Canada: Falls View

Niagara Falls.  I took this photo Sunday, May 19, 2013 from Horseshoe Falls, looking back towards American Falls.  You can see part of Horseshoe Falls as well on the right.

I believe every great class trip needs a couple of key elements.  You've got to have some experience with culture and history of the place you're visiting.  You want to visit the landmarks, the iconic symbols of the city  or nation, if possible. You'll want to have an experience with the natural world, something outdoors. It's great to have a little time for shopping.  I like to have a day "just for fun" too, though I've had many trips where we skipped the "amusement park" day for equally fun activities that fell into one of the other categories.

This year's trip to Ontario, Canada contained all the ingredients for another satisfying class trip, and it began with one of the wonders of the natural world, Niagara Falls.

The view from our hotel room. Sunday morning, May 19, 2013

 I had hoped we'd arrive in time to see the illumination of the Falls which ends each evening at midnight.  But we got off to a late start, and didn't arrive at the Embassy Suites Fallsview just over the border in Canada until around 1:30 A.M. Sunday morning, May 19. Still, the hotel lived up to it's name and the view from our rooms was spectacular when we awoke later that morning.

Another view from our hotel room, looking towards American Falls, appropriately named as they are on the American side of the border.  That's Buffalo, New York across the river.

Two students check out American Falls on the walk to the Maid of the Mist

 After a hot breakfast and worship together, we headed out to view the Falls.  Our first stop was the Maid of the Mist, the longest running tour in the Americas.  The Maid fleet has been taking visitors up close to the falls since 1846!

Looking back at Horseshoe Falls on the way to the Maid of the Mist

American Falls up close.  Neither words or pictures come close to describing the awesome power of these falls.  You have to experience it.

Some of my students wrapped up for the mist as we approach Horseshoe Falls.  Once we  got closer I had to put away my phone so it wouldn't be damaged by moisture.  It was very intense close to the falls.  The boat was seemingly lost in the foggy spray for several meintues, the roar of falling water was deafening, and the water below us churned violently.  It was a truly thrilling experience.

 After the Maid of the Mist tour, which was intense but short, we hoofed back up to the welcome center.  One thing I will say is that as the America's oldest tourist destination, Niagara Falls has monetizing of the falls locked down.  Every experience with the Falls will cost you, even walking around the falls.  Beyond the free river walk, all other opportunities to the walk near Niagara--the White Water Walk, the Journey Behind the Falls etc--come with a charge.  I was interested in walking behind the falls, but the kids were walked out and opted for a 4-D movie experience called "Niagara's Fury" instead.  I decided to let the kids do that with Angela Wimberly, the mother of one of our 8th graders and a chaperone on the trip, while I explored a little bit on my own.  I kind of regretted that decision once I found out more about the spectacular effects including real snowfall and rain during the show.  Our group get more wet indoors during this attraction than they did on the Maid of the Mist!

After "Niagara's Fury" the movie, we took one more pass at the real thing,  from the very edge of Horseshoe Falls just outside the Welcome Center.

At the very edge.  You can see one of the Maid of the Mist boats bobbing in the water below.

Truthfully, we could probably have spent the entire class trip right there at Niagara Falls.  There were certainly enough activities in the area to take up three or four days, from jet boat rides to helicopter tours to amusement parks and Marineland.  But I don't like a trip that sounds only one note.  It's one of the reasons I've never had much interest in taking the quintessential class trip to Washington D.C.  There are so many must-see museums and monuments to see in our nation's capital, there's little room for anything else.

So, we completed our Niagara adventures by late afternoon, had a late lunch/early supper at an Applebees near our hotel and then drove on to Toronto, and the next stop on our Canadian adventure.

The Hiatus

Oh, did I mention I finished my masters degree in education?  I really have been gone a long time! (Though I actually finished last August.  Still I missed my commencement ceremony at Ohio Dominican University in December, and didn't get to officially celebrate my achievement until the annual Education Day "commencement" ceremony last weekend at our home church, Ephesus Seventh-day Adventist Church in Columbus).

Incredibly it's been over two months since my last post.  I don't think I've ever had such a gap between postings.  It's been long enough that I think I can officially declare my time a way a hiatus from Here in America.

It turns out blogging has become exponentially harder with two kids.  I now have a very narrow window each week in which I can blog--at least during the school year.  Friday night after the kids are in bed is the Golden Opportunity.  However all kinds of things conspire to take that time away:  If the boys go to bed late, then Blog Time may not begin until 9:00 P.M. or later. And if I'm exhausted from having not gotten enough sleep during the week, I'll either turn in early myself, or more likely, I'll stay up late browsing Facebook or bouncing around the web, because I'm too tired to write but apparently not tired enough to go to bed.  I will then end up sleeping late Sabbath morning and also need a Sabbath afternoon nap, thus using up the two possible remaining blog spots   And of course even if I don't need a nap (and really, even if I do), I often end up watching Ezra who is often awake while Elijah is napping on Sabbath afternoons.

All this adds up an unintended hiatus.  With summer vacation having finally arrived, I feel that I can at long last get back on the horse and start posting regularly again.   We'll see how it goes.

A lot has happened in the past two months.  A major highlight was the 8th grade class trip toNiagara Falls and Canada.  Another highlight that has yet to be chronicled was the third annual Heroes Reception and the accompanying visit by our good friend Mai, which took place in February.  I hadn't blogged about it because I was waiting to get some good photos of the event.  I think I'm about ready to move forward with that belated post now though.

  On a sadder note, there were two deaths: Barbara's aunt Betty, and Rose Pickering, the woman who cared for Elijah for the first year and a half after we moved to Columbus.

I also have unfinished posts from the past ten months covering a wide range of topics.  Titles include "The Easy Job", "What Money Can't Buy and Fame Can't Change", and "Trust and Obey."  I'm looking forward to finishing these posts and sharing my thoughts with you.

