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.

Unplugged, chapter 2

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

John 6: 68

Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. 

My daughter leaves on a missionary internship today.  Part of her enculturation process is that she will have to be technology-free (no phone, no internet, no television, etc.) for SIX WEEKS with the exception of Sundays.  On Sundays she can use her phone to call us, or post on Facebook, or post an entry on the blog she has created.  But for the other six days of the week, she will be unplugged. 

We have joked a bit over the last couple of days about what it will be like when she has a question and she can’t go to Google for her answer.  Think about it.  How often do you Google something during the average day?  What would you do if you needed to know, say, where the nearest Target was, and you couldn’t Google it? 

Why, children, back in my day, if we wanted to know where something was, we asked someone. Yes, a real human being.  You might get a response like, “Well, you head west on M-46 until you see the Big Boy.  Turn left there.  It’s about three-quarters of a mile down the road. You can’t miss it.” (**To my Gratiot County friends, a girl can dream, can’t she?)

Sometimes we wrote the directions down, but more often, we recited them back, “M-46 to the Big Boy, take a left, three-quarters of  mile.  Thanks!” After we’d driven to a certain location a few times, it was committed to memory.  It was likely that we gave similar to directions to the next guy who needed to find the Target. 

I learned most things this way, by someone telling me. I learned how to French braid my hair, how to cook McDonald’s French fries, how to drive a car (Thanks, Roger), and how to fill out a 1040EZ tax form.  Someone told me, and likely showed me. 

I think that is the point of MissionYear telling its interns that they have to put the technology away for six weeks.  MissionYear’s strategy is for the volunteers to immerse themselves in the community, to make connections, and build relationships.  It’s a little easier to build relationships when you actually speak to people.  When we walk around with our faces in our phones, finding our own answers, we don’t have to interact, don’t have to ask for help, don’t have to rely on anyone else.  

It’s the American way. 

Sometimes we have to do something a little counter-culture.  We have to put the phone down.  We have to ask someone how to find the nearest Target.  Sometimes, they not only give us directions, but they walk along beside us for part of the way.  They ask us our names.  They ask where we’ve been.  They want to know our story. 

Google doesn’t care about your story.  Just sayin’. 

Now, I’m not suggesting that we all put down our phones and close up our laptops.  They have become permanent fixtures in our society, and they, too, are vehicles for connection.  Exhibit A, this blog.  However, perhaps today before you consult Google you might first ask a real human.  You never know, they may have the answer.  They may have a story.  They may share.  Just sayin’.

Psalm 5:11

Let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. 

Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you.

Empty Nest Eve

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Oh my goodness, while I wasn’t looking September got here!  And I am still in my pajamas at 10:20 in the morning!  Perhaps I will be able to make it to January after all. 

I don’t know, though.  We were shopping in a local Salvation Army yesterday and they were taking applications.  I said to my daughter, “Hey, they are taking applications!”  She said, “No.”  Crisis averted.  But she leaves for her internship tomorrow. 

That’s right. As of noon tomorrow, the nest will be empty. 

My husband and I are taking her to the airport and then going out for coffee to mark the occasion.  Later in the evening, we are going out for dinner.  And then it begins. 

What will I do first?  I think I need a nap. 

Actually, the university has its first official home football game on Saturday, so we are, of course, going to that.  Next week I think I will: use my one remaining pass for the fitness center that I am thinking of joining, get my Ann Arbor Library card, go to a quaint coffee shop, and plant something in those flower beds. 

Then I will take a nap.  And read a book.  And watch some Netflix. 

I gotta take advantage of this rest while I have got it.  It won’t last forever.  

I’m gonna try, at least for next week, to not look ahead too far, to not apply for any jobs, to not plan out the next fifty years of my life.  

I think I can, I think I can. 

And, of course, I will continue to read to find the Grace with the Truth,  to acknowledge that He is God and I am not, and to write about my journey into this next chapter. 

Psalm 46:10

Be still and know that I am God;

I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.

 

 

 

What is He talking about?

