Mary-Grace's Blog

Over fall break, my sister Holly welcomed a new baby into her family. We had all been waiting, in nine months of anticipation, for “baby number two”—excitedly guessing on boy or girl and trying to avoid using the word “it” to describe the surprise little one that Holly carried with her. Finally, after a week of extra waiting, a new baby boy was born on Saturday night. Welcome to the big world, Nathan Chase.

Early Sunday afternoon, my little sister Liz and I packed up our things to head back to Messiah. Half way through our trip we stopped at Lehigh Valley Hospital to congratulate Holly, my brother-in-law Steve and little Davey (the one and a half year old baby number one), and, of course, to see little Nathan still bundled in his hospital baby blanket and blue knit hat.

One of my favorite things about newborn babies is their grasping reflex. As I held Nathan on Sunday afternoon, I wiggled my finger into his blanket in search of his small hand, and when I found it, he immediately wrapped his five tiny baby fingers around one of my big grown-up fingers and clung to me.

When my first nephew was born seven years ago, I was only thirteen and entering my eighth grade year. My family and I flew to Maui, Hawaii, where my brother Danny was living at the time, to see his son: our new nephew and my parents’ first grandchild. Alex was just a little baby in a blanket back then, before he grew up to be arguably the cutest toddler and unarguably Maui’s cutest toddler, winning a Hawaiian Tropic’s baby contest that gave me serious bragging rights as an aunt. Now, he’s a wild energetic seven-year old who doesn’t stop to catch his breath, let alone for a nap in a baby blanket. But back then, during those days in Maui, he was a tiny, sleepy, finger-gripping newborn.

I remember the first time I felt Alex’s finger-clenching grip. Wow, he must really like me, my thirteen-year old self thought. He’s gripping so tight, he doesn’t want me to leave him! What I didn’t know at the time was that all babies have this latch-on tendency. Not only do they all do it, but they all do it to everyone or everything that touches their soft baby palms. What I mistook for favoritism was, in fact, a natural newborn reflex. Depressing? Tell me about it.

Or at least just initially. But the more I think about it, the less depressing it is. In fact, it’s nothing shy of amazing to think that God designed every little baby to hang on to anyone blessed enough to reach for his or her hand. For the first six months of its life, a baby will grasp onto anything so tightly and strongly, sometimes strong enough to support his or her own weight.

It’s in that moment, when I feel a teeny little newborn wrap his fingers around mine, that I feel his authentic need to be held—to be loved and guided by some big, more weathered hands. There, in that moment, I understand the beautiful vulnerability of the baby fingers. And there, in that moment, I marvel at God’s design to help the grown-up fingers: to open their eyes to the need and power in family and guidance, in responsibility and in love.

As a junior in the education program at Messiah, I spend two mornings a week at Mechanicsburg Middle School for my pre-student teaching experience. I get to dress up all teacher-like—dress pants and button-up blouses with cardigans and pearl earrings—completing my outfit with a pair of classic black or nude colored heels to keep me from looking like a student next to my teaching partner Kira, an outgoing athletic English major (a rare find, indeed) with California-blonde hair and the height to match her bold personality. Kira and I both hope to teach high school English one day, so dressing up and playing teacher side by side with Mrs. Curry and her sixth grade English class is like giving a wannabe movie star her first minor role in a film.

We’re at the middle school for the first three periods of the day, but Mrs. Curry only teaches periods one and two. That means that period three is always a distinctively original adventure for Kira and I. We’ve spent some days in Mrs. Curry’s classroom discussing lesson plans or individualized student needs or the importance of organization. Yesterday we ventured to the library to laminate vocab words written in pretty green marker on dozens of index cards. One day we traveled next door for third period to watch Mr. Chubb teach his science class how the body gets energy through food: a lovely process that ends with excretion. Apparently, excretion is quite a comical lesson if you’re a sixth grade boy or quite a confusing one if you’re a middle school student who has never heard the word “stool” before.

Last Thursday, however, was by far my most favorite period three adventure yet. Kira and I visited the TESL, or Teaching English as a Second Language, classroom. For all of you non-education majors, a TESL class is designed to give students who are learning English as a second language individualized instruction apart from the general education classroom. There were four English Language Learners in the class that we observed on Thursday. Each one stood in front of the class and introduced themselves to us—telling us their name and pointing to their home country on a colorful classroom map—some of them in broken English. We finished our mini presentations by introducing ourselves as Messiah students Miss MacNeil and Miss Maier, both pointing to New Jersey as our hometown state on the class map.

As I resumed my seat next to two boys from Somalia, Africa, one of them turned to me excitedly and asked, “do you play soccer?!” If any of my friends overheard this question, I’m sure a slight outbreak of laughter would have occurred. Regardless, I chose to take the question as a complement despite its laughable imprecision.

“No, I don’t, but I like to watch!” I said trying to save the boy from disappointment and salvage an opportunity for common interest.  “Have you ever been to a Messiah soccer game?”

“YEAH!” they both exclaimed, nearly jumping out of their seats. “We went to the soccer camp in the summer!” Just like that, the boys were glowing, and I beamed with excitement because I knew exactly what they were talking about. Last spring, my friend Josh told me about a passion that God placed on his heart to start a summer camp run by the Messiah soccer players for a group of local African boys.

“Oh, you did?! Do you know Josh?” I asked.

