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.
I used to get frustrated with students who sat in the writing lab staring at a blank screen.
Guess what I have been doing for almost an hour.
Yup.
Busted.
I’m sitting here in my pajamas, realizing that my cup of tea is almost empty and I have nothing to say.
My students prayed for this moment.
Chester is asleep under my desk. My husband has left for work. The remaining daughter is into her second hour of productivity. And here I sit.
I mean, I have been a little productive. I did send a couple of emails. I did clear a level on Candy Crush that had been giving me trouble. Don’t judge.
I want to start writing about my options for ‘what’s next’, but I am committed to not discussing that at least until September. And it’s only August 26! September 1 is Labor Day, so I can’t very well discuss career options or work on Labor Day! So I am going to have to find something to write about between now and September 2. That is seven whole posts!!!!!!!
Being still is hard!!!
Of course I have to admit that I’m not just sitting in my pajamas playing Candy Crush all day. I have managed to keep up on the laundry, cook a few meals, keep the house relatively orderly, go for walks, and meet new people every day.
And I also have to grudgingly admit that even that has worn me out. I woke up feeling not great today, which tells me I have to take extra care to rest. And that makes me a bit angry. I want to be able to do things. I had big dreams of going to quaint coffee shops to write, of exploring Ann Arbor, of going on adventures. I was hoping for endless possibilities.
But today, I think the reason it’s difficult to write is that reality is jumping up and down in front of me waving its arms. “Hey, Kristin, remember me? Reality? I am the knowledge that you have days like today where you struggle to get out of bed, your joints ache, you are exhausted, and you want to cry. Do you really think you can explore ‘what’s next’ with me standing right here?”
Hey, Reality, you suck.
But, Reality is, after all, reality. I do have days like this. I won’t crawl back into bed, but I will talk myself into doing Pilates, into going for a walk, into taking a break and maybe even a nap. I will look at the people in front of me and be thankful that I have this grace period to breathe and fully evaluate reality.
Only when I fully grasp my new reality will I be able to see what God has next for me.
Show me your ways, Lord, teach me your paths. 5 Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.
Many years ago, when the children were young and I was staying home with them, I felt a bit overwhelmed. We had had three babies in three years, my husband was in full-time ministry, and we had one car. Yup, one car. So, he left in the morning and I was there with the children. He came home in the afternoon and I was there with the children.
Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade those days for anything. But any of you who have been or are stay-at-home moms know that there were moments when I felt a little trapped, exhausted, and frustrated. My husband saw this and started encouraging some outlets. It started with, “Here are the car keys, I have the kids, go get some lunch or coffee; take a walk or something.” It progressed to “I got us a membership at the YMCA. How about you go swimming before I leave for work every morning?” Both of those strategies helped, but it wasn’t until he said, “Go up to my office and do some writing,” that I finally felt a true release of pressure.
I had been writing at home the whole time…I would send the kids to their rooms for ‘quiet time’ every morning at 10:00 for thirty minutes. None of us were allowed to speak to each other for those thirty minutes…because we all (mostly mommy) needed a break from one another. They would each play or look at books in their rooms while I would have my devotion and journaling. But it wasn’t enough.
When my husband ‘sent me’ to his office at the church to write for a couple of hours a couple of times a week, I had permission to really do some writing. It was such a gift to me. I began to write chancel dramas for our church, lyrics for worship songs, and articles for newsletters and parenting magazines. It was life-giving writing. It became even more powerful when the chancel dramas were used in our worship services and people commented that they had meaning. When my lyrics became songs and the whole congregation sang them. When I saw my articles in print and people actually commented on them. I was connecting with people outside of my home, sharing my relationship with God, and it was feeding me.
When we moved to the seminary ten years ago, I had to put a lot of that on a shelf. My energy was diverted to teaching and parenting, period. Both very fulfilling, to be sure. Both very demanding also.
Well, I am no longer teaching. My kids are all moving on. So, I am returning to my writing. I have ‘sent’ myself to the office in our little home by the river. I have given myself permission to write every day. I am trying to connect with people outside of my home, sharing my relationship with God, and it, again, is feeding me.
I’ve got this weed in the front of my house that is kind of bugging me. I’ve got to pull it out of there, but look at it! It’s huge! And, once I pull it out, what am I going to put in there? Besides I haven’t really had the time or energy for a big project like that. Remember, I’m trying to be still.
I am being still, by the way. I mean, we haven’t even got a church yet! I know, I know, I’ve only been here four weeks.
The first week, we missed church because we were in Indianapolis waiting for a tow truck to come and get the keys out of the locked car. Yeah, I did that. Sigh.
