Legacy

Two of my dearest bloggy friends, Kathleen @ South Forte Farms and Kellie @ Blue House Academy, suggested that I repost some of my favorite "golden oldies" during my blogging hiatus.  Great idea, ladies!  Thank you!!

I first posted Legacy in December, 2008.  I thought it appropriate to pull from the archives and post today since my mom made it through her knee surgery successfully this morning.  Thank you for your prayers. 

She now faces rehab from surgery and has to begin walking again with the aid of a walker today.  Just hearing the word rehab is hard for her.  This post can help you understand why.  Please continue to lift her in prayer as she regains the use of her "good" leg and works to rehabilitate through the added difficult of her disability....

Orville began piano lessons recently. My mom, his Nohnie, teaches him. The piano has so much significance to her, and it is a joy to watch them together. I hope one day he will grasp just how special this instrument has been to her and the beauty of the legacy she is passing to him.

Just before her seventh birthday, my mother wanted to learn to play the piano. Her neighbors owned a piano and offered to let her visit their house daily and practice. They even gave her a few "lessons." She truly loved playing and went to their house as often as she could. Soon, everyone saw that she had a remarkable ability. She could play by ear but was learning to read music and play by the rules, too. It was not long before she could play like a pro.

A few months later, my grandmother and she went downtown to shop for a new dress, a common practice of theirs. There were no malls at the time, so they would park where they could find a spot and walk from specialty store to specialty store. However, this shopping trip would be different.

Mamaw (that's what I called my grandma) got out of the car and walked around to help her seven-year-old baby girl out. Mom took two steps and fell to the ground. Mamaw thought she was joking at first and prompted her to get up before she soiled her clothes. However, Mom could not get up. She was rushed to the hospital and after a long series of tests was diagnosed with infantile paralysis or polio.

The good news was the paralysis was isolated to her left leg. The bad news was she would have to relearn some very basic motor skills, including how to walk. For the next year, she could not go to school, go outside to play or do many of the activities that a "normal" seven-year-old girl would do.

My dear Papaw was not a rich man but he had a heart of gold. He painted houses for a living and money was often tight, but he knew my mom needed something special to help her through such a difficult season. She needed something that she could call her own, that could occupy her days and give her joy as she worked so hard to rehabilitate. He worked extra hours and saved the extra pay until he had enough to buy her a piano of her own.

Her hands and arms worked just fine as did her right leg. She could play and work the foot pedals and forget all about her troubled left leg. She played and played, and her abilities grew. Soon, everyone recognized that she had a very special talent given and blessed by the Lord.

She did eventually walk again but only with the aid of a large, stiff metal brace that ran from her hip to her ankle. She could only move her left leg by swinging it way out to the side. To the kids at school, she was laughable. She was mimicked and teased. They called her "Chester" after the disabled character on the t.v. show Gunsmoke. To her teachers, she was little more than a nuisance. She was behind in her studies from being out of school during the year of rehab. Most thought of her as slow, a poor, little, crippled girl who would never learn anything.

But, she had her piano. It was a comfort to her, a reminder that the Lord had made her exactly whom He wanted, that He was all-loving and ever-present. Her remarkable gift grew and grew as she poured herself into her studies and practice. It was the one thing she could do well and she did it with gusto. By the time she was ten, she was her church's pianist.

Just before Mom's sixteenth birthday, a family moved to Knoxville from St. Louis and visited the church where she played piano. The family's eldest son had just graduated from high school and wanted very little to do with the South. He had protested the move, feeling sure there would be no indoor plumbing and that everyone would eat "possum" like on the Beverly Hillbillies. He intended to endure life in Appalachia for a couple of mandatory months and then take off for college- back to the Midwest where he belonged.

However, at church that morning, his plans were derailed.  He liked what he heard coming from the piano. When he noticed that the pianist was a pretty teen-aged girl, he liked what he saw, too. After the service, he complimented Mamaw on how well her daughter played. She told him that he should tell her daughter himself. He did, and, as you have probably guessed by now, the pianist and the Midwestern boy soon fell in love and married.

