You shouldn’t ever have to worry about falling in to a sinkhole while you sleep. http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2013/03/02/17158691-still-no-sign-of-fla-man-swallowed-by-sinkhole?lite
Praying for his family and friends and all the neighbors who live nearby, who must surely be shaken by this thing.
He was only 8 years old at the time, so, take a deep breath. It’s ok. I have lived to tell the story.
I recently reconnected with a school-friend from the Wallace Elementary days in Des Moines. You have heard me moan about growing up there and skipping the 4 blocks to school, happily running along with my cousin, who lived nearby, or stopping by the grandparents’ house, which was also in the neighborhood.
Then suddenly, we up and moved to another city. And I never got a chance to say goodbye to the kids I’d attended grades K-4 with…and I just always wondered What the heck happened to all of those people???
Now, my old friend, Marilee Jo, is filling in the details because she went all the way through from Wallace Elementary to Amos Hyatt Junior High to East Des Moines High School in the neighborhood.
Some of my classmates after I’d moved away
It is really all very unexciting, truly. Kenny and I had been classmates since Kindergarten, where he, rosy-cheeked and wavy-haired in his brown terrycloth shirt, sat near the paint easel. I can’t recall us ever playing tag or being friendly, necessarily, but in Kindergarten, I do admit I thought he was very cute…until Danny Sutherland swept me off my feet and started walking me home. That, however, is another story.
But in the third grade, in Miss Petrie’s class, there was a time when the desks were lined up in very precise rows and I sat behind him that it happened: he stabbed me with a pencil.
What led to such violence at Wallace Elementary, you wonder?
Well, I was teasing him. Of course. I was teasing him about a girl. I cannot recall which one and I don’t know if I had a reason to or not, but I just was. “OOOoooooohhhhh-you like her,” I was saying.
“No, I don’t!” he was bent on convincing me through clenched teeth, his already-pink-cheeks erupting into deep-red flames.
I felt the power I had. “Yes you do, Kenny, you like [whatever her name was]!”
“I. do. not!” he continued to protest.
Upon on my third needle into his very soul, he just turned around and stabbed my wrist with his pencil and broke the freshly sharpened lead into it, just missing the visible vein on the inside of my wrist near my hand.
It must have been shock and a shot of adrenalin, because I remember my eyes getting wide as I took a gasp of air and having to work with all my might to suppress a giggle. It was hilarious. He looked mortified and I was in stitches. Kenny “B” stabbed me!
But instead of laughing like I wanted to, I elevated the wound and grabbed it with my other hand and said, “Kenny! Your lead is in my arm.”
And some other student dutifully and hastily informed the teacher that such a wrong had occurred.
Miss Petrie hurried me out of the room towards the nurse’s office where the nurse extracted the lead and asked me why on earth I thought Kenny “B”might have stabbed me with his pencil?
Again, I suppressed the giggling urge, shrugging with, “I don’t know. I was just sitting there and he turned around and did it.”
The school nurse cleaned it with alcohol on gauze, put a bandage on it and sent me straight back to class.
I am not sure what the teacher may have said to Kenny “B” in my absence, but his entire face and ears still beamed bright red and his head hung low as he slouched in his seat when I returned. He was truly mournful and I am sure they made him say sorry.
I felt bad because I knew I had antagonized him. But he didn’t bring that up. If he had, I am certain I’d have faced repercussions as well. But he didn’t. So, I felt b-a-d.
But – he did stab me, people! So – whatever!
Dear Kenny “B”-
You once stabbed me with a pencil. And I am sorry I provoked you. And I am thankful I had a story to tell our classmates (with great fervor) afterwards: “I could have died from lead-poisoning!” Yes, it was worth it for that fact alone.
Your dad called me to make sure I was OK, which I thought was very nice because your dad was an important man in the community. I told him it didn’t hurt a bit. I did not tell him it made me want to laugh.
I have the teeny-tiniest scar where it happened. I just hope you don’t have one in your heart from being yelled at about it or anything. No permanent damage here, school-mate. I hope you are living a wonderful, happy life somewhere (and are not in prison because I turned you in to a stabber).
God bless.
Can you even imagine what would happen in a school if something like this occurred now?
Now then…have I ever told you about the time Punky Perry pushed me down the church stairs???
Yet for better or worse we love things that bear the marks of grime, soot, and weather, and we love the colors and the sheen that call to mind the past that made them. ~Junichiro Tanizaki
Aren’t there just things you can’t help but love?
Churchill is going to be on Jimmy Kimmel Live tonight! Everyone I know will be watching! And they are a great sound, too! If you haven’t heard “Change” yet {WHY HAVEN’T YOU???} you can hear it here. http://churchilltheband.com/music/
UPDATE: They were awesome! Go Bethany! A bonus video from the show “Ark in the Flood” or see them perform “Change” – both videos are there. :)
I am fascinated by the idea that the very first memories we actually have, the ones almost etched in stones in our brains, are the ones that may give us a clue into everything else we do, believe, are and accomplish in life.
