What a Difference a Day Makes

 

Twenty-four hours.   One thousand four hundred forty minutes.   Eighty six thousand four hundred seconds.   Not a lot of time in the “big picture” of things, but enough time for changes.  Some changes for a lifetime.

Yesterday, children got out of bed eagerly anticipating Friday, a fun day at school as the week winds down and the weekend begins.  Yesterday, children got up and ate breakfast.  Yesterday, children picked out their own outfits for school.  Yesterday, children ran into the schoolhouse, laughing and talking with classmates.  Yesterday, children greeted their teachers as they walked into class. Yesterday, children put up their backpacks and sat down at their desks to begin what seemed to be like any other Friday.  Yesterday, children wondered why someone was shooting off firecrackers in the school building.  Yesterday, some children saw their last Friday on this earth.   Yesterday, some children experienced a horror that no one should ever have to experience.  Yesterday, some children’s lives were snuffed out in an instance.  Yesterday, some children’s idea of innocence was forever shattered.  Yesterday, some children witnessed images that will be with them for the rest of their lives.

Yesterday, parents got out of bed with the same routine of most days.  Yesterday, parents woke up being thankful for Friday, a day of excitement (even for parents) as the workweek ends, and anticipation of the weekend.  Yesterday, parents prepared pancake breakfasts and packed peanut butter and jelly lunches.  Yesterday, parents reminded their children to get their backpacks and school supplies for the day.  Yesterday, parents and children planned a weekend of dinners out, movies, and Santa visits at the mall.  Yesterday, parents hugged little necks goodbye for the day, and some goodbye for eternity.  Yesterday, parents went to work; went to the grocery store; went about their lives---just like any other Friday.  Yesterday, parents had no idea that this Friday would end up being much different that any other Friday. 

Yesterday, teachers got out of bed; ready to go to school and teach the children in their classes.  Yesterday, these teachers probably anticipated the weekend, but even more so, the upcoming holiday break.  Yesterday, teachers probably got to school early to plan and prepare for the day.  Yesterday, teachers welcomed kindergarteners with smiles and laughter.  Yesterday, teachers began the school day with enthusiasm and dedication that only teachers have.  Yesterday, teachers heard gunshots.  Yesterday, teachers ran straight toward a gunman, only to be shot down in his path.   Yesterday, teachers locked doors and hid students.  Yesterday, teachers shielded students, while laying down their own lives.  Yesterday, some teachers became heroes.  Yesterday, some teachers became memories.

Yesterday, a monster gunned down his mother in her home.  Yesterday, a monster drove to a school and forced his way inside.  Yesterday, a monster methodically and purposely walked down school hallways, and killed teachers.  Yesterday, a monster walked into full classrooms and executed children at will.  Yesterday, a monster took the cowardly way out by turning his own gun on himself. 

Today, children are in shock.  Today, children have lost innocence forever.  Today, children wonder “why?”  Today, children are afraid to go to school.  Today, children are without classmates, teachers, and parents.  Today, children are not concerned with Santa Claus or Christmas.  Today, children know the feeling of heart break.

Today, parents are in denial of how such a tragedy could have occurred.   Today, some parents have lost the light of their lives.  Today, some parents want to die.  Today, some parents would give anything just to be able to turn back time.  Today, some parents don’t know how to go on living.  Today, some parents blame God.  Today, some parents blame guns.  Today, some parents are too numb to feel anything.

Today, teachers worry that this could happen at any school, anywhere.  Today, teachers eagerly await Monday, when they can go to school and hug those precious students a little longer.  Today, some teachers are afraid to go back into the classroom.  Today, some teachers are being called heroes because of the immense bravery and dedication they exhibited in a time of crisis.  Today, some teachers are remembered for the wonderful people they were, and will continue to be in the hearts of those who so dearly loved them. 

Today, a monster has a name and a face on national television.  Today, a monster is dead, but few people mourn the loss.  Today, a monster is said to have been mentally unstable.  Today, a monster has rocked a nation to its core.  

Twenty-four hours.  One thousand four hundred forty minutes.  Eighty six thousand four hundred seconds.   Not a lot of time in the “big picture” of things, but enough time for changes.  Some changes for a lifetime.

"Mr. Bill"

There are some people that we meet in this life that truly change us forever.  Whether they are in our lives for years, months, or just a season, their "mark" in unmistakable, and it remains with us always.

"Mr. Bill" Carlisle, as my children have always called him, was such a person.  I remember meeting him around twelve years ago.  He, along with his sweet wife, June, had begun worshiping at our local congregation.  I knew they both loved music, and I so enjoyed getting to know them as fellow members of our praise team.  Bill had a quiet, unassuming way when I first met him.  He was soft spoken and genuine.  As I got to know him, I learned of his comical side, and how he loved a good prank or joke.  From his flaming red suit to his rockabilly stage presence, Bill was one of a kind!

Bill was a genuine joy to be around, and he loved his family, his friends, and his music.  As part of the Grand Ole Opry for decades with his father (Jumping Bill Carlisle, Sr.), he was a master musician.  He had a beautiful bass voice, and loved to use it in our praise songs at church.

Bill was probably the kindness man I've ever known! When he became a business associate of my husband's, he used to brighten our days quite often.  I was working with Jeff at the time, and many days we would be working away, and we would hear a "vroom-vroom" outside. It would be Bill, pulling up on his motorcycle. He was just coming by to see us, sit and have a cup of coffee. He would sit in the front office with me, and tell stories and jokes, while Jeff, and his partner, Tim, were busy with the everyday life of financial planning/insurance business. He'd stop his stories if I had to answer the phone or greet another customer, and then he'd just continue from there. He might sit there and talk for an hour or so, and then just get up, and say, "Well, I guess I better let you get back to work!" Just sweet Bill in his loving and unassuming way!

A little over two years ago, Bill's and Jane's lives were forever changed after a tragic motorcycle accident.  The doctors were astounded that Bill lived through the trauma, but he did.  Paralyzed from the neck down, Bill's spirit never waivered.  His faith in God never left him.  His love for June never grew any dimmer, and her love and devotion to him seemed to grow every day.  He spoke in a breathy voice, but he said was "here" to do God's work as long as God wanted him "here."  He was ready to "go home" two years ago, but Bill still had a lot of teaching to do with us.  

