Back to School

As tends to be the case on this blog, by the time I get around to writing a post, I feel obliged to preface it with “this post has been a long time coming.”

The Olathe North Eagle

[Picks up pencil, prepares paper, clears throat] “This post has been a long time coming.  So long, in fact, I’m not exactly sure which past even should serve as the starting point.”

Maybe I start in the fall of 2018, when, as a French II teacher at Olathe North High School, I reassumed the role of classroom teacher for the first time since I fled George Melcher elementary 8 years prior, with my tail between my legs, my head down and in the midst of the first and only nervous breakdown of my life.  As that fall semester and that long-term substitute position both came to an end, my supervising principal gave the direct advice to “finish your teaching certification as quickly as possible because a high school classroom is where you’re meant to be, you clearly have the teaching and relational skill set to thrive in that setting.”

Maybe I start in May of 2018, on a drive up north to visit my parents for the weekend, when my then girlfriend advised, “you’ve been talking about wanting to finish this French degree since we met.  I think you need to go ahead and finish it because, if you don’t, you’ll likely regret it the rest of your life.” Insightful woman, that wife of mine.

Maybe I start in the fall of 2017, when a friend of mine who is two years older than me started his Masters of Education program at Rockhurst University.  He started the program at 40 and by age 42 had secured a teaching position.  Two years later, I enrolled in evening classes in the same program, knowing that I was young enough to still put in a solid career as a teacher but old enough that my window for doing so was rapidly closing.

Tailgating before a Blazer football game
fall of 2006

Maybe I start in October of 2011, when I walked away from the Kansas City Missouri School District and Teach For America, regretting every having fallen for the recruiting propaganda of TFA, thus bypassing the traditional teacher-training program at Rockhurst (the same program from which I’m set to graduate in about six weeks) and wondering whether I’d ever again have the opportunity to teach.

Maybe I start in the fall of 2010, when I’m living across the street from Gardner-Edgerton High School, taking French classes in the evening, pushing my son in a stroller across the GEHS parking lot during afternoon walks, tailgating before Friday night Blazer football games and wondering whether dreaming about having the opportunity to one day coach football and teach French at GEHS.

2007 season

Maybe I start in the fall of 2008, when I took my first French class with Lorie Beckum at MNU.  At the time, I just wanted a new hobby and learning a new language seemed as good of a hobby as anything, especially after experiencing the disappointment of not getting to coach again that fall.  I do however, remember telling a person in our church who asked why I’d take the time to learn a new language, “I’m not quite sure why but it seems like the right thing to do.” 

Maybe I start in the fall of 2007, when I had the incredible opportunity to coach the Wheatridge Middle School 7^th grade JV football team.  Watching those kids progress from barely being able to line up correctly to winning their last few games was an experience to which I’ve kept hoping to be able to return, though many times over the past decade it hasn’t seemed very likely. 

Maybe I start over 20 years ago, when I’m a college student at MidAmerica Nazarene University, taking classes to prepare me to be a pastor while telling anyone who’d listen, “if I wasn’t going to be a pastor, I’d be a high school history teacher and football coach.”

All of the above options are great possibilities.  They have all been steps in the journey leading me to a brand-new (while surprisingly familiar) starting point.  After giving it some thought though, I think I’ll start my story just a few weeks in the past.  It was the Tuesday before Spring Break.  Just a regular day in my semester long-assignment as a Student Teacher in a French classroom at Olathe East High School.  Little did I, or anyone else, realize that would actually be the last Tuesday of the school year as, just one week later, the Governor of Kansas would issue a decree closing all Kansas schools for the remainder of the year.  

In the midst of that school day, I interviewed at a nearby middle school for a Social Studies position.  It was a great opportunity. I’d be working with some friends, for one of the best administrators in the district, with the opportunity to coach football again, as well as the stated hope that I’d also consider coaching track and helping sponsor the theatre department.  I came away from that interview excited about the possibility of teaching in that school.

After school was out that day, I had another interview.  This interview was at Gardner-Edgerton High School for a French position.  As I was driving from Olathe to Gardner, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “this was my dream job.  Yeah, it was about nine years ago but there was a time in my life in which I believed the chance to teach French at GEHS a possibility too good to even hope for.”  I found out during the interview that while coaching would be a possibility with this position, it wasn’t an expectation, which would certainly render my first year of teaching much more manageable. 

Later that night, per the advice given during one of the interviews, Sarah and I discussed which option would be the best one to take should I be offered both positions.  Actually, a better description of what happened would be to state that I talked out all the positives and negative while Sarah listened, giving advice or providing affirmations when she deemed it prudent.  It was really a matter of choosing between two great options.  It was a matter of finding out where my “true self” (to quote the book I’ll reference below) was leading. 

On one side stood my love of history, desire to coach football again, the chance to teach in the district where my son attends school and idealism regarding the chance to help middle schoolers successfully navigate that identity-forming period of their lives.  Not only is history such a natural subject for me that, despite not having taken upper-level history classes in college, I was able to ace the National Praxis Content exam, middle school social studies was the bait which Teach For America used to hook me into their program before switching my placement to elementary school when it was already too late for me to back out. 

Proud to be a Blazer... again

On the other side stood my love of all things French, the chance to lead student tours of France, my natural ease at relating to high school students, the professional challenge of continuing to improve my French proficiency, the opportunity to teach alongside friends I’d made from Gardner Community Theatre and the chance to fulfill what just a few years ago I’d considered to be my dream job. 

By the time I talked myself into making the following announcement, the lovely and intelligent ginger with whom I have the amazing privilege of sharing my life simply gave a knowing smile.  “I could always choose to teach history in the future, should I later decide that’s what I want to do.  This might, however be my one opportunity to teach High School French.  I’m fairly certain that if I pass up this opportunity, I’m likely to regret it for the rest of my teaching career (due to a limited number of teaching positions, “losing” my French, etc.)”.   The fact that Sarah’s knowing smile seemed to radiate less from her lips and more from her eyes revealed she’d been patiently waiting for me to come to the conclusion which she’d reached long before me.  Looking back, I realize she’d been discreetly clearing the way for my head to agree with what my heart had long ago decided.  I couldn’t NOT teach French. 

