Archive for the ‘love’ category
August 3, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. August 3, 2019
It has been “Grandkid Week” for Carol and me. Their mom, and our oldest daughter, went back to school for several days of teacher’s meetings. That, plus she and our son-in-law are participating in a race this weekend called “The Beast”, so we’ve got the three “grands” until Sunday afternoon. By then I may be the beast!
For reference, they are ages 4, 8, and 11…close in age if you fast forwarded about 30 years, but worlds apart this weekend.
If I was updating my resume I could add the experience of “grandchildren negotiator”, for you see getting these three to agree on what activity they want to do, movie they want to watch, dinner entree they want to eat, and bed they want to sleep in is on par with getting China and the U.S.A. to shake hands on a trade agreement.
Dissension surfaces in the form of whining and stomping away from the bargaining table.
“No, Jesse!” directs the four year old. “You’re the bad man. Reagan and I are the good guys!”
“I don’t want to be the bad man.”
The four year old starts to whine. It’s her “go to” to get her way. “You have to.”
“How about,” offers the 8 year old, who often tries to find a way to compromise, “Jesse begins as the bad guy and then we’ll switch places after five minutes? And then, Corin, you’ll be the bad guy.”
The four year old digs in deeper. “No, I don’t want to be the bad guy.” She folds her arms in front of her to reinforce her position of no compromise. It is a picture of conflict between differing personalities and ages.
They can not come to agreement. The compromiser looks for common ground, but the ground is loose sand that is constantly shifting.
Time for Granddad to offer arbitration to settle the differences. Reagan will be in agreement, Jesse will consider it, and Corin will frown about any solution that differs from her way. She is the strong-willed child who will someday be either a corporate CEO, the owner of a professional baseball team, or entrepreneur with a defined vision.
“How about if all of you are the good guys doing battle with an invisible bad guy?”
Jesse agrees and starts play-acting as if he has a light saber. Corin frowns. Reagan says to her sister, “And Corin, we can pretend that we’re protecting the newborn baby from the bad guys.” It has the feel of a similar storyline from the first two chapters of Matthew. It’s her Sunday School lessons emerging in her play. She reasons with her sister and puts her arm around her shoulders to help her understand the value of the scenario.
The added touch brings the four year old back to agreement and for the next 15 minutes they work together on the mission. The 11 year old then decides he doesn’t want to play any more…and the whole series of negotiations starts over again.
Meanwhile, Carol and I are envisioning a different storyline, one that involves naps…long naps!
Categories: Bible, children, Community, Freedom, Grandchildren, Humor, love, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: agreeing, arbitration, common ground, compromise, disagreement, finding common ground, grandkids, grandparenting, grandparents, negotiations, Playing, Whining
Comments: Be the first to comment
July 28, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. July 28, 2019
It’s been 40 years since we exchanged vows. Crazy! Doesn’t seem that long! It occurred to Carol and me last night that several of our aunts and uncles attended that wedding ceremony, conducted at Community Presbyterian Church in Clarendon Hills, Illinois on a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon. We thought they were old! We figured out last night that we’re now OLDER than they were when they listened to a couple of 25 year olds covenant to love one another. Yikes!
We were two different people in many ways. I had deep roots in eastern Kentucky. Think J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy! Carol was “big city suburban”. Both of our fathers had served in the military in very different ways, my dad as a cook in the Navy and her dad as a pilot with the Army Air Corps. Her family was a bit more affluent than mine, but both of our families had a closeness that stays rich in our minds.
Carol had been raised in the Catholic church. I had always been a Baptist, first Southern Baptist and then American Baptist. Growing up Catholic, she had heard about a Baptist seminary in Lombard, Illinois, and she assumed that the students there walked around dressed like Franciscan monks, wearing robes, sandals, and sporting shaved heads. I assumed she liked fried fish since it seemed like all Catholic churches had Friday night fish fries.
We quickly learned that our assumptions were wrong, and discovered what was right about each of us that seemed to mesh us together in a comfortable relationship of laughter and shared life.
In our first year of marriage we learned about grace and forgiveness. We were like two rookies heading into our first season together. Carol knew that I loved pecan pie and she made one for me, an expression of her love for her new husband. I ate a piece of pie and expressed my gratitude to her. It was very good! Let me emphasize that! It was very good! But then the next day went by and the next day after that. Late meetings and softball doubleheaders kept me from eating the second piece of the pie. About five days later when I finally thought about having another piece, Carol stopped me. Some green stuff has started growing on the pie crust! She was crushed and I experienced what it means to “eat humble pie”. Forgiveness was extended. Forty years later if I have a desire for pecan pie she points me in the direction of the local Village Inn and suggests that I go there and have a piece.
