BB Hall, Mrs. Speights, Mr. Houston

I am just like you and can fondly recall the names of teachers that impacted my life tremendously.

It was evident teaching was their passion. They believed in me and taught me to reach for the stars. I saw integrity, compassion, high standards and drive. They raised the bar on me and I rose to meet it.

Mrs. Onstead

Mrs. Runavic

B.B. Hall

Mr. Houston

Mrs. Speights

I’m sorry to admit that there are some whose names escape me, but I can recall what they looked like and how they poured into me.

I have dear friends and family members who are currently in the teaching profession. They go to work each day and teach with integrity, compassion, high standards and drive. They are exemplary at turning resources that are lacking into a learning wonderland. They spend their own money to be sure the kids have food over the weekend, a warm coat for winter and daily necessities we take for granted. They teach under pressure from the government, pressure from parents, and pressure from the public.

They are amazing.

There’s nothing like listening to a child tell a story. I stopped in on a principle friend today. As I stepped into the outer office I was a spectator to such a story as a young boy told her all about things that were most important to him. She listened attentively. She nodded. She encouraged. She answered. She stopped what she was doing long enough to hear him out.

She is a world changer.

TV Land has launched another program that fills me with anger. It’s called “Teachers.”  Just as “Impastor” creators find it humorous to drag a respected profession through the trash, they have grabbed a hold of the teaching profession and tossed them into a cesspool. It is described as a program following 6 elementary teachers as they try to mold the minds of America’s youth even though they do not have their own lives together at all.

One review states the only thing that is missing is diversity as “This otherwise funny show, which debuts Wednesday night, follows six female teachers who comically corrupt their impressionable elementary-aged students with ill-conceived choices and actions.”

And I have waited for the outrage.

This program is a Viacom production. Pay attention parents- Viacom’s media networks, including MTV, VH1, CMT, Logo, BET, CENTRIC, Nickelodeon, Nick Jr., TeenNick, Nicktoons, Nick at Nite, Comedy Central, TV Land, SPIKE, T?3s, Paramount Channel and VIVA, reach approximately 700 million television subscribers worldwide.

When you plant your kids in front of TV Land or Nick Jr. or Nickelodeon for entertainment, you should remind yourself of Viacom’s agenda.

Let’s talk about TV Land. Isn’t that the home of our beloved Andy Griffith, Gilligan’s Island, Leave It to Beaver and Father Knows Best reruns? Wasn’t there a time we considered TV Land a “safe” alternative?

It’s the home of Impastor.

It’s the home of Teachers.

TVSeriesfinale.com states “TV Land is the programming destination featuring the best in entertainment on all platforms for consumers in their 40s. Consisting of original programming, acquisitions and a digital portfolio, TV Land is now seen in over 98 million U.S. Homes.”

98 million American homes tune in to TV Land. I just wonder… I really wonder…what would happen if we refused to consume the sewage they place before us? What would happen if we wrote letters and boycotted their money source? What would happen if we were finally outraged over things that matter most? What would happen if we quit laughing at disgraceful dialogue?

Better yet, what would happen if we picked up the remote and turned off the one-eyed monster? What would happen if we would put our smart phones down long enough to see what they are destroying? What would happen if we read to the kids, played with the kids, and actually had conversation with the kids?

What would happen if we returned respect to our pastors and teachers?

The biggest question of all—what would happen if we returned honor and respect to The One who created and loves us?

And you know what? Let’s get outraged.

There is a Savior

Twelve people.

Four states.

A few are friends.

Two are cousins.

Most have never met.

They all meet for the first time as the twelve in an airport.

Twelve people.

Four states.

And now they are pilgrims.

Who can take strangers and in a very short time cause them to be friends?

Who can gather twelve people…from four states... and create a family?

Who can know that laughter and tears between the twelve will lead to trust? 

Jesus can.

