Category: parenting

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

All the Feelings, Re-visit

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

This post, originally written in January 2016 and cleaned up in April 2019, speaks directly to some of my thoughts in “It’s About Time.”

The inclement weather has given me another day of virtual stillness and I am noticing that when I am still, I think about the words that others have said, and I have time to consider them fully.

I don’t always like considering the words of others, you know, fully,  because then I get, you know, feelings. And feelings make me, you know, feel things. 

As a child and adolescent I felt a lot of things. I was an emoter. Ok, ok, I know I still am, but back then, I felt things in ways that other people could feel. I remember being told that I laughed too loud and cried too much. I can picture my chubby-cheeked, blonde-headed self, being told that it was time to leave my grandparents’ house, protesting with angry face, stomping feet, and clenched fists. I can feel my throat tighten and tears spill down my cheeks as Frosty the Snow Man melted into a puddle. I remember stomping through the hallways at school or flinging myself onto my bed and wailing into my pillow when I felt wronged by a friend or a boyfriend. Yes, my whole being knew how to feel things.

Now, I learned, for the comfort of others, not to be quite so demonstrative. I mean, it’s not socially acceptable to have all the feelings. In fact, I remember my cooperating teacher, during my student teaching experience, telling me to ‘not wear my heart on my sleeve’. Well, where else was I going to wear it?

Over the years I have tried to peel my heart off my sleeve and shove it deep in an interior pocket. I have attempted to push feelings deep, deep down into my subconscious self. And while I may have quieted some of my outbursts and hidden some of my feelings from my own awareness, my face has often revealed what my guts are feeling, even when my mind hasn’t gotten the memo. People around me have seen my truth-telling face and have taken meaning from it. They have picked up that I am angry, apathetic, shocked, judgmental, or horrified, even when I haven’t realized those emotions myself.

In my younger days, when I was using the full-body method of emotional experience, I often lost blocks of time to tears, flailing, and, shall we say, “verbalizing”. It was loud. It was messy. It was not concerned with productivity. Perhaps one benefit to tucking hurts away and refusing to indulge them is the ability to get a bit more accomplished. And it just so happens that I like getting things done, so a way of life commenced. I often refer to this time in my life as ‘soldiering’.

I became too busy to attend to emotions. Soldiers don’t have time for feelings. They are kicking butts and taking names. They don’t feel sad about it. And, they don’t really care if you feel sad about it. They have a job to do, dammit. So, either help or get out of the way.

Yeah, that has been me for a very long time. I have pushed people aside without considering how they were feeling. I wasn’t intending to do that.  Really. I was just on a mission. I was focused.

Here’s the thing, though. The people who love you don’t really care if you are on a mission. They just need you to care. They need you to stop butt-kicking and name-taking for a minute so that you can see that they, too, are having some feelings. They might also be trying to shove their feelings into their subconscious, but if you stop moving, you might see that their faces are revealing what they aren’t even aware of. You might be able to pick up that they are hurt, shocked, angry, lonely, overlooked, or terrified.

And when you see that, you can sit down beside them and be still with them together. You don’t have to have an answer. You don’t have to solve the problem. You just need to sit in the stillness with them, which will give them the time and the permission to feel — to really feel.

And when we feel together, we are joined by bonds that are not soon separated.

Aren’t those bonds far more valuable than all the butt-kicking and name-taking in the world? Yes. The answer is yes. Learn from me, grasshopper.  Take time in the stillness to feel all the feelings.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for a friend.

John 15:13

Sumballo, a Re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 3 Comments

This post, written right after Christmas 2015, seems relevant today. As you gather all the pieces of your holiday celebration and ponder them in your heart, may God grant you the wisdom to see the big picture.