She learned the privileges of being the spouse of a pastor, but, more often than not, she experienced the unjustified expectations of it. People blessed us in so many ways and people brought heartache and frustration to us. She listened to me on numerous occasions as I came home from a church meeting that had been frustrating and left me questioning my calling as a pastor. On the other side, I listened to her deep sighs after being with the three kids all day. I was her chance to talk to an actual adult, her opportunity to tell someone the funny stories of the day and the new sayings our kids would spring on her.
We supported one another as we went through the deaths of each of our parents, never an easy journey. We cried tears of joy as each of our daughters walked down the aisle with their new husbands. We experienced the joy of grandparenthood together.
When you walk with someone for 40 years you realize that it’s difficult to remember when you weren’t walking together. Roughly two-thirds of our lives have now been spent eating meals at the same table, taking walks around the neighborhood together, and being in love.
In the midst of our journey it occurs to us that the improbableness of our relationship has flowed into the inconceivable thought of not being married to one another.
As I’ve said before, sometimes we don’t think about being blessed when we are in the midst of the blessing. I have been, I am, and, God willing, I will be for a long, long time!
Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Grace, Grandchildren, Humor, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: 40 years of marriage, celebrations, family backgrounds, family history, family memories, family stories, marriage vows, vows, Wedding, wedding anniversary
Comments: Be the first to comment
July 19, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. July 19, 2019
I have great memories of spending summer weeks at my Mamaw and Papaw Helton’s farm In Staffordsville, Kentucky. Staffordsville was not a town, but more like a post office with a store next to it. Since no one knows where Staffordsville is I’ll say that it’s close to Oil Springs.
I’m sure that clears things up for you.
The Helton farm had front porch swings, another back porch swing, a smoke house, coal house, chicken coop, pig pen…and a creek that ran between them, a barn with a hay loft, well water that we’d lower a bucket down into for a drink that was cold and sweet-tasting, trails up into the woods, countless barn cats, gardens and pastures, and fresh air and farm smells.
It was a kid’s playground. There was no need to have anything that had the sole purpose of entertaining children. We made our own entertainment, mimicking the livestock and pretending the porch swing was an airplane about to take off.
Mamaw Helton cooked a breakfast every morning that Cracker Barrel tries to recreate: fried eggs, bacon, sausage, homemade biscuits right out of the oven, potatoes, and fried apples. My Papaw would drink buttermilk…yuck!
But things change!
Mamaw passed away first and Papaw remarried “the widow lady from down the road.” Several years later he and the “widow lady” passed as well and the farm was sold to someone who didn’t have the same appreciation for its memories, traditions, and importance in our lives.
Last week my sister, brother-in-law, and I were traveling back from having lunch with my brother and his family in Frankfort, Kentucky. Our plan was to travel back to southern Ohio by a route that would allow us to stop at the cemetery where my parents have been laid to rest. My Mamaw and Papaw are buried there, also, as are several other relatives. The cemetery is close to the Helton farm, so our plan was to do a drive-by.
However, we missed the turn that would take us past the Staffordsville post office and then the farm. My sister looked at me and asked if we should backtrack to find it and I said no.
It was a sad “no”, filled with disappointment and lost laughter of the past. I had driven by it a year before and she had seen it several times. Each of us knew of its reverse renovation. That is, whoever lives there now isn’t concerned about curb appeal and cleanliness. It has slid down the slope towards trashed. The front porch swings are long gone. In fact, the yard and porch are so cluttered it’s hard to tell where the front wall of the house begins. Weeds have been welcomed and have taken over the chicken coop and pig pen.
No longer does it give an appearance of being inviting. It resembles more a scene out of a Halloween horror movie.
And so we did not feel the need, dare I say, or have any desire to drive past what was significant in our past and see what it has transformed into being.
It’s one of the downsides of growing older that often gets forgotten. We focus on aging joints and more prescription bottles in the cabinet, what gives us constipation and heartburn. We have discussions on taxes and Social Security, doctor appointments and AARP. To see the deterioration of our childhood places wounds us deeply. There’s the grief of losing someone close to us, but there is also a different flavor of grief where we lose what we’ve known, the place that has helped shape who we have become.
Things change, often for the better, but sometimes they change in ways that couldn’t possibly be any worse.
