Are You Jesus?

“Are you Jesus?” I whisper, staring up into the face of the man who has been up every two hours since midnight because we both have the flu and I can’t stop coughing or crying as he pours me a hot bath.

We’re supposed to be driving to my parents tomorrow. All I want is a Christmas miracle– for us to magically wake up feeling healthy again. It doesn’t look like we’re going to keep our schedule. Will we make it at all?

I know I’ve experienced a Christmas miracle already: Someone loves me. Not the pretty picture of me. But me, just as I am. Wearing the same nightgown as yesterday, hair tangled, and sinuses dripping.

I have witnessed holy moments. Moments no movie could ever capture. Moments of pure love and sacrifice from someone who is almost as sick as I am. Moments when I see that I am “the least of these” and someone is there with a cup of tea, a hug, and a lot of cough drops because that is what He would do.

Growing up, I focused so much on being Jesus to someone else that I lost sight of Him in others. But this cold has been a blessing–to me at least–because I see Him shining through the one He sent to love and see me.

“Are you Jesus?” I wonder as he tucks me back into bed, kisses my forehead, and tells me sweet dreams, knowing we’ll do this all over again in a few hours.

The Fast I Have Chosen

“Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke?

Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?

Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the Lord shall be thy reward. 

Then shalt thou call, and the Lord shall answer; thou shalt cry, and he shall say Here I am.” Isaiah 58:6-9

Listen to Fountainview sing it here.

This was my favorite song five years ago. I learned it, as I did so many verses that winter in Dillingham, walking up and down the gym or standing on the front porch quietly singing along to Scripture Singer while the kids played. This one was my favorite though, ingrained in every action I was intentional in making. I sang it to myself when satan reared his ugly head and my hands would shake in fear. I sang it to myself when I wondered if anything I did could possibly do anything to help ease the pain I saw every day in my students’ eyes. I sang it when the injustice in my little world overwhelmed me. It became so synonymous with my experience in Alaska that since coming home singing it will trigger my PTSD. But I still love it. 

Especially now. 

Injustice is everywhere. Sin-wounded humans can’t help wounding humans. I am wounded by sin. I am horrified by the many, many times I know I have wounded others. I am deeply cut by the many, many times others have wounded me. My heart has broken. The only healing is through the Remedy God provides: offering what justice and restoration we can to others who are hurting. In this cycle, and only in this cycle, can healing happen for us, our nation, ourselves. 

The selfish attitudes I have seen through putting others and their experiences down, listening only to argue their point, justifying their words or actions, deciding it isn’t their problem….This isn’t the gospel. It hurts. 

Some things that heal: a student who prays in their bible journal that they hope the message of others who hurt (BLM) is heard by the world. A former student calling out their sphere of influence for their prejudice. Another former student advocating for workable changes. Many of the older generation in my life realizing they didn’t see the whole picture and educating themselves. 

Having eyes to see, ears to hear, and a heart to understand is hard. It is painful. Sin isn’t pretty. Yet, it is only through the softness of our hearts that we can hear God say, “Here I am,” we we cry out to Him in the face of our own hurt over personal injustices. 

TGIF: An Online Teaching Story

Setting a Class Zoom Meeting

Me: So, I have an announcement that will bring you great joy. 

Student A: You’re cancelling online school for the rest of the year?!

Students B-I: Really? YAY!!!!

Me: …..not that great a joy. But I am cancelling all the rest of today’s live classes. 

Student C: *suspiciously* Why?

Student D: Because you’re as tired of school as we are?

Me: Um… I suppose, but mostly because…. Does anyone remember Newton’s 1st law of motion?

Student C: I hated that video. 

Student F: A moving object moves until it doesn’t?

Student G: Stuff is lazy. 

Me: Inertia, right. An object in motion stays in motion unless stopped by an equal and opposite force. So, I know you’re all asking, what does this have to do with my teacher cancelling classes? 

Student C: Literally no one is asking that. 

Me: continuing: Yesterday I was an object in motion which met with an equal and opposite force. 

Student H: *text* This isn’t like the time you got your foot stuck in the door, is it? 

Me: ….long story short, I think I pulled a muscle and I am cancelling the rest of our classes for today. 

Students A-I: YAY!!!!!!!!!!

Me: I feel so loved. 

Student F: It’s cause and effect, Ms. Leeson. We’re not celebrating the cause but the effect is awesome!! 

