Category: attitude

Returning

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

No, I did not fall off the planet.  No, I did not abandon my blog.  Yes, I did stay away from it fro the longest stretch of time since I started writing it two years ago.  And, just like everything other discipline, the longer you stay away, the harder it is to get back on track.

When I was in high school, my band director said that we should practice every single day, even if only for 10-15 minutes.  He impressed on me the idea that every day I did NOT practice would take two days to get back to my current level of skill.  I think he wanted to scare me into consistent practice, and his method worked for a while.  However, it had an unintended consequence.  After I left the high school band, and didn’t play my flute for several months, I considered his math and decided that I didn’t have enough time in my life to get back to the level of skill I had currently enjoyed.  I mean, if I hadn’t played for 180 days, it would take me 36o days of consecutive practice just to get back on track!  I was exhausted just thinking about it!  I haven’t played my flute in years.

Exercise is similar, isn’t it?  I used to be a distance runner.  I completed two half-marathons and several 5K and 10K races.  It was typical for me to run 3-5 miles 5-6 days each week with occasional longer runs.  In fact, at one point, three miles felt like an “off” day — like I hadn’t really run at all.  I was in excellent physical condition.  At that point, I could not run for several days in a row (although that rarely happened) and still have the capacity to easily run five miles.  In fact, sometimes a break of three or four days would make me crave that run. When I finally had the time and opportunity to put on my running shoes, I would burst out the door with a ridiculous grin on my face, thrilled to be back at it.  However, now that illness has limited my ability to run, and I haven’t run three miles in  over three years, the idea of getting back to that level of fitness is a bit daunting.

I have a mixture of feelings as I sit here today.  I am thrilled to be back at my blog after a long absence, but I don’t really know how to get back to where I was.  What thread should I start with? health? work? teaching? writing? I’ve been wanting to post all week, but I keep finding other things to do — cook, clean, meet a friend for coffee, see a student, work on a puzzle, weed the garden.  This morning, I determined that I would finally sit down and write, but I wandered around the house a bit first.  What am I going to write about?  Where do I begin?

It took me a moment to remember my practice — my routine.  Drink smoothie. Check. Drink green tea. Check. Brew black tea. Check. Sit down, Kristin, sit down. Open your Bible study. That’s right.  Read it.  Turn to the Word. Psalm 107:20: “He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave.”

Yes, yes He did.  He sent forth his Word and rescued me from the grave. Let’s start there today.  It’s not difficult to go back to God’s Word, even after a long absence.  You don’t have to build stamina.  You don’t have to get back to a former level of performance.  “Behold, He makes all things new.”  He breathes His breath of life into us each moment that we turn to Him.

We give ourselves all kinds of laws and expectations, don’t we? I’m going to eat healthfully, exercise five times a week, blog every day, etc. Our intentions are good, but often, when we don’t meet our expectations, we beat ourselves up with the shoulda coulda woulda messages.  These messages have unintended consequences.  Instead of propelling us back to positive disciplines, they bury us in shame and prevent us from doing what we want to do most.

So, today I turn.  I turn back to His Word.   I turn away from self-blame and self-shame and embrace the God who healed me and rescued me from the grave.  “His mercies are new every morning,” and my mercies can be, too.

Lamentations 3:23

Great is your faithfulness.

The manna-Giver

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Am I “more consumed with conserving and accumulating manna than in honoring the manna-Giver”?  That’s the question that stopped me in my tracks this morning.

Let’s take a stroll back to Exodus 16.  The Israelites, newly emancipated from Egypt, fresh from their crossing of the Red Sea, quickly forget these miraculous works of God and start complaining because they are thirsty and hungry.  They don’t say, “God, you brought us out of Egypt; you’re amazing!  You parted the Red Sea; you’re incredible! We know you will provide food and drink!”  No, they say, “He should’ve left us to die in Egypt, at least there we would’ve had food.”

Stupid ungrateful Israelites.

But God, being God, casually brings fresh water from a rock and rains down manna from the sky.  You know, casually.  And He tells Moses that they should only gather what they need for each day because God will gladly provide them enough.  They don’t have to horde or worry. God, who got them out of Egypt, who parted a whole sea, who brought water from a rock, who made bread fall from the sky, said He would provide enough each day. But, the Israelites decided to, you know, just grab a little extra to make sure.

Stupid untrusting Israelites.