The second week, my husband preached at a nearby congregation that is pastored by a seminary classmate. I was welcomed to sit with the regulars and introduced around to everyone like they were my family. After service, we went to lunch with our seminary friends. Bliss.
The third week, we were traveling. We were in Chicago collecting a daughter, so we worshipped at her community church. It’s a young congregation that meets in a school auditorium — great music, great message, great people.
Today, the fourth week, we are going to worship with students at the Concordia Chapel before we join them on their annual service day.
I have no idea what is happening next week.
It’s ok, really. It’s just weird.
We’ve been church workers for as long as we’ve known each other, so we have rarely been without a church. We were married in a church where my husband was on staff. When he went to graduate school, we moved to a small town, he introduced himself to the pastor, and before we knew it, we were doing youth work. We moved again for his internship, he introduced himself to a pastor, and before we knew it, he was on staff — for twelve years. We went to seminary and were assigned to a congregation. Then, for his pastoral internship, we moved to the church that would become his first call. We were there eight years altogether.
Last year, when he moved here, and I stayed there. I was in a strange place. My husband, the pastor, was no longer the pastor of the church where I belonged. I worshipped there sometimes, and the people were great, but it just felt weird. I found a few other congregations to visit, and even frequent, but I knew I wasn’t going to really invest because of the pending move.
Now I have moved, but I think it’s going to be a while before we really connect to a congregation. There’s no rush, really. It’s ok to take a minute to breathe.
God has kind of designed it that way. He has my husband preaching at area churches to promote Concordia once or twice a month. We still have a bit of traveling to do. And, He knows us. He knows that once we commit, we will really commit, and I sense that this period of not having a church home is part of the being still portion of this journey.
Have I mentioned that I am not accustomed to being still? I’m not accustomed to not knowing. I’m not accustomed to unfinished business. I’m not accustomed to having a gigantic weed in the front of my house.
But, I am learning to just chill. Be patient. Wait on the Lord. Be still.
I’m pretty sure that I will one day pull that weed out of the ground, it may take some help from some passing football players. Maybe they will also help me plant some flowers and spread some mulch.
And, I’m pretty sure that we will find a church home. At just the right time. When we’re ready. He knows when that is.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”
1 The Lord is my owner/manager, I have everything I need. 2 He provides me with a new pillow-top bed, he gives me a sweet little house beside the Huron, 3 he refreshes my soul. He plans my itinerary to put me in places where I meet the best people at just the right time. 4 Even though He sometimes sends me to places that others consider scary, I have not been afraid, because He goes ahead of me and prepares the way, providing resources and assistance at every turn; His Word and His people comfort me.
5 You shower me with blessings and make me oblivious to any enemies. You fill my fridge with food and my glass with nice red wine, until it overflows. 6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life (I don’t know why I would ever doubt that after all your faithfulness to me) and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (with some pretty amazing people that have gone before and beside me).
When I moved in almost three weeks ago, the campus was virtually empty. A few summer workers were maintaining the buildings and grounds, but the residence halls were abandoned. The trickle began a couple of weeks ago with resident assistants and fall athletes. Yesterday was move-in day. Cars filled every parking spot as parents helped their kids cram way too much stuff into their new dwellings.
Last night a few of us decided to make an appearance at an orientation event. I got just a glimpse of what I am in for. We were in the black box theater on campus where several student leaders did skits to share the nuances of campus life–eating in the cafeteria, visiting the mail room, and the like. In the room with us were (at least) four children of classmates of mine from when I attended this university!
The stages in the life of a Concordia student paraded in front of me –brand new freshmen, student leaders, alumni turned resident staff, and alumna turned Dean’s wife. That’s what I am in for. I get the privilege of a court side seat to watch awkward freshmen become confident leaders become invested adults. Seriously? And some of them are kids of my friends?
Who gets to do this? I do!
Later today, one of my classmates, who dropped off her freshman daughter here yesterday, is picking me up for lunch. This woman was once an unsure freshman at this very college herself. When I met her, she was a ‘seasoned’ junior who had already overcome many extraordinary obstacles. (That’s her story to tell.) Because of her growth through those obstacles, she was able to be part of the team that held me through my obstacles.
We are both launching freshmen daughters this year. We are both becoming grandmothers this year. Today we will share hugs and swap stories and remember the ‘good old days’ at Concordia and thank God for his faithfulness in providing each of us a place like this, and people like us, to walk through the stages of life with.
Deuteronomy 7:9 Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations…
I am sitting in a waiting room writing this on my phone. It’s weird.
