At Least You Know You're Alive

Last week I told you a bit about my family's recent road trip to Indiana. Now I'm going to tell you about the day that most of us will remember when we look back on this vacation.

Our last Tuesday was designated as Chicago Day. Rather than to brave the traffic and fight for parking spaces, we decided to take the South Shore commuter train that runs between South Bend, Indiana, and Downtown Chicago. I've actually ridden that route many times, and I usually enjoy the sense of adventure. This was my sister Amy's first time to ride the train since her stroke, but our sister Melody had done her research and assured us that the train was handicap accessible.

We decided to depart from Michigan City, an hour's drive away, because it had more return options than the closer South Bend station. On the trip out, we had the benefit of a one-hour time difference; we could leave at 7:00 and have plenty of time to catch the 9:00 train.

I got Amy and myself up that morning at 6:15, which seemed like plenty of time. But I had not factored in the shared bathroom, nor the multiple trips to the basement to holler at Allyson and her friend Kambry. Aunt Sue came to rescue by cooking our oatmeal and even washing Kambry's hair in the kitchen sink just moments before we left.

Following Melody and her husband Joe, we pulled out of the driveway around 7:20, not too bad in my book. While Kambry brushed her wet hair, Allyson routed us to the Carroll Avenue station. If all went according to plan, we would arrive with 40 minutes to spare.

A Milestone for Amy

A week ago today, my sister Amy achieved a milestone that she had been anticipating for nearly a year: completing an 11-day road trip to Indiana for a family reunion. Amy suffered a massive stroke in March of 2016, and she is nearly paralyzed on her left side. She initially received top-notch rehabilitation that restored much of her function. She learned to walk with a cane, feed herself, speak clearly, and do basically anything else that you can do with one hand. But when her insurance company decided that she was finished with rehab, her recovery hit a plateau. She's been living with our parents for the last year and a half, and the only therapy she receives is stretching exercises with Mom, who can be a tough taskmaster.

A couple of months ago, she underwent an experimental stem cell treatment using cells from her own body. (Our former brother-in-law, James, provided this treatment at no cost.) Since then, Amy has increased flexibility in her hip and is now able to extend her curled fingers by bending her wrist with her other hand. Her concentration is also improving, and she now reads murder mysteries and even dreams about math.

Our brother Rick strives to push Amy past her limits. He takes her out frequently and brings her home for dinner, and he always insists that she walk rather than use her wheelchair. His front and back porches have a small step, and she has become proficient in navigating those obstacles.

But this Indiana trip challenged Amy on a whole new level. We started with approximately 16 hours of driving over the course of two days. Traveling in a caravan of 12 with passengers ranging in age from 3 to 87, we made a lot of stops. It was a far cry from Dad's idea of a road trip: waking a couple of hours before dark and driving straight through, with everyone holding their pee until we had to stop and fill up or get fast food. No, this time we stopped every hour to hour and a half, and each stop took 15-30 minutes. At every stop, Amy laboriously pulled herself to her feet and walked across parking lots and through truck stops, up hills and down rest-stop sidewalks. This helped ease the pain from her stiff muscles, but all that walking wore her out and made her back hurt because of the way her limp shoulder hangs down.

Home Depot! Home Depot!

Yesterday afternoon, I rode with my mom to her bank, where we were meeting my sister Emily. We had an appointment to sign paperwork so that Emily and I could have access to Mom's safety deposit box.

"Where's your father?" Mom asked. "He was supposed to go to the bank with us."

"I don't know," I answered absently, but then I remembered what Dad had said to me after a sweaty hug when we passed each other in the doorway. "Oh, wait.... He said something about working on some lady's plumbing."

"Oh, he's at Lupita's, then," she said, drawing in an exasperated breath.

"Isn't it too hot for him to be working outside?" I asked. "They said on the radio that it's over a hundred degrees today [38 degrees Celsius]."

