Ms. Jenna Nicole Seagraves

February 25, 1985 – December 4, 2008

Our precious and beloved daughter, Jenna, died in a tragic auto accident early Thursday morning in Greenville, NC. Jenna was born in Charlotte to proud parents David and Kim Seagraves of Harrisburg. She now walks those streets of gold in Heaven with her cherished Nana, Charlotte Layton Tarlton, and MawMaw Louise Seagraves. Jenna graduated Summa Cum Laude from Central Cabarrus High School in 2003. She was a Carolina Teaching Fellows scholar and graduated from The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill this past Mother's Day with a Bachelor of Arts in English and Minors in Creative Writing and Christianity & Culture. She was currently pursuing her Master of Arts in Teaching at East Carolina University in Greenville. She was to begin her student teaching at Roanoke High School in Robersonville in January.

Jenna had a love for life and people that surpassed many her age. She was very active in her church youth group and loved her many summers spent at The Masters Inn. Jenna was a mentor and tutor to many inner-city children and spent her senior year Christmas holiday on a medical mission trip to Haiti, which dramatically changed her outlook on life. Collecting and distributing clothing with Operation Warm-up for the children of Appalachia was an annual passion of hers. She felt that her life was truly blessed and after a summer in Europe wanted to return one day and teach English in Great Britain. Jenna studied abroad at The University of Manchester, England where she met many life-long friends. She had powerful influences to teach from her dearly loved Bible teacher, Ms. Amy Hicks, her AP English teacher, Mr. Gary Mace and Honors English teacher Mr. Keith Maletta.

Jenna leaves behind to grieve her early departure from this world many friends whom she loved deeply. Survivors include her parents, two sisters, Terri Seagraves and Kerri Seagraves, many aunts, uncles, and cousins she held close to her heart, and her dearest Uncle Johnny Bryant and his wife Tracie and their precious daughter Sophie.

Visitation will be held at McEwen Funeral Services at Sharon Memorial Park 5716 Monroe Rd., Charlotte on Saturday, December 6, 2008 from 3:00 PM-5:00 PM. Funeral service will be held there on Sunday, December 7, 2008 at 2:00 PM. The Reverend Dr.Terry Faulkenbury and her Youth Pastor Pete Rusch will officiate the service. Interment will follow at Sharon Memorial Park.

Memorials may be sent to Carolina Cares About Haiti, through Partners In Health, http://www.pih.org/youcando/donate.html or the NC Eye Bank 3900 Westpoint Blvd., Suite F, Winston Salem, NC 27103. Because of her selfless act two people are able to see the world again through her beautiful brown eyes. Rest peacefully my Precious Little Angel From Heaven. “I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be.”

Please visit www.MeM.com to watch a video in memory of Ms Seagraves and sign the online registry.

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This was the last paper Jenna wrote. She turned it in to her professor and less than a day later she met her Sweet Jesus, face to face.

Jenna Seagraves

Engl 6630-Studies in the Process of Composition

Essay 4: This I Believe Final Portfolio

12/2/08

[email protected]

[email protected]

This I Believe: God Gave Me One Life to Live

For ten days I lived life in a small village, St. Martain, Haiti. I went with doctors, nurses, and dentists to bring not only medical supplies to the people, but also the Word of God. Each day presented an opportunity for me to show God’s love through medical assistance. In addition, I played with the children, taught the people English, sang and danced with the adolescents, and loved on the orphans. One three year old orphan wasn’t sure how to give kisses, not receiving them himself, so to show his love, he would put his open mouth on my cheek. Ridden with scabies, I was the only one who gave him affection and he would kick his legs in happiness when I hugged him. On Sunday the people took us to church, and even though I couldn't understand the Creole hymns, I was moved to tears because God was in that place; English, French, Creole, no matter what language, His presence moved among us. These people were starving and yet they gave us all the food they had to make sure we were fed and taken care of. I was humbled.

