Last night, I published a story about when I was a teenager--an argument I had with my mom and a long conversation with my dad that resulted. It's one of my better-written stories, and it has an excellent message about being built-up by someone who loves you. Because of those facts, I started thinking of my self and how brilliant other people would think me if they read it....and that's why I posted it to cyberspace.
Unfortunately, the underlying message cast a negative light on my mom, and I didn't consider her feelings at all. Ironic, huh, that I was talking about affirming those we love while simultaneously making my mom look bad? I unintentionally suggested she did everything wrong and that dad did everything right that day.
Well, I've removed that post. And the second part of turning my selfishness into service is admitting I was wreckless in posting it at all. I'm sorry, Mom. And I'll keep learning to love you like Jesus would.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Showers Stink!
I hate personal hygiene.
For me, there are few things more inconvenient than taking time for showers, teeth-brushing, leg-shaving...etc.
Now, mind you, I do subscribe to these activities every once in awhile, but only because society insists. (Just don't ask how often the leg-shaving thing actually happens; and if you figure out how rare it is, don't tell society.)
Eventually, it may occur to me that cleanliness actually is a service to others, and I will experience deep conviction on the matter. I'll ask God to give me an attitude adjustment and to help me see hygiene the way that He does so I can become more like Christ by loving my neighbors by not looking/smelling like a kindergartner on a lovely spring day. (ew.)
(Sidenote: I Google searched "Smell like kindergartner" to see if anyone ever made the connection between 6-year-olds, sunshine, and a general stink before, and I didn't find that metaphor. But I DID find the question, "Why do ants smell like bananas when you smash them?" Just thought I'd let everyone know there are answers available if you've found yourself wondering the same thing....)
Tomorrow, when I'm not busy cleaning the house, running to the bank/grocery store, and buying work boots for my husband to get him to stop talking about it (er, I mean, "because I want his feet to be protected"), then maybe I'll write a post that's more.....helpful? enlightened? serious?
But seriously. I hate hygiene.
For me, there are few things more inconvenient than taking time for showers, teeth-brushing, leg-shaving...etc.
Now, mind you, I do subscribe to these activities every once in awhile, but only because society insists. (Just don't ask how often the leg-shaving thing actually happens; and if you figure out how rare it is, don't tell society.)
Eventually, it may occur to me that cleanliness actually is a service to others, and I will experience deep conviction on the matter. I'll ask God to give me an attitude adjustment and to help me see hygiene the way that He does so I can become more like Christ by loving my neighbors by not looking/smelling like a kindergartner on a lovely spring day. (ew.)
(Sidenote: I Google searched "Smell like kindergartner" to see if anyone ever made the connection between 6-year-olds, sunshine, and a general stink before, and I didn't find that metaphor. But I DID find the question, "Why do ants smell like bananas when you smash them?" Just thought I'd let everyone know there are answers available if you've found yourself wondering the same thing....)
Tomorrow, when I'm not busy cleaning the house, running to the bank/grocery store, and buying work boots for my husband to get him to stop talking about it (er, I mean, "because I want his feet to be protected"), then maybe I'll write a post that's more.....helpful? enlightened? serious?
But seriously. I hate hygiene.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Gritting My Teeth in Front of Another Daytime Television Show...
"It's not about whether you stay married or not; it's about you."
Thank you for that lovely piece of WRONG, Miss Guest Author on Dr. Phil. Argh! This is exactly the kind of screwy advice which is ruining families across the world. That along with other gems such as:
"Be true to yourself."
and "The most important thing is your happiness."
The worst part is, all of this stuff sounds totally logical, and even enlightened when a petite, soft-spoken woman is crying on the stage because her husband has had multiple affairs. Millions of viewers across the country want the talk show hosts to say "empower yourself and leave the sack-of-worthlessness that is your husband." They WANT to give her a big hug and say, "You can do better than this, Honey. The cost of your marriage is too high, and you need to look out for #1, for once."
But, I believe wholeheartedly that there is no satisfaction in living life for yourself. I'm not saying a woman being dragged through the dirt should take it wordlessly. I wouldn't suggest that physical abuse or verbal threats or marital unfaithfulness is okay (or even "tolerable"). All of them are disgusting and anyone in those situations is right to demand a change. But the LAST thing we need in this country is more people looking out for #1. Don't allow yourself to be walked on, but don't walk out either.
