I was unbelievably naive when Anna Elise was born in 1996. I even decided to wait to until the birth to know if this baby was a boy or girl. I wanted a surprise and I got it. Truth is that I didn’t know what to think that first moment I saw her. I was not prepared. No fear. Just a pure tornado of feelings as I tried to reconcile the baby from my stomach with this wild child in my arms. Suddenly on my chest with her big brown eyes wide open, she was doing her thing- hollering, complaining, fussing, and commanding immediate attention. I simply whispered oh my baby and her eyes locked with mine. At the instant sound of my voice, she stopped screaming. As I wrapped my hands around her, she found comfort. She found home. This was not simply a sweet, tender moment. It was an immense surge of grace and chaos. This powerful force of emotion took me from girl to woman. From daughter to mother. It wasn’t marriage or pregnancy that changed me. It was holding Anna Elise for the first time. I recently found this beautiful passage written by Mariama Bâ in So Long a Letter. Here are her words about being a mother. “And also, one is a mother in order to understand the inexplicable. One is a mother to lighten the darkness. One is a mother to shield when lightning streaks the night, when thunder shakes the earth, when mud bogs one down. One is a mother in order to love without beginning or end. To make my being a defensive barrier between my daughter and any obstacle... One is a mother so as to face the flood.” This facing the flood means taking the high road. I despised the high road for a long time until I simply accepted it. God has placed me there- through adversity, divorce, and the reshaping of lives. Choosing to stay on the high road means choosing faith. It is never the easiest, but it is certainly the wisest. I stray from this path a time or two, and then realize I need to seriously pray to stumble my way back on it. Facing the flood from a high road means I survive it. Whatever the flood may look like. In fact, I sang to Elise from the high road. I prayed for her from the high road. I watched over her from the high road. And I laugh over a few of her more memorable exploits. Like the time she stabbed herself in her stomach opening a present on Christmas morning. A clean stab- about two inches in and out without too much blood. Thank heavens for Bob. Like the time she shaved an eyebrow and tried to convince me it was an accident. Mama I dropped the razor and then it hit the side of the tub and then it bounced all the way up and cut my eyebrow off. Mama, I could have been hurt! Why don’t you believe me? Like the time she conducted the science experiment with Quinn by putting a paper clip in the electric socket in her bathroom. Enough said. Like the time she sealed up a lock on a school locker with a glue gun and was later identified on camera by her great big cheer hair bow. Anna Elise has never been just mine. I’ve always shared her with the world, nurturing friendships and important relationships that have shaped her life. While I cannot and will not take credit for all of it (even though I’m tempted to), I am so proud of the woman she is becoming. Anna Elise loves with the full impact of all that has shaped her. You will still find her hollering, complaining, fussing, and commanding immediate attention. So now, we now pray for Matt. Yes, she has Matt now and her home is with him. Anna Elise doesn’t require my particular brand of motherly advice anymore but she still wants it from time to time. As Mariama Bâ also wrote, “A new family was being born before my very eyes. I accepted my subordinate role. The ripe fruit must drop away from the tree.” Now I get the pleasure of respecting their new life together and the decisions they must make for each other and with each other. If I’m going to be an honest goose, I must also admit how much Elise and I fuss. I hate fussing with her. Hate it. Elise hates it too. Ella says that neither one of knows when to shut up- that we both take it too far. That’s what I do as a mom. I take it at as far as I think I need to take it- to understand, to lighten, to shield from storms, to be the protective barrier between her and obstacles- all the while loving her without beginning or end. I am Elise’s undeniable mirror. Her voice of reason. The one who saps the fun out the bad. And oh, God knows how very much I love my girl. Love Somebody- Yes, I do. Love Somebody- Can’t say who. Love somebody - Can you guess? Elise is the one I love with all my best.
