Author: Kristin

I find that I think best when I write. If you choose to follow me, you will get a first-hand look at my thoughts as I contemplate life as a woman, wife, mother, daughter, writer, teacher, and follower of Jesus. Issues that seem to recur revolve around parenting, education, equity, chronic illness, and teaching.

Being Held

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been putting a lot of things together over the past couple of weeks — connecting a lot of dots — writing things down in indelible marker — trying to nail these lessons home.  But, even as I type this, I know that these are lessons I am going to have to learn over and over again.

I’ve written so many sentences, paragraphs, and blog posts about my soldiering — how I’ve marched through battles, brandishing weapons, kicking butts and taking names.  I’ve confessed that my years in the battlefield of my own making have wreaked havoc on my body.  I’ve vowed to put down my weapons and rest in the palm of the hand of God.  Yet, I gaze longingly at my fatigues that are propped up over in the corner.  I long to get back in the game, to live the life of my former self.

I mean, wasn’t it great? The camaraderie with the troops — working side-by-side to tackle issues like failing students, families in crisis, and new programs for success? The daily soldiering — lesson planning, writing exams, reading essays, and teaching grammar? The little skirmishes — with students, with parents, with colleagues? The victory parades — parent/teacher conferences, faculty parties, graduation?

Yes, it was great.

So what went wrong?  Why couldn’t I hang in there like some who have been marching for forty years or more? Why did I have to take my honorable discharge so early?

Perhaps because there is work for me in the reserves? Could I be as effective as a reservist as I was while on active duty?  Could I use the same skill set? Could I meet with a different population this way?

I mean, let’s be honest, I’m certainly not ready to retire. I have ideas, opinions, and strategies formulating in my mind all day long. Yet, it’s obvious that I can no longer sustain active duty.  A few hours of interaction with students and I am ready to put my feet up.  Sometimes I sit down at 3:00pm and don’t get up again for the rest of the evening.

Last Thursday as I lie on the bed at the physical therapy office, I heard the therapist say, “Your body is kind of twisted in on itself, as though you were holding yourself together so that you could move forward.”  I was silent as I thought about that for a moment. Actually, I keep thinking about that one sentence.

Perhaps the reason I couldn’t sustain forty years of teaching is because I exhausted myself in just ten years by simultaneously attempting to hold myself together while kicking butts and taking names. And don’t I feel foolish for attempting to do what has already been done? I could never hold myself together anyway. Nor did I have to.  I am, after all, being held together in the palm of His hand.

Silly me.  Let me get out that Sharpie.

Colossians 1:16-17

all things have been created through him and for him.17 He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

Held

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

We start out being held.  Securely nestled in our mother’s wombs, we are held.  Safe from harm, we are tucked away, invisible at first, but gradually becoming more evident.  As our mothers’ bellies expand, they start to hold us also with their hands.  They touch us as we move within the womb.  They rub the expansion of their abdomens.  They hold their bellies, supporting the ever-growing weight in anticipation of holding us in their arms.

And then, and then…they do hold us in their arms.  They swaddle us in blankets washed in gentle detergents then wrap their arms around us and hold us close to their hearts. Our fathers hold us, too.  With their large hands, they often look awkward as they gently, yet firmly, draw our tiny bodies close to examine us and whisper sweet messages of love.

Our parents hold us as we grow.  They hold us when they feed us.  They rock us to sleep.  They lift us out of danger.  They carry us because we cannot yet carry ourselves.

They hold our hands as we learn to walk, as we cross the street, when we are afraid, and when we need to be reigned in.

They hold the seat of the bicycle and tell us to “peddle, peddle, peddle” while they run beside us.

They teach us to hold on to their hands, the handlebars, and the steering wheel.

And all the time they are holding on, they are letting go.

They teach us how to stand on our own, how to walk without holding their hands, how to ride without training wheels.  They teach us to keep our eyes open, to look both ways, and proceed with caution.  Yet they also teach us to be brave, to take chances, and to trust our own judgment.

And if they are very wise, they teach us, as they are letting go, that we, and they, are always held.  We are held by Hands that we can’t see. We are carried through times when we can’t carry ourselves.  We are lifted out of harm’s way.  We are protected when we don’t look both ways.  We are guided to places where we have to be brave and take chances.  And all that while we are held.

