I’ve decided that being a mom in 2020 is like cliff diving into the deepest part of ocean. It is a thrilling, scary, hold your breath kinda moment. Yet I think, What have I done? It is so much easier back in the shallow end (2019). How do I get back there?

I’m late with my blog this time because my kids were all home this weekend. There’s something magical about them sitting together planning their futures and remembering their past. I act like I’m not paying attention so they will keep on talking. My kids also like to gang up on me. I wait for it because it is inevitable. They love to tease and retell the best stories of their rather recent childhood.

One favorite memory is Ella’s infamous field trip in PreK.

One evening as I was preparing dinner, Ella began sharing her day- her amazing field trip to the zoo. My double take was fabulous, What field trip? Which zoo? Had I really let my 4-year-old go off out of town without knowing? Or was it without remembering?

Ella had our full attention. I was torn between frustration of not being reminded (by who really? It’s my kid.) and pure embarrassment of needing to call her teacher to apologize or sorry shame of calling another mom to verify.

I. just. couldn’t.

Bob and I sweetly asked her to describe the zoo because there’s one in Albany, Atlanta, and Pine Mountain. We ruled out Atlanta pretty quick because of the time frame. Ella kept talking about wolves. That ruled out Albany. Pine Mountain Animal Safari really sounded like the best option. Elise prodded and questioned trying to make sense of it for us.

I cried. MomFail struck again.

MomFail- the dreaded moment of cold realization that you have become your mother. We women spend our whole lives remembering those awkward moments that our moms should have spared us from, should have rescued us from, or should have warned us about before we were humiliated. JaJa, my mom, actually informed me that the statute of limitations for blaming your mother for everything expires by the time you are thirty. JaJa is awesome and raised me right. I just like to have an excuse.

Many of my close friends have witnessed my finer MomFail moments. Even they couldn’t save me from them. Elise is always quick to remind me as well. She earned that right. Most of them happened to her anyway.

Those picture days… even when I thought I was paying attention, I missed them. Poor Elise, sweatshirts and ponytails three years in a row. Not just school- it happened on dance picture day too. Ella caught on fast and never let it happen again. She’s been dressing herself since she was six.

Birthday parties…we missed a few and we made a few. I can’t explain it.

Poor Dallas and his buzzcuts and matching outfits with Elise. He is still traumatized and has been growing it out ever since he turned 16 and could drive away when we said haircut. He doesn’t like pictures much either.

Before I go any further and one of those beloved friends of mine calls me out, I will share the piñata story. In reality, you’ve probably heard about that woman who forgot to put candy in her child’s piñata. It’s legendary. In my defense, the stupid piñata didn’t have a tag, and I had never bought one before. I had only made them.

Imagine: 30 five-year old kids taking turns beating the hell out of very large piñata. Imagine the utter disappointment on those precious faces when Bob finally had to break it open for them and nothing – I mean nothing- but air was in side. Elise wailed and a fewer other kids cried too.

Bob regarded me with such pity in that moment. We were dating at the time, and he felt sorry for me because he didn’t know better.

Every parent of every child was gathered around to watch. I was surrounded.

Encircled by the dearest of friends, I held my head high making apologies while a few of them secretly searched the trash for remains of said piñata. The broken parts of it were transformed into centerpieces at our monthly supper club for an entire year. Why would such good friends do that to me?

Because they are Georgia fans and that stupid piñata was an Auburn Tiger.
That and I’m a Spanish teacher.

Ella and her exciting field trip with wolves? You should know better. I started that story with I was cooking dinner. That was your first clue that something was wrong. I actually did call Heather, her teacher. I still hear echoes of her laughter when she told me Ella made the whole thing up.

No field trip.

No wolves.

Yet, it still felt like a MomFail. That’s when Ella earned her nickname Sassafras because you can’t really call your child a sassy ass in public.

I don’t regret pushing back work or my late blog post. Spending time with my kids was worth it.
That was one MomFail I wasn’t willing to risk.

