Motherhood and the Illusion of Control

I like to control things.

This shouldn't come as a surprise. Everyone likes to have control in their life. They like to choose, or know who is doing the choosing for them. I can even have control when Michael asks me what I want when he runs out to get take-out and I say "Surprise me." I know Michael. I know that he knows what I like. I know that I'll get something I enjoy. If it's a place we've been before, chances are he'll probably get something for me that he knows I've already ordered. I can have control by anticipating what will happen and figuring out how I'll react to that something.

Motherhood is the best thing I've found so far to teach me that control is an illusion. It never really existed in the first place, but to keep my mind from going crazy, I try to assume that I have control until I don't.

I should have known, when I had Evvie two weeks early, that I wasn't in control. When my labor lasted 23 hours because I got stuck at 6 centimeters and needed an epidural even though I wanted to do it naturally, I should have seen that control was not real. When my milk came in late and I had tons of nerves because Evvie's weight wasn't where it should be immediately, I should have known that control was just an illusion. Sleeping through the night, self-soothing, falling asleep on her own for naps, actually TAKING naps, growth bench marks, teething, and unpredictability should have all clued me in.

My first big realization came when we took Evvie to a friend's wedding in Tennessee. It was a 6-7 hour car ride, and Evvie didn't sleep for most of it. Then she cried all the next day and slept for maybe 30 minutes. And on the third day, the drive home, she slept equally as little. I did everything I could think of to get my baby to sleep, but because she's a human being with likes and dislikes and is in control of her body, she didn't. I merely had to deal with her mess, or ask Michael to, because I was playing for the wedding. Because I was worrying, because I was controlling, I also tried to control Michael, who had graciously come along as baby-sitter. We argued because of that.

Next came Evvie's weight loss. My child seems to have the appetite of a sumo wrestler. She's not even crawling yet, but I'm chasing her all over the place. At her nine-month Dr visit, the Dr said "She's underweight. Put as many calories in her as possible. Come back in two weeks for a weight check." Control went out the window. I knew my milk supply had been down. I talked with the lactation consultant on how to bring it up. I fed Evvie more fatty foods. She took on more weight and chunked up. Hurrah! But then she started teething again and suddenly she didn't want to nurse. Control gone again. Many times I found myself wishing I could just force Evvie to nurse, instead of listening to her needs (gums hurt = nursing hurts). While she was supposed to be gaining weight, she didn't want to nurse. Lovely.

I worried constantly. I fell into fear. I justified my worry because if I was worrying about something I would have a better chance of figuring out how to fix it, right? I refused to accept that there was simply nothing I could do to make Evvie do what I wanted her to do. So I drove Michael crazy. And we argued. I went kicking and screaming to God after that argument. I told him that I felt abandoned by him. I asked him why he made me a mother and then gave me a body that made it really really hard to provide what my baby needed in terms of food. I heard him whisper that it was because I wasn't in control of anything in the first place and that I needed to trust him. I had become over-confident and this was his way of showing me that I needed to trust him for control of my life. I asked him for peace and he gave it to me.

Amazingly, I think we forget to ask God for what we need. We ask and ask and ask for the things we want, or for the things that we see other people need, but we are so blind to our own true needs, that we don't ask him for the things we really need. All we really need is a right view of ourselves and a right view of God. This applies to the time and place that you are in, and not just that you are a great sinner and God is a great savior. My right view of myself is that I am needy, I am not in control, and I am not as clever at coming up with solutions as I think I am. My right view of God is that he needs nothing so he can give everything, he is in control of all things (even the smallest atom), and that he is infinitely clever and wise. Resting in those knowledges helped me have peace.

Evvie is now back on track with her weight, and I'm waiting to see my need to control rear its ugly head again. However, I know that my God is faithful to pull me back to himself by showing me as many times as I need that he is really the only one in control.

~H

The Importance of Corporate Worship

Some time ago, mid-October of last year, Michael sent me two links, both blogs/articles by a PCA (Presbyterian Church of America) pastor-turned-religion professor at Grove City College. The first was entitled, "The Imminent Decline of Contemporary Worship Music: Eight Reasons"; the second, "The Problem with Praise Teams." The reason behind both of these articles appearing in my email inbox was somewhat of a joke, seeing as Michael and I are both on the praise team at our church, and somewhat of a discussion raiser, seeing as Michael enjoys getting a reaction out of me. As you can tell, they got enough of a reaction out of me to be inspiring a blog post five months later.

This professor was, by no means, good at using scripture in context, or even the right scriptures. He was incredibly biased, and this showed through in his writing and his interpretation of scripture. (If you really want to see what I mean later, look up his second article. His first is just opinion, not trying to be based on scripture.) I even called him "stuck up" to Michael when he eventually got home from work and wanted to discuss the articles. I am equally biased on my side, but that's not what I want to get in to today.

My church is a church that, during my 15 years of attendance, has gone from singing just hymns with piano accompaniment (vocals mic'd), to just contemporary worship songs with an acoustic guitar, piano, and some heavily-contested percussion (all mic'd) as accompaniment, to a fairly even balance of hymns and theologically sound, word-rich contemporary music from places like Sovereign Grace, Chris Tomlin, and the like, with acoustic guitar, piano, percussion (no longer contested), bass, and on alternate Sundays violin or flute (all mic'd). For years my church has been trying to find an acceptable medium where we can incorporate some of the great contemporary songs, and yet enjoy the steadfast richness of the old hymns. We have discussed and changed how loud we have everything mic'd. We don't want to overpower the congregational voices, but we do understand that some people don't enjoy singing if all they can hear is themselves.

I've been a part of this process since 2007, listening and contributing to the conversation. Because of this, I can see what this professor means when he says that he doesn't know if contemporary Christian music can compete forever with the richness of hymns. I understand what he means when he says that it's hard to write lyrics that are "theologically sound, but significant, profound, appropriate, memorable, and edifying (not to mention metrical)." This he says points (in part, there's more in the article) to the decline of contemporary praise music. Another thing he mentions as part of the decline is that you have to have a praise band to accompany contemporary praise music (I've hear some wonderfully simple piano-only versions of contemporary praise songs. This transitions us to his second article, where he attempts to use scripture to point out why a praise band is "not quite biblical".

This was the article that got me the most riled up. I felt backed into a latice-worked corner with his use of scripture, with his use of the phrase "not quite biblical". This is the article that got me really thinking. In it he details what's wrong with the praise band and why it shouldn't (and probably won't continue to) exist. The way he details what corporate worship (or corporate praise) should be is spot on: "Corporate praise . . . should be congregational, together, and vigorous." I agree with this, completely. However, he mentions that if you're using the praise team and no hymnals, people are bound to be more hesitant to sing because the words are printed on the screen without music in front of them. He also mentions that, with a praise team, people can't hear each other which, diminishes both the "together" part, and the "vigorous" part of how we are called to sing our praises to God.

Here's where I get to why I titled this post as I did. One of the things this article challenged me to do was to listen more carefully to the people in church singing around me. The professor made it seem like if your church played music too loud to hear the congregation around you, your praise band was "not exactly Biblical". So, in a small act of rebellion, I determined to listen to the people around me to prove to myself that what my church was doing for worship was okay.

(As a side note, let me just say that technically "corporate worship" should be any time a body of believers is meeting together to glorify God, whether that is through song, listening to the word, prayer, or even service. I, however, am using it specifically in the context of music and song.)

The past few months, I have been blessed. The article that got me riled up, and still does if I read it thoroughly (all my arguments with it are argued by other people in the comments; you can read them there if you wish) - this article has lead to my biggest blessing yet. In my defiance, I came to realize that my church sings. They don't just stand there and hope that the praise team knows all the words. If they are unsure, they listen to a verse, and then try with all their might to hop in to the song. If they know the song, they really sing. They sing loudly, and with gusto. They put their heart and soul into singing their praises to their Creator, their Savior, their Redeemer, their Father. As I look around each Sunday (because having been on the praise team for so long, I know most of the words), I rarely see people just standing there staring at the screen. Even those who aren't certain of their voices know the value of making a joyful noise, and this blesses me.

