… And a Carton of Juice

from Grandma Stories: God’s Little Miracles by LDMahan

One of the “skipping rope” songs that children like to sing starts out, “Down in the valley where the green grass grows, there stands [your name!] as sweet as a rose!”  But not all “valleys” are cool and green, as you will see.

A mom and dad who lived in Texas moved south to a place called The Valley.  This place was hot, dusty, and the winds whipped them constantly.  They had come to this place to study Spanish so that they could share God’s love and God’s word with people who spoke only Spanish.  They had to trust in God for everything they needed, so life felt like one adventure after another.

One day the mom drove their blue Dodge Aries to pick up her son who was in kindergarten at Taylor Christian School.  Her three-year-old daughter was in the back seat, and as they drove back to their trailer home, the boy talked about his day.  There was no air conditioning and the valley winds whipped at them through the open car windows.  But the mother’s mind was not on the wind, the heat, or on her son’s stories.  She was thinking about a loaf of bread.

At home there was no bread.  In her purse and in her bank account was no money.  How could she go home without bread, and how could she buy bread without money?  Well, they had come here to trust God, so she would.  Suddenly she noticed they were passing a bread store.  On an impulse she pulled into the parking lot.

“Son, I want you to reach down between the seats and look for change,” she instructed.  They made it a game and dug around in the car, finally coming up with a grand total of 95 cents.  Triumphant, she herded the children into the refreshingly cool store and put down the money for one loaf of bread, rung up at a total of 89 cents!

As she paused to enjoy the coolness for a moment more, the cashier astonished her with these words: “And today, when you buy a loaf of bread, you get this carton of juice for free!”  She walked over to the cooler and pulled out an ice cold carton of orange juice to hand to the thirsty children.

In the midst of their hot, dusty adventure, God had provided bread … and a carton of juice.

QUICK! Think of one TEACHER who influenced you!

“Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach,” is the mocking epithet of our culture. 

Despite this, I know who I am and I practice the profession on purpose. 

This school year I am not teaching.  A teacher who is not teaching would be somewhat of a contradiction, were it not for a long and credible tradition among academics that occasionally teachers take a sabbatical. Sabbatical is a time of rest and refreshment.

Those outside the profession may scoff.  “But you only work nine months a year!”

Ha.

“Teachers influence eternity.”  That is the true dictum.

Quick!  Think of one teacher who influenced you.  Bet you remember their name.  And their clothing!  What about that one saying they kept repeating. That one book they read to the class.

Here are a few of my favorites:

-- Mr. Ballentine, our elementary principal, was the “daddy” who walked the hallways and playground. My own daddy was not at home, so he was the “daddy” of the school.

-- Mrs. Brown, fourth grade, dressed in brown.  She read The Secret Language to the class and I made up my own language – an unfortunate social experiment!.

-- Mrs. Livingstone was the only teacher who visited my home, thereby piercing my family’s isolation.  She had a poofy brown “That Girl!” hairdo, and sported black, “batting length” eyelashes.

-- Ms. Sundberg, Latin, taught me: “Ubi in dubitate, fac magis” – “When in doubt, do more” – a very useful phrase for both parents and teachers! 

Ms. Sundberg also wore two-piece suits that were two sizes too small, and repeatedly tugged her top down over her midriff while conjugating Latin verbs!  That mental aberration has remained along with the Latin verbs!

-- Mrs. Grosh was a short, enthusiastic lady who assigned a sophomore-year literature paper, consequently sparking my love of literature, my college major and my choice of career. 

  Who cares?!

They did.  And in caring they spent inordinate amounts of energy every single day -- in planning -- in grading -- in dealing with maddening administrators. In having the guts to stand in front of thirty kids hour after hour and share themselves.

I meant to say share themselves, because that is what they did.  We got a real person and not a talking head.

I know, because I now stand and pour myself out every day that I teach.  When I come home I feel like a rag doll – limp and lifeless.  I do all I can to recharge myself – and then I get up the next day and do it again!

It’s a passion!!

But no wonder that nine years of this -- despite holiday breaks, summers, etc.—has depleted me down to the core.  Eventually, I did not want to get up the next day and do it again.  Ever.  When you do not want to do what you love, it is time for a change.

Burnout is ugly but can be healed.

Teachers MUST be healed – and encouraged and recharged and replenished.  If our culture and our teaching systems won’t do it for us, then we must do it for ourselves. 

THINK what your life would be like without those teachers you named!

So for now, I do all I can to recharge myself. 

I’ll be back.

WHAT’S THE CATCH??

The Bible sometimes offers rewards with a catch.

Blessed is the woman* who fears the LORD,

            Who finds great delight in his commands.

Her children will be mighty in the land,

            The generation of the upright will be blessed.

                                                            Psalm 112: 1-2                      

      Here is a reward with a catch.  We get to be blessed if we obey. Not only if we obey, but if we like to obey.  Well, that rules me out!  How about you.  Next, there is a blessing for my children, which also has a condition.  If I am doing right in my life, then they will be great in reputation and accomplishment.  Wow—scary.

      But wait; maybe I’ve read it wrong.  Let me try again. Let’s see, the first condition is that I “fear the LORD,” which means that I don’t want to find out what will happen if I don’t obey!  Check.  Second condition is that I “find great delight” in his commands.  The operative word here is “find.”  First I have to DO and then I EXPERIENCE.  That’s when I FIND.  Oh, well that is easier.  Now, let me think back.

      When I was a teenager I never wanted to obey.  The idea of obedience was counterproductive to my strong inclinations, and even to my growth into the person I wanted to become.  Let me give you an example.  When I was 15, my mom told me I could not go to youth group; I had too much homework and I had to do the dishes.  She told me I could not fast; I was still growing and besides I was probably in a cult to have such an idea!  But I HAD to go to youth group.  Youth group was my life – both socially and spiritually.  Conclusion: obedience was bad for my health.

