Rejoicing and Mourning

Romans 12:15
“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

Simple, blunt, and to-the-point. This is one of my favorite verses because it contains core instructions for how to build a community. Paul tells us to participate in both the happy times and the sad times with those we care about. A caring community can multiply the happiness when there is reason to celebrate and it can divide the burden of sadness when there is reason to mourn. The church that I attend right now carries out Paul’s instructions so well and I think it’s a strong point of our church. After my step-grandfather Bob passed away, we received lots of cards and calls from members of the congregation who wanted to be a link in our support system. Our pastor even called to ask if he could come to our house and pray with us or talk with us, whatever we needed. It’s such a blessing to be a part of a community like this that knows how to rejoice and mourn with its members.

Personally, I am not so great at rejoicing and mourning with others. I always start out with every intention of doing so, but my emotions and self-centeredness often get in the way. Weddings are a prime example of my failure to rejoice with those who rejoice.

I love the concept of weddings. I love knowing that one person has found their person and that they are ready to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. I love that moment when the bride appears around the corner and the groom gets his first glimpse of her in her beautiful dress. Whenever I go to a wedding, I watch all the attendants come down the aisle and coo over the dressed up little flower girls and ring-bearers. But as soon as the bride’s song starts playing, I turn around and look at the groom. His face breaks out into a big grin and he can’t take his eyes off of his bride. I love all of these things about weddings. In theory.

In actual practice, I dread going to weddings. Weddings remind the hopelessly single girl that she is not getting married any time soon. Weddings give other couples the opportunity to celebrate their own relationships and reminisce about the time they have spent together. Weddings decrease the available single friends that a single person can turn to for support when they feel completely steamrolled by their singleness.

When it comes to weddings, I fail at rejoicing with those who rejoice. I can put on a good face and smile and give genuine congratulations because a part of me is truly happy for the couple. But the rest of me is breaking because I want to be in the bride’s place, knowing that someone loves me and that my future is secure.

A part of me dies every time I see another friend get engaged on Facebook. I desperately wish it wasn't that way, but the pain is instant. It’s probably God’s way of telling me that I need to learn a very important lesson: how to rejoice with those who are rejoicing. A wedding day is a day set aside just to focus on two people and participate in their celebration. It is not a day to complain to other single guests, mourn the "loss" of another single friend, or think too deeply about life and become miserable. No, a wedding is a day for those two people up in front who are taking the first step on a lifelong journey hand-in-hand. This is where my self-centeredness tends to get out of control. I get so hung-up on how I feel, why I’m single, will I ever get married, etc. I, I, I. But it’s not supposed to be about me, which is something I need to improve on a lot.

Mourning with those who mourn is a different story entirely. I’m both very good and very bad at this. If the person that is mourning needs empathy, then I can succeed. But if that person needs sympathy, I fail. Here’s why.

Empathy is “I know how you feel;” while sympathy is “I feel how you feel.” In my experience, sympathy often goes hand-in-hand with tears. I never cry. Or rather, I feel like I can’t cry. Physically incapable. I have never been able to summon tears at funerals, weddings, sad movies, sad books, divorces, not even deaths. I dread going to funerals almost as much as I dread going to weddings, not because of what happens at funerals, but because I’m afraid of being judged for not having any tears to shed. I find it so difficult to feel what that hurting person is feeling in that moment because I can’t summon up tears.

Crying is essential for mental health. Crying can release physical and emotional tension that we didn’t even know we had. Have you ever wondered why you feel physically tired or weak after a long cry? Through crying, your body released a great deal of physical tension. If it was a cathartic cry, you feel exhausted, but in a good way. It’s as if you are releasing your emotional pain drop by drop until there is nothing left.

In Spanish, the word for ‘exhausted’ is agotado, which comes from the verb gotear, which means ‘to drip,’ and the noun gota, which means ‘drop.’ We take agotado to mean ‘exhausted’ in English, but when literally translated, it provides a single word for “being completely dripped out." Whatever the gota is, whether it is water, oil, strength, funds, or happiness, agotado is the end state of being completely dripped dry of that thing.

I have never felt that kind of exhausted before, in large part because I can’t cry. I would love to know that feeling because the most intimate moments between friends can be shared by having a good cry together. Being stuck in the emotional pain of that period before the good cry is both frustrating and wearing. I should know. I’ve been stuck in that place for the better part of the last four years.