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life--John 3:16--my personal motto. Each day I live by my faith, the Christian faith, that testifies Jesus died for my sins, and by believing that, I may have entrance to Heaven. Each day I live according to the Bible’s guidelines in the best way I know how. Each day I live in hopes to be a personal witness for the Lord. This, I believe, fulfills my life and makes me the person I am. Every day presents itself as an opportunity for adventure. Everyday provides another chapter in life, a life that is only lived once. So every day, I live to my greatest potential, taking advantage of every opportunity in order to write the best chapter I can. Life is a gift given to me by God, a gift I don’t want to squander, a gift I appreciate, the best gift anyone could give. I’ve received this great gift and plan on wearing it out, living life to the fullest.

In living life to the fullest, this I believe: live each day as though it were your last. Everyday I look for new ways to mold the person I am. If I only live once, why not try (almost) everything once, creating ways to shape myself into a better person. By doing so, my life is unique, a life no one else can live. However, I strive to set an example for those who waste what God gave them. I want to show everyone that no matter what obstacles block your path, you can overcome them, and become stronger. Everyone has hindrances; that’s no excuse for not truly living. God provides a way out.

I encourage everyone to live their lives as though they were dying. Life is too short not to believe in something, not to live for something. Every day I try to do something new, learn something new, make a new friend, or do something for others, all while having God as my role model. I would tell anyone to do the same.

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Life’s Companion

Between a jacket of green

Stories of faith I have seen

Providing life after death

Through divine salvation’s breath

Smelling of moths and sage

God’s scent seeps from each page

Though dimpled and callous to touch

Reading you has taught me much

Engraved on the front is my name

For, of the Lord, I’m not ashamed

You were a gift given in love

His words thrown from above

-JNS 12/08

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Haitian Thoughts, from America

Oh, to be in Haiti

Where my heart belongs,

And whenever I think of Haiti,

My soul fills with joyful songs,

About the days I spent where the sun is always bright,

Where the stars shine clear as fire, deep within the night,

While the friendly people talk and laugh aloud-

In Haiti-now!

Small island country where it’s warm year ‘round,

Wild animals and playing children are a comforting sound.

The blue, green ocean roars up to a rocky terrain,

You think of the serenity and how there’s no place the same,

Its mist spraying your face; closing your eyes in thought,

This land of paradise forever is sought.

Beautifully peaked mountains run into the shoreline,

Sunsets on the water; colors flowing of bright orange and wine.

Accepting natives flock to your side with curious sincerity,

Welcoming any who tread on their shared land; speaking by actions, with clarity.

Blossoms of flowers and palm trees that hover,

Thoughts from afar, a true Haitian lover.

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My Momma’s Arms

Hold me Momma

and ease this pain away;

like when I was young

and endured monthly injections:

the burning penicillin that filled the needle,

who’d then spit fire into my tense, little hip.

And now I’m a woman

who needs your soothing comfort

more than ever.

Rock me Momma

and wipe these tears away;

like when I was a child

and that tiny night light would burn out,

encouraging my youthful imagination

to overtake my developing senses.

And now I’m an adult

who needs your cradling arms

more than ever.

Hug me Momma

and kiss these trying times away;

like when I was small

and you’d change the urine-colored sheets

without mocking or scolding me,

as my shame hid behind frustrated eyes.

And now I’m a grown-up

who needs your understanding

more than ever.

Sometimes I dream

that you’ve slipped into my room,

like when I lived at home,

and have stolen secret kisses from my unknowing face;

that you’ve held me and whispered:

Ill love you forever

I’ll like you for always

As long as I’m living

My baby you’ll be.

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Wake Up

My eyes close

and your face appears

behind my eyelids.

“When you wake…”

you sing to me,

curled in your lap

playing baby games.

My mind sings it

back to you.

But you wake,

curled in God’s lap.

You didn’t tell doctor to

be careful?

Because he hurt you.

And nicked my heart

with his scalpel.

Now I’m hemorrhaging,

slowly—

much slower

than you did.

But you won’t be here

to see me

bleed out

in lavender blues and greens.

