Major Minors

At times, when goals still seem so far from being met, it's easy to think you haven't accomplished much. I'm not talking about a pity party, although I still have those. It's more of a drill sergeant-type self lecture: "Allen! You have got to pick it up!" or "Do not make this mistake again!"

Fortunately, when I have those moments, it's never too long before some positive little memory from the past floats to the surface. I may run across someone who brings it to mind, I may be going through student records and recall an occurrence, or it may just come to me in a silent moment. It's not important how it arrives, but that it does.

Our church is small. Our ministries are big. We aren't a Latin-instructing preschool, or an Ivy League preparatory high school, but we do change lives for the better - always with His help.

A memory came to mind today while I was thinking about needing new floors in the commons area, and tricking myself into believing that my students are somehow disadvantaged by the mustard shade of linoleum that is there at present. Suddenly, I remembered a single mother who was at a crossroads I hope I never stand at. She was on her own with a 10-month-old, and she had to be honest about something in order to enroll her child in our day care center. I could tell she was cringing inside because she was expecting to be judged.

I believe God allows each and every one of us to experience things for the express purpose of having the right mindset to handle some event in the future. I am so grateful He did that for me. Otherwise, today I would cringe at how I handled that woman's confession. Instead, because of what His grace did for me, I was able to look her in the eye and offer reassurance, and care for her baby while she earned a living. Our facilities might not be as shiny and new as my human self would like them to be, but that day God was able to use our day care ministry to make a difference in two lives.

Since having that remembrance early this morning, my day has been peppered with recollections. Some have made me laugh, and some have brought tears to my eyes. All of them have shown me that my God is a composer, a weaver, a master artist.

I love music that incorporates minor chords. The sharp change from a bright, full chord, to the one that seems slightly incomplete gives me chills. When I play, I love to hold out a suspended chord. Even though I'm seemingly in control of what I'm creating, my ear waits at point for the resolve.

When we step off track. When we lose our way completely. When we take something complete and full and choose to change it. In those instances, I believe God just sees that He's going to have a little more interesting finished piece. He'll use the minor chords of our own creation to do something beautiful and unexpected further down the road.

The school house rocks

The air is filled with possibility. It has to do with a looming school year start. I love the line in "You've Got Mail" where Meg Ryan talks about New York City in the fall and says it makes her want a bouquet of sharpened pencils. She also mentions loving the smell of Scotch tape. I also love the scent of sharpened pencils and Scotch tape, and New York, even when it smells bad. As well, I love "You've Got Mail" and watch it every single time it's on TBS. Every time. But, that's another post.

There's an unmatchable motivational factor involved with an approaching school year. This has always been true for me. In elementary school it started whenever mom and I went back-to-school shopping. When new clothes and shoes went on layaway, my stomach swelled with butterflies, and I would thereafter ask her to take me to the school every day so I could see if the class lists were posted yet. They never were posted before the third week of August, but I'd ask anyway. Once the lists were posted and I knew who my teacher was, it was time to go school supply shopping. Oh, the weight of importance I placed on Lisa Frank pocket folders! Unicorn or dolphin? It was a decision of some magnitude. I would pack and repack my backpack in preparation for the first day. About two weeks before the first day, my clothes would be brought home and I would begin the process of selecting an outfit for the first day.

The excitement continued in similar fashion all the way through junior high, high school, and college, but once I finished with school it dissipated. Working for a newspaper, and then an architecture firm, I saw the same people every day of every month. Then, I chucked it all and decided to become a freelance writer and teacher. And today, I find myself excited once again. I'm not picking out outfits or practice-packing my purse, but I did clean my office. The supercharge behind me these days is all about the potential of this year. It's my second full year as administrator and I think I finally have my feet under me, I fully own the position. Some staff members have left, and we have new people in place. Some students have graduated or moved, and we have a crowd of new ones coming in. I'm downright anxious to see how all this new blood will reshape our school.

I can't say enough what a privilege it is to work where I do among my family and closest friends. More than that, I'm blessed beyond measure to have, at the very top of my to-do list, the responsibility of teaching young people about the love of Jesus. Didn't go to college for that one, but it's an acquired skill.

Some years ago, when I was working for the paper, I wrote a blog on my MySpace page titled "Back To School Blues." At that time I was down because I realized there were certain milestones and rites of passage gone forever. I would never buy gear for a dorm room again, not for myself. I found myself borderline depressed because I had graduated and found a job and my life was nothing like I had imagined it would be. I had worked hard (I use that term loosely) for four years to get a good job - it had been my goal and motivator. Now I had a job, and it was a total let down. The most disheartening part was there was no change on the horizon. No end of semester, no new classes, no graduation. I was supposed to sit at that desk for 40 years.

