I accidentally fell in love.

This is a love story. It's not your typical love story. I call it...

Love Accidentally.

I was one of those homeschoolers who was raised on classic books and firmly believed that she would follow in the steps of Laura Ingalls Wilder or any of those girls who got married before they turned 20. I didn't really like school and I figured that I probably wouldn't really need college because I'd be married by 18. When I turned 17, I started to realize that it was 2004, not 1904, and most likely I would have to go to college. If you go to college, you'd better have a plan in mind! I wasn't good at math, unlike my brother. Engineering was definitely not in my future. I couldn't draw, so art was out of the question. I knew I would not make a good nurse, so following my mom was not an option. What was left? Teaching! Perfect! After all, it is the 21st Century, so I could afford to bide my time and get some more education before leaving it all to be the only thing I ever wanted to be: a wife and mother of 9 children, 8 boys and 1 girl to be be exact. And anyway, whatever I learned in college would be applicable to homeschooling a whole bunch of kids, so that's why I decided to become a teacher.

Most people talk about their "calling" to be a teacher and how they knew that that's all they wanted to be. During seminars and teacher talks, teachers will talk about that moment when they knew they were called to become a teacher. Teachers love to ask each other what made them want to be a teacher. And then there's me. Why did I want to become a teacher? Uh. I didn't? or Uh...because I figured it would be a good way to bide my time before I left it all to be a stay-at-home mommy? I honestly never had that "moment" when I just knew that "touching lives for eternity" was something I wanted to invest in. Sure, I liked kids (probably liked their books more), and it would be fun to play with kids all day. That was as "confirming" as it got. I had no epiphanies or an insatiable love for children.

Fast forward to my fifth-ish year teaching. My "moment" did eventually come. It came while I was already teaching. I don't have an exact instance, but I know that I learned I wanted to teach for the sake of teaching after I was already a teacher. Better late than...later, huh?

I fell in love with teaching, but I hadn't meant to.

I moved up to high school this year. When I was in college, I thought 3rd grade would be my max. The next year I was moved to 6th grade. Two years after that, I found myself teaching 10th. It's so different teaching high school after having taught grade school! Teaching is so much more than all those papers I check. It's so much more than all the texts I send to parents. Teaching is more than the hours I pour into reading up on literature I've never heard of, literary terms I vaguely remember not paying attention to, researching skills I had no idea were essential for every high school graduate. It's also not just the 45 minutes standing in front of 20-some lanky teenagers, dispensing information that is supposed to help prepare them for the future. That only represents a small piece of what it means to teach. If that was all that comprised teaching, I would never have fallen in love with it.

Teaching is also the hours spent after class with brokenhearted teenagers crying over a reading assignment you assigned because you hoped and prayed that it would go deeper than academics, yet you never really believed a teenager would really take it seriously. Teaching is also the times you spend during lunch break just chatting with the kids, getting to know their other interests. It's the moments that you push away the stack of papers that is obviously filling up your desk and must be returned the very next day as you say, "Of course I'm not too busy. What's up?" when a girl with red eyes comes to ask you about how to do what she knows is right, yet she knows it will hurt her very much. Teaching is about sacrifice--when you have so much to do and yet you go to the boys' basketball team because you know that boys will work harder for you when they know you also care about what interests them. Teaching is about modeling love--unconditional love--grace, sacrifice, humility, and kindness. You can't talk about those things if you don't show them that you abide by those things too.

Teaching is scary. Teaching is tough. I've seen more of the ugliness of myself as I've taught these kids. If I want to win students to Christ, I have to live Christ-like before them. I have to try to point them toward a glorious and beautiful Savior. I ask them questions to try to stir them up to think about things that really matter. How do you manage your time? How much do you pray? How far are you willing to go in obedience to Him? How much do you love Him? These are all questions that I throw at my students, and then, like a curve-ball, the same questions hit me in the face and I'm forced to ask myself the same questions. Do I love Him supremely above all else? Do I hunger and thirst after righteousness? I see how feeble I am and how far I fall short of His standard. How little I love Him. It's so humbling to be a teacher, and I see how much more I need to be like Mary and spend time at the feet of the master Teacher.