Yet even if we taught by wise parents that we are held by these Hands, we think we can hold ourselves.  We think we are strong.  We stand up straight.  We set our jaws.  We believe that we can do anything.  We march forward, brandishing weapons, covering our vital organs, taking on battles that aren’t ours to fight.  We soldier through desolate times, thinking we are on our own, forgetting that we are held in the palm of great Hands.

And, we wear ourselves out.

Exhausted, we lie down and try to recover.  We sleep for a while, then wake to realize that we are resting in the palm of His Hand.

Even to your old age and gray hairs
    I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
    I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

Isaiah 46:4

Integrative Medicine

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

About a year ago I saw a doctor who practices integrative medicine for the first time.  Although I had experienced some progress through acupuncture, massage, and nutritional counseling while we were still living in St. Louis, I didn’t really know what integrative medicine was.  However, after almost three years of symptoms — fatigue, joint pain, psoriasis, and multiple issues with my eyes — and little help from traditional medical practice, I figured I had nothing to lose.

When I arrived at the office on the west side of Ann Arbor, I found it to be understated; it didn’t have all the glitz and glamour of the powerful University of Michigan.  It was a small suite of rooms in a strip mall.  The receptionist called my name, weighed me, took my temperature, found my blood pressure, and asked me to fill out some forms. Some of the forms looked familiar — family history, insurance information, etc. — but mixed in with those were others that were asking me questions no doctor had ever asked me before — questions about diet, mood, temperament, lifestyle, and sleep that went beyond the quantitative I had experienced in the past.

The doctor, an unassuming middle-aged woman, talked to me for over an hour.  She took notes, asked questions, examined me, and then gave me a place to start. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you might remember that last December I followed the Ultra Simple Diet on the recommendation of this doctor.  She ordered some blood work and also had me submit saliva samples — yes, saliva samples– to a lab to determine my level of adrenal functioning.

I followed her recommendations, and then — bam! — life got a little crazy at our house for a few months.  I kept eating wisely, but I worked too  much, lost track of my exercise plan, and stopped seeing this doctor.

By the end of summer, I had taken a few steps backward health-wise.  I had fallen into some of my old soldiering habits, ignoring my symptoms and pushing through for the sake of family, work, and, most honestly, selfishness.  My fall visit to my rheumatologist at the U was very disappointing.  I was told I had fibromyalgia and that I should find a doctor who would help me manage my symptoms.  Period.

Well, that was the impetus I needed to go back to the integrative medicine specialist.  I limped into the examination room complaining of pain, fatigue, and — a new one — hot flashes!  I was having up to eight extreme hot flashes during the day and that many again at night.  They stopped me in my tracks during the day and woke me out of a sound sleep at night. Furthermore, I was nearing hopelessness because of the verdict from rheumatology.

Step by step, Dr. Mary Greiner, addressed my concerns.  She used homeopathic medicines to address my symptoms. (Some other time I may write about how affordable these remedies are in comparison to pharmaceuticals.)  She also encouraged me to re-adopt my healthy practices of exercise and rest in addition to the dietary changes that I had been following — no gluten, no dairy, no soy.  And, she said I needed to get in to see a physical therapist in Chelsea, Michigan.  She said it would take me a while to get in to see her, maybe months.  However, I needed to see her because she is the one who could help me.   In fact, I’m pretty sure that Dr. Greiner recommended I see Marcy Boughton during that very first appointment almost a year ago.  I didn’t follow through initially, but finally around August, I called and made an appointment.  Last week I met Marcy for the first time.

Just like Dr. Greiner, Marcy listened to me for over an hour.  She wanted to know my physical history, yes, but she also wanted to know about major life events — my parents’ divorce, my experience with anorexia nervosa, the births of my children, our relocation to St. Louis, my reentry into the work force, and our relocation to Michigan. She wanted to hear how I had managed the stressors and, get this, she wanted to applaud my resilience.  Then, she wanted to affirm that this is a good time to allow my body some time to recover.