This morning, I opened my morning devotion from Beth Moore’s Whispers of Hope: 10 Weeks of Devotional Prayer and found this verse from Luke 2 — the Christmas story:

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

Luke 2:19

When I’ve read this verse in the past, I’ve pictured Mary holding baby Jesus in her arms kind of shaking her head in disbelief; I’ve imagined her saying, “Well, you weren’t kidding, were you? You said I would conceive and bear and son, and here he is!” I’ve imagined pondered to mean “wondered in astonishment.” However, Beth Moore, a biblical scholar, corrects my image a bit; she says pondered is translated from the Greek word sumballo which means “taking many things, casting them together, and considering them as one”. These words make me picture tossing many snapshots onto a table, discovering connections between them, and finding the theme of the collection.

Among Mary’s photos I see — her pregnant body on a donkey on that long journey to Bethlehem, her downcast eyes in the moment when her parents discovered her ‘situation’, her peaceful resolve during tense conversations with Joseph, and her brow beaded with sweat during the labor and delivery amid the straw and dung. I see images of the first glance at her child, I hear the knock on the wall of the stable when the shepherds arrived, I smell the frankincense when she opens the gifts from foreign dignitaries.

When she pondered those moments “as one” what did they add up to for her?

I’m sitting here three days after Christmas in my little house by the river, and I, too, am taking a moment to ‘sumballo’. I’m looking back at the events of the last few weeks — the parties, the visits with family, the gift buying and giving, the hopes, the disappointments, the laughter, and the tears — and I’m casting them together as one.

In fact, this whole blog — every post on every day –has been an attempt to ‘sumballo’. Since I started writing in the summer of 2014, I have been looking back over sections of my life: I’ve been ‘casting them together’ and ‘considering them as one’.

Sometimes we are  tempted to look at isolated moments as defining moments — that time that you lied to a trusted a friend, the year that your parents were divorced, the semester that you failed a class, that car accident that nearly claimed your life, the winning football championship, the Homecoming coronation, the birth of a child. Certainly these moments shape us, but they do not define us — not in isolation. They only offer hints until we sumballo  — until we put these moments into perspective as parts of a whole.

If I am going to look at the fact that for the ten soldiering years of my life I was way too busy, and I often overlooked the emotional needs of my family, if I am going to acknowledge that this behavior was costly to my physical, spiritual, and emotional health and to the physical, spiritual, and emotional health of my family, I can’t view that time in isolation. If I am going to truly sumballo, I need to look at other seasons as well. I need to remember that I also stayed at home with my children for almost ten years — nurturing, hugging, reading, teaching, correcting, and guiding. I need to acknowledge that for the past five years I have been recovering from soldiering and learning a new way. Within each of these periods have been awesome moments  — young children singing happily in the car on a road trip, teenagers rolling on the floor with laughter, and young adults gathering for the holidays. However, each period has also had moments of devastation — betrayal, trauma, and disappointment. If we grasp onto any one moment and let it define us, we get a a distorted view. In order to see the clearest picture, we have to cast all of the moments together. We must consider them as one. Only then, can we discover a theme.

And what is that theme? Way back in my twenties when someone challenged me to write my testimony, I wrote that the theme of my life was “rescued by grace”. Even in those early years, I knew that God had been protecting me, walking with me, holding his cupped hands beneath me to carry me through. He was overlooking mistakes, forgiving wrongs, and allowing me second and third and fourth chances. When I was careless, he protected me. When I was selfish, He was benevolent. When I was hateful toward others, He poured love on me.

He rescued me with grace.

As I am approaching fifty, I look back at all the events of my life, and I ponder them all in my heart. Time and again I see my  failed attempts to do things on my own followed by God’s miraculous provision. I see God transforming my pain into compassion for others. I see my pride falling into humility. I see the love of God.

I wonder what Mary thought as she pondered ‘all these things’ in her heart.  She had to see God’s miraculous provision in a faithful husband, a place of shelter, and safety from Herod. She had to see God transforming her pain and embarrassment into compassion for others. She had to feel humbled in the presence of the Christ child. She had to see the love of God for herself and for all of humanity.

