A Road Less Traveled

A very dear friend of mine began chemo treatments for breast cancer yesterday morning. My heartfelt prayers go out to her and her husband, as they travel this road together. I am so grateful for the way my husband embraced every aspect of my disease a year ago. A road less traveled together, is a journey in holiness. It must be traveled together so that you both come out the other end at the same spot, still holding hands.

Yet even though we shared the same road,  God spoke individually to our hearts. My consolation was the glimpses of Christ's Passion that He allowed me to share with Him. I will try to articulate it here.

First came the Betrayal. Just as Jesus was betrayed by a friend, I too felt betrayed by my body. All along I felt and appeared to be healthy, yet it was there, lurking and growing. People refer to hidden sin and betrayals as "cancers" because they fester and grow silently until they become big enough to be detected. Sometimes these "cancers" grow to deadly proportions before they are detected.

Jesus, you were betrayed by one of your own, with a kiss. I have heard it said that this betrayal hurt more than any other physical abuses you endured during your Passion. Help me feel gratitude for the doctor's discovery rather than betrayed.

Then came the Agony. Just as Jesus had His Agony in the Garden, I too felt the agony of deciding which treatment plan to take. "Father, if it be Your Will, let this cup pass from me, but  not My Will but Yours be done."

My doctor gave his recommendation to treat the disease aggressively, but still, when the day was done, it was categorized as "elective" treatment. What exactly was I "electing" to do? What would be the side effects? Would they be temporary or permanent? Would I grow old and weak in front of my children's eyes? Would I have a normal life afterward? They got all the cancer during the lumpectomy and my nodes were clear. Shouldn't that be good enough? The questions haunted me and I agonized for two weeks.

Until my husband randomly cut open the bible one day, and read, "Honor the physician with the honor due him, according to your need of him, for the Lord created him; for healing comes from the Most High, and he will receive a gift from the king." (Sirach 38:1-2) Lord, thank you for your promises, and for a husband who trusts in You!

Then came the women weeping for Jesus on His road to Calvary. Jesus looked at them and said, "Women why do you weep? Weep not for me but for yourselves and your children."

I, too, did not want people to "weep" for me. Sometimes I became impatient with people who wanted to stop me and tell me how sorry they were for me and my nausea, fatigue, hair loss and inability to participate in life's functions. I wanted to tell them that I am safe in the arms of Jesus and to stop weeping for me, but to weep for themselves and their children.

I went to confession for this, because in my heart I was not being charitable to my neighbor. The priest suggested that I take on another one of Jesus' quotes instead, "Father forgive them, they know not what they do." Oh, boy, do I have a long way to go.

Then there were the moments of consolation. Just as Veronica wiped Jesus' face with her veil, so did my friends and family come to my aid in preparing countless meals for me and my family. We were literally carried over the rough spots (and there were many) on the wings of their love. We could not have come out the other side feeling the profound love of Jesus, had they not been willing to be His hands and feet.

I am in no way implying that I have felt what Jesus felt on His road to Calvary. Rather, I am pondering in my heart the revelations that only suffering can bring. Jesus, I don't want to hide in my own wounds and give in to self pity. Within Your wounds hide me, heal me, and make me whole.

To my dear friend and to all those who find themselves on the road less traveled, take courage! Jesus knows this road well, and He will be with you every step of the way.

Celebrating 17 Years

Andy and I celebrated 17 years of marriage on Saturday.

It came at a very busy time this year, sandwiched between a scout camp out, science fair, and our packing to go out of town for the Charismatic Leaders Fellowship.

However, we managed to take some advice that we heard from a priest friend, and devote a couple hours to each other Saturday evening.

First, we attended Mass together, followed by a quick rush home to transfer a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer.

Then we went out to our favorite local Mexican restaurant for dinner, where we could just sit and breath deeply. We were both so tired we could have fallen asleep in the booth waiting for our food.

On our way home, we stopped by the corner pharmacy to grab a few essentials for our trip, and lingered at the greeting card section. We perused the cards for a few minutes, each of us hoping to find the perfect one that captured the sentiments of our hearts. When we were sure we found it, we exchanged them, read them, and let the words sink in. Then we thanked and hugged each other before returning the cards to the rack, purchased our items and drove home.

The important thing is not how big or great or deep your gift is, it is how big and great and deep your unity runs.