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Did you ever think that Jesus was difficult to understand? Sometimes, ok, most of the time, I read the red letters and I think to myself, “what is He talking about?” I mean, I have been going to church and Sunday school since the 1960s and learned the Bible stories on flannel boards and through Veggie Tales.  I know what other people think He means, but seriously, did you ever just look at the words?   

“if you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

“Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

“God is spirit,  and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”

He said all of this to the Samaritan woman at the well.  If I was her, I would have been thinking, “what is He talking about?”  

He seems kind of cryptic to me.  What is all this talk of water and spirit.  I know what I learned in Sunday school, and confirmation class, and Christian dogmatics (seriously, I am a professional church worker, I should not be sitting here shaking my head like this).  I know the tenets of the Christian faith and even the theology of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod.  But seriously, Jesus is difficult for me to understand. 

This creates a problem.  If Jesus is the Word, and the Word is Truth, and I want to learn more about grace and truth, I am in trouble.  I feel like there is a language gap.  

I have this sense that if I met Him at the well, or say, Starbucks, and I looked in His eyes, like the Samaritan woman did, I would know what he meant.  But what am I thinking? The disciples walked around with him for three years and they still didn’t get it most of the time.  I have seen Jesus in the Bible several times shaking his head at the disciples, thinking to Himself, “why don’t they get it?!”  He even says it out loud, “I told you all this, and still you don’t understand!”  

And every time he has that kind of interaction with the disciples, I think to myself, “shoot, I don’t get it either!”  If he told me he was going to “knock down the temple and raise it in three days,” I would have thought he was crazy.  If he said, “I am going away to prepare a place for you, yeah, I was dead, but you can see that I’m alive now, and I am going to heaven now to be with my dad, and I’ll come back for you.”  I would have thought he was waiting for the little white van to show up with the straight jacket. 

And yet for close to half a century, I have put my faith in the saving grace of Jesus Christ. I am counting on His saving grace.  I am a mess without Him. I need Him every minute of every day.  

I don’t understand why God would create us, knowing that we would not be capable of understanding His love, His Son, His purpose.  Knowing that we would daily decide that we know more than He does.  Knowing that we would totally deny His grace and His truth. 

I don’t understand it at all.  But I believe it. I believe that God is God and I am not.  I believe that Jesus came to save me.  I believe that the Spirit dwells in me.  I don’t understand why all this is true.  But, I know that God is full of grace and truth. 

Phillipians 4:7

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. 

In good company

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Guys, David had back pain!  Listen to this…”my back is filled with searing pain, there is no health in my body…” (Psalm 38:7).  Why is it that knowing someone else suffered like I do makes me feel a little better?  

Haven’t you been in that conversation?  Your friend starts describing her situation, “my son just won’t talk to me, he seems to spend all of his time in his room…” and you blurt out, “mine, too!”  Somehow knowing that you are not the only one experiencing what you are experiencing makes it seem a little less terrible.  

When I was a little girl my parents separated and then divorced.  It was the 1970s and divorce wasn’t as common, at least in my small town, as it is now.  I felt alone and so broken.  My poor teachers, parents, and friends.  I was such a crier anyway, and this really unleashed the tears.  I cried and cried and cried.  For years. It’s rather embarrassing to think about, actually.  I am a very messy crier, and, especially in middle school, I didn’t really care where I was crying.  It was pretty ugly.  

But God ‘stored up those tears in a bottle’ (Psalm 56:8).  Every single tear.  Kids, I’ve got a whole cellar full of bottles.  They are well-aged.  And mellowed.  And every once in a while I get to open a bottle and serve it to someone else.  It happens at unexpected times.  A student comes in between classes and confides, “Mrs. Rathje, my dad moved out last night…” Or a friend calls and says, “I don’t think I have any options left…” Their tears spill out.  I pull out the tissues and I open a bottle from my cellar.  My tears of anger and hurt and betrayal have mellowed and transformed into a balm of comfort. Through some miracle of God I am able to “comfort others with the comfort I have received from God” (2 Corinthians 1:4).  

