Author Archives: Donna and Karla

9/11: That September Day – By Karla

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Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day?

-Alan JAckson Song

Remembrance of an Answer

I love the question posed by Alan Jackson in his song. That September day I was in my classroom teaching a group of innocent children. During my planning, a co-worker came in and turned on the television. I whirled around from typing an email and froze as I saw the continuous recounts aired. The magnitude of the event was immediately felt.

Fear Brought Unity

At the time, I was married; he was a soldier in the Army Reserves. I instantly felt the sting of what this moment meant. I had lived through Desert Storm as an army wife while he was on active duty. For many months while we lived in Germany, his bags remained packed, and I did not know if he would return home when he left for work every morning. But this time was different. We had two girls, one in kindergarten and one in fourth grade.

In the week or two that followed the attacks, I sensed the fears as did everyone, and the urge for closeness with those we loved most. Like in the lyrics of Jackson’s song, I think many Americans did dust off their Bibles for a time and come together in churches. I vividly remember sermons reminding us that God is in control, and I recall our congregation joining together in prayer while forming a band of unity as we held tightly to each other.

Comings and Goings

In the years that followed, my girls and I said hello and goodbye to their dad often. Sometimes, it was for short period, only a week to a month, but others it was for a year or more. There were times when I had to shield them from noticing angry protesters. They exhibited their right to express themselves, while it cut me deeply to see their lack of support for our family’s sacrifice. But most often, we noticed the honor that others gave to soldiers and their loved ones.

There is a special twinkle in the eyes of children waving a flag as they watch their dads, moms, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and cousins, return home from serving overseas. I have stood in a crowd with all my family together and cried at the joy of another family reuniting.

Responsibility to Remember

I think we have a responsibility to remember 9-11. This weekend I was going through old home movies with the girls. Through the Easter egg hunts, school chorus shows, and Christmas mornings, we found two video clips of where I had taken questions from my students to my nana and my girls’ great-grandpa.

First-Hand Sources

Nana grew up in North Georgia, while Grandpa Harold lived his life in Michigan, New Mexico, and California. Both had such deep sadness when asked about Pearl Harbor and WWII. My students learned more from those two interviews than they from any textbook. One student wanted me to ask them both if they would rather live in today’s world or years ago. Their answers were the same, in fact almost word for word. “Well, you have more conveniences today, but it was better back then. There was less violence, and you spend more time with your family.”

Family Importance

I pondered that thought for a while. If I could choose what stage of life I would like to remain, I think it would be anytime I was surrounded by my family. Though we can’t stay home indefinitely and cling to our family like the song discusses, we can strive toward a simple life to spend more time with our family. For these are the people who love us most and have our true best interest at heart.

My life has changed so much since 9/11 as I have weathered many storms. I wish that we, as a nation, strived to maintain our need for a tighter togetherness. Sadly, I believe we laid our Bibles back on the shelf to collect dust all too quickly.

Peace from God

This morning my quiet time began with Psalm 62:1-2. In all the changes that have occurred since the morning of 9/11, I can say these verses have held true for me. I wish that America could keep these truths, which we so dearly clung to that September day, and act upon them in our daily lives.

Truly my soul finds rest in God;

my salvation comes from Him.

Truly He is my rock and my salvation;

He is my fortress, I will never be shaken.

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Slowing Down: Rush and Rush -By Karla

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Rush and Rush

In the early 90’s Alabama recorded a song, I’m in a Hurry. The lyrics were so true of how I was living; I often felt that I was running about like a chicken with my head cut off. (One of Mom’s favorite phrases to describe situations in life.)Never slowing down, also rush, rush.

Growing up, one of my favorite musical groups was Alabama. They are one of the few bands I have seen in concert. Mom surprised us with tickets one Christmas. This was the olden days when people flicked their Bics instead of using a cell phone as they swayed along with the songs. My sisters and cousins sang along to Tennessee River and Old Flame soaking up every moment of the experience.  

I’m in a hurry to get things done

Oh, I rush and rush until life’s no fun.

All I really gotta do is live and die

But I’m in and hurry and don’t know why.

