My eyes are bleary. I’ve got a headache. I could really use a shower and about eight hours of sleep, but I’m smiling. In the past twenty-four hours I have travelled via a fifteen-passenger van, an Amtrak train, the Chicago L, a train at O’Hare International Airport, and two jets. Within the hour, thirty-two of my travel partners and I will land in Tel Aviv Israel.
When the group from Ann Arbor met up with the group from Mequon last night, we all grabbed something to eat then broke into three smaller groups of ten students and one leader each. I don’t know what the other groups talked about, but my group and I did some round robin discussions, one of which was, “What are you most looking forward to?” The responses included:
Ride in a first century boat on the Sea of Galilee;
Float in the Dead Sea;
Ride on a Camel;
Visit Calvary;
Go to the old city of Jerusalem.
As we shared, we were practically giddy. Some of these students have travelled much more than I have; some have travelled very little. Some are excited to try new foods and meet new people; some are uneasy with all the newness surrounding us. Yet all of them have chosen to invest a great deal of time and money and set any insecurities behind in order to walk where Jesus walked and see what Jesus saw.
It’s now almost four hours later. I have had an extremely satisfying dinner (I am sure one post this week will be all about the food.); I’ve finally satisfied my thirst with many glasses of water, so my headache is gone; I’ve showered; and I’m resting in clean sheets and jotting down a few things before I nod off. We’ve got a 6am wakeup call so that we can get up, shower, dress, and have our packed suitcases outside our doors by 7am. Porters will move them to the bus while we eat more delicious food and then board for our first day of touring.
Get this: We are going to Caesarea where we will gather shells on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. Then, we will see a Roman Aqueduct, Megiddo, and Mt. Arbel before we hike the Jesus Trail and spend the night in Galilee. That’s all tomorrow.
Because we flew in to Tel Aviv after dark, and probably because I’m so exhausted, Israel feels like many other places I have been. For Heaven’s sake, we saw McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Toys R Us, and even an Ikea on our drive to the hotel. However, I can hear the waves of the Mediterranean hitting the beach below my window, and I’m promised an amazing view when I awake in the morning. I’m going to fall asleep now to the rhythm of the tide and try to imagine what tomorrow has in store.
When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples,
I’ve said it to my children. “How many times do I have to tell you to rinse out your dish and put it in the dishwasher?” “How many times do I have to tell you to hang up your wet towel?” “How many times do I have to tell you to call me when you get there?”
I’ve said it to my students. “How many times do I have to tell you that MLA format requires you to double space and use 12 pt. font?” “How many times do I have to tell you the due date?” “How many times do I need to tell you to document your sources?”
But today I am hearing the words myself, “How many times do I have to tell you?” But while I growl my words in exasperation at my children and my students, I am hearing the words spoken gently into my heart as my chin is lifted tenderly by gentle fingers that draw my eyes upward.
How many times do I have to write the same blog? How many times do I have to admit that I am “bent on turning” and that I did it again, I turned and went my own way. In this very busy semester, I went back to what I know — soldiering. Ok, fine, it has been a milder version of soldiering. My regimen now includes daily doses of rest, reading, and recovery. It mandates several repeats of yoga and walking. It requires completing responsibilities to family such as laundry, cooking, and bill paying. On the surface, it looks pretty healthy. But it’s subtle soldiering. Want to know why? Because I’ve been relying on myself and listening to the voices in the trenches. How do I know? Because I’m surly.
There, I said it. I’ve been surly. Again, it’s a subtle surly. I’ve been able to be fairly pleasant to the people in my life, but my internal monologue is grumbly and negative. That’s part of the reason that I didn’t blog last week or the week before. I sit down to type and the interior pops onto the page. It’s the only thing my fingers know how to do. I mean, they try to produce a positive message, but it ends up sounding saccharine — not at all genuine. And I can spot fake from about a mile away. Even when it’s coming out of my own fingers. Yuck.
So, today I’m waiting for student papers to come in. I’ve graded everything that’s in my possession. I have nowhere to be today. I’ve got the day to myself. Yes, I plan to do some baking, but I feel the pull to my Bible and prayer journal. I feel the need to catch up on my YouVersion reading plan — I’m about three days behind.
Being my surly self, I got diverted several times on my way to my reading, but finally I plunked down on the futon and opened the app on my phone. Yes, I know, even getting caught up on YouVersion is a bit like soldiering…shhhh…it got me there, ok?
