tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23035072710427307762024-03-13T06:51:37.633-07:00Kathleen's KhaosKathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-12082568513478937312016-04-21T17:29:00.000-07:002016-04-21T17:29:02.875-07:00One year...<div class="MsoNormal">
A year ago I was, unbeknownst to me, in the final week of my
career at Wells Fargo Insurance. I would
spend the coming weekend in the hospital, and eventually be diagnosed with an
illness that would change everything about how I did life. Everything.
I never saw it coming. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I look back at the past year, it is with some sadness,
still, over what was lost, but also with great hope and anticipation. Really!
As I look back I see a rough road that I walked, a lot of stillness, God’s
great faithfulness, and a lot of work and attitude adjustment on my part. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m always amazed at the ways God connects what I’m
experiencing with his Word. I recently read
a devotion about the Sabbath. Not just
the day of rest given every week, but the Sabbath year God gave to the Israelites as they were entering
Canaan. Take a look at this: <o:p></o:p></div>
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Leviticus 25: 3-7<o:p></o:p></div>
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"When you enter the land I am going to give you, the land itself must observe a Sabbath to the LORD. For six years sow your fields, and for six years prune your vineyards and gather their crops. But in the seventh year the land is to have a year of Sabbath rest, a Sabbath to the LORD. Do not sow your fields or prune your vineyards. Do not reap what grows of itself or harvest the grapes of your untended vines. The land is to have a year of rest. Whatever the land yields during the Sabbath year will be food for you- for yourself, your male and female servants, and the hired worker and temporary resident who live among you, as well as for your livestock and the wild animals in your land. Whatever the land produces may be eaten."</div>
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After working hard in
their fields for 6 years, they were to take a year to let their land lie
fallow, not raising any crops, so the land could be more productive. Just like taking a Sabbath day every week was
designed to do for them. They were to rest
from their labor in the field- and allow the land to rest- to prepare for what was coming next. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Did they request this year? No. God gave it to them in His wisdom. I imagine the whole idea was pretty scary, not raising
food for an entire year. When given this rule they must have wondered what they would eat. But they had to rely fully on His
provision; His plan was to grow their faith and to show His
faithfulness. And He did provide.</div>
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This Sabbath year was probably (at least initially) uncomfortable,
odd to them. Out of their routine and
their familiar rhythm. Out of their
self-sufficient comfort zone. This was a "Sabbath unto the LORD," realigning their attention from themselves to what HE was doing. Which is just where God wanted them. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well. This has very clearly been my Sabbath
year. My illness and eventual diagnosis necessitated rest that I didn’t ask for but
desperately needed, total change of lifestyle for my whole family, and learning
a more complete dependence on God. Being
still and waiting is against my very nature and miles away from my comfort
zone. But waiting is not wasted with God.
This waiting was designed, much like the Israelites’ Sabbath year, to
grow my faith and show His faithfulness.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Look back at the passage from Leviticus- “Whatever the land yields during the Sabbath
year will be food for you.” The things
that have come through this time have definitely fed me. I wasn’t out working, planting, sowing,
tending, harvesting, and yet He has provided over and over again, physically, emotionally, financially, mentally, and spiritually. And much like the experience of the Israelites, this has been a "Sabbath unto the LORD," realigning my attention from myself to what HE is doing. I’ve felt so many times that I was
accomplishing <u>nothing</u> (again SO not part of my nature!). Now I can see
that God has been accomplishing <u>something</u>.
He has been preparing the fields, after they’ve rested, for a new
purpose, having now fed His wandering daughter on what "grew on its own." </div>
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After this post, you will see my blog on a different
site. God is doing something here and I
am eager to see what it looks like. In
this Sabbath year of preparation and rest He has led me to pursue writing and
speaking (as health permits) in a more purposeful way, sharing what He is
teaching me from the perspective of being a fellow traveler, not one who as
arrived. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Thank you for sticking with me and reading my blog this
year, it has truly been a blessing to have this outlet. After May 1 you can check out <a href="http://www.kathleentysinger.com/">www.kathleentysinger.com</a> for my new
blog posts, writing projects, and speaking dates! God’s blessing on you all.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-62649674981137686032016-04-02T15:54:00.001-07:002016-04-02T15:54:59.770-07:00Adjusting My Lens<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you ever flip-flopped between two extreme emotions in
the space of a breath? If you haven’t, I’m
jealous and want to know your secret, but in the meantime I invite you to take a moment to peek into my
crazy. If you have, you should identify
a bit with what I’m writing here. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Often I love social media. Sometimes I hate it. And that can change in a heartbeat. It’s a
double-edged sword for me and, I suspect, many, many other women. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I love the connections I have made and rekindled because of
Facebook, the old friends from across the country I see almost daily, getting a
glimpse into their lives and their families.
I am truly blessed by the encouragement I have received through this
medium during this hard (and often very isolated) year of health issues and the
loss of my dad. I deeply appreciate the
spiritual insights found in the posts of bloggers and ministries I follow. I love that I can encourage and pray for
friends and family members as they genuinely share their struggles or
heartbreaks. I look forward to the
community interaction I have with women across the country who participate in
an online Bible study I joined. I love
that it’s a platform on which I can share my random musings through my
blog. I love Facebook.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But. This same source
of encouragement and blessing can bring me to a place of unexpected, irrational knots in
my stomach. And that inexplicable dissatisfied
feeling deep inside. And occasionally tears. I can be happily scrolling along and see freshly
posted pictures of a group of people I know, all doing something fabulous
together without me. Or events I haven’t
been invited to join. Or pictures of
holidays that look nothing like mine. Or
things they’re doing that I can’t do. And it all crashes down. I hate Facebook. And I hate that it brings this out in me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Again, I was happy until I saw these things, but holding my
life up to this lens, I find parts of it wanting. I'm sure we've all been there. But why?
Realizing this is an irrational response, I truly want to dig past the snarls
of tangled emotion to the root, the cause of my gut reaction. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Honestly, my life is pretty great. More than great. Please don’t misunderstand me: I am not
saying people shouldn’t post pictures of these kinds of things, recording the
fun events of life. I do it myself. This issue is not with the people OR the
pictures. It’s with my view of the
world, my lens, not the fun my friends are having.
Here’s the core of it: to quote
my dear friend and prayer partner of nearly 12 years, Dana Phillips, “Comparison
kills contentment.” So. True. I’m comparing what I have – and love- to what
I see on Facebook. Yep, maturity abounding
here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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However, (I am reminding myself, here, not just you) the
lens of social media is a distorted one.
No one posts pictures of their messy laundry room, themselves sitting at
home alone in yoga pants watching The Good Wife, or having a “spirited
discussion” with one of their people who live with them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We often see the best and happiest moments, without the pain that
is an inevitable part of life. Without
the mess, the frustration, the loneliness.
The perfection that is so prevalent on Facebook and Pinterest (my two
sites of choice) is, like all “perfection,” an illusion at best and a toxic lie
at worst. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I look at something a friend has or is doing, I have to
ask myself, do I want everything that goes along with it? Without even peeking behind the curtain of
the smiles and beautiful pictures, I can say the answer is invariably, “No.” I will take my own burdens, thank you very
much, and my own joys. (There’s a
glimpse of returning sanity!) I am
working on the contentment part. And trying
to see through the social media lens more realistically. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The apostle Paul knew a thing or two about this, having a
life that was far from photo-friendly.
He wrote from prison and in deep want, in loneliness and pain, and often
under threat of injury or arrest. </div>
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Here
are just a couple of examples:<o:p></o:p></div>
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But godliness with contentment is great gain. I Timothy 6:6<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.
