what it means to “rest”
July 15th, 2007
“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10
I am working hard at not working.
I’ve discovered that it’s almost impossible for me not to work. I used to pride myself (though I wouldn’t have dared ascribed it to “pride” - I’m above pride, of course) on the fact that I knew how to rest. Whereas some of my friends and coworkers would bemoan that they didn’t know how to rest and renew, and were envious of my ability to, I rather enjoyed knowing the secret, and I felt like I was one of the few enjoying the benefits of God’s directive to us to take a Sabbath.
Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that since I was born, my father had implemented a “Sabbath” in my life, so that I was trained to set aside one day a week for God and for myself. I tried giving it up for a time in college, under the guise of pursuing excellence academically, only to discover that when I went back to the practice of taking one day off completely from homework and work, I still maintained my 4.0. GPA. and actually enjoyed life more. I have never looked back.
I love Sabbath. I love that God has instructed his creation to take one day off a week for our good. I could not operate as effectively without it; I know, I’ve tried, and I choose to structure my life around a weekly Sabbath.
As a result of my love of taking Sabbaths, I thought I had it down quite nicely, this thing called “rest”; at a recent job interview, I was asked about my time management. I got quite few nods of approval from my now employers when I mentioned that I have already implemented a weekly Sabbath, resting from my busy workload and responsibilities.
It wasn’t until this weekend, however, that I realized that I am so structured and such a perfectionist and driven person that I can’t rest when it’s not scheduled into my schedule. An “unscheduled” rest period is not rest, it’s a struggle.
I found myself at the doctor’s this past Wednesday, with an order to take it easy and to not do anything. “Piece of cake” I thought to myself, welcoming the time off as a mini-vacation (of course, a vacation in which I felt miserable due to being physically sick, but nonetheless, a vacation from my two jobs). I thought it’d be easy to kick back and rest because I always look forward to my weekly Sabbaths. How naive I was.
It took me a full two days to unwind enough from my crazy schedule to actually be able to rest. And then I managed to rest for one full day. Of course, that day of rest included doing dishes, making lunch and dinner, etc. I prided myself on fighting the urge to write a few pieces — until I realized I somehow wrote and posted a piece yesterday. Whoops. That just “happened.” I take no responsibility. 
This morning, I woke up, for the first time in two weeks feeling stronger and actually seeing progress in this whole “healing” thing…and I immediately started cleaning and organizing my office, going through papers that have been waiting for me since my move two months ago. After five hours of nonstop work, and having listened to quite a few lectures, broadening my mind, making “good use” of my time, I realized what I was doing and that I’m completely crazy and I stopped. And promptly laid down on the couch and rested. (Okay, okay, so I picked up my roommate’s lap top and started writing this piece.)
It’s hard to break old habits.
Why is it so difficult to rest? To just stop? To let go and accomplish “nothing”? Sure, part of it is my personality - I have a driven nature and was also trained from an early age to be productive, but there’s something about just “being” and stopping and coming before God with nothing — no agenda, no long prayer list, no spiritual feats I wish to accomplish or passages of Scripture I wish to read or study — but simply resting in His goodness that is scary; scary because sometimes when we stop and rest, God communicates with us. And sometimes it’s easier to keep going, to keep ourselves busy than it is to listen to what He has to say.
I’ve learned there are two kinds of rest - sure, I may have the routine, weekly rest down which allows me to keep up my crazy schedule without burning out more often than I do, but there is the rest which requires nothing of us but simply coming before the Lord and laying down all of our worries, cares, and concerns at His feet and asking Him to minister to us, and it is this rest I am being asked to learn. I would wager that very few of us, Christian or otherwise, do this. It’s something that I value highly, both in my personal life and also in my job with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, and yet the times I actually do it, unscheduled, are so rare. But sometimes God allows us to be slowed down in life — or clears out areas or activities or even relationships in our life — to get our attention, to ask us to pay attention to Him, to have open ears and an open heart to what He wants to teach us and show us.
Sometimes we just gotta stop.
And that’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.
-Christen Patterson
a severe mercy
July 13th, 2007
“The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.” -Mary Schmich
Sometimes God answers prayers directly and swiftly but sometimes the answer comes when you least expect it and had almost forgotten you needed it. You find yourself on a Tuesday afternoon, blindsided, quite sure that the world is beyond cruel.
But after gasping from the pain, you laugh and you cry and you sing His praise, and somehow, in the midst of all that, your trouble turns to joy because He is sovereign and you trust in His goodness.
When the lie is deeper than I know
You capture me and You carry me home
You see these wounds and rescue me
You always heal things beautifully
-Watermark, “Where to Find Me”
You smile through your tears — knowing that He knows you better than you know yourself, and you thank Him because He is faithful to muck around the deepest crevices of your soul in order to bring you to a place of complete healing and freedom. And in the midst of that process, you fall on your knees and learn once again how to receive His mercies, which are new every morning.
You learn the things you thought you knew; you learn again what it means to forgive, even when forgiveness is the last thing your shattered heart is prepared to do.
Thank goodness it’s not left up to you.
And you smile over the way God intimately and tenderly loves you - giving you small gifts each day — in a phone call, in a hug, in a song. In a girlfriend showing up on your doorstep with flowers, ice cream, and a lotta love; in India Arie belting out your heartbeat when you have no words left to sing; in learning what it means to be a little girl again, receiving love from God the Father.
And the healing process continues, one breath at a time.
And with a smile, you dance and embrace your new found freedom.
–
I got the call today, I didn’t wanna hear
But I knew that it would come
An old true friend of ours was talkin’ on the phone
She said you found someone
And I thought of all the bad luck,
And all the struggles we went through
How I lost me and you lost you
What are these voices outside love’s open door
Make us throw off our contentment
And beg for something more?I’ve been learning to live without you now
But I miss you sometimes
The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I’m learning them again
I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the Heart of the Matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think it’s about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymoreThese times are so uncertain
There’s a yearning undefined
And people filled with rage
We all need a little tenderness
How can love survive in such a graceless age
And the trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
They’re the very things we kill, I guess
Pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms
And the work they put between us,
You know it doesn’t keep us warmI’ve been trying to live without you now
But I miss you, baby
The more I know, the less I understand
And all the things I thought I figured out, I have to learn again
I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the Heart of the Matter
But my will gets weak
And my heart is so shattered
But I think it’s about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymoreAll the people in your life who’ve come and gone
They let you down, you know they hurt your pride
Better put it all behind you; cause life goes on
You keep carrin’ that anger, it’ll eat you up insideI wanna be happily everafter
And my heart is so shattered
But I know it’s about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymoreI’ve been tryin’ to get down to the Heart of the Matter
Because the flesh gets weak
And the ashes will scatter
So I’m thinkin’ about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if you don’t love me anymore
Even if you don’t love me anymore- India Arie, “The Heart of the Matter.”
–
Goodbye.
July 2007
what makes a good marriage? part two
July 3rd, 2007
A month or so ago, I asked the general public, “What makes a good marriage?” and received a myriad of responses. In the time since, I haven’t touched the topic; partly, because as it’s clearly obvious to most, I have no firsthand knowledge of what makes a good marriage, and partly because it’s a daunting topic. So why would a single woman have the audacity to even attempt to handle such a subject?