Well, that didn't work out. I changed desks a few months later. I entered a new job, a better job, and I tried to reinvent myself. I failed. The people I worked with were wonderful. The job was wonderful - a pretty easy gig. But it still wasn't right. Then, I wound up where I am now, in a position no way related to my education, save the writing I do. And, it's perfect. It may not be the most prestigious or glamorous of positions, I wipe noses and change diapers here and there. But, I have an awesome long-term goal - one that has very little to do with me.

Life's a Trip

Isn't it funny how things turn out? Facebook, as I'm sure it does for many people, keeps me in an almost constant state of retrospect. Five or ten years ago, ahead of social media, it was easy to forget people (read: experiences) from the past. Now, by my own choice, I daily see names and faces of people I haven't seen in years. Chances are, I won't ever physically see them again, barring the extremely unlikely event that I attend my high school reunion.

Depending on the name, I am taken to the halls of Borah High School in Boise, Idaho. Occasionally, an experience tied to a certain individual will take me further back, even to West Junior High (shudder). Others cause a flashback to the University of Idaho campus and the Pi Phi Palace. Some are more recent, like the SFA campus in Nacogdoches, Texas, and just yesterday I communicated with someone I interned with at cue:creative in Tyler, Texas. Some associations are positive, others move me to the serious consideration of lobotomy. Regardless, they are all people and experiences that are a part of who I am today. Every memory shapes me, and I find it so interesting to look back over these chapters in my life and try to get into my own head back then. I never would have imagined I'd be where I am today, not geographically, professionally, socially, or spiritually.

I was an extremely selfish, stupid, and insecure individual in high school. If I could go back, I would do it just for the sheer purpose of being nicer to people. There's a lot to be said for a smile. Oh, how offering one to others at crucial times might have changed things a bit. Wisdom like "show yourself friendly" or "keep your mouth shut" were wasted on me then, but now I see so clearly what they mean, and how the advice is best and most simply applied. If I'd obeyed the latter, I might not have lost a car window and an insurance suit during my freshman year of college.

I was an extremely selfish, stupid, and insecure individual in college, too. I was a mess - the first two years anyway. Made excellent grades and bad decisions. Reputation was something I didn't think much about, I felt it didn't have any weight of importance for the long term. God took care of me, though. He gave me a fresh start in a new place. I couldn't be what I am today in proximity to that past life, and He knew that. I have absolutely no control over what people think of me, but I do have control over what I think of them. I figure forgiveness and a non-judgmental attitude balance the scales. Just this minute while writing this it's so clear to me what God was up to. What an awesome and wise Heavenly Father I have.

Once I got to Texas I started getting some sense talked into my dense head. Still messed up on a daily basis for roughly five years in a row. Now I mess up, but I generally realize it pretty quickly and make it right. "Success is a journey, not a destination." We've all heard that, right? The same rings true for a walk with God. I didn't cross the Texas state line and instantly turn into a saint. Living for Him is a process, and I learn new things every day. My first years at it were a mess, because I was young and still wanted to fit in somewhere else. I made mistakes, ruined opportunities to witness, and tried to earn my salvation, instead of just receiving it. But, time and love were applied to my confusion, and although I have questions and trials all the time, I now have this wonderful open line of communication with my Creator. Even when the answer doesn't come right away, I know He's working on it, and I have peace - the kind of peace that only comes with full trust in, and surrender to someone else.

I can't explain in words to anyone what true liberty is like, but I hope my life is an explanation. My God is so good to me. Whatever is between the lines in the paragraphs above, it’s erased. I may remember it, you may remember it, but He doesn't. And His opinion is the only one that matters in the long run.

An emotional rhapsody

I'm listening to Matt Redman. Right now "You Alone Can Rescue" is playing, and I plan to listen to it again. Every single time I sit down to write a blog, I take a few moments and search, and listen for a still, small voice to tell me what I need to say. I try my best to be obedient. I never know if what I write will touch someone who reads it, but I'm always blessed by the thought I'm given. It's humbling and awe-inspiring to hear the voice of God. I can't come up with most of this stuff on my own. "To you alone belongs the highest praise" - that's the final line of the song, which just ended. Talk about timing.

Music is so powerful. It can put us in another place, another time, it can make a fading memory burn bright and invoke an emotion or desire thought forgotten. It can inspire a person, bring them joy, or drive them to tears. It can bring praise to someone's lips, or influence them to make poor decisions. I believe music has had all of these effects on me at one time or another.