So, my (your?) story is not too different.  I wasn’t exactly a slave in Egypt, but I have been a slave to many things — my eating disorder way back in the 80s, my fears about money, my need to control, …. and as the king said, “etcetera, etcetera…” I didn’t walk across the dry bed of an ocean or anything, but I did witness the freeing words of Christ come out of the mouth of an agnostic therapist, I have witnessed over and over God’s financial provision when it didn’t make any sense at all, I have been taken away from my life of soldiering into a time of rest…Etcetera, Etcetera.  And still, like the Israelites, I complain and fret…

Stupid ungrateful me.

For some reason I look back on my life of slavery and remember how proud I was to be so thin, forgetting that I couldn’t think/remember/drive/communicate. I look longingly at the times that I kicked butts and took names, forgetting that my self-sufficiency felt lonely and isolated.  I long for financial security and try to store away extra, forgetting how God has consistently and faithfully provided for all of my needs.

Stupid untrusting me.

The manna-Giver has rained down bread from heaven so many times in our married life. When we had young children and seemingly un-payable medical bills, He provided. When we went to the seminary, people we didn’t even know provided for our tuition and even Christmas gifts for our children. When an error in withholding resulted in a tax bill that we couldn’t imagine ever paying, He met that need. When, just this week, one of our children didn’t know how to find the money to pay for summer tuition, within hours, a scholarship was provided to pay the bill in full. Etcetera, Etcetera.

And yet I am tempted, just like the Israelites to, instead of praising and thanking the manna-Giver, become “consumed with conserving and accumulating manna.”

This is one more area where I need to “resist the urge to continue”.  When I am “bent on turning” to go back to those days of slavery, I need stop, dead in my tracks, and remember the mighty works of God who has freed me, fed me, and provided for me in every way.

I can trust that His character does not change.

I can trust that He holds me in the palm of His hand.

 

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, 21 to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Ephesians 3: 20-21

 

Marginally Speaking, revisit

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

This post was written in April 2016 — after the first period on the couch and before the second. I was in motion, and I chose to reduce the amount of time I spent on the phone to put more margin into my life. However, my recent stay on the couch may have returned me to some old habits, so I am re-visiting this post in October 2019 to inspire a return to that practice as get back of the couch.

Sometimes when God nudges us to make a change, we make that change and then slowly over time notice the benefits. Other times, we get an immediate indicator that we are heading in the right direction. That happened for me this week.

If you read my recent post, Margin, you know that I decided to turn off my phone from 8pm to 8am every day. I made that decision just two days ago while sitting right here on this futon doing my Bible study. I blogged about it then went through my day. I got home Tuesday night, played all my turns on Words With Friends, checked Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, then turned off my phone a bit before 8.

I wasn’t quite ready to go to bed, so I sat next to my husband, crocheting and watching Bizarre Foods. We watched and laughed at its ridiculousness, then I crawled into bed and settled in to read.

Typically after an evening of watching TV and constantly checking my phone, I can read for thirty to sixty minutes before falling asleep. Not Tuesday. Nope. I got into my comfortable position, opened my book, and made it through two or three pages before I had to surrender to sleep. I slept hard.

I woke up the next morning around 7:15am. Usually, the first thirty to sixty minutes of my day are spent in bed checking email, messages, Facebook, etc. But it was 7:15, and I had made a commitment to keep the phone off until 8am, so I crawled out of bed, showered, made my breakfast beverages, and dressed for a day of Bible study, teaching and tutoring. Around 8, I checked messages and emails and noticed that I had missed a call, so I messaged the friend who had rang me, talked to my husband for a few minutes before he left for work, then settled in to prepare for Bible study.

The phone rang. The same friend called to explain why she had called — to talk through the fact that her day was not going the way that she had planned. She’d had an interruption that was causing her to spend an extra two hours on the road to retrieve an item that had been left on our campus. I commiserated with her then hung up to go back to my Bible study about margins.

I started reading then thought to myself, “You’re dressed.” Yes, that’s right, I was dressed and ready to leave for Bible study, and I didn’t have to leave for another 30 or 40 minutes. I turned back to my reading.

“You know, you could  get that item and meet your friend half way.”

That one wasn’t me.

How do I know? Because I argued back, “but I’m supposed to be at Bible study in half in hour.”  I went back to my reading.

“What would happen if you were late?”

“Well, I’m always late.”

Sigh.

I picked up my phone, made arrangements, and started driving.

So, here’s my analysis of what happened. If I had not decided to add in a margin to my life — some white space — by turning off my phone from 8p to 8a, I might have still been lying in bed when the friend called. I would not have been dressed. I would have been reading Facebook posts and playing WWF. I wouldn’t have had the space in my day to drive twenty minutes to help her out. But, I did make that decision. I did put the margin in my life.

