Why Isn't it Just A Song?

It happens every time a football game starts.  Or a basketball game.  Hockey game.  Any competition, really.  Everyone is excited for the fun to begin, and the music starts.  I feel my eyes well up.  I hope people aren't watching me, but at this point in my life, I don't really care.

They're playing our National Anthem.

Now, maybe at this point you're thinking, "Awww.  She really loves America. Isn't that sweet that she's patriotic?" I do enjoy lots of the freedoms afforded me here, but that's not what tugs at my heart. It starts, and I look at that flag, and the thoughts in my head go something like this:

"Oh say can you see?  Yes.  I can see.  I see stars and stripes.  I see the red stripes that remind me of the blood and the limbs lots of young men and women have sacrificed to protect people they love, and people they don't even know.  People like that jerk three rows down who won't even remove his cap to honor the memory of someone's kid that died so he could have the right to say whatever stupid thing comes to his mind.  People like the old guys who served in wars long before these kids on this field were even born, and remember their buddies whose bodies were too destroyed to make the trip home from places like Korea and VietNam.

I see the flag that hung in the room when my own sons pledged to uphold and defend this country of ours with their lives, and I thank GOD with every cell of my being that the ultimate price has not been required of them.  I thank God that Spencer and Jordan and Nick and Jake, Arlea and Adam, and so many others have returned home safely, after travelling again and again to far off lands full of people who wish them harm because of that FLAG and what it stands for.  

I think of my own son, Jordan, playing in the band for troop returns, and how he would play this very song as they unloaded the coffins of those young men and women killed in the line of duty.  I think of Mrs. Little, and Mrs. Polasek, and how devastated they must have been when they received the  news that their sons were gone. I pray for those families.

"Oh say, does that star-spangled Banner yet wave?" Yes.  It does, over the land of the free.  We are free, and it comes at a terrible cost.  As I listen to the song (unable to sing, because I'm way too choked up) I look at the athletes gathered for this sporting event.  These young ladies are getting ready to play volleyball.  How many of them will serve, or have sons and daughters who serve?  What about these fellas on the football field.  This one wants to be a Marine.  I've seen how they defend their quarterback.  I know they understand a team, and know they would protect their battle buddies the same way. I pray for their safety. I pray for safety of their minds, bodies, and souls.

"...And the Home of the Brave."  It may just be two wordy questions posed by Francis Scott Key, but it's so much more than just a song to me.  I am reminded of the many times that flag has been sought after a battle, and the desire of those warriors to return to their home, the home of the brave. I pray they all return to their homes and friends and families.

This is what true bravery looks like:

 "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." (John 15:13)

14   

To the Parents of the Class of 2028 (Kindergarten)

Dear parents of the new Kindergarten Class,

You did it!  You made it through the first week of your child being a real live school kid! Congratulations!  I know for some of you, this has been the most difficult week of your life (or darn close to it.)  For those of us who work closely with your child, this week has been a challenge of learning new names, and getting to know these awesome kids who will be the graduating class of 2028! (Crazy, right?)

I am not your child's classroom teacher, but I am one of his or her educators.  My title is Paraprofessional.  You can think of us as "accessory players" or "sidekicks" or "hero support".  We do everything from check out library books to assisting in the lunch room to applying bandages and looking for head lice.  We comfort them when they're afraid, and help them learn to solve problems and make good choices.  We also help them learn to read, write, and do math. It's a busy job and I love it. It gives me an inside perspective of what's happening at school. There are a few things I'd like you to know (from the inside track) that you might not realize.

 We KNOW that you have entrusted us with your greatest treasure!
Whether this particular child was one of many, long-awaited, or a total surprise, this is YOUR BABY!  We are fully aware that this child is a piece of you and owns your heart.  We completely understand that they are your reason for getting up in the morning, and the happy thought that allows you to sleep well at night.  We respect that.  We see the amazing-ness of this little person you get to love and raise and call your own.  They are priceless and irreplaceable.  We know this.

We truly want the best for every single child in our school. 
We know that not all children have the same gifts and abilities, but we firmly and completely believe in each child's ability to learn and grow. We believe they are capable and strong.  We expect good things from them. In fact, we insist on it. Kindness isn't on the MEAP test, but it's the most important thing we can teach.  Teachers always have the best interest of the student at heart. It might mean the little guy misses out on a fun activity (if Jr. needs to learn a better choice) but the big picture goal is worth the short term unhappiness. We need to challenge every student to do their best, because...