I don't want to be true to myself--my sin nature is ugly. And when I spend too much time thinking of my own happiness, I get restless, mean, and quite UNhappy. I'd rather end each day completely exausted and miserable because I'm pouring everything into my relationships with nothing in return than to embark on a fruitless quest to find fulfillment in myself. How many people need to go through ugly divorces when "the stakes get too high," before we realize there may be other solutions? What would happen if a generation decided to keep their vows instead of letting the fear of pain make them run?
Lord, let me be someone concerned with meeting needs, resting in the knowledge I already have everything I need in You. Remind me that the answer to a husband's selfishness is not to become selfish in return.
Thank you for that lovely piece of WRONG, Miss Guest Author on Dr. Phil. Argh! This is exactly the kind of screwy advice which is ruining families across the world. That along with other gems such as:
"Be true to yourself."
and "The most important thing is your happiness."
The worst part is, all of this stuff sounds totally logical, and even enlightened when a petite, soft-spoken woman is crying on the stage because her husband has had multiple affairs. Millions of viewers across the country want the talk show hosts to say "empower yourself and leave the sack-of-worthlessness that is your husband." They WANT to give her a big hug and say, "You can do better than this, Honey. The cost of your marriage is too high, and you need to look out for #1, for once."
But, I believe wholeheartedly that there is no satisfaction in living life for yourself. I'm not saying a woman being dragged through the dirt should take it wordlessly. I wouldn't suggest that physical abuse or verbal threats or marital unfaithfulness is okay (or even "tolerable"). All of them are disgusting and anyone in those situations is right to demand a change. But the LAST thing we need in this country is more people looking out for #1. Don't allow yourself to be walked on, but don't walk out either.
I don't want to be true to myself--my sin nature is ugly. And when I spend too much time thinking of my own happiness, I get restless, mean, and quite UNhappy. I'd rather end each day completely exausted and miserable because I'm pouring everything into my relationships with nothing in return than to embark on a fruitless quest to find fulfillment in myself. How many people need to go through ugly divorces when "the stakes get too high," before we realize there may be other solutions? What would happen if a generation decided to keep their vows instead of letting the fear of pain make them run?
Lord, let me be someone concerned with meeting needs, resting in the knowledge I already have everything I need in You. Remind me that the answer to a husband's selfishness is not to become selfish in return.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Do You Prefer "Fashion Victim" or "Ensembly Challenged?"
(Post title from the movie Clueless.)
It was a naked day today. I pulled every item out of my closet (and several articles from Luke's) before collapsing in an exasperated heap on the bed--still undressed.
Eventually, my knight in shining armor pulled the blankets off my head, shoved a random outfit in my hand, and declared we would have a good day today if he had to sew a smile on me. And...I glared at him.
I just didn't want to hear about how he "never spends more than 20 seconds" deciding on an outfit and that I "give myself too much time" to change my mind, and "men don't fret" about such insignificant things as clothes because they realize they are "still the same person" regardless of what they drape themselves in, and "by the way, babe, you've looked good in everything you've put on today." I glared at him because I knew he was wrong, and I was fat and pasty white and ugly....not to mention, all of my clothes sucked.
But, he's a stubborn man, so he reiterrated his ultimatum and sat in the car until I caved, got dressed, and joined him. Then he took me to Plato's Closet and let me spend $75 on several new items for my wardrobe. Aaaaaand, even though I had to decline an awful lot of self-esteem-killing tops due to their magnifying effect on a couple of assets, and even though I didn't find a pair of dress pants that didn't look painted on, and even though I'm pretty sure the mirrors in the dressing room were bought second-hand from a hobby shop ("oh, you don't literally want an hour-glass figure?"), I still feel world's better than earlier, basking in the act of service Luke bestowed on me.
...so happy in fact, that I agreed to watch soccer. Ugh. I think I'll need to wear my new summer dress for this...
It was a naked day today. I pulled every item out of my closet (and several articles from Luke's) before collapsing in an exasperated heap on the bed--still undressed.
Eventually, my knight in shining armor pulled the blankets off my head, shoved a random outfit in my hand, and declared we would have a good day today if he had to sew a smile on me. And...I glared at him.
I just didn't want to hear about how he "never spends more than 20 seconds" deciding on an outfit and that I "give myself too much time" to change my mind, and "men don't fret" about such insignificant things as clothes because they realize they are "still the same person" regardless of what they drape themselves in, and "by the way, babe, you've looked good in everything you've put on today." I glared at him because I knew he was wrong, and I was fat and pasty white and ugly....not to mention, all of my clothes sucked.
