I’ve been getting more interested in the national health care debate now that it seems something is finally going to happen. Although I’m excited at the prospect of more working class Americans receiving health insurance benefits, and I’m thrilled that some limits will be put on insurance companies, I’m not happy with the way it’s all come about–especially the 1 TRILLION dollar price-tag. The bargaining and bribing and additional spending for personal pet projects once again demonstrates the selfish nature of American politics with politicians out to get what’s best for them, not the people they were hired to represent. Just once, I would like to see politicians forget about their own pride, agendas, and ambition and do something that would truly impact and better the lives of the poor ,the marginalized, the oppressed, the struggling. And lo and behold, in this season of miracles, I witnessed just such an event.

A few months ago, it was brought to the attention of our local state senator, Jack Goodman, that there were a number of families within his district that would not have enough resources to put a Christmas meal on the table. So, he decided to act. Working with local business, Senator Goodman created the Season of Hope campaign to provide a Christmas meal for families in need. Each family in need received a bag filled with enough food to feed 4-8 people. Included were canned vegetables, stuffing mix, gravy mix, fresh squash, fruit, a bag of potatoes, and a gift certificate for a meat purchase. Oh, and dessert. Our church participated in the project by becoming an assembly center. Last Tuesday evening, over forty volunteers gathered and put together over 400 bags of food in about 45 minutes. The food was delivered later in the week to each family who had signed up, and extra bags were created and distributed for anyone else who had need.

Senator Goodman did what every American politician should be doing. He listened to the needs of his constituents, he worked within the community he represents, and he truly made a difference in the lives of people in need. Not only that, this conservative politician just won the vote of a liberal “commie”, as my husband would call me. 🙂 All in all, not a bad day’s work.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. I have so many warm memories around the holiday that I have always been joyful for the season to arrive. Yet this year, I must confess that has not been the case. I don’t know if my husband is wearing off on me (he truly hates Christmas) or if our culture has just so completely bastardized the holiday that any semblance of what it should be is gone. Full disclosure here would necessitate me saying that I’ve been a little depressed lately in some other areas and the semester is drawing to a close which means a grading frenzy has ensued. Also, the weather has been cold and dreary. Yet, even with that, there’s something bigger going on in our culture when it comes to the de-Christ-mas season.

I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately, trying to find what it is about Christmas that I’ve always loved so much. The thing that comes back over and over again is the warmth. My parents were both educators, and as such had time off during the holidays. We spent that time together as a family, truly enjoying the experience of being together. Our grandparents were usually always with us for the holidays. We played cards, made cookies, watched Christmas movies. But the highlight for Christmas for me was our Christmas Eve tradition. Each year on Christmas Eve, our church has a silent candlelight service of the Lord’s Supper. We would go together as a family and sit in the softly lit church. The only sounds were the pianist and organist playing Christmas hymns and the creak of the wooden floors as families came in. The church would be packed, whole families together, grown sons and daughters returning home. Looking around, you could see the contentment on each face. Sitting and looking at the altar, listening to the hymns proclaiming Christ’s birth, staring at the golden trays containing the crackers and juice that symbolized the body and blood of Jesus, you couldn’t help but contemplate the meaning of the celebration. As the deacons passed around the trays, the pastor, still silent, would lead the congregation in taking the crackers and juice, and you could hear the entire congregation act in one accord. Even my sister and I, before we were old enough to partake of the elements, would bring hard candy to eat at the appointed time so that we too could participate in this sacred act.

After worship, we stepped back out into the cold where we warmly greeted our fellow congregants. You could hear laughter tinkling through the night and calls of Merry Christmas echo down the street. Our family would pile back into the car, and we would head out to see the Christmas lights. We put Christmas music on and headed out of town to a little country drive-through light display. After getting mini candy canes from friendly faces in Santa hats, we drove back to town and through the neighborhoods of the community looking at the lights on display at people’s houses. Once home, we would have a dinner of deli meat and cheese sandwiches, decorate cookies, watch a Christmas movie, and head for bed.

Every year, in the early morning hours, my sister would tiptoe into my room and snuggle into bed with me. As we waited for the sun to rise and my parents to wake, we’d spend the time talking and laughing. As girls we talked with breathless anticipation about what might be waiting for us under the Christmas tree. As young women we talked about our hopes and dreams. And as adults, we talk about our own families and experiences. It’s our own sacred time that draws us back together as sisters.

