Thoughts on a Saturday Morning

It's been a while since I've written.  I'm too exhausted most of the time to do much of anything once I'm finished with work and house or yard stuff.  I miss writing, though, so I'm taking time this morning to put some thoughts down.

I haven't written anything about going back to work.  I'm not sure why.  It was a huge change in my life for sure.  That whole time was pretty overwhelming, so maybe I just didn't have the words.  I do now.

When it became clear that I needed to find a job, I wasn't sure where to even look.  I had been out of the workforce for so many years that I was pretty sure I would be stuck with retail or something similar.  I was sitting on the patio checking email one day when I got a blast email from Holy Cross that they were looking for a theology teacher and campus minister.  The thought crossed my mind that I could do that.  I had worked with kids and ministry all my life.  I used to teach.  I thought about it for a hot minute and then moved on.  The next day, I saw the same notice on Holy Cross's Facebook page.  I got that nagging feeling in the back of my mind like I do that this was something I needed to pay attention to, but again, I scrolled on.  Not long after that, I got another notice about it.  I can't remember now if it was an email, or it came up on Facebook again.  This time, I thought, "Okay, God.  I hear you."

I reached out to my high school friend, Susan, who works there and asked about it.  She was so supportive and encouraged me to apply.  Kirk helped me get my CV together, and I emailed it in on a Monday.  That night, the principal called me to see if I would come in for an interview on Wednesday.  I did, and by the following Monday, I had the job.  I would be the senior theology teacher for Catholic Social Teaching, have a class of sophomores for Paschal Mystery/Church History, and shadow to be the next campus minister.  It was so fast, I didn't even have time to think, but when I did, I panicked.  Holy crap!  I hadn't been in a classroom for years!  The last time I taught, I used an overhead projector.  I was so scared of the technology piece I almost shut down.  The curriculum was a breeze, but my tablet sent me into a tizzy. But there I was, going back into the classroom where I knew I belonged.

It was a rough start.  OneNote.  Teams.  Online learning for kids who had Covid.  Masking up every day.  Creating content.  It was a s t r u g g l e.  I was blessed to have a great principal who sat with me and walked me through how to use the gradebook.  How to make a seating chart.  How to do lunch count.  Our IT guy is a SAINT on earth.  He was so patient with me and worked with me without any sighs or eye rolls.  I learned stuff.  I created lessons.  I had success.  I failed a lot.  My brain was exhausted all of the time.  I slept in my room during planning periods.  I loved, loved, loved my students...Well, most of them anyway!  Lol!  

I loved my job, but I felt like an imposter.  How could I possibly be doing this?  I kept waiting for someone to see that I really didn't know what I was doing but I kept getting good reviews on my observations.  I got kuddos from my principal, constant reassurance that I was doing a great job.  Eventually, I began to believe in myself.

Part of me felt really angry that I was back at work, that my life was upended without my consent. I didn't want Kirk to know I was happy at what I was doing.  Part of me felt like this job, if I had to work, was my consolation prize from God.  That if I had to work, then I was going to be able to do something that I loved, and it gave me the chance to be creative and have fun and have time off to nurture my soul. It took me a long time to let go of the anger and just enjoy being at work.

I still feel like an imposter.  I still have some resentment for having to go back to work without my consent.  It's not as strong as it was, and that's good.  I often ask myself if I won the lottery would I still get up at 5:45 every morning and go teach a bunch of teenagers.  I think yeah.  I'm pretty sure God put me here for a reason.  I love what I do, and I'm not done yet.

My Cousin, Jim

It's Derby weekend here in Louisville, and naturally, my thoughts turn to my cousin, Jim.  Jim lived in Kansas City, and for years, no, make that decades, he came home the week before the big race to take in the spectacle that surrounds the First Saturday in May.  Jim was my oldest cousin on my dad's side, a kind of hybrid uncle/cousin/big brother kind of guy.  He was funny and interesting, and he never hung up the phone after a chat without saying, "I love you, Sharron."

Jim loved the horses.  He loved the track.  He loved studying the racing forms and going to the backside and getting a look behind the scenes.  Beyond the track, he loved the Pegasus Parade and the Great Steamboat Race and the hats and the SHOW that was the Derby.  And, he loved the people.  He was the people-ist people person I knew.

Every year he came to Louisville for the races, but he never had a ticket when he left for the track.  He knew he could find someone selling them outside the gate.  Sometimes he ended up in the infield.  Most of the time, he got in the grandstand or in a box.  A few times, he made it to Millionaire's Row.  Regardless, he almost always paid less than everybody else, and, rain or shine, he always had a good time.  I can picture him heading to the track now...sports coat, a colorful tie, a hat on his head, racing form in hand, wearing sensible shoes in case he ended up in the infield.  He'd have a big smile on his face, ready to go. 

He stayed with his dad, my uncle, until he passed away.  Then he stayed with my dad.  After my dad passed, he stayed with me a year or two until he found that he could have a place of his own for a minimal cost in the dorms of the Presbyterian Seminary just up the road.  

He came alone for many years, then he met his wife Patty and introduced her to all things Derby.  She came with him most of the time, but if she had to work, he would come by himself.  We would always get together, sometimes for lunch, usually dinner, and he would regale us with his stories from the track, this year or years past, and he always had a story.

Jim with my sister, Colleen, and me, May 5, 2017

He never met a stranger.  Jim could talk to the hitching post and have a great conversation.  He was interested in people, and when people know you are interested in them, they talk.  It must have been the reporter in him, but he could get anyone to open up, and usually find a connection between himself and whoever he was with.  He was amazing like that.

