Author: Jackie

Auntie, school teacher, serving God wherever He calls me.🤍 "Will you let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you? Pray that I might have the grace to let you be my servant, too."

Behold, ‘Tis Eventide

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The stars twinkle against a black sky.

The lights are all off in the neighbour’s houses.

The campfire is burned down and my youth group has gone home.

Tis clearly Eventide… and well past.

My nephews are oblivious to what Mom and I are very aware of.

The 3 year old just escaped his bed and ran to the other end of the house giggling.

Little brother is trying to climb out of his crib to follow when I enter the room.

It’s only 1:00 in the morning, and the excitement of going to sleep at grandma’s house has apparently not worn off enough to actually do the sleeping part of this.

Also, they feel quite grown up after sitting solemnly beside me at my youth campfire and forming silent observations of the group – which they freely shared as soon as I took them inside.

I went back outside, assuming the two sleepy heads that were dozing off by the fire would be tucked in and sound asleep within minutes.

Much later, I came in and was greeted by two very energetic, very much awake little people.

They needed goodnight hugs from auntie Jackie. The ones I had given earlier weren’t recent enough to go back to bed on, they needed another one.

So, we did hugs. We did a story. We took them back to bed. And we tucked them in.

Auntie Jackie needed to stay, apparently. Just Grandma staying with them while they went to sleep wasn’t going to do.

So, I lay on the floor of our guest room, beside the crib, softly singing “Abide With Me.”

I was well aware of the fascinated gaze of a very upright 2 year old in the crib, but all was quiet in the bed on my other side, so I forced my weary self to sing a few more lines to ensure success.

At least if one would go to sleep…

It was almost me that drifted off. That, however, wasn’t the victory we were looking for. (I will go to sleep quite nicely when I’m told to lie down.)

I sensed someone looking at me, and became aware of a face very close to mine. Apparently the occupant of the quiet bed had crawled to the foot end and was peering delightedly at me over the edge.

He giggles. His brother sees him from the crib and grins back.

They know they have me stuck here while they play their games…

We resituate everybody.

Mom lies down beside big brother while I stroke little brother’s face, the way grandma used to mine when we cousins had sleepovers at her house and I couldn’t sleep.

More “Abide With Me.”

Less giggles. A longer stretch of calm.

I begin to hope, in the silence, that we’re winning.

The silence is broken by a distinct declaration:

“My pillow is… YUCKY!”

This, followed by an uncertain giggle, as though he’s not sure if Grandma and Auntie will appreciate his 1:15 am attempts at humor to evade sleep.

They don’t. They envy his pillow. It looks very inviting.

His pillow is definitely not yucky, but when you’re 3 and you’re learning to use adjectives, you practice them in various contexts. Hence, a yucky pillow.

Since singing has failed, and the protests are beginning again, I try reasoning.

I explain that my poodle is sleeping, and their kitten is sleeping, and they will be sad if the boys are too sleepy to play with them tomorrow.

They reply that they don’t want to sleep. (I’m sure they think we just don’t get it.)

Grandma explains it won’t be for long, because morning will soon be here.

(yes, sooner all the time)

A giggling voice replies, “but my pillow is yucky! Yucky pillow, yuck!”

The continuously fascinated grin coming from the crib, and the jubilant voice telling us all about his pillow, is too much.

Auntie leaves the room to have a few giggles herself.

And as all has quieted down in the meantime, she diverted from sleep duty to writing this post rather than interrupt the potential progress being made.

All is quiet now, and I think Mom may have succeeded in getting two of the world’s cutest little boys to close their sparkling eyes and go to sleep.

Now, I think we will do the same.

“Behold, tis Eventide!”

Forever, Amen.

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If I could type in whispers right now, I would.

Beginning this post after typing the title feels like an intrusion.

As though I’m breaking the silence after a heartfelt prayer.

But I couldn’t use anything else for my title, because my thoughts are centered around the concept in that simple statement.

How often do I say “amen,” only to pick up the topic of my prayer again later?

How many times do I skip the “amen,” because I’m having a continuous conversation with Jesus as I work?

What does “amen” even mean?

The literal translation is, “let it be,” or “so it is.”

It’s an expression of strong agreement, or a statement that says, “that’s the way it is.”

I think of “amen” as a peaceful, final punctuation mark, so that nothing can be argued after “amen” has been said – the topic is simply laid to rest.