“Yes, yes!” they answered. “And uhh… J.P! Do you know J.P.?” “Or… or Jack!” said one boy. “And Danny? Do you know Danny? He’s my favorite!” chimed the second. They continued to name Messiah soccer players as if they were celebrities, and they grew in excitement as I affirmed their names. They told me that, in fact, they would be playing a mini scrimmage at Saturday’s home game, and I promised to look for them from my seat in the stands.

Last Thursday in that period three class, I saw the ripple effects of passionate Christians doing God’s work. I had heard Josh and J.P. talk to me last spring about what they felt God was calling them to do: how he wanted to use the soccer players to impact the lives of a group of young boys from Somalia. Now, I was seeing the effects of the soccer players’ obedience and passion in the shining faces of middle school boys. I could see the difference that they made in the lives of youth using little other than God’s love and a soccer ball.

On Saturday, I saw the two boys from that period three TESL class with a whole cluster  of friends, and each of them was wearing the love and acceptance that they received from the soccer players on their sleeves like a captain letter sewn onto a soccer jersey: proud and deserving. The Messiah team beat Arcadia on Shoemaker Field that night, and the players celebrated with their summer soccer camp boys, eating pizza and hanging out together.

Sometimes when we follow God and act on love, we don’t realize God’s whole plan. Not everyone around us will see what we are doing, but we have to remember to do it.  You never know who might see the ripples and be drawn to the water.

“Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.” –William James

“I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.” -Mother Theresa

This past week has been defined by fast-paced, exhilarating moments, and the quickest long days that I’ve had in awhile. A group of about twenty students, the amazing Career Center staff and I traveled to New York City, the heartland of the hectic on-the-go lifestyle, for a jam-packed two day immersion trip to see what city living and working is all about.

 I spent the beginning of the week running from store to store searching for professional suits on a college student’s budget and staring puzzlingly at rows of department store pantyhose shades, pathetically trying to assess whether I am an “oatmeal” or a “sand.” Quite frankly, I’m not sure why the pantyhose-makers ever thought that “oatmeal” would be a marketable shade. As if articulating educational questions and remarks isn’t nerve-wracking enough, there is now a group of pre-professional females who will walk into meetings or interviews with the insecurity that their legs have been likened to flaky, bland breakfast mush. Of course, I happen to fall into this group of oatmeal women.

 Shopping was only the start of my frenzied preparation for a trip into the Big Apple. I frantically re-organized my five day week into three days, preparing to miss class, work, pre-student teaching experience and on-campus meetings. I ran out to purchase Wednesday’s edition of The New York Times and Elle magazine’s October issue. I stuffed my purse with Tide to Go pens and flat walking shoes, a pad-folio full of note paper and resumes and, of course, an emergency pair of oatmeal pantyhose. My ETOB, the clever term that my roommates coined to discuss our “estimated time of bed,” crept later and later into the night with each hectic hour.

 Before I knew it, it was 4:15 on Thursday morning and my alarm was blaringly reminding me that it was only the start of activity-filled, sleep-deprived days. Our schedule in New York was filled with early mornings, hours of traveling and a continuous stream of places to be. We visited the New York Times headquarters and Google NYC for presentations and tours. We met alumni and received first-hand stories and advice about what it’s like to live and work in the city. Our heels clicked down busy sidewalks and crowded subway systems on our way to networking events or alumni panel luncheons or small group interviews. But somehow, those two long and crazy days in New York seemed to fly by, and here I am: replaying each amazing memory or inspiring quote between endless attempts to catch up on lost sleep.

In the midst of all of the chaos of New York, there is something so  inspirational in seeing the creative workspace layouts of the largest companies or meeting motivated Messiah alumni that have succeced after coming from one of the smallest colleges. “Because Messiah is such a small school, it may be harder to get your foot in the door,” Brian Thomas told us at an alumni panel luncheon. “But once you do, you’ll find that you will be so much more prepared.”

 Another awesome alum that I interviewed about city working and living encouraged us to just get up and do it. “The world’s big, but it’s not scary,” she said with a soft smile, reflecting back on the day she packed everything she owned into her car and drove to New York City without even a place a stay.

 Part of me is itching to get out into the world of big city living, especially after hearing the encouraging stories of alums like Anne or speaking to Krista Soriano (the assosciate editor for Elle.com and 2008 Messiah grad) about what it’s like to make a difference in the fashion industry as a Christian. This ravenous part of me is ready for the challenge–convincing myself that I could make it in this crazy world writing for a big time paper or magazine.

 However, I am humbled my another part of me: the part that reminds me how much I have to learn and how days come only one at a time. Brian Thomas encouraged us to think of each day as a page in our autobiographies. “Are you going to look back on this page–on today–and be proud of what you did?” he challenged us. His words have reverberated throughout my head these past few days, and my friends and I have bounced them off each other as inspiration to work hard in our tired, restless state coming home from the New York city trip. 

 Today might only be the beginning, but it is a vital part of my story. Novels with fascinating characters who do fascinating things with their lives don’t begin with a climax. They start slowly, developing the characters and background history. I have a problem with getting beyond the beginnings of books, because most of the time it’s the most boring part. But patience pays off, and by the time the climax rolls around, I am so glad that I invested my time into the nitty-gritty details of pages one through one hundred. So for now, I’ll focus on my page for today, knowing that it is just as much a part of my story.