December 2006

In the midst of Advent, I find an Easter verse reverberating in my heart. "A man of sorrows, familiar with suffering" (Isaiah 53:3).

This has been a year of sadness and suffering for our family. On July 2, on a late morning training ride, Daniel was hit by a car. Impact with the pavement shattered his L2 vertebra. Twentyfour hours later, he was in surgery to rebuild the vertebra that had been crushed to 50-percent of its height.

In the weeks that followed, I watched my strong, athletic husband shake with pain, his face turn pale and gaunt, his movements become guarded and cautious, trying to avoid exacerbating his injury. I saw the ache in him when his son reached up to be held, and when the days slipped away to fall, his summer lost.

Daniel's pain was literal, mine was heartache. But in the midst of suffering, I felt joy. My husband was alive! My Daniel could walk. And more than that, his surgeon anticipated a full recovery. Daniel would return to work and to racing mountain bikes.

Isaiah calls Christ "Immanuel", which means "God with us". God was present at that intersection; He protected Daniel from far worse injuries. God was with me as I drove to the hospital. God provided the best surgeon in Spokane and guided his hands. God made my husband strong. God gave me reserved of energy I had no idea I possessed as I cared for both Daniel and Karsten. And God provided the financial resources that our foresight did not. (The young woman who hit Daniel did not have insurance and our uninsured motorist insurance was woefully inadequate to cover our expenses.)

I admit to being something of a worrier. But the God of all comfort lifted that weight. I trusted Him to see us through, to heal Daniel, to give me the strength to be our strength, to provide the work I needed and the money we required to pay our bills. I put that panicky little bird of worry in His hands each time its wings beat against the bars and clawed at my heart. And I learned to wait on Him. To trust more deeply than I ever had before.

I have seen Christ in my husband. In his pain. In his quiet strength. In his righteous indignation. In his love for his little boy and for me. I have seen Christ in Karsten, in his adoration of and delight in his Daddy. And I have seen the Holy Spirit - the Comforter - comfort Daniel through me.

Daniel is back at work on light duty. And he is back on his mountain bike. (We no longer ride the roads in Spokane.) Perhaps most importantly, Daniel can scoop up his son again. The healing continues.

Joy and suffering are not opposites. In Christ, they are companions. As we celebrate the birth of the Christ child, we are grateful for Christ, the man, and his willingness to come into our world and suffer for us that we might know joy.

With grateful hearts,

-Kyrsten

PS  We found out not long ago that Daniel's fusion is complete. The surgeon said he has never seen anyone grow bone as quickly as Daniel has. We know your prayers and God's grace have everything to do with it.

December 2005

"...Mary pondered all these things in her heart." -Luke 2:19

Over the past five months, I have felt a deep affinity with Mary. Our son, Karsten Daniel, was born on June 27th, a surprising two weeks early. And that meant we weren't quite ready. No crib was set up and waiting when we got home (thought there was a cradle by our bed). No stockpile of diapers. No last minute cleaning. Just a sweet, needy baby and two very weary parents.

But God provided. My Tante Beth and my mother-in-law made the essential Target and grocery runs. Family and friends brought us food. Dan's sister Colleen and her husband Doug put up blinds in the nursery and helped us move in Karsten's furniture. Cousin Jesse let in the carpet installer (and kept our menagerie out of the the way).

Daniel was able to stay home with us for most of two weeks. He watched the baby while I rested. He made sure I ate enough. While I struggled with new-mom panic, he calmly changed diapers, spoke soothing words to me, and participated in all the elements of newborn care. Daniel is my solid ground.

Tante Beth was our birthing coach and my ongoing mommy mentor. She graced our arrival home with long-stemmed roses and a beautiful photo album of our first days with Karsten. She brought us dinner that evening. She came over and watched Karsten while I tried to get some sleep. She answered my frequent phone calls and numerous questions. She prayed for us constantly. To her family too we owe a debt of gratitude for sharing her with us so much and so graciously.

My mom came and stayed with us for five weeks over the course of the summer. She held my boy, fed him in the middle of the night, made sure I ate enough, bought us groceries, cooked dinner and was wonderful company. Mom helped hold us together during those first two months. This summer was precious to me in large part because of her presence. She helped lighten the load so that I could enjoy my son.