Despite our weaknesses, our poor choices, our sin — He loves us. He has seen every moment — every victory, every failure, every injury and every recovery. None of it has been a surprise to Him. He has gone before us, and He has held us in the palm of His hand. He has cast all the events of our lives together and saturated them with grace.

That is the message that I find when I sumballo.

Immeasurably More

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Often in the classroom I have witnessed what I will call ‘reluctant learners’.  If you are a teacher, you might be able to recognize this student.  He grumbles as he shuffles into class, slumps in his chair, complains about every assignment, disputes every grade, and rues the fact that he even ‘has to take this class’.  As a teacher, it is tempting to write this student off — to say, “his loss; I’m doing the best I can here!”  It’s tempting to do that, that is, until you recognize that you have been that ‘reluctant learner’.

This past week I got a full dose of the ‘aha’ moment as I recognized the reluctant learner in me.  It probably started on Friday morning.  I got a phone call from a dear pastor friend (if you’ve been following my blog, this is the man who gave me the book on healing). He wanted to check in, walk down memory lane a bit, and pray for me.  He reminded me, as he often does, of a day way back in 1990 when my husband and I were planning to relocate to Jackson, Michigan — just temporarily — so that my husband could complete his internship in professional counseling.  We spotted a Lutheran church on a hill as we drove into Jackson to sign our six-month lease.  We had a little extra time, so my husband pulled up the long drive, and we decided to see if anyone was inside.  Indeed, this same pastor was inside.  As he tells the story, he had been praying and praying for someone to come partner with him in ministry to work with the broken families in the congregation.  He wanted someone who could walk with these families through times of divorce recovery and other personal issues they were facing.  We walked into his church and said we were moving to town temporarily and were looking for a place to worship while we were there. This pastor, who is now in his 80s, says that at that moment, he knew his prayers were answered.

Now, when I look back on that moment, I think, “Wow, he must have been desperate!”  We were, at that time, two young, selfish, immature individuals who were on a path to something — who knows what! Certainly we could not be the answer to anyone’s prayers.  In fact, the first time we worshipped at that church, I leaned over to my husband and said something like, “I don’t see myself here at all!”

That’s pretty funny when you consider that we ended up staying for twelve years!  Yes, I reluctantly shuffled into the place that would become my classroom. I learned a lot of lessons in that place — many of the lessons that I have written about in this blog!

I learned that God provides — not in ways that I demand that He provide, but in His own breathtaking ways.  Just after we joined the church, before we knew many people at all, I was getting close to delivering our first daughter.  We didn’t have much income at the time and didn’t really know how we were going to meet all the needs of a new baby.  But God knew.  Over forty women who had just met me gathered to throw me the baby shower of all baby showers.  Their gifts barely fit in my car!  They gave us everything we could have ever needed for that baby!  On the day she was born, my husband left me at the hospital with a heavy heart.  He knew what our bank account looked like — empty.  How was he going to put food in the fridge before we got home?  He had no idea.  But God did.  When my husband dropped by the counseling office that day, he found a check for over $500 in his mailbox from insurance payments that had ‘just come through’.  On the day he brought me home, members from our church met us with a footlocker full of groceries and stocked our fridge to bursting.  I could tell story after story of how God used that body to teach us that He would provide.

I also learned that I didn’t know everything.  That lesson involved a very long series of painful mini-lessons.  I learned that I didn’t know everything about parenting when I judged other parents and then watched my own children misbehaving — even biting and hitting other kids!  I learned I didn’t know everything about teaching when my Bible studies flopped and I offended some of my students who just happened to be members of the church!  I learned that I didn’t know everything about event planning when I planned a women’s retreat that lasted too long, didn’t give women enough time to relax, and didn’t honor the people who served.  I learned I didn’t know a lot about forgiveness when I was put in the position time after time after time to need it so desperately.