My answer (of course I must justify this, this is what philosophers do, after all =) is because my generation desperately needs to start listening to those who have gone before them and actually hear what they have to say on the subject; we need to humble ourselves and ask the questions; we need to seek to learn from those who are older, wiser, and more experienced than us and recognize when we don’t have the answers – that “love” is not enough.
Of course, I’ve never walked the road, so take what I share with a grain of salt. However, the beauty in soliciting the advice and wisdom of others is that I’m not proffering my own advice (which has no authority on my own without a healthy marriage to back it up) but I am proffering the thoughts and advice of many others who do have healthy marriages.
And with that, I submit a partial list:
Love.
Forgive.
Seek to out-serve your partner.
Laugh.
Dance.
Date.
Smile.
Be humble.
Compromise.
Put your spouse’s needs before your own.
Women – respect your husbands.
Men – love your wives.
Have fun.
Communicate.
Surprise each other.
Seek to learn each other’s love languages and speak to each other in them.
Remain each other’s best friend.
Pursue God together.
Continue to pursue each other as you did before you got married; never stop.
Commit.
Persevere.
Pray together.
Cry together.
Learn.
Cross each other’s cultures – you come from two different backgrounds; seek to understand
Be transparent with each other.
Be patient.
Fight for your spouse even when he or she does not deserve it just as God has fought for us
Choose to love when the emotions are not there
Seek to love your spouse with the kind of love Christ loved us - a love that allows you to willingly lay down your life for your spouse
Romance each other
Play
Never lose the wonderment you experienced when you were first falling in love
Talk
And breathe.
lesson number 762: think before you walk
July 3rd, 2007
As I walked away, I started laughing as I was reminded of my first encounter with a bank’s salesperson. I was a dow-eyed nineteen-year-old who had just started a job downtown as a part-time secretary for a construction firm that was renovating a historic building in Detroit; it was my first “real” job and I felt pretty cockstrong as I was one of the only women on site and as such, I was given the royal treatment (reality hit later, but for a first official job, it was an awesome experience). Although I had no idea what I was doing as I had never been inside a bank before as a customer, I walked into the bank that day with a confident stride and a lot of checks in hand. I proceeded to open a checking account, and during the course of that process, didn’t fail to notice that the young salesman who waited on me was quite good looking and that he was starting to flirt with me. When he brought up that he knew me from my coffee shop job as the girl behind the barista (the coffee shop was located kitty-corner from the bank), my feminine ego started to rise. My confident demeanor and feminine charms were going along well until he asked me when my shifts were so he could come see me, and in my naiveté and inexperience, I remember being so flustered, that as I left his office, I walked straight into the door post. Duly embarrassed, and my ego bruised, I sheepishly turned around, hoping he had been momentarily blinded and thus somehow didn’t notice my error. I immediately proceeded to walk into the next wall, well aware that he was standing there, watching me with a knowing grin.
Fighting the urge to flee the building, I held my head high and pretended that I had not just walked into two walls in the span of ten seconds, and I thanked God under my breath for automatic teller machines.
-Christen Patterson
July, 2007
quick sketch on “love”
July 3rd, 2007
on love
Honestly, I’m really tired of people making assertions about my love or questioning it. I am told, “There’s a difference, Christy, between ‘love’ and ‘love.‘” Oh, is there? Is there really?
Is not love a choice? Why must I ascribe to society’s idea of love being a feeling of falling “in-love” in order to say “I love you” to the person I’m dating? Is not love so much more? Is the assumption that if I say “I love you” to the person I am dating, that I am only talking about the “falling-in-love” type of love? Do not people know me better to know I have a deeper understanding of what love is and that I don’t use that word lightly when I say it?
Is not love a deep desire for another person’s best? Is not love a choice to be at someone’s side, even when the “feeling” is or is not there? Is not love so much more than what Hollywood and our culture screams at us? I don’t want to give or receive “shallow” love; I never have. If “love” is only, or primarily, to be determined by the butterflies in your stomach, by the excitement of another human being investing in your life, by the thrill of growing closer — mentally, physically, spiritually — then, yes, perhaps it’s “dangerous” to tell someone you love them before, oh, I dunno, six months. That seems like a good number, a good formula, a good rule to follow, doesn’t it? I wonder if it’s that my choice to tell others I love them is threatening to so many others who wouldn’t and don’t do the same?
Maybe it’s because I’m not playing by the rules. Is that it? It makes you uncomfortable; it’s outside the ordinary; it’s risky. Well, you know what? Loving anyone is risky. Ask C.S. Lewis, who wrote:
There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglement; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
Ask Christ, who loved to the point of entering humanity and dying for us. Why are we so quick to judge other people and their love? Is it out of fear for them (she’s confusing “love” with “infatuation”) or is it out of fear for ourselves? Our constructs are being questioned; our boundaries are being challenged; our thoughts about love are being threatened. No one could possibly know whether they love someone until a certain period of time, right?
Who sold us that lie and when did we start to buy it?
I’ve heard so many times, “Love is too big of a word to use lightly and I hate when people use it often.” Rarely is that statement aimed directly at me, but in being stated, it is implicitly implicating me of “cheapening” the word because I do choose to use the word “freely.”
But am I cheapening it? Is my love for someone somehow less because I love many others? Do I only have a specific amount of love to give, and therefore, am spreading it “too thin” on too many people? When it really comes down to it, is not our fear of using that word “too much” and “too freely” a reflection that we are fearful of being hurt? It doesn’t have to be just in a dating relationship. We do this in other relationships as well. We don’t want to extend ourselves by saying it and giving it until we are SURE that our significant others, closest friends, and family members feel the same way and aren’t going to hurt us by their lack of love, or lack of love being equal to ours. So we hold on to it, selfishly not wanting to give until we have received, or until we are quite sure we will receive a reciprocal love. But is not loving someone in the way that Christ loves us a love that “does not seek its own”? Gives without thought to its own needs? And if we base our decisions about who we love upon a Biblical understanding of love, upon how God and Jesus love, does it not change how we should use that word and how we choose to interact with others?
Love is a choice; when it comes to significant others, the feelings of being “in love” may come and go; love is a commitment; love is an earnest desire for another person’s best; love is a desire for them to know the one, true Lord better and more intimately. If love is those things, can not - and should not - we be using the word more often and let go of our small-view ideas of “love” and start practicing Biblical love in a way that brings honor and glory to the Father?
brown paper napkin theology
July 1st, 2007
Are not five sparrows sold for two cents? Yet not one of them is forgotten before God. “Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows. (Luke 12: 5-7)
God is a very personal God, who knows not only the number of hairs on our heads but knows our personal struggles. And I am humbled daily by his love.
–
We as women struggle with our identity and self-worth; I have not met one woman, no matter how confident she seems to be, who does not at some point ask, “Am I beautiful?”; “Do I captivate you?”; “Do you love me?” - whether the question is posed to our fathers, or significant others, or our husbands does not matter, we still ask the universal question.
It seems that at the core of every woman, this cry pervades. For some, the question dictates their lives and sometimes as a result exhausts others; for others, it is a question that crops up every so often. Nevertheless, it is a common question for every woman I have ever come to know on any personal level.
I have found that the only source who can confirm and affirm that silent cry of our hearts is our creator and maker, God himself. It is only when we believe what he says about us that we can be truly whole and truly able to not always be asking everyone around us, whether explicitly or implicitly, “Am I okay; do you value me?”
