The Dance Teacher–A Tribute to Mr. Stutzman

Mr. Lyle Stutzman is finishing up his last year teaching music at our high school and grade school and we will all miss him like the idiot misses the point. So, Nate wrote a stellar tribute to Mr. Stutzman, and I thought it summed up my thoughts and feelings pretty well, so I asked him if I could post it here. So here it is, a tribute to one of the best, most humble teachers I know.

The Dance Teacher—A Tribute to Mr. Stutzman

When a child is learning to walk, his steps are slow and awkward, and he often falls. As he grows older, however he develops the ability to hop, jump, and skip—to dance. Acquiring the ability to dance cannot be developed overnight; it takes patience and the instruction of an experienced teacher.

I’ve heard it said that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Everyone has something to which this statement applies. We all have or have had things that we have taken for granted, whether it’s a family member, a friend, health, or one of many other things. In my case, it was a teacher. A teacher who taught me to dance.

In 2007, a young musician began teaching music at Pilgrim Schools—Choir and Music I and II at High School, and Music for the uppergraders at Grade School. As if preparing the music and students for spring programs wasn’t enough. As if teaching several High School classes every week wasn’t enough. No, that wasn’t enough. Not for him. His love for people and good music drove him to also accept the job of teaching music to us rowdy little gradeschoolers. Us gradeschoolers who thought it was cool to pretend to hate music. Us gradeschoolers who seemed to think it was our job to be as distracting as possible during class. Yes, us gradeschoolers. Although he probably didn’t know all he was getting himself into at the time, he still took a leap of faith in accepting this job. And, gradually, a change began to occur. Slowly, we students began to learn to be more respectful, to sing better, and to appreciate good music. We were becoming more like our teacher—learning to dance.

By the time I reached high school, the instructor had been teaching for several years. He was still teaching Choir and Music I and II at high school, and the uppergraders at grade school. Not only did he teach music, but he set a great example for all his students. He spoke at high school several times, in segregated chapel and at our guys’ campout, and made it obvious that if someone needed to talk, he was available. As if teaching us from his vast knowledge of music wasn’t enough. As if the many hours outside of school helping us Music II students finish our songs wasn’t enough. No, that wasn’t enough. Not for him. He went out of his way to make sure all the guys at high school had someone to talk to, someone to listen. Yet, I, as well as other students, didn’t think it unusual. This was just the way it was, and he would always be there for us, right?

Last night was the high school’s last program under his direction. After 6 years of pouring his all into our school’s music program and the students’ lives, it all came down to one final performance. One last dance. With emotions running high, he delivered his last “pregame speech.” He acknowledged that the evening was special. Yet, he reminded us, the true purpose of the program was not to impress the crowd. It was not to make him proud. No, our true purpose was to sing to the Audience of One. As we marched up the stairs and out into the anteroom, we could feel the excitement and anticipation of the crowd. This feeling, this moment, could not be captured by any camera or microphone. It could be captured and preserved only in our memories.

Throughout the evening, it was like a scene from a movie playing in slow motion. The conductor’s face beamed with joy as he guided the choir with ease. He mouthed the title of each song before starting it, here and there adding a joke to make us smile and keep us at ease. He savored every minute of the program, at times resting his hands at his side and simply listening. We students also relished every moment. After all, it was his last program. His last dance.

As I think of his departure, my emotions are mixed. Although it makes me sad to think of our school without him, it also makes me glad. Glad for this opportunity for him to share his knowledge of music, his teaching ability, his joy with others. Glad for the years he shared with Pilgrim Schools, with the students, with me. One thing is certain: he will continue to bless others wherever he goes. And, who knows? Maybe someday he will make a triumphant return to Kansas. Until then, his memory will remain. Every time I hear “Hava Nagila,” I will think of his dancing antics in choir practice and the funny way he always said “Have a Nagila.” When we sing “The Church’s One Foundation,” I will think of the effort he poured into teaching 7^th and 8^th graders to sing beautifully. Every time I come across a song we sang in choir, I will think of the man behind my experience with it. His delightful laugh, his jovial smile—his joy. And I will always be proud to call that man my teacher and my friend—the one who taught me to dance.

Oh Joy!

