DONE

I've finished up my first full year as a seminary student!

It feels nice and a little weird.

I'm having a little bit of a hard time calming myself down. The past two days I have went to the grocery store, cleaned out both the kids closests, mowed the grass, and sorted through all the junk that has piled up during the semester.  Welp, now that I've gotten the spring cleaning done . . .  in two days . . . what will I do with the rest of my summer?

 Let's not forget that soon the children will be out of school. I see plenty of adventures in our near future.

I can't believe I already have 30 hrs completed in a 90hr program.. 
I counted up all the classes that I have left to complete and I should be done with my degree in 2016. That seems so close, and so incredibly weird.

This school year has been an uphill climb.  The first semester I was very sick and had to be placed in the hospital several times. Sitting in  back-to-back 3hr long classes while having heart trouble is no picnic. It was miserable  but I pushed through, determined that I would not let this heart condition rule my life.

The second semester started with the tragic death of 2 cousins. The shock made it hard to concentrate on anything. I got pretty behind on my studies and spent of the rest of the semester trying to dig my way through the papers. There were several nights I threw myself in the living room floor and declared defeat. Roger wouldn't let me quit. He pushed me pretty hard.  Frankly he pissed me off on several occasions but I love him all the more for it.

The very last week of the semester was spent jumping around between libraries, coffee shops, and the church office. At 6pm every night I took off to a location and sat working on my papers until I began to get antsy. Then I would pack up for a change of scenery. I forced myself to work every night until 10:30pm. I missed my husband and children dearly.

On Sunday, the day before my last day, I headed to the Georgetown College Library and camped out until 1am. I spent the night with my sister in-law and her husband, and got up bright and early to start working until my class at 9am.  (they surprised me in the morning with a MASSIVE muffin with a candle stuck in it. It was my 29th birthday)

On Monday evening, after spending a week of working really hard, my body ached as I turned in my final papers. I sat down in the big black chairs that are in the foyer of the library and started to weep. I couldn't stop myself. I just cried and cried and cried. It was the first time that life seemed to stop. Everything around me was quite. No longer was their pressure to rush from one thing to another. In that sacred space I wept for my cousins. I wept for my uncle. I wept for my brother. I wept for my grandmother, for Lacey, and for Keith.

I also wept because it was my birthday. I had made it to 29! As my little brother said to me after he said happy birthday, "Jess, you're getting close to your expiration date." With a heart condition each and every day is a blessing. I have good days and bad days, good hours and bad hours, but I have managed to push through. By the grace of God I have been given a wonderful sense of humor that has sustained me through the trying times and an eye in which to see the Holy all around me.  

After my final class, which ended at 8:45pm on the dot, no later, and certainly no sooner, I headed to my little brother's house. I sat up until the early morning bugging the crap out of him. It was like the good ol' days!

I'm currently sitting on the front porch in my jammies typing out this blog. It's raining pretty hard and the breeze is quite cool. I love it. Anna has been singing and dancing with me all morning while Roger gets some rest on the couch. He's tired too. He really stepped up the last couple of weeks.
I love him so!

I'll leave you with one of my all time favorite songs. 

Enjoy

  

An Insanly Stressful Day: Public Venting

completely frustrate.  insanly frustrated.

Anna has  been whining and complaining and screaming and yelling since 2pm yesterday (Thursday). 

 It is now Friday. 

She doesn't have school on Fridays so she is home with me.  

I have a big paper due on Monday that I am trying my best to write. 

I have sat here trying to type for over an hour, I have a paragraph that I have written in that hour.  

ONLY A PARAGRAPH?   

AAAAAAAAAAAH 

I am going to go insane.  COMPLETELY INSANE.  

The child is so incredibly grumpy AGAIN today.

have I mentioned that my head is pounding. POUNDING.

if I didn't have this MASSIVE stack of commentaries and books and journal article that I had to pack up, I would go to the library. 

The Memory of Old Jack: A story of beautiful simplicity

I received a frantic call from my mother in the early morning hours of July 29, 2007. My grandfather, who never complains of anything, was being taken to the hospital for severe back pain. Being half asleep, I didn't really think much of it. I simply hung up the phone, said a quick prayer and snuggled back into bed. A few hours later my mother called again, this time to let my know that my Pawpaw has passed away. I became numb.

I tell the above story because that was the start of my down hill emotional roller coaster. Shortly after my grandfather's death I became pregnant with our second child. At 5 months pregnant I woke up in a puddle of my own blood. My placenta had abrupted. I was sent to the hospital where I was told that the outcome did not look good and because of this I would be on bed rest for as long as they could keep me from going into labor. I was confined to a private hospital room and given strict orders to “be still.”

 

Over the months I had plenty of time to think. Most of my days were filled with mindless reading, late night discussions with my husband, and phone conversations with my parents, in-laws, and friends. At one point my husband reminded me of a Wendell Berry novel that I had read during college, Hannah Coulter, which sparked my desire to read more of his fiction.