I’ve had the extreme honor the past week of walking where Jesus walked. I, as a part of the twelve, have had the privilege of looking out over the Sea of Galilee, hearing scripture read as I took in the sight of the pools of Bethesda, walking through the Kidron Valley, and of standing on the very pavement where Jesus carried the cross. I gazed at Golgotha and stepped into a tomb and found it empty.

Who can tell a blind man to rinse in the pools of Siloam and gain sight?

Who can heal a woman as she simply touches the hem of His garment?

Who can tell a raging sea to be still?

Who can love the world so deeply as to be The One to announce “It is finished”?

Jesus can.

More than 2,000 years ago Jesus chose twelve men.

Jesus and His 12 men shared everything together for three years.

Jesus walked with them after His death and resurrection and gave them the power to tell the world there is a Savior.

My new family, along with our new friend from this land, experienced a lot while we were together.

And we’ve got news that we must tell the world.

There is a Savior.

Who can look at all people individually and collectively at the same time?

Who can take our sins and remove them, tossing them as far as the East is from the West?

Who can heal and give hope?

Jesus can.

Twelve pilgrims.

All going our separate ways too soon.

But we are not the same. We have experienced Jesus together. 

And He has given us everything we need to tell the world---THERE IS A SAVIOR!

Tranquility and Peace

The people are everywhere. We pass each other and I nod my head in a "hello" sorta way. The nod is returned, along with a smile. My eyes are round and blue. Some have eyes that are mere slits. Others look back at me with oval, brown eyes. But the smiles.

The smiles are the same.

Our skin is not the same color. Some are onyx black, deep and beautiful. Others are hues of olive tones, earthy and rich. I scan the crowds and see white skin too. Milky white like me. Our skin is not all the same color.

But the smiles are the same.

 I hear music. The tune is familiar but I do not understand the words as the olive skinned people sing. My lips hardly move and slight whispers escape; I sing along.

The trees are full of birds of every feather yet it seems they all sing the same song. I am free to walk the grounds and nod at strangers. I am free to take pictures of the thousands of flowers lining the walkway and filling the gardens. The flowers, every color in the palette, rest in beds of green. The sun turns its face towards them and the dew glimmers like diamonds on velvet. Their beauty is surpassed only by their fragrance.   

I have traveled half way around the world for this walk. For this day. I found my place on a large rock on a hillside. The breeze blows past my face. I close my eyes and feel the warmth of the sun kiss my forehead.

There is a lake nestled at the bottom of the mountain. Looking out, I watch the water as waves gently lap the shore. Tranquility.  Beauty.

I have been here before. This is my fourth visit in 30 years. I am comfortable on "my" rock. The crystal blue sky meets the sparkling sapphire water; there is perfect peace.

I am free to cry. Free to exhale and weep with no fear of judgment.

I am free to rest. Free to put pain aside, forget stress, and simply rest.

I am free to dream. Free to envision all that is possible.

I am free to trust. Free to cast doubt over the side of the mountain, tumbling into the sea below.

In my heart, I hear blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.

Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, they shall be called children of God.

This place is the Mount of the Beatitudes. The water nearby is the Sea of Galilee. Pilgrims from all over the world travel by the hundreds of thousands each year to walk where Jesus walked. They come here to sing hymns. They are here to meditate. Their Bibles are opened to study the words Jesus spoke, words we know as The Sermon on the Mount.

There's something amazing about feeling an incredibly safe aloneness while surrounded by many.  In that safe aloneness I am content. What a glorious feeling! Contentment.

I have to wonder as I walk toward my car. The brown eyes, blue and green. The black skin, olive and white. The smiles that are all the same. Do all the people behind the smiles feel the same freedom here that is mine?

A Love that is Wide and Long and High and Deep

The baby arrived in the early morning hours of Christmas Eve day.

The parents had prepared a room for her complete with soft blankets and lullaby music. They were so ready to hold her.

She appeared at 3:20am.

And they waited to hear her cry.

They held their breath and whispered a prayer when the room was void of the precious, first cry.

“Why isn’t she crying?”

“Why isn’t she crying?”