-Alabama Song
     

A Sign of Weakness?

Many people have no desire to slow down, even saying, “I’ll slow down when I die”. My daughters were this way when they were younger. In the back seat, they sat tired from the days activities. Their exhaustion resulted in biting each others’ heads off! (Yep, one of Mom’s favorite sayings). I would say, “Y’all need to take a nap today.” They would reply in union, “I’m not tired.”

As they aged, often I felt beaten down with work, their extra after school hustle, and church activities. There were times when all I felt like I was doing was rushing from one place to another. Sometimes while I was driving, clothes were flying from their bodies as they slid from their school clothes into their basketball jerseys. Simultaneously, they inhaled chicken nuggets and fries.

Too Much

Even alone, I felt the need to rush. I would stand in the grocery line, sit in the doctor’s office, and even idle at a red light thinking, “Hurry, hurry, I have somewhere I had to be, or something to do!” I spent these moments in near panic, fearing being late or unprepared.  

The anxiety that accompanied this fret was seriously real for me. God love my girls having been the recipients of my snapping words, which had to have hurt their little hearts. What concept of time did they have?

Tired and overwhelmed by my hurrying around to get things, my life wasn’t much fun. In fact, my life was becoming more and more hectic filled with more and more stress.  

Trying to do things by myself only left me going through the motions of life. Oh, If I could relive these days knowing what I know now, my life would have been much more calm.  

Not Alone

I believed I had to accomplish everything before I could stop. My own power source is not enough; I needed to be recharged!

Be still and know that I am God.

Psalm 46:10
Plug in with God and recharge

Knowing this verse and living it are two separate things. I did not even try to be still very often Yet, I was on pause so often. I could have been plugging up and recharging during those times.

  • Braking at the red light, I could have been praying
  • Sitting  in the doctor’s office, I could have been made a mental list of ten reasons to praise Him
  • Standing in the grocery line, I could have prayed for a friend
  • Waiting in the car for the girls, I could have been reading a devotional from the book tucked under my seat or from my phone

For our God desires our lives to be more than rushing around until life’s no fun.  This is accomplished not on our own, but with His aid. He is the battery from which we must recharge.

“Desire without knowledge is not good, and whoever makes haste with his feet misses his way.” Proverbs 19:2

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Teachers: I’m Just About Fed Up! -By Karla

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 Stacking Up

August 2, 2018 began my 27th year in teaching. Most jobs in our world today pile on more and more work for about the same pay. Being a teacher is no different. Task after task, stacks of paperwork keep heaping up. I will be one of the first to admit, many tasks are needed, but there is a limit to what teachers can take. I’m just about fed up!

I did some reading this week. (Research gathered from the following: factretriever.com, herelearningclicks.com, dosomethingright.org, and teacherhub.com),

Did you know that the average teacher works a 53 hour week! The daily in-school breakdown is interesting:

  •    5 hours of instruction
  •    36 minutes of supervision and discipline
  •    45 minutes planning, preparing, or collaborating
  •    36 minutes of grading, documenting, or analyzing student work
  •    15 minutes of communication with parents,
  •    23 minutes for lunch

This may be hard to believe if you do not have a close relationship with a teacher, but we work about 400 hours of overtime a year! Adding to that stat is the fact that 78% of us only get five to seven hours of sleep at night. For me, as close to seven as possible—I get a little grouchy without it! I need eight or nine!

Some say, “Well, they get all those holidays and the summer.” I’m going fess up for teachers all across America. First, we sure don’t get the lengthy summer that we used to get as kids! When you look at all the extra time we put in, you will realize we work the hours!

Pay Up

Let’s talk money. I read that the average teacher salary has only increased 1% in the last 20 year factoring inflation. Twenty to thirty percent of teachers have second jobs! But when asked about the most difficult things about being a teacher, our salaries were not in the top ten issues. Instead, we often put up money for our students’ field trips, lunches, coats, or Christmas presents.

In fact, surveys revel the average teacher spends around $500 on her classroom or kids out of her own pocket.