This is a lesson I’m continually learning; I have come farther than where I was five years ago, but it’s a continual journey, especially in a society that screams that your value and worth is based upon your physical appearance; advertising shouts to us this lie almost every time we turn around. And inevitably, when we walk into a room, whether we want to admit it or not, we size up the other women in the room, comparing ourselves to them.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
It is only by the grace of God that we can break out of the tendencies we have rooted in our flesh.
–
Today, I was unpacking my office/bedroom (I still have some boxes to get through from my recent move) and came across a brown paper napkin and smiled.
You might wonder why I saved a brown paper napkin — I saved it because it’s a love note from God.
Yes, God. Before I sound absolutely crazy, and I’m sure there are many who would ascribe that label to me (something I rather revel in, to be honest), let me back up.
A couple of months ago, I was not feeling particularly lovely; we all have those days - days in which we just feel “blah.” That morning was such a day for me. And as I was in the shower, I started talking to God as I am apt to do and asked him to remind me that he has created me and that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:13-14). To remind me that he has called me beautiful and delights in me. And so I purposed through my conversation with him that I would not dwell on any feelings or emotions to the contrary but dwell on both what he says about me in Scripture and what my worth in him is. And in my childlike faith, as a daughter approaching her father, I asked if he would remind me that I am loved and that I am beautiful. And so I went through my workday with that mindset and attitude; when any thought to the contrary encroached upon my emotional well-being, I refused to entertain it, willing myself instead to cling to the Scriptures God has given us to remind us of truth.
Later that night, I had a date with a girlfriend for dinner. As she was running a few minutes late, I called my roommate, Anna, and stood inside a Panera restaurant laughing and catching up with her. I had had a long, tiring day at work and had just driven through 90 minutes of rush hour traffic and so I was weary, but I was looking forward to having dinner and just relaxing. When my friend arrived, we both ordered soup, and I was so excited to see her and catch up that I was oblivious to the crowd around us and was just focused on her. We found a booth and sat down and prayed before we started eating. As the two of us were excitedly catching up with one another, I noticed my girlfriend pause and look past me. I stopped mid-conversation when I saw a brown paper napkin, folded over, thrust on our table, near my elbow. I immediately turned around to find a solitary man that could have been a cousin of Denzel Washington standing behind me. He shyly smiled and said, as he nodded towards me, “This is for you; I’m too shy to say it in person.” And with that, he turned around and left the restaurant.
The first thing that crossed my mind as I was processing what he said was that maybe I needed a napkin and had some soup on my face or something (I’m quite serious) and then it dawned on me that there was probably something written on the napkin.
I opened it and burst out laughing, sure that God works in mysterious ways and loves me so intimately that he would answer my prayer from that morning, a prayer I had forgotten. It could not have been clearer if the message had actually been signed, “God.”
The napkin read: “You are so sexy. =) Just want you to know.”
No phone number (I was a bit sad and tempted to run after the man but restrained myself =) — just that statement. And I thank God for a reminder from him to his girl, “You are loved and you are beautiful.”
Let us remember the truth God says about us when we start to doubt it. Let us live boldly and confidently, rejoicing in how our God has created us and celebrating the beauty he has ascribed to each and every one of us!
-Christen Patterson
July 1, 2007
open me up: learning how to receive
June 17th, 2007
Slow down. Hold still.
It’s not as if it’s a matter of will.
Someone’s circling. Someone’s moving
A little lower than the angels.
And it’s got nothing to do with me.
The wind blows through the trees,
But if I look for it, it won’t come.
I tense up. My mind goes numb.
There’s nothing harder than learning how to receive.
- “Over the Rhine”
Katie wrote me a note of encouragement this week. Apparently I had said something to another friend which meant a lot to her, something small that I barely remember saying. Katie’s email reminded me: “Our words can either bring life or death. You definitely brought life, enough for her to mention it to someone else.” And in that, Katie, in turn brought life to me.
I was thankful for the email, grateful that God used me as an instrument to bless another person’s life through my words; however, I am reminded again this week that our words, likewise, can bring death. I walk the tightrope of communication and sometimes end up tripping.
Thank God for His mercy. Pray for man’s.
My words. Before I can harness them, they are out there, like wild stallions, and I am left with my hands empty, the gate open. Sentiments are conveyed that I don’t even know if I believe; I just know you’re too close and I have to protect myself. And so I fight. Maybe not in the normal modes; I disguise my defense in intricate, deep philosophical and theological arguments; I find every reason under the sun why this cannot be.
I’m aware of this tendency; blaming it upon past events in my life is not acceptable; it is who I am, and I must learn to reign in my passionate nature. I must learn to trust. I must learn to receive. Karin from “Over the Rhine” sings, “There’s nothing harder than learning how to receive.” I am confronted with that reality today.
A girlfriend is struggling with feeling worthy, of understanding God’s love for her and the worth that He imparts to her as her creator. She struggles to receive God’s love for her, and thus struggles to receive man’s. I like to think I understand God’s love (I’m sure tomorrow I’ll realize that I have no clue) but today I am learning to open myself up to man’s. God’s love is safe; God’s love is a haven; I know I can trust God. He’s never disappointed me; He’s never let me down. But in my trust, in my security, in my safe- haven, I forget He’s a sovereign God who brings people into my life for a purpose. I forget that any pretense of control I have over not getting hurt is just that, pretense. I forget that He places people in our lives intentionally to teach us, challenge us, stretch us, grow us, and yes, even love us. And the process is a crazy, beautiful, intense, and sometimes painful thing.
The beauty is in the process. And the lessons come as you reflect.
Nothing worthwhile in this life comes quickly, and I am again reminded that I don’t trust easily, but perhaps I should start trusting God that He knows what He’s doing and once again learn how to receive.
- Christen Patterson
we are not promised tomorrow: reclaiming the word “love”
June 12th, 2007
“How are you doing, Christy?”
It was late Sunday night; I could hear it in her voice; the tone betraying what was to come.
“I’m all right… Mom — what’s going on?”
“Chris…your Uncle Jim passed away suddenly tonight.”
Silence screamed as my heart went numb.
–
Uncle Jim was my favorite uncle. He was vibrant — an attorney who clearly enjoyed life and enjoyed living it; family gatherings around the holidays were usually hosted at his house. He’d don a white chef’s hat and create the most tantalizing feasts imaginable. As a young child, I had a hard time differentiating between “Uncle Jim, professional chef” and “Uncle Jim, chef-as-a-pastime” - his creations were that amazing. I blame the chef hat for my confusion.
After Dad passed away, our families did not get together as often. Time passed. I tried to keep in touch, but life gets in the way. And before you know it, your mother is calling to tell you he’s gone.
No chance to say “goodbye.” No chance to convey to him that he was my favorite.
When did I grow up and realize the need to tell him?
When did I miss that opportunity?
Do we ever realize it until it’s too late?
–
I’ve experienced so much loss in my life, and perhaps the irony lies in that I am, in a strange and odd way, somehow thankful for it – not for the loss itself, for I still bear the wounds, but for what God teaches you through your grief.
At work, I overhear some of the gals mentioning that they’ve never lost someone. I quietly start running down the mental list of all the friends and family members I’ve had to say goodbye to at the grave.
The reason I’m thankful that I have experienced loss is because it gives you a new lease on life; it makes living today that much more important. Each loved one I lose, causing me to deeply grieve my loss, is a reminder to me to not take today for granted.