I have come to realize that corporate worship is so important, if only because you have the chance to look around and see all these other people from various backgrounds and families and situations all proclaiming that God is God, and He is good, just, sovereign, etc. There are so many Bible verses where we are exhorted to worship together, and I'm starting to learn why. Each Sunday I want to stand up in front of church and say "Thank you for singing! Thank you for praising God in my presence and blessing me!" Except, I can't, because you know, order. So this is my thank you. If you go to my church, if you sing, thank you. Thank you helping me see my Savior better. Thank you for showing me different facets of His beauty. Thank you for showing me that God is trustworthy because you trust him. Thank you for showing me many more things about God that I don't have time to list here.

The beauty of this revelation is that this can happen anywhere. If you can see people singing, if you can hear them singing, no matter what your worship style is, whether it's no instruments, or some instruments, or all of the instruments, if you can hear the congregation singing around you, you can hear people praising God for everything. God shows himself to us when we praise him together. When we glorify God, even if it's only the best way we know how, we show him to those around us.

So, if you stand in church, and stare at the screen, or the hymnal, or whatever you use, and just don't sing, I encourage you to listen, and then to lift your voice to the Creator who gave you the voice in the first place. It will encourage others, and it will encourage you. Not to mention, God gets all the glory, because he's the one giving you the voice in the first place.

Thanks for listening!
~H

P.S. There are so many more reasons for the importance of corporate worship, but I don't have time to go into them now. Just know, I realize they're there and regret that I didn't have more time to extrapolate on them. :)

Pregnancy after Miscarriage

The most comforting thing I've had said to me about miscarriage and pregnancy after miscarriage was spoken by a male doctor who (at the time) had been in in the business so long he had delivered at least one of my siblings.

When I came in after most of the bleeding from the miscarriage had stopped, he did an ultrasound to make sure that everything had vacated my womb, and then before he left me to clean up and compose myself before going to the check-out desk, he sat down, asked me if my husband and I were planning on trying again soon, to which I answered "yes! as soon as possible!"

He gave me a time frame in which to let my body heal, and then, looking me squarely in the face, said very simply, "The only thing this miscarriage is going to affect with your next pregnancy is your nerves."

That one sentence has stuck with me more than I can describe. In it he said, "You're fertile. You can get pregnant again. You should have no problem carrying a healthy baby to term. This wasn't your fault."

God has been amazingly good to me this past year. In it I've experienced his goodness in the most harrowing time I've ever known. After the miscarriage he carried me, held me, comforted me, placed people in my life to comfort me, showed me how he'd experienced the loss of his Son on my behalf, and when month after month of trying passed with no pregnancy, he taught me patience and how to rejoice with other mothers. In fact the month before I found out I was actually pregnant I finally had to give my jealousy to him and rejoice with a close friend of mine. Her announcement made me cry, but for the first time, I was able to be happy with her without thinking "That should be me!"

I'm not saying I learned to trust God in every way before he opened my womb again. I'm just saying, I saw a divine peace invading my soul when I very much wanted to hold onto my jealousy and hurt.

The month God placed life in my womb again, I was fairly certain it had happened almost right away, but didn't want to hope until the pregnancy test came out positive. I wanted my hope to be in my salvation through Christ, not whether or not I was finally pregnant this month. The test came out positive and through my joy, I immediately experienced fear. Michael told me he, too, was fearful. We prayed a lot. Then we told our parents.

I had decided before I became pregnant that the next time I was pregnant I wanted to announce the pregnancy as soon as I was pregnant, because it's God's doing that there's a life in there. I wanted to give him the glory, and express my belief that life really does begin at conception. Each life should be celebrated immediately, if it really and truly is life, I told myself.

However, once I got pregnant, my fear made me want to clam my mouth shut, just in case. I didn't want to tell people and then have to tell them that I'd lost another baby. Within the first week, I let maybe 3 or 4 people know outside of family. They became my prayer community.

Fear continued to stand in the corner of the room and stare at me for the next several weeks, even after I had conviction from God that I wasn't glorifying him as I should and started telling people that I was pregnant again. Every time I went to the bathroom and saw there was no blood in my underwear, I had a small moment of worship. Each symptom that cropped up was a blessing. I thanked God when I felt nauseated. I worried when I didn't feel nauseated. On really fearful days when all fear would do was perch on my shoulder and whisper in my ear, I'd text my prayer buddies a line such as "Having a fearful day today. Please pray." and I'd get wonderful texts back saying they were interceding before the throne of God for me. It is such a blessing to have prayer warriors as friends. Fear would recede to the corner again, or sometimes leave the room altogether.

My first doctor's appointment and ultrasound were fearful events. Michael came with me. I had a blood pressure rate through the roof because I was so nervous and he talked at me non-stop while we waited. Then we saw the baby, right on track with where it should be, hear the heart beat, so strong and healthy sounding. I cried in the car, and quite a few times after that. Michael said he preferred these happy tears.

All this being said, even though I'm almost 14 weeks, there are times I realize I'm still unconsciously checking for blood. I would say fear has pretty much left the room. It's faded since the first ultrasound, but that doctor was right. The only thing I have experienced in spades, thanks to my miscarriage, is fear. Each week that I've gotten to past 6 weeks has been a small celebration. Feeling my uterus pop above my pelvic bone has been beautiful. Seeing and listening to my baby's heart beat twice has moved me to tears both times.

God has been exceptionally good, in carrying me through the miscarriage, and in carrying me through the nerves of this second pregnancy. While I would never wish a miscarriage on anyone, especially their first baby, I can say that had it not happened, I would be a lesser person today. I would love God less, I would love my husband less, I would love this baby less, I would be less compassionate.

I still have a ways to go both in pregnancy and in learning to love God, but God will be there with me every single step of the way, and so will my husband. :) I think I'm covered pretty well.

Soli Deo Gloria
~H

Finding Contentment, Finding the Cross

So, the last several days have been rather eye-opening. As some of you know, since my miscarriage with Alexandra, Michael and I have been trying again to get pregnant. The months between there and here have been filled with mostly regularity, with the last few weeks before my period being nerve-wracking. I've thought more than once that I was possibly pregnant again because my body decided after the miscarriage that it would now be normal to have all the symptoms of pregnancy starting about 10 days before my period is supposed to start. While exciting, eventually, when my period comes, or (as has happened a couple times) is late and I've taken pregnancy tests, it's been rather disappointing.

This past week has been the same, as my period was inexplicably about 4 days late. This caused me a great deal of hope, two pregnancy tests, and almost tears yesterday when I started spotting. I had been praying for at least a week that I would be able to trust God, no matter what, and last evening as I was teary (or close to it) and being held by Michael, I wondered why most women (and I say most, not all) desire children so badly. Why, I asked myself, do women desire to have children so badly that it drives even the most level-headed to distraction? Why is it that when a woman is trying to get pregnant it very nearly consumes her thoughts and being? Is it because it's her body we're talking about? Or is it something else entirely?

I actually think it's something more than that. I think for many women, it's a status symbol to not only be able to bear children but to also be seen carrying a baby in your body. Some may not consciously call it a status symbol, but it is nonetheless. All your friends are doing it, and while everybody but you is doing it, they are also having fun, looking stylish, and gaining something that the childless you doesn't have. It doesn't help that with social media, everyone can see what everyone else's "perfect" lives look like. (I think it's important to note that Facebook, Instagram, and other social media are a very edited version of other people's lives. Lives are very seldom perfect.)

I think as we age and go through various stages in life we go from coveting and desiring one thing to coveting and desiring another thing. When we're little it's the other girl's dress-up box or nail polish collection. Then it progresses to relationships, "Why does she have a boyfriend when all the boys run from me?" Once you're in a relationship, you might start comparing your relationship to others ("He's always bringing her flowers!"), or wanting that engagement ring. Once you're married, you think it will just all go away, but it's someone's house ("We're still in an apartment!"), pregnancy ("All I've had is a miscarriage."), children ("Why are they so well-behaved and mine aren't?"), job ("He makes more than I do!"), station in life, adventures ("They're always traveling!"), retirement age ("Really? 42?!"), second house, and so on.