But, he's a stubborn man, so he reiterrated his ultimatum and sat in the car until I caved, got dressed, and joined him. Then he took me to Plato's Closet and let me spend $75 on several new items for my wardrobe. Aaaaaand, even though I had to decline an awful lot of self-esteem-killing tops due to their magnifying effect on a couple of assets, and even though I didn't find a pair of dress pants that didn't look painted on, and even though I'm pretty sure the mirrors in the dressing room were bought second-hand from a hobby shop ("oh, you don't literally want an hour-glass figure?"), I still feel world's better than earlier, basking in the act of service Luke bestowed on me.
...so happy in fact, that I agreed to watch soccer. Ugh. I think I'll need to wear my new summer dress for this...
Friday, June 25, 2010
Two Years in Special Education
I'm not sure what the exact date is of my anniversary at the daycare, but it's very, very soon. I filled out my job application while on my honeymoon (sometime between June 14 and 21st, 2008). And I started working within three weeks. In honor of the 2-year mark, I've decided to post some of my "first impressions," as a newby in Special Ed. This is something I wrote for a non-fiction class a little over a year ago:
As I listed my credentials to the Director of Children's Services, I tried to ignore the animal-like screeching from a classroom down the hall.
“My mother ran a daycare out of our home,” I told her above the noise. “And I babysat constantly when I was younger.”
“But have you ever worked with special needs children?” She asked. I was embarrassed by the answer. No. I'll admit it. I heard the job paid well and applied without experience.
Out loud, I said, “I'm looking forward to learning along with the kids I would be teaching.” To my surprise, she hired me minutes later. I expected it so little, I hadn't thought about what was coming next:
“Let's meet the children,” my new boss said. My nerves flared. I hate facing the unknown.
There were eight kids in the room, ranging in age from three to six, and my eyes found the shrieker right away—a little girl standing by herself in the corner, flapping her arms in rhythm with each piercing squeal. Apparently, she wasn't bothering anyone but me. A few feet away from her, a little boy who obviously had Down Syndrome was licking the wall. A teacher walked up to him and used two fingers and a thumb to signed the word “no.” I confessed to my new boss I didn't know much sign language, partly hoping she would send me home in consequence. She just smiled and said I'd learn. What is it with this lady? Doesn't she know I'm underqualified?
I have never felt more out of place than in that moment, and I scolded myself for being so intolerant. We're supposed to treat disabled kids just like all the others in the world, right? Yet, my discomfort came directly from the fact that the children in front of me had problems. I couldn't stop staring at the boy in the wheelchair, with his head cocked to one side and the puddle of drool collecting on his shoulder. Would I be this freaked out being the only white person in a room full of minorities? I wasn't sure anymore. Would I be able to interact with people from another religion? I used to think so...
Haha, it's true. I really did question the very foundation of my beliefs for a little while. And soon, the little guys tested my energy, patience, and SANITY as well, since there were 30 of them that summer. What an initiation--or more like a hazing. (The other teachers kept saying, "It's not usually this crazy. Well, it's crazy. But not THIS crazy.")
Anyway, I tell this story because I'm tired of hearing people say, "You must have the patience of a saint" or "I never could do the job you do." It's just not true.
I didn't have a shred of experience or a clue about what I was getting into. I hadn't read any books, taken any classes, or developed any confidence as a caregiver at all. In addition, I had been known to say--point blank--"I don't like other people's kids." Who would guess I'd still be doing this two years later? And how did those first impressions ease into comfortability and a sense of "rightness?"
What's the real difference between the me-then and the me-now? I think that things changed when my perspective change--and I turned the classroom into a mission field. When I went hoarse repeating myself and thought my ears would never stop ringing from all the noise, I took it as a sign I was needed. When I dreaded getting up at 5:00 every morning, sometimes being asked to stay until 5:30 in the evening, I began to thank God for the challenge that kept a restless person like me busy. And, shock of all shocks, once I started spending 8-10 hours a day with those "scary" kids, I fell in love with them--as if they were my own. But I had to make the choice to see things that way every, single day.
I'm not a saint. I don't like changing the diapers of 9-year-olds any more than the next person. So please don't undermine what I'm doing by suggesting it comes naturally for me (and not for you.) It's not that most people "can't do" what an angel like me does; most people never would choose to.
As I listed my credentials to the Director of Children's Services, I tried to ignore the animal-like screeching from a classroom down the hall.
“My mother ran a daycare out of our home,” I told her above the noise. “And I babysat constantly when I was younger.”
“But have you ever worked with special needs children?” She asked. I was embarrassed by the answer. No. I'll admit it. I heard the job paid well and applied without experience.
Out loud, I said, “I'm looking forward to learning along with the kids I would be teaching.” To my surprise, she hired me minutes later. I expected it so little, I hadn't thought about what was coming next:
“Let's meet the children,” my new boss said. My nerves flared. I hate facing the unknown.
