The Love Letter Project: It Starts with Us

I am a sentimental teacher. I believe that elementary teachers do a wonderful job with their kids by making mementos for moms and dads to hold onto for years and years, and that's so precious. I can't wait for that kind of thing as my kids get older. However, in the high-school world, this idea sort of dissolves into ACT scores, resumes, scholarship applications, and extracurricular practices. Kids get too busy, the parents get overwhelmed with life, and the teachers are expected to teach everything the students will need to survive in this crazy world. High school is a dog-eat-dog world. We as teachers in general witness our students go through all kinds of things. Some kids have moved in and out with different people their whole lives. I see different kids who have never had anyone to care about them. I see kids who feel pressured to be perfect because everyone expects it out of them. I see a lot. I see a lot of things I wish I never had to see. I see a lot of stuff I didn't see when I was in high school myself.

The truth is, we had no clue about each other. If I could go back for just one day, I would know. It's 2017, but our worlds were probably so very similar. Some of the kids in our school probably had an entirely different childhood experience that we never knew anything about. There were probably kids who didn't know where their parents were, kids who went without meals, kids who got yelled at all night, kids who came home to no one, kids who felt unloved, and we had no idea. We had no idea on earth what each other was going through.

God laid it upon my heart to do my best to change that for my tenth graders. I've taught these kids for two years. I've been a part of their lives from age 14-16, and I think you all can agree with me that these two years are two of the most crucial years for a teenager. They make a lot of choices within these two years, and most of those choices are based on what other people want or expect. Instilling within these kids some confidence is what I strive to do every day, so a lot of my lessons are centered around choices and self-discovery. It's now or never. Some of their choices will affect them for the rest of their lives. Some decisions lead to other bad decisions, and it spirals out of control, often times leaving kids feeling so alone and isolated, so out of touch with any sort of redemption, that they give up entirely. Some kids feel so ridiculously different, like they'll never measure up, that they don't see an end to the race. For some kids, they don't see a finish line. For some kids, they don't see an end.

Love begins with us. We can talk about bullying, suicide, and drug use all day long, but until our kids feel loved and secure, until they feel valued and respected, until they have an inkling as to what their neighbor is going through, they will never feel confident enough to stand up for themselves and make good decisions. How do you make a kid who has never been respected or loved sit still in your class, complete his assignments, treat others with respect, all while smiling as he works? It's just about impossible, but it starts with us. There are some days when I want to give up with some kids and lose my cool. There are days where I question what God called me to do. Hey, don't we all? How I react--in love or in hate--might make or break the situation, though. It might change it all. I believe God can work through us like that, do you?

I call it the Love Letter Project.

All kids were to go home and type out a message in black ink, 12 point, Times New Roman font. They were to write around a half of a page on their dreams, insecurities, fears, doubts, anxieties, and regrets. They were to add only what they felt comfortable including, and they were not to add anything that would share who they were. It was to be completely anonymous. I explained to them prior that the kids would discreetly place them in a pile, and I would mix them up just to prove no one would know who they were. I numbered each letter, and I began passing them out. Each student had a tally sheet with the number of letters I had, and as they read a letter, they would mark it off their sheet so they would know whose they hadn't read. Each time they read a letter, they would write a message to leave with that student. After two days, I put all the letters in order on the table, and as they left class, they grabbed their letters (because they eventually figured out the letter that was theirs) and were able to read the comments.

When we completed this assignment, I marveled at my kids. I truly felt like they grew three inches and began floating off the ground. I could see it in their eyes that they were witnessing something special, and I was so proud of them. They loved it, and I can't help but think of all the kids it touched in my classes. After it was over, and I asked them what they thought about it, their eyes lit up. They said things like...

• "I never knew other kids were going through the same things as I was."
• "I just can't believe what some kids in this room are facing each day." 
• "Everyone just puts on a happy face, but we're all in the same boat together."

We can teach grammar, poetry, and literature all day long, but until these kids feel valuable, they will look for validation in all the wrong places. I'm sure that if you look deeply enough, you know this to be true somewhat in your own life. We can all relate!

It truly starts with love and realizing that you never know what someone is going through. Teaching love is crucial to combat this sinful world. If I teach my kiddos anything, I hope it's how to love and respect each other.