When I first read Wendell Berry's The Memory of Old Jack it was less from a theological point of view, I wasn't even thinking of seminary at the time. I read the novel from the point of view of a grandchild grieving the loss of her grandfather. The character Old Jack reminded me of my Pawpaw and the town in which he lived, the people that he was surrounded by. More than anything Wendell Berry's fictional town of Port William reminded me of my hometown and the Thacker Family Farm I grew up on. Never before had I come across a book that described rural Kentucky life the way that I experienced it; beautiful, simple, and simply beautiful. 

 

Years before my Grandfather passed away he would jokingly say as he patted and stretched the wrinkled skin on his left arm. “You know, this is just a shell. When I die I wont be in this old body. I'll be in heaven. I don't care what you do with this old shell. Just go throw it in one of those sink holes over there in the field.” I thought of that when I read page 157 in which Jack's nephew, Matt, after hearing of old Jack's death, ponders how Jack would demand to have his funeral if the dead man had any say.

“He would be taken in secret to a place at the edge of one of his fields, and only the few who loved him best would be permitted to go that far with him. They would dig a grave there and lay him in. They would say such words as might come to them, or say nothing. They would cover him and leave him there where he had belonged from birth. They would leave no stone or marker. They would level the grave with the ground. When the last of them who knew its place had died, Old Jack's return would be complete. He would be lost to memory in that field, silently possessed by the earth on which once established the work of his hands.” 

 

In Wendell Berry's The Memory of Old Jack, we are introduced to many characters within the the fictional town of Port William. The tension that is the focus of the book is between a materialistic life and a life of holy simplicity. Jack is a simple farmer who wants for nothing he doesn't have. He marries a woman, Ruth, who desires social ambition. As you can imagine, the two clash. Ruth tries to convince Jack that his main goal in life should be to acquires more land in order to gain more respect amongst his fellow human beings and enough money to be able to move into town. The problem is that Jack loves his work, his little farm, his old run down house, and has no desire to move into town. But, like any man in love with a woman, he slowly begins to purchase more property.

With the accumulation of more land came more work than Old Jack could handle. He was forced to hire on a farm hand to help with the labor. As a result “[...] he had destroyed his old independence” (p.58) As the work increased, the joy of the labor decreased. He found himself succumb by a new desire, a desire that was, before Ruth, unknown to him. He began to want more than what he had.

As the story goes on we learn that Old Jack starts to have money problems, and ends up losing all that he had acquired after marrying Ruth. He, in the end,is back at his starting point with the small farm and old house. However, with his loss comes a knew found knowledge and appreciation. Jack discovers his place in the world, discovers that his joy comes from his labor and the people that are around him. His joy does not come from what the world deems as successful or what the world thinks of him, or whether or not he has ambitions. His joy comes from “[being] faithful to what he belonged to” p.140. He belonged to the land, to the people within his community

.

Being from a small farming town, I went away to college seeking to, as the characters in the book say, “better myself.” I fought through years of over work, and mental and physical exhaustion, in order to receive a bachelors degree from a good liberal arts school. I was going to make something of myself. I was going to go places. But that all began to change as I sat for days upon days in a single occupancy hospital room wondering whether or not I would be planning a funeral for the child whom I had yet to meet. 

 

The Memory of Old Jack, along with other books that I was able to read on my little hospital sabbatical, touched something in me that got my mind and soul working together. I slowly began to see that there was more to life than social ambition.

 

Through the years I have found myself freed from the worldly bondage of success. Like Old Jack, I am content with where I am. I desire for nothing that I do not have. Like Old Jack, I look around at this old house that I share with my little family, and see things that need to be fixed or tended to, but I know, like Old Jack, I will find great satisfaction in tending to them. 

 

As Christians I believe that we are called to holy simplicity. We are made aware that this earth is not forever and the things that we have can not be taken with us. Like Wendell Berry shows through his character of Old Jack, we Christians should be good stewards of what we have been given. We should be faithful to the community in which we have been placed. And most of all, we should not desire what is not ours and be content with what we have. The Memory of Old Jack allows the reader to step back from the world for a bit in order to see the silliness that is the American Dream. Through the character of Old Jack, Wendell Berry shines a light on the darkness that has consumed our culture. In doing so, we, the readers, are given the great gift of reexamination.

The Voice Of Grief

I'm trying to get back to life, to living. I went to the fitness center this morning with my husband, then showered and straightened up the house.  I now have my coffee, my class notes, and this blank computer screen to stare at.  I have so much class work that I need to get caught up on while the kids are in school but I can't seem to focus. I'm hoping typing this blog will help to clear my mind. I can't constantly dwell on the events of the past week.  I can't.  I just can't.