I was scrolling through the daily readings…blah, blah, blah,….fine, Isaiah, I see you. I kept reading and scrolling, reading and scrolling, Isaiah, my friend, you have so. many. words. Like a true soldier, I continued to read and scroll, gonna get caught up, you know. But then something happened. My soldiering self sat down when I heard a voice that I recognized. It wasn’t a voice from the trenches.
It wasn’t saying “do more, be more, get more;” it said, “he will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms.”
It didn’t say, “be the greatest, prove your worth;” it said “It is He who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers.” (Hop. Flit. Jump.)
I’m tired of hopping and jumping, I thought. And almost immediately I read, “The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.”
What must that be like, I grumbled weakly, to not grow weary? And I read, “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God.”
Oh, yeah. I’m not alone, am I? The world does not spin because I’m trying so hard. “Fear not, I have called you by name; you are mine.” I am His. I don’t have to prove my identity through my performance. “I am He who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember my sins.” Really? You don’t remember that I was just blogging about my propensity to turn and here I am again, confessing to the same exact sin?
“I have blotted out your transgressions like a cloud and your sins like a mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you.”
I hear you. I’m turning. How could I not? You are speaking directly to me. How did you manage to do that through the Bible reading plan on my phone?
“I call you by your name.” Yes, you sure do.
“I name you, though you do not know me.” You’re right. I haven’t been acting like I know you.
” I am the Lord your God. I am God and there is no other.”
Yes, yes you are. And let’s just get it out in the open. I’m bent on turning, so you’re probably going to have to tell me again.
On Monday, I suggested we return to the Word of God as we try to find our way through the coronavirus crisis. I wrote this post in the fall of 2016 during another challenging time in this country — another time when I found myself returning to the Word of God for solace and guidance.
My blog has been silent for a few weeks. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say; I just haven’t had anything I wanted to put in print.
My brain has been processing a flood of images and information — in addition to the madness that we will call the election of 2016, my husband and I traveled to South Africa for a week, came back for a week, and then went to Austin, TX for four days. Oh, and we’ve also been holding down our day jobs — he’s the dean of students at a small university and I am an adjunct professor of English and a private tutor.
I’ve really wanted to write more about what we observed in South Africa and how that has informed the ways in which we see our community, but when we got back, we saw things in our community that were very unsettling — so much posturing and name-calling, blaming and shaming, people positioned on the figurative both sides pointing fingers and shouting accusations. We, or perhaps I should switch now to I, I reeled.
While in South Africa, we were in a unique position to just observe. For as long as I can remember, my husband and I have been in positions of leadership, so being free to observe with no responsibility for others was very unusual. We met people, heard their stories, were inspired by their dreams, saw their struggles, and shared their joys. We didn’t really do anything other than bear witness to their lives. And then, about a week later, we were put in a similar position. In Austin, although my husband had minimal responsibilities, for the most part, we were again observers. Seeing. Listening.
Is it too egotistical of me to imagine that God crafted these experiences so that we could come back and observe what has been happening in our very own community, in our very own country? Because I really think that is what happened. For the last two weeks, we have been watching and listening. We debrief with one another in the evenings, of course, and I’ll admit, I’ve shared a bit on social media, but for the most part, we have tried to position ourselves in conversations in which we can hear what people are saying. We want to understand how a country can be so divided. We want to be able to speak peace into the hostility. But how? People are positioned. They are sunk in. Nobody seems to want to move. Where do we start?
So, yesterday, when I walked into church and saw who would be our pastor for the day, I hugged him and said, “Yay, we’re going to get a good word!” I was being playful in greeting him, because he’s a dear friend, but my playfulness revealed my hope that God would speak a good word through him.
And guys, He did.
Now, let me just give my standard disclaimer. I am very distractible in church. My husband often asks me about his sermon — did his main point come through? What did I think about a particular illustration. I want to be generous to myself and say that 50% of the time I can give him a meaningful response. My mind often takes tangential journeys away from the sermon. So, I won’t mention the pastor’s name or try to claim what he actually said. I will just tell you what I heard.
Jesus reigns. Over everything. Period.
No political candidate reigns. No political party reigns. No particular country reigns. No particular church body reigns. I don’t reign.
Jesus reigns.
