The poet doesn't tell you
That it's a husband.
Instead she tells you
That he's a porter,
Carrying in groceries
And furniture
And her dreams.
She tells you
that he cares for the flowers
And nurtures them
And waters them
And watches to make sure they
Don't get scorched
And they get rain
And wind
And pretty pots.
She doesn't tell you that
Sometimes she feels like
One of his flowers.
The poet doesn't tell you
that he's a husband.
Instead, she tells you
That he's a woodworker.
That he carves beauty
Out of planks of wood
And looks for
Imperfections
As marks of character
And distinction
And showcases them
And centers them
And prays as he works
That others will see
What he sees.
She doesn't tell you
That sometimes
She feels like
A plank of wood
in his hands.
The poet doesn't tell you
That he's a husband.
No, he's a storyteller
Who can pull the most
Interesting part of the story
From the rubble of details
And make you see
The meaning in just the
Best few words
And make you see the joy in
What someone else thought
Uninteresting.
She doesn't tell you
That sometimes
she feels like a story he is telling,
And that he sees all
The best parts
And understands the
Importance of the worst ones
And he weaves her together
Into a riddle that
Finally makes sense.
The poet doesn't tell you
That he is strong
And kind
And that
She's been blossoming
Under his care
For these many years.
She just lives it
With him.
Monday, January 21, 2019
Thursday, January 17, 2019
El Roi: The God Who Sees Me
So he sleeps finally. I reach over and wake him bc I can't hear him hiccuping, which means I can't hear him breathing. He's always been a quiet sleeper but tonight I need him to snore, to make a sound, something so I can hear the breath in his lungs.
There's no one to call in times like these. You could call, text, message a thousand people, but no one has what you need: the solution. No one has the perfect mixture of words, the just-so inflections, the right tone. There is not one person on earth-- not my mother, not the doctor, not a friend, who I can call to lift this burden sitting on my chest.
Only You. And I can't hear You over the desperate flapping of my wings.
But I know you are El Roi-- the One who sees me.
I drove around crying this morning. I need a word from you. A sign that you see me, hear us. That you haven't forgotten that you assigned us to this outpost. That we haven't been abandoned out here. That you see that Don can't breathe because of these hiccups. That you hear our cries for relief.
What is the perfect prayer? The right combination of words, the correct tone, the magical compilation of things to get You to hear me? My theology tells me that this isn't about sin, but then I think...is there some uncontested thing causing an infection way deep down and this spark of rot is what is hurting him? I'll repent of anything. We work to stay current before the Lord, but have we missed something? The other night, he told me that he lay awake and confessed every single thing he had ever done wrong as he struggled to stop the constant spasms of his diaphragm.
We both know that this isn't how it works, but when you don't know where or why something came, you're left with vain imaginations. Battle.
So I know I probably won't sleep tonight. I'll sit here and listen for him to take the next breath past the hiccup. Tomorrow I can sleep, when he has the medicine that might help stop this, but whose reputation is sketchy. I can sleep while he sits up, trying to maintain this amazing attitude he has. Being nice even when he feels terrible. Not crying even though I know he wants to.
Oh God, won't you hear our cry?
So here is where I rest: His word.
But may all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you; may those who long for your saving help always say, "The LORD is great!" But as for me, I am poor and needy; come quickly to me, O God. You are my help and my deliverer; LORD, do not delay.
Psalm 70
I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all of my fears. Psalm 34
In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From His temple He heard my voice and my cry to Him reached His ears.
Psalm 18
When I am afraid, I put my trust in You. Psalm 56:3
God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and love and a sound mind.
2 Timothy 1
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.
There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early.
Psalm 46
Lord, You have never failed us yet. I thank you in advance for the healing that is on its way.
And I know you hear. You are El Roi, the God who sees me.
There's no one to call in times like these. You could call, text, message a thousand people, but no one has what you need: the solution. No one has the perfect mixture of words, the just-so inflections, the right tone. There is not one person on earth-- not my mother, not the doctor, not a friend, who I can call to lift this burden sitting on my chest.
Only You. And I can't hear You over the desperate flapping of my wings.
But I know you are El Roi-- the One who sees me.
