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, ministry, chronic illness, and teaching.

Mentally Speaking

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

I’ve spent considerable space on this blog sharing my journey with my invisible illness -autoimmune disease, but very little space with another invisible malady I’ve wrestled with — mental illness.

Why is that?  Why am I so open with sharing about my physical struggles, but very closed about sharing those that are mental? Probably because some of you have already cringed or gasped — “Mental illness?  Really?” It’s not your fault; for generations struggles of the psychological kind have been steeped in stigma and judgment.  People ‘go crazy’, are ‘whacko’, and find their way to the ‘looney bin’. Right?  If we have struggles of a mental nature, we tend to keep them hush-hush.  You know, people won’t understand.

But do you know why people don’t understand?  Because everyone keeps it hush-hush.

Just recently a friend of mine recalled that back in the 1980s I was the first person she knew who openly shared my struggle with an eating disorder.  That’s right, I talked about it.  Why?  I had to.  I had kept my illness a secret and it had almost destroyed me.  Part of my recovery was to speak the truth of my struggle.  I didn’t have a lot of finesse.  I remember I was in the cafeteria line at college grabbing some fruit and a Diet Coke.  One of my professors said to me, “What’s the matter, are you anorexic?”  I looked him in the eyes and said, “Yes, I am.”  Poor guy, I doubt that he had any idea what I was struggling with until that moment.  Shortly thereafter, I resigned my RA position and moved off campus.  When people asked why, I said, “I have to deal with my eating disorder.”  I couldn’t hide it; I had to expose it.

More recently, I entered therapy for continuing depression.  In fact, I met with a psychotherapist for about eight years.  My time on a couch saved my life and improved the lives of almost everyone who interacted with me.  I am not one to put my personal life on blast, but if someone brought an issue to me or asked for my advice, I never hid the fact that I was in therapy and that it was the best investment I had ever made in my life.  Nor do I hide the fact that I take anti-depressants.  Why should I? If you are on antibiotics do you hide that?  How about blood pressure medication?  Of course not.  No one would judge you if you had a physical illness that required medication.  Nor should they judge you if you need a medical intervention for your mental health.

It’s 2015 and scientists have long ago proven a biological component to some types of depression.  In fact, there are genetic links to all kinds of mental illness.  No longer do we believe that mental illness is purely demonic.  That is not to say that the devil is not alive and well and wreaking havoc on all mankind — he is.  But he does it all in kinds of ways that don’t carry the same stigma as mental illness.

And here’s the thing, when we attach guilt or shame to mental illness, we give it more power than it should have.  Depression becomes depression plus shame.  Anxiety becomes anxiety plus guilt. If you’ve experienced mental illness, you know that it doesn’t stop there.  All kinds of emotions get attached to what could have been easily addressed as one issue.  The problem grows and the afflicted feels more and more helpless, draws into herself, and begins to feel that there is no way out.

That’s like letting a cold turn into bronchitis which complicates into pneumonia and lands you in the hospital!  What could have been treated with rest and fluids has become a life-threatening illness requiring acute care.

Sometimes that happens, though.  And, if you get pneumonia, you are rushed to the hospital, given IV antibiotics, and ordered to rest.  Friends and neighbors rush to your house with chicken soup, bouquets of flowers, and offers to help with the chores and the kids.  So why is it when mental illness reaches acute levels and — gasp — someone has to be hospitalized, we tiptoe around, whispering in hushed tones, trying to ‘not notice’ what is going on?  Doesn’t someone hospitalized for mental illness need just as much, if not more, help than someone hospitalized with a medical illness?

Yes, she does. And she shouldn’t be made to feel shame for it.

We are complex beings.  God created us with body, mind, and spirit.  Our bodies get sick.  Our minds get sick.  I would venture to say that our spirits get sick, too. Why? Because we are human and we live in a fallen world.  We will continue to struggle with imperfection until we die.

So, let’s not make it worse than it is, ok? Illness is illness.  It all needs a remedy.  We pray, yes.   We use the resources that God has put at our disposal.  And, whenever possible, we support one another through the difficult times.  Understood? Good.

I Thessalonians 5:23

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

Galatians 6:2

Bear one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ.

We’re not all the same…

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

I’m sitting here today thinking about people. We –people, that is — spend a lot of time differentiating ourselves from others.  I am older than you. You are taller than me.  He is smarter.  She is prettier.  They are richer. We are whiter. You are conservative. I am liberal. He is straight. She is gay. We are continually looking for differences and trying to find a way to situate ourselves amid the masses.

It’s identity formation and clarification.  That’s all.  It’s a natural part of our development. It starts when we are young and, from what I can tell, it never stops.