All of this and more will be covered in upcoming posts. It's exciting to be back, and I can't wait to get started.  In the meantime, it looks like Ezra may be getting restless in his bouncer, so if you'll excuse me, I've got to run. . ..

My Girl Moses and the Promised Land

The Promised Land

Imagine old Moses looking down from Glory.  Seeing the dream come true for his people:  The Promised Land.  While he labored for forty years in the wilderness, with that good land a shimmering mirage just out of reach, his successors sweep in with lightning speed amidst the crumbling walls of Jericho.  There were those that said that it couldn't be done, that it would never happen, that perhaps they should just make peace with the life of tent-dwelling nomads.   But after Moses was gone, the impossible happened.

Bittersweet? Maybe a little.  But only a little.  Mostly, I imagine for Moses it was a sweet moment to see what he'd labored for so long come to pass even if he wasn't there to lead the charge.  After all this had always been God's journey anyway and Moses had felt blessed just to be along for the ride.

Back when Babs and I were dating, I wrote a poem for her called "My Girl Moses."  At the time, she had volunteered to plan and organize the opening event of GO'97, a missions conference to begin on December 31, 1996 through the first days of 1997.  The event had mushroomed into a massive undertaking involving a living Global Village featuring the buildings, cultural landmarks, food, and people of key mission fields around the world followed by a New Years Eve prayer service.   The sheer volume of people, material, and details seemed reminiscent of Moses wrangling the nation of Israel as he led them out to the Promised Land.  And so I wrote this poem as a tribute and encouragement to my girl.  I was amazed by her fearless embrace of the impossible, by her ability to get everyone to work together, and most of all by her remarkable faith.

Recently, I've seen a glimpse of my girl Moses again. This time, though it's not as the leader of a multitude with her feat planted on the muddy bed of the Red Sea, staff raised aloft, but as the leader emeritus watching others rejoice as her dream comes true.  Granted, wrangling two kids, trying to keep up the house, and teaching art a day and a half a week isn't quite the heavenly vantage point, but she's where God want's her to be.  And that's enough for her.

A much smaller ribbon cutting. Babs in her heyday, cuts the ribbon on the  then-new playground  at the old  Saipan SDA School campus. 

God gave Babs the vision of a new school campus for the Saipan Seventh-day Adventist School, just as He had the principals before her.  She believed in that Promised Land when few others did.  And she felt certain that God would bring it to pass on her watch.  So she was puzzled but accepting when God whispered to her that "you shall not go there, into the land, which I am giving. . ."  She left Saipan with the dream unfulfilled.  But it was God's dream all along and in His time He brought it to pass.

Just over a week ago under the Joshua leadership of current principal Sharon Nguyen and school board chair Dr. Ken Pierson, the Saipan SDA School moved into it's new campus, a beautiful piece of land centrally located, complete with fully-furnished buildings ready to go.  It is an exceedingly good land and while it may not be flowing with milk and honey, it does have a very nice fully stocked science lab,a basketball court, and lots and lots of space: enough that at last, the Childhood Development Center and the Elementary School will be on one campus.  Ironically, Babs had looked at plots of land on all sides of this property as potential sites for a new school.  She'd never considered this particularly property (not least because another private school was already located there--she could never have guessed that they'd close up shop without warning and put the place on the market for a song).

Science lab (photo courtesy of Crystal Pierson)

The basketball court.  The Saipan SDA School won their last basketball championship on this very court  way back in 2005.  Only God could have known that one day we would own that court. (photo courtesy of Crystal Pierson)

Babs was asked to send a short a video message to be shown at the opening ceremony and she did so.  I know she wished she could have been there, even as a visitor, but like old Moses, it was for her to watch--and rejoice--from afar.  And rejoice she did, because like Moses, she knew that Canaan was really a way station on the way to something even better.  One day, by God's grace, she and Moses and the people God gave to each of them will all be together in a land promised to all who will do as they did: Let Him lead, all the way home.

Unlike Canaan, the previous owners also sought to glorify Christ. May this longed-for land continue to be a place where children are taught to know Jesus and to long for  that final Promised Land that cannot be bought or sold, cannot be passed from one owner to another but will be shared by all who know and love Him. (photo courtesy of Crystal Pierson)

Lost Things

Unfortunately, my mom hasn't been able to locate any of the lost things I discuss in the following entry, so I guess they really are gone.

I try not to think about it too much.  And as a result it doesn't bother me as much as perhaps it would.

But I've lost a lot of things--things that can't be replaced.

There are things from my childhood.  When I was a kid, my brother and I started the Herculean task of illustrating the entire Bible in full-page, full-color format.  With the ambition that only childhood can afford, we decided to draw pictures of every story in the Bible.  In many cases it wasn't just one picture per story, but multiple pictures.  Noah's Ark for example included a series of marker-and-crayon illustrations of showing the gradual rising of the waters.  I got as far as the story of Hagar and Ishmael before the project petered out.  Now, that my older son is excited about the Bible stories it would have been neat to show him those pictures.  But they disappeared many years ago, perhaps thrown away accidentally during one of my mom's moves.  I wonder if Vince still has his?

Speaking of Elijah, he loves his stuffed animals, just as I did when I was a little kid.  I would love to have been able to dig out those treasured friends--Charlie the clown, Riff Raff the Lion, Gerry the dog, Leonard the leopard and about half dozen more--and share them with my boy.  But they're all gone now.  They may be buried somewhere in my in-laws basement, but I kind of doubt it.

I did a lot of writing and drawing when I was a child and everything is gone.  My picture books on the Civil War and the Plains Indians, the unfinished draft of a novel about a family of beavers, stacks of vivid,densely  detailed pictures of the adventures of Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox of the American Revolution (yes, I was a major history nerd).  It's especially painful that so much of what I've lost is what I've created, rather than toys or other objects.