Suze Orman, on a PBS special, said that she always asks her clients to talk about their very first money memories so they can understand how they have developed their philosophies on it. I knew for my dad, who lived in total poverty as a kid, that he had formed his inner vows about working very hard because he sometimes, as a young boy, felt his step-dad wasn’t really trying hard enough to support the family (out drinking and carousing instead of providing). For my dad, it resulted in workaholism to the max. Work hard to eat-no excuses. Wow, he definitely instilled that value in me.
But today, I am thinking of the very first songs I ever knew. Besides “Jesus Loves Me,” and “The B-I-B-L-E” and perhaps a few other children’s Sunday School-type songs, there were two that go so far back into my brain I recall being in church singing them while I was yet 2, barely 3 years old. And when I say I was singing them, it means I was wailing them out as I thought (even as a tiny tot) if you were going to sing, you should just flat-out-Vestal-Goodman SING! :) These two songs are grooved deeply into the thick forest of trees that are my brain’s thoughts and memories.
I shall not be, I shall not be moved
I shall not be, I shall not be moved
Just like a tree that’s planted by the water
I shall not be moved.
I could actually see a green-leafed tree by a running river in my mind’s eye, even as a child. I was just going to be like that tree if it killed me! And there was also this song, reminding me to burn for Jesus~
Give me oil in my lamp keep me burning
Give me oil in my lamp, I pray
Give me oil in my lamp keep me burning
Keep me burning ’til the break of day.
Sing Hosanna, sing Hosanna, Sing Hosanna to the King of Kings
Sing Hosanna, sing Hosanna, sing Hosanna to the King!
Now I wonder: Did I latch onto these particular two songs as a toddler because they already resonated with my heart to live with passion and zeal and be wholehearted in my ways – because who I was to be was already written? Or did they, these simple songs, with piano and organ and perhaps a tambourine as accompaniment, being belted out by the very sincere and holy group at the Eastside Nazarene in Des Moines shape a small child by the singing?
Which way it happened, I am not sure. But I find them both to be engraved in my heart and soul and continued prayers with melodies.
NOTE TO SELF: Sing. Sing loud. Sing with conviction. Stay leafy-green and deep-rooted (drinking from the streams of living waters) and burn like a wildfire all the way to the end.
I am so not keeping up my blog. I have things to say. I guess. But juggling all different formats is weird. With Twitter only requiring 140 characters, I am able to quickly say something, anything, to the world: boom! Done.
Then I forget to blog.
If you were wondering where Shaquille O’Neal was yesterday or where you can find Payton Manning today, you could ask me. Because my nephew, Curtis, is at the shoot (he brought the cars). I could tell you…if I wanted to.
But sometimes…
American Idol is agonizingly, disgustingly horrid beyond belief this year. The judges are so awful. Where oh where do I begin? Randy seems sort of opinionlessly-pointless about anything at all. Niki Menaj is absolutely bi-polar-erratic in judgements. One person forgets words, she nasally annoyingly whi-hi-hines out: Oh I love you-that endears you to me. The next person forgets: Oh, you have insulted me and ticked me off.
Mariah is beautiful {earning her nice, big check} sitting there all diva-like with her hair sculpted into its glorious place (I do like her, really as she possesses pretty much the only true class to be found on this disappointing show) and Keith is adorable, naturally, but the contestants are just mortifying with the most deplorable social skills and world-view and the most utter self-absorption (more than usual) I have EVER seen. It seems like all the talentless hacks are being let through purely for the freak-factor. I HATE this show. And I used to love it. Please cancel it so I don’t have to be this miserable ever ever ever ever ever again. OMYGOSH! Where is Simon??? For the love of God and all that is holy, Simon – come back, pul-eeze!!!
All the wonderful years of Idol joy, gone….yet, like a terrible wreck, I cannot just go by without looking…
PONDER THIS: {“The days are long, but the years are short.”} ~Gretchen Rubin is cool.
Malakai, my little angel bebe, is now 7 pounds, 2 ounces. He is thriving on love, and his cheeks are getting chubby.
Tredessa snapped this last night. He is 5 weeks old now.
I invite you to begin reading your Bible as though you are taking a slow walk in a beautiful park — one filled with God’s presence. You will find that makes all the difference in your world!
Though I almost always jump head-long into those read-the-Bible-through-in-a-year incentives, after getting stuck on 2 chapters in Isaiah for three days, I thought this invitation sounded magnificent.
Barr Lake State Park
I am reading through the NLT this year. I have never read this version, even though it is part of my go-to-five on www.biblegateway.com. LOVE parallels! (New King James Version, New International Version, The Message, Amplified, New Living Translation, my favs)…
I have had this recurring desire to go watch the sunrise at Barr Lake State Park, yes, right in the middle of winter! Sadly, however, though the strong urge hits me in the evening, it isn’t strong enough at dark-thirty in the morning to cause me to get my buns out of bed and drive the 7 miles from my front door to the lake. Yes, that is how atrociously lazy I am – I can’t bring myself to get bundled up and go seven miles. Is that not terrible?
