SCRIPTURE:  Psalm 119:11 & 105  New International Version (NIV)
11      I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you.

105    Your word is a lamp for my feet,  a light on my path.

"Long ago in a galaxy far, far away...", also known as a small Georgia town in the early 1960's, children didn't go to kindergarten. Parents were expected to teach their children to read and write the alphabet, numbers 1-10, and to write their first and last names before we started 1st grade.

I distinctly remember sitting at the dining room table late on a Sunday afternoon.  While Mama fixed supper, I was practicing my letters and numbers.  My dad was in sales and frequently not at home, so instruction was primarily left to Mama.  But not all the time.  I don't even have to close my eyes to be back on Daddy's lap one rainy spring evening.  We were sitting in an orange, swivel rocker ('60s, remember?) by the open front door. Once in a while I could feel cool mist permeate the screen door to rest on my face.  It was so warm and safe leaning against Daddy's chest, his arms around me, holding the book. He read Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss to me.  I'm sure my older sister and brother were playing nearby, but everything else faded away as Daddy read. It's the only book I remember Daddy ever reading to me. For that tender moment in time, he was all mine and we were in a fantasy world of words and wonder.

Growing up, as long as I can remember, Mama laid down nearly every afternoon.  My siblings and I fought over who got to lay down with her.  Mama would lay on her side, with a copy of "Redbook" rolled up and read.  Sometimes I had my copy of  a children's magazine to peruse while Mama read.  Whenever I see "Redbook" in a doctor's waiting room, I still think of Mama reading.  After we moved to Kansas, Mama got hooked on paperback historical romance novels.  Eventually, Mama, my sister, Nancy, and I enjoyed sharing new authors and books. Guess you could say we had our own little book club.

Daddy had lots of books at home, army manuals and The Methodist Discipline.   Daddy's mother died when he was five, and as adults, we kids sometimes teased him about being raised by the army and the Methodist church.  I don't recall Daddy reading the books as much as using them for reference.  On Sunday afternoons, Daddy sat in his chair reading the Sunday paper.  Under his left foot were the sections he hadn't read; under his right were the ones he had.   It was sacrosanct for anyone to touch either stack.  Daddy told Mama one time that after taking an accidental blow to the head as an adolescent, it was hard for him to concentrate enough to read a book from start to finish.  Nevertheless, there were always reading materials around him.

It's probably no surprise that now, when we go to our adult children's homes they also have reading materials around.  Their choices of genre range the full gamut of fiction, politics, parenting tips, etc.  Maybe they were actually listening when I said Granddaddy thought you could learn anything from a book (strange, since he rarely read books).  As an educator, it gives me a great deal of satisfaction to know they are all very good readers.  As a child, a parent and an educator, I know reading typically doesn't happen by accident. I also know that moments of shared reading between an adult and child can be memorable and pivotal.

What's your favorite book?  What makes it your favorite?

The best advice I ever got was that knowledge is power and to keep reading.

David Bailey

* "A, B, C, it's easy as 1,2,3."

SCRIPTURE:   Proverbs 22:6New International Version (NIV)
6 Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.

Earlier this month we spent some time with a young father and his delightful nearly five year old son.  Later, we learned the little boy had not attended preschool because of various reasons. Tom and I were a little surprised.  Mary was in preschool at age four, James at age three, and granddaughter, Annalyn, at age two.  Granted all three are very different individuals, and granted the locations and work situations were different for all three, but the goal was the same: ensure each child is ready to be a successful student.  What are we stuffing in those school bags to promote their success?

Educators have known for many years that the earlier children have opportunities for structured learning the better.  Last year the federal government passed the Strong Start for America's Children Act  to support just that for all children.  Coming from a family who read and spoke and played music to in utero babies, we get it.  But isn't there more to it than encouraging young minds to grow? Bright, successful children don't happen by accident, at least not usually.