More recently I've lost the scripts for all the  plays that I've written.  The lost plays include Before Supper, written in 2000 and staged multiple times between 2000 and 2004 both in Saipan and in Collegedale, TN and the pair of one-act plays I contributed to the Point of Impact collaboration in 2002 with Galvin Deleon Guerrero.

I don't know how it is that I have a closet full of junk and my in-laws full of stuff that I haven't even thought of since 1998, and yet somehow managed to lose the things of real value; things that matter and can't be replaced.

 I'm not sure why losing these things doesn't bother me more than it does.  I'd like to think that it's because in the end, they really are just things.  I'd like to think it's because I'm more grateful for what I still have.  After all these losses are minor compared to losing my health, my loved ones, or my life.  I'm fortunate to have been blessed in this regard, and while I know that if I live long enough I will almost certainly lose all three, I'm grateful to have them thus far.

As for those lost things?  If they are found I will likely "call together my friends and neighbors, saying to them rejoice with me, for I have found that which was lost."

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
that cannot fly
Hold fast to dreams
for when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow
               --Langston Hughes

A dreamless landscape

So I was scanning Facebook this morning and came across this short post on my news feed by a friend of a friend.  It was just a few paragraphs, but contained a direct challenge to what the author, Sarah Matthews Asaftei, views as a creeping complacency in our culture.  It was mini-manifesto of sorts, and sparked a energetic debate that was as thought-provoking as the original post.  You can read the entire post and ensuing discussion on her public Facebook profile.

(For more information about Sarah Matthews Asaftei and the work she does check out her website at skaMEDIA Productions).

Asaftei's musings struck a chord with me.  I'd been contemplating a blog on the topic of dreams and their pursuit recently, and her post moved me to tackle this topic without further delay.

At one point she asked the following series of questions:

Where is the wanderlust? The yearning? The desire to be constantly transforming into a stronger, wiser version of ourselves? Where is the insatiable zest for a life of deeper meaning, of fuller wholeness? When did youthful appetite for the unknown evaporate into mundane routine? At what point do people stop dreaming of what they want to become? When do we get jaded enough to reject opportunities that would (albeit perhaps painfully) spark healthy growth?

The answer to these questions  that came immediately to mind was one word:

Bills.

You see, in my view, these questions are the questions of the privileged.  Only the wealthy have the luxury of dreaming big, or alternatively abandoning those dreams in favor of a comfortable life and a full TV viewing schedule.  For the vast majority of the world, the goal is simply to stay alive.  To feed your children.  Dreams might be small but impossibly out of reach-- simply to send your kid to school, to have a safe and secure source of water, to preserve a vanishing way of life.

Indeed, even those burdened by bills are among the wealthy elite compared to most of the world. For these people the practical realities of life still leave very little opportunity for exploring growth, even if survival is not at stake:  Single parents, those working multiple jobs just to pay the bills, the poor in America:  As with the desperately poor, dreams here are also deferred to the next generation.  Your dreams are wrapped in your children, in the hope that they can have a better life than you have had.

This disconnect sparked much of  the objection to Sarah's original post, but I think Sarah and her detractors were actually on the same page, if not on the same paragraph (well, except for that anti-Europe guy; I'm not sure where he was coming from).  While Asaftei's post might seem frivolous to much of the world, it has very real and serious implications for some of us.   Her observations, intentionally or not, were aimed at a very specific subset of humanity, and for that subset it's message and it's challenge is absolutely appropriate. As it happens,  I'm one of the lucky few who get to ponder these kinds of rich folk conundrums.

I'm bothered my own lack of passion.  We are told to go after our dreams. But what happens if you're not sure what your dream is?  We are told to pursue what you are passionate about.  But what if, pushing forty years of age, you're still not sure where your passion lies?  We are told to do what we love--oh, the privilege!  But what if you like a lot of things, but consistently find love too strong a word?

I've had dreams, but it seems their luster has faded some what.  To do anything well requires hard work. Nothing, no matter how rewarding, is always fun.  For awhile I thought my passion was to write a novel.  Well, I did that, but found that once it was done I no longer felt the burning need to write the Great American Novel. The unpublished draft has languished for the past four and half years for a variety of reasons, but largely because I haven't felt motivated to do anything further with it.

Another once-upon-a-dream was the idea of making my own movies--being able to create a story and see it come to life.  I had that amazing opportunity when, Journeys, the television series I co-wrote in Saipan became a reality.  We filmed a pilot that actually aired on TV and filmed 13 episodes of a first season. But the project ran out of money and died a quiet death.  Though, I continued to be involved in the island's nascent film and television for several years working as production manager on a documentary of the 60th anniversary of the Battle of Saipan, and acting in my friend Dan Shor's project, State of Liberty, I found my passion to pursue this line of work cooled as well.

When have I felt the most alive?  I loved working on the set of Journeys.  It was work I could see myself waking up every morning excited to do.  I loved being on tour with my drama troupe. My accomplishments as a founding director of REAL Christian Theater, a team that toured for close to decade was source of tremendous pride for me.  On those days--during the golden age of REAL--when a student theater project came to life on stage for hundreds, even a thousand elementary school kids; when I watched God work miracles as we did our little part to share His love with others I felt there could be no better life.  But my work in drama has been hiatus for almost a year now and I'm not sure when or how I'll get back into it.  It turns out that working full-time as a teacher and having two young kids isn't compatible with the time and commitment needed for top-notch theater troupe.

  Living in Saipan was amazing.  I've spoken many times in this blog about  how blessed I felt to have the life we had on Saipan.  I rarely took for granted how lucky I was to live in a tropical island paradise.  Yet even there, it was easy to get caught up in the humdrum of daily life. No matter where you live the bills still have to be paid, the paperwork has to be filled out, the bathroom needs to be cleaned.  And now the island life is an increasingly distant memory.  Yet, now that we live in Ohio, I don't feel a sense of hollowness or emptiness at all.  My life is as rich as it's ever been (if not richer with the wealth that my two boys bring), if not as glamorous as it once was.

