Ramblings and Rumblings

I just realized I've had maybe three serious, moody blogs in a row. We'll have to fix that...

- Anna Kate and I saw Fireproof last night at church for the third time. Amazing how I can learn something new each time I see that movie.

- My GT kids are doing dramatic monologues. This ought to be fun.

- No news yet on the apartment. But we should know something by the end of this week. Should.
- This week's a thriller. Choir rehearsal for "The Risen Christ" three nights in a row Monday thru Wednesday. Marriage counseling later this afternoon. Faculty meeting Wednesday. Writers Club Thursday. Woof. At least Spring Break's but a week in the distance.

Well, I guess I could've left out Writers Club if I wanted to. But I'd miss it. And the great thing is, I think the kids would miss it, too.

- My daily prayer is for God to work on my selfish heart. Anna Kate reminds me constantly that I'm not a terrible person, that I have a lot of good qualities. I believe her, I do. But that's why it frustrates me to no end that I continue to ignore what's good for me and go my own way without regard to others. And as frustrated as I feel, it's a wonder God hasn't thrown in the towel on me.

- I'm reading Cracker by Cynthia Kadohata. I'm already scared the dog is going to die at the end. (so please don't leave me a comment that spoils the ending. If you do, I will hunt you down. Well, not really. But I'll be sad.)

- I love it when my kids ask me questions.

- I love going to Pop's Pizzaria on Sunday nights. Unrivaled customer service.

- I love my pets.

Izzy acts dumb as dirt sometimes. Just the other day, she dashed out to greet me in the pouring rain. Got herself soaked to her puppy skin. But I love her to pieces. She's so sweet and innocent.

Rigby and Leo are two of the most ambitious kittens this side of the litter box. They can't stay on one side of the bed to save their lives and they engage in Kitty Wars (think "WWF" - kitty style) every other night. But I love them.

A Worthy Legacy

I'm writing this entry on the heels of watching the movie Premonition with Anna Kate. It came out sometime last year, I believe, so you've probably had a chance to see it. Therefore, I don't feel at all guilty about spoiling all you 1-2 readers of this silly blog.

Sandra Bullock's character (yes I only remember the actress, not her character. What do you want from me?) starts having weird dream premonitions about the impending death of her husband. In any ordinary movie with this kind of premise, you would expect the main thrust to be on Sandra's attempts to figure out her premonitions, then use them to change the course of her husband's grim fate. And indeed, 3/4 of the way through, the movie appears to be headed in that general direction.

But right at the climax, things take an unexpected turn.

We find out that Sandra's husband was ... well, not exactly in line for a halo in the afterlife. In the days leading up to his fatal car accident, he'd planned to cheat on his wife with an office assistant. Apparently, the way things originally unfold prior to Sandra's premonitions, his road trip would have taken him to a getaway with her out of town. He'd even arranged to be taken off insurance with his family (but made sure they would be provided for without him).

But then Sandra's premonitions make her wise to his intentions. She can see the signs. Aloofness. Inability to look her and her daughters in the eyes and tell them he loves them. All of a sudden, a sudden death like his doesn't seem as heart-wrenching as it otherwise might when she considers the years of pain, disappointment, and heartbreak her little girls would be spared (assuming she wouldn't tell them herself, which we are left to ponder).

Bitter as she is over learning of his intent, she still chooses to love him. Even urges his daughters to love him too. And it pricks his conscience. So much so that, mere minutes before his death, he calls up the office assistant and tells her that he can't go through with the affair.

Then he calls his wife. They reconcile. And then a big rig slams into his car, taking his life.

So the whole point behind the premonitions, it turns out, wasn't to save the husband's life. In my opinion, this was a pretty bold, and powerful, choice on the film crew's part, and sadly, I doubt a lot of people were pleased with it. They probably felt the film, after building up the suspense for so long, should've let Sandra's husband live and were rather cheated that it ended on a "downer."

But what good would it have accomplished had the husband lived, but not changed? For all that we know, he would've gone through with the affair, and Sandra would've been left to pick up the pieces of their broken household and, somehow, tell their girls the awful truth about their Daddy.

She still chose to use their "last days," knowing what would happen, loving the man she married. It made me think of Paul's charge in Romans 12:17 -21

"Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

Yes, Premonition seems to end on a down note because the husband still dies at the end. But by reminding him of the covenant he made when he became a husband, Sandra ensured he would leave a greater legacy behind. The point wasn't to save the man. It was to save the relationship. A concept that Jesus reminds me of constantly.

I want my legacy to be that of a good Christ-follower, a model husband, and a loving father. But when I allow myself to lose focus and take my eyes off my Savior, I become someone I no longer like. I get lazy, take shortcuts, and lose myself in my own selfishness. I neglect little things, and I lose sight of the needs and feelings of my life partner, not to mention my parents, friends, close acquaintances ... the list goes on and on.