A decade ago, my life was all planned out. I smile at how God takes those "silly" plans and changes them, sometimes breaking me and molding me painfully in the process, to give me what I really need. I don't know how He's going to use me in the lives of these children, but I'm so excited. I love being a teacher. I love that part of teaching is being taught every single day. Though I'm scared as I feel the weight of this trust and stewardship, I'm grateful for how God has orchestrated the events in my life to give me this opportunity to serve in this capacity. Maybe one day I will get my childhood "dream job," (minus the 9 kids part!) but I'm thankful that God has allowed me to be part of of helping raise 235 (and counting) children, even though my initial reason for becoming a teacher was a little off.

I accidentally fell in love with teaching.

Le Birthday

Just some #pics. :)

Flowers, cake, and COFFEE from my homeroom class

Some people got cut out. Fail selfie-pod.

Birthday Celebrants: Aug 1, Aug 5, and Aug 3

D-O-N-E!

Today was our last set of closing ceremonies (grades 5, 7, 8, and 9) for the Bridging Program. The principal asked the kids to give a great “YEHEY!” cheer because we’re finally done. Grade 5 was very enthusiastic. Grade 7, I guess, thought it was beneath their dignity. J Anyway, the two years of intense cramming 3 academic years within the smaller time frame is D-O-N-E. Not only is the Bridging Program over, but my first 3 years of probationary period are over! I can’t believe it has been a little over three years since I came back home and started teaching. It has been overwhelming, fun, exhausting, and a delight all rolled into one. God often does the unexpected and His ways are definitely best and beyond what we can fathom. In three years (well, technically including the beginning of next school year beginning in July), have moved up three departments. I started teaching 3^rd grade. After an insane year, I wanted to quit, convinced this wasn’t the school for me, but the HRD convinced me to stay by offering me 6^th grade. For the past 2 years, I’ve taught three different batches of 6^th grade, including my very first batch all over again. Next year, I’m teaching 10^th grade AND one section of 6^th. I guess I’ve never really been good at sticking with one job. I worked in almost all the departments in college just because I thought it would be fun (and it was). As long as I don’t end up teaching preschool, I’m ok with moving around grade levels. J

That was a lengthy introduction for the point of this entry. Yesterday, Pastor Hoffman, from Florida, preached in the morning. He gave his testimony in the Sunday School and preached on the lame beggar from Acts 3. He talked about the expectations that various people in the story had. The beggar expected alms from Peter and John, but they told him they had no money. His expectations were shattered. Then, Peter and John offered him real, lasting help, not just some money to get through that day. He had such a lowly expectation, but God gave him something so much greater. It was a very timely message at the end of these three years. God has time and time again shattered my lowly expectations only to offer me something so much greater and beyond what I ever expected. I want to share some of my shattered expectations from the past 3 years and how God has replaced them with goodness beyond belief.

Expectation #1 (which technically goes back many more years): I will grow up and teach in a public school in the Philippines and teach needy children and give back to my country (cue dramatic patriotic music).

Grade 6 Retreat

Team building games

Shattering: I teach in a school for the privileged Chinese-Filipinos, mostly business kids, and I understand more Filipino than the majority of the kids. During the first year, I struggled with the idea that I wasn’t really fulfilling my calling to serve God. In my little brain, I somehow got the idea that if I’m not serving in the place where I think or had planned to serve, then I’m not really serving God. I think it made the year even harder because I was discontented with serving rich kids. Slowly, God worked in my heart and brought me kids with deep, heart need and I realized that serving God is not about me and where I want to serve. Upon reflection, I don’t think I’d do well in a public school – at least not yet. My language skills leave much to be desired. I have travelled around a lot and so have the kids, so that gives us some common ground, even though our worlds are entirely different. I can relate to them in ways that some teachers at the school cannot, simply because my upbringing was very Western, though with enough exposure to this culture that I can blend well. Plus, the hearts of sinners are the same, whether they are rich or poor. I have fallen in love with this school and it only reminds me that God knows what is best for me.