The beauty that rises from the ashes of that pain is my unique ability to empathize. Empathy is “I know how you feel. I know how that feels. I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are. I know how that struggle goes. You’re not the only one that has ever felt that way. I’ve felt it too.” The empathizer probably isn’t feeling that emotional pain at the moment, but it’s almost better that way, because then he or she can be the strong safe place for the person who is feeling that pain.

At the beginning of my battle with depression, I wanted people who would show sympathy. I wanted them to feel the way I did and sit with me and hold me and comfort me. But as I grew older, I came to realize that this wasn’t helping. In those moments, I was weak, and if the person next to me was feeling my pain, then he or she was weak too. Two weak people can’t be the strong safe place for each other. Instead I needed someone who knew my pain intimately but had not been overcome by it. I had to see evidence that this pain was not all-consuming, not all-powerful, not ever-present.

To this day, the best words of comfort that I have ever received came from my friend Jessica, who routinely tells me, “I know how you feel. I don’t know what to say to you, but I know how you feel.” If you’re not used to empathy, this seems kind of harsh. You might think that she could have taken a little bit more time to think of something more reassuring to say. But what she comes up with may not be genuine. I’d rather have Jessica’s words because they are honest. I know she doesn’t know what to say because if she did, she’d be able to tell it to herself and she wouldn’t know exactly how I feel.

Mourning with those who mourn requires empathy, if you ask me. Those who mourn are looking for a safe place to hide while they let their guards down and make themselves vulnerable. If you are feeling all of their emotions with them, you are just as vulnerable and you can’t hold them up. As unfeeling as empathy seems at first, in the long run, it’s the most healing. One person can be strong for the other, instead of both people feeling weak and exhausted.

Rejoicing and mourning are a group effort. Rejoicing alone is lonely. Mourning alone is devastating. God calls us to rejoice and mourn as a family, each one paying attention to the needs of the others. Like me, you might find that hard to do sometimes. Let your community help you and cover your weaknesses. There might be others that could use you to cover their own weaknesses. To me, that’s what community is all about.

Beauty from the Ashes: The Book

I'm kicking around the idea of writing a book. This is the working introduction...

This book started out as a blog of the same name in May 2011, while I was studying abroad in Spain. Many of my classmates started blogs to keep their families and friends updated on what we were learning and what we were seeing during our time there. Since I was already doing this through Facebook, I didn't see the need to keep up with a blog. Plus, as you'll learn later on in this book, I had a lot of thoughts and experiences on my mind that were not exactly standard fare in a "What I Did During My Semester Abroad" blog. 

As the semester was drawing to a close, though, I realized that just because my experience of being abroad was so different from those of my classmates didn't mean that my experience was any less real or any less valid. In fact, some of my closest friends were feeling the same way I was, which both astounded and encouraged me. So, with just 13 days left in my semester abroad, I began my blog. 

The blog evolved into a very honest portrayal of my life and my thoughts beyond the time I spent in Spain. The more I wrote, the more I wanted to write. I strived to write about topics that actually mattered, not just what I happened to be doing that day. I don't particularly enjoy reading blogs like that, and I figured others wouldn't want to either. I wanted my blog to be a worthwhile read every time I updated, not just a weekly spew about my life. 

A blog (or book, for that matter) that is worth reading requires honesty. Writing has been an exercise in becoming more honest with myself and, more importantly, not being afraid of that honesty.  It has helped me to grow in my understanding of why God allows certain things happen and in my ability to see the beauty  that He can create in an otherwise hopeless situation. 

This concept is best visualized by something that I saw once at the campground I worked at during the summers of my college years. Before leaving their campsite, someone had placed a little yellow flower in the ashes of their fire pit. On first glance, I thought this was extremely odd. Flowers and fire do not go together. Any amateur pyromaniac who has played in a campfire with a long stick knows this. I can always tell which campsites have just been vacated by pyromaniacs because all vegetation within a 2-foot radius of the fire pot is charred and curled in on itself. That flower was just waiting to be tortured. 