Once Mom and Dad were finally up and ready to go, breakfast was in the oven, we went to the tree. But before anything else happened, my dad would read for us the Christmas story out of Luke. We’d listen to the familiar words anew, talk about how the significance of them had changed for us over the year, and remember that greatest gift of all. Only then did we descend upon our own gifts, handing out one at a time and giving everyone a turn to oooh and ahhh over each gift.

Our day would end with family friends, either going to a movie or eating leftover turkey and playing Trivial Pursuit. It was never anything fancy. But, in looking back, Christmas for me always began with the birth of Christ. It was an intentional focus on something beyond ourselves; beyond shopping, and baking, and decorating, and partying. It was simple, it was pure, it was holy. And that’s what I’m missing this Christmas season. The simplicity of the message–God came to Earth, the purity of the message–God came to Earth as a newborn baby, the holiness of the message–God came to Earth to sacrifice himself so that we, his beloved creation, could live freely. I don’t want to watch an endless parade of commercials blaring on about savings and gifts, and they’ll love you forever if you buy this. I don’t want my kids to go sit on the lap of some stranger in a red suit who listens to kids spill their hearts out about gifts he can’t actually deliver on. I don’t want to listen to “Jingle Bell Rock” and I don’t want to rock around a Christmas tree. I want to sit again in the silence, to kneel at the manger, to peer into the face of a newborn and know that deep within those eyes lie the answers to all of the mysteries of the universe. I want to be filled with that love that has no bounds and to give that love to others. I don’t want to end this season being full, but being filled. I want to truly say to everyone I meet, “Merry Christ-mas!”

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I’ve been having a lot of crazy dreams lately. I’m not sure if it’s the change in weather or what, but it’s almost like I’ve been living some sort of surreal double-life. It takes me a few seconds in the morning to snap out of whatever dimension I’ve been in. I used to keep a dream journal and analyze all of my nightly mind-wanderings, but then I had kids and time became of the essence. Yet this dream from the other night has stayed with me, for I found a profound message within it.

In my dream, I rehearsing music for a praise band. There were three of us singing. Although I knew both of the other women, I can’t remember who they were. There was a storm raging outside, and at one point one of the other women stopped practicing and went to look at the storm out the window. She quieted us and told us to listen. I began feeling anxious and asked her if she heard the tornado sirens going off.
“No,” she responded. “This is what I heard the last time I saw an angel appear.”
At that moment, the sheet music she had been using began to shimmer, and a beautiful white light came through as if a spotlight was shining from below. In that instant, we three fell to our knees, overcome with the sensation that we were in the presence of something holy. We each began to pray aloud, our voices joining together and culminating in the praise song we had previously been rhearsing. My heart was full to bursting with a joy that could only be shown through praise and thanksgiving.

As the song finished, the light faded, and rejoicing, we stepped outside. Traffic was stopped, people everywhere were smiling and greeting one another as friends. It seemed that everyone around us had experienced the same miraculous event. We were so excited to share our experiences that we ran off in different directions to spread the joy to all those we saw.

In thinking about this dream, I began to recall the Advent study we are doing at church; The Advent Conspiracy. The point of this study is that we, as Christians, must move past the commercialism and consumerism that has become Christmas, to experience afresh the wonder and joy of celebrating Christ’s birth. The first tenet of the conspiracy is to worship fully. The authors look at Luke 2: 8-20 where the shepherds are greeted by the angels announcing the Savior’s birth. The shepherds were a group of people who were marginalized from the rest of society. Yet after the appearance of the heavenly host, they went to the Mary and Joseph to worship Jesus. And after being in the presence of the Christ child, they joyfully ran to spread the news that the Messiah had come to the towns and villages around. They broke through the chains of class and station to spread a message of love and hope. They were joy-full.

In my dream, I was like the shepherds. I was so full of joy at the love of God that I wanted to go out and share it with everyone I met. I was sad when I woke up in the morning and realized it had all been a dream. But in reality, it wasn’t. The joy of Christ’s birth is there, everyday. There’s a story of hope for today, for people who need to know love, to know joy, to know redemption. I want to be as excited about God when I’m awake as I am when I’m asleep. I want to stand up and tell people I meet, “Hey, God is here, now, and he wants to make a difference. He wants to change your life. He wants to set you free.”