Here's to you, Honey! Thank you for a wonderful 17 years of unity!

Shoebox Safari

Everyone who knows me knows that I love Kenya.

So, when part of the fourth grade curriculum takes our class to visit the grasslands of Kenya each year, I am particularly motivated to get my whole class excited about Kenya as well.

In addition to studying the textbook, I asked my class this year to create a diorama of the Kenyan grasslands. I didn't give them any restrictions other than that it fit in a shoebox. I encouraged them to take the facts that they learned, and add their own imaginations to their scenes.

What they brought in today was exceptional.

I love these! Kinda makes me feel like I'm back in Kenya! Good job, class!

Prince Charming is My Father

Cinderella used our house to get ready for the ball last weekend. Except instead of being taunted and ridiculed by her evil stepmother and stepsister, she was fussed over, pampered and polished by her doting mother and older sister.

When she finally emerged from her chambers into full view of Prince Charming, who was eagerly awaiting her arrival, she was radiant, beaming, and yes, giggling.

Prince  Charming, standing tall and proud in his tuxedo, may have had a tear in his eye.

Then, after succumbing to the paparazzi, off they rode in their carriage to dinner and then the ball, to dance and cherish one another for the next few hours.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite a carriage. It was actually my teenage son's new old 1994 Pontiac Sunbird. But the rest of my story is true.

They were on their way to the father/daughter Valentine dance put on by Alleluia Community's Little Sisters program, where every fourth and fifth grade girl became Cinderella for the evening, and every father became her very own Prince Charming.

This may seem silly, but there is such wisdom and richness in the practice of father's "dating" their daughters. Little girls have no idea what it is like to be out on a date, unless they experience it first hand. Fathers can and should teach their daughters what it feels like to be cherished, protected, and loved by a Godly man, and yes, fathers need to model the man they hope their daughters will marry some day. Fathers need to see themselves through their daughter's eyes.

And it is never too early to start. Fathers, cherish your daughters from the moment they are born!

 I will gladly allow my daughters to "date" the second man to earn my stamp of approval.  And to the first man I say, "Thank you, Dad, for setting the bar so high; Andy is so much like you!"

God's Plan Creates Dignity

God is Almighty!

God is ALL MIGHTY!!!

God does not need us to accomplish His work. God could just "do it all" without our help, but He doesn't. He doesn't because He wants us to participate with Him for our own human dignity.

These were the words of Fr. Brett Brannen, former Vocations Director of the Diocese of Savannah, and author of the book, To Save a Thousand Souls, as he gave his homily last week.

Fr. Brett went on to say that God accomplishes 99.9% of the work, and we accomplish about .1%.  "Okay, I probably am exaggerating a little,"  Fr. Brett admitted, "on our part."

Then he gave this analogy.

When he was a little boy, he used to love to "help" his mother make pound cake. He would sit up on the counter, stirring ingredients, licking the spoon, and making a huge mess. His mother didn't need his help, of course, but being the good mother that she was, not only let him, but welcomed him.  When his father came home from work, he would run into his arms and announce, "I helped Mama make the cake!"

And Daddy was so proud of his boy.

I have been mulling this over in my mind all week. God does not NEED my pitiful attempts to bring good to this hurting world. God has everything under control. Yet, He INVITES me to participate with Him, and ALLOWS me to "rise to the occasion" for the sake of my own dignity; for the sake of my own soul.

The way I see it, why wouldn't I want to RSVP to God's invitation if my own dignity is at stake?

I do have to add a bit of a disclaimer here. Yes, the very fact that I am made in the image and likeness of God gives me dignity in its own right. I don't have to "do good" to earn this dignity. However, God gives me the ability to become more and more like Him, as I become more and more one with His plan. This is called holiness.  "Be Holy, for I am Holy," says the Lord. (Lev. 11:44, 1Peter 1:16).


I  had a chance to witness this participation with God's Plan in action last night when a group of  us went out for dinner at a local restaurant. It was a drizzling, miserable kind of night. As we came up to the entrance, a man was standing outside the door under an overhang trying to stay dry. He held a sign in his hand, "Money for Food. God Bless." I felt sorry for him, but was not moved to do anything other than to smile and say hello.

A teenager in the group said, "God bless you," to the man as he entered the restaurant.

I felt a pinch in my conscience. Why didn't I think of that?

