Yes, this is ME!

First day of the new semester . . . I made it through, but this picture is exactly how I feel! I am up to THIRTY-ONE babies in my first and second period class! Now I expected thirty-one in my third period, but couldn't believe it when I looked around the room during that first class and realized there was only one empty desk . . . and ya'll know I have thirty-TWO in there!) Quick, PRAY!

WARNING NOTE: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT pray that Jabez prayer that asks Papa-God to increase your holdings and broaden your sphere of influence! DO NOT DO IT!

No, It's Not Just a Desk

This is my nemesis.

Yeah, I know it looks like a regular ol' school desk, right? (And I ought to know; after all, I'm surrounded by thirty-two of them Monday through Friday.) Perfectly harmless, right?

Not.

At least not if it's your only option for seating, and you're a big ol' gal like your's truly. (There's a reason why this blog only boasts a headshot of the Texas Preacher Woman. Big hair is allowed down here in these parts -- heck, it's even encouraged. Big . . . well, everything else, not so much.)

I spent three-plus hours one evening last week working my way through a number of classrooms at a local high school so that I could hear four different textbook publishers explain why their new lit books were the best. And each time I entered a room, my heart threatened to blow a gasket on me (or valve, I guess) until I spotted an empty classroom chair that I could pull up to the side of of these said-school desks because . . . here it is . . . I can't fit into one of these desks. There. I've said it out loud and in print.

And how am I celebrating MLK Day? By sitting through workshops all day right back at that same high school, in those same rooms, with those same darn desks!

Something must be done, sistahs. And, alas, I don't think it will involve the school district's getting new desks.

To be continued . . .

Great Giveaway!

One of Middle Daughter's "sweet and talented" friends, Shannon, is having her first giveaway over at Life is Beautiful . . . Here's a little peek to pique your interest.

Now, run on over and get yourself entered!

Growing and Going

I was twenty when I married St. Michael, and he was thirty-five. (Another story for another time!) Anytime we were in a group, whether with friends, co-workers, relatives, or folks at church (the church thing happened eventually), I was always the baby of the group. It was okay that I didn’t take on certain responsibilities because I was the baby – it was almost expected that I’d be a little irresponsible. It was okay if I didn’t know how to do something – I was inexperienced; after all, I was the baby. It was okay if my reactions and responses were immature at times – people knew that I was still young; I was the baby.

Well, it occurred to me a while back that I wasn’t the baby in anybody’s group anymore. But, still, I was in no hurry to put on my big-girl panties and actually be all mature about everything all the time. And I was good with that. After all, there are a lot of perks to being the baby. (Just ask my youngest!)

Then disaster struck.

I found out last summer that I was going to lose someone close to me. No, he wasn’t going to die – although, to be honest, it felt at times like I was – he was simply embracing a new God-given opportunity that required relocating. A move that was good for him, good for his family, good for the Kingdom of God, for Heaven’s sake! But, it meant that he would no longer be my pastor. No longer be my mentor. No longer be my brother, my friend. No. Stop. That part’s not true. But that’s how it felt. And I grieved. And grieved. And grieved.

It’s okay to grieve. Even big girls get to grieve. But this grief was big. GI-NOR-MOUS, in fact. At times, all-encompassing. It became a deep, dark chasm that I didn’t know how to work my way safely around. Fortunately, as well as brotha-friends, Papa gives us sistah-friends. As I shared my grief with a close sister who has the wonderful gift of discernment, she gently pointed out that it was possible that, without my even realizing it, I was grieving the loss of who I viewed myself to be in connection to my brother.

Whoa. Like big-time, major stop-the-presses WHOA.

She was right.

My brother validated me. He validated me in ways that few people in my life have. He knew my unpolished, ragged, rough, still-under-construction edges, and yet he chose to see me and treat me as the completed woman Papa-God designed me to be. His quiet, matter-of-fact faith in my spiritual gifts and talents not only enabled me to believe in myself but led others to trust in my leadership and abilities. When Papa asked me to take on totally-out-of-my-comfort-zone responsibilities and never-before-faced challenges in the midst of new ministry opportunities, it was this brother’s voice that Papa used again and again to affirm my calling, to steady my steps, and to shed light on the path and provide encouragement for the journey. How could I go forward without that voice? How could I continue to walk my race. much less run it, if he wasn't there to coach me, to cheer me on?

By growing up. Yup. By growing up.

It’s time to walk for a while without needing someone hold my hand. Without being afraid of stumbling, of maybe even falling flat on my face. It’s time to realize that I don’t always have to have someone there, ready to catch me, but that, instead, I am perfectly capable of regaining my footing or dusting myself off if I do go down, getting back up on my feet, and then moving on. A little bloodied maybe, but still moving onward. (This might also mean that I need to learn where the Band-Aids are kept instead of always wanting someone to run and get one for me.)

Does growing up mean, then, that I don’t need anybody else? To quote another brother, Paul, “May it never be!” It just means that I don’t need to be dependent on one specific person to be my “primary caregiver.” I need to be open to letting others invest in my life, and I need to invest more of myself into the lives of others, as well. It’s time for me to be the affirmer, the encourager, the sister who takes someone else by the hand and says, “Let me walk with you for a while, so you don’t have to go it on your own.” (After all, big girls feel free enough from self-consciousness to focus on meeting the needs of others without always having to ask, “Am I doing it right? Am I good enough to do this? Did I do an okay job?”)