As I continued on my way, I kept thinking about that flower. I knew there was no way that it could have grown there naturally, but if it had, it would make a perfect metaphor for life. Bad things happen and leave physical, emotional, financial, psychological, and spiritual wreckage behind. When I picture wreckage, I see fire, smoke, twisted metal, dirt...and ashes. How could anything grow in the midst of wreckage?

Ashes signify that something has been completely and irreversibly destroyed. If I had paid more attention during chemistry back in high school, I would be able to tell you all about how ashes are the result of a chemical reaction, an irreversible process by which chemicals interact to create an entirely new substance. The original chemicals are gone and you are left with something that is both better and stronger than those chemicals were on their own. 

 In life, ashes happen when everything you are comfortable with goes up in flames. But in order to become a better and stronger person, you have to have ashes. You have to allow things to burn and fall apart so that God can put the pieces back together the way He wants to. 

And while you're waiting for God to put the pieces together, look for the flowers that He plants in the ashes. When you least expect it, they burst through the surface and smile at you. 

It took me a couple of years to realize that being reduced to ashes is not the end. God is creating beauty from my ashes and He is doing the same thing for you. Everyone can see the ashes in their life. But not everyone can see the beauty in those ashes. 

I would love to hear what you think. After all, even though a book may have only one or two official authors, there are many more people that contribute to its production. 

Please Plant Me When I Die

Last Saturday, during the recessional of my college graduation, my step-grandfather Bob Smith passed away. He had had a severe heart attack a few days prior and at 85 years old, his body wasn't cut out to recover from it. This was the last in a number of close calls over the last few years, and I guess God finally had Bob's place prepared for him. 

His funeral was today. My uncle Mark delivered the meditation for the service and it was one of the best meditations/sermons/messages that I have ever heard at a funeral. Here are some things I learned about Bob today:

1. He left high school and enlisted in the Air Force in order to fight in WWII. He was only 17 at the time, which meant that he had to lie about his age in order to enlist. 

2. He received an honorable discharge from the Air Force at the conclusion of the War. He then turned right around and enlisted in the U.S. Navy, where he served for several more years. 

3. He owned or co-owned at least 5 businesses in Arizona, including a mechanic's garage, a dry-cleaning service, and a dive bar, among others. 

4. This is the one I'm most proud of: Upon returning to Marshall, MI, his hometown, he enrolled in Marshall HS's Adult Education program and completed his coursework in order to receive his high school diploma. He was 75 years old. 

He was quite a guy, wouldn't you say?

I didn't cry at all today. People on all sides had tears in their eyes, some were even sobbing. But my eyes remained dry. It wasn't because I wasn't sad. I was sad to see Bob go. I was sad to see all the people around me in pain. I was very sad to know that he passed away during my college graduation, an event that he was planning to attend and was looking forward to. 

But my sadness never overcame me and it never brought forth tears. I desperately wish it had, because it's incredibly awkward to remain stoic in a room full of emotional people. I'm sure there were people that thought, "What the heck is wrong with her? Bob's step-granddaughter can't even summon up a single tear to grieve his death? Does she have a heart of stone?"

I promise you, I do not have a heart of stone.

Here's what WAS happening in my heart at the time: I was filled to the brim with a bizarre mix of emotion - sadness, for obvious reasons; happiness, to know that Bob was baptized and committed himself to Christ 8 years ago, when he met and married my grandmother; relief, to know that Bob is no longer hindered by physical ailment and he can work to his heart's delight in Heaven; anticipation, to know that I will see him again one day and tell him about all things I've seen and done since we last saw each other; frustration, with being unable to produce a single tear at his funeral; and peace, to know that this is the way it was all supposed to be. 

At the grave site later on, Uncle Mark delivered a final message. He said, "Today, we are planting Bob Smith. You bury that which you want to forget. But you plant that which you plan to see again." 

That sums up exactly how I have felt about this whole process. I didn't shed a single tear today. But I'm okay with that, I think. Cry when you are sad. Smile when you are happy. 

And certainly, smile when you remember. 

Some Thoughts on Graduation

Well, I graduated from Calvin College yesterday and even 24 hours later, it still doesn't feel real! My whole college career was leading up to teacher certification, not necessarily graduation. Every form I filled out, every grade requirement met, every proficiency test passed, and every field experience completed was for that certificate with my name on it that says "yup, this woman can teach Spanish." I wasn't even THINKING about graduation most of the time. And then like a whirlwind, graduation week was upon me.

