Reality

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.  

Psalm 19:21

Many are the plans in [my] heart, 

but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.

 

“Oops!… I Did It Again”*

Part of the work of the next few months is a re-setting of my mind because of the re-setting that has happened in my body.  For most of my adult life I have gone until I can’t go ‘no more’.  Then I collapse, and get up the next day and start over.  That isn’t going to work any more.

My experience with my new body (I will refrain from speaking for all people with autoimmune disease) is that I have to be preventative.  I eat certain foods so that I won’t have a flare.  I take certain vitamins and supplements so that my body will respond better to stress.  I do Pilates to help my body maintain flexibility.  I rest midday so that I can go out for dinner later.  I have to anticipate the effects of my actions on my body.

But I get amnesia.

I had a pretty lousy flare in April/May.  This isn’t too surprising since I was preparing for a move, finishing a school year, anticipating one daughter’s high school graduation and the other daughter’s college graduation, saying goodbye to many friends, etc.  Stressors incite flares.  Life, even ordinary life, is stressful.  April and May were a bit over the top.

June and July were lovely.  I was at home, on my own pace, packing a box or two a day, resting at various times throughout the day, eating well, exercising well, reading, doing puzzles, and seeing friends.

So I forgot what happens when I do too much.

I think I wanted to believe that it wouldn’t happen again.  I mean, we were in the physical process of moving for about ten days and I felt fine.  When I got tired, I took a little break.  On the actual move day, I had to take a few more breaks than usual, but still, no flare.

Ten days in Ann Arbor, unpacking, socializing, running errands, taking breaks, exercising, and I was feeling just fine.  In fact, so fine, that I felt like the old me!

So, on Wednesday, when I went out for my walk with Chester, I actually ran a bit.   I haven’t run in quite a while.  And it felt great.  I was cautious.  But, I ran.  

Then on Thursday, I woke up, wrote my blog, drank my tea, and then pretended I was the old me for about two hours — cleaned and vacuumed out the car, washed three windows inside and out, vacuumed our little house front to back, and Swiffered the kitchen and dining room.

And then it happened.

It wasn’t like my batteries wore down or something.  It was like someone unplugged me.  I hit the bed and knew I had gone too far.  It wasn’t even noon.

We had a guest arriving at 1.  My husband wanted me to meet some staff members at 4:30.  And a new friend was coming in the evening to learn the ropes of Chester-sitting so that we can go on a trip this weekend.

Yes, you read that right.  We are going on a trip this weekend.  Our oldest is getting his MBA tomorrow in Cincinnati and we are moving our daughter from Chicago to Ann Arbor on Sunday.

And I’m unplugged.

When I woke this morning, I discovered that my reserve battery had charged a little in my sleep, so I tidied the guest room for the overnight guest who is coming on Sunday. (Are you hearing all this?) And re-made the bed for our friend who is staying with Chester.

I’m not getting it, am I?

Do I really need another smack-down in order to learn how to pace myself and take breaks?  Why is it that doing is so satisfying to me?  Why am I not content with being? 

I believe I have received grace this morning, because I don’t feel as poorly as I did last evening.  So, I am going to slow down, acknowledge that God is God and I am not.  Do a little Pilates.  Breathe.  Put my feet up.  Read.  Drink my kale-berry-banana-flax smoothie.  And try, really try, to be still. 

Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. Psalm 46:10.

 

 

 

 

*Spears, Brittney.  “Oops!… I Did It Again.” Oops!…I Did It Again. Jive, 2000.

(This citation is for my former students who know that you have to give credit where credit is due.)

 

 

 

 

 

Judge not, lest…

Let me just get it right out there and say that I have been a judgmental know-it-all most of my life.  I think I am always right. Always have.  And my face, if not my mouth, lets everyone around me know exactly what I am thinking.

Yes, yes, I have read the Bible, including, Proverbs 16:18, “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” I have even quoted it to other people who I know are being prideful.  You know, know-it-alls.

It is difficult when I realize that this verse applies to me.

