The Greatest Teacher Ever

Moving is horrible when you're in high school. Trust me I know--in

1983 our family moved 3 hours down I-20, well four of us did. My sister got to stay in Atlanta to finish her senior year...another horrible part of the move. (Just a hint...if you're going to move your high school children don't do it on June 1 so they have all summer to really hate the new home.....)

Anyway, move we did and in August of 1983 I stepped through the doors  of Westside High School. (Spoiler alert--I learned to love it. But not that day or even that year.) I crept through the halls keeping my head down wishing I was back at Marist. And then I walked into second period--

I walked into the physics classroom and froze. Standing around the front desk were huge boys wearing letter jackets. I couldn't even see the teacher, but apparently she could see me. "Come on in! I'm Ms. Byus." she said as she moved toward me. After she introduced herself she introduced all those large people--I was scared to death. As we all took our seats I realized I was one of three girls in the class and the only sophomore among all seniors. I vowed to never say a word.

But it quickly became my favorite class and the one place I actually smiled. How could you not when you had an incredible teacher who talked football with a passion and made learning the periodic table fun. Her love for her students was so obvious and secretly I hoped that one day she would know as much about me and my life as she seemed to know about everyone else. I wanted to be one of the people who crowded around her desk before the bell rang laughing and sharing stories. Instead I always quietly walked in and moved to the back of the room.

Three weeks later that all changed.....

We got our first test back--the one where you had to recreate the periodic table. "Katherine," Ms. Byus said, "I need you to come up here with all your books please." I'm sure I was 18 shades of red as I moved to the front of the room terrified she was going to tell me I had failed and was being kicked out of the class. I got to the front and she said, "_____ you need to move to the desk next to you. Katherine you need to sit in the desk where ______just was." Then she reintroduced all those large people who were now surrounding me and said, "Katherine is going to be your new best friend because we are going to beat Evans next weekend and you're not going to get to play if you can't pass this test. She's very good at physics and I've heard she knows a little about football too."

"Great," I thought, "Now I'm going to be the total nerd who has no friends..." but as I raised my head I saw six smiling faces. And those scary large boys became some of my closest friends that year.  (Y'all know who you are...) We studied together, talked football together, and I began being one of the people crowded around her desk.

One Monday as we were standing there replaying the previous weekends football games Ms. Byus turned to me and said, "When will you get to go to Atlanta and see Meredith?" (my sister) My heart burst--she knew me and she cared about me.

It wasn't a perfect year; I still dreadfully missed my sister and my friends in Atlanta; but second period every day became a haven for me. It was the one time each day I knew I belonged.

Over the years I have stayed in touch with Ms. Byus. She never failed to ask about my children. I called her once to tell her how my eldest aced a conversion test because I had taught her the Byus box--she went on to teach her teacher and the whole class. That teacher still uses it--from Augusta to Louisville the Byus box lives on.

When my own children were having to learn the periodic table I shared the way to learn gold (Au) and silver (Ag)--"Hey you! Bring me back my gold." and "Go you Ga silver britches." They've never forgotten.

I stayed in touch with Ms. Byus but not enough. As the years got busier we would comment on each others facebook pictures and occasionally send one another messages, but I haven't seen her in 10 years.

Yesterday I learned that Wednesday Ms. Byus  (she kept telling me to call her Libby but I just can't..) died. I was shaken in a way I haven't been since my grandmother died. Suddenly images of times in her class or at the wedding of her son (who as adults had become friends with Chris and me). I saw her smiling face laughing and cheering her students on. I remembered that scared lonely girl I was and the teacher who reached out to me. All four of my children knew exactly who I was talking about--all four remembered the periodic table and the Byus box. "How," I wondered, "could I be this upset?"

This morning I know--because Ms. Byus changed lives. She wasn't just a teacher and yet she was everything a teacher should be--she wanted her students to succeed not to make herself look good or because of standardized tests, but because she wanted to instill in each of us that we mattered and that we were capable--that we were smart enough and good enough. She cared about her students as people--individually and a group. She didn't care who you were when you walked in her classroom; she loved you; she accepted you; she knew you--and years and distance didn't matter. Once you were one of Ms. Byus's kids you were one for life.

Rest in peace Ms. Byus. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for caring about education and lives. Thank you for being a legacy. I love you and I will miss you.

Now Dawgs bring home a national championship for your greatest fan ever.

Taking Over Closets

Sometimes words are said that seem no big deal but they stick with you--maybe even for decades....