If you type "parenting" into Amazon.com, over 94,000 entries come up.  Lots of folks trying to tell lots of folks how to raise kids.  To be honest, I probably haven't read a single one of them.  And still, I think mine and Tom's kids turned out pretty well.  Oh, that's not a pat on our backs, it's with a great deal of gratitude to our parents, our friends, our God, a little common sense and innate qualities in each of them.  Before you say, well it's a different world now than 20-30 years ago, was it really?  There was international conflict, financial recession, and digital technology was really beginning to light up the horizon.  In our fast-paced world that simultaneously changes and remains the same, what are some of the traits most parents want their kids, or at least all the others kids, to have as they enter or return to formal education?

In our time of technology, us oldies but goodies frequently have to ask the young and restless for help.  One speaker at a regional conference said it this way:  they were born into the digital age, while we are aliens.  Technology has allowed children to start school and stay in school because of the myriad of learning applications.  Is that all there is to learning? Before we send children off to school, from preschool to medical school, I wonder how much time we spend deliberately teaching them how to do such things as love one another, hold onto their joy and peace, show kindness and forbearance to others, and demonstrate gentleness (usually) and self-control (always)?  [Galatians 5:22 - 23]  Based on the students I have had over the years, there seemed to be as much diversity in character building at home as in the appearances and abilities of the children. 

Nowadays, many classrooms have "conflict resolution" and "problem solving" posters up. School counselors spend class time and one on one time teaching conflict resolution, while the teacher focuses on problem solving.  Whether the conversations at home use the same verbiage or not, it seems that students who come with at least some of those skills tend to be more successful students, both academically and socially.  When a child is unsuccessful trying to figure out a problem in math or the lunchroom and asked, "What could you have done differently?", all too often the response is a blank stare.  As educators, parents, citizens sharing this 21st century, is it too much to ask that tomorrow's leaders be trained in tenderness, tenacity and technology?


If you could package and put positive character traits into backpacks and school bags for the first day of school, what would you include?  Along with paper, pencils and paints, would there be room for peace, forbearance and self-control?

Conflict is drama, and how people deal with conflict shows you the kind of people they are.

Stephen Moyer

I was very fortunate to receive training at the home of Boys Town in Omaha, NE while teaching in an alternative school setting.  Their system has worked for years with countless children for a reason.  

Mary has taught me a lot of lessons for which I am very thankful.  Hopefully, she learned a few things from her mom along the way, too.  One thing Mary is teaching me is to try and hold onto people who come into our worlds, especially those who need us and those who enrich our lives and our horizons.

I think it is one of God's little jokes that two people that I've tried to hold onto from our small hometown school district are probably about as polar as two people can be.  One validates and encourages me, while the other challenges me and forces me to stretch my thinking. 

Recently, my friend, Greg, got a new sailboat.  He subsequently posted some pictures of one of his first outings.  Oh my goodness, my brain totally took me there.  You know, to the tune of all those cliches like feeling the sun kiss my cheeks while the breeze gently lifted the hair up off of my neck and shoulders, and soaking up the energy of the day like a sponge.  I messaged Greg that I needed to put his video on continuous loop on my computer to keep me in that happy place.  I'm relaxing now just thinking about it.

My friend, Stephanie, is part of an amazing family of mostly women who give without thought of cost or discomfort.  On occasion, Tom and I invite ourselves for church services and Sunday lunch, or dinner as we say in the South.  Sadly for us, we now live about an hour's drive away from Stephanie and her family, but we were more than happy to make the trip last weekend. Since all of them are engaged during the Sunday school hour, we knew they would stagger into the sanctuary.  Each one hugged us with all the affection of a soldier's homecoming. Following heartfelt, spirit-filled worship, we headed on over to Stephanie's home.  They cooked and we talked.  We ate and we talked, and talked, and talked.  Before I knew it I looked at my watch and was astounded to see it was nearly 6:00!  Nothing like the fellowship of friends to refresh our souls.

Thinking about my friends, Greg and Stephanie, who are different in many ways, I realized they have not only discovered, but generously open doorways to a scarcity in our society, time to relax and refresh.  What a gift!  Maybe it's not just a gift, but a necessity.  That made me think about the accounts of Jesus slipping away from the crowds and demands to a place of quiet and solitude.  If the Son of God needed peace and quiet once in a while in order to complete the tasks set before Him, wouldn't we be wise to do the same?  I'm so thankful for the respite Greg and Stephanie have offered.  Makes me wonder why I don't seek it out more often. Do I make the same offer to others around me?