It has been rather tempting over the past days, weeks, and months to become aligned with a particular ‘side’, hasn’t it? I have heard Christ-followers on both sides (myself included) claim that certainly Christians “should” feel this way or that. And we’ve been making these claims waving our fists in the air at each other. We are passionate, are we not? We are passionate about politics, but are we just as passionate about our True Leader?
I gotta admit, I’ve been misdirected.
My friends in South Africa showed me what it looks like to be passionate about the One who reigns. They worshipped — I mean three hours or more of singing, dancing, clapping, marching worship! They breathe thankfulness and reverence as they walk through their days.
Me? I’ve been grumbly and judgmental. It’s almost as if I’ve forgotten that Jesus reigns over everything. Will he stop reigning if we turn and go our own way? Nope. We’ve seen story after story written in His Word about generations who have turned away to idols and godlessness. Yet, He reigns.
We’ve heard stories about how God has worked among peoples who are oppressed and disadvantaged. We know that He is a God who steps into difficult places and makes a way for His people. Will He stop now? No. He will continue to reign.
So, should we stand idly by? No. We should be engaged in the discourse of our community, our state, our country. However, we can be careful that what we speak gives honor to the One who reigns, and the only way to do that is to continually look to the written Truth.
I can’t rely on myself right now. Not in this emotionally-charged environment. I need to turn, once again, to what has been written.
“Love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, soul, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.”
“Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought.”
“Be devoted to one another. Honor one another above yourselves.”
“Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.”
How about if we start there? What if Jesus-followers across the country and around the world just saw and loved the people in front of us? What if we stopped shaking our fists and really cared about individuals in ways that showed we were devoted to them? What if we cared about the widow, the fatherless, and the foreigner? What if we looked after the sick, the homeless, the marginalized, the disgraced? What impact would that have?
I’d like to find out. Wouldn’t you?
It is written; Christ is risen. Jesus, you are Lord of all.
We’re back in the states. After seven days in South Africa, we spent about twenty-four hours traveling to Michigan. We got home, unpacked our suitcases, started laundry, and tried to re-acclimate ourselves to our former lives before reality struck this morning.
Several hours later, I’ve already taught three sections of students and interacted with a number of people who wondered, “Well, how was your trip?” I’m really glad they asked, because as I answered people, I began to learn what impact this trip to South Africa has had on me.
It became rather clear early in the journey that our purpose, or at least my purpose, was to be an observer. This was a new role for me. Often I am a leader, presenter, director, and planner. This past week, I was a follower, listener, observer, and receiver. In this role, I was free to take in South African culture, to hear the stories of a variety of people, to let go of responsibility, and to bear witness to the contrast between my life in the United States and the lives of the people I met in South Africa.
First of all, although I often think I need more, I recognize now how much I have in contrast with many of the people I saw. For example, I complained at the beginning of my semester because the classroom where I teach didn’t come equipped with dry erase markers or an eraser, even though it did come equipped with a computer, projection, and wifi. I easily purchased a pack of markers and an eraser for less than $5, a textbook was provided to me, and I am paid a fair salary to teach under 25 students in each of my three classes. In contrast, my colleagues in South Africa have no internet in their classrooms at all — not even dial-up. They have a few mostly outdated textbooks, worn posters on the walls, drying up markers, and classrooms crammed with up to 40 students — and that was in a kindergarten class! And guys, despite the fact that they earn very little, they aren’t complaining. They are teaching and learning. The instructors are engaging their students. The students take pride in their work.
Yes, the contrast was palpable.
It was also evident in the ways that I noticed people interacting with one another. Each time people see each other during the day, they greet one another, “Good morning! How are you?” Even if they have seen each other several times, they still formally greet one another before they move on in conversation. This was a challenge for me! I am known to jump right in with “Hey, did you get my email?” For a week, I practiced acknowledging the person in front of me instead of the task that he or she could perform for me. The simple practice of speaking a greeting shifted my perspective. That, plus the fact that I had no real responsibilities, allowed me to see people and listen more carefully than I am typically apt to do.
In fact, I noticed today, here in Michigan, that I was looking at people in the eyes a bit more, listening a little more intently, worrying a little less about getting to the next task on my list. I hope it lasts.