More and More Time Is Used Up

Times have changed so much in these 26 years. I hear the words, “I was beat up,” more and more. Fewer and fewer hands go up in curiosity. Sadly, I hear less and less of how the powers that be back us up. More of my time is spent cheering up kids and teachers, who both need an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, and a hand to pat them on the back. I spent countless hours during the year trying to come up with meaningful activities to build them up. I follow up with kids more often today than in the past because they need more people to show they care. Perhaps, this is because we are quickly moving away from a “what’s up” society to the isolated earbud land.  

As I have gotten older, it is getting harder and harder for me to wake up and get up for school. Recently, I was written up for the situation. Honestly, I own up for my imperfections. However, I am here to say, their requirements for being an effective teacher can take the wind out of you sometimes. Eighty-eight percent of people say a teacher had a “significant, positive impact” on their life. It has been reported that teaching is the second most important occupation contributing to our society’s well-being. The average teachers impacts the lives of about 3,000 students in their career! It is any wonder we are tired?

Giving Up

Maybe you’re thinking I’m too old and too tired to do my job anymore. Maybe you think, there are plenty of young teachers out there ready to take over. However,

  • Thirty-three percent of teachers quit the profession, within the first three years.
  • Forty-six percent had quit by their fifth year! They are giving up too quickly.
  • Only fourteen percent of the outflow in teaching is a result of retirement.

Sadly, I don’t hear many teachers or society in general public encouraging them to stay.

Less Back Up

Something has got to change! In the good-old days, most parents backed up their child’s teacher. (Social media is definitely not the place to vent about teachers. When a parent has concerns, they should talk to the teacher to learn the rest of the story that a child sometimes forgets to share at home.)  Help that trend begin again. We need your prayers and your words of encouragement. Yes, we need accountability, but we need respect as well. We need the higher powers to truly acknowledge the job we already do, encourage us, and offer assistance. (Yes, I am going to say it…and not pressure us with the threat of getting test scores up!)   

Field Day 2022

Please don’t think of me as unhappy in my profession. I am not. I love my kids, over 2,500 of them! Of all the ups I have mentioned, the most important one is this, Teaching and inspiring my school kids fill up my soul!

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Pity-Party: It’s My Party and I’ll Cry if I Want to

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During our college years, Karla and I were partiers! Well, maybe not like you are thinking. We loved a good pity party. I used to send her invitations to the “Donna Turner Pity Party!” Of course, once we unloaded all our complaints and feelings on each other, we usually laughed and moved on.

Valentine’s Day

One Valentine’s Day we decided to invite our boyfriends over to our dorm apartment for a “romantic” dinner. It was all planned. We pushed our desks together and covered them with a white table cloth. We even had a centerpiece and candle. Love songs played on the radio and we ordered dinners from the local steakhouse. At the last minute, Karla’s fellow cancelled. So, I spent the evening eating a romantic dinner in the den, while Karla sat on the bedroom floor alone wallowing in self-pity.

Anger

This spring, I had an incident that upset me. I felt like my go-with-the-flow personality was taken advantage of. A week later, a totally unrelated event upset me, to the point of anger. Anger is not an emotion I possess very often, and crying is something I rarely do. This day I was crying out of anger.

Later that day, I drove to Karla’s. Driving alone gave me time to mull it all over and I became very offended. The more I thought, the more agitated I got. I am always nice to people. and I always show respect, when others don’t. Don’t I always do what I am told? I went on and on in my little mind. Why do people run over me. Because they know I will not pitch a fit. I’ll be nice no matter what.

Self-pity Train

By the time I got to Karla’s, I was on a self-pity train. I am a nice person. I’m nice to everyone. How can people treat me this way? Who gets treated like this? As I arrived and stepped out of the car, it was as if I audibly heard a whisper, “Jesus.”

“Oh.” I said, shaking my head at myself. Jesus, the most loving, caring man that ever lived, was treated terribly. Others mocked, spat upon and much worse. But, He did not complain. He continued to focus on others not himself. There I was feeling sorry for myself and having a pity party. The definition of pity party is: self-absorbed unhappiness over one’s own troubles. Self-pity comes from the wrong belief that “I don’t deserve being treated like this.”