Two nights later, at the Lenexa Rec Center (a place I greatly miss during the Coronavirus lockdown) I was watching a French TV show on the history of Paris while striding in place on the elliptical when I was struck by a profound gratitude over the upcoming opportunity to teach French language and history.  While thinking of how I could possibly use this video for an upper level French class I was simultaneously relishing the assurance that I’d made the right decision.  In just a few months, I’ll be back in yet another French classroom.  This time however, I’ll be facing in the opposite direction.  

KU, fall of 2019

One final thought, let’s just state the unstated obvious; I wouldn’t be standing at the starting line of this mid-life career move had I not experienced some unexpected turns and face-planting failures along the way.  At the advice of a friend who has talked me through many of those turns and failures, I’ve just finished “Falling Upward” A Spirituality for the Two Halvesof Life.”  I’m actually a bit embarrassed to admit this is the first of Richard Rohr’s books which I’ve ever read.  

A cold January 2019 day on the
campus of the University of Kansas.
I took this pic thinking I'd be
writing the "Back to
School" blog post soon.

“That is why I’ve called [the second half of life and this book] ‘falling upward.’  Those who are ready will see that this message is self-evident: those who have gone ‘down’ are the only ones who understand ‘up.’  Those who have somehow fallen and fallen well are the only ones who can go up and not misuse ‘up.’”

“Sooner or later, if you are on any classic ‘spiritual schedule,’ some event, person, death, idea or relationship will enter your life that you simply cannot deal with,  using your present skill set, your acquired knowledge, or your strong willpower.  Spiritually speaking, you will be, you must be, lead to the edge of your own private resources… and you must ‘lose’ at something… let go of your egocentric preoccupations, and go on the further and larger journey. 
In the end, we do not so much reclaim what we have lost as discover a significantly new self in and through the process.  Until we are lead to the limits of our present game plan, and find it to be insufficient, we will not search out or find the real source, the deep well, or the constantly flowing stream.” 

As I enter the second half of life, I’m awe-struck by the positive turn my life has taken.  My marriage is far surpassing my wildest hopes for a primary relationship  My relationship with my son is the best it’s ever been and is getting better.  My relationship with my two step-children has developed into a place of comfort and familiarity.  I’ve made a peace with my past which now serves as a foundation for the future.  Finally, in a few short months I’ll be starting my “dream job.”  I’m giddy with anticipation over the second half of life.  Of course, that’s assuming COVID19 doesn’t erase humanity from the face of the earth…

So I Try to Play the Piano

I took piano lessons from first grade up till it just fizzled out sometime during my junior year of high school.  My late piano teacher was also my Bible Quizzing coach (and pastor's wife) and she said I could be forgiven for letting piano slide since I was memorizing so many Bible verses.

So I had a rather prolonged break from piano, lasting from around 1994 till the summer of 2016, when I bought Dawson a keyboard so he could start his own lessons.  The first song of which I downloaded the sheet music was "Sur le fil" from the "Amelie" soundtrack, which might be the most amazing soundtrack in the known world.  Enjoy.  As a side note, one of my favorite things to do on this planet is to wander through the Northern arrondissements of Paris where "Amelie" was filmed while listening to the soundtrack, highlighted by a walk through the energetic and colorful  Gare du nord.  Paris, tu me manque, but I digress...

In case you're wondering... sitting down at a keyboard again, after 22 years, is a bit more complicated than remembering how to ride a bike.  I had to Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge and FACE for awhile, but it did eventually come back to me.  Now, it's one of the great pleasures in my life, challenging yet rewarding, difficult yet therapeutic.  Here are a few of the songs I've managed to record, along with some explanations and apologies.  It took me a couple of months to become even partly proficient at that "you've gotta be kidding me, that's fast" section toward the end.





The videos aren't quite embedding correctly, so I'll share the actual links, too.
Video

This next video really shows the top end, as well as the limits, of my piano playing ability.  I've never been one who can play a piece perfectly.  I guess I just lack the finger dexterity.  90% proficiency is usually the best I can manage.  While I simply can't avoid mistakes, I'm at least creative in finding new ones to make each time I play a song, the exact same song, mind you.  I also get a bit nervous playing for a camera, which is evident in this video.  I'm copying in some advice from a good friend who is both a concert pianist and a travelling ninja.  I've had moments in which I've played with the joyful abandon Denise describes below, but certainly never in front of a camera.

 "...Another thing I'd say is to just play, worry less about making mistakes :) Hard to do I know.  But sometimes if you just go with it, amazing things will happen. Remember, Robert Schumann said "When you play, never mind who listens to you." Beethoven said "to play a wrong note is insignificant. To play without passion is inexcusable." Of course, another interpretation is that "to play a wrong timidly is a mistake. To play a wrong note with authority is an interpretation." :) Don't remember who said that but I like it."




Video

"And now for something completely different."  Pop music

It's amazing how much more difficult it is to play pop music than classical music.

I'm slightly hesitant to share this one for several reasons.  First of all, it's not great, not at all.  I was able to get a few parts down but I could never get the timing right in certain sections, particularly on the bridge.  I eventually got tired of working on it, though and wanted to get it recorded so I could move on, which I did, actually throwing the sheet music in the recycling and washing my hands of the song.
Which leads to the other reason this song isn't great to share, it was meant to be a birthday present but it never got delivered to the intended recipient.  Just as an interaction with that Intended Recipient prompted me to do some writing on this blog, another brief interaction with said Intended Recipient prompted me to work on this song.  It's as if some emotions were working themselves from my heart, through my arms, out my fingers and eventually into the previously mentioned recycling bin.
I made the video, though, so I might as well share it.