Me: Can’t say I blame you at all. I am kind of happy about the effect too. Now listen, a couple quick announcements… *my internet dies*

Me: You have got to be kidding me!!

Adventures of a Photographer’s Daughter: A Mostly True Account (A Weekend Mid-July 2016)

Friday Evening: 6 O’clock: Local News. Dad hears about “local” butterfly garden in Central Oregon and decides it’s worth checking out.

Saturday Afternoon: Lunch: Mom hears about Dad’s upcoming trip and invites herself.

Saturday Evening: Popcorn: Adventure Girl hears about Dad and Mom’s trip. Feels miffed she wasn’t invited, and invites herself.

Monday Morning: 10 am: Home: The “Twins” (Babies D2 and D4 aka camera bodies, aka the little siblings I never asked for) are loaded into the car. The phone is switched to connect to Mom’s cell. I’m all packed.

Monday Morning: 11 am: Home: Leaving, at last. Return home, after driving through the neighborhood, for forgotten items.

Monday Afternoon: 2:35 pm: Elkton Butterfly Garden. We have arrived! By the size of the gift shop I can tell this place is going to be a winner: first of all, because they have a gift shop, but secondly, because the shop isn’t an overgrown tourist trap. Primarily they are selling fresh produce and plant starters from the gardens, and then some homemade items such as knits and ear rings, as well as a small collection of good quality plastic items for children relating to butterflies.

The garden itself is very nice, filled with a variety of colorful flowers (many of which I recognized as being introduced to the area) and the butterflies, bees and hummingbirds are surrounded by a bounteous selection. There is also a long row of blueberry bushes, which attracts a number of other birds.

Monday Afternoon: 3:20 pm: Elkton Butterfly Garden. Since the butterflies have a cornucopia at their wingtips, there is no inducement for them to plunk down and eat from one plant in a systematic manner. Instead, they flit from one row to the next, double backing and twirling around before landing briefly somewhere halfway across the garden. “Over here! Hurry!! Oh, too late.” It’s great exercise for all of us.

Monday Afternoon: 3:25 pm: Elkton Butterfly Garden. Instead of rushing around in the hot sun while being somewhat less than successful, we decide to check out the enclosed butterfly pen, where the volunteers were raising monarchs and painted ladies. There are several other visiting families, who overhearing Mom and Dad talk about setting up and upon seeing The Twins, give us some odd looks. I launch into the “My Parents are Professional Wildlife Photographers” spiel. I take some fun shots on my phone (it is so much more fun on these trips now that I have a camera of my own) but eventually decide to wander out of the enclosure and down the trail.

Monday Afternoon: 4:15 pm: Elkton Butterfly Garden. Once you’ve seen one butterfly, you’ve seen them all.

Monday Evening: 6:50 pm: Best Western in Undisclosed Location: Thank all that is good in the world for hot tubs, and cable TV, and that Mom and Dad can do a shoot on their own in the morning.

Sabbath Epiphany

Several months ago, my conviction on Sabbath was challenged. Asked to explain my firm belief that Sabbath was important, I gave answers which sounded pretty, and they are, but felt hollow: Rabbi Hershel’s “temple made of time,” the creation “God makes a space, then He fills a space,” Jesus kept the Sabbath while He laid in the grave, and, of course, it’s in the ten commandments, so it’s important! I’m not here to argue those thoughts were wrong, but from a New Covenant perspective, any day could work, and as a concept, one doesn’t really need a whole day, and “God says so” just feels…legalistic. So, I have felt challenged, in light of everything I learned about covenant and the God Who Keeps Covenant, to figure out why I won’t let go of Sabbath. Was it legalism, cultural, blind faith?

As with all New Covenant theology, everything stems on the character of God. Is God a god of wrath or love? Is God one who makes promises and keeps them? I believe God to be a god of love, as stated in 1 John 4:7. He keeps His promises. (Ps. 89:34; Romans 4:21) The best of all those promises is the one He made in the garden, expounded on to Abraham, kept on the cross, and is continuing to keep until He returns. (Genesis 3:15; Genesis 15; John 3:16; and Philipians 1:6). The promise is that God Himself is going to save us, and He is going to do our part too! Jan Barna spelled it out so beautifully in Biblical Theology class. It was the best day of my life when it all clicked and I understood I didn’t need to feel guilty for the broken relationship between me and God, nor was it my responsibility through Bible reading, prayer, doing the “right” things to fix it. That is good news! God works. God fixes. God saves. Laura listens, watches her heart change, and praises God for giving her both the will and the ability to do what He asks of her, and nothing more.

