Decelerated Reader

You never know who you're going to see when you go back to your hometown. Recently at a garage sale I ran into one of my old teachers from seventh grade. Apart from thinking that this was probably the last individual on earth I expected to see, I was also reminded of something else:

After seventh grade I stopped reading.

I did not stop reading all together. I still read billboards, subtitles on TV, menus at restaurants, or any other normal printed things we read every day. But I'm not talking about those things, I'm talking about books.Up until seventh grade I loved to read, and always had a book going. I loved feeding my ravenous imagination with new thoughts, and characters, and adventures. But that all stopped in seventh grade.

No one held a gun to my head, I didn't go blind, and my school didn't start burning books. I decided that I hated books and never wanted to read one again. I continued to "read" for school assignments, but even that was questionable at best and excruciatingly painful. I simply wanted nothing to do with books ever again. But how could something that had been so central to my life, be cast aside so flippantly?

Well it was not a spur of the moment decision. It all goes back to that teacher in seventh grade and a horrible program called Accelerated Reader (AR). I'm sure AR started out with good intentions: get kids interested and excited about reading books. For kids like me it was a great excuse to read things I liked and get prizes for doing it. But in seventh grade, this fell apart. My whole life I was in the advanced classes in school. But when I got to seventh grade they tried to split us up in just one course, Reading, and mix us in with other kids. Maybe they thought we would help motivate the other kids to learn, I don't know. All I do know is that it was a horrible experiment. It was not an even split. Three of us were removed from our place in the advanced class and were dumped in what could be best described as a remedial Reading class. This experience made me hate reading. It was awful. I still have nightmares...

My decision was not without consequences. I guess somehow I justified my actions by thinking I would prove something, or displace those who had "wronged" me. In truth I ended up only hurting myself. The biggest consequence was learning to take short-cuts; to get by without putting in all the effort I should. CliffsNotes can seem like your best friend. At first this may seem really impressive considering some of the papers I received "As" on in college over books I didn't read. But you can't take short cuts on everything in life. Like relationships, or even Koine Greek. You put in "C" level effort, you get "C" level results. You can only get by on luck, or charm, or raw talent for so long. Faking it often ends up in a masquerade of a life. When I think back on all the things that I learned or the things that really matter, the only ones I remember are the ones I put forth effort on.

I guess I thought I deserved more, that I was entitled to something better. And when it was not given to me the way I expected, I walked away. I left it behind. I know I was only in 7th grade, but it was still pretty childish. I wonder if I still act this way at times. I wonder about this false sense of entitlement. I wonder if my relationships with others fall into this pattern. I wonder if I view my relationship with God like this sometimes. Do I feel entitled to receive his grace, forgiveness, or blessing? And when it doesn't turn out the way I want, do I turn my back and try to find fulfillment on my own or through short-cuts? Maybe I'm on to something, or maybe this is just another musing of a modern-day sasquatch

Collect $200

I don't know how it happened, but every time my family played Monopoly growing up, I seemed to win. I'm almost positive my (at times) overly high self confidence can be attributed to all those wins. When you think about it, Monopoly is an interesting game. Its all about gaining control and power over all the other players in the game. When I think about it in that light, I'm not sure why any family would ever play that game, but we did. Its funny how much of that game has little to do with actual money-handling or budgeting skills. As a kid a knew very little about those things, yet I could win the game. Why? Because the way the die landed. So much of that game is left up to luck, chance, and free parking. Sure knowing a lot about money can help you, but if you keep rolling doubles, or land on that very unfortunate space, you wind up in jail and all that knowledge doesn't do you a lick of good. If you don't land or crucial pieces of real estate or the community chest, the game can be very unpleasant. You find yourself longing for the "go" space; desiring to just to make it around the board one more time so you can pass go and at least make some money.

The other night I couldn't sleep. Even after an endless number of sheep herds passed before my eyes, I couldn't drift off into dream land. In my restlessness I came across some old all-but-forgotten friends. I came across my old Facebook notes, which were the start and inspiration to this blog. The beginning of my online writing you could say. You can read them here: http://www.facebook.com/sir.levi.mawhirter?sk=notes (25 random things does not count...)

If you don't have Facebook, you're out of luck, but you can always use somebody else's if you're really interested in reading them.

Its always interesting to read the old things you write, whether they be blogs, Facebook notes, journals, or what have you, because they provide us with a little snap-shot of what was going on in our lives. It can be fun to see how we have changed or grown since last we wrote.

No matter where we are on the board, whether we are dominating or really hurting, it can be beneficial to go back to the start. For one it provides some relief from the onslaught that life throws at us some times. But it also comes with a bonus, a reward. It is good to look back and say "I can't believe I used to be so concerned about that!" or better yet we can see the areas where God came through for us; the times God answered our prayers. Sometimes these little things are enough to keep you in the game. So I encourage you to pass go and collect your $200. You just might be encouraged with what you find.

To Grandmother's House We Go

As a kid growing up you think that your grandparents will always be there, because they always have been. They seem almost invincible. Even when faced with health problems or other struggles that come with old age, it still seems like you will have them forever. They will continue to be there spoiling you, loving on you, and fussing over you because that's just what grandparents do. It appears that you always have a place to go, you are always welcome at Grandma's house. But then funerals happen.

Both of my grandmothers died this past year a few months apart.

I'm not gonna write how it was God's plan and one day we will understand, because I don't believe that.

The truth is that it sucks, its difficult, and it creates hard questions without answers. Losing someone is never easy because you don't just lose a person, you lose meaningful relationships, you lose a piece of your heart, and that hurts. But this isn't a post where I vent about those things. This is a tribute.

This a tribute to the life my grandmother's lived and encouraged me to live by the impact they had on me and countless others. This is a tribute to the values and principles instilled in me through two women who have inspired me to live for something greater than myself. This post is a tribute.

My grandmothers taught me the meaning of sacrifice. You don't realize it as a small child, but as you grow older  you do, especially hearing the stories told at funerals and visitations. Both of my grandmothers had humble beginnings and humble ends. They constantly gave of themselves. Both devoted themselves to following Christ and teaching others to do the same. They didn't have much, but what they did have they gave freely to others. They were generous women. They always made sure their families were taken care of, often at the expense of themselves. They were servants in the true sense of the word: helping those in need with no thought to their own needs. They taught me the importance of family. They showed me how to love unconditionally. I learned more about Christ through the lives of these women than all the college courses I took could teach me.

I miss them. I miss the kindness and tenderness in their eyes. I miss the hugs. I miss the games we played. Certain places and Holidays for sure change, because their meaning was tied to my grandmothers. I miss them. I miss the love they always showed me no mater what. I didn't deserve it, or have a right to it, but they showed me love all the same. Even though they have passed on, doesn't mean they are gone forever. I have my memories and those can't be taken away. The lessons they taught me, the principles they instilled in me are pieces of them that will never pass away. And the more I share with others, the longer my grandmothers will live on. They live on through me. A life could never be completely summed up or fully honored with words on a page. My only hope is to impact the lives of others they way they impacted me.

Grandma's house isn't quite the same without grandma. Its hard to find out your grandparents aren't as invincible or permanent as you once thought as a kid. But this post is about the parts of them that are. I know one day I will once again travel to grandma's house. One day we will sit down at a table and catch up as if nothing had ever happened, and I look forward to that day.