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Yesterday evening, the kids filed off the bus dressed in their uniforms and made their way to get their instruments for warm-up.  I was the last person left, and the driver took a minute to ask me the following question:

“When are y’all going to let these kids actually compete? Why would you come to something like this when they are just being evaluated? These kids need to know that the real world is full of competition.  They’ll be competing the rest of their lives and not everyone gets a trophy!”

Um, obviously, y’all – he had no idea who he was talking to.  I had to take a second, through my pouring sweat – because he wouldn’t leave the bus idling and all the windows were rolled up – to get my mind right.  Instead of spouting out my first thought of – well, that’s funny because I get evaluated on my job performance at least twice a year – I took a minute to explain.

I explained that there are competitions where you compete against other bands in your class and we will be at one of those next weekend.  However, this isn’t just an evaluation.  This is THE evaluation.  This is the Florida Bandmasters Association’s assessment of how these kids and their programs perform.  It speaks to the hard work of the kids and the staff, but unlike some other job performance evaluations, the staff have to stand back for that 10 minutes or so and allow the kids to speak for what they have been teaching them.  Nobody is handed a trophy here.  Not a single person.

You want to know what these kids are learning?  You want to know what pressure feels like?  Be the one who steps off too early, drops a rifle, or misses a high note.  You can’t hide.  And it’s on film.  To be reviewed.  By ALL your peers.  That’s pressure.  When I was in band, we’d review the film on Monday morning. These days a video is posted on social media or YouTube sometimes before the band is even back on the bus.  Whether it is the actual recording set up by the band to get a video of their performance, or a parent just posting their shots, their performances are set up for a larger audience to see.

JD is in a band of long standing tradition.  Last night, we got home around Midnight, he sat on the couch and says: Mama, I feel so much more relaxed than I have in a long time.  46 years of straight superiors.  I can go out my senior year knowing it continued with us.  The tradition didn’t fall while I was section leader.  We did our part to carry it on.

We celebrate with the bands who have developing programs and are so excited for them when they get their first year of straight superiors – or even overall superiors.  I’ll cheer the loudest.  However, don’t think that the kids in the programs who historically see straight superiors take that for granted.  They go into band camp knowing they don’t want to be the band that sees anything less.  They put on uniforms, in a band room filled with trophies from bands past, and they realize it takes a commitment every year from each person in the band.

So, why do we do it, Mr. bus driver? Where you see it as “just” an evaluation, we see it for what it really is.  It isn’t a trophy being handed out.  It isn’t being given something you haven’t earned.  It’s being told after months and months of practices that you did exactly what you set out to do.  You wanted to be the best, and you are.  You earned it. You put in the work.  You put in the sweat and maybe even tears.  You set aside personal feelings, conflict, missed out on events because you had a practice to be at, showed up tired, stayed late…..and it was worth it.

You see, this world does teach that competition is what it takes to get ahead, but these kids – well these kids are learning something more valuable than competition.  They are learning commitment.  In a world filled with people willing to do whatever it takes to get ahead, what really sets you apart, and allows you to stay at the top, is commitment.

46 years of straight superiors.  I’m beyond proud of every single one of these kids.

This is a beautiful life.

I can remember how nervous and excited I’d feel each time the drum cadence kicked off, and The Pride of the Red, White, and Blue marched into the stadium. With my clarinet, or as drum major, each Friday night was a night spent making memories to last a lifetime.  I pictured my life – and somehow I never made it further than a different house in that same town, a child who would one day play in the same band, and Friday nights filled with football games as the sound of Star and Stripes Forever heralded another touchdown, and Hey Baby caused the fans to sway and sing in the stands.  That stadium in Pace, in some ways, still represents my childhood dreams.

I watched The Pride of the Red, White, and Blue file in tonight.  I watched them from the home stands, while they took the visitors’ side.  I waited with anticipation for a drum cadence to kick off, and for my child to enter the stadium, trumpet in hand – not as a Patriot, instead as a Tate Aggie.  I held my flathead JD, juggled my phone, and tried to get a video of him doing what he loves.  I wasn’t super successful.  ha!  He entered the stadium, headed into the stands, and all I could think was – It’s a great night to be an Aggie.

You see, fans filled up the stands early, the student section held up their painted signs, and people took to their feet to see one of our very own achieve his lifelong dream to play football.  Markus was born with cerebral palsy, and tonight my hometown of Pace, and the school of my heart, Tate, came to an agreement to allow him to play a play so that he could letter in football his Senior year.  I am sure there wasn’t a dry eye in the stadium.  As the band struck up The Horse, and played our fight song for Markus’ touchdown, I could think of no two better schools to come together to make this happen.  I watched both sides of the field stand up and cheer.  I watched the Pace football players clap for Markus.  I watched two great supportive communities come together in remembering that it is so much more than football.