And the very next morning after making that decision, God provided a tangible reward — an opportunity to use that same time, the time I’d been filling up, to help a friend.

You might think that my friend is the only one who benefitted. Not true. The whole time I was driving I was thinking out loud, “Really? You’re gonna respond to my decision that quickly? You want to affirm this decision that strongly?”  I was flabbergasted. I was stunned to notice God working in my life in such a way.

And here’s the nugget, guys. I noticed because I wasn’t face-down into my phone. Yes, this is hugely convicting and embarrassing. I have spent far too much time in my phone. I’ve known this. I just didn’t want to make a change.

And, I’ve got to be real honest here and say that it’s been just as hard as I thought it would be. After 8pm last night, I kept mentally reaching for my phone to check for messages, see if everyone was ok, or if I’d missed anything. I had to continue to remind myself that I had already turned it off for the night and that everyone would be ok without me for twelve hours.

The hardest part, however, wasn’t the lack of checking in, it was the awareness of all the thoughts I have routinely shoved down by occupying myself with my phone. With my phone turned off, lots of ugliness creeps to the surface — regrets and questions about the past, worries about finances, personal insecurities, and all sorts of stuff I have chosen not to think about. With my phone down, I can not ignore these nagging concerns. I am forced to look them in the face. It’s not pleasant, guys, to look at all that stuff. It makes me feel yucky. I don’t like feeling yucky.

Last night after I put my book down, I closed my eyes because I thought I was ready for sleep. I was tired, but as I was lying in bed, trying to sleep, the ugliness started playing out on my mind screen. “Ugh,” I thought, “why!?!?!?”  I felt overwhelmed.  In desperation I said to God, “Is this real? Is my memory real? Please replace these images with what is true!”

Did you see that? I didn’t shove the images down. I held them up to God and asked for His reality check. Why was I able to do that? Because I’ve put a margin into my life. I’ve left some white space, expecting that He will step in and fill it. I am acknowledging that the story I am writing is rough and needs the hand of the Master. I need Him to speak into my life — to offer encouragement, correction, and guidance. I haven’t been leaving room for that. I’ve been writing all the way to the edge of the paper.

I’m a mere two days in, guys, but this change is so important that God is already dramatically stepping in. It’s like He’s been standing by waiting for the opportunity.

Let me just be quiet, so I can hear Him.

Speak for your servant is listening.”

I Sam 3:10

Return to the Lord, re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

This post was written days after Easter in March 2016. Since then, I’ve been on many mountaintops and into far more valleys than I ever saw coming. It’s the rhythm of life, and He continues to be faithful in April 2019.

Come, let us return to the Lord. He has torn us to pieces but he will heal us; he has injured us but he will bind up our wounds.

Hosea 6:1

Yesterday I celebrated my 50th birthday by going to the gym, shopping with my husband, and going out to dinner. All day long family and friends sent me their well-wishes. If ever I felt loved, yesterday was the day.  I was flying high and enjoying every minute of celebration, but you know the saying, “what goes up, must come down.”

Today is not my birthday. I woke to my typical aches and pains; maybe they were even a little worse than usual after all my merry-making yesterday. I went to the chiropractor for an adjustment, then traveled to meet my in-laws for a birthday lunch. It was one last glimpse at the mountaintop before I got a long look at the valley.

About a hour ago, a phone call signaled a continuing family conflict, the taxman affirmed what we thought would be bad news, and then the baking project I was working on didn’t yield as much as I was hoping it would. Three strikes and I plummeted off that mountain of Easter/birthday love into the valley of “how am I going to fix this mess?”

In frustration I cried out, looking “to the hills from whence cometh my help.” God, why do you seem so far from me when just yesterday you seemed so close?  I mean, didn’t I celebrate Easter two days ago with shouts of “He is risen, He is risen indeed, Alleluia”? Didn’t I go straight from celebrating Your victory over sin, death, and the grave into a virtual love-fest? Why is my faithfulness so fleeting? Why Am I so quick to forget your goodness?  Why do I think that the God of the Universe, who willingly sent His only Son to die for my sins, won’t also walk with me through family difficulties, financial trials, and a tiny little thing like mis-sized cinnamon rolls?

Because I am bent on turning. When the road gets a little rough, I assume I’ve got to get tough. I don’t often consider that God has placed a rough road in front of me so that He can assure me of His presence and provision. I forget that He has carried us through sickness, joblessness, tragedy, and loss to much better places than we ever thought possible.