After dinner, we packed our doggie bags, paid our bills, and walked out into the drizzle. The man was still there holding his sign. I was in a hurry, so I walked past without a glance.

I turned to make sure we were all together, when I saw that same teenager standing next to the man, offering his doggie bag to him. The man took it with gratitude.

PINCH! OUCH!

I was filled with admiration for that teenager. And as I stood there in the drizzle fighting my own fear of being vulnerable, I realized that human dignity was raised not only in the giver and the receiver of that doggie bag, but also in all those who witnessed this act of kindness, goodness, and mercy. God was accomplishing His plan. That poor, hungry man participated in "The Plan" to bring out the goodness and compassion in that teenager. And, God allowed others to be there to witness "The Plan's" fruition. And there lies the dignity for me in this; to be witness to God's Plan.

Yes, God is Almighty.

And that is true whether I say so or not.

My Point Man

Life can be such a balancing act sometimes. Between teaching school, keeping house, mothering my four children, spending quality time with my husband, participating in music outreach, and living out my Covenant agreements in Alleluia Community it takes a lot of effort and understanding, especially from my family. Oh, yes, then there is this new found interest in blogging. Where does it end?

I think the key to keeping a healthy balance can be found in a teaching I heard once from Jim Murphy, the president and founder of Vera Cruz Communications. He is also the man who, in 1992, walked 4200 miles across America carrying a 6 foot cross.

My Fourth Grade Class

I like the way Jim teaches. He gives visual images that I can latch on to. He describes people's lives as a pyramid. The base is well established as the basic needs of an individual such as food, clothing, and shelter. Then there is a second layer of education, career, or vocation. This may include marriage and children, or a religious calling. The pyramid builds as one takes on new responsibilities and gets higher and higher. Then Jesus is set on His throne, at the top, to oversee it all.

The problem with this model, Jim says, is that as soon as something comes along to challenge our faith, Jesus' throne, which we have balanced precariously at the top, is the first to fall off. We take charge of our situation, we lose our balance, and our lives fall apart, despite our best efforts to keep it together.

Jim suggests this approach.  Take your pyramid, and turn it upside down. Let Jesus be the point on which all else rests. Make Him your foundation. When storms come, and they will, the top layer may take some hits, but Jesus will remain, steady and strong, to hold us up. Our balancing act becomes His balancing act. The best part of all is that Jesus will succeed in holding us together, if we choose to build our lives on Him.

I choose you, Jesus, to be my point man, on Whom all my labors rest. Amen.

From Russia with Love

Today is Valentine's Day. My husband gave me a beautiful card before leaving for school this morning, and then showed up at my classroom with peach colored roses (my favorite). What a wonderful man I married!

I remember back in 1993, when we celebrated Valentine's Day in Russia as singles on a mission trip. Life was so different there. Boxes of chocolate, fresh flowers in the dead of winter, or Hallmark cards just didn't enter our minds. They weren't even an option.

Our definition of love began taking on a new meaning as we grew in love for the children and the elderly in our care. Love was more than a romantic feeling, or even more than a sacrifice. Watching the Missionaries of Charity devote their entire lives to serving Jesus in the poorest of the poor gave us a good idea of what love was all about. God was the source of their love, and His love was the product of their actions. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.

I remember very fondly that Valentine's Day in 1993. One of our fellow missionaries, Mike, gave me this card:

The inscription read:

"May the Love which inspired St. Valentine to show undying love in the face of death, inspire your heart today."

I can still remember how empowered I felt after reading this card. God, Who is perfect Love, brings meaning to everything I do. This turned out to be the "meat and potatoes" of that Valentine's Day. After all, this was what our mission was all about, sharing God's love with the poorest of the poor.


And for the icing on the cake.....

Since it was Sunday, our team went to the flea market for the afternoon, and Andy bought me this rag doll as a sweet, romantic gift. I affectionately named it my "Drusha Doll," since "Andy" is translated as "Andrusha" in Russian.

So, Happy Valentine's Day, and may the Love of God inspire your hearts today. And, if you want to do something sentimental as well, that's okay, too.

On Safari in Kenya: Part 2

After spending two days at Masai Mara, we knew without a doubt, that we had arrived in Africa. Our next stop was in a town on the western border of Kenya known as Amagoro. Here we stayed with our Anglican priest friend, Zak Epusi and his wife Catherine. They helped acquaint us with the African way of doing things, which we were most grateful for.

