A few weeks ago, we decided to start Lost. Both Alex and I managed to completely miss the phenomenon when the show was actually in production, but luckily my dad's Amazon Prime account is hooking us up.
Each episode (so far) has started by spot lighting a particular character and flashing back to that character's life before he or she landed on the Island (via plane crash, for those of you who haven't emerged from under your rock in the last decade).
We're on episode 22, or something like that, of Season 1. The survivors have been on the island for a little over a month-- that's a little over a month with zero communication with the outside world. Just sand, jungle, and the occasional polar bear (you read that right-- the show is straight up nuts).
I just spent the last 30 minutes looking for my phone. I pulled up to my house, sent a quick text to Morgan, loaded my bags and grabbed the mail, and headed into my house. Threw the junk mail away and took the garbage out, watered the plants, and came back in to text my husband and complain that he had done none of those things.
But there was no phone.
I looked everywhere. I went from scanning the room to tearing cushions out of chairs. I checked rooms I haven't even been in today.
Friends, I went outside and went through the garbage. Not once. THREE times. Then, I brought it in and moved the garbage piece by piece into a different bag. Piece. By. Piece. We're talking old grapes, lunch meat boxes, and the bag I marinated my chicken in last night.
I checked my car three times-- moved everything from the front seat to the back seat and back again. Moved both seats all the way backward and forward.
Googled how to trace an iPhone.
On the fifth car check, I found it: wedged between the console and the seat, undetectable to the human eye.
At this point I'm sweaty, uncomfortable, and on the edge of a meltdown as I realize that I don't have a landline-- other than my cell phone and email, I have no way to contact the outside world. I'd already emailed my husband and Morgan, and after 30 minutes neither had checked their email.
I was LOST.
Sweaty and irritable, I might as well have been wrecked with Hurley, Kate, and the Others on Mystery Island. I felt like all civility was lost-- without my phone, I might as well have to hunt my own food and build a fire with flint and bamboo shoots.
Maybe I'm too dependent on my phone. BUT. In my defense, EVERYthing from my certification process emails to my work contacts is on that tiny machine.
My heart has just now slowed to a normal beat after that brush with disaster.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
never grow up.
When I was in Kindergarten and first grade, my dad taught at Cleveland High School. Kindergarten thru twelfth grade classes were all on the same campuses, separated by a breezeway and a shared cafeteria. So I never had to ride the bus-- until ninth grade, I rode to school with my dad. Kindergarten and first grade at Cleveland stick out to me though because I loved faculty meetings so much. Now, most teachers' kids dread these days because it means staying in that dreaded building for even longer.
Not me. Not with an arsenal of movies at my fingertips. See, like me, my dad is a lover of fine films, and he cultivated this love in me from a young age. On faculty meeting days, we'd walk down to the library, and I'd pick out a movie: Ricky Ticky Tavvy was common but it scared me unless my brother watched it with me, Cinderella was, of course, highly favored, and then there was Peter Pan.
Anyone that knows me can tell you that Peter Pan is my all-time favorite anything: the book, any adaptation of the movie, the play (my fabulous parents took me to see in Atlanta, and ohmygosh, I still remember when Peter took flight right in front of my very eyes), and even the ride at Disney World.
In fact, I found out today that someone had just returned from the Happiest Place on Earth. First question out of my mouth: Did you ride Peter Pan?!
Here's what you need to know about Cleveland Elementary's copy of Peter Pan: this is not the Disney classic that you're familiar with. No, it's possibly better. I can never decide. The 1960 version of Peter Pan starring a 47-year-old, but ever-delightful, Mary Martin. From "I Won't Grow Up" to "I've Gotta Crow" (favorite line: "Oh, the cleverness of me!") to "Ugg-a-Wugg" my five-year-old mind was captivated by J.M. Barrie's fantastical universe: Neverland.
Sidenote: this version of Peter Pan includes the California Raisins as part of the previews; consequently, I crave Raisinettes to this day whenever I watch Peter Pan.
Today on my way home from work, Mary Martin's 'Never Never Land' came on my iPod.
Y'all, I nearly cried. The lyrics are perfection. The story, unparalleled. It's not like I didn't pretend to live in a castle and daydream about Prince Charming, but when it comes to favorite fairy tales, Cinderella can keep her glass slippers. Ask me for my favorite story, and my mind goes zooming to the "first star to the left, then straight on til morning."