Why, kids, I remember back in the day when we had to use paper…and number 2 pencils. I remember the manual typewriter I used during high school and the fancy electric typewriter I plugged into the wall in my college dorm room. Then, the big step up when my college work study employer let me stay after hours to write papers on the office computer and print them on the enormous printer.
Two years ago all of my students were given iPads and I made sweeping changes to my instructional methods. I own a MacBook and an iPhone. I am continually connected. Or distracted.
We all are, really. We all talk about it. We get irked when someone who is with us takes a call or checks a text. But we also take calls and check texts.
But hey, people can reach us. And we have gps on us all the time. And Google. Those are useful things.
And we have games and Facebook or Twitter if we get bored in, say, a waiting room. So, technology is good. Progress is good. Change is good. Right?
Assess it for yourself. Only you know you. It’s not all good or all bad. Technology is a tool. Tools are meant to be used to accomplish a task or achieve a goal.
Right now, this phone is allowing me to blog when I am away from my computer. It is helping me achieve a goal. A few minutes ago I messaged a friend about meeting for coffee next week. I used Google Maps to find the waiting room I am sitting in. Right now, I am effectively using this tool.
In a little while I may spend too much time playing Words with Friends. I may be so engrossed in this tool that I ignore someone near me who would really like to chat.
There is a time to put the tool away. I mean, I wouldn’t have walked around with that manual typewriter. I have been known to stick a number 2 pencil behind my ear, but that never got in the way of me looking someone in the eye.
I’m gonna put the tool away for a bit and be present in this moment. I’ll take it back out later, when I need it. Right now, I am gonna try to look someone in the eye.
I Corinthians 10:23. All things are permissable, but not all things are beneficial. Everything is permissable bit not everything is constructive.
I am dusting off this post from August 2014in celebration of the 1000 English teachers I’m reading with now — June 2019.
My students have helped me keep my secret for years — I’m not really the best English teacher. It’s true. They correct my grammar almost as much as I correct theirs. I misspell words, even on the board! And, to be honest, I always have to look up the correct usage of lie and lay.
I mean I have the credentials and everything — a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in English. I was even magna cum whatever both times. I love English. I love literature. I love words. I’m just not a big fan of rules.
(I know, I know — obviously.)
What I love about language, actually, is its fluidity, its malleability. I love the way meaning changes over time and according to circumstance. I love playing with language and trying out new words in new contexts.
When I went to grad school I transitioned from the language of Barney the Dinosaur to the discourse of academia. When I moved from Michigan to Missouri, I switched from pop to soda. I love learning new terms as they emerge, and I especially love trying the language of my students.
One of my favorite parts of teaching is when my students teach me the ‘in’ words of the moment. I like to pretend that I have swag and that I can use their words in appropriate ways, but really I am just providing comic relief for my students who don’t really love language as much as I do. (Sigh.) I once had a group a students who were committed to saying ‘that’s dead‘ at least twenty times per class period. Now for those of you who are not as hip as I am, ‘that’s dead’ means “bad idea” or “I don’t like that” or “no, I disagree”. So, I would say, “The paper is due tomorrow.” My students would reply, “that’s dead.” See, now isn’t that fun?
When I taught at an inner city high school in St. Louis, my students one day spent ten minutes of class teaching me the etymology of the word bird. If I remember correctly bird means a female human. Old bird means my mother. I can’t seem to remember how to refer to a girlfriend, but that’s ok, it was 2005, the words have surely changed by now!
In 2013, for the first time in my career, I taught a class of freshmen. I loved it. They were easily impressed, tried the things I asked them to, played along with my games, and encouraged my love of words. One day we were working on a particularly tough grammar lesson, and one of my students demonstrated that he understood. I excitedly high-fived him and said, “Bam!” That was all it took. For the rest of the year, whenever anyone did something right, we had to have a “Bam!”
Language is a reflection of personality, of individuality. We are not all the same, especially in this country. We are all kinds of people. We can’t all mean the same thing just because we are using the same word. When I say ‘conservative’, I might simply mean ‘guarded’; you might take it to mean a political viewpoint. For me, ‘fresh’ means ‘new”; to some it means ‘stylish’. ‘We negotiate meaning all day long. We have to listen and question to communicate. We can’t assume that we understand just because we hear words that we recognize. We have to enter into dialogue. We have to get to know one another. We have to be flexible, malleable, fluid.
Ah, grasshopper, there is a lesson here for all of us, isn’t there? Let’s use our words. Let’s listen to each other, without assumption and without judgment. Let’s try to understand where the other person is coming from. When we aren’t sure, let’s ask for clarification. Someone who uses words differently than I do isn’t necessarily dangerous or less than me. (S)he is just different. And aren’t we glad for the difference? A world full of people just like me, using all the same words that I use, meaning exactly what I mean, would be incredibly dull.
