Tag Archives: High School

by | July 11, 2023 · 6:12 am

Adrift at Sea

You never know what you will see or hear on campus. As I made my way to the car to drive home, several groups of high-school students made their way to the dining hall. The season of summer camps had begun. Each group, some the first time away from home, clung to their companionships like a drowning man to a remnant of wood that once was the ship from which they had been cast. Afloat now in a vast ocean of unknowns, their only hope was the meager breadth of wood to which they clung – those few people that had traveled with them from their beginning. It is no wonder that as they converse and carry on, they must adhere to something which gives them strength of spirit, an inner encouragement.

So, it was no surprise to hear a small group of young men repeating a saying that would repeat itself ad nauseam if said correctly. Now, I don’t keep up with the latest memes or gaming nuances – they themselves never end. Yet, whatever they were repeating was entertaining enough, and garnering them enough attention, that they loudly spoke as if orating a masterpiece of knowledge.

Passing by and hearing them made me wonder something, which in a sense, was a judgment but not one of intent. Instead, it made my heart sad that such brilliant minds might otherwise have memorized something which the world needed – something which contained a thought or phrase which, if spoken to the passerby, might give them a sense of hope. Yes, what if they had memorized a scripture long enough to challenge their mental faculties yet, spoke a message to the world that as they walked, they professed their belief in God? What if they merely quoted the twenty-third Psalm? Would those whom they randomly encountered be blessed all the more?

As their voices faded into the hum of the campus life, a butterfly drifted past me, landing on a flower, one amongst the many in the landscaped bed. How precious, yet, blessed was the sight, so much so that it caused me to stop and think. Did not those young voices mesmerized by their own abilities not give one a sense of hope. Like that butterfly finding that one flower amongst so many, could not one person reach one in that group, and through that one individual reach the others, giving them something to cling to? Like that piece of driftwood lost at sea, they could find something that would not only keep them afloat but save their life as well. For if one person speaking to one of them, could it not change the minds of more? If they can memorize that useless phrase, what if they someday met someone that gave them a different, uplifting passage that would not only allow them to show off their mental status but, more importantly, give light to the world about them? Have I not encountered the very thing Jesus espoused to his followers, “The fields are white ready to harvest, but the laborers are few?”

Think about those before you today, and speak as if God has given you a platform to share His message, not one of inane repetitiveness, but of truth and light. Be not of this world, but rather, seek Him first, and all else will fall into place.

Thanks be to God.

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by | January 7, 2020 · 9:31 pm

The Open Door

Once more, my life has returned to the open door, once discovered nearly half a century ago.

It was an unexpected, but welcome visit from one of our department’s professors. He had stopped by merely to say hello; a cordial inclusion if you will. Since starting my new position in life, many of my colleagues, with whom I serve, have had little time for fellowship with the end of the semester and then the Christmas break all occurring so quickly it seemed. Since we are still now in the stretch of time that precedes a new semester, there is finally time to learn about one another. There are no students, no final grades due, just a few staff members and faculty preparing for the coming days. The professor who had dropped in, who for now I will call Dr. Mo, seemed to be as curious about me as I was him. Our conversation traversed from pleasantries of the recent holidays to that of teaching, and life. 

After I shared with him my recent application to Graduate School, we began to talk more in-depth about how classes in the Computer Science Department are structured. Before long, we were comparing various instructional methods, albeit his from a much higher plane of learning than what I had been accustomed. It was about this point when he asked me a very profound question, one that seemed vaguely familiar. “How do you explain to a student that programming a small piece of code or project is important?”

The question in fact, reminded of something one of my former High School students might say. It could easily be considered the bane of thought that all High School Math teachers hated to hear, probably the most irritating question heard, “When am I ever going to use this?”  We knew that the question originated at home, because our students often told us that their parents were of the same mindset. So, the disdain for learning something that has apparently no useful value in life is not simply a secondary level education problem, from what I was hearing. It was something that permeates our culture no matter the level or institution. 

Dr. Mo then asked, “How would you tell them it matters?”

The answer swirled around in my head amongst a hundred examples, all of which seemed to point to the obvious – sometimes the big picture is difficult to see when you are in the middle of the forest. Yes, the answer was there, but something else was speaking to me at the same time. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.[1]

Suddenly, in my mind, that ancient door opened and I stood up. 

We had so badly wanted to go see what all the ruckus had been about. For a couple days, machines and men had been working on the demolition of the now deceased widow Mrs. Wolfe’s home. Her husband, the late Dr. Wolfe, had died long before I was born, so we never knew much about who he was or how he came to be a Doctor. To us, his legacy was simply the sweet, old Mrs. Wolfe, who too, was now gone forever. One by one, the elders of our little farming community of New Harmony, Indiana were disappearing, and with them a way of life.

Word was that the historical society had purchased her home and that they were going to knock the stately old house down and rebuild something in the style of the rest of the other historic homes in town. The historical society and the common townspeople always seemed to be at odds. The former with their sophisticated overbearance of wanting to create a “Shangri La”, if you will, where people could come from far and wide to escape the stresses of life. Here in this Midwest utopia, they could learn of the Rappites, a failed social concept, and how they too merely meant to find a place where work and God could comingle. In the end, their demise became the inspiration for the more recent history seeking philanthropists’ desires. Meanwhile, the farmers of the area merely sought to feed their families. Slowly, we watched as our little agricultural town was gutted, the elitists eroding what once had been a thriving farming community. The destruction of Mrs. Wolfe’s home was simply another casualty in the unspoken class war.

Just the summer or so before, Mrs. Wolfe had asked my grandma if any of her grandchildren might be able to cut her grass. My grandma had quietly pulled me aside one afternoon asked me if I could help out her elderly neighbor. You see, to us grandkids, it was an honor to have grandma pull you aside to ask you to do anything for her. So, I was beside myself when I learned that grandma wanted me to help out her dear elderly neighbor. It was a sunny summer day when I pulled the aged push mower across the pasture. We never had a lot of contact with Mrs. Wolfe, but what little we did, we always came away feeling blessed. That particular day was no different. After the last strip of grass was mowed, I shut down the mower and went back to pick up the can of gasoline near the front porch. Mrs. Wolfe had come to the door and motioned me to come over. I peevishly walked up to her as she leaned out the heavy wooden front door. “Come here now,” she said smiling sweetly. “You take this,” she motioned waving the paper money at me. 