Video

The good thing about the above video is that the little bit of singing I actually do in the video resides much more in my vocal sweet spot than the next video I'm going to share.  I'm going to share it anyway, though as it's one of my all-time favorite songs, even if it pushes (let's be honest, it exceeds) my vocal range.

The particular arrangement I'm going to play comes from the musical Moulin Rouge but the actual song predates that musical by several decades.  I don't know of any other song that captures the aching beauty one experiences while wandering Montmartre late at night.  Or maybe in a broader sense, it captures the maddening pleasure of a city that (to paraphrase another old French songwriter) is like a lover who tantalizes you while you're in her presence but forgets your face as soon as you leave.  But there I go again, missing Paris...

Maybe it's my voice cracking or the lack of an accordion but my playing of this song won't illicit anything near to the depth of feeling brought out by the original.  Nonetheless, I still greatly enjoyed learning this song as it's the first song I've been able to both play and sing. 

Also, I apologize if my introducing the song in French comes off as pretentious (is it ever possible to speak French and not come off as pretentious?), but I couldn't resist.



Video

Finally, please allow me to be a braggy dad for a minute.  My son is quite the piano player, when I can actually get him to practice.  He has a musical ear that I simply don't have.  Not only can he play a song by ear after just a few tries, he even composes his own short songs.  Of course, that's no surprise, as his biological uncle is a recording artist and his biological grandma is herself a piano teacher.  Dawson fights me on piano but he's too talented for me to let him quit when he's this young.  As the parents of my above mentioned concert pianist friend would tell her as a child, "no adult regrets being made to learn piano as a child."



Video



Video

Opening Day 2018

There's a buzz in the air, the fountains are flowing blue, the Truman Sports Complex parking is full of tailgaters and hardly anyone in the city is working this afternoon because we're all celebrating the return of our Boys in Blue.

Sad, minor side note:  The season couldn't have started much worse, with a 44 degree day bringing a 14-7 loss and news of Salvy going on the 6 week DL.

There are two things to get excited about for this upcoming season:
1) I  will still get chills when I see the World Championship banner flying in the outfield
2) The team will be so bad this year that I'll be able to find $5 tickets by July

Today is the perfect day to remind everyone of Terence's line in Field of Dreams:
"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.  America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers.  It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again.  But baseball has marked the time.  This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray.  It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again.  Oh people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."

And if you would rather hear the actual voice of James Earl Jones, rather than just hear it in your head (as I do), then you can click here.

I've heard it said that as men get older, their interest in football wanes and their interest in baseball grows.  I don't know whether that's true of all male sports fans, but that's definitely been true of me.  I didn't even follow baseball till my first summer in KC, the summer after my sophomore year, when I finally began to understand the everyday enjoyment of the sport which includes the pleasure of having the play-by-play in the background on a beautiful summer evening and how the pop of the ball hitting the catcher's glove on an AM radio is the perfect soundtrack to summer.  By the pennant race of 2003, I was being sucked in but I wasn't fully hooked, however till I began to understand the numbers of baseball.  I owe my fairly recent appreciation of the nerdy side of baseball to Rany Jazayerli and his no longer active blog, Rany on the Royals.  With the exception of the postseason, baseball is a game of consistency and patience while football is a game of short and intense bursts of emotion.

My last  year of playing baseball was the summer before the first fall in which I was old enough to play middle school tackle football.  I was never coordinated enough to be good at baseball but I was just strong enough to earn a small football scholarship to a small university.  I think that I needed to put my horrible little league career behind me before I could fully embrace the sport as an adult fan.  To put it another way, I had to make peace with being a sucky baseball player as a kid before I could become a serious baseball fan as an adult.

To reference another idea I've heard but whose source I can't recall, sports exist to create a natural and easy bonding between father and son.  Of course, the most likely reason sports exist is for gambling on the outcomes, but I digress...  I can certainly attest to that in my own life.  I've been able to bond with both my dad and my son over Hawkeye and Royals games.  Though more over Hawk games with my dad and more over Royals games with my son, who once told me, "Dad, I was born in KC,  you were born in Iowa, so I'm a Royals fan, not a Hawkeye fan."  I believe that idea could be expanded however, to include bonding between friends.  Some of my best memories and most profound conversations have occurred during game watch parties, pre-game tailgates and (most importantly) road trips to sporting venues across the country.  In fact, several years ago, a high school friend sent me a note thanking me for sharing Christ with him during our sophomore year.  That conversation happened, naturally, on the drive home from an Iowa basketball game (a miserable loss to Northwestern, if I remember correctly, which I likely do). 

Of course, that's the main theme of Field of Dreams, the relationship (or lack thereof) between a father and son.  I'm glad that my relationship with my dad and my son doesn't revolve completely around sports, but I'm glad a shared love of sports has enhanced our respective relationships. I can honestly say, though that without a shared love of sports, I'm not as close to some of my closest friends as I actually am.

With that in mind, I'm going to share some of my favorite  Opening Day memories along with my favorite baseball pictures.

2004:  Despite having standing room only tickets, the day started and ended perfectly.  A group of close friends used my portable grill for tailgating before the game and convinced me to not leave in the 8th inning, when the Royals were down 8-1 to the Sox.  A miracle rally, which was capped off by a walk-off homerun, resulted in us jumping around hysterically in the concourse behind the 1st base line.  I jumped so hysterically, in fact, that I gave myself a deep bone bruise on my knee, making it hard to bend said knee for about two months.  I'd never been so glad to be a Fed Ex driver, rather than a UPS driver, as UPS trucks are sticks and FedEx trucks are automatic.

2009:  I was offered an Opening Day ticket by a dear man in the church I was pastoring at the time, for whom I had recently preached his wife's funeral.  The day was cold and the Royals were spanked by the Yankees, but it was a wonderful time of helping a dear friend through his grief while not actually mentioning his unmentionably sudden loss.  I believe there was a lot of grace passing between us that day.