Yesterday, during our second visit, after having evaluated my personality type and some other socio-emotional factors, she had me listen to some audio teaching while she was gently applying pressure to assess my body’s needs and address some areas of concern.  Hers is a very gentle practice.  She felt my pulses as my acupuncturist had in the past.  She applied gentle pressure to my neck, my skull, my shoulders.  And, by touch, she found the most troubling area, my right hip.

As she applied gentle pressure to my femur, she played two audios.  The first spoke to my personality — my tendency to do, to achieve, to push, to take charge.  The audio celebrated the strengths of these traits — people like me get things done, they lead people, they have what seems to be unstoppable energy and enthusiasm.  However, the audio also identified the weakness — the tendency to overlook the interior, to neglect self-care, to lose touch with the personal.  The information I was hearing resonated.  On just the second meeting with this practitioner, the dots that I have seen clearly on the page, were being connected with an indelible black Sharpie. The second audio was the next step.  The speaker invited the listener to speak words of affirmation celebrating this driven personality — the strength, the vision, the ability to accomplish.  Then, it invited the speaker to heal, to acknowledge the areas that have been overlooked, to give myself permission to set down my weapons,  to slow down and be kind to myself.  As I listened, Marcy continued to apply pressure to that femur, gently attempting to release its torque.  When the audio was done, she said that during the second half of the second audio she was holding my femur when she felt a snap as though my femur broke and then repositioned itself. Interesting.

This is integrative medicine, folks.  I’m not going to tell you that my pain is gone today (although I will say I am no longer having hot flashes!). But, I’m feeling much better as a whole.  I feel like I am understanding myself — my whole self — a little more fully.  We are, after all, complex beings — we are body, soul, and spirit.  Addressing the needs of the body without attending to the soul and the spirit is, at best, a partial fix.

I’d like to tell you more of this story, but I’ve already used more than enough words for one day.  Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to tell you what I am learning about holding it all together.  For now, though, it’s enough to say that we are complex beings created by an even more complex Creator.

I Thessalonians 5:23

May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Reunited, and it feels so good! (Revisit)

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

As I prepare for family reunions this week and next, I share this post, written in November 2015 and dusted off in July 2019. It celebrates family and friends, and echoes some of the thoughts from last week’s post about eternity.

One of the blessings of moving back to Michigan has been the chance to reunite with people we hadn’t seen in a long time, or at least hadn’t seen as often as we would’ve liked to for a long time. I will never get tired of locking eyes with familiarity, embracing family, or laughing with dear, dear friends.

When we lived in St. Louis, a trip to see our parents, any of our parents, took thoughtful planning, time off work, and long hours in the car. Now that we are in Michigan, we can be with parents in as little as 2, 3, or 4 hours. And often, when we visit our parents, we get to see siblings as well. In fact, we have four siblings living in Michigan, plus three nieces and five nephews and their families! Since we’ve been back, we have been able to attend holiday celebrations, birthday parties, and informal gatherings with all of them! We’ve told ‘remember when’ stories that make our parents cringe and smile, re-filled plates with family reunion fried chicken, and snapped all kinds of squished onto the couch holiday photos. After ten years in another state, these moments have an added richness — the smell of home.

We’ve also been able to reunite with friends. Proximity has allowed us the privilege of seeing some we hadn’t seen for twenty years or more! Several months ago, my husband preached at the church where we were married– we saw friends who recalled when we were dating and remembered decorating our car after our wedding. Last month, we attended my high school homecoming festivities and laughed with friends I have known most of my life as we watched a classic small town parade of decorated tractors, candy-throwing school children, and the red and black clad high school marching band. Just two weeks ago some dear old friends brought their son for a campus visit and ended up joining us for dinner. Each visit, each connection, brings me joy — the familiarity, the shared experience, the expressions of love.

You know, I don’t remember being so happy to see these people before I couldn’t see them whenever I wanted to. When I was around them every day, I’m sure that I took their presence for granted. I know that I brushed people off, moved past them in haste, and was even annoyed by them from time to time.  But after having been away for so long, every reunion — yes, every reunion — is filled with smiles, hugs, joy, and gratitude.

This past weekend, my sister, who lives in Texas, flew into Detroit. We laughed and reminisced as we drove the familiar highways to our mother’s house where our brothers joined us for a weekend of eating, laughing, and casually hanging out together. We didn’t go to any events. We had no milestone to celebrate. We just had time to sit together, poke fun at one another, and hug each other. We shared stories as we sat around the kitchen table late into the night. We loved being with one another.