What this latest round of anxiety, hope, and disappointment has served to reinforce is that I am not content with what I have. As a Christian, haven't I got everything I will ever, ever need in Christ? Hasn't Jesus' death on the cross (for the sins I willingly commit/ed) so he could reconcile me to God shown me this? God showed me once that I would never need a human knight-in-shining-armor, because He is all I need. Now he has shown me that if I never have children, or never get pregnant again, he will still be enough, because I am His child. Will I still fail to forget that I have more than I need in God? Yes. But, now I know and can look back at this post and be reminded of this. More importantly, I can now look at my life and ask the important question, "What else am I not satisfied with? Where else am I failing to see how God is more than enough in my life?"

I challenge you with that question too. If this post has touched you, where are the places in your life that you see your discontentment with the God who is, has, and gives everything you need when you need it most? As I've learned, the fastest way to gain contentment is to repent of my sin of unbelief and discontentment and to look to the cross. May my eyes always be drawn there.

I leave you with this wonderful quote by C.S. Lewis, a favorite author of mine, that outlines this perfectly from his book Mere Christianity.

“Your real, new self (which is Christ's and also yours, and yours just because it is His) will not come as long as you are looking for it. It will come when you are looking for Him. Does that sound strange? The same principle holds, you know, for more everyday matters. Even in social life, you will never make a good impression on other people until you stop thinking about what sort of impression you are making. Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it. The principle runs through all life from top to bottom, Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favourite wishes every day and death of your whole body in the end submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life. Keep back nothing. Nothing that you have not given away will be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.”

~H

On Chaos...When It's Supposed to be Summer

Chaos is a good way to describe my life right now.

About four days ago, Michael and I moved our whole house across town to a slightly larger place that will allow him to commute to work in the fall with a little less time, and will allow me to teach violin/viola lessons in the fall as well. During this time I was also teaching music theory at Raspberry Ridge, the camp that I wax eloquently about every year.

This being the case, as soon as we finished school on the 12th, Michael and I crashed for a couple of days, enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in past 5:30am, and then threw ourselves into packing up all our worldly belongings.

Before we started packing things, I struggled with the change that summer was inevitably bringing to my life. Before my miscarriage, I had looked forward to finishing work so I could stay home this fall, have a baby, and then possibly teach violin at least part time. I had looked forward to slowly growing larger, to decorating the second bedroom that we moved to have, to enjoying baby showers, and generally anticipating the addition of a small little life that would consume all my time for at least a little bit.

With the sudden cessation of all business and school, I was suddenly faced with all the "could-have-beens" and, honestly, it took my breath away. Michael had to deal with many stormy tears.

However, Raspberry Ridge, as it has been many times in the past, was balm to my soul. The theme was on prayer, and while I taught music theory to all the campers, and then led a Bible Study, I was reminded about prayer. Also, every year I am at Raspberry Ridge, I have at least one good, refreshing conversation with someone. This year, I had a conversation with a good friend who should be moving into town in the next year or earlier. I also had a conversation with a (16-year-old?) girl who just found out that her mother's breast cancer had come back, metastasized, and they might have 3 years with her.

Seeing her grief about this brought back my own about losing Alexandra, but God allowed me to speak grace, God's goodness, and His love to her, as well as pray for her and hold her as we both cried. That is one good thing that has come from this miscarriage. I am able to know the pain that grief can bring, and because of that, I have the (new) ability to comfort someone in their grief and remind them that God is in it all.

(Another good thing about the miscarriage is Michael. He has been so patient and loving to me in dealing with my grief, which one day seems far away, and the next is so close it hurts all over. I honestly think that if this hadn't happened, I would love him less.)

As it is, while I was at camp, Michael and two friends moved all our stuff across town. After RR ended, I unpacked, and cleaned, and unpacked some more, until I was almost overwhelmed. Truth be told, I'm not done yet, but my mother and my sisters came over yesterday and moved boxes upstairs, and unpacked boxes, and helped me do the labor of several days in about 3 hours. It was wonderful. Now Michael and I can sit on the couch and watch World Cup games. Which is where I'm going right now.

Thank God for husbands, RR, refreshing conversations, and mothers and sisters.
~H

My journey to here...

Opening up the home-school vs. public school debate is like opening up a can of worms. It can get ugly very, very quickly. Home-schoolers are prone to think that their way is the only right way. Public-schoolers think home-schoolers are weird, and probably slightly off their rocker.

As someone who was home-schooled the whole way through K-12, and has taught public school for the past three years, I'd like to think I have a good picture of both sides of the coin. Are home-schoolers right in their thinking? I don't think so. Are public-schoolers right in their thinking? I don't think so on this one either.

My parents were teachers. My parents are teachers. They both taught conversational English in Japan for several years. When I was a baby, and my parents moved back to the States, my dad decided that teaching would be the best job option for him. He got his state teaching license and taught 5th grade for five years. My parents, because of this job decided that the best thing for them and their family would be to home-school their children. As teachers they wanted to have a hand in their children's education.

It wasn't always easy, teaching 5 different grade levels, but my mom managed. My sister and I were several grades apart, but did basically the same history class at the same time. There were online classes that happened once a week to help my mom with the subjects she wasn't as familiar with (read: college biology major trying to teach good essay writing skills). Each subject was carefully planned by my mother with my father's support. We'd occasionally spend days at work with Dad, school work in hand so we could do extra-curricular activities without my mom having to run to multiple places during the day. I learned how to get along with people who were either younger than me or far older than me. I learned how to enjoy reading. I learned how to play well with others, and that, when the time came, I really very much liked being alone. Because of being home-schooled, I was able to focus my attentions on things like violin lessons, drama lessons, and social activities. My sister was able to do music lessons and sports.

When I went to college, I went knowing what I wanted. I was going to be a music major so that when I became a mommy I could stay at home with my kids and teach them at home. I didn't really see any other way. However, my college had a different say in things. They told me that in order to complete my music education degree I was going to have to spend a semester in a public school teaching children how to play their instruments in a large group. I found this pointless. At one point I went to a teacher who I knew would listen and told her that the class I was having to take from her seemed like a big waste of my time. I enjoyed the class some times, but it wasn't what I had in mind. While she understood and suggested that maybe I needed to go a change my major to performance, I couldn't tell her that I felt God's call to be a teacher. I knew that while the class was a waste of time, it would be a bigger waste of time trying to change my major and taking the wrong classes altogether.

During my final semester at college, I got the opportunity to student teach with one of the most amazing teachers I have ever met. She was constantly on the go. She inspired her students, she challenged herself, she laughed when she accidentally smashed the top of a cake against her car trying to shut the car door with the same hand that held the cake. It was under her tutelage that I realized that I could make this teaching-in-the-public-schools thing work. I could teach a large class of students. I could care for more than one student at a time, and to my surprise, I enjoyed it immensely.

The next school year found me a subbing job that then landed me a half-time orchestra position at a local high school. It was exciting, the students needed me because the orchestra program was a diamond in the rough, and I came home from school every day excited about what was happening in the classroom. Times were tough, I had a tiny box of a classroom (really a double office that they had cleaned out and let me have), no white board, tiny classes, and had to create most of my material off the bat, but I enjoyed myself.

The next year I had even more students, which meant I was now full-time, I had most of the materials already created, and I was nominated by my administration for the county's first-year teacher-of-the-year award. After my Assistant Principal wrote a letter of recommendation, I wrote a two page essay detailing how my orchestra class helped prepare my students for the real world. I created a professional teaching portfolio, and then endured an interview, and then conducted (no pun intended) class through three observations. I won. I have a plaque to prove it. My county decided I was the best first-year high school teacher. It felt good to know that they thought that I was good at my job.

This year, however, has been the hardest year of my life. Last year was pretty good, but this year, has been hard, hard, hard. The rules are changing constantly, which, for someone who likes having the right answers, is extremely difficult. Our legislators seem to have decided that teaching is a worthless job. I'm weary of having to hold my tongue when people ask me how my job's going so I don't sound like (what my husband calls) a "crotchety old teacher." Drama is rampant and I don't handle drama well. Stress has taken over the lives of myself and every teacher I know. My students are tired all the time and struggling with illnesses left and right because as high-schoolers, with all the testing they are being asked to do, they are extremely stressed. They have college next, and most of my students desire to have good grades for college. The public school system is a bureaucratic mess. Teachers are currently being paid on one of the lowest pay scales in the nation (note: I'm writing this a day after Gov. McCrory announced a 14% pay raise over two years for teachers with 5 years and under experience, which is the wrong place to start the pay raises). I am sorry for my more experienced, older teacher friends feeling like the system has it in for them. They have given years of their working lives to teaching, and with all the legislative changes and the pay raise being offered to beginning teachers, they feel as if they are being picked off one by one because they are too expensive to keep around; they are the least valued with the most experience. I'm worried that I will continue to feel extremely tired of all the drama, the bureaucratic mess, and the idiocy coming from a legislature and government who pretend to know all about education but in reality know absolutely nothing. (Being a student at one time does not give you the expertise to know what it's like being a teacher. Only teaching can teach you that. Let teachers have a voice in the education realm and learning will sky-rocket.)