We LOVE watching your child succeed.
There will come a moment when your child brings a book to me and says, "Mrs. Swager look at me!  C-A-T spells CAT!  I can READ!" This is the reason I come to school! This is my "winning lotto numbers" moment!  When they ask to count the change in my pocket BECAUSE THEY CAN, it is a huge victory and cause for my personal celebration.  My SuperBowl is when the little guy who struggled to hold a pencil properly can now write whole sentences! I love my job because your kid is awesome!

Probably the most important thing you should know is this:      
We call them ours.  
I gave birth to 7 kids, but I have so many more than that.  Every child in that school is my responsibility while I'm there, and I take that very seriously. Trust that I will do everything in my power to help your child become the very best version of himself or herself.  As I said, these children are your treasure, however, they are OUR treasure as well. We care for them and protect them and laugh with them and learn with them for most of their day. We find them dry clothes if they pee their pants.  We hear about the new baby in the family, or grandpa dying.  They share their lives with us. We can't help but love them! They are dear to our hearts, and have very quickly become part of our school family.

Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your child's life, and thank you for letting him or her be part of mine.  Keep up the good work, and pace yourself.  Only 12 3/4 more years to go until graduation!

Sincerely,

Mrs. Swager
Title I & General Ed Paraprofessional
Cafeteria Supervisor



  

  
 

God's Junk Drawer

"In a large household there are vessels not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay, some for lofty and others for humble use." --2 Timothy 2:20

I live in a large household, and like all large households, I have a variety of vessels. I don't own any gold ones (except for the gold rim on my fancy holiday plates.) I have some silver, but just a few fancy serving pieces.  I have lots of wood, and some clay, glass and stoneware.  I have plenty of plastic. 

As I read this verse, I'm not thinking of any of those dishes.  The ones I'm thinking of are the ones that fill my kitchen junk drawer.  It's not really junk, it is an eclectic variety of implements intended for use in the preparation of food.
So, as I look inside the drawer at this menagerie of implements, I wonder what God is telling me about this verse.  

If God is looking into HIS kitchen junk drawer, which implement would I be?  

My friend Kathy would be his whisk!  She is gifted at stirring up the fire of faith in the teens in our parish.  She's fun and athletic, full of spunk and Spirit.  She's a fast mover. She takes that which is heavy and lightens it with air.  She's a whisk! 

Now Sue is the wooden spoon. She keeps everything going by performing a multitude of duties.  She can stir people into ushering at Mass, she scrapes up volunteers to read and distribute Communion.  Just like the wooden spoons I've heard stories about, she can also be useful with distributing justice.  

I believe Uncle Hugh might be the can-opener.  When questions of Church History come up, he opens up a can of... Well, he actually opens up books of information and shares that knowledge with those most in need of correction.  

I have friends who may be cherry-pitters.  Yep, I have one of those.  It's express purpose is to pop the pits out of cherries.  It's a very specific device with a very specific purpose. Some of us are like that.  Some of us just lay in the drawer waiting for our turn to be useful.  Some of us are spatulas, made to turn people over so they don't burn.  (Burn, get it?)  Some of us are measuring cups.  Some of us are rolling pins.  Some of us are egg separators.

I think Jesus might be like a cutting board.  

He stands between the utensils with sharp edges and the countertop, protecting His home and kitchen. He allows himself to be wounded to keep his home safe.  

I still don't know what I am.  I don't know precisely what my job is.  Am I a cheese grater? An egg timer? Salad tongs? Maybe I'm a bamboo skewer! I just don't know!  

It is my honor to be in the drawer.  It is my honor to be a vessel for God's use.  Whether I am for lofty use or for humble use doesn't matter to me.  I am here for his use.  

Please open the drawer and use me, Lord. 

Help me to be of use to you.        

  

Pedicures and Epic Failure

While working in the kitchen at Catholic Heart Work Camp, my new friend Marianna and I were discussing the benefits of a pedicure.  On the one hand, we are here to serve the needy of Springfield, Illinois.  On the other hand, she's been working like this for 3 weeks, and has 3 more weeks to go in this summer stint as a part of the CHWC staff. We decide then and there, that if time allows, we will go get this elusive slice of Heaven, known as the Mani-Pedi.  