Recently, a friend served me from her cellar.  When I was in the process of being diagnosed, I was confused and anxious.  She kept a bottle at her desk and willingly poured out the balm in small doses whenever I needed a little comfort. 

You all have your stories, I am sure of how you have served and been served from the storehouse of the tears of others.  Just yesterday, after I posted my whiny, complainy entry, a friend from my past sent me a message from her bottle.  It was encouraging, and strengthening. 

I don’t like being a whining, complaining drain on my friends and family.  Neither do you. But sometimes, guys, we hurt.  I am trying to learn how to be honest about my hurt without dwelling on it or becoming a burden to others.  I feel it is a delicate line. 

So, in my quest for truth, I go to God’s Word where he says, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2).  You can’t help me carry it unless you know I have it.  I can’t carry yours unless you allow me to see it. We’ve all got burdens.  Even David.  

I like to think that his Psalms are poured out from his bottles. I know I have been comforted with the comfort that he received from God. 

 

 

 

On ice

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

How do you filter through all the information that you are confronted with each week? I am on overload.  Let’s just look at one segment of my life and the messages I have had to decipher, filter, and interpret all week.  My health. 

On Wednesday I saw a my new rheumatologist at the U of M.  I was anticipating that she would say, “Yup, looks like you have psoriatic arthritis and you should continue with the treatment you have been using.”  That’s what my rheumatologist in St. Louis said would happen.  It didn’t go that way. 

Instead, she (and her superior) said that I probably don’t have psoriatic arthritis, but more likely fibromyalgia. I should probably discontinue the biologic medication I have been taking and do more exercise.  In fact, do 20 minutes on the elliptical each day before I go on the three-mile walk that I have been doing. (I did mention, by the way, that fatigue is my most prominent symptom, followed by joint pain, and then psoriasis.) 

So, what do I do with that?  The doctor who has been treating me for 18 months says psoriatic arthritis, moderate exercise, prescription NSAIDs, and biologics.  The doc who has known me for twenty minutes says fibromyalgia, fewer meds, more exercise.  

Well, as is my way, I got angry.  I don’t think I have fibromyalgia.  It’s true, I don’t really fit any diagnosis cleanly, but most people with autoimmune disease do not. I don’t look sick at all.  Many people with autoimmune disease do not. I felt a bit like a hypochondriac. I felt dismissed.  I fussed and fumed to my husband and my daughter into the next day. 

But, I agreed that since I am not working at the moment, and I have some time to experiment, I would try discontinuing one medication and adding more exercise. Let’s just see what happens.

 On Thursday I did twenty minutes on the elliptical and went for a three mile walk.  On Friday, I toured a fitness center and swam!  I fell in love and decided I would get a membership because I can do Pilates, yoga, swim, and use weights and cardio machines.  Saturday we sat on bleachers and watched a volleyball game and then stood while we ate burgers with some friends. After that, I went for my typical three mile walk.  

I woke up Sunday  in pain. I struggled to stand through the praise portion of worship because of the amount of pain in my SI joint.  I came home and rested. Yes, I had to rest after church.  Then, I thought a walk might help with the pain.  Wrong.  It got worse.  I spent the rest of the evening on ice.  I woke up this morning, made breakfast for my family, then went right back to the ice.

I would be taking an injection today if I had not agreed to discontinue my biologics.  But I am going to follow the plan.   However, in order to follow the plan, I have to get this pain under control.  So, I am trying to get in to see a chiropractor tomorrow.  Perhaps he can realign my SI and reduce my pain so that I can do more exercise.  

This is a lot of information, isn’t it?  You don’t really want to hear about all my medical stuff, do you?  It’s consuming.  And it’s only one segment of my life.  I have many other things I would like to be spending my time thinking about.  

But today, I am on the couch, on ice.  

I am trying to understand what God has for me in this next chapter of my life.  I really don’t want to spend it on the couch, or in doctors’ offices, or focusing on taking care of myself.  I am trying to be open.  I really wish this illness was in my head.  I really wish that I could just do more exercise, think positive thoughts, and get back to my old self. I don’t really think that is going to work. 