Where's your "happy place"?  What do you do to "restore you soul"?

Matthew 11:28-30  New International Version (NIV)
28 “Come to me,all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

SCRIPTURE: Luke 18:15-17New International Version (NIV)15 People were also bringing babies to Jesus for him to place his hands on them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. 16 But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. 17 Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

Ok, maybe it was sharks, tsunamis and holy days instead of lions, and tigers, and bears, but oh my! middle schoolers surely did teach me a lot last week when I was subbing in science at my new school.  When I accepted the assignment, I told Tom the only thing worse would be middle school math, but it was a way to pick up a little extra cash, so why not?What a surprise I had in store!

Each class was started with a little brainstorming to see how much students knew and to build a little background knowledge for all of us.  It was amazing to listen to and watch middle schoolers enthusiastically show what they know.  They were so excited their hands were waving at me, some of them were actually bouncing in their chairs, but delightfully they remained respectful to me and each other.

 Katie remembered a book she read last year.  Audrey told us about a shark spotting when her family was on vacation in Hawaii.  Meanwhile, Michael and Devon were busy sketching different types of sharks from memory with incredible accuracy.  Did you know that in the 21st century, 100 million sharks are killed annually compared to five people being killed by sharks?  Made us wonder which one is more dangerous.  The middle schoolers taught me more than I ever knew about sharks, and I didn't even read the assigned magazine article.

The middle schoolers also taught, or reminded, me several lessons that day that are important to educators, and maybe anyone else who lives life outside a cave. 

* Knowledge is expressed in many forms, verbal, written, sketched, etc.
* Enthusiasm is contagious.
* We don't all process information at the same speed.
* We don't all process information and get the same result.
* If we look hard enough, we can usually find something in common with those around us. (Remember the Kevin Bacon post?)
* Worship has many faces.  (Maybe I'll tell you about going to my first mass with these students another day.)
* Expectations drive actions, positively or negatively.
* Even "big kids" need recess once a day.
* Most of us love learning when it's something that interest us (not because it might be on a test).
* People enjoy doing what they are successful doing.
* If you're mean to people they probably don't want to play with you.
*WE CAN ALL LEARN SOMETHING NEW. 
* WE CAN ALL LEARN FROM THOSE AROUND US.

It was a terrific day, and one I am so thankful for!  A day I just intended to be a way to pick up a little cash, turned out to come with a huge bonus.

A few things you may have picked up about Tom if you've been reading David's Daughter for a while is that he's usually quiet, a Boy Scout, and doesn't usually try to stir things up.   When Mary was three or four years old, she walked into Granny and Dakie's (my parents) house and proudly said, "Dakie, Daddy said to never eat the snow where Bambi goes!"  Mary's Daddy thought it was pretty cute and funny, even though Mary didn't quite understand, she did know who Bambi was.  My Daddy didn't think it was quite as amusing (strait-laced doesn't even begin to describe him).

Flash forward a couple of decades.  I was trying to teach American History in an urban school district alternative school.  Good news was if I had five students in a class that was considered big.  Bad news was some of the students' worlds were very small, sometimes not even extending to the city limits. As a result, their schema or background knowledge was also very limited.  Memorial Day and Fourth of July are just summer sale days, right?  For students who might not be sure if there would be supper that night, or if mom would even come home or if their clothes would be where they left them the night before, American History had very little or no relevance.  They lived in the here and now because for them, there may not be a later. Nobody cares about them, so why should they care about some old dead guys?

So there we were on a cold, blustery day, Derrick, Janita and me pretending we are teaching and learning American History.  Janita is putting in her time and working hard so she can graduate.  Even on the days when she comes to school with the heavy, sweet but sickly smell from someone have a little smoke in the car on the way to school, she still stays focused. She's pretty, bright, and because she has a plan and a support system she has a chance to 'get out', of the hood that is.  Derrick on the other hand is as silly as a case of Silly String.  He's a good looking kid, who loves to have fun, is an amazing dancer, but as they say 'not the brightest light on the porch'. (I'm not sure which came first for Derrick, driver's license or fatherhood.) Janita is junior status while Derrick is barely freshman status.  On the days when it's just the three of us, because the 'upperclassmen' boys have prior engagements, like court or a counseling session, Derrick does all he can to impress Janita.  I can almost imitate her look at him that said, "If you were a fly on the wall, I'd smack you.  I just might do it anyway."   