When I was a little girl, my parents would tuck me in at night and say prayers with me. When our prayers were finished, they would leave me to go to sleep, but instead I would think about what would happen “if I die(d) before I wake(d)”. Little-girl-me often worried herself frantic — what if “my soul” didn’t like where it was “take(n)”? Forever is a very long time! The immensity of eternity totally terrified me, and I was often afraid to fall asleep.

Sometimes still today I think about heaven and I get a little anxious — it’s unknown territory, isn’t it? But when I consider all the connections of the past year, all the visits with family and friends, I start to picture heaven as one big reunion.

I will see my great grandmother who is likely in charge of a particular mansion. She’s got it spotlessly clean — the beds made with freshly pressed 100% cotton sheets, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting through the hallways. I’ll see my grandfather who is very happy to be singing in four different choirs in between coffee and donut sessions with all of his friends. My grandmother will probably greet me, unassumingly, at the gates. She’ll smile her sweet smile, hug me, and ask what she can get for me. I’m pretty sure I’ll find my friend John laughing and telling colorful stories to his buddies, Twila buzzing around, cheering everyone up with her broad smile and tender heart, and dear Win, looking over her glasses at me and uttering sarcastically, “What took you so long?”

There will be so. much. hugging. And smiling. And laughing.

And then I’ll see Jesus himself.  

Although I haven’t met Him face to face, I know I will recognize Him the minute I see Him. He’ll be the one running to meet me, arms outstretched, smile wide, eyes sparkling. He will wrap me in His arms, and all my childhood (and adulthood) fears will fall away. The tears will be wiped from my eyes.

I won’t be afraid. After all of my travels, I’ll be with the ones I have loved, and I’ll finally be home.

Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God[a]; believe also in me. 2 My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

John 14:1-3

“

The overflow of the heart

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

“…on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak..”

Matthew 12:36

Well, didn’t that just stop me in my tracks this morning? I got up, brewed my tea, made my smoothie, and sat down to my Bible study thinking, “It sure would be nice to blog this morning…” I usually read my Bible study first, you know, so I don’t go off all half-cocked spouting nonsense as I have been wont to do.  I try to ground myself in Scripture before I let my fingers fly, hoping that they will be directed toward His purposes, at least a little bit.

But didn’t He just step into my process and say, “Well, you know, not many people can speak about careless words quite as authentically as you can, dear.” Oy.

Ok, ok, I admit it.  I have spoken a few careless words. Ok, fine.  I’ve spoken a few careless words every time I have opened my mouth. I just love to hear myself talk, apparently.  So things just fly out of me!  All kinds of things.  Careless things.  They fly out of my mouth so quickly I sometimes surprise myself.  When I say, “did I just say that out loud?” I really am asking out of disbelief.  I shock myself.

Sure, sure, over the years, through some very difficult ‘learning opportunities’ I have acquired an ability to filter.  Sometimes.  But often, a thought pops into my head and out of my mouth before I even know what happened.  I have tried and tried and tried to control my tongue.  But here’s the thing.  The problem isn’t with my tongue.  It’s with my heart.

Matthew asks, “How can you speak good, when you are evil?  For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”

Have you ever met someone who truly has a pure heart?  I actually have.  Perhaps you know someone like this.  They have something kind to say about everyone, in every situation.  And, guys, they aren’t being fake.  They really mean it!  They have compassion, understanding, patience, and true humility in their hearts. So, when they open their mouths, the words that come out are compassionate, kind, understanding, patient, and humble.

If you listen carefully to my words, you will occasionally hear kindness and sometimes compassion, but often what you will hear is judgment, cynicism, distrust, and impatience.  Our mouths reveal us for who we really are!  And, in my case, it can be downright embarrassing!  I really want to think the best of people.  I really want to be encouraging, but I look at a situation, toss it around with what is inside my heart, and out of my mouth comes what I am thinking.