The third difference I will note today is the energetic spirit I saw in the people of South Africa — particularly the black South Africans. Apartheid ended a number of years ago, but the differences and division between whites and blacks could not be more obvious. In one week’s time I noticed that black South Africans have less — less status, less power, less money, and less opportunity than the white South Africans. Yet they do not seem defeated. Their spirit propels them to walk great distances along red clay paths — rain or shine — to work and to school. They sit up tall in their classrooms, raise their hands high, and open their mouths to sing as they work, whether their tasks are menial or meaningful. Rather than seeming angry or sad, they exude joy! Their worship was filled with dancing, clapping, and even marching! They smiled, laughed, and played with one another — despite their seeming disadvantage. I was struck by this. I have not experienced the kind of disadvantage that all of them have experienced. I have led a life of plenty. I have not gone one day without food, clothing, or shelter in my fifty years of life. I have had every opportunity for education, employment, and entertainment that I have ever desired. Yet I am often discouraged, stressed, and even angry about what I don’t have.
So, you know what’s coming, don’t you? I opened my Bible study today and turned to the reading in Psalm 37. (I really can’t make this stuff up.) When I read the words, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart,” I pictured my new South African friends smiling, clapping, and dancing — delighting themselves in the Lord. They are happy and celebrating the fact that they have Him, regardless of the things that they don’t have.
I can learn a lot from these people. I think I have begun to.
Psalm 37: 23-24
The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in his way;
Do you want to know how God works? I am going to try to give you a glimpse at the way he weaves the stories of his people together.
Picture this:
In the 1980s I went to college with a guy named Randy who would later go to the Seminary. At the Seminary he would meet a man named Mandla Khumalo; both would become pastors — one serving in Michigan, one serving in South Africa. Randy and his wife, Jen, would found a mission outreach to Muslims in the Detroit area and then begin a church near Ann Arbor. Mandla and his wife, Lindiwe, would plant a church and later a school in South Africa.
Before Randy and Mandla even met, Mandla was invited,through connections that I’m quite sure I don’t fully understand, to a mission festival in Arlington Heights, IL where he met Pastor David Maier and his wife Pat. Pastor Maier encouraged Mandla to go to Concordia Seminary in Fort Wayne, Indiana. There, Mandla met Randy. In 1989, Manda founded St. Peter Confessional Church in Middleburg, South Africa. When St. Peter’s first church building was finished, he invited Pastor Maier to South Africa to dedicate it.
In the 1980s I met my husband, John. We served in Lutheran schools and congregations before heading to Seminary in 2004. There, we became involved with a missional church — Crave Coffeehouse. While serving there, we met a young couple, Drew and Lindsey, who were also on a missional path.
Drew and Lindsey met in Guatamala in 2006. Lindsey was doing long-term mission work there, as a nurse. Drew was there as a short-term missionary. They fell in love; they got married. They moved to St. Louis, MO where Drew went to the Seminary and Lindsey completed her studies and became a nurse practitioner. They also welcomed their first child, who John baptized. They worshipped and served with us at Crave until John was called to Concordia Ann Arbor.
At Concordia Ann Arbor, John became friends with Dave Maier. They became partners in mission as their goals and paths often overlapped. One day, John invited Drew to come to Michigan to meet Dave. The three couldn’t believe how much they had in common — how much vision they shared.
When I moved to Michigan, I was introduced to Pat Maier who quickly became a dear and close friend (remember this?). Pat and Dave often worshiped at Randy and Jen’s church; John and I worshiped there often, too! We three couples shared a Christmas Eve and a Maundy Thursday. In fact, we were joined by Drew and Lindsey for a Mother’s Day right before Drew and Lindsey moved to South Africa to serve with Pastor Khumalo.
Are you getting all this?
You see, right before that Mother’s Day, Dave and Pat, Randy, Drew, and a few others traveled to Middleburg, South Africa to explore possibilities for further collaboration between the Michigan District, St. Peter, and Concordia University. While there, Drew, who has a business background, saw both the need for his expertise and for Lindsey’s medical knowledge. Several conversations and some fundraising later, and they were packing their bags and moving.
The following fall, Randy took a position at Concordia as the Director of Campus Ministries. Last summer, he took several students to South Africa so that they could complete internships at the school that Pastor Khumalo founded, as part of St. Peter’s now extensive ministries, in 2006.
Drew and Lindsey have visited us two more times at Concordia to share with the students here, to foster partnerships, and to renew our friendship. Last March, Dave and Pat, Randy and Jen, Drew and Lindsey, and John and I all shared dinner again.
