Choosing Joy
"These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full." John 15:11

I am sitting in my new favorite graduate school “get work done” location, yet I am not getting the work done. My grandmother’s chair is a pretty yellow, and that was one of her favorite colors. It’s like a golden hug from Memama.
 
Only a moment ago, I heard a few geese honking. Or I imagined I heard it. At this point, it is all the same. No matter what I heard or did not hear, I paused. I just learned that a grad school homework assignment had been changed Wednesday. I did the old assignment. Time to start over.
 
Sigh.
Graduate school- be careful what you wish for because you just may get it.
 
I wished for it and I do love it; however, I did not prepare myself for the intensity of doing work online. I’m referring to all the reading papers online, submitting documents through various portals, uploading and downloading and generally getting befuddled between messages from WhatsApp, Canvas, and emails that announce everyone’s submissions- ahead of me of course- of correct homework that is due.
 
Note. There is a real pressure of seeing email alerts and hearing the beep of my phone as people submit work in advance. (No, I don’t know how to turn off any of those notifications and now I don’t have time to figure it all out because I have to redo my assignment.)
 
This is not my first time in graduate school, so I thought a specialist program would not be too stressful. Yep- that’s what I thought. The blessing in all of it is that I get to work with teachers from all over Georgia.. These educators are the real deal.
 
This is however my first time in graduate school during a pandemic. Throughout my zoom classes this week, I talked with struggling educators to find out how other programs are operating through this crisis.
#1 Her school went from virtual to hybrid, phasing in different grades over coming weeks.
#2 Her school postponed opening until September.
#3 His school has always been virtual.
#4 Her school is fully open with extensive measures to prevent spread of Covid.
My school went from hybrid to virtual.
 
Every single one of these educators is stressed beyond belief because “this” is different than in March, and expectations to get it right are higher.
 
Stupid Covid. It divides, disrupts, and separates.
 
The only thing I know to do to fight Stupid Covid is to eat fruit. A lot of fruit.
You can pick up the best variety at fruit stand called Galatians 522.
 
Fruit of the Spirit.  I actually wrote FS everywhere I could this week so that I had a constant visual reminder to choose love, joy, peace, forbearance (ability to endure what is difficult without complaining), kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
 
Choose any one of these fruits or put them all together in a fruit salad. The point is to choose His fruit over hate, misery, chaos, impatience, rudeness, evil, treachery, harshness, or lack of restraint and exasperation.
 
Nothing comes naturally during Stupid Covid, but I am grateful for precious friends who have lifted me up, reminded me to choose wisely, and helped me when I needed it.
 
Like that French cab driver in 1991.
 
Whether intentional or not, this cab driver was gracious when he could have been rude. I was nineteen and in Europe for the summer with Auburn Abroad. What were my parents thinking? I enjoyed four glorious weeks in Paris plus three unforgettable weeks crisscrossing Europe with friends, my mom’s credit card, and an unlimited Eurail pass.
 
If you are imagining scenes from Taken, don’t bother. It was more like European Vacation.
 
No, I did not own a back pack. The day my friends and I left our Paris hotel-apartment to begin our adventure, I hauled half empty, full sized luggage to the nearest corner. I hailed a taxi to get us to the train station. I was thrilled to head off shopping across Europe.
 
When I jumped in this typical Parisian taxi, I told the driver with my biggest smile, “Je voudrais aller à la guerre! Vite. Vite.”
 
He burst out laughing, so I repeated myself a few times- never faltering in my excitement and even clapping my hands.
 
When he was finally able to breathe, he said, “Gare… pas guerre… gare…Il n’y a pas de guerre ici.”
 
Priceless. In my enthusiasm, I told this kind driver that “I would like to go to the WAR!”
 
There is but one simple sound that distinguishes gare from guerre. I don’t remember that moment because I was embarrassed. I remember it because this taxi driver could have treated me with disdain and harshness. He didn’t. His choice to be kind, gracious, and generous with his laughter made the difference. He taught me.
 
I learned that I needed to choose my words more wisely so I’ll get to a destination rather than a war.
​
What I just heard might not have been geese honking after all. It could have been a bunch of frogs croaking in afternoon rain.
 
I think I will choose to believe I heard geese.
Here’s to my fellow teachers choosing joy whenever we can.
Here’s to choosing more fruit.

​Bob bought me the giraffe – also lovingly referred to as Jirafa- when we went on our first mission trip together to El Salvador in 2003. I wanted this giraffe the second I saw it.
 
I had to have this giraffe.
 
Bob and I had only been married a few months. It was our first foreign mission trip. Bless him, Bob knew exactly how much I wanted to use Spanish for His Glory, so he went with me. There is a big difference between going on a mission trip because you want to and going with someone because they want you to go. Bob’s heart is big like that- he wanted to understand and support what is important to me. Let’s just say he likes some of my ideas more than others.
 