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
you're never too old for summer camp.
During the school year, on top of being a substitute teacher and graduate intern, I started working for the school's extended day program. Mostly, we helped kids with homework, had snack, watched the kids play on the playground, and facilitated the occasional dodgeball game. In the summertime, extended day turns into a full on summer day camp: 7 am - 5:30 pm. And that, my friends, is my summer job.
At first, I was bummed about a 7 am job in the summer. I am, after all, an educator, born and bred to take the summers off after 9 long months of being a prison warden. But let me tell you: best. job. ever. And don't let anyone tell you different-- because the teenage aides my try to, but they don't know how good they've got it.
First of all, there are field trips. Hello, Birmingham Zoo and McWayne Center. Second, free movies (saw Madagascar 3 today-- very cute) at the Rave Theater. Third, afternoons at the pool every other day. In the downtown, we put the gymnastics mats out and watch a movie in the gym floor. I won't even mention the Oreos and lemonade because I'm trying to ween myself off camp snacks.
Now, if that doesn't sound like two tons of fun, I don't know what does.
Sure, I have to keep up with 17 fifth graders at every second of the day. They can get a little froggy, try to escape the playground from time to time and whatnot. And sometimes the girls yah-yah and the boys tussle. And sometimes there are tummy aches and skinned knees. But it's nothing I can't handle, and mostly it's a lot of fun.
Camp Lot A Fun.
Even on rainy days, it's fun. There's lot of coloring, and I've spent roughly 24 years perfecting my bubble letters.
At first, I was bummed about a 7 am job in the summer. I am, after all, an educator, born and bred to take the summers off after 9 long months of being a prison warden. But let me tell you: best. job. ever. And don't let anyone tell you different-- because the teenage aides my try to, but they don't know how good they've got it.
First of all, there are field trips. Hello, Birmingham Zoo and McWayne Center. Second, free movies (saw Madagascar 3 today-- very cute) at the Rave Theater. Third, afternoons at the pool every other day. In the downtown, we put the gymnastics mats out and watch a movie in the gym floor. I won't even mention the Oreos and lemonade because I'm trying to ween myself off camp snacks.
Now, if that doesn't sound like two tons of fun, I don't know what does.
Sure, I have to keep up with 17 fifth graders at every second of the day. They can get a little froggy, try to escape the playground from time to time and whatnot. And sometimes the girls yah-yah and the boys tussle. And sometimes there are tummy aches and skinned knees. But it's nothing I can't handle, and mostly it's a lot of fun.
Camp Lot A Fun.
Even on rainy days, it's fun. There's lot of coloring, and I've spent roughly 24 years perfecting my bubble letters.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
In Sickness and In Health
You say that in your vows. You picture it years later, possibly decades.
But every now and then you're just lucky enough to have a husband who gets tonsillitis less than a week after the honeymoon.
Thursday morning, Alex got up at a most unattractive hour to get ready for work. Those of us that are working summer programs for the school were still in bed because programs don't start until next week. He fumbled and he mumbled and he woke his wife up. So I said my piece and went back to sleep, none too happy.
Later on Thursday, I get a text from my husband saying that he was sorry for his lack of consideration that morning but he was just feeling really groggy and kind of sickly.
This text was followed by several more expressing that he might have a cold and a fever. I had a job interview that afternoon, but when I got home I found a very sad sight on my couch. A grown man, huddled under a down comforter, decked from head to foot in sweats, and shivering to boot. I immediately went into nurse mode-- I've seen my mom do it many times as a result of my traumatic relationship with my sinuses.
I started with leftover wedding cake, which was received with pleasure. But the night just got darker.
By Friday morning, it was firmly decided (by the wife, not the husband): a doctor's visit was in order.
He screwed his face into more pout faces than I knew he had in him, and Friday morning I watched my 25-year-old husband regress into a grumpy 4-year-old. Women across the board say this is a common symptom among sick men. My high energy, quick witted man turned into a belligerent toddler overnight, refusing to eat or drink and throwing in a magnitude of grumbles and pout faces.
The first diagnosis was strep throat. When his fever still raged on Saturday morning, we headed up to an Urgent Care for a second opinion. This time around, the doctor thought that strep was a plausible diagnosis but the more likely culprit was tonsillitis. He offered a shot to quicken the antibiotic and for a brief moment my husband was back, manning up for a very painful couple of shots of antibiotic and steroids. And then, right back to four year old Alex.