I hope this brightened up your news feeds today. Teenagers get a bad rap, but there is good in them.

Share: facebook - twitter - pinterest

The Love Letter Project: It Starts with Us

This Is What Motherhood Looks Like

Mom Fail #245: When you have warmer clothes on than your kids. 

It's a known fact that motherhood is when we are our most beautiful, but oddly enough, we're the last to know it.

Kids, when I look at my reflection, I see a woman who needs to slow down. I see wrinkles and gray hairs that weren't there two years ago. My back aches when I pick you up. My eyes get blurry when I stare at a screen too long. I see a floor that needs to be mopped and crumbs that need to be swept up. Like most moms, I get lost in my responsibilities. I try to get everything done with a big smile on my face, but honestly, I often feel like a mess rather than a success. It's like I can feel myself aging as I sit here and type, and I often question if I'm enough for the three of y'all.

How do I teach you the things I don't know? How do I protect you from the unseen, the unknown? How do I prepare you for the world ahead that I can't foresee? How do I give you what I don't have? How do I make you confident without making you arrogant? How do I make you strong without taking away your sensitivity? Caroline, how do I make you feel worthy without teaching you to base your entire worth on your appearance like our culture insists I do? Isaac, how do we show you how to be a responsible man without making you grow up too fast?

The enormity of my inadequacy has never hit me harder than it has this past year. I feel like all of my flaws and shortcomings are written on neon sticky notes that are strategically placed all over me so that everyone can see. This one says, I wish my life away waiting for the weekend. Another reads, I'm getting closer to 31, and it scares me. And there's more: 

• I spend too much time keeping up with people on social media. 
• I drink too much coffee. 
• I accidentally washed a diaper in a load of clothes the other day. 
• I don't always love my job. 
• I have trouble saying no. 
• I worry about my kids so much sometimes that it physically makes me sick. 
• Sometimes I want to lock myself in the bathroom just to breathe for a few minutes. 
• I worry about when my kids are going to realize that I don't have it all together.

Motherhood has many faces, but when I look past them and instead focus on your faces so innocent and full of love, I am reminded of my beauty. I am reminded of a beautiful love story where a Savior reached down, looked on me with love, and told me I was enough. I'm reminded of the cross--a mark symbolizing Jesus's great sacrifice when he paid the penalty of our sin. I am reminded of the beautiful example God has set for me as a parent based on the love Jesus has for us. I am reminded that for every ounce of love I have for you two, God loves you even more. The inexplicable beauty in God's love and forgiveness is greater than every love story and every love song you will ever hear.

You don't see the sticky finger prints. You don't measure my worth based on the clothes I wear or if we eat on fine China or not. You don't notice the dirt on your face. You don't even notice that my legs are prickly or that I let the sink get too full.

But you do see when I'm not smiling, when I'm tired, when I'm frustrated. You cry when you want to be held. You reach for me to make you happy.  You do notice when I'm not there. You curl up in my lap because God chose me to make you feel safe. You know exactly where you're wanted and loved.

And for that I'm thankful. Because of your love, I feel beautiful. 

So, kids, I'll keep singing songs with you. I'll keep letting you eat your bath bubbles until you get too grown to realize they taste terrible. I'll keep letting you explore and play in the mud. I'll keep rocking babies with you. I'll keep putting you on top of my shoulders until you get too heavy. I'll keep reading you stories about trucks that go Beep, Beep, Beep. I'll keep rocking you to sleep until you get too big.

And mamas, if you find yourself feeding your kids on the floor, you're beautiful. When you're singing out of tune with your kids in the car, you're beautiful. When you're wearing your husband's old sweatpants and t-shirts, you're beautiful. When you're cringing over your post-baby body, you're beautiful. When you're shaking up a bottle of formula or nursing your baby, you're beautiful. If you're serving up organic kale chips or Goldfish, you're beautiful. If you're in survival mode today, mama, you are beautiful. 

When you love your family, you're the most beautiful thing in the world to them. 

There's no amount of makeup, mouth wash, weight loss, hair dye, or wrinkle cream that will make our children love us any more than they already do. Our love is enough.

And that, mama, is beautiful.

"Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children; And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweetsmelling savour." Ephesians 5: 1-2

I wonder if God is reminded of his beauty when He looks at me. I wonder if he can see through the mess and see the glory of his grace and mercy when he looks upon my face. 

