Role Model: More Than A Teacher -By Karla

About a week ago my two older sisters and I had the privilege of visiting a special lady.  She is loved by many as a teacher and a Christian lady from home in Fannin County, Georgia.

As a Little Girl

In elementary school, I was amazed by the fact that Mrs. Buttram taught Mom and Aunt Annan during her first year of teaching. Mrs. Buttram was also our neighbor. Mom would send me down to her house to fetch a cup of sugar or flour when baking. I would run through my yard and stop at the huge retaining wall that formed a barrier between two yards. With all my might and courage, I would talk myself into jumping off the wall, taking the shortcut to her house.  Greeting me at the door, I always noticed her sweet voice and smile.

Several years later we had moved from right above her house, down the hill on the other side of her. Riding my bike to the end of the road, I would often meet her, after she had worked the long hours as a teacher. She always waved and rolled down her window for a friendly little conversation.

Now a Teacher for Me

As a junior in high school, I was both excited and a little nervous when I saw Mrs. Buttram’s name on my schedule. What if I did not live up to her expectations? Of course that wasn’t the first time I had been nervous about having a teacher. With two older sisters, it was always a little difficult to walk in their footsteps. As the passed, I quickly settled. She always showed love and compassion for her students. The only time I ever saw her upset was when a boy cheated in her room. She handled the situation with such grace and made all 30 of us think twice of ever cheating on anything.

During the days that led to Christmas, she played an Elvis record. My four friends and I had our own little quintet when we joined with the whoo-who-ya-whoo-ya’s in his version of  Blue Christmas! Mrs. Buttram would just smile as us, but we knew she expected us to work in between our serenades.

Developing a Love

It was in her class that I acquired my love for written words. We wrote poems, essays, and personal narratives. She giggled at my adaption of the ever-popular Peter Cottontail when I turned the words to “Little Tommy Turkey Tail trotting down the turkey trail”.

Perhaps more importantly, she took the extra time share the remarks, “Simply beautiful” on a story I wrote. Those comments were written about 34 years ago, but I still remember. The story was something about a girl who was peacefully pondering life. (We were required to illustrate our works, but I don’t draw. So, I cut a picture from a magazine where a girl sat on a mountain ledge. She advertised how easy it was to hike while wearing a pad!)

Teacher, Neighbor, and Church Member

One Sunday about seven years ago, I was at my home church in McCaysville, Georgia. Mrs. Buttram was still singing in her same sweet soprano voice. A lady, standing next to her, lifted her hand in praise to God. I thought how the lady’s hand was probably in Mrs. Buttram’s view of the congregation. I learned something new that day. Mrs. Buttram was not distracted by the other lady’s hand; in fact, Mrs. Buttram lifted her hand in adoration as well. I had many times thought of lifting my hands, but I was too worried about what others would think of me. That Sunday, I realized that it only matters what God thinks.

Last week, we drove Marietta to visit Mrs. Buttram, who now lives with one of her daughters.  Among the stories we shared about memories in neighborhood, we took the time to reminisce about her teaching days.

Then I gave her two magazines, “Good News” Rome editions, containing articles that Donna and I have written. I explained to her how much her encouragement meant to me over the years.

What a blessing it was to hear her say, “I’m so pleased, Karla. May I keep these to read?”

So many years have passed since I bravely jumped off the retaining wall going to her house. That wall that I used to look up to now seems so small. However, Mrs. Buttram will always stand tall in my eyes!

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Christmas Eve -By Karla

In my late 20’s through my 30’s I was a member of the choir at church.  I loved it, being a part of a musical group and singing hymns.  A time or two I was asked to take a small solo part in a song, and I thought I would die.

As a kid, my comfort zone was about a six by eight! I had been in the band and loved most every minute of it, but tryouts were awful! I remember a moment during my high school years in which I cried because I got so nervous! My poor band director sat alone with me in that small room which come to think of it was only about six by six, so I guess that day the zone was even smaller! I think I made him as uncomfortable as I was making myself. He kindly offered, “Karla, what can I do to help?” I begged, “Don’t make me sight read.”  He shook his head, “You will sit last chair, and you’re too good for that.” I appreciated him.  He calmly sat while I eventually  composed myself.

During the past decade, I have expanded the walls of my tiny comfort zone. Soon after I joined Emmaus Baptist Church, I began singing in the Praise Team.  With only about six members this was quite a stretch for me. The man who operated the sound system would mouth, “Karla, your mic is not on.”  I would continue to sing somewhat shrugging my shoulders not making even the slightest motion indicating I would be turning it on.  In fact, I might even admit praying for them to forget to turn it on before we started! When he caught on to my tricks, I would just place myself as far away from the microphone as possible. When he would motioned for me to scoot up, I must have thought I was playing mother-may-I because I took some serious baby steps toward the mic and planted myself for the next 25 minutes!

A few days ago on Christmas Eve, I had prepared to sing a duet with my dear friend Jenni.  The first song we had planned did not work for us.  After searching, we finally settled on “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”. We rehearsed several times feeling somewhat confident.  Sunday morning arrived, and I was having sinus issues.  We did a run-through, and after deciding not to sing with the Praise Team, I thought I could hit the high notes required for that one song.

Jenni grabbed the microphone, and I cringed. I only do this with the mic in the holder! We began singing as I felt my throat closing and heard my voice tighten. This is NOT good! I aimed for my soprano notes, but I missed the mark by a mile.  Breathing deeply, I strived again several more times, but to no avail.  It was not going to happen.  Having to hold the microphone was the LEAST of my worries.  I wanted the song to be over fast!  I was thankful when she altered her voice from the practiced alto notes to singing the melody with me because of my weak attempts as the notes rose.  Though the song seemed to creep in slow motion, I survived.

Shaking my head a little and apologizing to Jenni, we sat down.  Pastor Scott began the short sermon, but my mind was having a hard time allowing my mistake to take a backseat to the true meaning of Christmas. Continuing, deacons began serving communion.  The pastor spoke of Jesus’ body being represented by the little bites of unleavened bread, and he signaled us to eat the bread.

A few rows up from me, I noticed Mr. Archee, who is about 80, fighting to peel back the plastic from his bread. Joe, a man who has a lively love for Jesus left his seat, walked across the aisle, and slid down beside Mr. Archee.  He fumbled with the older man’s wrapper until he had the bread opened and Mr. Archee could partake of his communion.

Several tears rolled down my face, as I was reminded that it is our efforts that God desires, not perfection. My attention totally focused on the love of God.

 

-Karla

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