We’ve had another wonderful Christmas. It’s strange – no matter how hectic and overwhelming it is getting ready for Christmas, when the main event finally arrives, the joy and beauty of Christmas always returns. When every gift is bought and wrapped, when every decoration is hung, when the house is clean and the food is cooked, a wonderful sense of peace envelops me, and I am finally able to reflect quietly on what this time of year is really all about.
The magic first reappeared this year the night we went to hear John Berry’s Christmas concert with Sean and Misty. Berry’s beautiful, rich, and powerful voice is impossible to put into words. The man can sing. I’ve heard this concert five times now, and it never gets old. What makes the concert really special is knowing that John Berry is truly a godly man; he attends our church, and I know when he talks about the real meaning of Christmas, he’s not just putting on a show. Hearing him sing “O Holy Night” never fails to thrill me. As Doug and I passed loving glances at each other, I knew he was feeling the same joy I felt. This year John finished the concert with a song I didn’t know, one called “Love is a Cross.” It was a beautiful song with a powerful message, but what made it really special was the passion with which he sang it.
The next morning, we went to church and were surprised to get an encore of the previous night’s performance. The community concert was two parts – the first half was country, and the second half was all Christmas music. Our Sunday morning service was a repeat of the second half of the concert. Berry’s entire band was there for it. This had not been publicized at all; I guess they didn’t want the church to be overwhelmed by his fans.
Before he sang, Pastor Carlos said a few words about the music of Christmas. He said if he could get rid of some of the hoopla that surrounds Christmas, one thing he would certainly keep is the music. As often happens in church, I took that thought and ran with it. What would Christmas be like if we could just keep the really important things and discard the rest, I wondered. What is the essential Christmas?
One thing that is not essential is the gift exchange. I’m sure I would not have thought this as a child, or even as a young adult, but I see things differently now. Somehow we have taken the lovely concept of giving and turned it into a commercialized nightmare of buy, buy, buy, and spend, spend, spend. The entire focus of Christmas seems to be on the shopping now. Celebrating the birth of Christ is like an afterthought, meaningful only to us politically incorrect religious fundamentalists, and even we are guilty of reducing it to trite sayings like “Jesus is the reason for the season.” Instead of focusing on Jesus, we all stress ourselves out spending more than we can afford and running up our credit card bills because we feel pressured to give impressive gifts to everyone we know. It’s insane.
It also is not essential to attend every party, gathering, and event that takes place in December. Why we think we have to squeeze our entire social life into one month of the year is beyond me. There are simply too many places to go and things to do. What is essential is choosing the most important and forgetting the rest.
So what is most important? Like Carlos, I would keep the music. The music keeps me focused on what Christmas is really all about. It also calms me. Just as lullabies soothe a crying baby, Christmas carols sooth this stressed-out adult. With music, we are able to express what we find difficult to say in words. With our music, we worship the Christ of Christmas.
Another essential for me is going to church on the Sunday before Christmas. It’s peaceful, and again, it puts the focus back where it belongs. And it’s restful; the work is done, and we can just sit and listen to a Christmas message that is real – so different from the world’s commercialized version.
A definite essential of Christmas is being with family and friends, the people I care about most. I look forward to a quiet get-together with our little group of friends. We eat and exchange small gifts. This year we laughed ourselves silly playing a game of Christmas charades. I also enjoyed having lunch with two of my closest friends.
Sean and Misty came over and spent the night before Christmas Eve morning. We had a simple supper and enjoyed sitting in front of the fire, looking at the lights on the tree. I love the feeling of lying down in bed at night knowing that all my family is safe under my roof. The next morning, the four of us, joined by our grandpuppy Dixie, opened our gifts to each other. As much as I hate the shopping, I have to admit it is fun to give my children gifts I know they like.
After our small family Christmas, we went to Doug’s parents and joined the rest of his family, 17 of us, and had a huge meal and opened gifts again. The next morning, Christmas morning, we went to my sister Mary Jane’s and had another huge meal and opened even more gifts. That afternoon we rode four-wheelers and watched a Christmas movie. The day was fun and relaxing.