These past two years, he has taught us so much from a bed and a wheelchair.  He taught my boys that you never give up no matter what happens to you.  When they both saw him shortly after the accident in a rehabilitation hospital in Atlanta, it really bothered them.  They had been used to seeing him so active--singing on stage, or riding his bike.  I remember Conner asking me if I thought "Mr. Bill" would ever get to play his guitar again.  

Well, Bill never physically played that guitar again.  His body failed him over the past two years, and we prayed that somehow God would heal him, and we could have him back just like before.  That was not God's plan for Bill.  God's plan was for Bill to stay with us for a short time longer.  Then, last week, God's plan was for Bill to leave us.  God's plan was for Bill to come "home" to Him.  Bill always knew that God's plan was so much greater than ours.  

So, this week, we will all say goodbye to Bill, and we will celebrate a life well lived on this earth.  A Godly man, who honored God even in a tragic circumstance.  A Godly wife, who showed us the meaning of true commitment and love for a spouse.  Bill has gone away from us, but he has truly changed those who knew him forever.  Our season with Bill is over for now, but so much of him  remains with us always.

My Jeff put it in a sweet way when I called him to tell us Bill had left us.  Jeff said that he could just imagine Bill "jumping for joy" with a new body and no more pain.  I imagine him, guitar in hand, grinning from ear to ear, and telling a joke to the angels!  Heaven is all the sweeter with Bill Carlisle there, and I look forward to seeing him again some day!

Sundays in the South

Sundays have always held an extreme importance in my life.  Sundays are special everywhere--but especially in the South.  Worship.  Family dinners.  Fellowship dinners on the grounds.  Rocking chair talks.  Good times.  Much needed relaxation.  From the time I was a little girl, Sundays have meant family.  Family worshiping together.  Family meals together.  Family time--just being together.

In recent years, Sundays have taken on new meanings.  With Katie, now 22, living away from us in a group home, Sunday is her day with us.  Her day for coming home; chilling out; and eating bread.  Yes, that sounds odd, but it's true.  Several of her roommates deal with diabetes, so their carbohydrates are limited overall in the group meals.  So on Sunday, she gets to "break the bread" with us literally!  From "Sister Shuebert" rolls to biscuits, she dives right in!  The biggest bread binge yet was tonight--5 "Hungry Jack" biscuits with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and fried okra!  (Topped off with homemade oatmeal raisin cookies!!)  It does a "momma" good to see her babies eat, and Katie does just that!  She is such a blessing to us, and her joy, despite her disabilities, continues to strengthen my faith in God's plan for her, and for us, as her parents!

In recent weeks, Sundays mean Colton going back to college if he has come home for the weekend.  I don't believe that weekends have ever gone by so quickly, and this mom dreads Sunday evening because it means my boy is going back to west Tennessee.  I'm so very proud of him because he has oriented into college in an amazing way!  But, every time he leaves, a little piece of my heart goes with him.  The rest of my heart smiles for his accomplishments and the life he has before him. 

Tonight, Conner is still gone on a church trip, but we will be getting him in a couple of hours.  Mom's ready to see her baby, and I know he will have stories to tell from his retreat weekend!  But, the house is quiet for now.  The laughter that was here just a while ago is now silent.  So, my heart is a little sad; however, it is more glad than sad.  Glad that we have Sundays to worship the Father.  Glad that we have Sundays to be with family.  Glad that we have Sundays to recharge for the week ahead.  Glad that I have all the happy memories of Sundays past, and glad that I have the hope of many more Sundays in the future.  But most of all, glad that I had today--a particularly beautiful Sunday in the South!

A Painful Paradox

Batman has been a staple of American youth from comic book days to Adam West's portrayal of the caped hero during my childhood.  I learned the literary term "onomatopoeia" by the use of "BOOM" and "WHAM" from the televised "Batman" series!

From the time he was a little tike, my son, Colton, has LOVED Batman.  From lunch boxes to backpacks to birthday party themes, Batman has been part of his 18 years of life.  (Little brother, Conner, always had to be Robin!) 

For weeks now, the excitement over the new Batman movie has been evident in our house.  This movie premier would be one of the final times Colton and his high school friends would hang out before going their separate ways to college.  A planned night out with buddies and a beloved youth group coach was planned, and tickets purchased weeks in advance to the midnight IMAX presentation.  Batman costumes were bought, and a great night of fun for all was almost here!

I'm sure this scene was repeated throughout the country yesterday.  In Nashville.  In Atlanta.  In San Diego.  And in Aurora.

But another scene was also repeated yesterday.  A scene of violence.  A scene of cowardice.  A scene of hatred.  A scene of terror.  A scene of fear.  A scene of contempt.  A scene of horror.  A scene of murder and mayhem.  

Twenty four hours ago, a young man was planning a horrific crime at a movie theater.  Guns were loaded.  Ammunition was bought.  Black clothing and a gas mask were readied.  A plan of immense terror was calculated in the mind of a supposedly "normal" guy.  The parents, teenagers, children, and movie workers had no idea of his plan as they stood in line last night for the midnight premier.  They laughed.  They talked.  They anxiously anticipated what they believed would be a great next three hours of their lives.  Little did they know that their excitement would soon turn to survival as they scurried for their lives away from his random bullets. 

Earlier this week, there was speculation that this movie might just break box office records of all time.  People throughout the country enjoyed the long awaited Batman sequel just a few hours ago.    My son and his friends sat in a theater in Hendersonville, Tennessee.  They sang the praises of the movie, and they walked out of the theater alive.   Other innocent people sat in Theater 9 in Aurora, Colorado, and they did not. 

"Can You Hear Me Now?" -- God

Television commercials have always amazed me.  The creative advertising minds seem to really know what sells, and what doesn't!  Most of us have seen the popular cell phone commercial with the nerdy guy repeatedly asking, "Can you hear me now?  Can you hear me now?  Can you hear me NOW????"

 This ad appeals to ANYONE who has ever experienced a dropped call or an infamous "dead zone".  Constant communication has become an apparent necessity in our lives today.  Our cell phone is as important as our wallet, and we wouldn't dare leave home without it!  It is our life line.  An hour without a call, text or Twitter update has us worried that our cell battery is not fully charged.  We live in the communication age, and instantaneous communication has simplified our lives.  (Really?)