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It’s almost been six months. I’ve loved every minute of it. Once I decided to do this goose project for myself and for anyone who might want to read, I discovered how much fun the process can be. I’m grateful for all the advice, encouragement, and creative inspiration I receive from my friends-new and old. So many people have asked how I came up with the "goose" name. Since that story is buried in the archives, I’m posting it again- for those of you who don’t know and for those who might just want to laugh again… ___________________ I asked my husband Bob one time to tell me what kind of bird I resembled. I thought of a hummingbird because it flutters around mesmerizing those who watch. Perhaps a swan, graceful and beautiful. Nope- no romantic answers from my guy. Bob said. “Jo- you are a goose!” I was mortified and offended. I immediately began searching for redemptive qualities in geese. Yep, I am a goose. And I kinda like it! I lead or I follow, depending on whom I am flying with on any given day. I fly or I float, depending on the activity or event. According to my brief yet extensive research, geese are considered to be among the finest and most elegant looking birds that nature has acquainted us with. I like that I found such descriptive words as amicable, loyal, caring, and helpful. These traits with which a goose is identified remind me of the person I aspire to be. And it gets more interesting. Geese fly together in that giant “V” because it helps each bird fly stronger and with more purpose than it could if it were alone. One goose gets tired, so it rotates back giving another goose the front position. Lifting power in that formation ensures group support for one another. Geese care for one another. If one goose becomes sick or wounded, the group simply will not fly off without it. A few will follow the ailing goose to protect him. The familiar honk we hear is actually encouragement. The loving power of geese is quite impressive. That’s when I knew Bob was right. I am a goose and it’s all about the honk. I’m going to honk now- encouragement, love, and support. We teachers are a great big gaggle of geese. Teachers are a special kind of family because we chose each other. We aren't born into our schools. We don’t have a lifetime of memories and love that build relationships. Nope – we sign up for the job. Literally, we sign contract after contract devoting our time and talents to schools and children, yet we evolve into a family like no kid has ever experienced. It is not perfect. It is worth it. A true teacher will pour out his or her best, emptying all emotional and physical resources into nurturing the potential of each kid in the room. In that idea, teachers who love their jobs are united. Unity is the best thing we have going for us. It is our most precious asset. I am grateful for my school, Furlow Charter. We respect the talents and strengths each person brings to our school home. We listen. We are intentional about it, hearing each other intelligently. We honor our calling as teachers to remain professional. One of our greatest strengths is that we honor our friendships. We must continue to be loving, caring, and merciful to everyone in this building. How many different ways do we teachers lift one another up, support each other in good and bad times? We do this by reminding each other to find joy and strength in the calling we have chosen. Our words are powerful. For good or bad, whether we intend them to sting or not. You matter. Your words matter. What we say to one another matters. Being grateful matters. We teach. And while we are teaching, we will be on guard, diligently watching ourselves so that we don’t forget what we have seen happen when a group of dedicated professionals contribute so much of ourselves into creating a vision for a wonderful school. I am also thankful for encouragement I receive from my dearest friends across the hall, next to me at car duty, or beside me in yet another team meeting. Because in my 26 years of teaching, my greatest moments of happiness at work have come from my precious friends. Yes, I am still a goose. Remember... It’s all about the honk. So honk like you mean it! I am sitting on a porch in Apalachicola listening to what Ella calls my Christian spa music. It’s a combination of songs that settle my spirit. My spirit is rarely settled on its own. I found most of this music during trips to Haiti. JoJo’s playlist includes David Brymer, Eric Nordoff’s Quiet Time Worship Music, NeedToBreathe, Matt Redman, Tenth Avenue North, and Hillsong. Music relaxes me. In this moment, on this porch, I am thinking about how fragile everything has become. Precious yet fragile. How much easier it is now to make mistakes that break things? I’ve been writing in my journal, but I don’t feel like being funny, cute, or sweet. I feel like crying. Tears of joy because my friend is relieved. The surgery went well. Her husband thrives. Tears of concern for another friend who is scared for her child’s health and waiting for a report that takes us all from critical to stable to home. Tears of frustration for those who are paralyzed with fear over the coming months as we try to go back to school. Tears of unease for those who must fight for every inch. Tears for those feeling powerless over changes in purpose and plans. Crying because I can’t take care of any of it for anyone else. Do I have this wrong? Everything in our world seems to be wrapped in a box marked Fragile-Will Break! The wrong word, wrong response, wrong look, or wrong perception seems to take us to a very wrong place. Corona meltdown. I see it all around me. The meltdown that comes from the exceedingly intense pressure of working through intense change. The meltdown that comes from hurting and losing control over things typically handled with ease. I am talking about the meltdowns over what we beautifully imagine for our future compared to a stunning reality of where we find ourselves during this crisis. Firm foundations now feel somewhat unstable. That is what isolation does to a soul. That and the constant waiting for things to get back to normal. I