There were eight kids in the room, ranging in age from three to six, and my eyes found the shrieker right away—a little girl standing by herself in the corner, flapping her arms in rhythm with each piercing squeal. Apparently, she wasn't bothering anyone but me. A few feet away from her, a little boy who obviously had Down Syndrome was licking the wall. A teacher walked up to him and used two fingers and a thumb to signed the word “no.” I confessed to my new boss I didn't know much sign language, partly hoping she would send me home in consequence. She just smiled and said I'd learn. What is it with this lady? Doesn't she know I'm underqualified?
I have never felt more out of place than in that moment, and I scolded myself for being so intolerant. We're supposed to treat disabled kids just like all the others in the world, right? Yet, my discomfort came directly from the fact that the children in front of me had problems. I couldn't stop staring at the boy in the wheelchair, with his head cocked to one side and the puddle of drool collecting on his shoulder. Would I be this freaked out being the only white person in a room full of minorities? I wasn't sure anymore. Would I be able to interact with people from another religion? I used to think so...
Haha, it's true. I really did question the very foundation of my beliefs for a little while. And soon, the little guys tested my energy, patience, and SANITY as well, since there were 30 of them that summer. What an initiation--or more like a hazing. (The other teachers kept saying, "It's not usually this crazy. Well, it's crazy. But not THIS crazy.")
Anyway, I tell this story because I'm tired of hearing people say, "You must have the patience of a saint" or "I never could do the job you do." It's just not true.
I didn't have a shred of experience or a clue about what I was getting into. I hadn't read any books, taken any classes, or developed any confidence as a caregiver at all. In addition, I had been known to say--point blank--"I don't like other people's kids." Who would guess I'd still be doing this two years later? And how did those first impressions ease into comfortability and a sense of "rightness?"
What's the real difference between the me-then and the me-now? I think that things changed when my perspective change--and I turned the classroom into a mission field. When I went hoarse repeating myself and thought my ears would never stop ringing from all the noise, I took it as a sign I was needed. When I dreaded getting up at 5:00 every morning, sometimes being asked to stay until 5:30 in the evening, I began to thank God for the challenge that kept a restless person like me busy. And, shock of all shocks, once I started spending 8-10 hours a day with those "scary" kids, I fell in love with them--as if they were my own. But I had to make the choice to see things that way every, single day.
I'm not a saint. I don't like changing the diapers of 9-year-olds any more than the next person. So please don't undermine what I'm doing by suggesting it comes naturally for me (and not for you.) It's not that most people "can't do" what an angel like me does; most people never would choose to.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
When the Giver Met the Saver
So, anyone else ever cried in the middle of Walmart? Over cashews?
I've only done it once.
But, after 35 minutes in the same aisle, debating (fighting) with my significant other about what to give his dad for Father's Day, I couldn't contain my emotions any longer. First, I growled several angry comments. Then I cried.
Once I heard a preacher say that God doesn't want to give you a mate who is compatible. Rather, God often puts together a man and woman who will rub eachother the wrong way in order to make them more like Jesus. A direct quote: "How are you ever going to learn unconditional love if you are married to a [person] who meets all of your conditions?" (Paul Washer. You can hear the audio sermon here: http://www.sermonaudio.com/sermoninfo.asp?SID=31810183555)
Not only do I believe this is true, but the Cashew Incident is a prime example. It's just like God to put together a Giver and a Saver--two personalities guaranteed to butt heads when it's time to buy a present. I'm in love with my Giving husband, but he would spend $50 on every person he knew, for every birthday, Christmas, and groundhog's day because that's how he expresses his love.
One stop at Walmart to spend "less than $5" on his dad, turns into three candybars for each father, turns into candybars and a tub of cashews for everyone, and I just can't take it anymore! My love language is quality time, so I tried convincing Luke it was enough to be seeing his loved ones in person--if we ever made it out of the candy aisle. But he was sure he had to spend money--our money--to give a proper gift.
What's the moral of this story? Well, it's not, "Don't cry over cashews." Given the exact same circumstance, I'd fall apart all over again. And, hopefully, Luke and I would reach the same compromise--when Luke put DOWN the nuts and agreed to one candybar for each father we would see.
But, I'd like to summarize with the old cliche, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I learned that Luke and I think very differently, and it almost killed me. Plus, we didn't necessarily resolve the underlying issue. (Luke still hasn't learned my way of thinking is better.) But, the fact that we are "incompatible" doesn't mean we are wrong for eachother. And that realization makes us stronger.
