at the end of 1st grade

Dear Mack, 

This morning you weren't feeling well and quietly sat on the couch as the rest of us scurried around getting ready for another full & busy day. I was stationed to work in the nursery at church today and instead of holding a baby, I held you. Your feverish body that isn't so little any more curled up on my lap and slept - and I treasured every second.

I sat and rocked, and watched a room full of little people play together - remembering how much you hated the nursery as a toddler. The minute we walked through the church door, you would squirm. And you would cry and cry and cry some more after I left you even when you knew I'd always be back to get you in less than an hour. 

You have always been a mama's boy, and still today - weeks away from turning 8, that fact rings true. Thank you for your precious grin, your ability to make others laugh, and your sparkling eyes. You have always had me wrapped around that grin of yours, and I'm certain you always will.

This afternoon, you're asleep on the couch and I'm reliving your year of 1st grade through pictures. Pictures that have captured you at your best and at your worst. Pictures that give me the happiest of tears as I scroll through each one.

You lived this year so very brave, very happy, with some really good friends, running miles at a time, and reading chapter book after chapter book - along with a lot of Fly Guy too. You opened every gate you could, you were so much smarter than you thought you were, you did your homework without being asked, you ate a lot of great food (and plenty of candy too), you won some awesome awards, and you gave us every reason to be proud over and over again. In fact proud is an understatement.

We love you sweet boy. More than you'll ever know. And we're so very lucky to call you ours.

P.S. I hope you always know what a gift your smile is. It's contagious and beautiful in every sort of way - making the world better & brighter with each grin.

steady and sure ... and this season called summer.

Ian gathered our last bunch off of the 'Forth' piece we've leased the past several years a few mornings ago. When I saw them come over the top ridge, I grabbed my camera and headed toward the hay shed. Perched on our fence that borders the thousands of acres to the east, I watched him push the pairs and a few bulls from behind. He was slow and quiet as they made their way toward home. Steady and sure.

Not much has been slow or quiet lately. And it definitely hasn't been steady or sure. It's been a rush to get to the end of a school year, the end of a lease, the end of a the first cutting of hay finally being stacked, the end of almost two decades at a school, and the end of spring. There have been harsh words, frustration, exhaustion, worn out tears, and even sleepless nights. Decisions have made and so have opinions. Steady and sure, we're on the edge of everything being new whether we're completely ready or not.

I'm not going to lie and say that we're big fans of 'new' around here. We like steak and potatoes. We opt for ranch dressing. We like to be defined by the traits of  steady, faithful, and true. We are dependable, known, and comfortable. Adventure is not what has defined us in the past, and as one season ends and another begins - change and adventure seem to be staring us right in the face.

 And you know what, it feels right.

So very, very right.

Everything about it seems to be trustworthy.

It's taking one step at a time toward something better than we could have ever imagined. And as each day passes, the end is now becoming the beginning - turning into something comfortable and refreshing.

It's becoming familiar - just like Whitey.

Honestly, we are surviving the transition better than expected - finally being brave enough to stop tiptoeing around the reality that we need to be more than we've ever been before.

And although we're not exactly sure what we're going to face, grace and mercy seem to be the best sort of buffer we could hope for as we transition from one spot to the next.

So for now, we're going to enjoy our time in the holding pen called summer. The season that will offer a chance to breathe, a chance to plan, and a chance to dream - a time to get ready for all things new that are just up over the next hill and around the next bend.

Yes, thank you Lord ... for a chance to grow and live without abandon through this season we call summer.

measuring spoons

I sifted through the drawer to find them. Everything was crowded and shoved in the small space that seemed to have turned into a catch-all for all things random and unusual. Rubber bands, chip clips, a small book of matches with only one match left, cookie cutters, a pen, and there along the right side toward the back were the measuring spoons.

Old and treasured describes them best in my mind. They are 4 pieces of goodness held together with a simple & small ring. They have held me together for years now in more ways than one. Baking soda, nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, cumin, salt, and even cream of tarter have been measured and stirred into life over and over again. These 4 spoons have seen the depths and have measured out just the right amounts of almost everything in my life.

I dangled them from my fingertips, watching them sway back and forth as I closed the drawer. Lost, but now found. In the dark for what seemed to be forever, but with the reach of a hand, were suddenly shimmering in the best of ways. Useful and needed even now.

I've  measured a lot of things in my life and a lot of things have measured me. I have grown to measure success by test scores, by results, by the number on the scale, and by the number of likes and comments. Here's the thing though ... those measurements mean nothing really. Absolutely nothing.

Those test scores didn't sit at my front table early before school with me and a few precious children who weren't afraid to ask for help. Those numbers and measurements don't know how hard I worked to get one single sentence out of student #23 all year long. Those things we feel pressured by, they tell us nothing except that we are pushing too hard for perfection.

Perfection can't be held in your hand. It can't be stirred in to add the right amount of anything to what you're mixing up in your mind. But perfection can ruin a really good thing. It can take all of your hard work and effort, all of the tears you've shed and the plans you've made, all of the hours that were spent on doing what you knew was right and good in every sort of way and create the biggest mess of a mixture you've ever seen.
It creates opportunities for you to take out those measuring spoons and dip into jealousy, bitterness, and even hatred. And before you know it, you're mixing together some of the worst traits buried deep inside of you into this beautiful concoction called your life. Everything good is suddenly tainted and you find yourself surrounded by a giant bowl of something you're not sure how to get yourself out of.

I just spent a really great year of my life figuring out how to teach 4th grade. I learned about decimals and percents and fractions. I memorized conversion tables and wrote some really great paragraphs. But one of the most profound things I learned was how hard it is to teach a grade where testing and scores define you whether you want them to or not, and how challenging it can be to work with people you've known for years and people you've just met when there is so much pressure to be perfect.

Teachers compare and measure each other in the best and the worst of ways. They are each others biggest and best cheerleaders, but they're also the hardest on each other too. I don't know how to fix that. I don't know how to stop measuring something that isn't supposed to be measured in the first place. But I do know that I'm done using measuring spoons or sticks on the people I live and breathe this profession with. Done.

I'm going to stick with measuring salt, and vanilla, and maybe even some chili powder once in a while. And I'm going going to let the people in my world grow and bloom in their own unique and amazing ways. Perfection is overrated. And measuring up to anything (especially the standards of others) isn't worth fighting for.

Teaspoon and tablespoon are two completely different words, and when you're first learning to measure, they can easily be confused when reading a recipe with abbreviations. My theory is - a little goes a long way. Let's pour tablespoons of kindness, mercy and grace all around, and pass out the teaspoons for everyone around us to get a little of the best. That's the stuff that's worth measuring.