realized that my eyes have been on a moving target and not turned towards God for direction. This moving target reflects my attempts to get my life back to where it was in February. That reality. The truth - God is my ultimate reality. I spent the last few months talking to myself about faith over fear. Now I must face forgiveness over fear. Grace over fear. And it doesn’t matter who the grace is for- myself, my family, my friends, or strangers I encounter during the day. I'm trying to avoid my own Corona meltdown. I am grateful for every grace given to me and for each gracious person God puts in my life. These people are my teachers. Like Emory Wilson. Several years ago, I was sitting at a table in Gonaïves, Haiti, drinking hot coffee on a sweltering morning. Already sweating. Forgiveness was the topic of our morning devotion. How to forgive. I sat back and listened. This really awesome devotion full of empowering and meaningful moments did not apply to me (and I can make any lesson apply to my life on some level.) I asked myself, Who have I not forgiven in my life? There was really only one person left and there was no point. Breakfast ended and we loaded into the truck to ride to school. I finally snagged a seat inside- a rare feat. There was the littlest bit of A/C that I was scrambling for because yes, I was still roasting. Inside the truck the discussion continued. Emory, my dear friend and a spiritual leader among this precious group, navigated the always interesting drive to the school in Jubilee. He looked back at me, asking me why my talkative self was so quiet during devotion. I shrugged How do you forgive someone who has already died? The look that passed over his face! He immediately pulled over and stopped the truck. He turned around, giving me his full attention. Are you truly ready to forgive this person? Emory challenged me to face up to something I had been holding onto for over twenty years. Right there on the side of the road in Haiti. With the dust, goats, and sweltering sun. It was that complicated and that simple. He asked me if I was ready to choose forgiveness? Emory prayed for me to let go of the heavy yet dull, lingering pain that encircled this lost relationship. I’ve never forgotten the power of that moment. The power to choose. I just needed help understanding how to lay it down. Emory understood because he had been there before too. If you want a bit of God’s word, try Psalm 46. It’s about being still while He transforms our hearts and minds. It’s about letting go of worries we can’t control. We can cease striving knowing He is God. I can choose faith and grace and forgiveness and hope, Or I can choose to keep on crying. Selah. From my playlist, I hear these words: From the East to West You’re Already There. In Christ Alone I find a Revelation Song. There are 10,000 reasons Great is Thy Faithfulness. You Won’t Relent so Oh Draw Me Lord with More Love, More Power and with More Heart, Less Attack. Amazing Grace reminds me How Great is Our God Lord, prepare me to be a Sanctuary. I am not even going to bring up Lauren Daigle. Yet. Last week, Bob and I took Ella and our niece Celia to Dillsboro, North Carolina. We’ve been going there for years to visit family. Bob’s favorite part of our time in NC is making the scenic drive over the mountain into Tennessee to Cade’s Cove. This year when we arrived, we noticed too late that the loop was closed to cars each Wednesday. We could not drive through. It’s the day reserved for biking. No problem, Bob said. We’ll rent bikes. Except we arrived thirty minutes after the last rental time. No problem, Bob said. We will walk. Unconvinced and unprepared, we began to hike. I’ve always considered myself a rule follower, but apparently, I’m not. I violated every rule of motherhood. We entered through the exit side of the loop going against the bikers. We weren’t planning on going too far, so I only had my I Phone and a Diet Pepsi. The girls had a bottle of water and each other. Bob had his unwavering enthusiasm for this adventure. We hiked for three hours. Three bears, two deer, four turkeys, a lonely elk, and a bunch of (not so wild) horses later, and I was done. Do you know what it is like to see me hike and see a bear? It’s fascinating. Back in Dillsboro, we also went kayaking down our beloved Tuckasegee River. While Ella and Celia decided to share a double ducky, Bob and I had the pleasure of watching them. They are really more like sisters than cousins. I had wanted another child after Ella but was advised against it. By Bob. God gave me Celia who completes our happy family on all road trips. While I listened to these two girls alternate between laughing and screaming at each other, I suddenly remembered another time I was on the river with Celia’s mom. Two years ago, my younger sister Amy and I stared nervously at our newly rented double kayak. The original plan for a relaxing float with our husbands was abandoned. Our sweet men informed us that this time the sisters would ride together. Resigned to this unexpected fate, Amy laughed, “How hard can this be?” Neither of us were strangers to adventure or hard work. Inspired by Amy’s optimism, I convinced myself I could handle it, even though I knew nothing about navigating or rowing through class two and three rapids. These were the things our husbands always did for us. Amy’s smile was as bright as the sparkly diamonds on her manicured hands. She straightened her visor with determination, adjusted her strapless bathing suit with confidence, and gracefully eased her blond ponytail into the front of our little vessel without even a splash. Leaning back at me, Amy said, “Your turn, Jo. Come on. God must want us to have an opportunity to bond. At least it’s not going to rain.” Feeling nervous as I watched our guys disappear ahead of us, I clumsily pushed off, falling into my spot, bringing in a seat full of really cold river water. I offered up silent prayers that those dark July clouds would not develop into afternoon storms. At first, we giggled as we floated backward, hitting rock after hidden rock. As we struggled to redefine our version of teamwork, we managed to fall behind the others. It