Mrs. B!

I was out buying a baby shower gift the other day and it was requested that you bring a book signed by you for the baby.  My "go-to" book for these kinds of occasions is Dr. Seuss' "Oh the Places You'll Go!"  Whenever I think of this story, my mind immediately travels back in time to the very last day of high school in Mrs. Brown's English class. I wish I could accurately describe Mrs. B....but I don't think I can.  She didn't fit the mold...she broke the mold.  As I was thinking about her, I thought I should tell the world about her, at least my little part of the world.

Mrs. B was probably one of the most influential teachers in my life.  Going to a small Christian school meant that you had a lot of the same teachers throughout the years.  Often times they taught classes for both 7th graders and seniors.  I had her for 5 of my 6 years on the high school side of the road. Every year, every week, we had spelling and vocab lists.  Thanks to her, I can spell!   Every year, we continued to diagram sentences.  We read books...we took quizzes...we took tests on Hamlet...we wrote haikus and limericks...we memorized and recited poems...we even had to memorize part of the prologue to Canterbury tales (have you looked at old english before?) She pushed and pulled us in every way.  Our senior projects prepared us for college in big ways.  Each of these projects took the whole semester to complete....on top of the weekly vocab lists, diagramming sentences, and weekly readings/quizzes.  (English in college had nothing on this lady!) 1st semester-epic poem written in iambic pentameter and a whole bunch of other rules regarding number of lines, etc.  I wrote mine on Chuck Yeager.   Second semester-thesis driven paper.  I did mine on how the Chronicles of Narnia were written to parallel the Bible.  Notecards, hours in the library, countless outlines, drafts, etc.  Mrs. B was hard...she was relentless...she pushed us....but she wasn't afraid to let loose, grab her "sword" and stand upon her desk as we read Shakespeare.  She read with fiery passion and diagrammed sentences with intensity.  Every January when class resumed, we had to come back with what our favorite and least favorite presents were and she kept a running tally for all grades.  While I will never say that English lit and grammar were my favorite subjects, I will tell you that this was my favorite class.  When I say that Mrs. B broke the mold, I mean that she didn't necessarily fit the stereotype of a Christian school teacher.  She was a woman of strong faith who wasn't afraid to be her.  She was very encouraging of me for choosing to go to a public university and choosing to take my faith to the world.  She pushed us to find who we were, what we liked doing, and to go out there and do it.  So on the last day of high school, when she got up in front of the class to read "Oh the Places You'll Go", and told us to get out there and do good and she started to cry, we knew.  We knew she had been preparing her little birds, all these years, to be ready to fly on our own.  She gave me tools that I still remember and use almost 20 years later. 

 "You're off to great places! Today is your day!" You're off to college, today IS the day.  “You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that life's a great balancing act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.” Don't get mixed up with the wrong crowd in college.  "Your mountain is waiting...now get on your way." 

Thanks to Mrs. B I started to learn about getting out into the world, about getting out of my comfort zone, and that I didn't have to fit into some standard mold.  I didn't completely come to grips with the entirety of those lessons until I came to camp and it become real, but I had someone who started that long ago.  You were a heck of a teacher!  Heck, you still are from what I hear!

February 14, 2017

Valentine's Day...2017....a day I won't soon forget.  I have thought about this day every day since then.  I can tell you where I was, how I felt, and what I was doing when I got the news.  Thinking of that day, the emotions flood back, the tears have to be held back, it's like opening a scab on a wound that's still fresh. It's been hard to say out loud...we talk about the "events", the "girls" but it's hard to say it.  To say that Libby and Abby were murdered, that their lives were taken at too early of an age, that some sick bastard did unspeakable things to them and is still out there...I can't say it.  I have seen loss before but never loss that wasn't accidental or due to illness/age.  These lives were forcibly taken by the sick actions of an animal (because whoever would do this has no conscience).

Everything looked different after that...everything felt different...town, people, everything had such a solemn quiet air about it.  When you went into town, the air felt electric, but not in the good way.  News vans everywhere you can see.  You'd see them outside your normal shops but the last thing I wanted was to be stopped and asked about the situation.  It was way too fresh, too raw, emotions were running rampant.  FBI vans, lots of police, lots of activity that this little town has never seen before.  This town was not known before and now will unfortunately be known as a place of tragedy.  As much as the suspect's picture has been featured, once he is caught, I hope his face is not plastered across FB but that we remember the lives he devastated.  He should get no fame, no press from this.  The support from surrounding schools and communities has been amazing.  Sad that it takes tragedy to pull us together despite our differences.  What can happen if we do that more?

When I got the news that Monday evening that the girls were missing, something didn't feel right.  I had the privilege back in 2014 to coach these two young ladies in volleyball.  We were not the most talented group to say it lightly....most had never touched a volleyball in any organized fashion before.  Abby and Libby were always eager to learn.  Lots of life.  Lots of joy.  Honest, good teammates, good friends.  We learned a lot together.  It was my first time coaching...it was their first time in school sports.  I wanted so much to teach them more than just volleyball but about being a good teammate, a good sport.  These kids caught on much more than I ever expected.  We had instituted a "rule" that if you didn't call for the ball during scrimmage, everyone on your "side" ran from mid line to the end line of the basketball court and then back to your spot.  So your actions affected the whole team.  And your teammates held you accountable.  Of course they complained at first...who doesn't?  But eventually they stopped complaining and would just do it when I called out, "No one called!"  But one time....one time....they didn't call for it and I didn't catch it....and they looked at me and admitted, "We didn't call for it." And so they themselves called it out and they ran.  At this moment, I knew they understood.  I was as proud of them in that moment as I was the first time they won a game (and only time!).  The second time I was proud of them was when I realized that we were one point away from winning our first game and I saw that the other team's worst server was up (and she had special needs) and I called time out right away.  Everyone, even my co-coach, was super confused but I explained that, more than likely, that girl was going to miss her serve and we would win.  But I wanted to explain how to be a gracious winner.  We had lost a lot, we hopefully had taught them to lose with grace but now we needed to win with grace as well.  I didn't want them to celebrate and yell because of how that girl would feel...the same way we felt for most of the season.  I sent them back out and reminded them that they could be happy but our celebration would occur in the locker room.  As excited as I could tell that they were, they held their giddiness in and won the game gracefully.  They celebrated like fools in the locker room but that was okay.  Good kids, solid kids, kids I didn't think were capable of running away or being irresponsible.  I had a terrible gut feeling that something wasn't right and I prayed and hoped that I was wrong.  But I wasn't wrong and I wish I had been.  Your heart can break, your heart can heal, but it won't be the same.  God heals the brokenhearted.  Our God is in control.  Our world is evil. But our home is not here. Keep in mind those who go home to an empty room, an empty chair at the table for they will live this over for weeks and years to come.  Pray for justice on earth as I know that justice in Heaven will surely be done.
Psalm 34:18 "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."