I drove around crying this morning. I need a word from you. A sign that you see me, hear us. That you haven't forgotten that you assigned us to this outpost. That we haven't been abandoned out here. That you see that Don can't breathe because of these hiccups. That you hear our cries for relief.
What is the perfect prayer? The right combination of words, the correct tone, the magical compilation of things to get You to hear me? My theology tells me that this isn't about sin, but then I think...is there some uncontested thing causing an infection way deep down and this spark of rot is what is hurting him? I'll repent of anything. We work to stay current before the Lord, but have we missed something? The other night, he told me that he lay awake and confessed every single thing he had ever done wrong as he struggled to stop the constant spasms of his diaphragm.
We both know that this isn't how it works, but when you don't know where or why something came, you're left with vain imaginations. Battle.
So I know I probably won't sleep tonight. I'll sit here and listen for him to take the next breath past the hiccup. Tomorrow I can sleep, when he has the medicine that might help stop this, but whose reputation is sketchy. I can sleep while he sits up, trying to maintain this amazing attitude he has. Being nice even when he feels terrible. Not crying even though I know he wants to.
Oh God, won't you hear our cry?
So here is where I rest: His word.
But may all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you; may those who long for your saving help always say, "The LORD is great!" But as for me, I am poor and needy; come quickly to me, O God. You are my help and my deliverer; LORD, do not delay.
Psalm 70
I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all of my fears. Psalm 34
In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From His temple He heard my voice and my cry to Him reached His ears.
Psalm 18
When I am afraid, I put my trust in You. Psalm 56:3
God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and love and a sound mind.
2 Timothy 1
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.
There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early.
Psalm 46
Lord, You have never failed us yet. I thank you in advance for the healing that is on its way.
And I know you hear. You are El Roi, the God who sees me.
Friday, January 11, 2019
Everyday Champions
Here is what I tell them:
When you have walked a difficult way, you gain an authority that belies your youth. If you are sixteen years old and you know what it means to resist constant fear, abuse, negativity, and the seemingly constant pronouncement of failure over your world, you have authority to speak. Every time you look at yourself in the mirror and choose to live again, you gain authority. When you have walked a difficult way, you learn secrets. You learn where to walk on the path. You learn where the safe places are; you learn how to recover when you slip; you learn how to light a flare and hold it high above your head as a beacon of hope for others; you learn where the places to rest are-- and the people who need to know will recognize the light in you and begin to seek you out. You.
You might not have fancy words. You might not have profound sayings. But there is a quiet confidence that comes with survival.
You. The champion who saw the beautiful battle, bella...bellum, and stepped into the campos to be the campio. They will sit and listen and watch.
So now I see a room full of champions.
They are writing. Some of them never write, but today when I asked them to tell me about the champion living inside of them, they began to write. When I told them not to worry about their spelling or grammar (shock! horror!), they hunched over and held their pencils awkwardly and began to write. They squirmed and twisted their bodies around as they leaned their skinny, growing torsos across their notebooks to protect their privacy, and they wrote.
They are writing because they hear the sound of their own drumbeat in their own veins. Their struggle, their personal war, is violent and private and they are covered with bruises and scars from frostbite and sunburn and they're winded, but daily they return to the field of play. The field of battle.
How do I help them to believe it?
How do I help them grow in strength, tenacity, and grit? Oh, God, how do I teach them to not give up?
And in the stillness, while they are at work untangling the strings attached to each of their thoughts, I hear with clarity from the One who has taken up residence in my soul: Live it out before them. Light the flares. Listen to their stories. Show them the snares in the path. Be their champion.
So I tell them:
Keep writing.
When you have walked a difficult way, you gain an authority that belies your youth. If you are sixteen years old and you know what it means to resist constant fear, abuse, negativity, and the seemingly constant pronouncement of failure over your world, you have authority to speak. Every time you look at yourself in the mirror and choose to live again, you gain authority. When you have walked a difficult way, you learn secrets. You learn where to walk on the path. You learn where the safe places are; you learn how to recover when you slip; you learn how to light a flare and hold it high above your head as a beacon of hope for others; you learn where the places to rest are-- and the people who need to know will recognize the light in you and begin to seek you out. You.
You might not have fancy words. You might not have profound sayings. But there is a quiet confidence that comes with survival.
You. The champion who saw the beautiful battle, bella...bellum, and stepped into the campos to be the campio. They will sit and listen and watch.