So I learn from my students, and I break a few rules. I try out words that I don’t really understand, and I talk to people who are different than me.
I make mistakes. I ask for forgiveness. Then I try again.
Bam.
let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance”
I wrote this piece when citizens were demonstrating in Ferguson in the wake of the Michael Brown killing. Looking back now, I feel so naive. I believed that change was happening, that finally we would see an end to racial violence. Today, in the midst of nation-wide protests over the murder of George Floyd and countless others — I am feeling hopeful again — hopeful that change is gonna come and that the endless disregard for the lives of black and brown people will be something we talk about in history classes and not see on the news. I know that the God who holds us all — the black, the brown, the white — in the same hand is able to bring peace and reconciliation. I want to be part of that change.
I was sound asleep just a little while ago. Something woke me. I reached down to check on Chester, my Golden Retriever who sleeps on a doggy bed on the floor within arm’s reach. His bed was empty.
I don’t know why I reached under my bed, but that is where I found him. In his six and a half years of life, I have only found Chester under the bed one other time…shortly after our son left for the Army. He could sense our distress then; was he sensing distress now?
I checked my phone. Maybe one of my kids texted in the middle of the night with some sort of emergency…I mean, the dog was under the bed…something was not right in the world.
My news feed told me that once again teargas was used in Ferguson, Missouri. In fact, a ninety-year-old Holocaust survivor was arrested for protesting.
What is happening?
From 2005 to June of this year (2014) I taught in a small Christian high school on the north side of St. Louis — two miles from the QT that was burned down in the aftermath of the shooting of Michael Brown. At the time, the school had approximately sixty percent African American students and thirty-five percent white students; the remaining five percent were Asian, Hispanic, or otherwise classified.
The North side of St. Louis has a reputation for being violent and racially divided. Some people are afraid to go there. Some people wondered why I taught there.
But in that space — at that intersection of white and black, urban and suburban, conservative and liberal — we had an opportunity.
My students and I were able to discuss issues in my classroom with humor and candor that might not be discussed outside those walls. The school fosters an open dialogue that values Christian unity amid diversity. My students taught me so much about dispelling stereotypes and respecting difference. They changed me forever.
I am not teaching there this year — the year of a violent police shooting — the year that many of my students go home at night to a broken and hurting Ferguson, the year that some of my grads are demonstrating every night, the year that neighboring public schools have closed in response to the violence. I am not there.
Instead, I have started a new chapter in Ann Arbor, MI — which has a reputation for being inclusive, liberal, conscientious. This morning I went to the post office and was jokingly reprimanded by the African American postal worker who didn’t like me calling him ‘sir’. I smilingly explained to him that I had just moved back to Michigan from a place where using ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ is respectful and expected. He smiled knowingly and we wished each other a great day. Then, I exchanged pleasant conversation with the African American cashier at the grocery store who didn’t need to check my ID when I purchased some wine because it was her ‘job to know’ who to card. My nails were done in a salon staffed exclusively by Asian American women who joked with me and my daughter and exchanged smiles with us. I came home to a campus that houses a small but diverse population that, at least on the surface, seems to be respectful and equitable. I didn’t have a hint of racial tension in my day.
Before I went to bed I checked the news and saw peaceful protests in Ferguson, an upbeat interview with the new chief of police there, a statement from President Obama encouraging open dialogue and peaceful resolution. I wanted to believe we were moving in the right direction — that all would soon be right with the world. I went to sleep with Chester on his doggy bed by my side.
But several hours later, I am aware that all is not right in the world tonight — Chester is hiding under my bed. The dog who follows me everywhere, did not budge when I came to the living room at two in the morning to write. He, like many tonight, is distressed.
I, too, am distressed. This — racism, violence against people of color, inequitable policing, systemic disparity — has gone on too long. People I know and love are hurting, protesting, putting themselves in harm’s way for the sake of change.
Like Job, I “weep for those in trouble.” As I “hope for good, evil comes,” As I “look for light, then comes darkness” (Job 30:25-27).
But even in trouble, even in darkness, God is still God. He is in Ferguson; He is in Ann Arbor. And “He who watches over us will not slumber” (Psalm 121:3). Right now He is keeping watch. I pray that Ferguson, and those that I love there, will one day feel free to sleep in peace.
Resources for learning about/building racial equity:
Teaching Tolerance – free resources for educators “to supplement the curriculum, to inform their practices, and to create civil and inclusive school communities where children are respected, valued and welcome participants.”