Cell carriers jockey for our business promising the best service; biggest screen size; and boldest apps.  It is essential that we have the latest and greatest device on the market that will ensure 24/7 communication at our fingertips.  At any given time in our home, one might see my husband scanning YouTube (he's addicted!); my oldest son playing Song Pop; my youngest son playing Xbox Live; and me checking my email--ALL ON OUR PHONES!  We are 100% sold on this communication revolution. And I don't think our family is alone!  I'm not certain of any reason why we need to have a cell phone growing out of our ear or hand, but it seems we do.

In thinking of the humorous, "Can you hear me now?" slogan, I cannot help but think of God saying those words to me.

"Darlene, can you hear me now?  Can you stop for just a moment?  Darlene, can you make a little time for me?  Darlene, can you stop texting long enough to hear what I have to say?  Darlene, I'm your Father, and I want to talk with you."

And my answer:

"Well, yes, God.  Of course, I hear you.  I know you are here, but can you hurry?  I'm expecting a text, and I have a stack of papers to grade.  I've got to help Conner with Algebra, and I've got to get dinner cooked.  You know, I am only one person!  Everybody expects so much from me!  You know, my life is just so busy.  I love you, God, but can I call you back a little later?" 

Sometimes amid the busyness of life, we just don't hear Him.  It's not necessarily that we cannot hear Him, possibly, we just won't hear Him.   Maybe we choose not to hear Him, or just don't make (or take) the time to hear Him.  The gifts He has given us--a family, a home, a job, good friends.  All of these things are wonderful, but sometimes we get too lost in life to hear from Him, our Creator.

Psalms 46:10 tells us, "Be still and know that I am God."

Be still.  How hard is that?  We are NEVER still.  Our bodies are on the move constantly.  We have errands to run; children to taxi; groceries to buy; emails to send, and reality television to watch.  Our minds race with thoughts of all we have to do.  Those thoughts are often a jumbled mess of not really knowing what we need to do first on our "to do" lists.  We toss and turn in bed at night thinking of all that we have to do "tomorrow," and all that we did not finish "today."

How can we "be still" and listen for God, when we live in such a hurried life?  We are taught to multitask, and to use every minute of time we have.   We don't have time to sit and listen for God.  We don't have time to simply stop and talk with Him in prayer.

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.               (2 Timothy 3: 16-17 NIV)

God speaks to us through His Word any time we want to hear Him.  The answer to any of life's problems can be found in His Word, if we just take the time to look.  His Word is as fresh today as it was two thousand years ago, if we just allow it to quench our spirit.

Satan will allow our lives to become so bustled and busy that we don't seem to have time for God.  That's his plan, but it is not God's plan.

So, amid your busy life, make sure to take some time for rest.  Take some time for revival of your spirit.  Be still, and know that God is calling to you.

Can you hear Him now? 

Tribute to Marriage

Anyone who has a spouse knows it requires a full time commitment.  Some days it's 50/50.  Other days it 80/20.  Some days it feels like it 100% to nothing!  And WE are the partner giving that 100%!  Been there.  Done that.  Got the T-Shirt!

As Jeff and I approach our 27th anniversary in a few days, I am reminded of the many peaks and valleys we have had during our journey.  Fortunately, time serves to heal those valley wanderings, and the peaks are much more memorable.  But did you ever think, the mountains would not be so beautiful if it were not for the valleys below? 

In one of my previous blog posts, "Walking Her Home," I introduced you to Dennis and Terre Conner.  Dennis and Terre have been two of the most influential people in my life, as well as to countless others.  Terre has been enjoying her reward in heaven for almost two years; however, her legacy lives on.

Yesterday, Dennis posted these words on facebook, and I wanted to share them with you.  Nothing I could write would be any more fitting a tribute to the institution that God ordained--marriage between a husband and wife.

From Dennis' facebook:
Today, 37 years ago, Terre and I were married. The note below is from the Carepages blog I kept during her illness and the year after her passing. I posted it here a year ago and wanted to share it with you once more on this occasion. As then, my hope once again is that it encourages someone today. I was blessed and honored to be loved by Terre, and now I am thankful to the Father who is able to turn our sorrow into joy and our mourning into dancing as He has allowed me the honor to begin another new painting with Sherie.


"We were both 20 years old, almost too young and surely too naive to understand what we were getting ourselves into! What lay before us was an empty canvas waiting to be filled with the colors and brush strokes that would eventually take the form of a work of art called our marriage.


Early on, for various reasons, we were painting on different parts of the canvas from one another, painting separate lines and forms that seldom intersected. But then, over time as God unleashed the creative powers of his grace in our lives, the colors became brighter and more complementary, and the separate forms began to blend into a shared understanding of what the image on the canvas should look like; two were becoming one.


The colors that were splashed onto the canvas were sometimes bright, other times more subdued if not gray or black. The brush strokes were at times frenzied and without focus while at other times smooth and confident. What emerged was a deeply textured painting that in the end bore witness to two hands painting together with a single brush.


That’s one way of thinking of a marriage…it’s a work of art. In the best marriages no one says, “There, the painting is done” until the last breath of the artist(s) is drawn. To pronounce a painting done before then is to settle for mediocrity.


I was reminded of that while Terre and I were on vacation in the mountains those final days before her death. Weeks earlier the hospice nurse had explained to the family that when someone young like Terre is dying, there is a sense of urgency to take care of unfinished business. We definitely saw that in Terre as in the final weeks she made all kinds of lists of things to be done and projects to be finished. We all understood that and made every effort to help her finish anything that was important to her.


As we packed to leave for vacation there were some things that Terre wanted to take along, but there simply wasn’t enough room. So, I persuaded her to leave them behind. We drove to Rockford for my birthday and then to our destination in the mountains and proceeded to share our last days together. We arrived in the mountains on Sunday evening. By Tuesday evening, I think it was, Terre was clearly agitated about something. As we lay in bed that night it all came out. As we talked she wanted to know why I wouldn’t let her bring the other things she wanted to bring. I told her that I didn’t want her to tire herself out by working on things and then I reminded her, as I had done before, that there simply wasn’t room in the car. She disagreed and an unheated but emotional argument ensued with Terre insisting that there was room in the car and me insisting that there wasn’t. Finally, she said, “There could have been room. You just did a lousy job packing” (the irony is that it was actually one of the best packing jobs I had ever done, after many years of learning from Terre). Her words stung me and I rolled over, my back to her, saying nothing more before drifting off to an unsettled sleep.