Four happy Hatfield children
get silly after a 10 hour van
ride from Nairobi to Amagoro.

Lucia preparing the mosquito
nets that she affectionately
refers to as "princess beds."

Fr. Zak took us to see two schools in Amagoro. The first one was the public school, Amagoro Primary School. The students were very curious, as were our children.

Girls drawing a cho-cho-di
board in the dirt. (hopscotch)

Lucia makes a friend at
 Amagoro Primary School.

Fr. Zak then took us to Amagoro Junior Academy, the private school started by the Anglican Church in Amagoro out of a necessity to meet the needs of the poorer students. These families cannot afford to buy the public school uniforms. We were greeted warmly by staff and students alike.

The students come out to greet us.

Andy carries a backpack full of
school supplies for the students.

Lucia, Ania and Lucy Amanda
becoming friends.

 Six year old Philip tells the boys
 about his plane ride to Kenya.

Some girls performing their
winning entry in an oral
verse competition.

Kevin handing out school
supplies as rewards.

Little boy at recess.

Bob Garrett teaching everyone
 the Glory Shout.**

God blessed our time in Amagoro as we witnessed how much people can do with so little resources. We can learn so much by their determination to educate their children under such impoverished circumstances. Our children were touched by the way the students welcomed them into their classes, and described their experience as "feeling like royalty." They connected with these precious Kenyan children in such a short period of time.

There is an organization called the Elewana Education Project that is striving to connect western children with East African children in a way that broadens the awareness of  cultural differences by creating "partner schools." To learn more about their mission, visit them at www.elewana.org.

**Glory Shout -- was first introduced by Gary Garner, a member of Alleluia Community. You bend over at the waist reaching your fingers toward your toes. You begin to "stir up the glory" just as you would stir up old paint that has separated from sitting too long. As you stir you begin straightening up while shouting G-L-O-R-Y! You end with your hands above your head, feeling refreshed, invigorated, and standing in THE GLORY!

Next stop.......Rongai. 

A Mouse in the House

We have a mouse in the house. Last time we had a mouse in the house, it turned out to be three mice in the house. Kevin saw it run across the kitchen floor last night after supper, so we put out three traps before going to bed. All three were empty this morning.

We still have a mouse in the house.


This reminds me of an incident in Moscow, Russia when my husband and I were part of an eight person team that filled in for the Missionaries of Charity (Mother Teresa's Order) while they went on retreat. Four of us went to an elderly care home, and four of us to an orphanage. Andy was at the elderly care home, while I was at the orphanage. Although Andy and I were not yet dating, our intentions were beginning to be known.

As part of the duties at the orphanage, we took turns sleeping out in the common area so we could hear the children and assist them as needed. We had seen the sisters do this, and asked if we could take our turn as well. The sisters slept on the dining room tables, which seemed strange to us, but when it came our turn we didn't ask why; we just did it.

As soon as the lights were out, we realized why. The scampering of big four legged creatures began, as they ran from one end of the room to the other, right under the tables we were sleeping on. Rats! It was the creepiest thing I had ever heard. After recovering from our initial shock, somehow we managed to get some sleep.

In the morning when I went into the kitchen, I saw four dark objects under the door that led to the laundry room. It was still fairly dark, so I couldn't quite make out what they were. "The rats," I thought to myself, and I began to tiptoe toward the door, as if I were going to capture the culprits.

But, as I got closer, I noticed that the four dark objects were not moving. So, I turned on the light, and saw that there, stuck under the door, were four very large carrots. Their large tops were too big to fit under the door, but their skinny bottoms were gnawed off on the other side.

I began to laugh at the image that came to mind. Some poor rat tried to drag four big carrots home, but they got stuck under the door. This was no easy feat, since the carrot bin was about 4 feet off the ground, and these were big carrots.

When Sister arrived to make breakfast for the children, I was still laughing as I showed her the carrots, but she found no humor in my story. The food for the children was being taken by the rats, and there was nothing they could do about it.

I see her point.

But the image of those carrots still bring a smile to my lips.

Now, about that mouse....

Turning Twelve

Today my eleven year old moves up to the last  pre-teen year. Here is a glimpse of the joy that this boy brings to my heart.




P is for PLAYFUL, yes, he's on the ball,

H is for HUNGRY, he's getting quite tall.













I is for INQUISITIVE, he always asks "Why?"