By that evening he had briefly reached a fever break, so we thought we'd brave Erica and Dee's tool & gadget shower. We had already missed another friend's shower that afternoon, and Alex was bound and determined to make one of the two. So out we went. And within five minutes of being there, the chills and fever were back. The result: a multitude of people wondering what kind of monster would drag her sick husband out of the bed for a shower.
So... back to bed. There was some force feeding of soup and Gatorade: just picture a picky child refusing to open their mouth, shaking their head vehemently, accompanied by adamant "Uh-uh's."
But this morning, by some miracle, my husband is back. The magic of modern medicine! It's like the full moon is over and the werewolf has returned to his human form. We've even gone to Lowe's to pick out a mailbox and painted the post in our garage. Back to productivity and back to happy, healthy Alex!
Luckily for me, Alex only gets sick once a year. Unlucky for him, he'll have to deal with Sick Lindsey ten times over before I encounter Sick Alex again. And I give him full license to complain about it when he has to be Nurse Alex.
But every now and then you're just lucky enough to have a husband who gets tonsillitis less than a week after the honeymoon.
Thursday morning, Alex got up at a most unattractive hour to get ready for work. Those of us that are working summer programs for the school were still in bed because programs don't start until next week. He fumbled and he mumbled and he woke his wife up. So I said my piece and went back to sleep, none too happy.
Later on Thursday, I get a text from my husband saying that he was sorry for his lack of consideration that morning but he was just feeling really groggy and kind of sickly.
This text was followed by several more expressing that he might have a cold and a fever. I had a job interview that afternoon, but when I got home I found a very sad sight on my couch. A grown man, huddled under a down comforter, decked from head to foot in sweats, and shivering to boot. I immediately went into nurse mode-- I've seen my mom do it many times as a result of my traumatic relationship with my sinuses.
I started with leftover wedding cake, which was received with pleasure. But the night just got darker.
By Friday morning, it was firmly decided (by the wife, not the husband): a doctor's visit was in order.
He screwed his face into more pout faces than I knew he had in him, and Friday morning I watched my 25-year-old husband regress into a grumpy 4-year-old. Women across the board say this is a common symptom among sick men. My high energy, quick witted man turned into a belligerent toddler overnight, refusing to eat or drink and throwing in a magnitude of grumbles and pout faces.
The first diagnosis was strep throat. When his fever still raged on Saturday morning, we headed up to an Urgent Care for a second opinion. This time around, the doctor thought that strep was a plausible diagnosis but the more likely culprit was tonsillitis. He offered a shot to quicken the antibiotic and for a brief moment my husband was back, manning up for a very painful couple of shots of antibiotic and steroids. And then, right back to four year old Alex.
By that evening he had briefly reached a fever break, so we thought we'd brave Erica and Dee's tool & gadget shower. We had already missed another friend's shower that afternoon, and Alex was bound and determined to make one of the two. So out we went. And within five minutes of being there, the chills and fever were back. The result: a multitude of people wondering what kind of monster would drag her sick husband out of the bed for a shower.
So... back to bed. There was some force feeding of soup and Gatorade: just picture a picky child refusing to open their mouth, shaking their head vehemently, accompanied by adamant "Uh-uh's."
But this morning, by some miracle, my husband is back. The magic of modern medicine! It's like the full moon is over and the werewolf has returned to his human form. We've even gone to Lowe's to pick out a mailbox and painted the post in our garage. Back to productivity and back to happy, healthy Alex!
Luckily for me, Alex only gets sick once a year. Unlucky for him, he'll have to deal with Sick Lindsey ten times over before I encounter Sick Alex again. And I give him full license to complain about it when he has to be Nurse Alex.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Holding It Together
I held it together all week. Even with a debilitating bout
with two kidney stones resulting in a huge delay in all the things that needed
to be done.
I held it together Friday night, when Lauren gave a speech
that made the whole house misty-eyed. I thought at that moment that I wouldn’t
make it through the weekend.
I held it together when Mom choked up while she prayed
before our bridesmaids brunch on Saturday morning, as all my best girlfriends
in the world piled into my house to get ready and help out with any last minute
wedding needs (and believe me, they were put to work).
I held it together when Brian secured my mother’s veil on my
head and showed Rachel how to take it off after the ceremony. That’s probably
the first time I really got the, “This is it” feeling, the first time I really
felt like a bride.