I am thankful to have grown up in the now not so little town.  I needed then what Pace provided.  I needed a place to grow and dream.  I needed those Friday nights that seem so far away sometimes, and yet can be brought back with the smell of fresh-cut grass, a slight chill in the air, or a harvest moon hanging low on a breezy Fall night.

But I am so very thankful that life took me a little ways over the river.

JD came home tonight and we talked a bit about the game.  Usually we talk about the show, and how the football team played – but tonight our conversation was mostly around that very first play of the game.  JD says: Mama, it really is great to be a Tate Aggie.

I am sure that one day when he looks back on his high school days, he will think about some of his outstanding moments.  I’m sure he’ll remember marching into the stadium.  I’m sure he’ll remember playing “All I Do is Win” after we beat Niceville at Niceville in the regional final last year.  I’m sure he’ll remember the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day Parade, and after this December – the amazing opportunity he had to play at the 75th Anniversary of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.  But I know in my heart of hearts, long after he marches out of Pete Gindl stadium for the last time, long after that familiar drum cadence becomes a memory, when his childhood dreams are realized and he cheers on his own children as they do what they love – he will remember this night.  He will remember the breeze in the air, the roar of the crowd, and just how it felt to play the fight song when it meant the most.

He will remember the night the football stadium became a field of dreams.  And those dreams were realized.

It’s great to be a Tate Aggie.

It’s a beautiful life.

The most mundane experiences can make us evaluate – if only we will let them.

I have these two cats, Cheese and Crackers, and to look at them you would think they have never missed a meal, because they haven’t.  They are huge.  However, I started noticing a trend.  They would indicate pretty clearly that they needed food, but when I went to the bowl, I noticed that none of the food on the left side of the bowl had been touched.  The right side was empty, but the left was full.  I’d fill the right side up and soon it would be empty – and we’d be back at it.

I didn’t think too much of it – anyone who has a cat knows that they change their minds about things and then that’s it.  Instead, I emptied out the whole bowl, washed it (thinking maybe something threw them off about the left side), filled both sides back up with food, and turned the bowl around as an experiment.  I wanted to see if they would eat out of the left side.

I got up this morning to feed them – and sure enough.  The left side was full and the right side was empty.  They still won’t eat out of the left side of the bowl – even though prior to last week – when I turned the bowl around – it had been the right side of the bowl.  I shook my head, said some things about how silly they were, fed them…..and then had a moment.

I thought – isn’t that we so often do? We search, and cry, and look for something. We find ourselves malcontent with our situations and decide we must need something else. We say things like – “I don’t want to settle” and somehow fail to see what is right in front of our face.  Yes, there are times when we need to do something different.  There are times when we face the reality that we have allowed certain parts of our life to get stale or we settle for where we are because we are too scared to take a risk, but I’m not talking about those instances. I’m talking about feeling like we are lacking when we already have what we need – whether that be in a relationship or our job or in the words we speak over our life.

Help my eyes be opened to what is in front of me.  You see, it’s not really settling for the left side, but instead realizing that where you only see emptiness, the truth is that what you need was right there all along.

This is a beautiful life.

I really hope that what is in my heart is somehow about to come out in what I write.  I’ve debated not writing anything, because honestly I don’t know that I can articulate how I feel.  I don’t want to say the wrong thing.  Maybe I’ll just start with a story.

A couple of months back, on the way home from a concert, my niece, her friend, my friend Mallory, and I stopped to get something to eat.  It was Midnight, we were hungry, and I was trying to find us a place where we would be safe.  I pulled off the interstate to a Waffle House that was well-lit, had a lot of cars parked at it, and decided, that in the grand scheme of things, Midnight isn’t nearly the rowdy time at Waffle House.  I parked the car, looked through the windows, and will admit to immediately noticing that every patron in the Waffle House was black – but that didn’t put me off.  We got out and decided to go in.  Let’s pause….

Did I mention we were in Montgomery?  I should probably mention that fact. You see, I’ve always heard that Montgomery was pretty segregated, but in my mind those were stories of times gone by.  This is 2016, and while I know that racism still exist, it isn’t something I have had to really confront in my life.  Some of y’all might be shocked by that since I was born and raised in the South, but it’s true.