That’s the way it is… so let it be.

Yet I say “amen” to prayers every day that I pray again the next day.

We all do that.

It’s because we live imperfect lives, in an imperfect world.

I may pray through my fears to a place of peace, and say, “amen.”

I can give all possible outcomes to God and reach total surrender, and say “amen.”

I can praise Him for the many ways He is good to me, both seen and unseen, and say with conviction, “amen.”

But that stamp of completeness, of perfection, that statement of “this is truth” isn’t permanent in a faulty world.

Those problems aren’t gone overnight – and God invites us to keep praying continually.

Our messy hearts will have more emotions to work through – and the Father wants to help us sort them.

His goodness won’t run out, and we will see Him move for our benefit and protection in many more ways. There will always be new things to thank Him for.

It’s not wrong that we pray many prayers. And say frequent amens.

But what would it be like to live in a world where no more amens were needed?

Where completeness would be eternal… where perfection would be unshaken, unchangeable, and amen would last forever?

That’s going to be our reality… in heaven.

This evening, my youth group sang in a long term care home for a beautiful group of people who’ve lived long lives.

One lady broke down in tears as we sang, and I wondered, what unmet longing in her heart caused her to cry?

Was she simply longing to go home after many years of living in this world?

How many other hearts in the room held silent aches for different things, and cry hidden tears for them?

How many in the room regularly take those heartcries to our Father… and often say “amen” to prayers that really aren’t completed yet?

“Eternal God, Faithful and True, all of our longings come Home to You.”

As we sang those lyrics, my mind was wandering deeper pathways than the simple beauty of the music.

Those lyrics were profound in the moment. I don’t know what caused the tears we witnessed – but I do know the One Who can fill every longing.

Every pain that every causes us to cry can be soothed by the perfect love of Jesus.

Every pain we carry here will fade and disappear when we at last “come home to Him.”

After singing a few more songs, we went to another location to practice for our youth program.

One song ends with each part coming in at a different time to sing “amen,” which is where I got the inspiration for this post.

We had to practice singing “amen” so often!

Why? Because none of them were truly perfect.

Just as our prayers here are continuous, and we always end up needing another “amen,” because our lives aren’t complete and perfect.

We eventually stopped singing amen. (I won’t pretend to imply it was heavenly, however it was sufficiently improved to allow us to move on to the next song.)

We will eventually stop having heartaches and tears and needs that we wrestle with until we reach an “amen.”

There’s a day coming where we’ll step out of time and brokenness into eternal perfection.

Into the Light of Jesus…

Into His welcoming embrace…

And every longing will be fulfilled in Him.

Every tear will be wiped away by Him.

Every aching heart will be soothed by Him.

Together, we will enter the completion of His will…

That we are united with Him in glory.

When we feel the perfection of Heaven fill our beings with eternal life,

All the angels will hush in anticipation…

Every heart will be flooded with joy…

And together, we will turn to face our King, then with one voice say, “Amen.”

“This – right here in Your Presence – together in heaven – all things made new – THIS is true. THIS is how it is meant to be. THIS is the way it is. Nothing can change that. So let it be… forever, AMEN.”

Alive in His Goodness

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It’s Sunday afternoon again, and I’m here enjoying solitude in another park.

I’m smiling as the breeze blows around me, the joy in my heart evidence that I’m alive.

Not only physically, but deep in my heart and soul there is this sense of awareness, of gratefulness, of the fullness of life.

There are notes of God’s goodness in the ordinary all around me…

In recent moments I see signs of His abundance, and of beauty that makes life worth living.

Visiting a mission and being inspired by the study of God’s word with people who are becoming excited about it for the first time.

Sharing at teacher’s institutes and remembering how I prayed until I was 17 that God would make me shy… then I finally realized He designed me talkative for a purpose. I started praying instead that I would speak words that are useful, and today I see Him answering my prayer every time He gives me words to share with others.

Doors opening with opportunities where I can serve my King, in ways I didn’t imagine when I said, “If this is where You want me, Jesus, I will give You all I can from this place.” He delights in our willingness, and calls us to be alive for Him.

Living in answered prayers. Evidence of His goodness.

He is good in prayers that go unanswered, too.

Flying down a trail through the woods with a friend who I call the little sister, singing every songs in our hearts and on our current playlists, praising Jesus in our storms… The gift of people to share our journeys is evidence of God’s faithfulness.

