vulnerable thing to do. But God sees our wounds differently than we do. Some might try to hide their wounds and minimize the pain. Somehow, like Adam and Eve in the garden, we convince ourselves that if we cover up our wounds and bury our shame and our embarrassment, it will go away. But those wounds don’t go away without the help of Jesus. Jesus sees us differently and wants to touch us and heal us.

My scars on my legs and my tummy, they tell people there was a story and my scars inside, that people can’t see, also tell a story. This story is about being healed and touched by Jesus. Those scars will be used by God for good, either in my life or in someone else’s. If we ignore our wounds and let them seep and get infected, we will pay a price as will those who try to get close to us. When we reveal the wound, when we ask for the great physician to touch it, and when we are truly vulnerable, then that wound loses power over us and it scars up.

My daughter recently had someone bring up something in her past and sort of throw it in her face in a mocking way, and actually said, “You are bringing your trauma from your past into my life and causing problems.” At the time, she was too stunned to reply as this was certainly unkind and an obvious attack from the enemy. But, the perfect response would have been, “No, I’m not bringing trauma into your life. I am bringing a whole person who has knelt with Jesus at the foot of the cross and received healing. I am bringing a healed person into your life. My scars give me great power to minister about the healing power of God.” She probably could have also added, “But your wounds are making you miserable and if you just tell Jesus what they are, He could heal you too.”

Revelation 21:4 says, “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes and eliminate death entirely. No one will mourn or weep any longer. The pain of wounds will no longer exist…” (Passion)

It’s coming! Christ will wipe away all tears and we will be made whole again. But until that time what if I learn to lean into my wounds and allow God’s grace to work at a whole new level? What if I was able to view life through God’s character and not the filter of my seeping wounds? So, yes, sticks and stones will break my bones. And this world will bring me pain. But instead of burying that pain, I can bring it to the altar and Jesus will heal it.

Psalm 30:2-3 – “Oh Lord, my healing God, I cried out for a miracle and you healed me! You brought me back from the brink of death, from the depths below. Now here I am, alive and well, fully restored!

So tell your God about your hurts and wounds. Stuffing is only good at Thanksgiving – and emotions, feelings and hurts were never meant to be stuffed. We have a big God. He can handle your pain and in return will give you peace and joy. He is the healer! Let him heal you and let your scars be evidence that you serve a mighty God.

Radical Hospitality…

I recently wrote about my mom and how she was naturally gifted at including people. She could come into a room and talk and joke with everyone, while still being able to discern who needed an extra touch or an extra smile. This week my pastor preached about hospitality – kind of a unique topic. He used the story that comes from Luke 7:36-50 where Jesus accepts an invitation from Simeon to come to his house for dinner. At dinner, a woman who did not have the best reputation in town came and sat at Jesus’ feet. As an act of worship, she poured perfume on him and washed his feet with her hair. Simeon was bothered by the idea that Jesus was allowing this and thought that a true prophet would never allow someone “like her” to sit at his feet. If he was a true prophet he would know what kind of woman was touching him and he would turn her away. Not very hospitable right?

But true hospitality and true love is radical. Including everyone, like Jesus did, made the religious leaders uncomfortable. Jesus was being radical again and it always bugged the elite. There is a song titled, “The Ground is Level at the Foot of the Cross,” the title kind of says it all. This idea of level ground would have made all kinds of people uncomfortable and it still does. But if I truly believe that everyone is made in the image of God then I have to believe that the ground is level at the foot of the cross and I need to be more hospitable.

I love the image our pastor presented – He mentioned the difference between being nice and truly including others by extending your hand to people who feel marginalized or left out. Imagine you are sitting at church or in your break room at work or some other place where people would be coming in and might be new or unfamiliar with the venue. Someone enters the room and you might say, “Here’s a chair for you.” And that’s nice. But what if instead, when someone entered the room, you went a step further and said, “Come sit with me.”

That picture hit me hard. There is a huge difference between showing someone a chair and inviting them to sit with me. Frankly, I am a little embarrassed that I often opt to simply show someone a chair. It’s a lot easier and it’s a lot less vulnerable. So my challenge to myself is to reach my hand a little bit further, just outside of my comfort zone and experience some radical hospitality.

https://youtu.be/K-DSyq19JdU (Hear my pastor say it even better!)

Send in the Clowns…

My mom had a gift for including people. As a child I took this gift of hers for granted. It was just what she did and I didn’t know anything different, but as an adult, I realize what a gift it is to be able to bring people into a conversation, to include people who are different from yourself or to help people that are new to the office or the family to feel welcome, important and heard.

