On transitions.

(c) Sarah Kuipers

I handed in my last assignment today.
I wrote my last exam.
I've had my last class.
I'm packing everything up from this school for the last time.
Anything other 'lasts' that come to my mind just sound mushy and extreme.

I am starting to really dislike the word 'last.'

When people ask how it feels, this is usually my reaction "Weeeeird. It feels very strange."

I know, not very articulate. But I'm still having a hard time putting my finger on it. It's another one of those things that make you feel two completely opposite things at once. I feel proud of the fact that coursework is done. And I will NOT miss writing exams or essays. And I am very much looking forward to placement.

But, I love my school. I have so many wonderful friends here. I love and am loved. I belong. And I will miss it.

(c) Sarah Kuipers

I am blessed.

I'm also scared. When you are preschool, your next bunch of years, you just know, are going to be in school. When you are in high school, you're pretty sure you have four years of college/university ahead of you. But right now? I don't have a clue what's next. So I'm scared.

But I'm not in charge of my life (thank goodness); the Creator is.

I am blessed.

This is my choice. I will be sad. I will cry, most likely, when I say bye. But, my decision, the choice I make, is to thank my Father for the blessings. Innumerable blessings.

Blessing my finances every year, faithfully, so I could keep coming back.
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful friends and peers.

(c) Sarah Kuipers

A great program that has equipped me for my future career as an educator.
Fantastic, caring profs.
Opportunities to be involved.
Spiritual growth.
Community.
Acceptance.

And most of all, the knowledge that my God will be faithful to me in the future, as He is in the present and has been in the past.

On everything and nothing. On anchors. On the Anchor

Everything and nothing.

That seems like my answer to everything right about now. What are you thinking for jobs? Every option, nothing for certain. What are you thinking about right now? Mind=whirlwind: everything, which means I'm thinking nothing effectively. What are you doing? Same thing. 

In the past seven days, I have: contemplated living in a different country, gave blood -> got sick, decided to move if need be for a job, considered working in Europe for the summer, finished a knitting project, did readings, decided not to do some readings, ran an event, had group meetings, had conversations, had other meetings, took my grad photos, went grocery shopping, attended class, stayed up too late, blogged for school, memorized a verse, worked ahead on some assignments, procrastinated on others... and that is the short list.

In my program, many students experience this. In the school - hundreds. In the province - thousands. It's not unique to me. It's not unique to students. And, it is truthfully a blessed busy. A blessed everything and nothing. I am incredibly blessed to be in this place.

Back to the everything and nothing... every person processes things differently. Right now, I'm blogging after some prayer, piano playing, and scripture memorization time. I'm listening to worship music. This is my processing. To reflect on everything and nothing, to write, to sing, to pray, to knit, to read, to pick out a song on the piano.

So, this post comes from my need to actually think. About one thing. Meaningfully. To step out of the cycle of everything and nothing. This post is for me, today. Because I need to not only say some things, but to hear some things. So if you're reading this, bear with me, as I'm writing a letter to myself.

Dear Sarah, what holds you? More accurately, who holds you? What brings everything and nothing together? What carries that paradox? Remember when you memorized the first verse of January? Say it now - "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." Remember how that first week coming back, it anchored you? You saw it on the back of your phone or on your wall and it made you take a breath. "In the beginning was the Word." God is here. God has been preparing you for this impending graduation. You're scared. It's more scary than any other transition you've been through, I think. But that's okay. He's been talking to you for a year about roots in a place (geographical, relational, spiritual). He's been showing you that your anchor much always be Him and Him alone. "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us." He dwells here. With. In. So as you do everything and nothing, as you sometimes avoid the hard questions and sometimes dive headlong into them, don't forget your Anchor.

As I thought about this, I remembered the song "Jesus is the answer." You know the one - the version you heard is probably sung by a black gospel choir, with feeling, and mmmm's in the background that make you want to sway side to side. As I heard it in my head just now, the lyrics changed a bit...

"Jesus is your anchor, in your world today. Above Him there's no other; Jesus is the way." 

On placement.

Well, in my very first blog post, I mentioned that this was going to be a space for me to get my thoughts out, whether my audience was One or one hundred. So this post is going to be a bit scattered. Maybe it will end up having a theme... I don't know. Often a theme comes out through my writing and processing that I didn't even know was there.

First of all, life has been pretty busy from the last post. I went from an extremely intense two months of classes to an even more intense placement experience. I was in a 1/2 classroom in the public school in my hometown... and I loved it. I was unsure of the school climate and quality going into the placement - people talk, and more often about the bad than the good. However, I was welcomed immediately by staff and students alike, and was pleased to find an honest desire to educate the whole child to the best of our abilities. As I began teaching the class (Scary. Very scary. Especially when the teacher is staring at you.) from my very first lesson, I realized in a deeper way my love for the profession.

