My Year in Review

My Year in Review to be Renewed

I probably should have titled it that instead...

What a crazy year!

Here's an excerpt from where I was in August...  (you can read it in its entirety here....)

So, now here it is August. It's back to school time. And it's hard. This is hard. School is starting without me.
I see all of my friends posting pictures of the perfectly prepared classrooms in all of its preciousness. I see them going to meet their students at home visits, which was always the most special day of the year to me. 
I see my former MLES students in pictures with their new teachers.  They aren't mine anymore, and it's hard.  I won't see them this fall in the halls. It's hard.This is hard. I don't have any students to get excited about and to love unconditionally.  To pour myself into teaching them and making a difference for them. I don't have a classroom to organize and beautify and prepare and play my guitar in and make students happy in and make ME happy in. I still don't have a job.  I still don't know why I lost the one I had.  I still don't know why I haven't gotten another one.  Foolishly, I turned down a job offer that was provided to me.  Maybe that was God's answer for me, and at the time, I just couldn't see it.  But, that was then, and this is now.  And I'm still waiting. I still have bills to be paid and insurance to provide and a family to support and raise. My oldest son still has no school in which he's enrolled because we've held out this long waiting to see if I'd get employed somewhere. My wife still cries at night for me.  For her.  For my boys. This is hard. I'm crying to God right now in fact as I type this. But, here's how I know this summer is different. Yes, I'm scared.  Yes, I'm broken.  But, I know God will prosper me.  My tears are sad, but they're also very humbled and very thankful. I have 100% faith that we are going to be okay.

If only I could have known what was to come...

This really should have been the worst year of my life, for many reasons.  It turned out to be the total antithesis of "worst."  A year ago, I so wish I could have been privy to the many ways God would renew me in this past year.

I guess that's what is both so inspiring and also so frustrating at times about God's providence.

He knows, but we don't.  He has plans to prosper us, but we have no idea when, what, how...

Humans don't do well -- at least I don't do well -- with not knowing what's ahead.  In August, I needed to trust -- on completely blind faith -- that God's plans were for me (and goodness He had in store).

The very next day after I posted that blog post in August about losing my job and finding my faith, I was called by the principal at Audubon Elementary, Mr. York, to come talk to him about a teaching assistant job for which I'd applied.  It would mean less money, certainly, but it would mean a job with medical benefits and a way for me to provide something for my family.  So, I went, and I interviewed with him and the assistant principal, Mrs. Velotta.  Ultimately, they liked me (I think), but they had a tight budget and had to conclude that, with my degrees and years' experience, I was too expensive to hire for that position.

But, God would provide.  

He didn't provide the position I thought I might have, but a 1st grade teacher there at Audubon had recently had a rather severe accident and would need to be absent for several weeks, so they offered me the position to be a long-term substitute in 1st grade...

Substitute?

I didn't know how I felt about it at first.

I didn't go to school for a million years to be a substitute.

I was 13 years into my career.  I wasn't supposed to be a substitute.

Substitute teachers make very little money and have to put up with a whole lot of unknown craziness.

SUBSTITUTE???

I don't deal well with the unknown craziness of the substitute life.

But, hey, it was better than the nothing else I had.  It meant some money.  It meant a chance for a principal to see what I can do.  I had to humble myself and accept that maybe this was the next part of the plan for me.  So, I did.

I was concerned because being a substitute meant I wouldn't have health benefits for my family.  I didn't know how in the world we would be able to afford private/personal health care plans for all of us.  I was becoming significantly saturated with fear about it.

But, God would provide.

One day, Alisha went to talk with our insurance agent, Daniel Dick (AKA The Miracle Worker), about getting health care set up.  We knew it would cost us an arm and a leg but had figured out, we thought, some way to cover it.  Daniel asked Alisha if she'd thought about applying for Medicaid.  We hadn't -- hadn't even considered it.  We never imagined we would have qualified, and we had never before been in a position to think to ask for help in this way.  Daniel spent hours with Alisha helping us apply, and we qualified!  Our healthcare would be free until I get back into a position where I make more money and no longer qualify.  What a blessing!  What a God thing.

I accepted the substitute position on the same day (just hours before) Audubon's back-to-school event.  I had never set foot in the building before my interview, and I did not know a soul.

I walked into my would-be classroom a couple of hours before the families would be coming!

Anyone who knows the way I work on a classroom knows that this was completely foreign to me.  I typically spend WEEKS (if not months) preparing a classroom for the following year.  I literally had minutes to get myself ready for this one.

I had no idea what to even do.  I didn't know any teachers, any students, any parents, any ANYTHING.

I had no clue where anything was in the building, no clue what kids were on my roster, no clue how to answer any questions that might be asked of me that night...

I. Was. Lost.

But, God would provide.

I will tell you, the strangest thing happened.  I was not nervous.  I was not worried.  I was as calm as a cucumber.  For the first time in my life, I felt no anxiety about school starting.

I felt God's presence STRONGLY with me that night as I masqueraded as someone who knew what he was doing.