Oh, yeah, the fall is ugly.  I have learned many hard lessons over the years.  I’ve already established that I am about as stubborn as they come.   So, sometimes I need an object lesson, and sometimes it has to involve me directly.

For instance, I used to think I knew everything about parenting and that all children could be controlled with the right kind of discipline and structure.  Enter my three genetic progeny, who have wiring similar to mine, and cue the smack-down.  Yeah, that re-teaching was pretty painful.

I used to think people with ‘fibromyalgia’, ‘RA’, and all those other ‘invisible diseases’ were just lazy people looking for excuses to stay home and get disability and sympathy.  (I told you I was a judgmental know-it-all.)  Watching a good friend get RA almost cured me of my judgmental attitude, but living with PsA myself?  Yeah, I’m over judging others’ experience of health and/or pain.

I used to think college was the only path for everyone.  Well, hundreds of students, family members, and my own children have shown me that God uses multiple paths to get people where he wants them, and that I should just get my lofty degree-carrying nose out of the clouds.

I used to see things as black or white.  Right or wrong. Godly or ungodly.  I have realized that God is way more complex than that.  Of course there are absolutes, like God is God, and I am not.  I think I will stick with that one.  He knows it all.  I only know what he allows me to know.

He teaches me stuff through difficult life lessons, but sometimes, when I am not being such a know-it-all, I actually read His Word and find little gems like this from Proverbs 11:2, “When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.”

Ah yes, grasshopper, wisdom.

So, I have been learning, and I am sure I will continue to learn, to be humble.  I have said to myself, and to others, when I feel like judging someone, “I have no idea what their experience is.”  I don’t know what put a homeless man on the street or what causes him to beg for money.  I don’t know why that girl has seventeen piercings and is covered in tattoos; I don’t know her experience.  I don’t know why that man wore bike shorts to church (it’s true, he did, and he went to communion, too), but I am going to choose to not judge him, although I think I kind of just did, didn’t I?

I am a work in progress.  I am still learning not to judge.  Judging doesn’t bring us closer to people.  It separates us.  Love draws us closer.  Listening draws us closer.  Learning draws us closer.  Closer is nice.

I come for healing, Re-visit

Today is Move-in Day at this place we call home. Thirty-four years ago, I was moving in as a student; just over five years ago, I moved in as the wife of the Dean of Students. Both times I’m shown up on this campus, I’ve been just a bit broken, and both times this space has provided the time, the resources, and the community in which I find healing. I wrote this post in on August 3, 2014, when I thought my biggest problem was my health. As I revisit it today, I wonder at God’s ability to see the bigger issues and provide a space for me to be held through difficulties yet unknown to me.

Nestled beside the Huron River is a small school — Concordia University. (You can see the chapel amid the trees in the photo.) The school was started in the 1960s by the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod, mainly to prepare young people for service in the church. The chapel sits in the heart of its campus. Christ is at the heart of its mission.  

And we get to be here! My husband is the Dean of Students, so we live right on campus as part of the community. This beautiful scene is in my backyard!

I have lived here before, as a student, back in the ’80s. The place is familiar, to be sure, but the experience is brand new. I came as a teenager before. Now, I come as an empty-nester. Big difference.  

One thing is the same, though. I am here to heal.  

This time I am coming to heal from several hectic years topped off with a diagnosis of autoimmune disease. Last time I came after an overwhelming freshman year of college topped off with an eating disorder. Both times, God intervened and brought me to this place to heal.

I still can’t explain what happened in 1985 — how I left a Big Ten university in the middle of Michigan to pay more at a small private college in Ann Arbor, but I know it saved my life — my physical and my spiritual life. It put me on a path to wellness. 

The other day, when I was walking along the Huron and glanced across to see the chapel, something clicked in my mind. Last year, we were not looking to move back to Michigan. My husband was not looking for a higher ed position. But God used his people to step into our situation and bring us here to Concordia. And, again, I am on a path to wellness.  

For over three years in the 1980s I felt held at Concordia while I sorted out the issues of my eating disorder. It was an emotionally chaotic time, to be sure, but I felt held — held by Christian friends who saw me, held by faculty who noticed and cared for me, held by the school nurse who pointed me toward help, and held, ultimately, by God.  