It was then that her mom and dad heard her make tiny sounds, sounds as if she were trying to speak.

But there was no cry.

The nurse wrapped her in a warm blanket and allowed her mother to touch her tiny hand before whisking her out of the room.

Her dad followed the nurse.

Her mother cried.

It was explained to her parents that this tiny baby was not ready to be born yet. She couldn’t cry because her lungs had not fully developed.

The arms that ached to hold her would be empty.

And the room that was prepared for her would have to wait.

Later that evening, the baby’s mother sat quietly in a lonely, darkened hospital room. She had all the physical comforts she needed- shelter from the cold winter wind outside her window, food if she was hungry, and a pillow to cry into.

She had just walked back from a visit to the NICU. She had looked through the glass that separated her from her infant. She saw the IV and tubes and monitors connected to her innocent baby as she lay tucked in an incubator.

How she longed to hold her. But more than that, she longed for someone to tell her everything would be okay.

The birth of her Savior took on a deeper meaning that night.

She had read the story countless times.

Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem and found no safe, comfortable place to sleep.

Throngs of people everywhere and yet the baby Jesus arrived without fanfare.

You say the angels were there? No, scripture tells us the angels announced the birth to the shepherds and then went back to heaven.

We often picture angels singing the Hallelujah Chorus over the cave where Jesus was born. Luke 2 truly paints a very different picture of a dark hollowed out grotto with maybe the light of a fire that Joseph might have prepared to warm them.

The shepherds hurried to see this spectacle that had been announced. They must have told Joseph and Mary about the grand baby declaration; why else would they have been allowed to look in on the newborn Jesus.

The manger was not a soft bed. It was a trough hewn out of rock. The only warmth was from the cloths Mary had carefully wrapped him in and perhaps some straw in the trough that was meant to feed the animals.

After the shepherds left we read that Mary treasured and pondered these “things” in her heart.

Did she hold Jesus close and vow to never let anyone hurt Him?

Did tears slip from her eyes and gently fall on tiny hands as she pressed her lips to his forehead?

Was she overwhelmed with love and the weight of responsibility as she gazed at his face and gently traced his lips and chin?

Did she smile with pride as she counted his fingers and toes?

Did her heart skip a beat as she remembered this is the child who came to save the world?

 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

The shepherds returned to their post, glorifying God and praising Him for all the things they had seen and heard.

And the world would never be the same.

The worry slipped away from her as the young Mom considered the birth of Christ.

If God could create the world and everything in it

If God knew all there was to know

If God provided a way for forgiveness and eternity in Heaven

If God’s love was wide, long, high and deep

And if God sent His very Son to sacrifice His life…

This same God could take care of her tiny infant that struggled to breathe.

This same God would provide more than enough peace and strength and hope and joy…

She walked back down to the NICU and gazed in at her beautiful little girl and whispered a prayer.

A prayer of praise, glorifying God for His provision

A prayer of dedication, giving this baby back to her creator

And a prayer of faith, trusting Him to work His perfect will in her.

Are you struggling to breathe?

Are your shoulders low with the weight of concern over things you cannot control?

Is your mind burdened with the difficulties of life?

Is your heart heavy with sorrow?

Oh, stop.

Look into the grotto and see the Christ-child.

Look beyond the darkness of the cave and see the Savior.

See the God whose love is wide, long, high and deep.

Whisper a prayer of faith, trusting Him to work His perfect will.

God can.

This is Christmas.

Oh, that sweet tiny little girl born at 3:20am on Christmas Eve day?

She’s all grown up now and God is working His perfect will in her life as she is a beautiful, kind hearted gift to all who know her.

The Little Marine Ornament Looking Up at Me

Freedom. Pride. America.

The little Marine ornament

Dressed in blue and smiling back at me,

Is a personal reminder

Freedom isn’t free.

Truths so familiar and yet unclear;

Will what has been always be?

And now a new light is shining

On the truth that freedom isn’t free.