Just this morning, a mere nine hours ago, I read in my Bible study of Hosea the words posted above, that “God has torn us to pieces, but He will heal us.”  I read that way before the triple threat of a mere hour ago.

Jennifer Rothschild asks in the Hosea study, “What is the greatest affliction God has placed or allowed in your life?” I listed a few things that have been quite challenging. Her next question, “Can you see how that wounding has been part of greater healing?” My response? “Absolutely.”

Can I see how the situations placed before us right now might be part of greater healing? Yes. Do I wish that they weren’t happening? Yes. Do I trust God enough to watch and see how He works even in these difficult times? Obediently, at this moment, I say yes.

I refuse to lose hope just because I am sitting in the valley after a delightful trip to the mountaintop. I’m not going to fashion a golden calf. I’m going to trust that God is still working, just like He was Sunday and yesterday. I’m going to to believe that any bumps in our path have been crafted by Him to draw us closer to, not further from, Him. I’m going to believe that although right now we seem wounded, in just a little while He will heal us.

And won’t He just do it.

One of those days….

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Did you ever have one of those days?  I had one this week.

It actually started the night before.  My husband was out of town, so I stayed up a little too late watching Netflix and crocheting.  Yes, I know, I am a rebel. Full disclosure — I was also sipping wine.

I set my alarm for 7am when I crawled into bed around 11:30pm because I had a physical therapy appointment the next morning at 8:15 about thirty minutes away from my home. (No, I don’t need more time to get ready.  My PT knows that I roll out of bed, fix my tea, and then drive to her.  I don’t always even comb my hair.)

When my alarm went off, I groaned, creakily rolled out of bed and realized that since my husband was not home, I would have to be the one to take the dog out for his morning duties.  That accomplished, I came back in and got dressed.  (Yes, of course I took my dog outside, on a college campus, in my pajamas. The students don’t even point and laugh any more.)

I dressed, made my smoothie, a cup of super strong black tea, and my special morning green tea laced with lemon, cinnamon, and honey.  Since it was nearing time to leave, I crated the dog and started shuttling my parade of beverages out to the car.  I put a water bottle and my black tea in the cup holders.  Then, I wedged my smoothie behind my purse on the passenger seat.  My green tea?  I set it on the floor of the driver’s side for ‘just a moment’ while I ran back to close the door.

I know you see what’s coming…and this is only the beginning.

I shut the door, ran back to the car, and climbed in, forgetting that I had placed my tea on the floor thirty seconds earlier.  My size 9s kicked the dainty little cup and dumped six ounces of sticky mess onto the floor.  Since I was now running short on time, I reached in the back seat and grabbed the sheet we use to protect the seat from golden retriever hair.  I shoved it onto the driver’s side floor and proceeded to my appointment.

When I arrived at the physical therapy office after my thirty minute drive, the office manager greeted me with, “I have you down for 9:15.” “Oh, ok, mind if I hang out here for an hour?” “Not at all.”

I pushed away the thoughts of an extra hour of sleep or drinking my beverages at home and found a seat on the couch in the waiting room.  I checked my emails, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, then set my phone beside me on the couch and grabbed a magazine.  When the magazine, a local healthy living piece, suggested that my ground was ready to plant peas and spinach, I leaned over to get a pen out of my purse to make a note.  Just then I heard a swoosh-clunk and realized that my phone had slid down the space next to the cushion on the couch.

I slid my arm down the same space and realized that I couldn’t reach my phone to retrieve it.  I stood up to remove the cushion to get better access only to find that the cushion wasn’t the removable kind.  I got on my hands and knees to reach under the couch only to find that the bottom fabric was taut and secure.  After another attempt to fit my arm down the crack, I looked over at the office manager — yes, the same one who had informed me that I was an hour early — and asked her for a little help.

Together we examined the couch.  We reached into the couch.  We tipped the couch forward.  We tipped the couch backward.  Finally we discovered a small tear in the underlining of the couch.  If we tipped the couch backward then lifted one end higher than the other, we could coax my phone to the opening and free it.  Mission accomplished. Phone freed.

But wait, there’s more.

I drove directly from my appointment to cast my vote in the presidential primary.  That took a grand total of ten minutes — no complications.  Phew.  So, I drove home to clean the tea out of the car.  Just as I entered campus, my car informed me that I had forgotten to get gas.  It was gasping on the remaining fumes.  So, I turned around and drove back out to get gas, then returned home to deal with the sticky mess.

