Changed...

I've been home longer than I was gone, but it's taken me that long to work through the culture shock, jet lag, and just...re-entry. Plus, my amazing family has claimed so much of my time since I've been home, that it's just now that I'm able to really process (during the school year, they are shamefully abandoned; and then I left the country not 48 hours after graduation...they get to claim as much of my time as they want.).

Am I changed? Yep. You can't journey to the fifth-poorest country on our planet, look into the faces of their neediest children, walk in the dirt to their homes, talk with the caregivers and NOT be changed. My heart is even more broken for their plight than ever before. And, a mighty huge chunk has been left in a feeding centre in the middle of the "bush" in Malawi. It's in the care of children with names such as Bridget Chomba, Mishak, Jonathan Saidi, Zione Flak, Yankho Guya, and Gabu...

Another thing that hit me like a two-by-four between the eyes was watching MY students rise to the occasion. In trips past, there was always something that fell through the cracks, some minor task that needed completing (if not, it would upset the whole applecart), some child that needed a friend that was overlooked, some person who needed a kind word. Not this year. This year's crop of students CLICKED. One person's weakness was covered by another person's strength. There were very few holes - in our team's strengths and in our program. To the point that I felt lost at times. Where was my job? I'm used to following the pack, picking up the dropped pieces, and filling in the cracks.

That loss of equilibrium is actually what we want. It means I feel a bit...off...as a leader, but it's a real dream come true. It means that we have enabled our students to the point that they don't necessarily NEED us to do what they were meant to do. The biggest dream of any person who's training leaders is to "train ourselves out of a job." Will we ever be out of our job? NO. There's always a new crop of students rising through the ranks for whom we need to be available. But, to actually see confidence, talents, and gifts woven together so beautifully as we leaders were able to...that happens very seldom in our lifetimes.

After a day or two of feeling a bit...not needed, I realized that this off-balance-ness was what I needed to learn. That maybe, just maybe, there was something for ME to do that didn't involve training or equipping my students (because, we already did that SO WELL.). That's when I got to look around and realize the incredible need for LOVE in the children at the centre. It was made abundantly clear to me when a seven-year-old boy climbed in my lap like a baby and sat there, letting me hold him, rock him, and sing to him for almost an hour. Seven-year-old boys in Malawi DON'T snuggle like that. But, this little boy had a deep-seated need, and he took the opportunity presented to him - one that, if I had been doing my usual "job" wouldn't have been available.

Memories are embedded in my heart, and since my camera broke down while on the trip, they're all I've got. Once I steal some photos from my team, I'll post them here. :)

The Tale of the Money Jar

A little while ago, I mentioned that I have a grammar kitty in my classroom. Any time that a child uses the incorrect form of a pronoun ("Me and Johnny went to the store...") or chooses "can" when they should've chosen "may" ("Can I go to the bathroom?"), they owe me 25-cents.

We've been keeping a running tally of the money because, as per my students' requests, at the end of the year a donation in their name will be made to Malawi Children's Mission. We were talking the other day, and I mentioned that if we raised $50, it will pay the school fee for a child at MCM for a whole year.

This morning, we decided to count the money. $43.75. Not too shabby, if you ask me (although, to be honest, the teacher in me is appalled at how many mistakes I've caught!). One of my boys walked to his wallet and pulled out $7.00.

"Let's pay for a child's education, Ms. Doe!! I don't need the ice cream I was going to spend this money on, anyway."

I. SERIOUSLY. LOVE. THIS. JOB.

The Storm

I'm a blessed woman. I have some amazing friends who ask me how I'm doing and then demand a real answer. None of this pansy-butt, "I'm fine" stuff (they'd just cock their heads and give me the "cut the crap" look), but the dirty, real, ugly, honest truth.

Kd is one of those friends. A few months ago, she asked me how I was doing, and my answer was, "I'm in that holding spot. I know there are storms brewing off the horizon, I know they're coming, but right now I'm in the sun. Sooooo...I'm soaking up everything I can - every moment, every deep breath, every joy, every laugh...because I know the storms are coming." She just nodded, squeezed my hand, and smiled. There's nothing to say - it just is.