"Yes, it is too hot," Mom agreed. "That's why I made him promise to do the work in the morning. But obviously he didn't keep his promise. Every time those ladies call, he runs right over."

I raised an eyebrow.

"He wants the money," Mom went on. "I told him maybe I'll have to start giving him money so he'll stay home now and then."

Just then, Mom's phone rang over the car speaker, and I saw Dad's name on the dashboard display. Apparently his ears must have been burning.

More Things You Can Do With a Muffin

I'm beginning to realize that muffins have a surprising range of uses. My regular readers may recall that I recently tried to use them to win a man's affection. (For the record, I don't think it worked. Time will tell.) This past Sunday, I found a revolutionary new use for my beloved muffins.

Allyson, her friend Gabby, and I were attending the Harvest America event at the massive AT&T stadium, where the Dallas Cowboys play. I recalled two things from our first experience with this Christian rally at the same venue:

• The food at the stadium is VERY pricey. Think $12 for a hamburger, $6 for a bottle of water. I may be exaggerating, but not by much. 
• Security is tight. You can't even bring a purse, let alone a cooler. 

So I studied the rules on both the stadium's website and Harvest America's. I learned that we could bring transparent plastic totes no larger 12" x 12", and we could bring water in the original manufacturer's bottle with the cap's seal unbroken. 

I filled three plastic makeup totes with sandwiches, mini chip bags, grapes, and some homemade blueberry muffins I'd made around bedtime the night before in response to a wild craving. I found three water bottles leftover from last week's camping trip and threw those, along with everything else, into a cooler.

Sometimes You Just Need to Give Up... But Don't Give In

This past Friday, I administered final exams to my last three classes and headed out around 1:30 to pick up Allyson and her friend Kambry for our long awaited annual camping trip. Yes, I realize it's a little crazy to plan a camping trip for June 1 in Texas, but I knew I could enjoy it much better while unencumbered by teaching responsibilities. Besides, we'd gone a week later the previous year, and the temperature was fine.

This time, my niece Hillary was the first to arrive at Lake Ray Roberts, and she'd staked out a site right on the water's edge. For the third year in a row, I'd reserved a primitive campsite with neither water nor electricity, and we had to carry our gear down a dirt and gravel path. As the four of us carried in the first load, Allyson and I reminisced about our first visit to this same state park two years earlier.

Choose Love

Don't you love the way God works in such mysterious ways? I especially love it when He answers prayers in ways that I could never have dreamed up. 

On a Thursday about six weeks ago, I hosted our monthly student prayer meeting. Only two kids showed up, plus one more who was actually there for a behavior issue but took me up on the offer to stay for prayer rather than coming back the next day for a conference. All three boys were from the same class, my second hardest class at that moment.

I took advantage of the opportunity to talk and pray about the issues we were struggling with: mainly just the rude, obnoxious behavior--and constant projectile throwing--that you might expect from a class of 12 seventh-grade boys and 6 seventh-grade girls.

I prayed that God would amaze us with the way He would turn around our class. "Has God ever amazed you?" I asked my fellow prayer warriors. They all shrugged shyly, and then one shared a story of surviving a near drowning.

I shared one of my favorite stories, the time when God astounded me by delivering the same message through a phone call and an anonymous gift that came in the mail that same day:

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

"Wow, miss!" they said when I'd finished my story.

"You just wait!" I said. "Just wait and watch what God will do. He's going to amaze us."

Love and Muffins

Disclaimer: I hesitated to write this entry, but the whole experience made me laugh so hard that I just couldn't keep it to myself. Before you read on, you have to promise that you won't get excited over the possibility of a little romance in my life. I promise you, there's virtually zero chance of anything coming out of this.... 

It's been five years since my divorce, and many of the people I love--including Allyson--often ask me if there's any possibility that I will marry again, or at least go on a date. I always say that I don't know. At this point, if God brings a godly man into my life, I'm not opposed. In the meantime, I've had a few crushes, which are always great fun.

