Hands

Allisa (my Mentor Teacher) and I do this thing with our kids called "powerful line writing" where we listen to a song or a piece of spoken word poetry and have the kids pick a powerful from the piece. They are then instructed to write the powerful line at the top of the page and then write about why that line is powerful. Our goal with this type of writing is for students to just write. There is no length requirement and what the kids write is completely self-generated. The kids turn these in and they go in their writing folders. Rarely do we grade them, but we do always read them, and let me say, I'm always humbled by what these kids write. We want to show them that writing can be therapeutic, and you often end with something you didn't have in mind when you started. The Common Core leaves little room for narrative writing, but one of the standards is to "write routinely over time" and so that's where our little powerful line exercise comes in. 

Anyway, I got to pick the spoken word poem we did last week, and Sarah Kay is one of my favorites. (For those of you who are not familiar with spoken word, here is Wikipedia's definition.) I chose Sarah Kay's poem, "Hands," having no idea how much it would resonate with me. 

To watch Sarah Kay's "Hands," go here. I also suggest you watch some of her other poetry, too. 

I've thought a lot about this poem and the notions Kay presents in "Hands," and realized just how hand-oriented my family is. When I think about my grandma, the one thing I remember most vividly about her, other than the faint tick, tick of her pacemaker, is her hands. I remember her long fingernails that were always well groomed and how often she yelled at me for my dirty ones. She was always doing something with her hands: sewing, doing dishes, polishing silver, folding laundry, baking, cooking. One Christmas after she died I tried to make her famous pie crusts and while I was squishing the Crisco into the cup like she'd shown me, it was like her hands replaced my own. I looked down and saw her fingernails and her knuckles wrinkled with age. I remember standing back for a moment and looking at my hands to make sure they were my own. Her hands were the ones that rubbed my temples for over an hour when I had my first migraine at 11; the hands that patiently scraped shampoo out of my carpet when I spilled over half a bottle in my room; the hands that sat over a sewing machine for hours on end fixing my dance costumes or hemming pants; the hands that made my lunch each day with just the right amount of peanut butter to jelly ratio; the hands that clapped elegantly at every softball game and dance recital, and the hands that baked so many batches of cookies and cakes and pies that I couldn't count. I miss those hands.

And I think about G's hands. Grandpa's funeral was this past Saturday, and it was a hard day. I really haven't given myself time to cry- I try to stay busy so that the grief can't catch up with me, but we all know that at some point it does. Saturday was hard...really hard. I miss Grandpa so much, so much that my heart aches to have him back. I've been really angry lately- another stage of grief. I've found it hard to pray. It's not that I'm angry at God, I'm just angry at the way things work. I'm angry that life works the way it does and that people have to leave. I know that in time my heart will soften again and allow myself to hear God's faint whisper, but I'm angry right now, and that's OK.

Anyway, when I was driving back to Athens on Sunday I thought about G's hands. His hands that nursed people back to help as a navy corpsman in WWII; the hands that diligently washed chocolate out of the couch with me so that Grandma wouldn't know we both ate it before dinner when she told us not to; the swollen, arthritic knuckles from years spent hand-washing and peeling potatoes at his fast food restaurant, Jif Jiffy; the hands that build my wooden doll house piece by piece; hands that fixed every broken glass, every broken Christmas ornament; hands that figured out how to fix broken plumbing, that planted flowers and tomato plants; hands that laid each brick that lines the garden in our backyard; hands that diligently cleaned the stove when it had burn marks from Mom cooking for 14+ people each night; hands that in the last few years gripped a cane to aid his walking; hands that tickled just a little too hard, but left his grandkids and great grandkids giggling nonetheless; and hands that would grab my shoulder reassuringly, always letting me know that it would be OK. 

When I think about G's hands, I think about the last moments I spent with him. He asked Courtney and I to cut his fingernails. A man of 92, whose hands had done more than I could ever imagine in his lifetime, finally came to the moment when he couldn't cut his own nails. This was 3 days before he died. At the time I did it while thinking his nails were kind of gross. After all, he'd been bed ridden for almost two weeks at this point- he couldn't wash his hands. I was struck at how swollen his hands were from his lack of dialysis. I look at cutting his nails right now and am humbled. G hated not being able to do things for himself. He yelled "ouch" once because I got too close to the skin, but then laughed after I apologized. When I finished cutting his nails he looked at me so humbly with those clear-blue eyes and said, "thanks, Vic." 