And guys, guess what? Two weeks from today, John and I will be in Middleburg, South Africa to help Pastor Khumalo and Lindiwe and Drew and Lindsey celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of St. Peter! And, while we are there, we are expecting Lindsey to give birth to their second child, who John might have the opportunity to baptize!
It is beyond my comprehension — all of it. I can’t keep the details of my own life straight, but God has orchestrated the lives of all of us — all of us — into a beautiful cohesive story that expresses his love for all people. Nothing we have done has made us worthy of this honor — in fact, many things I have done should exclude me from these privileges. Nevertheless, God is gracious to include us in His story. He makes His story our story.
I can’t wait to share with you the next few pages of this chapter.
Psalm 107:2
Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story— those he redeemed from the hand of the foe
This post, first written in September of 2016 and polished just a bit in 2019, resonates with Monday’s post, Body Signals, and its message of balance and self-care.
I rushed into yoga this morning, grabbed my mat, found a place on the already crowded floor, and assumed the position — lying flat on my back. The instructor likes us to begin supine. We spend several moments listening to our breath and quieting our minds.
I noticed right away that my mind was a little extra frantic this morning. I heard her voice in the background saying, “Quiet your mind….Connect to the breath…” but I heard my mind saying, “But…but…but…what about the bills that need to be paid? What about the fact that I did such a mediocre job teaching yesterday? What about the election? What about our children?”
“Connect to the breath. If it’s helpful, repeat to yourself, ‘inhale, exhale’.”
Sometimes at this stage of the yoga class, the instructor will say, “Set a purpose for your practice today. What is your intention? What would you like to focus on?” I typically pick a prayer that I want to repeat over and over again. Usually it is something like “Thank you.” or “Heal me.” I repeat this phrase over and over again while I breathe. It’s my attempt — albeit often feeble — to turn my focus away from myself — my body, my pain, my worries, my agenda — and aim it in the direction of God.
Today, when I noticed that extra layer of anxiety, I asked myself, “What is going on? Why are you so amped up?”
“Hmmm,” I answered. “Could it be that you have made yourself so busy that you haven’t been spending time in prayer and Bible study? Again?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
I was totally busted. As much as I ‘set my intention’ for life — my intention to be balanced, my intention to take time for self-care, my intention to put God first — I get caught in the immediate and forget the Essential.
The immediate screams out for me — the email from the student, the phone call from my husband, the laundry, the grading, the projects. And, you know, the essential sits quietly on the sofa, sipping tea, waiting for me to realize that it’s sitting right there, waiting for me.
The immediate whines and begs, grabbing onto my arm and dragging me down. The essential says, “You know, you always feel better after we spend time together. I feed you. I listen. I care. I nurture.”
Yes, You do. You were patient enough today to wait for me while I did my yoga, went to the chiropractor, prepared for tomorrow’s class, and made myself some lunch. And then, when I finally sat next to You on the couch and picked up the book You’ve been holding out to me, the first chapter said, “The Sabbath is a basic unit of Christian time, a day the Church, too, tries to devote to reverence of God and rest from toil.” It’s like You couldn’t wait to blurt it out — You had to speak while you had my attention. I chuckled to myself, put that book aside and opened my devotion to the page that said, “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.” Yes, yes. \It is Yours, is it not? It is not mine to worry about. I don’t have to be frantic. I can take the time to ‘devote reverence to [You] and rest from toil’. I can. I must. It’s essential.
Mark 6:31
“Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”
It’s been week-long lesson time over here at the little house by the river. It all started last Monday when I arrived twenty minutes late for my first class of the semester. I had made a mistake — missed the mark. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I fumbled through that first class making apologies and praying that my students wouldn’t base their opinion of me on that gaffe.
The same class met two more times last week, and truly, my students were gracious. They arrived on time (mostly), they did their assignments (pretty much), and they engaged in classroom activities. They, from all appearances, had offered me grace — undeserved favor. My performance didn’t earn respect, but they gave it to me anyway.
So, I went forward through my week and offered the same to everyone else I interacted with, right? That would be a nice way to end the story, wouldn’t it?
However, as humans go, I’m pretty run-of-the-mill. I have a short memory, and I don’t like to apply the same rules to others as I do to myself. I want everyone else to be perfect and to earn the favor that I give to them.
Turns out that most humans are pretty run-of-the-mill, aren’t they?