The school year soon began with me filling in as the 1st grade teacher.  I met my students, and it was business as usual for me.  I treated them as though they were truly mine.  I expected this assignment to last no more than 6-8 weeks, but I wanted to make sure I set these kids up as well as I possibly could to succeed for their real teacher once she returned.

That was a tough pill to swallow at times.  Their "real teacher" would return.  I wasn't she.

I had to have the mindset that my job was to love them, create a positive environment for them, and help them to love school.  And that was all.  Nothing else.  Don't allow myself to get distracted by anything other than the job at hand.  Make a difference in these kids in the little time you have.  You can do this, Scott, with God's grace.

I had, without a doubt, one of the most challenging groups of kids in my career.  I had a classroom of high needs in many, many different arenas of education.  I had to be on point more than ever in my career.  I had to be nothing but my very, very best at all times, because that's what it took to be successful with this group.  I couldn't slack.  I had to be more than a sub.

And, man, did they make me better!  This group of kids and I connected in a way that I can't even put into words.  In a way I never expected!  I loved them so much -- so much more than I was even prepared for -- and they certainly returned it.  There are kids in this class that will forever have a piece of me.  There are kids in this class that I can clearly identify as God-sent -- because we needed each other as integral parts of our life journeys.

This group of kids taught me so much about being a successful teacher.  I learned something that I had needed for FOREVER in my career, and that was time management.  There were so many intense needs with this group that I had to be very discerning and precise with my time.  Otherwise, I could have easily lived at that school during that assignment trying to prepare for them the way I had always worked in the past.  I finally figured out how to focus my work habits on things that truly matter toward making a difference in the needs of kids -- and to leave the rest behind.  I finally learned that I didn't have to obsess over all the detailed muck that there is in education -- that I could still be a highly effective teacher without all that crazy town junk.  

Six to eight weeks passed, and the teacher I was replacing was still not ready to return.  I soon learned that my time would be extended all semester until Christmas!

I was ecstatic.  It meant more time with my kids!

God was providing.

Christmas came all too soon, however, and my time was up.  Their real teacher would be returning; I would not be needed in January.

I left Audubon very fulfilled but also very sad.  It had been such an unexpected blessing, and I wasn't quite ready to give that up.

I finished up the rest of December and the beginning of January in my new role as assistant sandwich maker and executive dish washer at Dalishas Desserts.  Admittedly, I was not at all qualified to do this job, but I did love it.  I loved working with my wife every single day.  I loved being able to sleep a little later haha.  I loved not feeling any stress at work.  I loved knowing I could not be given a pink slip at this job.  I loved watching my wife's success in her business and feeling like I was a small, contributing part of that.  I loved her employees.  I loved that time!

But, I had to be Scott to work there.

Just Scott.

I'm not just Scott.  I'm Mr. H.

I missed Mr. H.

I really didn't want to imagine a life where I'd never be Mr. H again.

One morning, at the bakery, I was getting ready to put my latex gloves on.  I decided I better check my Facebook one last time before putting them on, because -- well, if you've seen me try to put on latex gloves, you understand.  My wife only buys the extra small lady finger gloves.  They're dumb.  I have man hands.  I can't get them on to save my life unless my hands are perfectly dry.  Let's face it; that never happens.  I have the sweatiest, clammiest hands ever created, so latex gloves and I are not best friends.  It takes me a good 47.3 minutes to get them on -- it could be a whole YouTube channel just documenting the struggle.  Anyway, I didn't intend to take them off again to browse my phone for a while after finally getting the blasted things on, so...

Where was I?

Oh yeah.  I checked Facebook and saw an ambiguous post from one of my colleagues at Audubon.  It said something along the lines of "unspoken prayer request."

I had this sneaky suspicion that my friend, Jill, from Audubon (actually the lady they hired for the teaching assistant position I originally interviewed for) was interviewing for a certified teaching job.  I thought to myself that she was probably going to get that job.  If that happened, I hoped Mr. York would call me and offer for me to return and finish the year as the reading assistant.  I wasn't even sure he could afford me, but I had hope.

God would, again, provide.

Sure enough, that's what happened.

When the new year started, I had no idea how I would have income and assumed we'd have to survive on what little money doesn't go directly back into the bakery business... but God had other ideas.

In late January, Alisha's business won Business of the Year, and business began to explode.  I wrote a blog post all about that here. 

God was taking care of us, even in my moments of deepest doubt.

In late January, I returned to Audubon as the reading intervention assistant.  This new role brought 38 sweet kids to me in my reading classroom for me to do small group reading instruction.  Teaching reading is my passion, and now I would be getting to do it all day every day!

There were two little boys in particular in my intervention group that I know, very clearly, were handpicked by God for me to impact.  It's so great when God unfolds these kids to me.  I just have to accept His plan and go where He leads me.  Then, I find the kids that He wants me to love.  It's my life's mission work, and I'm so blessed.

It also meant the opportunity to be a teacher's aide in several PreK-3rd classrooms throughout the day, and what an experience that was!  I've always thought that I want to be an aide when I retire some day, and this confirmed it!  It's such a joy to help a classroom teacher make an impact with students -- yet not be the one necessarily responsible for all the stress related to being the head classroom teacher.  I can't say I missed all the stress of teaching while I was subbing or being an aide!  Not a bit.  I missed being the lead teacher, but I didn't miss the other headaches, for sure.