takes a moment to push free when you get stuck that many times. Amy and I refused to panic when rain began to gently fall. My sweet, helpful sister diligently pointed out each rock just before we hit it. Evaluating the situation, she suggested we synchronize our rowing, yelling left, right, left, right. We rowed into yet another circle. Eventually the torrential rains stung us as a thick fog enveloped our kayak. There was no more talk of work, gossip, bills, or kids. No complaining and no witty banter. We began to do what we have always done in times of crisis; we took care of each other, one obstacle at a time. Exhausted and drenched, we let the river finally carry us to our landing. As I pulled Amy and the kayak to shore, Amy handed me her paddle. Once again, she straightened her visor. Wiping mascara from her face, she grinned, “I love you, sister.” The stunning smile vanished as she turned to go speak with her husband, who was laughing with Bob. I knew exactly what she was going to say to him when she found him. Kinda like what I said to Bob when we spotted the bear on our hike. I love a good cliché as long as I’m not it. I often use Southern sayings, figurative language, or a good story to inspire my students and my own kids. Here’s a personal favorite- to put your foot in your mouth. It’s a meaningful expression to me as I am extraordinarily proficient in this art, especially around people who have a bit of celebrity status. I was 15 when I met Lewis Grizzard as he was preparing for his famous tour of Russia. My aunt was happily processing the group’s passport and visa applications. My ONE job was to write each customer’s name on a form that had been prepared in advance. L.G. stepped in front of me with that iconic grin. I said sweetly, Your name please? Lewis. I proceeded to write Louis. He was amused as he corrected my error. I smiled sweetly, Last name? His grin froze as he sighed and continued. Grizzard. Lewis Grizzard. To be on the safe side, I asked him to spell that as well. The list goes on to include Chuck Mangione, Pat Dye, an Alabama governor, as well as the cast of Broadway’s Beauty and the Beast as they celebrated a birthday in a restaurant near the Fox. And Herschel Walker. I am not even going to write about it here as I still feel the mind-numbing embarrassment. I will forever taste a hint of those high heel shoes I wore when I attended a reception for one of his assemblies where he encouraged America’s youth. With this wobbly history of my stupid mouth in mind, I traveled with Laura Bauer last summer to Rockville, Maryland, to meet Jeni Stepanek. When the moment came for me to impress, I kept it simple, honest, and polite. But Jeni wasn’t done with me. The next day, I found myself in her home helping prepare for one of her famous porch parties. Jeni asked me to slice veggies. You know - those things I buy already packaged and prepared. I was given a large, impressive, professional knife-a really, really sharp knife. As I nervously evaluated how to proceed, Jeni decided to get to know me. My focus was on the job before me, especially what this kitchen scene might become if I missed a chop. When she asked me to tell her about myself, I answered carefully. I don’t really know what to say about me. What I can do is talk all day about my students, my family, my mission trips, or God. She looked at me intently and said, So JoAnna, tell me about God. So, I did. I began a conversation with a woman who knows more about faith than I can imagine. I was on solid ground because she invited God into the moment. Jeni genuinely wanted to learn about what matters to me. With her open attitude and simple action, Jeni taught me that the key is to listen for the heart of the person in front of me, to find the heartsong. Jeni’s son Mattie described a heartsong as something deep inside of us. It’s our sense of why we are here and how we can keep going. It is like a purpose. He said that if we completely lose our purpose, we can share someone else’s heartsong until we are able to reawaken or recreate our own. When I listen to Jeni’s heartsong, I learn about what matters to her- the desire to continue Mattie’s legacy of peace in the name of all her children including Katie, Stevie, and Jamie who all died before age four. Mattie lived longer than his siblings. He accepted his physical condition, painful neuromuscular dystrophy, and chose a perspective that in his words was the only choice he could make. Mattie did not allow his condition or fear of his condition to consume him. A child, he heard God’s call to the deepest place in his soul to be courageous. To change the world. Mattie’s perspective of a glass half full meant that he chose to do as much as he could as long as he could. He chose hope. Here’s the thing about hope I didn’t realize until Mattie explained it. He said, If I look at my glass as half empty, it may as well be empty all the way. With no hope at all. That perspective shifts my entire understanding of hope. It brings what is important into focus, allowing me to find joy in moments that are seemingly empty of it. I must also choose to look at what’s in my glass. Mattie chose each day to be Christlike. He chose to be fearless in his faith. Because he chose to do everything from a place of love, Mattie didn’t judge others by their race, religion, age, identity, accomplishments or failures. He embraced his heartsong to build a pathway of peace and to play after every storm. As a Christian, I am called to hope. I am called to peace. To love. Thanks to Jeni and her encouragement, I’m having the time of my life. Laughter is the best medicine! Here’s to all the best clichés life can offer. God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change Courage to change the things I can and Wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time Enjoying one moment at a time Accepting hardships as a pathway to peace Taking, as Jesus did, this world as it is Not as I would have it. Trusting that You will make all things right If I surrender to Your will. -Reinhold Niebuhr |
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JoAnna Arnold
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