Once Upon A Time...

...I was a small second grader with big dreams of being a teacher just like Ms. Honey on the movie Matilda. I would live in a cute little cottage and be super sweet and love all my students. For "What I Want To Be When I Grow Up" Day, I wore pink dress up heels and had my hair tied back and carried around a notebook. I wanted to be a teacher.

...I was a third grader with dreams to be a teacher just like my teacher, Ms. Schnarrs. She typed so quickly, loved Disney, her room always smelled good, and she told me that one day my brother and I would be best friends. (She was right.)

...I was a fourth grader with dreams to be a teacher just like my teacher Ms. Paris. Her desk was always a wreck, she cast me in the class play (which gave me momentary dreams of being an actress) then encouraged my love for writing, (which gave me momentary dreams of being an author) and she loved Dr. Pepper.

...I was a fifth grader with dreams of being a teacher, so I collected all the extra worksheets from my teachers, brought them home, and enlisted the girls on the street to play school with me.

...I was sophomore in high school and was entrusted with my own kindergarten choir class at church. I learned how to manage a classroom of rowdy 6 year olds, I learned how to carry on a very lengthy conversation about Bob the Builder, and I learned how to interact with parents.

...I was a junior in high school, and I took my first trip to Africa. Where I realized that I was a world changer, a Daughter of the King with a passion for helping the least of these. With a thirst for knowledge and a desire to see love spread around the globe.

...I was a senior walking across a stage to receive my diploma, and I was walking into the next chapter of my life.

...I was a freshman in college and I took my first trip into the inner city culture of Lower East Side Manhattan. Where I quickly learned the art of being firm and asking, "Where are you supposed to be?" To students wandering the halls. Where I learned that love sees no color and that kids are sponges.

...I was a sophomore in college, and I took my second trip into the inner city culture of Chattanooga. And I learned that prayer in school can never be removed when a teacher is praying ceaselessly for her students. And I met my first friend who is from an abusive background. And I was taught how to dougie from three second grade girls. And the same girls micro-braided my hair, which took quite awhile to shake out of my "white girl" hair.

Last week, I was at an elementary school in Chattanooga with Mrs. Y's second grade class, observing my little friend for a class back at Lee. On this particular day, the class had a funky schedule which put us outside on the playground for an extra hour, which lent itself to an extensive game of Duck Duck Goose.

As I watched 60+ second graders sit in the grass, laugh, and enjoy the early April sunshine, I was overcome with love for these guys. I genuinely cared about each and every one of them. Their well being, their futures, and their educations. I scanned around the little circle, and I counted two white faces looking back at me. Two. Out of 60.

I should be used to this. I've been at this school many times before, I'm in the inner city of Chattanooga, I've taught in NYC, I'm looking at and praying about being an inner city teacher, for crying out loud. I should be used to this.

But where I'm from, it is lily white. If there's a black kid at school in the Wilco, it's like a fly in milk. Lots of money, lots of affluence. My high school minds well have been a private public school.

I once heard that educators teach in similar environments to the ones they grew up in. I hope not. I love the Wilco, but no thank you.

As I watched my second graders play Duck Duck Goose, I couldn't help but think about the statistics that are stacked against my precious little ones.

Incarceration rates are 6 times higher for black males than white males.

Black women have the highest teen pregnancy rate.

Each year, 1.2 million students drop out of high school. Over half of these are from minority groups.

My heart shattered into a million pieces. My precious little ones were literally going to have to fight to not be another number. A sense of despair began to creep into my heart, but I realized what a great responsibility had been laid on my shoulders.

No matter where I teach, if it's in an affluent neighborhood like Franklin or in the Bronx of New York City, I am a world changer. I can impact the lives of the future of my country. I fill young minds with the knowledge of the world around them, and I can encourage them that education is a ticket out, a ticket to a better life.

Overseas in developing countries, an educated woman is more likely to have a healthier, smaller, and more educated family. She is less likely to sell her body. She is more likely to attain a higher paying job and make a steady income.

Education leads to opportunity. As an educator, I hold the key to opportunity for all the students that will pass through my classroom. And if I can help just one, if I can just change one student's life for the better, I will have made an impact.

Change just one. Feed just one. Love just one.

On the same day that I was in Chattanooga playing Duck Duck Goose, I was in the parking lot walking to my car back at Lee later that day. A woman approached me and the small group of girls I was with, and she began to tell us her story. She had just recently lost her mom to cancer, she was struggling to pay her bills, she had suffered a serious car wreck, and the electric company was going to shut off her electricity the next morning if she didn't come up with 40 dollars.