So, coming back to Concordia feels secure, safe, comforting. Again, I feel held.  I’ve only been here a week, but I feel at peace. Knowing the healing I experienced here in the ’80s gives me great hope. I am looking forward to healing again. I am believing God’s words through Jeremiah that “[God] will heal [me] and will let [me] enjoy abundant peace and security” Jeremiah 33:6.  

Certainly I don’t think this healing can only happen at Concordia. Or next to the Huron River. But I do believe that healing comes only through God. And that, for me, He has done that here at Concordia.  

I am here for healing. 

Come….and rest, re-visit

When I wrote this post in July of 2014, in the midst of our move from one chapter to another, I had no idea what was ahead. However, God knew, and, in His mercy, taught me some lessons on rest and recovery that have become sustaining rhythms in my life. I light-heartedly wrote about silent rest this past Sunday (September 15, 2019), but make no mistake, rest is an essential part of life in this next chapter.

So, what does this rest, this being still, look like? I have no idea. 

Right now we are 48 hours from the arrival of the moving truck, surrounded by boxes (both full and empty) with a to-do list that is slowly dwindling down. In addition to moving ourselves to Ann Arbor, we are also preparing to move our youngest daughter from St. Louis to Ann Arbor to Washington, DC all within the next three weeks. After that, we will move our oldest daughter from Chicago to Ann Arbor to Philadelphia by the beginning of September.  

All this talk of being still is really just talk for now. In the next 48 hours we will close up shop in St. Louis, allow the movers to pack our lives into a truck, and begin our drive to Ann Arbor. The truck will meet us, and we will unpack our possessions and rearrange them in a different, smaller space. 

We aren’t just relocating; we are also becoming empty nesters! For the first time in almost 22 years, we will be a couple living alone (with a dog, of course).  And, we will be living alone together after living apart for eleven months!  It’s almost like getting married all over again! He has adapted to life in Ann Arbor and his new, very demanding, position there. I have adapted to life without him in St. Louis.  

We are changing from a large, three-level home in the city to a small, one-level home on a college campus. (Yes, on a college campus. I can see a dorm from my dining room window!) We have been separated by 500 miles for the past year; we will now rarely be separated by more than several hundred feet! (He walks three minutes down a sidewalk to get to work!)

Sky view of “our side” of campus.

If I were to do what is comfortable for me, I would already have a job lined up. I would have a start date, and tasks to complete before that start date. I would zoom into Ann Arbor, get the place set up, and rush into a routine that would leave little time for interaction with my husband, let alone the emotional processing that comes with relocating, sending your baby off to college, and leaving a career and friends after ten years!

My diagnosis has given me an excuse to be still. However, it’s not difficult to see God’s hand in the re-setting of my mind that has come as a result of my diagnosis. He’s been trying to get me to re-set for quite some time, I think. I have just stubbornly forged onward, ignoring my feelings, ignoring my heart, even ignoring the people who are closest to me. 

I’ve seen Jesus’ words in Matthew many times, but recently they’ve been speaking straight to my heart, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” I am not sure at all what several months of resting looks like, or if I will be able to fully settle in. But, the glimpse I have had over the summer — the ability to hear, to feel, and to think more clearly and calmly — inspires me to give it my best shot.  

I am trusting that his “yoke is easy, and [his] burden is light” and that I “will find rest for [my] soul.”  

Invisibly Ill, and being still, a re-visit

Click above if you’d like to hear my creaky morning voice read this post; otherwise, read on!

On Monday, I wrote about autoimmunity (full post here) and how I function daily in January 2020. Many of you wrote to thank me for sharing my journey. In light of that, I thought it might be useful for this week’s re-visit to be my very first post on autoimmune disease from way back in July 2014 — my second blog post ever. A lot has changed since then — my diagnosis, my symptoms, and my reality. Everyone’s struggle with illness is different, and many of those struggles we cannot see. Many more than I are invisibly ill.