While we can’t always control how we are treated, we can control our attitude. We have the choice to respond by trusting God. 

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Pay Attention: Just One, One, One – By Karla

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Are We Paying Attention?

There is a reported story in which President Franklin Delano Roosevelt experienced the feeling that no one was paying attention to him. Receiving guest as presidents often do, he grew tired of the mundane routine and politely began repeating the phrase, “I murdered my grandmother this morning.” No guest responded to his statement in shock.  Rather, they responded with comments like “Keep up the good work, Sir” or “God bless you, Mr. President.”

We can all get so caught up in our own lives that we don’t even notice the world around us, but there are people everywhere who are hurting. Storms occur in everyone’s lives. Though the turmoil takes different shapes and forms no one is immune. Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed with the needs of others. Then I remember Mother Teresa’s words, “I never look at the masses as my responsibility.  I look at the individual. I can love only one person at a time. I can feed only one person at a time. Just one, one, one.”

Christian’s Lending a Helping Hand

Recently, a friend shared the sermon notes from his church in Rome, Georgia. The minister asked, “How can we know when someone is hurting or sick unless we are intimately connected with each other?” Coming from generations of caring Christians, I am very blessed and have many family members who are deeply connected with me. In addition, I have so many dear friends who have given me countless hours of love. But many do not have that background of solid Christian structure? I believe it is my responsibility as a Christian to keep intimate connections with others and make the ties with those who do not have a strong Christian family to help.

Pray and Follow Through

James 5: 13-16 discusses the power of prayer when a friend is hurting, sick, or sinned. Some share their woes through media. It is not a quick stroll through Facebook clicking a “like button” or typing the words “praying” that get the job done. Yes! I do this too, but is that all I do? Sadly, sometimes. I should take action; I should be texting a private message, sending a card, or dialing the number. Some hurt quietly. 

If you are the one who hurts, is sick, and has sinned, share within your circle of friends. If not, Satan may prey on you during the darkest or loneliest moments. It is during these storms that our Christian sister and brotherhood grows stronger.

The shared sermon from my friend went on to state some qualities of an unhealthy church: judgement on others, slow disconnects, saying things we don’t mean, or making praying promises that we don’t keep. I think it’s no wonder churches are dying; many times, we do not take care of each other.

Looking Outside Our Circle

While keeping our existing, intimate relationships, we should find one or two who need our commitment to pray for them. Spend some time asking God who needs you. Send a text or write a card. Ask that person how you can pray for them. Then do it!

 Mother Teresa also said, “Nothing makes you happier than when you really reach out in mercy to someone who is badly hurt.”  

My mom’s friend Mrs. Arp once shared a story with me that has helped me on occasion. When her husband had Alzheimer’s, she had been feeling down because he was getting worse daily. She said one morning she was moping around, thinking how bad things were and thought, “Kathryn’s {my mom} cancer is getting worse. I am going out today and buy her a new house coat.” She shared that the joy on Mom’s face when she gave it to her was equal to the blessing she received from giving it.

Care does not have to cost money, but its return is tenfold. Give of yourself to someone each and every day. “Just one, one, one.”

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Trust: Letting Go and Letting God – By Karla

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Many times in my life, I realize I must trust God more, letting go or the concern and let God have it. Knowing something and doing it are two separate things! Sometimes I think I am on the edge of figuring out how to handle the situation. It is like I give the worry or burden to God, then I think, “I know how to fix this, God, give it back to me.” I must learn to trust.

Swinging Back and Forth

During times like these, I often feel like a trapeze artist. Please do not misinterpret my words because I do not possess the grace required to be a ballerina or an acrobat (Beauties Within). Standing on the edge of the platform high above is how I feel during these uncertain times. So scared when I look at the “unknown” below. God stands on the other platform. He swings the bar to me and asked me to hop on; He is waiting on the other side to catch me.