My classes are still wonderful. My administration supports me as much as they can, but this year, I have felt the pull to leave the public school classroom. Mostly, it's been a very good year when it comes to teaching, as I feel like I have grown in my own self-awareness, in my professional development. My students are still very respectful. They are growing in their discipline far beyond what I could have imagined for them two and a half years ago. I'm not tired of teaching. I'm tired and fed to the teeth with everything else that the public school system has asked me to do. I'm tired of being told that I'm not trusted as a teacher to know what is best for my students. I'm actually being told that next year the state wants to implement standardized testing for the arts as well. Really? You can't measure learning in the arts with standardized testing.

I have multiple beginning strings students, who even though they all started at the same time, all have different abilities. They had different abilities on day one! One of them was a senior who came in, knowing guitar and having taught himself some music theory. Another is a freshman whose only exposure to music besides the radio, was his brother who was in my class. He wanted to hang out with his brother and his brother's best friend, so he decided to pick up music. These two students both started music with me at the same time, but my senior is so far ahead of my freshman, it makes it look like my senior could have started a year ahead of the freshman. But they're both learning and are both far more advanced than they were at the beginning of the school year.

I'm tired of people thinking that the spark for the desire for further education can be measured. Learning is not about data, but about whether or not a student wants to continue expanding their horizons through knowledge! All good teachers know this. Good parents know this too. Good learning should spark the desire for more learning. It's gotten to the point that I want to teach more than just orchestra in my orchestra class because I want to fuel my student's desire for further education. I want to pick up a good classic book and read to them. I want to open doors through research. I want to do something that matters. I cannot do this while confined to one subject in the public school system as it is right now.

Which is why, at the end of this school year, I will not be returning to the public school system.

Instead, I will be setting up a private violin/viola studio at home, and when I have children, I will teach them at home (thank God my public-school-teacher husband is willing to let me do this) and I will teach them to love learning, not just through music, but through all subjects. Learning will be exciting because it expands their horizons, not just their skill set. And I will be able to teach without having to deal with anyone but students and parents who have even a minimal desire to learn. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to grow and further their desire to learn.

Will I decide that maybe public school would be okay for one of my children? Maybe. But currently the jury is out on that as I don't have any children. I do know what decision is best for me, however, and this is my decision. No more bureaucracy, no more rules changing in the middle of the year, no more answering to people who have no idea what they're doing.

~H

P.S. I realize this post was written some time ago. I merely waited for the correct time to post this. Now seems to be that time. If this post has gotten you wondering what you can do to help beleaguered teachers, call or email your legislators and let them know that there is a problem.

Caring, teaching, dealing

Patience is hard. It's really very hard to practice patience, especially in this world of instant gratification that we live in. I seem to be extremely bad at patience, especially when I don't have all the answers. There are many times in life where I want to be able to Google the answer right then and there and make everything better. Unfortunately, God is not Google. He tells us to be patient and wait on Him.

Quite honestly, I think that's easier said than done. We have microwaves that give us food in far less time than is healthy, we have internet that moves at speeds that get faster and faster every year, we have Google, we have smart phones that are designed to save us time, and every year it seems like some labor-saving, time-saving device is invented that is supposed to make our lives easier and more satisfactory. In a world where we can download songs, pictures, and movies that haven't even been released to the public within minutes, and even seconds, it is extremely hard to be patient.

It also breeds entitlement. If the TV, or my smart phone is going to give me exactly what I want, then why shouldn't my parents, my teachers, my pastor, or even my job? As a teacher I've seen this more and more in the students that I teach. As a wife, I've seen this more and more in myself, expecting Michael to do everything for me, or at least to do what I ask right away. As a child of God, I understand that I've always been impatient and wanted to know the answers to the biggest questions that I don't and probably will never have answers to... (why take my child?)

At every turn I have to fight entitlement and impatience in myself, and then in the people around me, mainly my students. As a teacher I am always telling them "no" or "not now" or asking them to forego things like having music in their ears at all times, having their phone out so they can be on social media or texting friends, or even simply doing what they want when they want to because they can.

There are roughly 1800+ students that go to the high school I teach at, and as a teacher, because I show up every morning, because I plan my lessons, because I cover other teacher's classes, and because I do ISS for 45 minutes every day, I am an integral part of my schools environment. Because of this, every time I get up at 5:30 in the morning (or earlier) and get ready for work, I am telling the students at my school that I care about every single one of them, if even in some very small aspect. As a teacher investing in the lives of my students, I have to care or no progress is made. It's very easy to go to another job and work without caring about it (I know because I've had other jobs!), but with teaching, it's a heavy emotional responsibility. Especially when I look at some of the kids in my school who have this "entitlement complex" and expect everything to be handed to them on a platter and I wonder if they're even going to make it outside of high school. Is the 17 year old freshman who never goes to class, but sleeps instead, going to make it even to flipping burgers at a local hamburger joint? And yet, because I'm in the building doing my job, I'm investing part of my life into that 17 year old freshman, without knowing how he's going to turn out or even succeed.

And let's not talk about the students who have violent histories, who will explode on you simply because you asked them to put their phone away, or the student whose abusive boyfriend is taking over her life, or the student whose rich parents aren't actually parenting but simply throwing money at their "problem" and hoping it goes away, or the student whose parents are so poor that they have to work 3 jobs to pay for the iPhone and the designer sneakers and have no time to spend making sure their child isn't in trouble or are getting decent grades.

So, I teach because I care, or I care because I teach. I can't decided. I know this post started out as a comment on patience, instant gratification, and entitlement, and has now turned into an explanation about what I as a teacher have to deal with day in and day out, but honestly, it all amounts to the same thing. If you as a person are investing in the lives about people around you, don't you want their lives to be as meaningful and successful as possible? Every time you invest you have to care about something, even if you don't consciously realize that you care. That's why as a teacher you can't leave your work at work. Even if you leave all those papers you need to grade at work, the students you affect come home with you. Even while on spring break I was thinking about my students and the things that I wanted to share with them when I got home.

Needless to say, society is going somewhere, and I'm not sure that I like going with it in a certain direction. Entitlement, instant gratification, and dealing with people has always been a problem. Ecclesiastes is very clear that there is nothing new under the sun. At least I know that that has never changed. This is just my first time fully realizing and dealing with it.

~H

The Color of Miscarriage during Easter

Lately everything has been colored by my miscarriage. Everything. In the past two months I've done so much that feels like it would be different if not for Alexandra. She's not here anymore, but she has left a mark on my heart.

Easter Sunday is tomorrow. Even Easter has changed for me. I chose to forget in my grief over losing my small, tiny child that God knows, really knows, what it's like to lose a child too. I assumed that God in his infinite-ness couldn't know what it is like to lose a child.

But here at Easter, I am forcibly reminded that the all powerful, good, loving God knows not only what it is to lose a child, but what it is to sacrifice his child for those who hate Him as well.

I should, if I were a selfless person, be relieved that Alexandra didn't have to live more that 4-6 weeks inside of me in this broken world. She, instead, gets to spend the rest of forever in God's arms, possibly running the streets of gold. She gets to spend time in a place that has no more pain or suffering and is in the very presence of God. (He is the light of Heaven!) And yet, I, as a selfish person, couldn't easily let her go. I still want her here with me. I would have her experience life in a world that hates God, just so I could hold her.

God loves so much better than I do. Instead of selfishly keeping his Son to Himself, He sends Him to this broken, hateful world to die for His enemies, one of which was me. I can't willingly let Alexandra go to God's arms, which is an infinitely better place than here, and yet God willingly killed His Son for His enemies. What unfathomable love and mercy is this? I used to think I knew all about love, but now, I have a hard time grasping just how DEEP Divine love can be.