2014:  This Opening Day I decided to embrace what most Parisians could tell just by glancing at me, no matter how hard I tried to mask it by sporting a man purse and scarves, that I'm an unfashionable American who feels most comfortable wearing jeans and a sports t-shirt.  This was actually the first day of the two weeks my parents came to visit us and as I was leading them into Saint Chapelle, a fellow KC native saw my shirt and called out, "Go Royals." I'll never forget that one, how the buzz of Opening Day can extend even to another country, at least among American tourists.

The formatting on this blog site is so complicated that I'm not even gonna try to put this in chronological order.

"Celebrating" the extra inning, WS clinching win against the Mets in November, 2015

Celebrating the World Title with hundreds of thousands of other Kansas Citians

Godbrothers at The K

Kids Day at The K, May 2015

Dad and enjoying a game on Father's Day, 2016

A great night in the Southside of Chicago

Dawson's first trip to The K, June 2011.  I felt kinda guilty trying to teach him to like a team as bad as the Royals, circa 2011

Royals at White Sox, June 2016

Catching a game where the Royals had clinched the WS the previous year.  Notice Dawson has on the WS Champs shirt while I decided to stick with the much safer, Hawkeye shirt, as we'd attended a Hawkeye game at Rutgers earlier in the day.

Enjoying the divisional race, June 2017

A baseball camp with Royals HOFer, Frank White

Hanging with my childhood hero, The Wizard of Oz

Royals at Cardinals, August 2017

Quite possibly the best weekend ever, June 2012

Watching the MLB internet stream of the hearbreak that was game 7 of the 14 WS the morning after it actually happened, Busingen, Germany.  My yells when Gordon tied it up scared Dawson and I might've cried two tears when Perez fouled out to end the game.

San Francisco, May 2013 with the biggest baseball nerds and one of the best people I know

Royals at Twins, June 2015

June 2017

July 14, catching a game during our time between France and Germany

One of my all-time favorite pics

When your close friend of several decades visits from CA, you have to go to The K with him and his boys

A Necessary Season

I lost my composure the other day.  At Applebees.  Embarrassed to be crying in public but never-the-less unable to stop the tears.
It was about two months ago, I was having lunch with a pastor friend and sharing some of the struggles my son was having.  The reality that my failed marriage brings pain to the most important person in my life was more than I could handle at that particular moment.

My friend went on to share some of the wounds he's had to deal with as a result of his relationship with his own father.  My friend then shared something a counselor shared with him as he and his own son were working through some struggles of their own, "Your son doesn't need a perfect father, just the opportunity to understand you."

Dawson and I have been working on some things; I've been working to build my parenting skills and Dawson has been seeing a play therapist.  Our relationship won't be perfect, but neither is it going anywhere.  He's my boy, will always be my boy and I'm committed to improving our relationship.

Yet... fear still occasionally sneaks in.  Fear that I've done irreparable damage to my son and that our relationship will eventually devolve into something much less than the love-filled ideal I have for the two of us.  Fear that he'll feel abandoned by me.  Or even worse, that he'll feel compelled to abandon me.

It happened today, while jogging along to a 90's playlist, when the song "Father of Mine" came on my ipod.  Fear stabbed me in the heart and I had to fight back a few tears.   It was in realizing that I was creating a false scenario in my head that I was able to calm down and not give into the false fear.  That's what it was, a false fear manipulating me into a false future scenario in which I don't have a relationship with my son.

Which begged the question; if I can name and overcome the false fear induced by that song, what is there preventing me from naming and overcoming the false fear induced by certain romantic or break-up songs?  The false fear that often whispers, and occasionally shouts (like when certain songs come on) that my life isn't really complete if I'm not sharing it with that romantic partner.  Or the false fear that every good moment spent without her (whomever she may turn out to be) is a partially wasted moment.  Or, in the darker moments, that she and I won't ever actually connect, if she does, in fact, actually exist.

That fear pushed me to start dating immediately, at least I think that was my underlying motivation.  Or maybe it was just a desire to feel something good after years of pain and frustration.  Probably a combination of both.  That rather frantic season of dating certainly had some positives for me, though also some heartache.  The most important benefit to come from the string of dates (and there were a lot of them, let's be honest here) was the rebuilding of a confidence nearly strangled to death during the long, painful demise of my marriage.  Turns out that voice which continually told me, while the marriage was dying,"You're doomed to be alone.  No one will want a divorced man who claims to be Christian. No one will want damaged goods" was completely false.  I've been overwhelmed by just how wrong that voice was.

Yet I am actually alone right now.  It doesn't feel great, let's be honest again, but it seems to be a necessary season.

Part of this alone time is about realizing that I'm enough as a stand-alone person, by myself, as a single guy.  I won't really be able to have a healthy, long-term relationship with a high quality person if I don't, deep down, see myself as "worthy" of being with them.  I've seen this doom dating relationships from both sides, in my relatively short dating experience.

While I did write extensively about my rebound relationship (I believe I had to name it for what it really was, in order to peacefully move on from that relationship), I eventually took that post down because it was just too vulnerable. Or maybe the post is still up - kinda depends upon how vulnerable I'm feeling at the moment.  I am still rather haunted by one line I wrote in that post, though,
I wrote that she  "helped heal my broken heart.  N helped me believe again in the possibility of love between two people, even when those people felt betrayed by their first loves."

So I think the last sentence has a lot of validity, to be able to live into an attitude of abundance, that there are various wonderful people out there with whom you could (mostly) happily share your life.  The first line, though, doesn't sit well with me six months later.  While another person, particularly a romantic partner, can help numb the pain for awhile, no single person can heal your heart.  Once the emotions fade, the un-dealt with hurt will resurface and not only will you be back where you started, you might even be in a worse place than before, upon receiving the brutal realization that the other person isn't really going to heal you.