I love, love, LOVED that role as an assistant, and I could have been content to continue it for a long time!

Again, God had different plans.

In late March, my teaching partner from when I was subbing in 1st grade, Heather Nally, accepted a job as a behavioral specialist at a different elementary school.  This left her classroom vacant for the remainder of the school year.

I'm sure you see where this is going.

Cue my fourth role change of the year.  At spring break, I transitioned from reading assistant to again a long-term sub for 1st grade.

None of these changes were simple.  I don't do change easily.  But, none of them felt overwhelming, because God was at work.

God was providing.

I only had 9 weeks with my newest set of babies, but these 9 weeks were some of the most enjoyable of my career.  Heather, a master teacher herself, had set me up with the golden fleece of a classroom.  These kids were so well-trained and so eager to learn.  I was exhilarated daily just to be in the presence of their learning.  It was so much fun!  I got to experience a phenomenal co-teaching model with yet another master teacher, Sara Duke, and I learned new tricks from both her and the kids that will be in my tool belt forever.  I built relationships with kids that I know were critical at that time of transition... and were critical toward making me feel like Mr. H again.

My days at Audubon were numbered, of course, and I knew the last day would be coming.  I was really sad to see it end -- again.  The last day of school, May 18, was so bittersweet.

Audubon had provided me no less than 130 students to work with in the year.  What a blessing!  Some of them provided memories that will last forever.

Audubon also provided me genuine friendship.  I wasn't sure I'd ever find that again.  After having been through such a tumultuous career, I was guarded and unconvinced that I'd ever have more than just colleagues in a workplace.  I didn't really want to let anyone else in because it's just too painful to let go of them when a school inevitably lets me go.  However, I've been greeted with kindness, respect, love, and nothing but GOOD STUFF from every single person at Audubon.

I found Heather, Allie, Sharon, Melisa, and Natalie.  My team.  My new work wives.  "Mr. H and all his new girlfriends" hahahaha.

These people didn't have to accept me.  I was just a sub for Natalie.  Then a sub for Jill.  Then a sub for Heather.  I. Was. Just. A. Sub.

But these people DID accept me.  They made me feel like I mattered.  They made me feel like I was a real teacher.  They accepted my ideas and shared their own, and we worked together with precision and grace.  It was harmonious.  They made me feel like they wanted me there.  I needed to feel that.

Each of the 6 of us had some intense personal struggles throughout the year.  It should have been probably the worst year of our lives, by all regards, but it wasn't.  Each of the six of us has said multiple times that it was one of, if not THE best, year of our careers -- because of each other.

I love you ladies.  How bow dah?

But May meant I would have to break up with these ladies and face the job market again.

May meant I had to go back to those confounded latex gloves, sandwich making, and washing dishes again.  Don't get me wrong -- I love the bakery, the sandwiches, and my wife.  I'm ambivalent toward the dishes.  I straight up despise the evil, latex gloves.

I was worried.  Would I ever teach again?  Was May 18 my last day as Mr. H?

Audubon did have two teacher openings, but it was not a guarantee that I would get one of the jobs.  I had to go through the process just like anybody.  Just a like a fresh graduate from college.

Cue Monday, May 22.

Audubon was hosting a "meet and greet" for teacher candidates.  I didn't want to go.  Mr. York had promised me an interview even without attending this meet and greet.  I didn't want to go.  I REALLY didn't want to go.  It would be awkward.  I had already greeted all these people -- for MONTHS.

My actual wife and all my work wives insisted that I must go.

So I did.

And I was right.

MOST RIDICULOUSLY AWKWARD DAY OF MY LIFE... May 22.

Here I go up into a building to be considered as a teacher candidate.  A building where I used my badge to scan the lock and let myself in.  A building where I still had a key to a classroom.  A building where I already knew everybody.

I walk into the front office and sheepishly shake hands with the secretary as though I had not just taught her granddaughter.

I walk out of the office and sit on the bench where all the candidates were waiting for their tour of the school.  You know -- to tour a school that I had already taught in about 25.62 roles and 78.45% of the classrooms.

Awkward.

I glance at the other candidates.  Most of them are blonde.  Young.  I'm estimating average age of 12.54 years.

High heels.  LOTS of high heels.  Ridiculous amounts of high heels.  Why are shoes made like that?  No respectable teacher wears shoes like that.  Get real.

I'm seeing no less than 3 student teachers who had just finished their semesters at Audubon.  I know they were good -- I know they will probably get these jobs.

I'm seeing a crap ton of candidates who will be CHEAPER than I am because of their lack of experience and degrees.  Cheaper is important in the budget number game in education.

I sit down silently and wait.  My nerves are a mess because I have no idea how to handle this situation.  How do I meet and greet people I already know??

I'm listening to the teeny boppers' discussions beside me as I wait.

"When did you graduate?" one says to another.  "Oh I graduated in December '15, and I've been subbing," she answers.

"I graduated in February with extra credit work," another says.