The worst part is when it takes others to knock me over the head, so to speak, and bring me to my senses. Amazing how I can talk the talk so well, project the image of a disciplined follower of Christ, and then be such a screw-up in my own life, often without even realizing it. What scares me sometimes is not knowing just how much I've actually said or done to hurt people that they don't tell me for fear of hurting my feelings. I'll take my feelings getting hit with a two-by-four any day over blindly continuing wrong behavior.

It's times like those that I can understand how Peter felt when he was in the presence of Jesus. One time, he hid his face from Him out of shame over his own sinfulness. Another time, he felt hurt and stricken when Jesus asked if Peter loved Him (on the heels of denying Him three times the night of His capture). Standing in the midst of One who loves unconditionally, Who perfectly embodies that love, and all you can see are reminders of your own flaws and your own inequities.

That's why my constant prayer is for God to work on my heart. Becoming the man He wants me to be is a process. I make great strides, then I slip up and fall hard. It's an unending journey until the day He calls me home.

My only hope is that, like Sandra's husband, I can leave behind a legacy worthy of remembrance.

Apartment-Hunting

So...some fairly significant changes on the home front for me and Anna Kate.

Up to now, we'd been pretty much sold on the idea of staying in the yellow farm house, or as we like to call it, the "doll house," that she's been renting for close to two years now. We knew that a purchased house would be a better long-term investment (rather than throwing money away on rent month after month), but our teacher salaries being what they are...well, you know.

But her Dad and step-Mom have been keeping tabs on the options available in the community. Since her step-mom is a realtor, she knows a great deal about the way this business works. So their help and advice has been invaluable. Deep down, we all know the best long-term solution would be to put our money toward a mortage on a house that we could put back on the market some years later and see a good return investment. But it's not likely to happen because such a move would bury us financially before we're even out of the starting gate. It'll be a couple years before I get my Master's, and even then, our salary raises will barely register.

Anyway...it looked like they had found something a week ago on another farm house out on New Harrison Bridge Road. Not a bad place - bigger rooms, nice front yard, back deck. But there was a catch. A big ol' catch. The landlord said no pets were allowed. Bad news for two little kittens by the names of Rigby and Leo. :( So that was out.

But since then, a new opportunity has materialized. One that could actually bear fruit.

We ventured out to Fountain Inn yesterday afternoon to check out an apartment whose landlord is friends with Anna and her Dad. As soon as we saw the place, we fell in love (for lack of a better cliche).

The place is something special. Downstairs washer/dryer/utility space. Wide-open living room. State-of-the-art kitchen. Snack bar. Shelf space. Roomy master bedroom with extension for an office. Two bathrooms. Two extra rooms. Ruddy brick walls. Window view of downtown.

And that's just scratching the surface.

Both Anna, I, and her folks came away from our visit thoroughly impressed with the apartment. And we've made an offer on it. Of course, there are factors to be considered. Money is always an issue. The gas bill in the winter could be steep. The floor needs to be repaired. Always the chance of counter offers that are more than we're willing to pay. But we already love the place too much not to at least take a shot on it.

Talk about the gas money such a move could save us. Our next-door neighbor is the gas station, in fact. A milk-and-bread run to CVS is only a block or so away, and Bi-Lo is maybe two minutes away for a more extensive grocery run. Library is just down the road. We could walk out on the town and take in outdoor concerts in the summer, or stroll down the block and dine in at Tony's Pizza or Subway. And for work? I-385 is a simple left turn onto Fairview Street. Pretty handy.

So if this all works out, the next few weeks are going to really heat up. Stuff to be moved, a lease to sign, etc. And this is all keeping in mind the fact that we're also preparing to get married!

I have to keep reminding myself that this is far from being a done deal. One counter offer at the right price, and we're right back where we started. But even so, it's exciting to fantasize about.

My Experiences in Choir

It started out almost six years ago as an "eh, why not?" thing. Those hobbies don't tend to last very long if you don't get serious about it at some point. But that's really all it was.

Now, it's become more than a hobby to me. It's a critical part of my personal worship experience to sing in my local church choir.

I remember it was immediately after high school graduation that I first heard the choir was taking on new members (I've since realized they're always in 'open season,' but obviously some times are more conducive than others). I'd recently taken a liking to youth praise and worship, but I was still very much a raw singer. I even supposedly knocked my parents' socks off with my amateurish rendition of "Famous One" during a Beach Camp rally at an evening worship service. And it wasn't my vocals, I don't think. It was the mere fact that I was not only up on the podium singing, but helping to lead.

Singing in church didn't come naturally to me as a kid. Didn't really care much for it. To make a long story short, I got a new perspective on worship during junior year at a Windy Gap retreat. Basically, I had to confront my long-standing notion that (a) I couldn't be any good at worshiping God through singing without any real talent, and (b) my distaste for singing in public was too big of a stumbling block. Well, God took care of the stumbling block, and surprise surprise, I started to grow fond of worship through music.

