The desire to Experience

I can see the Grand Canyon out of my window right now as I fly back to Philadelphia. Seeing the Grand Canyon has been on my bucket list long before any other item was, long before I even had a bucket list. I knew that before I died I wanted to see this American Marvel. Long before I wanted to go to all 7 continents, before I wanted to see Europe, before I wanted to sky dive or learn Spanish I wanted to see the Grand Canyon.

It wasn’t a burning passion. It wasn’t something I talked about endlessly or hung pictures of on my walls. It was just something I wanted to do. Now I can say that I have seen the Grand Canyon. I could, if I wanted, cross it off my bucket list. But I won’t.

I have pictures of the beginning parts of it but I didn’t take photos of what everyone really goes to see, the widest and deepest parts of the canyon, the part that makes it “Grand”. Normally when experiencing a new place or a new activity there is a euphoria associated with it. Something that in my gut tells me “Here you are. Did you think that you would ever be doing this? Smile. Enjoy it.” This is normally accompanied by frenzied picture taking (Faulty Memory Protection).

This seeing of the Grand Canyon lacks this Euphoria and desire for pictures. Part of it is that I am on a flight. How excited can you get about something when you are thousands of feet above it?  But I have seen things from planes before that I haven’t seen in person that made me go “Wow”.

In the 15 minutes it took from when it first entered my sight until it was gone, I realized I had written my bucket list all wrong. I can’t be excited about the Grand Canyon because I haven’t experienced it. I haven’t stood looking at the other side and shouted my name wondering at the same time why a duck’s quack doesn’t echo. (Seriously – why doesn’t a duck’s quack echo?). I haven’t looked down and thought about the men and women who trekked by there in the past on their way to the Californian dream. I haven’t camped or hiked or done anything that connects me to the experience.

So from now on my bucket list will say “Experience the Grand Canyon”. I was not created to see life, I was created to enjoy it.

John 10:10b - I came that they may have life, and have it to the full.

I HATE MAKING DECISIONS!

So in trying to do my duty as an American Citizen I need to decide what issues are important to me and in what issues are MOST important. I am obviously not going to agree with all the views held by whichever candidate I vote for but the majority of the views held by the candidate should match how I feel about my top issues. The problem is sometimes I can't decide. For example:

Drilling for oil in previously restricted US areas

PROS: Creates potential jobs for US workers, reduces our dependence on foreign oil
CONS: Possible damage to the environment, does not reduce our dependence on oil overall

The problem I am trying to reconcile is that both options hold good points. Do I want people in America to have jobs? Heck yeah I do! Do I want to reduce the our dependence on oil in favor of more ecological friendly alternatives? YES!

Because both of these are things that I want and I think that both are vitally important I have to weigh which one I want more.

I feel that as a Christian we are entrusted with God's earth and should protect it as much as possible. Not only that but we have a duty to future generations to use our resources wisely. But at what cost?

You can argue that focusing our energies on finding fuel alternatives creates jobs, just as drilling close to america would. But this denies a few truths - the jobs created for energy alternatives are not for those that would be working on an oil rig. I can't say for sure but I definitely think that jobs created at the higher end of the education level bars those who do not have an advanced degree but if someone with an advance degree needs a job, he can apply for jobs that do not have as strict requirement for education. This means that the job creation is not equal. If job creation isn't equal than that is another factor that should be determined as well. Who am I to judge who get the jobs? I know people on both walks of life.

The other thing is that if drilling in America would mean that we stopped drilling elsewhere then the ecological impact would be negated. But it isn't. Those doing the drilling are companies. The bottom line is their goal. That isn't a bad thing. If it wasn't their goal they would be a NFP entity. So then do we increase the chances of having another environmental disaster, as with BP? That disaster also cost a lot of people their jobs.

As one of my favorite author says "The truth often defies simplicity".

So once I finally make my decision on where I stand on this issue (which research still has to be done on my end so I don't fall victim to someone else's bias) then we have to bring in something like healthcare.