Now I know that you are thinking. “What in the world? God as an acrobat?” That is not really what I mean. I just picture myself up there while God is waiting on me to make my move. It’s like I say, “Okay, God, I am ready to give it to you.  And truly, I do! Well, for a little while anyway. However, then, I start trying to inch the bar out of God’s hands and back in mine. I know! It sounds so wrong, and it is. From all I have learned about God, He is faithful, true, and holds fast to His promises to do what is best for us. And yet, I do this same action over and over.

Life’s Balancing Act

Over the years, the platforms have taken the shape of a decision for a job, a move, or the how to spend my money. However, most often these situations concern my children. My youngest daughter Rachel, the one who I loving thought might become joined at my hip, petitioned to graduate from Kennesaw University last week. She is beginning to sprout her wings and fly, coming home less and less.

I have been struggling. Maybe the root of my struggle is that Rach is my youngest or because she “gained her independence” a little slower. Who knows? Maybe I am having a hard time because the way both my girls needed me in the past is not the same as how they need me now. The helper and fixer person I am has to figure out how to be the mom of two fully grown children. I am so proud of both my girls, but I have to remember they are their own persons now.

Praying and Patience

While Donna and I were in Florida, she happened to stumble onto a Facebook post by Lindsey Feldpausch concerning the Thailand moms, whose sons were recently in the news. We were both in tears at her describing the Thailand mom’s roles and the role of moms in general. While the boys were being rescued from the cave, the moms could only watch, not help. She continued by saying that we won’t always be the person most equipped to rescue our children. She had powerful words, when we can only watch: “I need to tell myself:  Intercession not interference.”

This week I was reading 1 Samuel chapter one. Again, God reminds me how to give Him my cares and how to leave them with Him. Hannah was barren and prayed in anguish to God. He heard her prayer and granted her desires.

Unlike me giving God control of the bar during the scary times, Hannah followed through with giving her son to God when he was weaned. “For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to Him. Therefore I have lent him [Hannah’s son] to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.” (1 Samuel 1: 27-28)

And with these commanding words, I will strive evermore to swing the bar to my God and ask Him to help me let it in His care because “we know that for those who love God all things work together for good”. (Romans 8:28)

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July 4th 1976: The Bicentennial -By Karla

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The Twin Cities

Copperhill, Tennessee and McCaysville, Georgia weren’t really cities at all, but special little towns where I grew up. One of the coolest things is the fact that a person can stand on a bridge in Georgia and look at a bridge in Tennessee, which is only about 50 yards apart. I lived about five miles from McCaysville while my daddy’s pharmacy, Tallent Drugs, was over the Tennessee state line, by the other bridge. Mom was always trying to explain why she had a Georgia driver’s license, but had a Tennessee Post Office address. Both towns were thriving at that time due to the Tennessee Copper Company. The Bicentennial Fourth of July was the best!

Bicentennial Celebration

Max Dillard (Daddy) and Mr. Lee Ross Buttram

The festivities lasted all week long! As a nine-year-old kid, I am sure I did not notice much of the planning the town or mom put into the week, except for my dress. My great Aunt Dot had a sewing shop on the Tennessee side.

As the weeks led up to that July in 1976, Mom and Aunt Dot planned our family’s costumes. Julie and I had colonial, pale blue dresses complete with bonnets while Lynn and Gail wore fancy dresses that matched. Mom’s was more common with a black bonnet. Daddy grew a full beard, the only time in his life that I know about. He wore a white shirt with red suspenders, a black derby hat, and strolled around the drugstore with a corn cob pipe in his mouth.

Bicentennial Jail

Really, everyone in town wore a costume!  If you walked into Buttram’s Hardware, (owned by our neighbors’ family; More Than a Teacher Blog), McCaysville Drugs (owned my childhood best friend’s dad), or any of the businesses on the few blocks that consisted of the twin cities, you would have seen everyone dressed up. In fact, if you weren’t wearing a costume, you could be arrested and put into the wooden makeshift jail in the middle of town! A standard bail was set for anyone “arrested”. I’m guessing the money collected was used to finance the local fireworks. I bet Mom was either having the time of her life strolling the four of us around town, or we were driving her crazy because she was afraid we would rip our skirt tails when we could get excited and start to run.