Philippians 4:11b <o:p></o:p></div>
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If he could find godly contentment in his circumstances,
surely I can. Finding that contentment
can make me less prone to flip-flop, less likely to take a seat on that
emotional roller coaster of mine. Contentment
will remind me that my messy-beautiful life is so much more than what someone
would see on Facebook. And so is
everyone else’s. I have really come a
long way toward learning these lessons in the past year, being open and
accepting of what God has for me, content with where I am. I will continue to adjust my lens, refocus and recognize the blessing that is everywhere. But I still clearly have a long way to
go. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-80763067181005157822016-03-26T18:37:00.000-07:002016-03-26T18:37:59.757-07:00Resurrection Sunday<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been a bit down all day yesterday and today, struggling
to put my finger on why. And then I
realized. Tomorrow, Easter Sunday, will
be the first time my extended family, my mom, local brothers and sister-in-law,
niece, and nephew, has been together since my Dad’s funeral on December
30. It will also be the first family
gathering at my home since Dad’s passing. One of a calendar full of "the first time without Dad" moments and events. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It still seems surreal that he isn’t with us. When asked today what we were doing for
Easter Sunday, I caught myself telling my sister-in-law that my parents were
coming. It was like a weight was crushing
down on my chest when I realized what I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our table will be full tomorrow, thanks to lots of family
and my niece’s and daughter’s boyfriends, all the chairs taken, but there will
be a gaping space in my heart.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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In preparation for tomorrow’s dinner, I decided to keep
things really simple, just use paper plates, napkins, cups, disposable
silverware. Made a special trip to
target to get something I liked. But as
I looked at the unopened packages on my dining room table, I stopped. I couldn’t do it. Paper was not enough. Somehow it felt wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let me be clear, this is not about impressing anyone, and I’m
all for simple and easy, something I’ve learned well over this past year of
chronic illness. But no. Paper wasn’t…honoring. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s the thing. Easter
has always been a holiday near and dear to my heart, for many reasons. But it rings stronger, pulls deeper within me
this year than others past. Easter is
hope of resurrection, life eternal, because of what happened that Sunday morning
all those years ago. And because of that
hope, the hope to which I cling and the hope my Dad had, I can KNOW that I will
see him again. I can KNOW that he is
with Jesus, celebrating Easter like never before in his Wranglers, cowboy boots, and suspenders. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So to honor that, to honor my King and to honor my Dad who
is with him, I lay out my simple/beautiful white china. And cloth napkins. And silverware that won’t be in the trash by
4pm tomorrow. I honor what Easter is,
Who it is, and the difference it makes. I
miss my Dad. I will the rest of my life,
I’m sure. But I know he’s saving a seat
for me at the banquet table.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It is by His great mercy that we have been born again, because God raised Jesus Christ from the dead.</div>
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I Peter 1:3</div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-36809091664438967792016-03-25T10:42:00.000-07:002016-03-25T10:42:06.728-07:00Fresh Eyes<div class="MsoNormal">
It started out as a routine Sunday morning. I woke up slightly earlier than I wanted to
because that’s just the way it is, I rolled out of bed, made coffee, read a
bit, made breakfast and ate with my husband while our young adults still slept. Grateful for a later church service time, I went
upstairs to do my usual yoga and take a shower (it was a hair washing/blowout
day, so I had to factor in a lot more time for this process. Can I get an amen?), and as I was moving
through my routine I remembered with some excitement that it was the day I could
put in a new set of contact lenses. We
have to take joy in the little things, people.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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My contacts are monthly use multi-focal lenses, you see, and
I love them. They serve me well, but by
the end of their 30-day life cycle, they start to become a little bit
uncomfortable. My eyes start to bother
me. The lenses don’t work as well as the
month marches on, especially for reading, and I get annoyed on an unconscious
level with the blurriness of my world. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It occurred to me as I was putting in my exciting new lenses:
it was almost like getting a fresh pair of eyes every month. Fresh view of the world, fresh perspective,
new clarity, lifting of the weariness and discomfort I was feeling. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A fresh pair of eyes.
Oh, how I need this in my spirit as well as in my body. What if there was a new way to see my world,
see my people, see my ministry, see my place in this wonderful madness of life? What if I look upon what is around me with
fresh eyes, refracted through the lens of God’s work and Word in my life, His
Spirit guiding me, Jesus’ love and grace as my example? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps then I would feel the weight and weariness of
carrying regret, or jealousy, or a grudge lift away. New clarity for my path and in my
relationships. Fresh perspective on
issues that challenge me. A fresh view of
the world and how I fit into it. And how
God can change it through me. With fresh
eyes, I could perhaps shed that layer of unconscious annoyance, with the
blurriness in my world clarified by a better perspective. Think of what it could mean, fresh eyes. A new perspective. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Where, though, can I get this? It’s not like going to my optometrist and
getting a new prescription, or going on the 1-800-CONTACTS website and ordering
new boxes of lenses. In truth t’s simple, though
not easy: I need to seek more time in
God’s presence to see through His lens, more time in His word to bring my heart
and my view in alignment with His heart, asking for His view, His focus. </div>
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Speaking to Ezekiel the prophet, God tells His people, "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh." (Ezekiel 36:26) When I go to God and seek a new perspective, He will happily, lovingly grant it to me.</div>
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But just like changing my contacts, changing my perspective
is a choice. I could decide to keep
right on wearing the same pair of lenses, month after month, increasing my
discomfort and the distortion through which I view the world. I could continue to wear them, risking
infection and, potentially, lasting damage to my vision. <o:p></o:p></div>
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By the same token, I could continue to view the world, the
circumstances, and the people around me the same way, and become less and less
satisfied with what I see. I could
choose that, thinking all the while, “Why should I change? I’ve been fine with this way of seeing all
along! I’m comfortable.” Even though I’m not. </div>
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I have to intentionally take the contacts
I’ve worn for a month out of my eyes, walk to the small waste basket in my
bathroom, and throw them out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have to surrender seeing things my way, the old way,
through my tired lenses. And surrender is intentional. I have to CHOOSE to take on God’s lens through which to view others,
view hard situations, view His people, view circumstances. I must deliberately throw those “lenses” in
the trash. And leave them there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I would NEVER pull old contacts out of the trash and put
them back into my eyes just because I was more accustomed to them. I don’t even want to think about
the infection that would cause. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Neither should I retrieve my old way of seeing someone or
something, the way without God’s influence and grace, and put it back into my
life, back to the familiar. Think about how that would be toxic, damaging to my heart and my
relationships. Detrimental to my growth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But isn’t that easier said than done? I know I have often drifted
back into old habits, old ways of seeing the world, even though the new ways
were better. It takes deliberate choice
to change, and it takes deliberate choice to NOT return to the old way of
seeing things. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Seeing through a new lens isn’t just intentional surrender,
it’s ongoing surrender.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fresh eyes. And a
renewed heart. Thank God for contact
lenses that help me see. And thank God
for His lenses that help me see His way..<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-60183275800635113282016-03-19T15:53:00.000-07:002016-03-19T15:53:20.611-07:00Focus: Choosing where to Gaze<div class="MsoNormal">
I recently heard a Christian speaker and writer, Karen Ehman,
say that you can choose where you glance and where you gaze. This really resonated with me, this
description of choosing your focus in life. So let me share a story.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I used to hike. A
lot. My husband and I went on some grand
and somewhat hard-core adventures a few years back. We enjoyed many beautiful high-altitude day
hikes/climbs together in Desolation Wilderness near Lake Tahoe and in Yosemite,
eventually ascending the top of Half Dome.
Yep. I did that. Wasn’t my natural habitat, but it was
glorious to be out in nature and doing something out of my comfort zone with my
beloved. <o:p></o:p></div>
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However, I as recently recalled, when I first started doing
some of these more challenging hikes, my tendency was to keep my eyes glued to
the trail. The rocky, unpredictable,
steeply ascending path was fraught with potential rolled ankles and falls (in
my then-inexperienced hiker brain), so I would spend literally hours looking
down. Making sure I was stepping where I
needed to, fueled by fear of a misstep or of hurting myself in some way or hurtling off a cliff. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In all of these excursions I followed my more-experienced hiker/Eagle
Scout husband and watched where he was stepping, doing my best to do what he
was doing. All the while asking myself
why was this something people did with their time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On one of many quick breathers/water breaks on one particularly
hot California-in-July afternoon, I took a moment to look up. And I was amazed. The scenery around me was truly breathtaking. Soaring pine trees, sheer granite, brilliant sunshine
in lacy patterns filtered through tree branches. None of which I had seen while staring
intently at dirt and rocks. <o:p></o:p></div>
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All day I had I followed my guide, but didn’t see the beauty
around me. I labored along, without the
joy of the journey. I chose to gaze
where I should have glanced. I don’t mean I should NEVER look at where I’m
putting my feet, that would be dangerous and foolhardy, but neither should I do
that exclusively and miss all the grandeur of my surroundings. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Glance at the dirt, gaze at the majesty of God’s creation:
the lesson allowed me to truly LOVE hiking.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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But isn’t it easy to do that in life? We slog through our days, doing our best to
follow Jesus, but our gaze is fixed on the ground, on the hard things in life, rather
than the beautiful things with which God surrounds us. But we have a choice. We just have to choose to look up. And be amazed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even on the rockiest path, there is beauty and blessing to
be found. Glance at the hard things, as we have to keep
moving on, and gaze at the splendor God is putting in your life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes, though, we don’t feel like we have a choice, that
we are forced into our focus. My sweet
87-year-old mom shared an experience with me recently. She described a very elderly woman who came
into a restaurant with a couple of her friends helping her. She said this poor woman’s spine was so bent
that her shoulders and head were practically a right angle from her torso,
forcing her to look at the floor at all times.