One particularly annoying know-it-all, who redefined "bleached hair," turns to me and says, "So when did you graduate?"

"2003," I answered blankly.

"Oh, I was 7."  She wouldn't look at me after that and subsequently moved farther away from me gradually on the bench.  (I'm pretty sure she thought I was the old creepy guy with leprosy that just wandered in off the streets...)

Seven, y'all. She was SEVEN.  I was TEACHING when she was seven years old.

I watch several candidates begin their tours before mine, and I'm listening to them introduce themselves and try to sell their levels of sweet albeit fake expertise to the hiring committee.

Bless their sweet hearts.  Did I sound like that when I was 21 or 22? I'm sure I sounded worse actually.  I can't articulate in an interview to save my life -- maybe the only thing I do worse is putting on latex gloves.

But, these sweet babies -- they don't REALLY know yet what they're talking about.  And they shouldn't.  Not yet.  There's no way they could yet.  They will.  They will.  Someday they will.  They will make good teachers.  They deserve a chance.  They'll probably get a chance before I will.  Let's face it.  I'm an old dog. Nobody wants an old dog.  I don't have the appeal of a shiny, new, free puppy.  But bless it.  You gotta train a puppy to do everything.  These sweet babies are puppies.  Everybody loves puppies.  Puppies are amazing.  But -- somebody please come rescue this already trained, loyal, old dog (with a few good years left) from the teacher pound!!

I'm listening to the names of candidates as they go by, and I realize I taught one of them.  SHE WAS MY STUDENT, people.  My student.  And now I'm competing against her for a job.

Ridiculous.

Awkward.

How did I get here?

Can't even.

Nope.  You were right, Braxton.  Can't.

Maybe I should make sandwiches instead.

Maybe I should build a large man hand latex glove factory instead.

Ok.

Just do this.  Go out-of-body-experience and walk around this school and talk to people you already know and get this over with.

So I did.

I guess I survived it, because my interview was scheduled for the following Friday.

It was the strangest interview experience to date for me.  And I am quite the authority to speak about that, since I've had 27 interviews in my career.  Number 27 took the cake.

It was a double panel interview -- so I had to interview in a sequence of rooms with different questions in front of different groups.

The questions were given to me ahead of time (I'd never had that happen before), and I think it actually intimidated me.  I think I got all -- in my head -- trying to think of appropriate answers.

The result was that, when I was in the rooms, interviewing in front of all these people who were already my colleagues -- I couldn't even begin to tell you what nonsense spewed out of my sand-filled mouth.

That's it!

My mouth filled with sand, and I could not speak.  I needed a speech therapist to help me with every single articulation ever articulated.  Nothing from my brain would come out the way I wanted.

I was sweating bullets.

I didn't have time to run back to my -- well, Heather's classroom -- and apply some of the minty fresh lady Speed Stick she'd left behind -- bummer.  Just hold your armpits really tightly clinched toward your nipples, Scott, just do that. They won't notice your odor.  They won't think you're weird at all.  They already know you're weird, Scott.  Just do this.

I couldn't remember authors' names or blog writers' names or the committee people's names or my name or what "name" even meant...

MY MOUTH WAS FULL OF SAND.

I hate sand.

An hour later, it was over.

I knew I wouldn't hear anything for a few days (and felt certain it would be bad news anyway), so it was back to the world of the bakery, being Daddy to my kids, and waiting..

(I know there are some Grammar purists reading this who are struggling with how often I have changed verb tenses to write this post.  Ok, so get over it.  I have written this thing on several different days and from different moods -- and it is what it is.  No one could be bothered by it more than I am hahahahaha.)

So, here I am, waiting.

Waiting nervously.  Waiting with wonder.  Waiting like last year.

The difference this year is that, even though I have been waiting, I have not been overwhelmed.  I haven't cried.  I haven't been completely stricken with fear.  I have been okay.  Not perfect.  But not overly worried either.  The whole time, I've felt like everything will be okay.  Everything will turn the course it's supposed to turn, serve the purpose it's supposed to serve, be the part of my life God intends for me next...

And my faith is so strongly renewed this year that I don't have to fear.  I don't have to worry.  I can be at peace.

I pray more than I ever have.

I accept God's timetable more than I ever have.

I am happy to serve, wherever He leads me, and to whomever He directs me -- and for the first time, that's enough.

I know He's able, and I know He can.

His mighty hand has, and will, save me through every fire.  My recent career has been pretty fiery, but here I am.  Saved through it -- on the other side of it.

But, I don't know what will happen next.  I know what I want.  I know what I hope the answer is.

But even if it doesn't happen -- even if the answer is no -- even if He doesn't provide MY choice -- I know provisions to prosper me will still be there.

This past year has proven that time and time again.  Nothing was according to my plan.  No part of it at all.  But everything worked out, according to a plan that only HE could have designed -- a master plan -- a DIVINE plan.

And it gives me hope.

Hope in HIM alone.

(I bet you can tell my favorite Christian song right now...  hear it here...)

Fast forward to today, June 19.

I'm happy to announce one more step of God's provision.

God has provided again.

I'm the new 1st grade teacher at Audubon.