When my sister, brother and I left for college I remember hearing my mother say on more than one occasion, "We don't have empty nest at all. I was ready for them to go and let us get on with our lives." (or something to that effect) Now truth be told, I have no idea if she was a) trying to cover up her feelings or b) meant them in a way I as a young adult didn't hear them.

I heard these words as we were replaceable, irrelevant, and in the way. As the years progressed and my own children began to move towards leaving home for college, the words stung even more. I was NOT ready. I couldn't imagine not having a full house--with laughter and even tears. I could not imagine setting the table for less than six, and I certainly didn't know how to cook for 2--we weren't married long enough without children for me to master that skill....and I couldn't imagine ever saying those words.

So SK left first and I was kind of a tyrant about her room. I wouldn't let anyone go in there even though that first year the boys shared a room and we added a foreign exchange student and Caroline's room might be the size of a large walk in closet. I kept it exactly the same...

The second year things got a little more loose. Maybe it was because she was thriving and I loved seeing how happy she was. Maybe I was just getting worn down, but that year I "let" them sleep in there, sometimes--still couldn't move their things into her room or change anything.

Last year two were gone, and I really began to loosen up. I started moving some of my clothes into their closets. (They swear I really haven't given away that much, but I promise I have--bags and bags but I do still have a lot....working on it). I wanted my drawers to not be so cramped and finding things in a stuffed closet was difficult, so all the dresses went into SK's closet and the pants into Boss's. My assortment of purses went into the top of William's closet--really what does he need it for anyway?Keep in mind we live in an old house with small closets--please don't judge!

We have lived in this house for almost 8 years, and in all that time we couldn't park in the garage. Why you ask? Well for many reasons which probably require more therapy, but one large reason was out of season clothes had to be stored there--we have no attic and remember small closets.

I have no idea what got into me, but one Sunday afternoon in early September I decided it was time

to clean out the garage--I was insane throwing boxes and bags and furniture out and taking it to the street for garbage pick-up. Chris would start to utter, "Are you sure?" And I would shriek--"Take it!" He might have been concerned about my mental stability....I don't know what happened, something in me snapped and I was ready to let go of some things I didn't think I would ever let go of. Then I moved the out of season clothes inside which of course  required me to move a little more into their closets...but we could finally park not one but TWO cars in the garage. Victory!!!!

This holiday season the children have noted on more than one occasion my invasion into their space. I wonder if it causes them pain the way my mother's words hurt me? I wonder if they interpret it differently than how I do? I wonder if they know while I like having more space, I miss them so much that sometimes it is a physical pain. And I wonder if they know how incredibly proud I am of their growth--it just happened far too fast for me.

Am I fully ready for empty nest? No. Am I enjoying watching them grow and flourish? Yes. Do I believe they will all four live under the same roof with me again for long periods of time. No. Do I enjoy spending time with Chris alone? Yes. Am I conflicted? Obviously

Regardless of the answer to any of those questions, it's happening. While I still call them my babies (and always will) they are now young adults. And I believe over these past 4 years without knowing it I was easing into it. From no one can be in her room, to occasionally y'all can sleep there if you have to, to okay you can sleep in there whenever you want, to this year me saying on multiple occasions, "Caroline clean up your roomS" Until I really thought about it this month, I didn't even realize the progression.

And my taking over the closets--visual reminder...

Two important things I have learned--or am learning and hoping to remember.

First, words and actions can have unintended consequences. They can be interpreted in ways never intended and others can carry that pain with them. We must be aware and more importantly we must be able to talk about it. We must be able to express our pain and to be able to hear others. And we must be able to apologize...

Second, as we move through life and through our spiritual journeys, sometimes the changes come so slowly we don't even notice them. We don't realize our hearts and minds are moving towards the future in ways that will protect and enhance us. Sometimes learning to accept reality is a long gradual process and we don't notice our inner growth and change. Often it feels that way with God.

Sometimes we feel like our lives are careening out of control towards a future we're not ready for, a future we don't want, and it feels like we are alone,like God is absent. The truth is God is always working in our lives--when we feel his presence and when we don't. It's so tempting to want to rush through painful experiences, to mask them with words and behaviors, to pretend they're not happening, but part of the growth comes from walking through it, even when we don't feel like we're progressing at all, even when our heart still feels like it's breaking. God is with us as we move towards our uncertain futures. Perhaps I'll be more ready when Caroline leaves in August (probably not) but I do know she will be moving into the future God is calling her to and I will continue moving into mine.

Out of My Comfort Zone

I boarded the plane in Tampa exhausted from 3 days with youth and

youth leaders. It was a great leadership conference, and I was feeling incredibly hopeful for the church and the world, but remember it was with youth--you know those little creatures who stay up well past my bedtime and need to be chaperoned even though I still get up at 5:00 am? So I was completely exhausted and even, and this is hard to believe from this off the chart extrovert, needing some alone time.