The woman was not able to raise her head to look around her, and had to
rely on her friends to get her to the table.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you ever felt stuck in your focus, unable to see anything
but the dirt, the hard things in life? Let me tell you, I have felt EXACTLY that way. The woman in the restaurant physically had no choice but to
gaze at her feet, at the ground, but sometimes I can feel so trapped in the
overwhelming nature of the tough things of life, of my disappointment, of my
pain, of my sadness, that I feel unable to look up, without a choice of where
to focus, as though I can’t even begin to glance and see the good. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Psalm 121: 1-2 says “I lift up my eyes to the hills- where
does my help come from? My help comes
from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”
<o:p></o:p></div>
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When you are oh-so-stuck, can’t seem to get your eyes off
the dirt and rocks, don’t miss it. Don’t
miss the opportunity for the Maker of heaven and earth to show you more. There is so much more that He has for you
than the path, rocky as it is. He is
your help. He surrounds us with beauty
in the pain, we just have to look up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lift up your eyes; don’t give up. Choose, as Karen Ehman writes, where to
glance and where to gaze. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-37571825237046058862016-02-29T10:36:00.000-08:002016-02-29T10:36:17.927-08:00Take the Leap, a February 29 challenge<div class="MsoNormal">
Waking up predawn today I found a train of thought lurching
around my brain that I knew I’d have to let out today. So here goes.
Leap year has always fascinated me on a couple of fronts. First, it extended my birthday month by a
whole day, so as a kid I thought that was cool.
Second, I felt so sorry for people
who were born on February 29, because they only got to have a birthday once
every four years and couldn’t grow up very fast.
Until I met someone who was born on February 29 who patiently explained
the got a year older EVERY year, had a birthday party EVERY year, and usually had
an extra special celebration on leap years.
Again, I was a kid. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And I digress, this isn’t the topic of my blog or my insistent
train of thought that pulled me out of sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have passed much of my adult life wishing I had more time,
thinking that if only I had more hours in the day I would…you fill in in the blank. I am certain, in the busy times that envelop
us all, that most of those who are good enough to read my words experience the
same thoughts. So I ask myself (and
you), what would you do with an extra day, with one day more, with a bonus 24
hours, with a true extra Leap Year Day? Imagine
you had 24 hours with no one else’s expectations, schedules, or any
responsibilities. What would you do?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Would you rest your body, mind, and soul, and pamper
yourself, weary from life and all its demands?
Would you work on something that is your heart’s passion, losing all track
of time because you are fully immersed in what gives your soul joy? Would you spend every moment with someone
dear to you, in conversation or just companionship, having that time to simply
be with them that you never get because of life’s crazy pace? Would you lose yourself in a great book? Would you organize every space and thing in
your home, clean out the old to prepare for a fresh start? These are some of the things that came to my
mind. If I had 24 hours I would…<o:p></o:p></div>
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But you <i>have</i> 24
hours. Every day. Granted, it’s NOT free of commitments, work,
and demands, but you get the same allotment every day. So I challenge myself here, what am I
spending my precious days on, this time I will never get back? If I would do XYZ with 24 free hours, why
aren’t I spending my days (and therefore my life) doing it right now? If a relationship is important, I need to
make it a priority, even if it just means shooting a quick text or email to the
person I love. If my heart’s passion is
important, why don’t I carve out time to sit and write every day? If caring for my body is important, why
wouldn’t I do that in order to continue to make the most of my health? If growing in my relationship with God is
important to me, why wouldn’t I set aside even some small time every day to sit
with Him and be quiet? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Simple answer: the tyranny of the urgent often trumps the
truly important in our lives. I’m as guilty
as anyone else of this. This condition of
being bossed around by the urgent things in life conspires with the
trivialities that can crowd every open second, the sheer noise of technology
that permeates our society and every inch of our homes (mine included). And so our days are not spent as we want our
lives to be spent. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A movie scene shimmers in the back of my mind as I ruminate
on these things. Robin Williams leaning
into a group of fresh faced 1950’s prep school boys looking at pictures of the
past, whispering “Carpe diem! Seize the
day, boys!” This still gives me
chills. He's urging his young students to realize that today is the only guarantee we
have, truly, and this sentiment, this Carpe Diem clarion, resonated deeply with
my college student heart when I first saw the film in theaters. (Disclaimer: if you have negative opinions of
Dead Poet’s Society, you are free as an American citizen to have them, but
please don’t share them with me as that’s what inspired me to be an
English teacher. Please and thank you). Williams’
character, Mr. Keating, urged his students to truly live life to the fullest, referencing
one of my favorite quotes from Walden by Henry David Thoreau:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“I
went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep
and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and
not when I had come to die Discover that I had not lived.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Focusing on the important over the urgent is hard. Really hard.
Urgent is loud and shiny and often necessary, but it shouldn’t
completely rule our lives. If I let days, weeks, years slip by, what will I regret? What will I feel as though I missed? I am determined not to live a life of regret and am working hard to focus on what I can do, small steps every day, to use my 24 hours fully, to NOT get to death only to discover I haven’t lived. If we want to
live deeply, as we would in that “extra day” promise of leap year, we must choose
to do so in the here and now. It is
intentional and daily, this choice. I’m
getting better at some of these things. Do I still watch reruns of The
Good Wife while knitting on the couch? Yep. Is that "sucking the marrow out of life?" Nope. But I am getting better at choosing, “putting to rout
all that is not life,” filling this limited precious time, this 24 hours I get
every day with the things that matter most. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I invite you to join me in Taking the Leap, in choosing the
journey to seizing the day, and intentionally living to the full.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“How
we spend our days, of course, is how we spend our lives,” -Annie Dillard<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Teach us to realize the brevity of life that we may gain a
heart of wisdom.” Psalm 90:12, NLT<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-66713433102493554952016-02-15T11:11:00.000-08:002016-02-15T11:11:40.965-08:00My Spot<div class="MsoNormal">
Here it is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bz0lMBIJyzRxjCx9KumoXO9fFAOuZqhq06LeqE22UO0jrh1xjOuBehA_6mlQw95wQyH9ne7VW1BOm067yc38fzgEfET6UTIS_rD2T-VMCEq-gm_4CTpsOvSR2jW-Akuyh0AJZGghOWA/s1600/2016-02-15+10.52.37.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bz0lMBIJyzRxjCx9KumoXO9fFAOuZqhq06LeqE22UO0jrh1xjOuBehA_6mlQw95wQyH9ne7VW1BOm067yc38fzgEfET6UTIS_rD2T-VMCEq-gm_4CTpsOvSR2jW-Akuyh0AJZGghOWA/s320/2016-02-15+10.52.37.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is where the bulk of the past 9 ½ months of my life
have been spent. Not a bad place at
all. There has typically been a water or
tea cup on the shelf next to me, my iPad and phone close at hand, occasionally
my laptop. Since August I’ve almost
always had knitting in my hands or at least within easy reach (there's my knitting bag, right at the foot of the couch, and the blanket on the couch is my handiwork). And yes, it reclines. There are remotes for the home theater (which
this lovely red lap of luxury faces) next to me, and I’ve enjoyed lots of
Netflix. And Jane Austen movies. And naps during both. It’s darkish (blackout curtains since it’s
the home theater zone), cocoon-like and cozy.
A wonderful place for my “hibernation” as I’ve come to think of it. I’ve guarded my spot with a Sheldon
Cooper-like ferocity, as this was one of the places in my home where I felt
most comfortable. Truly my comfort zone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But things are shifting.
I am so grateful to see improvement in my energy and pain levels as a
result of my complete diet overhaul and the pounds of supplements my specialist
has me taking, and I now begin to realize my spot no longer suits me. It wouldn’t be best to stay in this spot,
this comfort zone. I am ready to move
on; my spot on the couch seems counterproductive in my recovery.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spurring me on is my current Online Bible Study, which gave me some
interesting insight. Lysa TerKeurst (my
writer girl crush, you need to read her if you don’t already) writes about how
the fields of everyday life provide the perfect preparation for God to have me
perfectly positioned within his will.