Another reason that I wasn't thinking about my own graduation is that this year is the year that my brother graduates from high school. His open house was the topic of discussion for at least a month leading up to it and he received a steady stream of cards in the mail. I'm not saying that I'm bitter about all the attention he got, but it certainly helped me to forget about my own graduation.

Before graduation, however, Calvin held a Teacher Commissioning Ceremony for all the teacher graduates. This seemed a lot more real than graduation because it was all about the Education Department, which has been the focus of my studies pretty much all along. All the profs and faculty were there, we had an absolutely fabulous speaker (Gary D. Schmidt, author of The Wednesday Wars and Okay For Now), and they fed us before and after! Basically, they told us, "Okay, you've studied all you need to study and you've passed all the tests you need to pass. Go out and teach and show your students the face of God."

Then Graduation Day arrived. We all piled into the car to make what was my 4th trip to Calvin in 5 days. The family found their seats and I found my place in the old gym with all the other grads. We spent about 45 minutes just taking pictures and looking at everybody's hats. I gotta say, the Education graduates had some of the best hats:

The music grads had a phrase from Pomp and Circumstance on their hats...
The math grads had π = 3.141 on their hats...
And the world language grads had flags or mottos from various countries on their hats!
(from left: Mexico, Spain, Spain+Education+Psychology, Germany, "Pura Vida" from Costa Rica, Peru, and Honduras)
I was pretty amazed that the ceremony lasted only an hour and a half. They got through 850 names so fast! We were done and outta there for a nice little party on Commons lawn. And lots of pictures, of course.
There were soooo many of us. My row is filing out right now.

Here I am receiving my diploma holder from...someone. I don't remember his name.

The four of us graduated from Calvin Christian High School together 4 years ago, and here we are as college graduates. 3 of us went to Calvin, and 1 went to Trinity in Chicago.

Some fabulous women of Calvin College.












So now what? Well, I'll be at the Grounds for the summer months, then finishing my undergrad at Calvin in the fall, then I plan to work full-time to earn some money for grad school. And maybe somewhere in there I'll get used to thinking of myself as a college graduate. :)

Summer of 10,000 Pages update:
Total pages so far: 682
Books completed: 1
Books in progress: 3
Most recent title completed: Harry Potter y la Camara de Secretos by J.K. Rowling (2nd HP book in Spanish)
"Mount Everest" title for the summer: Les Miserables, Victor Hugo, 1488 pages. So far (8% done), it's pretty good.

Final Thoughts on Student Teaching

But first, some numbers!
636: hours spent at Grandville Middle School since January 30
215: students' names learned
5: detentions given
121: slices of ham in my sandwiches
1.9: miles between my home and GMS
46: pages of unit plan fabulosity
901: emails deleted in my school email
0: weekly income in dollars (lol)
2: Facebook friend requests (so far)

(The next bit is taken directly from my final journal of the semester since I didn't feel like rephrasing/re-writing it)


I spent my final afternoon at GMS walking around the hallway with a student after school. She had a lot going on in her life at that moment and didn’t have many friends at school. Basically, she just needed someone to listen to her while she talked. I was happy to be that person, and honestly, I wish I had more time in the school day to do that. We wandered around in a square until her mom showed up, which ended up being a solid twenty minutes after school had let out. This student acts so much older than an 8^th grader, so it didn’t surprise me to learn that she didn’t connect well with students her own age. Add to that her weight and her intelligence, and before me was a very lonely girl.


Over the course of student teaching, I have come to realize that full-time teaching may not be where I want to be at the end of higher education. I love Spanish, I love students, and I love the school environment. The only thing missing is the passion for teaching itself. I’m reasonably talented at teaching Spanish, but I have more passion for the students themselves. I like learning everything about them: what part of town they live in, what types of friends they have, what factors inhibit their learning, etc. I don’t like having to label their work with a grade. I don’t like taking action that might make them feel bad about themselves. I don’t like managing or disciplining them. People this age are vulnerable enough already.