Which led me to the choir. What attracted me was the fairly laid-back nature of membership. Of course, we have all of the basic sections: tenor, bass, soprano (of which my lovely fiancee is a part of), alto, and baritone. But I didn't have to have a strong background in the music or performing arts to be a member. I didn't even have to know how to read music (to this day, I still don't. Not sure when, or if, I'll ever get motivated to learn)!

So I thought, "hey, this doesn't sound too hard. I'll give it a shot. I've got a long summer ahead of me before college. Might as well fill it with something."

Nearly six years later, that summer-filler has blossomed, under God's wing, into a Wednesday & Sunday staple for me and my future bride. It is no simple coincidence that she and I first met in that old (and now abandoned) choir room. Had I not heeded the call to join up that summer, who knows where we'd be today?

Like any activity, it's had peaks and valleys. I remember the last time I saw my grandfather hale and strong watching me sing in my first Christmas cantata. I remember stepping out on faith by narrating a piece of Henry Blackaby's Experiencing God cantata. I remember taking in a concert put on by the choir and orchestra at a time when I felt terribly low about my Mom's emergency appendectomy (too much to go into - browse my first few December 2004 entries). I remember student-teaching and college taking me away from choir for lengthy periods but being welcomed back with applause and smiles each time that I returned.

I've met some good friends and associates in that choir, several of whom I still sing with today.

As for my voice, the whole "not reading music" thing is a source of inspiration to me. I remember reading about Jim Cymbala, pastor of the Brooklyn Tabernacle, how his wife leads the choir and has brought home numerous Grammy awards for her original pieces and productions. And to my knowledge, she still has never learned to read music herself.

So she inspires me. I've since learned to pick up music basically the same way she does: my ears. Once I hear a piece a certain number of times, it usually clicks in my head, and I have no trouble singing it on Sunday. Oh, I have enough rudimentary knowledge to realize how notes go down or up with the song. But could I name them? Certainly not. Could I explain stuff like scale, rhythm, beat, mezzo fortissimo, or molto ritardo? Perish the thought.

I've noticed my tenor voice has grown a bit stronger in recent weeks. Maybe I'm subconciously trying to push myself to sing with greater intensity, to be more of a vocal leader. I have several flubs, naturally, but I'm doing better at singing through it and not letting it slow me down.

My other inspiration, of course, is Anna Kate. She is no doubt the vocal brains of this operation; she's been through voice training and could easily explain all those terms I tossed up there. It's a personal treat just to listen to her, whether it's accompanying her Mom on piano or harmonizing with a song on our local Christian radio station.

I guess what made me write this reflective entry was a minor incident yesterday morning. I got up to sing in the choir as usual. We filed in, sang the opening hymns, and sat down. Routine. But five minutes into the service, my stomach turns into a kiddie Moon Walk. I feel nauseous; I had not eaten anything, and the feeling led me to believe it had to be a virus of some kind. My initial thought was to bolt out of my seat and run for the bathroom. The old me would have gladly done it (the one who didn't care about singing, was still a raw newbie or was in the choir just for kicks).

Anyhoo, I didn't bolt. Silently I prayed, "God, please just help me last long enough to get through the anthem without throwing up." He answered my prayer with a "yes," and I managed to sing the anthem, and even the hymn that followed it, in a good, strong voice. Never would have done that years ago, and it's not exactly a pleasant thought. But I didn't want to leave. I was prepared to risk losing control and puking up my guts all over the soprano section (sorry, ladies) if I could still be used to communicate God's message through music.

That's how important choir has become for me.

PASS

I spent Friday's classes giving my students a session I liked to call "My Last Word on PASS." Not much to it; just a general overview of both days next week: the Extended Response and Multiple Choice sections take place on Tuesday and Wednesday. I talked to them about what to expect on each part, reviewed the rubric, reinforced the writing process approach, fielded questions...

I can tell my kids are thinking about it. Many are stressed. Some don't care. I understand both of those positions. I've tried to encourage them to take a big-picture approach. Yes, this assessment matters a great deal, but it's not the be-all, end-all of their sixth grade year. How they perform in the classroom setting will mean just as much to their standing at the close of the year.

I'll admit, it's hard to keep my true feelings about high-stakes testing out of my teaching on the job. And on some days, I don't even try. I'll admit, though, the revamped writing portion of PASS helps a good deal. At least the test-makers got something right and admitted that there's no way to expect kid writers (or any writer, for that matter) to churn out a quality paper with extensive time constraints. You can't score process writing the way you would score a multiple-choice test. Neither one is really better than the other. Just different.