There were many others who also carried us. Susan, my step-mom, who came and stayed for a week-and-a-half, who walked the park with me almost daily, who fed Karsten when I was too tired to do so, who helped around the house and put meals together, who was good company. And there were the wonderful women who came and spent the night caring for Karsten so that we could get some sleep - Daniel's mom, Beth, Colleen and Kathy (Dan's sisters), Lydia and Laurie (two of my dear friends), and Abbie (my cousin who took care of our boy by candlelight during a power outage). Many people also brought us meals - Gra'mom and Grandad, our Garland small group, Dawn, my sister-in-law, Colleen and Dan's mom. My dad came for a long weekend and treated us to lots of takeout and napped with Karsten whenever possible.

So where was the pondering? In the midst of it all. After the fact. Now, this very moment. In anticipation of Advent.

Unlike Mary, I had a sanitary hospital in which to birth my son. My husband had family, nurses and a doctor to help with the birth itself. We had our very own home to take Karsten to. Our animals were fewer in number - 4 cats and a dog - though not by much. We had no concerns about enough food to eat.

But there were things Mary and I shared. The anticipation of holding a son. The newness of motherhood. The pain of childbirth. The soul-deep love for a child. The intimacy of breastfeeding. Attentive husbands. Animals. Lots of visitors (though I knew all of ours). God's amazing, breathtaking provision, often in unexpected forms. The profound weight of responsibility for a new life. A deeper awareness of God. The quiet moments of watchful love, where each new sound and expression is a wonder. Awe that God would entrust this little life to our keeping.

And I am beginning to understand what it is to love without reservation. I think I know now what Mary meant when she said, "I am the Lord's servant. May it be to me as you have said." I want to have a heart willing to trust, willing to sacrifice, willing to serve, willing to love with one's entire being. God has a heart like that. He proved it long ago. He reminded me again this summer.

Pondering His many gifts with you,
-Kyrsten

Best Laid Plans

This has been a crazy holiday season. Crazier than most. My son and I are in a community theater production of "A Christmas Carol". Twenty-two performances are scheduled and we are just over half way through. I find myself asking, "What was I thinking?! I try to make this season restful, so why would we audition for a show that runs through Dec. 18?"

For my son. I did this to give my budding, 6-year-old actor a chance to discover live theater. Karsten is thriving! He is good, a natural. And he is having fun. That has made the craziness worthwhile (mostly).

I had hoped to write a blog entry at least once a week during Advent, but it isn't going to happen. So instead, I'm going to post some past Christmas letters. These aren't so much newsy as reflective. My grandfather inspired this writing with his yearly missals that always leave me contemplative and smiling. I'm hoping these letter will do for you what Grandad's have done for me.

Have a joyful, peaceful and hopeful Christmas!

Lessons My Children Have Taught Me This Year

Sweetness and grumpiness do not have to be mutually exclusive (Anni).

The best way to start a day is with 5 to 10 minutes of snuggling (Anni).

Doing a show with your child is very time consuming, but if he is enjoying himself, it’s well worth the effort (Karsten).

My children are more talented than I am.

Spring break is only fun if you get to be with friends and don’t leave off learning something (Karsten).

Being late to school is usually more about my poor planning than their pokiness.

A six-year-old can make beautiful music on the piano even before starting lessons…truly.

Three or four chocolate chips in the morning taste better than at any other time of day.

Gameboys, iPods, iPads, and other small electronics make books seem dull. These devices should be banned from all public gatherings because they foster discontent (Karsten).

Facebook and surfing can be temptations to neglect my children who need me far more than my “friends”.

Communion looks like a snack despite its size (Karsten).

Running laps around the house is good exercise, even though the course is short and little feet are loud. It also wears kids out so they sleep well.

I need to say I’m sorry and really mean it, even if the owie happened by accident. My kids will learn that best if I set a good example.

Some days, I simply need to set my work aside and play with my children.

Listening to an Early Reader read by my son is some of the most enjoyable listening I’ve done of late.

Playdates need to happen much more often.

Little bladders hold a lot of “water”. You realize that most when it’s all over the bathroom floor.

Correctly spoken R’s and L’s are overrated (Anni).

Unsolicited smooches are gifts from God (Anni).

Prayer for Our Boys

Like most parents, I am appalled, nauseated and saddened by the events brought to light at Penn State. My thoughts have turned to my son, Karsten. How do I protect him in a world where the perpetrator is often deemed more valuable than the victim? If "pillars of the community" can be monsters in disguise, how do I keep my child safe?

Approximately one in ten little boys will be molested, but many believe that estimate is low. The number for little girls is even higher - one in five. That means you and I know at least one child - probably many - who has been or is being molested right now. It makes me shake and weep.

I am relieved that the crimes have been exposed and the guilty parties fired, Paterno included. Until Sandusky is in jail and those who covered it up are penalized, this world's justice will be far from complete. However, justice will not remove the children's wounds.