Years ago, while the extended family was on our yearly vacation to the beautiful San Juan Islands, my mom returned from a quick trip to the grocery store with a car full of circus performers. You had a visual of clowns falling out of a Volkswagen, right? This wasn’t quite the case, but she did bring home a brother and sister pair of tight rope walkers. Why? She had started up a conversation with them at the grocery store and they said they hadn’t seen the magnificent sunsets that the island and its western facing beaches offered – and we had a perfect view. So, send in the clowns, ahem, tight rope walkers. She brought them to our cabin and we all sat on the deck and watched the beautiful, orange and pink sunset stretch across the summer sky and enjoyed apple cobbler.

But here’s the thing – the circus performers got to see a beautiful sunset and experience kindness thanks to the warmth of a middle aged lady at the grocery store. My mom loved interaction with people. She was genuinely curious about others and loved sharing God’s love and His beautiful sunsets. This was her gift. At holidays we often had someone who didn’t have family in town or someone who didn’t have anyplace else to go and they were a welcomed guest at the table. They were included in conversation, included in jokes and valued for their presence. Children were given important “jobs” that made them feel valuable and important. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that not everyone has this gift. I’ve done my share of sitting at tables feeling excluded and lonely and I know there are many times when I haven’t extended myself to others as much as I could.

This makes me think of how Jesus included people. He could look into a crowd of people pressing in and find someone who needed a special touch or a special word. He didn’t worry about the person’s social status when considering if he should extend an invitation and in fact very often included people who the world had left on the side of the road. He invited people in that were lonely, forgotten and misunderstood.

I am challenging myself to hear God’s voice and reach out to people who may need an extra touch or an extra laugh and I am not doing it out of sympathy or pity, but rather I am pulling people in because God wants me to and I will benefit benefit from being obedient and from wonderful people who I might not have otherwise met.

Apologies…

The other day my neighbor stormed over to my yard to scream at me. She was so angry! Let me set the scene. It was the end of spring and it had been a beautiful day. We had spent a lot of time working in the yard and about 8:30 that night, my son lit a small campfire and my husband, my son and I gathered around the fire making s’mores. We were talking quietly and the fire was just coals, perfect for s’mores.

All of the sudden our neighbor lady came charging over. Our backyards are where we share property lines and they have the most beautiful outdoor space. I have often looked at their beautiful outdoor space with an outdoor kitchen, beautiful furniture, a tv, a space heater, a hot tube and beautiful plants and then looked back at my own child and dog friendly backyard. I don’t think the neighbors have problems with the dog digging holes in the grass or the kids leaving yard games out and certainly she does a much better job than I do remembering to actually water her hanging baskets. But here she was screaming at us.

Apparently, the smoke from our small fire had drifted into their outdoor living area and she said she had been forced to move inside because of us. She lit into the three of us and we all just sat quietly, not engaging her and not sure who should respond. Finally, my husband simply said, “We will not add anything to our fire. We will let it die out and call it a night.” She snorted, spun on her heels and left. I looked at our little fire and it was really just coals and truthfully we had the right to have a small fire. But I also want to have positive relationships with my neighbors. We had no H.O.A. guidelines and it irritated me. Why does she get to sit on her fancy porch every night and when we start a campfire, which we don’t do often, she gets to tell us to stop? I was conflicted and upset as I went to bed that night. I went to bed praying for the situation, both that my heart softened and that we wouldn’t end up as feuding neighbors.

The next day after work, I was preparing dinner when there was a knock at the front door. There she stood. It was too late, she saw me so I had to open the door.

“Hello,” I said warmly and a little too loudly.

“I came to apologize,”she started right in. “I’m so embarrassed by my behavior. I was out of line and you have never been anything but great neighbors. So I apologize for my behavior.”

I was stunned for a moment. It was not what I had expected. She just dumped that all out.

“Well, thank you.”

“You must think I am a crazy lady and I don’t want to ruin our friendship. I’ve actually come over two other times today, but you weren’t home. I feel awful.”

This time I slowed down and looked her in the eye. “It’s all good. It’s been forgiven.” Then we proceeded to talk about her new puppy that had been keeping her up nights (and probably causing her to be grumpy with lack of sleep.)

I look at that apology and I have great respect for her. I don’t really like to apologize and when I do they are usually mumbled and short. For our neighbor to come over and not offer an excuse or not try to diminish what she did in any way was brave. I hope she left my doorstep feeling like a weight had been lifted.

Think about the weight that can be lifted when we repent to Jesus. He wants to free us from that weight of shame and embarrassment that burdens us. We can just simply talk to Jesus and tell him that our behavior was unacceptable and we need forgiveness and the weight that cripples us is instantly removed. He already knows about our sin, so repenting is just that next step in becoming more intimate with our savior. I am challenging myself to recognize when I am carrying the weight of my sins by myself and to remember to lay them at the foot of the cross. Jesus has already paid the price.

I kind of liked remote teaching…

It’s been a year. It’s been a year since I walked away from my classroom because of a pandemic, not sure when I would be coming back and having no idea how my teaching practice was about to change. I also had no idea how my year away from my classroom would change me.

