No More Calculus!

The senior calculus students--all five of them-- meet in my classroom. No, I don't teach that too, but I do get to listen in amusement as the math teacher invariably out-wits his pupils. Yesterday they knew they were going to have a test. In a sudden burst of senior mischievousness, they sat on the floor outside the door and chanted: "NO MORE CALCULUS! NO MORE CALCULUS!

Mr. T. didn't seem the least bit disturbed. He calmly opened the door and invited them in with a cheery: "Come in, come in, illustrious math students. I love your theme song."
This drawing was waiting for them on the board.
They all had a good laugh and settled down to do some math.

Res

Twenty five years ago he adopted a little town:  not a fast-paced, frantically climbing, up-and coming- trend chasing city suburb, nor yet an angst-ridden, point-to prove, news-engendering "huddle of outcasts" kind of settlement.  No. It was a sleepy town of modest, well-tended houses and people who hid from the news by doing good deeds and living normal, and--for the most part--sane lives.

There was one main street in the town, a couple of shops, a  cafe, a shoebox post office hardly big enough to wrap a package in, and a long, stuccoed, vintage-windowed building with a bench outside; it looked like just the place to get some presses rolling and start a newspaper-- a grand newspaper, a "County Enterprise".
 So Res moved into the community, set up a photography business and a newspaper, sampled the ethnic delicacies offered by the local cafe--borscht, verenika and schnetke--and made a point of getting to know everybody in town. Surely there were stories here!

What to write...
Not many murders on main street. No protests or petitions in the nursing home. Not any drive-by shootings in the local high school or the parochial academy dorms--not even an embezzlement scandal in the town office, or a traffic jam within the two mile circumference of city streets...

There were only churches, small schools, a nursing home, a creek that filled with frogs and turtles in the spring (if the rains came), an occasional tornado north of town, and miles and miles of wheat fields which suspended the town in space and kept it adrift in a bubble, isolated, if you will, from the chaos of frenetic living. And there were people--chuckling, cheering, crying, bumbling, brilliant, bellowing people--five hundred of them!

So Res joined the volunteer firefighters and took pictures of the people--people and events and people at events--and if the events weren't immediately forthcoming, he organized events:  turtle catching contests, Easter egg hunts in the park and Easter children's parades through the retirement village, Memorial Day celebrations with high school trumpeters blaring taps into the spring sky, trunk or treat gatherings in October, quartet singings in the summer and fire-fighter appreciations in the fall. He attended all the school activities and made front page heroes of everybody in town. Parents loved him; seniors filled their scrapbooks with pictures and articles he had written about them. Distant grandparents were subscribed to his weekly paper, just so they could keep up with their grandchildren and laugh at his witty jokes. Weaving local names into his "tall tales" column, he endeared himself to the community.

Years passed. The town shrank. Stores closed, and the paper finally stopped printing, but Res remained. He took on the job of town clerk., became a county organizer, and took pictures of graduations and bingo nights at the nursing home. He refused payment for this service, waving it away with, "No, I enjoy taking pictures."  He posted them on facebook and encouraged the county to take all they wanted. They were printed and shared widely as almost a thousand friends regularly scanned his page for pictures of themselves and their family members.

Then, last week, very suddenly and unexpectedly, Res died, sitting in the town office, surrounded with town memorabilia. Outside, on the sidewalk bench, schoolkids sat and visited with the town youth pastor. Not many people noticed anything wrong until the ambulance wailed and his firefighter friends came racing down main street.

Friday night at the football field, there was an empty circle, honoring the spot where the town photographer used to stand. People searched their files for pictures of Res, but those were sparse, because, of course, he had always been at the other end of the lens.

Yesterday at his funeral there was an unusual slide show...not pictures of Res himself, but pictures he had taken.--state basketball triumphs, church pie auctions, museum days, and T-ball games. Res had never married, but his sisters and brothers were there, nephews, nieces, cousins--they filled about four pews. The rest of the church was filled with friends: County leaders and fire-fighters, an entire section of school kids in their royal blue shirts, an entire town, stricken silent-- realizing as they saw their own happy faces over and over, that this man was someone who loved them...and that he had given them a gift they would never be able to repay.