“No m’aam,” I responded, “I didn’t’ do it for that.”

She wouldn’t have any of my righteous posturing, and her eyebrows furrowed, “Now you come here and take this,” she said, in a sterner voice. “You can take some of your cousins to town and get a treat at least.” 

She knew my weakness, doing for others, and with that, I apprehensively walked up and took the money. It shocked me to see the entire $5.00 bill in my hand. It seemed like the most money I had ever seen at one time, and in those days, probably was. Shocked, I backed away, thanking her profusely as she closed the door smiling broadly. 

“You tell your grandmother thank you for me,” she said loudly through the glass of the door. 

“Yes m’aam,” I quipped, as I raced off to show grandma the newfound wealth. Grandma wasn’t happy about the money, but she eventually softened to our pleading, and we made that little jaunt to the dime store in town later that day for a sweet treat. 

Now, just a couple years removed, our pleading convinced grandma to let us have our way once more, and we soon found ourselves exploring the piles of debris among what little was left of the former Wolfe estate. Nothing much remained, but save for piles of wood and one single door frame. As we found our way into what had one time been the living room, the one from which Mrs. Wolfe had handed me that vast sum of money, my heart became sad. Here our proud neighbors had once lived, content and stately in their home. They hadn’t imparted their societal wishes upon us, but rather chose to live in harmony with us, accepting us for who we were, and likewise, us them. 

Slowly, I walked up to the remaining door frame, with door still intact. One of my cousins called from behind, “Be careful,” as my tender, young hand reached for the door knob. Slowly, I opened the barely standing door and from within what once was the coat closet, now sat a pile of rubble. We began to pick a few chards of wood and brick off the top and much to my surprise, below the soot and dust was a pile of brown, tweed cloth covered books. We began to look through them, like archeologists in an Egyptian burial tomb, shaking our heads at the hieroglyphic shapes on the pages. The writing inside books was a mystery. There were some recognizable words, but the majority of the book was written in some alien language, complete with crazy symbols and letters we had never seen before. We each grabbed a book and raced back to our humble farmhouse to show grandma. There, we reconvened as was common, around the worn Formica covered kitchen table. We even turned on the overhead light and with studious awe, and our best intellect, tried to decipher the ancient code. 

We were as lost as a ball in high weeds. 

Grandma was even at a loss for words. She simply said, “Maybe one of you someday can figure it out,” and she left it at that. It was at that moment she had planted the seed, knowingly or not. Later that day, I would vow to my cousins that someday I was going to learn how to read that book, no matter how long in life it would take.

“You do that,” my cousin Peggy replied sarcastically with her mischievous grin.

As I stood up from my chair, Dr. Mo watched as I walked over to the bookshelf. My weathered hand reached into the array of books and pulled out a single, tweed cloth covered book titled, “Applied Mechanics.”

“You see Dr. Mo,” I said to my guest as I slowly opened the book, “sometimes the answer takes a lifetime to learn.” 

There, written inside the front cover in his own hand were the words, “property of John Wolfe.” I then shared with the professor of finding the book as a child and how I had taken the vow to someday learn how to read the funny writings inside. Those questions as to, “Why would we ever need this,” echoed in my mind as I spoke. Then, to show him the significance of the moment, I turned to the back of the book. There, carefully placed over 100 years earlier, Dr. Wolfe had placed something that was to encourage not only himself, but a young neighbor farm boy many decades later; a manually typed page, neatly folded in half, containing his test and quiz scores from the class for which the book was intended. The faded, barely visible date read, 1916-1917.

Turning to my new friend, I continued, “When we can show someone the significance of something in context, how it fits into the big picture, we can then begin to appreciate the little steps that it takes to get there.”

Dr. Mo smiled and nodded in confirmation. 

I continued, “We may not be able to explain what we see at any given point in time. Sometimes, our experience is beyond what we are capable of describing.  But with time, God provides us the wisdom to achieve a new level of comprehension. Like the prophet Ezekiel trying to describe the visions of Angels that some say more describe that of alien spaceships, he too could only use a language of which he was capable of understanding.”

I handed Dr. Mo the book so he could look at it more closely. He smiled and said, “This book is more than just a book.I t has a singular significance beyond all other books like it because of this personalization.”

“Yes,” I nodded, “indeed it does.”

And so, once more in life, I returned to that barely standing open door of the Wolfe’s ancient home. Grasping the handle, I opened it wide, without fear, for God was with me. There were no cries from leery cousins to warn me of the dangers, only the voice of God beckoning me on. “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”[2]

Step in with me Dr. Mo, step on in and let the light shine within.

Thanks be to God.

[1] James 1:5

[2] Romans 12:2

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by | November 30, 2019 · 9:57 pm

Are You Blessed?

 “Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed”-John 20:29

We stood in a circle. Our right hands made into fists as our arms were extended into the middle of the circle, like the hub of a human wheel, one placed upon the other as each of us bowed our heads in prayer. The boys like to call the configuration the “popcorn prayer,” a term they coined on their own. With the first of the young men that began, the next would continue the prayer until it came around the circle to the last person.

Crossnore Children’s Home

In the past, we would have had a morning devotional before going to breakfast, followed by a closing prayer. But this day was different, it was late Sunday afternoon. Unlike the times before, today they asked that we all pray together before we said our final goodbyes. In unison, they asked that I close us out by saying the last prayer.

It was one of the most poignant moments of my life, humbling to the core; it was their last request.

I had come to say goodbye, a goodwill gesture that was sincerely from the heart. It had been a tumultuous month, one that had left me more than tired. Several weeks earlier, when I had shared with my supervisor that God was leading my life’s journey away from Crossnore, I also asked that if they needed any extra help, I told him that I would be willing to fill in if needed. He thanked me for that offer.