The Old Job Was Never This Fun

It's been a good week, our second one reading The Hunger Games. The last three days were a little chaotic, but I was proud of myself for trying something new that I had read about in an article. I divided my classes into six groups and put them through rotations of reading, blogging, and small group discussion. A lot of the time, the reading groups take so long to settle down and start their audio that they can't finish an 18-minute chapter in 22 minutes. And the bloggers have been writing mostly one-sentence posts so far, or even sentence fragments. But some of the discussions have helped me remember why I dreamed of being an English teacher--in those magical moments when the "self-directed" groups are actually self directing, and I'm able supervise the discussion groups as per my lesson plan.

It's so fun to hear their thoughts, and to help them connect a really dramatic story to their own lives. It's also fun to ask them about the shocking parts that many of them somehow missed. For example, when I ask them why Katniss isn't embarrassed to be naked in front of the prep team, several pairs of eyes open wide. "What?? When was she naked?" [For the record, it's not an obscene book. I promise.]

"It doesn't pay to get off task," I answer. "You might miss the really good parts."

The best part of my day is when some of my lowest performers step up as discussion leaders, sharing some perceptive views, or when a painfully shy student finds her voice. If I ever get to meet Suzanne Collins, I just might give her a kiss.

Not So Bad After All

Okay, so I ought to be grading papers, or at least doing the dishes. But I just have to tell you about my day yesterday....

It all started when my eyes fluttered open in the early light of morning, instead of the darkness before dawn. With a gasp, I rolled out of bed and squinted at the clock. 7:23. Not too bad. If you're going to oversleep, 23 minutes is the way to go.

I rushed to Allyson's room, where she was lying sound asleep under the glow of the overhead light. Her alarm had gone off, but she'd been seduced back to sleep. "Get up, Allyson!" I shouted. "I overslept. It's 7:23."

She popped out of bed almost as quickly as I had. "I'm going to be late for school," she said.

"Not necessarily. Just pull on your clothes and brush your teeth. We gotta go!"

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Ten days ago, in the middle of my workday, I received a text that made my heart sink. My 33-year-old cousin Adam had passed away unexpectedly. My first reaction was sharp pain as I thought of my Aunt Sue and Uncle Jeff. Ever since I've been a mother, hearing about the loss of anyone's child tears at my own heart because I can't help putting myself in their shoes.

My second reaction was regret. I had been out of contact with Adam for a couple of years, and he'd been on my mind that very week. I wondered how he was doing and thought that I should send him a letter to catch him up on all of my teaching adventures. I'd had similar thoughts off and on for a long time, and now I was kicking myself for not taking the time when I had the chance. 

Although Adam was 14 years younger than me and lived 1100 miles away in Indiana, I was probably closer to him than to any of my other 25 first cousins. Our friendship began in 2011 when Aunt Sue asked several family members to write Adam while he was in prison. Through the influence of a chaplain, he had grown closer to Christ in prison and had a strong faith, but he was lonely and sometimes discouraged by the poor conditions he encountered there. 

A recent picture. Don't his eyes draw you in?

Captured

Oh, I've missed you all! Are you ready for a few teaching stories? For today, I think I'll just tell two or three.

I'm already halfway through my first year back to teaching. What a ride it has been! It's every bit as hard as I remember it being the first time around, 20 years ago. Maybe even harder. But it's also infinitely sweeter. I have been very intentional about forming relationships, and that makes a powerful difference in how my students and I respond to one another.

At the beginning of the year, my new colleagues and I took a two-day course on classroom management called "Capturing Kids' Hearts." This amazing program gave me practical tools to accomplish the goals I had already set for myself. I was so excited to put them into practice. This year I would truly capture their hearts. I would have the opportunity to speak life to students who desperately needed to hear that they mattered, to know that they were loved.

During the Honeymoon Phase, all of those dreams seemed to be coming true. I was absolutely delighted with my students, and the feeling was mutual. Doing what God made me to do felt exhilarating, and I wondered why I'd waited so long to come back.