Hearing the mechanic tell me that my car and I experienced a miracle as we drove for hours through the hills with serious problems under the hood… proof of God’s protection over me. Keeping me safe, reminding me there are valid reasons for my faith to stay alive. The One in Who I believe is truly Worthy of every bit of my faith, trust, and praise.

Running through the surf on the Atlantic shoreline, between my besties, singing “Stepping on the Clouds” and radiating the joy of Jesus to those around us… His living in our hearts makes us fully alive.

There’s a little pain in my ankle as a souvenir from my adventure last week. It split open again and bled in the Atlantic Ocean, but I swam anyway, because life is too beautiful to stop living because of a little wound.

Breakfast in my favourite coffee shop away from home, with two dear souls who sometimes ache for heaven as much as I do. Over ordinary omelettes and lattes, we shared our excitement about everything we’ll see when we get there… then each went to face our day with purpose, living while we are here, so the moments He gives us are never wasted.

I’m still limping a little from the adventure I had last week, but I don’t regret taking the risk and experiencing something new. I’ll keep the scar as a reminder of how good my Father is in all things, and keep on walking.

It reminds me that sometimes, we need to keep on living with a little lingering pain in our hearts, too.

Playing volleyball with teachers, then washing cars with my youth group, didn’t help the ache where my foot is still bruised… but the joy of living those moments was worth it.

Embracing every opportunity in life instead of staying on the sidelines will cause our hearts a few bruises and cuts, too.

But full faith in God means we don’t miss out on anything He has for us…

And it’s worth going on living alive, even if there’s a little ache in our hearts…

Life is so much more vibrant when we dive in, and live fully, and don’t try to protect ourselves behind walls or in self-created prisons.

God will be good and faithful in everything I face.

I will hold His hand, trust Him every step of the journey, and live in the Light of His goodness.

Plunging into His Goodness

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“Mightier than the waves of the sea is His love for you.”

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m here for some solo time in “my” gazebo in my favourite little park in the world.

The last few days have been a whirlwind of travelling all over the state, catching up with various friends, and now I finally have time to sit and write.

Yesterday, two friends took me three hours south, to the beach. The surf was wild – wilder than we’d ever seen before.

The waves were a relentless fury of crashing water.

The wind was strong.

But the chaotic waves were irresistible by later in the morning, and we decided to test them.

They were too high to jump over.

You couldn’t float up and over, either, because they always broke over your head.

The force of the first ones we ran to meet nearly knocked us over.

Really, the only way to play in the surf was to either stand there getting hit in the chest with water, or dive straight through the waves.

It felt wrong, honestly.

It seemed like I should run for shore, and try to keep my balance as the force of each wave hit me.

To hold my breath and dive straight into a wall of crashing water seemed crazy.

But my heart was intrigued by the way others were confidently diving in, trusting the waves, and popping up on the other side.

I gave it a try…

The force of the first one knocked my hand off my nose and I came up with the taste of salt water in my mouth.

I did master it though; prepared for the force and holding on tight the next few dives went much better.

Later, my friend suggested, “Try just laying down under them.”

I watched her as the next wave came. She leaned forward, then lay down parallel to the wave as it broke over her back.

That was even easier than diving in. The waves never hit me, I never felt the power of the surging water, unless I reached above me to feel what was going on.

Laying down and being pushed by the current was the most gentle yet powerful ride.

And there, under the waves, my heart was learning profound things about trusting God’s goodness.

Unless we stayed in knee deep water, missing out on the experience of being in the ocean, the effort to stay standing in the water of the pounding surf was too much.

We had to keep bracing ourselves and keeping our knees locked.

But diving through the waves, laying down under them, totally yielding myself to their force… was much easier.

Under the waves, the water carried me. It rolled me in gently with the wave instead of catching me in the crashing water on the surface.

And what if God’s love is like that ocean? We often compare it to an ocean, because of how vast and endless His love is.

But what about the times His love doesn’t make sense?

Times when waves of emotion crash wildly on our heart, threatening to knock us down with each blow.

Exhausted, we fight to stay on our own two feet.

Desperate not to be knocked down and swept into the fury.

Confused and doubting how events can be part of God’s goodness, we resist stepping into the water.

What if, instead of trusting my own strength to hold me up, instead of holding back in the shallows, I could wade confidently out into the ocean and meet each wave?