Also, there are many places that could use your donations right now, but I’ll suggest two schools that I am aware of that foster racial dialogues and provide strong educational opportunities of students of color:
Today is a detail day — schedule the oil change, get the groceries, call the university, fold the laundry, etc. I have lots to do…actually lots to do all week long.
These details were a bit overwhelming last night when we had just returned from dropping off the baby at college eight hours away. And, I’m a little irritated at the moment that I can’t just lie around and mope. Already I am laughing at myself.
It’s all by God’s design isn’t it? He knew in advance that I would be a little torn up today — worrying, grieving, overthinking — so he made sure my plate was full for a bit. It’s all good stuff — family visiting tonight through Friday, an appointment with a specialist, some cooking, some cleaning, and definitely some writing.
I will find some time in the midst of the details to grieve a little, to wallow a little, to mope a little. But, I will have to wipe the tears and drag myself out of bed to get a few things done.
After all, one daughter is still here! In fact, she greeted us last night when we returned from our trip with a warm dinner and lots of energy! I couldn’t bring myself to write a grocery list, but she could. I was overwhelmed at the thought of laundry, but she had it started! God’s design. He knew that if they were all gone at once, I would be overcome by loneliness. He’s easing me into the empty nest.
My niece is coming to visit tonight, bringing more energy into our home. Two twenty-one year olds full of possibility and promise — they will take a road trip tomorrow! What fun! They will leave me here to write, think, rest, and grieve for a couple of days, then they will bring their energy back.
Do you see that detail? God was setting up the details ahead of time, taking care of me, knowing exactly what I needed. He knew I needed to do for a little while and then be for a little while. He knew I needed people in my house for a while. He knew what I needed before I even asked. He’s got August taken care of, so that I can face September. He’s always looking out for me, and for you.
The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer;
my god is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
On Monday (August 26, 2019) I wrote that Change is Constant. Since then, even more change has happened in my everyday life. I’ve unearthed this post first written in August 2014 to remind myself of all the changes we’ve lived through and been changed by as a family — to remind myself that change brings the potential for transformation.
On December 21, 1989, when my husband proposed to me, he said, “Things are going to get busy for a while.” He wasn’t kidding.
In the last 25 years we have lived in eleven different homes, parented four children (giving birth to three within three years!), earned three Master’s degrees, taught hundreds of students, driven thousands of miles, and attended dozens of churches. Things have indeed been busy!
We have experienced lots of change–as individuals, and as a family. At first, I braced myself for change and tried to ‘get through’ it, but I’ve come to realize that change is our constant and bracing myself all the time just leaves me exhausted.
Although steeling myself against change is still my initial reaction, I’ve learned that when I lean in, change goes more smoothly. It can even be pleasant — invigorating.
In fact, early in our marriage, my husband really enjoyed reorganizing all the furniture in the house. He would get an idea to rotate all the bedrooms — all in one day! The master bedroom would become the kids’ dorm. The girls’ room would become the den. It would be an all-day project. I know it sounds like lots of work, but we always liked the outcome — a fresh start, a new perspective.
When the kids were in elementary school, we spent many hours investigating and discussing before we decided to move them from a parochial to a public school. One school was not better than the other, but they were very different. It was a huge change. My husband and I felt it was the right decision, so we acted. It was a huge transition for the kids; you’d have to ask them how they feel about that choice now. Each would probably answer differently, especially since the very next year, we not only switched their schools again, we moved them to an entirely different state! A different time zone! A different — sweatier –climate!
That move meant not only a change in school, but a change from the only church they had ever known — where they were all born, rocked, sung to, cuddled. We all looked shell-shocked for a couple of years. It was a lot of change.
While there, in Missouri, we made so many deep friendships. I would not trade that time for anything. But, at times, it was like living through a deployment. We encountered a new culture, we soldiered through difficulties, we sustained some injuries, and we’ve never been the same.
Change changes us.
I am not the person I was on December 21, 1989. Thank goodness!! Neither is my husband. Thank goodness!! All of this busy-ness, all of these changes, have transformed us.
When we were at one of our first congregations, with all our babies, a dear friend said, “I see you guys as a diamond in the rough–the outside is being chiseled away to reveal that beautiful inside.” I may have been a little offended at the moment, but I now treasure the fact that she saw some potential under the rough exterior that we wore back in our twenties.
I’d like to think that the changes we have endured have chiseled away some stubbornness, some judgmental attitudes, some close-mindedness, but we aren’t done yet. Change is our constant. And, even today, as I find myself in the midst of great change, I lean in. I know that these changes, too, will be transformative, and I am not afraid.
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.
Next Chapter 