At Crossnore, there is always a need.

And so, after many sleep-deprived and beleaguered days, my footsteps carried me one last time from one end of the Crossnore campus to the other. Those young men had left an undeniable mark upon my heart. For many of the children at Crossnore, their pasts are much like our own, better left behind. Many are at the home because of no fault of their own, and with that, you immediately seek to find the source of the mindset that acts out in ways that are not normal; because if anything, the trauma through which they have survived are anything but normal. It was because of this and much more that I couldn’t leave without at least letting them know that I would miss them.

Along my path that somber Sunday afternoon, the majestic oaks that had at one time provided comforting shade during the hotter months, had now given way to become barren, twisted towering bones, reaching to the azure blue sky above. They too, showed empathy for my departure, like elders who had seen so many come and go, telling me in their own way that they would forever be with me. The chilly winds blew leaves across my path as I made it to the all teen boy’s cottage. Many would prefer another assignment than to have to deal with young men at their age.

My own experience was quite different.

From the outset, once they realized I wasn’t going to be a push-over, we began to connect. One might wonder if it had been the many years of working with the Scouts that allowed me to understand them? Perhaps you might ask, was it because of the time spent working with the Junior Appalachian Musician program? Or, maybe, you might conjecture, it was teaching High School math to teens their age that helped me cope? Whatever the reason one might attribute my connection to those boys, I believe it was the hand of the Lord who had put me there for that season, as short as it may have been. The reason I felt it was God, was because it wasn’t until I asked to share the devotional with them that I could see something new; a change in their demeanor toward my presence. It was when one of the young men-(the one that had been there the longest, over 6 years to be exact)- opened up to me, that their reactions began to make me take notice. They said that because of his years of tenure at the home, he had become so hardened that he would purposely keep you at bay, knowing that before long, you too would fall by the wayside.

Who could blame him?

He had seen so many come and go. And up to that point, he could have just as well said the same thing about me. But when he would purposely make it a point to greet me or go out of his way to tell me to have a nice day, it became apparent that God had moved him, through me, in spite of who I was. All of these thoughts swirled around in my head like the fallen leaves upon the ground that cold, blustery afternoon.

There had been so much to contemplate. For if the walk had been days, there would have been enough recent memories and experiences to occupy my thoughts the full breadth of the journey.

Recently, one of my new colleagues at the college asked, “How are you today?”

I replied, as I so often do these days, “I am blessed, I hope you are?”

He then later asked what I had meant by the word “Blessed.”

The question stopped me in my tracks.

My mind flashed back to the beginning of the summer and the terrible drought, and trials that my life had encountered. Through the loss of a job, loss of income, loss of medical coverage, to the near-fatal illness, to the days of unanswered prayers. The doubts and troubles piled up like logs against the bridge when the river rises. One by one, their pressure building until they either burst through or until they are swept over the bridge by higher waters. My life had become that bridge, inundated by the flooding trials that seemed to come, one after the other, each one building upon the other. At one point, the bad news had become so common that it became laughable. “Just how much more could one take and still survive,” I began to ask? My life began to feel a little like Job in the struggles, and a lot like Joseph at the bottom of the dry well; there was nowhere to go but up.

Then, like once before in my life when it seemed as if all hope was lost, God answered. I don’t recall the exact day or time, but there was a sense that only a few may know or understand. Like a warm wave cascading over your soul, the feeling of things that are about to change washes over you, and it is then that you know deep in your heart that it is going to be okay. It’s moments like that when Hebrews 11:1 makes perfect sense, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

My sweet co-teacher, Mrs. Rush, said it best last year when she was trying to comfort me about having to leave the school when she said, “God is going to answer your prayers in a way that is going to be far greater than your wildest expectations.” She continued, “The answer won’t come soon, but rather, it will probably be at the last moment when you feel like all hope is gone. It is then that He will finally give you an answer.”

She was as prophetic as anyone I have ever known. Was God speaking through her? I don’t know, but to this day, I have to believe he was.

To answer my colleague, my mind dug through those countless days of anguish and despair, and the words began to form. They had to pass through the filter of that prayer with those boys in the Cottage as we all stood around in the circle and prayed. The memory of what happened during that prayer still lingered in my soul.

From the bottom of my feet, the sensation began. As God poured the words through my lips, the Holy Spirit began to fill my body like a pitcher is filled from the bottom up. The electricity began to rise through my legs, torso, and eventually put my arm into the pile of hands. The words continued to speak as my entire body began to tremble. Attempting to retain my composure, I pressed on, asking God for this moment to never end. “They have to feel this,” my mind reflected while scriptures began to flow from my heart and out my mouth. The warmth of tears streaming down my face began to mix with the emotions in my voice until we finally said, “Amen.”

As I stepped back, wiping the tears from my eyes, the emotional toll was not just my own, for it was apparent in their eyes as well. My head was spinning as I tried to find a way to say goodbye. Once more, there was yet another reason to never forget, as they asked for a hug. In my heart, the pain of saying goodbye was a burden that must have shown. One of the boys raced to his room and brought out one of his most cherished items, a UNC flag. In the spur of the moment, I asked if we could have them all sign it, “As a memento,” I said. They all happily agreed, and each one took great care to make sure their name was visible. In a way, it was as if they wanted to make that indelible mark upon my heart; one, like the permanent marker upon the flag, that would never fade away.

Those multitudes of thoughts swirled around in my head as my colleague must have wondered why it was so difficult to answer a simple question about what I meant by being ‘Blessed.’ It was as Jesus had said to Thomas at that moment when he finally realized that he as standing in the presence of our risen Savoir. After putting his hand through the hole in Jesus’ side, his head suddenly became faint. The room began to spin. Stepping back, trying to regain his balance, he stared in awe at Son of Man, God in the flesh, who had now defeated death. He was speechless. Jesus said to him, “Because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”

Yes, blessed are we that have not seen and yet have believed. But this was only one part of being blessed to which Christ spoke The sermon on the mount was full of blessings, enough to know that when we walk with Him, when we realize we have found our path only because He has led us upon it, it is then we truly know that we are blessed.