I’ve been struggling with a few humans in particular. Their actions, or lack thereof, have left me fussing and fuming. I have not been quiet about my disdain for these few individuals. Their decisions, in my opinion, have been less than ideal; they have missed the mark. In fact, most of the people I have fussed and fumed to have agreed with my assessment. I have every right to cast judgment on these people because of their poor choices. Certainly they have been wrong and should be held accountable.
It’s true. All of us, in fact, have been wrong and should be held accountable.
So, a companion of mine (who shall remain nameless) and I were recently driving on the highway. We were missing church to go to a family event, so the thoughtful driver (no names, I promise) had brought a devotion along to read in the car. While the driver drove, I read the devotion about grace — this was not orchestrated; it was just the devotion for the day. When I read the words, “Remember, grace is not given to us because of our goodness, but in spite of our sin,” I gave a hard gulp. How many times have I received grace in spite of my sin? So many times. Each day. Today. Yet, I withhold that grace from others — maybe because their sin is different from mine, maybe because I have decided that they are unrepentant, maybe because they have hurt people whom I love. I decide that they are not worthy of my grace. They haven’t earned it. But grace, by definition, can’t be earned. Or deserved. My driving companion and I mused on this for a moment and acknowledged how each of us had failed in this arena. We had failed Grace 101.
Not long after I finished reading the devotion and we had finished our musings, said driver had what we like to call “the pedal to the metal” when we flew past a Michigan State Trooper stealthily resting in the median. Just as we zipped past him, the trooper flung himself out into the lane behind us. My driver said, “He got me,” slowed the speed of the car, and moved toward the right lane in anticipation of being pulled over. One other car separated us from the trooper when his flashing lights went on. We watched the other car pull to the shoulder, fully expecting the trooper to move forward and pull us over, but instead, he pulled onto the shoulder behind the other car.
My driver and I looked at each other and exhaled. “That,” I said, “is grace.” We had been breaking the law after all; we had missed the mark. We deserved a ticket but received undeserved favor. Just in case we needed an object lesson to go with our devotion.
So I moved forward from that car ride and spread grace lavishly, right?
Have I mentioned that I am a run-of-the-mill human? Within forty-eight hours I had meted out harsh judgment on others in my life. I had determined what mark they should reach and, noticing their failure to meet it, had poured on scorn and disfavor — exactly what they deserved.
But God, being ever gracious and merciful, gave me the lesson once more this morning. He reminded me, through the gentle words of my physical therapist, of His great love for me and His great love for others. Not only that, He reminded me of the privilege I have of bearing witness to His grace in the lives of those who desperately need to hear it.
I’ve missed the mark so many times, yet He continues to pour grace on me — through students, through pre-packaged devotions, through State Troopers, and through physical therapists. Perhaps I’ll be able to bear witness to that this week.
John 1:16
For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.
Concordia University in Ann Arbor has a great tradition. At the end of welcome week activities, on the day before the first day of classes, the community convenes for an opening chapel before students, staff, and faulty head out into the community for a day of service. Now, I realize that the idea of service is not unique to Concordia; many universities incorporate service into their school year and even into their back-to-school schedule. Nevertheless, I love the way this day of service sets the tone for the school year and, actually, for life.
This morning, I attended the chapel service where several hundred students, all clad in “Go for the Gold — CUAA Day of Service” t-shirts, gathered to sing and hear the word of God. Director of Campus Ministry, Randy Duncan, reminded students of the power of service to share the love of Christ with our community, and then the sea of red exited the chapel, boarded busses and left to work at area parks, businesses, and agencies.
Concordia has long been involved in service. In fact, my husband and I drove by the now-abandoned Maxey Boys’ Training School in nearby Whitmore Lake this week. At first we didn’t know what we were passing, and then my memory clicked. Way back in the 1980s, when I attended Concordia, I volunteered with other students to visit the juvenile offenders imprisoned there. It was just one of several opportunities that Concordia offered at the time for students to step into the surrounding community to connect with people. I was also involved in visiting psychiatric patients at the Ypsilanti Regional Psychiatric Hospital (also now closed). Before the days of HIPPA, we students were allowed beyond two locked doors to interact with the patients. We played games, chatted, and sometimes even held worship services with the residents there.
