Tiny Tim ( Alabama Ethics Law)

       You walk in on the first day of school, and there they are. All alone in the corner, a little more than afraid. No one came to help fill out the paper work. No hugs and kisses at the door. No lunch box with notes from mom attached to little, shiny, Hershey Kisses. They have no idea what is on your supply list, or why you would even give them one. Parents?   For one reason or another, they are nowhere in sight.

      In that moment you smile, and say to yourself, “There you are, I have been waiting for you to get here.”

This year's Tiny Tim.

     Every classroom in America has one. That kid whose clothes aren't “just right.” Who could maybe use a bath. The one that the teacher has personally spent a fortune on buying supplies, or the occasional lunch.

Tiny Tim.

     The one who, when they are absent, your heart sinks. You are literally sick all day wondering and praying for that child. You know if they are with you then they are at least safe, and warm, and loved. You conjure up excuses to make a phone call just to check .

 You must know if your Tiny Tim is OK.

     Mixed emotions have been swirling around my head for the past few days. Not sure whether to laugh or cry over the newly issued mandate from the Alabama code of Ethics stating that teachers in Alabama cannot receive gifts (with monetary value) from students. On one hand you have to cry at the audacity of lawmakers who could fathom that a teacher works for gifts. On the other hand, laugh, because they have made laws that will articulate what you have told the kids for years.

“Don't buy me anything. You are my gift. I get you every day!”

     I think the most disturbing part in it all is the idea that the people who are in charge... just don't get it.

“The sponsor of the law, Republican Sen. Bryan Taylor, said it protects teachers against accusations of favoritism to students who give them big gifts and avoids embarrassment for low-income students. "In every classroom, there is a Tiny Tim who can't afford a turkey or ham," Taylor said.”

     Implementing laws to protect ...Tiny Tim? To stand and say that a teacher's favor can be won? That a Starbucks gift card can change my heart?      Really?

They have missed the obvious in my opinion...

... Tiny Tim,    you already have my heart.

The other kids may have money, families, and resources. They have help with homework, and hugs.   All my kids get my best, but you...

I find some way to give you just a little more.

I know the argument is over gifts. How much is ever enough? To say that the work a teacher does can be quantified and compensated... with stuff, to me  is....... obsurd.

 

 It is not about the presents, for me, it is about the Presence. 

     The voice saying, “Be my hands and feet. Love this child the way I love you. Show this child that you give YOUR best and it is for MY GLORY.”

      That gift is the one I work for. The only one I want. The present that can never be bought, but it is worth more than everything else.... My Savior's approval.


God bless us everyone.....

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Currier and Ives

1990 showed up again this week. Let me see if I can explain....

I always wanted a “pretty” Christmas tree growing up. One that matched. One that had ribbons and bows. I remember going out to Opryland and secretly coveting those trees. I know it is silly, but I longed for a tree like that as a child.

You see, Our tree was ugly. Nothing matched, just a hodgepodge of stuff that we made or collected. I even made fun of our tree on more than one occasion to my mother. She would just shake her head at me and protest. Our tree was beautiful to her.

When Gary and I married I decided that I would have the perfect tree in MY home, the perfect holiday, the perfect everything....and so the madness began.

I had to have everything just so.... the tree, the lights, the “ Southern Living” Magazine version of what I thought it should be. I would spend hours working on making it “ just right”. One year I even hand tied elaborate bows on each and every gift, just to take them off and transport them to TN. I wanted them pretty under the tree before we left.

We started a tradition years ago cutting down our tree. We all trample off through the woods in search of our “ Hallelujah” moment. Finding the perfect tree has nearly caused death or divorce on few occasions.

The photo session alone is enough to make my kids cry.

On our way home last weekend we stopped to get our tree. For some unknown reason I was just in a different mood. No matching outifts. No hoopla. One family photo. And the girls even helped pick out the tree. Not at all a normal outing, but I was beginning to sense that this year I was going to be different.

A few days passed and the girls wanted to put up our tree. I said, “No.” It takes three days to put up MY tree. I have to wrap every strand with lights . That alone takes one whole night. I told them when I was ready I would let them add a few ornaments, but

......I put up the tree.

Then Thursday night came around . They caught me at a weak moment, and I conceded to letting them do the tree themselves. Gary looked at me like I had lost my mind. I figured with Lindz being 10 that this could be her last year for fantasy and I couldn't take any part of it away.

I just secretly vowed to re do it when they went to bed.

Watching them decorate and hang the ornaments with pride was truly a “Mom Moment.” We talked about the origin of the figures. How they all represent some part of our life. It was a family history lesson that they actually wanted to take part in. I was able to share with them “Our Story” and how God has seen us through so much.

It was my Christmas gift.

As I sat there that night and looked at our finished tree, it hit me. That tree is not perfect, there are things I would change, parts I would do differently. Trinkets I would move that might fit somewhere better. It is similar to our story. The Millraney saga. The tree is not perfect, but neither are we. That hodgepodge of decorations represents the hodgepodge of members and memories  God has put on this journey.

As much as I want perfection, it just not us.

The Millraneys have never really been Currier and Ives.

Isn't that what Christmas represents? A need to perfect the imperfect. 

Could it be that it is  our responsibility to take what we have, and what we have made, to create a masterpiece of our own. Imperfections and all laid at the Savior's feet as a gift to HIM because of HIS gift for us.

Normal, everyday people who get an indescribable present even though they don't measure up.

I looked at “Our tree” and remembered my poem from 1990 “ the Ugly Tree”. I gave it to my mom the Christmas I began to understand the meaning.

  I found it, and looked at it again. I sat there reading it and realized something: my 16 year old heart had found truths that this 37 year old one had lost.

The Ugly Tree 1990

It's Christmas time and once again,

We are surrounded by family and friends.

Each one commenting on our

Ugly tree.

Ornaments created by tender hands

that no one else could see.

The lights are twinkling like all the rest

but the decorations are what make it best.

Upon this ugly Christmas tree

is a collection of a family.

The joys and triumphs, sorrow and tears

passed down to us through all the years.

The tree is decorated with memories,

on every branch, a story to see.

So, if at our house you may be..

Feel welcome to view our ugly tree.

For our tree is not decorated with silver or gold,

but with wonderful art work of stories untold.