Categories: children, Community, Death, Grandchildren, love, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: chicken coop, Eastern Kentucky, family history, family memories, family stories, farming, front porch swing, grandparents, grandparents farm, Kentucky farm, memories
Comments: Be the first to comment
July 9, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. July 9, 2019
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God…” (Ephesians 2:8, NIV)
When it comes to foreign languages I’m suspect! Always have been, from two years of Spanish in high school, a flunking quarter of Latin in college, and a “Did Not Pass” in Hebrew one fateful term in seminary. I could blame it on my Kentucky and Southern Ohio roots where English words are pronounced differently or just man up to my weakness.
It drove me to cheat! Yes, that’s right! In Mr. Gerling’s Spanish 1 class at Maysville High School I looked for any way to avoid flunking, so there were a few times where I glanced at someone else’s “examen” (I just used Google to find out the Spanish word for exam! See!)
So when I received a “B” in Spanish the feeling of accomplishment was tainted by my own feelings of guilt. What I received I hadn’t earned. It made me squirm, but, of course, I was not forthcoming with the sharing of that knowledge with my parents.
There is something about us, about our nature, that makes us uncomfortable about receiving something we haven’t legally earned. I should say “most of us”. The recent college admissions scandal is an example of people who have used their influence and wealth to gain something not earned, and they didn’t seem to feel uncomfortable over the situation until they were discovered.
But I was “squirmed” by my Spanish B!
I think of that classroom episode when I ponder the grace of God. Cheating on Spanish tests is not the reason I think of grace, but rather that feeling of guilt- Baptist guilt, mind you, the worst kind!- that descended upon me.
What I’ve found is that a lot of followers of Christ are very uncomfortable with grace. It’s like they snuck into the ballpark and suddenly found themselves in the VIP seats. There is that nagging feeling about receiving something that was not earned.
It makes grace, this amazing gift of God, so uncomfortable to receive.
Many followers of Jesus resort to one of our foundational societal norms: earning whatever it is we desire to receive. Most of us desire to be loved. Some people go through their whole lives trying to earn their parents’ love. Some spouses try to earn the love of their husband or wife, even though they’ve said marriage vows that say as much. We desire to be loved.
Followers of Christ desire to be loved by God. Some accept his unconditional love and experience the embrace of His grace. From my 36 years of pastoral ministry, however, I will tell you that most Christians are so uncomfortable with the grace of God that they seek to earn it.
They serve out of obligation. They worship out of duty. They pray out of a sense of responsibility. They read scripture as if it’s a chore. The spiritual barrier in their lives is the acceptance of God’s grace. They just can’t quite go there. It feels…what’s the word…unearned!
And that’s because that’s what it is! Unearned. It goes against the grain.
There are, mind you, other people who are on the other end of the spectrum. That is, they take the grace of God for granted. But that’s a conversation for another day.
Over the years the people who have embraced the grace of God and lived their lives refreshed by His grace are a small congregation. Many others fluctuate between grace-filled living and trying to earn the love of God. I know, I’m one of them!
I squirm as I admit that, even more than I squirmed when the B showed up on my report card for Spanish 1.
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: Baptist guilt, cheating, cheating on tests, earning favor, Ephesians 2:8, flunking, grace, grace-filled, legalism, Maysville High School, obligation
Comments: Be the first to comment
June 15, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. June 15, 2019
A friend of mine made a wise statement today as we waited together in the Calgary airport. His dad had died at the age of 62 after sustaining a brain injury in a fall. My friend, a month into his 65th year, says he does not want to live his life out of the whine that says “I wish I would have…”
This past week was the third mission work trip I’ve been on with him. He’s vey much about helping people by using the skills and knowledge he has gained over the years, and he has become passionate about that pursuit.
That is awesome! It’s also probably not the norm. My estimate is that there are more people who live with the outlook that says “I wish I would have…” than there are people who say “I’m blessed to be able to…” There’s more people who preside in the land of regrets than living their lives for a reason.
“I wish I would have budgeted better.”
“I wish I would have studied more when I was in school.”
“I wish I would have spent more time with my kids.”
“I wish I would have valued rest as much as I did my work.”
“I wish I would have thought about the consequences before I committed the stupidity.”
The list is long and torturous, the tears tragic and wet. Oh that there would be more people to understand why in the world they are here!
When you meet someone who comes to that understanding of purpose-filled and healthy living it impresses you. It makes you ponder what would happen if there was ever a whole village of people who lived with that outlook?