My dad would not be the only fellow to fall in love with my mom and her piano playing. Nine years ago, the pianist became "Nohnie".  Her first grandson, Orville, loves to hear her play.  He has since he was born, and it was the one thing that soothed his colicky spells as a newborn. He wanted to start lessons this year so he could learn to play like Nohnie and spend time with her.  What a wonderful time they have together as his precious hands follow hers!

Hers is a legacy of faith and of love. I pray the Lord will continue to bless her life as she passes that legacy to the next generation of our family.

One in Her Arms

Wisdom Wednesday

In my first Wisdom Wednesday post, "Why Homeschool Dawn?", I shared my Christian testimony. A few weeks later I wrote "Harvest Time" in which I revealed the greatest lesson I learned as an inner-city teacher. The next month I continued the chronology of my life's lessons in "The Strong Tower." In it I wrote about how God's sovereignty became my resting place as I faced the challenges of infertility and miscarriages. After reading these posts, a few of my bloggy friends sent me e-mails asking for the rest of the story. I will probably dedicate a few more posts to this series of testimonies, but for now, here is the next installment.

After the doctor had the dreaded talk with us, Michael and I decided we were not ready to begin fertility testing. We had been told that things did not look good for us and that we should be prepared for the worst. We knew that would require extra measures of grace. The school year had just begun, so we committed to spend the year praying for that grace and focusing on the work to be done at our schools.

I taught third grade at DES, Dilapidated Elementary School. No, that is not its real name but the pseudonym I have given it in order to protect the innocent. DES was in one of Memphis's poorest neighborhoods, not far from the Mighty Mississippi. It was a "best practices" school. That probably is not what immediately comes to mind when you think "inner city" and may come across as a bit pretentious. It's really just a term used in education circles to indicate a dedication to looking beyond oneself. We sought out what was working at other successful schools, not just in our district but nationally.

Before Christmas break our school decided to adopt a program widely used in the New York Public Schools, specifically at primary schools in Manhattan. A team of five teachers was chosen to go to NYC and observe schools using the program. I was selected as a member of the team.

We arrived in Manhattan in late January and spent a week and a half observing and taking notes. About mid-way through our stay, I experienced dizzy spells. My colleagues said it was probably from riding the subway and elevators. That might seem silly, but I do get motion sickness and am afraid of heights. However, I thought I was getting an ear infection.

Once back home, I went to the doctor expecting to be given a prescription for antibiotics but received prenatal vitamins instead.

What a great day it was when I held BT in my arms. He was born without any problems, full of life. Everyone had a different response. There was laughter. There were tears. Michael jumped around the delivery room, smiling from ear to ear.

All I could do was hold BT and feel the comforting presence of the Lord. It had been an arduous journey, filled with heartache. But, He had been with me every step of the way. His will had been accomplished in losing and in receiving. And I was fully aware that the gift of this little baby was His alone to give. Just as Hannah rejoiced in God's Sovereignty after the birth of Samuel, my heart sang, "There is no one holy like the Lord. There is no God but you. There is no Rock like our God." 1 Sam 2:2

People often ask me what happened. Did the doctors know what had caused the previous miscarriages? Had we opted for a particular therapy? At that time, however, there was no medical explanation, only the knowledge that as our Sovereign God willed, "the woman who was unable to have children, now had seven." 1 Sam 2:5

Well, at least three… two, possibly more, in heaven and one in her arms.

The Strong Tower

Wisdom Wednesday

As with most Americans, September 11, 2001, started as usual for me. The boys were babies, so my mornings began early with diaper changes and feedings. By about 7:30 (CDT), they were settled, playing with toys. Then, I would grab my breakfast and turn on the television to get the weather report and news. I flipped on the Today Show and saw the towers.