I tend to go from the depths of despair to the very pinnacle of happiness in a rather short period of time. This is good, but it does work quite the other way around as well. I’m afraid my happiness is quite too much dictated by my circumstances. So today, I have barely a thing planned, and so I am looking at pictures of he most glorious food and flowers and planning my trip to the French countryside. My heart is bubbly because there are so many wonderful things in the world! There is so much beautiful light, scrumptious food, and happy, whimsical flowers. That’s kind of a list of my obsessions right now. So I want to share some of the beautiful things that I have been enjoying. (isn’t the internet grand?) So here’s a list of delightful links.

This is my new favorite food site! One thing that makes food research infinitely better is good photography, and this, they have. And this avocado kale toast looks like the perfect cure for my breakfast blues.

Oh am I ready for spring! Here’s a collection of lovely springtime tables for parties. And they are mostly delicious.

And this lovely French lady and her enchanting dishes. She really does slay me. And the best part about it is that it isn’t just pictures of food and a recipe, she adds bits of her life and sometimes even a poem. Anyway, these strawberry tartlets are just too much.

Good and Bad Things

The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things…The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

This would describe my life surprisingly well right now. I am simultaneously experiencing some of the best, most delicious things (relationships, events etc.) I have ever experienced (yes, I know, nearly seventeen years is a vast pool of experience from which to draw), yet at the same time, I am going through some of the most frustrating, bewildering things of my life so far. Praise God I have the good ones to save my very circumstantial emotions from total despair.

Beautiful Things

Do you ever have this feeling inside you that makes you want to go do something beautiful? Like write something wildly brilliant or draw something deliciously impossible. Something that’s sparkly and fluffy. Not literally, but that feels that way. But you have no idea where to start, or what to do. And so you sit down with a blank sheet of paper, and wait. But nothing comes. Then instead of feeling happy like you did a moment ago you feel depressed, like any creativity you once had has been eaten by the giant called “growing up.” When I was a kid, my creativity seemed alive and well and endless, and the stories I created were original and fascinating. Now all that comes out is reused bits from this story and that, nothing new, only old worn-out remnants of beautiful things.

What do you do when this mood strikes you? Do you ever feel this way? What does it mean?

A Little Bit of Life and My Best Life Later

I am in the youth group.  There are mostly awesome people in my youth group. It is epic. The end.

School is out for the summer. That is kind of epic, but much less so. I have discovered that I would way rather do schoolwork than clean up the house, work in the garden, etc. And also I already miss my friends. But then again, it is rather nice to not have assignments hanging over my head and stuff that I should be doing sitting staring at me. And I am looking forward to having time again to do things that I like to do. Like read and hang out with my siblings.

Instead of using the quarterlies for Sunday school, we studied the book Crazy Love by Francis Chan. I think it’s fairly accurate to say that I have learned more in the ten or so weeks that we studied this book then in the last several years of using the quarterlies. It could be the outstanding teacher as well. But now we are going back to the quarterlies per the superintendents request.

Anyway, I was very impacted by this book. I feel like God is truly convicting me and speaking to me through it and I want to listen, but it’s really hard, because I think He’s asking me to give up some stuff that I really, really like. So my mind goes in circles.

It seems like far too often I go on these spurts of great fervor and dedication where I read my Bible regularly and listen exclusively to Christian music, and I spend my spare time only reading stuff about God and the Christian life. Then it’s over in a couple days and I go back to whatever. And then once I get too discouraged I go read the Bible, listen to some inspiring music and then I’m good to go for another week or two. It seems like I am spiritually fed, after all, how can I not be? I go to church twice a week and I get chapel every morning in school.

But, it’s like I’m using God like caffeine or another drug. I get my daily and weekly doses, but also every once in a while I need a little bit more to get me through my life without feeling horrible. And then every once in a while I get depressed and think that it’s all useless and that I simply lack the self-control and know-how to make it with God. This is not my ideal relationship with God, and I know this is not what He wants for me.

I think my problem is this. I don’t want God to be a constant part of my life. There are some areas where I like to forget about Him for a little while and then I’m fine with Him being around after that. But it’s really true. Nothing can stand in the way of my relationship with God. Even if it’s a small thing. If I see it, I need to eradicate it immediately, or my relationship with God will be harmed.

Something Mr. Chan talked about in his book was “My best life… later.” I think that I have been sort of pushing God off to the side a bit because I think, “I’m still young, once I’m older, these things will make more sense, there won’t be as much peer pressure, and I can start really focusing on God.” I was saving my best life for later. But I can’t do that. I have to do now what I know is right. Pushing it off won’t help, because, if reports are correct, it actually gets harder as you get older. And really, what is so wonderful here that any sane person would choose it over a relationship with God?