Each student is so incredibly unique. While I've seen that in different contexts, it's somehow different when you walk into a class and twenty students with differing backgrounds, learning needs, personalities, and fears are trusting you to help them. I learned more about differentiated learning in the first week than I had in two years of hearing lectures about it. I learned more about student engagement in that time than you can find in any textbook.

Some lessons were great - I felt like I was on top of the world... my students were engaged, my difficult students were well-behaved, and the lessons went flawlessly. But not every day was like that. I had lessons that struggled. One in particular that bombed. I had students who made me laugh (constantly! "Mrs. Kuiperseses, why aren't you married?" "Mrs. Kuiperseses, why did you mess up on the Smart Board?" Mrs. Kuiperseses, why can't I poke him?" "Mrs. Kuiperses, why is that the tens place? What about the fives place?"). And I had students - more specifically, student home situations - that made me cry. But it was important for me to go through that learning. To "fall forward" as Ann Voskamp says. Learn from it. Move forward and redeem that time. Pray for those families. Rework that lesson.

I can't help but think that the classroom reflects some larger life truths.
That the most exhausting experiences are often because they are the biggest learning experiences.
That the people who you struggle with the most become incredibly special to you, with Christ's help.
That the most wonderful feeling is helping someone who needs it.
That an honest and deep desire to love people will show, and will impact the people around you.
That you can never tell about a place by what you hear about them.
That being intentional makes a big impact on the people you are around (whether you are intentional about learning, about community, about relationship, etc.)

It turns out that the biggest wisdom really does come "from the mouth of babes."

On God and the Grand Canyon

I haven't written for a while. I'm back at school and busy is not a strong enough word to explain what the last month has been like. But that is not my focus. Today, the focus is the greatness of my God. The beauty of my Saviour. Almost a month ago, I was at the Grand Canyon. The words of this post were written in Arizona, put on borrowed notebook paper in my messy handwriting, 
and reflect the wonder I felt at that place.

"All the earth worships Thee; they sing praises to Thee, sing praises to Thy name" - Psalms 66:4

What else can be said?

Every lookout at the Grand Canyon was beyond words.

If I could paint...
If I could write...
If I could capture in any way the height and depth of the beauty, I would.

But I can't. Overwhelmed to the point of tears. The beauty is too much.
In every light.
Around every bend.


Even the night sky is stunning - millions of stars shining. The Milky Way a bright ribbon through the black of night.

Breathtaking.

I have a picture in mind, when I look at the Canyon, of my Creator, dipping in His finger there to make a gorge, another winding trail there, and delicately scraping off a layer here and a layer there, adding glorious columns of magnificence when it fancied Him.

Creating beauty.

Creating a masterpiece.

We go back to the Canyon at sunrise. Breathtaking. A long rest as we watch the sun rise. A new day begins. Spirit rest.

After breakfast, a drive to Hermit's Rest. More incredible panoramas - Canyon on all three sides.

Pictures taken, we begin the drive back, awed by the beauty that God has gifted us with. He is here, with me in that moment.

What can I do but worship?

       

 

         

   

On seasons.

WORD OF THE DAY:

1. conflicted  past participle, past tense of con·flict (Verb)

   Verb Be incompatible or at variance; clash. Having or showing confused and mutually inconsistent feelings.

It seems to me that as soon as you get used to a season, life changes on you and moves on to the next.

Life is never boring that way, I guess.

I've just gotten used to summer, and in a week it is over. Not the actually weather season, but the season of my life. The summer job is over, and school is about to begin.

And I'm conflicted.

I'm so excited for my trip to the States in a week and for school directly after that - seeing all of my friends and taking classes that I am passionate about. But I've enjoyed my work and have felt blessed...I'm back into the rhythm of summer...

I'm having "mutually inconsistent feelings."

Sad and happy. Reluctant but eager. Holding on but anticipating what is next.

And, silly me, kind of protesting it. "Why? Why must there always be change and this weird I-don't-know-how-to-feel? How do you be content when you aren't in one 'state' to be content in, but you have two states?"

I'm referring to Paul, when he says in Philippians 4:11, "I have learned in whatsoever state I am to be content." But I wasn't sure how to do this verse when you are not really in one season, but in between.

And it came to me: perhaps the secret is thankfulness.

Seeing God's grace in the changing of the seasons.

Seeing His blessings in the beauty of both seasons. Appreciating the remaining heat of summer while appreciating the changing colors, if you will.

Being content by giving thanks. Solving this "conflicted" feeling by replacing it with the act of giving thanks. My feelings will follow.

How blessed am I! To be sad to leave the place I've been but be happy to arrive at the place I'm going.

Does this not reflect our seasons of life? This temporal life now - God has made it good. Not always fun, but overall, we like this life. He has created it with joy and beauty as He restores the brokenness and hurt. So we are sad to leave it, or to see others leave it.

But yet we are anticipating the life to come - when this season of life is on earth, we are excited for the next one, happy when we arrive at the next.

How beautiful...

What an opportunity for gratitude, this conflicted-ness within me. An opportunity to be thankful that I am sad to be leaving a wonderful season and to be thankful that I am anticipating a wonderful season.