We walked in that night, and the entire place initially got quiet.  You could hear a pin drop.  You could feel the tension in the air, and I was faced with a decision – turn around and leave or sit down and eat.  We decided to stay and eat.  After all, we weren’t looking for trouble.  Anyone who knows us knows that we are a friendly, hug your neck kind of crowd.  I truly just wanted us to quickly eat and get back on the road towards home.

It was the longest 30 minutes of my life.

Only one server wanted to wait on us.  She was very nice, although you could tell she was nervous to wait on us. Patrons either stared, walked out, or were openly rude.  I got my food, and it wasn’t what I really ordered, but by that time I was too nervous to even eat.  I got up to pay, and heard the door open and one of the servers who had been rude to us says – in a joking voice: Oh, here comes trouble.

I couldn’t even look behind me.  A few seconds later, I see a white police officer walk behind the counter, pour himself a cup of coffee, and proceed to sit where everyone can see that he is watching us.  I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or even more nervous.  He talked and laughed with the servers and patrons, and you could tell he was a regular. We paid, walked out to the car, and the police officer gets up and walks to the window to watch us out in the parking lot.  As we went to get in the car, out of nowhere we were approached by a man.  The police officer comes out in the parking lot to make sure we are okay.  I pulled off – almost in tears.

For the first time in 37 years I entered a place and wasn’t liked solely because of what I looked like on the outside.  I made people nervous just for being me. I was treated  as if I was about to bring the whole place to a riot based on nothing other than the fact that I wanted a quick bite on the way home from a concert – and didn’t look like I belonged in that area of town.  That broke my heart – not for me – but because I realized that I would drive my car 150 miles and maybe never experience that feeling again in my life….but the people who sat in that Waffle House can’t say that.  30 minutes of uncomfortable for me is someone else’s entire life to a level I can’t understand.  No escape.  And yet….

And yet, people make generalized statements assuming that the answer is as easy as “if you didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to fear.”  I’ll be bold and honest enough to say that I have felt that way before.  I have assumed that your fear was misplaced and your idea of racism was something that was blown out of proportion.  I have tried to place my world view and my experiences on others, when clearly I do not have the same life experience – nor will I ever have that view.  I am just not sure anymore that the answer is that easy.  Today, my heart hurts.  My heart hurts for my friends and people who have lived under suspicion based on the color of their skin.  My heart hurts for children who are growing up fearing the people who are sent to protect.

My heart hurts, and I worry, for my best friend’s husband who is a state trooper.  He is out there every single day and faced with the reality that he could be ambushed based on his uniform and badge.  Yet, he still goes.  He still gets up and protects.  He is faced with the reality that all of his actions will be scrutinized and even if his actions are above reproach they could be villainized. I am heartbroken and sick that there are those who are living to serve others, only to die at the hands of someone because of what they seem to represent. It’s senseless.

I don’t have all the answers.  I don’t even pretend that I do.  I do know I pray for this country and her people.  I pray that we can open our eyes and see that our greatest strength comes from being united.

I pray and grieve for all the families who have lost loved ones this week.  Lord, that we would see that violence is never going to solve our differences, rather only serve to drive us further apart.

How long does it take to make a difference in someone’s life? Maybe it’s felt  instantly. Maybe it’s one note at a time.

This afternoon, shortly after school got out, I received a call from JD. This isn’t unusual.  He calls me often on his way home from school…mostly to ask me if we have food at the house.  Side note: We ALWAYS have food at the house. You might have to cook it, but seriously – when have we ever not had food in the house?  Okay, back to it. I expected to once again run through a list of groceries and leftovers, and have him tell me he was going to run through a drive-thru.  Instead he says:

Mama, I have some great news, and some really bad news, too.

Me: Okkkkayy….

JD: Well, all the band students got called to the band room at 2:55 today, and at first…

Me (cutting him off): OH MY GOSH!  He’s leaving, isn’t he?!

He goes on to tell me how his assistant band director has accepted a new position as a head band director, closer to his home.  He says:

It really is a great opportunity for him, so I am happy for him – and have to be happy for him. How could you not be happy for him? But man…..it sucks for us. I mean, he’s too good not to take a band director job, and it’s closer to his family, so yeah – he totally had to do it.

I listened to my kid go on about his reaction to the news – and that of his friends – and as a mom I felt sad for him. However, I started to think about how we impact the lives of those around us.  You see, this assistant band director was only here for one school year.  The truth is, anyone who knew his credentials and saw him with the kids, knew he would get an opportunity of his own one day.  It was a given.  I thought back to last year and about how JD wasn’t sure he’d like him as much as the former one….for the simple fact that the former one played trumpet and this one was a “woodwind.”  For those unfamiliar, a person who plays trumpet will never understand why someone would make the decision to play a woodwind instrument.  ha!  Mostly kidding…or maybe not.