On Thursday, the time arrives, so Marianna, Courtney and I meet at the nail salon. This is only the third time I've had a professional pedicure, and as this young man massages the soles of my feet and calves with sugar scrub, I wonder why I don't do this more often.  He scrubs away the dead skin and trims the nails on my toes.  He removes a bit of callus, and discovers that my feet are really ticklish. John, my nail technician, is a young Asian man with a 4 month old son. At the moment, he and his co-workers look like Jesus to me.  He is washing my feet.  They are giving rest and comfort to those of us who will give rest and comfort. The significance of this is at the front of my mind, and I silently pray for him and his family. 

And he is very SKILLED at comforting my feet!  

I have been soaked and scrubbed and lotioned and oiled.  I have been given a base coat and a cuticle push, a coat of the purple polish I chose, and then a top coat.  My legs and feet feel spectacularly refreshed. John puts my toes into the foam toe spreaders and we walk out to the manicure area, and I sit on a bar stool awaiting the next pampering.  It is time to work on my hands.

During my time at camp, I have become known as the "High Five Lady".  I have exchanged high fives with so many students, I can't even count them.  Actually, there are 260 of them, but I've high fived so many times that the skin on my hands is actually split and cracked. I love the enthusiasm of these teens, but come on, boys!  You don't have to "wind-up" before you smack the old lady's hands!  I love camp, and being a part of it comes at a cost.  I am in dire need of hand help.  The cure is called a Paraffin Dip.  

My hands are oiled and anointed with lotion and dipped in hot paraffin wax that warms, relaxes, and renews the muscles of my poor beaten hands.  After a time, my nails are polished and shined and look fabulous. John adds a coat of glitter and sends me to the drying table. I'm waiting for my friends and my nails to be ready when I notice a problem.  I have bumped my big toe against something and botched the paint job. 

OH GREAT!  I wrecked it!  This is SO typical of me!  I finally get to do something nice and I WRECK IT!  I had this great thing going, and I BOTCHED IT!  Grrrr!  I am furious with myself, and frankly, I'm disappointed.  I wanted to be beautiful!  I wanted to look good!  Every time I look at this toe, I will see and be reminded that this was a failure!  The pedicure was a failure.  

I am a failure. 

I have looked at that toenail every day for the last month, and I now realize how wrong I have been.

I am still a bit defective.  But I was wrong to think that it was the polish that made our feet beautiful.    Long before any of us, or even the Lord was born, Isaiah 52:7 said, 

"How beautiful upon the mountains^*

are the feet of the one bringing good news,

Announcing peace, bearing good news,

announcing salvation, saying to Zion,

“Your God is King!”

That's EXACTLY why we're in town!  Our feet were beautiful before we even got there.  John's work on my feet was not in vain.  I was mistaken to believe that one little flaw negates the goodness of the rest of the experience. A centimeter of missing purple doesn't undo all the good of the massage, or the sugar scrub or the paraffin.  It doesn't undo time spent with new friends, or the sharing of the Good News of Jesus Christ with 260 slap-happy campers and the people of Springfield Illinois. When I looked at my missing polish, I was thinking of what WASN'T, instead of all that WAS, and that is a mistake. 

WhenI focus on what didn't happen, or what didn't work out, or what it LOOKS LIKE, I completely miss the point!  Our whole lives are a series of events that we can choose to see the missing or find the blessings. My heart disease is like that. I can weep over having been dead for a few minutes, and how my heart doesn't work right, or I can thank God for the time spent in His loving embrace. My heart still mourns for the baby I lost, but I thank God for the knowledge that I have an intercessor in Heaven, and that my child is loved and cared for until we are together again. 

I am so very thankful for Marianna and Courtney for sharing this experience with me.  Had I not been accompanied by these beautiful servants of God, (and their beautiful feet) I may have missed out on this valuable lesson.  You amazing ladies have reminded me to use my beautiful feet for the glory of God.  

      

Retail Therapy

I've never been a very girly girl.  When I was a kid, I spent most of my time with boys picking up frogs and snakes and rarely washing my hair, which flowed in lovely mats halfway down my back.  There was way too much coolness going on outside for met to notice that my church dress was on backwards.  I did notice that I didn't quite fit in with the pretty girls, and that was okay with me.  (They didn't know how to bait their own hooks, anyway.) Now that I am a full grown woman with grandkids and a mortgage, I wash my hair much more.  I usually have my dress on right. (I think.) Yet I still don't feel I fit in with the pretty girls.   