I am praying for the little boys who were Sandusky's victims, of whom there are likely more than we know. I am praying for their parents, for wisdom and healing for them too. I am praying that Penn State's leaders - and those of other colleges and universities - will see the enormous moral error of protecting the violator. I am praying that the students of Penn State will recognize their misplaced loyalty and put themselves in the victims' shoes. I am not ready to pray for Sandusky, though he no doubt needs it.

With fear and trembling, I am praying for my children. And myself. Praying that I will have the wisdom to recognize when something is off. Wisdom to prepare my son and daughter to protect themselves. I cannot always be at their sides. Sadly, I do not have the ability to see into the hearts of their teachers, coaches, and the other adults in their lives. But I can teach Karsten and Annika that they are valuable to God and to me, that their bodies are their own, that no adult has the right to hurt them, and that Mommy and Daddy will protect them like tigers.

Oh, those boys! God, be with those boys. Let them know they are special to you, that you are not far away, that you are angry and brokenhearted FOR them. That your justice is perfect, your love profound and your healing complete.

Grandad's Gift

Grandad was one of my college professors. Dr. Howard Stien taught Biology. Spring of my freshman year at Whitworth, I took Human Biology (a class for non-majors) from him.

The class was challenging and I worked hard. There were few people I wanted to make proud more than Grandad. I had taken biology classes in high school, but Stien (that's what we called him) took us much deeper. Of course. This was college. I renamed the class "Stien's Philosophy of Biological Humanness".

The final paper was to be a for-or-against argument, but I was in turmoil. What I had learned had challenged my faith and my understanding of God and of us. I could not make an argument either way. So I wrote Grandad a letter, which was not the assignment. I explained the upheaval I was experiencing and my inability to defend either side.

Grandad wrote me a letter back.

"Kyrsten,

"I read your paper with great interest and no little concern. Your paper merits my carefully considered response both as your professor and as your Grandfather. It is brilliantly written... I am proud beyond words that you dared risk doing what your heart, mind, soul and body tells you must be done. That kind of courage is rare in young students when faced with the expectations of profs, particularly grandfather profs...

"You have demonstrated an exceptional ability to manipulate information and communicate ideas in writing. Best of all, you have learned to recognize dissonance... I am encouraged that you have gained some understanding of the material miracle that is Life and that you have considered all this in the 'context of your personal beliefs, experience and values'... You are dealing with it honestly and I think maturely."

He signed it "GOK" - grandfather of Kyrsten. And he gave me an A.

I have never felt more validated.

I Don't Know

The person who has best taught me how to say “I don’t know” is my grandfather, my mom’s dad. This despite the fact that I thought he knew everything when I was a child.

Grandad was one of my college professors. He taught Biology. Spring of my freshman year at Whitworth, I took Human Biology from him. The final paper was to be a for-or-against argument, one I wasn’t yet ready to write. So I wrote Grandad a letter, which was not the assignment. I explained the inner turmoil I was experiencing from what I had learned in class.

He wrote me a letter back. Here is part of it…

“We must all learn to live with dissonance. There is so much we don’t know. I firmly believe there are some things that are beyond knowing. I also believe that God intended that because he wants us to trust Him. Kyrsty, you must know that I believe without apology that the only acceptable explanation for the human phenomenon, biology included, is that God did it.

“As for the resurrection of the body, I don’t find that possibility any more miraculous than God having created us with all of our complexity and material uniqueness in the first place…

“I anticipate that both your wonder and awe of our God and the wondrous creation of His that is Life will increase as you continue to contemplate how ‘marvelously and wonderfully we are made’. I wonder why He went to all that effort just to erase it in eternity. What do you think?”

Grandad stretched us, taught us detailed and expansive information, shared his worldview and faith, and asked us to come to our own conclusions. My faith became my own after I took that class. And I learned to say, “I don’t know.” A sentence my children hear quite often.

Stage Mom

My 6-year-old son, Karsten, was just cast as Tom Cratchet in “A Christmas Carol”. I will join him on stage as the Ghost of Christmas Past. Now the hard work begins: NOT becoming a stage mom.

I thought I had it under control when we went to auditions. While Karsten needed help with lines (he is just starting to read), I did not want to “direct” him. I fed him lines with appropriate inflection and dialect, but did not coach facial expression or movement. He did beautifully! Ever the character actor at home, he was just as comfortable in front of an audience of strangers.

Then came callbacks. I helped him with his two small lines, then sat in the audience while he followed the other actors’ lead. He was great! Comfortable and confident, he came in on cue.

I had almost made it through the audition process without embarrassing myself. Then as the director looked around to choose another audition group, I blew it. I raised Karsten’s hand for him – a classic stage mom move.