I am frustrated, but I am holding on to the hope that my new self, in this next chapter, whether in pain or not, will be a self that turns her eyes to God, that listens to His truth, and that accepts whatever He has for me. 

And in the mean time, I’ll be sitting here on ice. 

Grace and Truth

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father,

full of grace and truth. John 1:14

I have often said that my spiritual gift is truth-telling.  As a matter of fact, when my students dedicated last year’s yearbook to me, they said in the inscription that I was known for being brutally honest. It’s true.  I have a pretty quick tongue that often shoots out the truth, brutally, before I have a chance to temper it with grace.  It can be painful.  I often have to backpedal. 

The good news is that if you want to know what I think, just ask me, and I will tell you the truth.  In fact, if my words don’t tell you what I think, my face will betray me every time. 

“Mrs. Rathje, what do you think of this thesis statement?”

“Well, it doesn’t really say anything.” 

“Oh.” 

Yeah, I guess I could’ve said that more gently.  

“Mom, what do you think of this dress?”

“Well, I guess it looks ok,” (face not matching words).  

“Mom, just tell me if you don’t like it!”

So, the good news is, I don’t lie well.  I tell the truth.  But not always with grace. 

When the scripture was read at church this morning, I heard Jesus described as full of grace and truth.  I thought to myself, ‘they have to coexist’.  We cannot handle the truth unless it is partnered with grace.  

Truth: All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. 

Grace: God loved the word so much that He sent his one and only Son. 

Truth: I sin. 

Grace: Jesus saves. 

Jesus gets the balance right every time.  Me? Not so much. I try to say things like, “You’ve got the right format for a thesis, let’s try to make your purpose more clear.”  “This dress is fine, and the other one is even more flattering.”  But, you know, that takes a lot of energy and intentionality. And those are the easy conversations.  

Conversations get much more difficult than that, don’t they? “You can forgive and even love your father, even though what he did was very wrong.”  “God does forgive you and love you, even though you made a huge mistake.” “I am very angry with you, I no longer trust you, and I continue to love you, in spite of those facts.” 

I am very quick to point out the truth, but not so quick to add the grace.  Thankfully, when I turn to His Word, I always see both.  I always see that He is God and I am not.  I always see his perfection and my brokenness.  I always see His provision for my inadequacy. 

I heard a challenge this morning so spend more time in His truth, so that I will be more familiar with His grace.  I am up to that challenge. 

Psalm 95:7

…today if only I would hear his voice.

 

 

The Weed is Gone!

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Remember my weed? The huge one in front of the house that I wanted to get rid of? It is gone!

Since we live on campus, the property is not ours, so we have to get permission to do things.  Well, my husband brought the groundskeeper over to our house yesterday to show him the weed and ask him if we could remove it.  This morning, the weed was plucked out while we attended a volleyball game.  Now that’s what I call service!  He did the big job, and we now can clear out the beds and prepare them for something new!

If you look at the photo, you will notice that the front of the house is not very welcoming.  In fact, several people upon hearing that we are living in this house, have looked at me with pity and said something like, “Wow, you are such a good sport.”  It is not glamorous, to be sure, but let me reiterate that this house is an answer to prayer.  

It is close (very close) to my husband’s office, which enables us to have just one car. It is all on one level, so I don’t have to do stairs.  It has a gorgeous view from every direction.  The whole thing can be cleaned top to bottom, end to end, in less than an hour.  It is simple.  It is manageable.  It is perfect.  

So, my mission is to transform that entryway into something inviting.  I want the outside of the house to reflect the fact that we are happy to be here.  We are happy to be in Michigan, happy to be at Concordia, happy to be on campus, happy to be in this house.  

I do have a small problem.  I know nothing about landscaping and nothing about what grows well in Ann Arbor. In fact, I don’t have a great track record with growing anything. So, it’s going to be an experiment.  It’s going to be trial and error. It’s going to be a process.  And it probably won’t ever be perfect.  

It’ll be a symbol of our lives here in Ann Arbor.  We will have some successes and some failures.  We will learn as we go.  Some days will look better than others.  And, we’ll keep trying.  With God’s help, something positive will happen.  In spite of us, it usually does.  