      Then, having gone to youth group one night, I learned from the leaders that obedience to my parents was in the Bible.  Oh no!  Now I had a dilemma.  I went home and told my mom that I had not respected her and that I would from then on do what she said.  I’ll never forget—my single-parent, overburdened mom stood in the doorway, with silent tears running down her cheeks.  She then said I could go to youth group again after I did the dishes.  Conclusion: when I obeyed God, I did FIND a blessing I hadn’t expected – RELATIONSHIP with my mom.  I also gained permission to do the heartfelt things that would aid my spiritual growth—for I’m sure my words and actions spoke most persuasively to my mom that I was not involved in a cult.

      I have continued to experience the blessings of obedience in my life, even though the commands have gotten steeper.  FORGIVE those who persecute you.  RELEASE those you love the most. LEAN on God, rather than on your own efforts, for financial provision.

      What did I FIND that I can share with you—I HAVE REWARDS!

[*Scripture verse from the NIV reads: man]

LEARNING TO BE IMPERFRECT

Growing up in a 60s dysfunctional family, people tended to cope by passing blame.

“Pass the potatoes, please.”

“OK.  Pass the pork chops, dear.”

“Here’s a little guilt to go along.”

“Thank you.”

It was because we didn’t know any better.  After all, it was the generation of “if it feels good, do it,” and getting rid of that nasty sinking feeling that you were wrong, sure felt good.

We were all masters of blame-bombing, shame shifting, and guilt-gashing.  Well, everybody knows that the best defense is a good offense, right!

“Did you brush your teeth today?”

“No, I couldn’t because you didn’t buy us any toothpaste.”

Ouch.

Or the more subtle attack-before-attacked: “Dad, when will the car be fixed so I can take back my overdue library books?”

There is no end to the variety of creative approaches.

In this environment, the only protection you have, unless you are going to decimate everyone with your barbs all day, is to be perfect.  Yes, perfect.  If you intend to be perfect, appear to be perfect, try hard to be perfect, and even pretend to be perfect then you’re impervious to the slings and arrows of outrageous guilt-casting around you.

It’s a pretty good defense, as long as you don’t mind living in unreality.

And unreality is a pretty close cousin to insanity as a lifestyle. In fact, there’s even a psychological name for this particular maladjustment:  perfectionism.

“Why,” you say, “I thought everyone was supposed to strive to be perfect.’

Well, I just have one thing to say about that.  That’s just fine advice for all those imperfect people out there who don’t really care a lot.  They can benefit from encouragement in the right direction.  But for the true perfectionist, all such exhortation backfires.  We are perverse.  Burdened with a long list of “To Dos,” and all the “Shoulds” and “Oughts’ continually whirling through the brain, one well-meant nudge can send us right over the edge.

There’s only one cure for the perversity of the Perfectionist – reverse psychology.  So, all you perfectionists out there, listen up!  “I WANT YOU TO LIVE AN IMPERFECT DAY! Get up out of your imperfect bed and fix an imperfect breakfast for your imperfect children.  After that, be sure to do all your housework imperfectly, go to your imperfect job, work for your imperfect boss, and come home tonight to your imperfect husband.”

I’m not the only one to come up with this idea.  The pastor’s wife at a former church of mine once said to me, “Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.”  This is total nonsense to the normal person, but we perfectionists understand it—perfectly.

So, instead of sitting home tonight being depressed about how overwhelming my life is because I’m not perfect, I’m trying a different approach.

I’m taking my own advice.  I just took a walk of less than 30 minutes and didn’t get my cardio rate up high enough.  I was followed by my scruffy little 4 pound dog, through a slightly shabby neighborhood, and returned to a home that’s over 30 years old and needs repair.  I fixed my marginally nutritious chicken dinner and sat down to write this half-baked article.  And I’m having the time of my life!!!  It’s working!

I’M CELEBRATING TODAY!!

My mother chose life …  and I’m glad I was born.

My mother almost didn’t deliver me.  I almost didn’t make it into this world.  There was too much against her.  She had started to miscarry numerous times, and endured several trips to the emergency room, and various uncomfortable procedures.  From early in her pregnancy she was on bed rest, and couldn’t even stand up long enough to  wash the dishes.  Her husband, my father, was not very understanding and supportive, and tended to think of such behavior as laziness and an inconvenience to him.

   The worst of it, however, was the attitude of the medical profession at the time.  [To the beloved medical professionals in my family—I love you!  This is not an aslant criticism of what you stand for—you know who you are!]  They told my mother that her inability to carry me to term was evidence that I was malformed in the womb and that nature was trying to do her a favor by sloughing me off.  The term they used for me was that I was a “little monster.”  If abortion had been legal, they would have been within their professional rights, in fact it would have been a professional duty, to suggest an abortion.

   MY mother was hearing none of that.  To her I was a precious gift, sent by God, and she was going to fight for me with every ounce of strength within her being.  And the medical professionals had better get on board with that, and her husband better get on board with that, because THAT’S THE WAY IT WAS GOING TO BE!  My mother chose life.  And that is why I am writing this to you today. 

   That is why I am alive.  That is why I have four children.  That is why their two lovely spouses have excellent partners.  That is why there are two lovely babies, Violet and Noah, who are gracing our world and growing up to make it better.  That is why there are two more babies-in-waiting in the wombs of their mothers (my daughter and daughter-in-law) who will grow up to love God and teach others to do the same.

   My mother chose life.  She chose ME. She chose the way of love and sacrifice.  I am glad I was born.