P.S. Luke's birthday was a few days ago. I got him several bottles worth of adult beverage....and a container of cashews.
I've only done it once.
But, after 35 minutes in the same aisle, debating (fighting) with my significant other about what to give his dad for Father's Day, I couldn't contain my emotions any longer. First, I growled several angry comments. Then I cried.
Once I heard a preacher say that God doesn't want to give you a mate who is compatible. Rather, God often puts together a man and woman who will rub eachother the wrong way in order to make them more like Jesus. A direct quote: "How are you ever going to learn unconditional love if you are married to a [person] who meets all of your conditions?" (Paul Washer. You can hear the audio sermon here: http://www.sermonaudio.com/sermoninfo.asp?SID=31810183555)
Not only do I believe this is true, but the Cashew Incident is a prime example. It's just like God to put together a Giver and a Saver--two personalities guaranteed to butt heads when it's time to buy a present. I'm in love with my Giving husband, but he would spend $50 on every person he knew, for every birthday, Christmas, and groundhog's day because that's how he expresses his love.
One stop at Walmart to spend "less than $5" on his dad, turns into three candybars for each father, turns into candybars and a tub of cashews for everyone, and I just can't take it anymore! My love language is quality time, so I tried convincing Luke it was enough to be seeing his loved ones in person--if we ever made it out of the candy aisle. But he was sure he had to spend money--our money--to give a proper gift.
What's the moral of this story? Well, it's not, "Don't cry over cashews." Given the exact same circumstance, I'd fall apart all over again. And, hopefully, Luke and I would reach the same compromise--when Luke put DOWN the nuts and agreed to one candybar for each father we would see.
But, I'd like to summarize with the old cliche, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I learned that Luke and I think very differently, and it almost killed me. Plus, we didn't necessarily resolve the underlying issue. (Luke still hasn't learned my way of thinking is better.) But, the fact that we are "incompatible" doesn't mean we are wrong for eachother. And that realization makes us stronger.
P.S. Luke's birthday was a few days ago. I got him several bottles worth of adult beverage....and a container of cashews.
Couldn't Have Been Better (unless I was in Neverland)
I should have known planning a blog about the difficulties of my job would magically make for a series of good days... And I should have started writing sooner.
As this uneventful week draws to a close, I thought for sure I was due for a rough shift this afternoon. And I was prepared to practice serving despite the situation. But I could not have asked for better weather, better coworker interaction, or better-behaved kids.
There were some tiny things here and there. For instance, we have to supervise a boy with Downes Syndrome closely because his obsession with wrestling makes him prone to body slamming his much-smaller classmates. And one little guy with autism soaks himself in the sink whenever he gets the chance. But at least everyone was smiling while they got in trouble....
Quote of the day:
5-year-old: "I wish God would make more places....like neverland."
As this uneventful week draws to a close, I thought for sure I was due for a rough shift this afternoon. And I was prepared to practice serving despite the situation. But I could not have asked for better weather, better coworker interaction, or better-behaved kids.
There were some tiny things here and there. For instance, we have to supervise a boy with Downes Syndrome closely because his obsession with wrestling makes him prone to body slamming his much-smaller classmates. And one little guy with autism soaks himself in the sink whenever he gets the chance. But at least everyone was smiling while they got in trouble....
Quote of the day:
5-year-old: "I wish God would make more places....like neverland."
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Check, Please
My husband took me out for lunch today.
I paid.
So, can I still say he took me out? (Note: he drove.)
Regardless, I'm reminded that I really enjoy looking over a table at him and making small talk about the food, the decor, and the man coughing up flegm in the middle of the restaurant. Makes me wonder why I almost let my greasy hair and slight headache keep us from going....
Thanks for lunch, Hon! Or, well, you know....Thanks for driving.
I paid.
So, can I still say he took me out? (Note: he drove.)
Regardless, I'm reminded that I really enjoy looking over a table at him and making small talk about the food, the decor, and the man coughing up flegm in the middle of the restaurant. Makes me wonder why I almost let my greasy hair and slight headache keep us from going....
Thanks for lunch, Hon! Or, well, you know....Thanks for driving.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Just Read the Song, Amanda.
In my defense, Luke took a VERY long time on his Music Therapy assignment. He was supposed to find a song (any song) that would meet one of the goals of therapy, which are "inspiring movement, teaching about emotions, encouraging social interaction".....and one I can't remember.