What if I yield myself to the crashing water and lay down in this great expanse of love?

What if I immerse myself in it instead of fighting it, and trust God to carry me on the currents?

What if yielding to His goodness, even when it doesn’t make sense, would spare me the chaos on the surface? What if I could rest in the power of His love to roll me gently to shore?

It took a lot of holding my breath to swim this way.

It feels like holding a breath and taking a reckless plunge to just dive all in to the storms on life’s ocean, too.

Praise God, in the storms of our heart He is our life and breath.

It’s safe to lay down and let the waves wash over your soul, sweet friend.

It’s safe because God is in the ocean… His love is the current…

And He’s going to use every wave to take you gently to the place He wants you.

You only need to stop fighting, dive in, and trust Him.

“Do You Know Who You Are?”

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Summer has been a whirlwind so far, and here, nearly the end of July, I’m finally pausing to catch my breath.

I fully expected to be writing long blog posts processing all the changes in my life when school ended, but instead, I have had no words.

There have been all kinds of feels to feel, and no way to describe them.

Choosing to step out in faith and close the door to teaching after living in that role for six years…

Preparing to move hours away from home to start an exciting VS opportunity…

Enjoying every opportunity to spend with my family and church people and friends, because soon I won’t be seeing them as often for a season.

And now, here I am at the beach. With the besties. For three blissful days in a glamping dome.

Yesterday, trying to catch up, all of us used many words in an attempt to explain our lives to each other.

As I muddled through a description of my transition season, a calm voice asked me, “Do you still know who you are?”

Yes and no.

I know Whose I am.

And I know who I am, in Christ.

Redeemed. Chosen. Beloved.

But my role in my family, my church, my youth group, and as a teacher… those are all either lost or changing. Who am I going to be to the people currently around me, and who will I be to those who will share the next season with me?

I don’t know what that will all look like.

She nodded, satisfied.

“Whoever loses his life for my sake shall find it,” she reminded me.

And finally, I have something solid to grab hold of in all the shifting unknowns.

I followed God’s guidance to “lose my life,” or very much let go of the comfortable life I had.

Jesus promised that if we do this, if we lay down our plans for His, we will find life.

He’s not going to leave me uprooted forever. There is a beautiful planting ahead for me where I will put roots down again and thrive.

And last night, as I lay cross wise in a king size bed, sandwiched between two awesome friends who make this crazy life a whole lot easier, I smiled up at the plastic dome overhead.

Right then, I knew where I belonged.

In the middle of everything that is changing, I have Jesus to walk with me. He is going to fill my life in the next season.

I will always belong with my family and friends, near or far.

And knowing my place with my friends is especially easy when they’re so near that rolling over is impossible without waking somebody up.

I’m smiling out at the clear blue water that will soon lose its tranquility when we go splashing in.

I do believe, time at the beach is good for my heart.

Boxes

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I have never liked them.

People have always told me I have a very large box.

I’ve always liked to think outside of the box.

I don’t like square or even numbers, because, well… I don’t really have a good reason, but odd numbers just always have a better ring to them than box-like, rigid, square numbers.

But regardless of how I feel about boxes, lately they are creeping into my life.

We’ve been saving boxes, and just now I put a reminder in my phone to bring boxes to school tomorrow.

This afternoon I opened my desk drawers that have held a wild assortment of things for the past few years… and I organized those things into the dreaded boxes.

My desk is slowly being emptied, and it no longer looks familiar inside.

Soon the walls of my classroom and every one of the cabinets and shelves will follow suit, with no trace left of my things.

With the arrival ofthe boxes, my teaching career is going to get packed up and carried out the door to make space for the person who will take on my role here next year.

I wish that were the end of my experience with boxes, but they’re not going to leave me just yet.

The same thing has been happening right in my house.

I am throwing out worn out socks, donating rarely-worn clothing to the thrift store, and in general, organizing everything I own…

And this sorting and trashing and minimizing of my wardrobe is all in preparation to put my personal possessions into… more boxes.

Said boxes will then be loaded into my unsuspecting car, and I will drive several hundred kilometers to the place I’ll begin my next season of life.

I have 86 days left to get everything done… there are a lot of boxes left on my to-do list to get checked off before I’m ready to move and begin my term of VS.

And every one of these boxes are taking over my comfortable life and screaming “change” at me in undeniable truth!