The sheet I had shoved under my feet was one of those cheap microfiber ones, so it hadn’t really absorbed anything. It had just provided a barrier between my shoes and the mess.  I grabbed a towel and started wiping up the goop when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my low back.  I slowly rose to standing to assess the situation.  “Come on, I gotta clean up this mess!  I don’t have time for an injury!”  In fact, I didn’t just want to clean up the tea, I wanted to wipe down the interior of the car, maybe run a vacuum, then put a clean sheet on the back seat.

After all, a student was coming to walk Chester with me, and the Dean requires that we take him off campus to walk, so we were going to have to take my car, and I didn’t want this student to see the evidence of my carelessness.  I walked around a bit, grabbed the vacuum and a wet soapy wash cloth and went back to finish the job.  By the time I was finished, the car, good ol’ Suze Cruze, was looking quite snappy — at least on the inside.

However, after maneuvering a couch and cleaning out a car, my body was experiencing some post-traumatic stress and pain.  I had fifteen minutes until the student would arrive, so I iced.  Then we walked. Then I iced some more.

Then I tutored.  Then I iced.  Then I tutored.  Then I iced.

I’m happy to say that the following day my chiropractor was able to put everything back where it belonged.  I wish I could say that he also was able to repair the disfunction in my brain that misunderstood my appointment time, forgot about the tea, neglected putting my phone in the pocket in my purse that was especially designed just for phones, and overlooked an empty gas tank. I mean, he’s a chiropractor, not a miracle worker.

I’m also happy to say that I was able to laugh my way through all of this.  I hope I made you laugh a little bit, too.

Proverbs 3:4

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

still learning, re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 4 Comments

after writing about what some of my students are learning on Monday, I re-discovered this post, first written almost three years ago, about the lessons I have learned from my children and my students. re-examined on February 28, 2019

Parenting and teaching have changed me. At one time I was quick to pass judgment on apparent ‘misbehavior’, I often fell prey to either/or reasoning, and I saw most arguments as very black and white. However, through more than two decades of parenting and almost that many years of interacting with students, my firm — almost rigid — beliefs about almost everything have been challenged and re-shaped.

One of the lessons that my kids and students taught me is that there is always more to a situation than first meets the eyes. Let’s say a student walks into my class late, unprepared, and seemingly unengaged. It would be easy to assume that this student is apathetic about my class specifically, and perhaps education in general. However, a closer look might reveal that the student was doing everything he could to get to my class on time, but his parents had their own timetable — they made him take care of a younger sibling all night, they got home from work late in the morning, and then made my student wait while they showered before they brought him to school. My student wanted to complete the homework, but his sibling was demanding. He wanted to be on time, but he had no alternate way to get to class.

Or, let’s say one of my children is snarky, disrespectful, and seemingly bent on opposing every direction I give. I might assume that my role is to demand respect, give firmer demands, and heap on consequences, but a closer look, and some long hours of listening, may uncover some deep pain that the child is afraid, even ashamed, to share with me. Acting out is not the problem; it’s a symptom.

Another lesson I’ve learned from my kids and my students is that there is always a third option. “Mrs. Rathje, should I study education or medicine?”  “Mom, should I run track or play soccer?” “Would it be better if I took this job or if I didn’t work at all?” My answer — “Is there a third option?”  Why not consider a career as a nurse educator? Is there any other sport or activity that seems interesting to you? Is there a different job you could consider? more schooling? service learning?

Too often I have found myself trapped in either/or thinking:

  • Do I want to be a vegetarian or eat meat?
  • Am I a night person or a morning person?
  • Do I like contemporary or traditional worship?
  • Am I conservative or liberal?
  • Should I teach or write?
  • Am I a Spartan or a Wolverine.

Don’t be ridiculous, that last one was just to see if you were still paying attention.

In my earlier life, I found it safest to ‘choose a side’. I was forming my identity, after all. I wanted to find my place. It felt too risky to remain fluid. I wanted the security of saying that I was Lutheran or Republican. I wanted a box to check. I was anti-Disney, pro-Life, for the environment, and against dying my hair.

Here’s the thing: putting myself in those boxes positioned me against those who put themselves in other boxes. If I liked only wheat bread, I might judge someone who only bought white bread. If I only shopped at Kroger, I might look down on someone who only shopped at Wal-Mart. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to listen to why they preferred white bread or Wal-Mart. I knew I was right. No discussion was needed.

My attitude limited me. I unwittingly cut myself off from all kinds of people and experiences.  

Enter my children. And my students. Early on they were willing to listen to whatever I had to say. They were pliable. They wanted to please me. But over time, as they developed minds of their own, they began to question my positions. They began to challenge my opinions.