For those of you who do not already know, my two cousins passed away on Saturday around 9:30am.  I got the call while I was sitting at the church office working on the paper that I am currently trying to work on.  I went into the sanctuary and sat on my knees in the very back.  I knew I needed to pray but no words would come. "Dear Lord Help!" Shock, I was overcome with shock.  I calmly saved my paper, slipped my notes into the folders, put my jacket on, grabbed my car keys, and headed home.  That was a rough drive.

First let me start by telling you a little bit about my two cousins and our family.

With 13 aunts and uncles, 18 cousins, over 100 acres of farm land, and a Family owned and operated business, we are a clan . . . The Thacker Clan.  Growing up it was instilled in each of us the importance of family.  We worked together, played together, cried together (only if we were bleeding), and fought together.

My brother Jacob's wedding on the farm.  The whole Family.

As a little girl raised on a farm, surrounded by boys, I was taught to be tough.  I jokingly say that I was "just one of the boys."  We built forts out of hay and old skids, chased each other on dirt bikes, golf carts, and go carts, spent hours and hours looking through the woods for buried treasure and worked the soil to grow enough tommy toe tomatoes that we could purchase a horse.

Kyle and Kody in our hay fort

me, Jacob, John, Joseph, Keith and Kyle

Kody sitting on a skid that we tied to the mule to pull him around

Kyle and I

Life seemed simple.  You got up in the morning, threw on some old clothes (that you probably wore the day before) and headed to Mawmaw and Pawpaw's house. You never had to worry about what you were going to do that day, or what kind of fun was to be had, because there was ALWAYS something..

We were cousins, but raised like siblings.

Our last photo taken together.  Mawmaw and all the grandkids

On Saturday morning Kody, age 19, was loading an old shotgun when it misfired, hitting his brother Kyle, age 23, in the back of the head.  Kody, seeing what he had done, became distraught and turned the gun on himself.  We know this because there were friends present when this horrible accident took place.

The most difficult thing for me has been watching my uncle grieve the loss of his two sons, my cousin Keith grieve the loss of his twin brother and his baby brother (Cowboy and Babybop) and my little brother grieve the loss of his best friend.  It's a nightmare that we can't wake up from.

My uncle with his son Kyle

The twins

I am trying my darnedest to not dwell on what happened, to instead focus on all the happy memories, and the way our family is getting through this difficult time, but it's hard. 

Kody, Lacey, Keith, Kyle, and David

Life does goes on.

The things that happen change us, but hopefully for the better.

Me and my two little brothers, John and Jacob.

Through this whole ordeal I have felt such a closeness to God, so has my family.  In some way we have all been touched by, what I believe to be, the Holy Spirit.  God is there, we just have to be quiet enough and still enough to notice.

On Saturday morning the last thing I wanted to do was work on a seminary paper. I wanted to snuggle with my children and drink coffee with my husband, and enjoy the sunshine of the unusually warm Febuary day.  But I forced myself to drive over to the church so that I could get the paper done before class on Monday.  When I arrived I noticed a small bird sitting by the door of the church.  "oh GREAT, a dead bird. That's just what I need today."  But when I bent down to gently move the bird to the side so that I could open the church door, I was startled when the bird started walking towards me.  I reached out my hand to offer the little fella a bit of my apple and while he was examining the apple I pet him and talked to him and kept thinking how cool it was that this, what seemed to be healthy, bird was letting me get so close.

this is the photo that I sent to Roger on my phone that morning

 

The bird continued to sit outside the church door while I started working on my paper.  I tried to scare him away by banging on the door because I wanted to make sure his wing wasn't hurt, but he just sat there, staring at me.

When I recieved the call about my cousins I walked out of the office and stood by the door.  The bird then flew away.  I just KNOW that was God sending one of his creatures to comfort me, to give me hope for the days to come.

Thank you all so much for the prayers.  It is hard to truly describe how much they have helped except by saying that somehow our massive family is growing closer and getting stronger through this.  I KNOW that we are not doing this on our own.  It is the strength of God, the hope that He has filled us with, that is helping our family to smile and laugh once again.

Kyle and Kody will be missed so much, but I just know those two buckaroos*  are having a grand time with PawPaw up in Heaven.  The thought of that makes me so happy!  

 “After a while, though the grief did not go away from us, it grew quiet. What had seemed a storm wailing through the entire darkness seemed to come in at last and lie down.”

― Wendell Berry in his book Jayber Crow

*buckaroos is what our Pawpaw called us grandkids
         

  

Proud Momma Moment

My little preschooler, Anna, received the student of the month award!

She was honored at the Board Of Education's monthly meeting tonight by her principle.

Afterwards we all went out for ice cream.

Way to go Anna!  We are so proud of you.

I got this super awesome shirt for Christmas.

I love it!