I always called him each year to see who he was betting on.  He gave me excellent tips, but I am a shy bettor, so I never won much.  Jim was the first person I called when my best friend and her husband won big on the Derby after Maximum Security was disqualified.  He was the first person I called when I learned Bob Baffert had been banned from Churchill Downs.  I'd like to call him today and get his thoughts on the deaths of the horses this week and the suspension of Saffie Joseph.  I'm sure he'd have some things to say. Even though he lived in Kansas City, and I am in Louisville, he always had the scoop.

Jim passed away suddenly in February.  He was on a long vacation in Florida with Patty and their friends, and he and the guys were about to hit the links for a round of golf.  We got the news one day that he was in the ICU and the next day, he was gone.  I still can't believe it.

I'll be thinking of him tomorrow when we sing, "My Old Kentucky Home."  I'll picture him in the grandstand, hat on his head, racing form in hand, shouting, "Go, baby, go!" as the horses round the last turn and head down the homestretch.  This year, I know he will win big.

I love you, Jim

A Bible Story

When we were kids, our parents had a big, grayish-blue Bible with a picture of the Virgin Mary on the front.  It sat on a shelf on the end table in the living room.  My sisters and I loved to look through that Bible. There were colored pages inside, which you never found in a Bible.  Pictures of the Vatican and a priest saying mass.  There was a section of Old Testament stories with a classical painting to match.  Daniel in the lion's den, Sampson, and my sisters' and my favorite: King Solomon and the 2 women claiming the same baby.  The picture was dramatic.  King Solomon sitting on a throne while a large, buff man holds a baby upside down by an ankle, preparing to cut him in half with a sword...I was always fascinated by that picture.  

The New Testament had a section, and I loved the painting of young Jesus at the Temple.  He looked so angelic with the halo behind his head.

 

The Stations of the Cross were also in color, one page ripped in half diagonally.  I don't remember it ever being taped back, just tucked into the place where it went.

We never read the Bible.  There were pages for recording births and deaths, and when I got older, I wanted to put our names in it, but my mom wouldn't let me.  I guess it was more of a decoration than anything, but that Bible was in the living room on the end table shelf for as long as I can remember.

When Dad died in 2011, my sisters and I divided up his belongings, and I didn't end up with the Bible.  We had all loved it, so wherever it went was fine.  I didn't really think about it much after that, and time went on.

Fast forward to 2020.  That summer, I was volunteering with Produce and More, giving out books in the West End of Louisville.  People would donate children's books for me to pass on, and sometimes I'd get a cash donation from someone who wanted to help but didn't have any books to give me.  On those occasions, I'd go to the Goodwill to look in their book section as I could get children's books for .50-$1 each.

One day when I was there looking for books, I saw a Bible that looked exactly like the one we had growing up.  I thought, "Oh wow!  That's just like the one we had!" I thought about buying it, but then thought it would be silly to buy it since it hadn't been ours; it just looked like ours.  Then I thought, "No, if you don't get it, you'll be sorry," so I bought it for $2 and brought it home and put it under the coffee table as an homage to my parents.  

The Bible has sat on the shelf under the coffee table in my living room for almost three years.  Today, I decided to do a little rearranging and deep cleaning.  Instead of dusting around the books on the coffee table shelf (Shhh.  Don't tell anyone I do that!), I took them all out and wiped them down.  

When I pulled out the Bible, I thought about the picture of King Solomon and opened it up to the page to have a look.  Being the historian/genealogist I am, I wondered who had owned this Bible before, so I turned the pages to see if anyones' names were written down.  I thought if there were, I might reach out to see if they would want the Bible back.  The genealogy section was blank.  I looked in the front...nothing but a small, blank piece of paper.  I flipped through the pages, and at the very back of the book, tucked in between two pages, was a yellowed sheet of paper.  "Hmmmm," I thought, "I wonder if this will tell me who this belonged to."

I unfolded the paper and saw that it was a telegram. "Western Union" blazed across the top of the page.  I read on..."WLT LUCKETT FOR FITZPATRICK..." 

Wait.  What?  That's where my grandpa worked.  That's our last name...

"TELEGRAM RECEIVED ONLY TODAY HEARTIEST CONGRATULATIONS HOPE HENRIETTE BABY FINE WIRING PARENTS LOVE ALBERT...

What the heck???  Henriette was my grandma.  Albert was her brother.  I looked at the date on the telegram...March 5, 1932.  My dad was born in 1932...February 18, 1932...91 years ago TODAY.

I looked at the Bible in disbelief.  Did someone in my family have the same Bible and took it to the Goodwill, and I found it?  Was this ours???  I knew how to check.  I turned to the page in the Stations of the Cross section, and there it was, the torn page, now taped back together, but torn just as I remembered it.  

This was my mom and dad's Bible.

But how had it ended up at the Goodwill???

I called my sisters.  We all thought each other had the Bible.  None of us had seen it for years, but I thought Colleen or Jennifer had it, and they thought I had it.  We have no idea how it left our possession and ended up at the Goodwill.  None of us would have given it away.  The only thing we can think of is that it was put in a box and inadvertently given to the Goodwill.  But then had it sat there on the shelves for nine years before I found it?  Did someone else have it and drop it off?  Where had it been all that time???

We have no idea exactly what happened, but somehow, our family Bible wound up at the Goodwill and NINE YEARS after my dad's death, I found it and decided to buy it not knowing it was ours and put it on the shelf of my coffee table where it sat, unopened, until today.

And then today, on my dad's 91st birthday, I opened it up to see who it might have belonged to and found the telegram congratulating my grandparents on his birth.  I can't make this make sense except to say...

The universe is full of miracles!