Of course, he did not get called on. Nor did the director frown in our direction. But I had violated my pledge to not “manage” my son. It may seem like a small thing, but I read in my heart the desire to put my child ahead of the others.

We all want our children to have new opportunities and experiences, but sometimes our best intentions are tainted with our own ambition and competitiveness. It becomes all about us, rather than them.

Tomorrow is the first night of rehearsal. A new opportunity for me to launch my son and let him test his wings. I will be there to catch him should he fall. But I commit myself to not interfere when he soars.

I Will Wait

I walk in the wilderness
knowing you led me here

I will wait for the rain
You said you would supply

You are the Lord of the wind and the rain
the Ruler of earth and sky
I will trust in your plan to lead me home
even when sand blinds my eyes

Poet's Disclaimer

Poetry means something different to everyone who reads it. This is a good thing.

The problem comes when you know the poet. It is tempting to try to understand the source of the words – pain, joy, anger, hope, loss, amusement. But without explanation, it is too easy to misinterpret the subtext. If we don’t know the when, what, where, who, how or why, it can be tempting to guess. Then the enjoyment of the poem is muddled or even lost.

There is a solution. Approach the words as though they come from someone new. Read it for yourself, for the beauty of it, for the challenge, for the images and the vistas.

If you must know the poet’s context and thoughts, you can always ask. But she might not tell you.

The Flood

Standing below the dam
the river's pulse in my bones' marrow

Once before I stood here
-- full of hope, brimful in confidence

Now
I stand a world apart

another love at my side, but far from him
a river between us
a past life I cannot share with him
     a future neither one can see
                                                 beyond the bend

Even to look at it is to be blinded by brilliance
bewildered by its shadows

And though the river
                                roars
                                      unceasing

In the distance it flows -- living water across soft-worn rocks

Anguish is a river
violent
          and calm
                       steady --
                                   determined to follow its own course

Foolishly
we dam it up
control it
turn it into something tame

But who can tame the heart--or teach love silence?

 
.

Defending My Children

An ugly juxtaposition took place this morning: my little girl started preschool…and a news story aired about a 3-year-old beauty pageant contestant who was dressed – by her mother – like Julia Roberts’ hooker in “Pretty Woman”. I started my day sick to my stomach.

While we moms and dads bear enormous responsibility to protect and guide our children – a responsibility in which I believe this mother failed – we are also accountable as a society.  Corporately, we have gone beyond failure into victimizing and prostituting our children.

While we talk about protecting our kids, preserving their innocence, in practice we are doing something quite different. Little girls want to be like big girls. When grade school fashions resemble the sexier outfits of high school girls (whose styles mimic college-age women), small wonder that young girls end up wearing clothes that startle with their suggestiveness.

Our music videos, song lyrics, CD covers, TV ads and glamour magazines project an idealized and highly sexualized image of women and girls. The singers, actors and models our daughters look up to are often promoting unhealthy images – too thin, sexually promiscuous, physically modified, self-indulgent – that damage how our girls see themselves and others around them. What they see, hear and wear is devouring their innocence.

Our sons, who are more visually stimulated, are bombarded by images of scantily dressed women from toddlerhood. These photos, ads, magazine covers, TV shows and movie trailers are so ubiquitous, that we adults do not give them a second thought. How on earth can we expect our sons to look at women respectfully when they constantly see us in various states of undress? That too eats away at our boys’ innocence.

There is hope and help. My husband and I are reading a wonderful pair of books by Dr. Meg Meeker: “Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters” and “Boys Should Be Boys”. As a pediatrician, Dr. Meeker is sounding the alarm about how our culture is hurting our kids, and how we as parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles CAN have a profound and positive impact on our children. I would love to personally thank her someday.

Nevertheless, there are moments when I want to pack up our belongings and move to a Mennonite community.  Then I remember Christ’s admonition that we are to be “in the world, but not of the world”. Hard to do when we are bombarded by billboards, checkout-stand magazines, television, radio, in-store music, etc. We do have choices: restricting the shows our kids see, the music they listen to, dumping cable or satellite, limiting internet time, keeping the computer in a central place, staying on top of the magazines and books they read. Increasingly, I have come to greatly respect the parents who have chosen to get rid of TV completely.

So how do I find the balance of “in-not-of”, particularly where my children are concerned? The answer is not a simple one, but a process. Day by day, I need to keep my eyes open, my ears alert to recognize the dissonance between our culture and Christ. I need Him to define appropriate and inappropriate, helpful and hurtful, wholesome and degrading. I need God’s eyes and ears and sometimes His hands to protect my sweet, funny, little girl and my precocious, imaginative, little boy. After all, I answer to Father God for how I protect the children He has entrusted to me.