The past two yrs have been pure hell with my pacemaker but I have decided this year will be the year that I fall in love with it.  Hopefully we have all the kinks worked out and the settings perfect and the meds tweaked just right. For the past couple of months or so I have felt better than I EVER have. I seriously have no clue how I was even able to function before all of the pacemaker and med adjustments. 

You should ask Roger how many times he had to catch me in mid pass out. 

CRAZY

"Roger I think I am going . . .  to .. . . . ". 

I even taught Paul to dial 911 and told him that my phone would always be in my back pocket.   

So incredibly glad that seems to be left in 2012!

Roger has decided to take on 2 more jobs that give him the opportunity to get outside of the church walls and minister to those families within our community who do not have a church home. He is going to be the on-call minister at the funeral home down the street and the on-call chaplain twice a week at the local hospital. Although this means that I am forced to step it up even more as a wife and mother, I am thourally enjoying watching from the sidelines. Because, as you all know, I am going to seminary in the hopes of one day becoming a Chaplain.

Last Monday was Roger's first on-call day at the hospital. It ended up being one heck of a first day. At 5am his pager went off. He was called in to minister to a grieving mother and father.  Their 2month old baby was in cardiac arrest. Roger spent the whole morning with the family, praying with them, talking with them about funeral arrangements, and sitting with them as they enjoyed the last moments with their precious son's body. Roger spoke of the mother changing the baby's diaper for the last time and what a privilege it was for him to be allowed into such a sacred space.

This is what I want to do. Isn't that weird?  This is why I am going to seminary.  

I want to be able to bring the presence of Christ into a hospital room like Roger was able to do. 

I still find it strange that I desire to go into hospital Chaplaincy. I guess that is why I am so excited about watching from the side lines as Roger does this. I guess I'm nervous about whether or not I have a strong enough faith to walk into a situation like the one  I mentioned above. I've heard the horror stories of chaplaincy. Apparently the first yr of residency  is really hard; you see a LOT of stuff. A fellow seminary student told me of the worst on-call experience of her life and how she was under so much emotional stress that she vomited in the bathroom before heading home. 

That's what I am a little bit worried about.

I'm worried that I am being a naive when I say that I will be able to handle the emotional demands of such a career.

But I feel strongly called to the ministry of hospital chaplaincy and I don't believe God would have called me to a ministery if he didn't feel that I was capable of it.  Would He?

Class starts back the end of this month. I'm excited!

It took me all semester to get back in the swing of being a full time student. I had been away from it for five years.  Five years of crawling around on the floor with my children. Five years of play dates and kitting circles and reading groups and toilet training and . . .    It was weird to sit in a class room, listen to a lecture, be in a library without children clinging to my leg. 

But I'm ready to start full time semester #2.  I enjoyed so much the research and writing that seminary brought into my life. I would get giddy in the morning once the kids were off to school and Roger was off to work, as I headed up to my little office with my cup of coffee.  It was divine to sit typing as the sun poured in through the window. so dreamy! It made all those years of stay at home momhood all worth it!

Now, mind you, not every day was dreamy. I had my fair share of "HOLY SHIT WHAT IN THE HELL AM I DOING IN SEMINARY" moments.  But I made it through.  And it felt so good when I emailed in my final paper.  

Accomplishment!

Also, that kids LOVED that all three of us were going to school.  Anna even offered to pack my lunch and set out my clothes!

I'm not sure how to end this blog. I have plenty of other things to write and tell you about but I am tired and the dinner is cooking on the stove.

Hummm.     Bye?

 

 

random mondays

It was rough sending the kids to school this morning.

The Connecticut school shooting is still fresh on my mind.

I have 18 pages written on my final seminary paper for the semester.

It's in rough draft form but it still feels nice to have something written out.

It is due no later than Wednesday the 19th.

Today is the last full day with out children that I have to work on it.

Anna and Paul have their classroom Christmas parties tomorrow.

 

Anna only has class until 10:30 tomorrow.

I haven't done anything for Christmas yet. I've been consumed with school.

I'm tired.

I need to go get a new license.

I hate going into the court house.

It is so white.

They need some color in there.

It's sterile and depressing and always puts me in a bad mood.

It that weird?

 

I just hate that I have to go through a pat down to go get my license.  

 

I can't walk through the metal detector because of my pacemaker.

 

Then they have to SEE where my pacemaker IS and check everything on me.

 

It's annoying and not something that I enjoy doing.

 

I get tired of the "you don;t look old enough to have a pacemaker" comments.

 

You would think I would learn not to lose my license.

 

I need to get a wallet.  A small one.

 

I hate carrying a purse.  That's why I am always losing stuff.

 

My pockets suck apparently.

 

I should get back to working on this paper.

 

My head hurts.

 

All I want to do for christmas is cuddle up with the kids and Roger and watch movies.

 

we're ALL ready for a break.