To my colleague, I finally said that one should be thankful for being in a place to which they had never realized they would be in life, by no cause or fault of their own.

He respectfully nodded in response.

To live or die is gain, and to know Him, Christ, our Savior, is to be blessed beyond measure.

To all things we should be grateful, and most importantly,

Thanks be to God.

“And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him:

And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying,

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.”-Matthew 5:1-11

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by | November 20, 2018 · 8:05 pm

The Coat of Many Colors

Introduction:

Joseph’s coat of many colors came to my attention yesterday while working on the fireplace in my Spiritual Retreat. As I work, I like to listen to music. My selection for the day was classic country. Dolly Parton’s like-named song was playing through the speakers, and the thought of my Action Research project for Learning Theory class came to mind. When Dolly proudly wore her coat of many colors to school, made from rags her mother had carefully sewn together by hand, the other children teased her to the point she felt ashamed. In other words, they bullied her. Trying to fight back, she tried to explain how her mother had told her the story of Joseph while she painstakingly worked on the coat each night. Unable to convey the full context of the story from Genesis 37 to her peers, they continued to mock and deride her. It was no use; they just couldn’t understand.

As in the story of Joseph, his father, Jacob, gave him a coat of many colors. This was the story Dolly’s mother had told her about while making the special coat. Joseph was Jacob’s favorite son since he had been born in his old age. Giving him the coat of many colors was viewed as giving him the birthright, which was against tradition. Normally, the birthright went to the firstborn son. This act of giving the coat to Joseph enraged his brothers to the point that, “They could not speak peaceably to him.” – Genesis 37:4[1] In other words, they began to chide him with hurtful rhetoric, much like Dolly experienced; however, this was harassment was driving the opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum; that of jealousy.

Not only do we see how peer pressure can cause children to become introverted[2], but we can also see how appearances and dress too often dictate what is the social norm for the school culture. Sadly, this ethos can be influenced by negative factors such as Gangster Rap, social media, and overly aggressive video Games, such as Soldier of Fortune and Fortnight. When perceptions turn into actions, either verbal or physical, they have gone too far. In the story of Joseph, we find the extreme result that we fear most; when bullying becomes more than painful words.

Poverty is still prevalent in our school district. The poor of the Appalachians is unfortunately very much alive and well today. However, today they exist from diverse backgrounds; they are paradoxically the human coat of many colors. In my own classroom, I have seen bullying against the socioeconomic (both poor and rich), social status, and sexual orientation. All have come in a variety of forms and from often, the most unexpected antagonist.

Although these lyrics in Dolly’s song and the story of Joseph’s coat appear seemingly simple, if we look at them more deeply, we can find the effects of bullying on several layers (both victim and perpetrator), their triggers, and the culture they breed in our classrooms.

 

Triggers:

In an interview[3] about the story behind the song, Coat of Many Colors, Dolly Parton revealed that the song was indeed autobiographical; the small girl in the song was her. We find in the song how Dolly was hurt by the teasing of her fellow students. Some people may conclude that this is only a natural attitude; just children being children. Yet, when we take a closer look at their actions, we can see how this type of teasing can be construed as bullying. A new step between teasing and bullying has been identified as a ‘micro-aggression.’ It can best be described as this, “Trigger material is barely a whisper away from ‘trigger words’—many of which supply the content of ‘micro-aggressions,’ and all of them might readily be placed under the aegis of bullying.”[4]

However, even though she had been shamed, Dolly didn’t give up. Trying to overcome her attackers, Dolly took the high road and tried to convey to them a higher purpose in the coat’s meaning. As the lyrics tell us, “that a person is only poor if they choose to be.” This likely was a response to them accusing her family of living in poverty because of her coat made of rags. In high school, social status often dictates what click or circle of friends you keep. Even in Dolly’s childhood, children were already being taught, whether at home or through advertising, that it wasn’t popular to be poor. Rather, they were already trying to shed their rural traditions for the sake of “appearing” to be more city-fied. Today, we still see some of that, students trying to hide their poverty. A new status of being proud of your rural roots has risen in the past decade. Some students purposely where their square-toed boots to school, with camouflaged coats and hats to match. However, rural boots and belt buckles can lead to triggers for some students as well.

In my own classroom there is another trigger in our day that was not an issue in Dolly’s school; sexual self-identification. The rainbow colors of both Dolly’s and Joseph’s coat could easily be seen as a metaphor for the rainbow symbol used by the LGBTQ community today. Hate groups and related mentalities often seek out these representations as targets to whom they are repulsed, and subsequently attracted to attack. What is often said at home is ingrained into the child’s mind. Acting out these aggressions, as so often we find in bullying, the multi-colored coat could then easily be seen as a representation of something it was not intended; regardless, the actual intent of said clothing.

In Joseph’s situation, the coat represented their birthright being given to the “favorite son.” This trigger brought out the most vehement personalities of sibling rivalry.

Who’s to say that the students at Dolly’s school weren’t jealous too because of Dolly’s special coat? We could easily discern from the language of her song that the more she tried to tell them why it was special, it just added fuel to their fire, flaming their jealousy all the more. How many of those jealous students came from broken families and never had anyone love them enough to make something for them; especially a coat that took many hours to sew together? To cover for their own insecurities, they took it out on the poor, little pretty country girl who glowed in her new coat.