 

Hebrews 13:5

“…be content with what you have, because God has said, 

‘Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.’

 

 

 

Challenge Accepted

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With all the bravado that’s been oozing from my blog the last couple of days, I was bound to be challenged.  A friend posted on my Facebook page ’21 Actual Analogies used by high school students in English essays’ and commented ‘any chance you can string a few together in your next blog?’  Now I realize she was probably joking, but I can’t just let a challenge pass me by, can I? 

Besides, I am due for a little fun.  Life can’t be all about battles, and transitions, and illness, and such.  We do need to laugh. 

I actually love to laugh, and I have been told on numerous occasions that I have a rather loud, obnoxious laugh, one that makes my children blush when they can hear it across a crowded room.  However, It has never been described as, a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up*. 

I have been told on several occasions, though, to quiet down; I shouldn’t laugh so loud.  But what am I supposed to do, hold my laughter in?  No can do. I love that feeling of laughing until I can’t breathe. So, I’m sorry if I am embarrassing you, or making you uncomfortable, I can’t hold it in or Joy [would fill my] heart like a silent but deadly fart fills a room with no windows*. (I am not making these up.)  My kids always said the silent-but-deadlies were the worst. 

Speaking of farts, not really, just kidding. 

I can see the assignment now, “Write a five-paragraph essay using the strategies you have learned for using similes and metaphors.  Include at least three analogies in your essay.”  I can imagine the students staring at their blank screens, scratching their heads, coming up with gems like, [I] was confused; as confused as a homeless man on house arrest*.  Or, The lamp just sat there, like an inanimate object*.  The poor teacher.  She had written her plan, crafted her assignment.  They had practiced, they had done in-class exercises.  They had seen numerous examples in that catchy YouTube video.  But still, her students were coming up with stuff like, The sun was below the horizon, like a diabetic grandma easing into a warm salt bath*. (Ok, you gotta admit, that one did create a pretty graphic mental picture.) 

Aren’t words fun?  The reason I am not a very good English teacher is because if my students wrote analogies like these, I would be laughing so hard, I would forget to teach them that the tone of their image has to match the tone of their message.  It should not create tension like this: Their love burned with the intensity of a urinary tract infection*.   I should, in the classroom, say something like, “The intensity of love has positive connotations while a urinary tract infection has negative connotations.  Using an analogy like this creates dissonance, boys and girls.   Our analogies should create consonance, agreement, harmony.”  But instead, I would be laughing as hard as someone who is about to become a spokesman for Poise pads. (Yeah, that one’s mine.)  I wouldn’t be able to pull myself together enough to give the true meat of the lesson.  

But we would have fun.  And we sure had fun.  

Job 8:21

He will yet fill your mouth with laughter, 

and your lips with shouts of joy. 

*All bold statements are lifted from the original post my friend shared with me. 

Two kinds of battle

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

It’s funny, I just reread my post from yesterday, about doing physical battle against illness.  I got to the scripture verse and practically laughed out loud. “Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though a war break out against me, even then will I be confident.” 

I am laughing at myself because I was thinking for a minute that the physical battle was the one I needed to be focused on.  Oh, silly me.  I forget so easily.  I stayed lost in that physical battle most of the day.  I am still not feeling great, and I had to see my new rheumatologist today, too. I was poked, prodded, examined, and x-rayed.   But that was the easy part. 

The tougher part was the spiritual/emotional battle that has been subtly building over the last several days.  There’s nothing extraordinary going on, really.  It’s just that, like everyone else who lives and breathes, I have a steady stream of stuff coming at me.  Stuff like daily details, family relationships, health information, … just stuff.  Not one piece is overwhelming on its own.  Especially not if I carefully lift each item up and release it.  But if I hang on to stuff, plot and plan and maneuver it just so, try to own it, try to solve it…then it owns me.  It’s psychological warfare.  It’s covert. I don’t even know I’m being attacked until I’ve got myself in knots.  