She uses the example of David being anointed king (no, that’s not my
plan for the next gig, thank you very much) but then returning to the fields of
a shepherd’s life, not moving immediately into the palace. The time in the fields were the perfect
preparation for David to meet and defeat Goliath, building his physical strength (he killed a lion AND a bear) and his reliance and communion with God. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So. As I was reading
this I began to recall all the eclectic array of daily life training grounds
God has used to prepare me, perfectly and very uniquely, for each role to which
He has led me. Every change was a radical,
jolting-me-out-of-my-spot, very unplanned (by me), tire-squealing left turn. I truly didn’t know what was coming but could
feel a restlessness in my soul each
time, and then God revealed the left turn, which always happened to be nowhere
near my comfort zone. Women’s ministry,
substitute teaching, full time teaching, the finance industry. And then my current situation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What an odd place of quite these months have been after the
left turn of chronic illness that came without the previously mentioned restlessness
and completely without warning. And being still was all I COULD be for so
long. But now, as I am praising God for
my slow but steady recovery, my mind is clear enough to wonder what is
next. I am actually feeling like I can
DO something and I want to think through and plan and prepare and…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I am reminded that my everyday life was the preparation
ground for all the left turn life changes that came before. Not the things I decided to do, but the ways
God honed my gifts for the upcoming left turn that He was aware of, were what positioned
me perfectly for what He had next. All I needed to do was show
up and obey. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I will stay in the stillness of preparation. And I have a new spot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoHBu1818rNHURwWkPy477uaw2J92s4nuleMSf9pfU7hHdXkjFUn-qxK2caER3zFe7fDsRzP9m7SmoikKWZASq3E4EyeyXL65P4lsw4G3tSaC-qjJd_Sg0q6hOiUGlqiSuevOhENLTGI/s1600/2016-02-15+10.50.53.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcazhnoyw8n4pqcGNM70sTuIHFRhhNYBHFSZkotMEuFgul3mBUgLVnP_Mr_dc6sOGyQBz5aTaRLOIC_r3yckAO-pZ9czv6O3_7xUiDKRVfRD3fFcrFfTzPDPXOEXGUrZE7RsnWdLIM88/s1600/2016-02-15+10.50.14.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcazhnoyw8n4pqcGNM70sTuIHFRhhNYBHFSZkotMEuFgul3mBUgLVnP_Mr_dc6sOGyQBz5aTaRLOIC_r3yckAO-pZ9czv6O3_7xUiDKRVfRD3fFcrFfTzPDPXOEXGUrZE7RsnWdLIM88/s320/2016-02-15+10.50.14.jpg" width="180" /></a><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoHBu1818rNHURwWkPy477uaw2J92s4nuleMSf9pfU7hHdXkjFUn-qxK2caER3zFe7fDsRzP9m7SmoikKWZASq3E4EyeyXL65P4lsw4G3tSaC-qjJd_Sg0q6hOiUGlqiSuevOhENLTGI/s320/2016-02-15+10.50.53.jpg" width="320" /></o:p></div>
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</div>
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</div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My new spot is sun washed, light-drenched, rather than a
cozy dark cocoon, and has me upright rather than reclined. It is not a place of hibernation, but of waking up, facing the sun. It has me thinking and using the stillness to
pour out of myself. I still need to go
back to the couch some days (slow recovery, keep in mind), but more often than not I can be found upstairs in
my pretty home office corner of our bedroom, looking out on the backyard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t feel the crush of restlessness as I did in the
past. I do feel a pull to write, to
meditate on His word, to heal my body, to listen, and to bless my family. This is preparation, too, I’m confident, for
His divine Purpose, for the next left turn. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-86770317231462130672016-02-10T16:58:00.000-08:002016-02-10T16:58:30.780-08:00Art Imitates Life<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the perks of my current chronic-illness life is tied
closely to my lack of schedule. This has enabled me to tag along on several
occasions with my awesome husband when he travels for business. Which is what brought me to Seattle in
January, not a typical time for tourists to flock to the Emerald City. However, I loved every minute. I was enjoying my second day of moderate
sight-seeing (Uber saves my life, seriously) with a turn through the Chihuly
Glass Museum, which features the most remarkable, enormous sculptures and
installations, created by the native Northwestern artist, Dale Chihuly, all
from blown glass. I had wandered through
many of the rooms filled with these exquisite creations, ready for some time
off of my feet, when I happened upon this astonishing place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_d7ZffSPcPRFO2QXJBW0pG76xqL1R3iIruKNDpvSyeyqEAFVgIsRNnkYRubAsUubgofqFALEhjgh0osQNEz0m2WsMxwk64qoMW6adqdMmlKmmr9X8jYLY2aoXEC7hhU86M1la3iVw5Q/s1600/2016-01-27+12.29.53.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_d7ZffSPcPRFO2QXJBW0pG76xqL1R3iIruKNDpvSyeyqEAFVgIsRNnkYRubAsUubgofqFALEhjgh0osQNEz0m2WsMxwk64qoMW6adqdMmlKmmr9X8jYLY2aoXEC7hhU86M1la3iVw5Q/s320/2016-01-27+12.29.53.jpg" width="180" /></a> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat in this beautiful glass house, custom made to showcase
this incredible art installation. I
stopped to sit, taking time to drink this in (let’s be honest, I was tired, really needed to sit down, and
needed to charge my phone almost as much as I wanted to enjoy the art),
sheltered from a chilly Seattle afternoon, grey-skied and wintry. As I gazed up at this 100-foot-long, 25-foot-high
installation, I marveled at the size, but as I looked longer, looked closer, I
began to notice the individual intricacy of each and every piece. No two (of hundreds!) were exactly the same-
different shapes, patterns, colors, gradations of clear and opaque- but the
effect was stunning, harmonious. Each
piece was created to fit perfectly in its place and seamlessly complement the
pieces around it. Hand crafted and
curated, crimson, marigold, tangerine, lovingly placed by the designer and
creator. Again, stunning. Each shape and arc was unique, they bent and
curved in their own way, not detracting from the beauty of their neighboring
pieces, not minimizing, but enhancing. They
didn’t compete to be the center of attention, but in concert together each played an
incredible role; the impact of the piece would be diminished with the lack of
one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then. A bolt of pure
sunlight pierced the January clouds and shone through these glass pieces,
setting them ablaze and they were transformed.
And my breath taken. Liquid
illumination infused the sculpture and it became even more, so much more, than
it was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We, my sweet friends who are good enough to read my
ramblings, are these pieces of art.
Uniquely and intentionally formed, without duplication, precisely
situated to serve a specific purpose, fill a hand-selected role.
Perfectly placed to enhance and magnify those around us and the One who
formed and placed us. Not to detract, not
to compete, not to be the individual center, but gloriously beautiful on our
own because of the care taken to individually craft us all with our own bent,
our own color, our own gradations. The
whole suffers when one is not there; we are only called to be the unique, crazy-amazing piece we are without responsibility for the placement and beauty
of the other pieces. And we are all transformed
when filled with the light of our Creator, making more from what was already
there. You are a masterpiece ready to be
filled with light. Be the beauty you were placed there to be, individually and as part of your whole. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clouds covered the sun, and the Seattle sky washed
over again steel grey. I smile still at
the memory of glass aglow.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-23203293542359600692016-01-20T09:31:00.000-08:002016-01-20T09:31:03.315-08:00Control<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a girl who likes to steer the ship. I like to have some say (okay a LOT of say)
in what’s going on and I like to day-planner/project manage/to-do list/timeline
my way through things. So 2015 was a bit
of an upending of every part of my nature.