Sarah Kay argues that hands tell a story, and I know they do. Every wrinkle in G's hands tells of the time he spent doing things that we take for granted- washing dishes, polishing silver, fixing a broken toy, car, or pipe, flipping pages of a newspaper, driving, brushing his teeth, playing with his kids, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Every wrinkle had its own unique story. 

Grandpa's hands were the one that taught me how to tie up a chicken to put on the rotisserie, how to check the oil in a car, how to screw in a light bulb, how to superglue something together without getting your hands glued together, or how he taught me the right way to squeeze the juice out of a grapefruit. I still feel his hand on my shoulder as he walked by or how many times he'd see my bare feet on the couch and walk by and tickle them, telling me to put socks on because I was making him cold. I see his hands giving me a reassuring squeeze each time I was upset or angry. Oh what I would give to feel that reassuring squeeze on my shoulder or arm. I would give anything to feel that gentle squeeze again. 

Oh G, you are sorely missed. I know you're in Heaven now with your beautiful wife looking down on all of us with a smile. My only comfort comes in knowing I'll see you again some day and you can squeeze my shoulder again and tell me that it will all work out in the end.

Heaven gained an angel...

Heaven gained an angel this morning. Sweet Grandpa died around 8 am today. I woke up this morning knowing it was going to happen. I overslept, spilled coffee on myself twice, and got 5 minutes away before realizing I forgot my phone, and then my gas light came on while I was still 40 minutes from RCA. It was just one of those mornings, and I felt it in my bones that G was leaving us today. As I pulled into the school parking lot (17 minutes late), I stopped for a minute and amid the raining and cloudy day the sun broke through the clouds with the rays shining everywhere, and it was like G was in the car with me, "I'll never leave, Vic," and I just knew. My supervisors have all been very nice and let me leave school today to go home.

To be honest, I don't know how I'm going to do this. I'm somewhere in the "5 stages of grief" of being in denial and angry. Not angry at God or anyone in particular, but just a little angry about the way life goes. I don't want to have to grieve again. And I'm angry that Grandpa is gone. I really can't believe he's gone; there is an aching hole in my heart. For those of you who don't know, my grandparents moved in with us about a year and a half after my dad died. Grandpa wasn't in the greatest health at that point and my mom needed some help trying to get Kristy, Jackie, and I to our various extracurricular activities (Courtney was in college at this point). I'm happy Grandpa is with Jesus and my grandma, but I'm angry that he's not going to greet me at the door anymore, or yell out some random newspaper story to me while I'm in the other room. I'm going to miss walking into the house and seeing him sit on the front porch. I'll miss chastising him for feeding Maggie from the table, and then him getting mad at her for begging so much. I'll miss his ability to super glue anything back together. I'll miss his "In the navy..." stories and his at times inappropriate jokes. And yes, I will miss his stubborn disposition, because I have definitely inherited that trait.

About two weeks ago when things got really bad, I wrote G a letter in my prayer journal. I'm sad I didn't give it to him, but I don't know how he would have responded; Grandpa wasn't one for sentimental words.

To the man who helped raise me,

You came at a time when I experienced my first kind of heartbreak- losing my daddy. I knew you as Grandpa George, the man who survived cancer, was my mom's dad, served in World War II, read the newspaper, liked to garden, and played tiger with me. I was 8, and your timing was perfect.

For the first 5 years you lived here my relationship with Grandma flourished, and I think that's because at that point in my life I needed her most, but you were always there. You insisted on buying me treats at the grocery store, and you were never afraid to have a firm hand with me- which I often resisted but almost always needed. At some point we got a little closer, and you became just "Grandpa." 

When I was in 8th grade, our relationship changed forever, from that of a grandfather-granddaughter, to a real friendship. It's when you were coined "G" because you thought G stood for Grandpa, not gangsta. You became my G, and I became your V. You started a game of tag by writing "you're it" in paint on the back deck. And then there was the "I love you" game of who could say it last. 

Although you always let me put barrettes in your hair and put my wet hair in your face, everything changed on Christmas day 2005; it was your 84th birthday and the day Grandma died. I went to wake you both up and Grandma didn't wake up- I'll never forget the look on your face. She was someone special to both of us. In that moment, everything changed. I'd never seen you cry before that day and we both grieved.