Anyway, back to American History.  Maybe we were talking about the harshness of winter at Valley Forge.  As so often was the case, our class discussion went a bit awry.  Janita tells Derrick and I that her grandma taught her how to make snow ice cream.  We chat about ingredients as I tell her I've never had it, and that where I grew up we didn't have snow. Then I tell them Tom's safety tip to Mary that appalled Daddy.  Janita gets it immediately and starts laughing.  Not wanting to be left out of the conversation, Derrick pipes in, "Wuz yo Daddy's name Bambi?"  Janita and I both started laughing at Derrick, his usual goal, before we noticed that he was dead serious.

There were so many alarms going off in my head that I thought it must be a fire drill.  How could Derrick not know who Bambi was?  How sad that Derrick has missed out on the innocence, and yes, privilege of knowing some of childhood's favorite characters.  No wonder he could care less about what I'm trying to teach him; I probably sound like I'm speaking a different language, at least part of the time. And I am.  I'm speaking white, middle class, suburban, college graduate English.  No wonder he glazes over sometimes, and it's not just from lack of sleep the night before because the gunshots kept him awake.

Janita and I try in vain to explain to Derrick who Bambi is.  Unfortunately, we didn't have iPhones in our pockets, computers in our classroom, or Wi-Fi in the building to actually show him pictures, or even a video clip.  Derrick did not have the dendrites, or brain hooks, to hang that new knowledge on.  His narrow perspective only allowed him to ask a question about something/someone he could connect to: Daddy.

That day, whether he realized it or not, Derrick did the teaching and I did the learning. Moving from secondary alternative school to elementary, I took that powerful lesson Derrick taught me and tried to find some connections for students with as many lessons as possible. Hopefully, I've transferred that skill to other areas in my life. 

Just so you don't think I am even close to having it altogether, I have to share a tidbit that has given me pause for thought and a few chuckles.  One day in my 3rd grade classroom, Samiyah came up to me in quite a snit.  "Mrs. Walters!  Do you know what Ty just called me?" (In less generous moments, I called Samiyah a bully.  On our better days, I appreciated her for what she is, extremely intelligent, driven, charismatic and outspoken.  I fell in love with Ty the second day he was in my class, dirty, ornery, with lots of learning gaps, all wrapped up in charm.)  Not waiting for my response, Samiyah informed me that her classmate had called her the "b" word.  I had learned long before to not be surprised at the raucous vocabulary of students, but also knowing it's usually wise to clarify.  After clarifying, I spoke to Ty who readily admitted to using the term.  "But Mrs. Walters, you call her that all the time!"  What?  "You are always calling Samiyah 'prissy britches'."  


Have you ever had the experience of receiving a blank stare from someone during a conversation and realizing later they may not have had a clue what you were talking about? How does your perspective, or viewpoint, affect how you communicate with others? Do we accidentally speak in parables to those around us?

There are things I can't force. I must adjust. There are times when the greatest change needed is a change of my viewpoint.

Denis Diderot

I'm not a big Abbott and Costello fan, but Tom thinks their 'Who's on First?' skit is hysterical.  If it makes Tom laugh, then it makes me laugh, too.  If you're not familiar with it, pull it up on youtube for a chuckle.  It's a classic case of a breakdown in communication due to different perspectives.

Have you ever been in an elementary school the week or so before school starts?  If you haven't, you might be surprised at what's going on.  From my first year until my last I have always been amazed at the seemingly miraculous transition from sterile, foreboding surroundings to hallways and classrooms that are almost audible as they welcome children and families to a new school year.  In a time and space continuum that puts any decorating makeover show to shame, out of the noise of teachers clamoring for each others's summer stories and updates, stacks and stacks of boxes and books, crates of curtains, lamps and all sorts of "necessities", teachers create their unique learning environments almost overnight.