Sports fest

Steal the Bacon

Expectation #2: English teachers aren’t typically given a homeroom class, so I will not be given a homeroom class, because I know myself and I would not be able to handle the stress.

Mind games

Shattering: After traumatic year number one, I came back to school only to find out that not only did I have 6^th grade, but I also had a homeroom class. I panicked inside. I thought, “There’s no way I can handle this!” Now my first set of homeroom kids are planning a reunion in August to commemorate the day that they went on an outing to the same mall that I went to that day and they chased us (my parents and me) down the corridor yelling, “Miss Hofmaier!!!” Having a homeroom is extra time, but it’s fun! I learned more about management – both of papers and of kids. I got to pray for the kids at their baccalaureate service. I got to write their character awards. The next year, I got to write special letters for each child in my homeroom class. My first homeroom was far from perfect, but looking back, it was a fun experience and I would have missed out if I had stubbornly refused to take homeroom (but technically, we don’t have a say in the matter anyway).

Testimony time by cell group

Expectation #3: I will not be level coordinator because I told them I didn’t want it and I’m not ready for it.

Opening letters from their homeroom teachers

Shattering: I’m pretty sure I should stop saying I’m not ready for something, because God often proves that He has already prepared me for whatever I am given. I was made level coordinator this past year and had to handle graduation. All year long I dreaded it because it involves so much organization and I’m not good at organizing a bunch of kids and thinking of every detail of a program. I’m scatterbrained. Well guess what? Halfway through the practices, I was shocked because I wasn’t confused and frustrated and worried like I had been last year when I wasn’t even the level coordinator! God gives what is needed when the time is right.

Those are only a few of the big things that happened. Maybe they seem small and insignificant, but every person has different fears and anxieties. Each time, though, God proves His faithfulness and goodness in spite of my feeble efforts.

My cell group

I am so thankful for this school. It is far from perfect, but is definitely a great blessing. When I first entered, everyone talked about the school being a “family” which I thought was so cliché because seriously, you only spend a few hours a day with these people and they mostly only know you within school. After spending hours and hours together these past 2 years because we didn’t actually get a real summer break, I have to say – it has become family. It’s not cliché. From the teachers to the students – there is genuine care for one another, moments of conflict of course, but definitely love. I have to say that many teachers put me to shame with their prayer life. They really and truly pray for each other and for the kids. I’ve mentioned my middle school supervisor before, but I’ll mention her again. She’s definitely a woman of prayer, grounded in the Word of God, and lives out the commands of God. She held our department together – playing a peacemaker, showing genuine concern for those under her, humbly assisting her teachers even if it meant going out of her way to stay late to help do something as tedious as covering 80 books in plastic. The law of kindness is definitely on her tongue, even when she is most stressed. I look up to her a lot and she has taught me so much by giving me freedom to experiment, but offering advice and guidance so I don’t just stumble around blindly.

Baccalaureate

Next year, this is what’s on my plate:

Grade 10 – new curriculum for me!
Grade 6 – planning the lessons but only teaching 1 out of 3 sections – and it’s also a new curriculum
Helping implement a new curriculum for grades 2-6
Editing and helping in the write-ups for ACSI accreditation
MAYBE homeroom

2 retreats, 2 graduations, 2 baccalaureate services, immersion program... and prom. I'm more worried about prom than anything else. Hahaha

So here’s to another… three years? Who knows where God will take me, but I am excited. I’m apprehensive about teaching 10^th grade, especially when I saw a sample syllabus of the reading selection! I am excited to learn with them, though, and I know that whatever He gives me, He will prepare me to handle it. It will be busy – ridiculously busy – especially with the word “accreditation” looming over us. I’m looking forward to some more shattering, because He is infinitely wise and good and He is faithful, even through the dark providences of life.