Now I am at my parent’s home in the mountains – soon to be our home as well. My sisters are coming up to join us today, and there will be more good times with family. So there you have the essential Christmas – being with family and friends; and church and music to remind us of what the season is really all about. Throw in some good food and holiday decorations, and you’ve got the makings of the perfect Christmas!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Words of appreciation mean so much
Today I unexpectedly received the best Christmas present I could ask for. I had just finished up the first semester by giving a final exam and had then had lunch with an old and dear friend. Then I went to do a little last-minute shopping. I was standing in Hobby Lobby looking at Styrofoam. (Don’t ask.) I heard the young lady behind me say something to no one in particular about an item she was looking at, and I responded by saying, “I can’t believe they want $6 for four little pieces of Styrofoam.” The girl turned around and said “Mrs. Canup?” I looked at her and felt no recognition whatsoever. This is an occupational hazard of being a teacher. I often run into former students, and they have a much easier time recognizing me than I have recognizing them. This is partly because I have not changed as dramatically as they have. (Except for the silver hair!) And it’s partly because, after 22 years of teaching, I have many more students to remember than they have former teachers. I looked askance at the young lady, and she said, “You are Mrs. Canup, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.” I always feel bad when I say that.
“It’s me, Catherine Haymore.”
I immediately remembered the name, as I almost always do, and gave her a warm smile and a hug. She seemed delighted to see me. She went on to tell me that I wouldn’t believe how many times she has spoken of me over the years, that I had changed her life, and that she had just told a girl who was struggling in school about me this past week. Wow. I was racking my brain trying to figure out how long ago it had been that a much younger Catherine had been in my class. She finally told me she is now 28 years old. I figure I taught her when she was in the fifth grade – about 18 years ago.
I don’t guess there is anything that teachers want more than to know that they have had a positive impact on the lives of their students. Believe me, we don’t always know that. It blessed my heart more than Catherine can imagine to hear those words of appreciation after all these years. Then she told me some sad news.
It seems she and her young husband just found out that he has cancer, and it could be very serious. They are awaiting test results now. I promised to pray for them and gave her my email address so she could let me know what happens. She gave me hers as well. I left the store feeling sad and apprehensive for Catherine and her husband; yet, at the same time, I experienced a warm glow sparked by her kind words. I pray that a sweet young wife will get welcome news in the next few days, and that she and her husband will have a very special Christmas.
“Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.” I always feel bad when I say that.
“It’s me, Catherine Haymore.”
I immediately remembered the name, as I almost always do, and gave her a warm smile and a hug. She seemed delighted to see me. She went on to tell me that I wouldn’t believe how many times she has spoken of me over the years, that I had changed her life, and that she had just told a girl who was struggling in school about me this past week. Wow. I was racking my brain trying to figure out how long ago it had been that a much younger Catherine had been in my class. She finally told me she is now 28 years old. I figure I taught her when she was in the fifth grade – about 18 years ago.
I don’t guess there is anything that teachers want more than to know that they have had a positive impact on the lives of their students. Believe me, we don’t always know that. It blessed my heart more than Catherine can imagine to hear those words of appreciation after all these years. Then she told me some sad news.
It seems she and her young husband just found out that he has cancer, and it could be very serious. They are awaiting test results now. I promised to pray for them and gave her my email address so she could let me know what happens. She gave me hers as well. I left the store feeling sad and apprehensive for Catherine and her husband; yet, at the same time, I experienced a warm glow sparked by her kind words. I pray that a sweet young wife will get welcome news in the next few days, and that she and her husband will have a very special Christmas.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Lessons Learned on Becoming a Writer
I’ve been trying to become a writer since May of this year, with some success. I’ve had a short story and two articles printed in Southern Distinction, a slick regional magazine. Two more articles are due out in January. I’ve also managed to get a monthly column in the Oconee Leader, a newspaper that relies on advertising and goes into every home in the county. I’ve had four columns so far. It’s a small start, but it’s a start, none the less. I decided to take up writing after giving serious thought to what I would do when my teaching career ends in May of next year. Since we’ll be moving to the mountains, and I’ll be spending most of my time looking after my folks, I wanted something I could do from home. I’ve always enjoyed writing. I’m a thinker and a dreamer anyway, a person who often lives inside my head. I figure I might as well write down my thoughts and get paid for them if I can.