I learned that God is gracious at this church.  I learned this lesson because despite all of my failures and ugliness, these people continued to lavish love upon us.  I mean– lavish.  Eleven years ago when my husband announced that we would be leaving that church to go to the seminary, that body simultaneously wept and celebrated.  They planned a send-off to top all send-offs! They helped us pack up our house.  One member, a realtor, listed and sold our house, refused to take a commission, and then gave us a monetary gift! Another member came over, took all the items off my walls, wrapped them in paper and packed them in boxes.  Dozens showed up on moving day to load all of our possessions, Tetris-style, into a U-haul truck. Then, they paid my husband to go to the seminary.  Yes, that’s right.  They covered our medical insurance for a long time, and they sent monthly support to help us with living expenses.  When I had unexpected surgery, they paid our share of the cost! They prayed for unceasingly! Dozens trekked to St. Louis to encourage us while we were there. And, when it was time for my husband to be ordained, they threw open the doors and hosted the ceremony and a meal to follow.  I am telling you, these people can lavish the love!

Well, yesterday we went back to that church to worship again. It had been a few years since we had seen many of them, but from the moment I walked in the door I didn’t stop hugging people.  It felt like we had returned home after a long time away.  So many smiles.  So many memories.  As my husband preached a message of God’s ability to do ‘immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine,’ I looked around the sanctuary and was reminded of time after time when He did just that.

That first time I walked into Redeemer, Jackson back in 1990, my imagination was very limited.  I didn’t see how in the world God could bless us in that place.  Maybe it would be ok for six months, I guessed, but stay for twelve years?  Come on, that was not gonna happen.

Thankfully, God is able and willing to take a reluctant learner like me, hold me in the palm of His hand and guide me through lesson after lesson to give to me a life that is immeasurably more than I could ever ask or imagine.

Thanks, Redeemer, for allowing Him to use you to touch this reluctant learner.

Ephesian 3:19-20

 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Details, details, details

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Today is a detail day — schedule the oil change, get the groceries,  call the university, fold the laundry, etc.  I have lots to do…actually lots to do all week long. 

These details were a bit overwhelming last night when we had just returned from dropping off the baby at college eight hours away.  And, I’m a little irritated at the moment that I can’t just lie around and mope.  Already I am laughing at myself. 

It’s all by God’s design isn’t it?  He knew in advance that I would be a little torn up today — worrying, grieving, overthinking — so he made sure my plate was full for a bit.  It’s all good stuff — family visiting tonight through Friday, an appointment with a specialist, some cooking, some cleaning, and definitely some writing.  

I will find some time in the midst of the details to grieve a little, to wallow a little, to mope a little.  But, I will have to wipe the tears and drag myself out of bed to get a few things done.  

After all, one daughter is still here!  In fact, she greeted us last night when we returned from our trip with a warm dinner and lots of energy!  I couldn’t bring myself to write a grocery list, but she could.  I was overwhelmed at the thought of laundry, but she had it started!  God’s design.  He knew that if they were all gone at once, I would be overcome by loneliness.  He’s easing me into the empty nest.  

My niece is coming to visit tonight, bringing more energy into our home.  Two twenty-one year olds full of possibility and promise — they will take a road trip tomorrow!  What fun! They will leave me here to write, think, rest, and grieve for a couple of days, then they will bring their energy back.  

Do you see that detail?  God was setting up the details ahead of time, taking care of me, knowing exactly what I needed.  He knew I needed to do for a little while and then be for a little while.  He knew I needed people in my house for a while.  He knew what I needed before I even asked.  He’s got August taken care of, so that I can face September.  He’s always looking out for me, and for you. 

The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer;  

my god is my rock, in whom I take refuge,

my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. 

Psalm 18:2

3 

 

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, revisit

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

On Monday (August 26, 2019) I wrote that Change is Constant. Since then, even more change has happened in my everyday life. I’ve unearthed this post first written in August 2014 to remind myself of all the changes we’ve lived through and been changed by as a family — to remind myself that change brings the potential for transformation.

On December 21, 1989, when my husband proposed to me, he said, “Things are going to get busy for a while.”  He wasn’t kidding.  