Instead,

you prepare a place for me,

checking its ons and offs,

over and over and over again.

Comforted,

I open my eyes

and walk

through the pain;

thankful

that each step

is one

closer to you.

-JNS 11/08/07

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Jenna Seagraves

2-11-02

Earth Angel

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s wrong,” I mouthed across the room, my eyes filling with tears. “Help me, oh Lord.” Everything from that first day in Raleigh was flashing before my eyes-- playing with the children, falling in love with these kids who were a whole world apart from me, though only a few hours from my home…

…It was supposed to be a spiritually humbling experience, coming and spending four days with the children of inner city Raleigh-- children who were extremely poor, living in conditions that we had never been exposed to. Some of us expected the characteristic “hoodlums”, with no money, just the typical inner city child who would not care we had taken time from our summers to come visit them. Personally, I felt this would be a time for me to become closer with Greg, the boy I liked, and to gain some respectable social time with my friends, and maybe even feel a hint of God working in me. These months of preparation, learning skits, songs, planning puppet shows and witnessing techniques, would all be in vain because my heart did not have the right attitude. After arriving, though, I realized how much more this trip was.

Day one was spent at an apartment complex, unlike any I had ever seen before. As if unloading at a public grocery store across the street for safety reasons wasn’t enough; we were told not to wear bandanas or solid color shirts because of the gang affiliations, or jewelry because it might get stolen. Many thoughts ran through my head: Would I be the one who needed the help and not these children after all? How could anyone live in a place like this, with “gang-bangers”, drug dealers, abusive parents, and the lack of food? But the children, who ranged in ages two to seventeen, didn’t notice that we were better off than them; they just knew we were here to present the Gospel, like numerous other groups who had done the same that summer. What would set us apart? These kids, though hard for society to love and accept, were so easy for me to latch onto, despite the dirt, disease, and malnutrition. All day the little ones who were asking me for what little jewelry I was wearing, ended up asking for things more important, such as piggy back rides, to be held, love and affection.

Caring for the kids was not difficult, because they already accepted us, even though we were the fourth or fifth group who had done the same thing for them this summer. They clung to us in the 90-degree weather and would not let go. I couldn't’t help but think where they held all that love they shared with us. Some begged for food, others for water, others just begged for us to stay forever. It was amazing to me how many already knew all about God and the stories we shared with them and weren’t resentful for the situation they were in. It was emotionally wrenching, especially for me, and it was only the first day.

Hours later, after playing in the scorching heat, it was finally time to gather in this one run-down, shoddy apartment with a few seats, known as the “community center,” to learn songs and play games. I had befriended one four year old named Marqueta, who was not only underweight but had scabies, a severe rash which infiltrates a dirty body. It was hard to get to know her because she was reluctant, but after I had broken through her shell we were inseparable. She sat on my lap in that tiny, cramped apartment room with no air conditioning, while the others sang. We had managed to squeeze at least forty people in that room, so no matter where you looked there was a small child singing praises to God. As she was sitting there, she began to get tired and laid down in my arms. When I looked down, I expected to see a little girl who was falling asleep, but instead I saw a child with eyes open, rolling back in her head, her mouth wide open and tongue hanging out. Was she dying, dehydrating, having a seizure? I was frightened and frantically searched the room for eye contact, desperately in need of someone who would actually know what to do. After mouthing a few words to a friend of mine, Michael, I stood up and started as fast as I could to the door with little children hindering each step I took. After handing Marqueta to the nearest adult I broke out of that room, feeling the hot sun dancing on my skin, beating down on my tear stained face.

Sitting down on some nearby steps all I could think was, “Why, Lord, why? Why her and not me? Why any of them and none of us?” But that day had been the answer to my questions: Without the two different situations we were in, how could God have worked through us for them. How could He be seen in us if we were not humbled? How could He deliver His children if there was nothing to deliver them from? How could we teach the message of salvation if God hadn’t sent his Son for everyone, not just those who were blessed with money.