O, the deep, deep love of Jesus,

vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!

Rolling as a mighty ocean,

in its fullness over me!

Underneath me, all around me,

is the current of Thy love.

Leading onward, leading homeward,

to thy glorious rest above.

O, the deep, deep love of Jesus,

spread His praise from shore to shore!

How He loveth, ever loveth,

changeth never, nevermore.

How he watches o'er his loved ones,

died to call them all His own.

How for them he intercedeth,

watcheth o'er them from the throne!

O, the deep, deep love of Jesus,

love of every love the best.

'Tis an ocean full of blessing,

'tis a haven giving rest.

O, the deep, deep love of Jesus,

'tis a heaven of heavens to me;

and it lifts me up to glory,

for it lifts me up to Thee!

~H

Post Script, I do want to mention, that Jesus would not have had to come to die if the world, through Adam and Eve, had not sinned and fallen so very, very short of the glory of God. Every one reading this, whether you agree or not, has at some point sinned and that in itself was cause for Jesus to come. I have sinned so often, that even as a Christian, I still need Him and His death on the bloody, brutal cross each day. How great is God's love that, even while I was still His enemy, in rebellion and sin against Him, He sent His Son to die an awful death for me.

Learning to trust the Good Shepherd

Miscarriage. 

The one word that women of child-bearing age fear most. Especially if they've had one before. It wasn't until just recently that I learned the power of that fear.

On February 8, Michael and I lost a child that I had been carrying for about 8 weeks. It was actually much earlier than that, but that's part of the story, so I'll get to that later.

It was early morning when I took the pregnancy test two days after Christmas and found out about our little miracle. I say miracle because I had been certain that getting pregnant in December was going to be just about impossible. I had been having cramps, but no other symptoms. I was certain my period was going to be late because I had had a very bad cold for two weeks, on top of stress from work. It was on a whim then, that I took the pregnancy test, the morning we were going to visit Michael's parents for Christmas. I was stunned and unsure that what I was seeing was real, so I took it to Michael for second opinion, and he confirmed that I wasn't seeing things.

I set up an 8 week doctor's appointment on our way to visit his parents. The whole visit was completely surreal because we had this wonderful secret. We had decided that we were going to tell our families at the 8 week mark, and then everybody else at 12 weeks.

The weeks leading up to the January 20th appointment were exciting, full of certain pregnancy symptoms and disappointment when I found out that I couldn't eat soft cheese, sushi, or alcohol. I set about tracking the growth of the baby, according to when I'd last had my period. It was exciting, different, and totally welcome.

However, when we got to the doctor, things went down hill. The ultrasound revealed that the baby was exactly 5 weeks in length instead of 8 weeks. The doctor didn't seem too worried, as if women came in all the time and they had to re-examine when they were due. There was a tiny heart beat there in the middle of the sack, flickering away. It was beautiful. The doctor said the heart had probably only started beating about a day or two before. 

I cried that night, worried inexplicably that I was going to miscarry. I had watched some documentaries that detailed the frequency of miscarriage. I'd heard about how sometimes babies at this point who seem smaller than they should might have simply slowed down because they were about to miscarry. I was scared. Michael held me as I cried, and slowly I gave my fears to God. I had had to give my fears to God a lot before the appointment, but on seeing the tiny life inside of me that was smaller than I thought, all my fears came back, as if the sonogram had validated them. Eventually when I stopped crying, I figured that if nothing was wrong, I would just continue as if nothing were wrong. The doctor hadn't thought so. I reset my calendar back three weeks.

Jan. 20 was a Monday, and the day before my sister's birthday. I had thought it would be a good idea to tell my family after the doctor's appointment, but Michael held me back, mentioning that maybe we should wait until 8 weeks. The real 8 weeks. I reluctantly let him lead on that. He's my husband, so I honored his wishes in that. That Saturday I started spotting. Not a lot, but enough to get me nervous. Sunday I passed a clot the size of a pinhead and freaked out. When I called the doctor, she scheduled an ultrasound for me the next day, Monday. I went in after work and while the ultrasound showed that the sack and baby had doubled, reading about 5 weeks and 6 days, the technician couldn't pick up a heart beat. The doctor's assistant who saw me told me that that might be the fault of the machinery. But to just allay my fears, she offered to get blood work drawn for me, and have it drawn again in another two days. That or come in another week for an ultrasound again. Since I don't like needles, I opted for the ultrasound.

Through out the next week, I continued spotting, some times more heavily than others, but always kinda brownish. The longer I spotted the more agitated I got, even though I knew that in pregnancy there were a lot of things that could make me bleed. Every day it seemed I had to give my fears to God. I prayed for the life of my baby. Michael prayed for the life of my baby. It was an uncomfortable time, full of fears.

The next ultrasound seemed to confirm the worst. Even I could tell that there had been no growth and there was again no heart beat. The technician left for a little while to get a confirmation on the pictures she was seeing. That gave me time to compose myself and pray a lot. The doctor who met with me told me I had what they called a "missed miscarriage" where the body hasn't quite got the message that the baby has stopped growing. She said I could wait and see what happened, or I could take a drug that would induce miscarriage, or I could have surgery that would suck all the "fetal tissue" out. Such sterile language, "fetal tissue". I opted to wait until Wednesday, as she could call the drug in for me if I chose that road.

I cried on the way home. I cried when I got home. Michael cried with me. It felt like all our hopes and dreams for the future had been ripped up and thrown away in the span of 20 minutes. We basically held each other and cried. We prayed, and cried some more.

Nothing happened by Wednesday, so I called the doctor and asked for the drugs. She called them in and I had two doses by Friday evening. The first dose didn't take. Saturday evening, Feb. 8, I took the second dose, and that time it took and everything passed. I cried. It was hard to go to church the next morning, but we did because Michael had praise team. It was still surreal to me that the child I had harbored for several weeks was now gone.

It's now been about 6 weeks since the induced miscarriage. I told my family. I had another ultrasound to make sure everything passed, and I was clear to heal and try again. We named the baby Alexandra. Every week it's been a struggle to go to anything church related because not only do I have no distractions, but I'm in the presence of the Creator, who for some reason decided to stop creating within me. There are days when I feel like everything is going to be okay, when I can teach normally, when I can make dinner normally, when I can read Facebook normally, but then there are other days when it feels like everything is crashing down around me.

I feel decades older. Sometimes I wish it was all just a bad dream. I've stopped talking as much in certain company. I have a hard time reading Facebook, or hearing about all my friends who are having babies, especially the ones who I thought "oh! Our children are going to be born about the same time!" I can't get away from pregnancy references, pregnant women, or babies, especially when I want to. Michael, even though he too is grieving, has had to care for me in my brokenness. He has had to quickly learn patience as I seem fine one day, only to cry through most of the next. My heart seems at times like it's been ripped in two. Other times it seems like half of it is missing or a thousand knives have been stabbed through it.

I've had a lot of questions for God and about God. It has been good to see Him at work through my parents, my family, my friends, and the people in my church, comforting me and holding on to me. I know people are praying for me. At least two people ask me at church every week if I'm doing alright. I went on a women's retreat recently, and while I spent most of the time crying during talks and singing, it was a turning point.

Since Feb. 3, when I found out I'd miscarried, I've clung to the fact that I know God is good. That and He is sovereign. I know that because He is sovereign, this was part of his plan for me. I know that because He is good, this terribly painful part of His plan will turn into good for me. I still don't see how taking my child was good, but I can see His goodness in sustaining me for the past month. And now since the women's conference on Psalm 23, I have been able to see God as loving me. I had forgotten that, or been in doubt of it. It is hard to equate a God who loves me with a God who would let me suffer, but I know He loves me. I know He loves me if only because He let His own Son die (die!) for me. He knows the pain I'm going through because He too has lost a child. He cares for me, even when I don't see it. And right now, I'm still struggling to see it. I will catch glimpses of it at times, but other times I still feel like I'm in the dark.

This miscarriage thing seems like a weird club. Before I miscarried, I was only aware that my mom and my best friend's mom had miscarried. Now that I have miscarried, there are so many women around me who have come out of the woodwork, having had one or five miscarriages. Each one is different, but no less profound or sad. What comforts me and tears me up at the same times is that I am a parent, Michael is a parent, and yet our child is with God. My grandpa who died towards the end of February has met Alexandra first.