Something in me that longs for stability is rebelling at the unsettled feeling every box of things creates, even as I keep packing items into them.

It’s not that I don’t want to go. I do. I’m genuinely excited about the opportunity God is calling me to, and can hardly wait to start serving Him there!

But I am looking forward to a time about 6 months from now, when the boxes are all unpacked, moving day is a few months in the past, and I’m settled into my life there.

I’m ready to move on… I’m ready to get started in the next season… it’s the leaving and the starting that’s hard on my heart.

I know God will fill the next season with good things. He called me there and will equip me with grace for every change. I know He will be my Faithful, Unchanging Guide every step of the way.

It’s simply this transition season that I dislike. And the boxes, simply for symbolizing every bit of change that’s happening all around me!

Even though I was praying for an open door to move forward into something new, and was so excited to step out in faith, now that school’s almost out I’m realizing something.

I’ve been pretty comfortable here… more than I ever knew… here in my predictable little box.

And maybe, I like being in a box – at least somewhat – much more than I thought.

Bittersweet Endings

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I sit at my desk, attempting to grade language tests, and my mind keeps wandering.

The meeting with the staff and school board starts in 10 minutes… but this is my last board meeting.

These language tests are the second last ones I need to grade.

The little chalkboard hanging beside my calendar states the truth that’s starting to sink in: 19 more days of school.

19 more days of responding to the name “Miss Wideman,” and after the last day, I won’t be called that anymore.

It’s been almost 6 years since my very scared younger self toured this school as a potential teacher.

Now, these walls feel like home. My things are scattered in various cabinets and shelves.

Memories are everywhere, made with students, and with co teachers. Under the stage. In the basement. The large roots of the maple tree by the little diamond. The staff room and worn out couch. And of course, my classroom.

This classroom where I sat in my office chair a few Augusts ago… rolled to the middle of the empty room, and slowly spun a full circle, looking at the space that I was supposed to organize.

Here I am, a few weeks close to packing up all my things, removing every personal item from the desk, and walking out the door.

I confess, I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

Yet, even with all the nostalgia that makes my heart ache to stay, I’m confident this is the right thing to do. There’s an open door God is calling me to walk through, and I’m truly excited about the VS term I’ve committed to.

But if it brings a few tears to my eyes when I close the door and leave behind my teacher identity… I’m ok with that.

It just means I’ve been part of something very precious for the past few years. I know that I have.

My heart will need to adjust to the vacancy that will be left by the absence of everyone that’s been part of my teaching world – students, parents, co teachers.

When I look at all the lasts that are beginning, I honestly don’t know how I’m going to do it…

And I’m glad.

I’m glad that I’m not just waiting to leave, because that means I have something to live for today.

I’m not in the next season yet, so right here is where I’m called to thrive, for 19 more school days with my students.

I get to enjoy the amusing lunch conversations, the deep questions of young minds, and be surrounded by the energy of 23 preteens for another while.

And if life can be this beautiful right here, where I am called to serve today, I am confident that the next season will be just as full of purpose.

God will fill my heart and hands with the new things that are hidden in the next season… when I get there.

So as I feel every emotion that’s stirred in this season of bittersweet endings, I trust God to lead me into the unknowns of the next chapter.

And instead of clinging too tightly to yesterday, or looking ahead to tomorrow, I can inhale and exhale.

The gift of today.

His grace in all things.

God, faithful in every change.

Treasures in Earthen Vessels

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At first glance, they were ordinary. A few mismatched pieces of pottery. Nice enough, but simple. Graceful, unmarred, but nothing stunning about any of them.

And yet, something about their unbroken simplicity was intriguing. The smooth surfaces and graceful designs spoke of gentle innocence, a kind of newness that is rarely seen.

Then… they were smashed. Cruelly, beneath the hammer’s unfeeling blows, they cracked into pieces. The one holding the hammer trembled. It felt so wrong to do this… to ruin this perfect vessel so brutally.

Yet it had to be done. It was part of the process. The vessel couldn’t reach the greater beauty ahead without being broken open first…

So many pieces. So many heartaches, tears, and wounds. Yet so, so much more to come.

Gentle hands gather the pieces and begin to rebuild. It’s a slow process. Sometimes, it falls apart in the artist’s hands and steps need to be repeated that had been previously done. But it’s worth every minute of waiting for the pieces to form a strong, mended bond.