–
I use the word “love” freely. Not because I want to cheapen it, but because I highly value it, and I have refused to abstain from telling those in my life how much I love them or how much I value them.
As a whole, we’re shy to use the word. It is so overly used in today’s society, it’s lost much of its meaning, but I’m on a one-woman mission to restore its profundity. I’ve been questioned on my prolific use of it, implicitly being accused of adding to the dilution of the word’s value, but the reality is that I know, firsthand, that we are not promised tomorrow; we are only given today. I will not assume I have tomorrow to tell someone I love them; I will not assume that tomorrow I can let them know how much they are valued. The saying may be cliché, but it’s cliché only because it betrays an absolute truth: man does not know his time.
So remember that the next time you see someone who has impacted your life; get used to using the word “love.” Practice saying it, if you must. Get used to people not knowing what to do, initially, upon receiving that affirmation from you, but sit back, and quietly watch what your sincere use of it does to your relationships, what it does to you. It starts to infect you and those you love with a deep sense of well-being, a deep sense of worth, a deep sense of reciprocal connectedness.
Don’t leave for tomorrow what can be said today.
- Christen Patterson
June 2007
Goodbye, Uncle Jim. I loved you.
In loving memory. June 3, 2007.
reality: thoughts on loss
June 12th, 2007
“You heard Sharon died Friday, right?” The words, said so quickly — the speaker assuming I had already been told — pierced my heart.
A gasp and a scream simultaneously came forth from my lips as I tried to process the information. Oblivious that I was standing in an office, oblivious to those who might hear me, I let the tears overflow.
All I knew is that today, I lost a friend.
–
Sharon, who worked in the co-op office at school, was in her late fifties — a warm, kind woman who was eager to help with any problem. We had developed a friendship over the past year through my interactions with the co-op office.
–
I took the news very hard. I had gone up to Maureen’s office after class to finish some business with her when she told me.
All of a sudden, the brevity of life was right in my face, demanding my attention; the grief — overwhelming. I fled from school and cried all the way home.
–
My heart heavy since I heard, all I can do is go over my last conversation with Sharon, go over the things I kept putting aside. I kept telling her I’d give her my bread recipe — I never did. I kept meaning to bring her a small gift — but I didn’t find the time.
I keep going over our many conversations and smiling at the memories — we’d swap stories about family; share the best places to get health food and discuss cooking tips. We talk about life and loved ones, homeschooling’s ins and outs (her nieces and nephews were homeschooled and she was a big supporter) — we’d laugh.
Sharon was always a bright light in my day. Her smile and welcoming personality were such a blessing. She was the rock of the co-op office at school — steady, sure, calming, confidence-boosting. I’m going to really miss her, my conversations and interactions.
I’m still trying to process that she’s gone. I will never see or talk with her again.
This past week, since I first found out she was sick (I had no idea the gravity), I had been meaning to write her a card — was even thinking of visiting her…and I kept putting it off because I was sick and overwhelmed with school and life. And now — now, I can’t. Those opportunities are lost.
I cannot say goodbye.
The last thing I said to her, right before Christmas break, after having a warm conversation in the hallway together, which I had to cut off because I was rushing to a final exam, was, “I’ll see you after break!”
If only I had known.
–
Don’t ever take a moment for granted; don’t ever assume you have another day to do something; to tell a loved one you love them, to write a card, to go visit someone. Do not allow life to steal your moments. If Sharon had known she had but a few months to live, would she have been working in the co-op office? If you knew you had but a few months to live, would you be living as you are? Are there things you need to say to someone? Is there a letter that needs to be written? A hug that needs to be delivered?
Time is fleeting; we never know when our interactions with someone might be our last.
Don’t waste the gift of life God has given you. Don’t waste an opportunity to tell someone you love them. You might never have another chance.
- Christen Patterson
February 2005
constrained by time
May 31st, 2007
Time is money in the field of law. When you’ve worked as a paralegal, your sense of time completely shifts forever. As a paralegal, you must bill “time,” and time becomes one of the greatest commodities; therefore, every minute of your day, literally, must be accounted for. Day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, you log your time and activities.
After working as a paralegal, I’ll never view time in the same manner.
The freedom I feel at my current job, without having to account for every minute of my day, without having to race against the clock because every minute I work on an assignment is being billed to the client, is absolutely exhilarating.
–
The whole concept of time is one that befuddles me; we’re always rushing around here or there, complaining that there is never enough time; we wait for the weekends, and then on Monday morning when we come into work, we complain that they are too short; we spend our workdays wishing there was more time to meet our deadlines; we count down the minutes to our breaks and lunches; we run ourselves haggard running to meetings and activities — ever slave to the clock.
Since when did we lose the sense of wonder that comes from not being a slave to time?
And why do we always feel so rushed, so “pressed for time?
I wonder if it’s because we’ve been wired for eternity; if the stories about the Garden of Eden we were taught as children ring true – that we were meant to live forever but are now constrained to having a lifespan – that we must now die a physical death, so all of a sudden, we find ourselves with this other-earthly sense of time because we were created as eternal beings, but we are now constrained to being born and to dying a physical death.
And so we rush around, racing the clock, bemoaning that there aren’t more hours in the day, looking forward to the time that we do have to do the things we desire, always hoping for more – more time with loved ones, more time to sleep, more time to get done the things we desire to get done. More time to attack that stack of books on our bedside table – more time to enjoy the outdoors – more time to spend with people, our loved ones, our significant others.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never have enough “time” this side of eternity. That’s why I’m thrilled that I have all of eternity to continue doing the things I love – to continue learning and reading and enjoying life. To explore and write and dance. To create, to discover, to produce. To rest and to play. To love and to enjoy. I may have only so many years here on earth, and who knows how long I’ve been granted, but I’m not stressed over it, for the things that I don’t accomplish here, I’ll continue to pursue on the other side.
That thought excites me greatly. Nevertheless, my pile of books “to read” continues to grow.
-Christen Patterson
May 30, 2007
[Many of my ideas in this piece have been shaped, in part, by conversations over the years with my friend Clifford – thank you!]
i’ll take one man and a side of fries, please
May 31st, 2007
“I need a man!” I shouted. I was greeted with silence, wide eyes, and smirking from my friends who had gathered to help me move from my town home of two years to a new apartment. I made that exclamation numerous times throughout the day, too tired to realize the double meaning I was conveying to everyone around me; besides, I didn’t think I needed a qualifier within the context of it being moving day – heavy furniture needed to be moved and I certainly wasn’t about to attempt it on my own when I had strong male friends around.
I have yet to live down my empathic statements.
My recent move went exceptionally well, and as I was thanking God for His provision, I realized that sometimes miracles come in the every-day form.
Miracles are when friends show up late the night before moving day to help you pack your bedroom and paint your new apartment, bringing dinner with them; miracles are somehow getting your house packed the morning of your move, and not only getting everything packed but also getting everything moved in record-time. Miracles are getting your Internet-connection hooked up the night you need it when you have a deadline to make. Miracles are having friends unpack your boxes on the other end, setting up your kitchen so that when you stumble into it later that night, exhausted after a long day, you can actually find a glass to help satiate your thirst. Miracles are watching three burly men get an upright piano into your second-story apartment, undamaged. Miracles are when you stumble into your bathroom after everyone has left for the day and discover hot water for a shower when you were told that because of a mix-up, you’d only have cold water for a few days. Miracles are the love you experience from those around you who support you, figuratively and sometimes literally, when you are too tired to do it on your own. Miracles are the grace God gives you when you part ways with your closest friend and no longer have her in the room next to yours. Miracles are watching God bring your new roommate into your life in a way that leaves no room to wonder if He’s in control. Miracles are watching people come together to help and support each other.