Having been pregnant or nursing for over ten full years of my life, I have struggled with my body.  I have lost and gained well over 300 pounds, if you tally it all up, I have been at odds with my body for a long time, and my Sudden Cardiac Arrest brought on a full-blown body break up.  

We stopped speaking, this horrible lump of betraying, untrustworthy chunk of flesh and I.  It abandoned me in my hour of need, and I was angry!  It has taken  years to get back on speaking terms. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I'm quite comfortable in the skin I'm in. Now I'm ready for RETAIL THERAPY, and I've found the perfect way to do it!  

Everyone who knows me, knows what it means to me when a business steps up and makes a difference.  Lord and Taylor is one of those retailers.  I realize there is not a Lord and Taylor in scenic Climax, Michigan.  (Actually, we're doing pretty well to have a Post Office and a hair salon.)

There isn't one within 100 miles.  There is one right at my fingertips.  On the Magic Interwebs I can go on there and see the really pretty stuff that the pretty girls are wearing in New York City (which I thought was one of the coolest places I've ever been.)  I can order it, and this weekend they'll make a donation to WomenHeart to help me and other WomenHeart Champions offer support to the others who have broken up with their bodies also.  

The information can be found at the end of this blog, and I hope you'll visit their store or website to get your "shop on!" I just can't help but spread the word and share the love when companies choose to support me and show me some love.  For me, it's very personal.  I hope you'll support Lord and Taylor, and shop this weekend!  

    

On May 2^nd, Lord & Taylor is hosting a national Charity Day for women’s health. Customers can support organizations nationwide benefitting women’s health. Customers can specifically support WomenHeart in three ways:

1.     Starting today, visit www.womenheart.org/LordandTaylor, donate $5 to support WomenHeart, and in return get one 20% off storewide savings pass and two 30% off single item coupons, to use in any Lord & Taylor store on May 2, 2015.

2.     Shop at www.lordandtaylor.com on May 2, and a percentage of net proceeds from purchases will benefit WomenHeart!

3.     If you are in the New York City area on May 2, visit the Lord & Taylor flagship store at 424 Fifth Ave., New York, NY, purchase a $5 savings pass, and receive the greatest discounts of the season on your Lord & Taylor purchases that day! Proceeds from the $5 savings passes sold at the Lord & Taylor flagship store on May 2 benefit WomenHeart! 

Learn more by visiting www.womenheart.org/LordandTaylor. Shop at Lord & Taylor for that perfect Mother’s Day gift while supporting WomenHeart!

Dear Mrs. Little...

Lance Corporal Jason Little gave his life for his country in January of 2006, just as my own son was considering his post-high school choices and leaning heavily towards a military career. This letter has been 9 1/2 years in the making, and it's about time I told her what she and her son have meant to me.


Dear Mrs. Little,

I have thought to write you so many times, and I never know exactly where to start.  Being from Climax, I am certain our paths have crossed many times, but I can't really say we know each other. We probably have a lot in common, and I have prayed for you and your family many times.  I am so very sorry for the loss of your dear son.

I have tried not to imagine the pain and grief your family has endured, but it follows me.  It has been my greatest fear, ever since my oldest son joined the Army in 2006. With Jason's death having been in January, Jordan's induction in June stirred up thoughts of him and your family from the very beginning. Six years later, Jordan's younger brother Spencer would swear the same oath.  I was so proud of my sons as they swore an oath to protect this country to the point of death, and I wondered if you felt that same pride when Jason pledged the same thing. Surely, you were as afraid as I was.  I prayed for you on those days.  I prayed for all of our sons, and all the sons and daughters who take that oath, hoping they understand that it means exactly what it says.

When my Jordan deployed, I thought of Jason.  I'm sure they were both excited for an adventure, and a chance to see the world outside of the village limits. Jordan went to Germany, and my mother heart was worried. I knew his wife would be with him, so it wouldn't be as scary as being in a combat zone, but it's still awfully far away.

When Spencer told me he was being deployed to Afghanistan, I got panicky.  I wondered how you handled the news when Jason told you he was going to Iraq.  Were you in the same mixed bag of feelings I was?  Were you excited that your son would have the chance to be brave and valiant, and see the world and work to make it a better, safer place?  Were you, like me, terrified for them to be in a place where people wanted to do them harm? What a roller coaster of emotion! I took to the practice of hugging random uniformed service people, since my own son was unavailable.  (They didn't mind too much, and I asked first.)  I swear I held my breath for months, treasuring each letter and message, fearing each one would be our last. I feared that you and I would one day be standing side by side, mourning our sons together in Fort Custer. I prayed to have strength. I prayed for YOU to have strength.  I prayed that God would hold you in his arms, and you would find comfort there.