This has been a huge process, a grieving, a learning process. Thank you to all of you who have already walked with me some of the way. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for your sympathy. Thank you for your thoughts. Thank you to my husband for his steady servant heart, his patience, and his love for me. I'm not done grieving yet. In fact, today has been a fairly hard day. But at the same time, I can say that this week has been better then last week. 

As a side note: if you needed this, I'm praying for you. If you know someone who needs this, please share this with them. Take your cares, your grief, to God and He, like the good shepherd that He is, will care for you. He loves you, just as He loves me.

More later,

~H

The colors of death...

So, I haven't written on here in a LONG time, and I realize this, but the colors are changing! I know, it's a weird saying we have when the leaves on the trees herald fall and the coming of winter, but the colors are indeed changing! The green water-oak outside my apartment is now dropping very brown leaves! One of the maples across the parking lot for the last two weeks has been turning yellow from the top down, kinda like someone dusting yellow dye on the top of the tree and letting it trickle downwards. And then this afternoon on my way to my car after work, I noticed that the tiny little forgotten trees in the school parking lot are turning gorgeous colors like bright red and almost purple.

As many people who read this blog (when I actually update it) know, I went to college in the mountains, so I got the full brunt of God's creative design when it came to gorgeous leaves and the dying colors of the trees. And yes, while I know it's not actually the trees that die, I was thinking about it, these colors are actually products of death.

If I were to ask you to play a name game with me, it would go something like this: "Okay, when I say an object, an action, or something, I want you to just say the first color that comes to the top of your mind. Okay? Okay. Alright here we go! Lion."

"Tan."

"Sky."

"Blue."

"Apple."

"Chrome."

"..... uh. Well, um... Downtown."

"Gray-black."

"Eyes."

"Brown."

"Trees."

"Green."

"Fall."

"Red."

"Death."

"Black."

Do you see how this goes? Black is generally reserved for death. But in God's case, apparently, he reserves red, yellow, brown, purple, and various shades of orange for the death of leaves.

This occurred to me as I was driving home the other day, watching the changes of the leaves. I don't normally have macabre thoughts, but as this occurred to me, I was struck with a thought I'd had last year.

I sincerely hope that when it comes time for me to die, just as the time comes for every leaf in this world, when it comes time for God to take me from this world because I've done my part in his magnificent plan to save the world and bring glory to himself, that I can glorify him one last time in death by showing colors as brilliant as a leaf in death.

I suppose the human version of to show ones colors is something like acting honorably, or self-sacrificing, or showing the "good" side of being a human being, but whatever it all is, whether it's because I live to a ripe old age surrounded by children and grandchildren, knowing that they are my colors because they love the Lord because I've prayed for them, or if it's because I'll die protecting someone I love, showing those colors of self-sacrifice and so on, I hope that in any way that I die, I can bring glory to my God and Savior in some way.

If the leaves on the trees can do it, why can't I? I'll go out in a blaze of giving glory to God if I have anything to say about it.

~H

Thanksgiving

Well, thankfully (heh), and finally, Thanksgiving Break is upon us. This little bit of break, this measly three days is actually quite amazing in the solitary fact that it is just this: a break.

Now I went to Dictionary.com to see how they defined the word "break" and got a plethora of meanings, so I chose one which I thought best fit this situation: "a rush away from a place; an attempt to escape: a break for freedom." I especially like their italicized use of the word. I do feel like this is a break for freedom.

At the end of the day on Tuesday, I'd never seen so many people break for freedom as I did with not only my students, but my teacher friends. To those that I have talked to, we all have felt for ages (and by ages I mean since school started) like we're working our selves to the bone. We see our students come to us tired by their classes. Our students see us tired by our classes. At this point in the year we are all very, very ready for break.

The English would call it "holiday". Going on holiday is just about right too, because it's Thanksgiving that we're celebrating here. We are called to be thankful for things, not just now, but all year long. Here are seven (it's a good number) things that I'm thankful for!

1) I am thankful for breaks. After working and working and not getting a chance to turn my brain off, I finally have the chance to rest, recharge, and spend time with family and friends, some of whom I haven't seen in a while.

2) I am thankful for warm houses. When it's cold out there, I am especially thankful for the warmth that central heating brings, but I'm not actually talking about central heating. I'm talking about family warmth. I enjoy knowing my family and seeing them. Being welcomed into my in-laws' home and fed and watered by them, shows me that they love me, and they love my husband. I love to see them. Warm hearts are even warmer than warm homes.

3) I am thankful for food. Good food is just amazing. It makes me hopeful, it brings family together, it shows loving care from the ones who made it. It shows love towards the ones whom it was made for.

4) I'm thankful for my students. I love seeing them hard at work and knowing that they listen to what I have to say and think that it is important. They bring light to my day, even though at the same time I sometimes want to strangle them because they are so annoying and do some very stupid things.

5) I'm thankful for my family. They love me and I wouldn't be the same if I weren't blessed with them.

6) I'm thankful that God has given me life, not only here on earth, but in him as well. So many of the things that I go through I wouldn't be able to withstand without his help.

7) I'm thankful for sleep. Sleep seems to be the one thing that doesn't come very quickly during the normal week day. Michael and I go to bed at 9ish and get up at 5:15 every morning on school days. This break, or holiday, will be nice simply because sleep should come in abundance. :)

What are you thankful for?

~H

Verbal Pictures are better than None

So, it's Monday, the day after Veteran's Day, and Michael and I have had the day off. Three day weekends are fantastic, especially when there are things to do. Currently he's playing guitar and singing softly to himself. He's singing our song, the song he serenaded me with. It's hard to believe that in two days it will have been four months to the day since he tied me to himself permanently, and I returned the favor.

It's been close to a year since he last sang this song to me with a guitar in hand. Sure, we've sung the song to a recording in the car on the way places, but now, it's got a better, new meaning. God has been infinitely good in that period between last December 31st and now. I know I'm sounding sentimental, but I can't help it. He's playing the song that he used to ask me to marry him.

There's a lot I could say, but I think there's more that could be said without words. I wish I had pictures. I'm not good at taking pictures. But because I don't have pictures I can post, here are some verbal pictures.

We were massively blessed with our pre-marital counseling. They gave us good advice on how to say "I'm sorry." Michael and I haven't really fought, because we started out as best friends, knowing how to communicate fairly well, but we've had disagreements, and sometimes we've purposefully hurt each other because we want our way and haven't been thinking of the other person and the best thing for them. Our counseling counseled (heh) us to apologize quickly, to not go to bed angry, and when we apologize to think through the root problem behind why we hurt the other person and to admit that to them in an effort to help heal the relationship. It has worked so well, knowing that the other person actually dislikes what they've done, realizes they're wrong, and wants to fix it.

(He's playing "Call Me Maybe" on the guitar now. He gets a goofy look on his face that I love every time he's satisfied with himself and thinks he's funny. He's always funny. :-) Complained when I actually did call him.)

There are some evenings where I'll be reading a book and he'll just put his head in my lap and go to sleep as I read. It doesn't help when I rub his head, but then, his hair is right there and it's soft! Then there are evenings when we're doing totally different things, but he sits on his side of my couch and I sit on mine with my feet on the couch stretched out towards him, and he rubs my toes without really thinking about it. It's peaceful knowing that my best friend is able to relax with me, unlike he wouldn't before we were married.

(He just bounced through "Just the way you are" and is now playing and singing "Hey Soul Sister". Apparently he's playing all the love songs on the radio that he can think of right now. Then he looks at me with these faux-googly eyes and then giggles a little.)

Last but not least: In the last 4 months we've had several people over to our small apartment to eat and play games. Several people in our church, a couple family members, and some friends. The picture I want to leave you with is this: about four people gathered around the table, enjoying home-cooked food, laughing at something and enjoying each others company. There's family-ness and companionship. There's fun and deep friendship. There's good food. This is something I wouldn't miss for the world. We have the chance to create our own family atmosphere and share this with other people around us, blessing them with the love that God has given us for him and for them and for one another.

God has been amazingly gracious to us in these four months. It excites me to see what he is going to do in the next four years, or even four decades. God is o, so very good. :-)

(We've just ended with a joint rendition of "500-miles". Neither of us knew the words, so there was a lot of humming involved. Oh the joys of being a musical family.)