There have been bumps along the way - mistakes made, rejections, and lessons learned through hard experience. My first interview was embarrassingly awkward. I called Daddy’s dog an Australian Shepherd; he claims it’s a Border Collie. (I’m still not entirely convinced he’s right about that.) I learned to make sure the batteries in my camera are fully charged before going off on an assignment. I was even asked, “What kind of reporter are you?” when I had no working camera to take a picture of my interviewee’s work. I learned that editors lose your work and ask you to take assignments at the last minute when their first choice says no. I learned that you don’t make money writing for a newspaper unless you are Rhonda Rich with a syndicated column appearing in papers all across the country.
And I learned that you must be very careful when writing about people you know, particularly members of your own family. I guess I shouldn’t write about family members at all, but that policy would deprive me of a wealth of material. My sisters should be glad they are not Rhonda Rich’s mother! I now know why Darryl Huckabee always refers to his wife as “my lovely wife, Lisa” before telling something on her. No wonder writers are often loners!
I also know that much of what gets sent in to editors never even gets a look. All the success I’ve experienced so far came about as a result of taking my work directly to the person who makes the final decisions about what will be published and what will not.
I’m not going to give up. In the past, if I’ve made a mistake or upset anyone, I’ve retreated into my comfort zone and cowered in fear of making another mistake. No one ever got anywhere doing that. I will learn from my mistakes and keep plowing through the difficulties. I’ve always admired the words of Theodore Roosevelt, taken from his “Man in the Arena” speech:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
The challenge is finding my voice and focus. There are many subjects of interest to me. As a government and economics teacher, I could write editorials. I could write about education. I can write stories about growing up on the farm, or human interest stories. My favorite piece so far is an article about a former drug addict who turned his life around and began helping those who now face the same problems that once bedeviled him. I could write about matters of spiritual interest or about home and family. Of course, I can always continue doing assigned pieces for magazines. With my degree in home economics, I am now writing a newspaper column about turning your house into a home. I am experimenting with all kinds of writing, but I guess eventually I will need to settle on one area in which I can specialize. Meanwhile, I will try any kind of writing and keep learning from my many mistakes.
There have been bumps along the way - mistakes made, rejections, and lessons learned through hard experience. My first interview was embarrassingly awkward. I called Daddy’s dog an Australian Shepherd; he claims it’s a Border Collie. (I’m still not entirely convinced he’s right about that.) I learned to make sure the batteries in my camera are fully charged before going off on an assignment. I was even asked, “What kind of reporter are you?” when I had no working camera to take a picture of my interviewee’s work. I learned that editors lose your work and ask you to take assignments at the last minute when their first choice says no. I learned that you don’t make money writing for a newspaper unless you are Rhonda Rich with a syndicated column appearing in papers all across the country.
And I learned that you must be very careful when writing about people you know, particularly members of your own family. I guess I shouldn’t write about family members at all, but that policy would deprive me of a wealth of material. My sisters should be glad they are not Rhonda Rich’s mother! I now know why Darryl Huckabee always refers to his wife as “my lovely wife, Lisa” before telling something on her. No wonder writers are often loners!
I also know that much of what gets sent in to editors never even gets a look. All the success I’ve experienced so far came about as a result of taking my work directly to the person who makes the final decisions about what will be published and what will not.
I’m not going to give up. In the past, if I’ve made a mistake or upset anyone, I’ve retreated into my comfort zone and cowered in fear of making another mistake. No one ever got anywhere doing that. I will learn from my mistakes and keep plowing through the difficulties. I’ve always admired the words of Theodore Roosevelt, taken from his “Man in the Arena” speech:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
The challenge is finding my voice and focus. There are many subjects of interest to me. As a government and economics teacher, I could write editorials. I could write about education. I can write stories about growing up on the farm, or human interest stories. My favorite piece so far is an article about a former drug addict who turned his life around and began helping those who now face the same problems that once bedeviled him. I could write about matters of spiritual interest or about home and family. Of course, I can always continue doing assigned pieces for magazines. With my degree in home economics, I am now writing a newspaper column about turning your house into a home. I am experimenting with all kinds of writing, but I guess eventually I will need to settle on one area in which I can specialize. Meanwhile, I will try any kind of writing and keep learning from my many mistakes.
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