Anyway, after watching him perform random Google searches for at least three hours, I offered a couple of perfectly good suggestions. Just about every kid song ever written meets all four goals! But, he had a high standard, and--by the fourth hour--he decided the only way to get what he wanted was to write an original song. Since I knew it would take another couple hours from there, I started reading in bed until I felt sleepy. Alright, fine, I didn't exactly read quietly. Now and then I called out, "Are you done YET?" and "I don't understand why every, single assignment takes you a full day."
But, the final sin of the night came when Luke marched proudly into the bedroom, holding a copy of his finished song, and I refused to read it. It was nearly 11:00pm, and I had turned off the light already. But the fact is, there was no reason not to turn the light back on and spend 2 minutes affirming my husband's work. Instead, I said point blank, "I'm so sick of this assignment that I've grown to hate this song before I've even read it. You want me to be encouraging, and I can't do it right now."
Fail.
Had I killed my pride and been a servant, this is what I would have seen:
Sammy’s Song
By: Luke McKinney (2010)
Hello friends this is my pal Sammy,
He woke up one day without his short-term memory
But we can help him out by remembering for him,
‘Cause he won’t have a clue by the end of this song.
He forgets that growing up he had a best friend, Willie
Who never left his house for fear of getting chilly
He also had a neighbor, who was really quite odd,
He had a foot for a hand and his name was Tod.
Will you help me remember he begs and pleads?
I don’t want to forget them after everyone leaves.
If you remember their names and a little bit about ’em
I will write it all down and they won’t be forgotten.
Well, Sammy had a dog that wouldn’t do any tricks
He wasn’t much for playing dead or fetching any sticks
But he could bark a tune that’d stop a baby’s cry,
It worked every time so he named him Lullaby,
Will you help me remember he begs and pleads?
I don’t want to forget them after everyone leaves.
If you remember their names and a little bit about them
I will write it all down and they won’t be forgotten.
Anyway, after watching him perform random Google searches for at least three hours, I offered a couple of perfectly good suggestions. Just about every kid song ever written meets all four goals! But, he had a high standard, and--by the fourth hour--he decided the only way to get what he wanted was to write an original song. Since I knew it would take another couple hours from there, I started reading in bed until I felt sleepy. Alright, fine, I didn't exactly read quietly. Now and then I called out, "Are you done YET?" and "I don't understand why every, single assignment takes you a full day."
But, the final sin of the night came when Luke marched proudly into the bedroom, holding a copy of his finished song, and I refused to read it. It was nearly 11:00pm, and I had turned off the light already. But the fact is, there was no reason not to turn the light back on and spend 2 minutes affirming my husband's work. Instead, I said point blank, "I'm so sick of this assignment that I've grown to hate this song before I've even read it. You want me to be encouraging, and I can't do it right now."
Fail.
Had I killed my pride and been a servant, this is what I would have seen:
Sammy’s Song
By: Luke McKinney (2010)
Hello friends this is my pal Sammy,
He woke up one day without his short-term memory
But we can help him out by remembering for him,
‘Cause he won’t have a clue by the end of this song.
He forgets that growing up he had a best friend, Willie
Who never left his house for fear of getting chilly
He also had a neighbor, who was really quite odd,
He had a foot for a hand and his name was Tod.
Will you help me remember he begs and pleads?
I don’t want to forget them after everyone leaves.
If you remember their names and a little bit about ’em
I will write it all down and they won’t be forgotten.
Well, Sammy had a dog that wouldn’t do any tricks
He wasn’t much for playing dead or fetching any sticks
But he could bark a tune that’d stop a baby’s cry,
It worked every time so he named him Lullaby,
Will you help me remember he begs and pleads?
I don’t want to forget them after everyone leaves.
If you remember their names and a little bit about them
I will write it all down and they won’t be forgotten.
He wrote the song with Alzheimer's patients in mind, and it goes on to ask them for details they remember about each character. But, the point is, I missed the chance to enjoy a goofy song and simultaneously build up my husband, and why? Now, I can't even remember the reason I refused.
Friday, June 18, 2010
The First Post--The Struggle to Serve
I don't like pain. But, I can see how you may get that impression. The most important parts of my life also cause the biggest physical, emotional, and spiritual struggles.
I work in a daycare which provides service to children 3-12 years old--many of whom have disabilities. These days, a large number of our kids are emotionally and behaviorally out of control. Some are violent. And, after two years of teaching in a classroom where being kicked and bitten is a real possibility, I still have no plans to leave.
Also, I married my highschool sweetheart when both of us were 20, and we moved promptly into a tiny house on the edge of a rough neighborhood. Both of us were full-time students with jobs, and we had our share of fights resulting from being overworked and over-tired. When we weren't warring against eachother, we battled a leaky roof, raw sewage in the bathroom, heater issues, etc. People tried to warn us it would be hard, and we believed them. But we jumped into marriage anyway--fully knowing it would be a struggle.