I was heading home late on a Saturday night with Advent 1 the following day. I was worried about all four of my own children for various reasons and various degrees of severity, and while over the weekend I had experienced great joy and comfort from others who didn't even know they were comforting me, right then I just needed to be left alone.

The lights in the cabin dimmed and the youth with whom I was traveling inserted their earbuds and began watching movies--I settled in and began to read. The flight attendants began to deliver drinks and snacks...

We were sitting in the first half of the plane (not first class--seriously, you thought that?) but the first half of coach. Every few minutes I looked up from my book and watched the cart move towards our row. One flight attendant caught my eye. She looked just like a friend of mine who I know a) isn't a flight attendant and b) doesn't have a sister, but I kept stealing glances at her because it was so eery. I tried to be subtle--I didn't want her to think I was creepy.

As I watched her, I noticed she kept pressing her fingers to her head and a few times she gripped the cart with both hands and seemed to swerve as though she was dizzy or was afraid she would pass out. I thought to myself, "she must have a migraine." and if I'm truthful I desperately hoped it was that and not something contagious...being real here--I was worried about her, but I was also worried, read very worried, about getting sick myself.

Then I began the debate that often goes through my mind when wondering whether to speak up--should I ask her what's wrong? "No," I told myself, "It's none of my business and might embarrass her." I couldn't concentrate on my book and kept stealing looks at her hoping she wouldn't notice. And my stomach kept flipping like a puppy begging for attention--say something, say something, it seemed to say with each flip.

The cart stopped at our aisle and she asked me what I'd like. All I wanted was a pack of cookies (is there anything better than airplane cookies?). As she reached around the cart to hand them to me our hands touched. I reached out with my other one, placed it on top of hers and asked, "Are you okay?" She pulled her hand back and said, "Yes I'm fine." Ugh--had I offended her? I should have taken an antacid and ignored my stomach. Then her face softened and I said, "I just noticed you might have a headache." "Yes," she replied, "But you weren't supposed to see that. I have a job to do." And the cart moved on.

Twenty minutes later I looked up again and saw her approaching me. She knelt beside my chair and said, "Thank you for what you said. It meant a great deal, and I'm sorry if I sounded rude. It's just that I have a job to do and I was embarrassed someone noticed I might be a little off." I took her hand and said, "Yes you have a job to do but you are also human. Please take care of yourself." and then I blurted out, "What's your name and may I pray for you?" Honestly I froze--I was on a flight to Atlanta, Georgia and flashbacks of fundamentalism and judgmental religious rhetoric enveloped me--was she going to think I was one of them? (so maybe I'm a little judgmental too...) Instead she teared up, told me her name and said, "Yes."

And I didn't stop there. "I'm a priest." Why did I feel the need to add that? It doesn't matter--I can pray for her regardless....just this very minute I realize why I did and I'm not proud--I did it to defend why I asked her if I could pray for her so that she wouldn't think I was one of those overly annoying religious people--well that's another blogpost...I was so out of my comfort zone.

She looked down at the book I was reading--Lauren Winner's Girl Meets God--and she said, "I wish I could feel God right now." She continued sharing with me her story. "It's not really sickness, but it is a headache and I am dizzy because I can't breathe. I tried to get the day off but they wouldn't let me. You see I have an 18 year old estranged daughter whom I haven't seen in over a year. I made the mistake last night of looking at her instagram and it broke my heart. My husband tells me to stop looking but I just need to know she's still alive even if her life is one of destruction and danger."

I held both her hands and looked into her eyes as she continued talking. "Again thank you for noticing and for saying something," she finished, "It means more than I can say." "We are all humans struggling through life," I responded, "We need to notice each other, and please know you were doing a great job, it just hurt my heart to see you suffering." and then I added, "You are a good person and clearly a loving good and heart broken mother. I understand and I will pray for you." "Thank you," she whispered, rose and walked away.

One of the youth leaned over and said, "That was your good deed for the day. I'm glad you said something to her." It didn't feel like a good deed--it felt like a connection between two souls--two mommys who shared a common humanity.

Over the past few days I have prayed for this woman and her daughter. I have tried to figure out ways to contact her; perhaps I will be able to some day or perhaps that's not part of God's plan.

I didn't want to speak to this woman; I wanted to be left alone. God had a different plan.

I was out of my comfort zone...but not out of God's.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. (2 Corinthians1:3-4) New International Version