Or even a whole block that adopted that mindset! Wouldn’t that be something? They’d probably send a national news team to cover it.
Or even a church that seeks to live out the gospel, however that may look, more than padding its stats and increasing its numbers.
Instead we’re pummeled with stories of regret and sadness that make us wonder what is wrong with people?
Maybe this life of purpose, living for a reason, maybe it could just start…with me!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Freedom, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: I wish I would have..., making a difference, planning ahead, Purpose, purposeful living, pursuit, regrets, responsible, stupidity, thinking ahead
Comments: Be the first to comment
June 14, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. June 13, 2019
Our lives are filled with waiting. We wait to go through security at the airport. We wait to see the doctor. We wait to leave and we wait for others to arrive.
We also have those situations in life where we are waiting for something to begin. We wait for the movie to start and we wait for the light to turn green. We wait for the new baby to arrive and we wait, years later, for that baby to walk down the aisle with his new bride.
Sometimes in life, however, we may be waiting for something that we are already in the midst of.
Blessings are like that. I hear people talk about looking for a blessing, or praying for a blessing. The implications are that the blessings are always in the future or haven’t happened yet. But what if we’re in the midst of the blessing? What if we’ve been walking on the bridge of blessings that connected the before with the after?
Do we consider that God has answered our prayers to be blessed already and we’re in it? Blessings are too often seen as “not yet happening”.
I write this from a beautiful church camp location in British Columbia. Five other men and I are here this week doing work projects for friends of ours who are the camp directors. As our projects have progressed and come to completion we’ve been prone to stepping back and looking at what has been done.
Like blessings, however, the tasks were being accomplished as we were in the middle of them. Completion is just another phase of the journey.
Recognizing that blessings are happening in the present, in the moment, is a perspective that evades many people’s understanding. There is the danger of always looking to the future for the gold pot at the end of the rainbow and never rejoicing in the peace of the present.
Oh, that there would be more people who sense the touch of God’s hand upon their lives right now, this moment, today! Oh, that there would be more people who have the awareness of God’s guidance and love now, not the warped sense of reality that thinks the blessings are always on the other side of the fence.
What a tragedy it is when someone is waiting to be blessed and he misses the fact that it commenced a while ago!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Jesus, love, Pastor, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: being blessed, blessed, blessings
Comments: Be the first to comment
June 5, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. June 4, 2019
I received a termination notice from a school I’ve been a substitute teacher at. The notice was the result of not having subbed there a single day this past school year. Timberview Middle School, where I teach so often that some of the students think I’m one of the regular instructors, schedules me a steady 3 days a week. It’s also where I coach three sports and practices begin right after school. As Carol keeps saying to me, “You’re suppose to be retired!”
“Reconfigured, dear!”
The other school that was looking to terminate me has its dismissal bell 15 minutes later than Timberview, and the traffic jam getting out of the school grounds resembles the chaos of Paris streets.
I went to talk to the person who schedules substitutes and we worked things out for next year.
“You know, Johanna, at my age when I hear the word “terminate” I think of other things.”
“Sorry, Mr. Wolfe. We really don’t like to terminate people.”
“That’s a relief! You know, I’m starting to look for where the defibrillator is when I come into the school building.”
“You’re not serious?”
“No, but I might be if the word “terminate” gets used too many more times.”
When you reach Medicare age you start to think about things like that. You start to think about how long your hips and knees are going to hold up, how many more “rodeos’ you have in you, and what you can’t eat more than what you can eat.
But you also start thinking about old friends, people who have been a part of your journey in the past or the present. There is a longing inside you to reconnect, to sit and converse, to have a few more of those moments together, like in the past, that cause you to smile.
One of those old friends, Chuck Moore, pastor of First Baptist Church of Champaign/Savoy, Illinois, had a serious health situation about a month ago. Another old friend (In fact, the oldest of the three of us…like, just a few days younger than dirt!), Tom Bayes, has talked to me about converging in Champaign to see Chuck. Tom lives in the Charlotte, North Carolina area now. The three of us pastored churches in the Lansing, Michigan area for years and became close friends. Our “BMW Group” (Bayes, Moore, Wolfe) met for lunch every other week for seven years.
Tom and I have “a need” to see Chuck. It’s that longing that won’t go away, the relational equivalent of a Big Mac Attack. (Oh, there’s another word that causes us to shudder in our old age…attack!)