So, what can I do? There is only one solution — a heart transplant.  Or at least reconstructive surgery.  God has been in the business of remodeling my heart for going on fifty years.  He’s done some miraculous work, actually.  That’s why I am, at times, able to open my mouth and offer encouraging, compassionate, and thankful words.  However, the full remodel won’t be done for quite some time, and occasionally I get trapped in one of the back rooms that haven’t been touched yet.  If you try to talk to me when I’m in there, I’m likely to spout frustration, anger, and even hate. It ain’t pretty.

I’ve got to learn not to walk into those areas alone.  When I go alone, all I can see are the problems — the holes in the wall, the stained carpets, the mold, and the broken windows.  But, when the Designer comes with me, He shows me all the work that He’s already done — He’s poured a new foundation, He’s demolished strongholds, He’s got a plan.  When He comes with me, all that frustration, anger, and hate melt away.  All I can see is His goodness and compassion — His ability to rebuild what was once deemed condemned.

At those moments, my heart is full of hope, love, and understanding; when I see the transformative power He has had in my life, I am able to humbly speak that transformative power into the lives of others.  However, when I wander off on my own, my heart gets full of fear, anger, and resentment.  And in those moments, if I’m careless enough to open my mouth, I’m likely to regret it.

Sounds like a simple problem to fix, doesn’t it?  Remind me of that later today when you hear me say something careless, will you?

He knew.

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

I was just sitting here thinking how amazing God is. If I didn’t believe He was active in my life before, He is making it impossible for me to doubt it now.

You want evidence? Ok.  Here is today’s evidence.  About a month ago a Saudi Arabian student contacted me through my Wyzant profile.  Would I please help her with her graduate work in English literature; she needed help with three classes.  She didn’t tell me what the classes were, but I said, sure, I would meet with her and see if I could help.

All she knew from my profile is that I have an MA in English, that I have taught high school and community college English, and that my specialty is composition.  She didn’t know that for all the years that I was teaching in St. Louis I was immersed in African American culture or that much of my graduate work focused on African American literature and literacy practices. She couldn’t have known of our links to the Jewish community through Cultural Leadership or of the fact that I had taught Holocaust literature as part of my senior seminar class. She had no way of knowing that one of the college-level classes I have taught for years is poetry. She couldn’t have known these things.

But God did.

He knew before she sent me that first message that I would be fascinated by the three syllabi she would hand me: Literature of the Romantic Era, Literature of the Holocaust, and Twenty-First Century African American Literature.  He knew I had background knowledge and a love for these subjects that would allow me to do more than merely proofread her essays.  He knew that I would be energized by entering into a conversation on Wordsworth’s use of blank verse.  He knew that I would be so interested in the portrayal of hegemony in Ishmael Reed’s Flight to Canada that I would likely purchase the book after reading about it in my student’s writing.  He knew that when she asked me if I could help her narrow down her research topic for her Master’s thesis my pulse would accelerate out of joy!

He knew.

And he connected us.  That is the only explanation for a young woman living worlds away from her home studying in a language not her own to be working side by side with a middle aged midwesterner in a small apartment in Ypsilanti.

The only reason.

Only God sees into her life and sees into my life and knows that we would make a great team.  Only God draws together two so seemingly different people for a common purpose.  Only God knows that I will likely benefit more from this relationship than she will.

Only God.

Ephesians 3:20-21

 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Students of the Week

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Eleven days since my last post?  How can that be?  What did I do with eleven days?

Well, a quick glance at the calendar tells me I’ve done a lot with eleven days.  We spent three of those days traveling to see a grand baby.  Two days were spent hosting our daughter and her boyfriend for a quick visit.  And the rest of the days?  Well, friends, I’ve seen a lot of students.  Wanna meet some of them?

Let’s see, maybe we’ll start with the youngest.  About six weeks ago, a mother contacted me and asked if I would work with her two daughters on writing; they are in the the third and fifth grades.  I told the mother that I typically only work with older students — as in high school and college — but she persisted.  So, I met these two little Chinese girls who I could easily carry around in my pockets with me, and I fell in love.  They are precocious — the fifth grader’s writing is laced with sarcasm and hyperbole; the third grader is wise and obedient, wishing that all of her classmates would see the error of their ways and comply with her teacher’s wishes as she does.  We work on writing and grammar and I try to absorb some of the academic pressure that their hardworking parents are piling on top of them.