The next morning, as I gave Terre her pain meds, she asked me, “Are you still mad at me?” I assured that I wasn’t mad, only tired. I’m not altogether sure that I was entirely truthful. I did share, though, that her criticism had stung and hurt me. She was not at all defensive or self-justifying and with tears in her eyes said, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry.” I held her and kissed her and then she said, “I guess marriage is a work of art up until the very end.” I will never forget those words.


The problem with many marriages is that one or both partners stop painting before the very end arrives. They settle for what is—they stop collaborating—which can eventually lead to a ripping apart of the canvas itself. On the occasion of our final argument Terre added the brush stroke of a heartfelt apology. But I, too, needed to apologize. Terre went on to explain to me that those things we left behind represented some of the last unfinished projects she wanted to complete—polishing some glass like stones from Israel, polishing her jewelry and getting it ready to give to her loved ones. I apologized to her for my insensitivity and made arrangements later to get the things to her that she wanted. When those things arrived, her feeble hands came alive and she was happy! And we continued to paint together yet a little more.


So, regardless of where you are on the canvas of your marriage, just remember: marriage is a work of art up to the very end."

WOW!!  So if you have a spouse, keep these words in your heart today . . . tomorrow . . .  next week . . . next year . . . always.  Marriage IS truly a work of art created by the master artist Himself!

 

Rising From The Ashes

In literature, the "pheonix" is a mythical bird that was able to bring life from hopeless death.  After a life-span of about one thousand years, this legendary bird would settle in a tree to die.  At the moment of death, the bird would burst into flames, only to be given life and rebirth from its ashes.  The phoenix serves as a symbol of hope in a time of despair.  As Christians, we don't look to a bird for our hope.  We look to Jesus.

Sometimes life seems to cloud that hope.  The older that I get, the more often reality checks come.  I am just about to the point of not watching the news anymore.  Tragedy strikes daily.  This morning's headlines covered a story of a family in New York driving to a family reunion, when the driver lost control of the car.  The mini-van plummeted sixty feet into the Bronx Zoo, killing all seven family members.  A precious family in the middle of a Sunday afternoon drive-- gone in an instant.

Last week, I learned of a friend's diagnosis of inoperable brain cancer.  He is the father of three children, in the prime of his life.  Also, last week, we celebrated the life of a wonderful friend and mentor who lost (or won, however you may look at it!) a nine year battle with cancer.  Sometimes it is so hard to make sense of life.  Sometimes, life seems almost too difficult.  The hard times blot out our remembrances of joy.  The clouds roll in, and it seems as if they will never again part to reveal a ray of light.  Life is hard, and it is so easy to lose our faith. 

As Christians, we are called to serve those in need.  To hold up those who are weak.  To give strength to the weary.  But how do we support and help those going through such terrible heartbreak?  I try to teach my children daily about empathy--not sympathy.  Not just sympathy of feeling sorry, but true empathy.  Being able to put yourself in another person's shoes.  Being able to really feel their joy and their pain.  Being able to use our experiences in life to help other people in a way that only we can.

Suffering and joy teach us, if we allow them, how to make the leap of empathy, which transports us into the soul and heart of another person. In those transparent moments we know other people’s joys and sorrows, and we care about their concerns as if they were our own.”
~Fritz Williams

Several weeks ago, our school family suffered the tragic loss of one of our students.  Matt, was a junior, and his smile is engraved into my mind for all time.  A star football player and overall great young man, Matt was taken from us so suddenly.  The impact of his death has been so evident on our student body.  The students give hugs and love much more freely.  Typical high school drama has taken a backseat to more important things.  Matt's positive influence lives on, although his laughter was noticeably absent from our banquet last weekend.  I have thought of Matt's father, Pete, a thousand times in the past month.  Pete admittedly was Matt's best friend, and Matt was his whole life. I cannot imagine the pain; the loss; the void.

Friends have ministered to Pete in the past weeks.  Prayers have been offered daily that God bring healing and comfort to this grieving father.  Prayers that somehow good can come from such loss.  God has been present and working in those few weeks.  Yesterday, Matt's influence shined extremely bright as Pete took on the Lord Jesus in baptism.  What a tribute to his son!  What a remembrance that God, too, lost a son, and through Him, we are given the promise of eternity!  What an example of rising over tragedy! 
What a blessing that God used people to minister to another!

In thinking of the joy in the midst of sorrow, I am reminded of an Old Testament story about David.  David has always been one of my favorite Bible characters.  David is said to be "a man after God's own heart," but he messed up -- ALOT!  (That gives me hope!)  After an adulterous affair with a woman, their newborn son becomes extremely ill. David prays and prays for God to heal the baby.  He fasts and puts on sackcloth, begging God to spare the child.  God answers is "No."  After the baby's death, David arises, washes himself, and eats.  He states that although he cannot bring the child back, he can one day go to the child.  When I heard of Pete's baptism, I couldn't help but think--Pete cannot bring Matt back, but he can surely go to him one day!  What a blessing to begin healing his broken heart!

So today, I encourage you (and me!) to be an encouragement to someone in your life.  Someone who is going through a difficult time.  Think back to a time when you were in a valley, and how support was so needed and appreciated.  You never know how your smile, your presence, your kind word can uplift another.  Be the imaginary pheonix in someone's life, and help them to rise up.  Be Jesus in someone's life, and give them the hope that only He can offer!

What a Weekend! What a Savior!

Earlier this week, Danny Gregg, youth minister of Donelson Church of Christ, here in Nashville, spoke in our school devotional.  As he tried to help the students wrap their minds around the sudden and tragic death of a class mate, he spoke of God's victory over death.  He spoke of Jesus being raised to a new life.  He spoke of Heaven, a place where death's sting will never again be felt.  He spoke of resurrection moments. His words have remained in my heart this week, and I've seen so many of those little glimmers of hope and healing.  Those are not coincidences.  Those are God's works.

As I enjoyed my new routine of daily walks this morning, I was amazed by the beauty of spring around me.  Every tree is bursting with new life.  Roses are blooming in brilliant colors of reds,  yellows and pinks.  Tulips are lifting their gorgeous little heads to a vibrant blue and cloudless sky.  The birds are chirping and readying for new life in their nests.  Lawns are being mowed, and shrubbery is being mulched.  It's Easter weekend, and there is a sense of happiness in the air.

