I had boxes full of Kindergarten supplies, classroom decorations, and crayons. As we packed up my room into cardboard boxes, I felt so empty. I am not saying this is a bad thing. I expected to be over-emotional, crying, and not wanting to leave, but counting down the minutes until time to leave, I had no feeling at all.
I know I could put this into elegant words to explain what this taught me, but let me just say this: I firmly believe God filled those cardboard boxes with exactly what needed to be in them for this point in my life. I was afraid that leaving was the wrong thing to do, but when God says to do something, I do not have to second guess Him. He proudly watched me as I looked into each empty box and packed it full of things that I had to say goodbye to. It is sad, knowing I will not be teaching next year, but the peace I have about not going back is so comforting. FULL! Just like those boxes, I am packed full of God's spirit and He is leading me onto my next move.
Sorry it is so short, but I am writing my husband's blogs for the next two weeks. I just finished this week's post. Please visit his Words of Encouragement site to view my article(s).
Help me to PRAY for him for the next 12 days until June 7th. He is with my grandfather and 20 others on a tour of Israel. Pray for safety and spiritual understanding. Keep up with their trip on Israel 2008.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Getting Good at Goodbye
In a few hours, I will tell a group of 18 children goodbye for the last time, only this time, they will not return through my classroom door ever again with a bunch of toothless grins. Miss Kramer next door has already came over with tear-filled eyes exclaiming she had broken down with her class. I haven't yet... But then again, it's only 10:30. The children's voices are filling the room, senseless chitter chatter and random squeals and laughs, but the looming moments also come to mind.
Maybe I won't cry this afternoon when the children say their final words. Maybe I'll be so overwhelmed that tears will not cease. Maybe I'm thinking much too into this. Nevertheless, my heart aches knowing this will not only be their last goodbyes but mine as well.
Upon entering this classroom in July 2007, I had the most distinctive feeling... I had become a stranger in my own room. It, for some reason, just did not feel as it had before. As the year progressed, the children entered, and God continued this call, I realized what He was asking of me. This is why as the children walk away today, they are not leaving this room alone. I will be leaving it as well for my last time; God has called me to leave this inspiring position.
All year I have said my goodbyes... I have said my farewells to my Nana, to Brian's Granddaddy, to my first child, and most recently to Brian's dad. I now plan to tell 18 6-year-olds that they will not be able to come back next year and hug me as they had seen my last year's students do this year. This room will be someone else's, and I will be following the will of my very own Teacher... His name is Jesus.
I also must say bye to my fellow colleagues who are now friends, and I will leave two of my very best teaching friends behind. Miss Kramer, who actually is Liz, has become the greatest addition to this year. Had it not been for her, I don't know, with all of the disappointments of 2007-2008, if I would have made it without her. She has truly been a "friend closer than a brother" or sister in my case. Saying goodbye to my best friend and next door neighbor is going to be one of the most difficult things I have done, and I say that with great experience of saying goodbye. I will leave behind one of the most influential friends I have... I've almost been ignoring her lately because I fear the emotions that will overtake me as we say goodbye. (Please forgive me for this shortcoming, Jenny.) Mrs. Jones has been a spiritual leader in this school; she started having devotionals and prayer time once a week even when only a few showed. She's been the most heartfelt and sincere friend I've ever had, and having to leave her breaks my heart. Why must goodbyes be so hard?
The crazy thing is that I'm not fearful. I know that this is what God has spoken, and disobeying Him would be a sin. I must leave this part of my life behind for now, and press toward the prize that God has for me.
With tear-filled eyes I write my last entry as Mrs. Johnson... Goodbye Kindergarten. You have filled my life with joy and the children I've dreamed to teach. Lord, I don't understand why, but here I am saying goodbye.
Maybe I won't cry this afternoon when the children say their final words. Maybe I'll be so overwhelmed that tears will not cease. Maybe I'm thinking much too into this. Nevertheless, my heart aches knowing this will not only be their last goodbyes but mine as well.
Upon entering this classroom in July 2007, I had the most distinctive feeling... I had become a stranger in my own room. It, for some reason, just did not feel as it had before. As the year progressed, the children entered, and God continued this call, I realized what He was asking of me. This is why as the children walk away today, they are not leaving this room alone. I will be leaving it as well for my last time; God has called me to leave this inspiring position.
All year I have said my goodbyes... I have said my farewells to my Nana, to Brian's Granddaddy, to my first child, and most recently to Brian's dad. I now plan to tell 18 6-year-olds that they will not be able to come back next year and hug me as they had seen my last year's students do this year. This room will be someone else's, and I will be following the will of my very own Teacher... His name is Jesus.