Miracles are the very breaths we take, the health we have, the ability to reflect, and so as I look around my new apartment, I am reminded that we have daily reasons to thank God for His many blessings and the miracles He bestows upon us.
And, when it comes to upright pianos being moved to second-story apartments, yes, sometimes you do need a man.
-Christen Patterson
May 29, 2007
reflections from this side of the mirror
May 5th, 2007
Now we see things imperfectly as in a poor mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God knows me now. (1 Corinthians 13:12)
You find yourself wondering when your heart will be still; when you will stop questioning; when you will stop wondering.
Maybe that’s the point; maybe this side of eternity, we will never stop; maybe that’s what God uses to get us up in the morning — the expectant hope of new beginnings, of new seasons, of growth, of learning, of adventure.
We’ve been shaped for eternity; maybe our longings, our desires, this deep-seeded feeling of always wanting more is because we were created for more; we were created for eternity; we were created to be only satisfied by the King of the universe, and when we forget to attach our hearts daily to His, we find ourselves restless.
I look at everything and see each event and circumstance in my life as another lesson. Sometimes, if I’m honest, I’m tired of learning. Sometimes I just want to reach the finish line, but what is the finish line? Will I ever be truly at rest during this lifetime? There is an insatiable hunger that has invaded my soul. Theologically, I know that it will never be satisfied until I stand on the other side of eternity; experientially, I repeatedly forget.
Male and female have been made in His image; I’m only half of the equation. And yet, I must be content with that. But even in knowing this, the hunger pervades. As I watch friend after friend get married, have I bought into the lie that the “right” relationship will somehow make life 10% sweeter? As I watch married friends enter into new seasons, have I bought into the idea that the “next” step is when my heart will finally settle and I’ll be satisfied?
I know better; I have friends who are engaged; their hearts still yearn for more; I have friends who are happily married; their hearts still yearn for more. It’s always “the next step” – we long for the next season to come, rendering us unable to enjoy our present, and when we reach the next season, we find that it does not satisfy as we thought, and so we move on to wishing for the next. The cycle continues. Humanity is never content, never satisfied. And maybe, once again, that’s the point of it all. To remind us that only One can satisfy.
And then, to further expose how complicated the human psyche can be, I find myself wondering, despite this longing, if I’m more productive on my own; if I am one of the ones who can remain single. Not that I would willingly choose this for the rest of my life, but it’s quite clear that I don’t want to live a normal life and not too many men are interested in abnormal.
I’m independent; fiercely. Not because I intend to be, but merely because I am; I’ve had to be. Independence is valued in our Western culture, but is independence best for a person’s soul? The more years I spend alone, the more I grow accustomed to it; how readily do I fall into a comfortable pattern of not needing anyone save the Lord? I surround myself with community, but it’s not the same as a companion. Community I can retreat from; a companion I cannot. Community I can enter into on my own terms; a companion is there 24-7, whether I like it or not.
Somehow, I feel like I’m being gypped from great spiritual lessons here. And my singleness is starting to become entirely too comfortable for my liking. Wanting to live full-out, passionately serving the Lord, I’m starting to understand the Apostle Paul more; I used to despise his stance on marriage; now I’m starting to agree with him. And that is scary.
I never thought I’d be comfortable being alone.
Singleness has its upsides: I love being able to literally do whatever I want, whenever I want; to have no schedule but my own, to be accountable to the Lord only for my daily plans; I like that I have so much freedom – to take off for a weekend retreat or conference, to stay out late with students, to meet with a friend for coffee.
And yet, in the midst of all that, there is still this pervasive loneliness. (Yes, I’m a walking contradiction, but aren’t many of us if we’re really being honest with ourselves?) Friends come and go; relationships well up and then dispel as God calls each of us to different seasons, different cities, different states, different countries. One friend is leaving for Europe this summer before heading off to Harvard Law in the fall; two other friends are most likely heading to New York City; another friend is heading to Los Angeles to teach — our close-knit group effectively entering into our last lap together; we’re blessed to realize it now before the race is over, but how many of us stop to appreciate what will no longer be? The ties forged will last for eternity, but the reality is our weekly communion will cease. We’ll have to be okay with the internet and phone; an occasional visit; years of memories; and the knowledge that we have eternity together.
I know God provides what we need; I know he brings new friends in; I know he clears out our lives for new seasons, but I don’t like the change. It’s painful, it’s hard, it’s lonely. It’s a daily reminder that we need to rely upon Him for everything. He is the only one who will never leave, never forsake; never change.
So when my heart skips a beat and then is disappointed, when my friends come and go, when I wake up in the morning and it’s just me, God, and a black cup of coffee at the breakfast table, I will rejoice. The loneliness reminds me this is not my home; I have work to do; I have people to love; I have an adventure in which to partake with the author of my life – could life truly be any better?
-Christen Patterson
April 2007
loving this side of eternity
May 5th, 2007
[The following is an old piece I never published.]
C.S. Lewis once wrote: There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglement; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
Tomorrow will be three months and my heart still bleeds. Love is a funny thing; without it, what would we have? With it, we become susceptible to pain. And we run from pain like it is something to be avoided at all costs. Karin from the band Over the Rhine sings, “And though we love to numb the pain; we come to learn that it’s in vain; pain is our mother; she makes us recognize each other.”
There’s something to be grappled with within those words.
It’s not until we experience deep pain that we learn to stop and consider others. Pain allows us to get outside of our self and our world and consider those around us. And it forces us to wrestle with the larger questions of life, starting with “Why?”
For some of us, pain makes us come face to face with our creator and many of us would rather not do that. We don’t want to acknowledge that we’re eternal beings; that this pain is a sign that things are not the way they should be. For others, we want to numb the pain, fill our life with convenient hobbies, experience as much “fun” as we possibly can. Pain, in essence, is an inconvenience to our lives, and so we seek to avoid it at all costs.
Oftentimes, pain comes from having loved, so we learn early on to build walls around our hearts so that others cannot hurt us, or if we do allow someone into our castle, and in turn, are hurt, we throw up our walls again, building a stronger fortress this time. We refuse to be hurt again. Simultaneously we try to rationalize our pain away. We blame the other person, we try to make sense of it, we try to make it fit into the puzzle of our lives, but the reality is, sometimes life just hurts and there’s no making sense of it this side of eternity.
So I assess myself; I’m healed; I’ve moved on, but I won’t pretend that the wound on my heart is not there; I am stronger because of it — because God has shown me His love and strength through carrying me through this time.
I would have it no other way.
For to love means one has something to lose, and yes, when one loses it, it can feel like hell. But we should not be afraid to love for the fear of experiencing pain; for it is through our pain that we grow, that we know God more intimately, that God’s strength is exemplified in our brokenness. The Apostle Paul quotes the Lord: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” So, along with Paul, I, too will “boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me” (2 Corinthians 12:9 NASB).
So be it.