I have learned, in no uncertain terms, that <u>I am not in control</u>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My ship hit an enormous “perfect storm” this year,
highlighting on every front how much I am not in control. My chronic illness was beyond my control,
unwilling to cooperate with my plans, timeline or agenda. My dad’s health (and eventual passing) was
out of my control, people’s behavior, choices, and decisions about their future
were out of my control, the necessity of stepping away from a job I loved was
out of my control. Not okay with
me. But as I’ve gained some perspective
that can only come with a bit of time and a lot of reflection and prayer, it's
okay that I’m not in control. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still have that primal urge to grab the steering wheel
back and try to determine direction, but I’m learning. My best ideas aren’t nearly as good as His
perfect ones. This nearly puts me into a
panic at times, worrying about the outcome of some of these things, but I have learned
in multiple devotions I’ve encountered just since the beginning of this year (it
takes me a while to catch on, so God has to keep pounding the message home for
me) that it is on me to be obedient, and the outcome is up to God. Again, his plans and timing are so much
better than mine. I’m not called to
understand the “why” of each move, I am called upon to honor Him in the midst. And sail on with a surrendered and grateful
heart. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2015 was a storm for me, to say the least, a storm that
frequently wrenched control of my ship from my hands, leaving me to feel
rudderless and battered. But I’m
reminded of the chorus of a worship song from probably 15 years ago and am so grateful for the anchor that holds me solidly safe in the midst of the storm:<o:p></o:p></div>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: proxnov-reg; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: proxnov-reg; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes He holds us close<br />
And lets the wind and waves go wild<br />
Sometimes He calms the storm<br />
And other times He calms His child</span>Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-42654713632998381652016-01-04T15:46:00.000-08:002016-01-04T15:46:37.754-08:00Hospitals and Rainbows<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, how one phone call can change everything. We were up in the Tahoe/Carson City area,
just our family of four, enjoying some time away after our college student and
high school student finished finals and my dad was home from skilled nursing as
he was recovering from a broken hip. The
weather was snowy and beautiful, we were loving our time together in one of our
favorite places, and had enjoyed a wonderful dinner the night before with one
of our most favorite people. I slept in
for the first time in months. Then I
looked at my cell phone upon waking.
Three missed calls from my Texan brother who had arrived at my parents’
house for Christmastime just 36 hours before.
I felt my stomach drop. I called
back. I could hear it in his voice
before he said anything concrete. We had
to come and come now. Dad was in an
ambulance on the way to the hospital. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were four hours away by car in the best of weather. It was December and anything but the best of
weather and road conditions. We woke the
kids and pulled out of the hotel we were planning to make our home for the next
day and a half. As we drove, I kept
trying to talk myself into being ok. I
had passed many, many hours in hospitals with my dad these past few months, but
every time, against the odds, he rallied and went home sooner than expected. He would rally again, right? I looked toward the mountains on our left and
saw an amazing rainbow. Nice, I thought. Not something I see every day, but I could
hear the edge of a whisper to my anxious heart: “I’m here, I’m faithful, and I’ve
got this.” Good reminder, but quickly forgotten
in my distraction and fear. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We kept driving and I kept trying not to think too
much. We labored through snow and rain
over the I-80 pass and started back down through the mountains, toward the
hospital where my parents and now all of my siblings were keeping watch
together. I was kept up to date through
texts and calls from my sister in law.
It didn’t look good. One last
ditch effort treatment, she said. That set
my mind spinning, pulling me into the space I was not prepared to go. No. Not how this was supposed to be…and then Grace
said, “Hey, look!” I turned in the
direction she was pointing and saw it:
piercing through clouds in an unlikely patch of rain streaked sunlight
was a full double rainbow. Really? Twice in one day? He
reminded my heart again, a little louder, “I’m here, I’m faithful, and I’ve got
this.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With my husband’s efforts to drive as quickly and safely as
possible getting us closer and closer to the hospital where my dad was fighting
for his life, I prayed that I wouldn’t get anymore texts or calls until we were
there. And then. “The treatment didn’t work. He’s not going to make it” showed up on my
phone. And all the oxygen left the
car. I looked up again, not knowing what
to say. And again He spoke. Another full double rainbow outside my
window. “I’m here, I’m faithful, and I’ve
got this.” I knew then (because the
other two times weren’t quite enough for me) that “I’ve got this” might not
look like I wanted it to, but it would ultimately be ok. Truly.
Just because it wasn’t the outcome I wanted, with my Dad once again
rallying and coming home in time for Christmas, didn’t mean God didn’t have
this in His hands. Because He has
me. And He has my family. And He has my dad. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About 45 minutes away from the hospital I got the message “He’s
gone.” My heart broke. There were no
words. But as we walked into that ER
private room where all my family surrounded the physical form that carried my
dad for 88 years, I could still hear the whisper in my heart: “I’m here. I’m faithful.
I’ve got him.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the nearly two weeks since this happened we have mourned, cried, and buried my Dad. We have grieved together and experienced the kindness and sympathy of so many around us. And through all this I have held close to my heart these words:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Psalm 34:18</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know He will be present, faithful, and hold us close as we walk into these next days and years. It doesn't always look the way I think it should, but as long as He is close by, I will walk in confidence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-68604981876183501642015-10-24T15:32:00.004-07:002015-10-24T15:32:39.629-07:00Unraveled, or A 6 Month Reflection<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"> </span>It’s been a few weeks since I posted. Actually several weeks. This is solely (or almost solely) due to the
new hobby/obsession imparted upon me by my sweet cousin, Sherie Wells. She taught me how to knit. She and her mom/my cousin Norma came down one
sunny day and sat with me at my kitchen table, chatting and showing me the
basics. After that very enjoyable visit,
I couldn’t stop. This fills so many
needs for me, I can’t even begin to tell you. With such a prodigious list of "can'ts" in my life, I can knit on even my worst days. I
can lean back in my recliner/couch with Downton Abbey to keep me company and work
through something exceedingly simple, then see a finished product. On a “better” day I can create a more complex project and in the end I have a gift to hand to a loved one. I can actually accomplish something. Who knew?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Well, let me back up. My first project wasn’t just whipped out in
an afternoon. It took me 2 days. To knit a wash cloth. Seriously. I kept making a mistake, dropping a stitch,
leaving a hole, or losing where I was, so I would pull the WHOLE THING out,
completely unravel, and start all over again.
I had to go back and watch YouTube videos to remind me of what to
do. I had to learn how to finish the
project off from a YouTube video. And still
it wasn’t at all pretty. But I made it
through and learned a lot. Here’s a
picture. Thanks in advance for NOT judging me...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSXqoMsmLPuUucsvgWiT9wfjMiwpkuYgRy-UjC_wVvB2Lg_n89qzz6YvSphrCtDMavnJ9VgfziXSMSXpCoBTOj55XSurhsNQ8YNi9mv8xb7ZfA4aB7iObQMRf37SImIkan1vhy4xrnJo/s1600/2015-08-26+21.47.09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSXqoMsmLPuUucsvgWiT9wfjMiwpkuYgRy-UjC_wVvB2Lg_n89qzz6YvSphrCtDMavnJ9VgfziXSMSXpCoBTOj55XSurhsNQ8YNi9mv8xb7ZfA4aB7iObQMRf37SImIkan1vhy4xrnJo/s320/2015-08-26+21.47.09.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It’s misshapen and full of holes, but I do actually use it. When I finished I thought of scrapping it or unraveling it again, but wanted to keep it as a reminder of where I started. And I smile as I use it to wipe down my kitchen counters. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis">This whole experience of learning to knit is so representative of the past six months, six months in which my life has changed so very profoundly. Six months ago today was the last day I worked in my lovely office at Wells Fargo. I left that Friday afternoon not feeling well, but had no idea that day would be my last in my job that I loved ever so much. In the intervening months I have tried to do life in so many ways, all of which had to be ripped out and restarted. I tried to fit my self-decided recovery timeline into my life. Unravel, start over. I tried to decide ahead of time what my diagnosis and treatment would be. Unravel, back to the drawing board. I tried to schedule and control things. Unravel, begin again. I tried to make things in my world look like they did before. Unravel, take three. I tried to find any remedy to make myself feel like I used to. Unravel, start again. I tried to push myself physically like I used to, in hope that it would fix me. Unravel, rest for two weeks, reboot. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis">Six months later I look back on a hole-filled, misshapen new life, those flaws marking the days I struggled the most, deepest disappointments, days of grief, days of frustration with debilitating limitations, pushing back so hard and wanting things to be like they were, countless tears spilling over during the unraveling, mourning my losses, setting aside my pride in so many ways. Looking back there has been a lot of “not pretty,” but I have learned so much. Here at the end of it I am content. I have found joy and peace in this new pace, this new phase. It’s not what I would have chosen, but the blessings are great</span>. I am learning much in my slowed-down life. Years and years have seen me on someone else’s time frame, able to push through and do whatever is necessary. But I am learning that life’s rhythm can have a very different time frame. I am learning to listen to my body, to my energy level, to what I truly can and can’t do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Do I feel any better? Physically, no. But in my heart and my head, definitely. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis">Will I have to unravel and start again? Absolutely. But I will continue to learn every time I do.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
As I knit projects for people, I pray over them. As I watch God knit this new life, this new pace, this new way together for me, I sit in gratitude, trusting His pattern is better than any other.</div>
<br />Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-33905277578024193202015-09-14T06:32:00.000-07:002015-09-14T06:32:27.488-07:00My Father's EyesI ran across this early this morning, looking at computer files from two plus years ago. I'd written this as part of a process I was going through in leaving one phase of life and moving on to the next (from teaching to the business world) and had completely forgotten it existed. I find it equally applicable in my radically altered life today, so I thought I'd share.<br />
<br />
My Father's Eyes<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see chaos<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees surrender<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see pain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees purpose<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see my limitations<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees my potential<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see failure<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees His redeemed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see my impatience<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees my passion<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see a trainwreck<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees a teachable heart<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see my fall <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees my progress<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see my sinfulness<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees the blood of His son<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see the long road ahead<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees His steps next to mine<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see my battle, my struggle, my fight <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Against the
same sins and pain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wondering
if I can persevere<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees a butterfly in her cocoon<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Struggling
to break free<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Knowing
that it is the struggle that will create patterns<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of beauty
and color on the fragile gossamer<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wings that
bear me up<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see broken<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sees His<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-40463253265679903722015-09-03T15:05:00.000-07:002015-09-03T15:05:48.546-07:00Identification, please…<div class="MsoNormal">
I am staring down the barrel of my and my husband’s 30<sup> </sup>year
high school class reunion. In my experience, reunions,
while very fun, are fraught with myriad pressures. Some are admittedly superficial in nature: What will I find to wear that strikes the right balance between classy, cool, and not trying too hard? Can I lose 20
lbs. before then? Do I look that old,
really? Am I as cute as those “popular”
girls are now? And some are slightly less superficial: What do I even say when
people ask what I DO? Since I’ve been
home with my illness, my kids' response when asked what I do has been something like this: “Well, she
watches a lot of Netflix, she knits, and she cooks.” Doesn’t sound so very prestigious or impressive when you
frame it in those words, does it? Not
that it’s entirely inaccurate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a strange thing, taking time to consider one’s identity
at this age. I’ve identified myself in
many different ways during the course of my life: Ken & Bonnie’s daughter, student,
Tim's/Ken's/Rickey’s little sister, James’ wife, musician, weight loss counselor,
marketing director, stay at home mom, women’s ministry director, freelance interior designer, teacher, student
council advisor, executive assistant.