 Do I want everyone to have healthcare? Of course! Do I want to pay for the cost of treating lung cancer for someone who has smoked for 20 years? No! Do I want people with pre existing conditions to have healthcare? Yes! Do I think that small business should be forced to pay health insurance? No.

Once again I would have to do research to come to my own conclusions on where I stand. THEN on top of that I have to decide if my stance for drilling on american soil or healthcare was more important than the other ESPECIALLY if neither candidate support both of my views.

Then again maybe Obama supports my #1 and 4 but Romney supports #2 and 3? Where do I go from there. Romney might support more of top choices but Obama might support my #1.

This mess of decision making is the main reason I voted straight ticket in the last election. This is also the reason I will not vote straight ticket again. Voting straight ticket is supporting a political parties views. It's time I supported my own.

Remembering the victims and brave heroes

Tuesday September 11, 2001 I sat in Latin class as one of the girls came in late and announced that a plane had hit a building in NY. No one really paid much attention because we didn't know really what had happened. Somehow someone found out that it was the WTC and a jet airliner had crashed into it. We turned on the TV in our classroom to see the second plane hit. Our jaws dropped. A half hour later, we heard that the pentagon had been hit. We didn't know what to do. We were inbetween NYC and DC, were we next?

The principal of our school came onto the PA system to tell the school what had happened. During that announcement, the TV showed the wreckage in Shanksville, PA of the flight that didn't make it's destination. Since many people in our area commute into NYC for work, those who had parents in NYC were allowed to leave class and head to the office to call home. Many didn't come back as they drove home to wait to hear from loved ones. The principal requested that we keep the TVs off. Most of the teachers complied but our thoughts were with those in NY. 5th period chemistry we turned on the TV. The teacher wanted to know just as much as we did how this happened. Two flights had hit. This wasn't an accident.

The news broke that it had been a deliberate attempt by those in the Taliban. No one understood. No one had heard of this group before. I had. My sister has long been called to Afghanistan to work and minister to the women there. I knew this group. It was the group that my sister would be opposing while she was over there. I had always thought of them as a foreign thing. An oppressive regime that was far away. It affected my sister, it would never touch me. I learned that day how wrong I was. The TV suddenly cut off as more information was coming in on who and why and how. The principal had finally found the switch that turned off all the TVs.

That day changed me, it changed us. As Americans, Christians, Muslims, Athiests, Parents, Children, Siblings, spouses, or whatever you were. We heard through the grapevine who had been pulled out of class, who had gone home because they couldn't be in school anymore and most devastatingly, one girl sobbing in the hall because her family just found out her dad, who worked in Philly, had got called to an impromptu meeting in NY that day in the world trade center. They hadn't heard from him.

I grew up that day. Maybe not a lot but I grew up faster on that day than any other day since. When I got home my mom asked that we leave the TV off. She told me that the news was showing things that she didn't want the other kids to see. I went upstairs and turned on the TV in her room. I saw videos of men and women jumping out of the higher floors. People running as the buildings collapsed. I heard my mom telling me of our neighbor and friend, Dr Gokcen, going to NY to help those who had been wounded. I heard my Sunday school teacher was suppose to be in the city but God wanted him to bake muffins, causing him to miss his train to the city and waiting for the second train that never came. I heard that our township firefighters and policemen were going to help. A four hour drive but the much needed support was vital.

I witnessed our president declare war. Stand up and say we will not let this pass. I saw school buses with tiny arms waving flags out of windows. Songs were written that only barely scratched the surface of emotions of that day. People came together and for a brief time we were not republican, democrat, black, white, rich, poor, man, or woman. We were Americans. And every year we put aside those dividers and remember those that were cruelly taken from this earth early, those that risked their life to assist those that couldn't make it on their own out of the tower, the passengers who knew that death was a certainty but had the fortitude to ensure that no more lives were taken, the brave men that ran into a burning building to help where ever they could, and those strong men who held out hope combing through the wreckage for one more survivor. Seeing things that should never be seen and yet preserving onward.