Well G, we didn't think you'd make it long after she died, but you made it 8 years. You told me you'd see me get my license, then see me graduate from high school, see Courtney get her PhD, and watch me graduate from college. I told you earlier today that it was ok to let go. I'd be ok if you couldn't see me get my diploma. From that day on you and I ate dinner together, just the two of us, for almost 3 years when Mom had to work late. I think in that time we got closer. You were the first person I told about my day. You picked me up from the bus stop when it was raining or too cold. You left me notes for me to see in the morning, and I'd write you a note back- I still have some of those. Within just a couple of years you went from a somewhat stranger to more like my best friend. You made sure I did my homework, and always asked me to watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy.

I know I wasn't always easy. I was bratty, disrespectful, and snappy. But G, I don't know who I'd be without you. How many 78 year old men volunteer to help to take care of an 8 year old? The only two words I can think to say are thank you. And, I love you.

-V

There's so much more I could say. G saw me through the heartbreak of my dad's death, losing Grandma, and my first break up (with the same boy twice). G told me what outfits looked good and always gave life advice, like "watch out for sailors," because he was one. More than anything, Grandpa showed me what it looks like when a man truly loves a woman. Not many people stay married for 59 years anymore, or uphold their vows of "till death do us part," but G did. My grandma died 8 years ago, and G died still wearing his wedding ring. I can't believe I'll go home and won't see him. I sat in his room today and cried. I know he's still with me, but it doesn't make this pain lessen. I have no idea where I'd be without him, or who I'd be. 

G, I love you. 

All We Ever Do is Say Goodbye

John Mayer has a song, "All We Ever Do is Say Goodbye," and sometimes I feel like that's just the story of life- saying goodbye. I wrote in my last post that Grandpa isn't doing well, and last night I had a really hard phone conversation with my mom. Grandpa, "G," has decided to go to in-home hospice care and stop having dialysis- no machines. What this really means, is that G has made the decision to say goodbye. He can, however, at any time, decide to receive dialysis again, but I think his decision has been made. 

He cried. My stoic, not-so-sentimental grandpa cried when he made this decision. I cannot even fathom how difficult that was for him. In his words, "his mind has outlived his body." I called to talk to him last night, and the phone conversation lasted 2 minutes because neither of us could stop crying. What do you do when you hear your 92 year old grandpa crying? The only time I've ever seen him cry is when my grandma died 8 years ago. 

Goodbye. How many times did I wish I'd had the chance to say goodbye to my dad? To my grandma? I would have leaped through fire to have had that opportunity. Yet here that opportunity is presenting itself and I don't want it. How do you say goodbye to the man who served as your surrogate father for 13 years? To the man who told you to pick yourself up, "you'll be alright," every time life knocked you down? To the 92 year old man who served in a world war, was married to the same woman for 59 years? A woman who the doctors said would never have children or live past 21? How do you say goodbye to a man who has 2 children, 6 grandchildren, and 6 great-grandchildren? Who worked his way through life, always making responsible choices? To a man who was Mr. Fix It, and never paid someone to fix things if he could do it himself? A man who got on the ground to play with not only his children, grandchildren, but great-grandchildren to be the "tiger" that chased us around the house? How do you say goodbye?

It's easy for me to feel like life is a series of goodbyes. I'm about to lose a third most important person in my life. I think my family and I are justified being sad and a little depressed. I have no doubt that we will make it through this- we always do. Sometimes though, it's easy to get tired of fighting. Tired of thinking "OK, let's add one more thing to my plate, one more disappointment, one more upset," but you know what? G's life was full of those moments, but he still lived it to the full. 

My grandparents went on cruises with their friends at 60. They bought an RV and drove across the country. At 70+ they went down water slides. I was 11 when I came home from school to find G trying to ride my bike in the driveway (he was 82 at the time). He still cut the grass in the yard until 2 years ago. We had to hide the ladders in the house because we were afraid he'd fall off and break a bone. He didn't let the amount of goodbyes he'd said in his life keep him down. 

I have felt God preparing me for this time for about a year now, but it doesn't make it any easier. Yes, I've gotten into shouting matches with G. I've snapped at him. I've been so angry I saw red. I've been rude. I've been disrespectful. But he's loved me anyway. For now, he's still kickin'. As I go home this weekend to spend time with my family, I don't want it to be sad. I plan on listening to G tell his "In the navy..." stories. I hope to laugh, because if anything, I will always remember the twinkle in G's eyes, letting us all know that he was secretly up to no good. If I make it to 92, I pray to God that I have that twinkle in my eyes, because despite the heartache of life, if I still have that twinkle, there's still something to live for. 

He will always be the "G" to my "V."