I recently went again to see the therapist who had helped me through a lot of the divorce process, the therapist who stated that our last few difficult years would be eventually understood as "years spent, not years wasted."  During our last session, she asked me to consider that just as my pre-divorce fears of God and those I love turning away from me due to divorcing my wife, my current post-divorce fear of always being alone will likely also not be true, though I realize there's no guarantee...
She also shared the two ways someone can enter into a relationship:
1) Coming from a place of strength in which they're okay with themselves and okay with being alone yet they choose to be with the other person or 2) Coming from a place of need, in which they have no choice but to be with the other person because they can't bear the idea of being alone and they need the validation that comes from being in a relationship.  She explained that starting a relationship from the second reason is like building a house out of 2x4's that are rotten on the inside.  At first, things look fine but eventually the house will collapse in on itself because no other person can really meet that need nor fill that role.

My "unpaid life coach" as I refer to a friend who talks me through every single dating experience and is himself a divorced and remarried Nazarene pastor, actually offering life-coaching services as a second job, has been encouraging me to go with the flow of the opportunities that present themselves because, if nothing else, I'll continue to learn more about myself and what I'm looking for.  Per the usual, his advice was solid as I've learned something from every single interaction, even from some of the stand alone dates.  The different types of relationships I've had over the past year have acted as another form of counseling, a giant mirror that has reflected back to me both positive and negative aspects of my character.   As I continued dating, a switch was eventually flipped in  my mind, a breakthrough of sorts, when a new relationship I'd been excited about quickly fizzled out.  Thinking I had something, only to painfully realize I didn't have anything, actually caused me to see that I'm okay without it and that I'll be okay until when (or if?) I ever do find that next long term and healthy relationship.

That's not to say, however, that being alone isn't difficult at times.

I'm not quite sure how to balance these two following ideas: the reality that our true identity is found only in Christ (as opposed to a myriad of other ways in which we value our worth) while also coming to realize that some masculine relationship qualities that I feared were lacking in myself are actually fully present. While I'm thankful for the positive things I've discovered about myself, I also want to be able to bring into a relationship the strength that comes from the ability to be alone while still choosing to be with someone.

So in response to my pastor's challenge to consider our Lenten fast; the giving up of one activity so as to better focus upon our relationship with God, I made some commitments for the Lenten season.

Who else found it slightly humorous and almost uncomfortable that Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day fell on the same day this year?

1) I deleted the two dating apps I'd been using so as to avoid creating any future romantic possibilities, nor even the escapist fantasy of doing so.  As with any activity that creates a dopamine hit, it took a while to detox, but some peace eventually filled the space vacated by the constant questions of "what about this person" or "who else might be out there, just waiting for the two of us to connect?"


2) I ordered this book to read.

I will say, though that I find it slightly ironic that this book was recommended by someone I met on a dating app...  Again, every relationship or interaction is a chance for more growth.

Update:  The dress-replacing-the-letter-A gimmick should've tipped me off to the fact that this book was written for single women... oh well, it's still been worth the read so far.

Whenever dating does happen again, (I have no idea how long this current season will last) I'm thinking I need to take less of an Ed Sheeran approach and more of a Florid-Georgia Line attitude, at least in the beginning.  There needs to be some time before we progress toward some Taylor Swift.

Finally, here are some wonderful thoughts on dating that a close female friend of mine, whom herself has experience the ups and downs of post-divorce/mid life dating, recently shared with me.

Identity

I've seriously considered changing the title of this blog.  I already did so once, years ago, when I changed the title from "One Church Planter's Journey" to "One Pastor's Journey."

Can I still call myself a pastor?  What happens to the calling I believe I received as a high school kid when; a) I'm divorced and b) I'm disillusioned with church.

I don't really know, honestly.  I still have a lot of work to do to figure it out.

I know what I need to stop doing, though and that's referring to myself as a "divorced pastor."
I'm not sure where or if the pastoral label/identity means anything but I for sure need to stop referring to myself as a "divorced dude."  Well, except for on dating sites, so the potential matches don't think I'm hiding that I'm married, as I've heard happens...

I've had two people get up in my face and challenge my use of the label "divorced pastor." One time was from the pastoral couple I mentioned in the "Shame" post, whom have both gone through a divorce themselves, though it was before they became Christ-followers and went into pastoral ministry.  I was sitting at an inspection with them, a couple of weeks ago, sharing more about my own journey.  Somewhere in that conversation, I referred to myself as a "divorced pastor" in a rather sheepish or even shameful way.  The husband got in my face a bit (in a gentle way, of course) and stated, "Stop referring to yourself as a 'divorced pastor.'  That's not the summation of who you are.  God has so much more for you than that."  I believe him, though I don't know what that is yet.

The other time was during a conversation with an intuitive, wise, direct and smart lady I dated for a short time.  Again, somewhere in the conversation, I referred to myself as a "divorced pastor."  The fact that I was called out for that twice makes me think I've done it a lot of other times but the other person simply let it slide.  She also got in my face, "Donnie, that's not your story.  Maybe you'll never stand behind a pulpit again (which I don't believe I ever will, at least not as a permanent role) but God still speaks through you.  I can still see 'the anointing' on you (did I mention she's Pentecostal?).
She challenged me to add to my morning list of things for which I'm thankful a list of ways I've served the Kingdom.  No act is too small to write down; helping a homeless guy get connected to some housing, helping with kids church on Sunday morning, the "sermon" my boss asked me to re-tell in a training meeting (a little discourse on how "perfect love casts out fear").  I've been doing that.  It's a great reminder each day, both of what God has allowed me to do and when I'm starting to slack off a bit.

Coincidentally, or maybe not, both of these people who got up in my face are a part of the same church.

A lot of my identity as a "preacher" or "pastor" came from my upbringing.  My dad was, admittedly, a bit disappointed that I didn't share his passion for farming.  As a self-centered kid, I didn't think about how my lack of interest in farming would hurt my dad.  As a dad myself, now I realize I was hurtful to him.  In the middle of High School, though I sensed a call into full-time ministry.  For a Miller, the next best thing to being a farmer is to be a pastor.  My identity or self-esteem began to be built up around the pride my dad (and even my Grandma Miller or Grandpa Tyler) beamed on their faces every time they were in the congregation while I was preaching.