As a parent, I knew we were going to get another young assistant, and while his age doesn’t bother me, I also knew that this person would get to spend a lot of time with our kids. You really hope that even if they have just graduated from college they are able to command a certain respect and put a divider between themselves and the kids.  I don’t care if in 4 years it is quite possible you could sit down and have an adult beverage with these kids because y’all are so close in age, there has to be clear boundaries – and even if some of the parents have older kids your age, it’s important to be able to have a conversation without feeling like you’re talking to one of your own children. It had to be a difficult place to be in for him, too; knowing parents are watching and wanting to present yourself knowledgeable and capable.  He was more than qualified, and never caused me a moment of doubt.

Within a couple of weeks, JD announced that he thought he liked this assistant better than the former – even with that fatal woodwind flaw. He would come home and talk about what he was learning, and some of the things that were passed on. Today, I know that he and all of his fellow band members felt the same sense of excitement for their teacher, but loss for themselves. As a matter of fact, I met a fellow band mom at the gym and the first thing she asked was if I had checked my email.  I told her no, but I knew what she was going to say, as he had called me. Her son had called her, too.  We pretty much had a moment of silence for their loss – standing right there on the ARC trainers….haha!

So, how long does it take to make a difference? Maybe it’s instantly.  Maybe it’s one note at a time – until you look up a year later and it’s hard to imagine what the year would have sounded like without that person.

I have no doubt that when he looks back on this chapter, JD will remember the assistant band director who had questionable choices in what instrument he liked to play (ha!), but taught him not only about music, but life. We wish nothing but success – and the new school is so so fortunate.

Each of us have an opportunity to make an impact. Never underestimate just what you bring to the table – and into the lives of those around you.

This is a beautiful life.

I didn’t get up this morning intending on starting a new blog.  For months, I’ve found it hard to write – hard to find the words that are in my heart, and commit them to paper….or rather, the internet. There has been a struggle within myself, and honestly, it’s not a struggle I’ve very familiar with at all.  You see, I am a content person.  I find happiness in everyday joys, count my blessings, and look for the good in just about all situations.  That is why I think I’ve been at a loss to describe this feeling.  It’s a restlessness.  It’s being honest about wanting something different…something more.  It’s wrestling with the fact that I believe we all have our unique gifts, talents, and abilities and we have a responsibility to use them, but wondering if I am using mine to the fullest of my potential.  I have to venture to say that if I am asking myself that question, the answer is no. If the answer is no, then why not?

It’s a longing unfulfilled.  For what?  Well that is what I have been asking myself. When I look at my life, I see that I am blessed and fortunate.  I am never far from remembering where I came from, and being even more thankful for where I am today.  Sometimes – you get so wrapped up in where you came from, and how where you are is better than you could have imagined, that you feel guilty for wanting something more.  Or, at least, I do.

In one year (one year and 5 days to be exact), my son will graduate high school. He will be off to pursue his dreams, and I have been encouraging him to do just that – pursue them with all he has in him. I encourage him to seek God, trust in Him, and to remember that we all have something unique to contribute – something only we can bring into the lives of others. And somehow in all of that, I started reminding myself of the same.  Suddenly, this life of contentment feels restless.

Can you be content and restless at the same time?  Yes, I think you can.  I think you can be content in where you are today, but restless and excited for the future.  I think you can absolutely be thankful for all you have, but seek more – to be more – to do more with what you were given.

What does this mean for me?  Well, right now it simply means trying to find the words for where I am. It means seeking God first, asking Him to settle my heart with where I am supposed to be, and trusting that He has all the details worked out.  It’s trusting that He will be faithful to complete what He started in my life.  It’s believing that if He called me to it, He has already placed in me what I need to see it accomplished.  It’s relentlessly pursuing Him.  It’s deciding to stop using my blessings as an excuse to not pray big for my life, believe big, and see big things come to fruition. It’s a little scary and even more exciting.

In looking for a picture to put on this blog, I was drawn back to the one of me at the beach last year. If you look over the water, you’ll see the storm clouds. If you look behind me, you can see the light of the sun coming up. It reminds me that even when we walk through uncertain times, or feel unsettled, He is still there guiding us. You can either looks towards the storm, or look towards the Son. I can either look at all the ways I might fail, or look towards Him to guide the way.  I know where my eyes are set.

Philippians 1:6 – being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

Restlessly content. Relentlessly pursuing Him.