Lots of identities. Isn’t it
interesting, though, that so many of the ways I’ve identified myself (and, I
suspect, others identify themselves) are based on what one does, one’s
vocation, or what fills one’s time. Is
that really who we ARE? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this peculiar time of my life there’s not that much doing
in my world. Yes, I’m still a mom and I
stay at home. However my kids are 20 and
17 ½, so being a stay at home mom carries a bit of a different vibe than 15
years ago. Or even 10 years ago. As with many other parts of my life, this
radical change in lifestyle because of my illness has changed the way I see
myself. I DON’T want to be identified
based on my illness, although it is part of me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I am now finding my identity more and more in my relationships, who I AM, whose I am,
rather than in what I do. Being over doing. Character over activity. Based on that view, I am finding a new way to identify myself. I am a forgiven and blessed child
of God. I am a wife to a wonderful man,
one with whom I share an amazing love and this incredible adventure called
married life. I am a mom to two kids I
adore, people I would love even if they weren’t mine. I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a cousin,
blessed with incredible people who walk with me through all the beautiful and
difficult things. I am one who is ready
to listen and to laugh. I am one who
finds the humor in hard things and tries to extend grace. I am a student of life and a reader of books. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still don’t know what I’ll say at the reunion when asked
what I do, but I think I won’t care as much about that as I once would
have. Maybe, instead, I think I 'll smile, remember who I AM and whose I am, and turn the conversation to ask what THEY do. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-27980147276577843242015-08-22T11:33:00.000-07:002015-08-22T11:33:22.255-07:00Managed Healthcare: My Love/Hate RelationshipWarning: Semi-rant ahead.<br />
<br />
One of the things I really desired as I walked and blogged my way through this whole experience is to be authentic and to share what I'm learning, the good, the bad, and the ugly. So today I'm adding a bit to that transparency journey and sharing some of the practical rather than emotional parts of my walk. A bit of the ugly. <br />
<br />
I have been blessed with good health most of my adult life and have not had to deal with navigating the labyrinthine chaos that is the medical referral system until now. I am grateful that we have good insurance, which, overall, has served us well. However, give them something that is slightly outside the box and they don't know what to do. <br />
<br />
Just to update any of you who haven't heard the latest: symptoms and test results (lack of positives) have all led to a diagnosis of what has been called chronic fatigue syndrome in the past, but is more accurately known now as Systemic Exertion Intolerance Disease (SEID). See graphic and link below for further info.<br />
<br />
Here begins my rant: It frustrates me that I am more knowledgeable (JUST based on internet research) about my condition than my experienced and educated primary care physician, who "can't do anything else for me." It frustrates me that no one specialty claims/treats/works with SEID. Diagnosis and "treatment" are often shunted over to Rheumatology, since SEID bears some similarities to fibromyalgia, which is treated under that umbrella. It frustrates me further that my the rheumatology department of my medical group won't take a referral concerning SEID. The referral department told me that if I come up with a doctor I want to see, just let them know and they'll give me the referral, but they don't know what direction to point me. The two SEID specialists in the area that I've been able to track down on my own are outside my medical group and won't accept me since they aren't part of my group. Seriously? Am I the only person in the greater Sacramento region within our medical group (one of the "big ones" in the area) who has had this disease? They've never come up against this before? It frustrates me a GREAT DEAL that there is no advocacy within our medical group for this condition (if I'm wrong about this, please let me know) and that the one with the illness is now responsible for trying to run down a doctor who will listen. <br />
<br />
And yes, we are considering/working on changing medical groups at this point. Thankfully our insurance will allow that, however, we aren't guaranteed that the grass will be any greener on the other side of the managed care fence.<br />
<br />
I know others who have dealt with this whole pantheon of medical frustration and I salute them. I further know this is just another step in my journey.<br />
<br />
I am reading up on my condition and am learning to work toward being the healthiest version of myself I can given my condition. <br />
<br />
I am blessed to have people in my life who are offering alternative solutions. I recently overhauled my eating habits (Whole30/paleo) at the encouragement of one of my dearest friends who was changing her own eating habits. I was gifted by my sweet cousin with a box of essential oils that I am trying as treatment for my symptoms, and have already seen some progress with pain management. <br />
<br />
I am doing some yoga (short duration is all I can do) and taking vitamin supplements.<br />
<br />
I am, most importantly, using the time I have with my drastically altered lifestyle to enjoy and appreciate my family and friends and reconnect with many of the things that are most important to me: time with God, creativity, reading, writing, occasional craftiness, and stillness.<br />
<br />
For further info about CFS/SEID, check out this article (you have to scroll down a bit, past all the links):<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.medicinenet.com/chronic_fatigue_syndrome/article.htm">http://www.medicinenet.com/chronic_fatigue_syndrome/article.htm</a><br />
<br />
<a data-cthref="http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAcQjRxqFQoTCLHE1eKmvccCFYs0iAod9c0G-A&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.cbc.ca%2Fm%2Ftouch%2Fcanada%2Fmanitoba%2Fstory%2F1.2966039&ei=KL3YVbGQJ4vpoAT1m5vADw&psig=AFQjCNF3tjVyqDDVlVAPQB83w7klLeoM5Q&ust=1440353938551610" data-ved="0CAcQjRxqFQoTCLHE1eKmvccCFYs0iAod9c0G-A" href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAcQjRxqFQoTCLHE1eKmvccCFYs0iAod9c0G-A&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.cbc.ca%2Fm%2Ftouch%2Fcanada%2Fmanitoba%2Fstory%2F1.2966039&ei=KL3YVbGQJ4vpoAT1m5vADw&psig=AFQjCNF3tjVyqDDVlVAPQB83w7klLeoM5Q&ust=1440353938551610" id="irc_mil" jsaction="mousedown:irc.rl;keydown:irc.rlk;irc.il;" style="border-image: none; border: 0px currentColor;"><img height="393" id="irc_mi" src="http://cdn.thinglink.me/api/image/625701296086712322/1024/10/scaletowidth" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="314" /></a>Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-59583690723270805862015-08-08T21:05:00.000-07:002015-08-08T21:05:53.387-07:00Planner<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s what I am. A
planner. I like to lay things out, set
my goals, make a plan, execute, and succeed.