By this time, both planes had crashed, and smoke billowed from the gaping holes in the buildings. At first, I wondered what movie was being promoted and thought that the special effects were over the top. I turned up the volume to hear Katie Couric and Matt Lauer explain that this was indeed real. Two hijacked planes had been flown into the World Trade Center.

Over the next few moments, a flurry of emotions swept over me.

First, I felt fear.

Who had done this? Why? What would happen next?

Then, I felt sadness.

My thoughts turned to a school in Tribeca, not far from the towers, where, two years previously, I had observed teachers. Most of the parents of children at that school worked in the Financial District. Were those children watching their parents die?

Next I felt helpless. I yelled at the television, "Those towers are going to fall. Get those people out of there, NOW!!!" I wanted to fly through the TV screen and rescue those who were trapped but could only watch.

Then, the worst happened. The South tower fell. The North followed. Smoke and debris flowed through the streets of lower Manhattan like a tidal wave as New Yorkers ran for their lives. The world stood still. I was paralyzed as this horror unfolded before my eyes. I felt sick and numb with grief. I knew that the United States of America would never be the same.

A few years earlier, two different towers fell.

Near the end of my first year teaching, I learned I was pregnant! Finally!!! We had been praying for a child for two years. After facing month after month of disappointment, we had finally conceived. How great our joy! I finished out the school year and resigned. There was no returning to work for me; I would finally be at home with my little baby.

We bought our first house. It was a beautiful, older home in a neighborhood listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It had been lovingly cared for and retained its original Victorian charm. There was a wrap-around porch and a gorgeous foyer which led into a cozy library. The library had a fireplace, original light fixtures, and built-in bookshelves and window bench; it was a dream. It was going to be the most beautiful nursery that would later be the most beautiful homeschool classroom ever!

Soon after we moved in, I started experiencing pain in my lower abdomen. I kept calling my doctor and was told it was normal and to take it easy for a few days. Then the spotting started. Once again, I was assured this was common and was told to prop up my feet for a while. After a few days of this, I insisted on being examined and was checked into the hospital. As I lay in the hospital bed, feeling pains that I knew were abnormal, I was still being told that everything was okay. I didn't believe it and was consumed with fear.

About an hour later, I miscarried. I was 12 weeks into the pregnancy, but that was far enough along for me to see a child, my child. He had little arms and legs and blue dots where eyes were forming. He was fully human but seen as no more than a fetus by the hospital staff. Instead of him being carried home to our sweet nursery, he was placed in a Petri dish and carried off to a lab. I had never experienced such sadness.

My doctor encouraged us to try again, and we faced eight disappointing months before conceiving for the second time. This baby, however, only lived to 8 weeks gestation.

Over the next year, there were four more times that a pregnancy test gave a positive result. However, before I could get to the doctor for an exam, I was no longer pregnant. The doctor could not determine if I had miscarried or if those tests had been false positives. I was beginning to feel helpless.

My OBGYN suggested it was time to begin testing. She sat with me in her office and explained the possibilities; she wanted me to be fully informed before I began the process. It was her best guess that things didn't look good for me. She wanted me to be prepared to find out that Michael and I would never be able to have biological children.

That's when they fell… those two towers I mentioned earlier. They were the towers of my hopes and my dreams. Disappointment flooded me like a tidal wave. My world stood still, and I was paralyzed by the thoughts that I would not have what I had wanted for so long. I felt sick and numb with grief and worried that I would never be the same again.

But as I looked through the dust and debris of my fallen towers, I saw that "The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe." Prov 18: 10 This does not mean that I will never experience injury, insult, or heartache, but I am forever safe. Jesus is my strong tower, and His Kingdom will endure forever.

Furthermore, Jeremiah 29:11 says, "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." I had to come to terms with the fact that the hope and future that Jeremiah wrote about is not wish fulfillment. My hope and my future is Jesus. And I am to pray, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."

The true prosperity of which Jeremiah wrote is that "neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Rom 8:38-39 Our Sovereign Lord reigns, and by His grace alone I am forever His. Nothing can destroy that.