Successfully did not burn down the school

You fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds you so much dread
Are big with mercy and will break
In blessing on your head.

My class president from my first homeroom class. He's leaving and transferring to an international school. And yes, he's 13 and that tall!

Farewell (almost) to the First Three Years

In a couple of weeks, the two-year Bridging Program will be over. It feels like yesterday that the principal announced that we would be cramming 3 academic years into two calendar years. At that time, it felt like the two years would be an eternity... and now it's almost over. Sometimes I wonder if two years really happened...and then I look at my hair. (I cut my hair every two years and it's back to my waist which means that two years did indeed pass.)

So anyway, the 6th grade graduating batch happens to be my very first batch of kids 3 years ago. I think it's almost appropriate to end this school year with these kids. These kids bore the experiments of a brand new teacher fresh from the United States with teaching experience limited to 3 months of three students in the African bush with no electricity half the time. They put up with my endless "Grammar Pet Peeves", crazy writing projects and obsessive editing marks all for the sake of class rewards such as cookies and brownies. Three years later, they are still putting up with a slightly more experienced, definitely more insane, even crazier when it comes to marking comma splices and still constantly experimenting English teacher.

What did I learn in my first 3 years (four, if you count academic years) of teaching? To be totally profound, stuff. Or, to say it the way my students would, I learned so many stuffs. (Old habits die hard.)

1) I still have no idea what I'm doing. Each batch is different and each batch will just show you how much you don't know. The teacher is constantly learning with the students. 

2) Teaching without compassion for the individual student is not teaching. They might learn a lot of head knowledge, but if you don't see them as individuals, they will notice. Children notice everything. (Get them to write a journal -- they often contain shocking revelations about a child's observations and consequent conclusions.)

3) Get to know students outside of class. I spent many lunch breaks with a certain batch of 6th graders. I still spend lunch breaks with them even though they're in 8th grade now.

4) Go to the basketball games. Boys don't really care about reading and grammar, but they tend to do better when you show them that you care about their sports. Plus, getting the coaches on your side goes a long way in motivating tough boys.

5) Listen to kids. They sometimes have really pointless stories or even petty drama, but sometimes, they just need someone to listen.

6) Let kids be silly around you. I have kids who come up to me and tell me really dumb jokes or just start dancing and singing in front of me for no reason. If you don't put your papers aside to watch them, you'll miss some of the funniest moments in your life. Guaranteed.

7) Write them. Even if writing is not your skill or your love language, it is often the universal love language of a student, boy and girl alike. I've had boys in high school tell me they still have my notes from when they were in 6th grade. Never underestimate the power of a written note.

8) Communicate everything clearly with parents. Stand your ground. I have the advantage of being a native English speaker, so parents rarely try to fight me over a grammar point. I learned, however, to be very clear with instructions and policies so there are no holes though.

9) Prove to the parents that you love their kids. Many parents complain that English is really difficult, but they usually end by saying something along the lines of, "Well, my son/daughter says you're nice, so at least..." ;)

10) Have a back up an for everything and be prepared to make something up on the spot. Never waste time in class. Keep them moving! Always be flexible.

11) Most importantly, pray. Pray for wisdom to handle the drama of 11 year olds, the wrath of parents, the irresponsibility of hyper boys. Pray for the children who don't seem to be capable of ever acting mature - often there's something going on at home that we don't know about. Pray for strength to press on even when the kids push all your buttons. Pray for health - I've never been so sick so many times in my life.

12) Food. Kids will do anything for food. 