This is how I roll. I’ve been
like this my whole life. I am a girl who
is giddy at the sight of a new day planner or calendar at the beginning of a
new year. A blank canvas, waiting to be
filled. This is not to say I can’t roll
with the punches, get creative, and adjust with circumstances, those left turns
that life throws at me. Not at all, I
can TOTALLY do that. But I always have
an end result I’m shooting for and a sense of control over the process and
(sometimes) outcome. Or so I thought. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my years of teaching, this was the time of year to lay
out a year-long plan, a glorious frenzy, setting up classrooms, getting my
world organized, laying out plans for my next newly improved
unit/technique/ideas (many fueled by my awesome department head/friend/partner
in crime Ric Reyes). I was buying
supplies, making my surroundings adorable AND efficient. I was so enthralled with my empty lesson
planning book, nothing but potential for creativity there! When I was in my glory as an executive
assistant, I was always planning for something the office/my boss/the region
needed, working on the next steps, the next seasons, planning the next meetings
and events. Loved the whole process and
the satisfaction of seeing my carefully laid and executed plans come to
fruition.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I walked through Target with my soon-to-be-a-high-school-senior
daughter today as she bought school supplies.
Out of the blue I totally choked up.
(Strange how Target is mentioned so often in my blog. I should get a royalty.) Not choked up (like any rational mother) because I was getting school supplies for my
youngest child for the last time in high school, but because it hit me full
force that I wasn’t planning anything myself.
Nothing. How oddly out of
character and unexpectedly disconcerting. It threw into sharp relief how drastically my world has changed since April, when I was a woman with a plan whose plans were suddenly turned upside down. I saw the beautiful classroom supplies I would not need to set up. The adorable office supplies with no office
to go to. The cute day planners (I DO
still use a paper planner, one of the few of my kind) I would not need to
fill. I am without a plan. And I, like so many with chronic conditions,
am learning/struggling to deal with this.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No plan. From the
perspective of one who has walked through some insanely busy seasons of life,
this sounds glorious. And it can
be. And it was. For a week or two. Then I realized this lack-of-plan season wasn’t
going to be short-lived. And I started
to feel a bit adrift. I’m now in this
strange state of limbo; it sometimes feels like I am without a purpose. After all, I can’t DO very much at all these
days. I’m not sure at all what to plan
for. Or if I can actually plan for
anything concrete.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No amount of planning, or much of anything I do, can control
how I will feel when I wake up. If I
overdo one day, yes I do reap those consequences the next day (or two, or
three), however the inverse is not always true.
I can spend a day on the couch “being good” and resting for an
event/errand/plan in the future and STILL feel like I was hit by a Mack truck
the next day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my dear friends, whose sweet daughter has a chronic
condition that limits their activities, gave me great words of wisdom: “We don’t make plans, Kathleen. We have
ideas. And sometimes they work out.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am learning more and more that even when I HAD a plan,
that didn’t/doesn’t mean I have control.
And I have far less control now.
Not easy for the planner in me. I
was very tempted to buy a label maker during this morning’s retail festivities
to start labeling storage areas in my house, file folders, anything that would
stay still long enough to be labeled!
But I actually laughed out loud at myself and put said label maker back
on the shelf. I recognized that was
truly just another bid for controlling SOMETHING in my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No part of where I am with my health and uncertain future
was part of my plan. But who among us
REALLY knows what the future will hold? Who
REALLY has control of their circumstances? We all have ideas, but they don't always work out. I was reminded of this passage as I was thinking about this today: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go
to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why,
you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a
mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. <b><sup> </sup></b>Instead,
you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or
that.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
James 4:13-15<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Setting aside my plans.
I’m getting better at that. Learning
to live in the present with a looser hold on what the future will look like isn’t
a simple thing for a planner like me.
But it is making me more open and more vigilant to see His will, what is needed,
where I’m being led, and what plans really don’t matter very much. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This scripture, while often quoted, rings truer than ever to
me in this season:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord,
“plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a
future.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jeremiah 29:11<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’s got the planning covered. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-34887751625564425222015-08-02T12:57:00.002-07:002015-08-02T12:57:38.396-07:00"But you look great!"<div class="MsoNormal">
Ah, that phrase.
Meant by those who say it to complement.
And taken that way, generally.
But it is a hallmark of an “invisible” illness. I have heard it many times in recent
months. I look perfectly normal, if a
bit tired, my general appearance not revealing how I feel or what’s going on under the
surface with my health and well-being. My
demeanor, unless you know me and observe me for a while, would not show that I
am in pain or dealing with debilitating fatigue that drastically limits my
activities. I’ve had strangers give me a
second, quizzical look when using my seat/cane (now called “Sit-izen Cane” for
those who were wondering) in the middle of Target. The question in their eyes: “She looks fine,
why is she using that?” No scars, no injury,
no hair loss or major medical paraphernalia.
Looking great. Hair and makeup done, dressed cute, even somewhat accessorized. However, what doesn't show is that it took me most of the morning to get that way and this is my one outing of the day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have talked about this recently with several friends who
have similar experiences. My dear friend
and prayer partner for the past 11 years has MS and recently had the worst
flare-up of her adult life (back under control, thank God). So many have told her “But you look great!” throughout the years, not understanding why she couldn’t always do what it
seemed she should be able to do based on her physical appearance and age. Another dear friend’s beautiful pre-teen daughter
struggles with a chronic disease that limits her
activities in ways you can’t imagine.
But she looks great. Two other
life-long friends, now precious online-far-away-friends, have dealt with the same
phrase, the same situation, the same feelings, because of their ongoing “invisible”
health issues. But they look great. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes it’s hard to hear “that phrase.” Those words can carry (though not
intentionally) into the heart of the hearer a question about the validity of their
experience and condition. Can make the
hearer feel as if they aren’t really...understood. Not fully seen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple of weeks ago, as I was pondering this phrase after
spending time with some friends who hadn’t seen me for a few months, another thought came
crashing in on me. That difficult-to-hear,
kindly-meant phrase is true for all of us, not necessarily in the realm of
physical health, but in our hearts, our minds, our souls. Those around me who “look great” may be
carrying burdens I can’t fathom or imagine.
Those who seem from the outside to have it all together may suffer from incredible
pain they never show. Behind their smiles can be a heaviness, a weight in their hearts they’ve dealt with their whole lives that is beyond my
experience or understanding. We are so
accustomed to stopping at the surface, just glossing over the outward appearance
of a situation or a person and making a judgment from that, not taking the time
to look deeper. Like a thunderbolt, the
question: Just as I crave compassion, grace, and understanding for my physical
condition as I am learning to navigate all of this, shouldn’t I extend the same
compassion, grace, and understanding to all of those around me? Shouldn’t my experience make me more
sensitive to the fact that appearances can hide such pain and struggle? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of this is NOT to say I don’t want people to tell me I
look great (who doesn’t need to hear that??).
And it’s NOT to say that I wish to be defined by my health condition, because
I really don’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I DO want is this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pray for God’s eyes to truly see people's hearts, past the “great looking” surface in all of those around me, and to discern the need for my kindness and grace. I pray for a softened and understanding
heart, so I can know where people’s experiences that so differ from mine are affecting
them, and therefore extend compassion where they need it most.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-79150036360978047722015-07-20T10:44:00.001-07:002015-07-20T10:44:21.308-07:00Making Room<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I will meet with my boss, a woman I admire, respect,
and genuinely care about, to surrender a perfect job I was led to, have loved, and been so perfectly
suited for. 12 weeks of medical leave
have come and gone, which boggles my mind a bit. The day I came home on medical leave I
thought I’d be out for a couple of weeks, they’d "fix me," and I’d be back at
work and good as new before I knew it.
Today, however, I have to really let go.
I’m turning in my work iPhone, my access badge, my company credit card,
cleaning out my darling office. My company was only required to hold my position for 12 weeks and it is unfair to ask them to
wait any longer. If I knew an end was in
sight, I would ask them to hold on for a little longer, that I’d be able to
come back after surgery, treatment, etc.