We were literally on a mountain top that afternoon in El Salvador as we explored the country. We rode in an old blue and white school bus (actually made in Georgia) through the narrow streets of small towns and over open roads next to deep green fields overgrown with a little of everything. Bob and I stumbled off the bus and onto cobblestone steps of a small square. Bob wisely looked around to orient himself to his surroundings and looked happy to be in the mountains where temperatures were cooler.
 
My eyes swiftly took it all in as well, but I’m not going to lie.
I was looking for a bathroom.
 
This was a scene from a movie- part romance, part adventure, and now … part comedy.
 
A bit like Romancing the Stone. This movie made Latin American travel look exotic and romantic- the blond writer in love with her ruggedly handsome man who tried his best to protect her. In retrospect, Bob valiantly tried to protect me (and himself) from buying one more thing all in the name of decorating a classroom. 

Bob, it’s called realia. I need authentic items to show my students. I need to buy these things in the countries I visit.
Jo, I think you can get most of this stuff at a market in the United States.
 
He was right you know. When we visited family the following May, we came across many of the same items at a tourist stop in the heart of LA’s oldest district on Olvera Street. Yes- the items were cheaper than in El Salvador.

The giraffe was different.
 
Most cities in Central America do offer markets of authentic hand carved items from different types of indigenous wood. This is how I found Jirafa, standing amidst piles of original woodwork. The ears of this animal stuck out behind other random works of art and immediately enchanted me as I realized it was actually as tall as I was.
 
I recognized this sculpture of wood as a promise of future memories-- for a baby’s room or my classroom or a conversational piece in the den. Bob recognized it as yet another one of my brilliant ideas that might require his help. There was great discussion over this possible purchase. A lot of Bob saying no and me saying please. We needed a consensus before the next day when the bus would take our crew back to San Salvador.
  
To Bob’s credit, he actually thought Jirafa was pretty cool. When he discovered that it was not one solid piece of wood and was designed to come apart like a puzzle, he began to negotiate the price. When he was convinced that he had not paid too much for it, he handed over the cash.
 
Jirafa actually grinned at me. I’m certain of it.
 
Luckily, the giraffe was taken a part piece by piece- ears and all. When our hosts saw our purchase, they rolled their eyes with laughter as they helped me carefully wrapped up the nine different pieces of carved wood. We loaded him into a suitcase for the trip home.
 
I was excited.  This giraffe was unique, and its creator had obviously taken great care to design, carve, and create it.
 
I was obsessed. Would it endure the trip? Would it become splintered and broken? Scratched and scuffed? Much like my teaching career, it survived despite the odds. No worse for wear, the giraffe took a place of honor in our home for years until he went to my classroom.
 
The kids now love Jirafa. It’s quite amazing how he transforms my classroom and always surprises people who have never seen anything quite like it before. That is a testament to the beautiful and unique country of El Salvador. Never has a ten-day trip so changed my perception of the world.
 
Now, Jirafa is a reminder to be grateful for unexpected experiences that teach or preach to my soul.
 
So my friends, the moral of this story is:
Look for the giraffe in a crowd of junk.
See the possibilities where others only see rubbish.
Pack that critter up, bring it home, and show it off.

Today was hot. I walked into church putting on my mask thinking It’s really hot.

Like Rome in the summer hot.

My precious friends Amy and Josh, along with their kids, visited FBC today. As they talked to us about their ministry in Italy, I remembered how much I managed to sweat in Rome two years ago when Michele, Bob, and I visited them in July. If there are pictures of me, it was either first thing in the morning or late in the evening after I had a chance to cool down. It was hot.

Throughout this unique trip, I walked a lot and sweated a lot, but I discovered simple joys.

--I walked the Appian Way, never before imagining that moment for myself.

--I walked down the catacombs at San Sebastian, the church where Mother Teresa stayed during visits to Rome. Her life was spent in service to her Lord and dedicated to caring for the least of these. I could have stayed there all day.

--I walked out of a crowded metro into the sheer greatness of Rome's Coliseum and around city walls thousands of years old.

--I also walked right into a game of dominos and not the dominos of my childhood either. I visited a refugee center with men from various war torn Middle Eastern countries. They laughed with me. I was terrible at dominos, out of my league when it came to the math, and I did not speak Italian. One guy knew French, so for a precious few minutes, I learned that this Kurdish soldier loved his grandfather who taught him the legacy of playing dominoes well. I have never been so grateful to speak French.

--I walked the steps of Martin Luther.

Laughing, Josh reminded me today about his joke that everything in Rome was just ten minutes away. The only thing ten minutes away in Rome is the next hill. Two things my husband loves in life. To go on an adventure walk and to save money. In Rome, that meant walking to the nearest metro entrance rather than taking a taxi. Up the hills. In the really hot heat. Oh no- there are no pictures from that afternoon!

Josh and Amy are missionaries to refugees in Italy, and this morning Josh preached an inspirational sermon as he talked about their ministry in Rome. He also asked our congregation, “How are you being crushed?”