I held it together when I walked into our gorgeous
sanctuary, awash with candlelight and decorate with meticulously arranged
flowers, when I realized this is it—this is our wedding.
I held it together when Laura started getting weepy in the
bridal suite right before we walked down the aisle, as the bridesmaids and my
mother wrapped their bouquets with Kleenex. Then I knew this could get
emotional very soon.
I held it together as I listened to Dr. Thompson’s emotional
charge to Alex and the congregation, as Dad and I stood in the vestibule
waiting to walk down the aisle. He set the stage for a holy service of worship,
not a prelude to a reception party.
And even when the doors opened and I saw Alex waiting for me
at the alter, I managed to hold it together. In fact, tears were the last thing
on my mind as I couldn’t contain a grin that mirrored the one on Alex’s face.
Just joy. So much joy.
And when my dad gave me away and kissed me on the cheek, I held
it together.
During the first dance, the father-daughter dance, the
mother-son dance, the cake tasting, and the obligatory Shout!, I held it
together. Like a champ. But it’s not hard to hold back the tears when you’re
having the absolute best time of your life.
When the sparklers lit up and our friends and family saw us
off, I held it together. But barely. I was frantic to find my mom and thank
her, to say goodbye to so many of my favorite faces, and goodbye to a night
that will live on in our memories for the rest of our lives.
But when I got in the car with my husband. When we realized
what we’d just done—that we’d gotten married in the presence of friends and
family from all over the world, literally… we couldn’t hold it together
anymore. I cried as I called my mom to leave her a voicemail thanking her for
all of her hard work and endless hours budgeting, planning, and making all the
right phone calls. And all my dad’s tireless work setting up sound equipment
and the reception site and the get away car and anything else that falls under
Dad Work. I cried as I talked about my family that came all the way from Sweden
just for me. For us. To be with us and celebrate with us and just to love us. I
cried as I thought about how beautiful my grandparents and grandparents-in-law
looked—all of them such radiant pictures of love… people that absolutely glowed
with genuine happiness. For us. And I cried because I’ve just never felt so
completely overwhelmed by love. Love for my husband and from my husband. Love
from and for our families. Love for and from our bridal party, our best friends
in all the world. Just… so. much. LOVE. Now that’s the kind of thing that can
make a non-crier shed a tear or twenty.
And to start our lives this way… so covered and smothered in
love… I just can’t begin to say thank you. But in the next few posts, I’m going
to give it my best shot.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Here's the story.
Thursday I had a very, very trying day at school. I subbed for a second grade class that was VERY much aware that summer is around the corner and VERY over the whole school thing. You know what I mean.
After school, I worked at extended day. Extended day ends at 5:30, and our last parent rolled in at 6:00. This particular parent does not make a habit of this and was especially apologetic, so I couldn't be too angry... Except that I was already rocking back and forth with chattering teeth on a May afternoon. Clearly, something was not right.
I had been complaining all week that something just didn't feel right, as a matter of fact.
So when I got home Thursday evening, we pulled out the thermometer. 102. I went to bed around 7:30 and woke up miserable multiple times: 8:50, 10:20, wee hours, 5:40... That's when I knew I needed to call in to school so they could find a substitute sub. By 8:30 Friday morning, I was in the doctor's office with chills, body aches, and fever. All signs pointed to flu, but the flu test was negative. However, sometimes flu-like symptoms are indicative of early pneumonia. We did a few chest X-rays and thought we had our diagnosis. The nurse gave me a most unpleasant shot and sent me home with a round of antibiotics and hope that I would be at least "90% better by Monday."
Friday night was another miserable night of sleep. I woke up at paced the house around 6 on Saturday morning, popped a few Advil for my still triple digit fever, and went back to bed. Around 8, the fever broke up. For those of you not in the know, that means you wake up in a pool of sweat. It's really, really gross, and other than the relief from fever, just makes you feel that much worse just for being disgusting.
I showered, still had to change clothes a few times because of fever-breakage-sweat, but was still determined to make a quick trip to Huntsville with Mom for a few last minute wedding things. First I tried going to Target with her, but I soon realized my energy was too zapped so I ended up in the car with the windows rolled down. Next up: Bed, Bath, & Beyond. This trip went a little smoother, and I was able to eat a sandwich at Firehouse next. At this point, I'm beginning to think I'm on the up-and-up.