Recently, thankfully, I retired from public education. I will confess that long before entering the classroom as a "highly qualified professional", I wanted my space arranged and kept just so, before beginning the real work, whatever that was.  I do not consider myself to be OCD, although there may be others who do (even within my family, talk about the pot calling the kettle black).   I like to consider myself organized, thanks to two very organized parents, and being married to a very organized man.  (I know, the kids didn't have a chance did they?)  "Everything in its place, and a place for everything" just works for me.

In the summers I loved watching home decorating shows. I even tried a few ideas, much to Tom's disdain, as in "You want the kitchen painted WHAT color?"  I was delighted to begin learning a bit about feng shui.  Oh how did they know!  That's me!  You mean I'm not crazy, weird, etc.  Just wait 'til I tell Tom!

So, I've watched my shows, read my magazines, which are now James's hand-me-down copies of Real Simple.  Frequently, they seemed to say the same thing:  carve out a special space to do that thing you do.  Alright, I have permission to designate, decorate and organize, maybe not in quite that order.  Since our house is not that big, Tom probably thought I'd run out of areas for the annual makeover.  Unfortunately for him, Tom hadn't been watching shows, reading magazines and looking at websites.  Poor guy, even though he was caught off guard, he shouldn't have been surprised.

Now all I had to do was figure out where to carve.  You know that cat I wrote about, Magellan?  I probably didn't mention that he and Maisie have their own bedroom.  It's the enclosed back porch where I'd discovered Bobby and Bonnie Bunny frolicking in our backyard. Life became much simpler when I surrendered the room to them. For my special place, that left three occupied bedrooms, the living room, dining room, kitchen, and uninhabitable basement.  Kitchen, it is! And the best part is, thanks to our bay windows, I can even look straight out through the enclosed porch to the Bunnys's playground.

Ok, let's take a little bird walk here.  Like probably everyone reading this blog, I am familiar with grief.  I also know that life stages can involve some of the stages of grief because they usually mean the end of something, even if it's to make way for the beginning of something wonderful.  While I had retired to do what I had been looking forward to for much longer than I realized, it was also a big step with big changes.  Initially, carving a space, honoring feng shui, were part of the process of change.  

So, the long-suffering Tom was patient and did what he always does: he mumbles a little, then paints, builds, assembles, etc. to turn my ideas into reality.  And a few of the things that make Tom so terrific is he never complains, he always does his best, and he never criticizes me for taking too long to become productive after his part is finished.  (I'm sure there's some residual Boy Scout Law still driving him.)
  
Nearly a month after the last day of school and I still wasn't really doing much writing.  Tom and I had carved out my space.  I'd had lunch with my sister and girlfriends.  Applied for part-time jobs and gone in for periodic doctor and dentist appointments.  What was I waiting for?  I had talked about, prayed about, practiced a little, prepared a lot.  Why wasn't I writing?   The fear of failure? Lack of time management (because sleeping in, mani-pedis, lunches with friends, etc. are all crucial to well-being, right?)?  Being afraid the reality wouldn't be as great as the dream? Disobedience? What keeps us from jumping in and pursuing what we want to do, or what we know we are called to do?


What are you aching but afraid to do?  What's the cost or the consequence of not starting or restarting on that personal dream? What can you do today to begin your exciting adventure?


We are to learn our duty from the Lord, and then we are to act in all diligence, never being lazy or slothful. The pattern is simple but not easy to follow. We are so easily distracted.

Henry B. Eyring

It may not look like a big change to you, but trust me, I can make a major operation out of any environmental adjustment (making table cover, online chair shopping, then purchasing in store, chair having to be returned. online and store shopping for just the right desk, assembly required, etc).  Thank goodness Mama and Tom always reiterated the importance of measuring first.  How does your space measure up?

WARNING LABEL: For those of you who have children, hopefully this analogy will make perfect sense. For the rest of you, you may want to skip to the paragraph in blue. 

Remember, probably about the third trimester, when it was time to actually begin getting a new space ready for a new person?  After much deliberation and research, you've finally decided on a baby bed and the box is now sitting in your living room. It emanates a silent challenge to all those qualities you imagine a perfect parent must have: patience, organization, creativity, patience, endurance, mechanical skills, did I mention patience?  