I love music. I assign a lot of importance to it. I can look at the long list of songs in my iTunes library and identify a memory or emotion with just about all of them. I've listened to three tonight, in the past hour or so, that all point to my two very good friends.

One friend is actually my cousin, and probably the human being on this earth I'm closest to, although I wouldn't have always admitted it. The other is her Marine husband who was killed in Afghanistan this past May.

My music library is organized alphabetically, and oddly enough that places the first and second songs that reference them right next to each other. One is uplifting, and the other (although it's an awesome and beautiful song) I have no business listening to because I know it's going to open the floodgates. In consequence, I will sit around bawling and sniffling for an hour, like I'm doing right now. I repeat: Music has a profound effect on me.

When the couple was first dating in high school I don't know if any of us thought it would turn into what it did. The relationship lasted a year, and then two. When he enlisted in the Marines, there were some that believed the relationship would peter out due to time and distance. But, they lasted through basic training, then through the first tour in Iraq, and then the second. What started as flirtation in the band room, turned into a commitment between two of the most independent and iron-willed people I've ever met.

I remember vivid details from their wedding. Not just because I was the maid of honor and had a front row seat - if anything nervousness would have blocked some of it out. I remember because it was like no wedding I've ever been to. It was so personal, and illustrated in numerous ways the absolutely unshakeable bond of love, honor, and dedication that was present between the bride and groom. The first song I listened to tonight was the song she walked down the aisle to. If I remember correctly, he discovered it some length of time before he ever proposed, called her from Camp Pendleton, and played it for her over the phone. It's like it was written just for them.

I am positively heartbroken every time I listen to it, or even think about the lyrics. Marriage is about loyalty, companionship, and commitment. The one you marry is supposed to be the person you love and cherish above all others next to God, the one you would have an arm severed off for. Sadly, it's a covenant that has been cheapened by modern society. It's mocked, and seen as a way to get new appliances and bath towels. It's even viewed as temporary by some. Not the case with these two.

This is where the other two songs come in. One was played at the funeral - "Promised Land" by Fee, the other is just a song I know. "Promised Land" reminds me that she hasn't "lost" him at all, she just has to wait a little while to see him again. In the meantime, he's "gone up to glory land, he's gonna see his Lord, he ain't gonna cry no more." That song is for him. The other is for her, it simply reiterates that God is love, and perfect love casts out fear.

This is for her, too. You've always been so supportive of me, even when I wasn't of you - and that's why I know you're reading this right now, so let me say this: You are a remarkable, strong, intelligent, Christian person, and I am so privileged to know you, and honored that you call me friend.

Midnight in Montgomery

It’s been a long time since I’ve regaled my readers with a comical vacation anecdote. If you’re unfamiliar with these tales, let me educate you. Throughout my brief lifetime as an Allen, we have embarked on many adventures. Often, our lodging choices have been less than, ahem … desirable. My most popular recant of a hotel pick gone bad - horribly bad - is a New Year’s Trip to Galveston Island and a stay in a chain whose name I’ll change to protect their reputation. Let’s call them, La Stinka. This stay can be summed up with three words: bugs in bed.

We left this past Sunday for the Georgia Coast, which is a long way from East Texas. We originally had reservations in Meridian, Mississippi, but got there earlier than expected and decided to push for Montgomery, Alabama, so our drive wouldn’t be as long the next day. We arrived in Montgomery after dark, making our approach from the south side - always a good idea. After driving for more than eight hours and we were tired and hungry. We meandered through the coveted pawn shop and seedy bar district for some time before locating any kind of remotely acceptable lodging. The choice was between a (names changed) Motel 9 and a Fantastic Ocho. Neither are on my Top 1,000 list of places to spend the night, but we were out of options. Onward to Fantastic Ocho!

We checked in and walked to our room, which was exactly ten feet from the lobby. I think the guy at the counter took pity on us and put us somewhere we’d feel safe. Or, it’s possible he knew something we didn’t and really was trying to keep us safe. The room across the hall from us had recently lost its door handle. Six jagged holes remained.

We entered our room, where the lights and television were on (?). From there, the evening unfolded. We left to get something to eat and on our way back to the room asked for more towels. These towels never did arrive and we went to bed. Just as we were drifting off, there was a knock on the door. Towels. Back to bed. Another knock. More towels? No, this time a 7-foot man was on the other side. I’m thinking Michael Oher, but this was Montgomery and not Memphis. Did I mention the door did lock, but there was a gap between it and the frame that a small child could wiggle through? The chain had also been torn off, same unfortunate accident the door across the hall experienced, no doubt.

