This past Monday was a beautiful day on the soccer field. It is officially spring in Americus, and the grass, stands, and cars were lightly dusted with a unique yellow that only pollen can claim.
During high school soccer season, families and students brave the pollen to support a team of dedicated girls who run up and down that crazy field a million times in two hours. That’s how much they love it. Most of us parents just love them so much that we keep trying to figure out this confounding game. Hanging back from the crowd, I stood awkwardly apart from my friends and family while I tried to listen to my class that I have every Monday night for three hours. There I was- holding my phone, earbuds in, zooming, multitasking, and regretting every minute of this dilemma. I despise regrets and go to great lengths and great prayer to avoid them. Yet here I sat because I refuse to miss one of Ella’s soccer games for a zoom. This was part of the business that God has given me, so I make the most of it. Maybe it’s because the kids didn’t get a season last year because of school closures. Maybe it’s because she is our youngest and time is more precious to me. Maybe, just maybe, I am obsessed watching her play. My professor wasn’t fooled or happy. This class requires my full attention, so I eventually moved my car, and parked where I could watch them play. I switched on the A/C and my computer. My eyes stayed on the field. My body literally swayed with the team, and my face was covered in scowls, grins, and sometimes confusion. Yes, I love watching my girl. I’m no different than any other mom who supports a child through a sport. I recognize commitment, effort, and enthusiasm with every block, kick, and sprint. Ella is tougher than me, but I pray more than she realizes. It’s me and God throughout each game. Ella doesn’t like me to yell, but sometimes I yell just because she doesn’t like it. All these emotions and a spectacular sunset were captured and recorded on that class zoom. I felt ridiculous as I tried to navigate my commitments as a professional and my commitments as a mom. Neither my professor nor my child got my full attention, but they both got all I had to offer. I felt weary, fatigued, and a little frustrated because I did not intend to put those two things in competition with each other. I thought I set aside sufficient time and energy for both. When we finished the game, I raced home to finish my class. It was an exhausting day. The next morning, I found myself standing in front of fifth graders explaining (in French) the pyramid of basic human needs. The French feel that one’s physiological needs come first. They list food, water, sleep, and breathing clean air as fundamental human needs that go at the bottom of a pyramid that charts this hierarchy. From there, they move on to security of shelter, medicine and health care, employment, family and social needs, esteem, and personal accomplishment. How about that? Rest before clothing on the scale of basic human needs. I concur. I’m exhausted, but I have plenty of clothes. Graduate school ranks up at the top of the pyramid with personal accomplishment. Rest is at the bottom. I think I now officially live on all levels of that pyramid all the time. No wonder I’m a bit tired. You know what is not listed on any level? Faith. You know what is definitely on my personal pyramid of human needs? God- because I simply cannot do any of this without Him. God’s pyramid of basic human needs reminds me that there is a time for everything. In Ecclesiastes, King Solomon recorded all these times and all these seasons that matter under heaven. King Solomon doesn’t mention zoom, but he does mention toil and working hard for something. He said to be careful that it does not become vanity. It’s in chapter 2 that he tells of his own struggle with toil and gives insight into how to find enjoyment in the business of living that God has given him. King Solomon wrote, What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time…there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil- this is God’s gift to man. Ecclesiastes 2:9-13. I appreciate King Solomon for this warning against vanity. I found encouragement to keep on with the business that God has given me... to take pleasure in my graduate school work and zooms, to search for joy in my lessons with some awesome kids, and to savor each beautiful chance I get to see my daughter play soccer. It’s this season of my life after all. And I thank God for everything beautiful He has made for me.