By Faith aka The Biblical Theology Song

Tonight I was reading the commandments in Deuteronomy 5. It starts with God reminding the people who did what. God brought them out of slavery. In the Sabbath commandment, it is because God works that the people observe Sabbath. It has zero to do with creation in Deuteronomy, and everything to do with “Jesus doing my part too.” And suddenly, I started to shake with excitement.

James is fairly explicit about faith without works being dead. “…faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. But someone will say, “You have faith; I have deeds.” Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds. You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder. You foolish person, do you want evidence that faith without deeds is useless. Was not our father Abraham considered righteous for what he did when he offered his son Isaac on the altar? You see that his faith and his actions were working together, and his faith was made complete by what he did. And the scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness,” and he was called God’s friend.” (James 2:17b-23)

And this is where I want to cry. What was it Abraham believed? James is quoting Genesis 15:6. Abraham believed God would do God’s part, and Abraham’s too. That was righteousness.

Why is Sabbath even more beautiful to me tonight? Because it is an action of faith that God’s going to do my part too. Sabbath is part of my sanctification– my healing from sin, my growing as a saved Christian into the heart God is building in me to have. Sabbath is my day to rest and let Him carry me, my heart, my burdens, my “work”. Without Sabbath, there is little action I can do to build my faith that “Jesus is going to do my part too” and keep His covenant with Abraham and me. This promise is too precious to let die! And so, with Sabbath, I trust.

Christmas Letter 2019

Dear Family and Friends,

What a year this has been! While there were plenty of tumultuous months, looking back, the year has ended far better than it began.

I am enjoying my second year at Hollister way more than my first. Our new principal has hit the ground running and together we make a good teaching team. I am still teaching 5-8 everything, and trading my PE classes for music. We successfully pulled off our first Christmas Camp-in (aka school sleepover) and not one but two Christmas programs all in the same weekend. (Shoutout to Pathfinder leaders everywhere: You guys and gals ROCK!!) We were all pretty zonked afterwords, but the kids had a great time. It is wonderful to feel school morale rise again. Being a returning teacher has had its own challenges, but over all, is incredibly satisfactory!

School Front Highlights:

Test scores have been going waaay up. This year it was announced that our school was in the top three schools in the conference for growth in reading and math! I’m still loving my “Ms. Frizzle Collection” and enjoy finding new outfits to add to it. (Worn to coordinate with the day’s activities– this for an All School Art Day.) For my birthday, a student made me this pencil case. Another student and I are birthday buddies and only children. There was plenty of sugar and a little contention when his mom brought in his birthday cake and it had both our names on it. lol. In September, I adopted a leopard gecko, whom I named Leonardo da Gecko before the kids could name him Geico. We went to the County Fair to represent the school and harvested a bazillion cherry tomatoes from the garden we planted last spring.

Adulting is hard and I am working towards finding a better work/home balance. I may be getting some help on that front, as B. is leaving Texas and moving in with me for awhile. In August we had an awesome week-long visit with a trip to see Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore, the beach, and shopping in cute little San Juan Bautista.

Home Front Highlights:

Mom and Grandpa C. came to visit for a few days in April! We played games, they spent a bit of time at school, and we had fun out at Casa de Fruita. I hope they get to come again next summer! Last summer, I spent a week at PUC for classes and loved every second of it, as well as taking the opportunity to make a stop at Elmshaven. I also had the opportunity to spend three very full days at Kyle’s and appreciated how far we’ve grown.

Next Year: 2020 is shaping up to be an exciting year of opportunity. B. and I are excited about Pirates of Penzance in April. Also, apartment hunting come spring/summer! No death stairs, a bigger kitchen, and a better bathtub are high on the list. I’m looking forward to year three in my classroom, and maybe a new teaching adventure in the next year or two.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Thank you for being a part of my safety net and for continuing to be involved in my adventures. I wish you and yours a bright new year full of love and laughter!

With love and grace,

Adventure Girl

A Family to Take Care of Me

One of the things which never fails to put a smile on my face is an old Cradle Roll Sabbath School tape I found when I was in high school. The simple messages of faith, upbeat music, and surprisingly talented vocalists breathe life into my weary soul. Embarrassing, but effective. On my trip to PUC it happened to be in the tape deck, and…

“Jesus gave me a Daddy to take care of me…” Thank goodness for Dads. It’s Dad who makes sure I make it home for the holidays, sends money during hard months so I can eat food, have the house keeper come, or get my hair taken care of. And sometimes, sometimes, lets me have his air miles for special projects. Let’s also not forget the interesting articles, cards, and nagging mom to call.