Obviously, I didn't make it in pastoral ministry.  I failed at the two things the most important to my dad; church and marriage.  Ironically, I think my dad and I have never been closer.  I think the breaking down of these false identities has helped us to connect on a simple, yet profound, father-son level.

That pastoral identity however, was also pumped up by my home church.  Whenever I was visiting, I usually did something up front, whether that was leading in prayer or actually preaching a sermon.  Of course, this has stopped as I've worked myself out of a ministry position.  I tried different non-traditional ministries until I eventually just turned in my credentials due to inactivity.  It took me about 9 months from the divorce until I had the guts to attend my home church while visiting my family.

I shouldn't have been surprised by the response I received; grace, acceptance and a lot of hugs.
I talked with my parents' pastor after worship and told him how embarrassed I was to show my face and how hard it was to visit.  He simply hugged me and said I'd always be a kid of that church and I was always welcome.

Why did I believe those lies?

When dating N, I talked with her a lot about how hard it was for me to face former congregation members after the divorce.  Being Catholic herself, she didn't really understand this Protestant expectation that the pastoral family be a model of everything godly, including having a strong marriage.  She kept telling me, "you don't have anything to be sorry for.  You didn't owe anyone an apology or anything else."
That was hard for me to accept, though.  So I've been slowly going on what I jokingly call my "apology tour."  Or maybe "forgiveness tour" is a better label.  Whenever I meet with former congregation members, I talk through the divorce and apologize for the pain that it likely caused them.  Well, not "likely" caused them because the news of Erin and my divorce hurt a lot of people. 
What I've found though, is that the hurt former congregation members or ministry partners were felling was hurt for us and not from us.

Which just goes to show that my identity is so much more than any type of ministry position. Ultimately, I'm just a kid.  That's all I'll ever be.  My dad's kid, yes but more importantly, a loved child of my Heavenly Father.

As I learned from Breakthrough almost three years ago, "I'm okay.  I'm just a kid and that's okay."

Inspired, Duped and then Guilted by Teach For America

This is going to be my last post on Teach For America. I’ve had this post in my mind for months, but wanted to put some more distance behind my experience before writing this post. While the title of this post includes the word “Inspired,” I’ll not be talking much about that part of my experience, all my inspired posts can be found under the TFA tag on this blog.

I’ve always had the impression that TFA is the Marine Corps of education, they put the strong and talented into the worst possible situations and expect them to grunt out victories. One can see the military approach all through TFA; the hierarchical no-questions-asked authority structure, the enforcement of uniform, the summer boot camp and even the title “Corps Members” given to their teachers.

My last meeting with my supervisor (Sergeant) and her supervisor (Lieutenant) was a meeting I won’t soon forget. The meeting started with my supervisor pulling out all the inspirational stops. She had me watch a 3 minute video in which I was actually able to get my students to place their work in the appropriate basket and prepare to transition to their next activity. In the teaching world, it was a very small task but considering how minimal of control I had as a teacher, it was a big deal for me. I was then told how great of a teacher I was and how much better I could become (I was suppressing some laughter at the fact that clip of my kids handing in papers without punching each other was proof of my educational prowess, but it was a high point for me).

After several attempt to communicate that I believe it was possible to become a good teacher and help some kids but that my first priority is to my family and that whatever good I could do was not worth the cost to my family, my supervisor finally understood I was serious about quitting. It was at this point that she turned the page on her notes (literally) and took a different approach – taking me on a guilt trip I’ve never experienced before and doubt I ever will again. This was a guilt trip that any religious leader who uses guilt to motive people would be wise to study. This was also the time in which my supervisor’s supervisor was brought into increase the emotional pressure on me, through intense stares and tears of grief for the children I was abandoning. Allow me to share the list of things I was accused of or promised during this final guilt trip.

- My son will have trouble ever respecting me
- I lack integrity
- In leaving, I am dooming the children of my classroom to academic failure and prison, but if I stayed, they could achieve great things
- I will NEVER find a job in which I can spend ALL of my time with my son
- I am outside of God’s will- I am the greatesdt thing in these kids’ lives
- If I can’t manage time in this job, how will I ever learn to do so and how will I ever accomplish anything in my life
- I will regret the decision to leave for the rest of my life
- I will bring my family to financial ruin- I am failing my country
- I needed to consider what it would be like if I became poor and had to move to urban KC and my son’s teacher walked out on him

I wrote those down the day after that final meeting and have finally decided to come public with the accusations. I think it’s worth sharing all of that. I’ve since found out that extreme guilt is a pretty common way TFA supervisors control their Corps Members. While the decision to quit certainly had some negative connotations for the students I had off and on for 7 weeks (the principal kept changing classes on us), it was nowhere what I was accused of, it’s just not possible.

The guilt comes out of a thought process often called, “TFA Arrogance,” that is, TFA teachers are better than other teachers. Now, among the 150 KC Corps Members (a number that has now dwindled closer to 100), there are some amazing teachers. I made some close friends during my short time and all of those who are still teaching are giving more than could be expected of anyone and some are even having some positive results. I’m not exaggerating in saying I think of those Corps Members as true “heroes.” TFA really does an incredible job recruiting the best of the best from America’s graduating college students and only 10% of the applicants actually get selected. So when one considers the incredible people they put into teaching roles, TFA is going to produce some rock-star teachers. The founder of TFA, Wendy Kopp however has recently admitted that across the board, TFA teachers don’t perform any better than non TFA teachers. My supervisors, however don’t ascribe to that belief, as they explained that if I quit my teaching position after 7 weeks, I would be condemning my students to subpar teaching (not really much different than what they were currently receiving) and a prison sentence. That would be TFA arrogance.