I've always loved Easter.  I remember it being such a special time when my three children were younger.  My mother and I always "stuffed" hundreds of plastic eggs for our family's annual Easter Egg Hunt.  (Yes, they were spoiled!  Three children did not need hundreds of eggs!)  The last egg hunt we had was in 2006, just a few months before she went to be with the Lord.  We decided it would probably be the last one we would have when Colton and Conner physically fought over the $25 golden egg!  I almost never got the grass stain out of their Easter pants!

But Easter is not all about bunnies and baskets.  It's about a Savior, and the Lord put these thoughts on my heart this morning.

As we enjoy this Good Friday, I am reminded of a fateful Friday two thousand years ago.  A day much like any other day in the lives of most people.  A day when babies were born.  A day when an elderly woman drew her last breath.  A day when the sun rose just as any other day.  But this day was different.  This would be a Friday when men in high places, who had plotted against our Lord, would carry out those sinister actions.    This would be a day when a beloved friend would do the unthinkable for a bag of silver coins.  This would be a day when a mother's heart would be broken as she saw her son hung on a cross.  This would be a day when Satan would feel like he had won. 

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, would make a conscious decision to be beaten and shamed.  Scorned and spat upon.  Mocked and ridiculed.  He had asked God to take this dark cup away from him, but he obediently fulfilled the will of His Father.  He would endure this because of His love for people.  His friends.  His family.  His followers.  Even those who hated him.  Even those who had never seen him.  Even those who had never been born.  Even me.  Even you.

On that Friday, my Lord, your Lord, God's son, would have nails driven through his body.  He would be raised on a cruel cross at Golgotha between two criminals.  He would be offered vinegar to drink when he asked for water.  He would cry out in agony.  He would promise paradise for eternity to one of those criminals hanging beside him.  He would ask his loyal friend to take care of  his mother, Mary.  Hateful eyes would gawk at His writhing body.  Hateful hearts would turn stone cold as they witnessed this treachery.  Hateful souls would be happy when this "Jesus, King of the Jews" was dead.

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, could have called ten thousand angels to come to his rescue.  He could have called a legion of hosts to rein down vengeance on the hateful mob.  He could have taken Himself down off of that cross.  But He didn't.  His love for me won out over the hatred of that day. His love for you was more than the hateful actions of the mob.  His love for His Father trumped it all.  God had asked Jesus to complete this task, and that was enough.

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, would cry out one final time before it was finished.  His side would be pierced, and blood and water would freely flow from it.  Darkness would cover the land as His Father showed His own power.  The veil of the temple would be ripped in two, as evidence that truly Jesus was the Son of God.

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, died.  His lifeless body would be taken down from that wooden cross.  It would be lovingly washed and prepared for burial.  Tears would flow by all that loved him.  But tears would not bring him back.  Jesus was dead.  That torn and tattered body would be placed in a borrowed tomb.  Friends would leave that place in a state of shock  It would be a Friday they would never forget.

I can only imagine the hurt.  The loss.  The feelings of not knowing what to do.  Jesus, the Savior, was dead.

This was real.

But on Sunday, my Lord, your Lord; God's son, would burst forth from that grave.  That torn and tattered body would be filled with new life and new hope.  Death would be conquered.  Christ's resurrection would take away the pain of death.  The pain of separation.  The pain of hopelessness.

On Sunday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, would show His power, and His love for me, and for you.  The sting of death was lessened.  Separation might be temporary, but salvation would be for eternity.  This earthly life would pass, and with it would come physical death.  But spiritual life everlasting was promised because Jesus came out of that grave on Sunday!  Death had no victory!   

On Sunday, the plan of those men in high places had failed.  The betrayal for a bag of silver had been of no use.  On Sunday, a mother's heart would be healed.  On Sunday, Satan would be defeated. On Sunday, I was given a promise of eternal life.  On Sunday, you were given that same promise.

What a gift!  What a weekend!  What a SAVIOR!

Mustard Seed Faith

Sometimes life just seems a bit too overwhelming.  In the past weeks, I have watched friends go through  immense seasons of sorrow.  Young people lost in traffic accidents, just as their lives began to unfold.  A high school buddy gone before his 50th birthday.  A dear friend ending his courageous battle with cancer.  Parents  taken from their families right in the prime of life.  Sometimes I think that we forget that Death is not a respecter of persons.  Death does not seek out to rid this world of only the wicked and treacherous.  Death comes to all of us at some point, but seems extremely "off schedule" at times.  Young people are supposed to be born, grow up, get married, raise a family, and grow old before Death comes for them. 

I'm reminded of an old church song that we don't sing very much anymore.  "No Tears in Heaven" was one of my daddy's favorite songs.  His quartet sang it often, and I can still hear the harmonious bass runs of the chorus in my mind.

"No tears . . . in heaven fair; 
No tears . . .  no tears up there; 
Sorrow and pain will all have flown.
No tears in heaven will be known." 

The older I get the sweeter those words seem to get.  I long for a place where there will be no more tears.  No more pain.  No more separation.  No more doubt.  No more guilt.  No more stress.

But, what do we do until we get to that place?  How do we smile through the pain?  Laugh when our hearts are broken?  Believe when the unbelievable shakes our world?  Be strong for our children, when our own knees are buckling beneath us?

Our faith somehow gets us through this life.  But what is faith, and how do we get it--or keep it when life throws us those  proverbial curve balls?

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" (Heb.11:1).

Faith is trust and belief.  It acts as the support structure to hope.   It gives us the ability to get up some mornings. It gives us the knowledge that "this too shall pass."

Romans 12:3 states that God gives us a "measure of faith."  Later in Romans 10:17, we learn that "faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God."

Jesus tells us in Matthew 17, that we don't have to have a tremendous amount of faith.  He says that only a small amount, the size of a mustard seed, will suffice.  A mustard seed is tiny.  It is smaller than an eraser tip on a pencil.  Yet, the Bible tells us, we can do great things with only this small, seemingly insignificant, amount of faith. 

Our faith is increased when we dive into Bible study and prayer.  Getting into God's word allows Him to speak to us, and to our situations.  God is our Father, and He loves us.  Sometimes I have to remind myself of that almost daily.  He is MY Father.  He loves ME.  Although sometimes I don't understand that, it is true.  And MY Father understands when I hurt.  He understands when I'm crushed.  He understands when I cannot go another step.  That's when HE offers comfort.  HE offers peace.  HE picks me up and carries me.  God WANTS to hear from ME.  He WANTS me to talk to Him.  He WANTS me to cry out to Him in those tragic times.  He WANTS me to KNOW that He cares and has a plan to carry me through all this jumbled mess of a life. 