Next in terms of age is a student that I have had almost from the beginning.  She is a a seventh grader who works closer to eleventh grade level.  The pressure from her Indian immigrant parents to do better/work harder is palpable, but she is able to resiliently shrug off what she can’t carry.  She steps to her own beat.  She wants to please her parents, of course, but she also knows what she does and doesn’t like.  Our challenge this past week was ignoring her deep ‘need’ to change the wallpaper on her laptop so that we could work on test prep exercises.  Yes, the seventh grader in her shines through.

I have another sister pair.  They are the fifth grade and eighth grade daughters of  a Taiwanese mother and an American father.  They have lived in China, Chicago, and little old Northville, Michigan.  They are bilingual, as are many of my students.  They are also quite bright.  Their parents, like so many others I have met this year, want their children to succeed academically, which means they will need supplemental instruction in Standard English, not because they don’t speak it very clearly, but because their parents don’t consistently model Standard English structures.  This seemingly small factor, can impact standardized test scores and hinder clear written communication.

I know; I started by saying I don’t typically work with younger students, then I introduced you to five.

I’ve got a couple of high school boys that I see weekly — same scenario as above — bright guys with international parents who need additional work in English.  These boys are taking honors classes, playing sports, and participating in myriad other pursuits, then sitting with me for an hour doing test prep, writing essays, and talking about sentence construction.  I don’t think I had this kind of work ethic in high school!

I also have adults.  I must say I love my adults.

The first is a twenty-year old whose first language is Farsi and second language is English.  He has struggled his whole life with reading and comprehension, so we are meeting twice a week to work on these skills.  He hopes to be one day be successful in college.

Then there is the thirty year old Brazilian woman living in California.  She and I meet online once a week to improve her writing.  She already has an American MBA, but she wants to become a blogger to promote her startup and to discuss issues of marketing.  Yes, as you can see, all of my students are slackers.

My other thirty year old is from Romania.  After twelve years in the country, she decided to become a nurse.  We spent four months preparing her for the pre-nursing exam. She passed the test and was accepted into a program. She’ll start in January, so we are meeting weekly to continue to improve her English skills.

My personal favorite at the moment is a young woman from Saudi Arabia.  She is here on the government’s dime to get a degree in English literature so that she can return to her country and teach in a university.  She’s taking three graduate level classes — Romanticism, Literature of the Holocaust, and 21st Century African American literature.  She reads, thinks, and writes about these very different topics.  I get to talk her through some of her ideas and make sure that her writing reflects what she is thinking.

This week I will meet a Hispanic man who is about to graduate from the University of Michigan.  He needs some support preparing for the Michigan teacher certification test, you know, since English is his second language.

Guys, I get to do this.  Each week I get to sit across the table from (or in front of the screen with) a person who I never would have come into contact with if I didn’t have a degree in English, years of teaching experience, and an online profile.

I am learning from each of them, perhaps more than they are learning from me.

Just a part of my life in this next chapter — way more than I could have ever hoped for.

Ephesians 3:20-21

20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Juxtaposition, re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

This post, written in October 2015, gets dusted off in October 2019 — I needed a reminder of my role.

The other day I was trying to explain the term ‘juxtaposition’ to a student. I think I said something like, “when we juxtapose two items, we set them side by side in an attempt to highlight their differences.”

I’m sitting here examining the glaring differences when I juxtapose my life with the life of Christ. It’s embarrassing, really. Especially when I consider myself to be not only a Christian, but a leader in the church. It’s humbling, and sobering, to think that others look to my husband and I as examples of what Christians should be.  In a perfect world, we would be mirrors that merely reflect the love and grace of God to all those around us. In reality, this mirror is warped, cracked, and positioned in such a way that the reflection is sometimes unrecognizable.

For example, yesterday, I pridefully posted on Facebook that I had used inappropriate language to deal with a medical insurance agent regarding some services for one of our children. “I showed her who was boss, yes I did.” As people liked that post throughout the day, I had a mixture of feelings — the satisfaction that others had experienced the same emotions that I had in similar experiences, the pride that I had written a post that others ‘liked’ (yes, I am that shallow), and, a hint of shame. “Really, Kristin, you are celebrating the fact that you resorted to low means to achieve your goal? Would you have had the same outcome if you had remained calm and gracious? Was it really necessary to get so charged up?”