In my first entry on this blog, I mentioned that my doctors had advised me to take some time off to rest. Some of you who know me might be thinking, “Well, shoot, you look fine to me.”  Let’s talk about that for a moment. 

People who have autoimmune diseases have a unique experience: although they may look fine, they are sometimes debilitatingly ill. In addition to feeling horrible, they have the added burden of people questioning the validity of their illness, or worse, accusing them of hypochondria. I have been extremely blessed to have very supportive people in my life, but many do not have this experience. [There are other invisible illnesses. However, since this blog is my experience, I will write about how my disease, psoriatic arthritis, affects me. I am learning that everyone’s experience is unique.]

If you didn’t know me prior to 2012, you might see me on the street and think I am an average middle-aged woman, and in most ways I am. In fact, even if you did know me before 2012, you might not notice that much has changed — I’ve gotten a little older, a little grayer, a little rounder, but overall, I look the same. However, my life has changed dramatically.  

Some things you may notice.  

  • I wear glasses more than not now. When I was 15 I replaced my Coke-bottle bottom glasses with contacts, and I never went back. However, many autoimmune diseases, including mine, come with chronic dry eyes which make contact lens wearing difficult. Additionally, I am on immunosuppressant drugs. These drugs, along with a round of steroids, created a perfect environment for ocular herpes. Ocular herpes can recur, especially in people who wear contacts. So, glasses.  
  • I walk more slowly, and sometimes with an altered gait. I am especially slow when I first stand up. Stairs are a challenge. I used to run 5-6 days a week. In fact, I completed two half-marathons after the age of 40, the second one in under two hours! Chronic pain in my hips and back along with chronic fatigue have halted my running career. I now aim to walk 2-3 miles a day, 4 or more days a week. I can do this if I am careful about the other things that fill my day. 
  • I look wiped out, like I haven’t slept or like I’ve been sick. I am wiped out. My body is constantly fighting inflammation. I sometimes crawl into bed before 6 pm. This can add to my joint pain, but I sometimes physically don’t have the steam to do much more than lie down. 

What you probably won’t notice. 

  • I sometimes can’t remember your name, or the four-digit code for our house alarm that we’ve had for six years, or my social security number that I memorized in high school. Chronic fatigue causes the brain to forget things. 
  • Joints throughout my body — fingers, hands, feet, hips, knees, elbows, shoulders — not only hurt, but also seem to be radiating heat. It feels like I am constantly bathing in IcyHot. 
  • I sometimes just feel like crying — not necessarily from pain, or sadness, or fatigue, but maybe from all of those.  
  • I do have psoriasis, mostly in places you can’t see.  

All of this is exacerbated by stress, weather, environment, and fatigue. Things that help include an altered diet (gluten- and dairy-free, lots of veggies, fruit, nuts, seeds, etc.),  Pilates, walking, medication, supplements, acupuncture, massage, and rest, plenty of rest.

It is 1:45 a.m., technically morning, so I went ahead and read my Bible reading for today. Matthew 8 recounts the stories of Jesus healing a man with leprosy, the Centurion’s servant, and many others. I have thought about this extensively. Jesus healed many. Will he heal me? Should I, like many Christians suggest, pray for that healing and ‘claim it’? The prophet Isaiah says, “Surely he took up our infirmities and bore our diseases.”  

You know, I am not sure I should pray for that. You might think I am crazy. You might look at my bulleted lists above and say, “why wouldn’t you want to be healed of that?”  

Not all illnesses are physical. I am pretty convinced that my emotional/spiritual health is improving as my physical health has become limiting. But wouldn’t Jesus want to restore all of me? He will one day, for sure, but perhaps he is using this illness, in this season, to cause me to be still so that I can know he is God in a way that I haven’t known before. 