Many times it is not until we have gone through a valley of life that we truly "get it."  We fully  understand that God was right there beside us during those difficult times.  The untimely death of a parent.  A stage 4 cancer diagnosis.  A miscarriage of a much wanted child.  An unfaithful spouse after thirty years of marriage.  A death of a young person seemingly snatched from the cradle of life. 

My mother was a shining example of faith in my life, and I've thought of her everyday since her death in 2006.  Following my father's suicide in 1984, Mother sank into a real depression.  She dealt with all of the "if onlys" and "what ifs" that follow such an event.  After a year or so, her faith blossomed.  There was nothing she could do to change the events of my father's life, but she could use that experience to help others.  In the twenty plus years that followed, Mother ministered to families that experienced suicide.  She spent hours just talking to spouses that had gone through the same valley.  She wrote notes of encouragement and understanding.  She became an advocate for persons with mental health challenges, and she was a beacon in many lives.

She told me many times that the things of this life can make us "bitter or better."  Those words ring in my ears in so many instances.  Satan uses our situations for his glory too many times.  Life throws us junk, and we turn our backs on God.  We blame God.  Someone is surely to blame.  God could have stopped this if HE had wanted to.  God could have changed this if HE had wanted to.  But He did not.  So, HE does not love me.  And I, in return, do not love him.  We cannot let the troubles and trials of this life pull us from God. 

Ecclesiastes 3 speaks of various "times" in life.  There is, indeed a time for everything.

  There is a time for everything,
   and a season for every activity under the heavens:   
  a time to be born and a time to die,
   a time to plant and a time to uproot,
  a time to kill and a time to heal,
   a time to tear down and a time to build,
  a time to weep and a time to laugh,
   a time to mourn and a time to dance,
  a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
   a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
  a time to search and a time to give up,
   a time to keep and a time to throw away,
  a time to tear and a time to mend,
   a time to be silent and a time to speak,
  a time to love and a time to hate,
   a time for war and a time for peace. 

Isaiah 3:11 states that God will make everything beautiful in its time.

I love that promise.  Everything will be beautiful in time.  So, although to day is such a gray, cloudy day for so many around me, the sun will shine again.  It may not be tomorrow.  It may not be next week.  It may not ever be the same as it was before, and sometimes life is changed forever.  But it will shine again.  


Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)

God is right beside of us today--and always. We hurt. We ache. Our hearts are broken. But we are His children, and His love will get us through these challenging days. Do we understand? No. Do we question? Yes. Will we ever fully comprehend? Doubtful. 

We just have to grab on to that small grain of mustard seed faith today. God will do the rest.

Wanted: A January Smile

Today was just about perfect!  Although it is still January, today most was a bright, sunny day.  Temperatures almost reached 70 degrees here in Nashville.  Winter is not over, but today gave us a glimpse of the promise of spring!

My seniors have been working on observations for a writing project.  These involved off campus trips to observe a variety of people in a natural environment.  For most of my classes, this meant a local shopping mall.  (One early class went to Cracker Barrel to observe while enjoying biscuits and gravy!)  Our goal was to observe visible characteristics and traits that will serve as the basis for a character story development.  I've always been a people watcher, so I got into it as much as my students!

As I observed by students observing others today, I was reminded just how little we really know by observations.  Of course, we can observe physical things--clothing, hair coloring, physical features.  We can observe other social appearances such as friendliness, happiness, or sadness.  We can assume these are accurate, but we really have no way of truly knowing what may really be going on in another person's life.  We assume our co-workers, fellow students, and family members are fine, and living life to the best of their ability.  We pass judgment on others based on what we see.  Our perceptions are our reality in so much of life. 

Earlier this week, I watched a news report about a prayer vigil for two teenagers who recently committed suicide in the Nashville area.  According to family members, these two young lives were lost as a result of depression over bullying.  Two weeks ago, a senior at another area high school also chose to end her life because she felt her life was worthless.  Last week, a dear friend of mine, chose to end her life because the depression with which she had been dealing simply overtook her.  So many lives lost and seemingly without cause. 

I once heard that more suicides are completed in January than any other month.  The long dreary days of winter can sometimes cause physical illness and depression  There is also a let-down following the holidays, particularly when those holiday bills arrive in the mailbox!  Many spouses file for divorce as the new year begins.  Life seems too much to handle.  January always holds a sadness for me because, in 1984, my dear father chose to end his own life while in an irrational state of depression.  Just last year, my cousin died in the same way.  Ryan was a great young man with a young family.  Gone from us way too soon, as result of a depression just too much to overcome.  

And so, as I sat in the mall with my students today, I thought about all of the people walking by.  The mothers with young children; the grandmothers and grandfathers;  the teenagers in baggy pants.  I wondered if any of them had an internal gloom that was almost unbearable.  A gloom that was far darker and deeper than the bright, beautiful sunshine outside.  I wondered if a smile or an encouraging word could brighten a day in their life.  Certainly a smile wouldn't take all the bad away, but it certainly couldn't hurt!  I found myself smiling and speaking to some of them--just a smile in passing.  It felt good, and they smiled back at me. 

None of us knows the true lives of many around us.  Let's try to resolve to pass along a smile or a word of kindness to all with whom we come in contact.  A small, genuine act of love and kindness can make a huge difference in a life filled with despair and hopelessness.   Let's resolve not to pass judgment on others.  Let's love others as Christ loved us--unconditionally.  Let's let others see Christ living in us and through us in our words, our actions, and in our smiles!  You will never really know the good that smile may do!

Snow Days!!

Snow Days!  You gotta love 'em!  As a child, they were my favorite part of winter!  The excitement among the children would begin building as an approaching front headed toward Nashville!  The hallways at school would be buzzing with the rumors that it was "already snowing in Memphis", and that "Metro" (our public school system) was being dismissed early.  I'm sure the teachers had a difficult time containing us in all the chaos of our perceived impending blizzards!

It seems as if we had a lot more snow back in those days. I remember in 1975, we missed almost a month of school due to snow and ice.  (We ended up having to go longer days; some Saturday; and until mid-June!)  The thoughts of snow days were seen in several different ways in my childhood home.  My mother, a payroll accountant for Bell South, NEVER had a snow day.  Payroll and bills had to be paid regardless of the weather.  She dreaded any mention of snow because she did not drive in it--at all.  If snow occurred, my father would have to drive her to and from her job in Green Hills, about twenty miles from our house.  My father, a contractor, had houses to frame and workers to pay.  Snow and hard wintery weather meant loss of hours and manpower.  But he had the same love and excitement as me!  He didn't seem to mind the missed work and wages. 

