The road goes ever on and on...

Just a little update on my life.

I have been living in the Loveliest Village on the Plains for 6 years, if you start from the beginning (minus a 10 months stay in Atlanta). It has been a lovely experience. I love this town. I love my family. I love my friends that are almost like a family. I love my church, which is another type of family. I have been blessed. I was also blessed with a job in January - but it was not in this lovely town on the Plains. It was an hour away, in a large, busy, concrete city. Nothing against large, busy, concrete cities, but I'm just not that kind of girl. But I do love my job in that large, busy, concrete city. I love it so much that I decided that I needed to make that large, busy, concrete city my new home.
Yes, that's right. This kid has "moving" in her blood apparently. I just can't seem to be tied down very long in one place.
I am moving stuff over this week to live in a house with a girl that has the same name as me. This is not my first time to live with another Hannah. And I don't have split personalities with the same name (for those of you were thinking of make a joke). She is also a teacher. We will live in house, and I am excited. I really am.
Leaving the Loveliest Village on the Plains is not an easy thing to do, especially since there are so many things that I love here. People, places, restaurants, Church. But, when you see the Lord guiding you, you must, must I say, obey. I am obeying. He has opened a new door for me, started a new chapter, and I am looking forward to see what it holds.
School starts next week for me (oh, dear Lord, help!) and so I am trying to get as much as I can moved over there before school starts (all the while working around teacher work days and open house...yeah). I will begin the search for a church home. If I can beg of you to pray for me, this is what I would ask for:

• an easy transition to living there
• success and ease of moving there
• preparation for school (and not freaking out!!!)
• *finding a church home*
• making friends (for those of you who know me well, this is vital to my life...being with people is like breathing for me)

It would be unrealistic to say that I will never come back to this lovely village, for I love it and it's people. I will come back and visit, but I can't promise how frequently or how long. Those of you who have blessed me with your friendship will always be part of my life, even if I'm not around. I am a very grateful lady to have been able to call this place my home and you my family.

“Like a comet pulled from orbit,
As it passes a sun.
Like a stream that meets a boulder,
Halfway through the wood.
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you,
I have been changed for good

It well may be,
That we will never meet again,
In this lifetime.
So let me say before we part,
So much of me,
Is made of what I learned from you.
You'll be with me,
Like a hand print on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have re-written mine,
By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring,
By a wind off the sea.
Like a seed dropped by a sky bird,
In a distant wood.
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you,
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.”
― Stephen Schwartz, Wicked: The Complete Book and Lyrics of the Broadway Musical

"Teachers affect eternity; no one can tell where their influence stops." Henry Brooks Adams

As the new school year approaches, I am filled with excitement and apprehension. I am excited to see what my class will be like and how the Lord will grow each student over the next year. I am apprehensive, wondering if I will do everything that I possibly can do for these children. I want to do right by them, but I am only human. I pray for divine strength to give more, even when I have nothing left to give; to smile, even when I'm hurt and mad; and to love all of them like Christ loves me, even the "unlovable" child.

2 Corinthians 12:9-11 New King James Version (NKJV)

⁹ And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. ¹⁰ Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 
 

The Creation of the Teacher  (http://www.dltk-kids.com/school/poem-creation.htm)

 The Good Lord was creating teachers. It was His sixth day of 'overtime' and He knew that this was a tremendous responsibility for teachers would touch the lives of so many impressionable young children. An angel appeared to Him and said, "You are taking a long time to figure this one out."

"Yes," said the Lord, " but have you read the specs on this order?"
TEACHER:
…must stand above all students, yet be on their level
... must be able to do 180 things not connected with the subject being taught
... must run on coffee and leftovers,
... must communicate vital knowledge to all students daily and be right most of the time
... must have more time for others than for herself/himself
... must have a smile that can endure through pay cuts, problematic children, and worried parents
... must go on teaching when parents question every move and others are not supportive
... must have 6 pair of hands.

"Six pair of hands, " said the angel, "that's impossible"

"Well, " said the Lord, " it is not the hands that are the problem.  It is the three pairs of eyes that are presenting the most difficulty!"

The angel looked incredulous, " Three pairs of eyes...on a standard model?"

The Lord nodded His head, " One pair can see a student for what he is and not what others have labeled him as. Another pair of eyes is in the back of the teacher's head to see what should not be seen, but what must be known. The eyes in the front are only to look at the child as he/she 'acts out' in order to reflect, " I understand and I still believe in you", without so much as saying a word to the child."