“Jesus gave me a Mommy to take care of me…” In a year which has brought new logistical problems, my PTSD to flair up badly, and isolation, my mom has been there every day. Not only does she take care of me, she also cares for my adopted siblings taking some of the burden of things too big for any of us to handle alone off of our heads. While I am proud of my independence, I am also immensely grateful for my mom picking up the pieces when they shatter.

“Jesus gave me a Brother to take care of me…” This summer, I was lucky to spend three days with my oldest brother, and learned how much I have to learn about life, love, and the power of family. Those three days completely changed my trajectory. In a very good way. Then, there is the pain-in-the-Whats-App brother, who I couldn’t have survived this year without. Sometimes you just need someone objective to tell you how to fix the pickle you’ve made for yourself. For both of these amazing men in my life to care about my panic attacks and pickles, I am blessed beyond measure. Also, you know, memes.

“Jesus gave me a Sister to play with me…” While I have several, the one I think about every time the tape replays is the one who forces me to take time off and play, especially when I’m stressed. Who makes sure I do the things in life I really want to do, like going to see HMS Pinafore this summer. And invites herself to come along, because why can’t we just do a short visit?

“Jesus gave me a Family to take care of me…” Then, there are the wonderful ‘family’ not mentioned. The former boss who still looks after me from afar. The work bff who keeps in touch. My Newbold peeps who keep me grounded. The K to my L who listens long after she wishes I’d shut up. Made Me, who walks the same path. And all the many, many friends and family who pray without ceasing. I wouldn’t have survived, and I wouldn’t keep surviving, without the package deal that is my amazing family.

So, “Thank you, dear Jesus in heaven, for loving me!”

You’ve Got to be Kidding Me… Student Quotes from August/September 2019

5th grader: “Miss, what do I do with this?” (Tries to hand me trash)
Me: “What do you think you should do with it?”
5th grader: “Maybe, um, maybe throw it, um, away?”

Student giving book report: “It took place in Kentucky, America, and Tennessee.”

Whole School Art Class:
4th Grader: Will you be here next year?
Me: Probably.
4th Grader: Oh good. I want a Miss Leeson class!
Me: Thanks, but you never know how the room assignments will go. Next year I could teach 1-4, but I could always ask my cousin Kristen to come teach your classes.
4th Grader: Um. That’s not the kind of Miss Leeson class I wanted…

Me Teaching the New Guy about attendance on RenWeb: “So, yeah, you can just P, P, P my whole class…”

Earlier the same day, with the After School Care Lady, who I taught how to read music last year. We’re looking at the chimes– A4 has some issues.
Her: Which chime is that one?
Me: A4. *realizing this means nothing to her* The A lower than the A-in-a-hole you know how to read.
Both of us pause. Laughter ensues.

“Today I want to hike to see a beautiful landscape. But it takes days to get there. I hope I survive. It is going to be remote, that means no babbling to friends, but I can babble to myself.”

Boy: “The girls like to babble about me.”

Different boy: “The girls like to babble about nothing interesting.”

3 Degrees of Separation

Sunday morning, a friend of mine asked if I wanted to go to the Gilroy Garlic Festival. I declined. It was too hot, and I’d have to “go into town” on Monday anyways for a doctors appointment. Sunday night, I saw the news on Facebook, and was a little disconcerted. On Monday, I went in to see my doctor, and the office was silent– with ten people in the waiting room. No one talked, not even the children. Wednesday came, and a friend of mine took me to dinner to catch up before school started. Turns out, one of her co-workers went to school with the guy who killed two kids, a 25 year old, and wounded 19 others at a garlic festival. It was a sobering conversation.

Mom taught me long ago about statistical probability, and the unlikely probability of certain bad things happening– plane crash, kidnapping, the likelihood of someone actually wanting anything in my poor dumpster…I mean, car… And yet, now I live in a world in which I am within three degrees of separation from a mass shooter. This shouldn’t be the case. The probability shouldn’t be this high.