I also must say bye to my fellow colleagues who are now friends, and I will leave two of my very best teaching friends behind. Miss Kramer, who actually is Liz, has become the greatest addition to this year. Had it not been for her, I don't know, with all of the disappointments of 2007-2008, if I would have made it without her. She has truly been a "friend closer than a brother" or sister in my case. Saying goodbye to my best friend and next door neighbor is going to be one of the most difficult things I have done, and I say that with great experience of saying goodbye. I will leave behind one of the most influential friends I have... I've almost been ignoring her lately because I fear the emotions that will overtake me as we say goodbye. (Please forgive me for this shortcoming, Jenny.) Mrs. Jones has been a spiritual leader in this school; she started having devotionals and prayer time once a week even when only a few showed. She's been the most heartfelt and sincere friend I've ever had, and having to leave her breaks my heart. Why must goodbyes be so hard?
The crazy thing is that I'm not fearful. I know that this is what God has spoken, and disobeying Him would be a sin. I must leave this part of my life behind for now, and press toward the prize that God has for me.
With tear-filled eyes I write my last entry as Mrs. Johnson... Goodbye Kindergarten. You have filled my life with joy and the children I've dreamed to teach. Lord, I don't understand why, but here I am saying goodbye.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Down on My Knees
Do you remember how good you felt when that band-aid was placed upon your knee after having fallen off your bike? It wasn't as if anything miraculous had actually occurred; it was the simple thought of being taken care of, like that bandage would prevent more pain.
If you were like me in your younger years, it wouldn't be but a week later you were landing on that same spot before the scab was even gone. The hit you took hurt triple the pain you'd experienced before, but you found yourself avoiding those same circumstances in any way you possibly could.
NOT ME. I'd get right back on that bike and take the fall... a repeated number of times. I loved getting band-aid after band-aid and enjoyed even more the fact that my dad would be there taking care of it. He was also the one who encouraged me to get back up and try again. He'd tell me that if I wasn't bleeding that I'd be fine. He usually was right...
And my Father is telling me that I will be fine, but I feel as though I've been knocked down yet again. However, this injury is as heartbreaking as the last three. If you don't remember, just last July, my beloved Nana passed away after a long battle with Alzheimer's. Just a month later, Brian lost his God-fearing Grandaddy in a timely death. This past February, we learned that our firstborn child had been taken from the womb straight into Heaven. Just days ago, on Thursday, May 8th, we learned that Brian's dad of 48-years-old had not risen from his sleep.
Though I feel as though God has kicked me in the shins before the previous bruises had even healed, I realize there is a purpose. Maybe I am on my knees now to prove that God is sovereign, and He is in complete control. Maybe someone, sometime, somewhere will need me for the loss I've endured, and at that point, in God's glory, I'll be able to point them to the source of these sore areas.
In all of this, I think back to those days when daddy would pick me up and put me back on that purple bike; his unfailing love and encouragement taught me to keep going, and that in time, the pain would be worth it when I rode over the hill. My Heavenly Daddy is exactly the same. He knows how bad the hurts hurt, and He understands how weak my flesh has become. Yet He loves me enough to let me fall down time and time again so that in my weakness, He is made strong.
There is nothing like a wound that won't heal, but when God is your physician, He knows what you need. I'm taking my battered and bruised self to His feet, and I am going to get down on my bandaged knees.
In Memory of:
Thomas Benjamin Johnson
Ethan Caleb Johnson
Bennie Lara Johnson
Jodean Honeycutt
If you were like me in your younger years, it wouldn't be but a week later you were landing on that same spot before the scab was even gone. The hit you took hurt triple the pain you'd experienced before, but you found yourself avoiding those same circumstances in any way you possibly could.
NOT ME. I'd get right back on that bike and take the fall... a repeated number of times. I loved getting band-aid after band-aid and enjoyed even more the fact that my dad would be there taking care of it. He was also the one who encouraged me to get back up and try again. He'd tell me that if I wasn't bleeding that I'd be fine. He usually was right...
And my Father is telling me that I will be fine, but I feel as though I've been knocked down yet again. However, this injury is as heartbreaking as the last three. If you don't remember, just last July, my beloved Nana passed away after a long battle with Alzheimer's. Just a month later, Brian lost his God-fearing Grandaddy in a timely death. This past February, we learned that our firstborn child had been taken from the womb straight into Heaven. Just days ago, on Thursday, May 8th, we learned that Brian's dad of 48-years-old had not risen from his sleep.
Though I feel as though God has kicked me in the shins before the previous bruises had even healed, I realize there is a purpose. Maybe I am on my knees now to prove that God is sovereign, and He is in complete control. Maybe someone, sometime, somewhere will need me for the loss I've endured, and at that point, in God's glory, I'll be able to point them to the source of these sore areas.