Want a job that you have to bring home with you, even on weekends?
 Be a teacher. 
Want a job where you have to do conflict resolution time and time again? 
Be a teacher. 
Want a job where you often eat your lunch a few bites at a time over a period of three hours? 
Be a teacher.

Want a job where you are guaranteed to laugh every single day?
 Be a teacher. 
Want a job where you can watch your efforts bear fruit through the accomplishments of your students? 
Be a teacher. 
Want a job where you can make a difference in someone's life? 
Be a teacher. 
Want a job where you get to roll down a hill, play tag, go on crazy bus rides and still be "working"?
 Definitely be a teacher.

Here we go. Last 2 weeks of grade 6, here we come! Soli Deo Gloria.

My Journey into the World of Sports...ish

I've never been a sports fan. Anyone who knows me knows that sports and Becky don't go together. I attended many soccer games during furloughs thanks to my American cousins who had back to back games on most Saturdays and our ever supportive grandparents would make the 1 hour trip just to watch some little kids tear around a field chasing a black and white ball. I went along for the ride but had no clue how the game even worked.

Fast forward to college. By the time my first semester was up, I knew that soccer and basketball were pretty important to the students and BBC was our biggest rival. I laughed at our promotional videos with BBC jokes and pretended I knew all about it when I really didn't have a clue. So what? They were our rivals. What more did I need to really know?



(Fun fact -- those two in the video are now married and have a really cute baby.)

The only basketball game I enjoyed was the traditional donkey ball during Homecoming.  I mean who doesn't enjoy watching students vs your Four Gospels professor and your Pauline Epistles professor and other Resident Life staff trying to dribble a basketball astride a donkey? Seriously. Best game ever. Too bad PETA people spoiled it.

IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT DONKEY BASKETBALL IS, CLICK HERE!

After I dropped out of orchestra due to time constraints, I missed playing my flute. Finally somebody came up with the idea that we needed a pep band. The pep band was made up of super loud and energetic sporty  American youth. The quiet, introverted unathletic Asian signed up anyway. I enjoyed the music but not the expected loud cheering and chanting. Finally we got to go to our first game. Our team color was red. I knew that much. However, I soon learned that I had no clue why they were shouting offense and defense and I couldn't for the life of me figure out when to shout which. I cheered for every basket made because I didn't get it. Sure, I was on some county sports team in 3rd grade, but I was the clueless one who probably never made a basket. (I only remember the Baskin Robbins and the licorice from my grandfather after a game which I guess we won, no thanks to me.) But I digress. The point is, I didn't get it and was the most unpeppy pep band member in the short history of the pep band.

I am a relational person. In order to care about something I personally have no interest in, I have to actually care about the people involved. Professional sports?! I seriously don't understand how you can pick favorite players. You don't even know them! You don't know what they're like in person, you don't know how they treat others, you. Don't. Know. Them. So how can you pick a favorite player?! The games means nothing if the people mean nothing to me personally.

September 2012. Enter the first time I watched a basketball game I cared about. I taught 6th grade for the first time and during intrams, many boys from my home room and other sections joined in the games. I watched the boys I had spent hours with every day as they tore down the court. I read their emotions and watched their facial expressions. The careless, quick tempered boys only proved those traits even more on court. The driven, fighter boys fought on court. For the very first time I felt transported with them in their game world. As I entered their world on court, I fell in love with basketball.

