Mrs. Hulsey

In fourth grade, I had a teacher named Mrs. Hulsey.  She was always a great teacher, but I have a couple of memories of her that really stand out.

The first really memorable experience occurred in her class during a spelling test.  I was the winner of the previous day's spelling bee, so I earned the right to call out the spelling words to the rest of the class during the test.

Everything was going swimmingly until I got to the word "tidy."  Despite my dad's best efforts to persuade me otherwise, I was convinced that this word carried a soft "i."

Confidently, I announced to the class:  "The next word is . . . tiddy."

EVERYONE started to laugh, and one of the boys said, "Mrs. Hulsey, she said TITTY!"

At that moment, I realized my terrible, terrible mistake. I turned to look at my teacher, always the picture of poise and propriety, and I saw that she was laughing so hard she was shaking, with tears running down her face.  I wanted the floor to swallow me up.

After I graduated from fourth grade, I generally avoided Mrs. Hulsey - embarrassed because I was sure that she had either forgotten me or remembered me only as the titty girl.

My junior year of high school, I won my school's pageant.  I had about zero self-confidence at the time, so it was a really big deal to me.  However, perhaps even more memorable than winning the pageant was what happened the next day.

I came traipsing down the stairs and my mom informed me that I had flowers.  I looked at the card and saw that they were from none other than Mrs. Hulsey, congratulating me in the nicest kind of way.  It turns out that she had neither forgotten me nor defined me by my one terrible (and now funny) goof up.

It was one of those gestures, completely undeserved, that made me see myself in an entirely different light.

Humble Pie

One of my son's very first words was "Bible."  His great grandmother, grandmothers, and church have all given him various versions of this book, and he loves to thumb through them and look at the colorful pictures.  About a week or two ago, he took it to the next level, demanding that we put him to bed with his "Bible book" and crying when we won't let him take one of them into the tub.

I have to admit, my parent's heart swells with pride at these moments.  My toddler knows what the Bible is and wants to sleep with it, I have thought to myself.  Clearly, I am doing something right.

Well -you know what they say about pride.  Two nights ago, my husband pried the Bible book away from my son and pointed at the cover where Jesus is standing in a circle of children.

"Collin," Theo asked gently, pointing at Jesus. "Do you know who this is?"

Our son didn't miss a beat,

"SANTA," he shouted, hugging the book back to his chest.

I guess it's safe to assume our work isn't done yet.  

"Agenius"

When I was in first grade, my Aunt Linda gave me a huge book of questions and answers for Christmas.  The book had great pictures and lots of facts that were supposed to be interesting to kids.

After Christmas, my dad started bringing the book upstairs with him for story time.  My big sister, little brother, and I would sit on my bed in our pajamas and try to guess the answers to the questions in the book.

It didn't take me long to figure out that I could know the answers if I read the book ahead of time.  So I started studying it every chance I got.  When my dad read the questions, I could whip out the answers while my brother and sister looked mystified.

I am sure my dad knew that I "studied" for these nightly quizzes, but he never let on.  Instead, he always made a huge deal about me getting the answers right.

"Whoa!," he would exclaim.  "How did you know that?"

And then he would say my favorite . . .

"Missy, you're a genius."

I wrote about those nights in my diary as a kid, making "agenius" one big word.

I may not have been a genius, but my dad made me feel like a million dollars

.

Legacy

I often think and sometimes write about what a tremendous husband and father my spouse is.  I am thankful every day for him and for the support and love he gives his family.  I know, however, that no man is self-created, and I am thankful for his parents who passed on to him gifts that withstand the test of time.  Below is an email his mother sent today to her children and me (who she always includes in her emails).  It was sweet and sums up so much:

"Yesterday after CBS (Community Bible Study) I talked with one of the ladies and she told me that she had a very interesting talk with her friends about how much it will cost you to raise a child from birth until he or she finishes high school.  She said that one of her friends said, "Don't forget to include how much damage the kid will cost you - like the broken window, the furniture, the carpet, the bike, the car . . . ."  I just laughed and said to her that I don't remember the small things but I remember some big things.  She asked me what big things, so I said the bay window, the new kitchen counter top, the wall, the door, the car and . . . . . :)

Wondering if you remember all these? Anyway, whatever damage you did just becomes an interesting thing to talk about because we love you, no matter what.  We love you all and wish you were here.