I remember being a young girl and wanting to find friends who were just like me.  I wanted friends who enjoyed the same toys, the same music, and the same choices in clothing.  I found them!  They affirmed me!  They liked what I liked.  We had fun together!  We enjoyed each other.   That was fine.

Later when I went away to college, I discovered many people who were very different from me.  I didn’t understand them, and, at my loss, I mostly stayed away from them.  I continued to seek sameness and found security in hanging out with people who, for the most part, shared my values, my upbringing, my appearance, and my interests.

As I entered my professional life, I found myself thrust among people who were very different than me.  My students and coworkers were from different backgrounds — racially, financially, spiritually, and culturally. I didn’t have an option any longer to ‘stick to my own kind’.  I had to mingle.

Let me tell you what mingling has done for me — it has changed me.  Over the past couple of decades I have rubbed shoulders with all kinds of people.  They have challenged my thinking about almost every topic on earth. I have questioned my opinions on politics, education, religion, faith, sexuality, marriage, parenthood, finances, music, television, literature, media, law enforcement, and many other topics because of my relationships with people who are different from me.

No, I’m not wishy-washy. In fact, I’m pretty hard-headed.  I don’t change easily.  But questioning my opinions has sharpened me.  Questioning my opinions has made me address some internal bias.  Questioning my opinions has pushed me to seek God and his wisdom.

Here’s what I know: We were not all created the same.  God is creative — He made all kinds of people.  And here’s the thing, He never classified any human as greater than another – with the exception of Christ himself.  He didn’t say thinner was better than fatter.  He didn’t say richer was better than poorer.  He didn’t say male was better than female, or even, (gasp), that Republican was better than Democrat.  He created all things good — snakes and elephants, oceans and swamps, men and women, Asian and Hispanic, and on and on.

I, for one, have had to get off my high horse and admit that I am no better than another.  I have also had to scrape myself out of the gutter and say I am not less than any other.

I have had to remind myself that the most annoying student I work with is a child of God just as much as my most treasured friend is. I have had to learn that my viewpoint is not the only viewpoint. I have had to look through someone else’s glasses, even if I haven’t walked a mile in his shoes.

It’s not easy and it’s never done.  Just today I judged someone because I deemed him ‘spoiled and privileged.’ From my point of view, he is.  From someone else’s point of view, I am the one who is spoiled and privileged.

To be honest, I don’t know that other person’s story, just like they likely don’t know all of mine. I am imagining we could each learn a thing or two from one another.

We are not all the same, thank God.  We are, however, all loved by God.

For God so loved [every single person in] the world,

that He gave His only Son…

John 3:16

Hi, honey, I’m Home, Part 2, a clarification

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

I want to correct a little theology from yesterday.  I believe I said that God had immobilized me through my autoimmune disease.  That really makes it seem like He intended for me to have this disease.  I’m not sure about that.  In fact, I am sure that God created all things in His image — whole, healthy, sinless, perfect.  I am fairly confident that illness — all illness — is a result of sin.  I don’t understand it, that’s a fact, but I believe that God desires for all people to be well and whole.  In fact, I believe that one day I will be — on this side of eternity or the other.

Why am I bringing this up?  Because this morning,  during my self-imposed three-day-weekend of rest, I opened my Bible study for the second day in a row and read these words:

Remember that most of what God does is invisible — totally outside our realm of observation or understanding.  We cannot base our faith on what He appears to be doing or how dramatically He answers our prayers — because faith founded on God’s apparent actions is not faith at all (Moore, Whispers of Hope, 112).

When I say something like “God has immobilized me,” I am implying that I know what God was thinking and that I am sure that He is the one who ‘afflicted’ me with this illness.  I don’t know that.  Here’s what I do know.  Three years ago I began having symptoms that slowed me down, made me uncomfortable, and eventually put me in bed for large chunks of time. For about the first two years of that discomfort I tried to fight back.  I was angry, complaining, and searching for a fix to my problem.  (And, guys, I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t still welcome a fix to this problem.) But about a year ago, I shifted gears. God had provided a way for me to be still in this illness — he allowed me some time off from work and busyness.  In that stillness, He inserted time for me to write.  He inserted friends who included me in Bible study and prayer.  He provided resources that spoke directly to my need. He entered into my illness with me.

Now, I am not implying that He could not have entered into my busyness in a different way.  Not at all.  I am saying that once I was slowed down, for whatever reason, I was able to more clearly see His involvement in my life.  For that reason, I am thankful for my autoimmune disease.  I don’t love my autoimmune disease, but I am thankful for it.  And I believe that God will continue to work in this and all circumstances. I have no idea what He has planned, but I am confident that His plans are exponentially better than mine.

Romans 8:28

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good,…

Hi, honey, I’m home!

