The Talberts

 This was written in 2008, but the words are still true! 

Not ready...

Love them!

My Family

They’re kinda weird
And loud
And at times they’re crude
Except for my dad –
Out of all of us,
He’s the only one you’ll hear say,
“Please stop, I’m eating!”

They’re joyous
And fantastically warming
Inviting
Loving
Not judging
Or impressing.
 
They’re real.
 
Why do I say they,
When I am one of them?

We laugh a lot,

And when we play cards,
and games
Around the table
We may get feisty
And we may yell
And laugh
And eat
And accuse each other
And tease
And laugh some more.
 
We’re joyous.

We love deeply.

No matter where I live,

Or how old I am,
Or how often I see them –
It’s good to be
Home.

Scared

I've got to admit, I'm scared to go back to work in a couple weeks.  (I'm a special ed teacher.)  I've been cleaning out my school email inbox this week and there are so many emails that are about meetings, details that needed to be worked out with schedules, paperwork, behavior plans...even emails to myself to serve as reminders to make special resources for certain students, and more about meetings, and meetings...my job has so many meetings before school, during lunch, and after school.  And each of those meetings takes a lot of prep time - many times hours.  It really gets kind of crazy, and it makes me work late on a regular basis.
But now I have a child.  I know he's not officially mine but I treat him like he is and I will be so upset with myself if I keep working late and only see him for 2-3 hours before he goes to bed.  That sounds awful!  I went in for a few hours yesterday, and after a couple hours of organizing files I just wanted to take a break (a trip to Dollar Tree - my kind of break) but I made myself stay because I told myself, "Little D is being watched right now, I need to use this time wisely.  Focus."  So I forced myself to stay.  I'm really going to need help to do that this year.  I get so worn out that my scheduled planning time is often spent eating a snack, going to the restroom, checking my email, and maybe setting out materials for my next lesson.  That's about all my brain can handle so that's all that gets accomplished.  Somehow I need to be better this year.  I was thinking that if I put a picture of "little D" on my desk, that it will serve as motivation to focus every minute that I'm there, so I can pick him up at daycare sooner.  But another part of me wonders if I should be so rigid all day...how will I survive and still love my students if I don't give myself to reflect and breath a bit?  You teachers out there understand - our jobs are not just about planning and teaching.  It's often about teaching kids how to make good choices, giving creative consequences when they do not, rewarding them when they do, and making split second decisions that may affect a student's mood and behavior for the rest of the day.  We're always looking for situations we can diffuse before they start, all the while trying to teach!  It can be so exhausting.
So I'm scared.
I'm scared of how to balance being a special ed teacher with being a wife and mom.  I've always had high expectations for myself, so much of my time is spent at school.  And much of my evenings have been spent thinking about or preparing for school, while I'm at home.  Something's got to give...but I love my students so much!  Yet family comes first, right?  Yes.  I pray that God, my husband, co-workers, and other friends keep me accountable.  Help!

Vimla - better than I

Somedays, well most days, I go out to get the mail and am disappointed that I even walked out to the mailbox because all I find is junk mail.  Yesterday was a jackpot day where there were several interesting things to open (they all come in one day, don't they?) and one was a letter from the girl I sponsor through Compassion International.  She is from India and her name is Vimla.  We've written back and forth for the past few years, but I've never written as often as I should.  And I'm sad to say that sometimes the only time I pray for her during a month's time is in the second when I'm checking my online banking, and see that my financial support to her for the month has cleared.  How sad.  From what I can gather from her letters, she prays for me more than I pray for her.  It makes me disappointed in myself when I let (make?) myself reflect on that fact...because she probably needs more prayer than I do.  Maybe that's an assumption of her surroundings versus mine, but in anycase I am proud of her, and wish I was better.  One thing she said at the end of her letter sent a thud to my chest.  She asked if I had any specific prayer requests, and said that she would pray for me.  It was so precious that I took a picture of it to share with you.  Look at the last line in the second picture.

The thing is, I know that she will pray for me.  Oh, the beautiful hearts of children.  I recently read, Too Small to Ignore by the CEO of Compassion International and it pricked my heart in a way that ironically...I can't ignore.  I took a lot of notes when I read the book (I know, you can make fun of me if you wan't but I'm a note taker), and two of the ideas come back to my mind often.


*Listen to children.


*Every encounter you have with a child is a divine appointment.


I could go on a long tangent here about how people cut off children from speaking, and don't ask them questions about what they care about...and how it's hard to get people to volunteer to work in the nursery or teach sunday school...or how we say children are our future instead of see their importance now...but I won't. ;)  I'm just as guilty of these things - or at least of doing them with a good attitude.  And if I give without love to back up my actions, I'm like an annoying clanging cymbal, right? (I Corinthians 13:1)


Now, sorry to be bossy, but please reread those two points.  They could change a child's life.

Poetry (the non-rhyming kind)

I am posting some poetry in hopes that it will motivate me to come back and write more.  Most of these are from the spring of 2008, when I took a writing class and cautiously stepped into the poetry world.  I never knew how much I'd love it!  I'll just start with a couple for today.  I had forgotten about the first one and it almost brought tears to my eyes when I read it just now.  It was written about my 1st grade special ed students when I taught a self-contained class.  I think much of my actions are the same now (I hope!) but it does make me miss self-contained a bit...I had so much more time with them - I miss those daily hello's and goodbyes at the beginning and end of the day.