I've been a soccer mom, cheer mom, dance mom, gymnastics mom, and a personal fav- XC mom. I love watching this kid do her thing.

While I was working a home cross country meet this morning, I heard geese honking. That's always a good sign. When Carol asked me if I wanted to leave my station to watch Ella at the start of her race, I declined. Ashleigh was with her. Today, I stayed at the finish line. The truth is that I don’t like to watch Ella run away from me. I’d rather see her run to me.

Ella’s been running ever since she could rip off her diaper and escape. As a toddler, she created a course loop inside our home. Later, she and Bob designed a trail below our house. Ella ran her first race when she was four. I ran, too. This is how I know beyond a shadow of doubt that I am not a runner. Thank goodness Ryan started running with her- just so I wouldn't worry.

Watching Ella run gives me joy. Today was a good race that brought a new personal record for her. There’s even a website for tracking those things.

Maybe teachers could start our own national database and share personal records for other things besides running. How about PRs for teaching?
-a PR for how many times I can do a Google Form incorrectly
-a PR for how long it takes to then read all student emails informing me how this google form does not work
-a PR for how long we can wait to go to a bathroom because we’ve been teaching all day
-a PR for how much fall candy we can stress eat in a single work week

In reality, teachers run all the time.
Running ragged- of course.
Running on empty- sometimes.
Running circles- all day long.

My feet get exhausted.

One of my favorite lessons from a mission trip is about tired feet. I was traveling with Kathy Adams to Costa Rica. Our group shared communion, and as I returned to my seat, I glanced up to read Romans 10:15 painted on the wall in Spanish. Beautiful are the feet that bring the Good News.

So, I looked down at my feet.

It was scary. I saw tired old feet, with knots on my toes. Blisters stung my heels and spider veins crossed my travel worn ankles. It was depressing and shameful. I should be taking better care of myself.

On this particular day, I did feel defeated. I was wrecked, and I needed to make a choice. I could keep looking down, feeling unworthy to serve others (which was not a pretty option this day or any day), or I could raise my eyes and look at God’s encouragement. His words are healing.

My feet are going to falter, but I get my courage from His word. On this trip, I began to understand how to pray through each problem. I practiced looking up, and I also read the entire Bible verse. Anyone who trusts in Him will never be put to shame. Beautiful are the feet that bring the Good News.

Whatever gifts I have are from Him, and my tired tootsies must take me where I need to go to use them. Richard Blackaby wrote in Experiencing God. “When you trust that God always gives His best, you will devote your heart to whatever assignment God gives because you know in that role you can experience everything God has in His heart for you.” I’ll be perfectly honest. I don’t always get this right.

That’s why I have people who remind me.

Judy has her amazing talent for playing the piano. I’m thankful her beautiful feet get her in front of a piano each Sunday.
Sharon uses her gifts to minister to women in need. Her beautiful feet cross her kitchen floor countless times welcoming women who create jewelry and worship together.
Jeni leads others to peaceful choices. Nothing slows her down as she rolls beautiful feet first into meaningful conversations filled with gratitude and hope.
Charlene and her yoga feet taught me this prayer.
May the light of God surround me,
the love of God enfold me,
the power of God protect me, and
the presence of God watch over me.
Wherever I am, God is also. Amen.

I want to be where God wants me. While I’m there, I do not want people to see me looking down at my feet.

I hope to be caught looking up.

I think of my friends as angels. Living, walking, talking, keeping-me-straight angels. I don’t deserve them, but that is what makes them special.  
 
This weekend I walked to the beach thinking about Psalm 23 and still waters restoring my soul. I usually think of it for funerals, but I realized that it’s also about hope and maybe about friends. He is my shepherd, making certain that I shall not want- especially for friends.
 
God sends…
An adventurous friend who travels with me across green pastures, down dusty roads, and through twisted jungles.
A calm friend who invites me to relax on a beach, by a lake, near a river, or wherever still waters call.
 