Two days ago I received an email from a long lost friend named Randy Bockman. We lost touch with one another about two decades ago. What a delight to read an email from “The Bock”! We met while studying at Miami (Ohio) University and became good friends. He was one of my groomsmen. But then we lost touch with one another. I moved to Colorado Springs and he moved from Cincinnati to somewhere in Indiana.
When I read his message, once again, that longing to reconnect rose to the surface. He was one of the greatest guys I ever met and my life has been a bit impoverished without his presence.
Old friends are like rain showers for parched souls. They are God’s blessings for the last parts of our journeys.
Brandon Bayes, Tom’s son who sometimes says something that qualifies as wisdom (I know he’s reading that comment so I had to make it a bit sarcastic!), said to his dad, “Are you all going to wait until there’s a funeral to get together?” It was not really a question, but more like a coach’s halftime admonition to his team as they huddle together in the locker room.
When old friends reappear, or old friends have a setback of some kind, you can’t get rid of the urgency to see them again. It’s what signals to you that your life has depth, has roots of relational significance.
Categories: Christianity, Community, Death, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, Uncategorized
Tags: friendship, reconnecting with old friends
Comments: Be the first to comment
June 2, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. June 2, 2019
I ran three miles yesterday. Today my hips are feeling the effects! Someday I’ll probably have to have hip replacement surgery, but let’s don’t talk about that right now, okay?
This morning I sorta’ limped down the steps. You know, an “Ouch” noise whispered through my lips each step down.
Running is not good for certain parts of the body, but great for the cardio! For that matter, life is not good for parts of us, but great in other ways. A few days ago I had a fried seafood platter. It was great for my taste buds, but my arteries are waving the white flag.
All of us have “life limps” of some sort. Recently I found a copy of my freshman transcripts from college. My ego limped through the next couple of hours as I was reminded of the “0.533” grade point average I accumulated in my first quarter of higher education.
Ouch!
Then there are limps that tell ongoing stories. My friend, Jim Newsome, who passed away a few months ago had a slight limp for most of his life. The limp was the result of having polio when he was in the Navy back in the early 1950’s. He spent a month in an iron lung, unsure of whether he would live or die. Five other sailors who had the disease died. Jim lived. He believed that God spared him for a reason, a life reason, and he served his Heavenly Father for the next 65+ years…with a limp!
A God limp!
There are those who limp along with God and those who have a God Limp. That is, there are those who limp through life affected by its damage, slowed by bad decisions, and scarred by the bitterness…and God is with them, but not in an intimate way. He’s like an acquaintance, not a friend.
And then there are those who walk closely with God, depend on His leading, are encouraged by his companionship, and are touched by His hand. Like Jacob, their wrestling with Him over the problems and conflicts of life have produced a limp that has been the result of the close relationship.
With Jim Newsome, his limp became a lead in to conversation about coming near to death, living a life of purpose, and trusting in the Lord.
People with “God Limps” are special, grounded, and, unfortunately, rare! I’ve been fortunate to have a number of them in my life. They are faith followers who lean on the Lord.
This morning I’ll lead worship with the saints of Simla, Colorado. John and Sherry will talk about leaning on the Lord in regards to the Cowboy Camp their family has run for 64 years- a week in June where people gather for worship, fellowship, and evangeIistic services. Each year there are needs that they pray through, like for a cook this year to fix the three meals each day for the 100 or so people who camp there. When God stops providing they believe that Cowboy Camp will end. BUT each year He provides, so they keep going. It’s their God Limp, pronounced and blessed.
This afternoon I’ll run another three miles and walk gingerly through the rest of the day, and I’ll ponder the closeness of God that I brace myself beside instead of limping along with Him!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: closeness, God dependence, Jacob, Jacob wrestling with God, lame, limping, spiritual intimacy, spiritual journey, the presence of God, walking with a limp, walking with God, wrestling
Comments: Be the first to comment
May 20, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. May 19, 2019
Carol and I are returning from a European river cruise that was awesome and memorable. Being in the youngest 20% on the boat made us feel like 65 year old teenagers! Suddenly, as we travel home, we’re feeling a bit weathered!
Our friends, Dave and Robyn Hughes, joined us on the cruise. They now live in Bradenton, Florida, but a long, long…very long time ago Dave and I went to high school together, he performed the function of being my Best Man, and I performed his wedding ceremony.
It was good! It was needed! It was heart aching!