Really, I DON'T like pain.
But, it seems I'm drawn to painful situations.
*****
When people run into hard work, frustration, and pain in their lives, they often assume they've made big mistakes to bring them about. They think: Maybe I chose the wrong career? Married the wrong person? Maybe I had kids too early and didn't spend enough time being young? There has to be a reason everyday life is maddening.
They assume things can't be right if there is discontentment....apathy.....suffering.
But, is it possible we give too much credit to our "feelings?" Is it possible that being uncomfortable is GOOD sometimes?
I think our obsession with our own feelings is the ultimate selfishness. And I believe our perspective on pain drives us mad, not the pain itself. We want to be strong individuals of good character, but we don't want to handle the trials it takes to get there. So, what if we stopped judging situations solely by how we felt, and started acting on what we knew was right instead? What if we lived in sold-out service, the way Jesus did, instead of focusing on the difficulty of doing so?
I don't like pain. And I'm certainly no Paul, the Champion Sufferer. But, I will be blogging as God teaches me to serve Him in even the most unpleasant situations. When I'm sore from being kicked in the shins at the daycare, I'll talk about it here. When I'm struggling to serve my husband, I'll tell you about it. When my car breaks down, my friends don't call, and my talents go unappreciated, I'll share the experience here. And, I expect to learn a lot about giving in service, regardless of how I feel.
Commiserate with me. AND celebrate with me, too. I believe God wants to turn our selfishness into service.
I work in a daycare which provides service to children 3-12 years old--many of whom have disabilities. These days, a large number of our kids are emotionally and behaviorally out of control. Some are violent. And, after two years of teaching in a classroom where being kicked and bitten is a real possibility, I still have no plans to leave.
Also, I married my highschool sweetheart when both of us were 20, and we moved promptly into a tiny house on the edge of a rough neighborhood. Both of us were full-time students with jobs, and we had our share of fights resulting from being overworked and over-tired. When we weren't warring against eachother, we battled a leaky roof, raw sewage in the bathroom, heater issues, etc. People tried to warn us it would be hard, and we believed them. But we jumped into marriage anyway--fully knowing it would be a struggle.
Really, I DON'T like pain.
But, it seems I'm drawn to painful situations.
*****
When people run into hard work, frustration, and pain in their lives, they often assume they've made big mistakes to bring them about. They think: Maybe I chose the wrong career? Married the wrong person? Maybe I had kids too early and didn't spend enough time being young? There has to be a reason everyday life is maddening.
They assume things can't be right if there is discontentment....apathy.....suffering.
But, is it possible we give too much credit to our "feelings?" Is it possible that being uncomfortable is GOOD sometimes?
I think our obsession with our own feelings is the ultimate selfishness. And I believe our perspective on pain drives us mad, not the pain itself. We want to be strong individuals of good character, but we don't want to handle the trials it takes to get there. So, what if we stopped judging situations solely by how we felt, and started acting on what we knew was right instead? What if we lived in sold-out service, the way Jesus did, instead of focusing on the difficulty of doing so?
I don't like pain. And I'm certainly no Paul, the Champion Sufferer. But, I will be blogging as God teaches me to serve Him in even the most unpleasant situations. When I'm sore from being kicked in the shins at the daycare, I'll talk about it here. When I'm struggling to serve my husband, I'll tell you about it. When my car breaks down, my friends don't call, and my talents go unappreciated, I'll share the experience here. And, I expect to learn a lot about giving in service, regardless of how I feel.
Commiserate with me. AND celebrate with me, too. I believe God wants to turn our selfishness into service.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Major Victory... (OR, "Two Words You NEVER Say to Your Wife")
Yesterday started out rough.
Luke and I were supposed to be enjoying a "date day," because he was scheduled to work on our usual day (Sunday....today).
Anyway, around 9:15, just as we were beginning to enjoy the fact that we were sleeping in, Luke got a call from one of those notoriously-chatty friends. You know, the ones who literally surprise you with how long they talk? The ones regarding whom you must decide whether you have a couple hours to spare, or else let it go to voicemail? ....yeah.
Don't get me wrong. This person is a dear friend of both of ours, and I appreciate the wisdom and support he offers Luke. Their relationship is a blessing when they get a chance to talk at the appropriate times. However, Luke doesn't always choose that appropriate time... And that is why I was dismayed when he jumped up and took the call.