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

Really, I’m home.  I wasn’t supposed to be.  I was supposed to be in the car with my husband driving to St. Louis for a wedding.  But I’m sitting in a chair, in my pajamas, amid papers, books, and empty glasses and cups.

I overdid it.

I know, I know.  You saw this coming from a mile away.  Who did I think I was, agreeing to work so many hours and travel three weekends in a row?

A friend asked me yesterday when I planned to leave for my trip.  When I told her I wasn’t going, she looked shocked.  I get it.  From the outside I look fine.  Really.  It is only inside my house where I collapse in pajamas and let the fatigue and pain rise to the surface.  It’s the weirdest thing.

Each morning, when my alarm goes off, I have to convince myself to get out of bed.  It can take anywhere from five to twenty minutes.  (This is shocking to my husband who used to comment on how fast I leapt out of bed in the morning proclaiming, “Let’s go running!) Once I drag myself to my feet, the first few steps look like those of a double amputee trying out prosthetics for the first time — wobbly, jerky, and uncoordinated.  By the time I make it to the bathroom, my steps are getting smoother.  After a shower, a smoothie, and a cup of green tea, I have been magically transformed into the semblance of a professional educator.  I am dressed, my hair is combed, I have even put on makeup.

After the 15 minute drive to work, the second cup of tea — strong and black — is starting to work and I am energized and looking forward to my day.  Before I know it, I have worked with four students for an hour each and it is time for my lunch.  Typically I walk across the street to the mall, take a lap, get a second cup of strong black tea, and make my way back to work.

Amazingly, I have the clarity of mind to work with three or four more students before I clock out and stumble my way to the car.  Typically it is driven by a family member — partly because we are sharing a car, but partly because no one knows for sure if I will remember how to get home after a seven to eight hour work day.

Once inside my house, I shed professional attire and don one of two standards — pajamas or yoga pants.  If I have any steam left at all, I make myself go on a walk.  If I am totally depleted, I collapse with an ice pack on the couch. Dinner?  Totally optional.  By 5pm I care very little about food or drink.  I am mostly into the staring portion of my day where I play Words With Friends, ‘like’ Facebook posts, and watch junk television.

If I have any cognitive functioning left, I might read…but nothing too heady…mostly young adult fiction or Jodi Picoult.

Finally, I surrender to sleep, setting the alarm to start the process over again the next day.

That is my life with autoimmune disease.  It is very different from the life I once lived. It is frustrating, because the person inside of me still wants to take road trips to St. Louis, to hang out with friends in the evening, to go to the movies, to play cards, and to regularly hit the gym.

And I can still do all of those things, but not if I work full time.  That is the exchange.  I can either work full time and do nothing else, or I can agree to work only part-time and maintain some semblance of normalcy outside of work.

I already knew this, of course, even before this summer working experiment.  But I needed to see it again.

When I took six months off from work, I started feeling pretty well!  I was working out, taking care of myself, and interacting with friends.  I started to think I had just been exhausted and that I would be fine getting back to my old routines.  That is the trick of this invisible illness.  You can forget that you have it.  You even start to feel a bit like a baby because you put limits on yourself that don’t seem necessary to those looking on — “What do you mean you have to sit down for a little while?”  “You can’t go grocery shopping and out to the movies on the same day?” “You look just fine to me!”

A person with autoimmune disease has to trust herself and stand up for herself even when it doesn’t make sense to others.  Yes, I do have to sit, or lie, down for a while. No, I don’t like to plan two outings on the same day.  Yes, I do look fine, but you can’t see how I feel.

And right now, I feel exhausted.  So, I am home.

Last week, we visited our son’s church where the guest pastor said the words, “God will sometimes immobilize you in order to circumcise your heart.”  I wrote those words down.  My journey over the last three years has been all about recognizing that I had been moving so fast, kicking butts and taking names, that I had been failing to turn to God as my strength.  I’m not mad that He loved me enough to take all my strength — to immobilize me —  so that I would reconnect with Him.  But, old habits die hard; I will probably need to learn this lesson over time.

2 Corinthians 12:9

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

So much happens (and doesn’t) in a week

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

So much happens in a week, doesn’t it?  Although I was in the habit of blogging every day, I have found in the last several weeks that even if I write whenever I have a free chunk of time, I only fit in about once a week.  While the discipline of daily blogging provides the volume of writing that is sure to hone my craft, the necessity of weekly blogging makes me carefully consider what is going to get my time.

So what should I choose to write about?

  • One of the ten or more students that I met within the last week?
  • The Supreme Court’s decision on Gay Marriage?
  • The Controversy over the Confederate flag?
  • Seeing extended family at a funeral?
  • Welcoming my son home for his leave from the military?
  • Attending a worship service with hundreds of Lutherans at the Michigan District Convention?
  • The storm that flooded the basement in our home in Missouri?
  • The tomatoes and kale that are growing in my yard?
  • Or one of any number of other events that took place in the past week?