"Lord, " said the angel, " this is a very large project and I think you should work on it tomorrow".

"I can't," said the Lord. "I have one that comes to work when he/she is sick.....teaches a class of children that do not want to learn....has a special place in his/her heart for children who are not his/her own.....understands the struggles of those who have difficulty....never takes the students for granted..."

The angel looked closely at the model the Lord was creating.
"It is too soft-hearted, " said the angel.

"Yes," said the Lord, " but also tough, You can not imagine what this teacher can endure or do, if necessary".

"Can this teacher think?" asked the angel.

"Not only think," said the Lord,. "but reason and compromise."

The angel came closer to have a better look at the model and ran his finger  over the teacher's cheek.
"Well, Lord, " said the angel, your job looks fine but there is a leak. I told you that you were putting too much into this model.  You can not imagine the stress that will be placed upon the teacher."

The Lord moved in closer and lifted the drop of moisture from the teacher's cheek.  It shone and glistened in the light.
"It is not a leak," He said, "It is a tear."

"A tear? What is that?" asked the angel, "What is a tear for?"

The Lord replied with great thought, " It is for the joy and pride of seeing a child accomplish even the smallest task. It is for the loneliness of children who have a hard time to fit in and it is for compassion for the feelings of their parents. It comes from the pain of not being able to reach some children and the disappointment those children feel in themselves. It comes often when a teacher has been with a class for a year and must say good-bye to those students and get ready to welcome a new class."

"My, " said the angel, " The tear thing is a great idea...You are a genius!!"

The Lord looked somber, "I didn't put it there."

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“I will teach you about the hand of God" Job 27:11a

 

"Come, you children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord." Psalms 34:11

"Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it." Proverbs 22:6 

 

Teachable moments

Today, I was faced with the incredible opportunity to explain to one of my most disobedient students who has lots of behavior challenges what a very pertinent word meant. During our bathroom break before lunch, he stepped out of line and walked over to me. He paused, then said, "Teacher, what does 'unteachable' mean?"
....cricket cricket...
This is coming from the child who had a terrible day the day before and had to sit through a very blunt teacher/parent conference about his behavior.
I began praising the Lord. Thank you for the opportunity to explain to this child what "unteachable" means.
I explained. He paused again.
"Teacher, am I unteachable?"
...cricket cricket cricket.....................
Praise be to the Heavenly Father who controls all things. He gave me the right things to say at the right moment.
I told him that he wasn't always unteachable, but that there were definitely times that he was.
He nodded and walked back to the line.
A few minutes later, he came back over and said, "Teacher, what does 'teachable' mean?"
God, you are so good. Thank you....Thank you!!!!!
I explained and praised the Lord for teachable moments.


On a funny note, this was a discussion I heard at the end of lunch:
child 1: I was baptized once.
child 2, 3, and 4: Me, too. So was my mom. So was I! I was baptized twice. (you know how kids are...they agree to almost anything that the other kids say)
child 5: I was dehydrated one time.
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! They tickle me pink!

Bee plays house.

I was sitting outside today (on quite a lovely day, by the way) listening to the chatter of my 1st graders as they played on the playground. I never tire of hearing their little voices (yes, that's true). If they aren't saying something funny, usually they are saying something pretty deep.
Nothing deep was being sad as they flitted from play area to play area, but one distinct voice I heard over the other children, repeating the same thing several times. These group of girls were playing house. Now, I'm sure you are picturing sweet little girls, who are pretend-wearing aprons, cooking dinner, cleaning house, running errands, changing diapers, feeding baby, etc, in a pretty little white house with a picket fence. No harm done in thinking that...I used to play like that. But there is something distinctly different about these children and me. I am white. They are black. I love them like the precious treasures they are, in my sight, in their parent's sight, and in God's sight. But we are very, very different. It has nothing to do with the color from which our skin was made. No, it goes a lot deeper than that.
These precious children were born and live in some of the roughest, toughest, most dangerous parts of town (aka the ghetto). Here's a staggering fact for you: the three mischievous little boys in my class? Boys like them, who grow up where they grow up, are usually (by age 16) either in jail or murdered. Murdered. Did you hear that? My precious little ones....murdered? It brings me to tears even to think that could be what happens to them. Every ounce of my being wants something better for them. Hopefully, this little school is a step in the right direction, Praise Jesus!