I take great satisfaction in the company of good friends. A stimulating conversation can be thing of great joy. I am easily moved by the beauty found in the changing of the seasons--stark trees and moonlight on a snowy night, a warm spring morning, the thick greenery of summer, the brilliant autumn foliage.  "There's so much beauty around us and just two eyes to see, but I'm looking."  It is deeply rewarding to watch my students grow and develop.  I'm inspired almost on a daily basis by the strides they make, and not just those that are long gone from my classroom and making their own mark on the world, but the ones I've got right now, progressing in fits and starts, doing more, being more, and becoming more than I ever did at their age.

Moments in life don't come much more beautiful than this:  A group of our students gather for impromptu prayer, without any adult prodding, after one of their friends got hurt while playing.

Despite my lack of one defining passion, I have a lot optimism for the future.  I guess it's because the one thing I've always tried to do in my life is let God lead.  One advantage to not having found that single driving motivator is that I'm less inclined to fight where God leads.  The most rewarding things I've experienced in my life thus far were things I would never had the sense to dream of in advance.  So, based on how God has led in the past, I have no doubt that the future that will continue to bring a life less ordinary, a dream come true.

They said boy you just follow your heart
But my heart just led me into my chest
They said follow your nose
But the direction changed every time I went and turned my head
And they said boy you just follow your dreams
But my dreams were just misty notions
But the Father hearts and the Maker of noses
And the Giver of Dreams, He's the one I've chosen
And I will follow Him.
--Rich Mullins, "The Maker of Noses"

The Secret to Slaying the Paper Monster

This weekend's stack: Two tests, a Bible assignment, and science project proposals plus a few miscellaneous late assignments.  This is actually a little thicker stack than usual, but fear not, by Monday morning it will dispatched.

At eight weeks and going strong, I think I'm finally ready to declare victory.  I believe I have finally done what for almost two decades seemed impossible.  I have slain the Paper Monster.

Way back in 1996, a year after my first teaching gig as a student missionary in Chuuk, I wrote a column for my college newspaper recounting my earliest battles with the seemingly unconquerable  Paper Monster--the never ending stack of student papers that haunt every teacher's days.  Little did I know that the battle was just beginning, and that for years to come I would engage in a Sisyphean struggle  to eliminate the pile that never seemed to diminish.

But quite suddenly this past quarter I stumbled upon victory.  For all of this quarter I've remained completely caught up with my grades.  Each day I clear the Shelf where the students submit their work, and by the next morning all the papers are graded and are ready to return to the students.  Oh, sure there are a few exceptions:  a big test or project that takes a few days or a weekend. But on the whole, the turnaround is 24 hours or less.  I've even stayed on top of the music and P.E. grades, which is completely unheard of.  Throughout my career, those types of classes stayed blank all quarter long, and the grades were entered en mass at the end of the marking period.

My students have had mixed reactions to this new promptness.  Some of the ones that tend to struggle more, seem to welcome the change.  Knowing they have to get their assignments in and getting the immediate feedback seems to motivate them.  Others--including some of my stronger students--have been frustrated by the lack of leeway to sneak an assignment in late.  They miss the days when they saw papers languishing on the Shelf days and even weeks at a time and knew they could drop a paper in late with me none the wiser.  On the whole, though I believe the change has been good for all of us, but especially for the students.  My staying on top of my work helps them stay on top of theirs.  Just as I now know exactly where my students stand--who is doing well, who is in trouble--my students also know how they are doing.  Timely feedback is crucial for student success, and I'm so glad I'm finally providing that feedback on a consistent basis.

So how did I slay the Monster?  What was the secret?  For awhile, I didn't really know.  An incident that I won't relate here was the initial motivator.  I was angry at the time, and determined not to be found wanting in this area again.  But that passed, and yet I stayed caught up.  Eventually I was able to pinpoint a few key things that made the difference:

To begin with, I already had a couple of elements in place that made staying caught up easier to accomplish. For one, I'd already eliminated a lot of the actual grading years ago.  Most daily homework I correct in-class with my students.  I read the answers, and the students correct their own work.  I spot check for cheating, both during the correcting (looking for the kid writing frantically while I'm reading the answers) and when I collect the papers.  I only grade tests, quizzes, and projects where student correction isn't practica l.  So already, most of my "grading" is actually about entering the grades in the gradebook rather than actual correcting of assignments.

Another element I had long in place, was an emphasis on actual learning rather than busywork to keep the kids occupied.  This was the take-away of that college newspaper column--that the Paper Monster could be defeated by focusing on actual teaching rather than a lot of worksheet heavy make-work.  In truth, that approach subdued the Monster but did not destroy it.  No amount of creative, student-centered teaching could free me from the necessity of grading, and the inevitable paper pile that came with it.  Still, fewer worksheets really do help.

Finally, I had in the past year or so began to really make use of on the spot assessments, in essence grading the students while they were working.  With the iPad it's been easier than ever to lean over a student, see how they are doing, or mark a page in their practice book, and enter the grade directly into the grading program.

With these elements all in place, all I needed was one final piece of the puzzle to make it all come together.  The stake in the heart of the Paper Monster was simply this:  Vigilance.  I had to make grading a top priority.    I had to grade when there didn't seem to be a need to grade.  It was that crucial moment when the stack was still thin--three assignments and a quiz--and time was short--10 or 15 minutes that I had act.  These were the very times when in the past I would have said, "Well, it's only a few assignments.  I'll get to them later."  Now it's "It's only a few assignments.  Let me just get them in now."  At first I figured that sooner or later I'd get busy and fall behind, and I just wanted to stay ahead as long as I could.  But I found that my success bred further success, and I've now become obsessed with staying caught up.  As a result, it appears that I may finally end the quarter with nothing to do but write my comments and print the report cards!