Another trigger that is often missed is that from cultural ignorance. In my class, there was an incident when one of my impoverished students, one that was known for struggling academically, said something to one of my other impoverished minority students. Each child was from poor families but had dramatically diverse ethnic backgrounds. The one non-ethnic male student made an off-handed statement to the other while working on a project together. The student was so ashamed, she wrote a note and gave it to me after class. It was a shining moment for her, in that although afraid to meet her bully head-on, she still had the courage to come forward. The male student who had said the remarks had only repeated words that he had heard in his home environment so many times, that he didn’t see them as hurtful. Sadly, being from some of the remote sections of the mountains doesn’t afford the opportunity to know people from other parts of the world, except through the lenses of their own rural backgrounds, which more often than not include stereotypical ideologies. After I had the opportunity to talk to the perpetrator about his language, he then understood how his words had been painfully received, and he was sorry. The victim eventually forgave him, but in her own time, and not as a result from any persuasion on my part. In a loving environment, forgiveness is possible when we set the example for others to follow.

 

 

Perpetrator (the Bully):

In both cases of Dolly and Joseph, we don’t actually know the bullies first-hand; rather, we only are aware of the consequences resulting from their actions. In each circumstance, we can make some valid assumptions based on what we know about how bullies are created and how their actions are perpetuated onto their victims.[5] As we learned in the video, bullies often take out their frustrations on easy targets. By the time most adolescents reach the secondary level of education, the bully has found the “Chronic Victim.” Both are rejected by their peers; the bully for being aggressive, the victim for being introverted and strange (the latter a more self-imposed extraction than the former). Looking at the social atmosphere from the outside, both victim and bully become connected due to their polar opposite personalities.

Personally, I can attest to this syndrome; opposites attract. Early in my own personal High School experience, I was very introverted and shy. This outcast of society mindset made me a target for bullies in school. Appearing as an easy target, they began to harass and torment me to the point I began to think of either escaping or retaliating, a common result of bullying. I eventually reached a breaking point one day when one of those bullies pushed me too far. I snapped and literally succumbed to a blinding rage that had built up inside of me for so long. At that moment, I had become like Ralphie, in the movie, “Christmas Story.”[6]

However, unlike Ralphie, who pummeled his bully, I simply hit my tormentor once, square in the face. The blow was so great that his head snapped back, then he fell forward into his plate of food on the table; out cold. I calmly walked back to my seat and sat down. It was then I began shaking from the adrenaline rush, realizing what I had done. Eventually, the bully recovered and then ran out of the lunchroom. I was horrified. I knew in my heart that at that point I was going to be called to the office and from there, all manner of trouble would ensue. The prospects of punishment from my actions began to consume me. Fearing for my academic life, I too left the lunchroom and hid out in the stairwells until the bell rang for classes to begin. Amazingly enough, I was never called to the office. None of the teachers monitoring the lunchroom reported the incident. Mind you, this was 40 years ago, back when paddling was still a valid course of corporal punishment. It was also very likely that the teaching staff attending to the lunchroom that day saw someone, the bully, finally get his just reward; one can only guess at this point.

Regardless, looking back, it was as if God had watched over me that day.

Not long after that incident, the bully began to change. He began to say hello to me in the hallways; being nice instead of intimidating. In fact, the other bullies in the school that had previously targeted me now treated me with a renewed sense of respect; not something I had looked for, but rather, something that was a result of something which I am not proud of, even today. That former bully, a year later, became a friend, and in a positive way. It was as if that moment had also transformed his life. It was much like that point in Joseph’s life when he looked up from the bottom of the well, realizing he could have easily been killed by his brothers, he realized that his life was about to change for the worse. However, as we know the rest of the story, through his forgiveness, he eventually was reunited with his brothers in dramatic fashion; one of best tear-filled scenes of the Old Testament.

Unfortunately, not all victim’s incidents turn into happy endings. Eventually, both victim and bully reach a breaking point. The bully releases their frustrations out on their victims. Meanwhile, the victim has nowhere to release their anger but inward. This combustion of emotions leads to greater “breaking points,” which we have seen turn into deadly consequences in recent years (most of the school shootings were a result of bullying victims acting out their aggressions.)

In my own classroom, I’ve seen bullies of varying degrees. One that I came to know was haunted by the loss of his father. As part of literacy in Math exercise, I had students write a Glide-Reflection of their lives. We were covering the unit on Transformations. As part of the assignment, the students were asked to write about something in their life that they lived through, that when they looked back (reflected), the could see where they were changed. The bully wrote about losing his father only a couple years before entering high school. When I read it, the stories of how he acted out against other students and teachers in other classes began to become understandable. As time would go on, I would notice days that he would appear agitated. On these days, I would pull him aside and take him out into the hallway where we would “Go for a Walk.” These are the moments that students often think they are in trouble, but after we walk out the door and I tell them they aren’t in trouble, rather, we need to walk and talk, they are instantly relieved and sometimes become emotional. It was the latter with this young man the day we took a walk after I had read his story. From that day forward, I was able to address his aggression from a different perspective. Often giving him someone to open up too allowed his frustrations to be released instead of having them build up and then vent them on another victim. We began to see a change in his attitude, and eventually, his academics began to improve.

Victim:

The victim in all of these stories, Dolly, Joseph, the minority student in my class, and myself, eventually, partially, if not fully given the time, come to understand why they were being harassed. In Joseph’s case, he finds himself at the bottom of a dry well. From the very start, he had to have felt uncomfortable when their anger began to seethe over into their language toward him. He fueled their flames, even more, when he told them of his dream, in which their sheaths made obeisance to his own sheath in the field.[7] It was at that point that their anger reached critical mass. We might ask ourselves, “Was Joseph blind to their anger?” “Was he perhaps afflicted with some form of behavior deficit, like Asperger’s or ADHD,” or was he simply so trusting in God, that he feared nothing to the point he cared little if they were mad or not? Had he reached the point of giving up, like the video, “How to Make a Bully (from Scratch)” depicted?

Consider Joseph’s plight further when he was sold into bondage and carried away into a strange land (Egypt) to become a slave to Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh, a captain of the guard. The essence of the victim hitting bottom could have easily been expected at this point. He could have given up. Yet, unlike what is expected of the typical victim, that of reaching a critical point of snapping, we see an unexpected twist. “And his master saw that the Lord was with him and that the Lord made all that he did to prosper in his hand.” – Genesis 39:3.

