"180 Days"/ A Public School Teacher's Prayer

 Lord, each of my students was created by You, birthed safely into the world, and kept alive until now.  

You call them "wonderful".

And now, in Your sovereignty, You have placed them in my classroom for 180 days...to be loved, appreciated, taught, challenged, encouraged.  

You gave me the gift of teaching so that I can give them the gift of knowledge.  

You will love each one for their whole lives, but you have tasked me to love each one for 180 days.  

On each of these days, 

    Help me to respect them,

    be gracious to them,

    treat them with dignity,

    assume and expect the best of them, 

    enjoy them,

    and become a safe place for them.

I will forget most of their names once they leave me, but You will forever remember their names, because You chose their names.

In this public school, for the next 180 days, no law or authority can stop me from praying for them or loving them in Jesus' name.  I get to show them what YOU are like.

Please fill me, enable me, empower me to love each student well on each of these 180 days.

I hope this prayer resonates with my teacher friends out there.  For every teacher, it is a privilege to do such meaningful work as we get to do every day.  What we lack in financial compensation, we receive in personal fulfillment.  But for those of us who love Jesus, it is especially significant work, because we are under-cover agents of the grace of God in each student's life, whether they know it or not, whether they want it or not.  We are pushing back the darkness.  Just try to stop us.

A Mama's Thoughts on an Emptying Nest

This post is especially dedicated to my fellow mommy friends who are watching their high-schoolers leave for college soon.

It is mid-June.  Right now, Cate, my rising college sophomore, is at Camp All-American, investing her summer time into middle school girls.  Rihanna, my rising college freshman, is working a morning shift at the Maple Street Biscuit Cafe, and will no doubt head back out later to her late evening shift at the Fat Shack.  Will, my six foot-24inch high school senior, is standing by to save lives at the aforementioned Camp All-American, while also scoring an amazing tan.  (My gorgeous, blue-eyed life guard.)  Alana, the "baby" (?!) of the family, is still asleep midday, but soon will wake up and head to varsity cheer practice.  Babe is his basement office, project managing the heck out of Sophos Internet Security.  And I am here on the couch with my only companion, Tessa Joy the chihuahua.  And people, I am experiencing a very foreign feeling...boredom.  I don't think that I have been bored since 2006, the year before I birthed Cate.  Do y'all remember boredom?  It is weird.  But kind of nice.  I digress.

This boredom has me thinking about the Burwell nest.  It certainly isn't empty, but it IS emptying.  This nest has been messy, loud, at times chaotic, but happy and blessed for 19 years, and the fact that it is quieting down makes me want to CRY.  (Thankfully, my super-duper meds will prevent that!). There is this part of me that is so very proud of my big three out working and serving others. They drove their cars to work after packing their lunches (and dressing themselves!), and they just don't need me like they used to.  But isn't that what I wanted?!  Ah yes, women are so complicated. I am happy, sad, and proud, all at once.  Any other Mama Birds out there, sadly and joyfully watching their kiddos start to fly away?  (Should we meet for group therapy?  Goodness knows, I am free.)  Emptying nests, like every stage of parenting, are not for the faint of heart.  

"They" told me this would happen.  "They" said, "Enjoy these days of a busy, messy house filled with kids, because you will miss it someday."  And I was like, "Um...hmmm...no I won't."  And, crap.  "They" were right.  

As always, my theology informs this new chapter of my life.  I remind myself that God sees our nest.  He loves us all dearly.  He is sovereignly working his good plans in each of us Burwells.  And when the nest is finally empty, He will show Mama Bird what to do next.  

If I am not dead, then I am not done, to put it bluntly.  

And you aren't done either.  Lord, please show all of us what paths you want us to walk in.  Please comfort those who are like me, watching their babies pack for college in a few months.  Come sit with us--in our nests--and show us what you want for us.

She Did it Her Way

My mother-in-law, Joan Fay Berman Burwell, mom-of-Babe, left the earth on November 28 of this year.  And do it her way, she did.  It used to drive me crazy.  I know, don't speak ill of the dead.  But it did.  In fact, she so much knew it of herself (that she did it her way) that she planned for the Sinatra song to be performed at her memorial service.  I was so proud of my daughter Cate, who pulled it off beautifully.  As an aside, Cate was the second way that I won major points with Joan.  We named her Catherine (after me) Joan, and Joan was thrilled.  Come on, all my sistas-in-law, you too could have been the favorite!  (The first way that I won major points was that I was MUCH better than Troy's past girlfriend, just in case you were wondering.). The first way that Joan won major points with me was by birthing Troy Burwell, #themostamazingbabeever.  That was really all she ever had to do to win me over.  