If you're going to give an assessment on an extended writing response, the best route really is to eliminate the time restriction and give students a rubric to go by. Which they've done. I've done my best to incorporate that rubric from the start of the year, using its terms and making refs to it at different points during our units.

Only problem is perception. I stressed to my kids that time is their friend on this test, and they give me those "Say wha?" looks. Hard for them to buy. And when their conditioned response is to zip through the tests, it could lead to lower-quality results. Some will rush through it anyway because they just don't care.

I'll be honest - I don't know how to fix that. It still smacks of attacking the cogs in the machine instead of the machine itself. The cogs work fine, but they can only do so much when the larger machine pulls them, or has pulled them, in a certain direction for so long. I suppose the best we can do is continue to work within the system and try to get little changes made here and there, then document the results.

If they support a different philosophy from high-stakes testing, who knows what could happen?

If not...well, there's always a new test. Like PASS. Or PACT before it. Or BSAP before it.

Old Man Winter Gets Some

Who would've guessed that after one half-baked effort back in January, we'd get another shot at a winter storm? Not me, that's for sure. When you live in the South for much of your life, you tend to get jaded on the prospect of significant wintry weather.

Sure, I won't exaggerate like some do and say we never get the slushy, icy stuff. But beyond a sniff of a flurry or a dusting on the rooftops, it's hardly much to boast about to, say, our neighbors in the Tar Heel state. But one advantage we have over the northern folk is the lack of experience dealing with these storms. Meaning even a meager one inch of snow or ice can get you a decent 1-2 of those wonderful snow days those of us in public schools love so much (unless we have to drive, of course).

At the end of the weekend, Old Man Winter, perhaps sensing his time was slipping away with the close of February and spring a mere few weeks on the horizon, decided to serve us up a Sunday special of wet, sticky snow. For a while, he bided his time, bringing a chilly rain to dampen our spirits even though the prolonged liquid precipitation actually increased our snowfall chances - evaporational cooling and all that. Then, around 4 PM as Anna Kate and myself were finishing up our lesson plans for the week, the white stuff began. And it snowed. And snowed. And snowed.

We braved the blinding snow to go out and eat at Chili's with Anna's folks for my birthday. I have to say, it was spell-binding to watch those big, white flakes continue to pour down. I kept waiting for the inevitable stoppage that would signify the end of our little storm. But it never happened. Woodruff Road and the surrounding outlet stores were transformed into a soft, white blanket of slush and ice. It was one heavy snowfall, the likes of which I haven't seen in many years.

Anna and I enjoyed it to the fullest, both the weather itself, and yes, the snow day that followed in its wake. We threw snowballs, chased each other in ankle-deep drifts, played with Skyler, her black lab, and built a snowman the next day (named for the aforementioned dog). We even got to venture out of doors yesterday evening to see Slumdog Millionaire, the film that has come out of nowhere to capture this year's "Best Picture" title. And I quickly saw why. Highly recommend it for those of you who have yet to experience it. Rare is the movie that dares to get as creative as Slumdog.

So here's to Old Man Winter, who had one more twist in store for me by granting me yet another snow day today (sadly not for Anna :( - she had a 2-hour delay, which sucks). Thanks for making one last, unforgettable appearance this year.

Think maybe you could stop by sometime next week? Say, around PASS testing time?

Quarter Century

25.

I think this was the first year I officially got saddled with the "old" label. It was bound to happen eventually.

I had a nice birthday weekend, though. A couple of my presents included something I haven't had in a while - board games. Well, sort of. "Apples to Apples" and "Taboo" don't technically count as board games in the purest sense. But since they're not PS3 or Blue-Ray or anything even remotely electronic, I'm going ahead and lumping them in.

My family took me out to Longhorns Friday night for a classic steak and potato dinner. And then my lovely fiancee decorated her kitchen for my arrival yesterday evening. We had a fruit pizza dessert, some sparkling cider, and then she treated me to a movie. We saw He's Just Not That Into You, a cute, Friends-esque flick that actually inspired some deep conversation regarding the differences between men and women on the drive home.

Depending on the relationship you have with your significant other, a deep conversation can be a good or bad thing. I see it as good, even though my personality is predominantly quiet (but that's slowly shifting to a lesser extreme). Anna Kate and I learn so much about each other as we talk. We are to the point where we trust each other completely and respect our individual opinions on issues. It really does say a lot when you can disagree without losing respect for the other person.

Some random squibs:

- As I type this, a winter storm warning is in effect for our area. We are being pelted by a mixed bag of rain, sleet, and snow. The temperature is hovering in the mid 30s. Oh, for the taste of one genuine snow day.

- Clemson should totally change its nickname to the Sissies. Not in the cowardly or weak sense of the word. But short for Sissyphus. Will they ever manage to push that rock over the hill and beat the teams they should? I've heard of letdowns, but this is ridiculous.

- Still no third and final ADEPT evaluation.

- Still no final word on middle level certification.