Smile, God loves you! 

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
~Romans 8:28

Hello 2014! (cliche title, I know)

I cannot believe that 2013 came and went. 2013 began with me recovering from my 2nd surgery to remove 2 more benign tumors from my breast, for a total of 4 tumors over 2 years (all benign, praise the Lord! And this is very common for young women, so friends, consider this a PSA to check yourselves!). 2014 was brought in with a stomach bug, which my mom thinks is the flu, even though I got my flu shot, but I always trust the nurse. I'm still recovering, but pretty bored out of my mind-there are only so many episodes of Keeping Up With the Kardashians that a girl can watch, you know? 

2013 was certainly a whirlwind; I feel like I can't even remember it all! What I do know is how grateful I am to God for giving me another year on this earth, preparing me more and more each day to live eternity with Him someday (hopefully not soon!). 

As this new year begins, it begins with a taste of something bittersweet. Grandpa, or "G", really isn't doing well, and it breaks my heart to see him this way. He went on peritoneal dialysis for his kidneys several month ago, and in an effort to get the fluid to drain, he broke several vertebrae and is in a lot of pain. So much pain, that he's barely eating or drinking. For those of you who know me well, you know how much this kills me. My grandparents moved in when I was 8, about a year and a half after my dad died, and so G has been the male influence in my life for 13 years, and it's hard for me to imagine my life without him. I have felt God preparing me for the last year to say goodbye, but that doesn't make this any easier. This winter break has been spent shedding many tears and letting G know how much I love him. Man that guy is a fighter though, and his mind is still as sharp as a tack! He is fighting to make it to my graduation in May, but several days ago I told him it was OK if he didn't want to fight anymore. Grandpa isn't a very sentimental guy, but he squeezed my hand as I told him that, so I know he understood. Regardless, it's never easy to see someone you love in so much pain, and this has really shaken my relationship with God- I think it's only normal to be angry with God when you see someone you love hurting, but I have to remember that G was and always will be God's child before he was my grandpa. I've also been showered with love and support from my friends, which is yet another reminder of how blessed I am by the people in my life.

2013 certainly had its challenges, and I had to make some pretty tough decisions, but above all it has taught me that I really can do anything through Him who gives me strength. I've survived the realization that my loved ones won't be around forever, seeing a friend go through some awful struggles, have come out on the other side of depression, and have survived the most difficult semester of my college career and gotten used to waking up at 5:30am! 

2014 brings about a lot of change- I will be student teaching full time starting in about a week (YIKES), will graduate from college (kicking and screaming), and will (hopefully) start my first full-time job teaching. Who knows what else the year will hold?! With that being said, I do want to set some goals for 2014. I don't really like the word "resolution" for the new year, and goals always feel like they're more attainable to me. Here we go:

- Work out 3 times a week, bringing my gym bag in my car so I have no excuse not to exercise. I know this is cliche, but seriously, I'm such a better person when I exercise, and my waist line isn't exactly where it should be

- Eat clean in 2014! I've been reading so many articles lately about what processed foods do to our bodies, so I really want to cut all of that junk out and start eating food that's natural and comes from the earth (so really eat the things God created for our body to eat)

- By the end of 2014, I would like to have paid off at least $1,500 of my student loans- this number may change based on my budget with a job that I will hopefully get, but I'm graduating with A LOT of debt, despite going to an in-state school, having the HOPE scholarship, and living for free by working through college. 

- Set aside God time every day. I notice how much I change when I don't have this time, and it's so easy to say "I'll do it tomorrow" with my busy schedule, but even if it's just for a short time, I want to spend time with God each day. 

- Stick to a budget! I really struggle with this, so I need to stick to it!

- Work on my "short fuse." My sisters and I all inherited our dad's anger and his short-temper, so this is something I really want to work on in 2014. 

- Really make a difference in students' lives. Enough said.

Well, despite this being a long post, I feel like I have more to write, but since I've been in bed for the last 2 days, sitting up for this amount of time is making my head pound, so for now...

Smile, God loves you!

Life reflects the heart...

Whoa I'm writing two days in a row?! Why yes, yes I am. In all actuality I'm on duty, can't leave the building, and am avoiding doing my video analysis for my portfolio defense on Monday. And, well, avoiding moping around that I chose this weekend to be on duty when everyone is out having fun and I can't go. But I digress.

I was catching up on a couple of the devotions I missed this last week, and I found one that stuck with me a lot, especially after last night's post. The verse for the day was 

As in water face reflects face, so a man's heart reveals the man.