How dare they? I did not like this at all!! After all, I had been being right for so long. If I allowed myself to think differently, I was admitting that I had been — gasp — wrong!

But not really. That was some more either/or thinking. Here is what I have come to believe: once upon a time I held certain opinions based on what I knew at the time. Over the years, I have had many experiences that have caused me to re-think those positions. Based on what I know now, some of my opinions have changed. That, my friends is called human growth and development.

And here is the most important thing that I have learned. Life is complex. We can hold conflicting truths. I can, for instance, like the story line of The Lion King and still hate the over- commercialization of Disney and its portrayal of female characters. These opinions can co-exist. I can understand the health benefits of whole grains and still appreciate a nice loaf of French white bread. I can appreciate Wal-Mart’s low prices and still object to the business practices of the Waltons. I can eat both meat and vegetables, just vegetables, or choose a third option — vegetarianism on the weekdays and carnivorism on the weekends.

The amazing human mind is capable of far more complexity than we give it credit for. We limit its capacity to grow when we compartmentalize ideology into false dichotomies.

You might think I feel afraid now that I’ve moved outside of my previously confining boxes. Not at all. I find more room to breathe out here.

I’m telling you — a mother can learn a lot from her kids, and a teacher often learns from her students.

It is not only the old who are wise,
    not only the aged who understand what is right.

Job 32:9

In My Weakness…

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

Yesterday I was lying on a bed at my physical therapist’s office.  She takes over an hour with me every time I visit.  She finds me in the waiting room; she watches me stand; she watches me walk; she leads me to a room, then watches me sit.  She asks me how I am —  what are my presenting symptoms.  She listens.  She types what I say on her computer, compiling a record of my health and my progress. As I stand again, she assesses my posture and my spinal alignment. As I lie down, she feels my pulses and checks the position of my joints.  For over an hour her hands are on me.  She applies pressure to my skull, to my vertebrae, to my ribs, to my organs, to my back, to my hip.  And the whole while that her hands are on me, we are talking. We talk about family, about faith, about health, and about the body. We’ve been doing this since November.  More than any other practitioner I’ve ever met, this woman knows me.

Since the very first appointment with her, I have felt very comfortable in her presence. I feel like my body is being cared for, and even ministered to, every time I am on that table.  What’s more, is that my spirit seems to be ministered to as well.  Marcy, when she places her hands on me, says that she is ‘listening’ to my body.  I believe, after many hours on that table, that God uses that physical connection to forge a spiritual connection.  And through that spiritual connection, He often impresses His truth upon me. I have written about this before (here, here, here).  Perhaps because I am still for a complete hour, perhaps because Marcy creates an atmosphere of ‘listening’, or perhaps because I am so open and receptive to the possibility of healing, I receive from Him while I am lying on that table.

Yesterday, less than a week into my experiment of living without NSAIDs, I bundled up and drove thirty minutes across snow-covered roads because I believed that Marcy’s touch would be helpful.  I wasn’t wrong.

Somewhere during that hour on the bed, I was sharing with Marcy about some students I had been working with this week, and I heard myself saying, “You know, I feel like I do a lot of complaining about my pain, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have any of the opportunities I have right now, if I wasn’t in this current physical state.”  Right at that moment I remembered the words, “my power is made perfect in weakness.” Marcy didn’t say those words.  I didn’t say those words. I just remembered them.

Later yesterday, as I was driving home in my car, I remembered those words again, “my power is made perfect in weakness,” and I began to think of my low batt. analogy.  I love it when I am fully charged — I feel like I can conquer the world.  I charge through life in my power shoes, kicking butts and taking names.  In fact, try not to laugh, when I was in my prime, I jokingly told my students to refer to me as “the great and powerful Rathje”.  Ok, laugh.  We always did.

I don’t love being at low batt.  I don’t feel like I can conquer the world.  I have to sit down a lot.  I move slowly — very slowly this week. I cannot kick any butts or even remember many names.  Yet in this posture — this posture of sitting, lying, walking — I am able to see the opportunities that God is placing in front of me.  They aren’t glamorous.  They aren’t highly visible.  But they are life-changing.

This morning, I searched Biblegateway for the verse that had been on my mind all day yesterday.  I found it in this context:

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. 8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 10 That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

I’ve been praying, pleading with God, way more than “three times,” that He would heal me, but I find myself saying, “Lord, please heal my body, but more importantly, change me.  Don’t let me go back to my soldiering ways. I would love to be free of pain, but only if I have fully learned everything that you want to teach me.”  The pain sucks, kids. It really does. Especially this week. But living a life that fully relies on me sucks even more. 