The colors and lights are all the same;

The music is familiar… the aroma of the tree.

And yet there hangs an ornament;

It is a personal reminder that freedom isn’t free.

Old men with furrowed brow of experience untold,

History lessons of battles fought unselfishly

The sound of taps over flagged farewell

These are the sights and sounds of a freedom that isn’t free.

A mothers tear, a fathers faith

A sisters wishing, and a brothers pride that sees,

The grandparent’s prayers and the lover who waits,

With heavy hearts knowing freedom isn’t free.

We thank God for His priceless gift

Jesus, the author of love and grace and mercy

And we pray for His careful watch and protection

Over those who pay the price, for freedom isn’t free.

Enjoy the thrills this season brings

With grateful heart and bended knee

Whisper a prayer for those who answer the call

To sacrifice and protect a freedom that isn’t free.

We cannot take for granted

Years and tears and battles fought with bravery

We must defend and cherish this treasure

And refuse to forget that freedom isn’t free

The little Marine ornament

Dressed in blue and smiling back at me,

Is a personal reminder

Freedom isn’t free.

A Thrill of Hope...

"Turn that music off," She spat. Her voice trembled as she repeated herself and added, "I can't stand it. I just can't stand it!"

"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining..." filled the air, welcoming the little ones as they arrived.  The music muted; she turned on her heal and walked briskly into the room to wait for the soon to arrive 3 year old children.

She sat in the only adult-sized chair in the room and she hung her head.

 How can it be Christmas? How can there be happiness? One moment I was content and confident in my faith. Trusting.

I knew the time was near. I begged God for one more day. That voice, that deep and beautiful voice...just let me hear it one more time.

And then He pulled the rug out from under me. That call. Sorrow and rage consumed me when I heard the news. He was gone, without a final good-bye. Without a hug. Without one more 'I love you.' I was on my way, God! Almost there, could you not keep his spirit here for a few simple moments longer? His voice removed from this earth and placed in a perfect body...oh, his voice, will I always remember his voice? The call came...and the world kept turning.

Rage still gnawed at her. She stood and looked out the window; the sun was bright in spite of the cold air. Little bits of snow escaped the sparse clouds and appeared to be dancing to the ground. Flakes settled gently, sparkling briefly before melting into the pavement.

She felt she did not belong here today…in church. How could she show God's love to children? She didn't feel His love. Picking up her purse and Bible, she glanced at the director with eyes that burned with bitter tears, and walked out the door. The director was speechless. She could feel it oozing from the directors wordless face. Pity. Pity that started at the top of her gray streaked head and slinked downward, covering her in a pathetic overcoat of sympathy.

Her Daddy's voice. Her handsome and strong Daddy. No one knew that she still felt like an 8 year old little girl when it came to her Daddy. When did they both grow so old?

Oh, it's true that his once rock hard biceps seemed to go soft overnight. And yes, his voice was a bit shaky when he sang. It didn't change the fact that when he said her name, the sound cascaded from her ears to her heart and she felt so loved.

She wanted to run, but her own weary bones protested the thought. She looked up at the bright blue sky as the frigid breeze brushed past her face and a few stray snowflakes kissed her cheeks.

God, I am so very angry. You have a careless way of loving me. I have tried to trust you. I have tried to serve you. What do I get in return? What good does it do to trust You?

She slipped into the driver's seat, slamming the door and pitching her Bible aside as she tried to take a deep breath and let go of today's pain.

The clumsy toss of the big black leather book caused it to flop open and papers scattered to the floorboard.

She started the engine, turning up the heat to warm her iced toes. Reaching for the papers...

There it was.

Slightly browned with the passage of time.

Edges crumbling. 

Masculine handwriting in beautiful, old cursive letters of faded ink.

It had been tucked in her Bible more than fifteen years.

Her hands trembled as she carefully began to unfold the treasure. She ran her fingers over the words. She had read it countless times.

...I saddled the horse this morning and we took our time heading over to the lake. I watched  an orange and purple sunrise that didn't last long enough.