Sure, in the scheme of what really matters in education, maybe destroying the Paper Monster is only a minor achievement.  I only wish some of my other challenges were so easily solved:  How to reach every student and help them see their God-given worth and amazing potential.  How to make sure that I do right by my students ten out of ten times rather than on occasion giving in to irritation and sarcasm. How to effectively teach my subject matter in a way that is meaningful and relevant to each student.  Teaching is hard work, and staying caught up with grading is often the least of what sometimes to be intractable challenges.  But if slaying the Paper Monster has taught me anything, its that what often seems impossible in education,
 whether as simple as a pile of papers or as complicated as a recalcitrant student, is possible after all.

Edit: It would seem the Paper Monster did not take kindly to reports of his demise.  I ended up unable to finish this blog until now because I was working on the pile pictured at the start of this entry.  A couple of things came up that prevented me from finishing the stack in a timely manner, and I ended up staying up until 1:30 A.M. Sunday morning and still not finishing the grading.  Monday morning I had to tell students inquiring about recently submitted assignments that I hadn't graded them yet. But I got caught up today, and as of tonight, the Monster is definitely dead this time.

Still My Favorite Thing in the Whole World

With the elder son, Fall 2008. . . 

With the younger son, Winter 2013

The Blessing of Inconvenience

One less thing on my to-do list, and I wish I could add it back:  Kimo's leash and poop baggies hanging by the front door ready for her twice daily walk.  We've yet to get around to putting it away.

 In the weeks since Kimo's death I've been surprised by what I miss.  I miss having to watch my plate if I have to step away from the table during mealtime.  I miss having to empty the trash regularly to keep her from getting into it and making a mess while we are out. But I especially miss having to take her out, rain or shine, snow or sleet for her bathroom breaks and exercise walks.  I remember in the days before she died, when we knew we were running out of time and her walks had been truncated to a few feet, I longed for just one more long walk. I longed for her to yank on the leash when she caught the scent of something interesting.  I longed for her to have the energy to lunge hard at a passing dog forcing me to offer a sheepish apology to the startled owner.  Those walks took up my precious time. Particularly at the end of a long day, exhausted and eager to collapse on the couch, I dreaded those walks.  Walking Kimo was a pain in the neck much of the time; a major inconvenience.  And I've missed those walks so much.

Everywhere I look I'm reminded of the things I no longer have to do, the time I don't have put in, the money I don't have to spend.  And it saddens me.  As I've meditated on how much easier my life is without Kimo, I've come to the realization that inconvenience is actually a blessing. Think about it for a moment, think of all the things that inconvenience you and think about how many of them are tied to the people you love most.  After all, a life totally organized around my ease and desires, a life completely devoid of inconvenience is a life that must necessarily be lonely.  People (and pets) disrupt the flow.  They place demands on us. They ruin the schedule, mess up the house, drain the budget.  But the alternative is pretty bleak, isn't it?

So when Ezra starts fussing just as I'm about to sit down to work on my blog; when Elijah keeps pestering me to play right when I'm trying to finish those grades or calls out "Daaaaaaaaaddy" early in the morning when I'd rather sleep in; when Babs wants to talk when I want to surf the internet; when my student wants help with his math during my precious lunch hour when I'm trying to "get some work done" my goal is to rejoice .  I'm not there yet, but I want to get to the place that I rejoice in  interruptions, am grateful to have my hands full,  and give thanks for the blessing of inconvenience.

The last thing I felt like doing was going out on bitterly cold Sunday afternoon last weekend so that Elijah could run around and get his energy out.  But if I hadn't been so inconvenienced I wouldn't have captured these special memories:

Lying on the grass.  . .

.  . . looking up at the blue, blue sky

This little guy. . .always worth the "inconvenience." Always.

Our Kimo: June 4, 2004-January 24, 2013

Graceful to the end.  This photo of Kimo was taken just a few days before she died.  The cancer was  relentless and she deteriorated rapidly.  At this point, she was already having difficulty breathing as her chest filled with fluid, compressing her lungs.  Yet she never lost her trademark dignity.

She wasn't born on the 4th of June, 2004.  We've never known for sure how hold Kimo was, but we think she was about a year old when she came into our lives.  So June 4th is when her life with us began, and she left our lives so much richer for her presence just over eight and a half years later.  It was too soon.  No time is ever the right time for death, but nonetheless we were so unprepared to lose her when we did.

Kimo was a truly extraordinary dog.  When she is ready, Babs is planning to tell the story of our wonderful journey with the best dog one could ever ask for.  Her chronicle of Kimo's life will appear here on this blog.  I'll select some of the best photos I can find from our years with Kimo to illustrate the entry.  It will be a worthy tribute to true friend.

In the meantime, my eulogy of one of God's best gifts to us: our Kimo.

Kimo was the perfect dog. She had such a sweet personality, and was exceptionally easy to care for.  I know that it might not have seemed that way to those who experienced her furious barking when they dared to approach our door, or who had her lunge at their dog in a scary show of aggression as she decompressed after a stressful year and a half alone on Saipan. (I'm so glad that Kimo found peace with other dogs in the months before she died. She stopped seeing every dog as potential threat, and went back to viewing them as potential playmates.  She was finally even able to share the Leen's house with her "cousins" Bailey and Shiloh this past Christmas). But for those of us who knew her, she was a dream. She never chewed, never required house-breaking.  She wasn't given to slobbering or overenthusiastic licking.  She liked treats as much as the next dog, and food left unattended on the table for too long or a kitchen trash can left unemptied all day long while we were at work were temptations even she couldn't resist.  But she generally lacked the desperate greedy, quality one often finds in dogs. Indeed, she carried herself with a sense of elegance rare among canines.  It was evident in the refined way she would often sit, head up and alert, front legs gracefully crossed.  Beyond that, she possessed a soulfulness of spirit and a sort of charisma that charmed everyone she met.  She was great with our boys, particularly after she arrived in Columbus from Saipan, patiently enduring Elijah's childish manhandling.  Her vices were few--scratching at the door to be let out, and the aforementioned vigilant guard-dogging (though that latter vice we were grateful for as our apartment was the only one on the compound never robbed) .  Her passions were few as well--doggie toys,  games of fetch and such never had much appeal for her.  She was content with a good nap on the couch, a long walk that  ideally involved a spate of full on running and lots of poop piles and other doggie smells for her to investigate, and just being close to her pack, her family:  Jesco in Saipan, me and the boys, and most of all the one person who loved her like a mother, her human "mommie", Babs.