Although I often mention my students in my writing, I try to stay away from too much detail so as to preserve their confidentiality. Countless Americans have weighed in on the Supreme Court decision, slightly fewer have commented on the Confederate flag; I’m sure I won’t add to that discussion.  Seeing family was priceless, but I am not sure I can capture the meaning of the connection between cousins, that spans time and distance, in mere words.  The news of my son’s visit is pasted all over my Facebook page; it doesn’t need to be in my blog, too.

The worship service in Concordia’s chapel, in which hundreds of voices sang a cappella in harmony, was beautiful. Our house was preserved from devastating damage during a severe storm, Praise God. And, guys, my brown thumbs are growing things! But, I’m not sure I want to write about any of that, either!

So perhaps it would be best if I write about what didn’t happen this week.

  • I didn’t become bored with teaching; I am still enjoying every minute — from editing, to grammar instruction, to practicing sight words, to (gasp!) math.
  • My love for the freedoms we enjoy in America did not change, nor did my love for all of God’s people.
  • I didn’t suddenly decide that people who have the right to free speech should be insensitive to the meanings that words and symbols communicate to others.
  • I was not disappointed in the love exchanged between my family members.
  • I did not turn away when my daughter, who hadn’t seen her brother in eighteen months, leapt into his arms at the airport. Nor did I look away when he held her and hugged her back.
  • I was not unimpressed by the beauty of hundreds of voices lifted in praise.
  • I did not panic when the property manager called to inform us of the damage from the flooding.
  • I did not kill any plants.
  • I didn’t spend the time I like to spend in Bible study and prayer,
  • and,  God did not stop being faithful to me.

And there is the nugget, ladies and gentlemen.  Amid work and politics, family farewells and reunions, worship and loss, growth and failure, God is still God.  He is still faithful.  He still reigns.  Nothing we do or don’t do will ever change his character or consistency.  He is with us; we have nothing to fear.

And nothing formed against me shall stand
You hold the whole world in Your hands
I’m holding on to Your promises

You are faithful

-Chris Tomlin

Calming the Storm

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Yesterday morning amid the craziness of preparing for her son’s high school open house, my sister-in-love insisted that we all pause and attend a worship service.  Yes, there was plenty to do, but she really wanted to worship as a family; so we did. We left food that needed to be prepared, a house that needed to be straightened, and decorations that had yet to be placed to hear the Word of God and be changed.

We did not come back empty-handed.  At least I did not.

I have been one who has identified with Martha of Mary and Martha fame.  While Mary dutifully sits at the feet of Jesus, I am usually scurrying around fixing one more thing. In fact –full disclosure –I even suggested to my sister-in-love that if there was too much to do, we could forgo church.  (Some pastor’s wife I am, right?) No, she said, this was important to her.

It became important to me, too.

I mean, the sermon was from the classic story — the disciples and Jesus are out in the boat when a storm arises.  Jesus is sleeping soundly, and the disciples start to freak out.  “Jesus, Jesus, wake up!!!  Don’t you see the storm?” Jesus nonchalantly wakes up, says “Peace, be still,” and the storm stops. Then he looks at the disciples and says, “Uh, guys, why are you freaking out? Do you still not trust me?”

Yeah, silly disciples, do you still not trust Him?

I was feeling pretty smug until the preacher referred to St. Augustine’s suggestion that Christ is asleep within us when the storms of our lives hit.  We see the turmoil and  disruption and start to freak out. We forget that Christ is within us and fully able to calm whatever this ‘storm’ may be.  Why am I freaking out? Do I still not trust Him?

So today I was at work feeling pretty good about myself.  In each of the lessons I was leading, things were going pretty well. I was feeling confident — maybe a little too confident.

And then a storm hit.  I was working with my last student of the day and he was resisting me.  We were being silly, and we got off on a sidetrack.  He was testing my ability to bring him back. I couldn’t do it.  What’s worse is that my mentor was in the room with us.  The student was getting frustrated.  I was getting frustrated. The mentor was getting frustrated.  We limped through the rest of the session with little to no productivity.

When the session was over, I asked my mentor what she thought had happened.  What was up with the kid today?  (Surely it was him, not me!) She hypothesized a few things that could’ve been up with him and then she said, “I think you need to be firmer with him.  He is taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t been holding the line with him.”

Ouch.  I was at fault.  I did something wrong.

Now, this shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Everyone makes mistakes.  All day long I tell my students that the best learning happens when we make mistakes.  In fact, about half of the strategies I have learned at this job are for error-handling.  We praise what the student got right, then help him identify his own errors and self-correct.  In seeing his own errors, he learns how to make the correction.