“passing of the hero”
April 20th, 2007
Oswald Chambers wrote:
Our soul’s history with God is frequently the history of the “passing of the hero.” Over and over again, God has to remove our friends in order to bring Himself in their place, and that is where we faint and fail and get discouraged. Take it personally: In the year that the one who stood to me for all that God was, died — I gave up everything? I became ill? I got disheartened? Or — I saw the Lord?
It must be God first, God second, and God third, until the life is faced steadily with God and no one else is of any account whatever. “In all the world, there is none but thee, my God, there is none but thee.”
Keep paying the price. Let God see that you are willing to live up to the vision.
In the time since losing my father, one of my “hero” figures that Chambers speaks of, I’ve had to learn this lessen again and again. Perhaps now, this latest bout with the loss of a friend will be my last; perhaps I have finally learned what it is God has been trying to teach me for years. Or perhaps, as is more likely the case, I shall always experience this, at various points in my life, in order to continually remind me that God is my all.
Dad was my hero, my friend, my mentor, my teacher, my father — he was my first glimpse of who God is because he demonstrated what it meant to be a loving father and a bridegroom. I was blessed to have had 19 years with him. Nineteen rich, full years. And when I lost him, I lost my world. I lost my sense of justice. I lost my security.
It was then that God was calling my name, ever so softly, asking me to turn to Him and learn that He is my all.
I took a baby step that year.
And I’ve taken more steps as the years go by.
As people and circumstances and church families and social groups have come and gone in and out of my life, I have learned, step by step, to rely upon the Lord. The past couple of months have been the most incredible, for I feel that I have finally learned to put into practice what I have been learning in theory through the many times God has allowed the rug to be pulled from underneath me.
I am learning what it means to have the Lord be my all. What it means to have friendships and relationships with people and to cherish them but to be ready to lose them at a minute’s notice, and when I do, or when they change drastically, to be at peace with my circumstances, knowing the Lord is in sovereign control and knows the plans He has for me - plans for good and for a future and a hope (Jeremiah 29:11).
I have learned what it means to hold everything I have with an open hand — family, security, jobs, school, material things and comforts — ready and willing for the Lord to take them away as suddenly as He gifted me with them.
I have learned to thank Him in the midst of confusion and pain.
And I have learned that being in love with the Lord, walking with Him daily, making Him my all — my everything — the first person I turn to when I am afraid or stressed or angry or hurt — is one of the most satisfying and incredible feelings and experiences a human being could ever know.
I have found true joy and peace in a way I have never experienced before.
So when I came upon Chamber’s quote the other day, it struck home. No one else but Jesus is of any account in my life; I am learning what that means practically through living out my life, and it’s such an exciting adventure.
Of course, having realized this spiritual truth, I am on guard because I know I will be tested. It seems to be the case without fail that as soon as the Holy Spirit reveals insight and wisdom into the spiritual realm, and I achieve victory in some areas through His power and/or give counsel to another brother or sister about a specific issue, I am tested in that very area. Which is to be expected, for of course Satan doesn’t want us to grow spiritually; of course he is on the prowl and wants to strip us of the freedom we have in Christ; he shudders at any strides we make through the Holy Spirit’s help because it means we are that much closer to reflecting Jesus Christ’s character and person to the world around us. And it is Christ whom we are to model; to be like Christ is God’s will for us.
“Our model is the Jesus, not only of Calvary, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands and surly oppositions, the lack of all peace and privacy, the interruptions.” -C.S. Lewis, “The Four Loves.”
So while I am rejoicing in knowing this truth — of experiencing the peace that comes through making Jesus number one, number two, number three, and number four in my life — I am also prayerful that I would not forget this lesson, that I would not forget my first love, that I would continually seek the Lord daily and make Him my everything.
It’s a daily commitment. A daily desire. A desire that I hope never to let become stagnate nor forgotten.
-Christen Patterson [Originally written June 2005; revised April 2007]
one pharisee, coming right up: reflections on war-torn sudan
April 11th, 2007
“No,” I assured her. “No, it’s not the first time.”
I didn’t explain that I had been reading news magazines and online accounts of the situation in the Sudan for years; it didn’t matter because I didn’t intend to explain away my tears. Sometimes weeping is the only response.
–
It was a Thursday evening, and we had just finished watching “The Invisible Children,” a powerful documentary detailing the hell the Sudanese people are facing at the hands of rebel forces in a war-torn country. The documentary particularly focuses on the thousands of Sudanese children forced to flee their homes every night to seek refuge and shelter in the cities out of fear of being captured and enslaved by rebel forces — enslaved into a life of calculated killing and terror, brainwashed soldiers-in-training.
As the images flashed upon the screen and the stories were told, my response was an emotional, broken response. As I sat there, with tears streaming down my face, I thought to myself, “Christen, pull yourself together.” Thirty college students surrounded me, thirty students who will be, in part, my students next year when I come on full-time staff with Intervarsity, and here I was, sobbing. It was an uncomfortable few minutes as I wrestled with what my response should be; students looked at me out of the corners of their eyes, unsure of what to do. I am one of the ones who is supposed to be strong, and yet I found myself with tears streaming down my face. My heart, broken. Answers, I had none. Except the plea, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus” and the prayer, “Have mercy, Lord.”
And I couldn’t help but question how many times are we faced with the uncomfortable fact that we have been born into privilege; how many times have I genuinely faced the hard, cold fact that for the first twenty-three years of my life, I lived in the third richest county of the United States? I am one of the “rich” Jesus talks about who will have more trouble entering into heaven than a camel will have entering in through the eye of a needle (Matthew 19:24). Yikes. I wish Jesus had never said that. It’s not something I want to deal with. I remember a conversation with my father during a car ride years ago; he pointed out that we were the “rich” ones Jesus was speaking about in that passage. I remember thinking to myself, “What in the world are you talking about, Dad? We’re not rich; our couches have stuffing coming out of them, we have duct tape on our stairs, we drive old cars…” but the older I become, the more I realize my father in his wisdom knew something I didn’t.
Compared to the rest of the world, I am faced with extreme richness and opportunity, and here I am, talking about trying to “make ends meet” in the struggling Michigan economy while the children of the Sudan are living a literal hell. And what provokes me is that despite their circumstances, they are still both praising Jesus and displaying great joy and hope. I should be ashamed of myself for ever complaining about anything or being tempted to complain. Period. I confess that I have been jealous of those around me who aren’t struggling financially; who by their financial status make me feel poor and who give me the “excuse” to feel self-righteous because of the way I choose to spend my finances. I think “Well, God, you’re pretty lucky to have me because I’m frugal and I manage your money well.” What a dreadful disease pride is, allowing us to rank ourselves, consciously or unconsciously, against those around us. And then I am confronted with the documentary “The Invisible Children” and I am immediately brought to my knees in repentance for being a Pharisee and priding myself on how I am not materialistic.
And I sit there, sobbing, because the reality is that the tears streaming down my face expose the realization that I could be doing so much more. As I watched those beautiful children, scarred — emotionally and physically — praising our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, with joy, hope, and resilience etched upon their faces, I was forced to examine my own heart; if I faced the same circumstances, would I have the same response, and furthermore, with the privilege and power that I do have, what is my response to their plight and the plight of so many others around the world?
It’s one thing to have empathy for another, and empathy is certainly one of the first steps, but the true question we should be asking ourselves is, what do you do with that empathy?