Looking around, I thanked God for all that had been given to me and wondered how I could ever complain. I thought about all the love that had been shown to me and wondered how I could ever feel alone. From that moment I knew I would give as much as I could to God and would be grateful for all I had. Although I knew I would stumble, He would give me strength like He had, and still does, these children. These kids were giving all they had from nothing, so I needed to be faithful in giving all I had from something. Although, come to find out, she was only falling asleep, my little Earth Angel taught me a valuable lesson that day. If only she knew and maybe someday she will.

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Living By Example

Jenna Seagraves

3/17/2003

Freshmen Orientation ‘99. Anxiously following my parents around this whole new world of opportunities, I made my way into what was going to be my Old Testament class. Outside the school, in a small trailer, I met the woman who would become my confidante, my teacher, my role model, and, from the very beginning, my friend.

Mrs. Amy Hicks, as I quickly learned, was by far the most well known elective teacher at Central Cabarrus High School. I couldn't’t go anywhere without hearing praise after praise on her adept teaching abilities and vivacious personality. “That crazy Mrs. Hicks, always making us laugh,” or “You’ll love her! She is the best teacher I’ve ever had.” Sometimes it was just a simple “Ooohh! You have Mrs. Hicks!?!” Her reputation preceded her.

Forever glowing with the blinding fire of God, Mrs. Hicks seemed to radiate the same flame that had filled the temple a thousand years ago. Always doused in khakis and a sweater shirt or vest, she was a walking spitfire grill. Only she could pull off the ‘ink pen on the lanyard’ look, and if by some mishap she were to come into class without her trademark, it must have only meant hell had frozen over.

Fair skin and freckles, her welcoming smile always held an invitation for hugs. Millions of hugs has she shared over the years, and oh how lucky I am to have been able to steal a few of those rejuvenating embraces. With curly blonde hair atop a warm face, Mrs. Hicks’ glasses serve as a window to her soul; her eyes revealing every emotion and how much she loves what she does.

I do not think there was one day of her class when we did not walk out learning something new, or had not partaken in some novel, creative teaching tactic to draw us all in. Because of the array of students Mrs. Hicks teaches, none of which she is partial to and all of which she accepts for who they are, she always needed an attention grabber to keep us all focused. Attention grabbers are what we definitely got. Rolling down hills reenacting Biblical battles, horseradish root eating contests, holiday celebrations, and project after project, worksheet after worksheet, hand motion after hand motion-every one of which I would relive over and over if it meant being in the “hut” just another day, or being able to have just one more conversation about life, about her son Daniel, or just about events going on in the world.

Throughout my freshmen year I would eat lunch with her and she would just sit and listen to me talk about my problems after an unfortunate incident had occurred in my life. She became my counselor, and I shared many deep secrets with her, most of which have escaped my memory, for it seems it has been forever ago since that first year with her as my educator, now confidante.

Throughout my sophomore year, she was my teacher. Not going through any life changing events, Mrs. Hicks served as the breath of fresh air from the continuing struggle of horrible teachers and even more horrible classes. I would escape into her classroom and wonder why not all teachers were like her, realizing not every teacher was her. That year I realized there is only one Mrs. Hicks, only one ray of sunshine in the rainstorm of high school.

Although I had Mrs. Hicks my freshman and sophomore years, it wasn’t until my junior year she made the great impact on my life that I never saw coming. First semester, because of a mess up in my class scheduling, it was fate that I was a computer lab assistant, and by God’s wonderful plan, I had Mrs. Hicks trailer on my daily folder collection route. Being a part time teacher, Mrs. Hicks had no fourth period but I knew if I were to get to her trailer fast enough she would still be there, cleaning up after her class the remains of the miraculous wonders she had performed for her students. Day after day I would embark on the voyage to enlightenment, for every conversation I shared with Mrs. Hicks I never returned without booty of knowledge.