Remote teaching started slowly at first. The Spring of 2020 we were instructed to keep students engaged and to be aware of their social-emotional needs. Be present. I remember practicing my first Zoom with some colleagues. I logged into one Zoom and no one was there – they were all waiting in another Zoom. And now look at me – polling kids, using break out rooms and zooming multiple times a day.

But here is where I am going to be really honest. I didn’t mind remote teaching that much. I did miss students and I missed traditions that we do at school, but there was also this sense of being able to rest. Being able to be still for a season. I slept in. I read books and wrote in journals. 2020 was a beautiful spring and I spent time in the yard. I turned my tv off and after 27 years of teaching, I took an unforeseen sabbatical of sorts.

Part of me felt bad watching colleagues who were struggling with the loss of a school year and I didn’t feel that stress. And I was blessed that financially Covid had not affected my family. So to me, it was bonus time. I got all kinds of time with my own adult children. I connected with my husband who worked more from home. I had projects. I played card games at the picnic table, went on walks with my asthmatic corgi and made mazes for my hamster. But one of my quiet takeaways from this season was to slow down. I still taught my first grade students. I went to Zoom meetings about students of concern. But conscious or unconscious, I made a decision to be still.

There were people who found living during a pandemic scary. Thinking about all the “what if’s” of this unknown virus. There was a lot to be fearful in 2020, vaccinations, election drama, Covid-19 and questions about racial equity. I completely get that. I also know fear attracts the enemy and fear is contagious. For me, I chose not to be fearful. I wore my mask and sometimes I didn’t. I stopped listening to the news and I stopped reading about the virus. I didn’t want my head filled with scenarios about a virus killing my friends and family. For me this wasn’t sticking my head into the mud and pretending all of this chaos wasn’t happening in my world, it was focusing my attention on something different. On someone different.

In Mark 4, we read the story about Jesus calming the waters during a storm. Shifting from a virus that I could not control to Jesus and His authority was where my focus needed to be. I chose not to give the enemy my attention because I wanted to focus on Jesus and step out of the boat in faith. So I chose to be still. I chose the power of surrender and relinquishing control. I chose to be still and watch God be God.

I’ve been back in my classroom for almost two months now. It’s different. It’s a hybrid model. The social distancing is strange and somewhat affects how I instruct. (Not a lot of group work!) I changed grade levels. I have new teammates. But there is a sense of renewal in having a season, where life slowed down for a moment. God brought me through a season of what could have been fear, anxiety and depression and because He uses situations for His good, I feel restored and relaxed as I tackle this new model of education.

I Don’t Do Shame…

I just bought a calendar that hangs next to my desk. It is a dog shaming calendar. Have you seen them? The calendars are full of pictures of dogs that have signs next to them or hung around their necks that read things like, “I let strangers pet me and then I try to bite them.” Or “I stole a roast from the counter and buried it in the backyard.” These pictures are a good laugh for dog lover me, but usually shaming is not my style.

I was recently publicly shamed. It wasn’t as bad as the “Scarlet Letter,” or anything, but a good social media shaming isn’t fun. A parent in my online third-grade class didn’t appreciate that I chose to have a drawing lesson on Santa on the first day of Hanukkah. He never asked if I planned to do any Hanukkah activities. Had he asked, he would have found that I had spent hours researching all sorts of Hanukkah activities for the next week. He was simply offended that on the first day of Hanukkah, I pushed Santa. He never said a word to me directly. He just posted on social media that it was “a slap in the face” when I had his daughter draw Santa on the first day of Hanukkah. His friends all piped in and agreed that I was awful, careless, and insensitive.

My mom used to say, “I don’t do shame.” This was a line that came from a lot of life lessons in her earlier years. I have decided I won’t do shame either! I will not be shamed into feeling guilty when I had the very best intentions and simply made a mistake by drawing Santa on the wrong day. I will not be shamed when my mother-in-law finds my house cleaning not up to her standards. I will not be shamed when I leave the garbage can at the end of the driveway too long and the HOA complains. I will not be shamed over bigger things in life either. I am sure that I will mess up badly sometime in the future. I will not allow others to shame me and more importantly, I will not allow myself to shame me. God will use what Satan meant to shame us and he will turn into good. Whether that is a failed marriage, poor choices in the past, or not celebrating Hanukkah correctly, God can turn anyone’s failure into his glory.

“What the enemy intended for evil, God will turn into good.” Genesis 50:20

I think I will keep my dog shaming calendar because it’s cute and …they’re dogs. But shame isn’t cute and it’s not from God. God is our father and loves us and wants a relationship. He doesn’t want us separated by shame. This is why he sent His son. So if someone tries to shame me, I will remind them that “I don’t do shame.”