Over and out.
~H

Exciting Moments in Teaching Orchestra 101

Being a(n orchestra) teacher is weird. It's official. It's weird because there are days when I definitely wake up and think to myself "I love my job, I WANT to go to school. I can DEAL with these kids who think I'm there just to torture them. I love my job!" etc. ad nauseam. And then there are days when I really AM excited about going to school and teaching students a subject that I love!

This week has been one of those "ad nauseam" weeks where I'm so weary and worn out that I just don't really want to get out of bed, but know that my students need me, so I drag myself to school anyway. But despite these draggy mornings, God has been gracious. There were several days where I had to ask Him for strength to just get through the drive to school, and He give it. Needless to say, these nasty mornings were capped off by two awesome moments this week. (It's what we teachers live for... the little awesome moments of the week. We're weird that way.)

First awesome moment:

My honors class, period 3 right after lunch, one day this week was eager to watch the video recording I'd made of them during the class before. This particular day they were going to watch the recording of a piece that they'd really taken a liking to and had tried to pull together on their own while I was out sick for a day recently. They had taken to heart what I had been trying to teach them and had tried starting and ending together, breathing together through out and counting like fiends. When I came back from my days' absence, they insisted on playing it for me without me conducting, so when it came time for me to record them it seemed like the best idea all around. They were all for it.

Now we were about to watch the recording of them playing this movement of the piece all by themselves. I asked them to watch their music as they played and watch the video at the same time. As we were watching at times they giggled because they were startled by seeing themselves on camera, other times they grimaced because of something they hadn't heard while playing as a group. One thing is true. The camera doesn't lie. If they played a wrong note, chord, or passage, the camera picked it up and played it right back to them. As we finished the recording and I turned the lights on, they all kind of grimaced at each other and when I asked them what their thoughts were, they shook their heads.

"That was awful!" One girl exploded.

"Our dynamics were sucky, and we were NOT together!" another said, exasperated.

I let them explain one by one their thoughts on the recording and how they could improve and then mentioned a couple thoughts myself (i.e. the camera was built to pick up voice, so it picks up the frequencies of the viola better, and that's why it sounded so loud, etc.). When I was certain we'd covered as much as we could with their recording, the giggling having reached a level that told me that they were out of ideas, I silenced them and told them that we would now listen to a professional recording of the same piece. A couple of them thanked me profusely before I shushed them again and pulled up the recording.

What I saw from that point on was different than anything I'd seen previously. Instead of commenting on things from the recording and having to be shushed for talking, they intently looked at the music and read along, listening like I'd never seen before. Noticing this, I decided like any good teacher to take advantage of the bout of reflectiveness they seemed to be taking and while the music was playing, I grabbed a pack of 3x5 cards and handed one card to each student.

As soon as the music was over, I said quietly, "Now, without talking to anyone else, or discussing this in anyway, I want you to write five descriptive words on the 3x5 card, like 'rich', 'deep', and so on. Five descriptive words about the emotion in this piece. You have about three minutes to do that." After two minutes, "And now, I want you to fold that card in half and put it away. Tuck it in your music, put it on your person, but don't show it to anyone unless you absolutely want to. It's just for you and for you only. I would like you to go home and practice these descriptive words into your music. Then I want you to think about the whole piece we're playing and dedicate each movement to one person. Say I'd dedicate this movement to my grandma, the first movement to my little sister, and so on. I think it would be really cool to share in the concert."

Every single one of the students nodded. Up to this point not one of them had made a sound, which meant that they were unusually focused. I then informed them that we wouldn't be playing the movement we'd just heard today, but that we would be playing another movement from the same piece.  For the rest of the period, my beautiful, wonderful students put their heads down and worked their butts off. We didn't get sidetracked, there was no talking between pauses, and at the end of the class period, two of the comments were, "Man, we really worked hard today!" and "I have an adrenaline rush like you wouldn't believe!" It was gorgeous. I was stunned. In a good way of course.

Awesome moment number two:

Orchestra club meets on fridays from 2:30 to 3:30. It meets in my orchestra room, obviously, but the glorious thing about orchestra club is that all I have to do really is be in the room and help them sort out difficult problems if they need me. Other then that it's all the students. Any student, whether or not they're in an orchestra class can participate, if they have an instrument and musical experience. Now, 90% of the kids in orchestra are actually in orchestra class, so they have me every day, so they hear my teaching and my rants every day ("Breathe and move together!" "Count! Count like a fiend!" "That note was.... .....interesting...." "I'll make you brilliant musicians with just one thing: ...do what's written on the page!!" "I'm not here to teach you to learn to play an instrument, but how to love something and do it well.").

During orchestra club this past friday they decided to sight-read some Christmas music to play for the concert in December and later for a nursing home. It was awesome to hear them putting into practice (and using well) things that I have been asking them to do in my classes since school started. For example:

The music they were trying to sight-read was sounding awful.

"I can't get the key right!" One of the cellos explodes.

"Well, what key are we in?" the violin sitting across from him asks.

"Well, three flats, so that's... E flat major, or C minor..."

"Right, so let's all play the E flat major scale!"

"I don't know how to play the E flat major scale!"

"Well we've been learning how to build a scale in class right? The pattern's Whole, Whole, Half, Whole, Whole, Whole, Half!"

And sitting at my desk I got to hear my string-player students very carefully build an E flat major scale and then get the harmony in the song right because of it.

Then at another point, possibly in the very same song, the students had stopped to figure something out, and someone looking at the score said, "Well, cellos have to start us here because they have the downbeat and no one else does."

The lead cellist sighed (no one LIKES starting, to many stares!) and said, "Okay.... One, two, three, go."

Two notes into a poor start, the violinist across from him bursts out, "No! That's not how you start! You have to BREATHE!"

"Fine! One, two, three, *loud inhale*."

"No! Like this!" And two of my seniors demonstrate proper breathing technique to start an ensemble, and suddenly the small orchestra starts together beautifully, all without my help.

All I could do was sit at my desk and hope my cheeks didn't fall off because I was grinning so hard. It's a beautiful day when I can hear my students applying what I've taught them, and succeeding even better because of it.

This is why I teach orchestra.

~H

What a good God we serve!

And life has changed yet again!

As of two weeks ago, I am a married woman with all the rights and privileges thereof, and I've had my first kiss. :) My anniversary is July 14, and I'm so very, very glad it's all over. (Or, is it just beginning?)

Michael and I went up into the Shenandoah valley for part of our honeymoon. We did not, however, eat honey on the moon. Our first two days were spent at a bed and breakfast near Monticello (gorgeous area!) and on Monday we went to King's Dominion. I owed Michael a roller-coaster ride. We picked King's Dominion specifically because it also had a water park area where I could play around. :) I don't do drops well, which is why roller-coasters don't go well with me, and Michael doesn't do swirling things well, which is why some of my favorite rides make him queasy. Oh well.

 I rode a roller-coaster, one of the kiddie ones that I was okay with. It was definitely a large roller-coaster for me, seeing as it's only the second one I've been on ever! It was not as bad as I thought it was going to be, but Michael's attempts to get me to go on an even bigger roller-coaster were to no avail. Just looking at drops made my stomach queasy. :)

Then we went from King's Dominion to our second stay-place, a little chalet, near a smaller town called Elkton (we never saw any elk!) in the Shenandoah national forest. We got to meet our neighbors the very first night because we were locked out of the chalet and they helped us figure out where the key was. They were very nice and congratulatory. Who doesn't love helping newly-weds out when they don't have cell phone reception, or internet, and can't find the key! They even offered us beer, or some alcoholic beverage without carding us!

The rest of the week we spent doing some hiking, sleeping, movie watching, and wine tasting. We also fought gnats and saw a bear (little one!) and had two deer (mommy and weeks old faun) walk across our hiking path, about 10 feet away from us or less! We had fun and tired ourselves out.

Then on Friday we loaded up the car and drove 5 hours to near Michael's home town for a wedding that he was going to be part of that night and the next day. It was neat to go to a wedding so soon after ours just to have the reminder of what had taken place a week earlier.