Next stop: Hobby Lobby. So far, so good, but the fatigue was beginning to set in. So when Mom made her last stop at Wal-Mart in Jones Valley, I stayed in the car again.
And that's where it all started... Out of nowhere, I got a shooting pain in my back. I thought it was just a muscle spasm, so I tried to stretch it out. By the time Mom made it back to the car, I had the seat laid back, writhing around. We made it about 20 minutes towards Guntersville before I had to have her pull the car over, sure I was going to vomit. That's when we decided to go to the ER.
At the ER, they IV'd me, pumped me full of fluid and meds, and did a CT, X-ray, and urinalysis. This time, all signs pointed toward kidney stone. However, the radiologist did not see a kidney stone in my CT, so we assumed I had passed it there in the ER. So more antibiotics and I was on my way home.
Sunday, I woke up with a fever again, but handled it with Advil and long, hot shower. I met Mom and Dad for lunch, did some organizing and unpacking at mine and Alex's house, and then came back home for bed. I didn't feel 100% better, but I was definitely on the mend.
This morning, I woke up at 8 with searing pain in my lower back again. I called Mom, and she decided to consult with the ER doctor on staff today. He pulled my charts from Saturday, checked my CT, and saw not one but two stones there. He called up the radiologist, and sure enough, he'd missed it on Saturday.
So today, I'm back in bed, working on a kidney stone and thinking about how this could really put a damper on our honeymoon if my kidneys don't get it together stat. Because our wedding is Saturday. Like, this Saturday. A couple of days from today. The same today that has me in bed with searing pain and daytime television.
So lift up a prayer or two. Or twenty.
After school, I worked at extended day. Extended day ends at 5:30, and our last parent rolled in at 6:00. This particular parent does not make a habit of this and was especially apologetic, so I couldn't be too angry... Except that I was already rocking back and forth with chattering teeth on a May afternoon. Clearly, something was not right.
I had been complaining all week that something just didn't feel right, as a matter of fact.
So when I got home Thursday evening, we pulled out the thermometer. 102. I went to bed around 7:30 and woke up miserable multiple times: 8:50, 10:20, wee hours, 5:40... That's when I knew I needed to call in to school so they could find a substitute sub. By 8:30 Friday morning, I was in the doctor's office with chills, body aches, and fever. All signs pointed to flu, but the flu test was negative. However, sometimes flu-like symptoms are indicative of early pneumonia. We did a few chest X-rays and thought we had our diagnosis. The nurse gave me a most unpleasant shot and sent me home with a round of antibiotics and hope that I would be at least "90% better by Monday."
Friday night was another miserable night of sleep. I woke up at paced the house around 6 on Saturday morning, popped a few Advil for my still triple digit fever, and went back to bed. Around 8, the fever broke up. For those of you not in the know, that means you wake up in a pool of sweat. It's really, really gross, and other than the relief from fever, just makes you feel that much worse just for being disgusting.
I showered, still had to change clothes a few times because of fever-breakage-sweat, but was still determined to make a quick trip to Huntsville with Mom for a few last minute wedding things. First I tried going to Target with her, but I soon realized my energy was too zapped so I ended up in the car with the windows rolled down. Next up: Bed, Bath, & Beyond. This trip went a little smoother, and I was able to eat a sandwich at Firehouse next. At this point, I'm beginning to think I'm on the up-and-up.
Next stop: Hobby Lobby. So far, so good, but the fatigue was beginning to set in. So when Mom made her last stop at Wal-Mart in Jones Valley, I stayed in the car again.
And that's where it all started... Out of nowhere, I got a shooting pain in my back. I thought it was just a muscle spasm, so I tried to stretch it out. By the time Mom made it back to the car, I had the seat laid back, writhing around. We made it about 20 minutes towards Guntersville before I had to have her pull the car over, sure I was going to vomit. That's when we decided to go to the ER.
At the ER, they IV'd me, pumped me full of fluid and meds, and did a CT, X-ray, and urinalysis. This time, all signs pointed toward kidney stone. However, the radiologist did not see a kidney stone in my CT, so we assumed I had passed it there in the ER. So more antibiotics and I was on my way home.
Sunday, I woke up with a fever again, but handled it with Advil and long, hot shower. I met Mom and Dad for lunch, did some organizing and unpacking at mine and Alex's house, and then came back home for bed. I didn't feel 100% better, but I was definitely on the mend.