Teacher -- did you hear that?  Teacher.  Not sub.  Teacher.

How bow dah?

I'm so blessed.

My year... in review.

My year... to be renewed.

My Front Row Seat to Greatness

This will not be short, so prepare yourself now.

This can't be short because it's the story of my wife's success.

She is the epitome of greatness.  Greatness I can't even define.  God-given greatness, and her cup overfloweth..........

..............

My view to this greatness began 20 years ago.  Late one summer evening, my best friend, Melody, and I waltzed up to the marching band field at Muhlenberg North High School (the sister and rival high school to mine) to watch the North Stars perform in their exhibition at their ice cream fundraiser show.

Now picture this.  I'm this extremely geeky, skinny, awkward 16 year old with no clue about life.  I'd never done much of anything, never dated, never (you insert whatever... I'd not done it).

I typically always watched the field commanders when I watched North because they were always amazing, and I so desperately wanted to be one myself.  But, this time, I couldn't take my eyes off this girl in the pit.

There's this BEAUTIFUL girl, with the most captivating curly, blonde hair.  Her hair put me in a trance.  Something about that hair!  It was like she was from the wrong time in history.  As though her hair should have actually been a wig in the times of Mozart and Beethoven, and this so intrigued me.  And her eyes! And her smile!  Oh, sweet Jesus, her face.  The way she looked at her friends in her section -- it was so friendly.  SO genuine.  SO warm.  I wanted to know this girl.

I intently (borderline creepy stalker) watched her play the vibraphone with mallet height that meant she was great.  Great.  She would lift her sticks up so high to play her notes that it was as though there were a leprechaun on stilts helping raise her mallets between each note.  And the whole time -- she smiled.  That smile.  Sweet petunias! That smile.

I don't know if I realized it in that moment, but I think I fell in love with her that very day.

Over the next year, Alisha and I happened to be in MANY honor bands together, and I watched her earn principal oboist chair after chair, further proving to me her greatness.  One of these honors was in her senior year (my junior), she was crowned the best high school oboist in the state of Kentucky.  I earned 3rd best bassoonist that year and was placed just 3 seats away from her in that all-state ensemble.  To this day, 20 years later, I can still remember watching her hands move on the keys (am I a stalker?), her solo parts (I think so), and how in awe I was of her effortless control of her instrument (definitely a stalker).  The tone she played with (and still does) on the oboe is unlike any I've ever heard in my 25+ years as a musician.  Unmatched. Greatness.

I watched this gorgeous girl go barefoot on stage to that concert, and I remember thinking how hilarious and strange that was -- and how I HAD to know this great girl.

I was so smitten. Hard. HARD.  Yet, we did not even know each other. At all.  We knew OF each other, but her version of me was pretty pitiful.  I was that extremely geeky bassoon player from the other school who looked weird and looked AT HER weirdly and was the rival to her best friend (who played bassoon) -- so Lord only knows what they said or thought of me hahahaha.

About a year later, she is in college. I'm still in high school.  I attend an honor band event at Murray State University, where she is now the principal oboist in the MSU Wind Ensemble.  They happened to put on a concert for all of us high schoolers while we were there.  I DISTINCTLY remember sitting in the balcony of Lovett Auditorium, watching her play, seeing and hearing nothing else but her on that stage, and realizing beyond any doubt -- this was the girl for me.  A girl I didn't even know.

I came home from that event and worked up the courage to email Alisha.  I think my words included something along the lines of being really impressed with her performance, and I believe I asked her some questions about what it was like to go to Murray.

She responded with such kindess, y'all.  Friendly. Genuine. Warm.  It was as though I had rolled back time and had the nerve to walk up to that sweet vibraphone player from a couple of years prior.  That amazing girl was actually talking to me!  

Folks, my mind was made up at that moment where I would be attending college.  I had multiple acceptance letters in my stack.  I had multiple scholarship opportunities in my pocket.  But I would become a Racer.  Because Alisha was there.  (The ironic thing is she also followed a boy to Murray despite her multiple offers.  Spoiler alert -- it didn't work out for that boy mwahahahaha.)

I reach college in the fall of '99.  I joined the MSU Marching Racer Band percussion section in the pit.  I get to band camp that August -- and guess who is there.  Sweet magnolias!  Alisha.  She's in my section.  I can't breathe.

I don't remember how long it took me to actually talk to her.  I'm sure she spoke first.  Her best friend, Melanie, was also in the pit -- and within a few days, they had both decided to give me a chance.  That's how they both are though.  They are both so sweet and so kind and just such good, good girls.  They were then -- they are now.  And they saw this pitiful, clueless, nerdy kid from Nowheresville -- and reached out to him to befriend him.  It began a friendship trifecta that is now 18 years strong, and I'm eternally grateful to them both for showing me how a friendship can be.  The true greatness of companionship.

Alisha was phenomenal as a friend.  There is no one like her as a friend.  She's amazing as a friend.  Unmatched.  Greatness.

For more than two years, we were just friends.  Just friends in the sense that the girl was just friends with the guy and the guy was hopelessly in love with the girl.  Story of my life.  Story of so many boys' lives, I'm sure, who knew Alisha.