I Have Loved You

I have loved you all my life.

As a little girl, I imagined us a family
     whole and happy.

Then mine broke
my world became fragments
the dream, an illusion
and I stopped imagining you

I grew and I began to long for love
I looked for you
     but found cheap and costly imitations

I joined the charade
Mourning as, bit by bit,
     I gave away the rubble of my heart
Soon there were only pebbles left
     Not even enough to build a wall

I have loved you all my life.

From the ruins
     one small winged creature wakened when you called
Her heart beats with a tender fierceness
      and I am changed forever

Sojourn

the Spirit led Yeshua into the wilderness

now you too must go

I stand on the rim of the desert
praying rain for your thirst
shade for your head

I have walked my desert road
but I cannot travel with you

though I would set aside my work
my craft
to be helpmate

that is not what you need

at the oasis' shore
I look for you in the distance
a wavering form against the tawny harshness

but it is not you
not yet

There Is a Girl Who Wants to Fly

There is a girl who wants to fly

On the playground, she swings so high
all she can see is blue
She closes her eyes and the earth vanishes
only clouds and stars remain

In her bedroom, she looks out the window
as gray thunderheads roll above the trees
She jumps through the frame
to chase the thunder and lightning across the sky

Proof God Has a Sense of Humor

“A joyful heart is good medicine…” Proverbs 17:22a

Giraffes. (No, it wasn’t a committee; God come up with them on His own.)

Bed hair. Or, as we call it at our house, chicken feathers.

The tired jollies (or TJs). When one is so tired that everything strikes you as funny.

Bodily noises. Just ask any grade school boy.

Small dogs that think they are big dogs.

Lungs, diaphragms, vocal cords and smile muscles. We couldn’t laugh without them.

My dog who gives up her bed for the cats.

My little morning people who have a night owl for a mom.

Hiccups and sneezes.

Laugh lines.

Little kids who make cross-eyes.

A dog chasing his tail and maybe even catching it.

A chipmunk with full cheeks.

The fact that milk can come out your nose when you laugh hard.

A baby laughing at Daddy’s funny faces. Or a baby’s laugh anytime.

Turbo-crawling. If your child did it, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

People who are tone-deaf usually sing with the most abandon and enjoy enormous lung capacity.

The whale-spout reflex when a baby boy has his diaper changed.

Lion cubs that try to tackle their regal father.

My children.

“[The Lord] will once again fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy.”   Job 8:21

The Road to Tshimakain Creek

Choral susurration of the brook

            antiphony of songbirds

The lingering green of summer’s end

            turning to autumnal vestments of gold, russet and brown

                        woven of nature’s homespun

The cathedral vault stretches overhead in unblemished blue

            no doves, but snow white butterflies

The fierce glory of the sun upon my shoulders

            I lift my face for His holy kiss

The old tree raises crooked, silvered arms in praise

            stripped of all finery

                        leaves and bark, a fine interlacing of new growth

Its long perished abundance reduced

            except in its many-fingered expression of adoration to the sun above

Alone of its kind, like the humble sinner among the saints

            The pine spires rise above him in unassuming dignity

They too remain when the worshipper – and the oblivious – pass on

The road through the cloistered hills

            that leads me back into the world

Pathfinder

My road into spring and summer weaves through hills and valleys, sometimes cresting ridge tops, encountering a mountain lake, or resting in a secluded clearing. I am finding my way out of the past, not forgetting the road behind me, but looking to the horizon...and lingering over the lupine and larkspur along the way.

I am creative, empathic, procrastinating, thoughtful and curious. I am mother, wife, storyteller, Christ-follower, cook and explorer. My life is evidence of God's breathtaking grace, patience and love.

I am a daughter, who would not be the woman I am were it not for my mother.

I am a mother, who recognizes that children see with the eyes of Eden.

I am a wife, who knows herself best through her husband's eyes.

I am a survivor of depression, who has lived twice as long as expected.

I am a lover of the written word, who loves to hear it read out loud.

I am an enjoyer of good food, who worships God in the act of making and consuming it.

I am a storyteller, who knows how important it is to be a good listener.

I am a child of God, who is learning what it means to be a daughter of the Father.

The future holds immeasurable promise. Not an absence of challenge or pain or loss, but opportunities for God to show Himself good once more. I am learning not to dread difficulty and the unknown, learning to trust the Creator who holds all the threads of the tapestry.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."   Jeremiah 29:11