He sends...
A gentle friend who reminds me when I should rest and restore my soul-to heal what is cracked, to nurture what is bruised, and to mend what is splintered.
A nurturing friend who wants to see my confidence renewed so that I will live a life worthy of the mom-wife-daughter-sister-teacher and goose calling that I have received.
 
God leads me on a pretty interesting path, but I don’t walk it alone. I’ve got a guardian friend who corrects my vision when I see only one way where many good roads are marked.
 
I hate shadows that linger but if you live long enough, you will find yourself walking through a valley of them. I’m not alone. His timing is perfect and He sends…
My loquacious friend who answers the phone when I call.
My homebody friend who is there to open a door when I knock.
My wise friend who listens compassionately, giving little advice and lots of love.
My stylish friend who is clothed in strength and dignity, laughing at days to come. This is the friend who will cry with me and then tell me when to stop. Who tells me to get it together and dress it up because I have things to do and place to be. This is usually the friend with gum or mints.
 
All of these friends know how to tease me and a few even remember my childhood nickname.
 
God makes certain that I will have a friend by me to withstand evil in this world. I have friends who pray with me, by me, or for me in English, French, or Spanish. I love that God speaks more than one language.
 
When I forget that His rod and staff comfort me, He sends…
A fearless friend who will comfort me against my worries, defending me with a metaphorical baseball bat.
A bold friend who gives me strength in numbers to fight battles before me or celebrate victories- like a wedding during Covid.
A dynamic friend who cheers me on with a hug, text, note, wave, or look that says I’m with you, no worries- you’re not alone. I love a cheerleader friend.
 
God knows I need a friend who will share the table He prepared before me.
He sends…
A skinny friend with chocolate candy or chocolate dessert or chocolate trail mix - anything with chocolate.
My crazy-like-me friend who shares a really long conversation over cup of coffee. In pajamas. On a porch.
My coworker friend who bakes homemade cinnamon rolls just when I need it the most. Sometimes it’s banana bread with chocolate chips. These are simple acts of kindness.
 
I will not want for a friend in the presence of my enemies.
A tough friend is constantly prepared to drive a getaway car, zip line over cliffs with me, or drag me away from useless fights. My Thelma or Louise, Ouiser or Clairee, Truuvy or Jennifer.
My outspoken friend will remind me I AM strong enough and knows when to rally all our other friends.
 
And there’s my brutally honest friend who tells me my outfit is a disaster and I should go change. (OK- this is Ella.)
 
I do not want my head anointed with oil, but David covered his sheep in oil to keep parasites away. Likewise, I have friends who anoint me with essential oils to keep me from trouble. They sprinkle me with lavender or lemongrass to calm me, so I will not say something I might later regret.
 
I will not want for a friend...
Who colors my hair in her bathroom.
Who waits with me in the doctor’s office.
Who reminds me of details, deadlines, and dates I always forget.
 
We go shopping. We wet our pants laughing at stupid things. We also in sneak packages so Bob won’t know when I spend too much.
 
My cup runs over. I send up a grateful thank you because I adore my angels who remind me to be this good friend to someone else. I learn how to forgive because my gracious friends forgive me when I screw up. They are the face of God when they show me mercy. I’m grateful for friends who have loved my kids, me, and Bob. 
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God sends an angel friend who reminds me that His love never fails.
My live-wire friend shows up and shows out. We plan and we scheme. We use our powers for good. I swear.
This friend also knows THAT other friend who will celebrate anything at any time, dancing and singing out loud to our favorite 80s song.
 
There’s always that sweet angel who remembers every single time I made a complete idiot of myself.
 
I shall never want for a friend who leaves a light on for me, for a friend whose light leads me forward or guides me back.  
 
God is my shepherd. I shall not want for a friend.

Photo: Mama Jo and me
​Jack and Jill Kindergarten, 1974


Yesterday, a friend asked my advice about how to handle a conflict with another person. I told her the only thing that crossed my mind. I believe that when I get to heaven, God will ask me how have I loved?