I’ll be over here on the couch, icing, and being thankful that God’s power is made perfect in my weakness.

Marvel with me

~ Kristin ~ 3 Comments

No wallowing today. Period. I declare this a day of marvel.  Want to marvel with me?

First, I got out of bed after only 40 minutes of wakefulness today!  Woo-hoo!  And what did I find after I had maneuvered from horizontal to vertical?  A fresh blanket of snow reflecting a beautiful sunny day.

Second, having gone to bed without a lesson prepared for my 1pm class today, I woke to purposefulness, started with the end in mind, and prepared a process-oriented lesson that will allow my students some practice in critical analysis.

Third, while I was preparing this lesson, I heard from a couple of former students. One young man who I spent several years trying to convince of his giftedness shared a link to his recent appearance on an AOL sponsored webcast in which he brilliantly articulated the power of technology as a platform for young black voices (Here’s his link.); similarly a  young woman who was in my first high school class in Missouri shared her Christian maturity via social media. I get to know these brilliant young people!

Fourth, I found a forgotten gift card I received for Christmas and purchased two new pillows online.

Fifth, I discovered that a savings bond that we received as a wedding gift over twenty-five years ago will more than cover the cost of passports for me and my husband.

Six, I was offered a position teaching composition to high school students in a summer program at the University of Michigan.

Seven, I get to teach college students in just a couple of hours.

Eight, I get to work with two middle school students later today.

Nine, when I sat down to write, I first read a blog post by another former student. She reminded me that although I am prone to wander, my wandering never satisfies. Here’s her blog.

I read my devotion this morning and it reminded me that just as I have been blessed with following in the footsteps of many faithful believers, I am granted an opportunity to leave some footprints of my own.  I’d hate to spend all of those footprints on the path to wallowing.  So, I’m taking the opportunity, once again, to turn.

My life is rich. I am blessed. I’m just going to marvel at that today. Hope you’ll join me.

Psalm 71:17

Since my youth, God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds.

not perfect

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

I’m not perfect, but sometimes I try to be.  It’s not really a conscious decision; in fact, if you ask me, I will tell you that I have many faults. I know I am not perfect, yet when I make mistakes, which I am bound to do, I am pretty hard on myself.

For instance, I met a new student last Wednesday night.  I had made some assumptions about her ethnicity based on the name she used on her online profile.  I met her in person and began to talk about her language issues.  I asked, “Is English your first language?” “No.” “Chinese?” “No, Korean.” Ouch.  That’s the second time inside of a month that I had mistakenly assumed that a Korean student was Chinese.  Of course both times I apologized, but that didn’t release me from the guilt, judgment, and reprimands that I heaped upon myself for hours —  ok, days –afterward.

Shall we continue? My husband and I had been planning a trip to Cincinnati for Valentine’s Day.  We had offered to watch our granddaughter so that our kids could get away overnight.  He adjusted his schedule so that we could leave as soon as my class ended at 2pm.  I had a test scheduled for my class, so that should be no problem.  I would give them the test, then we would be on our way. Well, my test required a lot of writing.  The class is only fifty minutes long.  I spent the first five minutes discussing the next assignment.  Then, I passed out the test and gave instructions. As I sat there, I realized that my test was taking much longer than I had planned.  Only ten minutes remained in the class when the first speedy student turned his in.  At the end of the allotted time, I still had about ten students writing.  I probably should’ve cut them off.  Class time is class time.  However, I was doubting my ability to gauge how much time it should take to complete this test, so I let them continue.  Some students just needed an extra minute — no big deal.  However, a couple continued writing.  Against my better judgment, I allowed one student to continue writing long past the scheduled class time.

Then, when he finally turned it in, I felt so uneasy, that I stopped to ask a senior professor what he would have done.  With no thinking whatsoever he said he would’ve cut the student off.  The allotted time is the allotted time.  So then I felt awful.  I had forced some students to rush in order to get to their next class on time while this student had the luxury of writing and writing.  Add to that the fact that my husband was now waiting to leave on our trip — bags packed and loaded, coat on, car running — and I felt like I had made a pretty substantial goof.

But that’s not all, folks.  We started driving amid what looked like flurries.  Well, the flurries got pretty intense.  Visibility was limited.  Traffic was heavy. The first portion of the trip which usually takes about one hour, took an hour and forty-five minutes.  We decided to pull over and re-group.  As we approached the exit, we had a mere twenty yards of visibility.