I've prayed for you so many times. I prayed for you and Jason, and the birthdays you will celebrate and remember the day he was born, without him.  Every Christmas, I think of you, and send up a prayer that somehow Jason will be present with you, smiling down on you and your husband and his siblings.  I pray that you will have so many wonderful memories of him, that his absence will not overshadow them.  I pray for his sister and brother, as I watch Jordan and Spencer's siblings rally around their brothers when they come home for a visit.

What I really want you to know is that Jason is not forgotten.  You raised a son who was brave, and willing to do all it took to protect our way of life.  He gave the ultimate sacrifice, and he gave a piece of you with it.  Your son is not forgotten. Neither are you. I wish I could carry away a piece of your pain.  In my heart, I see him when I see men in uniform.  He is honored every time the National Anthem plays and caps are removed. He is not forgotten, and neither are the others.

I saw in this week's Climax Crescent that you and your daughter are running a marathon in Washington DC in Jason's memory. It is a fundraiser for the Semper Fi Fund, which offers aid to wounded service people of all branches of the service. I will make a donation to support you and Stephanie financially at this donation website , and please know that I support you in prayer... still.

It's hard to believe it's been almost ten years.  He is still in my thoughts, and so are you.  Thank you, bless you, and stay strong.

With love and admiration from one Military Mom to another,

Amy Swager

 

The Red Boots

As I scrambled madly, up to my elbows in shoes, trying not to be late for whatever really important meeting I needed to be at next, I realized the truth.  My shoes, as well as my life, are a disorganized mess.

This blog, like my shoe closet (and my life) is a random conglomeration of the stuff I care about, the things I need, and the "shoes" that have been given to me, and I hold onto, hoping they will fit one day. My style could be called "eclectic" since my shoe closet contains an array of styles, from the black platform boots that make me at least 5 inches taller, to the slip on casual beach shoes that I wear when I want to relax, to the sparkly princess shoes that go with the blue cocktail dress that is still waiting for the right occasion to be worn. Some of my shoes are incomplete pairs.  There's probably a match to it in there, I just haven't needed it badly enough to search for it. These lonely fellows remind me of the things I will get to "some day".  Like learning to speak fluent Spanish, and knitting.  Both are on my list, and I'm not willing to throw them out.  They're just waiting their turn.

I have to admit, one of my favorite pairs of shoes are my red boots. They make me feel like I can give heart disease a kick in the pants and a run for it's money. I feel so empowered when I wear them. They remind me of my friend Stephanie, and how she survived a heart attack on Pike's Peak, waiting for hours for the helicopter to rescue her.  They make me think of Sue walking into the ER as her heart was stopping, announcing to the nurse "I think I'm having a heart attack."  They make me think of my sister doing CPR to save my life in a beauty salon, and I want to take away how scary that was. These boots make me stand tall and proud like Wonder Woman. They make me turn my fear and anger and uncertainty into strength and resolve and drive.

I wish I could give every woman living with heart disease a pair of these red boots.

They say that 1 in 4 women will die of heart disease.  When I'm wearing my red boots, I feel like I can stand up and say, "Not me." (Although, technically, I've been without a pulse, so you could say I've already died.  I didn't "stay dead", so it doesn't count.)  In my red boots, I feel like I can stand in front of my Mom and say, "You can't have her".  I can stand in front of my sisters and friends and say, "Not her either.  Move along"

If we all had our red boots on, we would stand together as an Army of  Red-Booted Warriors!  We could stand in front of every 4th woman and say, "No, Heart Disease. You can't have ANY of us."

It's a great goal, but for now, my WomenHeart sisters and I will do the next best thing.  We will educate everyone who will listen.  We will wear the boots for each other when one is having a "grippy socks in the hospital" kind of day.  We will seek out the sisters who are suffering alone and trying to pretend to their family like this isn't the scariest thing they've ever faced, and support them.  We will teach people how to save lives with CPR.

We will help others find their own pair of "red boots".  We will hold each other up, and try to help each other live long enough to make it all the way to the bottom of our lists, so I can say something in Spanish beyond "eat your beans" and someday knit a really ugly sweater.


<3