So, goodbye to lukewarmness and the convenient god I created. I’m going hardcore.

Be Embarrassed

Well, I guess I will wait to post part II of the office until I feel inspired.

I have been thinking a lot about why we are so concerned about what other people think, and why other peoples actions can have such a huge effect on us. Why are there sometimes bratty people who are extremely cool, and even though people don’t like the bratty person, they try to be cool around them so that the bratty person will like them. Why couldn’t they all just be themselves and have a great time and not worry about meeting the cool person’s agenda and impressing them?

We are reading Francis Chan’s book Crazy Love for Sunday school right now, and several times he has made me remember that what people think really, seriously doesn’t matter. Think about this scenario. All of eternity is spread out for God to see. When He looks at the highlights of your life, do you think you will want Him to see how you were the most popular kid in highschool and how that guy on the plane was impressed with how much you knew about current events? Don’t you think that will seem really silly in front of God? When God sent His Son to die for you, you re-payed Him by earning the praise of men. Wouldn’t you rather have Him see how you befriended that annoying kid (to the demise of any dreams of popularity), and witnessed to the smart guy on the plane even though you kinda made a fool of yourself? Like seriously, think about it.

Do you know a thing about stuff that your great-great-grandparents did? I don’t know a single thing about them, except that they were Amish. So just think, you will be obsolete in four generations. That could make you sad, but to me, it’s kind of freeing. I don’t have to be perfect, because in approximately 400 years, I will be forgotten. So I can do whatever crazy embarrassing things for God and it doesn’t matter, cause no one will remember it in a couple hundred years. And I will have the eternal rewards in heaven, as well as the blessings God promises for any descendants of mine. Doesn’t that excite you?

Keep in mind that what you do today will influence those around you and your descendants, but as long as you follow God it’ll do good things and it doesn’t matter if it is embarrassing. Because in couple hundred years no one will care that you are a freak, and it will have a big pay-off in Heaven. (David Yoder gave me permission this morning to do stuff for the reward)

So, I guess this is all to say, if you are doing what God wants you to do, it doesn’t matter if it really freaks you out and is incredibly embarrassing. And most of ya’ll have probably figured this out already, but maybe some of ya’ll haven’t so I thought I’d share my revelation so that you could see it and so that I can periodically look back and remind myself.

Ciao Bellas!

-Kristi

GRT Part I

The Office. (and I’m not talking about the TV show)

To me, it is still a narrow brick building with a mysterious welding shop beside it. It has a wooden flower box in the front window that Mom always tried to keep stocked with bright red geraniums. In the front room, employees have come and gone but there was always Freda Miller, at a desk somewhere in there. Then in the back of the front room was the most mysterious (and my favorite) place in the whole office. In the old days of paper tickets there was a mysterious machine that would print tickets and invoices without anyone even touching it. It was enchantment at first ticking. And on top of that, it was filled with office supplies. Oh, office supplies! So wonderful, and interesting. I would literally walk around the room, just listening to the ticking and watching the papers magically come out of the printer and looking at all the office supplies. I would imagine all the things one could do with them. And wonder what in the world those brown clampy things with fangs were.

And then there were the agents desks. Some of them had many mysterious and exciting things on them as well. On others, the only interesting things were the phones and headsets. (computers were quite boring, for some reason.) But the exciting ones had things like real live Post-It sticky notes on them. Mom never bought real, live, Post-It sticky notes. They were too expensive. We bought Office Max sticky notes. And then others had these mysterious little pink/yellow slips of semi-clear paper that was sticky on one half of the bottom part, and came out of this little dispenser that magically pulled the next on to the top. Sometimes if we would come there after hours I would sneak back to the agents desk and pull them out just because it was so fascinating. And then I would bury it deep in the trash can and creep guiltily back to Dad’s desk in the back and look at the file cabinets.

Behind the front room and ticketing room, there was a hallway. There was a bathroom first in the hallway, then there was a very small kitchen with the all important fridge. The fridge was all important because it usually contained pop, although a lot of the time it was diet. And then it was the back room where Dad worked. There was also a door leading from the back room to a side alley outside. That’s where we usually parked and then came in through that door. We got the VIP entrance ’cause we were Dad’s kids. In the back room there were very tall filing cabinets that had lots of important papers. I liked to pull out the bottom drawers (cause I could reach those) and look at all the papers and wonder what they meant.

That was the VA office to me as a little kid. Part II will be about the KS office and my experience working there.

Ciao Pues!

-Kristi