So I ask you: in light of this broken, messed-up world, with nations being torn apart by war, with men and women committing atrocities, with children growing up with delinquent or absent parents, with disease ravishing bodies, with the poors’ needs not being taken care of, what are you doing? What is your emotional response? What is your physical response? Or would you rather not think about it today and deal with it tomorrow?
Some of these children will not have a tomorrow.
- Christen Patterson
April 2007
joy comes in the morn
March 15th, 2007
This world can be cruel. Hard. Disappointing. And yet still hopeful. Hopeful only because Jesus is Lord and rose from the grave, giving us the assurance of eternity.
Last year, a young woman sat on a couch and sobbed as one relationship came to an end, not knowing six months later, it’d be de javu all over again.
Sometimes we glimpse God’s sovereignty through our own hazy view, and yet the pain remains. Start. Stop. Come. Go. We go through life, attempting to make sense of it all - attempting to ascribe purpose to our lives, to our disappointments, to our pain.
But sometimes we can’t. And that is where faith comes in. The great theologians remind us that faith is the “substance of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen.” We can read it for ourselves in the Old Testament. But what does that really mean in the here and now?
It’s not some psychological or emotional crutch - this “faith” we cling to. It has form and substance, resulting in an empty tomb on Easter Sunday, reminding us that God is in control when all else seems dark and void.
It is what allows a woman who is swept away by a man who displays great love and integrity to put back her life when he ends their relationship. A man broken by war. A love torn apart.
We trust in God’s sovereignty; sometimes kicking and screaming, and yet, we still trust.
We must go on. Making sense of the heartache is not always possible. And yet we continually try. Why? Because we’ve been wired for eternity. We intrinsically understand that this is not how it was supposed to be.
We know that a young woman is not supposed to lose the man who asked her to be his wife; she is not supposed to bury her father when she is nineteen; she is not supposed to be the causality of a big corporation.
We understand, however feebly, that this was not what God intended for His creation, but in His sovereignty, He uses it, allows it, and shapes and molds us through it as we walk through our valleys.
Personally, I’m learning to embrace the pain, for it’s in my weakness that I know God most intimately, and it’s through the valleys that I remember what my Lord and Savior went through on the cross.
And as we approach Good Friday, we are reminded that there is sorrow before Resurrection Sunday - so rejoice! For faith reminds us that the joy comes tomorrow.
-Christen Patterson
March 2007
are you who you want to be?
February 21st, 2007
You get up in the morning, throw on a pot of coffee, sit down to breakfast, jump in the shower, and drive to work or class and you wonder what it all really means; you wonder if this is the life you really want to be living; you wonder how you ended up in the day to day, mundane routine that you vowed you’d never fall into.
Was it the enticing security of the paycheck? Was it the praise from others? Was it the hope of a great job upon graduation? Was it because you were too fearful to do anything else? Was it parents’ or significant others’ expectations for who you should be?
Do you even really know your self? Do you know what you want? Do you know who you want to be? Or are you drifting along, discontent but not sure how to change anything? Numbing yourself to the pain or frustration with friends, relationships, parties, busy schedules, workout routines, hobbies, this and that. You lead a full life. But you find it all very empty.
You tell yourself you’ll figure it out tomorrow.
And one week blurs into another. You live for the weekends, but they pass too swiftly.
You have dreams but you shelve them; you have hopes but you don’t dare hope them; you have desires but you curtail them. And before you know it, you settle. And you convince yourself you’re living a fulfilling life.
But the silence doesn’t deceive. In the silence, your heart and mind scream discontent at you; so you seek to drone out the silence with noise and activity, and you exhaust yourself.
Until you hit a brick wall: maybe your job ends, maybe a relationship fails, maybe what you sought turned out to be empty, and you wonder what it is you are searching for. You find yourself always waiting for the next “thing” in life. Somehow, unconsciously, you’re hoping that will provide the fulfillment and peace your soul is searching for.
In the meantime, your alarm clock goes off and you roll over and hit the ”snooze” button.
You’ll figure it all out tomorrow.
Christen Patterson
February 2007
damned to hell: reflections on being a freshman
February 21st, 2007
Silence screamed, clawing at my heart, as my friend sat there. I wanted to crawl into the nearest cave, but seeing as I was sitting in a computer lab on a university campus, the prospect of finding a cave didn’t seem likely.
Not one of my finer moments.
To be fair, that declaration had been spoken only after an hour of dialogue and being repeatedly pressured for my theological beliefs — in particular about those regarding those who don’t confess Jesus as Lord and Savior. I think I had phrased the doctrinal belief in as many ways possible hoping to avoid putting the words “damned” and “hell” together in the same sentence (especially since my mother taught me to never say either word). The Democrats and Republicans would have been proud of my sidestepping. I was a pro. But he wore me down after an hour or two, and finally, in exasperation, I made my declaration.
He never spoke to me again.
Just kidding. But that could have easily been the ending to my story. But God is merciful to sinners like me, and in fact, that was the start of a very long friendship, proof that miracles do happen today. The discussion leading up to my loving statement all started with friendly bantering; I was “Christian” (but refused to be labeled as such, instead introducing myself as a “born-again, nondenominational follower of Jesus” hoping that providing that mouthful would allow me enough time to break down any preconceived stereotypes one might have; I was hopeful); he was Muslim. We’d go back and forth about our respective beliefs; he’d ask me question after question about Christianity; I’d reciprocate, asking about Islam. He was a senior; I was a freshman, and I had this odd feeling that he knew something I didn’t; later I learned it was years of experienced critical thinking/arguing learned in university classes; I had yet to embark upon my college adventure, so I wasn’t as fine-trained to dialogue or proffer arguments, and trying to unpack my beliefs was like trying to unpack my family’s van after a week’s long trip (there were nine of us) – it was a messy, chaotic activity and you just hoped everything was accounted for in the end.
But through many future dialogues (years’ worth, to be exact), I learned that sharing my love for Jesus, for the person of Jesus, with others wasn’t so much about what I said or didn’t say; it was more about how I lived; I made many blunders through conversation; said things I cringe to think about; said other things I have conveniently forgotten about, I continue to say things I’d rather erase and have decided it’s much better if I keep my mouth shut. However, he and I are still friends. And I realize time and again that by opening my mouth, I become the object lesson of why Jesus entered humanity to save us from ourselves. And I am humbled.
The lesson I walked away with after that night, well, after many countless such nights — actually make that over the course of a few years (it takes me a while, sometimes) — is that it’s much better to stick to the person of Jesus and what He offers us relationally than to argue theology; theology doesn’t heal a broken heart but Christ Jesus does. Theology doesn’t stop the pain we face in life but Jesus comforts; theology doesn’t love others, but Jesus does; theology doesn’t restore us back to a right relationship with our Creator God, but Jesus Christ does. It is said Christ-followers are known by their love; if we win a theology argument but fail to show and demonstrate love, we argue in vain.
Christen Patterson
November 2006
dissection
October 13th, 2006
These tears I cry
Do you see them?
Do you feel them?
Do you taste the salt?
Self-absorption
Sweet misery
We are all walking wounded
Have I somehow forgotten?
And you, you with your battle scars
And me, me with my incessant need to love you
The gulf widening
Communication fractured
Flesh and blood
Flesh and blood
Nailed to a cross
Do I daily take up my cross?
Do I daily die for you?
What is love?
Do we have a clue
Or have we packaged Hollywood conceptions
So neatly in our Sunday-school best
Pretending our mutual self-gratification
Translates to love everlasting
No wonder we trip over broken marriages
When did we start believing a lie?