Then it happens:  you open the box, see all those parts and immediately begin searching for the instructions.  Whew! There they are.  But, wait a minute, they seem to be in every language except the one you read and write in.  Okay, just keep looking, and besides there are plenty of diagrams.  How hard can this be, right?  

One injured finger (Mommy says we don't go to the ER for x-rays until this bed is put together), three cold beverages, and two wasted hours later, you're still looking at a jumble of parts.  After some frantic scouring through 38 pages, you've finally located the English/native language directions.  By this time Mommy is sitting in the recliner, alternately rubbing bulging tummy and aching back.  But she gives you that look and says in her best Boston Marathon cheerleader voice, "I know you can do it, Honey".

And somehow, you do.  And when it's all assembled, you both stand there looking at it, grinning like a couple of fools.  An outsider looking in might think you were glowing over your new darling, not your new darling's bed.  After a little wrangling and more grunting, the bed is installed in what can now officially be called 'the nursery'.  As you collapsed on the floor, your part complete (at least for now), Mommy calmly goes to the closet and begins pulling out all kinds of colorful, soft, welcoming textiles.  You watch in wonder and pride as she transforms a plain piece of furniture into a newborn haven.

By this time, you are recovered enough to grin at Mommy as you get up to wrap her in your most tender and loving embrace.  It's almost time.  Things are nearly ready.  Your exhaustion and frustration turn to exhilaration and fascination as you bask in the new life that is about to arrive and change your world forever.

Good grief, that's a long explanation.  Thanks for hanging in there.  Here's the deal:  Life with Bobby and Bonnie has gone to the editors, and now is sitting in my inbox ready for my turn at editing.  I'm still trying to figure out the change form; the directions seem to be in some kind of writing dialect.  Parts and tools are ready for assembling.  As my coach friends say, 'no pain, no gain'. So excuse me if I cut out so I can hit the manuscript for the next phase since I'm getting more and more excited about it's arrival (if I stay on track, Bobby and Bonnie should be available by Christmas).

HUGE KUDOS to Mr. Darcy for his excellent proofing and editing before submission.  I'm sure he just saved Mom some major bucks for editorial services.

Does this give anyone else a headache besides me?  I'd probably choke one of us picking up Beautiful Baby Girl for a middle of the night feeding.  J and J, do you think Tom would have considered assembling this wonder on wheels as grounds for divorce?

SCRIPTURE:  Luke 10:25-29   New American Standard Bible (NASB)
25 A lawyer stood up and put Him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 And He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How does it read to you?” 27 And he answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And He said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.” 29 But wishing to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Do you remember this guy?  Good ole Archie Bunker. The epitome of intolerance and bigotry.  He was quite the controversial figure when "All in the Family" debuted in 1971.  The network was brave enough to give voice to ideas probably hiding in the 'great silent majority', and to a generation hungry to find a new balance in their lives and our nation.

As I look back, bigotry and prejudice have played active roles throughout my life.  I was amazingly blessed to have two parents who never conveyed prejudice to my siblings and I.  That's quite a feat since we were growing up in the very early '60s in Georgia.  I am ashamed and embarrassed to acknowledge that other family members either seemed to revel in their prejudice, or at the very least were complacent to the prejudice in the culture at the time. Mama and Daddy tried really hard to raise me to be a sweet, Southern young lady accepting of all God's children.

Moving from a small Southern town in 1963 to a Midwest city, I was not prepared for classmates, and sadly some teachers, who not only assumed and insinuated, but flat out said to me that I must be prejudiced since my thick accent spoke loudly of my origins.  If that wasn't bad enough, there were those who assumed and remarked that anyone from the South must be ill-mannered, ill-bred, and illiterate. Reckon they thought we were all related to Li'l Abner and his clan, coming from Dogpatch, USA.  It's many years and classrooms later, but for some the sentiment remains the same.  And you know what?  It still hurts.