In the case of Dolly, we don’t know if she continued to be bullied by the other students or if someone stepped in to stop it. We know that although she was victimized not only for her socioeconomic status, the color of her coat, and the fact that she was loved by her mother, she did not give up. Like many victims, she fought back by trying to explain the reason why she proudly wore her coat of many colors. Yet, like most situations of being bullied, they had no intention of listening to what she said; it wasn’t the point. Their feelings of insecurity were taken out on the poor, country girl who was loved enough for someone to hand-sew together a coat made of many pieces of cloth.

Psalms 82:4 tells us, “Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked.”

In my classroom, the poor minority student I had mentioned previously that had been inadvertently bullied by the other impoverished student was not left without being supported in her reporting of the incident. She had been aware of the harassment and wasn’t going to take it. As was necessary, and prudent, in my school’s administrative process, I made a discipline referral for the bullying student. Before turning in the paperwork, I met with both students separately and talked to them. As expected, the male was unaware of what he said. Yet, we followed through with the punishment to be consistent (our certainty) with our severity. Each student understood that what happened was avoidable, but each child had learned from the incident, knowing that Mr. Tron was going to stand up for them, and reach out to them when they made mistakes in an effort to help them grow and to feel loved.

 

Reflections:

From Joseph’s story, we might examine how a child caught in the downward spiral of being bullied might recover once they are removed from the caustic environment. In other words, Joseph began to blossom and flourish to his potential once he was removed from the impact of being bullied.

Sadly, the bullies in Dolly’s school likely had lives torn to shreds, like the rags of Dolly’s coat had once been. Unlike Dolly, they had no one to sew their lives back together. Lost in a loveless home environment, they became bitter at the world and sought to take out their pain upon an easy target.

In Joseph’s story, we explore the context of bullying within the family and how it is not just an academic institutional problem. In Joseph’s case, we see the extreme of a mindset that not only physically acts out on their victim but further perpetuates their aggression on their victim by seeking to destroy his life and his father’s connection to his most beloved son. In so doing, they unknowingly are doing the will of God, placing Joseph in a place that will eventually save their family from starvation. Unlike many victims of bullying, Joseph’s story ends in triumph rather than tragedy.

In my own experience, I was fortunate. The effects of bullying are complex, “How bullying impacts a child is holistic.”[8] My life could have turned out differently in many aspects; had that incident been reported, had the bully been seriously injured, or if the bully not changed. At the time, it made me painfully aware that I was not in a healthy environment. Although the bully changed, my home life did not. Eventually, I would move to a strange land, like Joseph, where I too would begin to blossom. The removal from the caustic environment, which was most of my own making, would allow me to start over. I was and am blessed beyond measure.

In my own classroom, when my co-teacher and I identify the bullying activity, we address it from both perspectives. We support the victim and offer them the guidance they need to recover. We also seek to prevent them from feeling as if they might experience the issue again by creating an environment of safety and love. In the same token, we also reach out to the bully, not only to correct the behavior but find the source of the aggression and disarm it before it grows into something that cannot be controlled. In both cases, we offer a new seating arrangement if it is necessary. If counseling is needed, then we offer those resources. If simply showing love to both parties, then we do that as well.

The Response in Our Classrooms:

As teachers, being made aware of the effects of bullying, we can become the intervention for our students before they hit rock bottom, and before they reach that deadly snapping point. When we notice bullying, we can seek out each party, reaching each student, both bully, and victim, and provide the element which they both have so often been neglected: Love. To reach beyond the curriculum, we teach and seek to know the person behind the face sitting in that seat each day can make all the difference.

Often, those victims of bullying seek refuge. Our classrooms can become that safe-haven; a place they know they can find shelter from the storm of life. The cycle of being bullied can be broken, if only we seek measures to stop its continuation. It is imperative that we not only make ourselves aware of this monstrous epidemic but also educate our peers and those around us. As it has been said, “It takes a village to educate a child,”[9] we must also come together as an academic community to halt this disorder for once and for all.

My path in life has led me back to the place that I once struggled socially; high school. From having been a survivor of bullying, in some respects, I have a keen awareness of those “micro-aggressions” as Dr. Martocci pointed out. However, my role now is not that of a victim, but that of being the light to those who live in a world of darkness. As the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Ephesians, “For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light.”- Eph. 5:8.

In my own classroom, being cognizant of all aspects of bullying, I’ve sought out the approach of loving both parties: bully and victim. Correcting the problem while show compassion for each has led to quick resolutions and an attitude of respect. My students know where I stand and appreciate that they are protected and loved.

My passion is my position in life; to serve. In that capacity, I now seek to be the light to those who are facing the darkness of persecution from aggressors, be that at home, school, or anywhere in between. In essence, God has put me in a place to help those in need.

 

 

 

Summary:

In summary, bullying, if allowed to go uncorrected, can have devasting, if not deadly, results. “Inability to develop socially and emotionally is affected by the bullying and impacts the child’s life in a holistic way, which is expressed in this quote, ‘It is the impact on the target and not the intent of the aggressor that matters.’”1 In today’s “Zero Tolerance,”[10] environment, my personal experience would have resulted in me having a minimum of three days Out of School Suspension (OSS). The results from that type of punishment would have had an extremely negative, and possibly tragic, rippling effect on not only my academic world but my home life as well.