As for my friend, he will always be my brother. No matter where he is. And I will always be his sister. After all, we have the same Father. And if we are willing, it is He who raises His children, growing us up into the likeness of His image.

Grins and blessings,
Pamm

"Grow Up!"

Fortunately, before I faced the First Monday of 2010 at school, there was a first Sunday of 2010 at church , where I could hear from a sistah-friend and colleague that "No, Pamm, tomorrow's not a work-day – the kids come back tomorrow!"

(And right now you're asking, "As a teacher, how could you have missed that?" only if you don't know me very well.")

Immediately pens and pencils went to jotting my name down on prayer lists.

Thanks, guys! We all -- my kids and I -- survived. In fact, we did something pretty cool that I haven't done classes before that will hopefully set the tone for a new semester. We each decided on a theme for 2010. Well, actually I had already decided on my theme, but it was a new concept for my babies, and it had them wrestling with ideas, pencils, and paper for the better part of a half-hour. (When I first heard about having a "theme" for the year, it took me a lot longer than that to figure it out.) Let me explain.

Robin Rane , over at All Things Heart and Home , wrote that her friend Beth had, some years ago, introduced her to the idea of choosing a theme for each year -- some word or phrase that would focus, shape, and stretch her throughout that year. (You REEEEALLY need to run over to Robin’s blog to read her thoughts on this when you get a chance. Read her “Looking Back, Looking Forward Again” post and the one that follows it. Awesome stuff! Robin is so real, so transparent – and funny at the same time – I think you’ll be inspired.)

As I explained it to my sixth-graders, a theme is better than a list of do’s and don’t’s because it’s much broader that what we could fit onto a checklist. A good, well-thought-out theme has the potential to blanket every part of our lives – our thoughts, actions, words. And, as I also explained to my kiddos, even if there are days that we forget about our themes and make not-so-good choices, at the end of this year, we’ll still be in much better shape as people than if we had no theme at all.

My own theme? “Grow Up.”

Yup, you heard me right. My theme is “Grow Up.”

I could make it sound much more spiritual or “pretty” it up by writing something like, “Magnificent Maturity” or “Growing in Grace” or “Righteous Ripening” (okay, maybe not that one), but Papa didn’t tell me to fluff and style it or to turn it into a Bible study. He just whispered the thing I need to do, and I wrote it down: Grow Up.

“Growing up” will mean different things to different people. Tomorrow I’ll try to explain what it means for me.

Meanwhile, even though we’re well into the second week of 2010, I don’t think it’s too late to decide on a theme for this new year if it sounds like something that might work for you. Go ahead. Have a chat with Papa about it, and see what He says. Then say it out loud . . . write it down . . . walk it out . . .

And if you get a chance, let me know what it is. I love to hear where your focus for the coming days will be.

Grinnin' and growin'!
Pamm

Sometimes It's Hard Bein' a Girl

And ya just have to let it all out . . .

. . . like when you've worked really hard to get somewhere only to find that the new place is just not quite as comfortable as where you were before;

. . . or like when someone's let you down and you find yourself just flat laid out;

or like when you've been unfairly attacked by someone close to you . . .

Or, perhaps worst of all, like when -- no matter how hard you try -- you just can't make those new shoes work with that new outfit.

Being the Purple Cow

There are two blogs out in Cyberspace that I've attached my name to (or at least an alias that a few folks would readily recognize). And sometimes I think I need to obliterate at least one of them (if not both) 'cause, truth be told, I'm really not a very good blogger. I mean, at least in the case of this blog, I'm not very faithful at it.

(As far as the other blog goes, I just kind of suck all the way around -- not only am I not very consistent with my posting, but the content quality is . . . shall we be kind and say sporadic? And the pics are REALLY pitiful -- I mean like in PIH-TEE-FUL -- plumb, downright awful, in fact. And that's not a good thing since the content -- decorating, nesting, trash-to-treasuring, etc. -- is pretty dependent on visual aids. Plus, I mean, what can I really say or show that's not already being said or shown out there? And by others who are much better at saying it and showing it! And I'm not being cutesy coy or falsely modest here, just tellin' it like it is.)

It's one of those times now. I'm at one of those places where I'm wondering if I should keep at it, and if so, why I should keep at it. Then, again, maybe I'm asking myself the wrong questions because to be honest, I have to write. (Simply put, I'm a writer. I must put words "on paper" just as I must take in oxygen and chocolate.) And because I'm compelled to continue to play with words, perhaps what I need to figure out is not the ifs or the whys but the hows.

I've already said that writing is something I have to do. (Not writing is not an option for a writer.) But it's entirely possible that I've let my how get so pushed and pulled and distorted-beyond-recognition by the hows of everyone else out there in Blogland that, rather than being me (really the only thing I'm totally qualified for), I've unwittingly tried to be someone else -- one of those blogging sistahs out there whose work I soooooo admire and enjoy -- and I'm failing miserably.

So, what I think I'd better figure out is not if or why I will continue to blog, but how I should continue to blog. Let me repeat that for my own benefit: Not how anyone else does it, but how I do it.

And then I need to learn to be content with my own how and not covet anyone else's how.

Actually, I probably have a lot that I need to learn to be content with, while not coveting anything else that belongs to my "neighbor" -- not her house, her talents, her looks, her ministry . . .

In that light, focusing on my own how-to-blog seems like pretty easy stuff.

How now, brown cow?

Maybe I'll be the purple cow. And love it.

Grins,

Pamm