One day was particularly rough. Filled with stress from my classes and the pressure from my dad to succeed, I was sulking as I came to her trailer only to find out it was locked. Not being in her usual spot made me a little irate, for I needed to talk to Mrs. Hicks, wanting advice and consolation. As though she felt I needed her, she appeared treading through the double doors. Seeing the look on my face Mrs. Hicks embraced me in conversation, hoping to help, and offered an invitation to a class that, although was not necessarily life altering, would in time have a life altering effect.

“Hey Jenna. What’s going on girl?” Being careful not to intrude, Mrs. Hicks was calm enough so I could tell she was vicariously feeling my pain, but chipper enough to let me know she was there if I needed to talk.

Knowing that she would be able to offer some sort of comfort, I put my feelings of angst aside. I didn’t want her to think of me as an infant, whining for its bottle, becoming irrational every time a situation arose that was not particularly enjoyable. Reserved, I began to talk to her as the friend and confidante she had been from the beginning.

“Well, Mrs. Hicks, I’m having somewhat of a bad week.”

“What’s wrong?” Simple but invitational.

“I’m struggling in one of my classes. My dad doesn’t seem to realize that I can not excel in every area. Don’t get me wrong, my dad is great and in some ways if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be doing as well as I am today, but I’m just so stressed out and I’m not use to failure…” I trailed off because I knew I had begun rambling and my petty problems were probably nothing compared to those of such an extraordinary woman.

Shifting her weight onto one leg, talking with her hands, and giving me that look that she gave when she was concerned, Mrs. Hicks spoke to me as an equal, not a subordinate.

“Jenna, by no means does your dad not understand how you feel but he can not lower his expectations, giving you permission to do less than what you’re capable of. No, maybe you’re not capable of making an A or understanding everything this class throws at you, but he knows you can work hard and attain a grade that will at least please you.” At this point I felt like I was talking to my dad. What she said, in some form or another, was the same thing my dad told me; yet, somehow, hearing it from her didn’t make my blood boil, like it did the millions of times I listened to him preach the same sermon. Her words didn’t make me want to yell “Help me, don’t lecture me!”

“Your dad wants the best for you and sometimes he doesn’t know how to show it. You just have to understand how wonderful you are. I’ve noticed he’s always held you to a higher standard, but it’s because you can reach it. You can do it. You are capable. You’re going to get through this, like everything else, and realize you could do it all along.”

Sinking into a hole, I felt ridiculous for not thinking that myself. I had been blinded by my anger and contempt for my dad, bitter because he had not been understanding. Taking off my blinders, Mrs. Hicks showed me that he was helping in the way he knew how. After all these years of carrying this burden on my back, it was lifted. My dad wasn’t the Egyptian master; I wasn’t the Jew in bondage. And in that simple conversation Mrs. Hicks had opened my mind to my dad’s side, aiding me in a private session of anger management, because from then on, I took a deep breath and thought before I lashed out at him. Whenever he would perform his ‘I know’ presentation for me, his eternal audience, I knew that it wasn’t because he knew more than I did. He was my father and I was his daughter ‘in whom he was well pleased.’

“Thanks Mrs. Hicks, you’re right,” was all I could whisper. In her loving way, she unconsciously taught me yet another lesson, however small it was to her or to someone else, it was an immense discovery in my eyes.

Because of that semester of daily chats, I was able to be in yet another one of her classes the following semester with a little help from her and a little bit of schedule arranging. That second semester of my junior year I entered her class as one of the youngest and in the smallest class she had ever had. Everyday was another journey in Advanced New Testament, another stepping stone. Each one of us was an element, Mrs. Hicks the chemist. I can not think of another class where I felt like I belonged, where I had more fun, or where I learned more.

Following her teaching and personal ethics, and by her example, I know teaching is what I want to do. Her wisdom surpasses that of Solomon’s, her love surpasses that of Mother Theresa’s, and her understanding surpasses that of Dr. Phil. To be able to touch the lives of others and provide a haven for every student in my classroom like she has, is all I dream of doing. Teachers, more or less, hold the key to a child’s future, and Mrs. Hicks carries the key to the door of my life in her heart.

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