What?!?!? Did I just say that?! Ok, maybe I should clarify. NBA? Don't care. But our school games?! It's a new world for me but I love it. The first set of boys have since moved on up to 8th grade, but I have 7th grade boys from last year who are involved in the current battle for championship and one current 6th grader is also part. Their defeat today felt like a defeat to me and yet I found myself praying for their character out there. I love those boys like little brothers and I see they are fast becoming men. They are growing up in a world that centers around self and earthly goods. Manhood isn't characterized by compassion, humility and prayer these days. It's a dog eat dog world. Some boys and perhaps their parents make grades and sports idols. I found myself pleading for the hearts of these boys, that they would learn something about God today. I want them to know deep in the very core of their being that they cannot make it on their own. They are entirely dependent on God. And I want them to know that there is a much greater battle to be engaged in and that is the battle against sin. I want to see them fight for Christ and everything that matters for all eternity in the same way that they fight for that ball on court. No, I want them to fight harder than they fight on court. I want these young men to be Davids and Daniels in this selfish, dark world. The lessons on dependence, selflessness and teamwork will help mold them into men of character, but it all begins with whose side they are on - God's or the world's. I want them to win the championship basketball, but I would rather they win the battle against sin and the Devil and bow the knee completely before the God of all the earth. This battle is not fought physically but is waged on the battlefields of the minds of our young people. Winning this is really the only victory that actually matters. Championship? That's a bonus. May they all become soldiers of Christ.

Five months of Memories

There's a hymn that talks about time as an "ever-rolling stream." Each day that we live rolls by never to return. Some days we want the stream to slow down and other days we want to it become a torrent and pass by as fast as possible. Before you know it, the days and seasons change and all that's left are memories.

Many memories have been made since August. The stream of time has rolled by and with it brought moments of beauty that words are not even adequate to describe, moments of hilarity that are only funny if you had been there, moments of heart-wrenching sadness that draw us to the feet of the Savior, and simple moments of beauty that show the everyday kindnesses and mercies of the Lord. Here are some of those beautiful moments that have passed by in the last five months.

1. That moment when we 78 kids lit candles on stage for their Grade 6 baccalaureate service and we thought they'd be the first batch to burn down the school. (Thankfully they did not.)

2. All the moments when kids just come to hang out with me after school just for fun and half the time, I don't even understand their jokes.

3. The time we had a cooking fellowship and sleepover while the parents were gone and shockingly enough, we did not burn down the house or cause any explosions and every one made it to church on time the next morning.

4. The moment Jenn's parents came from the States and we don't even have a picture to prove it! That's what a memory is for. :)

5. The night we introduced Gian and Kemi to Monopoly Deal and Gian won all the games. 

6. The moment Loida walked down the aisle and Dijae's face lit up as only a bridegroom's face does. They were a picture of how Christ loved the Church and it was beautiful. (Photo courtesy of Hapi)

7. The moment that left me speechless when my brother opened the car door when I drove to the airport to pick up my parents. For a second I was trying to figure out what country I was in.

8. The night we were in the tricycle and Hapi suddenly picked up my ankle and started smashing my foot on the floor because there was a cockroach and she was trying not to "freak me out." I nearly died instead.

9. The weekend in Cebu for the camp where we feasted on the Word and delighted in fellowship with other like-minded brethren. It was a beautiful weekend filled with laughter, crazy games, laughing at an invisible bird (thanks to Joash the cameraman), and heart-to-heart talks between two sisters who love the same Lord.

10. The day I refused to cooperate in a family photo shoot.

11. The day "Bob" came to school and signed autographs in his one and only celebrity moment.

12. The insane Saturday that we went to Baguio just for the day because Ana was here. Islands may separate us, but friendship has no boundaries. We relived childhood memories, rode bicycles, fought like 5 year olds (well some of us did), and tried to stay awake.

13. The day an unexpected book I wanted arrived in the mail just because a friend had seen me post about it and he sent it to me! :)

14. The day the Maramaras came and we dressed up for no reason and acted like kids because we hang around kids all day. :)

15. The day Cecile and I climbed a mountain by ourselves with no guide and no map. We succeeded in making it to "The Rockies" and marveled at God's creation still in its fallen state. What an amazing God we serve.

16. That precious time when 3 sisters gathered at the Mercy Seat, miles away from their home, and talked about and to the same Savior. 

17. Every moment that we tried to cross the street in Vietnam and thought we would be killed by a motorcycle.

18. That moment when I heard a Taylor Swift song sung in a heavy Vietnamese accent. I'm not even going to post the video.