What Really Matters

Do they get it?

Do they understand why some letters have multiple sounds?

Do they know which five letters are vowels, and why they are different than consonants?

Can their minds stretch to capture the difference between to, too, and two?

Is there any way to explain to them what a proper noun is,

And why “I” is always capitalized, but “a” only some of the time?

Do they get it?

They smile when I point out their new shirt.

They wear that same shirt two or three times in a week

Because they know I like it.

They come to school ready to show me a new haircut

And I know that my comment of, “You’re looking good!”

Means the world to them.

My careful observation – they get it.

Does it make any sense to them that the equal sign

Is sometimes made up of one line, and other times of two?

Can they discriminate between fifteen and their made up “fiveteen”?

Do they see why I tell them the number they see is not 41, but 14?

Does it confuse them when I say add, plus, take away, and subtract?

Do they get it?

I casually rub their head or play with their hair as I walk by their desks.

I put my arm around them when they come close to me.

I give high fives and huge smiles to congratulate them.

I say hello to each student – by name – as they enter every single morning.

They randomly come up during the school day to give me a hug.

I stroke their head, touch their back, or give each a hug before they go;

They know they are not allowed to leave without saying goodbye.

My touch – they get it.

Do they understand the weather?

Life cycles?

Food chains?

Forests, swamps, and deserts?

Do they get it?

They know my expectations

Academically

Socially

They know I will not take excuses

On behavior or their work

They see my tough love.

They get it.

What matters more?

Expectations, follow-through, and love?
Or skills that may get them through life?

Can one succeed without the other?

My love – they get it.

Change of pace - the next one is short and lighthearted...

A Terrible, Heart-wrenching, Heart-breaking, Wonderful, Life-giving, Rich Experience

I knew Mike back in high school and stumbled across this video today.  It's of him and his wife talking about their foster care experiences.  It gave me encouragement that I needed to hear, and it echoes the cry of our hearts.  Their words are honest and simply beautiful.  Click on the link below to watch it.  You might have to buffer for a few seconds but it is totally worth it!

Mike & Sarah Sheagren on Foster Care

Muddy brain

Do you ever feel muddy in the brain?  Your mind is going so many directions and you have so many thoughts, but when you try to put one, just one of them, into a clear sentence or idea you can't do it.  That's how I am today.  There are so many sad things that have happened in the past few days...everyone's talking about the Casey Anthony trial...and one of my friend's husbands is in the hospital with a situation that could be really serious, another friend was in the hospital for 9 hours (the hospital had lost power and was running on generators) because he hurt his neck diving into shallow water...and I heard last night of someone else with cancer - it just doesn't seem fair.  It's hard to know what to pray, but sometimes my prayer is simply, "Lord, take what was meant for evil and turn it into good." 
Take all of those "muddled" thoughts and pair them with my day to day wanderings (such as "little D" and the path his life will take), and it can make me a mess.  Much uncertainty.  So I went to my journal today.  I ended with a realization that really is not a new one.  I am a worrier.  I told God I'm sorry that I worry instead of trust.  I've done it for as long as I can remember.  He has taught me so much about trusting, but I keep having trouble really latching onto it.  I think it's because I like control.  It's stupid, really, when I think I can control something better than God.  He is sovereign, and I seem to have to continually remind myself of that.  An all-important concept that I somehow keep losing and regaining.  I shouldn't though...look at this:

and this

I took these last night, how beautiful.  How wonderful...I recently heard that if we use the word wonderful there should be wonder about it.  Strawberries are not wonderful and even chocolate brownies are not wonderful (although they make me very happy), but this sunset is WONDERful.  How does he think up and create such beautiful sunsets, different ones every night?  It's easy for him, he has everything planned...just like he has planned every moment of my life.  I need to trust.  And to have a "God entranced vision of all things" (Jonathan Edwards).

Beautiful are the feet...

Scripture says that beautiful are the feet that bring good news, as in the gospel of Jesus Christ.  I agree.  But I must say that beautiful are these feet that bring me joy every day.  They are the feet of our foster baby, little "D."  I walk around with him telling him that he's the joy of the Lord.  He is - Jesus loves him so much.  And so do I.  It's hard to imagine life without him, he has become a natural part of our lives.  He came to us two months ago, and this weekend we took him to the lake and he had a lot of firsts...first boat ride, first dip in the lake, first time spending most of the day outside, playing on a blanket in the grass and swinging on a porch swing while drinking his bottle.  It was so fun, it was as if he is ours.  But he's not.  I wish I could say I was the one in labor with him, but I was not.  I love him as if he is my own, that love grows every day.  In my prayer journal the other day, I came to a crossroads with God, in which I (at first reluctantly) "laid him down" at God's feet.  I told God that I trust him with little D's future, and that I want to be a part of loving him in whatever way I can.  We'll know more about his future at the end of August.  But in the meantime, I am enjoying every second with this little guy.  We sing, we dance, we eat, we play, we giggle, we work on sitting and his fierce future crawling moves.  I love every moment.  I thank God for "now," regardless of what the future brings.  People tell me they could never be foster parents because they couldn't handle the kids going back home.  It is so hard, we've done it, watched them go through tears that we didn't even try to hide.  But somehow God picks us back up, and we do it again.  Not by our strength, that's for sure.  Only God.