Self-deception
Get over ourselves
Love nailed itself to a cross
When did we start to believe
That love requires anything less from us?
what about homeschooling?
April 15th, 2006
“My parents cursed me with a love for learning.”
So said Bethany Patterson with a smile. Patterson, a homeschool graduate with a 4.0 GPA at Wayne State University, furthermore said of her homeschool experience: “I owe my success in college directly to my parents’ decision to homeschool me, and I attribute my wide range of interests and self-motivation/work ethic to homeschooling.”
Patterson is not alone. There are more than one million homeschooled students in the United States, with estimates as high as two million. Homeschooling, which is gaining popularity across the nation, has become not only a viable alternative to the public education system but has also become a springboard for many homeschool graduates for a successful, fulfilling life.
Homeschooling is a force to be reckoned with. So just what is homeschooling and what does it look like?
Imagine doing your algebra lesson in your pajamas. Or imagine learning history through exploring a museum or visiting historic sites. Imagine your kitchen table was your school desk and your classmates totaled the number of siblings you have.
That’s the case for many of the more than 1.1 million homeschoolers in the United States (2005), and the numbers are growing at a rate of 10-15% per year, according to Home School Legal Defense Association (HSLDA).
Homeschooling, once a fledgling enterprise taken on by a few courageous parents, has become an academic force to be acknowledged with by both the public and private school systems. The movement has come into its own, answering critics’ questions about academic excellence and socialization concerns.
The choice to homeschool is often a response to dissatisfaction with the public and/or private educational system. While it’s actually been around for ages and public education is really the “new kid on the block,” it wasn’t until the late 1960’s and early 1970’s that home education made a resurgence as a viable option for education and has gained momentum and national attention ever since.
Homeschooling parents choose to homeschool for a variety of reasons including both philosophical and/or religious reasons; others choose to homeschool their children simply because they seek the highest quality education possible for their child.
My family is an interesting case study since there are seven children who were and are being homeschooled. Three are currently homeschool graduates, one is in highschool, one is in middle school and two are in elementary school. Of the three oldest children, who homeschooled through highschool, all three were granted full-ride, academic scholarships to the universities of their choice and carry almost 4.0 GPA’s. The next sibling in line, a freshman in public highschool, is a straight-A student and has adjusted well to public highschool, having been previously homeschooled his entire life.
You might be thinking, “So what? That’s your family.” So what about the educational quality and achievements of other homeschooled students? The statistics are in: homeschoolers score on average 30-37 percentile points above their public-schooled counterparts in all subjects. The academic achievement of homeschoolers, which used to be a concern until the stats came in, has proven to quiet critics.
In fact, many universities are actively recruiting homeschooled students because they have seen homeschooled students excel academically, and they recognize their self-discipline, drive and tendency to be leaders. These are traits that many universities are looking for in potential students. Jeff Lantis, as quoted on HSLDA’s website, said of Hillsdale College’s 75-90 homeschoolers, “Homeschoolers have to work harder thereby increasing student productivity. [They] are consistently among our top students; in fact homeschoolers have won our distinct Honors Program the last three years in a row. We tend to look very favorably upon homeschoolers applying to our college.”
Kathleen Wider, associate professor of philosophy at the University of Michigan-Dearborn, said of her experience with two homeschooled students that they were “so well prepared for college and seemed far better educated than most college students.”
Homeschooling works academically. However, what about socialization?
Fighting against the stereotype of a painfully shy, maladjusted child who cannot play with other kids or handle conflicts well, homeschoolers have had to face the question of socialization. Homeshcooling actually provides a better framework for learning socialization than its public or private school counterpart simply by its very nature.
Yes, you have your awkward homeschoolers, just like you have your awkward public or privately educated students. But overall, homeschooling prepares students for life better than its public or private school counterparts because it better reflects reality. For example, in public or private schools, you’re in a classroom with thirty of your peers, day in and day out; and they become your social “reality.”
Most of the kids are probably from your socioeconomic and cultural background as well. But “real” life is not like that. When you get out there in the workplace, you have to interact with people of all ages, socioeconomic, cultural and belief backgrounds. Homeschooling provides this learning ground because its very nature dictates a different framework for socializing. Your 85 year old next-door neighbor, your librarian, and family friends who have kids of all ages become your friends and social network. Thus, you learn to socialize with adults as well as kids who are younger and older than you, and you become comfortable in interacting with people of all ages and backgrounds.
Why does this form of socialization and learning work well? Because you learn how to interact with adults in a day to day basis that you don’t have the opportunity to experience when you go to public school for six or more hours a day. If one’s philosophy is that everything in life is a learning opportunity, all of a sudden, your “classroom” has no limits. You learn how to do math at the grocery store (while interacting respectfully with the cashier), you learn how to change the oil in a car when your parent takes the car in to be worked on, you learn how to serve the community when you volunteer your time, etc. These kind of life experiences add a depth and breadth to your academic education that is too often missing from your average public-schooled child.
So what about extra-curricular activities? What about sports and prom? Homeschoolers can enjoy the same benefits their public school counterparts do; because homeschoolers pay school taxes, legally they have the right to the same programs that public school students have. Some school districts are more open to allowing homeschoolers equal opportunity access, but in most cases, homeschoolers have no problem taking advantage of various arts, sports, or music programs within their school system.
In addition or alternatively, many homeschoolers join homeschool co-op groups, which are, in essence, large support groups of homeschool parents and their children. Parents come together once or twice a week to teach their strengths (fathers with a PhD in science teach physics; mothers with English and history degrees teach those subjects) while all the students get the benefit of other parents’ knowledge, simultaneously enjoying the vast network of other homeschooled students. Co-ops, arguably, offer the best of both worlds: parental freedom to direct the studies of their child while offering the child a classroom type setting and a great social network. Co-ops affords parents support while providing a social structure for their children.
Thus, with utilizing the school system’s programs and also local co-op groups, there are many opportunities for homeschoolers to participate in any extra-curricular activity they desire.
What are the state regulations for parents homeschooling? Each state has its own regulations for homeschoolers; some states require parents to register with the state and have their curriculum approved; other states have less stringent requirements. Michigan is one of the less stringent states. According to HSLDA’s website, there are “no requirements to notify, seek approval, test, file forms, or have any certain teacher qualifications” in Michigan.
Public opinion of homeschooling has grown in favor as students who started homeschooling in the 1970’s and 1980’s have graduated. Phil Jessmon, a graduate student at Wayne State pursuing a PhD in anatomy and cell biology, said of his experience with previously homeschooled students (he was not homeschooled but went to a private college preparatory high school), “Every homeschooled individual that I have interacted with has been intellectually ‘smarter’ than almost all of the private and public school students I have known.”
He added, “They are, in general, better-trained in how to think about life, and this is perhaps due to their precedence in thinking more critically and making learning a more personal part of their life (at home).”
While society’s opinion about homeschooling has changed over the course of the years as the evidence supporting homeschooling mounts, why should you consider homeschooling your child?
Because as the parents of the next generation, we have a grave responsibility to them. The health of our country, society, and families rests upon the health and success of our children. As parents, we have the ability to impact the world for generations to come based upon how we choose to raise our children and educate them. We have the ability to shape the next generation’s leaders.
Homeschooling offers us one of the best tools to do so.