Now some of you  may think, “Bummer.  Bad weather.”  That would be logical.  However, after we decided to turn back for safety’s sake and forfeit our weekend with our granddaughter, I did the shoulda, coulda, woulda game.  I shoulda cut that student off.  Why did I let him take that long?  We coulda left right at 2 like we planned and been ahead of the storm (although I don’t know that to be true.) If I woulda written a better test, we could be in Cincinnati right now.

Been there? Guilt inhibits logic.  Regret twists the facts. Self-condemnation clouds judgment. And then we wallow.  And, as an experienced wallower, let me just share that wallowing is not of God.

As it turns out, my ‘bad test’ was effectively handled by all of my students.  Not one of them failed it.  In fact, the majority made it out with As and Bs. Further, our kids got their weekend away after all when a sibling stepped in to care for the baby.  The husband and I got a much needed weekend at home with no obligations.  And, we got to worship together at the church that we are now calling home.

Making lemonade? Nope, just being beloved.

Let me explain.  I often find myself still on that treadmill of trying to do the right thing — of trying to be-perfect.  It’s silly.  I know. But I do it.  And when I fail, I beat myself up.  But when I listen, I hear the words of God.

I heard them this morning.  I sat down to work through my Bible study on Hosea and I read these words, “God has not called you to be the ‘be-perfect;’ He has called you to be the ‘beloved’!”

Did you hear it? We are not perfect; we aren’t expected to be.  We are beloved — this is evidenced by the fact that in the midst of my faults, the Lover of my soul turned us around, carried us home, gave us a weekend of rest, and most importantly whispered into my self-condemning thoughts, “You are my beloved.”

I’ll take that.

Jeremiah 31:3

…I have loved you with an everlasting love;
    I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.

 

Just add this to the pot

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

So, do you know what simmering does?  It cooks slowly and gently so as not to damage.

Yesterday, a lot of ingredients were tossed into my brain.  I was thinking about pain and illness.  I was wondering about healing. I encountered the idea of spiritual warfare.  I read about pride, identity,  and temptation.  All of these ingredients were sitting there in my brain, and I didn’t know what to do with them.

Often, the recipe is clear — knead, bake, slice, serve. But yesterday, I had no idea what I was ‘making’.  Probably because I wasn’t intended to ‘make’ anything at all.  I felt the nudge to put the pot on simmer and walk away.

Sometimes I do this in our house.  I have a lovely crock pot that I fill with a pale chunk of pork or chicken, a couple tablespoons of slimy olive oil, some sea salt and other dry pungent spices.  I turn the dial to ‘simmer’, and I walk away.  It’s lazy cooking, yes, but’s it’s pretty effective.  Those ingredients, which look less than appetizing at the start, start to simmer, and as they do, they give off a pleasing aroma that fills my house and greets my husband when he walks into the house after a long day.

So, yesterday, as I was taking in some thoughts that were less than pleasing — pain, illness, temptation, spiritual warfare, pride, sin — instead of tossing them all into the trash, I decided to allow them to simmer for a while.  I mean, it couldn’t hurt.

While they were simmering, I went to the gym and walked on the treadmill for a half an hour or so.  Then, I submersed myself in the warm bubbling waters of the jacuzzi.  I showered, dressed, then drove to meet with two students in a neighboring town.

I drove home, ate some dinner, watched some television, crocheted, read, and went to bed.  And the ideas were still simmering.  I didn’t open the pot to stir.  I didn’t turn the heat up or down.  I just let them cook slowly and gently.

This morning, the battalion met to continue in our study of Hosea. I think I was hoping that I would be able to open the crock pot and see that all the ingredients were ‘done’ simmering.  That didn’t happen.

Instead, as they continued to simmer, I observed this sisterhood that I have been plunked down into.  I watched as they cared for one another — observing a swollen toe, praying for an ailing husband, applauding successful surgeries, and joining in to sing together.

Today’s topic was the idea that we often wander from God because we don’t truly know Him — really know His character and appreciate His love for us.  We acknowledged together that we are “prone to leave the God we love,” and learned together that this is because we know of God, but we don’t fully know Him.

Yet, in spite of our wandering ways, God continuously pursues us.  He puts obstacles in our self-destructive paths so that we will turn around and wander back toward Him.  Sometimes when we are redirected in this way, we get close enough to see His face beaming with love for us — His beloved.  And if we can get our eyes off the distracting shiny objects long enough, we can look into His eyes and see ourselves reflected there.  And that, my friends, is when we get a glimpse at our identity.  Not our estimation of ourselves in relationship to our peers, but our true identity as children loved by God.

I think I’ll let that simmer a little longer.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love;

therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.”

Jeremiah 31: 3