In the stories of the coat of many colors, the victims had a wide range of targets upon which bullies could prey. Sadly, in many cases, our children in today’s world are the coats. There is no one simple fix for a problem that has become pervasive throughout all levels of our society, from the home to the workplace, and everywhere in between. What we should be concerned with most is how to break the cycle. The creator of “How a Bully is Made (from Scratch), probably said it best when they said that we must show both the bully and victim love; something they have lacked. Jesus tells his disciple in the Bible when asked, “What is the greatest commandment,” “Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.38 This is the first and great commandment.39 And the second is like, unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”- Matthew 22:37-39

As educators, we face a myriad of issues daily in our classrooms. Our primary focus is to educate our students. To do this, we must provide an environment that is not only safe, which allows for the Deficiency Needs of Maslow to be met[11], but also one that is free from all outside influences and distractions, which includes the effects of bullying. Beyond the curriculum we present, we must seek to understand and appreciate the background behind each soul that sits behind a desk in our rooms. There, before us, each day is the future of our society. We must learn to read, like a quarterback behind the center reading the defensive configuration before him, our students and be ready to act when we see inconsistencies in behavior. When we intervene, we halt the progress of the illness that could become a greater tragedy if left unattended. It is up to us, the teacher, to show love to all of our students, regardless of how much they test us. When we truly walk as Christ, we love unconditionally, and for that, there is no conqueror.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

 

Coat Of Many Colors

by Dolly Parton

 

Back through the years I go wanderin’ once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us

And how my momma put the rags to use

There were rags of many colors
But every piece was small
And I didn’t have a coat
And it was way down in the fall

Momma sewed the rags together
Sewin’ every piece with love
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of

As she sewed, she told a story
From The Bible, she had read
About a coat of many colors
Joseph wore and then she said

“Perhaps this coat will bring you
Good luck and happiness”
And I just couldn’t wait to wear it
And momma blessed it with a kiss

My coat of many colors
That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly

Although we had no money
Oh, I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me

So with patches on my britches
And holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school

Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
And my coat of many colors
My momma made for me

  

And oh I couldn’t understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love
My momma sewed in every stitch

And I told ’em all the story
Momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes

But they didn’t understand it
And I tried to make them see
That one is only poor
Only if they choose to be

Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
Made just for me

 

 

References:

 

Unknown, “The Effects of Bullying on School Age Children,” https://effectsofbullyingonschoolage.weebly.com/index.html

Laura Martocci, Ph.D. (Dec. 8, 2015). Trigger Warnings, Micro-aggressions and Bullying. Psychology Today, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/you-can-t-sit-us/201512/trigger-warnings-micro-aggressions-and-bullying

Today Show, (2015) Dolly Parton On ‘Coat of Many Colors’: ‘I’ve Been Very Blessed’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9oE9qohieM

Unknown (2014) “How to Make a Bully (from Scratch), Conscious Discipline, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzftHNh7xP8

Jean Shepherd (1983) “Christmas Story,”  Directed by Bob Clark.

Holy Bible, KJV, Bible Gateway, https://www.biblegateway.com/

Reva Smith, (Mar. 6, 2013), Today’s Parent, “It take a village to educate a child.”, https://www.todaysparent.com/family/it-takes-a-village-to-educate-a-child/

Robert E. Slavin (2015) “Educational Psychology, Theory, and Practice,” Johns Hopkins University, Pearson,11th Edition. Pg. 345.

“Coat of Many Colors,” Dolly Parton, https://search.azlyrics.com/search.php?q=coat+of+many+colors

Curwin, R. E., & Mender, A. N. (1999). “Zero tolerance for zero tolerance.” Phi Delta ICappan, 81(2), 1 19-120

 

 

[1] Holy Bible, KJV, https://www.biblegateway.com/

 

[2] Unknown, “The Effects of Bullying on School Age Children”, https://effectsofbullyingonschoolage.weebly.com/index.html

 

[3] Today Show, (2015) Dolly Parton On ‘Coat of Many Colors’: ‘I’ve Been Very Blessed’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9oE9qohieM

 

[4] Larua Martocci, Ph.D. (Dec. 8, 2015). Trigger Warnings, Micro-aggressions and Bullying. Psychology Today, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/you-can-t-sit-us/201512/trigger-warnings-micro-aggressions-and-bullying

 

 

[5] Unknown (2014) “How to Make a Bully (from Scratch), Conscious Discipline, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzftHNh7xP8

 

 

[6] Jean Shepherd (1983) “Christmas Story,”  Directed by Bob Clark

[7] Holy Bible, KJV, Bible Gateway, https://www.biblegateway.com/

 

[8]Unknown, “The Effects of Bullying on School Age Children”, https://effectsofbullyingonschoolage.weebly.com/index.html

 

[9] Reva Smith, (2013), Today’s Parent, “It take a village to educate a child.”, https://www.todaysparent.com/family/it-takes-a-village-to-educate-a-child/

 

[10] Curwin, R. E., & Mender, A. N. (1999). Zero tolerance for

zero tolerance. Phi Delta ICappan, 81(2), 1 19-120

[11] Robert E. Slavin (2015) “Educational Psychology, Theory, and Practice,” Johns Hopkins University, Pearson,11th Edition. Pg. 345.

 

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by | December 31, 2017 · 10:39 pm

“The Light in the Darkness” finally reaches the light of day.

It began back in 2013 and but was put on hold when we answered the Call to serve. This past week, the Lord placed it upon my heart to reopen the old friend and revisit those within. Once the cover was cracked, there was no turning back.

Needless to say, there have been many positive changes to the publishing world since my last venture. So much so, that now I feel comfortable using Amazon KDP. The tireless ordeal of writing literary agents and publishers is just outside my available time as a High School teacher, so for now, this will have to do.

In the next few days, both the E-book ($4.99) and a Paperback version will be available through Amazon.

This work was more than twice the size of the first book. My beta readers found the story line twice as compelling. Overall, the paperback will be 702 pages, for $19.95, which should be twice the savings. Hopefully by now, you guessed it, I hope you find it twice as good.

The release date shows March, but as soon as I get the reference information loaded, it should be available later this week.

Please let me know what you think. Most of all, I hope you find yourself seeking the Word of God, and hopefully your walk with Him will become closer after reading the story within.

Lux Lucet in Tenebris, The Light Shines in the Darkness

Here is the link to the E-book.

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by | October 22, 2017 · 2:19 pm

Sunday Devotion, Oct. 22, 2017

The full harvest moon reflected off the roadway as my car neared the peak in the road as I made my way through Blowing Rock. It was barely 5:30 AM. Thoughts of how magnificent the image was before me washed across my consciousness. Never mind the picture, for they never did justice to such a sight. No, these were the instances in life that you simply had to be there to understand all that was in that moment.