Christmas will be here soon. I will think of you as you watch the excitement in the faces of your kids. Time passes too quickly; enjoy your family. Enjoy every moment.

"O Holy Night" floated out of the car speakers. The words surrounded her as she wept. She could hear her Daddy's voice as she continued to read, the lines are blurred between Christmas memories of my own boyhood and special moments with you kids. My dad played his harmonica as we tore off the newsprint wrapping to discover our handmade gifts. You and your sisters always had eyes that sparkled with the lights from the tree. The celebrations were different and yet, both celebrated the birth of Christ. The One who came to set the captives free.

Long lay the world, in sin and error pining.

 Till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,

 for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn...

The thick, calloused walls around her heart began to break away and she felt peace. Pain became a shadow as the joy of celebrating the Savior came into focus.

The anger she felt towards God lost its grip on her as she settled her thoughts on The One who set the captives free. His mercy is powerful enough to cover all the ages of time.

Bitterness transformed into gratefulness. Her Daddy will celebrate this Christmas in timeless paradise, at the feet of Jesus alongside her grandfather. Maybe Grandpa will play his harmonica. A day will come when I will join them for the greatest of Christmas celebrations of all.

...Christ is the Lord! O praise His Name forever,

His power and glory evermore proclaim.

O night divine, O night, O night divine!

Maybe this year, I will wrap our gifts in newsprint and tell my grandchildren about Christmas past.

God's Hope for a Better Tomorrow, God's Plan for a Better Today

I have heard it all…call me if you’re desperate…no, no, kids just aren’t my thing…I did that last month…I’m just not feeling it…

If you know me at all, you know these are some responses to the question “Will you teach the kids?”

And, after I get over myself and the frustration of it all, I think to myself How sad, they really don’t know what a blessing they are missing.

A dear, sweet lady stopped by a room a few weeks ago where I was reading a book to half a dozen preschool kids. She thanked me for being good at my job and then she corrected herself and thanked me for being good at what I do. What a kind and sweet encouragement it was to be appreciated. Sometimes taking care of the little people is taken for granted.

But then, there are those sweet God-sent souls who see the potential and purpose in caring for God’s babies. These sweet little rascals that cry when momma leaves them, push their friend to the floor over a truck, slobber on toys and ask for Daddy 1,600 times…well, they are God’s hope for a better tomorrow. I will take that a step further and tell you they are God’s plan for a better today.

I’ve had a lot going on in my life lately. God has sent beautiful hands and feet my way during the struggles.

So this is for God’s family…whether you are there for me or for your pastor or for your preschool director at your church…

Thank you for having eyes that see what’s important.

Thank you for offering to help before I have asked.

Thank you for responding “I’d be glad to” when I do ask.

Thank you for texting that Bible verse.

Thank you for sending me a picture of one of those precious little faces when I can’t be there to see her.

Thank you for allowing me to give attention where it is needed without worry over the most important people in the church—the children.

Thank you Brenda, Luann, Jeff, Barbara, Hannah, Kevin, Tammy, Dorothy, Charlene, Luann, Starr, Kenny, Sean Paul, Johnna, Lance, Peggie, Tim, Susan, Don, Sandy, Beverly, Melissa, Diane, Mary, Dixie, Jennie, Kay, Alisha, Cindy, Sandy, Misty, April, Rachel, Jean Ann, Penny, Linda, Amanda, Melissa, Sherry, Amy, Danae, Oscar, Haley, Chuck, Melissa, Mary Jo, and Toni.(and yes, I know there are names mentioned more than once)

YOU are answers to my prayers. My prayers for God to send people who are ALL-IN as one precious friend puts it…prayers for God to provide the people who are willing to serve and worship through teaching and loving the little ones.

Some folks know that there are many ways to worship our King…and one of those ways is by caring for those who cannot take care of themselves.

And they know the supreme blessing that follows.

Children—God’s hope for a better tomorrow and His plan for a better today.