During the week of the fourth, I called the bank to report the temperature to mom.

Come as you are,
bank from your car
at Ducktown Banking Company.  
The time is….
The temperature is…

(Thinking back, I believe drive-through banking must have been new in our area. It is funny to me that I can remember this jingle, but cannot find my car keys or phone on a daily basis.)

As I put the receiver back on the rotary beige base, it rang. Someone called to share Daddy had been arrested. I ran for Mom to pick up the kitchen phone, which hung on the wall. I was not happy, and Mom must have sensed my uneasiness. She had to remind me, “The arrest is all in fun, Karla. Your dad must have taken his hat off.  But go get Julie, and get y’all’s shoes on. We have to go bail him out,” she laughed.

Bicentennial Parade

Most years before, Julie and I had watched the parade from the vacant rooms above the M & J grocery store. But this year, the creators of the parade added a “walk with your dog” section.

As the fourth neared, I continued to beg Mom to let me march in the parade with my dachshund Barney. I must have put up a good fight or wore her down, because against her better judgement, I was among the other parade members, standing near Hyde’s Chrysler Plymouth awaiting our signal to begin.

Bicentennial Regret

Being that it was the Bicentennial, there were cannons in the parade also. My poor dog Barney. He hadn’t volunteered to be in the parade. His whole little body shook in terror as the cannons were booming. I stood in total regret. I do believe it was the first of several times I can vividly remember wishing I had listened to Mom! To my recollection it was the only time I ever said the prayer, “God, if you will just let me get through this, I promise….“

After what seemed to take forever, we got in parade formation and moved forward. Barney’s little legs couldn’t keep up, so I picked him up in front of The New Yorker restaurant, which by the way had the best grilled cheese and homemade chocolate milkshakes!

As we passed Tallent Drugstore, I saw Mom standing with Julie. Man, I tried as hard as I could to look like I was having fun! But, I don’t think I fooled her. Barney was still shaking when we passed Maloof’s. He walked on his leash for a few minutes until another boom was set off, and I picked him up rounding the corner near the A&P and Arp’s restaurant, carrying him the rest of the way. I do not remember any pleasurable moment except the completion when I happily found Mom to take Barney home!

Bicentennial Fireworks

Later that night, my family gathered with friends by the river, sitting in those scratchy, woven-strapped lawn chairs. We ate snacks (probably from Hickory Farms), laughed, and visited. The week was winding down, but not the memories that I hold so dear in my heart.

Small town Fourth of July’s are the best! There’s not many people who can say, “I watched the fireworks with my family and friends as they were shot off Tater Hill!”

Enjoy a video of the history of Copperhill!

(I do not own the rights to this video. Found on YouTube: Thomas King)

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Stepping Out of Your Comfort Zone -By Karla

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An Opportunity

 A couple of months ago, my sister Gail asked Donna and I if we wanted to help at an accounting conference she works  during summer months, when we are out of school. Gail has worked the conferences many years, and I knew she put in many hours each day. Honestly, I didn’t know much about what I would be asked to do, but I thought it sounded like a good opportunity to make a little extra money. Lindsey, my oldest daughter who is also a teacher, decided to go as well. With the four of us there, even with all the hard work, I knew we would have fun.

Work, Work, Work

Gail had never stretched the truth about the conference; there was much work to be done. In fact, in five and a half days, we worked 73.5 hours! Now, I am not afraid of hard work, but I do like my sleep. And I did not get enough of it! I think I may have walked the distance to New York and back during the days! God love those patient people! I must have said, “I’m not sure of the answer to that. Hold just a moment, and I will try to find out for you.” I smiled each and every time someone walked to the counter, but inside was thinking, Lord, please let me know that answer to this question.

May I Help the Next Person In Line?

The employer and attendees were wonderful. In the world of teaching, the help I give often yields slow results. Here I received much satisfaction with quickly solving questions. “How do I check-in?” “Where could I find…?” “Will there be a place to check my luggage on Wednesday after I check out of the hotel?” Ninety-five percent of the inquiries ended with a smile on their faces and much gratitude for our help.