L is for LOVING, he's a sensitive guy.













I is for IMPRESSIVE, he's a Civil War buff,

P is for PROPHETIC, and if that's not enough,

I will tell you a story that showcases this,
but it just doesn't rhyme, so read my postscript:)

Happy Birthday, Philip! I love you!

Mama

P.S.  Here is a story about one of Philip's prophetic moments.  We were in Kenya having family prayers. It was 9:30, which was quite late for us since we never went out after dark. (The sun set around 7:00). We had a few minutes of quiet time to listen to the Lord, and then Andy asked us what we heard Him say. Philip said he heard God say that we need to go to Mass whenever it is available to us. About 10 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. It was Fr. Johannes. He apologized for the late hour, but said that he was about to celebrate Mass, and asked us if we'd like to join him. Needless to say, we all grabbed our shoes and attended Mass in our pajamas that night.

Oh, yeah, did I mention that Philip LOVES frogs?

Happy Birthday, Grandma

Today would have been my grandma's 97th birthday, if she had lived. But  God called her home when she was 89. Grandma was amazing! As I look around my home, her touch is everywhere. She loved to use her hands to create anything from clothes to desserts, from ornaments to candles. She could sew, quilt, knit, crochet, bake, cook, paint, draw, dance, and braid my hair better than anyone else I knew. She could make anything grow, and once it did, she couldn't bear to let it die. So her house was filled with plants of all kinds, inside and out. And she loved her family. She adored her children and her grandchildren, and we knew it. My Grandma was a very special woman.

 Her last few years were a struggle for all of us as we watched her suffer from dementia. Her once keen mind began to fade into moments of reality mixed with glimpses of days gone by. Some of these memories were filled with hurt and unforgiveness. But  in her confusion she began to think of the offender as one of her own children, and only the fond memories surfaced. I am conviced that her dementia was, in fact, God's mercy toward her, and that He worked out her salvation through it. If she had kept a keen mind, I don't think she would have ever been able to forgive the one who hurt her. This is my account of her miraculous deathbed conversion.

This article first appeared in the September 2008 issue of The Word Among Us.

Saying Goodbye to Grandma Grace
I was privileged to witness my grandmothers "deathbed conversion."

My mother called with the news one cold October night. "Hello, Janet? I just wanted you to know that Grandma Grace is dying." She continued with details of how Grandma had begun refusing food two days before.

How strange, I thought. On the same day my grandmother stopped eating, I had begun a novena to the North American Martyrs. My intention: Grandma's salvation. I hadn't started the novena because I knew much about these saints or felt especially inspired—it simply seemed like a good thing to do.

"We don't expect you to make the trip," my mother continued. "You were just here in August, and with your little ones. . ."

Her voice trailed off. But my thoughts were already bridging the nine hundred miles between my home in Georgia and New York, where Grandma was. I longed to be near her. "Oh, I'll be there," I assured Mom. "Somehow, I'll be there in a couple of days."

Grandma's Pet. My Grandma Grace was very special to me. We were special to each other. She had rejoiced in the births of her two sons and then her two grandsons, my brothers. But I was the first girl—and as it turned out, the last—to come along in two generations. While my parents were careful not to pamper their girl into a spoiled brat, Grandma indulged me in all sorts of ways. I guess we spoiled each other. She and Grandpa divorced the year I was born, so I was the perfect medicine for her broken heart. As for me, tomboy though I was, Grandma made me feel special to be a girl. She was my hero.

I hung up the phone, trying to absorb this devastating news. And I prayed that God would remember something I had asked him for two years earlier: "That I be holding Grandma's hand as she passes into glory." What a bold prayer, I thought. It wasn't only the distance and my busy life that posed a problem. The big obstacle was that Grandma didn't have any relationship with Jesus and had never been open to discussing it. Still, I clung to that prayer as I went to find my husband. Good man that he is, he made arrangements so that I could leave right away.

Spiritual Combat. Grandma was already asleep when I arrived at the nursing home. I spent the night by her side, praying more fervently than ever. "Make me bold," I begged God, knowing my tendency to speak tentatively. "Use me to bring Grandma to yourself. Show me what to say."

And I asked for something more as well: "Please, Jesus, give me some kind of sign to assure me that Grandma really is with you. Don't let me go back home wondering about her salvation."