I remember sitting in our kitchen, watching our old black and white television to see if "Snowbird" would be flying!  I remember the music and the sounds on the newscast that alerted me that school would be closed!  I remember the excitement in my stomach when my school closing was announced!  Woo! Hoo! 

So, the arrival of snow ushered in a ritualistic family adventure!   My memories are so vivid!  Daddy warming up his old truck.  All three of us piling into the seat--covered up with quilts and afghans--as we began the tedious drive, taking Mother to work.  We would leave before sunrise in order to avoid all the crazy snow drivers, and the darkness only added to the excitement.  Daddy always wore a khaki colored jumpsuit with a wool cap with ear flaps.  I always thought he looked so funny!  Mom would have on the most ridiculous looking snow boots with a scarf around her hair.  And me--I would still have on my flannel pajamas under neath my coat!  I'm sure we were a sight!  The only thing missing was a team of sled dogs, and we would have assumed the role of a perfect Arctic family!  The roads were always icy, and we would slip and slide all the way.  I remember Daddy's right arm instinctively coming across me during several tense moments because we never wore seat belts.  It really was a different time!

After depositing my mother at work, Daddy and I would begin our long journey home.  However, there was always a detour!  Our snow days included a trip to Krispy Kreme for donuts!  We would shuffle in and sit at the counter.  (Yes, me in my pj's!)  A warm cup of coffee for Daddy, and hot chocolate for me!  I can still feel the warmth from that cocoa and the knowledge that I was my Daddy's little girl!  That feeling warmed me to my toes then, and today, still warms my heart!

The rest of the day was ours!  Snowball fights!  Snowmen and snow angels.  Sledding up and down our huge hill!  Walking to my grandparents house for lunch--complete with snow cream!  My grandfather joining us in sledding, and my grandmother watching and waving from the porch.  An afternoon nap for me at their house, while Daddy went back across town to get my mother.  My grandmother fixing supper for all of us--complete with a piping hot pan of her famous cornbread!  The perfect ending to a perfect day!    

Those are the snow days of my childhood.  Of course, our family has created many new snow day rituals.  A massive run on Kroger with any possibility of snow!  Sledding, sledding and more sledding.  Snowball fights!  Snowmen and snow angels.  Marshmallows roasting while warming up by the fire.  Cookies and hot chocolate.  Jigsaw puzzles, games and movies.  There is still much excitement in the Sweet house over snow days!

So, today, as we celebrate our first snow day of the season here in Nashville, I am smiling.  As a teacher, I realize I am now a day behind on my lesson plans.  We will have much to do next week in order to cover what we missed today.  But that's okay!  We got a snow day!  Woo! Hoo!

January 8th

Throughout history, January 8th has held difference significances.  In 1815, the famous Battle of New Orleans was fought.  In 1935, a baby boy was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, and he went on to sing about hound dogs and jailhouses as the "king of rock and roll."  In 1987, the Dow closed above 2,000 for the first time.  In 2011, Representative Gabrielle Giffords was shot in a brutal massacre that left several innocent people dead in Arizona.  Good things and bad things happen every day, and dates hold significances to different people for different reasons.  Also--good and bad. 

January 8th, 1992 holds a tremendous significance to me because that is the day that I lost my daughter.  No, I didn't lose Katie to death.  Not a disease.  Not a horrible accident.  Rather a diagnosis.  Of course, Katie did not die with that diagnosis.  But the child I believed she would be, did.  The child for whom I had hoped.  The child for whom I had dreams.  The child for whom I had plans.  That child died.  The little girl that would grow up to be a cheerleader.  The little girl that would one day be a beauty queen.  The little girl that would crawl in my lap and hug my neck.  The teenager daughter that would tell me her problems and get advice about boys.  The young woman that would one day walk down the aisle on Jeff's arm wearing my dress.  That child died that cold, January Wednesday in 1992.  And a part of me did, as well.

Every year, I look back on that date, and I remember almost every detail of it.  The feelings.  The fear.  The frustration.  The disbelief.  I recall the days leading up to the dreaded appointment at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital.  I remember the look in my mother's eyes knowing her baby was about to endure the hurt of a lifetime.  And my Jeff--trying to be strong and brave for both of us.  Telling me everything was going to be okay behind a forced smile.  Friends trying to be reassuring, but their words falling on deaf ears.  And Katie--dressed in her typical precious girly outfit with her trademark hair bow.  It was just another day for her.  She looked at me smiling and kicking her feet in the car seat on the way to Vanderbilt.  Little did she know that she was going for a battery of tests and evaluations.  Tests that would leave her fussy and tired, but also with a label of "cerebral palsy" and "developmental delay." 

Katie had not developed normally since her birth in 1990.  She did not sit up correctly.  She did not crawl.  She did not coo.  By ten months, she was still very much like a two or three month old baby.  She had been involved with about six months of intensive physical, occupational and speech therapy.  She had made tremendous strides, so as a new mother, I tried to tell myself that she was "catching up."  In my heart, I still saw huge deficits, but I had to believe she was okay.  The alternative thought was too painful.

Her evaluations began early, and she was poked and prodded for hours.  She cried and looked to Jeff and me for comfort, but there was none to give.  A test would be administered that needed an action as a result.  But there would be not action from Katie.  This went on for what seemed like hours.  By lunch time, she was at her limit.  I remember walking her and singing to her as I tried to comfort her.   After a few more tests, we were assembled together with all of Katie's therapists and evaluators for the results.  We were told to let them know if at any time during the meeting we needed some time to compose ourselves.  Jeff and I braced ourselves for the life changing words that followed.

Cerebral Palsy and Developmental Delay.  Was it fatal?  Was it curable?  Our questions rolled out like a freight train.  Whatever the problem was, we would find the fix for it.  I remember Jeff's devastation to the answer to his question about Katie being able to "catch up."  No, she wouldn't catch up.  She wouldn't ever do many things in life.  She wouldn't ever talk.  She wouldn't ever walk.  She wouldn't ever go to normal school.  She wouldn't ever be a normal child.  She would never develop mentally to more than a four or five year old child.