Octoberfest

Since October 31st fell on a Wednesday this year, all the churches in the ministerial alliance held a "fun night" at the fair grounds. There was a concert for the older kids and a games and candy room for the younger ones. I ran the glinko table and awarded everyone with candy whenever they played. They could play as many times as they wanted to, and were assured a prize of at least one piece each time they played. Since they could win up to nine pieces, depending which number their glinky disc landed on, it was a win-win-win situation...unless you count the money their parents would later spend at the dentist.







We had the usual array of costumes--graspy little skeletons and punk cats.












These ninjas and yodeling princess (who assured me that she wasn't a princess, but a ninja in disguise) had to get in character for their picture. I decided that the red-eyes should definitely be left in this one.

There were cute little pumpkins being carried around by proud mamas.

Gracious pirates politely requesting candy with hopeful eyes,

Waddling ducks,

Green-haired dragons,

Ethereal Garden fairies with scarlet eyes,

...and a baby peering anxiously out of the mouth of a Saint Bernard.

Oz Creatures were just waiting for Dorothy's house to fall on them.

















A teeny gnome, somehow escaped from the garden, was running around with a pacifier in her baby mouth.














I wasn't sure if this child was supposed to be a leopard...or a stuffed quail. Her metaphors were mixed, but her pony tails really cute.

I really admired this costume, because it was obviously a hand-crafted one...yet every bit as impressive as those bought off the rack.
The angry rooster doesn't seem to mind his boa feathers or the elaborate comb head dress. What really amazed me were the yellow chicken feet dangling from his mother's arms.

A peering pumpkin...

...Peter Pan

 and a determined nuclear super man
















Matching bandanas; beards the same size.




















And old men telling stories as they supervise.

Everyone Should Have an Uncle Henry

Every Apostle Paul needs a Barnabas...a guy who's willing to give the newcomer a chance and put up with the inconsistency of young people--smiling and encouraging, rather than berating and criticizing--someone who nudges people along and tells them not to give up, because what they are going to accomplish is worth fighting for. My Uncle Henry was a man like that.

This week at his funeral we were privileged to hear the testimony of younger ministers he had encouraged and missionaries he had inspired throughout the years. My husband was one of those ministers; the church his family attended was fortunate to have a pastor who cared for the congregation, even for sometimes rebellious, often awkward, but ultimately kind-hearted teen-agers. He knew my uncle as a pastor. I just knew him as an uncle--my favorite, he'd be quick to assert.

When I was a little girl and answered the phone with "Who's calling, please?",  his standard reply was,
"This is your favorite uncle." leaving me to guess, and risk offending, should the caller turn out to be Uncle Tommy or Uncle Floyd or Uncle Dale. One day I turned the tables. I was at my grandparents' house for Thanksgiving when the phone call came: It was Uncle Henry. He said, "Who's this?"   "Your favorite niece," I replied. I could tell it threw him a challenge. After all, there were eight or nine of his nieces present that day, all running around near grandma's kitchen phone. He paused, just a second, and said, "Well it must be Lilibeth." and we both laughed, realizing how difficult a test he had just aced.

I guess I'd say Uncle Henry was everybody's favorite because everybody was his. He took people under his care and enjoyed training them and encouraging the down-trodden. I remember a time in my life when I was grumbling. The school where my father taught had moved from a small town in Missouri to Houston, Texas. I pretty much hated everything about that. No longer could I roam around town on my bike or walk to school at an old three-story brick building or live in a large house where I had my own bedroom. The weather was deplorably hot and humid; school was a world of dodging rude and apathetic strangers in the hall. In short, I was miserable and wanted commiseration. Uncle Henry did something better; he told me, "You know you are only going to be as happy as you make up your mind to be. Now decide you are going to enjoy the life you are in, and you will."  So I thought about it. And I grudgingly admitted that he was right: I couldn't change my circumstances, but I could do something about my attitude. So I did. The next year, my senior year at high school, was much more rewarding. During that year, I threw myself into tutoring handicapped students and reading books aloud for the blind. I wrote poems and books and got to know some of the strangers at school. Life wasn't intolerable anymore.