What a stirring thought. Let's focus on this verse this Easter week--every week--so that when the Lord looks upon us, He can see his love and forgiveness--his sacrifice--revealed within us.

Share: facebook - twitter - pinterest

This Is What Motherhood Looks Like

Guest Post with Kayla Coley: Purple Flowers and Buttercups

Purple Flowers and Buttercups

My childhood was a country girl’s version of unicorns and rainbows; I call it purple flowers and buttercups. Granny says Haley and I picked every pretty flower on the hillside, including the ones in her flowerbed. My childhood was filled with days spent in the woods building club houses, playing a good game of backyard ball, or sledding on the fresh-cut hayfield (no snow required). Life was easy and times were good; Momma made sure of it. She was not just my momma but was a mother to our step-siblings, Tonia and Lacie, and a mother to all seven of her nieces and nephews. Just ask them and they will tell you: Aunt Glida was their biggest fan.

Her children rise up, and call her blessed… Proverbs 31:28

Another Buttercup Picker

Some children are not as fortunate as others, and they have to deal with unfair situations. That’s how Jonna came into our lives. Jonna was the great niece of my step-dad, Phillip.  Phillip had learned that Jonna was having to deal with a bad situation, so she came to live with us at age five. Jonna was full of life, a stinker, and a buttercup picker. Long after my days of flower-picking, Jonna came along to carry on the tradition of keeping the flowers on our hillside off the ground and in vases.  Jonna’s dad came around and she spent a lot of time with him, but for the most part, Jonna was with us. After two years of staying with us quite a bit, Jonna asked for her own room. Because Momma was in the business of making all kids happy, she gave Jonna my old room and fixed it up just for her.

Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for such is the kingdom of God. Mark 10:14

Purple Flowers Don’t Last Forever

April 5, 2008

5:00 p.m. Lacie left for prom, and I suggested that Jonna call her neighbor friend and ask if she could sleep over.

9:00 p.m.  I was feeling a little afraid so I chose to go get in Kyle’s bed and just wait on him to come home.

11:00 p.m. Kyle came home from Lindsey’s and went upstairs to check on the girls who were still playing in Jonna’s new room.

12:30 a.m. Lacie returns from prom and goes up to see the girls who are playing but are very tired and ready for bed.

4:00 a.m. Kyle and Jesse leave for a turkey hunting trip down south.

5:30 a.m. Phillip leaves for work.

6:00 a.m. Hell comes to life.

“Girls get up the house is on fire!” Momma screamed as she turned the corner to run up the stairs where Jonna and her friend were sleeping. Lacie and I met in the hall panicking as we ran outside. As we exited the patio door, we turned to confirm that our worst day was taking place. Flames had engulfed our home. To say we were panicked would be an understatement. I asked Lacie to get in her car and go to Granny’s to call 911. Although I promised Lacie I wouldn’t, I went back in the house to look for my momma. I ran to the stairs, which were completely gone, and screamed for my momma. I begged God to please give me my momma. All of a sudden I heard the most beautiful sound; it was a crash onto the front porch. Momma always told me that if I was ever upstairs and the house caught on fire, I should kick out a little spot in the attic, and I would land on the front porch. I raced outside and as I turned the corner, I realized I had not heard Momma and the girls fall onto the front porch; I had heard the porch swing fall. Uncle Jeff came running up with the local cop and asked where Momma was. I told them she went upstairs to get the girls. They both tried to get into the house.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Mark 15:13

Momma Taught Me to Pray

Momma didn’t have all the right answers; she often became frustrated with the perils of life. She was not a good cook, keeping the laundry up was a nightmare with four kids, and you can forget keeping the house clean with four to eight ballgames a week. When things were good, Momma prayed. When things were bad, Momma prayed. She also taught us to pray. So as I crumbled in our yard on April 5th, I prayed just like Momma taught me. I prayed God please give me a miracle. I repeated it over and over until Coach Scott physically picked me up and carried me away from my burning home.

The days that followed April 5th are hard to remember, though I do remember praying. I prayed Lord please let me die, I can’t handle the pain, please let me die. One night as I was praying this, The Lord spoke to my heart and said “Kayla you prayed for a miracle that day in the yard. I gave you a miracle. I spared you. Now go and do something about it."