An actual Barr Lake State Park Sunrise:
Which brings us to THIS question: I had one of the snapshots Stephanie did in December made into a gigantic 2′ x 3′ canvas (can you comprehend how much it is making me smile?). I was just going to hang it bare like that, then realized that it would fit in this very ornate, old frame I have. But of course, I’d paint the frame black or white…right? Thoughts? Advice? Opinions? Frame or not? Painting it or not???
Ok, so that is about it. I hope you are not upset about how I am feeling abotut American Idol because I am not taking that back…
From Ransomed Heart in December.
Friends, a few days ago I posted a blog on the Newtown massacre. Crucial as that alert is, this is even more important than that one. I need to help you pray a shield of Life around your households.
About a month ago I experienced a very strong spiritual attack. It was quite dark, and took serious prayer to break off. It was, in fact, a spirit of death. As I prayed against it I sensed that it was not something specifically against me, but rather, it was a death attack that had been released upon the earth. I soon discovered that at the same time I was battling, a number of our friends were slammed with something similar, though they might not have identified it with death. It came as a malaise, a crushing, physical affliction, various “fruits” but the same spirit. God began to reveal even more; I just found out this week that during this same time period my son was praying for students at his school battling with suicidal thoughts, or even attempted suicide. Then came the massacre at Newtown, CT. That same week there was a shooting in an Oregon mall. Our dentist was killed with his father in a small plane accident. At this same time the nephew of a dear friend overdosed. All within hours of each other. The stories go on.
I hope this information begins to fill in a picture for you. Not fear, but awareness. As Paul said, “For we are not unaware of [Satan’s] schemes” (2 Cor. 2:11).
I want to encourage and equip you to be praying Life over your households. Some sort of death assignment and/or spirit has been released, and we need to bring the power of the resurrection of Jesus Christ against it. We have a prayer here on our website we call the Life Prayer. It is the perfect tool for this moment. You can find it here.
Please share this post, pass it on to your circles and email lists so that we can get folks protected, and get the saints united in praying Life. If you read my post on Newtown, this is Part II—this is how we unite to bring Life at this very moment. This is the far more important part.
United with you for Life,
John
And re-igniting prayer for the big stuff, you know, those lofty prayers like Paul prayed for the church, like Jesus prays for us? Those. :)
…therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live. And may love the Lord your God, obey His voice, and cling to Him. For He is your life and the length of your days…Deut 30
Also, thanks to John and Stasi Eldredge: The Daily Prayer.
Oh, Averi-baby. I so LOVE our time doing pre-school and art and doing crafts and learning to read and so many other things we do. Can it really really really be 5 years since you were born?
Did you know I waited and waited {very patiently, I might add} for you to be born? And you just took-your-SWEET-time being born and I thought I would fall right over and go to sleep in the hospital hallway, but then, voila! There you were! VERY late, and I woke right up, wasn’t a bit sleepy anymore and I bet those doctors and nurses had never seen such a BIG family being all crazy-happy and rejoicing in their hospital that late at night! We were h-a-p-p-y!
And, get this: you were actually born on a Super-Bowl Sunday, a sunny, pretty day in Colorado – JUST LIKE today!!! Blue skies and bright sun – all for your birthday, beautiful just like you!
Well, little girl, for 5 years you have thrilled us with your big, blue eyes, your head-full of gorgeous hair, your kissable cheeks, your coy sense of wit, your surprise laughter, your sensitive heart, your warm hugs and sweeeeeeeeeeeet nature. Can you tell I just love everything about you?
Happy-happy-happy-happy-happy birthday, Miss Averi. You are my sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. Don’t forget, OK?
At four, I spent the hour I was supposed to be napping singing with the choirs of heaven. You cannot go wrong spending an hour in the middle of the day just worshipping the Creator of the Universe. So why don’t we?
At four I knew the best way to get anywhere in life was to either strap on the roller skates or skip high and long. So I did. I was either roller-skating (my knees still have the scars to prove it) or I was skipping (flying) around the neighborhood.
At four, I knew if you were going to sing, you should sing loud. So, I would get on the neighbor’s swingset (just across the alley at Sister Klug’s house) and sing so loud I could be heard far and wide, city blocks couldn’t contain the volume.
At four, I couldn’t spell much, but I could spell The B-I-B-L-E, yes that’s the book for me, and Oh, you can’t get to heaven without S-A-L-V-A-T-I-O-N. If I’d never gone further, would I have really needed to?
When I was four, my brother Joey was my first and most lasting BFF and sibling-soul-mate. I totally had the Joey-Joey-Joey-Joey down in my heart. I still do, actually.
My mom was the center of my universe. My dad was the focus of our adoration. We chased (and sometimes caught) lightening bugs and splashed in a blow-up wading pool. Our dog chased cats away and the milkman delivered fresh to our door daily. We were up with the sun and went to sleep listening to records on the Hi-Fi.
I knew everything about anything that was fit to know about the universe when I was four. *sigh* I used to be so smart.