-Proverbs 27:19

This, paired with the devotion that followed, really struck me. Some of the highlights include:

"The reflection of our heart is seen in our lives as an exact replica. Our lives testify to what is in our heart."

"How someone lives reveals to you the things they hold dear in their heart."

I had a conversation a couple of weeks ago with my good friend Elisabeth; we were catching up over coffee and updating each other on our lives. She told me a story about a woman that she works with. She said that this woman curses a lot and is anything but pleasant to her coworkers. Elisabeth said it's a known thing to avoid her. Anyway, this woman wasn't at work one day and was apparently at a church function, and coworkers said the woman was heavily involved in her church. Elisabeth explained her shock to me and then had an alarming thought that I think a lot of Christians face at one time or another- "Are people shocked when they learn that I love Jesus?" I think the fact that Elisabeth and I (and many of my friends) can talk about Jesus and our love of God in public, that we aren't afraid to pray over our meals, etc., reveals that we certainly aren't ashamed in our faith, but are people shocked when they learn that I have a heart for the Lord?

A heart for the Lord.

Is that evident in the way I act towards others? When people meet me or interact with me is there something different about me? I've interacted with several people that I just knew from the minute they stepped in the room that they were Christians. I could tell by the way they introduced themselves and by the kindness they immediately showed to others. Then one way or another this would be confirmed either in something they or someone else said. I wasn't surprised. 

When I was going through my depression last year I prayed so much that God's light would shine before me and that when people met me they would see something different, but that it wouldn't be me they would see, but God. One of the greatest compliments I ever received was from a resident last year; she said that in my email welcoming the residents to the hall she could tell I was a Christian. An email?! Talk about something impersonal, but she said she could just tell. 

My fear is that I've lost that "sparkle." Not because God isn't glowing within me, but am I allowing it to shine through me? Am I allowing His love to shine through my insecurities? Through my shortcomings? Am I boasting in my weaknesses to bring Him all the more glory? I can say that honestly, at times, no. 

I want people to look at me and see Jesus. I don't want others to be surprised when they see my SAO letters or the cross engraved in my ring. I want the cross engraved on my heart so that when they see me they see love, forgiveness, honesty, kindness, and friendship. I want them to see a goodness in me- a purity in my heart for God. But the goodness is not of myself- it's of the Holy Spirit and the fact that daily I surrender my heart to God's will and walk with the faith that He is in control. I ask that those of you reading this help keep me accountable to the things I pray for.

Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace,seasoned with salt, so you may know how to answer everyone.

-Colossians 4:5-7

Smile, God loves you! 

Contemporary Christianity

This is more of a thought rant post...but then again, what post isn't. So there's this adorable church in Athens that always has a fantastic pumpkin patch every year. Personally, I don't know anyone who attends that church (at least that I know of, but you never know being in a sorority with 130 Christian women), but I have nothing to base this off of other than the sign that's at the front of their church. For the longest time this summer and early fall it read "Contemporary Christianity in the Classic City" (for those of you that don't know, Athens is called the "Classic City"). So I'm sure what they meant by this had more to do with contemporary music, but it brought a thought to my mind every time I drove past it...

What exactly is "contemporary" Christianity? 

With Christmas just around the corner, we know that Christianity has been around for awhile, so what does it mean to be "contemporary"? I think of contemporary dance which is kind of like a cross between ballet, lyrical, and jazz. If the Bible is God's Holy Word, then how can we live according to the Bible and be contemporary? Then it kind of hit me: We live as contemporary Christians each and every time we justify our sins. 

We live in a fallen world. It's the truth. And our world screams of sin- just turn on the TV or radio or walk into a bookstore- the temptation of sin is everywhere. Because of this, it is so easy to justify the sins that we commit. "I can vote and die for my country at 18 so it's ok for me to drink even though it's illegal." "The Bible was written thousands of years ago- they just didn't know how hard it is to abstain from sex, so it's OK if I do it." "Everyone on TV tears each other down and they're famous and make a lot of money, so it's OK for me to do that, too." "My parents are just so old they have no idea what they're talking about, so I'll snap and be rude and that's OK." And the list goes on and on and on... 

Please hear me out- I have made many of these justifications for my behavior in my life and the sins I commit. It took falling into my deep pit of depression for me to realize just how much I justified my behavior, and I catch myself doing it every day. I think it's when we stop realizing how many justifications that we make that we fall into this trap of "contemporary."