At her service, we shared some hilarious stories about Joan, who sometimes was a bit naive for her own good.  For example, she visited her doctor once to diagnose some neck pain.  After the doctor's question, "What brought you in today?", she put her hand to her neck and chest and said, "My scrotum's been killing me!"  At another visit, the doctor asked the typical litany of questions, ending with, "Are you having extra marital sex?"  She got quiet and introspective, and then she replied, "Well...how much is too much?"  

Also at the service, we shared how she had found the love of her life in Dudley Burwell, how she had raised five amazing kids, and how she could cook like a Michelin chef.  What I wish we had talked about more was what an amazing grandmother she was.  For my kids, for most of their growing up, she was the only grandmother involved in their lives.  She came to Atlanta to visit newborns, to see musicals, and to attend birthday parties.  Atlanta Hartsfield is not for the faint of heart, and that she navigated that airport and all that is involved with travel did nothing but impress me.  She came bearing gifts, always.  She played games with the kids, watched movies with them, and let them tell her stories.  She never forgot a birthday.  She came with us to the beach many times, even when she was so weak that she could barely walk from the condo to her beach chair.  She was 91 on her last beach trip.  I am sorry, but if I am still around at 91, y'all have fun at the beach without me.  I will be in my comfy bed at home, watching Netflix and petting my Chihuahua.  But not her.  "Her way" meant that her grandkids were that important to her.  I never had a grandmother who cared as much about me as Joan cared about her grandkids.  My kids don't quite realize how blessed they were.  

Troy did such a good job saying goodbye to his mama.  He spent the last two weeks of her life with her in Jackson, Mississippi.  He sat by her side, prayed over her, sang over her (poor lady), and played worship music for her every day, several times a day, for two weeks.  We all came to tell her goodbye, and joined Troy at her side for days.  Finally, we had to get back home, and so we left.  In typical Joan ("I do it my way") fashion, she passed away just as we were driving back into Atlanta.  I think that she did not want her kids and grandkids have to watch her die.  

Joan, I hope you are having the time of your life worshiping the Lord and catching up with Dudley.  We miss you, but we are so happy that you are not living in pain anymore.  And one more HUGE thank you...for birthing that fifth child, the one that I got to marry.  Oh you did SO well on him!

Our Own "Gilligan's Island" Adventure

 I know many of you will remember the 70's show "Gilligan's Island", kind of a comedic version of the ABC hit "Lost".  The Burwells recently had a two-week adventure, sponsored and planned by our own Troy "Babe" Burwell, and at times it did feel a bit out of control and not what we expected, perhaps akin to what Gilligan sometimes felt.  95% of the trip was great.  Please don't ask about the other 5%.  Family members who attended have already been asked to sign an NDA on that one.  

Our great, big adventure started in Nairobi, Kenya, where we visited church and family friend Sheila.  Next, we were on to South Africa to see my sister Jennifer and her wonderful South African husband Graham.  Finally, we came back to Nairobi and headed to a beach resort on the Kenyan coast.

As a gift to Troy, for planning our trip and for being a great dad, I have composed a song to celebrate the trip.  As you read the lyrics, try to sing it to the tune of the theme song of "Gilligan's Island".  (As a refresher on this song, check out www.youtube.com/watch?v=cfR7qxtgCgY )

    Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale

    A tale of many sights

    It started from the A-T-L

    on the first of 8 long flights.

    The dad was a very excited man

    the mom was...not so sure

    6 passengers took off in May

    on a 16 day tour, a 16 day tour

    Flight 1 to Paris--8 hours long

    with movies, shows and naps

    And then 8 more to Nairobi

    so long, but no mishaps!

    Finally the fam set ground on this Africa foreign land

    With Superfun Dad

    the Mama too

    the high school grad and her pics

    the funny one

    the cheerleader and her gorgeous sis

    Hello, Africa!

    So this is the tale of the Burwell fam

    They're here for a long, long time

    They'll hang with Sheila and her cows

    giraffes and four wheel rides, giraffes and four wheel rides.

    Sheila and her driver too

    will do their very best

    To keep the Burwells entertained

    It is quite a Jambo test.

    The next leg of the trip, my friends

    Flight number 3

    Johannesberg, South Africa

    Jen and Graham to see.

    With Superfun Dad

    the Mama too

    the high school grad and her pics

    the funny one

    the cheerleader and her gorgeous sis

    More of Africa!

    We're introduced to Indian food

    Then drive a long, long way

    headed to the Kruger

    for an African sa-far-ray, an African sa-far-ray!

    A great big house greets us there

    and even bigger beasts.

    Ku-du, bush buck, and zebras

    We feed them delicious treats.

    Each day we head out in two cars

    And drive and drive and drive.

    Pull out those bi-nocs cause we see

    the famous Big 5, the famous Big 5.

    Kruger favorites must include

    the porch and relaxed moods,

    Time to spend with Graham and Jen,

    And scrumptious African foods.