Now, to be fair, the situation I was confronted with was a bit ridiculous.  A change in policy was, in my opinion, unjustified, irresponsible, and unnecessary.  However, did my response also need to be ridiculous?  And, after I had apologized to the innocent agent I was dealing with, did I really have to haughtily post my poor reflection of Christ for all the world to see?

Yeah, I’m often a poor reflection. Let’s juxtapose my behavior with an imagination of Christ’s reaction in a similar situation. He would be sitting in his office on the phone, calmly listening to the agent, asking questions, probably speaking directly into her life, picking up on nuances of her tone and reaching out to her need. He might ask who He could talk to about this recent policy change, but would He raise his voice? utter a vulgarity? or celebrate His breech of character on social media?

I doubt it.

When we juxtapose ourselves with perfection we find ourselves looking like a hot mess, because indeed we are hot messes. And that is why, my friends, God is the covenant keeper. (See my recent post “Didn’t He do it?”) We can’t keep the covenant. We can’t keep our commitment to be image bearers for Christ because we are a bunch of warped, cracked, misshapen mirrors. We reflect His image poorly. All the time. Even when we think we are getting it right.

And yet, every once in a while, He uses these imperfect mirrors, tips them at just such an angle so that others get a glimpse of His fabulousness.  And in those moments, we don’t haughtily post on Facebook, but we drop to our knees in humble gratitude for having a front row seat.  Because when we juxtapose ourselves with Christ, and take our eyes off of our own imperfection, we see what true perfection looks like. And we are amazed.

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.”

I Corinthians 13:12

This is Now

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

I wonder how many times I am going to write the same content in this blog before I finally get it.

I’m knocked down again, because I was probably trying to do too much.

We had dinner with friends last week.  The couple asked me, “So how are you feeling?” I answered, “Well, I was doing great until I sat on the bleachers in the cold at the football game for three hours.” That was nine days ago.  Yes, it can be something that little.

I went on to explain the frustration I have with this because I used to be able to do so much.  So much.  But, as I’ve written so many times in this blog — that was then, this is now.

I knew I was in trouble last weekend when I had difficulty moving around the day after the football game.  We went to church then came home and rested.  I fussed and whined for a bit, then my husband suggested we go for a walk.  Movement always helps.  After we walked, we came home to make it an early night.

I didn’t adjust my schedule last week to allow myself time to recover, after all, I teach two hours three days a week and see a few students outside of that.  What would I need to pare down? I am already pared way down.   So, I was moving a little slowly, big deal.  Surely I could still teach and see a few students.

Well, a few students turned into ten hours of tutoring.  Add that to six hours in the classroom and five to six hours of prep and I still had a work week that was fewer than twenty-five hours.  However, we also went to dinner and a play on Thursday night. Then, we drove to a neighboring town on Saturday for a wedding.  Yesterday we spent the morning at church.  Finally, I uncharacteristically agreed to meet two students on Sunday evening.

And this morning? Well, I pried myself out of bed at 8:00am to take my meds and send messages to my doctors to see what I can do about the fact that I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.  My body aches– neck, hips, knees, back. My eyes are the worst — aching, irritated, sensitive to light. And fatigue?  Yeah.  I’ve made a promise to myself that I will shower at 11 this morning so that I am on time for my noon class. I will probably force myself to stay dressed long enough to drive out and refill my medication at the pharmacy, otherwise I won’t have pain meds tomorrow morning.  And, I will likely make an agreement with myself that I am only allowed to watch television and crochet if I do twenty minutes of Pilates first.

And, I know I’ve got to do some preparing because I have four students tomorrow — one who is new.  Wednesday I teach and then I will see four more students. And even that, folks, is sounding like a lot right now.

It sounds like a lot to a girl who used to arrive at school before 7am, prepare for students or attend meetings until 8, teach, observe other teachers, mentor students, run with the cross country team, and still go home to make dinner, do laundry, and attend events with the family.

That was then, this is now.

I have to remind myself of what I wrote just a few days ago.  This opportunity to slow down has afforded me the time to reflect and find meaning in the ways that I have lived my life for the past forty-nine years. This new pace, this pace of now, is a blessing and an opportunity.