So now I see a room full of champions.
They are writing. Some of them never write, but today when I asked them to tell me about the champion living inside of them, they began to write. When I told them not to worry about their spelling or grammar (shock! horror!), they hunched over and held their pencils awkwardly and began to write. They squirmed and twisted their bodies around as they leaned their skinny, growing torsos across their notebooks to protect their privacy, and they wrote.
They are writing because they hear the sound of their own drumbeat in their own veins. Their struggle, their personal war, is violent and private and they are covered with bruises and scars from frostbite and sunburn and they're winded, but daily they return to the field of play. The field of battle.
How do I help them to believe it?
How do I help them grow in strength, tenacity, and grit? Oh, God, how do I teach them to not give up?
And in the stillness, while they are at work untangling the strings attached to each of their thoughts, I hear with clarity from the One who has taken up residence in my soul: Live it out before them. Light the flares. Listen to their stories. Show them the snares in the path. Be their champion.
So I tell them:
Keep writing.
Wednesday, January 2, 2019
Words Matter
If you know me, you know that the open dictionary in front of me means that I’m in heaven.
There’s this thing about words…
I imagine myself, O-Captain-ing in front of a group of mesmerized young scholars, waxing eloquent in a completely non-ironic way about the importance of words. It’s a great speech.
“Words matter, kids.”
They nod appreciatively. Some lean forward in their seats. But there’s that one kid— you know, the tough one who has to be convinced, but at the end of our story he has learned a tough lesson and dedicates all of his novels and screenplays to me as an adult. Oh, and there’s always an homage to me buried somewhere in every book or film. Whole graduate level film classes write papers about this mysterious unlocker of the key to words. I become an archetype that upends that stiff from Dead Poets Society.
But I digress.
Words.
When crafting a lecture (don’t worry, old schoolers— some of us still lecture!), I talk to myself a lot. Silently, I think about what I want to say and I’ll sort of pretend that I’m arguing about it— because that’s sort of how I’ve always been. Man, ask my parents and many of my early mentors. Some of you can relate. Anyway, in my mind there’s always a voice that wants to challenge the point that I am making, so I will argue back and forth with that voice.
Words matter!
No they don’t! You’re just saying that because you’re an English teacher.
I mean, fair point that this is my trade, but they do matter.
Prove it.
If I were to tell you to shut up —[I imagine that the whole class erupts about that time that one teacher at Davis or Lorraine or Pine Street told the whole class to shut up]— why would you be so mad?
Because it’s rude! My momma spanked me when I said that when I was little (good for her!). Because if we can’t say it, y’all can’t say it.
[At this point, I would probably teach them that old playground saying: Shut don’t go up, prices do. Take my advice and shut up, too. It would kill.]
Let’s talk about what it means. [I go to the white board— are you still with me?— and write the phrase across it: SHUT UP.]
Break it down.
What does “shut” mean? Why do we add “up” to the ends of some imperative sentences?
After a little while of doing this, we decide that maybe it isn’t the words we use so much as it is the connotation of the words we use. If I tell you to shut the window because it’s raining, you probably won’t be offended. If I tell you to shut your stupid mouth because you’re getting on my nerves, I’m probably doing to hear from your mom later.
Ah, there’s another word: stupid. This is a good one. I might have them look it up in the dictionary— the actual, real dictionary on their desk. We’ll talk about the Latin and what the word really means and how it came to be something insulting when it came from a word having to do with being stupefied— having been stunned or shock by something as in pain or grief.
You can see how a room of 28 scholars could have some very interesting conversations around just a couple of words.
Words matter, and now I’ve proven that I can make you call your mom over calling you “stupid” even though this afternoon I will walk behind you and your friends and hear you casually use some of the worst language ever and no one will think one thing about it.
Which leads to another point: who you are matters. Words used by one person might not have the same impact used by someone else. If your teacher or your mom tells you that you’re stupid, it might have the power to injure you in a way that one of your peers might not have. Maybe.
And the same can be true with the impact of positive words.
If I tell you that you are beautiful, will it matter to you?
Words matter.
In August of 1993, my friend Lynnelle was one of the teachers the Lord sent into my life to help me through the ridiculousness that was my early 20’s. Sitting over tea, she took me to 2nd Corinthians 2:14
But thanks be to God who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of Him.