Christmas is about spreading joy. What a crazy dream!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I love hot showers. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to get icky. I just love hot showers. Hot showers to me in the morning are what a strong cup of fresh-brewed coffee is to other people. Enveloped in steam, my brain begins to un-fog from sleep. I contemplate the day ahead, rejuvenate, think through lessons and conversations, contemplate theology, pray. I don’t know what it is, but I do some of my best and most creative thinking in the shower. It must be all of the positive ions floating around. Regardless, for almost twenty years, I have greeted each new day with a hot shower. It has always puzzled me how other people can get up in the morning and go without a hot shower. And then I realized, THEY HAVE CHILDREN!!!

When you have two toddlers running around the house, you don’t even get to pee in privacy, let alone take a contemplative shower. I’ve found that children come with some sort of built-in Mommy radar that alerts them whenever you get out of bed. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve turned the shower on to warm up, only to have to turn it off again thirty seconds later because someone is calling, “Mama! Mama! Mahhhhmahhh!” Hot showers have become a true luxury for me, for even when I manage to get into the shower and wash, it is interspersed with yells into the bathroom of: “Garrett, get out of the dog’s crate!”, “Stephen, put that down!”, “Get your brother out of the toilet!”, “Bring those towels back, dog!” Then there’s the trick of shaving your legs with one hand while holding the shower door closed with the other to prevent your 1 and1/2 year old from letting the puppy in and saying hello. My water refuge has become anything but.

So where does that leave me? Like so many other parents of toddlers, the coffee maker has become my new best friend. I stick to decaf, mostly, but am absolutely addicted to CoffeeMate. While it doesn’t surround me with positive ions, my morning cup of coffee steams my face, allows me to breathe deeply of pleasing aromas, and clears my head of the previous night’s sleep. All in all, not a completely bad trade-off. And, I still have my hair straightener. Thank God for the Chi and Bath and Body body mist!! Yet the most wonderful part of giving up my morning shower ritual–3o extra minutes of sleep!!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Our family celebrated the hunting season this year in two very different ways. Chris and his father took some guns out into a cow pasture and shot at a deer. The deer survived, which should make PETA happy, but I was secretly hoping for a freezer full of deer meat for the winter. It was the first time Chris and his dad had the opportunity to hunt in 15 years. Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate so they only had the one shot. But, it’s the experience that counts, right?

In the meantime, they boys, Chris’ mom and I went to Joplin to do some hunting of our own. We hit a Target and came away with some good stuff, but it wasn’t quite a bullseye. So, we tried our luck at Toys R’ Us and came away with the kill. With one shot we got Christmas outfits and dress shoes for the boys and a new stroller for Stephen. All in all, it was a very successful trip. We feasted afterward on soup, salad and breadsticks at the Olive Garden–the quintessential meal for all dedicated hunters!!

One of the beautiful aspects of this holiday shopping season for me is that I’m not really doing any of it. Our family decided this year that instead of investing in stuff, we were going to invest in time. We’ve rented a condo in Branson for a few days around New Year’s Eve in lieu of buying Christmas gifts for one another. My parents, my sister and her husband, Chris’ parents and his brother will all be gathering for the occasion. I’m really excited. I think it will be a nice getaway in the midst of what always becomes a crazy season.

Don’t get me wrong, I love gifts, both giving and getting. But, they need to be given for the right reasons, not because retailers need to make a profit. Chris was reading a new book by pastor Mike Slaughter in which Slaughter states, “Christmas is about Jesus’ birthday. It’s not about yours.” We’ve lost that as a culture somewhere along the line. And I would like for my children to grow up with a different perspective. I would like to grow into a different perspective. So forget gifts this year. Instead, celebrate life. That’s what it’s all about anyway. So happy hunting in your quest for Christmas meaning.

As always,
Blessings and Peace,
Sara
Sara

I stepped in dog poop with my bare foot this morning. It was gross. Really gross. But the plus was that I figured it couldn’t get much worse than that throughout the day. And, other skidding into work two minutes before the first tardy bell, it really hasn’t been that bad. Stephen woke up around five something this morning. We were sleeping in the recliner, which was fine because I’ve had a cough for a week now that I can’t get rid of. He played for awhile, crawling on and off the recliner, then when Chris came out to tell me my alarm was going off Stephen decided it was time to sleep. So, he grabbed his blanket, climbed up onto the recliner, laid down, and fell back to sleep. Classic Stephen.