And gradually, restoration takes place. They take on their former shape, yet with so much more vibrance. Where before they had an innocent, subtle kind of beauty, their cracks and lines now radiate that grace with a brilliantly soft kind of strength.

They are remade. They have some holes and uneven places, but they are beautiful. They have survived the crushing and been restored to wholeness – with so much gold added.

Kintsugi.

A beautiful form of Japanese art, that translates so well to our lives.

We’re all like those vessels… God saw our lives beautiful and whole in the beginning, but Satan entered the picture and marred the scene of perfection.

I like to think that our Heavenly Father cries as He watches the hammer blows that break us, because it was not His original plan that evil would exist to affect our lives. Yet because we fell away from God and live in a broken world, we can’t remain whole. Every one of us is ruined by the effects of the curse.

And we can ask, “Since God is more powerful, why doesn’t He just take over? Shut Satan down?”

But He will. He has already won, yet as long as time continues, the enemy still has his season to steal, kill, and destroy.

But God only allows it to happen knowing that He is about to gather the pieces and do something wonderful. He always triumphs over evil in the end, whether we see it in this life or not until eternity.

It is His hands that hold us while we are being broken by life’s pain, His hands that gather the pieces, and His hands that lovingly mend us into more beautiful vessels for Him.

Every one of us. Created for perfection. Destroyed by the curse. Yet redeemable by Jesus.

Every one of us… broken, messy, jagged edges, yet He sees in us the potential for beauty.

This past weekend, I had the privilege of gathering with friends and doing the Kintsugi project together. These girls are grace-filled vessels… imperfect, broken, yet filled with Jesus.

We talked. Sang. Prayed. Laughed. Shared. And ate ice cream, of course.

The weekend before, I was blessed by a dear heart pouring love into my life through her own cracks as we sat in the sunshine on an upturned canoe, and hashed out life. Some people don’t stay strangers long – not when you both are a grace-filled vessel because of Christ’s work in your heart.

This week, I met with another friend for a good heart-to-heart talk over chai lattes; the comfortable kind of conversation where you get to to just be and no pretense or explaining is needed.

I am blessed to know a wide circle of girls who are there for me to laugh or cry with, to sing or pray with, through every big or little thing we face in life.

They are people who have allowed Jesus to fill them, to flow through them, to mend them and fill their broken vessels with His love.

They’re all a work in progress, same as I am, but they are beautiful.

They might not always know their worth, but I do.

I know they are priceless, because the way they bless the lives they touch has eternal value.

They are truly treasures in earthen vessels… because Christ-like love is a treasure.. and they are all overflowing with Him.

I don’t pause to thank God or tell them often enough – but I’m so grateful for every one of the Christian friends God has placed in my life.

We All Have Our Moments

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I had a few today.

Moments, that is.

The kind where you really want to just pause and exhale – but there’s not actually time.

This need to maintain full speed functionality was caused by a combination of paint, art projects at various stages, and twenty-four students, one of whom had joined our class for the first time.

Art class.

It always looks innocent on my planner, it stays organized as the supplies are gathered and neatly placed on my back counter – but soon after that, any semblance of order fades.

My carefully planned strategy is replaced by one that is summed up in three words: Get. It. Done.

Okay, not quite that bad. I do have a strategy, but it tends to create a bustling vibe, because it involves delegation – and therefore multiple things are happening simultaneously.

Student volunteers move desks, pass out brushes, pour paint into palettes, and fill cups with water.

At the end of art class, they collect brushes and palettes, clean the aforementioned items, wash and replace the desks, and return all art supplies to the supply room.

It’s streamlined. It’s efficient. It’s beautiful.

And it’s somehow, always, crazy.

There’s no avoiding that feeling when you have a large group in a small space multi-tasking together.

I find it works best when I don’t attempt to do anything, but simply walk through the room, giving instructions, and delegating tasks as rapidly as the hands go up.

Why can’t I accomplish anything at the same time as my helpful students?

Because I am already well-occupied trying to keep my mouth caught up with my ears.

Yes, that’s right.

The Lord blessed me with two ears, but only one larynx, and I am therefore physically capable of hearing my name from multiple students at once, but only responding to them individually.

Today, I looked at the three who had each approached me from opposite directions and voiced my name at about the same time. And the two who instantly said it again because I had continued my mid-sentence instructions to the first.