Triumphal procession.
What do you think of when you read or hear those words? I’ll tell you what I thought of immediately— the ticker tape parade that was thrown for the Braves right after they won the World Series. I think of victorious gladiators. I think of a newly crowned king or queen. I think of the softball team at our high school and the send-off we give them every year when they load up the buses to head to the state championship game— the students line the side walk as the girls lean out of the windows and wave, everyone yelling wildly, the police escort running blue lights in front of the buses and after.
Who proceeds in triumph? Champions. People who are on their way to becoming champions. Heroes. Victors. Contenders.
Take a moment to think about that.
Paul, who was an evangelist who saw some serious difficulty in the mission field, praised God for always leading him in triumph. He was in a lifelong parade of triumph, “spreading everywhere the aroma of Christ”!
The triumph here is over death and damnation. It’s over despair and depression and worthlessness. He is talking about the triumph of Christ over the grave. Victory. Jesus Christ, the champion— the fighter who has overcome all battles. And I follow Him, blanketed in the folds of His robes, part of the train, as both the conquered and the conquering— one of His champions in this life. Overcoming because of the power of His Spirit in and on my life.
When I began to picture myself as one walking in triumphal procession, way back in my 20’s, something in me changed forever. I’m one of those people who believes we were all created for glory— some of us will say yes and some of us will not, but we were all created to walk in triumph. Sadly, I think the church has misrepresented much of what it means to know the Creator of the Universe, but that’s not a conversation for this place— anyway, we were made for glory. To grow in our understanding of who He is and who we were created to be every single day until the last time we close our eyes on this gorgeous blue planet and open them in the face of the Artist responsible for all of this beauty.
I believe that His intention has always been that we walk around in triumph, even when things seem dark. I believe that He has created a planet full of champions, and some of us know and some of us don’t.
I believe some of us have believed the lies of some words and have hung them over the doorways to our hearts, have adopted them: loser, sick, stupid, failure, alone, greedy, insecure, ugly, etc. We sit on the sidelines and watch the parade going by, sometimes even resenting the joy we see in others.
Words matter. This year, I want to understand more of what it means to be a champion, and also what it means to champion others. I want to understand what it means to use words as a weapon against what attacks and oppresses us.
Let’s go forth and conquer, champions.
There’s this thing about words…
I imagine myself, O-Captain-ing in front of a group of mesmerized young scholars, waxing eloquent in a completely non-ironic way about the importance of words. It’s a great speech.
“Words matter, kids.”
They nod appreciatively. Some lean forward in their seats. But there’s that one kid— you know, the tough one who has to be convinced, but at the end of our story he has learned a tough lesson and dedicates all of his novels and screenplays to me as an adult. Oh, and there’s always an homage to me buried somewhere in every book or film. Whole graduate level film classes write papers about this mysterious unlocker of the key to words. I become an archetype that upends that stiff from Dead Poets Society.
But I digress.
Words.
When crafting a lecture (don’t worry, old schoolers— some of us still lecture!), I talk to myself a lot. Silently, I think about what I want to say and I’ll sort of pretend that I’m arguing about it— because that’s sort of how I’ve always been. Man, ask my parents and many of my early mentors. Some of you can relate. Anyway, in my mind there’s always a voice that wants to challenge the point that I am making, so I will argue back and forth with that voice.
Words matter!
No they don’t! You’re just saying that because you’re an English teacher.
I mean, fair point that this is my trade, but they do matter.
Prove it.
If I were to tell you to shut up —[I imagine that the whole class erupts about that time that one teacher at Davis or Lorraine or Pine Street told the whole class to shut up]— why would you be so mad?
Because it’s rude! My momma spanked me when I said that when I was little (good for her!). Because if we can’t say it, y’all can’t say it.
[At this point, I would probably teach them that old playground saying: Shut don’t go up, prices do. Take my advice and shut up, too. It would kill.]
Let’s talk about what it means. [I go to the white board— are you still with me?— and write the phrase across it: SHUT UP.]
Break it down.
What does “shut” mean? Why do we add “up” to the ends of some imperative sentences?