So whether we face national disaster or personal pain, may we run to Christ alone. May our faith not waiver in the face of trials. But may we instead, by God's grace, persevere and proclaim , "The LORD giveth, and the LORD taketh away; blessed be the name of the LORD." Job 1:21

Harvest Time

Wisdom Wednesday

When we married, I thought that Michael and I would be expecting our first child by our first anniversary. Though we wanted a little time to enjoy being newlyweds, I could not wait to be a mom, especially a homeschool mom. After praying and hoping but only facing disappointment month after month, Michael and I accepted that the Lord had ordained a childless season for us and decided that I should take a teaching job for one year.

I was offered a job at a private Christian school. It would have been a great opportunity. I knew several of the families associated with the school. The facility was beautiful, and the faculty was a group of God-honoring people. It would have been a great place to teach. However, I just did not have a peace about accepting the position. I had that inexplicable feeling that there was somewhere else I belonged.

All through college, I had worked in the inner-city either completing practice teaching hours or in short-term mission work. That was where my heart was, and I knew that was where the Lord was calling me to teach. So, I signed an open contract with Memphis City Schools. A couple weeks later, I received a call from my principal (we’ll call him Mr. Smith) informing me that he wanted to interview me for a third grade teaching position at his school (we’ll call it Dilapidated Elementary School- DES for short).

DES was located only a mile from the Mississippi River, and my classroom was on the third floor of the school. The view from my room was incredible. I could see the Mighty Mississippi and the Hernando Desoto Bridge (Memphis’s iconic M-shaped bridge). The neighborhood surrounding the school, however, was not so lovely. DES serviced one of Memphis’s largest housing projects. Driving through the neighborhood to the school made my knees tremble. Seeing the school itself made me want to cry. It was almost 100 years old and was falling apart. Worst of all, there was no air conditioning. I don’t just mean no central air. There were no window units either, and if you have never experienced Memphis in August, let’s just say it gets hot!

I made it through the interview only to learn that it was merely a technicality. I had already been placed at DES and had no choice in the matter. I wanted to scream, cry, run… something, just not teach at this school. I called other principals in the system. Maybe one of them could convince Mr. Smith to drop me, and then I could teach at another school, an air-conditioned one. I come from a family of teachers and had contacts within other school systems call MCS and try to get me out of the contract. I discussed the matter with a friend who was a lawyer, but all to no avail. There was nothing I could do. I had signed the contract, and there was no getting out of it.

My faith wavered. Could I do it? Could I teach in sub-standard conditions? What about crime, gangs, drugs? Why didn’t I take the job at the nice, clean, AIR-CONDITIONED, CHRISTIAN school? But, I held to the promise of Php 1:6 “Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ” and went to work at DES.

During the first week of school, my fears subsided, and my heart warmed toward the community. Then, I met a boy whom we will call Joe. We had club time every Friday, and he joined my science club. He was a good kid and a hard worker. One Sunday, I volunteered to serve at a local mission. I did not know where it was located when I originally volunteered and was shocked to learn it was around the corner from DES. I was even more surprised when I saw Joe there the morning I served. He was eight-years-old at the time and was responsible for walking his younger sister and cousin there each Sunday for what was their only hot meal on the weekend.

My friends, who had volunteered with me, and I sat down and talked with Joe. He ate his pancakes and scrambled eggs, thankful for a good meal. He assured us that Jesus is his Lord and that he was thankful for how God had provided for him and his family through the mission. Then he nearly broke my heart when he told me how thankful he was to have a teacher who cared enough to come and cook breakfast and how much he enjoyed being in my science club. That was the beginning of a very special friendship between us. He visited my classroom often, always wanting to talk about the Bible or how he could witness to his friends or better serve God.

I shudder when I think of how selfish I was. If you had asked me at that time to define "missions," I would have said reaching out to those around us, whomever we encounter, with the Gospel of Christ. But, when the rubber met the road, I was more concerned about air conditioning than I was the Gospel. Matt 9:37 says, "The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few.” How sorry I am that I almost missed taking part in that harvest because I was too concerned about creature comforts. How grateful I am for my infinitely wise God who sent me to DES to teach and in the process taught me a lesson I will never forget.