But today I don’t like it. At all.

Psalm 55:17

Evening, morning and noon I cry out in distress, and he hears my voice.

Didn’t He Do It?

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

It dawned on me yesterday that I’ve been a little hard on myself in this blog lately.  Not unjustifiably so, but still…

Sometimes people comment that they find my willingness to ‘bare it all’ refreshing.  I guess we should thank my stepmother.  (Are you reading this, dear?)  Years ago I used to write a Christmas letter proclaiming all the wonderful things that had happened to our family throughout the year. You know the kind: My husband’s job was going great.  My life was picture perfect.  Our children were gifted and talented (really, they were!), and nothing could have gone better!  Really!

After having sent one such letter, we were visiting my father and my stepmother. In my memory, my stepmother was standing next to a pile of Christmas letters when she said something like, “I can’t hardly bare to read one more letter about how perfect someone’s life was this year!”  I have no memory of the rest of that visit.  That’s it.

I never wrote a letter the same way again.  In fact, for the past several years, I haven’t even penned one.  I can’t bring myself to do it!  Of course I want to gush about all the good stuff from the year, but it doesn’t hardly feel honest if I don’t also include the struggles!  And, as you know, our struggles are many!

I really didn’t set out to write a blog that was a baring of my soul.  In fact, if you go back to day one, I believe I was just mystified, and a little scared, about the major change I was going through — leaving a career to move to a place of stillness — and I needed an avenue to process it.  Little did I know that this season of rest would afford me some soul-searching time to process not only this change, but perhaps the last forty-nine years of my life!!

Although all this processing has been, at times, difficult, it is one of the most precious opportunities I have been afforded in my life.  After all that trudging and surviving, I now have a chance to look back and find meaning in all of it.  Really, all of it. Now, as you know if you read my blog regularly, all of the meaning ain’t what they call ‘cute’.  Some of the stuff I have done and lived through is down right ugly, mostly due to my own choosing.   And that’s where yesterday’s Bible study comes in.

The battalion and I are reading Malachi, but we took a brief field trip to Genesis yesterday to ‘watch’ the covenant between God and Abram (Genesis 15).  As was the way of covenants, God directed Abram to cut a number of animals in half and spread them on the ground.  Our Bible teacher, Lisa Harper, told us that way back in the day, the covenant makers would both walk through this bloody mess in their bare feet as a way of signifying their agreement to keep whatever promise they were making.  The blood on their feet was to show that if they didn’t keep their end of the agreement, then they would expect to be cut in half just like these animals — killed as their payment for failure to keep the promise.  Harper went further to say that in those days, if a poor man was making a covenant with a wealthy man, the wealthy one was not required to walk through the bloody mess.  After all, he had all ability to ‘pay back’ any debt or make up any loss that might be incurred if he didn’t follow through with the agreement.  The poor man, however, had nothing but his life as collateral.  He had to put his life on the line.  Now, when God directed Abram to arrange the bloodied animals on the ground, He did not also require Abram, the poor man, to walk through.  No, He told Abram to go to sleep.  And, while he was sleeping, while he was helpless, God Himself walked through the bloody mess, promising to pay with His own life if either participant in the covenant couldn’t follow through on the agreement. And, as my friends in St. Louis like to say, ‘didn’t He do it?’

God knew that Abram (and I) was poor and weak.  He knew that Abram (nor I) could hope to keep any kind of covenant.  He knew that Abram (and I) would make his own arrangements to create a legacy, to work out the details, to figure it out by himself when it seemed that God was not acting.  And still, still, He walked through that bloody mess knowing that He would keep the covenant — both sides of the covenant — for Abram (and for me).

And didn’t He do it?

When I have been unfaithful, hasn’t He been faithful?  When I have gone my own way, hasn’t He pursued me?  When I have soldiered on, hasn’t He protected me from myself.  When I have demanded my own way, hasn’t He watched and waited with open arms. When I have refused to call on Him, didn’t He send messenger after messenger into my path.  When I continued, didn’t He gather me up and carry me to a place of rest so that I could take a long look at how He has kept His covenant relationship with me?

Indeed He has, He did, He will.

Psalm 51:12

Restore to me the joy of your salvation

and uphold me with a willing spirit.