    Finally it's time for 

    flight number four

    Joberg back to Nairobi    

    And Sheila's here for more.

    We Jambo Jet to Diani

    And stay at a fancy place

    two perfect days of beach and rest

    and monkeys in our space!  Yes, monkeys in our face!

    Flight six and seven and eight are hard

    We fly and fly and fly.

    We all just want to get back home 

    To our Johns Creek paradise.

    With Superfun Dad

    the Mama too

    the high school grad and her pics

    the funny one

    the cheerleader and her gorgeous sis

    Goodbye, Africa!

Thanks, Babe, for creating this adventure for us!  We all whined and complained at various points along the way, but you helped us make lifelong family memories!  We love you.  

But please, next time, can we do like 3 or 4 flights instead of 8?!  

Cate is Hours Away From Graduating!

 My baby girl is about to walk the stage and get her diploma.  Yes, the same one that started kindergarten just last week.  (Or so it seems.). I am so proud of her accomplishments.  She graduates something cum laude.  (It's been a long week--I am not sure on the details.). She has probably got a semester's worth of college credits under her belt already.  She is bravely moving to the freshman (freshwoman?) dorm at University of North Georgia.  This dorm sounds like the ones of yesteryear--like, say, 1990 Berry College.  She will share the room with her bestie, and share a hall bathroom with, um, many others!  Dorm life is the best, and she will love it.  I warned her, "You go to the bathroom to brush your teeth, and you are there for 30 minutes because you were catching up with four hall mates, hearing all the tea!"  It is like nothing else.  

The best thing about Cate is that God has given her a strong faith, and she lives it.  She does not just talk it, read it, and learn about it, although she does do that as well.  But she lives a life of love toward her parents, her siblings, and her friends.  Some man is going to be lucky to get her someday, and she will raise little children that change the world.  Just the predictions of a very biased, but usually right, mom.

For fun, I am including a limerick poem that I wrote for her 18th birthday.  Two important things to know so that you can enjoy this prize-winning poetry experience to the utmost: 1, her middle name is pronounced Jo-Ann.  2, "Joshua" is a reference to singer Joshua Bassett, Cate's star crush.

To My Favorite Birth Child, Catherine Joan Burwell

There once was a daughter named Cate

She was born eleven days late

Petite as could be

Fit my arms perfectly

This was the one for whom I'd prayed

There once was a girl, Catie Jo

With words she was always a pro

Cracker was her first

And many a Bible verse

My, her vocabulary did grow

There once was a girl named Joan

I swear I am her biggest fan

The girl writes SONGS

With a keyboard she belongs

And a pink ukelele in hand

There once was a Mini-me-a

But more talented than I'll ever be-a

Blond hair, blue eyes, big brain!

It's true, she's my twin

Did you see her in this year's Mamamia?

There once was a girl named Burwell

This one, I know her quite well

Her childhood's at an end

But she is becoming my friend

And good news, Joshua, she's legal!

Growing Closer to God...At Public School?! Is That Even LEGAL??

 Yes.  And Yes.

Public schools are allowed to have extracurricular clubs that relate to the faiths of the students.  At Taylor Road Middle School, we have the Jewish Club, the Muslim Club, and FCA, which is short for Fellowship of Christian Athletes.  Ironically, the most unathletic human being you know (me) is the teacher sponsor of this club.  Yes, God shows his sense of humor yet again!  

Really, if I am being honest, most of the kids who come to FCA don't even know what the acronym stands for; they just know that it is the Christian club.  A few years ago, my boss asked me to consider sponsoring this club.  I thought to myself, "You are asking me to share the love and salvation of Jesus with a host of middle school kids...twist my arm."  

Yes, people, we are talking about our Lord and Savior in room 114 of Taylor Road, two Friday mornings per month.  And we are praying.  Yep, prayer in schools.  It's ba-a-a-a-c-c-k!  

One of the values of the FCA ministry (FCA is actually an international ministry!) is raising up leaders.  Each year, I ask 8-10 of our kids to commit to being FCA leaders.  This requires two things.  One, they meet with me two Thursday mornings per month so that we can plan and pray over the Friday meetings.  Two, they serve during the Friday meetings by greeting students, welcoming new faces, leading games, and even straightening up the room when we are done.  Along with the student leaders, there are Taylor Road staff and fellow teachers that help lead the club, from set-up to coordinating breakfasts to "crowd control" during our meetings.  Thank y'all for all you do!!

Each meeting includes breakfast, games (and prizes!), and a speaker.  Our speakers come from three places mainly: the youth staff of Perimeter Church (my local church), the youth staff of North Point Community Church (the great big, Jesus-loving church just down the road from here), and fellow Christian teachers here at Taylor Road.  A shout out to these speakers who wake up way too early on a Friday morning, battle traffic and carpool, and come hang out with kids.  The speakers are the ones who bring the words of life.  They are teaching the kids about God as Creator, Provider, Listener, and Rescuer.  They are engaging, hilarious, and they work for cheap.  (Okay, free.  They work for free.  Rewards in heaven, people!)