Why Homeschool Dawn?

Wisdom Wednesday

My pastor preached from 1 Cor 12:1-3 last week. It says, "Now, brothers, I want you to understand about spiritual gifts. You remember the lives you lived before you were believers. You were influenced and led away to worship idols- things that have no life. So I tell you that no one who is speaking with the help of God's Spirit says, 'Jesus be cursed.' And no one can say, 'Jesus is Lord,' without the help of the Spirit." This sermon took me back in time and caused me to reflect on my first year of college when I first studied this chapter of scripture and the spiritual gifts.

I had entered college with a head full of dreams, all fueled by feminist ideals. I was sure that I was smart, strong, and capable… able to do whatever I set my mind to do.

I was close to giving up on the church. I had tired of what I perceived to be hypocrisy among my fellow church-goers. Truthfully, I was a good kid, even a good teen. While others were partying, I was studying. My life was built upon my merit, and I was doing a pretty good job. Or, so I thought.

After only a few days on campus, I attended a party at the Baptist Student Union. I made some good, life-long friends that night (one of them is my husband!) and soon found myself doing things I was on the verge of disavowing. I attended everything the BSU offered, especially Bible studies.

Soon, I decided I should have a daily quiet time. I wasn't sure where to start but I had always heard "Romans this and that" in church and so I decided to begin my personal study there. I opened to chapter one and read, "People did not think it was important to have a true knowledge of God, so He left them…. They are filled with every kind of sin…." As I read those words, I thought, "That's right! People are so wrong. How dare they!"

Then I began chapter two. "If you think that you can judge others, then you are wrong. You too are guilty of sin. You judge people, but you do the same bad things they do. So when you judge them, you are really judging yourself guilty." At that moment, it was as if a "spiritual mirror" were held up to my face. I had to take a long, hard look at the real me and I did not like what I saw. I was covered in sin. I was guilty. I had a hard, prideful, judgmental heart and thought of myself as the master of my destiny. I was guilty of self-serving idolatry.

I continued reading. I could not stop. Through teary eyes, I read chapter after chapter, realizing that I was wretched and yet Christ died for me. The weight of conviction brought me to my knees and I could do nothing else but call out to God, knowing that Jesus had paid the price for my sins on the cross. By the work of the Spirit and the Word, that was the first time I was able to confess that I am a sinner and that Jesus is Lord and truly mean it. It was that night that I felt the relief of true forgiveness. I knew I was redeemed and I knew that I was forever changed.
I truly was changed. The more I studied the Bible, the more I fell in love my Savior. My feminist heart began to melt. I longed to please the Lord with every aspect of my life, including my studies. It was through the study on the spiritual gifts that I mentioned earlier in this post that I recognized I had been gifted as a teacher and changed my major to education. The girl who had wanted a career now wanted to work in inner-city missions and schools and hoped one day to homeschool her children.

I couldn't help but reflect on these events as my pastor preached Sunday. He asked the question (this is my paraphrase), "Why did Paul under the inspiration of the Spirit begin the chapter on spiritual gifts with talk of former lives and being idolaters?" As he asked that question, the testimony I have just shared played in my mind. The answer was obvious to me. It is because that is who we are. In and of ourselves, we are idolaters and are incapable of saying, "Jesus is Lord." Similarly, as the name implies, spiritual gifts are just that… gifts. We did not make, merit, or choose them. They are freely given to Christians by the Spirit to accomplish God's work and not our own.

So, as you read my blog and see my particular gifts in action, join with me in giving glory to God. If He had chosen to leave me to my vices, there would be no Home School Dawn. I would be off chasing after the wind, completely unaware of how doomed I would be. Instead, by His grace and for His glory, I am His "workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for (me) to do." Eph 2:10

To God be the glory.