Service, as I began to learn as a student at Concordia, didn’t just impact the people we served. It changed me. My husband asked me as we drove by Maxey Boys’ the other day, what impact those experiences had on me. It didn’t take more than a second for me to respond, “They prepared me for what was next.” Little did I know when I was a student that my first job out of college would be to work in a group home for emotionally impaired adolescent females. My experience with the incarcerated young men and with the psychiatric patients informed my ability to treat each of my clients as human beings with stories very different from mine. I also taught in the former Lutheran School for the Deaf in inner city Detroit. This white girl from rural Michigan was able to interact with kids from the city because I had be allowed opportunities to interact with individuals of all kinds through my service activities at Concordia. Any ignorant preconceived notions I might have held from the limited experience of my youth had already been challenged. My next teaching job was in a residential treatment facility for emotionally impaired youth. Again, I was exposed to individuals whose experience in life was drastically different from my own, but I was able, because of my previous experiences, to view each student as a life of value — as a person worthy of my time.
Concordia’s service opportunities, like those of other schools, extend throughout the year. Students still get the opportunity to visit residents of nursing homes, to intern at local congregations and hospitals, to volunteer at agencies throughout the Ann Arbor and Detroit communities, and to offer their time and talents in many other ways.
Each experience in life prepares us for what is next. God is continually lining up opportunities for us so that we will have the knowledge and the tools to step into what He has planned for us down the road. Today’s Concordia students have no idea what God has in store for their future, but I can guarantee that even the most seemingly insignificant interactions they have with people today will inform their view as they step into tomorrow.
Each of my early experiences shaped me and enabled me to step into the roles God had planned for me. For ten years, we lived in St. Louis, MO. While there, I taught in an inner city public high school and an urban Lutheran School. My husband and I also had the opportunity to live in the city neighborhood where he pastored a coffee house church. Each of these experiences was different from anything we had done before, and yet each utilized the skills and sensitivities we had gained from our past.
And now, God has allowed us the privilege of coming back to Concordia Ann Arbor to be part of the team that provides opportunities to another generation of students so that they, too, will be prepared for what’s next. It doesn’t get much better than this.
Galatians 5:13
You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love.
A few minutes ago, I sat down to read my Bible study. Just as I was getting comfortable, I remembered what my husband said last night, “If we don’t move the car first thing in the morning, you won’t be able to get out of campus when you need to leave at 10:30.”
We live on a college campus. Our home, a three-bedroom ranch, is nestled between three residence halls. One long, narrow driveway enters the east side of campus and winds past a large parking lot and between the buildings to land at our doorway. We’ve got one way in and one way out. This is typically not a problem. Our campus is small, and most cars are required to park in the parking lot. We’ve usually got a straight shot from our doorway to the highway.
But today is freshman move-in day.
When I leapt out of my seat a few minutes ago to go move the car, I walked outside and noticed that about a dozen student leaders clad in red “Welcome” t-shirts were gathered, waiting the arrival of the first students. My path was clear, so I drove our little Suze-e Cruze-e straight to the lot, slipped in an end slot, and put her in ‘park’. As I pulled the key from the ignition, I looked up and saw a line of cars snaking down the narrow drive from the entryway.
I was just in the knick of time.
All week, the excitement has been palpable. Our campus pastor embodies enthusiasm. Even though I haven’t seen him in person since Sunday, I have ‘heard’ him over social media. He has been posting pictures of dozens of student leaders meeting at his home. He’s been gushing over Twitter about how he and the leaders have prayed over every building on campus, how he witnessed the first class of nursing students gathering at our new North building, and how the campus is primed and ready for our newest students to arrive for a year that’s themed #togethersetapart.
And he’s not the only one who’s excited. I’ve stopped by the Student Life Office a few times this week and have found bustling activity — the men and women in this office work hard all year, but this is one of their busiest times. Not only do they make the housing assignments, train the resident assistants, and coordinate the move-in, but they also plan multiple events for welcome week including meals, evening activities, and a campus-wide service event for Sunday.
The campus, that gets pretty quiet over the summer, is starting to pulse. I’ve been sitting here now for about half an hour, but I know that when I get up and look out the window, I will see overloaded cars pulled close to residence halls. Parents will be carrying Rubbermaid containers and laundry baskets and thinking to themselves, “What have we forgotten?” Students will be bundles of emotion — excitement, fear, enthusiasm, wonder, anxiety — as they meet their roommates and urge their parents to leave, saying, “I’ve got it from here.”
My golden retriever is pacing from one end of our house to the other. He’s pressing his nose against the glass because it’s just so exciting out there!!