Josh explained it so well. Like an olive press harvests precious oil from an olive by crushing the fruit in stages, the pressures of life will harvest whatever I am filled with by crushing me.

How am I being crushed?
How can I exude God’s glory when I am pressed, shaken, and humbled?
I can exude His glory if I am filled with His spirit.

Then there were the songs in our service. Songs that spoke to me as powerfully as Josh’s sermon.
We’ve a Story to Tell
Christ is Enough
Wherever He Leads I’ll Go

And the bible verses. Matthew 26:36-46.
May this cup be taken from me. Not my will, but Your will be done.
Or in simpler terms…
This hurts, Lord. But let Your will be done.

Josh reminded me, when life is pressing in, we pray for His peace. We wear it like a garment covering the cracks and creases exposed from the press. We find God in beauty as well as in tragedy and grief. God will take my deepest sorrow and weave it into a pattern for good. If I choose His peace.

Choosing peace sometimes means remembering what to be grateful for in the middle of the mess.

Today,
I am grateful for people who inspire me and give me really good advice.
I am grateful for people who give me opportunities to be more.
I am grateful for people like Josh and Amy who remind me too keep my eyes open and pray.
I am grateful that all the beautiful people who are working together to do His Will… for reminding me to ask God to show me where I will go next For His Glory.

When I praise God with all that I am, I can say Your will be done.

​I started to have a panic attack last night. With all the will power in the world, I decided I didn’t have the energy to put myself back together.
It will have to wait.
 
It’s time to go back for preplanning. For the first time in all my years of teaching, my room is not ready. Not even unpacked.
It will have to wait.
 
Things that were important have to take a back seat to what is more important. Quarantining, social distancing, masking up, and zooming for hours have redefined the parameters of my ability to get things done exactly the way I want them done.
 
It took me a long time to reconcile that I couldn’t fly off to meet new people, experience new cultures, or share my faith this summer. Ironically, all that still happened.
 
God still prevailed, and He gave me all the experiences my heart desired (and then some). Just not on a plane.
 
I met:
Marjorie from Haiti whose face lit up when I spoke of Acadamie La Saline.
Lauren from Alabama who declares her passion for French and the Lord in the same breath.
Bertha from Savannah who started our zoom prayer group in Spanish.
Robert from Kentucky who inspired us to laugh with him as he shared his stories of growing up.
Erika from Atlanta who rescued me at just the right moment- from giving up too soon.
Viviane from la Côte d’Ivoire who welcomed me into a new world of higher learning by calling me “JoJo” in French. She encouraged me, challenged me, and helped me stretch my abilities when – let’s face it- I realized that I’m getting a little too old for this stuff.
 
Except I’m not too old, and most of the time, it is simply a technology issue.
 
Ask me how many times I tried to change the language setting to French on WhatsApp to finally understand I had to change it through the Iphone settings! Hours texting and undoing autocorrect…. Hours.
Ask me how many times I checked the mute button on the computer and still managed to disrupt a zoom meeting.
Ask me how many times I have called a “help” number because I’ve screwed up a password and log-in. It’s too embarrassing. And yes, I did write the information down and put it in my phone.
I still can’t talk about transferring my google drive and losing the forms… I still don’t understand. Somewhere I have printouts. Somewhere in those boxes I mentioned.
 
Where was I? Oh yes – the panic attack. The Covid meltdown I should have NEVER written about.
 
I do not lie when I tell you I heard geese honking over my house last night. A whole flock of them. I’m figuring that the Holy Spirit knew what I needed a gentle reminder that He is with me. He does not forsake me. He holds me in the palm of His hand.
 
That’s when I also remembered the last time I had seen geese on Tuck river in North Carolina. I was also trying to decide that early foggy morning if I should indulge in fears and anxiety about the coming school year. About everything really. Instead I watched geese, and I even took notes.
 
Why? Because the geese were swimming upstream.

They were swimming upstream.
Just like every teacher in the U.S. is doing right now.
 
Fluffing feathers.
Cleaning.
Waiting.
Searching, looking left and right.
Fluttering around busy at work.
 
Some were leading.
Some were sunning quietly watching the others.
Some were swimming around the current.
Some were in a small group off to themselves.
 
One had its head under the water ignoring the others.
One was jumping playfully from one rock to another.
One was following another goose around, imitating everything he did.
 
They all looked alike at first glance, but then I noticed the feather patterns gave each goose distinguishing features.
 
Watching me watching them until their break was over.
 
Anxious to be moving on, a lead goose decided it was time to go. Other geese gracefully swam back and forth into formation. That one goose still had its head under water. Another goose refused to move until the honking began. Until the encouraging began.
Every one with a job to do but doing it all together.
 
Calm on the outside and scrambling underneath.
Going against the flow of the river.
Swimming upstream until they found a place where the water stopped swirling. They spread out to do what God had created them to do.
 
Captivating and charming and fascinating and enchanting.
And no goose was left behind.
 
Honk like you mean it, my friends!
#itiswellwithmysoul