The first symptom is usually sarcasm.  Little snide comments start slipping out of my mouth.  At first I laugh them off, but then, I notice that they are actually painful barbs directed mostly at those closest to me.  But this one symptom doesn’t usually get my full attention.  

I usually have to progress to midnight wakefulness and fevered internet searching, trying to find the answers to my problems through information, or services, or a job (oy, vey!).  It happened again tonight. After sending several emails and searching numerous medical websites,  I almost filled out an online form to receive job notifications for Pete’s sake!  Like a job, doing more, will actually make me feel better! 

Thankfully, I woke up and closed out the screen and turned to my blog.  “Ho, hum, if I can’t sleep anyway, I might as well blog…” I read what I wrote yesterday, then I got to the scripture…”Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though a war break out against me, even then will I be confident.” 

Oh, yeah, that’s who I am. I am confident. I am the girl whose confirmation verse is Joshua 1:9 “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord, your God, will be with you wherever you go.”  I am the fighter with no earrings and a ponytail who has put on the breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of salvation, the sandals of peace, and the belt of truth.  I am carrying the sword of the Spirit.

Come at me. 

Emotional/spiritual warfare?  You are nothing. I’m not afraid of you.  The Lord, my God, is with me wherever I go…and He has promised to “keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in [Him]” (Isaiah 26:3).  I trust Him. 

That is all.  Goodnight. 

 

The battle is on

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“Autoimmune diseases affect approximately 8% of the population, 78% of whom are women” (US Center for Disease Control and Prevention).  Among the autoimmune diseases I’ve heard of are rheumatoid arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, diabetes, celiac disease, lupus, Sjogren’s syndrome, and more.  No one is really sure what causes them.  I have a genetic marker that is often linked with the type of disease that I have. Some people believe the diseases have links to GMOs.  The CDC suggests that they may be linked to previous infection. 

Whatever the case, autoimmune diseases are a malfunction of the little soldiers in our bodies that fight disease.  They are a bit trigger happy, you might say.  They attack when there is nothing to attack.  They are always running around fighting something in our bodies, even when there is nothing to fight.  In my body, they gather around my joints, in my skin, and in my eyes.  They gather, they shout, they fire, they fight!  

You may have noticed when you are sick, and these little soldiers are fighting their hardest, you have to go to bed and rest.  They wear you out!  You feel achey all over, you have a fever, a sore throat, you feel blah.  That is what autoimmune disease feels like most days.  

One way to treat an autoimmune disease is to take immunosuppressants — Enbrel, Humira, Remicade, etc.  These drugs tell the little fighting soldiers in your body to “be ‘at ease’, the infection you are imagining is not really an infection.  It’s a hallucination, so calm down.”  That is all well and good until there is an actual infection.  The fighting soldiers are ‘at ease’ according to their orders, so little enemies can infiltrate the system virtually undetected. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been infiltrated.  Last week, my dear husband had a minor cold — a little sniffle here, a little sneezing there.  I felt great.  I washed the sheets.  I washed my hands.  I kept my distance.  But, some of those little enemies abandoned him and scurried over to me.  They hid for a couple of days, scoping out the opposition.  But they could see that my soldiers were inside their tents, under orders to “be at ease”.  They decided it was safe to ‘be fruitful and multiply’.  

So, I feel a little like I’ve been hit by a truck.  

Not to worry.  Those enemies underestimated the host body.   I am not one to be messed with.  I dragged myself out of bed this morning, took some Emergen-C, some Dayquil, drank a kale-hemp-berry-almond-flax-chia smoothie, made some strong black tea, and looked those little buggers in the eyes.  “Come at me.”  

I immediately felt a scurrying and fleeing.  These little infiltrators now realize that I have had serious disease fighting training in the school of motherhood and the advanced training of teaching in a high school (with juniors — ew). Besides, I have God on my side.  I am assured a victory.  I am not going to lie down and be beaten.  I have taken out my earrings, pulled my hair back, and I am ready.  

I bet even you can hear them fleeing.  

Psalm 27:3

Though an army besiege me, I will not fear; 

though war break out against me, even then I will be confident.