This morning, I woke up at 8 with searing pain in my lower back again. I called Mom, and she decided to consult with the ER doctor on staff today. He pulled my charts from Saturday, checked my CT, and saw not one but two stones there. He called up the radiologist, and sure enough, he'd missed it on Saturday.
So today, I'm back in bed, working on a kidney stone and thinking about how this could really put a damper on our honeymoon if my kidneys don't get it together stat. Because our wedding is Saturday. Like, this Saturday. A couple of days from today. The same today that has me in bed with searing pain and daytime television.
So lift up a prayer or two. Or twenty.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Somber.
The halls of my high school have been eerily quiet over the past two days.
Friday night, as I studied frantically for my certification exam, I got a text message from a friend about a wreck involving several members of our track team-- students, a team helper, and a parent. The text indicated that there was a possible death and multiple injuries.
Of course, my first thought was that it was surely exaggerated. Maybe there was a wreck, but surely the rumors had already begun to spin and grow.
Soon after, though, I started getting a string of texts from students and friends confirming the rumor-- one student had been killed on impact, one student had broken an arm and sustained a serious neck injury, one student and the parent driving left unscathed, and the team helper/assistant coach broke an arm and a leg.
Immediately, my Twitter feed and Facebook news feed exploded with thoughts and prayers for all those involved. This is the first tragedy to hit our student body in years-- possibly since the loss the senior class had when I was a sophomore in high school.
Prom was Saturday night, and the junior class, along with the seniors, was able to come together and celebrate the life of their classmate. There was a candlelight vigil and a moment of silence during which students wrapped their arms around each other, shed silent tears, and lifted up their hearts and their candles to say goodbye to Kevin.
Over the last two days, the halls have been somber and quiet. A classmate's desk remains empty other than a bouquet of flowers placed by a teacher. A seat at lunch left untouched. An event at track meets painfully filled in by another. And other classmates still in the hospital awaiting surgery.
It's been a very tough time at my high school, but it's been equally touching. The students have pulled together like I've never seen before. Huddled in hallways, crying. Meeting in the auditorium to pray, Bibles in hand. Reaching out to ministers who have graciously stayed on campus in our time of need.
The road ahead is tough for this class, this faculty, and most especially, this family. Kevin leaves behind three brothers and a mother, all of whom will struggle in the months and even years to come to make sense of this loss in their lives.
At the end of the day, it leaves this school counselor humbled and glad to serve a God who is sovereign, who reigns even in tragedy, and who is glorified even in heartache. Please pray for the Yoder family and the students and faculty at GHS.
Friday night, as I studied frantically for my certification exam, I got a text message from a friend about a wreck involving several members of our track team-- students, a team helper, and a parent. The text indicated that there was a possible death and multiple injuries.
Of course, my first thought was that it was surely exaggerated. Maybe there was a wreck, but surely the rumors had already begun to spin and grow.
Soon after, though, I started getting a string of texts from students and friends confirming the rumor-- one student had been killed on impact, one student had broken an arm and sustained a serious neck injury, one student and the parent driving left unscathed, and the team helper/assistant coach broke an arm and a leg.
Immediately, my Twitter feed and Facebook news feed exploded with thoughts and prayers for all those involved. This is the first tragedy to hit our student body in years-- possibly since the loss the senior class had when I was a sophomore in high school.
Prom was Saturday night, and the junior class, along with the seniors, was able to come together and celebrate the life of their classmate. There was a candlelight vigil and a moment of silence during which students wrapped their arms around each other, shed silent tears, and lifted up their hearts and their candles to say goodbye to Kevin.
Over the last two days, the halls have been somber and quiet. A classmate's desk remains empty other than a bouquet of flowers placed by a teacher. A seat at lunch left untouched. An event at track meets painfully filled in by another. And other classmates still in the hospital awaiting surgery.
It's been a very tough time at my high school, but it's been equally touching. The students have pulled together like I've never seen before. Huddled in hallways, crying. Meeting in the auditorium to pray, Bibles in hand. Reaching out to ministers who have graciously stayed on campus in our time of need.
The road ahead is tough for this class, this faculty, and most especially, this family. Kevin leaves behind three brothers and a mother, all of whom will struggle in the months and even years to come to make sense of this loss in their lives.
At the end of the day, it leaves this school counselor humbled and glad to serve a God who is sovereign, who reigns even in tragedy, and who is glorified even in heartache. Please pray for the Yoder family and the students and faculty at GHS.
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