It still hurts, but I'm thankful for my own little portion of being tormented by the bigots and prejudiced.  God's so smart and so unexpected, but I didn't realize how much until He dropped me right in the middle of an urban school district, at the secondary alternative school no less. He loved me enough and knew my heart needed breaking so He could start to plant a burden in it.  Shadows of prejudice and fear that personal experiences had fostered began to fade.  As I listened to my students's stories, not easily given, and they eventually listened to mine, not easily accepted, I began to look at each face as an individual, not a race or a culture, or anything else.  It was Derrick and Rakeem,  LeDarius and Janita, my Derrell. Children, forced to react as adults when they were barely in their teens, who had dealt with more in their short years than most of us white folks even know exists.  Death, deprivation, lacking love, comfort, and understanding in tender lives.  And my heart broke.

As my heart broke, I prayed it would spill over into the lives of our young adult children.  I wanted their hearts and eyes to perceive the world without the filters that the world would thrust upon them.  Thankfully, echos of hatred and prejudice do not linger after their words and actions.  But, sadly, all of us have discovered that evil comes in all shapes, sizes, places and faces.  It's permanent address is not the urban core.  It can reside just as easily in upright, uptight, upstanding suburbia.  We're learning not to judge the person across the aisle at church or the movies by their outward appearances.  Demons can infiltrate in what seem to be the most unlikely spaces.

'It's Just a Long Way Home' just finished playing on satellite radio.  How appropriate!  Just when I think I've come so far in growing a welcoming heart, reality slaps me upside the head. Pulling into a parking space at the mall by a red pickup truck, I immediately made a judgment: all those bumper stickers must mean the person isn't nearly as good of a vehicle steward as Tom (who has NEVER allowed words and adhesives near our cars).  Then I read them.  Really? I wish I could say I didn't read every single, personally offending, bumper sticker.  Well, I sucked my teeth, stuck my chin up, shook my head and thought to myself, "I feel sorry for any woman who has to put up with that man!"  And of course he must be a red-neck, lacking couth, tact, and, wait for it....acceptance.  And God laughed.  If I am not willing to accept someone because of the statements on his truck, how am I any different than he is?   Ouch!  I guess it really is just a long way home until we can truly see each one as God does. In the meantime, I think I need to keep asking myself who is the neighbor that I need to love as I love myself.


Who's more intolerant?  "Them" for not understanding or trying to understand, and accept. Or me for not trying to understand and accept their intolerance?



Acceptance and tolerance and forgiveness, those are life-altering lessons.

Jessica Lange

I just love the old Andy Griffith Show  reruns, the black and white ones, not the color versions.  Partially, it's because I always thought Daddy looked like Andy Griffith.  Lately, I've begun to think part of the attraction is Andy's acceptance of everyone.  Remember Otis?  I'm betting my family is not the only one to have one.  Andy was always patient, courteous, tolerant, and willing to give a person the benefit of the doubt.  He also was willing to admit when he had made a mistake, especially when he'd misjudged someone.  What would our world be like if we had a few more Andys and a few less Archies?

2 Corinthians 5:17New International Version (NIV)
17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come:] The old has gone, the new is here!

Today is Tom's birthday!  Sometimes I wonder if I love his birthday more than he does.  After several decades of wedded bliss, I'm still not sure what his idea of perfect birthday is. (He just walked by and said, "I thought it was just another day," in his best Eeyore voice.)  On his birthday, though, I get to do everything I can to make it more than 'just another day'.  Today the kids are all coming for a barbecue. (Any time the kids are all home is my best day!)  The menu is planned with his favorites, pork chops, corn on the cob, watermelon, zucchini bread and sour cream pound cake.  His gift is nearly ready. (We saw a window frame with pictures  in it in a gift store on vacation in Colorado, his favorite place in the world, last year.   The frame has been in the garage for months, but it is now filled with Tom's favorite mountain pictures and just needs a little tweaking before it's ready to hang.)

I'd love to take credit for the huge grin on Tom's adult picture.  Tom rations his big grins. This one he brought out in full force when he was holding our first and VERY tiny (less than 4 pounds) granddaughter for the first time.  Isn't it a terrific picture!  I need to print it for both of us to enjoy and remind us of that happy place (of the heart), kind of like the mountain pictures (his happy place of the mind).  

Where's your happy place?  What was your favorite birthday?  What made it your favorite? What is the time, the place, the people?  My prayer for you that as amazing as your favorite birthday was, one even better is just around the corner, waiting to surprise and bring you joy.