Not In Kansas Anymore

Another duty I had was room monitoring. I laughed when I first heard this term because I knew it must have a different meaning than it does in the teaching world. As an education term, room monitoring is used for the adult who makes sure all kids stay in their own rooms on an overnight field trip! My job at the conference was to assist the instructors by contacting someone to help when they had a problem. In addition, I was to hold up my hands giving them a “ten minutes left” signal. Room monitoring required me to walk up to a stranger to initiate a conversation. This skill is a stretch for me; I have a difficult time with my confidence. But after the first few deep breaths and meeting a few instructors, I starting feeling more at ease.

Who Me?

On the third morning of the conference, a lady hobbled over to the counter in a panic. Her eyes were filled with tears. The lady was in much pain after having half pulled off her toenail and cutting her big toe profusely. Several people, including Gail, were helping her as I went on to my monitoring duties. About ten minutes later, Donna came down the hall and said she was about to throw me under the bus. She was asked to take the lady to the nearest urgent care.  Donna’s reply was, “I’m not your best choice. Let me get Karla.” (Donna has many stories as to her lightheadedness that occurs to blood and needles.)

Without thinking, I briskly walked to the front desk, got my keys, and with very brief instructions, headed to get my car.  Upon cranking, it hit me. I cannot navigate myself around in downtown Atlanta! Donna and I both should have gone.  For me to navigate and her to drive. Gracious, this reminds me of the time we tried to look for Doctor’s Hospital Focus, Karla, Focus!  Round and around I spun trying to find my way out of the parking garage. I was struggling with this simple task and I was about to pilot myself on the one-way, construction-filled streets.

Taking Chances

Guessing, I turned right and was thankful when I saw a reassuring sign that I was headed in the right direction to pick up the injured lady and her friend. Hobbling from the wheelchair into my car, we were off. The friend steered me with the right directions while the lady tried to keep some composure. As she was holding back her tears, I thought that I needed to say a prayer for her. Then I wondered if I should ask if I to pray with her.

I do not believe I had offered to pray with many strangers before, but it seemed to come out before I could think. She did not seem to know what to say and stumbled on a few words, but gave me permission. I smiled and shared that I promised to keep my eyes open while I prayed, trying to lighten the moment. I asked God to comfort her and give her a care team that would be knowledgeable and caring. When I finished her friend asked if she knew what the word Amen meant. I smiled as my backseat driver explained. The injured lady begin to calm down a little. I hoped that in my taking another chance, I had planted a seed to help someone desire to know more about Jesus.

The lady’s co-worker and I sat for four hours in the urgent care. While there, I was able to encourage her with situations with her children.

After I dropped both ladies off at their hotel, I realized I would then be left alone to find my way back. Honestly, I surprised myself!  I cannot say that I didn’t make a wrong turn (or did a short reverse on a four lane road), but I can say I did it!

Yep, I took several chances over the last week, worked in an venue very new to me, and made some new friends. In fact, I even took a chance on the pay; I am not totally sure how much I will make!

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Beauties Within -By Karla

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Miss Rebecca

When dance lessons were over, younger sister Julie and I sat outside waiting on Mom. Meanwhile Lynn and Gail, my older two sisters, would still have been in their classes. If my memory serves me correctly, this was a weekly routine for me during the ages of about six through ten. Miss Rebecca taught the younger dance students; but if you were older, you had Miss Melanie.

Miss Rebecca seemed to take pleasure in our young silliness as we wiggled our toes and scampered about on the wooden floor. Her skin shone with its beautiful tan. I longed to be her, though my quest for tanned skin has been a fruitless error over the years. When I played house my name was always Rebecca. Being so little, I only remember bits and pieces of these days.

I believe we tapped (also known as some shoe noise) to a song entitled “Sing, Sing a Song”. (Looking it up this morning, I realized it was originally written for “Sesame Street”, but the Carpenter’s made it famous.) Some flutes and a cheery chorus accompanied them. I remembered the line “don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear; just sing, sing a song”. I think she was trying to help us to enjoy the process of learning. These were such carefree and golden moments.