 Kimo was born on the island of Tinian, lived for approxiametly seven years on Saipan, and almost two years in Ohio before her death from cancer at around ten years old.  She passed away as she lived most of her life, with dignity and near to the people she loved. Whether we'll ever have another dog, I can't say for sure.  I can say that  we will never replace Kimo.  She will always be missed.

July, 2009

April, 2010

April, 2011

Last family photo, January 20, 2013. four days before her passing.

Third Person: "Wanted: One Good Shepherd"

Entry #3 in my four-part holiday fiction series:

Here's the thing about sheep. They're not the smartest animals.  They need constant care, constant guidance.  They need to be protected.  In the open fields, they cannot be left alone.

So I don't care what you've got going on, what important errand you suddenly need to run, when my sheep are under your care, they are your life.

This last group I had--and I'm going to be real honest with you here--turned out to be useless.  I thought they were good--I would never have hired them otherwise, and they did good work--or I would have fired them earlier.  But they broke my cardinal rule.  They left the flock, and when they did, they left their jobs as well.  They say they went to see a baby born in Bethlehem; that angels appeared to them.  Well, I"m sorry but mental soundness is a must for this job--those seeing visions and hearing voices need not apply.  And I don't care if it's your own child being born, when you're on the job, the sheep are your life.

To be honest, rather than a pack of average sheep-herding hacks, I'd be  more than satisfied with just one good shepherd.  Never mind some baby, find me that man, and that's something worth celebrating.

Third Person: "First Served"

The second in a four part series of fiction entries:

Don't look at me that way.

Look, I was here first.

 I made a reservation.  That's what you do.  You don't just show up during the busiest travel season of the year and just expect to get a room.  I made this reservation months in advance--and got the room for a good deal too.  And it's no ordinary room--not one of those "garden view" types that has you looking out a parking lot.  This was a Gold Club room, private elevator, dedicated concierge, Jacuzzi tub in the room.  And I'm booked through the end of the week.

Yeah, I know she was pregnant.  And I felt bad.  But by the looks of them they probably couldn't afford my room any way--or really any room here.  I mean what was I supposed to do?  I couldn't just give them my room, right?  First come first served I always say.  I wish I hadn't been in the lobby when they came, all po'faced and haggard, the girl breathing hard and the guy looking all stressed.  They had me feeling guilty. But is it my fault they didn't plan ahead?

And even if I had given them my room, where was I supposed to go?  I've got meetings all this week.  Major presentations.  I screw up, I lose the account, I maybe lose my job.  I need to be well-rested, sharp.  As busy as it is this week I'd have probably ended up camping out in a barn somewhere.

I don't know what happened with them.  I heard the manager talking about working something out.  I haven't seem them around this morning, so I guess they didn't stay here.  But I hope they're okay.

Anyway, I gotta run.  Some of us have important things to do. The boss is counting on me to save the world-- or this account anyway.  You know how it is.

Take it easy.

Third Person: "Did You Hear What I Heard?"

For the first time, I foray into fiction here in this blog with a series of short vignettes that seek to bring a fresh perspective to the Christmas story.  I originally used this story (and the the three that will follow) as a monologue that I shared with my class for morning worship last week.

Did you hear what I heard?

Yep.  It's true.  She's pregnant.

Of all people, right.  Little Miss Perfect got herself in trouble.  It's not really that surprising if you think about it.  It's always her kind. All prayers and innocence and It'll never happen to me, and when it does: I don't know how it happened. 

Well, J will leave her for sure.

Of course, it's not his!  From what my cousin told me she went away for a couple of months and when she came back, well, baggy clothes aren't fooling anybody. She sure got that backwards, huh.  Get knocked up then go away on trip to "see your cousin" for a few months and come back with your "nephew" that you're looking after for an ill relative.  

Yeah, she was sweet.  Just not the sharpest girl.

Anyway, J didn't travel with her so it can't be his.  And besides he's a good guy.  He'll find a way to privately end things, spare her as much embarrassment as possible, though everyone's gonna know the truth anyway.  But you know him, he'll never have an ugly word to say about her.

You know who I really feel for though?  The kid.  He'll never have a chance; his life is ruined from the start.  This will follow him, literally, for the rest of his life.  Just watch, he'll be running with the wrong crowd, in trouble with the authorities, and sadly he'll probably die young.  I know it's harsh, but look it the stats--she's doomed the child.  I'm telling you, he doesn't live past thirty give or take a few years.

It's a shame. God knows. . .

Getting Over Easy Pt 1: "Taking the Hard Road"

This year's class of Buckeye Classic Challenge conquerors, all 8th grade students, at the finish line of the Buckeye Classic 10K Run, Sunday, November 11, 2012.  From L to R:  "The Win" and "EK" both returning veterans from last year's Challenge, "The Voice" this year's new CAA champion, "The Actress" and "J-Z" our two young ladies on the team this year.