You see, Dave and Robyn’s oldest son, Brad, passed away two years ago this month. His death was the result of an unfortunate accident. Brad was in his mid-thirties at the time of his passing. When I received word of his death I called Dave and we talked for a few minutes, but being together on the cruise was a chance for us to talk face-to-face, laugh and cry, journey through the dark lonely walk, and renew our deep friendship.
He talked, I listened, asking a few clarifying questions as he retold the story, but mostly just listened. A friend is someone you can laugh with, but, more importantly, a friend is someone who stays on the path with you. The path is adorned with bright flowers at certain times, but also potholes of misery at other times.
Dave needed to talk. Grief causes some people to clench their jaw muscles tight in firm anger and anguish, while other people need to talk through it. It is the honesty of grief that reveals the loss, deep loss, and its effects on different people in different ways. Americans still live in the land of denial when a significant loss occurs. We so often are in fear of looking weak, but grief is not about who is strong and who is weak. Grief is about healing the wounds of loss.
All of us have, or soon will, experience loss in some way. For Carol and I, all of our parents are now deceased. It’s a tug on our hearts at any moment. A conversation from long ago breaks to the surface and Mom or Dad seems to be right there…but they aren’t.
So Dave and I talked, and sometimes rested in the silence of our conversation. We told each other old stories that we’ve shared umpteen times already and pondered the questions that have no answers.
Friendship is about listening. It’s about taking the hand of the other and leading him into the unrest, and it’s about helping him look ahead in the looming shadow of the past. It’s allowing the other to ask the questions of spiritual doubt and confusion without rushing to the shallowness of snappy conclusions.
I miss my old friend! I’ll miss the opportunity to stand on the deck of the boat and listen to his sadness, and to retell the stories of the pranks we pulled on each other and others. We long for our next gathering, wherever that might be…God willing!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Jesus, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: being a friend, easy answers, Friends, friendship, grief, grieving, listen, listener, listening, listening skills, loss, loss and transition, shallowness
Comments: Be the first to comment
May 17, 2019
WORDS FROM W.W. May 15, 2019
Dear Kids!
Perhaps a few of you have been asking the question this week that needs answering: Where is Mr. Wolfe?
Perhaps not!…but just pretend, okay!
I could not be with you because I had to be in another place, sailing down the Rhine River in Germany! It was a tough choice…spending a few days controlling the Timberview Middle School chaos, conversing with snotty—nosed sixth graders; trying to keep the attention of overly dramatic seventh grade girls, who are still under the allusion that Johnny with bad breath, facial hair, and an inflated ego, likes them; keeping an eye on Peter Picker, who has the unfortunate habit of picking his nose and eating the treasures; and providing security for any eighth grade class to make sure no criminal offenses are committed!
Yes, sailing down the Rhine on a riverboat cruise, being pampered with exceptional cuisine, and twice-a-day maid service…or substitute teaching middle schoolers…tough choice!
But I DO miss you! Paris was lovely and romantic, but subbing for Mr. Frasca and PE class is the bomb!
I miss having to say to Gaming Gary “Are you on your cell phone?”, and then having the gaming guru get all offended and disrespectful because, as all of his classmates know, the world revolves around him and his ability to rise to Level 1,893!
I miss the high fives and singing “Happy Birthday” to Ava in my operatic voice, even though her special day has been in the rear view mirror for two months.
I miss tupperware salad lunches!
I miss the bleary-eyed looks and frizzy hair of the students, who obviously fell out of bed at 7:20 and were seated in the classroom 20 minutes later.
I miss the sharing of sarcastic humor with students who appreciate the personal attention and the fact that I actually know their names.
I miss the stories that are being created, although sailing along the Rhine with my wife is creating some new memories that are meaningful and do not involve any references to Sponge Bob.
I miss Mr. McKinney and how we play off one another in comedic dialogue.
I miss the high-pitched voices of the next rocket scientists and the apathetic attitudes of those future fast-food restaurant employees who are about as exciting as generic cereal!
I miss the opportunities to just hang around with awesome kids, be youth-enized by their perspectives and verbiage, and be delighted by their potential.
Some days when I substitute teach could be compared to discovering you have a big pimple on the end of your nose, but most days are more like adventures into a brave new world! Just keep bad breath Johnny away from me and remind me never to shake hands with Peter Picker!
Categories: children, Grandchildren, Humor, love, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: middle school, middle school boys, middle school students, middle school teachers, middle schoolers, Rhine River, substitute teacher, substitute teaching, vacation
Comments: Be the first to comment
Words from WW Blog 