Gigantor was the final visitor of the night and I finally relaxed and slipped into a shallow sleep, a sleep disturbed by a distant rumble. Thunder? No, it was constant and getting closer. The COPS theme began playing in my head, and I concluded it was a police helicopter. I’ll never know for sure.

When I awoke the next morning I needed internet. I was 99.99% sure there was no Wi-Fi but tried anyway, and tickle me pink, there was! It belonged to the Motel 9 next door, but I didn’t think piggy backing fell below the high ethical code of the establishment. The final golden nugget of humor is this: There was an ironing board, but no iron.

All in all, the room was clean, the staff was friendly and helpful, and we got a decent night’s sleep. It also serves as a great story, and fuel for my unfair “Bama” stereotyping.

Vacation!

I am leaving on vacation in a few hours. I find trips are a whole lot better when you've been progressively busy prior to taking them. Not stressed out busy. There's a difference. If I'm stressed out busy, then I just stay stressed while I'm away. But, when it's progressive, accomplishing busy, and I get to go away knowing I'm leaving behind a job well done, oh man, that's a good break.

This week has been spectacular. I couldn't think of a better note to leave on. Vacation Bible School was a wild success, and despite running around like a crazy person a lot of the time, I still managed to get a lot of actual work done. I've got several new students in the wings for the upcoming year, we have a confirmed foreign exchange student, I got some excellent news on a personal front, and I discovered that my biceps look amazing. Anybody want tickets to the gun show?

Have I done anything to make all this come about? Maybe a little, but I know better. I'm wrapped in His blessings. On a sad note, my very good friends Tiffany and Jordan are leaving Sunday night to take a position in a church in Indiana. They will be greatly missed, but I know this is an opportunity for them to grow as individuals, as a family, and minister to others. In Jordan's last lesson, he defined grace as "divine favor." It's a good thing to have, especially when I consider how undeserving I am.

How humbling it is to sit and think af all the blessings I already have, and then think ahead to the promises God hasn't fulfilled yet. He's already done so much, and I know I've only begun to know Him. Still, serving God isn't just about the mountain tops. He's with us in the valleys, too, and we are to praise Him in every circumstance. He is always worthy. So worthy. If it's ever difficult to find something to praise Him over, try telling Him you can't find anything. I bet He'll bring something to mind.

I'm going to try and post while I'm away this next week, but I make no promises. It's going to be a full week. I'm driving to Meridian, Mississippi, today (6-hour drive), then on to Brunswick, Georgia, tomorrow with an excursion through the Okeefenokee thrown in (10 hours). Tuesday through Friday I'll be in Savannah, Georgia, a place I've wanted to go to since ... forever. Friday, I head to Chattanooga (8 hours), and Saturday I'll wind up in Memphis with an aunt and uncle, and two awesome cousins. It's going to be fun!! I'll post pictures if nothing else.

The best laid plans. . .

My baby sister is looking at colleges. She knows what she wants to do with her life, she's already secured one scholarship and is actively pursuing others, and she will graduate with honors next May.

Ah, to have plans. Although I hope she doesn't, statistics support the possibility that she will change her major; I changed mine half a dozen times. The differences between the two of us are plenteous: I chose my first major to choose one, almost out of vanity, she has chosen a field she is passionate over; I viewed college as my ticket to a non-stop party, and she is actually pursuing education; when I received my acceptance letter I wasn't thinking past the first week after Sorority rush, and Rebekah is already thinking about where she wants to start her career after college graduation.

I haven't been around very long, but boy have I made some rash decisions. It's easy to sit back and let regret slip in and allow myself to be inundated with "If only. . ." statements, or the good old "If I'd known then what I know now." I say that a lot, but maybe I wasn't supposed to know then.

At lunch yesterday, a friend of mine talked about wanting to become a flight attendant, but she was too young at the time. By the time she was old enough, she had a young family, and when they were old enough for her to pursue the dream again, September 11 occurred, and her husband put his foot down.

I'm teaching vacation Bible school this week and the kids have a memory verse for each day. Monday's was a favorite of mine - Jeremiah 29:11 "I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Did God intend for me to live in debauchery for several years? No, I was out of His will. But, decisions I've made about career, schooling, geographic location - those are choices I've tried my best to turn over to Him, and I have to trust that He has me right where I'm supposed to be, doing just what I'm supposed to be doing. One of the awesome things about God is, He's in control no matter what, and even though we have a free will, He's more than capable of stepping in and cleaning up after us and getting us back on the right track when we're ready.

So, best of luck baby sister. Keep Him in the center of it and all your plans and dreams will turn out just the way they're supposed to.