That’s all that happened to me today.  I made an error, I tried to blame it on the kid, and my mentor helped me identify the real source of the problem.  So, I should just learn where the error happened so that I can prevent it in the future, right?

Well, then why do I feel so lousy? Because I think I am in charge of calming the storm!  I think that my worth and acceptance are based on what I do or don’t do, what I achieve or don’t achieve, what I get right or what I get wrong.

But they don’t!  My worth and acceptance are based on the Guy who is ‘sleeping’ within me.  And, guys, He’s not really asleep!  I have just forgotten that He is with me and that He is fully capable to calming the storm.

Well, I got home today, feeling a bit lousy about what happened with this student.  And guess what happened…a real storm showed up on the weather forecast — a severe thunderstorm warning.  I was scheduled to meet another student about twenty minutes away, but we agreed that because of the weather, we should postpone.

Well, you know, I had nothing better going on, so I did my Bible study. (Insert sigh here.) The reading for today was from Exodus 33 where God says He will not go forward with the Israelites because they are ‘stiff-necked’ (ouch).  Moses, who was way smarter than me said, “If your presence will not go with me, do not bring us from here.” He knew more than the disciples did.  He knew that if the Lord went with him he would have everything he needed.  He knew that if the Lord went with him, it would be known that he had found favor in God’s sight.

Have you connected the dots with me? God indeed does go with me.  He is inside of me.  His very presence declares to me and to the world that I have found favor in His sight — whether I do a good job or a lousy job with my students, whether I feel good about the way or look or not, whether I am sick or healthy, whether I am rich or poor.

When I drink in that truth — that I have found favor in His sight — the storms around me and within me calm.  I am no longer in the wind and the waves.  I am resting securely in the boat, coasting on lake, basking in the sun.

That’s what He has for us — calm, security, and basking in the sun — because He has and will continue to calm the storms.

Psalm 107:29

He made the storms be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed.

Reviewing Observations

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Last June I resigned my full-time teaching/school administrator position to relocate to Michigan from Missouri.  I did this because a) I love my husband; and  b) I have a life-style changing auto-immune disease. I took six months off from work and have been gradually introducing more and more work into my life since January. I’m almost a year into this grand experiment, and  I’m eady to review some of my observations.

After the initial dust settled from our cross-country move, I spent a significant amount of time on the couch watching Netflix, in my bed resting, at the gym exercising, and on my computer blogging.  I really needed that time to recover after over 20 years of parenting, schooling, and working at or above my human capacity.  It was lovely — I had time to make friends, I began to listen to my body, I reconnected with my love for writing. It was healing physically, yes, and also emotionally.  For the first time in twenty-two years, my husband and I were living alone, enjoying a slower pace, and sucking up every minute of it.

But, I couldn’t quite rest easily because I didn’t have any students in my life. I know, I know –over the past umpteen years I have fussed and fumed about the menagerie of kids that have sat across the table from me — they are egocentric, they don’t meet deadlines, and, indeed, they smell bad.  But, you know, I love them. I can’t seem to get enough of them.  Something magical exists within each of us — an innate ability to learn, to process, to interact and be changed — that will never cease to take my breath away.  I had to have students back in my life.

It started with just one guy — a graduate student who needed help on his dissertation.  What a joy that was!  I got to have a text-based conversation with him about educational practices and how they impact learning!  That taste just whetted my appetite, so I moved onto a retired writing instructor who had written a novel and just wanted a final proof for grammar and punctuation errors.  That led me to set up a profile on an online service connecting teachers with students for one-on-one assistance.  In six months I have logged over 120 hours with almost twenty different students ranging from sixth graders to graduate students.  I’ve worked on research papers, vocabulary lessons, dissertations, speeches, and test preparation.  Each lesson is different, each student a challenge.

So why didn’t I stop there?  While tutoring independently, I could still maintain my exercise regimen, still build friendships, still find time to rest.  Why did I have to push the limits and take on a job that will soon be at forty hours a week for the duration of the summer? Because I had to know. I had to know if I was imagining my limitations or if they were real.  Maybe I was just burnt out from teaching and sorely in need of a vacation.  Maybe I had imagined all my symptoms.  Surely I didn’t have that much pain, that much fatigue, that much stiffness.  How could a regular job be too difficult for me?

Because it is.  This week I worked thirty-two hours at the agency and an additional seven hours tutoring.  Not quite 40 hours, but it was a bit too much.  Yesterday, at the end of an eight-hour shift, I met some friends for drinks and dinner.  I called one of my friends by the wrong name — twice!  This is a friend I have known since the fall! I was mortified. I thoroughly enjoyed the evening, but I was home before nine and crawled straight into bed — no reading, no television, no nothing.  I was entirely depleted.