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Photos of Coney Grove by Beth Adams
I sing my own version of John Denver’s song every single time I drive past Coney Grove on the way to my sister’s house. Of course, I changed the lyrics. I do that sometimes to make a song fit a particular memory or situation I find myself in. Doesn’t everyone? As I turn off Hwy 280 outside of Cordele and head towards Arabi, I will begin to sing these words. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes to myself. I’ll look over at that country road lined with pine and pecan trees that take me to a memory from a long time ago- from the legendary Coney Grove Bluegrass Festival. I always look for the cut off. It always brings me the simple pleasure of a good smile. I was only a small kid, so my memories of Coney Grove are somewhat more simplified compared to the undeniable fun experienced by those grown-up kids. There was enough friendship and music to fill an entire weekend of campers, campfires, and laughter. It was early 1970s in all its glory spread out all over this grassy grove. Music lovers settled in to listen to amazing music- tight harmonies of old-time songs and gospels played in off-beat rhythms and always at incredible speeds. Bluegrass and banjos at Coney Grove. It was the place I learned to appreciate the power of music and memories that come with it. It was the place I learned to walk out on my own, find my voice, and use it. It was the place I learned to serve others even if it was only asking if they wanted some boiled peanuts. Even if I was only six years old. An old country cabin held concessions and sat up the hill from the rows of people. They gathered around a stage covered by southern shade of pine and oak trees. My dad sent me out from that concession store, telling me not to be afraid. Just speak up. Smile at folks. Don’t be shy. It will be ok. Everybody likes boiled peanuts. How can I now be fifty but remember what it felt like to be a kid holding that tray while I walked through the makeshift aisles? Through a myriad of those wooden benches and old-fashioned metal chairs that swayed on uneven ground? Through a crowd of familiar faces and my childhood heroes? I’m not sure if I believed him, but I have always done what my dad asked. He usually gave me pretty good advice. I was really young, but I realized even then that he was trying to teach me something. As I made my way towards sounds of banjos, harmonicas, and harmony, I carefully balanced brown bags of boiled peanuts on a makeshift tray. Without looking back, I knew my daddy was watching over me. He gave me that little extra push I needed to speak up, but he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight. I walked out on my own with a task in front of me. I learned to just get on with it. To this day, I remember what it felt like to overcome my nerves and speak up. To greet people and thank them. To feel good about just being there. Within a few minutes, the tray was empty, and I returned with a proud grin to my dad. I still hear the music behind me and loose change bouncing around in that makeshift tray. I still remember what it felt like to tell him I did it! I really did it! He filled that tray up and sent me out once again to use my voice to talk to people. I haven’t shut up since. I don’t remember all the lyrics to John Denver’s song when I drive down that road. I just sing Country Roads the way I like. I have rather enjoyed my version over the years. Here’s to John Denver and here’s to hoping his song gets stuck in your head. I bet you have your own memories of this song. Coney Grove, take me home, to a place I have known. Good music. Good memories. Good country roads that take me home. ![]() Every now and then someone asks me to explain how in the world I embarked on a career teaching French and Spanish. Next, this someone might pipe up with extra-curiosity wanting to know which one I like better. Do I like French better than Spanish or Spanish better than French? There are so many ways to answer this question. My response goes something like this: It’s a like having two kids. I’m trying to raise them right, give them each enough attention that meets the needs. Sure, these two are related, but they are still very different and have specific requirements. Thank goodness, both like to travel with me! Short version- I fell in love with French in college, so I kept taking classes. I fell in love with Spanish when I was offered a job that would pay me enough to live on my own. This desperate 29-year-old was divorced, living with parents again. I quite literally learned another language and began teaching it so that I could secure my freedom. That is some serious motivation. Teaching is my career choice and one I’m very grateful for every day; however, teaching French and Spanish is a God thing. I’m blessed that I know I’m doing what is fulfilling to me even though it’s some of the hardest stuff I’ve ever done in my life. Most teachers will agree that to teach, we must recognize the intrinsic value of a human potential. We must value respect and kindness. Teaching is its most gratifying when we watch kids grasp the simple lessons we offer them. We teachers see this transformation in its beginning or middle because we rarely get to see the end result. Teaching is most rewarding when we invest in the process, not for the final result. I love all the tiny teaching moments. Sometimes, teaching is like waiting for the cows to come home. It is a long, somewhat indefinite process, and kids have their own pace. Most days I’m exhausted and invigorated at the same time. Crying and laughing in the same minute. With relief. With pride. With concern. So many of you- my teacher friends, parents, and family- are hanging in there. Hanging on by a thread. or Hanging your head in exhaustion. or Ready to hang up your teaching hat because IT.HAS.BEEN.A.YEAR of crazy stress as we all learned how to teach virtually. The pandemic profoundly altered our lives. You may be tired. Skeptical. Frustrated with circumstances beyond your immediate control but still trying to walk in faith. It’s an inch by inch, hold your ground existence. Yet you’ve kept walking despite the uncertainty about why things happen the way they do. This stuff shakes even the strongest of believers. Corrie Ten Boon reminded me of something important in her devotion, and I’ll pass along to you: God is real. I talked to Him this morning. Christ the Lord is fighting for you. You are only asked to remain faithful. to not rely on your own understanding. or your own wisdom. or your own strength. You are asked to not rely on anger or bitterness or envy of others to carry you through the day. You are asked to rely on Him. In this time of struggle and pain, we sometimes need to be reminded of how beautiful we are. Look how He made us to choose Him despite everything around us that says choose differently. His peace passes all understanding. There are days that I don’t understand much. There are days that He reveals wonderful things to me. I don’t ever know which day it will be, yet I hang on to His word and my faith. Corrie’s devotion was a good reminder for me. I’m a mom, wife, teacher, daughter, and friend by the grace of God. I try to be quite original about the calling God has given me. We can each see our calling even when everything else seems dark and terribly difficult. My job is to teach and live out my calling with all of God’s mysteries that come with it. God is fighting for you. Use His strength when you don’t have the answers. Be kind to yourself first. Be kind to each other. We’ve been fighting things that we can’t overcome on our own. I’ll be praying for me and you- Till the cows come home. photo by ella |
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JoAnna Arnold
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