Then, twenty minutes into their conversation, I may have wandered into range of Luke's hearing and mumbled...."This isn't how I pictured this morning." What I didn't expect was for Luke to look up with his eyes narrowed at me and mouth the words "Shut up" before returning to his conversation.
Oh, no he didn't!
Yes. And, believe me, in the remaining 45 minutes before he hung up, I had plenty of time to work up a good fume about it.
Now, this is not a post about how a change of perspective showed me I was wrong. At least not totally. Maybe I shouldn't have mumbled my complaint--but Luke was wrong, wrong, wrong, too! First of all, he is to blame for the fact that I associate this particular friend with very long conversations, because he usually makes excuses like, "I didn't know it would take that long" or "he had a lot to say." In other words, he often acts like a victim with no control over the amount of time spent in dialog.
He has never said to this friend (or anyone, that I know of), "I really need to go now" or "I promised my wife_____, so can I call you another time?" If I knew I could trust him to protect our time together and not let hours slip by when he's talking on the phone, I wouldn't have started panicking when 20 minutes crept by.
And, second of all, the phrase "Shut up" will never be okay with me. Bad, Luke.
But, my personal battle occurred after I had given an earful to my love, explained where he was wrong, received an apology, and STILL felt like I didn't want to look at him. The urge to hold a grudge was strong, and I allowed myself to brood for at least 30 minutes before I thought about this blog....and the fact that I would have to write about the event...and the fact that I was acting according to my feelings and not based on my beliefs....
And you know what? I won! I prayed--okay, begged--that God would help me be a grown up and forgive Luke. And I decided I didn't want to be a slave to my emotions. In His mercy, God allowed me about three seconds worth of feeling like, maybe, I wasn't married to the scum of the earth, and I took the opportunity to give Luke a hug before I could revert back to angry-wife. And the rest of the day wasn't the horrible tragedy we have experienced in the past, when we began in a similarly bad way and I chose NOT to be mature enough to let it go....
Luke and I were supposed to be enjoying a "date day," because he was scheduled to work on our usual day (Sunday....today).
Anyway, around 9:15, just as we were beginning to enjoy the fact that we were sleeping in, Luke got a call from one of those notoriously-chatty friends. You know, the ones who literally surprise you with how long they talk? The ones regarding whom you must decide whether you have a couple hours to spare, or else let it go to voicemail? ....yeah.
Don't get me wrong. This person is a dear friend of both of ours, and I appreciate the wisdom and support he offers Luke. Their relationship is a blessing when they get a chance to talk at the appropriate times. However, Luke doesn't always choose that appropriate time... And that is why I was dismayed when he jumped up and took the call.
Then, twenty minutes into their conversation, I may have wandered into range of Luke's hearing and mumbled...."This isn't how I pictured this morning." What I didn't expect was for Luke to look up with his eyes narrowed at me and mouth the words "Shut up" before returning to his conversation.
Oh, no he didn't!
Yes. And, believe me, in the remaining 45 minutes before he hung up, I had plenty of time to work up a good fume about it.
Now, this is not a post about how a change of perspective showed me I was wrong. At least not totally. Maybe I shouldn't have mumbled my complaint--but Luke was wrong, wrong, wrong, too! First of all, he is to blame for the fact that I associate this particular friend with very long conversations, because he usually makes excuses like, "I didn't know it would take that long" or "he had a lot to say." In other words, he often acts like a victim with no control over the amount of time spent in dialog.
He has never said to this friend (or anyone, that I know of), "I really need to go now" or "I promised my wife_____, so can I call you another time?" If I knew I could trust him to protect our time together and not let hours slip by when he's talking on the phone, I wouldn't have started panicking when 20 minutes crept by.
And, second of all, the phrase "Shut up" will never be okay with me. Bad, Luke.
But, my personal battle occurred after I had given an earful to my love, explained where he was wrong, received an apology, and STILL felt like I didn't want to look at him. The urge to hold a grudge was strong, and I allowed myself to brood for at least 30 minutes before I thought about this blog....and the fact that I would have to write about the event...and the fact that I was acting according to my feelings and not based on my beliefs....
And you know what? I won! I prayed--okay, begged--that God would help me be a grown up and forgive Luke. And I decided I didn't want to be a slave to my emotions. In His mercy, God allowed me about three seconds worth of feeling like, maybe, I wasn't married to the scum of the earth, and I took the opportunity to give Luke a hug before I could revert back to angry-wife. And the rest of the day wasn't the horrible tragedy we have experienced in the past, when we began in a similarly bad way and I chose NOT to be mature enough to let it go....
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