This morning I woke up crabbily.  I can feel the inflammation through my body like an electric current.  It is as if I am electric blanket that has been turned up to ‘high’ —   I can feel all the wires as they heat up.  My lips are dry and tingling. My back and hips ache.  My eyes are screaming, “If you think you are going to put those contacts in, think again!”

Yup, it’s too much.  And, just to be sure, I am going to push it a little further.  This week will be a little lighter because of a trip I am taking for the second half of the week, but then I am certain I will be working over forty hours a week for the duration of the summer.  Why don’t I just walk away now?  Because I know me.  If I walk away right now, I will rest up for a few weeks then start thinking that perhaps I was imagining my fatigue, maybe I didn’t really have all that pain, maybe my symptoms weren’t real.

Nope, I’m not going to walk away right now.  I am going to finish the experiment all the way to the end to be sure I come to all the right conclusions. My hypothesis is that I am going to be utterly exhausted and ready to slow back down, but I’ve got to complete this experiment to be sure.

Psalm 103:8

The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

for my Stephen

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Twenty-one years ago today, twelve days after his due date, my son arrived after a mere four hours of labor weighing over ten pounds — and so began a life that has been marked by a refusal to conform to expectations.

Born to two extremely type-A personalities, this kid is so laid back that behaviorists have almost decided to create a type-C.  He does everything when he wants to, not when convention has determined he should.  For instance, he walked at nine months, but potty trained at three years. At six, he read Popular Science and asked if he could learn how to play the violin– about the same time that we were trying to teach him how to ride a bike.   When all his classmates were looking forward to senior year, he decided to take the GED and try out college.  At twenty-one, he still doesn’t have a license to drive a car, even though he’s driven many vehicles, including large Army machinery.

Some people are impressed with my kid. I mean he’s good-looking, he’s run hundreds of miles already this year, and for his job he has fired weapons and jumped out of planes.  He can talk about any kind of music, or history, or art, or religion or simply laugh with you while watching slapstick. He can clean and reassemble a weapon in no time flat, cook a killer breakfast, and alter or embellish his own clothing.

Some people get annoyed with him. I’ve been there myself — when he disassembled the thermostat when he was two, tried to melt crayons in my oven when he was seven, and got kicked off the school bus for ‘testing’ the emergency door when he was ten. Teachers wrung their hands when he couldn’t be bothered to do homework because he had a “philosophical objection to it.”  He argues sometimes just for the sake of arguing.

Most people are confused by him. Why would he not want to graduate with his class? Why would he decide to join the Army at seventeen? What do you mean he doesn’t want to drive or buy a car? He runs how many miles a week? Studies Art History? Attends college classes when he’s home on leave?

Me? I love the kid. He invades my space, pushes my boundaries, alters my plans, and makes me laugh.  He has refused to be what others have expected him to be, even when they have mocked him, bullied him, or shunned him.  He has continued to stand tall and determine for himself what paths he will take. What could make me prouder? Not one thing.

Over twenty-one years ago I was sound asleep in my bed when I suddenly woke in the middle of the night.  Although I was large with child, we had no idea if we would be having a boy or a girl. In that midnight moment, I felt an overwhelming urge to pray for this unborn child who I felt compelled to name ‘Stephen’.  I felt led to pray that he would have the staying power, as did the Biblical Stephen, to stand in the middle of the rock-throwers and not crumble, to hold true to his faith and his convictions even when others didn’t agree or understand. I was a little overwhelmed in that moment — not knowing what our guy would be up against.  But I’ve watched him for twenty-one years now. I’ve seen him defend his faith, share it with others (even during boot camp or in the belly of an aircraft), and I’ve seen him take his share of rocks.  Let me assure you that God heard that prayer so many years ago. He has made my boy into a man who can stand and not crumble.

 Therefore, brothers, pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom…. and they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit..

from Acts 7

Finally time to blog

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

What a week!  I’ve been so busy, I’ve barely had time to eat, let alone blog!  I know, I know, I have a tendency to speak in hyperbole, but I really am not kidding this time.

In the past seven days I’ve picked up one family member from a trip to Chicago, sent another on a trip to Chicago and the Twin Cities, worked twenty hours, tutored an additional ten, gone to two doctor’s appointments and one hair appointment, grocery shopped, attended a new member class at our church, and that was all before yesterday!

But yesterday — yesterday was the icing on the cake.  I just can’t move on with today before I write about it.