I was thinking as I was pulling into the parking lot at school this morning, “This is my life. This–rushing Garrett out the door in the morning with a cup of coffee in one hand and a can of soup in the other, flying into school in the nick of time, scrambling to wrap my head around what I need to teach through three subjects, flying out of school with who knows what, rushing Garrett back into the car, and heading toward home where there’s snack, dinner, bath, jammies, and bed. This is my life.” And you know what? I love it. I love it!! This is what it’s supposed to be about. There’s no big thing to do, no greatness to be achieved (thank you Beth Moore). There’s just me taking God’s hand and walking through the day.

That’s not to say that there’s no purpose in life. There’s tremendous purpose in life. There’s a kingdom to be built, and all that we do should be focused on building it. But we build it everyday, in our everyday encounters, our everyday conversations, our everyday actions and routines. We build it when we say hello with a smile to people we greet in the morning. We build it when we give an encouraging hug or word to someone who might need it. We build it when we pray with our children before meals. We build it when we give someone else the right of way. We build it when we say “thank you” and mean it. We build it when we say, “I understand what you’re going through”. We build it when we laugh with others. We build it when we cry with others. We build it when we say, even in the midst of a foot covered in dog poop, “Thank you God, so much, for this day.”

This is just another day, and I couldn’t ask for more.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

At the beginning of this school year, all of the teachers in our district were given a copy of the book, How Full Is Your Bucket?. The purpose of this was to foster a community of positive encouragement and appreciation. We, as a faculty, are continuously called to build up our colleagues and our students by offering praise and recognition for work well done. I’ve realized recently that I have gotten behind in the area of bucket filling, in one area probably more than others. After the busy-ness of the day, I often fail to truly appreciate my husband. And there is a lot to appreciate.

Chris is a wonderful husband. He takes care of so much around the house and I hardly ever stop to even say, “thank you.” Chris eats lunch at home most days to save money, let the dogs out, and clean up the kitchen. He also does most of the cooking, laundry and takes out the trash. On top of that, it is his responsibility to get Stephen (prior to this year both Garrett and Stephen) ready in the morning and out the door to the sitters, picking him back up on his way home from work. A full day’s work, I might add. Then he gets me, his lovely wife, sauntering in the door after school, scattering all of her stuff throughout the house as she makes a path to the bedroom to change, asking “What do you want for dinner”? by way of a “Hi, it’s nice to see you. How was your day?”

After making dinner, Chris will often clean up as well while I go play with the boys and get them dressed for bed. Chris then gets the job of putting at least one of the boys to sleep, since Stephen will not go to sleep for me and Garrett is 50-50. Then, once the boys are in bed, he waters the animals, takes the dogs out, makes sure they’re fed, and goes to bed with only half of the covers because I take them all.

And that’s just a normal day! There are times when Chris does even more than that. For instance, a few weeks ago I fell asleep on the couch while making cookies for a snack day at work. Instead of waking me up, Chris finished baking the cookies, took them out of the oven, put them into a container, and brought me my medicine with a glass of water. This past week, when I wasn’t feeling well, Chris sent me to bed at 7:30, cleaned up dinner, took care of the animals , and put both the boys to bed on his own. He also got up in the middle of the night with Stephen and took him to sleep in the spare room so I could get some rest.

I have a truly wonderful husband. Why he continues to put up with me I have no idea. But I’m very grateful that he does. I know Chris isn’t perfect, no one is. But he gives 110% of himself always. He deserves a little recognition now and then. So, thank you Chris. I love you!!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I was driving to work this morning. It was raining, again. It was dark. It was Thursday. Stephen was up in the middle of the night playing, again. The end result of which he was tired and cranky this morning. Between the two boys and myself, I’m not sure there was one moment before I left the house this morning where someone was not throwing a fit. On top of it, I’ve developed an obnoxious head cold which has left me even more run down, cranky and achy. So, on my dreary, wet, cold drive to work this morning, I decided to have a nice little pity party. I was mad and frustrated with everything, feeling overwhelmed. I was about to yell out to God, “I’m too tired for this!” when I heard a song playing on my morning radio station (90.7 K-Love “pahwsitive” Christian Music”). It was a Mark Schultz song about a mother praying over a son who is seriously ill. The DJ came on afterward to say that the song was written for some friends of Schultz’s whose son had been battling cancer but was now in remission.