I remember how "matter of fact" all of the doctors and therapists were in that meeting.  There was a level of caring to a degree, but it was just a diagnosis to them.  It was our world.

In the twenty years that have followed, our lives have changed drastically.  Katie has grown and surpassed so much of what they said that day.  She has touched everyone with whom she has come in contact in her life.  She has been the biggest blessing in my life, and I thank God for her daily.

At times, I still mourn the daughter that I lost that day.  But most days, I celebrate that daughter that I was given that day.  I have never experienced many "normal" things with Katie, but the things that I do experience with her are the highlight of my life.  Her smile can light up a room.  Her laugh is contagious.  Her unconditional love and care for others is remarkable.   She has been the cement in our family, and she is the bond between all of us.  She has taught her brothers the importance of compassion and unconditional love, and these traits are a key part of their lives.

The fellow families of children with special needs that we have known have enriched our lives.  Katie and other children and adults with special needs have shown us so much in their strength; their determination, and their acceptance of the life they were given to live.  Indeed, they have been some of our lives' greatest examples!

Many years ago, a dear friend, Angela, made a comment to me that I have held in my heart all these years. I was having the proverbial "pity party" that I tended to have often in those early years.  I was very depressed over the overall future journey our family would travel.  I commented that life was simply not fair, and God just did not care about us at all.   She asked me to realize how lucky I was because Katie was guaranteed an eternity in Heaven.  Katie does not know the difference between right and wrong, and she will always be like a little child in those ways.  Angela mentioned that other children may grow up and forsake their relationship with the Lord.  But not Katie!  One day Katie would be made whole--and it would be for all eternity.  And I surely want to be there for that!

Those thoughts have remained a fixture in my mind through all of the challenging times--and we've had plenty with Miss Katie!   Any child does not come with a manual on how he needs to be raised.  Raising a child with special needs is not an easy task.  There are times when you feel like you just cannot handle it anymore.  There are times when you feel like you are all alone in this world--and that no one understands.  There are times when you just long for "normal"--although we have learned that "normal" is relative.  Our "normal" just includes a lot of things that yours does not!  God gave me Katie for a reason, and I'm still not sure why.  I just know that she has made my life full.  I know that I love the daughter that I have--and finally, I don't regret those things that I seemingly lost in that diagnosis meeting twenty years ago today. 

So, after a twenty year journey, this date does not cut me like it did several years ago.  I truly lost a child that day.  The child for whom I had hoped.  The child for whom I had dreams.  The child for whom I had plans.  But I gained a child that day.  The child through whom God would give me hope.  The child with whom God would grant new dreams.  The child that God had planned for me.  Today I truly know that God replaced the grief over a child lost, with peace over a child gained.  He knew, and continues to know, the BIG PICTURE, and I just feel very blessed that He chose me to be Katie's mom!

F.I.P Resolution

In a recent teacher in-service, our school president, Mr. Perry,  gave teachers some thoughts on some positive attributes to resolve to make part of our classes for the new semester, and throughout 2012.  These ideas were based upon a recent documentary that he had viewed concerning the life of Steve Jobs. Mr. Jobs was the co-founder of APPLE computers. He died a few months ago, but at the time of his death, he was probably one of the wealthiest men in the world. He revolutionized the technological age of computers. He re-shaped the way we communicate throughout the world. In the documentary, a close friend talked about three attributes or characteristics that shaped Mr. Jobs into the man he was. Attributes that were apart from the wealth, the fame, the notoriety. Characteristics that were at the heart of who he was—and who he will be remembered to be.

In thinking back on Mr. Perry's words, I spoke with my classes about these qualities this week, as we begin a new semester--and for my seniors--their last semester of high school.  

These characteristics can be seen in the acronym F.I.P.  In thinking about these qualities, I posed several questions to my students this week.  In honesty, I posed them to myself--and now to you:

FOCUS—We all need focus in our lives. Are you focused? If so, what makes you focused? If not, what do you need to do in order to have the necessary focus in your life?

Without focus, we are like an anchor-less ship on the ocean—being tossed back and forth. We have no goals, no vision. We drift through our lives without real purpose or zeal.  As well, as Christians, there is a basic need for a focused relationship with God. If we have that focus, our lives can be more than we ever imagine. Without that focus, we may journey roads that may be less that perfect.

Are we leaders or followers?  Do we allow our focus to be swayed by other people?  Do we lose sight of our goals and plans based upon what others think, do, or feel?  Why?  How can we become more focused for the long haul?

INTEGRITY—What is integrity? We all know that it is good to be a “person of integrity.” But what does that mean? When we discussed this today in one of my classes, a student defined integrity as being  “who you are when no one else is looking.” I like that.  The real you.  The "you" that lies down with you at night, and can close his eyes with a clear mind and conscience.  The "you" that knows the difference in right and wrong, and chooses to do right--even in tough circumstances.  

Integrity means having self-value; being a person of your word; following through with what you say you are going to do. Are you a person of integrity? Why, or why not?

PASSION—What is your passion? Passion drives us in our lives! Passion is what you LOVE to do! Passion is what you WANT to do or to be! Passion is your reason for being! Passions change in our lives. Our goals change. Our plans change. We change. Do you have a passion? If so, is it the right passion for your life?  Does that passion drive you to be the best you can be?

For my seniors--including my son, Colton--they are nearing the end of their high school career.  One chapter is coming to a swift end, while another one looms in the future. This can be an exciting, overwhelming, and bittersweet time in life. By maintaining—or getting—these characteristics in life, they can be as successful as Steve Jobs--maybe financially and famously.  But more importantly, they can be successful as a person with a Christ-centered life--full of focus on the right things; integrity at all times; and passion for the important aspects of this life. My challenge to them was for them to incorporate one or all of these qualities into their lives in order to make the next few months the best and brightest of their high school years.  

As adults, we are constantly finishing one chapter in our lives and beginning another.  We are in the constant cycle of change in life.  My challenge to myself and you is to instill these qualities into our lives daily.  I want to focus on good things--positive things--goals and dreams.  I want to be a person of integrity and value.  I want to have a passion for the things that I love--music, teaching, family, travel!  I want that passion to show in my actions; on my face; in my life!  Wouldn't all of our lives be much better and more fulfilling if we applied these simple and basic concepts to our lives! 

Resolve to F.I.P in 2012!!  God Bless!