Years later, when Turtle and I first decided to become pastors, we moved to a small town in Eastern Oklahoma and stayed in a one-roomed cabin while we tried to find a church that needed us. We had two children, and no full-time job. Turtle was doing "on call" nursing at nearby hospitals. While we tried to make contact with churches, we began attending a church about thirty miles away, because that's where my Uncle Henry and Aunt Jo had moved. Once again, they were our pastors and they pulled us into the church as "helpers" while we sought orientation in our own vocations. We were invited over on Sunday afternoons, played games with the family, ate many a lunch and after church snack. In short, we were encouraged, once again and shown that the ministry, though a difficult profession, was rewarding and worth the effort. We were loved and given a chance.

Years passed. Life got faster, and there were several devastating circumstances for my Uncle Henry and Aunt Jo. They retired to a small house in Arkansas, in my husband's home town and they attended the church they had built there. They lavished affection on their grandchildren and encouraged many young people who still came to them for counsel. Whenever we visited them, we heard all their lively stories and we laughed.  How we laughed. Ever encouraging, they showed us what it meant to persevere through the grayest of challenges, to trust God to bring joy in the middle of frustration and sorrow. 

After Aunt Jo died early this year, Uncle Henry began to experience serious health problems. He underwent a heart bypass surgery and never really recovered. Too many memories faded, too much to look forward to in the next world, the comforter now comforted by a faithful family...the encourager remembered by many encouraged souls; the faithful now raised to honor. I'll always remember him smiling.

Everyone should have an Uncle Henry... or be one.

Of Baby Baskets and Bathtubs

 My sister brought this little baby basket back with her when she returned from a visit to Honduras in the mid-eighties. As the passengers adjusted themselves for the flight home, she had it at her feet, and just before take-off the stewardess walked past, muttered "everything but the kitchen sink" under her breath, grabbed it up, and tried to stuff it in the overhead compartment. My sister ended up carrying the basket all the way home to Texas.  Then Turtle cut foam into the shape of a mattress; my mom sewed a removable cover for it and made little bumper pads to keep the scratchy sides away. Two of my children, at least four nephews and nieces, and two grandchildren took a turn at sleeping in it. Now, it's a Blaze basket, as you can see.

 (I'd really like to have a picture of every baby who slept in this little basket...in the basket, if that's possible. Send them to me and I'll do a sequence.)

 In the evenings, Blaze still doesn't sleep too well. He gets transferred from car seat to swing to bouncer to bassinet to basket...but mostly he just fusses for somebody to hold him. I went to bed at ten o'clock last night so I could relieve the baby-handling crew later. 





 Sure enough, at one in the morning, he still hadn't given anybody any rest, but he was tired enough to give up when I rocked him and tucked him in for the night. In fact, he set a new record of five and a half hours of blessed sleep. Looks like more peaceful days may be ahead for Elijah and Marie.

 This morning, after he ate, I decided that he could sit in a bathtub on the table while I made coffee for myself, swept, and picked up a few things around the kitchen. The lighting was perfect for me to grab the camera...which I had just happened to place conveniently on the kitchen bar.

 What do babies think about when they sleep?
He smiles one second and frowns the next.

 Frequently, he chuckles aloud.

 Hey! Wait a minute! Who stuck me in a bathtub?

Busy, Busy Fall

I really don't sit down and relax much these days.
School is crazily busy. Right now I'm practicing twice a week with the academic team for their district meet on Monday, and practicing in the evening for the upcoming senior play.
 For these two sophomores, whose moms work here, this bench might as well be their front porch; they spend more time here than at home...but don't seem to mind too much.