We will never forget. I will never forget.

Willfully Disobedient

I went to get dinner tonight with a coworker at a local fast food mexican restaurant next to our hotel. The lady in front of us in line ordered and I noticed that she had some problems manuevering because she was using a walker. Thinking nothing much of it we ordered our food and went to go get our drinks. On our way to our table, her number was called. We had stopped to check to see if it was ours and my coworker helped her take the food to the table. She gave us her thanks saying "I don't know how to get around quite yet. My husband use to help me and he died this week."

Our number was called and we got our food. I heard God clearly say "Go sit with her. You hate eating alone when you are traveling, imagine how she feels, she lost her husband". My coworker was already sitting at another table and I didn't know how to gracefully tell him that I was going to be eating with a strange old lady that I had never met. In addition, to walk up to someone and start talking to them or even scarier ask to sit with them and eat is WAY outside my comfort zone. I sat down with my back to her. I kept on telling myself after we are done I will talk to her. God kept on pushing thoughts into my head. The stories that I could hear. The comfort I could give her. I glanced back at her once or twice, thinking I would go over once we were done eating. Or once my coworker was done eating. Feeling ashamed I turned around to finally talk to her but God had provided a more willing servant already. Someone to comfot a woman who was now sobbing quietly. I overheard her tell the woman that she had come her quite often with her husband, she couldn't count the number of times that she had been in that restaurant at that same exact table with him. That she didn't know how she was going to cope without him.

I can not even describe my sorrow at this. I had let a woman who is greiving and eating alone, the one thing I HATE to do by myself, be without comfort. How hard would it have been to say "That woman just lost her husband, I am going to eat with her."? God is merciful and loving and gave her a willing ear to listen to her. I can only cry and pray for forgiveness for not going to one of his children when there was a need. I only wish I can apologize to that woman.

Matthew 25:36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.

I am sorry I didn't comfort you. I am so sorry.

The Teachers of WCCS

From pre-K through 8th grade I went to school at Washington Crossing Christian School, WCCS to us attendees. My time there was heavily influenced by the teachers. I can truly say that the teachers and administration of that school shaped who I am today.

I can remember every teacher I have had there.

1st - Mrs Brody

2nd - Mrs Bell

4th -Mrs Hoffstetter

6th, 7th and 8th - Mr Hall, Pastor Dave, Mrs Walsh and Mrs. Norton (nee Caywood)

My 6th - 8th teachers really showed me what school was all about. What I could be learning. And the first to show me that the amount of effort I put into something reflected the grade I would get. The first and last failing grade I ever got was in Mr Hall's class. I did a "report" and "presentation" on football. I got a 47, I think. End of the semester I had a D. And I caught hell for it. I never got a D again (although C's somewhat peppered my college transcripts) Miss Caywood taught me the value of critical thinking in reading. (although I can't do it... I know the value)

I can also go into the auxilary teachers (such as the awesome Mr Dancha our gym teacher) but the list would be really long.

You might be wondering why I left out my 3rd and 5th  grade teachers. I haven't forgotten them. Quite the opposite. These teachers had the most impact.

My fifth grade teacher was Mrs Steele... well  technically she was my Kindergarten, fifth, AND sixth grade teacher. (maybe even pre-k but my memory, as mentioned in this post, is really bad... I would have to confirm with my mom or Mrs Steele).  Mrs Steele is the first teacher I remember having at WCCS. I can't remember much from that year except that a) we hatched chickens in which we got to keep one and subsequently had a violent and gruesome death (more on that later) and  b) Mrs Steele's name changed and I thought it was mean to make my teacher change her name from whatever it was then to something that meant she took something without asking (I didn't realize that it also was a material to build bridges and buildings and the like).