In all of this, I think back to those days when daddy would pick me up and put me back on that purple bike; his unfailing love and encouragement taught me to keep going, and that in time, the pain would be worth it when I rode over the hill. My Heavenly Daddy is exactly the same. He knows how bad the hurts hurt, and He understands how weak my flesh has become. Yet He loves me enough to let me fall down time and time again so that in my weakness, He is made strong.
There is nothing like a wound that won't heal, but when God is your physician, He knows what you need. I'm taking my battered and bruised self to His feet, and I am going to get down on my bandaged knees.
In Memory of:
Thomas Benjamin Johnson
Ethan Caleb Johnson
Bennie Lara Johnson
Jodean Honeycutt
Monday, April 28, 2008
Letting Go of Hanging On
So, I'm sure you've noticed it... I've not been myself lately. That's what my husband said loud and clear the other night. Then I admitted to him that a part of me felt as if it left when our baby did. I started thinking about who I was before there ever was a baby. Do you know how difficult that is? To imagine yourself BEFORE the loss of a child?
Well, here I go. I was so happy. I had been married 10 months to my husband, and I could not be more in love. I was looking forward to date nights on Fridays and post-it note love letters every single day. I was learning to cook... It wasn't always successful but I was trying. I was anxious about getting pregnant and had taken a NUMBER of pregnancy tests in the hope of becoming so. I was a friend. People came to me for advice and they often listened to what I had to say. I was joyous. I knew that my life had meaning, though I didn't know what it was, and I was thrilled to see what God had in store. I was a teacher. I loved everything about this classroom, yet I knew God was calling me out of it. These kids were interesting and awesome, and they brightened each day with their quirky looks and hilarious stories. I enjoyed listening to and singing music, looking at and taking pictures, and I absolutely adored polka dots.
That was then.
I am overwhelmed just to get out of bed for fear of thinking of him. I feel suffocated in a classroom full children because none of them are mine. I cry at any talk of pregnancy or just a simple photo of a baby. Baby showers scare me. I am frightened to talk about children. I'm afraid of even discussing babies because I know people feel as though I'm crazy. People walk around me as if I'm surrounded by egg shells. They talk behind my back for fear of not hurting my feelings. I cry all the time. I can't even sing a song at church because the thought of Heaven sometimes hurts because he's there and I'm not. Prayers are difficult, school is harder, and polka dots are driving me nuts.
See, this is now.
I do not want to be this person I've become anymore. I long to move on and feel excitement again over the HOPE of one day becoming a parent. It's not over. I STILL have that chance, that opportunity, even though I've acted as though it's over for me. I want to be a wife again, one who loves unconditionally and goes to bed loving rather than crying herself to sleep. I want my friendships back. I know I don't necessarily even know how to be one, but I want to try. I want to rejoice in my suffering. There are far worse circumstances than mine. My life is not over. I don't want to be like this anymore. Will you PLEASE pray for me? Help me fight this silly battle I've faced for 71 days... I HAVE to let him go. I've been hanging on for too long, and it's time to let go and give God what He deserves:
Praise. "The Lord gave and has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." He gave me a child, and He took him to Heaven; it's up to me to praise Him for it.
Well, here I go. I was so happy. I had been married 10 months to my husband, and I could not be more in love. I was looking forward to date nights on Fridays and post-it note love letters every single day. I was learning to cook... It wasn't always successful but I was trying. I was anxious about getting pregnant and had taken a NUMBER of pregnancy tests in the hope of becoming so. I was a friend. People came to me for advice and they often listened to what I had to say. I was joyous. I knew that my life had meaning, though I didn't know what it was, and I was thrilled to see what God had in store. I was a teacher. I loved everything about this classroom, yet I knew God was calling me out of it. These kids were interesting and awesome, and they brightened each day with their quirky looks and hilarious stories. I enjoyed listening to and singing music, looking at and taking pictures, and I absolutely adored polka dots.
That was then.
I am overwhelmed just to get out of bed for fear of thinking of him. I feel suffocated in a classroom full children because none of them are mine. I cry at any talk of pregnancy or just a simple photo of a baby. Baby showers scare me. I am frightened to talk about children. I'm afraid of even discussing babies because I know people feel as though I'm crazy. People walk around me as if I'm surrounded by egg shells. They talk behind my back for fear of not hurting my feelings. I cry all the time. I can't even sing a song at church because the thought of Heaven sometimes hurts because he's there and I'm not. Prayers are difficult, school is harder, and polka dots are driving me nuts.
See, this is now.