But I'm not talking about snips and snails and puppy dog tails. My boys are precious. But this story is about a little girl. We'll just call her Bee. She's sweet. She's very amiable. She's very agreeable. She's feisty and full of sass, too. There is no more obvious place to see that than on the playground.
At this particular moment, one little girl was asking Bee, well, was harassing Bee, "Are you going to be my mamma?? Are you going to be my mamma?" I smiled, listening to the banter.
Then my thoughts began to drift back to a similar scene a few days earlier on the playground. Little girls were running around, playing house (you know, most little girls do that), and above the banter and noise, I heard Bee being called "Mamma".
The wheels in my mind began turning. This little girl, who's home life is pretty rough, is doing what she knows she can do - play Mamma. Whether she's seen a good example of "mamma" or not, that is what she knows she can do on the playground. She knows how to be a mamma, in her eyes. And what's saddest of all, is that, in rough places like where my little ones live, sweet little girls turn into young mammas all to easily.
After watching a few more minutes, I noticed she was a fairly good little mamma. In reference to the children, I didn't hear her yell too much, there was no violence, and she seemed to be very aware of what was going on. However, the gravity of the situation hit home, and I couldn't help but think, for the rest of the day, that my sweet little Bee would be a momma some day. I am praying that the Lord protects her and lets her grow into an adult before she is burdened with that responsibility. But more importantly, I am praying that she learns how to be a good woman, make good decisions, and protect herself.

Please be praying for my sweet Bee and all my other sweet treasures that the Lord has plans for. Let His Will be done in their life.

Joshua 1:9
"Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest."
 
Proverbs 22:6
"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it."

Invisible.

Imagine.

The sun is sparkling as is rises on the lovely English countryside. Everything is wet with dew, which radiates the sun's cheerful rays. The sky above is becoming a more brilliant blue with each passing moment. Birds are happily chirping and flitting from branch to branch. There, nestled in a grove of lush trees, sits a lovely old train station. A small dirt road crosses the tracks and passes beside the old station. In the lull of the early morning, no sounds are heard from the wooden deck that borders the tracks. The old wooden benches stand empty. The air is thick with anticipation, however. Even the old station itself seems to know the exciting things that will happen next.

As if on cue, as the sun crests a small hill and fills the station with its glow, young people begin arriving. A few at a time, they come from all directions, milling about on the platform. Some are anxiously peering down the tracks, waiting for the anticipated train.

However, as time passes, the masses of people gather into clusters. As the day progresses further, strong bonds begin to develop. These bonds between young men and young women eventually result in them pairing off. Even loners who were not in clusters find someone with which to pair themselves. No one stands alone on that platform.

But there is one who is alone.

She is a simple girl. She has no incredible talent. She neither sings like an angel nor does she dance like a fairy. She is not eloquent with words or writing. She is neither the prettiest nor the ugliest. She merely is.
She stands and watches from across the dirt road. Does she wish to be on the platform?

Oh, she does indeed. She wishes it with all her might.

Her feet are squarely set in quicksand. Her voice is so muted that it almost seems like she cannot talk. The more she struggles, the more steadfast her feet become in the quicksand.
She calls. No one hears her.
She waves. No one sees her.
She cries. No one wipes away her tear.

She...is invisible.

Suddenly, her head snaps to the direction of the tracks. In the distance, the faint whistle of the approaching train is heard. It causes such joyous rapture on the platform that it seems like the old station might just shudder and fall to the ground.

She looks at her feet, praying that they will slip free.

One after another, men drop to their knees in admiration, ardent words spilling from their lips. Women rejoice as their beloved's take them into their arms. The whistle is much closer now.

She struggles, tears streaming down her agonized face.

On the platform, even the ones that are not meant to be together, and are almost guaranteed not to last, are stirred with the emotions in the air. The profess their undying love, even if they do not mean it, and embrace with temporary happiness.

The train whistle now blasts loudly as it pulls in to the station.

Her eyes slowly look up.

The couples celebrate: hands clasped into their lovers, arms circled around shoulders and waists, and smiles lighting every face.

Her struggles cease as the couples fill the train. The doors quietly close, as if a silent prison cell door slides into its lock.

She is alone.

Yet another train pulls away to a far away destination. 

As the ruckus dies with distance, the old train station stands quietly in the waning light. The birds cease their chirping, retiring to their homes for the night, causing an eerie silence to envelop the station. The shadows become longer as night fills the void that day left as it departed.

She stands alone, again.

Invisible.