Love,

Mom

It is a blessing when parents give children a good example to follow, and something to celebrate when that example is one of love.

Holy Ground

Most nights, my toddler goes to sleep without any problems.  We read a few books, say our prayers, tuck him in with his Santa Bear, his blankies, and his giraffe pillow, and he quickly falls asleep.  But - every so often - he needs a little extra attention.  After tossing and turning for a few minutes, we will hear his cry on the monitor:

"Ma-ma, ma-ma, ma-ma," 

and then - if I don't come immediately:

"Eppie, Eppie, Eppie . . ."  (did I mention that he really loves our dog?).

Against the advice of every sleep training book that I have ever read, I almost always cave quickly and come to the rescue.  My son knows this about me and - most of the time - is ready for my arrival.  I crack open the door to his nursery and he is usually standing in his crib, his arms full with all of his crib friends, his face streaked with tired tears.  

"Up," he will say to me, and I will reach down and grab him and his many comfort items and tote them all to the faded blue couch that has replaced the rocking chair in his room.

Although I don't always relish the interruption in my evening routine, I like this time on the old blue couch with him.  It is one of the only times that my little live wire is content to be held, and I soak it up - knowing it won't last forever.  I stroke his hair, kiss his forehead, and feel our unborn baby kick against him --- always excited to be near his big brother.  I smile, and remember how I snuck into my big sister's room on nights when I couldn't sleep and kept her awake with incessant chatter, talking about anything I could think of so I wouldn't have to be alone.  I always hated falling asleep by myself . . . something my son obviously inherited.

It is in these quiet moments when my son is falling asleep against me that I often hear God speaking the loudest.  I think there is something about the stillness, the quiet in my heart, that allows me to hear what is probably always there.  There have been many times in my life when I have been skeptical about God, let alone the ability of God to speak in any modern day context. But - there is something so deeply personal about those encounters, something so powerful and peaceful and profound, that my heart cannot find a foothold to question their authenticity.

I wish I could share some enlightened revelation about these times, but I have concluded that some things and experiences are a gift --- too mysterious for me to understand, too wonderful for me to know (Job 42:3; Ephesians 5:32; Isaiah 55:8).  That God could make the mundane terrain of my life holy ground . . . what a miracle to behold!


 

Abundance

It is a travel-for-work night, and I am missing my family.  To get my mind off my worries, I tried listening to my first Andy Stanley sermon to see what all the hype is about.  It was a good message with many wonderful take aways.  However, the point that stood out to me the most was - I am sure - completely unintentional.

In the sermon, Andy Stanley made the remark that telling your wife that she is a good mother is the equivalent of clearing the dishes out of the dishwasher without being asked.

It occurred to me that I have never once - in our entire marriage - asked my husband to empty the dishwasher.  He empties it almost every single morning while our son eats his breakfast in his high chair.  I probably empty it only once a week or so. 

This type of behavior is so typical that it has never crossed my mind to be thankful for it. 

I lead an abundant life.

The Power of Positive Thinking (I Happy Part II)

At dinner last night, my toddler sat in his highchair and began reciting a strange litany of words:  

"Elmo, Nemo, Jeeta (Santa), Pasta, Chocolate Milk, Dada, Eppie (our dog)."  

He paused for a moment, and then, with a big smile on his face, started again:  

"Elmo, Nemo, Jeeta, Pasta, Chocolate Milk, Dada, Eppie . . ."

After saying this list of favorite things several times, he looked at me and said, 

"I happy, Mama."  

I smiled back at him, thought of my own not-so-positive thought patterns throughout the day, and remembered Phillipians 4:8: 

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is fair, whatever is pure, whatever is acceptable, whatever is commendable, if there is anything of excellence and if there is anything praiseworthy - keep thinking about these things."  

I would do well to learn from my twenty month old.