Not … how have I judged.
Not … how hard have I worked.
Not … how many meals did I cook? Or in my case, not cook.

It will be how have I loved? This question applies to many moments I have each day as I look at the person or problem in front of me. Honestly, I am grateful for time with this friend because I needed to be reminded, too.

In contrast, I really really hope He will NOT ask… was I a faithful steward of trees.

Literally. I won’t withstand a conversation about trees. JoAnna, how many trees were sacrificed for you as a teacher? How many extra copies? How much paper used and not recycled?

I must confess that I have severe paper guilt. I even have a small collection of work from my first year of teaching, a notebook from 1991 of a history class I took in France, and my novels from high school. I am sentimental like that.

Teachers just use a lot of paper. It comes with the territory.

I do love my people and I love my crazy, unpredictable life of teaching even when I forget to show it. Most people teach because they crave order and routine. This school year is chaos beyond our control, anything but order and routine. I speak for all teachers who must fearlessly charge through the day wondering where the heck is peace hiding.

I love a challenge. It just so happens that this challenge is to seek peace in chaos.

Two weeks ago, the second Jubilee International Symposium happened despite all suggestions that I could abandoned the idea. I plowed ahead much to the amazement and probably frustration of people around me. It certainly was “the one more thing” I could have let go. I was not ready to give Covid the satisfaction.

Covid separates and causes fear that leads to a whole lot of second guessing. It has potential to destroy our confidence. I see that teachers need to be inspired, that they need resources, and that they crave to be connected to others who might have new ideas. I need to be connected, so, I decided- screw the pandemic. It was time to cultivate a culture of peace. My precious partner in crime, Laura Bauer, helped make it all possible.

Because of Laura, I get into all kinds of good trouble. Because of Laura, I discover how to have a whole lot of fun while embracing a source of inspiration that aligns to my beliefs about people, education, faith, and purpose. Something I said resonated with Laura almost two years ago. As I spoke to friends about my last trip to Haiti, Laura heard my heartsong.

Because of Laura, I am motivated. She always says yes to my crazy ideas. She understands the power of yes. She connected me to Jeni. Jeni connected with my school. My kids at school connected with Mattie’s message. Mattie’s message of peace and resiliency finds its way into the hearts of anyone who hears it because it is a really good message. Peace is possible.

When Kim Fuller presented a heartfelt keynote address last Wednesday at our symposium, she spoke of her family, her beloved Plains, and the importance of remembering where you come from.

Oh, I know where I come from – Cordele, Georgia. I’m from a family of educators- grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and my sister. My great grandmother Josiella Bivins opened one of the first Montessori style kindergartens in South Georgia following World War II. Each day was filled with art, music, playing, and discovering.

At Jack and Jill, I remember collecting and pressing leaves, pulling taffy, sitting in a great big circle with musical instruments. I remember our playground where we built forts, made mud pies, and ran until we were exhausted. That’s what I remember. That is what any child will remember, simple moments in a school home where they create and play as they learn.

Over five years ago, I chose my school home in Americus. As I met a collection of amazing advisors, I realized that we were risking everything to open Furlow. We wanted to create, collaborate, and contribute to a different approach to education. Since then, we have cleaned a thousand rooms, reorganized a thousand closets, sat in meetings for a thousand hours (maybe longer). We have decorated, celebrated, and prepared gardens. We have drug ourselves home just before the evening alarms went off. We’ve made mistakes and corrected them. We have laughed together, cried together, and poured the very best of ourselves into our scholars so that they will know how to seek peace when chaos comes to them.

Teaching is hard. Most people have figured that out since March. That and why teachers need summers.
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For me, it is good ...
To stop from time to time to remember where I come from and why I teach.
To thank my friends for reminding me about what matters.
To be grateful for chaos as well as peace.
To celebrate how I have loved this beautiful, wild life He gives me.