When morning came, Grandma looked at me and smiled her beautiful smile. "I love you, Grandma." She squeezed my hands and nodded, unable to form the words "I love you, too." Her beaming face sent the message.

The moment of truth had come. I murmured a quick prayer and went on, "Jesus loves you too, Grandma." All my tentativeness had suddenly disappeared. I was totally focused, as if God had pulled a privacy curtain around the two of us.

But in that moment, too, Grandma's countenance changed. Her smile faded, and her eyes narrowed. Her breathing became labored. I felt I was watching some kind of spiritual combat. "Did you hear me, Grandma?" I asked. "Jesus loves you, too." But she did not hear me—it was as though she had fallen into a deep sleep. I sensed, though, that she was not at peace. Urgently, I began asking Jesus to free her from any evil spiritual influences that might be harassing her.

"Jesus, don't let anything separate Grandma from you. I pray, in your name, that you would deliver her from evil at this time of her death. Protect her against every work of Satan and save her, Lord. Bring her into your freedom, so that she can praise you with your saints for all eternity." I must have prayed this way for an hour. During the whole time, four words kept popping into my head: "holy water" and "baptismal vows."

A Time to Be Born. The next morning, Grandma was her usual self—smiling and happy to see me. But I knew there was some unfinished business, and I had come prepared.

"Good morning, Grandma," I smiled back. "I have something to ask you." She leaned in to hear the question.

"I know your parents had you baptized as a child," I began. I had discovered this not long before, when my uncle found her baptismal certificate in the attic. "And so I brought some blessed water to help you renew your baptismal vows. Would you like to do that?"

Grandma had not been baptized in the Catholic Church (which is the tradition that I was coming from) and had not been to any church for so long: Has she ever even heard these vows? I wondered. Still, I decided to forge ahead, trusting God to bridge any gaps.

Yes, Grandma nodded. She wanted me to continue. I started in, reading the baptismal vows slowly and deliberately, letting her savor every word. I gave the responses in her place, since she was not able to speak. When I read the closing prayer—about new birth in Christ—she grew radiant and gave a deep and peaceful sigh. I could almost see her resting in the arms of Jesus.

Heavenly Realities. That was the last time I was able to communicate with my grandmother. After that morning, she fell into a confused state and never recognized anyone again. I continued my bedside vigil, praying rosary after rosary for her soul. The end came four days later. I was holding Grandmas hand, listening to her breathing grow more and more shallow. It was the strangest experience—something like watching a baby being born. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Only my uncle and aunt were with us, but the room seemed full to bursting with Grandma's heavenly family. I could feel the presence of Jesus, our Blessed Mother, and, of course, St. Isaac Jogues and the other North American martyrs I had been asking to intercede for her. Though I couldn't see it with my eyes, my spiritual sense told me that heaven and earth had come together in that room.

As Grandma breathed her last, I was overcome with joy and gratitude. God had answered my deepest prayer: Grandma, I was sure, was on her way to glory, and she had died as I held her hand.

And my sign? God provided that, too. I hadn't known it when I started my novena nine days earlier, but the feast of the North American Martyrs is October 19. That was the very day of Grandma's death. God had allowed me to play a part in his plan of love for Grandma by calling on those martyrs. Now I was certain they were leading her home.
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Cross-Curricular Blizzard

This past week my class has been having a cross-curricular unit on blizzards. What makes this so unique is that it was very unintentional on my part. It just sort of "happened." Or did it?

I started reading a new book to them after Christmas, "Treasures of the Snow" by Patricia St. John. I had never read this book before, but the previous 4th grade teacher read it every year. This week, the characters encountered a blizzard.

Our reading curriculum is McGraw-Hill.  This week's writing assignment was to write a weather report predicting a blizzard, and the precautions to take in order to stay safe. Their reports were so good that they are displayed on the bulletin board in the hall, with corresponding artwork done in chalk.

Our science curriculum is A Beka Book.  This week's reading covered the different types of precipitation, including snow, and weather forecasting.

As part of learning about the uniqueness of snowflakes, I taught my students how to make six pointed versions. They caught on very quickly, and have produced blizzard-type conditions in the classroom. In fact, the snow continues to accumulate day by day, and there is no end in sight. I have a feeling that Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow tomorrow, and six more weeks of winter will continue, at least in our classroom. So while it is 74 degrees outside, it is a raging blizzard inside.


Thank you, Holy Spirit, for bringing it all together.