Mrs Steele wanted every single one of her students to succeed, not only in school but in other areas as well. I could walk into her classroom at any point during a lunch or recess break and talk to her about whatever was bothering me. She would also give you third chances at tests. No really! I got three chances on my section on grammar. I got a 60 on the first one, a 65 on the third one, and a 59 on the third. Sadly, it was not lack of trying on my part or an ineptness on her part, just my brains inability to identify different parts of a sentence. Even to this day, unless those parts of a sentence are ask for in madlibs, I have no idea what it is.

She also got to know each of her students as a person. She made it clear that they were valued for just who and what they were. One of my favorite stories of Mrs Steele is related to Katie. Katie was notoriously messy growing up. Each day when she went to Kindergarten she would go clean and unblemished. As she was leaving each day Mrs. Steele would smile and count the number of spots of food, paint, and dirt that now colored my sister's outfit. She could find the good in any kid. 

My Third grade teacher was Mrs Brown. Mrs Brown is one of the best teachers I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She made learning fun. She was my Miss Frizzle.

If you have never seen the magic school bus

well then you need to

Mrs Brown's third grade started off with giving the parents a list of reports that will be due during the school year and projects that needed to be completed. For a girl who procrastinates until the very last minute to tell her family about a MAJOR project this sheet was VITAL... too bad it got lost 2 weeks into the school year. This was the first year that we would be doing "real" school work. We were done with baby school and would be doing cool things like writing papers.

Everyone could not WAIT to get into Mrs Browns third grade class. We had heritage day, where everyone (but me) did research on their family's history and would bring in food and decorations that represented the family's ancestry. The whole school was invited to come in and view our exhibits and presentations. One year someone had a full cooked fish, head and everything. I was in second grade that year and one of the kids in the class decided that taking a dare to eat the eye balls would be fun. We had some minor regurgitation.

The thing is, I didn't tell my mom until the night before that we needed to do this project. I ended up bringing in black eye peas, corn bread, and fried okra and tried to pass of my heritage as "Southern". I got an S- (less than satisfactory) on that project. Katie made up for it in three years though. Never one to go half way on a project, she RESEARCHED our family and went in with full food and decorations. I am sure we have pictures of it somewhere.

I remember doing research (aka going to the library and looking up one entry in the encyclopedia.... the thing that came before wikipedia) and my parents helping me finalize everything. As much as it was encouraged for us to do our own work, Mrs Brown let the parents help and the Good Lord knows how much I needed my parents help to do the work (like I said, pathological procrastinator). One of my favorite "research papers" ever was the first time we had to have a Bibliography and I had two - count em 1...2... - articles from the Encyclopedia Britanica and World Book encyclopedia from 1802 that we had in the basement. My dad drew the cover of the "report" (it was on Jack Rabbits) and I remember thinking that he had to be the best artist ever and couldn't understand why he wasn't a painter or something.

Not to give you the impression that Mrs Brown was a softie. Quite the opposite. That woman had rules and if you broke them, well you were inside for a recess writing a note of apology or and explanation of why you were wrong. I had three or four of these. Pretty average for the normal third grader. Katie had more than 20. Never one to be bound by the rules but also with a large conscience, Katie would break the rules then regretfully inform Mrs Brown of the infraction. Mrs Brown saved all of these and gave them to her students upon the student graduating 8th grade from WCCS. Mine consisted of things like "I am sorry I forgot to tell my parents about my homework and instead tried to do it during math. I promise to let my mom and dad know about each homework I have". Katie's consisted of "I am sorry I looked at Savannah's spelling test. I really just wanted to make sure she was doing alright. I know that this could look like cheating but I didn't change any of my answers even though I saw I got one wrong. I am sorry I won't do it again".

Mrs Brown is the only teacher that each one of the Baker children had. By the time John got to Mrs Brown's class my parents joked that they were old hats at it and could get straight Os (WCCS version of an A - O = outstanding). 

I am sure that many people remember their early teachers fondly. Maybe that is because no one fails an 8 year old or there wasn't any real work to be done (unless you are Kristen and Spelling... Kristen and Spelling are mortal enemies). But the teachers that were hired at WCCS were truly exceptional and I feel blessed that I got to be their student.