In the last 25 years we have lived in eleven different homes, parented four children (giving birth to three within three years!), earned three Master’s degrees, taught hundreds of students, driven thousands of miles, and attended dozens of churches. Things have indeed been busy! 

We have experienced lots of change–as individuals, and as a family. At first, I braced myself for change and tried to ‘get through’ it, but I’ve come to realize that change is our constant and bracing myself all the time just leaves me exhausted. 

Although steeling myself against change is still my initial reaction, I’ve learned that when I lean in, change goes more smoothly. It can even be pleasant — invigorating.

In fact, early in our marriage, my husband really enjoyed reorganizing all the furniture in the house. He would get an idea to rotate all the bedrooms — all in one day!  The master bedroom would become the kids’ dorm.  The girls’ room would become the den.  It would be an all-day project. I know it sounds like lots of work, but we always liked the outcome — a fresh start, a new perspective. 

When the kids were in elementary school, we spent many hours investigating and discussing before we decided to move them from a parochial to a public school. One school was not better than the other, but they were very different. It was a huge change. My husband and I felt it was the right decision, so we acted. It was a huge transition for the kids; you’d have to ask them how they feel about that choice now. Each would probably answer differently, especially since the very next year, we not only switched their schools again, we moved them to an entirely different state! A different time zone!  A different — sweatier –climate! 

That move meant not only a change in school, but a change from the only church they had ever known — where they were all born, rocked, sung to, cuddled. We all looked shell-shocked for a couple of years. It was a lot of change.  

While there, in Missouri, we made so many deep friendships. I would not trade that time for anything. But, at times, it was like living through a deployment. We encountered a new culture, we soldiered through difficulties, we sustained some injuries, and we’ve never been the same.

Change changes us.  

I am not the person I was on December 21, 1989. Thank goodness!!  Neither is my husband.  Thank goodness!! All of this busy-ness, all of these changes, have transformed us.  

When we were at one of our first congregations, with all our babies, a dear friend said, “I see you guys as a diamond in the rough–the outside is being chiseled away to reveal that beautiful inside.”  I may have been a little offended at the moment, but I now treasure the fact that she saw some potential under the rough exterior that we wore back in our twenties.  

I’d like to think that the changes we have endured have chiseled away some stubbornness, some judgmental attitudes, some close-mindedness, but we aren’t done yet. Change is our constant. And, even today, as I find myself in the midst of great change, I lean in. I know that these changes, too, will be transformative, and I am not afraid.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

2 Cor 4:16

Fairy-tale life

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, a young mother, looking frazzled and exhausted from caring for her brood of small children walked into church carrying an infant and being trailed by two toddlers.  A wise, older woman smiled at her tenderly and said, “Treasure this time, dearie, the years will just fly by.”

The young mother, being polite, smiled and nodded, but on the inside she thought to herself, “The years may fly by, but these minutes are exhausting!”

Indeed they were exhausting, and lovely.  Many years have passed, and that infant in the mother’s arms is packed and loaded for college…five hundred miles away. The toddlers?  One is a soldier, seven hundred miles away, the other a college-grad, launching a life six hundred miles away. Their older brother?  A soon-to-be father, dedicated husband, and businessman two hundred and fifty miles away.  

And the mother is remembering that smiling older woman, thinking “she was so right.”  The years have flown by.  The babies are grown.  They are leaving the nest. 

And as I sit in this soon-to-be-empty nest, I am filled with thankfulness for these loud, crazy, brilliant, beautiful children that God has loaned to me for a while.  It hasn’t all been hearts and flowers, but it has been rich and life-changing.  And it’s just beginning!  

We are all starting our next chapter — college, career, service, parenthood, and whatever else the Lord has planned.  It is a very exciting time, filled with so much emotion.  We are excited, anxious, sad, happy, exhilarated….

Last night we had a rare moment where five of us were connected by Skype, laughing and smiling.  I drank it in.  I have been so blessed to have these amazing humans inhabit my nest.  I know they will periodically land here.  I look forward to it. 

Children are a heritage from the Lord. 

Psalm 127:3