Saturday night we drove home for 3 hours. We were tired, but it was nice to come back to a home waiting for just us. We had a ton of gifts to work through, and there was a massive lightning storm outside that had downed a tree limb the size of smaller trees next door, but we were home at our small apartment and we had very little food for next morning's breakfast. But we had pancakes, so it was all good. Our second Sunday back as a married couple was spent with our church family and it was very nice.

Needless to say, I've spent the past week cleaning out the apartment, unwrapping gifts, throwing away trash, and making home home. My mom and sisters came over and washed a bunch of brand new gifts. (I found out that when you get new everything you have to wash ALL of it.) I've cooked many much meals that have been fun, and different. Michael has been my faithful provider and gone to work every single day! :) It's nice to finally be settling into the rhythm of a new life.

And today, I've spent the day in bed battling a fever of, at the highest 102.2, and feeling generally miserable. Michael, in his amazing way, made breakfast, lunch, and is now making dinner. He rocks! I'm sitting comfortably at our tiny table and watching him putter around the kitchen, frying up hamburgers at almost 9 o'clock on a Saturday night. Married life rocks. Someone once described it as a sleepover with your best friend. It's better than that. Much, much better. :)

God is oh, so very good.

RRefreshment for the soul

So, as of recently, I'm fairly certain that it would be appropriate to say that I've been rather busy. In the past month, I have watched Michael graduate, made it through high school exams for the first time ever, attended my first ever high school graduation, finished with my teacher work days, and then torn through a week of Raspberry Ridge, my favorite EVER string summer camp, the week and two days that are a refreshment to my soul in so many many ways.

In the last little season of life here, I have felt extremely dry, my faith almost taking a backseat to the busy and crazy in my life. It's hurt and it's been hard because I've been finding that in a relationship when one person is dry, most likely the other person is dry as well. I've known for ages now that God was taking the backseat when he needed to be front an central, but it was hard to do more than nod at Him as I read my morning devotions or went to church every week. I listened to the sermons, I took notes, I discussed them with Michael and my small group, but still, I was dry and feeling it.

And then God in His massive grace gave me Raspberry Ridge. Emily, a friend who stays with me all week during RR mentioned the fact that I seem to blog every year right around RR. :) I mentioned back that it was a thing that had been happening long before I had a blog. When I started going in 2000, I was 12, and had a journal. I would take it and write journal entries in it during my free times. As I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate, more and more, the place that is RR.

This year the Bible study was on how Jesus needs to be part of every single aspect of our lives. Sounds familiar, right? This is the very thing I have been struggling with and have been asking God to help me through. It didn't surprise me very much that RR was addressing the very topic I was struggling with. Instead, I agreed to lead a Bible study, eager to dig deeper into God's word as I attempted to fight my own struggles with dryness. In preaching the greatness of God and His worth to others, I have often been reminded myself in my time of need.

About two or so days in to Raspberry Ridge, I had a moment of free time where I found myself sitting and listening to two of the gentlemen who teach various things at camp. They were debating the theory and history of a piece that we were doing in orchestra, and because they too are Christians, they were also talking about their faiths. They weren't being blatant about it, but in their discussion of this piece they were doing so in a manner that glorified God because they were using their talents to point to him. I was simply blessed to be sitting in their presence and listening to deep conversation, occasionally imputing my own small ideas.

I remember sitting there and internally sighing with deep pleasure. I thought to myself, At last, some really deep conversation that I can understand and enjoy. It took a moment more to realize that I had been starving for deep, musically relevant conversations, maybe for the very reason that as an orchestra director (yes! I'm teaching high school orchestra now!) I've been spending time either with high schoolers who don't know how to listen well (and when you don't know how to listen you don't know how to speak), or with their teachers who are so focused on their work that that's all we end up talking about. We would talk about the pieces we were working on and how the students were doing, but never the theory or the history or the composers behind the piece.

Now, I'm sure that if I sought that out, I could find it, but at Raspberry Ridge, there is something in the air, something in the water, something in the people that promotes deep conversation. There were several years in a row where we would have deep, sometimes intensely annoying, conversations about predestination which would turn into talk about the Bible study, or should music in church be allowed? And they were all linked through God.

And sure enough, within 48 hours of going to Raspberry Ridge, I had a blog post bouncing around in this thing I call a head. So I guess what I'm TRYING to say is this:

Raspberry Ridge, the highlight of my summer, is a place where truly Jesus is part of everything we do. It's friendly, inviting, invigorating, stimulating, compulsive, amazing, musical, and fully packed with the gospel. And just like the conversation I had the privilege of sitting in on (which lasted all week really), the camp is not blatantly Christian, making sure that every word we speak has to do with God, Jesus, and the gospel, but it is infused with the awareness that everything we do in the camp is set up to glorify God in whatever way pleases Him best. It's amazing how many deep conversations I have had this past week, both about music, and about the greatness and the glory of God. There have been several times when I've been moved to almost-tears.

My soul has been refreshed and washed clean several times this week. Refreshed by deep conversations, washed clean by the gospel as I reminded others and myself of God's deep glory.

Someone thanked me for all I was putting into camp this year (scheduler, viola/violin, bible study leader, ensemble helper, conductor for jr. orchestra, etc.) and I told them that it was totally worth it because the more I put into Raspberry Ridge, the more I get out of it. Thank God for this camp. I could continue saying so much more about camp, but really, it's something that is better left unspoken, unless you want to come to camp yourself. This is a camp I hope my children are able to go to.

Now to the wedding! 26 days left. And then, I will be Mrs. Jenkins. :)

~H

Hot Iron

I saw a quote just now that arrested my thought process. It went something like this:

Do not wait to strike 'til the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking.

The only person it's attributed to is "William B." so if you know who said this, help would be nice.

Now I can ALMOST see the attraction of this statement, encouraging the reader to jump quickly at opportunities, or to create for themselves an opportunity. I can ALMOST agree with this statement except for some very small (large) details. When I read this, it made red flags jump up all over the place in my head.

Before I go on, a little background to my life.

For about 5 years of my early teens, I worked (first volunteering) at a horse barn, where I learned all manner of things from caring for horses to riding them. There were many days when I would stand with a horse while the farrier took care of its feet and either replaced their shoes, or trimmed their hoofs. Now, a farrier is a horse shoer, a person who, for a living, travels from barn to barn, horse to horse, and takes care of the metal shoes on the horse's feet. They deal with metal for a living, making it hot, and then bending and striking it while it was hot. I never once saw a farrier try to strike the horse shoe while it was cold. In some way, he always warmed it up. Granted, there were times when he needed to tap one side of the shoe in, if it had gotten a little bent out, and it was a quick fix that didn't need the firebox, but that was all that ever happened. If a blacksmith of any kind were to try hammering metal before it was hot, he would possibly break his hammer, and crack and break the metal. You can't hammer metal before it's hot, and you can't hit metal hard enough and long enough to heat it up.

So, this statement just doesn't swing with me. Sorry.

There is one other problem I see is that this saying "Strike while the iron is hot" or "wait to strike while the iron is hot" depicts (for me) a person who is patient enough to heat the metal to just the right temperature where he then is able to shape it to his will. Yes, it took a little longer to heat the metal, but he got better results by waiting a little than just hammering away at cold metal.

As a Christian I am supposed to rely on God to provide for me and I am to be patient and willing to follow his lead. He is the blacksmith, and I am his pupil. I won't know when the iron or the metal is truly hot enough until he tells me. Yes, I can stick the iron in the firebox to heat it up, yes, I can watch it grow red, but as his pupil, I won't know when to pull it out and start beating on it until he says go. This phrase "make it hot by striking" shows me a pupil who has said, "no! I can do this on my own. I don't need your help. Your way takes WAY too long! I'll just hit it now! Friction makes things hot, right?"

If there's anything I've been learning recently it is that I need to be patient with everything. I need to be patient when I'm waiting on my kids to tune their instruments. I need to be patient when I'm waiting on something I've ordered to come in. I need to be patient when I'm eagerly awaiting my wedding day and it seems that it will never come. I have all these opportunities to rush ahead and speed the process up, but most of these opportunities, if taken, would end in heart ache and chaos with God having to step in and redo things. So, the long and short of it is this: I will wait on God's timing, and then when everything is as he would have it, I will take full advantage of all the opportunities he gives me to move for his glory, so when people say "wow, you know what you're doing!" I can say, "Thanks! But in reality, I have a really great God and Teacher."