In focus.

                                                                                                    Photo by Sarah Kuipers - July 2012              

Isn't it wonderful how God prepares us? How He knows our every thought and longing and struggle? Ahead of time? 

That blows my mind.

Last week, I was in a really good place. I've been struck these last few weeks with such a desire, a longing, for God's own heart, that it almost hurts.

My heart is seeking His, with a new intensity.

I felt so very focused on Him. It was glory. His glory.

As I marveled at this last week, praying it out, reading Scripture, thinking... I started thinking of how that unity, that sight and focus, is always there. I just don't always see it. Because I don't focus.

Something to know about me - I like metaphors. They help me, so usually when God is teaching me something, I wrestle with it by struggling with metaphor until I find (or God gets me to understand) one that fits.

This week, thinking about all-consuming desire and focus on God started as a mental diagram. Me and God. Nothing in between.

What happens when I stop focusing? Me and God with a problem in the middle, keeping me from seeing Him?

This is what it seemed like - my metaphor - at first. Me, and something solid, like wood or concrete, blocking my view. But that didn't quite seem to fit. I don't think anything ever comes into our path that is so opaque that we cannot see God in it and through it (although sometimes that focus is much, much harder than other times).

Perhaps, just perhaps, instead of it being a hard object, it is more like a mist. A cloud. Tiny water droplets that obstruct my view but don't obscure it. Little drops that when together make visibility difficult.

Perhaps then, it is my focus, not the problem, that keeps me from that unity with Him.

Allow me another analogy. In photography, you can set your f-stop or aperture to increase or decrease your depth-of-field - what is in focus or what is not.

When I focus on that mist, I have a shallow depth-of-field. The droplets are in focus but everything else (including God) is blurred. Hazy. Should I choose to expand that focus, everything becomes clear. Having God in focus keeps Him as my focal point, my purpose for the "photograph," and then the mist is clear too.

Thinking back on the last few days, God knew that I needed to know this. I've struggled this week. Many hours at work and not enough soul rest.

Perhaps I have narrowed my focus. Perhaps I have spent so much time looking at the water droplets that I forgot to focus on the God who I didn't see but never left.

Maybe I even let my lens break a little. But, thanks be to God, He takes joy in taking the broken things in life, in my life and in yours, fixing the crack in the lens and the error in aperture, and restoring them to make it beautiful again, for His kingdom and because of His love.

Objectified by men, valued by God.

***EDIT: I decided to post this. Not because it is comfortable (this is pushing the boundaries of my vulnerability - this one is requiring courage), but because I believe God asked me to and because I feel like I am not the only woman who has or will face this - how to declare God's truth about yourself when a man insinuates otherwise. 

Be blessed. In God's love and truth, be blessed.***

This might be one of those posts that I write but never publish. If you're reading it, then I guess I decided to press that button.

A man made a sexual comment to me today. It's not so much that I've never had people make sexual jokes around me or even to me - that sadly seems to be what happens when you work in a secular workplace. But he made this about me and to me.

It hurt. Not in a piercing sort of way, but in a devaluing sort of way. In that one sentence, he made me feel less than me. Less than a person. Less than a woman whose heart has been made beautiful and valued by Her Creator.

I can't really explain how much it bothered me. Maybe I should have had an easier time letting go. But I didn't. I couldn't shake that feeling of somehow being less. Being dirty, even though I did nothing to provoke the comment.

I couldn't shake it.

I closed the store by myself tonight, and on the walk from the store, across the field to the staff parking lot, I prayed. Out loud.

I prayed truth - that I am a daughter, most treasured by my Father the King. I prayed truth - that what one man said could not reduce my value. I prayed truth - that I can forgive the man who said that because I have a great God who forgave me.

Yet, that feeling clung to me. Maybe I clung to it. It was something that kept coming back during the evening.

I opened my Bible tonight, knowing I needed to refocus. I'm reading Isaiah right now, and the section I'm reading discusses how despite Israel having a God who loved them, they worshiped other idols. They held on to other things instead of God.

After I read, as I closed my Bible, I came across a prayer note tucked in my Bible that I had written during the school year.

In it, I thanked God for the girls in my dorm. For my friends. For my family.
But the next part of that letter, written months ago, stopped me.

"Bless x---, x---, x---, and x---. Please help me mean that.

Your love is strong.

You give so much, gave so much. I don't know how to thank you for that. I stand in awe of You.

S." 

I had listed by name people who had hurt me or people close to me. People who had been hard to forgive, that I still struggled with loving.

Reading this, including the thanks and the awe of God, made me remember where my focus needed to lie, when trying to love someone when it was hard.

My focus, when reconciling the feelings of disgust that arose from this incident, needs to be on the wonder of the God who calls me Pure, Beautiful, and Precious.

This is one more way that God brings beauty in brokenness - taking something harmful, a comment reflecting the brokenness of sin, and taking that shame away that is not mine to have, showing me the beauty of His love for me.