The true and unsung FCA heroes, though, are the FCA moms!  These ladies sign up in two's to provide breakfast for the FCA meetings.  (Fun fact: the free and yummy breakfast might be the biggest reason that people of all faiths are willing to try out FCA!  Many a Jewish student has come and checked us out in hopes of scoring a Krispy Kreme or two while they are there.)  I want to give a shout-out to the FCA moms: we could not do this without you.  Having been given a budget of...wait for it...zero dollars, everything we do must be donated.  Y'all being generous means that 50-70 kids hear the gospel every other Friday with big smiles on their donut-crumb-crusted faces.  

We are at the end of our third year of FCA here at TRMS.  Thank you, Lord, for all that you have done for us.  I pray that you are changing these kids, truth by truth, so that they see the world as Yours and themselves as Yours.  Please keep doing it.  

When I first started sponsoring FCA, I thought that it was something that I was doing for God. In true God-fashion, he quickly showed me that it was something he was doing for me...giving me great joy in being able to express my faith in a public school setting, watching him work little miracles two Friday mornings per month, getting to share truth with kids during what is arguably the hardest three years of their lives thus far.  Y'all.  Can y'all believe that he lets us do fun things like this?!  He is just too good to us.

A Narrative Re-telling of My First Date--20 years ago--with the Jewish Bartender

 Me and the Jewish Bartender 

Twenty years ago, I did something that would have shocked my younger self:  I married a Jewish bartender.   It is a tale of long-awaited (and somewhat belated) true love.   

In my early 30’s, I found myself one of the only single girls my age in an ocean of married, happy, pro-creating people.  I was treading water, death-gripping a life preserver called Holding out Hope for True Love.  But sometimes it felt as if it is slipping out of my hands.  Twelve times the bridesmaid, but never the bride.   

Then one June day, a Monday lunch changed everything.   

Sauntering into Garrison’s Steak House, looking less nervous than I felt, I was there to meet a new (and adorable) acquaintance, Troy.  We had chatted here and there, and I was thrilled when he finally called and invited me to a lunch date.  We sat and unfolded our menus, and I stole a good look at that cute face and recognized--for the first time--a crooked smile.  I found out later that a childhood scar from a dog attack caused this gorgeous incongruity.  Ah, even his flaws were handsome.   

We bantered about work, family, friendships, and life in the suburbs of Atlanta.  My cheeks hurt from smiling.  In the course of conversation, I discovered that this fellow Presbyterian is Jewish by origin.  His eyes lit up as he began to share the details of his unexpected conversion.   

He began, “So... I used to be a bartender.” 

I must admit, this revelation was not what I expected from a conservative, un-tattooed, well-shaven young man.  A self-described modern prodigal son, he asked his parents for his inheritance so that he could realize his dream of opening a restaurant, then watched it all drain away in less than a year.  No more “Bar and Grill”, no more inheritance.  But what was left behind, he admitted, was even better: a desperate need for a different life.  I heard him say aloud things that I felt and believed.  Before dessert was even ordered, I was smitten.   

I did something very out of character (later in our relationship, he realized just how out of character this was), and I asked him to join me that night (yes, THAT night) for a baseball game.   

“So, the second date in one day?” he wondered aloud. 

“Yep.  I have two free tickets.  And killer seats.”  I offered. 

“Uh, let me think about it.”  He looked unsure.  “Hmm.  Well.” 

Panic gripped me for a moment.  Had I read him wrong?  Was he about to turn me down and end this amazing thing before it even geot started? 

I mentally reviewed the facts, “I am adorable, if I do say so myself, and he IS into me.  That smile says it all. Surely, surely, he likes me.”  

With renewed courage, I unabashedly spelled it out for him, “Here is the situation.  You have a cute girl who wants to spend more time with you...and free tickets to a sports event.  Are you really going to say no to her?” 

“Well, when you put it that way...” he chuckled, “You make a good point.” 

Later, on our second-date-in-one-day, the game was rain-delayed for three hours, but we barely noticed.  Providentially, those “killer seats” provided shelter from the steady downpour, so we were free to gaze into each other's eyes and share dreams and hopes and goals without distraction. 

Truly, I had to stop myself from putting my head on his shoulder and whispering, “Where have you been all my life?”   

That day—that plain Monday in June—changed, well, everything.  Soon after a wedding will be planned.  A home will be made.  A daughter, in time, will be born.  Three other children will be adopted into a loving home.  And two people have a new best friend.   

All because True Love found me and the Jewish Bartender.