In her book, “A Chance to Make History,” Wendy Kopp also admitted that the mission of TFA has recently undergone its third revision. TFA started in the early 90’s with the mission of filling the teaching vacancies. As those vacancies disappeared, TFA’s mission changed to the noble idea that great teachers could change the trajectory of poor students in under-resourced schools. That’s the mission I was recruited, trained, inspired and guilted under. What I didn’t realize, however was that upon realizing TFA teachers were no more transformational than their counterparts, Wendy had recently given TFA its third vision revision; that TFA would recruit leaders who would spend two years in the nation’s worst schools and then join the political movement of education reform. I’ll admit, I don’t know enough to judge whether TFA’s philosophies can reform education. I do know, however, I didn’t sign up for a political movement, as noble as that movement may be.

My supervisor told me I would need to go through an interview process before officially being released from TFA. I told her some times that would work but was then was surprised to receive my release letter without ever having gone through the exit interview. So that guilt-ridden meeting was my final experience and left me with a bad taste in my mouth. What helps counter that bad taste is the Corps Members still working for TFA and some of the notes my students gave me on my final day. Oh yeah, the opportunity to live a healthy and balance life as a husband and father isn’t a bad feeling either.

Another Confirmation

I just finished James Dobson's book Bringing Up Boys. About half the book was comprised of political rants in which Dr. Dobson is trying to scare the reader regarding the "liberal elite" or the "radical gay agenda." During those times in which he deviated from the political rants, there was, as one would expect from someone with Dr. Dobson's background in family counseling, wonderful advice for a guy trying to raise a son to love Jesus.

Although clearly over the top and despite the fact that they were the only two people in my life (including other TFA directors) who believed I was wrong for putting my family first, some of the guilt laid upon me during that last desperate attempt from two directors of Kansas City Teach For America still follows me around. Maybe someday I'll publicly share all the things of which they accused me and the creative ways they tried to leverage guilt to coerce me to stay in my teaching role, but for now I'll just share one of their tactics. That tactic was to explain to me how my son would never respect me were I to walk away from TFA's mission in KCMSD. That one was saved for the end of our meeting. I guess it was a final Hail Mary of sorts.

I knew however, that the act of neglecting my own son while trying to save a group of other father-less boys was not worth it. I can't save the world at the cost of my own family. I can still remember my former Pastor, Dan Arnold, talking about that in his sermons. About that same time in my life, I was at a Promise Keepers event with my dad and made a life-long commitment to never sacrifice my family for "ministry." I had been thinking however, that two years of my son's life wasn't that much; he'd only be 2.5 - 4.5 during this teaching gig, surely we could reconnect afterwards. That rationalization, thankfully, was countered by a good friend Noel Forester, who informed me that those years are some of the most important for father-son bonding. This timely piece of wisdom was backed up in Dobson's book.

"A father holds awesome power in the lives of his children, for good or ill. Families have understood that fact for centuries.... When asked who their heroes are, the majority of boys who are fortunate enough to have a father will say, 'It's my dad.' On the other hand, when a father is uninvolved - when he doesn't love or care for his kids - it creates an ache, a longing, that will linger for decades... boys are constructed emotionally to be dependent on dad in ways that were not understood until recently.

We now know that there are two critical periods during childhood when boys are particularly vulnerable. The most obvious occurs at the onset of puberty, when members of both sexes experience an emotional and hormonal upheaval. Boys and girls at that time desperately need their father's supervision, guidance and love. Divorce at that time, more than at others, is typically devastating to boys. But according to Dr Carol Gilligan, professor at Harvard University, there is another critical period earlier in life - one not shared by girls. Very young boys bask in their mother's femininity and womanliness during infancy and toddlerhood. Fathers are important then, but mothers are primary. At about three t0 five years of age, however a lad gradually pulls away from him mom and sisters in an effort to formulate a masculine identity. It is a process known as a 'disconnection and differentiation,' when, as Don Elium writes, 'the inner urge of the male plan of development nudges him out of the nest of the mother over a precarious bridge to the world of the father.' It is typical for boys during those years, and even earlier, to crave the attention and involvement of their dad and try to emulate his behavior and mannerisms."

"While you're climbing the ladder of success, don't forget your own family. Those years with your children at home will be gone in a heartbeat. Do whatever is necessary to grab those precious moments, whether it requires changing jobs, getting a smaller house, or turning down lucrative and exciting opportunities. Nothing is worth losing your kids. Nothing!"

Of course, ministry and family are in no way mutually exclusive. Here's a great article that explores that tension, Before Saving the World, Go See Your Family.

Loving Our Kids on Purpose

I just finished a powerful book on parenting, Loving Our Kids in Purpose by Danny Silk. It's very much in the Love and Logic thought framework of empowering kids with choices and letting them live with the consequences of bad decisions. Erin and I are able to implement some of the stuff proposed by the book, though we've still got a lot of learning to do. When I find myself wanting to yell at Dawson to make him do what he "needs" to do, I'm reminded that controlling my son through fear will become less and less effective the closer to my size he becomes.
I'd certainly recommend the book.

Here's a great quote from page 166:
"The right answer can only come with the right question, which is 'What are you going to do?' IF your child is truly sorry, she'll clean up her mess. But she can only get there is you have a paradigm in which you expect her to be able to find the problem and take responsibility for it. So many people don't expect that from others. They expect that when you make a mess, it is theirs to clean up, and they have to order you through the steps to clean up the mess. They need control of you in the problem. Your job is to comply or rebel. But nothing on the inside ever changes. It's a paradigm of external control."

7 Weeks and an Apology - Part II

Friday was an amazing day for me. My last day teaching in KC,MO brought the return of some things I had taken for granted. During lunch, I found that I was actually hungry. The stress of my job robbed me of my appetite, causing me to lose 20 pounds. On Friday night, I hung out with some friends and felt like a normal human being. I was told by said friends that it is good to have Donnie back with us. Finally, on Friday night, I laughed for the first time in a long time. I watched Dumb and Dumber and laughed almost as hard as the first time I watched the movie. My job was literally taking away my life.

