Dear WF FFA members,
I know you all probably think I don't exist. There is a picture of me, Mr. Johnson, and our little dog hanging out on his desk but most of you have never seen me in person. Much like the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, or Santa Clause... Maybe Mr. Johnson just made me up as a good story to keep y'all guessing.
No. I'm here. I'm the ag teacher's wife.
It's hard being the ag teacher's wife. Not because of the late nights he spends at school grading or watering the greenhouse. See, many of those nights he's at school working, I'm right there beside of him. I'm watering the greenhouse in my camo crocs. I'm sitting with him working on my laptop while he finishes up. This summer we raised chicks in our den and constructed a chicken coop with sweet friends for you to play with and take care of. I nursed those baby chicks by hand. I wept when they died from sickness or accident.
It's not the numerous weeks he's away from home during the summer at State FFA Convention or camp. I understand better than anyone how those weeks at leadership camp will change you.
The hardest thing for me is having to sit back on the bench and watch y'all grow and play. Occasionally I'm invited in to get to know a few of you. When that happens, I see all the potential Mr. Johnson talks about in you. I also can see some of the frustrations and disappointments he has too. I brainstorm with him when he's coaching you. I catch myself pulling for you and wanting big things for your future too. How strange is it for your teacher's wife to want to help you win poultry judging? Or see you go to university? Or realize your hidden talent for speaking in front of groups? How odd is it for me to want to see you overcome your fear of failure or beat your internal shame tape that says you're not good enough? Pretty strange... because I'm the ag teacher's wife.
But see, I was an ag teacher too. God has led me down another path in life and I do not regret where I am now.
I have no desires or plans to return to the classroom. But sometimes...especially when school is going back...
It's hard being just the ag teacher's wife.
Friday, August 19, 2016
Granma's Pantry
Dear Granma,
There are days like today where I sit down and read back through your old e-mail messages like I can just hit reply and tell you how my day was. I'm pretty sure if you were still here with me you'd have your own Facebook account, or at least know how to look at all of your kids' photos online to check up on them. I hope I never lose that curiosity and willingness to learn new things that you always modeled for me.
The world has just been downright stinky lately. I never thought there would be a time where I looked over my shoulder when I went to the mall or was uneasy about going to a football game. I need you here to gently remind me Who is in control. I need you to talk about the protective cloud that followed us to the lake that one summer long ago. I remember the way your voice sounded telling that story and the absolute awe in your eyes as you described a God that loved us and wanted to protect His beloved children so much so He would send a cloud of protection to ride over us. I think that was one of the first times I caught a glimpse at God's power and sovereignty.
I need you here to remind me about simplicity. You could make anything...grunt work, wild goose chases to get us out of the house, reading, sewing, cooking... fun. Some of the stuff you came up with was downright crazy, but it worked! We got outside and whether we wanted to admit it at the time, we learned about life. I wish I had just one more hot afternoon shelling butter beans in the living room with you. I wish I could go back to the afternoons we sat side by side in total silence and did nothing but crochet or read. I long for that ease when all of the complications of time, work, and complex relationships feel so incredibly hard. You talked about times where sneaking a few sips of beer and driving around town with a couple guys for a burger was considered incredibly scandalous. Those times are long, long gone.
Today I walked into my pantry looking for something and it hit me how I always thought your pantry was a wonderland. It had this weird smell of cleaning supplies, dry dog food, and packaged goods. Somehow that weird combination always smelled good to me. I was always excited to see jars of fresh pickles, okra, tomato sauce, random assortments of pop tarts, fruit snacks, and Chef Boyardee. There was stuff stacked everywhere and I always hoped I would have a pantry like yours someday and that I would be as generous as you. Always sending visitors out the door with a jar of homemade wine, vinegar, canned vegetables, or some other assortment of goodies. Always begging people to fix them a plate before they left. I'd trade some of my most prized possessions for a plate of your leftover cornbread. We were poor, but we surely did not know it.
I don't actually wish for you to come back. I'm just missing you and having myself a pity party remembering times I didn't come home to see you and Papa. You'd probably tell me not to worry about it. You'd see me soon. I know one of the joys of your life was looking forward to going home to worship your Savior. I can't sing Blessed Assurance because my throat literally closes up remembering you and now I think of my own blessed assurance in Jesus Christ. I'm looking forward to seeing you across the sea of glass someday.
Days like today I don't feel like half the woman I should be, but I hope I become at least a quarter of the woman you were.
Miss and love you,
Lendy Grayce
There are days like today where I sit down and read back through your old e-mail messages like I can just hit reply and tell you how my day was. I'm pretty sure if you were still here with me you'd have your own Facebook account, or at least know how to look at all of your kids' photos online to check up on them. I hope I never lose that curiosity and willingness to learn new things that you always modeled for me.
The world has just been downright stinky lately. I never thought there would be a time where I looked over my shoulder when I went to the mall or was uneasy about going to a football game. I need you here to gently remind me Who is in control. I need you to talk about the protective cloud that followed us to the lake that one summer long ago. I remember the way your voice sounded telling that story and the absolute awe in your eyes as you described a God that loved us and wanted to protect His beloved children so much so He would send a cloud of protection to ride over us. I think that was one of the first times I caught a glimpse at God's power and sovereignty.
I need you here to remind me about simplicity. You could make anything...grunt work, wild goose chases to get us out of the house, reading, sewing, cooking... fun. Some of the stuff you came up with was downright crazy, but it worked! We got outside and whether we wanted to admit it at the time, we learned about life. I wish I had just one more hot afternoon shelling butter beans in the living room with you. I wish I could go back to the afternoons we sat side by side in total silence and did nothing but crochet or read. I long for that ease when all of the complications of time, work, and complex relationships feel so incredibly hard. You talked about times where sneaking a few sips of beer and driving around town with a couple guys for a burger was considered incredibly scandalous. Those times are long, long gone.
Today I walked into my pantry looking for something and it hit me how I always thought your pantry was a wonderland. It had this weird smell of cleaning supplies, dry dog food, and packaged goods. Somehow that weird combination always smelled good to me. I was always excited to see jars of fresh pickles, okra, tomato sauce, random assortments of pop tarts, fruit snacks, and Chef Boyardee. There was stuff stacked everywhere and I always hoped I would have a pantry like yours someday and that I would be as generous as you. Always sending visitors out the door with a jar of homemade wine, vinegar, canned vegetables, or some other assortment of goodies. Always begging people to fix them a plate before they left. I'd trade some of my most prized possessions for a plate of your leftover cornbread. We were poor, but we surely did not know it.
I don't actually wish for you to come back. I'm just missing you and having myself a pity party remembering times I didn't come home to see you and Papa. You'd probably tell me not to worry about it. You'd see me soon. I know one of the joys of your life was looking forward to going home to worship your Savior. I can't sing Blessed Assurance because my throat literally closes up remembering you and now I think of my own blessed assurance in Jesus Christ. I'm looking forward to seeing you across the sea of glass someday.
Days like today I don't feel like half the woman I should be, but I hope I become at least a quarter of the woman you were.
Miss and love you,
Lendy Grayce
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