My week had been much like that.

The morning announcement voice came over the intercom as it had done daily since the beginning of school. Her slow, southern drawl was as timeless as sweet tea on those balmy Sunday evenings after everyone had gone for the day. We had come to anticipate her pledge, its slow cadence melodic and ageless. So, this day started like many others, but before she had finished, there was something new, an unexpected announcement. Something about how her journey was not over, just turning another page. That sweet, calm voice had a hint emotion we never detected on those other mornings. There arose a lump in my throat as I tried to make sense. A muffled, shuffling sound came next as the microphone had been given to a ROTC Cadet who followed with a solemn pledge.

Before I knew it, my feet were heading to the office area, if nothing else, to share some words with those ladies I so rarely got to see. As I rounded the corner, the hint of what we heard was confirmed. There was nothing left to do as I approached than to give her a hug of comforting compassion. The moment was as sincere as was the beauty of the moon just hours earlier. Nothing could be conveyed that would portray that moment as nary a dry eye was among us.

John 14:17-18 tells us, “Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. 18 I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” When we walk in Christ, as we are in Him, He is in us, and so we share that faith with those around us no matter our circumstance, no matter our situation. As he comes to us to be our Comforter, allow us to do so in the coming week ahead to those with whom we encounter in our daily walk of faith.

Thanks be to God.

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by | May 21, 2017 · 4:20 pm

Every Mountain has Two Sides…

“His foundation is in the holy mountains.” -Psalm 87:1

For every mountain has two sides, like every story has two tales.

He stood looking as the sunset washed against the granite walls making the monolith perpetuate itself against an azure sky. Long shadows cast about where he stood as the nearby peaks already beckoned the coming night. He had not seen Grandfather from this angle before, facing east. Heretofore, his sunsets were always on his eastern side facing west. Tonight, he was on the other side, in more ways than one.

A few feet from where the man stood, the entrance sign to the Hugh Chapman Center began to flicker, attempting to illuminate the letters. The beautiful YMCA facility set against the backdrop of Grandfather Mountain was a picture postcard scene, one which all of Avery County could be proud. A chill began to blow across the collar of his sports coat reminding him that he had not dressed for the duty to which he was now assigned; standing guard at the entrance of the High School Prom. As the temperature dropped and the sun slid behind distant peaks, his mind began to wander.

Ironically, even after all these years, this would be his first Prom…ever.

Across the many miles of life, the soul hath traveled.

In his youth, he sought to climb the mountain before him, the beast in his mind’s eye, the obstacle in his path which prevented him from becoming what he thought he was meant to be. There were so many unknowns. The mountain before him in his youth was shadowed from the sun, dark and ominous; he seemed to face another uphill battle around every corner he turned. The child fought against himself as much as he clashed against the world around him. Many had sought to help him along his way, and as such, he was no stranger to the Word. Even in the midst of all the struggles, he heard the preacher tell his congregation one Sunday that if you wanted to find a home in eternity, you needed to find the Lord; and at the tender age of 13,  he was saved. Yet, like those finding salvation in their youth, he seemed to lose his way. As a teen, he continued to try to run from God, making bad choice after bad choice, while many times being saved only by the grace of God. However, with time, and the prayers of those who loved him, he eventually found his path, the one that leads to the top; success would eventually be within his grasp.

Accolade after another began to pour in when he finally made something of his life. From nothing to something, this was his story; the world was in his pocket, or so he thought.

One day, after having achieved the summit, the man realized he was still bound to his earthly domain, stuck in a rut from which there was little escape. What once seemed to be the prize had now become his prison. Distraught with denial he had chosen incorrectly, he began to question where he now stood in life. His thoughts turned to his salvation and what it all had meant.

Still the prayers were lifted on his behalf, and at last, his own were added to the chorus.

“Many are called, but few are chosen…”

When the realization of who he had become, and who he served, the man realized the truth; he had been following the wrong master, for God was not the center of his life. Seeking answers from the only place he knew, the man turned to the Word of God. In the corner of the bookshelf, he found the dust covered volume he had so long neglected. When he opened it, there seemed to be a voice speak from within, “I AM with you.” Page after page, the light began to shine upon where he must go and what he must do. He was finally awakening to what God had called him to be; following Him, the creator of all, God the Father.

A new world began to open before the man, and with the new world, he found new friends and a new beginning. The prison in which he thought he had been trapped suddenly released him and the mountain of debt was dissolved; the shackles of his life had been removed like Paul and Silas’s; God had set him free.

But where do you go when you are finally freed from someplace you never thought you would escape, let alone survive?

You must begin life anew.

Once the man set out upon his new journey in life, he soon realized, he was now back in the deepest, darkest valley, far below that distant mountain top. He was starting over, like a babe in the woods. Yet, he feared no evil, he feared no darkness, for the Lord was with him. When he tired, he rested, when he thirsted, the Lord provided him nutriment. Step by step, he learned how to survive in this new world. Unlike the struggles he had found in his former life when trying to reach the summit, these new obstacles didn’t dissuade him from his path. Instead of becoming distraught, he sought answers in prayer. When he was overwhelmed with trials, he sought the Lord in prayer. Every new challenge he found he was never alone.

One day, after several months of hiking, he looked up. There before him stood the same mountain as before, but now, he looked upon it from the other side. Unlike before, he could now see the beauty in its splendor for the sunset was no longer shadowed in its path. Alit in a miraculous glow, the glory of the Father beckoned him onward, and upward, calling him to the summit above.

As the night air swirled around him, he pulled his collar up a little tighter. He stamped his slowly numbing feet to keep the up the circulation. However, the elements bothered him little. He was here for a purpose. Deep in his heart, he knew the decision was right; he had finally chosen wisely.

Yes, he had never been to a Prom before, but oh how beautiful it was now that he had finally made it.

The day we step into our Heavenly home, will be the greatest day of all, and then, we shall all rejoice in His glory, the Prom of all Proms.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

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