I woke around 5:30 am because our family car was being used elsewhere and I had to be to work at 8:00.  I showered, drank my smoothie, chugged my green tea, donned the clothes I had set out the night before and dashed to the bus stop for a 6:50 pick-up time.  I had placed cash, a chapstick, and my debit card in my pocket in advance so that I wouldn’t have to carry a purse.  I was checking emails on my phone when the bus pulled up.  I slid my hand into my pocket to grab a couple of singles to pay the bus fare.

Once downtown, I hopped off one bus and onto another, checking to make sure I was on the right one (I have a history….).  When I was close to work, I pulled on the cord to request a stop.  I thanked the driver and walked the remaining few blocks to our office.   I chatted with coworkers, punched the time clock, set up for my first student, and made a cup of tea.

During my first hour, as I worked with an eleven-year-old, my mentor observed me, taking notes.  My second hour, the seven-year-old I was working with challenged me to pull all my newly-learned tricks out of my bag to keep him engaged.  The third hour, I was paired with an employee who is newer than me so that I could show her the ropes.  (Really? I’m still getting my bearings myself!) The fourth hour I was back with my initial eleven-year-old for his fourth hour of instruction of the day — and we were tasked with outlining and finding quotes for a quasi-analytical paper on The Giver.  Yeah, that was all before noon.

My coworkers and I joined for a staff meeting with lunch provided, then I went out to find my bus home.  I checked my phone to find the closest/quickest route and walked to the stop.  After waiting for about 15 minutes, a bus pulled up.  I checked with the driver, as is becoming my habit, to see if I had the right bus.  Nope — I had missed it.  I rechecked my phone and walked about a half mile to intersect the bus a little further down the route.  I got there, waited a few minutes, boarded, and started the journey home.

After switching at the transit center downtown, I made my way back to campus, picked up our mail, and walked back to our place.  Time? Just after 2pm.  I found the inhabitants of the house napping, so I crawled into bed to edit an assignment for a tutoring client.  I was already wiped out, but her paper was due last night; I had to do it.

I rested for a bit, made some tea, cleaned up the kitchen, and then invited my daughter and her boyfriend to help me make rhubarb pie.  While they made the crust, I cleaned and chopped up the rhubarb.  While they made the filling, I prepared a chicken for roasting. Meanwhile, I started laundry so that this daughter could pack for her move to Boston — which was also happening yesterday.

At about 4:30 the pie and the chicken were in the oven so I sat down to rest for a little while.  And by ‘rest’, I mean fold laundry.  When the other daughter arrived home around 6:30, we ate chicken and rice and broccoli and the fabulous pie.  After dinner, I straightened the kitchen again then joined the kids to watch television for a while.

Around 8:00pm I crawled into bed to read Siddhartha. I knew I had to get up around 1:00 am to drive my daughter to the train station in Toledo, but I also knew that I would be writing an essay on Siddhartha with a student later today, so I was trying to kill two birds with one stone.  Too tired to engage with the text, I closed my eyes and was soon asleep.

Until I heard my phone vibrating.  At 11:40pm

I picked up.  The kids had run to the store to get some last minute snacks for the train ride, and a deer had come out of nowhere onto the highway. They were fine, but the car had some damage.  Tears. Apologies. Reassurances.

I was awake, and I knew we would leave in the next couple of hours for the train station, so I got up and worked on the puzzle for a while, comforted the traumatized driver when they returned to the house, assessed the damage to the car, and drank some water to wake myself up for the drive.

I started putting my purse together around 1:00am.  I figured we were low on gas, so I thought I’d check to make sure I’d put my debit card away from earlier in the morning.  Hmmm…where is my debit card.  That’s right, I put it in my pants pocket. Check the pockets.  Nope.  Double check my wallet; I probably put it away. Nope.  Hmmm….did I drop it at work? No way to find out at 1:00am.  I decided to put gas on the credit card, filled my water glass again, grabbed a snack in case I needed one, grabbed the keys and headed to the car.

It was a quick trip to Toledo, even with the stop for gas.  We unloaded the suitcases from the car around 2:45, hugged the kids, gave motherly advice, hugged again, reminded them to text often, then climbed back in the car.  After checking the GPS, I started driving.  Construction re-routed me and I ended up practically driving to Detroit before heading back to Ann Arbor.  I listened to music and talk radio, watched for deer, and mentally retraced my steps to see if I could picture where my debit card might be.

Not long into the retracing, I pictured myself pulling the singles out of my pocket at 6:45am — almost 24 hours earlier.  Could I have dropped my debit card as I stood at the bus stop before I even left for work?  What if I pulled over to the side of the road across from campus and checked before I went back home?  Certainly no one will be on the roads at 3:45am.  It’s a hair-brained idea — surely it won’t be there almost twenty-four hours later.  But, when I took my exit, I noticed no cars on the road, so put on my blinker, pulled over, jumped out of the car, and scanned the sidewalk next to the bus stop.  Nope.  I looked a little closer and there in the grass sat my debit card, right where I’d dropped it, now cool from the dew.