As she told her story, I will admit that I thought, "Oh, I am not about to enable this woman to go to the supermarket and buy alcohol. I will not enable her." But that thought was quickly stomped out by, "Satan, get away from me. Jesus loves this sister just as much as He loves me."

I asked the woman her name. She told me Rebecca. I apologized that I didn't have any money, but some of the girls I was with did have cash that they shared with her. I asked her if we could pray for her, and she excitedly said yes. So right there in the parking lot, we prayed. We prayed for provision and for Dad to remind Rebecca that she is loved.

I think of Rebecca everyday. Because even though I was not able to help her in her situation, I was able to pray with her, and I pray for her everyday.

Feed. Love. Teach. Heal. Help. Serve. Pray for. Just one. But don't stop at just one.

ramblin' all the way to ramblin' town.

1. HOW PERFECT IS MY NEW BACKGROUND?!?!?!?! yessss.

2. I need to learn patience. But I'm afraid of praying for it. That's a dangerous prayer to pray.

3. It's been awhile.

4. Dad is doing MUCH better!

5. Pictures of NYC will be posted later.

6. This is going to be an extremely ADD post...

7. ...one in which I talk about my summer, NYC, my heart, Chad, Lee, family, the flood, and assorted other things.

Let's start at the beginning.

Summer:

After summer class, which ended June 4th, I ventured home. Home was still very much under construction, but was coming along slowly but surely.

I jumped right into my summer activities with leading a kindergarten class at Vacation Bible School...where I caught laryngitis.

I was then recruited (thankfully!) to go to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina with the youth group. For the first part of the week I was a middle school g

irl's leader, and the second part of the week I would be in charge of freshman girls. The first part of my week was SPECTACULAR. I didn't get a sunburn, made some really fantastic friendships, and got to baptize one of the girls in my small group. It was just a really great experience.

Until I came down with laryngitis. Thank you, weakened immune system from lack of sleep.

Spent a week resting. Got back in the saddle. Worked on Mondays at TPC with the staff kids and doing odd jobs around church. Fell in love with my two favorite kiddos, Seth and Canaan. They are three. They chop me up with fake lightsabers. Sometimes they even drop eraser bombs on me and claim that they've erased me into oblivion (don't ask how a three year old knows that word). But they always bring me something magical (they're recent favorite is magical blueberry pancakes made of Play Doh) that heal me and/or bring me back to life. Why yes, I love my job.

The house was finished in this time...new floors, new walls, new paint, new cabinets in the kitchen, new appliances in the kitchen, new doors, new knobs, new...everything. Which is kinda weird, because it all still looks the same. Well, not the kitchen. But I'm glad that got upgraded. :)

I was able to go to Atlanta for July 4th weekend to see Chad. :) Extreme happiness all around. We made pizza, and cinnamon rolls, and Oreo truffles. We gained about 486 pounds in Chinese food that we ordered. We watched movies and spent time just hanging out. We got closer. I learned that I am just so thankful for him. :) Like I said. Extreme happiness all around. I could write all day about him...but that's kinda heart language for the two of us. I am just thankful, thankful, oh so very thankful, for him. :)

I was also able to see Ryan. He was at Shepherd Rehabilitation Center in Atlanta. He has made lots of progress. When I walked in, he teared up...which made me tear up. We (correction, I) talked for about an hour or so. I had lots to tell him. He remembered everything prior to the wreck, but had some trouble remembering things from a few days prior to the day that I talked to him. I filled him in on everyone that I could, but soon had to be on my way to go home. Ry's at home until the end of this week letting his bones (and spirit, in my opinion!) heal some more. I've talked to him via the phone a few times, and he seems to be better each and every time we talk! God is so good.

NEW YORK CITY!

I went to NYC two weeks ago. If you've been around me within these two weeks, I'm either talking about Chad, the TPC kids, or the New York Kids. The love I have for each one of these things just fills my heart to overflowing and I can't help but to just smile. :)

New York was everything I thought it would be and more. It was beautiful, it was smelly, it was inspiring, it was challenging, it was unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life.

I went to the top of the Empire State Building. I saw Mary Poppins on Broadway. I had a shopping experience for the storybooks in Times Square. I went to a Yankees game. I gazed at the constellations on the ceiling of Grand Central Station. I took many pictures. I rode the subway all day long. I bartered in Chinatown, and ate Italian in Little Italy. I became a "regular" at Jamba Juice. I fell in love with Soho, I waved my hellos to Lady Liberty. I constantly stood in awe of the mass of humanity coming at me from all sides. I fell in love day after day after day...for a million different reasons.

I also taught in the Lower East Side of Manhattan for a week. I traipsed through a park, talking to the Lord in my mind about how beautiful the trees and His creation were. And then, I looked at my surroundings. And I realized there were hundreds of homeless around me, asleep on park benches or the ground or in flower beds. I also witnessed a mother scratch off a Lotto card while her two children wistfully watched my students eat their lunch and laugh with their friends.

And it hit me: I'm in another world. Amberly is no longer in Franklin, Tennessee. And she didn't want to click her heels three times and go back home to Auntie Em and Toto. She wanted to strap on a helmet, open her heart as wide as it would possibly go, and love the kids of Lower East Side into oblivion. Because they were so hungry for it. For truth, for love, for honesty, for hope.

In the mornings, I taught mat chants at Upward cheerleading camp. I am in no way, shape, or form a cheerleader. I was in marching band in high school. But, I got through it! And really loved on some girls while teaching them "U-P-W-A-R-D! Upward! (clap, clap) Upward!" cheers over and over.

In the afternoons, I taught an art class. I TAUGHT an art class. A full fledged, bought my own supplies, I am the teacher you are my students, I am responsible for entertaining you/teaching you for the next hour, art class. I spent the month before I left mapping out lesson plans, buying supplies, doing more lesson plans, and doing lots of praying. I also spent the month before my trip freaking out about teaching inner city kids.

But I loved each and every minute of it. Even on Tuesday night, when I was in my room with THE BEST ROOMMATES EVER, (shameless shoutout) when we were complaining that it was "ONLY TUESDAY!!!!" and about how bad our feet hurt, and how tired we were and how badly we wanted macaroni and cheese and sweet tea.

My kiddos learned basic (and I mean BASIC) techniques their first day, did printmaking on styrofoam plates with acrylic paint the second day, painted with watercolor the third day, did self portraits the fourth day, and on the fifth day they worked with chipboard to make their first initial, and did acrylic collages.

I surprisingly learned everyone's names within a day. Considering I had names like Keyshala, Ahava, Ariel, Tameka, and Janiah, this was a task in and of itself! I learned names and likes/dislikes, who got a long with who, who could and couldn't sit next to each other...the ins and outs of my little classroom. I had 4 classes of approximately 10.

The third day, we watercolor painted. Xianne accidentally got paint on Ambree's paper. Ambree pitched a fit and sat in her chair with her arms crossed and refused to lift a brush. I approached her, learned about the situation, and told her politely that if she tried to paint over the paint, she would discover that her new paint would go over the old paint. She vehemently told me that, "No, it would show through, Miss Amberly." I once again told her to try it, she would be surprised. And she once again informed me that it wouldn't work. My gloves came off and I said, in a tone that would be described as nothing short of stern, "Ambree. Are you arguing with the teacher? Who goes to school to LEARN how to teach her students about art? Who probbaly knows more about art than you do? So hows about you pick up your brush and prove me wrong. You have two choices, Ambree. Sit there and pout, or put your big girl panties on, pick up your paintbrush, and paint."

And I walked off.

And you know what she did? She shook off that little attitude of hers, picked up her brush...and had a great attitude (I kid you not) for the rest of the week.

When I walked off, I noticed the other missionaries from Franklin standing agog at my encounter with Ambree. I smiled and couldn't help but laugh a little.

We had a blast. My third "period" was my favorite. But they were the most rowdy. It was a class of 10 very dominant personalities, all vying for my attention.

The girls knew about Chad. They had asked me if I had a boyfriend at cheer camp. And I had some of the same girls in my art class. So on day three, Faith asked me if she could ask me a personal question. I told her that she could go ahead and ask, and I would determine if I was going to answer it. She asked what Chad looked like. I told her. Seth replied with, "HUNKA HUNKA!....No homo, no homo." To which I busted out laughing. And this sparked a 15 minute long discussion about my relationship with Chad...and lots of laughter.

Alliyah: Miss Amberly, does Mr. Chad make you wanna go..... *jumps out of her chair, throwing her arms into the air* "WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" ???*sits back down*

Me: (laughter) Yes Allyiah, he does!

Alliyah: KEEP HIM!

Faith: Yeah Miss Amberly! He's a keeper. And bring him next summer when you come back to teach us more art!

Me: Alright girls, get back to work.

Faith: Miss Amberly?

Me: Yes Faith?

Faith: Does Mr. Chad support you? Like, bring you snacks and help you with your homework?

Me: (more laughter) Yes, Faith. Mr. Chad is a great supporter, and he always encourages me.

Faith: Good. I like him, Miss Amberly.

Me: Me too Faith, me too.

This conversation ended with me telling the ladies in my class to see, and take note, about how I feel with Chad. And the questions they were asking me about him. I instructed the girls to remember this day...and to not settle for anything less. Then I told the boys that they better treat every young lady they come across like the princess that she is.

Which evoked a "AWWWW YEAH YOU GO GIRL! YOU TELL THEM, MISS AMBERLY!" from the ladies in the peanut gallery. And obedient nods from the boys.

This is why. This is why I love them. The kids of Lower East Side had a way of exhausting me in every essence of the word. But they also had a way of planting themselves in the very depth of my heart, and digging their roots all the way to my toes, showing no signs of leaving. But I'm okay with that. Because I'm hoping to visit them again.

I have a million stories, spanning from straight up shouting at a girl during cheerleading to bartering with a little Chinese lady in Chinatown. And if you see me, you'll have to ask me about my stories. Because some of them are just too good to be told on here. Some of my stories come with faces and hand motions and lots of jumping. All of my stories are told with love.

Three words to sum up New York: exhilarating. incredible. challenging.

Three words to sum up what I learned in New York: faith. hope. love.

in all things...love.

ONE Story.

I am 18 years old. I am from a small town just south of Nashville, Tennessee. I have big plans and dreams ahead of me, that include furthering my education at a university. But my story isn’t about me. My story is about the precious souls of the children that I had the amazing opportunity to meet last summer.
During the summer of 2008, I was presented with an opportunity to venture overseas to Lilongwe, Malawi to teach in schools and build a home for a family that adopted an AIDS orphan. I had no clue where Malawi was, and what it was like. I spent many an hour on Google researching the place that would soon steal my heart.
Google told me about the beautiful Lake Malawi, the kind Malawian people, and the wonderful scenery in this country. What Google didn’t tell me about was the absolute poverty that has stricken the country of Malawi. Like so many sub-Saharan African countries, Malawi is plagued with disease and famine. But these life altering circumstances don’t stop the Malawian people. They are a people of hope and of joy. (Google didn’t inform me of this either.) Even in the face of death, starvation, and drought, the Malawians shook me out of my comfortable American kid bubble, and into reality.
My first day in Malawi, I taught the African equivalent to an American kindergarten class. I was lead to a small brick room and 28 smiling, breath-takingly beautiful faces. The teacher I was temporarily replacing instructed that I was to teach these little ones the Alphabet, body parts, colors, and numbers. I was a valuable asset because I’m from America, and therefore have an accent (albeit a very Southern one). As I looked around the small room with one window, I thought to myself, “Man, I have more in my book bag alone than these children will ever see. I have textbooks, notebooks, and pencils. These children have nothing.” I was accustomed to having materials to teach with, like a blackboard or flashcards. But none of these awaited my use here in this brick room. So, my imagination kicked in, and we embarked on a journey that included lots of laughter, some language barriers, and even some learning- on both my part as the teacher, and their part as my students. These Malawian children are some of the lucky few that are able to receive an education. Most children in third-world nations don’t ever get to hold a pencil, or see a textbook. There are children in our world that don’t know how to add two and two, or what a verb is. Every child, from sea to shining sea, deserves to know what it’s like going to class and holding a pencil, or raising their hand to answer a question. And this can be done, if those that hold prominent positions in our world step up, step out, and let their voices be heard.
With the education of children around the world, new ideas and styles of thinking will be brought to life. Creative minds, all around the glob, working together for a common cause can truly change our world. Even children in third-world countries have dreams, just like 8 year old Ishmael told me, “I would love to become a doctor when I grow up. To help my people not be sick anymore would be so….cool.” He then burst out with an uninhibited smile, which brought tears to my eyes. Because I know the future of this small boy, along with his hopes and dreams, rests on our shoulders as a country where providence flows.
I’m not a politician; I’m not a world leader. But I am a world changer, and with the help of all those around me, including those that are prominent in the American society, WE can change the world. WE can have a positive influence on those that can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. WE can be hope carriers to those who have lost all hope. WE can change the world, starting with educating those small minds that are part of our global community.