I do not want to be this person I've become anymore. I long to move on and feel excitement again over the HOPE of one day becoming a parent. It's not over. I STILL have that chance, that opportunity, even though I've acted as though it's over for me. I want to be a wife again, one who loves unconditionally and goes to bed loving rather than crying herself to sleep. I want my friendships back. I know I don't necessarily even know how to be one, but I want to try. I want to rejoice in my suffering. There are far worse circumstances than mine. My life is not over. I don't want to be like this anymore. Will you PLEASE pray for me? Help me fight this silly battle I've faced for 71 days... I HAVE to let him go. I've been hanging on for too long, and it's time to let go and give God what He deserves:
Praise. "The Lord gave and has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." He gave me a child, and He took him to Heaven; it's up to me to praise Him for it.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
This Side of Heaven
I know I've talked about Ethan often, but I can't help but think of him everyday. It seems as if he just could be in the other room, but then I realize God has taken him and I am left with this deafening silence and unbearable emptiness. I am not sad that he's gone, because I know his reward in Heaven is FAR GREATER than anything Brian and I could have given him here. Yet my heart aches for him and longs to hold him on THIS SIDE of Heaven...
I know that this isn't possible. I know that God has put 17 (seventeen may be a slight exaggeration but ONLY slight) different pregnant women around me to help me understand that our time is not "this time." I know that there are children in my life everyday and I have no reason to complain, but when I think that none of these are mine, I can't help but feel the pain of losing Ethan all over again.
I know that my fear of babies since losing him is irrational. I get completely overwhelmed when I see a baby boy or the clothes I "might have" bought for him or hear a child cry. I passed a little boy in a brown and turquoise polka dot stroller the other day and nearly choked 1) because of the baby himself, 2) because who would have imagined a boy's stroller in polka dots, and 3) Heaven only knows that that could have been mine! All of this sounds crazy, and I realize it. But then again, until you've experienced it for yourself, which I pray NEVER has to happen for you, you'll soon learn that all of these things are completely normal.
I know I'll hold him one day. I know he'll show us around Heaven, and that, in the mean time, he's in the upmost care. He's with MY FATHER. Why am I so sad about that? Why can I not look at a baby without seeing him? Why is holding a baby such a fear now?
I know that these have been my thought pattern for the past 2 months. I'm not saying it's okay but it is what it is. God has a funny way of showing you to move on from certain things...
I sat at the zoo today with my Kindergarteners when a dear friend and chaperone brought her little baby girl, Eden, over and sat her in my lap. Eden can't be more than 4-5 months old, but when this friend was learning of her girl in the womb, Brian and I were discussing names in case something should happen. Eden was one of those names! I was completely scared to death to touch her, let alone HOLD HER. But as I did, I realized there was a reason for all of this. I don't understand it, and I never will on this side of Heaven. It's not for me to question. It's for God above to work out and show me what time is "the right time." But just in case he doesn't know:
Ethan, Mommy misses you on this side of Heaven.
I know that this isn't possible. I know that God has put 17 (seventeen may be a slight exaggeration but ONLY slight) different pregnant women around me to help me understand that our time is not "this time." I know that there are children in my life everyday and I have no reason to complain, but when I think that none of these are mine, I can't help but feel the pain of losing Ethan all over again.
I know that my fear of babies since losing him is irrational. I get completely overwhelmed when I see a baby boy or the clothes I "might have" bought for him or hear a child cry. I passed a little boy in a brown and turquoise polka dot stroller the other day and nearly choked 1) because of the baby himself, 2) because who would have imagined a boy's stroller in polka dots, and 3) Heaven only knows that that could have been mine! All of this sounds crazy, and I realize it. But then again, until you've experienced it for yourself, which I pray NEVER has to happen for you, you'll soon learn that all of these things are completely normal.
I know I'll hold him one day. I know he'll show us around Heaven, and that, in the mean time, he's in the upmost care. He's with MY FATHER. Why am I so sad about that? Why can I not look at a baby without seeing him? Why is holding a baby such a fear now?
I know that these have been my thought pattern for the past 2 months. I'm not saying it's okay but it is what it is. God has a funny way of showing you to move on from certain things...
I sat at the zoo today with my Kindergarteners when a dear friend and chaperone brought her little baby girl, Eden, over and sat her in my lap. Eden can't be more than 4-5 months old, but when this friend was learning of her girl in the womb, Brian and I were discussing names in case something should happen. Eden was one of those names! I was completely scared to death to touch her, let alone HOLD HER. But as I did, I realized there was a reason for all of this. I don't understand it, and I never will on this side of Heaven. It's not for me to question. It's for God above to work out and show me what time is "the right time." But just in case he doesn't know:
Ethan, Mommy misses you on this side of Heaven.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)