Having forty seventh and eighth-grade students is wonderful, but it keeps me grading papers as fast as I assign them. Their solution...of course...is "Don't give us any work to do". I tell them that I answer to God for how I teach them, and if I gave them nothing to do, I'd have a hard time explaining to Him why I took money for teaching them, but only babysat them. They talk. I tell them that they will never learn anything that way because everything they hear themselves say, they already knew. So they hold their hands over their mouths to keep from commenting until question time, and they listen to stories with wide-eyes and sometimes subtle smiles (if they already know what's coming next-- which, believe it or not, many don't). Right now we're in Genesis. They're amazed that so much happened between Adam and Moses...and I don't even tell them everything.

Last night was fall concert. Another huge "first" for the nervous seventh-graders.
Seated behind me were a couple of alumni...remembering...beaming at the superb performance of their younger siblings up in the choir.


Outside, the clouds staged another performance--a light show and offering of much-welcomed rain!
Life is pretty much the same here in this little corner of the earth.
We have a particular kind of peace.
I pray for years more.

New Baby Blaze

There's nothing quite the same kind of exciting as the arrival of a new baby into the family.

This is my newest grandson and I think his blog name will be Blaze. That's what my students would call "Cool", a term that never seems to go out of style in the same way other slang does.

He will be a week old tomorrow, and I'm just now announcing the birth. (Life is sometimes busy like that.) This was one of the first pictures, when he was just a few minutes old and trying to figure out what kind of world he had landed in.

...right away he decided he didn't much care for it.

Life was cold; blankets were wrinkly, noises were all loud and annoying, and the lights were blazing into his eyes. In fact, every time he opened them it brought about bright flashes and the sound of gooey voices going ahhhh.  Speaking of voices, what was that wailing sound that kept filling the air every time he tried to express his displeasure with the whole situation?

Couldn't all these people just fade away. That guy, over there-- the one with footprints all over his arm and the stunned look on his face. His voice sounded familiar, but Blaze had never seen him before. He felt sure he would have remembered that thick, black beard. 










Ah well, he didn't have to figure it out before a nap. It was warmer now. Maybe they would get rid of those lights. Wrong again. Another big bunch of noise.

There were older people now, crowding the room. If he craned his neck he could just see them all lining up. Strange smells of Sunday perfume, mingled with antiseptics and detergents..whatever those were.  

So why did everybody keep looking at him, passing him around like a golden baton?

Everybody talking at once, asking who he looked like, as if that was important right now, when he wanted to sleep. After all, if he looked like someone now, he would likely look like them tomorrow too, after a nap or two. Were they ever going to leave him alone?

Nope, didn't look like it. Next, all the male types lined up for a turn. At least they were quieter. No oohs or aahs out of them. They held him tightly.
If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself far away...in a dark, warm room with quiet music playing in the distance. He could almost go back to sleep.

But no. Not yet. There was yet another transfer. Yikes! All these beards! He felt like he had fallen into a geneology chart.

Then, at last, a voice he recognized. Ah yes. He'd heard that voice for as long has he could remember...

So this is what she looked like!. Maybe she would keep him safe from his adoring fans out there.
They could all just go back to the lobby where they had been living for the last few hours. He was ready for some peace and quiet. But he had one final observation to make:
"After I catch a few snoozes, I'll show them what it feels like to be awakened every few minutes"

Congratulations Elijah and Marie on your beautiful child. He's a wonderful addition to the family...both families that is.

Behind the clouds there's a light, I know
Gilding the ground with its dazzling glow
But here in the dark, the driving's slow

Like an alien planet floating by
Ignoring gravity, rising high....
Bobs a striped sun in a hazy sky

And the mist that hushes the hopeful land

Hangs heavy enough to hold in my hand

Driving to Work

 I know I post a lot of these pictures.

 I'm not really sorry about it.

 If you rode with me in the mornings,

 You couldn't sleep for me saying

 Wow!  Just look at that gorgeous sky!