Lish was never anything but amazingly great to me.  She took me to church with her when she knew I needed it most.  I'm really convinced that God put Alisha in my path to keep me on His path.  I feel certain I would have strayed and possibly never returned had it not been for my beautiful, loving, BEST friend.

Throughout the next 2 years, by some miracle (God), Alisha's feelings for me changed.  That's when my seat to view her greatness became front row and permanent.  And wonderful.

I watched her win more principals on oboe.  I watched her win art shows.  I watched her win my heart (gag), and I finally won hers.

She landed a job as a middle school art teacher WAY before we even graduated.  Ridiculous.  And, of course, it was in one of the most prestigious county school systems for the arts in Kentucky -- Daviess County.  Lish never could do anything without it involving greatness.

I watched her become a phenomenal art teacher that persevered through some incredibly tough situations to still inspire and entertain her students, impress her administrators, and in general ROCK her new career with some only-Lish-could-do greatness.

However, she was destined to follow a different path.  2004 saw her leave Daviess County to move to Louisville to go to culinary school, another interest and love she'd had since early childhood.

During her years in Louisville, I watched her grow in her talents and succeed in ways that still baffle me.  On a whim one year, she decided to enter one of her recipes for a pumpkin pinwheel cookie into a contest on the Food Network's website.  She won.  Grand prize out of some 10,000 entrants.  She got to be flown to New York, appear on an episode of Emeril, and win the hearts of America.

No surprise.  She's great.  Unmatched.

These defining years in our relationship were really hard though.  There was physical distance, but there was also emotional.  I was very involved with my schools where I worked.  I was very involved with new friendships I was forming.  She was too.  We almost lost each other once.

Somehow (God), our love boat didn't sink, and we married in the fall of 2006.  She had graduated culinary school, returned to our little house in Owensboro, and started her new venture as a pastry chef out of our tiny home kitchen.

I remember those days when she worked from home as just completely crazy.  Nuts. Ridiculous.

She worked from sun up until sun down.  CONSTANTLY cooking, caking, and cleaning up.  There was this never-ending stream of strangers coming to our door to pick up cakes.  Our neighbors must have thought we were drug dealers.

Keep in mind how much I don't do people.  She's the epitome of charm; I'm the epitome of awkward. Introvert. Weird.

Those years were hard in every sense imaginable -- for both of us.

At some point -- and the year escapes me -- she entered an Owensboro business plan competition.  To no one's surprise, she was selected as a finalist.  I vividly remember the phone call on the day of the ceremony when the winner was announced.  She called to tell me she had won.  She was crying.  I was crying.  It was the best.  Great.

She had earned seed money, free rent for a while, and space to start her business in a store front.  I wish you could have been there when we first got to see the raw guts of the building where her business would begin.  Gorgeous.  Breathtaking.  Just like she is.  I still can picture the natural light beaming in through one of her very tall windows in her shop that day on our first day there.  It was shining off her entrancing (now brunette, straight) hair.  There's just something about her hair!  God sure knew what he was doing when he made this girl so great.

It took a couple of years to get going what with construction and the nonsense of starting a business.  We had no idea what we were doing.  We both had education backgrounds, and now she had her training in food.  Neither of us knew business.

Years of crawling through warehouses and junk piles to find her equipment for cheap.  Cleaning (scrubbing to the point of raw skin) and having painting parties with our friends and family and planning and prepping and hoping... and trusting God that this thing would work.

But it worked.

I watched her win.  She won tasting trade shows.  She had her work highlighted in numerous, important publications in the pastry world.  She won a loyal client base. She became a mom to our two boys and won at that. Unmatched at that. Great.  She won at life.

She won at becoming a bona fide businesswoman.  She won as a boss.  I've watched her lead her friends and employees Jill, Sara, Amy, Val, Emilee, and Alicia with precision and grace.  I love watching her be great at the bakery.  It's the best ticket in town.  Girls, I thank you for trusting Alisha and supporting her to become who she is and to make Dalishas a success story.  You're wonderful.  We love you.  You are family.

Fast forward to late 2015, and Lish finds out that Dalishas Desserts (and Cafe) has been nominated by the Owensboro Chamber of Commerce as a candidate for the Emerging Business of the Year.  We were shocked and humbled! Her doors had only been open for about 2 years, and now comes this honor!?  No surprise though really.  Lish never could do anything without it involving greatness.

The next couple of months involve her working tirelessly to complete her nomination packet and entrance application.  I couldn't even tell you how many hours she put into that thing.  Ridiculous.

That time also involved her trying to figure out something to wear to the confounded awards ceremony.  The whole idea of the thing was completely foreign to us.  We were The Help.

Speaking of foreign -- did I mention she had nothing to wear?  She even ordered dresses from some sketchy website in Asia.  Bless it -- the sumo wrestler size from there wouldn't even fit this normal-sized, GORGEOUS American nominee.  (There's something really wrong with Asian sizing -- I'm just saying.)  We go through home fashion show after show trying to pin down what she would wear.  She ends up having her entire outfit loaned to her -- I think from head to toe -- and it was a hit.  Some Congressman (that I'm pretty sure was drunk off his rocker) that attended the ceremony could not stop talking to the girl in the houndstooth dress that, for some unknown reason through his slurred speech, he kept assuming was from Alabama.  It was epic.  She was epic.