Life has continued on since then - there is nothing we can do to stop the march of time. The storms brewing off the horizon have moved closer. Ever stand on the coast and watch a storm move in? That's where I'm at right now. The dark clouds are still a bit away, but I can feel the whip of the wind on my face - the wind that always comes before a gale - one that ushers in the dark, cold weather.

A few weeks ago, I helped to teach our church a new song, called "Always." (Oh, my dear readers - I sing in the band at church. I haven't mentioned that, have I? Oops.) In the song, there's a line that says, "I will not fear the war; I will not fear the storm; my help is on the way..." (*Feel the need to clarify - the theme of the song is that our Lord will not abandon us in our times of distress, and that His love endures "always." I just re-read that and it sounded very militant-cultist-like, and that is SOOOOOO not the type of church I attend!)

I had a hard time singing that line that day...and every time we've sung the song since. Remember that bit about feeling the wind on my face? That day is when I realized just what that wind signifies. It's not a gentle breeze of a summer's day. It's a harbinger.

It also reminded me of a journal entry from a long time ago. Like, 2003, long-ago, but the words I wrote then still ring true to me today. Maybe even moreso. (Background: a friend and I had been traveling through New Zealand, and we had finally finished the last of the "big travel" days. We had just arrived at my family's house in Christchurch.)

We drove down from Blenheim today. It’s a beautiful drive – when you’re not sick of traveling. The news said a Southeasterly’s moving up the coast…looks like it’ll be a cold and snowy Fourth of July evening. Just outside of Kaikoura the storm came into view. A huge wall of gray. It’s fascinating really, we’re still in the brilliant sunshine, yet we’re on a collision course with a horrible storm. One predicted to bring the coldest temperatures in 10 years. I could probably wax poetic about how this signifies life, and how we need to be ready for the inevitable trials that lie ahead, and…blah-blah-blah…

Truth is, as fascinating as the storm’s approach was, it was J's (my nephew’s) reaction to it that has stuck with me. We get into Christchurch, it’s windy, snowing, colder-than-cold, and the kid is so excited that the only thing holding him together is his skin. At first, I thought it was my arrival (after all, I’m the favorite “Auntie” and he hasn’t seen me in 16 months)…but…no. Truth is, he’s bursting because the storm means snow, and snow equals snowball fights. In fact, we get to the house, and I’m unloading all the gifties I’ve brought for him (everything from microwave Kettle Korn to the VeggieTales “Jonah” movie), and where is he? Bundled up, out back, singing and dancing in the midst of the howling wind and blowing snow.

He was a great visual of abundant life and trials. I often look at the stormy times in my life as the stretches when the joy and fun stop. The “good” of life is put on hold until this hard time has passed. I honestly do not think that’s how God designed it. I think He wants me to be in the midst of that storm ~ and all that entails: wind, cold, darkness…and yet, to still be able to sing and dance because I am joyously looking ahead to the snowball fights to come.

So, help me to dance, Lord. Even when the only music to be heard is that of the storm's howl.

I think I need to practice my dance moves.

There is HOPE...

So many times, especially as a teacher, I hear people complain about this current generation of youngsters. How they're always connected to some electrical device, how they have no respect for their elders, how they don't know...nor seem to be challenged to ever know...the value of hard work. Heck, I've entertained some of those thoughts myself, and I've heard some words slightly akin to those same things be uttered out of my mouth.

Truth is, though, that there are some kids defying those expectations. They're breaking the stereotypes, and they give me hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, the nay-sayers and negative-trash-talkers might be wrong. I give you some evidence:

1. Boy #1. The other day we had an all-school assembly. Now, our school's not large by any measure, but we do have 900+ students. Those 900+ students, plus faculty, plus parental visitors were all crammed into our bleachers for the assembly. Seating was tight, so I made my way up the stairs and chose a spot to stand that was near my students. One boy looked up, from his space on the end, and said, "Ms. Doe! Here, have my seat!!" He proceeded to stand the rest of the assembly, and, I might add, he didn't goof off or distract anyone. Did I mention this youngster's only 11?