After a little while of doing this, we decide that maybe it isn’t the words we use so much as it is the connotation of the words we use. If I tell you to shut the window because it’s raining, you probably won’t be offended. If I tell you to shut your stupid mouth because you’re getting on my nerves, I’m probably doing to hear from your mom later.
Ah, there’s another word: stupid. This is a good one. I might have them look it up in the dictionary— the actual, real dictionary on their desk. We’ll talk about the Latin and what the word really means and how it came to be something insulting when it came from a word having to do with being stupefied— having been stunned or shock by something as in pain or grief.
You can see how a room of 28 scholars could have some very interesting conversations around just a couple of words.
Words matter, and now I’ve proven that I can make you call your mom over calling you “stupid” even though this afternoon I will walk behind you and your friends and hear you casually use some of the worst language ever and no one will think one thing about it.
Which leads to another point: who you are matters. Words used by one person might not have the same impact used by someone else. If your teacher or your mom tells you that you’re stupid, it might have the power to injure you in a way that one of your peers might not have. Maybe.
And the same can be true with the impact of positive words.
If I tell you that you are beautiful, will it matter to you?
Words matter.
In August of 1993, my friend Lynnelle was one of the teachers the Lord sent into my life to help me through the ridiculousness that was my early 20’s. Sitting over tea, she took me to 2nd Corinthians 2:14
But thanks be to God who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of Him.
Triumphal procession.
What do you think of when you read or hear those words? I’ll tell you what I thought of immediately— the ticker tape parade that was thrown for the Braves right after they won the World Series. I think of victorious gladiators. I think of a newly crowned king or queen. I think of the softball team at our high school and the send-off we give them every year when they load up the buses to head to the state championship game— the students line the side walk as the girls lean out of the windows and wave, everyone yelling wildly, the police escort running blue lights in front of the buses and after.
Who proceeds in triumph? Champions. People who are on their way to becoming champions. Heroes. Victors. Contenders.
Take a moment to think about that.
Paul, who was an evangelist who saw some serious difficulty in the mission field, praised God for always leading him in triumph. He was in a lifelong parade of triumph, “spreading everywhere the aroma of Christ”!
The triumph here is over death and damnation. It’s over despair and depression and worthlessness. He is talking about the triumph of Christ over the grave. Victory. Jesus Christ, the champion— the fighter who has overcome all battles. And I follow Him, blanketed in the folds of His robes, part of the train, as both the conquered and the conquering— one of His champions in this life. Overcoming because of the power of His Spirit in and on my life.
When I began to picture myself as one walking in triumphal procession, way back in my 20’s, something in me changed forever. I’m one of those people who believes we were all created for glory— some of us will say yes and some of us will not, but we were all created to walk in triumph. Sadly, I think the church has misrepresented much of what it means to know the Creator of the Universe, but that’s not a conversation for this place— anyway, we were made for glory. To grow in our understanding of who He is and who we were created to be every single day until the last time we close our eyes on this gorgeous blue planet and open them in the face of the Artist responsible for all of this beauty.
I believe that His intention has always been that we walk around in triumph, even when things seem dark. I believe that He has created a planet full of champions, and some of us know and some of us don’t.
I believe some of us have believed the lies of some words and have hung them over the doorways to our hearts, have adopted them: loser, sick, stupid, failure, alone, greedy, insecure, ugly, etc. We sit on the sidelines and watch the parade going by, sometimes even resenting the joy we see in others.
Words matter. This year, I want to understand more of what it means to be a champion, and also what it means to champion others. I want to understand what it means to use words as a weapon against what attacks and oppresses us.
Let’s go forth and conquer, champions.
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
Season of Change!
“By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did I sac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” (Hebrews 11:8)
By faith.
He set off and had no idea where he was going.
Let’s pause and think about that for a second: Abraham was called to a place that he would later receive as his inheritance, but he didn’t know where he was going.
He didn’t know where he was going, but he picked up all his stuff (“all the possessions he had accumulated”) and set out. Left his home; left what he knew.