The 2015-16 ceremony was absurd.  The whole thing was bizarre and a total let down.  We spent all this time prepping for this thing, really having no idea what to expect.  We walk up in there to find out the $50 meal was basically heavy hors d'oeuvres.  The food was fine, but folks, I'm there with a professional chef.  She could have made better in her sleep.  There was nowhere to sit, so we had to stand at one of the very few cocktail tables available.  We had to stand with strangers.  I don't do strangers, folks.  We had to do small talk, folks.  I don't do small talk, folks.  We ended up standing and eating with this ridiculously nice and beautiful couple that made me feel ashamed of being so homely myself.  Seriously.  I think these two incredible specimens defined what humans were actually supposed to look like before bad genes started making ugly people.  I couldn't even look at them directly because it was like looking at the sun or an eclipse or something else mythological that you're not supposed to look at for fear of it burning your retinas.  Their Ken-and-Barbie beauty was just too much.  I got choked up.  Actually, I choked on a piece of dry pork that tasted like sorrow, and I had to turn backwards and spit it into my napkin.  I didn't have anything to drink because even the bottles of water were $87 to purchase.  I had to fake it really well because I didn't want good ol' Skipper or Kenneth to judge me.  I was a fish out of water.  (Literally.  There was no water.)

The time comes for us to go into the ceremony, and we nervously (and I think a little ashamedly) search for seats kind of in the back.  We sit among locally famous people and listen to a bunch of speeches and yadda yadda yadda.

The program is very basic.  Just a mention of the sponsors and the agenda of awards.  No mention of the nominees.  This was disappointing, but I thought to myself that surely they'd announce her name once they got to her category.

Nope.  They arrive at the Emerging Business category.  Nothing.  Nada.  No mention of any nominees.

Before I could even blink, they'd announced Studio Slant as the winner, and all of the anticipation was over.

We both sat there silently holding hands and internally steaming a bit for the remainder of the categories.  Not because she'd lost.  The business that won was highly-deserving.  Neither of us expected she would win.  Of course, we wanted her to. We are competitive, and who wouldn't want to win?  But, realistically, we didn't expect it.  It was an honor to be nominated.  But the upsetting part was that we felt so invisible.  No one knew who we were there.  No one even knew she was nominated.  No press.  No publication.  Her name wasn't printed on anything.  No mention of her at all.  It just felt like she didn't get her moment to celebrate.  We left with nothing except the souvenir T-shirt they were giving out at the door.  (It's a really comfy shirt, so hey...)

Over the next year, Dalishas Desserts continued to grow.  Thrive.  Be great.  More and more customers have flocked to the shop to get lunch, desserts, wedding cakes, etc.

Come December 2016, Alisha finds out that she has been nominated again.

And again comes the whirlwind of finding something to wear.

Now, at some point along this same timeline, Alisha gets introduced to the world of LuLaRoe.  All I know about this company is that it has something to do with leggings.

It's hilarious because anyone who has known me since this whole leggings-as-pants craze has hit has known that I simply loathe leggings.  I think they look ridiculous on women.  Obviously when they don't cover up their biscuit, but basically just in general.  Put on some boots with those leggings or an infinity chevron scarf, and I'm done.  Done, I tell you.  Toast.  I can't.  I know that look is considered fashionable and is highly popular right now, but it's dumb.  Can't.  Nope.  Hate it.  The end.  Cash you ousside.  Howbow dah?

Alisha hosts a LuLaRoe pop-up party at her bakery, and she comes home telling me about it.  My response is... umm... LuLaNOOOO.  But, lo and behold, they have more than leggings.  They have tops that look astoundingly perfect on my wife.  They have dresses that I think were designed as couture for my wife.  One of these dresses would land the leading role as Congressman fodder 2017.

Her shoes and jewelry took longer to pinpoint, but even at that, bless it -- she wasn't the wardrobe-challenged one this year.

It was I.

I had gained a good 20 or more pounds since last year's ceremony.  Nothing fit.  I. Had. Nothing.

I scrounged together something to call a halfway presentable outfit, but the only pants I had in the right color were 5 years and 5 sizes too abominable for words.  So, MacGyver to the rescue.

Y'all.  I had to use a 3 inch fabric button extender for starters.  Of course, that caused a grand canyon effect with the zipper.  It would not stay up.  It would not go up.  It had fashion erectile dysfunction, y'all.

I decided to attach a key ring to the zipper.  I was pretty sure I had seen some such nonsense on Pinterest.  No.  Pinterestfail.com.  I had to lie on the bed, squeeze the canyon abyss together with my crippled carpal tunnel hands, and pray to God and Jesus that I could get the blasted ring over the original button.

Nope.  Not happening.  Alisha had to intervene and play the role of fat rolls Redeemer.  Somehow, she got me closed and covered.  (I should have just worn her leggings.)