2. Boys #s 2 & 3: These two are best friends, and they're inseparable. Lately, their mission seems to be to rescue every book that's been left out in the elements. My classroom has become a "book hospital" with these boys bringing in sopping wet books, using a hairdryer (*ahem*...it's possibly mine. Why do I have a hairdryer in my classroom? Don't ask.) to gently dry the pages, and then using stacks of dictionaries to press the book back into its correct shape and thickness. They then will use packaging tape or contact paper to make sure the cover is properly on before they take the book to the Lost and Found. Yes, in some ways they're just boys being boys - exploring their "MacGyver" side; but it's more than that. It's the care they give to every book that demonstrates their respect for the things they have been given.

3. Boy #4: I have a serious inability to turn down BBQ chips. It's embarrassing how much I like them. Boy #4 hates them. He can't stand 'em, but his momma can't seem to remember, so she keeps packing them in his lunch. Almost every day, there's a zip-top baggie filled with BBQ potato-goodness left on my desk. He just walks by, smiles, and places them on my desk. Kinda like the apples of ages past, but this one is fat and MSG-filled, and they go straight to my hips. And I smile through every bite.

4. All of 'em: I was struggling to get them to remember (and use correctly!!) proper pronouns ("Johnny and I..." not "Me and Johnny...") as well as the proper verb (it's, "May I use the restroom," not, "Can I...?"), and I joked with the students that I would make them pay me a quarter every time they made the mistake. To my utter shock, they liked the idea (who knew?). Then, this conversation took place:

Kid: What are you going to do with the money?

Me: I dunno... (in my head: vacation???) ...spend it on you?
Kid: Why don't we donate it to the orphans you work with in Malawi?
Me: Absolute stunned silence...and then, maybe a couple tears.


I set about making the jar that very day. We've been at it for a few weeks now, and we've made a game of it. The kids do their best to NOT get caught using incorrect grammar (let me clarify - it's not that they've started using the proper words/phrases, it's that they still do it and hope I don't notice), and I have definitely upped my game. I just counted the money in the jar. We're at $23.00.

I know that these kids definitely aren't the norm. The youth of our nation is a hedonistic, selfish group, and I have more than enough examples to that fact - heck, I see it on a daily basis. But, there are some who are defying the trend, and it's possible that there are more out there than we know. Moments such as the ones I just described give me hope - that maybe the future isn't as bleak as it seems.

Reminders in Dreams...

I woke up this morning, and I swear, I could smell it. That acrid, smokey smell that blows into our windows every morning when we're in Malawi. The locals burn their trash at daybreak, and that smell is more efficacious than an alarm clock. I felt the wisp of the mosquito net across my face and the humidity that is ever-present. I promise you, I was not on my comfy, pillow-topped mattress; instead, my hip was firmly planted on the board of my bed, since the mattress is so thin and there's a hole right where a person's hip should be. I couldn't have been happier.

Then, my alarm went off, and I realized I was still in the States. Don't get me wrong, I am GRATEFUL for my life here. I am blessed beyond measure. I have a job I love, an apartment that, while it's not much, is my home; I have friends and family who remind me daily of why I was put on this Earth, and I lack for nothing.

It's just...the countdown has begun. 69 days until I leave with an amazing team of high school students, and we travel almost 48 hours to the other side of this globe. To a place where everything is different, and yet...the important things are still the same. Smiles mean the same thing; heck, I think they mean more. They're definitely easier to share. Hugs are tighter. Language is only words; smiles, laughter, and hand-gestures communicate just as effectively. Children laugh. Songs are sung. And, gratitude abounds - for me, it's just the thankfulness to be able to go. To see and experience what so many here in the US have never seen, and never will because we're so wrapped up in our struggle to fulfill the "American Dream." I'm grateful to help feed the hungry, to love the "unlovable", and to let some orphans - kids who have been shunned by society because their parents died of AIDS - know that they have value. That they are not a mistake, and that they have a purpose in this life.

I've been looking at my students a little bit differently today. I see them not as little junior high kids, but as future world changers. Students I will someday, maybe, travel around the world with, sit in the dirt & hold little kids with, cook food at the center with, and hopefully, help instill into them a desire to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and heal the sick.