All my life I have loved the start of the school year. It’s a clean slate waiting to be written on, a blank planner begging to be filled, a new race waiting to be run. A new school year screams possibility! For the kids outside my door and the one sitting right here at this laptop, I pray for the fulfillment of dreams, the facing of challenges, and the opportunity to fully embrace what it means to be #togethersetapart.
John 17:21
that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.
People who have read my blog often ask me if I mind being so transparent. Does it bother me that everyone can see my thoughts, witness my frailties, know the specifics of my challenges? Nope.
I’m kind of a right-out-there kind of a girl. I always have been. I am sometimes jealous of those who are able to conceal their true feelings, withhold information, or refrain from commenting. I mean, I’m learning…I am 50, after all…but at heart, I’m truly ‘what you see is what you get’.
And where else should this be so than in my personal blog? I just pointed out yesterday that one of my main purposes in writing this blog is to reflect. I do this best through writing and not holding back. Now, I do realize that not everyone functions this way. It’s just the way I am wired. I often, as I have written numerous times, don’t know what is going to pop out of my fingers until it does. I surprise myself. And while, at least for the sake of blogging, some topics are off limits for me — such as what happens in the bedroom or the bathroom — I don’t want to suppress myself or compromise the integrity of my writing.
I read somewhere this summer — I’ve read so.many.books. about writing this summer — that writing is all about finding your truth. And, for me, writing this blog is, if nothing else, an exercise in telling the truth. Often that truth is framed by what I am studying in the Bible on a particular day, so when my devotion this afternoon was about prayer and Daniel’s faithfulness in his daily exercise of prayer, I knew I had to go there.
So here I go: I’m not a faithful pray-er.
It’s not that I don’t believe in the power of prayer — I do! It’s not that I don’t know what to pray for — I do! It’s not that people don’t share their requests with me — they do! It’s not that I’m so busy that I don’t have time to pray — I’m not! I have no excuses!! I just am not a faithful pray-er.
That is why I started reading the book by Beth Moore, Whispers of Hope: Ten Weeks of Devotional Prayer. I started reading this book over a year ago! I’m on my third time through. The idea is that you read a devotion every day, and at the end of the devotion,you write out your prayers. Wouldn’t you think this would be a great fit for me? It is! In fact, I have written about the effectiveness of this book in this blog before!
[Oh my gosh, guys, I just Google searched “Whispers of Hope” and “Kristinsnextchapter” and I found a whole bunch of blog posts written by … Me! That is super weird!]
So the concept is great, and when I am disciplined about reading my daily devotion, I am usually good about writing down my prayers in my little notebook. In fact, I’m on my second notebook! However, you can probably already guess that I’m not super disciplined about doing my daily devotion! I’m about as disciplined with my devotion as I am with my blog. And I’m a little less disciplined with daily prayer as I am with either of those!
This blog entry is turning into true confessions of the poorly praying pastor’s wife.
Gulp.
But I haven’t given up. I am a work in progress.
I have champion prayer warrior examples all around me. I have mentioned before, our great pastor friend, Rev. Wm. Gatz whose life-long ministry is teaching others the power of prayer. His prayer life is inspiring. I think he’s been praying for our family for well over twenty years at least weekly, if not daily. I don’t believe I know anyone who prays more, with the exception, possibly, of our good friend, Laurel, who I haven’t seen in years. We haven’t lived in the same state in over ten years, but I am confident that Laurel prays for me and my family regularly. That is terribly humbling for someone who often forgets to pray for her own husband and children, let alone anyone else.
Just this week, a good friend, who recently received his first call as a pastor mentioned on Facebook that he is creating a prayer wall in his new office. He was soliciting requests to put on his wall. You know I was one of the first to submit a request, but it never occurred to me that I could create my own prayer wall. (Ok, I do realize that it just occurred to me now.)
So, I just had an idea. While I was in Boston last weekend, I was standing in the kitchen of one of my daughters. She and her roommates use the front of their fridge as a white board to keep track of what items need to be purchased and who did what chore last — brilliant. I have also been in the bathrooms of friends who use the mirror to list the prayer needs of family and friends. So, I’m thinking that if I use a dry-erase marker on the side of my fridge that faces the sink where I stand to do dishes several times a day and on the mirror I stand in front of to dry my excessively thick hair each morning, I would find two (or more) times each day to be reminded to pray.
That’s it. I’m gonna go start my lists right now. You know I’m gonna let you know how this goes, right? Wanna give it a try with me?
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