Dawson's biological Grandma, Kim, told me that she was watching me whither away. I was whithering away not only physically but emotionally as well. She said that she was watching helplessly as I was emotionally withdrawn from my family. I didn't do so on purpose, but I had nothing to give my family during the few hours each week I was able to be with them. For that reason, I had to break my commitment and walk away from the mission I had joined.

Really though, I had made that decision years ago at a Promise Keepers convention I attended just before leaving for college. At that convention in Indianapolis, I made the commitment to never put ministry before my family. A former pastor would often share his own similar commitment, asking us "what is the point if I save everyone else's kids but lose my own?" And that is where I finally came down in this most agonizing decision I've ever faced.

I have been miserable since I left for training on June 26th. My heart was torn apart as I watched Erin and Dawson walk away at the airport. While the two free days and the single week of normal working hours that I enjoyed upon returning home were wonderful, they weren't enough. With the exception of that one weekend, I have been emotionally and physically detached from my family since June 26th. And while I'm not working now, I'm still pretty detached. I've got to work through the depression and PTSD while rebuilding a healthy and balanced relationship with my wife and son. I have a counseling appointment on Friday to start the healing and rebuilding process.

I spent the past three weeks seeking guidance from a large number of friends and family members. The overwhelming consensus was "this is too much and you need to put your family first." One notable exception however, were my superiors at Teach For America although I'm not sure whether I'll share the ways they tried to influence my decision. So I did it. I walked out on my classroom because I couldn't be the teacher I was expected to be while also being the father my son needs me to be. With that said, Teach for America is a wonderful organization that is working to keep our nation from becoming an apartheid state. But I have learned the hard way that there is a reason TFA recruits young and single people. The demands of TFA are not sustainable for a parent living in the suburbs. I greatly regret that I wasn't aware of that before I signed up.

The haunting question though, is whether or not putting family first is really biblical. Yes, it's very Focus on the Family-esque and North American Christianity-esque but is it biblical? The call to the gospel put forth by Jesus and Paul is much more radical than what our North American Christian culture would lead us to believe. Sure we find ways to explain it away or ignore it, but Jesus did say "“If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple."

And Paul was always letting the churches know about the trials he was facing. From 2 Corinthians 11, "24 Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. 25 Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was pelted with stones, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea, 26 I have been constantly on the move. I have been in danger from rivers, in danger from bandits, in danger from my fellow Jews, in danger from Gentiles; in danger in the city, in danger in the country, in danger at sea; and in danger from false believers. 27 I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked. 28 Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches. 29 Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?"

And Philippians 3, "10 I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, 11 and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead."

But what about the boy I chose to adopt? What about being able to have friends, laugh and serve in my local church?

It is quite possible I made a bad decision and put my own desires above God's plan to use me up and break me for his Kingdom's sake. It's also possible that this is finally God's answer to my almost 3 year long prayer of, "if you don't want me to leave full-time pastoral ministry, please stop me."


I don't have a lot of answers right now. I know that while I have some leads and some savings, I really need a job. I'm quite sure that 10 years from now I will have some regret for all of this but that I won't regret stopping the 14 weeks I missed out on being a dad from turning into 2 years. I also know that if I am walking away from what God has for me right now that doesn't mean he won't open up another door in the future. I also know that having my family taken away from me has awakened me to the need to love them in a better way.

My Boy is Reading!

Dawson is reading!

I wrote down this great memory of which I wanted to hold on to on Dawson's blog. Link

Why I am in LA

As I sit at my desk and type this blog post, just outside my window is a beautiful SoCal scene. The light of the setting sun is shining on green palm branches and purple flowers. Kids (most TFA Corps Members are just out of college) are strolling along the campus of Loyola Marymount University. And it is a beautiful college campus. One side of the campus offers a view of Venice beach and the other side offers a view of downtown LA. It is quite stunning.

But I'm a bit homesick. While my body is in beautiful LA, my heart is in muggy Gardner. Watching Erin and Dawson walk away from me at the Kansas City Airport last night was a very difficult thing. I had to spend some time in a stall of the men's room before re-gaining my composure. When Dawson heard the garage door open, he asked Erin, "daddy?" During his sunshine bedtime routine, the first person he wanted to sing about was daddy. When I read about that in a text from my wife, I started crying again. Then my roommate walked in (yes, I'm in college again) and it was a bit awkward. One day down, just four weeks and six days to go.

But why am I volunteering to separate myself from my family? Well, the simple reality is that in our country, where a child is born is most often the determiner as to the level of education they will achieve. To put is as simply as I possibly can, that is not right. As someone called to proclaim gospel, a gospel that is first of all "good news" for the poor, I must do my part to address that injustice. The reality is that some kids, good kids living in Kansas City, simply do not have the same educational opportunities that my wife had or my son will have. For that reason, I'm away from them for awhile, being trained to teach in such a way as to close that achievement gap.

Update
After finishing this blog post, I read the lectionary readings for the day. The theme for the week is "service" and both readings applied to what I wrote above.
Psalm 31 is about strength while serving God, and this is the final verse of that psalm:
"So be strong and courageous, all you who put your hope in the LORD!"

And then there is Luke 16. While it seems that much of North American church culture is about having a good family (a very inward focus), Jesus seemed to call us to something deeper. Not that we shouldn't love and serve our family (Paul was clear that we do), Jesus seemed to believe that a healthy family isn't the reason we follow Jesus. We're a part of such a big mission that personal sacrifices are necessary. Read and be shocked:
"A large crowd was following Jesus. He turned around and said to them, 'If you want to be my disciple, you must hate everyone else by comparison—your father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even your own life. Otherwise, you cannot be my disciple.27 And if you do not carry your own cross and follow me, you cannot be my disciple.'"

Finally, they're working us so hard here that I barely have time to sleep, let alone to blog. I wrote this a few days before it posted. So, I might not be able to blog much, probably only on the weekends.