So what is a girl to do after four years of working toward a degree that will enable her to teach full-time and do exactly the things that she tries to avoid? Answer: she goes to graduate school for a Masters in School Counseling, a degree which will allow her to talk to and listen to students all day. Well, more or less. After completing student teaching, I determined that several key factors of teaching – lesson planning, curriculum, being in front of a crowd all day, etc. – never entered my sphere of enthusiasm by the end. I think I was hoping that by the time I finished, those things would come more naturally to me and I would learn to love them.  A teacher should have a strong interest in those aspects before beginning a full-time job, not struggle through with the hope that that interest will appear someday.


Instead, I feel I should play to my strengths – one-on-one relationships, patience in listening, and a passion for students’ well-being. I have a heart for students who are hurting, undoubtedly because I know what it feels like to be that hurting student. I have so much insight to offer them as a result of the years that I spent hurting and lonely. God pulled me through those past experiences for a reason, and maybe this is the reason. There were adults in my life to come alongside me during my time, and now it’s time for me to turn around and give back.

Perhaps the biggest indicator to me that I should pursue school counseling is the genuine enthusiasm I feel when I think and talk about these plans. I’ve spent many years pretending to portray a certain image on the outside, and I fear that it eventually seeped into my feelings about teaching. I successfully fooled myself. Essentially, I faked it ‘til I made it. This is not to say that teaching was wrong for me from the start. It’s more that student teaching confirmed for me that the classroom is not the place in which I can do the most good. I’m reasonably assured that in the classroom, I did well. But more than doing well, I want to do good.  God has blessed me with a unique ability to understand and care about adolescents. The one-on-one aspect of student teaching absolutely fulfilled me, but dividing my attention among lesson planning, curriculum, management, discipline, and all the relationships wore me out. A more direct method of using my gifts would be school counseling. It looks like I’ll be staying in the land of higher education a little bit longer.

Ready, Set, READ

All right, two days left of student teaching, and I'm about to kick off my Summer of 10,000 Pages gig. Summer for me starts on Friday at 2:39pm Eastern Standard Time, so any books that I finish after that time and before my first class of the fall (Tuesday, September 4, 9:00am) will count toward my goal. Here are the rules I set out for myself:

1. Page count will come from the official listing for the title at Amazon.com. Hardcover, softcover, Kindle, whatever. I know I said that Kindle pages = paper pages earlier, but I've been getting books in a different format lately and they fit like twice the amount of text per Kindle "page." so Amazon.com is the final word.

2. If I read the book in Spanish, the pages count double.

3. Magazines don't count.

4. I have to finish the book before I can count the pages toward my total.

I'm a little more than halfway through my first book of the summer...Harry Potter y la Camara de Secretos. :) Happy Summer Vacation!
(and may the odds be ever in your favor)

It's the Last Week Already?

Sometimes the semester went fast:

 - Time sure ran out quick on that unit plan

 - I feel like I just mastered all my students' names

 - Finally got my filing system under control

And other times it went soooo slow:

 - The wait for Spring Break. Especially the 2 weeks between Calvin's SB and mine. Interminable.

 - Okay, I had other examples, but I can't think of them right now.

Anyway, I'm struggling to figure out how to describe this semester when people smilingly ask me the question, "Oh, how is student teaching going?" 

I could say "good" because there are definitely elements of the semester that have been good: Getting to know 180 unique students, spending Monday evenings with my seminar / group therapy girls, teaching my Cuba unit, encouraging my students to care about people other than themselves, those three weeks where I was all on my own, sink or swim... (I swam, by the way)

I could say "frustrating": students who refused to be respectful to me and each other, sleeping 9 or 10 hours per night and never feeling rested, never quite feeling at home at my school...

I could say "delicious": Starbucks Vanilla Bean Lattes on bad days, snack-size McFlurries on bad days, Wendy's when I wasted too much time and didn't pack a lunch, the day that the teachers got free donuts, the 2 days of parent-teacher conferences when the Parent Committee brought in dinner for us...

I could say "heart-breaking": tales of coping with homelessness, covering for my CT on the anniversary of the day one of her children passed away, knowing that I can't pray openly with my students when they really need it...

And I could also say "heart-warming": hearing news that recent tests came back with no signs of cancer, dozens of students who changed their opinion about immigrants during the Cuba unit, a formerly hostile student who changed her mind about me and managed to raise her test average from 0% to 70%...

So whatever one-word answer you're looking for, there's 5 options for ya. :)