And I shared with them this fascinating bit of news, that I’m physically incapable of answering them all simultaneously. They were highly amused, had fun pretending to be duly amazed, and probably thought I’m going crazy.

I wonder the same thing, sometimes.

I mispronounced the new student’s name after having specifically told my class before her arrival which pronunciation she prefers.

I apologized to her; she was not bothered, just noted that I had it correct originally and got it wrong in the middle of art class.

From across the room a student soothingly said, with a teasing twinkle in his eye, “It’s ok, we all have our moments.”

After we had finished laughing, I said, “Well, I think my brain has a few more moments when it’s trying to juggle a lot at once.”

Another student said, “We hear your name a lot in an art class. Do you ever think of that?”

(In 6 years of teaching? Believe it or not, yes, I’ve noticed. At times, I’ve imagined what it would be like to get a legal name change so I could hear something else. Or better yet, a name jar to draw from so I have constant variety. “For today’s art class, my name will be…” The students could even take turns pulling the name each week. Children love that sort of thing. Hey, they could just make up the – never mind. Scary thought. Imagination, we are stopping right there.)

I didn’t say all that. Instead I replied like a nice, calm teacher, that yes, I have noticed. It’s okay though, I enjoy art with all of you. I hope someday you each have the opportunity to paint with 24 students.

I should have known that technical 6th graders would have an immediate giggling response. “We are painting with 24 students, though, and my brain is managing fine!”

They know they can tease me and that I can return it. (I’m thankful for relationships with students that have healthy respect alongside good, friendly banter in a school day!)

To this I answered, “That is true! I have an idea. How about every time someone needs help or has a question, I would still answer them but they’d say your name instead of mine?”

My teasing 6th grader was speechless as he envisioned that scenario.

Suddenly, he burst out in horror, “I couldn’t handle that! If that happened, I would LEAVE!”

Well.

Maybe I’m doing okay after all.

I might not always feel perfectly calm in the hustle and bustle, but I can say that I have never decided to just LEAVE an art class.

I have made tea and clutched my mug as though it is the last link to my sanity as I walk from desk to desk. I have mentally envisioned myself juggling and tried to lean into the rhythm of it. Often I hum slow, gentle choral music to contrast the fast pace of the students I am existing among.

But I have never, ever, simply walked out the door and left the premises.

Not even when they apparently had named the paint palette Sam, and stood mournfully around the bucket where Sam was to be washed with12 other unnamed palettes.

A general wailing was heard from the back of the room as the student in charge washed Sam’s colours from him. “Goodbye, Sam, good byyyyyyyye!”

Don’t ask why.

They’re in 6th grade, I know.

But we ALL have our moments.

I am His Daughter

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What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?

I don’t usually answer the daily prompts, but this one made me smile.

My middle name is Anne.

Yes, include that E.

My dad chose it for me – Mom chose my first name.

And I grew up to be quite like the iconic Anne with an E, as anyone who knows me will testify to.

So in my teens, when my personality began to exhibit with vibrant intensity a dramatic way of expressing myself, (how’s that for a string of words, Lucy Maud,) mom would laughingly say to Dad,

“She’s YOUR daughter. You named her Anne!”

It’s also interesting to note that the genes which are to blame for these characteristics come from Mom’s side of the family tree… but Dad called me Anne.

So when I get dramatic, or into ridiculous situations, the family joke decrees that I’m  Dad’s daughter.

Thankfully, he’s level headed enough to take it all in stride…

And even more importantly, with God’s help my wild imagination and descriptive tongue thankfully don’t get me into trouble as often as they once did.

I remember despairingly begging God to make me quiet, calm, and shy. In other words, a nice, normal person who would never embarrass herself.

Well, it’s evident in my life that’s one of those prayers that God answered with “no.”

I prayed that until I was about 16, when I finally clued in that God did make me this way for a purpose.

Since then I’ve prayed that God will work through the personality He’s given me to speak the words He gives to me, and have the courage to do what He tells me to do.

I’m so glad that He has actively continued to answer this prayer in my life, and I know He will continue to shape me in His likeness as I ask Him to with a willing heart.

Just like my earthly parents, I know my Heavenly Father loves me for who I am, exactly the way I am.

That’s because I am God’s daughter, too…

And He’s given me another name besides Anne.

Redeemed.