God Speaks; I’m Listening.

When I first opened my eyes Monday morning I knew that it would be a day unlike most. For one thing, it was the day I’d be saying goodbye to a dear friend who died one week before – unexpectedly. Cora was a special soul and my church family was set to gather for her memorial service in the afternoon. But I still had to go through the motions of a half-day at work, even though my heart really wasn’t into it.

Just then, the snooze alarm woke me up – again – ten minutes later, telling me to, “Wake up slacker!” Okay! I got it.

Off then to work, gazing at a gloomy morning through a dirty bus window in mourning for a dear friend and walking through the proverbial “to do list” in my mind. I wanted to turn it all over to the substitute a smooth-running flawless learning machine. (By the way, I’m a special education school teacher.)

I got the kids off the busses at 9:05 am and we headed to breakfast.

On the way I was still thinking, “Attendance: check! Lesson plans: check-a-rooney! Note to sub explaining the afternoon’s activities in great detail: check again! Wow! I wish I could have it all together like this when I’m here all day… If only!”

At 9:20 am the first period bell sounded. That’s usually the signal for us to gobble-up the rest of the vittles and then head to our room for “morning meeting.”

For my kids, morning meetings consist of enthusiastically welcoming the new school day by posting the daily calendar, running through the days of the week, months of the year, counting to whatever day it happens to be. Monday was the 19th of March – considerably more ground to cover than way back when it was March 3rd, but time does fly. Counting all the way to the 31st will be a bumpy ride indeed.

I’m usually in my room during our morning meetings, and for all the daily activities, so when general ed students occasionally approach me to say, “You have so much fun in your class!” I generally agree, but I never really understood what an objective outside-my-classroom observer meant by that – until Monday.

I had to excuse myself temporarily and left my assistant in charge. Five minutes later I came out of the main office door (a considerable distance – and around a corner – from my classroom) and heard our typical “morning meeting” already in progress echoing through the vacant school halls. And I must say, boy was it swingin’!!!

I could hear the days of the week, counting to 19 (a great accomplishment, as I have already pointed out), months of the year, identification of pictures associated with the calendar holidays, and most of all, I heard the loud and proud cheers of encouragement that my students have learned to share with one another from day one, in order that they all should feel good about every accomplishment they make – and recognize one another for those accomplishments.

I stood and listened for five minutes in total amazement at what I have been a part of every day for seven months, but never really heard from an outsider’s perspective.

And are you wondering why this audio image hit me so hard? Well, it could have been the fact that, out of nine students who started the school year in my classroom, way back in August, only three could speak recognizable words – only these same three offered to make any real sound at all. The others were silent, except for occasional brief unrelated-to-anything-else sounds, or crying tantrums.

That was back in August.

The reality that eight out of nine of my students use words regularly now (and the ninth uses sounds in a more purposeful way – i.e. to get something, or communicate wants and needs and emotions), was not lost on one of those people who have been working very diligently to get the voices singing. No, it wasn’t lost on me at all.

In fact, to say that God was speaking to me through my kids’ voices on a morning I needed so badly to hear from Him, just goes to show how in tune He really is with us all – every second of every day.

How is this possible? Because He’s God, that’s the only explanation I have.

Cora’s passing left a hole in the world – a hole in my world too. Through my kids, God let me know that my work here is important – that I need to carry on until I am called home. I have a purpose greater than self and that is my hole to fill. He let me know, even though I had to say goodbye to Cora, everything is going to be okay, because He’s in control.

It’s comforting to know that, considering I still feel like crying about every thirty seconds. It’s a bitter pill, but through my kids God said, “Tomorrow will be a better day and the day after will be better still.”

God Speaks; I’m listening.

So, there I was, sitting in the choir risers, high upon the chancel with about sixty others, overlooking the sanctuary filled with about six-hundred guests, ready to sing Cora’s farewell.

We all wore white robes with beautiful silky white stoles around our necks. I couldn’t believe how heavy it was – the robe – not made of a flimsy material at all. I felt elegant, angelic almost. But then I got hot and started to sweat as I am known to do in any situation where the temperature rises above fifty-five degrees.

I’m a Chicago boy. What can I tell you? Collar and sleeves are not an option usually, even where snow is a concern, but I was wrapped to the wrists and tripped up the stairs from the choir room to the chancel on the long train like I was wearing a prom gown and high heels for the very first time.

I was very nervous sitting there waiting to sing, which didn’t help the blast furnace I had going on under my robe any. I am not a member of either choir, but was invited to join in the voices anyway. I was thrilled and wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

I don’t sing. I play bass in the praise band and the running joke (at least I think it’s a joke) is that the Music Director won’t let me have a microphone. She was seated straight across from me and I tried hard not to catch her eye out of fear she’d come over and tell me to, “Just move your lips, Bob… no one will know you aren’t making a sound.”

We all stood to sing Cora’s anthem and it was wonderful. From my place I could see the family, but I tried not to look there too much. I found comfort in the baptism candle, which stood tall next to the baptism font only a few yards in front of me. Lit only for baptisms, Easter, and funerals, the candle made me feel Cora’s presence. I’m sure she was pleased to see me there within the ranks of not one, but two really good choirs. She’d probably say that it took real “chutzpah” to pull it off. Yeah, I think she’d use a word like that to describe it?

I looked around the big sanctuary. It was full of my church family mostly. Yeah, it could have been broken-down into individual family units, but it wasn’t like that for me. I’m an only child from a family that could never have been considered close. No, that’s not the word I’d use anyway.

So, when I looked out there it was all family to me. And although most of them will never know how much they mean to me, the fact that we were all there together to say goodbye to Cora made them even more important in my eyes – infinitely more important.

...all the time. And all the time, God is good.

I heard God speaking again during the service. He said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”

His grace resonated in the hymns, in the scriptures read, in the enormous sound of the pipe organ, and in the Pastor’s voice. I heard Him comforting us, cleansing us, telling us to move forward, even though we felt so much pain on that day. I heard Him say that everything was going to be alright.

I know one thing’s for sure… I believe every word.