Empathy

Empathy.

Empathy is different than sympathy.  Sympathy is when you feel bad for someone because you have felt the pain they are going through, and you have some level of pity for that person.  Empathy is understanding how they may feel, even if you've never experienced the same thing.  Empathy is a wonderful gift, and it can take a million different forms.

I have seen parents using empathy with their Kindergarten students.  I have seen them take off their child's coat and hang it up. They empty the child's backpack for them and tie their shoes or help them take off their boots and change into their shoes. They don't want their child to need or lack for anything, so they do it all for them.  I've seen parents physically carry their children as they're leaving school, because they love them and want good things for them.

I couldn't agree more.  I also couldn't disagree more.

Don't get me wrong, I love those kids, and I want every good thing for them, too.  But that's just the point.  I want it FOR THEM!  I want them to get to feel the pride and confidence that comes from knowing how to zip your own coat.  I want them to be the kid the other kids ask for help because they DO know how to open their own snack. I want them to believe they are strong and capable, and a valued member of our classroom, because they ARE an important member of their class. I want them to know they are capable of amazing things.  I want them to believe that the only reason they don't know how to do things is because they haven't mastered them yet, and not that those things are too hard, or they aren't smart (or strong) enough. I understand their struggle.  I also understand the good that can come from it. I treasure the moment when a child figures out that they can string together the sounds that letters make, and it creates a WORD! It is the monumental occasion in which Daddy's baby girl or Mama's little man has become.............A READER!!!

Just like Mom and Dad, our kids become stronger because they have struggled.  They have taken the time to practice and fail and make mistakes, and get better and better at things.  When we do everything for kids we tell them that we don't believe they can do them.  We may be telling them that we don't have time to teach them, or we can't wait while they try. Sometimes this is true.  As a mother of 7, I can tell you that there are times when I just need to tie the dad-gum shoes for you, or you can work on it in the car on the way to church.

However, we might accidentally be telling them that they are not worth our time.

Empathy is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

I understand, and I hope they never feel that way.

     



 
 

Thank you, Grandma Gibson.

Every Sunday we drive past Grandma Gibson's house on the way home from church.  You can't miss it, really. It looks like a used car lot with so many vehicles parked up in the lawn.  You just know that all the aunts, uncles and cousins are in there, enjoying some tasty kind of dinner. They're probably playing cards, or telling stories, cheering for their favorite football team, or just enjoying each other's company.  I don't know that I've ever met "Grandma Gibson" in person, but she has given me and our entire community a beautiful gift. She gave us her family, but first, she filled them with her love.

 
It seems like everyone is either related to Grandma Gibson or knows the myriad of wonderful people who are. Her family is made of Gibsons and Eyres and Bordens who keep the community looking nice, take care of sick people, and are easily recognizable by that classic Gibson smile. They drive buses and keep kids safe and the school looking good.  They are just genuinely nice people.  I believe she must have made them that way. This is the way she looked at them.  You can feel the love.

Grandma Gibson was surely the glue that held the family together, and with her passing, I'm afraid I might have to take a different route home.  It makes me sad to think the cars might not be there.  I hope they choose to still get together.  I hope they keep her so close to their hearts that they look for her smile and her love in each other. I hope they find that little spark of her in each other, and honor her by continuing to show her love and spunk to the one who never met her.  I know they will continue to be the loving people she has encouraged them to be.  They are truly a gift.  

Thank you, Grandma Gibson, for being the sweet little lady they all came to see. Thank you for reminding us of the importance of Sunday dinners... and Family.  

8 minutes

I need Jesus.

This is a pretty obvious statement.  Those of you who know me, know this to be true.  My life gets busy and crazy and I get soooooo distracted. Life is kinda busy right now.

So, here's what's up.

Jordan will deploy to Afghanistan this week.  He'll be gone for 3 months.  A mother worries.  I also know how hard this is on Misty and the kids, so I'm concerned for them.  I love them, and they're all the way in New York, so I can't just drive over and pick up the kids for the weekend, or have Misty drop them off for a few hours so she can get a break.  Spencer is in transition between active duty and National Guard.  He and Melanie are growing my grandson, and moving to Texas. Very exciting, and on my mind.  I hope so many good things for them.  Isaac is working and going to school.  He lives at my house, yet I rarely see him awake and without a screen in the room.  I miss him.  I want wonderful things for him.  I have no idea what he thinks about.  Lydia is a senior.  Very soon she will be a legal adult.  Have I taught her all she needs to know?  Have I equipped her for a life beyond my home?  (Needing Jesus just a little more at this thought.)  Harriett will be taking her driving test this week, since she just turned 16.  Dear Lord, another child driving.  More prayers.  Simon is getting so grown.  Am I giving him enough attention?  Does he have all he needs from me?  What about Sylvia? She's not such a little girl any more.  We need to go shopping.  She needs some longer pants for her very long legs. I feel like Luke lives in another continent sometimes, as we divide and conquer our life together.  I need to write some of the stories in my mind.  I need to prepare for my class.  I need to sleep.  I      Neeed     Jeeeeeeessssuuuuuuussssssss!!!!

So, I did what every good Catholic does.  I went to see Jesus, and spent some quality time with Him.  It's called Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, and it is LITERALLY being in the same room as Jesus in his body and blood, soul and divinity.  I needed this time to regroup and renew.  I needed my Holy Hour of Jesus time.  I signed in and walked into the chapel.

There He was.

(((Sigh))))

I did a mental version of what I call a "verbal vomit", except it was supposed to be a prayer.  I couldn't shut up.  I wanted to listen, but I just couldn't shut up!  So I let it out.  Then I smiled at Him.
Then I got up to leave.

As I signed out, I noticed that I had been there for 8 minutes. Eight. Minutes.

Shortest Holy Hour EVER!  I still need Jesus.  LOTS more Jesus.  
  

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.