"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!