In the 216 days of 2019, there have been 248 mass shootings, leaving 246 dead and 979 wounded. This isn’t from “liberal media” this is from Wikipedia! And the year isn’t over yet. In every classroom I’ve taught, I knew where I’d hide the kids– how many I could put in cabinets, under my desk, behind couches, locked in closets. One of the things I’ve discussed with the board for next year is where to put the kids in an emergency. The room just isn’t safe in the event of an actual lockdown. Sure, it isn’t likely to happen to us, but it was a garlic festival and I’m not liking the statistics anymore.

Thoughts and prayers aren’t an answer. It is time to make phone calls. When was the last time you called your senator, representative, or local congress and made your voice heard? It is time to act– even if you disagree with my thoughts on how this should be handled. Phone numbers: https://www.conginst.org/contact-congress/

Article cited: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_mass_shootings_in_the_United_States_in_2019

Swimming Instead of Drowning

One of my earliest memories with my Dad is hard to date—the ’94, or ’96 Olympics seems most likely—he and I, in my pink innertube, are in a hotel hot tub. I’m pretending to be “Vicky Itchen” gold medal Olympic diver. (TK and Vic must have been on the trip as well). Dad is playing the role of the ever-patient diving judge and commentator. I stand on the shelf, take a deep breath, point my hands over my head in a gesture more reminiscent of a ballerina, and hop into the hot tub. My head stays perfectly dry. “That’s an 8.67,” Dad exclaims, “and the crowd goes wild! Canada has likely won this round. Stay tuned…” I let myself have a victory float back to my starting point. When you’re in an innertube, and too little to touch the bottom, the jets buffet you around the perimeter quite nicely. Arriving at my starting point, I do it all over again.

Unfortunately, little girls eventually grow out of pink innertubes, no matter how much they love effortlessly floating around. (Added bonus: if I crossed my legs, I could spin and go every which way the jets pushed me.) Around this time, Dad decided it is time for me to learn to swim. Regrettably, Dad’s first attempt to teach me to float happened the night I finished reading Dear America’s Voyage on the Great Titanic. It also didn’t help it was the coldest pool I’ve ever been in. (Yes, Mommy, even colder than the one in Rockport, Texas.) I couldn’t float. I couldn’t breathe. Every time he let go, I sank, just like the Titanic.

A few years later, we started winter sports at school, and I took four winters of swimming and racquet ball. Whatever the teacher’s name was probably hated me. I was sure I was going to die. All the other kids in my class floated, swam, and eventually dived off the side of the pool. I watched Kara, and then Stephanie jump off, but when my turn came, there were tears, and I was very adamant I was not jumping into water over my head. I’d finally figured out how to float, and passably swim—if by swimming we count rapidly flailing from one side of the pool to the other in as few breaths as possible to get it over as quickly as possible. It was awful. Still, my mom’s rule has always applied, if I’m within 50 feet of water, eventually I’m going to be in it.

Today I drove most of the way to PUC for classes, and checked myself into a hotel with a swimming pool and hot tub. Just to prove I still can, I prepared for my “once in every pool” flail across. For the first time in my life, I relaxed into it. And I didn’t panic when, in water over my head, I sputtered on a breath and choked. And I did it again. Back and forth. It’s a little thing. But it is a really big deal. After 25 years, it’s incredible to have the confidence of the little girl in the pink innertube again.

It’s the little things that tell me I’m not drowning: I wore make up this week. I put my hair in a ponytail. (First time its been long enough since January). I put on the necklace Erin got me for my birthday a million years ago. (The pink flowered one). I bought, and then wore my new swimsuit in public. Little things I might have done without thinking a year ago, but things I haven’t had the confidence to do after the year I’ve had. I used to be confident in my appearance. Who cared what anyone else thought? I certainly didn’t. But over the last year, I let it matter. I couldn’t take the looks. She didn’t like the way I did my hair. I started doing it differently, and eventually cut it. I didn’t like that I stared in the mirror trying to guess what part of my appearance wasn’t going to pass muster today, so I gave up mascara and lip stick because the less time I spent in front of the mirror, the better my thoughts would be. I hate that I cared. I hate that I wasn’t strong enough to block her out. I love that this time around I was strong enough not to become like her, but I hate the cost.

This past year I have been frantically searching for somewhere where I can touch bottom. Everything locally that I have believed to be shallow water has sent me gasping and choking for air. I’ve relied on the prayers of friends and family to give me a side of the pool to hang on to, while I struggled with God. It’s going to take a while to regain my confidence in myself again, but if I could do it after Alaska, I can do it now. Looking at my new swimsuit hanging in the shower, I know I’m going to swim again.