Miss Melanie

My view of Miss Melanie, was always on the sidelines because our little giggles were not encouraged in her studio. For she was bonding and crafting the artistry of the ballet in her young women. In my tiny eyes, Miss Melanie was a portrait of a ballerina come to life with all her elegance and dignity. The girls under her tutelage were transforming into graceful swans.

During the years that I peeked into her dance academy (also known as the old YMCA transformed into a make-shift conservatory), the young ladies were twirling into young adults by way of pirouettes and demi plie’s.  A few girls other than my sisters, were mastering the arabesque in their toe shoes.

Oh, how I longed for that moment. In her jazz classes, the lyrics, Do the Hussle came to life. I would stand in the hallway trying to pick up her instructions and be one of the older girls.  I think I had a better chance imitating a jazz dancer than a graceful older ballerina.

Kathryn and Stella Kate

Last week, I watched two of my great nieces who are four, in their own ballet recital. The theme of the recital was Beauty and the Beast. The older girls acted out the movie with the rehearsed dances shuffled throughout. Their instructor Roseanne took dance with Lynn and Gail. She had lovingly labored over the skills, organization, props, and stage presence vital in pulling off a show of such magnitude.

Personally speaking, I watched two giggling and timely-clumsy, four-year-old girls having the time of their lives. Shy and stubborn in their own ways, my little nieces pointed and twirled in their own little world. Their performances delighted the audience. I couldn’t help thinking, how like me all those years ago, these girls were learning to be confident and graceful.

True Beauty

At the all-important moment in the drama when Beauty and the Beast dance, a group of girls sauntered onto the stage. Beauty and the Beast were in the background while these cuties were twirling their rehearsed dance. I noticed two of the girls were older. I realized their dance was a little different. They likely had some special needs.

The recital’s themes, beauty is far below skin-level, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone God created is beautiful, was magnified at that moment.

And my eyes were filled with tears from their beauty.

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Chivalry: Calling all Gentlemen–by Donna

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Sunday after church I headed to Kroger for a few groceries. As I pulled into a parking spot one of my favorite songs came out of the speakers. So I decided to just sit a spell and enjoy it before fighting the crowd. While humming along, suddenly I was jolted. I looked up and a man in a huge white truck had pulled in the space in front of me, hitting my car! He glanced at me, crawled out his door, and headed into the store. I sat speechless for a moment. Getting out, I walked to the front and saw our vehicles pressing together. I backed my car up, then got out again to see if there was damage.  All clear, but I was perturbed. How about, at least, an “I’m sorry.”  I wanted to pull his UGA tag off and write “Roll Tide!”

Old Fashioned Girl

Last week I was carrying a rocking chair from one end of the school to the other. A man (who does not work at our school) came around the corner and was heading in the same direction. As I toted the full-size rocker, he carried on a pleasant conversation. In my head I was thinking, Really, you aren’t going to offer to carry this chair for me?  He walked three long halls with me before saying, “Where are you taking that?” Finally! But to my dismay, he just kept talking, and I just kept carrying the chair.

Maybe I’m an old fashioned girl, but it seems to me that true gentlemen are becoming few and far between. Granted there are women who say, “I can carry this, I don’t need your help.” But ladies still exist who want the gesture, because it makes them feel respected.

Last summer I was leaving the Dollar General with my arms loaded. As I fought with the door, pushing it with my hip, and balancing the items that were about to fall, I looked up and saw a man standing on the sidewalk staring me down.  I thought to myself, If that were my daddy, and he saw a lady in this predicament he would rush over and hold the door.

Gentlemen

I was raised by a gentleman, who was raised by a gentleman, who was raised by a gentleman…. Maybe that is why I expect no less of my boys. When incidents like these happen to me, my boys get to hear me preach. A chivalrous man offers to help because he has manners, not because it is required, or he feels she is inferior. If you are a mother of a boy, I encourage you to teach them to be a true gentleman. Some ladies will appreciate their chivalry and your son will feel pride in helping them.

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