To me, contemporary means current, or up-to-date. We, as Christians, were meant to live lives above reproach. In a world full of justifications, it's up to us to make sure we don't become contemporary. To say that people in the time the Bible was written didn't have temptations is ridiculous. I think it was just last year when I was sitting in an SAO Bible study when one of my sisters brought up the fact that Jesus was a young man- I'm sure he definitely struggled with living above reproach when women approached him. Jesus is the ideal because he resisted the temptations. He went to his Father, first and foremost. He wasn't immune to sin, he just refused to succumb to it. And if we're meant to be Christ-like in how we live our lives every day, we, too, should go to the Father when we are tempted. When we find ourselves justifying our actions (which we undoubtedly will), we ask for forgiveness. The glory? He forgives us tenfold, and then our sins are as far as the east is from the west. 

All I know is that I want to be anything but contemporary.

For the righteous falls seven times and rises again, but the wicked stumble in times of calamity. - Proverbs 24:16

Smile, God loves you!

Busy Bee

I used to think I was busy, yet I still had so much time to watch seasons and seasons of old TV shows on Netflix. But if you ask Jackie she will tell you I still watch a lot of Netflix (thanks to her account), but now I watch TV shows while I grade papers, or make lesson plans, or create presentations. Now I laugh at how "busy" I used to be. Just earlier this week I had someone complaining to me because they "had been going non-stop since 9:30 am," and this was 6:30pm. It took everything in me to not say, "Oh really? I've been going since 5 am and I'm on duty right now and I go on my last round at midnight and won't go to bed until 1 am and then have to get up at 5 again tomorrow, so please, tell me how tired you are." But I didn't, I smiled and said that I understood and hoped they got some rest. I need to recognize that others are still busier than me, and everyone has a different level of "busy" that they can handle.

One thing I've realized- HOW ON EARTH DO ADULTS DO IT?! I can't imagine having a family to come home to, children to pick up after work, making a meal for multiple people, helping with homework, actually spending quality time with kids and a significant other. I'm exhausted and I don't have any of that. I can barely keep poor Gatsby, my fish, alive, and I mostly survive off of frozen chicken fingers and PB&J sandwiches. Add to that that kids have extracurricular activities and then to even think about how my mom did it as a single parent...phew!

I told my mom on the phone last night that this adult thing is no joke. I am grateful though that UGA allows me to have one foot in the door to adulthood, because I can definitely see how people become shocked and depressed after graduating from college. I'm sure my depression may flair up with the change because that's one of my triggers, but at least I know what it's like to go to bed at 9 and wake up at 5- that in and of itself is a lot to get used to.

This last week was a big week for me because it was my Multi Day Teach where I planned the whole week and got evaluated. Let's just say I cried at the end of the day on Monday because it was so bad. The kids would just not listen to me, I had to be the "bad cop," and to a group of 15 year old boys everything I said about the Holocaust was a sexual innuendo. Thank goodness Ansley came to Athens Monday night for SAO founder's Day and made me feel a lot better. Tuesday, the day of my formal observation, could not have gone better though! Praise the Lord! I do realize the importance of flexibility while teaching, though. We got so far behind in a novel that I ended up having to teach from that and basically make everything up the morning of, but I'll get to teach the original stuff I had planned this coming week. I'm very blessed to have such a great MT who lets me do my own thing! By the time Thursday rolled around I was so tired I just stared into space while sitting on my futon for 15 minutes. And all I did this weekend was sleep but I'm still exhausted. Needless to say, I am VERY ready for Thanksgiving next week. I can't wait to spend time with all of my little chickadees and get some much needed rest (that is until a little blonde girl that I share a room with says, "Toria! It's morning time!). I just can't wait to see Caroline, Robby, Drew, Jacob, and Olivia and hear their sweet giggles and smiles!!! Spending time with them really puts things into perspective. 

I've realized that not every day will be a good teaching day. And I will cry some days (but NEVER in front of the children, as my MT says). That is OK- it's normal even. But at the end of the day I can gladly say that God is still good. I've been working a lot lately on thanking God for all of my blessings. I'm reading a book by Ann Voskamp called A Thousand Gifts, and it's really changed the way I look at things. She emphasizes the importance of praising God in the bad times. So on Monday I cried to my mom on the phone, and then thanked God for a kind mommy, the drive back to Athens, crunchy leaves, a free meal, and the sunset that I got to witness. At the end of every day, God is still good.

Smile, God loves you!