Month: July 2015

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” -Hebrews 13:2 NIV

It was the summer of 2006, and I was living in Des Moines, Iowa, with my roommate, Steph.  I was in charge of an at-risk program for youth; she worked part-time at a coffee shop in Ames, Iowa, about 35 miles outside of Des Moines.

She called me one day and told me about an old, upright piano that sat towards the back of the cafe.  Dusty and terribly out of tune, the owner announced that he was planning on pushing it out into the alley to see if anyone would take it.  “I know someone who might like it, ” she said.

That someone was me.  I grew up playing the piano and studied seriously for twelve years.  After confirming that it only needed a good tuning, I told her I would love to have it.  It was hard for me to imagine receiving a piano for free.  “What’s the catch?” I asked.  “The catch is that we have to figure out a way to get it from Ames to Des Moines,” she responded.  Fair enough!

I quickly got to work on rounding up men I knew at my workplace.  Many of them were always willing to serve.  I talked to a few different ones over the span of a week, but nothing seemed to work out.  I spoke to Steph about it and told her I was at peace if I did not end up with the piano.  I didn’t currently own one, so I wouldn’t know the difference.

One morning while at work, I received a phone call.  It was Steph.  She told me, “Hey, Giana, I just want you to know that my parents and I are driving the piano to Des Moines right now.  Please pray that we can get it into our duplex.”  I was completely humbled.  They were driving the piano all this way for me?  I said that yes, of course I would pray, and we agreed that if it did not fit they would drop it off at Goodwill.  I continued to be at peace about the whole situation and went right back to teaching.

A couple of hours later, Steph called again.  This time, she had different news:  “I’m so sorry, Giana.  We did everything we could do, but the piano didn’t fit through the front door.”  We lived on the bottom story of a duplex, and the front door opened up to a small hallway with three doors:  the door on the left for our duplex, the one across from it on the right leading to the basement, and the second door on the right that led to the duplex upstairs.  I understood why it was a hard space to maneuver.  I thanked her and told her to thank her parents—a teacher and a coach—from the bottom of my heart.  It meant so much to me that they would serve me in such a way.

Our Duplex

My heart was perfectly at peace, and with ten at-risk students to cater to, I went on with my day.  Shortly after lunch, I saw that I had a voicemail.  Once again, it was my roommate, saying, “Um, there’s a surprise waiting for you in the living room when you get home.  Call me when you see it because I have the story of the century for you!”  Steph was not a dramatic person, and those were big words she had used.  My heart skipped a beat.

After pulling into our parking garage, I slowly walked up the backstairs to our home.  I didn’t want to get too excited, but I knew what was waiting for me.  Opening the back door of the kitchen, I carefully put one foot in front of the other and peered into the living room.  There it was.  The old, mahogany upright piano that was now mine.  It looked so grand!

I immediately called Steph and asked her what happened.  “Well,” she relayed, “on our way from Ames to Des Moines we were praying that the Lord would send us help.  We knew we weren’t going to be able to move the piano by ourselves.  It’s a monster.  Shortly after I talked to you, my dad was pulling away from our place and a random, black man asked if we needed help with the piano.  My dad said, ‘Thank you so much for offering, sir, but we have already tried fitting the piano into the duplex and it’s not going to work.’  The man responded, ‘I don’t mean to be a bother, but will you show me the space you were trying to fit it in?’  My dad agreed since we had not left yet.  The man said, ‘Here’s what we need to do.  We need to unhinge this front door and the door leading to the duplex, and prop the piano on it’s side.  It’s going to fit.  I move pianos for a living.’  I move pianos for a living?!  Who moves pianos for a living, Giana?!”  I could scarce believe my ears.

The Piano

“Someone wanted you to have that piano,” Steph later told me.  “And if you ever move back to Texas, you’re taking it with you.”  And so I did.  I didn’t realize that just a couple of years later, I would inherit another lovely piano.  But that is another story…

I was raised believing that video games were evil.  There was no point to them, and they only existed to kill my brain cells.  I never even owned a Game Boy.  The furthest extent of my experience was playing Super Mario on the original Nintendo at my cousin’s house.

Enter my husband.  Gaming is a favorite pastime of his.  Our opposite backgrounds made for really interesting discussions our first couple of years of marriage.  I was convinced that I would never see any value in any sort of video game or gaming device.

I often refer to my spouse as a, “Techie Trekkie.”  Though, technically, he is one of those rare breeds that enjoys both Star Wars and Star Trek.  I have always thought that he would make an excellent writer.  He is an incredible speaker and a voracious reader. His imagination is unlimited and I am convinced that he has a photographic memory.

There is one game in particular that he has played for about a year, Trexels.  It is a Star Trek game specifically for mobile devices, such as phones and tablets.  He is part of the Trexels Players Advocacy Council, a Facebook group that finds glitches and provides suggestions and new ideas.  After he shared ways to create a mission to explain a current glitch in the game, the designers (who are based in India) asked if he would add a little more content in order to make it a completely new system in Sector 10!

If you’re anything like me, that last paragraph was a little hard to follow (and I wrote it)!  In simple terms, he created a whole new planet, Nooma (which is Greek–Pnuema, meaning spirit) and six events that take place on this planet following the parameters of the game (specifically, a couple of red alerts, an officer story, an exploration mission and a main event–the away mission where you beam down to the planet)!  And the best part?!  He was paid for it!

Once again, I find myself eating my words.  I am so proud of my mate!  He has officially written his first storyline for a video game!  And, surprisingly, I can’t wait to play it! 😉

A chance to begin anew

I know, you couldn’t resist reading this story with a title like that!  It was the year 2005, my first year as a 5th grade teacher.  My classroom was on the second floor of McKinley Elementary in Des Moines, Iowa, a school built in the early 1900’s.  I still miss the wooden floors and rocking chair that became my second home.  If you had told me, years before, that I would have ended up a teacher, I would have laughed in your face.  Literally.  It seemed too simple… too predictable.  But more on that later.

My first 5th grade class at McKinley Elementary in Des Moines, Iowa.  This was our yearbook photo.  All the other classes had pictures with students lined up in neat rows and the teacher standing guard.  Not mine.  This photo perfectly captures that magical and eventful year!

I was seated at the back of the classroom at a table with a group of six students.  For an hour and a half each day, our school practiced SSR (or, Sustained Silent Reading, for you non-educators).  The students I sat with were the most advanced, talkative bunch you can imagine.  We were reading Charlotte’s Web, and were at the part in our discussion where they each got to share connections they made from reading previous chapters.  With this particular brood, staying on track took extra effort.  McKenzie raised her hand and was the first to speak.  “Ms. G., I was reading this nonfiction book about animals the other day.  What are pig testicles?!”  she asked intently.

I stared blankly at her for about one second, my mind racing to think of the best words to use to respond to her.  No college textbook, manual or student teaching had prepared me for this particular inquiry.  Before I could speak, Jacob jumped in and said, utterly shocked, “You don’t know what pig testicles are?!”  McKenzie shook her head, no.

Jacob proceeded to cup his hands like he was holding two big, invisible water balloons and responded, “You know, hog nuts!”  McKenzie’s face immediately went from confusion to dumbfounded amazement.  “Oh…” was all she said in response.  And knowing that she now knew the meaning of pig testicles, we went on with our lesson.