Lessons (not) Planned: Mr. Micenheimer, Mr. Chase, and a Little Extra Effort

My dad loves to tell stories about when he was the principal at Stonington High School. For those of you who don’t know about the magical land called Stonington, it is a small town now of about 1000 people in central Illinois. Really small. It was Mayberry. Everyone knew everybody and looked out for everybody and cared about everybody. Those places do exist.

It was a grand building.

But then the state started pressuring small schools to consolidate or annex with larger schools, so we did. And then everyone started moving away and that sense of community was lost.

So anyway, during dinner whenever my dad starts a story with, “When we were at Stonington…” my sister and I roll our eyes and one of us usually gets up for something else to drink. It’s not that we don’t love Dad or Stonington or the years we spent there; it’s just that sometimes we get tired of it that way all kids get tired of their parents reminiscing.

That's a groovy dude.

But occasionally Dad tells a new story, or one that is just pure gold. And recently he told me one that left me amazed. With the recent passing of Merle Micenheimer, I thought it should be told.

Mike* was a student at Stonington his junior year. He enrolled in the Army and went to basic training the following summer. So he had goals and a plan, but school just wasn’t his thing. His senior year the relatives he was staying with moved to Taylorville, which is a much larger town nearby. The staff knew that he was going to fall through the cracks at a larger school. He was the kind of kid that needed more personal attention. More encouragement. More connection.

Love the plaid pants.

The rules were that if you started school in one district, you could finish out your senior year in that district. So Mike lived with different relatives in Stonington for the first few days of school so he could finish in Stonington while he lived in Taylorville. According to Dad, “I followed the letter of the law, but really did what was best for Mike.” They really were a rogue group in corduroy and polyester.

Then the question became, “How will he get to school?” Merle Micenheimer picked him up EVERY. DAY. Then he took him to Casey’s, bought him a cup of hot chocolate, and brought him to school. And Mr. Micenheimer took him home every night. Mike couldn’t have made it without Mr. Micenheimer. Mr. Micenheimer didn’t make him feel like he was being put out. He just put forth the extra effort to see a kid graduate and succeed. It wouldn’t have worked without Mr. Micenheimer.

I'm disappointed he's not in a sweatsuit.

Mike did graduate. He went on to the Army and then became a police officer. He saw my dad at a restaurant in Taylorville recently. They stopped and caught up and Mike told him how much he appreciated and recognized what Mr. Micenheimer and Dad did for him.  

Please don’t say that this is how the “good ole days” were, when teachers “used to care.” My dad still teaches, tutors kids, and works with The Matthew Project (an amazing organization, btw). My mom’s room after school has always resembled the Island of Misfit Toys: kids with absent parents who grew up too quickly, looking for a mother figure. And I have lots of teacher friends who buy their students socks, mittens, gloves, and other things that they notice their kids are lacking. I don’t know a teacher who doesn’t spend a good portion of her own money on her classroom and students.

Who wouldn't want to spend their extra cash on precious teenagers?

I think the way you view teachers reflects the way you view the world. If you just see all the “problems”: Common Core, politics, lazy teachers, summers off, etc., then you probably only see the negatives in the world. Look around. There are thousands of amazing teachers not complaining, not winning awards, but putting in hours and hours day (AND NIGHT), year-round, to make sure kids don’t fall through the cracks. Find them. Help them. Praise them. And be grateful your child’s life is touched by someone, like Mr. Micenheimer, who CHOSE to pour into him every day.  

*A real guy, but not his real name, of course.

You are where you are supposed to be

What if this, your life, is perfect right now?

We are always striving for something better, newer, different. The grass is always greener. We never feel good enough. Since Nathan died, I have had this constant feeling that this should not have happened. That life should not be this way.

But what if this is how life is supposed to be at the moment? I’m not saying that God won’t bust in and change your situation, or that you should stop praying for that. I’m talking about how we look at life.

I went to a worship night a while ago that my amazing friends Sonja and Bob organized. Their daughters Kaitlyn and Sami wrote prophetic cards beforehand, just index cards with words from God that popped into their heads. I picked one up; it said “leader” (no problem).

On my way out there we some cards leftover, so Sonja told me to grab another one. It said, “You are where you are supposed to be.”

What?

I thought things were supposed to be better. Different. Fixed.

“This is not what I imagined 
But this is real life in the trenches 
And we are living the dream 
Every day comes with the promise that 
It could be great if you want it 
And we are living the dream 
We're living the dream”
- Downhere, “Living the Dream”

This is not what I imagined. And this is not the life I wanted. But I am doing my son (and myself) a huge disservice when I live like this is less than my dream for us. That is hard to live out every day. But with God’s help, I am trying.

Our version of a great family picture.

So what do we do when we are where we are supposed to be?

“Actually, I don’t have a sense of needing anything personally. I’ve learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I’m just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I’ve found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am.” (Philippians 4:11-13, MSG)

I was curious, so I looked up the Greek word for “content.” It is “autarkes,” which means to be self-sufficient, to be satisfied, to have enough.

Interesting.

I think the answer is to get happy about it. To be content, happy, satisfied where we are. That is sometimes easier said than done.

"Oh, the ordinary day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me be grateful while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall fall upon my knees, or bury my face in the pillow, or lie among the sick, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return." - Mary Jean Iron

Chad, one of Nathan’s best friends, posted this on Facebook after Nathan died. I had never heard this quote before but I could not have put it more perfectly myself.

I spent a lot of time while we were married planning The Next Big Thing. We worked towards jobs and promotions. We planned trips and vacations. We dreamed about our children and our next house. And those things are not bad within themselves. But after Nathan was gone, I didn’t miss any of those things nearly as much as the ordinary. I missed lazy Saturdays watching tv and eating breakfast in bed. I missed walks in the park and grocery shopping together. I missed the regular, everyday stuff.

Making cookies. We might wear pajamas a lot at our house.

Contentment is hard. It is so much easier to live in a fantasy world. To look at real estate listings or dating sites. To cover our issues with shopping or food or busyness. To dream about what’s next.

I think countdowns can be like a drug. We’ve got to have the next big thing to look forward to. Vacation, promotion, summer, new movie, the weekend, whatever. I used to do that a lot. But then I was never in the moment, in this present “now.”

Because now is hard. It is not usually glamorous or Facebook-worthy. It is yet another snow day, a cold Wednesday with a stuffed up child who is whiny and wants to watch Toy Story for the 17^th time. It is fixing dinner when you are COMPLETELY. OUT. OF. IDEAS. It is listening and just being there when you don’t really have much left to give.

I intentionally don’t make a lot of plans now. I’m not eager to get promoted from Entry Level Mom 1 to Senior Parenting Supervisor (although my expertise in ouchie kisses, stain removal, and all things Thomas would be awesome resume builders). I’m just living day to day, trying to listen to what God wants me to do next. I don’t want my focus to get clouded by a bunch of things that don’t really matter in the end. Because if I’m going to get “there” (wherever “there” is for me), I’ve got to do the best I can with here and now.

I also have mad Duplo skills. And my child does own clothes.

So what about you, my dear? Do you feel like you are where you are supposed to be? Is it hard to live in the moment? In what area(s!) are you struggling with contentment?