Let me tell you, I felt that God was whacking me over the head with that one. “Hey, Pity-Party-Patty–snap out of it!! There will be no pity parties on my watch! Get it together, girl. We’ve got a full day ahead. And don’t talk to me about being tired. You don’t even know tired yet! Be thankful you got to play with your son, even if it was at 3 A.M. Your children are gifts. Enjoy them. And why are you getting stressed out anyway? Don’t you know by now that I’ve got you covered? Forget tired. Forget frustrated. Forget rising blood pressure. Focus on me. I’ve walked the path ahead of you. Trust me, I know where we’re going. “

After that, I managed to get out of my head for a little while and really focus on the world around me. I focused on Garrett, talking to me continuously about riding to school in Stephen’s car seat. I focused on my lessons, and on the students I would be interacting with shortly. I focused on the music, praising God for the rainy, dreary day to live.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Before reading further, I need to warn you that I am about to commit English heresy. If you’re a traditionalist when it comes to the English canon you should probably stop reading now. I’ve been thinking recently, as we approach our Shakespeare unit in English IV, that I don’t want to read an entire Shakespearean play with my Seniors. (WHAT!?) You heard me right. I’m considering reading one or two scenes and then just watching a film. (So this is what’s wrong with the American educational system these days!!) There is much sound reasoning behind this thought. Let me break it down.

1. The language barrier: American English is so far removed from Shakespearean English that it is truly like reading in another language for the students. I don’t know if we’re evolving or devolving, but the kids just do not get the language. Therefore, they can’t move on to comprehension of the text.

2. The relevance issue: Any student of English literature knows that the plot lines and characters in Shakespearean plays can transcend any time or generation. But, the kids don’t get that. They think, “Oh, another old, dead white guy. Who cares?” My students want to read about characters who are like them and situations they are going through now. They want new and contemporary. And they don’t want people speaking in rhymes!

3. The skills issue: The point of teaching English is to help students analyze, evaluate, problem-solve, reason, and write effectively. Do they really have to read Shakespeare in order to do those things? There are plenty of contemporary pieces of writing they can read, comprehend, enjoy and use to build these skills. Knowing Shakespeare is not going to make a phenomenal difference in their lives.

I know what you’re thinking, “It’s Shakespeare! They have to know Shakespeare! He’s everywhere!” While it’s true that there are many Shakespearean references and allusions built into contemporary media and artistic endeavors, the question is whether or not our kids need to understand those references and allusions to appreciate the media or artwork. Is it necessary to the growth of their persons? And, as much as I personally love Shakespeare, I would say (begrudgingly) no.

Here’s the other plus for me. If we only read an excerpt from a play, we can cover more than one. We can hit Much Ado About Nothing and Hamlet. They’re getting more than they would from a unit in which they would read an entire play. And, I don’t have to hear them whine and complain.

To Shakespeare, or not to Shakespeare? That is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Senior whining , or to take arms against the sea of rebellion, and by watching film, end them?

It is a question for the ages:-) Let me know what you think!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Chris and I came back from an amazing trip yesterday to be greeted again by business, chaos, and discontent. Thank God I am going through Beth Moore’s Esther study right now because she is speaking right to me!! I had a moment last night when I thought, again, “I’m done with this crap!! Where is God and why, WHY, isn’t he doing more!?” Granted, I was sleep-deprived and beginning to feel a little overwhelmed as I tried to get my head around lessons for today, organize my parent-teacher conferences, and deal with a tired boy. I kept remembering what we’ve already gone over in Esther, that when God seems farthest away, he’s working on something big. Something big is happening. God is creating a new spirit within our church congregation. We had a great service of confession and healing yesterday. My mom noticed how much friendlier and open people seemed. So, God is working. But even with that, there is still discontent. There are still people hanging on to hurt and anger, still harping and arguing, still fighting and hurting. And I’m just so tired of it.

I’m also tired of my Senior’s attitudes at school. I love these kids. I’ve had some of them in class for three years. But they’re getting so gripey and lazy and snippy. I totally lost it and yelled at them this morning when they were complaining about a performance assignment they had to do we’d been working on for a week and a half. I made it up to them, but only after telling them to grow up, that they were Seniors and they had the attitude of Freshmen. Seriously, a person can only take so much!!

But, I love them. And I love our church. And a friend of mine is making coffee so I’m going to go grab a cup before English III. Hopefully, my Juniors will not have to experience the “wrath of SSS”!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara