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We are gathered here this evening to honor the memory of Eve Dowell. On Monday morning, Eve was taken away from this community way too soon. We lost a daughter, a sister, aunt, friend, excellent teacher, and an outstanding mother. Unlike many of you, I did not have the opportunity to know Eve personally. But, I was able to have one interaction with her that occurred earlier this year at a BCHS football game. My family and I went to the game and my daughter Natalie ran up to Tara and me begging, "Daddy, daddy, daddy, may I please get my face painted?" We walked over towards the lady who was doing the face painting, introduced ourselves, and found out that her name was Eve and that she was the computer teacher at HES. Eve sat Natalie down and painted a very pretty paw print on her face. And then Natalie looked up at me, beaming from ear to ear, and said, "Do you like my paw print?" Natalie was glowing. So, I took her picture, put it on Facebook and, as a result, many people started commenting on the beautiful picture of my daughter.

I tell that story because it was Eve's hand that painted the paw print that allowed my daughter to shine. Eve touched Natalie, and as a result, she shone brightly. This one interaction is so telling of what Eve did day after day, week after week, year after year as a teacher. She would touch children, she would pour herself into children, she would care for children, and she would hurt when they were hurting, she would make children laugh, and she would have parents doing whatever behind the scene efforts were necessary to make sure that their son or daughter had her in class. Eve cared about her kids. She would make sure that kids without shoes had shoes. She would go out of her way to do something silly so that the kids who were sad had a reason to laugh. Giggles and smiles were plenty when Eve was around. See, Eve touched my daughter once and my daughter benefited from that. But, the impact and the magnitude of Eve caring for students day-after-day-after-day for the past 24 years are immeasurable. Many of you are here today because you were one of those kids in her classroom or you are the parent of a child who had her class. You are better, your child is better, we are better because of Eve Dowell.

So tonight, we come to grieve and to mourn. But dare I say that we also are here to celebrate her impact, her care, her laughter, her silliness, and even her ability to push boundaries. Right, Mr. Parker? I mean, after all, how many times can a teacher get away with wearing blue jeans? Speaking of Eve's silliness, when we were at the funeral home on Tuesday, sweet Emma Gayle, the apple of her mother's eye, was asked, "Emma, what was one of your mom's favorite songs?" Emma giggled and said, "Oh, my mommy loved 'Your momma don't dance and your daddy don't rock-n-roll." And we all laughed. And from what I understand, a woman who deeply loved her daughter, her family, her friends, and who knew life was worth dancing over, well, that was Eve Dowell.

There's a passage in the New Testament where a group of little children wanted to see Jesus, and the disciples, believing the children of little worth, told the children not to bother Jesus. But Jesus looked at the disciples, strongly reprimanded them, and said, "Let the little children come to me." Scripture says that, "Jesus took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them." We lost Eve on Monday morning, but I also think that another event took place at that time. I believe Eve opened her eyes, looked at Jesus, and was received with a great big hug. Why? Because Eve did exactly what Jesus wanted her to do every day of her life; she let the little children come to her. She actually physically performed the actions of Christ in her classroom; she would take kids into her arms, give them hugs, touch them like she touched my Natalie, and in essence, they would be blessed. Eve, probably without realizing it, was a walking, talking example of Jesus. And, based upon the conversations I have had regarding Eve, I know that she would encourage the teachers in this room to keep doing the same; keep influencing, keep teaching, keep rescuing, keep encouraging, keep fighting for the children in your classrooms.

The next days, weeks, months, and years are going to hurt as you grieve the passing of Eve. When her memory comes to mind, cry it out. But then, come together and tell funny stories about Eve until you find yourself laughing so much it hurts. Also remember to exercise a rebellious silly streak every now and then. And lastly, no matter what, whether it be to “Shake it off” or “All About that Bass” or “Your Momma Don’t Dance and Your Daddy Don’t Rock N’ Role,” make sure you dance.

Last Friday night, my heart hurt. Not my real heart, of course. My emotional heart; my lebab. Lebab is the Hebrew word for heart, meaning "the deepest part of who you are." Why did the deepest part of who I am hurt? Because my daughter was thrown into the "deep end" of her peer group. My tiny daughter (God bless her... She's got both of our genes) was asked to step up to a higher level of gymnastics and compete with kids who are taller, stronger, and more mature than her. And, she sensed it. She knew it. She was so overwhelmed as she prepared to take the floor that she grabbed my hand, her lebab beating desperately, and she looked at me at with fear-filled eyes, "Dad... I don't want to go."

Her face screamed, "I'm not ready! They're so much bigger than me!" Inside, I was thinking, "I know, Natalie. They are bigger than you. They are better than you. You will be the smallest. You will be scared. You will feel overwhelmed. I'm sorry."

"Dad, please save me! I don't want to go."

"Natalie, I know."

"Dad!"

"Natalie, I know!"

"Dad! Help!"

"Natalie..."

At this point, every fiber in my being wanted to rescue her, hold her, pick her up, and carry her to safety. And, believe me, I wanted to. But, as much as I wanted to rescue her, I want her to be challenged. I want her to know what it means to be overwhelmed. I want her to know what it means to have to overcome adversity. I want her to develop the intestinal fortitude necessary to hit life's problems head-on. So, I said..."Nat...You can do this." I let go of her hand and she hesitantly walked onto the mat, my lebab hurting.

Why did I let her go and not rescue her? I let Nat go because there was a much larger battle taking place than whether or not Nat could handle a higher level of gymnastics. The larger battle had to do with whether or not Nat could learn how to handle adversity. James 1.2 says that we are to consider it “pure joy” when we face adversity or “tests” because such “tests” “develop perseverance” and that developing perseverance leads to maturity. In my work as a pastor, and in my former work as coach and athletic director, I see and have seen parents many times step in to rescue their children from adversity. Believe me, I understand the temptation. However, a greater damage is done to that child if they are not allowed to face adversity. The greater damage occurs because we, as caregivers, rob them of the opportunities to develop the necessary muscles they need to not only face or survive adversity, but to push through and even thrive in adversity. If we, as parents and guardians, do not allow our children to face the adversity of a gymnastics class, tough homework assignment, or being held accountable for not doing that homework assignment, how can we expect our children to one day leave home and face the adversities of work expectations, tight finances, sick children, etc? As James so necessarily stated, we cannot develop maturity unless we face tests. We are hindering our children’s development if we keep them from the very tests they need to face in order to mature.

Fast forward to another moment that I pray takes place approximately twelve years from now. Tara and I have loaded Natalie into her college dorm room and it is time to leave. At that moment, I pray that Natalie will have developed enough faith, intestinal fortitude and maturity to hit college head-on. However, even if she has, there will most likely be a moment when she looks at me and Tara and I will be transported back to last Friday night. I will see the six year old little girl and my lebab will hurt. And, I will want to rescue her, but I will also know that the best thing for Natalie is to let go and trust; trust her, trust the way we raised her, and ultimately trust God to take care of her. Then, because she has faced adversity time and time again, I pray that she changes the world. (But for now, I pray those twelve years crawl along ;)

I pray that parents and guardians everywhere are wise enough and trusting enough to let children face appropriate levels of adversity. Their future is at stake and so are the futures of our families, communities, country and world.

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How Long, O Lord?

10/7/2014

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How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and everyday have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Psalm 13.1-3

I occasionally have moments where the only thing I can utter is, “How long, O Lord?”

“How long does this family have to suffer?”
“How long does that child have to face disease?”
“How long does that person have to wander in hopelessness?”
“How long does this pain have to last?”
“How long does injustice, terrible injustice, heart-aching injustice get to win?”

I asked that last question early this morning as I was reading the blog of a very dear friend. I encourage you to take a moment to read Holly’s blog and let every unbelievable descriptor of the event sink in. As you do, I also encourage you to remember Jesus’ words, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

http://hollybirdswords.blogspot.com/2014/10/we-were-next-at-checkout-line-when-she.html?m=1

At first, after reading the blog, I was incensed.

“How in the world does anybody spit on a child?!?!?!?!”

After spending a few minutes fired up, I took a deep breath and then found myself asking another question, “How can this happen to Jeff and Holly?! They are great parents who live the Gospel on a daily basis and they do not deserve to see their beautiful, sweet, and precious little girl go through that crap!” Then, my emotions turned to sheer sadness, “What kind of world are we living in when an elderly man spits on a little girl because of her skin color?” Today was a day when I felt like we are fighting an uphill battle and desperately losing.

My feelings of anger and hopeless changed when I picked up the phone to call and express my anger and sorrow to Jeff and Holly. Oh, if only I could bottle up the hope and love that Holly expressed over the phone with me as she relived the incident! Holly’s words were not easy words. She spoke of the anger and heartache she felt, but then she started to describe the ways she advocated for her daughter. I was quickly reminded of the hearts of Jeff and Holly; their desire to care for and love their little girl in a BIG, JESUS-LIKE WAY. Jeff and Holly are living, breathing examples of Jesus—people crazy enough to believe and act on his words of “Let the little children come to me.” After reading Holly’s blog, I was ready to pick a fight. After talking with Holly on the phone, I was ready to love a child.

Yes, there are days when I feel like we are losing. But, there are the Jeff and Holly Prossers of the world, Jesus-in-the-flesh-people, who show me what it means to fight and make a difference for little children, the less fortunate, and anyone else who needs an advocate. They are why I can not only cry out “How long, O Lord?” but also the end of Psalm 13,

“But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.”

(Want to know more of Jeff and Holly’s adoption story? Check out Holly’s book, “Colliding with Grace” which can be purchased online at amazon.com or tatepublishing.com. If you decide to read her book, grab a few tissues and be prepared to hope.)

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A Tribute to Eve Dowell

Wanting to Rescue....

How Long, O Lord?

Paul Gibson

Tara Gibson

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