I can teach my students what the definition of "salient" is, how to effectively defend a thesis, and how to diagram a compound sentence with direct objects and indirect objects and compound verbs, not to mention nouns of direct address. But, if that's all I do, I have not, truly not, been a teacher. Because, being able to score well on a test means nothing if one cannot look with compassion on others.

That is my true calling. Teaching is just the vehicle I use.

69 days...

It's Seriously One of the Greatest Things I've Ever Heard...

It's loud. I mean, LOUD. It's loud enough to find you wherever you are hiding, flexible enough to wrap around you, and strong enough to drag you along. To the fun. Back to the person who uttered this amazing thing. Because this thing - and this person - help you to suck the marrow out of life.

What is this thing? Who is this person?

The person is J. The thing is her laugh.

Yes, it's loud. Boisterous. Not "lady-like" at all. Infectious. Silly. Generous. Childlike. All grown up. Larger than life.

Just like J (except the non-lady-like thing; she's girly - all the way down to her 4-wheel driving, power-tool owning, high-heel wearing toes...oh, and the larger than life bit was seriously metaphorical.).

Her laugh is an invitation - to let go. To forget that the world is watching, to forget that I'm supposed to act a certain way, or to "appear" to be stylish and sophisticated. Her laugh calls to the soul and yells, "Sophistication is overrated. Come LIVE."

My laugh has gotten louder over the years that I've known J. I used to be quiet, hiding my humor in a subdued chuckle or a smirk. But, just as the sun cannot escape the dawn, you can't escape from the life that reverberates around in J's laughter. And, you cannot help but join in. Laugh. Guffaw. Chortle. Even wheeze because you can't breathe anymore. (Oh, and forget about keeping on mascara or eye makeup. You're going to laugh so hard you cry...a LOT.)

J's my bestie for many reasons; I'm blessed beyond words that God decided to intersect our lives. We've gotten into scrapes, had "adventures," eaten our weight in Candy Corn, cried our eyes out at the ugliness and indecency of life; but through it all, her laugh reverberates in every corner of every memory.

I'm going to hear it even when I'm old and deaf. It's that ingrained in my soul.

Me and My Momma...

My momma and I have one of those über-cool, kinda creepy, mind-melded relationships that freaks some people out, but for the most part, makes other people just smile and shake their heads (either in understanding or sympathy, I'm still never quite sure). Today, we had one of those conversations. Via text. She's just learned how to text, so it's been quite an adventure with her. Today's conversation still cracks me up. I've been reading it over and over - once while waiting in line at the store. It's just slightly embarrassing to be standing *alone* in a line, and suddenly, without provocation (at least, to the understanding of everyone around you) just burst out laughing. That's what my momma did to me today. See for yourself:

Me (to Mom): I need some promises from you. If you're ever unable to care for yourself, 1) you'll relinquish putting on makeup and let me do it for you, and 2) you will not, NOT roll yourself around Target in your wheelchair, muttering to yourself & scaring little children (and grownups) with your clown-like makeup and random rants (Mostly 'cuz I don't want to come explain to Security after they called me because my name and number were pinned on your shirt with "If I'm lost, call..." on it "just in case."). Do we have a deal???? PLEASE??? (and yes, I do need mind-bleach after this last trip to Target.)

Mom: OMG! (Side note: She actually typed "OMG!"; I did not abbreviate that. How cool is she??? SOOO cool.) She was at my Target, too! Deal...but I get to choose the nail polish colors. Red, pink, green, blue, and purple. All at once! No fair changing your number! I know where you live - if I can remember!

Me: As long as you're wearing orthopedic shoes and support hose, DEAL.

Mom: Oh, no. Mini-skirts and tank-tops. We're letting it all hang out! Perhaps Walmart in Oklahoma is a better venue...

Me: Mini-skirts, tank-tops, support hose, and orthopedic shoes. We'll call it "Dementia Chic."

Mom: We'll corner the market!

I keep reading this over and over. Crack up EVERY time. That woman slays me...