Then, I couldn't bend to get my socks on.  My wife had to put my socks on, y'all.  I'm 36 years old, and my wife had to dress me to get my gargantuan self to this asinine thing.  I can't.  I'm 'bout to give up on humanity at this point.

We decided to run by Kohl's before the event in hopes I could find some pants that actually fit me.  There I am in the dressing room -- trying on the only pair in the place that even came close to the sumo short man size I needed -- and praying I could figure out how to unhook and rehook myself.  How was this going to work?  Would I just walk out in the pants I was trying on and hand the cashier the tag and say I was buying those?  Actually, I've done that before, so yeah, that would be a good plan.  Except.  Yuck.  They didn't work either.  Now to rehook myself.  Dang it!  I have intense back fat sweat at this point.  Pleeeeease don't let it show through my shirt.  Kenneth and Skipper won't approve.  Sheesh.  Suck it in, suck it in (to the tune of the plug-in commerical).  Pray.  Pray hard.  Ok, there is a God.  I got them on.  Quick.  Cover up the ring with your belt.  Does it look right?  Oh, hell, who cares at this point?  I give up on life.  Let's go do this thing.

We skipped the cocktail hour this year.  Ken and Barbs would have to survive without us.  I hope they did.  No food like sorrow for $50 for me.  Nope.  I could buy leggings with that cash.

We both needed to go to the bathroom, so we make a pit stop.  I kid you not -- my mind thought about "pit" stop and flashed back to all of my "pit" memories with Alisha.  I was so proud of her and happy in that moment.

Happy. Happy!

Happy... until I realized I was standing at the urinal unable to relieve myself.  I was not about to undo the rig job that was keeping my homeostasis in tact.  But, alas, there's a man peeing beside me!  What do I do? He will notice if I don't have the pee sound happening at my urinal.  He will notice if I just walk away after seemingly doing nothing. He might be a senator.  I can't switch to a stall while he's in here.  Wait.  Just wait.  He'll go away.

I guess he'd drunk two or three of those $87 bottles of water, because he peed the Ohio River.  Finally, Peeter was gone, and I debated whether to try the stall.  No.  I can't.  I just can't.  My back is achin', the pants too tight, my butt is poppin' from the left to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, to the right...

So I left.  Needing to use the bathroom worse than this time in middle school when I was stuck on a bus on an interstate and thought my body would explode from excruciating excretions.

We went into the auditorium -- the only folks in the place (because everyone else was in the cocktail area being human) -- and found our seats for The Help in the back.

Let's briefly discuss the number of times I prayed that my farts would be shart-free and silent but not deadly.

Eleven.

Now, the Congressmen and the highfalutin folk file in.  I'm still a fish trying to climb that tree.

The ceremony begins.

We look in the program and see that, as a pleasant surprise, the nominees' names are listed this year!

But, oh crap, there are TONS of nominees in Alisha's category, and some of the names are some big deals.  We call the winner (not us) and renounce ourselves into the oblivion of the speeches.

There's been an ongoing bet among all of us for some time that, if her name were said, it would be mispronounced.

Sure enough, they actually announced the nominees' names this year, and the emcee gets to hers, and says, "DalEYEshas," with a long I sound.

This has been a thing for forever.  No one can say her name correctly.  Alisha.  It has a short i.  It makes sense phonetically, people.  Look at it.  I teach people to read for a living.  I'm right.

Even a boyfriend of hers called her AlEEsha for months.  Dumb.

People call into the bakery all the time and say, "Can I talk to DaLEESHA?"

Let me digress here for a minute and lay it all out there for you people that don't get it.  Her name is Alisha.  Uh-Lish-Uh.  Stick a D at the beginning and an S at the end, and you get Dalishas.  Pronounced identically to Delicious.  It's a play on words.  Get it?  Dalishas Desserts.

But Dude said DalEYEshas.  No.  Just no.

And when he did, I thought -- well, her chances are out.  They'd surely know how to pronounce her name if she had won.  They'd have done their homework on the winner's name, right??

But.

No.

Not true.

She wasn't out.

"And the 2016-17 winner of the Business of the Year is...... Dalishas Desserts!"

I screamed. I hooted and hollered like only some geeky nobody from Muhlenberg County, Kentucky could.  Absolutely no decorum, no precision, no grace.

Alisha was flawless though.  Faultless.  Seamless.  The picture of perfection.

She walks up on the stage like a siren.  They'd pre-prepared (is that a word?) a video of her (that should have been a dead giveaway you'd won, babe; do the math) talking about her business and how she felt about possibly winning.  It was so charming.  So friendly.  So genuine.  So warm.  People audibly went "awwww" after her video ended because they too were entranced by her endearing spirit.  It was that same girl I'd fell in love with in 1997.  And there she was, winning it all.  Her hair was curly tonight -- the same style from our engagement pictures -- and even somehow reminiscent of the Beethoven Beauty of 20 years ago.

I might have been sitting in the back row, but I had a front row seat to greatness.

..........

P.S. About 10 minutes ago, our youngest son woke up.  Mommy showed him her trophy and told him she had won.  He said, with childlike excitement, "Wooooowwww, Mommy, that's soooooo cool.  You have the best bakery!"

And she does.