What do we do when we’re faced with change? Lately, I’ve been reading a book called The Sacred Enneagram (it’s good— get it), and I’ve been thinking (I mean, really thinking) about the fact that we are all wired up uniquely. I mean, it’s ridiculous how we’re all made up of the same stuff (blood, etc.), but each one of us is this complicated ball of yarn and fabric, totally unique in our responses and theories and coping mechanisms. Just thinking about how different you and I are reinforces my belief in a Perfect Creator who put all of this stuff together, and it also humbles me— when I think about how different my response to pain is from my husband’s, this thought immediately comes to mind: “Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To their own master servants stand or fall” (Romans 14:4). You and I are so different, how could we ever judge each other? I have no idea how you were designed to work— and even if I know, who am I to say if it’s right or wrong?
(It’s more complicated than that, I know, but you know what I mean)
So today, I’m looking at changes. Change happens all the time. Things break and get replaced. Rules and laws get amended. Politicians get elected and fired. Friends move. People pass on to glory before we do.
For me, I like change. I like new opportunities and a different view— change helps me think of new things; a change in perspective literally inspires a change in perspective for me. I grew up rearranging my bedroom when I got in trouble; Virginia Redding at Pine Street used to let me stay inside and rearrange her classroom when I felt overwhelmed (I didn’t know that about myself, but she did).
But here’s the wrench, what stresses me out: not knowing what to expect. I like change, but I like to know what the change is going to look like. I like to rearrange and reevaluate and repaint and reorganize. I like to meet new people and learn new things, but I like to know what the layout of the airplane is or what side of the hotel my room is on or where my table is going to be at a conference. I like change, but I like to know that I can escape if I need to. I like to know that I can hide if I need to.
Basically, I guess I like to be in control of the change happening around me.
Here’s where a smiley face emoji would go.
So today, this is what I’m talking to myself about: where is the good in the change happening all around us in our community? Because there is so much good to be had. Not good because you’re glad people are retiring or getting promoted or getting married or widowed or divorced, but good because it’s good to rotate the crops and take a bath and change light bulbs and oil filters and diapers and house colors and outfits.
And when it’s organizational change, we step up and welcome the new people. For the folks in our county, we’ve said goodbye to so many dear friends in the last four or five years, but here is what I hear from the people who are wiping their hands and looking up and down the hallway at new signs over doors and new rules regarding parking lots: when do the kids get here? What new tradition are we going to try to start or carry on this year? We’ll make sure there are people who still remember when Evelyn and Ginger didn’t go outside for the fire drill that time, and we’ll laugh at seniors who still can’t find the door to the basement (do not ask us, guys— everyone is lying to you. They will never, ever tell you).
And we will help our new principals, assistant principals, teachers, coaches, and students to be as successful as they can be. Because we love this town. Because we love Rockdale. Because we love these students. Because we know that, in a family, an individual’s success is the whole family’s success. But mostly, because we know that there is gold buried in this place. There is gold in each person-- the children and the grown-ups— who has been called to share space with us this year.
You might not know it, so I’ll just tell you: there are treasures in Rockdale county, and if you’re here it’s because He believes you’ve got some of what it takes to help us call forth this gold. There is a calling on this third smallest county in the state. There is something special about this place.
God has not moved. He has not changed His mind or His address. He has not changed your assignment. Every kid walking into each of our classrooms deserves to get what He called us to give. And I need to let go of sentimentality and fear and embrace this new season and the victories that are before us. And if I need to wear a name tag bigger than a name badge all year to make sure that we get to know each other like family, I’ll do it. My job is to help the newbies WIN. My job is to help my new principal WIN— to succeed in outrageous ways. I want to inspire our new superintendent to be so grateful to have arrived in this county that he actually cries at night before he goes to sleep.
We are being called out upon the water, Rockdale county teachers, parents, business owners, students, administrators, baristas, ministers, lawyers, judges, secretaries, landscapers, builders, coaches. We have been given charge of future versions of ourselves. They need our whole hearts.
We are being called UP to greatness. Let’s resist the fear of change and embrace the possibility of greatness. We have been given the honor to call forth the gold in the children in our community. Let’s not be distracted from that tremendous calling. Let’s lock arms and call it forth.
Saturday, June 16, 2018
New Season: Writing & Editing
Hi all!
The summer of writing has begun! Thank you for your notes and TRAFFIC! I will update you here periodically, but for now all past content is being edited! Please email me with any questions!
Sam
The summer of writing has begun! Thank you for your notes and TRAFFIC! I will update you here periodically, but for now all past content is being edited! Please email me with any questions!
Sam
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