If you think about it, running is a funny thing to choose to do.  It's certainly not the easiest way to get from point A to point B.  It's one of the least efficient means of traveling.  Of course there are the exercise benefits,and I guess that's the main reason most people run.  But then you can exercise without ever entering a race.  And why would one sign up for a race with hundreds, if not thousands of other runners, knowing you have no chance of winning?

I believe the reason so many of us come to embrace running is because we want to challenge ourselves.  We want to take on something difficult and succeed at it.  In a world that is continuously peddling ease, comfort, pleasure, and instant gratification something in us cries out for a challenge, for an opportunity to push ourselves out of our comfort zone and accomplish something that demands real effort.  While I may not win against other runners, I can win against myself--I could defeat the lazier, less determined me who said I couldn't do it.

This mindset, I'm learning is not a given though. There are many who ask with incredulity why they would ever do something discomfiting and difficult on purpose.  But I believe there is value in avoiding the easy way from time to time, and I've made it a goal of mine to develop that mindset in my students. . .and in myself.

Here's the thing.  Covering 6.2 miles on foot is not necessarily difficult, even if hills are involved.  Almost anyone could do it.  All you have to do is walk.  It might take close to three hours, but you could do it and it would be easy. . .

My challenge this year with the five students that took up this year's Buckeye Challenge--to train for and run the annual Buckeye Classic 10K--was to actively seek out difficulty.  This concept seemed completely counter-intuitive to them.  Why on earth would we make something any harder than it has to be, they asked.  The answer is that great rewards inherently come with great cost.  It simply wouldn't be enough to claim they had covered ten kilometers--it needed to cost them something in order for the accomplishment to truly have value.

"The Win" and "EK" at the starting line.  Both boys set new PR's this year at the  Buckeye Classic with "The  Win" nudging a minute off of last year's time at 1:27:00 and "EK" blasting a full six minutes off his old time to finish at 1:22:17.

A thumbs up from "The Voice" at the starting line.  I always  knew this kid could run and I was so excited that he decided to take the Challenge this year.  Even as the fastest runner on the team this year, I believe he can go faster still.  What I often told him during training, I still believe: "I believe you can give more."

"J-Z" and "The Actress" ready to run.  It was so great to have these two girls with us this year.  I felt it was especially important to have girls taking on and achieving the Challenge.

I realized the focus had to shift during the final month or so or training, after all five students were no longer intimidated by the idea of running in and of itself.  All of the kids had learned to handle the weekday conditioning runs as well as the longer runs on the weekend, and the problem was they were pretty satisfied with where they were.  They were not pushing themselves towards any goals, and if anything seem determined to take it easy.  Up until this point I'd been running with the kids at their pace, taking turns pacing with the faster and slower runners, and encouraging and coaching them along the way.  But I now realized that this type of motivation was no longer what they needed.   I had been talking a good game about pushing themselves and giving 100%, but honestly it was easy to say.  What the kids needed was to see me set an example.

So I set a challenging goal for myself, and what I hoped were equally challenging goals for my students.  Then I dared them to meet their goals by the time I met mine (or sooner).  My goal was to complete five laps of our course in Innis Park in 30 minutes or less--a total distance of approximately 3.8 miles.  I'd covered that distance in that amount of time before in runs near my house, but that had been a flat course and this course required me to climb a fairly steep hill in every lap.  I had set a goal that I felt was difficult but where success while not a given was definitely possible with the utmost effort and focus.  I wanted something that would require me to push myself, to really give everything I had.

This was our practice course at Innis Park .  The star marks where each lap began.

And so we began.  I'm telling you we who are teachers, parents, and other adult authority figures need a wake up call like this one.  When you tell your kids never to give up, to not quit when the going gets rough, it lends you a whole other level of authority when you are being tested to your very limits too.  The runs were unbelievably difficult.  I had to run much faster than my usual comfortable pace.  Very early into my runs the mental battle began.  On the one hand feeling like I just couldn't do it, that I needed to stop and walk and on the other feeling that I couldn't quit, I had to keep going.  Day after day, I struggled to reach my goal, and most days I was close--just yards away from victory when the time ran out.  I realized that trying hard was not enough.  I needed to prepare properly--eating well and hydrating well in advance of the run as well as getting enough sleep.  I also had to plan strategically. I had to track my pace constantly and carefully.  I experimentedwith different combinations of running and walking in an effort to shave a few more seconds off my time.  Walk too much, obviously, and I wouldn't be able to make it up when I ran.  Walk too little, and the blistering pace I was pushing would begin to flag in final portion of the run.  This was not about merely going the distance, this was about meeting the goal.

I shared my observations and experiences with the kids after each run, and this time it wasn't advice delivered from on high, but insights shared by a fellow runner.  I don't know how much the kids noted my struggle, but one by one the students started rising to the challenge.  I believe "EK" was the first to meet his goal, smashing it easily, and then immediately setting new and more challenging goals for himself.  "The Actress" (so named for her considerable talent as a performer on stage) and "The Win" were next, both also accomplishing their goals with relative ease.  Having met a goal that in hindsight was probably too easy, these two were satisfied with their accomplishment and stopped really trying after that, much to my irritation. The last two kids had goals more similar to mine--just hard enough to make success possible but uncertain.  "J-Z" closed the gap on her goal on the second to last run before the 10K and "The Voice" finally achieved his on the final day of training, after having argued to me that the goal was too hard and there was no way he could ever achieve it.  I was so proud of him when midway through the race as I noted his pace and the grim look of tortured determination on his face and knew that the goal was his to lose.