The Lord is my refuge and my strength, a very present help in trouble. Be still and know that I am God.

Psalms 46:1 & 10

The Flowers Still Bloom

No matter how my heart breaks, the world keeps turning, people keep living, and those little purple flowers still bloom every spring. Most people would call those purple flowers weeds, but I love them. They are the first sign of spring after many long dark winter days. On my day of hell, my yard was filled with loving people as I begged for miracles, and mercy bowed down on my knees in a bed of purple flowers. Those flowers remind me of my momma who taught me to love, forgive, and to pray. She taught me that Jesus is the answer and that He alone is my refuge. She warned me that life would not be easy, and she was right.

Flowers started blooming in my personal life when I met my husband Jason. He is my own personal purple weed after a lot of dark days.  He makes me happy, and he loves and takes care of me. He also made me a momma.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Psalms 30:5

Make Me a Momma

Almost a year ago, I became a momma. It was tough the day I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to call my momma and tell her. Lord knows she would have been thrilled to have another grandbaby. I cried myself to sleep several nights as my hormones raged and I longed to talk to Momma. I was spending the night with Kyle and Lindsey just after I had told them I was pregnant, and I dreamed that Momma and I were talking at a volleyball game. After some conversation, I asked Momma if she had met Klaire, my niece. Momma laughed and told me she picked her out. I woke up knowing and believing I was going to have a girl that Momma had picked out, and I knew I would name her after Momma.

I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and my soul knoweth right well. Psalms 139:14

We Will Call Her Kollins Gail

Kollins was born May 26, 2016. She looks at me and my heart melts. Days can be tough when you are a momma and have no clue what to do. When I find myself in these situations, I want to call my momma.  I have found that God gives mommas special instincts to raise children. With those instincts, I give Kollins the promise of a better tomorrow. I do not have all the answers and I don’t pretend to have them, so when I mess up or make a parenting error, I wipe our tears and promise to do better the next time. To be honest, I am a lot like my own momma. I can’t cook well, laundry is the bane of my existence, and a clean house is out of the question (especially when we are in softball season). I feed Kollins chocolate biscuits, let her drink coke from a straw, and sometimes we have ice cream for supper. I am not a good Pinterest mom, and my home doesn’t have the latest Leap Frog or Baby Einstein gadgets; we have 150 pie pans and wooden spoons that Aunt Rachel sent for Christmas, and Kollins plays with them for hours at a time.

For me there is beauty in simplicity. Kollins may not have free range chicken with asparagus for dinner, but I am certain, she knows that I love her. She will not remember if our house was clean or if her clothes were dry cleaned or what brand shoes she wore, but she will remember that her momma played with her, that we got in the floor and made pies, rocked on the back porch, and sang song after song. She will remember that we read stories and made up some, too. She will know that her momma kisses her goodnight and prays for happy days to continue. She will know my momma’s love because I will love her like my momma loved me.

For this child I prayed; and the Lord hath given me my petition which I asked of Him. 1 Samuel 1:28

Sometimes I Still Smell Ashes

Broken hearts can beat on forever, and on days like graduation, my wedding day, the day I found out I was pregnant, and when I gave birth, I smelled ashes. I smell ashes every time our softball team takes the field and at every State Volleyball Tournament. In the still of the night, when I am all alone, I smell ashes. I smell ashes when my heart aches and my mind can’t function because of the pain I hide behind a smile. I smell ashes when a woman rocks my baby to sleep and I long for it to be my momma rocking her. Most of the time when I smell ashes, I look for family. I text my husband to ask about his day, I call my brother just to say I love you, I visit Granny, or I call up Lindsey and meet her and Klaire.

I still take Kollins over to the hillside where I grew up. I sit her at the edge of the hayfield and let tears roll down my face. I think of all the times we jumped hay bales, rode four-wheelers, battled ghost runners, and I think of all the lessons Momma taught us. I long for Kollins to know that life and her grandmother. Because I know it isn’t possible for Kollins to know my momma, I work hard to make sure I am a good momma and that Kollins is taken care of and loved. Now I understand the way Momma loved me, and I pray Kollins will be able to see how much I love her.

Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. Psalms 37: 4

Share: facebook - twitter - pinterest

Guest Post with Kayla Coley: Purple Flowers and Buttercups