Those are just a few of the many precious memories given by the Father. I haven't even listed the book moments, but if you want to see the books I've been reading, go to beckysbookworld.blogspot.com. :) 

Each morning that we are given is a testament to His faithfulness and relentless grace (to use the book title mentioned earlier). Of course there are the hard moments. There are the days when the kids drive me up the wall. There's the day when a parent chews you out because they're hurting over the limitations of their own children and need to blame somebody else. There's the day when a child cheats on your test because she pressured herself so much into getting a good grade. There's the day when a child goes ballistic in your class and you think he's going to hurt you. There's the day when you just want to walk out of the classroom and slam the door because the children are so blatantly disrespectful and purposefully push all your buttons. There are the days when a kid says something to you that hurts but you can't let on how much the crushed you. There are the days when you sit in on meetings that go on for 4 hours and you're dead tired after teaching for several hours and work still awaits you. These are the moments, though, that drive me to my knees and remind me over and over again that I am in need of grace and strength and I cannot do this on my own. If there's ever a career that shows you the folly of trusting in self and leaning on your own understanding, it's teaching. Of course, when it's all said and done, the rewards cannot be compared. There are the kids who hug you, the kids who make you proud, the kids who make coming to school worth it, the colleagues who support you and keep you grounded. 

He is faithful indeed.

We will hold hands forever.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She loved pink. She loved her dolls. She loved making up stories. And she loved her grandfather.

One day, he showed her how to get honey from bees. He held her small hands in his and guided her as she blew smoke on the frames.

In his strong hands, she knew a bee would not sting her.

Years passed and seasons changed and the little girl’s imagination grew.

“Let me show you a circus,” he said and there her world opened and she saw elephants and acrobats. But it did not end there. “Take my hand,” he said, and caught her up high into the air and landed her on his strong shoulder.

“I’ll be safe in his hands forever,” she thought. And in that moment, they were better than all the circus acrobats in the world.

And years passed and seasons changed and the little girl continued to grow.

“Come here,” he whispered, “I have something for you.” And out of his pocket, he drew a handful of licorice. He held them in his hand and whispered, “I got them for you.”

“His hands will always take care of me,” she thought. And in that moment, they were fellow conspirators, sharing their before-dinner sweets.

Every child develops a collection at some point in life. The little girl decided to collect pencils.

“Will you make me a pencil box?” she asked.

And soon his hands strong and sure hands guided hers as she designed the metal plates for the secret compartment in her extraordinary pencil box.

“His hands will always create beautiful things,” she thought. And in that moment, their hands created a work of art together.

And the years passed and the seasons changed and the girl grew into a young lady.

“I’m see you after work,” she said as she waved goodbye to her grandfather.

“I will meet you on the way home,” he said.

And every day after that, he stood on the hill and met her. He did not need to hold her hand anymore, but they enjoyed each other’s companionship as they always had.

“He will hold my hand with his heart forever,” she thought. And in those moments, she wished that time would freeze.

The years slowed down, it seemed, for the grandfather. The little girl was now a strong young woman. Time had changed many things and yet it could not change everything.

“Take my hand,” she said, as she lifted him to his feet. “Dance with me.”

And together they danced to his chair, roles reversed with the once strong hands gripping the young and strong hands as he leaned his old body on her smaller but stronger frame.

“We’ll hold hands and dance together forever,” she thought. And in that moment, they were the best dancers in the world.

A few more seasons passed and one day, the grandfather’s hand would no longer need the strength of the girl.

“I’ll still hold your hand forever,” she said, and from that moment on, she has been holding him in her heart.

The End

My Savior’s praises I will sing,
And all His love express;
Whose mercies each returning day
Proclaim His faithfulness.

Every day will I bless Thee!
Every day will I bless Thee!
And I will praise, will praise Thy name
For ever and ever!

June 9, 1926 - December 23, 2010