Some blessings I have noticed in my illness:

  • I have an amazing husband who has never once doubted my symptoms, even when I have. 
  • I have friends, family, and coworkers who are supportive and who have helped and encouraged me.
  • Slowing down and being still makes me more accessible to the people in my life.  I hear more of what they have to say, even if I do sometimes forget it!
  • I am learning to be more sensitive to the needs of others and not to make assumptions. I was feeling sorry for myself one day at a school function when a parent reached out to me and asked how I was doing. Only after I had whined and complained did she share that she had terminal cancer. I never would have guessed — she was always engaging and positive!

So, for now, I am content, even in this circumstance.  I know that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him” (Romans 8:28). I do love Him, so I am going to continue to be still. 

I am just a human, being, revisit

This post, written in July 2014 at the beginning of my quest to do less and be more, seems appropriate even in July 2019, at the end of a weekend where I hung out with my granddaughters, simply being.

Many have pointed out the irony of being called ‘human beings’ in a culture that is so focused on ‘doing’. We often find our worth, meaning, and identity through what we do. Strangers, upon meeting, ask one another, “so what do you do?”  The child comes home from school, and the parent asks, “what did you do today?”  The husband says to the wife, “what have you been doing?” It’s fine if what you did was close a million-dollar deal, get an A on a paper, or promote world peace, but not so great if what you did was file for bankruptcy, get in a fight with a friend, or simply change diapers all day. When we form our identity or measure our worth based on what we do, we may end up struggling with perfectionism, workaholism, and, in the absence of peak-performance, depression.

I must admit from the start, that in the world of doing, I have been an over-achiever. I stood at the starting line of adulthood declaring that I was going to win. I was the mom who, while holding a full-time teaching position, trained for and ran a half-marathon, baked cinnamon rolls and tortillas from scratch, clipped coupons, and made all my children’s clothes (just kidding on that last one). You get the point. I have got doing down. To a fault.

I often do when I don’t want to feel, or when I need to be in control, or when I am angry or afraid.  It is my way of avoiding the interior me — the human being.  

So when my health began to shift and I suddenly found myself unable to do all the things I like to do and started to be, it was pretty ugly. I began to be angry, and scared, and depressed, and worried, and sad, and bored. I didn’t like to be with me. I was downright whiny — and this momma has never done whiny!

My strategy to cope with this was, of course, to do something!  While I was struggling to manage all the responsibilities of my full-time-plus position as a teacher and administrator of a high school, I spent evenings and weekends applying for all kinds of jobs where I could do less! After about six months doing that, I got an interview and an offer to do, shockingly, more!  And then,….and then….a solution was provided! I didn’t have to do anything!  My husband was offered a position that relocated us to a new environment and provided me with some time to just be. And here we are.

Being.

A long time ago, a huge group of people was following Jesus around, so he walked up the side of a mountain and started speaking to them. He said, “You are the salt of the earth….you are the light of the world.”  He didn’t say “Be the salt of the earth.” Or, “be the light of the world.”  He said “you are“. The word ‘are’ is the present tense plural form of ‘be’ We are already the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Our identify is not dependent on what we do. Our identity is firmly planted in Christ. We are His.

I enter this time of rest and be-ing chanting this mantra, “I am His. I am a human, being His.”

I will pray that you find some space to just be today, too.

Epilogue: Five years later, I’m still trying to find the balance between being and doing. I’m discovering in many areas of life that balance is not about choosing one option (i.e. being) over another (i.e. doing) but about finding ways to live in the tension of the existence of both. Our identity is based on who we are in Christ, and He calls us to do — to live our life — out of that truth. We can do great things because of who He has made us to be, which is really not as easy as it sounds, especially in a culture that values accomplishment and status. We can easily forget that the most important is already done; we quickly fall back into patterns of trying to do more to earn position, identity, or status. However, when we realize that our identity is based on who we are in Christ, we can freely do without the added pressure of earning our worth.

As I watched our granddaughters this weekend, I loved them every minute — when they were charming, when they were naughty, when they were sleeping, and when they were showing off. My love for them was not based on what they were doing; I am simply in love with their beings. As they grow, others may not be so kind, but the One who made them — and us — will love them through all the things that they do, while they learn who He has made them to be.

The same is true for you and me.

Be kind and compassionate to one another.”

Ephesians 4:32