As for me?  I was the only one of our group who never managed to achieve my goal.  I came the closest on the last day of training--the same day that "The Voice" knocked off his goal.  I missed it by mere footsteps.  I was alone at the crest of the hill when the time ran out and I was only an arm's length or two from the finish line. For a few moments I was sorely tempted to tell the kids I'd done it.  After all I was "basically" there right?  I'd completed the goal more or less, I rationalized.  And of course no one was around to argue otherwise.  But in the end I went back and told the kids I hadn't done and shared the reason why.  I had begun to celebrate too soon.  As I sped up the hill towards the end of the fifth and final lap at a pace that seemed more than fast enough, I allowed myself to slow down just a tiny bit.  I decided to relieve the burning in my lungs, the aching in my muscles just a little early.  After all, I had made it.  Those precious few seconds were enough to snatch defeat from jaws of victory.

It was a disheartening end to our training for me, but I like to think that my example made a difference for the students I was training.  When the real Buckeye Classic on a pleasantly balmy November Sunday morning, the kids were ready.  They all finished, most set new PRs, and one, "The Voice" shattered "B.SteaLth's" record from last year with a time of 1:13:04.

On the course with "J-Z".  I ran with "J-Z" through the entire race and though her  pace wasn't as fast as the  others I think she was one of the hardest workers of the group.  She pushed herself more than most.

As for me, there is still unfinished business.  Once we get the baby on a regular schedule and I have some normalcy I'm going to start training again.  And sometime, on a day when the weather is pretty good, I'm going to head back out to Innis Park, and I'm going to get this done.

  5 laps. 30 minutes.

I know it won't be easy.  But that's the point.

Celebrating a job well done with family and friends at the finish line

"J-Z" and "The Actress" with their proud mamas

A Day for Giving Thanks

The Official  Maycock Family Thanksgiving Portrait, November 25, 2012

For awhile now Thanksgiving has been less about the specific day and more about the people we share the time with.

For the first two years after we moved back to the States from Saipan, we celebrated Thanksgiving with the Paez tribe on the fourth Friday in November, rather than on Thursday because our flight arrived in Portland on Thanksgiving day. Last year we enjoyed two celebrations, a quiet one here at home with Barbara's parents, and then our traditional celebration with the Paez family the week after Christmas in Oregon.

The Paez family mourns our absence at Thanksgiving this year.  Carol sent me  this photo on Thanksgiving day with the caption "Thanksgiving without the Maycocks."  We missed them too.  Next year! (In the mean time we're grateful to have Carol, at least coming to spend a few days with us the week after Thanksgiving)

This year we didn't even bother to make any concrete Thanksgiving plan.  There was no long menu of foods to cook, no guest list to plan, no flights to catch or drives to make.  As in previous years our approach to Thanksgiving had everything to do with the people--or in this case the person--we shared the day with rather than the day of the holiday and the food we ate.

Thanksgiving day 2012 began at the hospital and ended here at home.  The menu was supposed to be chicken pot pie but it turns out I didn't have any shortening so we scrounged together some left overs instead.  But none of that mattered.  What mattered was the person for whom we gladly turned our holiday plans upside down, our newborn son, Ezra.  He was born just two days before Thanksgiving and in his arrival we have much to give thanks for.

Next year, I don't know where, when, or how we'll celebrate Thanksgiving.  But one thing I know for sure:  It will be the people, including a special one-year old, who will make the day special.

A friend of mine recently announced on Facebook that her daughter had been wishing folks a "Happy Birth Giving" and while for most it might have been a cute misstatement, for us it was a very apt description of a our experience, a happy birth giving indeed!  Thanks to the epidural, Ezra's entrance into the world was virtually pain free from start to finish.

A new day, a new chapter in our life.  Sunrise on the first full day of Ezra's life.  I took this photo from Barbara's hospital room, early Wednesday morning, November 21 , the day before Thanksgiving.

The Feller meets his little brother for the first time.

With the grandparents

Ezra Maycock, the focus of this year's Thanksgiving celebration.

Welcome Ezra Thomson Maycock

Ezra made his entrance into the world on Tuesday night, November 20 at 9:38 P.M.  He was almost exactly the same weight as his older brother at birth: 6 lbs, 15 oz.

Here he is, the newest addition to the Maycock family.  Elijah's little brother has wasted no time in carving a special place in our hearts.  We praise God for this wonderful gift of a healthy, baby boy.

More on this special Thanksgiving baby soon to come!

The First Day of The Rest of Our Lives

Today a family of three; tomorrow a family of four

Tomorrow, once again my world shifts forever.  They say that having a child changes your life, and I can attest that's true.  But what I suspect is also true is that having a second child changes your life all over again.

It wasn't like this with Elijah.  He came like a thief in the night and there was no time to prepare.  Parenthood was thrust upon us three weeks early, and we hit the ground running, making it up as we went along.

But this time, we've had the chance to prepare: physically--Bab's bag has been in the trunk of the car for the past four weeks, the crib is set up, our baby's clothes, diapers, wipes, are neatly stored and ready for use. Mentally, we, at least in theory know what to expect.  The sleeplessness, the diaper changes, we've been through it all before so we should be ready (though I'm amazed by how much I can no longer remember about those early days with Elijah).  But emotionally. . .I'm not sure how to be ready.  I don't know that I can truly be prepared for a change of this magnitude.

What I've realized with the imminent arrival of our second son is that this is really the beginning of what will, by the grace and mercy of God, be the "normal" for our family for the rest of our lives.  The eleven years Babs and I had together, and the four years with the just the three of us will be dwarfed by the decades to come as a family of four.  It feels like such a huge change for our oldest, but I realize that for him he will barely remember a life without his brother, and his mother and I will remember these past four years as a brief time before our family settled into the form that we know it.

Tomorrow, my lovely, strong, wife, the mother of my children and my best friend will go to work to bring our son into the world, and I'll be by her side.  And with us the One who has been with us all along.  My prayer for both my boys is that what has been true for me will be true for them too:

"For Thou Art my hope, O Lord God, Thou art my confidence from my youth. By Thee, I have been sustained from my birth.  Thou art He who took me from my mother's womb; My praise is continually of Thee"
               --Psalms 71:5-6