I laughed. Then I literally thanked God — not only for taking me back to my debit card, but for giving me a sense of humor at 3:45 in the morning, almost twenty-four hours after this day had started.  I pulled a U-turn in the middle of the road and turned into campus.

That’s when I saw the lights behind me.  Campus Security was tailing me.  Oh, yeah, it’s almost four in the morning.  They probably wonder why someone is entering campus.  They’ll probably turn around when they see it’s our car.  I wind down the drive to our house and park.  I am texting my daughter to see if she is on the train when I notice that the security officer, with flashlight, is walking up to my window.

“Everything ok?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” I explain, “I just took my kids to Toledo to meet the train. Then I stopped at the bus stop to find the debit card I lost this morning. I bet you weren’t expecting to see someone drive into campus at 4am.”

I’m sure every Dean’s wife has had this conversation, right?

More laughing, then crawling back into bed, then trying again to read Siddhartha, then giving up again to fall back asleep.

Yeah, the whole week has been like that.  A little busy.

Today? Today it’s after noon and I am still in my pajamas; I finally found the time to blog.

Exodus 33: 14

“My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”

Living in the Tension

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

The tension is rising. How long will I last?

I’ve been working about twenty hours a week at the agency and an additional eight hours tutoring on my own. Just twenty-eight hours.  No big deal, especially when compared to what I had been doing before moving to Ann Arbor.  And, I’ve been holding my own.  Kind of.

My family has been helping with laundry, cleaning, and the care of the dog.  I cook dinner two or three times a week and expect that the other nights everyone can forage for their own sustenance, because I often have no interest in food at the end of the day.  I recommitted to walking and minimal Pilates this week when I noticed that my exercise life had all but disappeared. And, I’ll admit that a few symptoms are creeping back in.

It’s nothing serious — a little more fatigue, a little more stiffness, a mild rash on my face and some minimal psoriasis peeking out — nothing that anyone but I (and the people who live with me) will notice. But I’m only at twenty-eight hours.  ,

The agency is just beginning to show signs of the summer crank-up.  A co-worker showed me the “summer chart” yesterday with the names of all the students and instructors that will be crammed into our office suite starting in the next couple of weeks. It’s exciting–and intimidating.  We are going to increase our student and staff load exponentially by the middle of June.  I am expecting to be at full-time status in about three weeks.

Gulp.

I’ve been working from eight to noon, coming home, eating lunch, and resting for a few hours before I head back out to see my second round of students.  Then, when I get home the second time, I shed my clothes, get into pajamas, try to eat a little bit, watch a little television, catch up with Facebook and Words with Friends, then crawl to bed to read and sleep.

Wake up, repeat.

By the weekend I’m pretty wiped.  Last night I slept for ten hours. I am happy to say that it is going on eleven o’clock and I am still in my pajamas on this Saturday morning.

Now, as the work at the agency cranks up, the tutoring is going to slow down.  Many of my tutoring students are preparing for June exams, so they will not continue with me in the summer.  In fact, I think I will only have three or four weekly appointments once I hit full-time status, but do the math and you’ll see that I will be close to doubling my hours.

Yeah, I’m not sure how it’s going to work out, but I’m committed to the experiment.  By the end of summer I hope to know what the sweet spot is — how many hours of work is optimal?  My guess is right around twenty — just a little less than what I am doing right now.

So why am I moving forward with more? Because teaching feeds me. Yeah, I’m tired, but I got to celebrate with a ten-year-old who read ‘discombobulated’ this week. I got to read and discuss The Giver with an eleven-year-old who hasn’t read such a challenging book in his life! I got high-fives from a seven-year-old who spelled a whole bunch of words correctly.  I got to say “Bam!” when a police officer, who is studying for a test that will enable him to work for the DEA, remembered the three ways to punctuate two consecutive independent clauses.  I got to sit next to a Romanian immigrant and answer countless questions about English grammar and usage.

No, I didn’t get a ton of time to blog.  I didn’t make it to the gym.  My face hurts, and I’m pretty exhausted. But, guys, I got to watch people learn all. week. long. And the icing on the cake? I was learning right along with them. The last five months of working one-on-one with so many different students has taught me so much about language, but also so much about how people learn, and so much about what it means to me to be a teacher.

So, for the next few months, I am going to live in this tension.  Thanks, friends and family, for supporting me in my experiment. I know that my decision to live in the tension impacts you, too.

Psalm 90:17

Let the favor of the Lord, our God, be upon us, and establish the work of our hands;

yes, establish the work of our hands.