But there’s no surgery, no treatment, and no recovery timeline. Letting go of this is so very hard, and I know I will grieve. Leaving behind so many genuine friends and work that made the best use of my gifts and talents. Feels so final. So now my calendar we be open for what’s next. And God keeps impressing on my heart that He
is “making room.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week I packed up much of my former life. I spent time going through my closet, pulling out things I don’t love, don’t make me feel like a million dollars when I wear them, don’t work with where my life is currently going or (sadly)don’t fit anymore. I had a giant black garbage bag for Goodwill donations and a plastic storage tub for, well, the “clothes on hold.” The tub is now filled with pencil skirts, blazers, dress trousers, blouses, sheath dresses, button up shirts, sleek pointy-toe pumps, and memories. The things I won’t be wearing in this new phase. Wouldn’t make much sense to dress like I’m going to a business meeting to sit on the couch and write my blog. Or to go to the doctor. Or on my outings to Trader Joe’s. My closet is cleaned out of the things that would remind me of where I've been and make me long for that again as I move into the next piece of my story. The plastic bin of lovely workplace fashion will wait in my garage, as I make room for something else. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the other radical left turns my life has taken over the past
several years have always been God leading me to a defined next step, something different that was fairly
clear and tangible. This isn’t. Which is so strange. So I am here at this strange crossroads of
limbo, unsure of what my next phase will be.
As of right now, it could just feel like empty space. I choose not to focus, though, on my lack of a 5 year plan (or one month plan for that matter). I will dwell in the present, ready to listen, to hear, to be still, and I will look ahead to what's next, trusting that whatever He is making room for
will be for my best. I will wait on the Lord’s leading as He makes room. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="text Phil-3-13" id="en-NIV-29435" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;">But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29435D" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29435D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span> and straining toward what is ahead,</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"> </span>I press on<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29436E" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29436E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span> toward the goal to win the prize<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29436F" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29436F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span> for which God has called <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29436G" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29436G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>me heavenward in Christ Jesus.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">-Philippians 3:13b-14</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the
Lord.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Psalm
27:4<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-28345599461713367192015-07-16T08:58:00.000-07:002015-07-16T08:58:36.694-07:00Enough<div class="MsoNormal">
In most of my adult life I’ve been trying to impress
someone. Someone I worked for/with, some
cute boy in high school (who actually did marry me, by the way), teachers/professors, my friends, my frenemies, someone in my church, total strangers, people I didn't even like, extended family, parents, husband,
children, my kids’ friends’ parents, ministry leaders. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I always felt the driving need to prove that I am “something (you
fill in the blank) enough.” Thin
enough. Fashionable enough. Fit
enough. Smart enough. Well-read enough. Home decorated well enough. Home clean enough. Kids well behaved enough. Working hard enough. Doing enough at church. Doing enough in
general. Creative enough. Cool enough.
Pretty enough. Spiritual
enough. Innovative enough. Involved enough. Striving, striving,
striving. So much of how I felt about
myself and my success was tied to someone else’s evaluation (real or imagined)
of how well I’m doing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, in this strange/purifying season in which I currently live,
I find that I am not trying to impress anyone for the first time in my
life. What an odd freedom. I feel as though I am… enough. I can’t DO enough, but the being still that
is hallmark in my life is enough in this season. All the other standards of evaluation fall
away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have set aside so much of my (considerable) pride in this
season, not giving a second thought to using my new handy-dandy folding cane chair (we’ve
come up with several creative names for it, including Cane-ye West, Cane-y
Perry, John McCane, Cane-y Poehler) when needed, or riding in an electric cart
in Target on a particularly bad day, or *gasp* asking for help. Not worried about how anyone else sees me or
judges me. Again, so much freedom. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do I know what the next steps will look like? Nope.
But I have found a place of freedom and contentment in spite of
that. I am enough because what God is
doing in me is enough. Sitting with my
husband at breakfast, chatting and sharing coffee is enough. Quiet
times with my young adult kids just being there (something that is short-lived,
I am painfully aware) is enough. Sweet time with a precious friend is enough. My slow
pace is enough. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being in God’s presence,
not running, not striving, is enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-71809434992381648482015-07-05T17:43:00.000-07:002015-07-05T17:43:26.520-07:00Blessed<div class="MsoNormal">
The past three days have been hard. Very hard.
Feeling particularly bad since last Thursday and disappointed/frustrated
in my lack of improvement. Not my
favorite. But last night one of my
dearest friends and closest confidantes in the wide world, one who sees me,
knows me, and knows my struggle, challenged me to write something every day
about how I am blessed or what I was thankful for. Not easy today, but a much
needed paradigm shift. So here it
goes. One blessing for each of these
very difficult three days and one extra for tomorrow:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ol>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am beyond thankful for my husband of 25 years who
stands with me and supports me through the hardest things.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">He listens to my pain, sits with me when I
cry, and loves me regardless.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">He helps
me wherever he can and encourages me when there are things only I can do.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I honestly don’t know how I would keep going
without him.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Air conditioning.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It’s July in the Sacramento Valley.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Enough said.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Exactly-the-right-level-of-ripe nectarines from
a roadside fruit stand, just a few miles and a few hours removed from the trees
that grew them.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Golden perfect reminder
of teen summers spent working at a nectarine ranch fruit stand.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">People from all phases of my life, near and far,
who have reached out to me to encourage me in this part of my journey, share
their own stories, and give me solutions/thoughts that worked for them.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It means the world that you would take the
time to communicate and let me know you hear me, you see my challenges, and you
care.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
</ol>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The point in all of this is that God is good and faithful no
matter what is hard in my world. To
quote my friend Susie, even on bad days, “There’s a lot of good.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><b><sup><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 107%;">“</span></sup></b></span>We
are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not
in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not
destroyed.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 Corinthians 4:8-9<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-90175215449896786842015-06-26T15:20:00.000-07:002015-06-26T15:20:03.333-07:00Can't<div class="MsoNormal">
My growing list of “can’ts” is disconcerting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t focus on more than one thing at once.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t walk all the way through Ikea.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Or Target. Or the mall.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Or even Trader Joe’s. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t go to a theme park for the day.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t hike. Or sight-see. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Or even snorkel.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t remember what I meant to do/who I meant to call/ what I meant to tell someone.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t garden/do housework/move around much for
more than 15 minutes before I need a nice long rest.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t drive very far without feeling awful.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t work at the job I love.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t stand for more than a minute or two (don’t
know why, but it’s harder than walking). </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Can’t remember words sometimes, heartbreaking
for this girl, one who loves language.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
</ul>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh-so-easy to focus on those things, those “can’ts” that
weigh down like the lead weights I feel like I’m carrying every time I move, the
fatigue that pushes down on me like hyper-exaggerated gravity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again, in my time with Him (a great blessing that is part of
this season of challenges), God realigns my thinking and reminds me of all the
“<u>cans</u>” I should be holding onto. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I </span><u style="text-indent: -0.25in;">can</u><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> be present here and now with my
family and have those “simple” conversations with them that wouldn’t happen if
I was in my “normal” life.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I </span><u style="text-indent: -0.25in;">can</u><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> learn, as the apostle Paul, to be
content in all circumstances.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I </span><u style="text-indent: -0.25in;">can</u><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">, again like Paul, do all things
through Jesus’ strength.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I </span><u style="text-indent: -0.25in;">can</u><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> trust that He knows the plans He
has for me, plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans for a hope and a
future.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Words spoken by the prophet
Jeremiah to a people in captivity that ring true to this grounded sparrow’s
heart today.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">He knows.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
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And so you have it; I have my list of “can’ts” and my list
of “cans.” Where I focus my time and
energy is up to me, my choice. So I
choose to hold on to Him, the One who is more than able to do immeasurably more
than I can ask or imagine. <u>He can</u>.
Even when I can’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-4646103316028557312015-06-19T12:13:00.000-07:002015-06-19T12:13:34.974-07:00Limited<div class="MsoNormal">
Limited. I don’t like
that word. I don’t like the idea of my activity, health, or energy being
limited. But limited is my world right
now. I struggle with debilitating
fatigue, chest pain, and lack of answers.
I don’t want to be this version of me, unrecognizable when compared to
the high-energy, bouncy, super productive, multi-tasking, motivated,
high-achieving me. I worry that I am disappointing to all
of those around me; that’s what I see now when I look in the mirror on a “bad
day.” A burden. Less than.
And whiny. The opposite of
productive. Not me. Limited.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I want a nice neat package of definitive: here’s the issue,
here’s how to fix it, here’s how soon you’ll be back to normal. But thus far no dice. I enter doctor’s appointments with less and
less hope that they will end in a direction and course of action rather than
ruling something else out as NOT the issue.
Not cardiac, not diabetes, not thyroid, not hormonal. The most recent “answer” is ridiculously lengthy mononucleosis
caused by Epstein Barr virus. Three
severe bouts of sore throat, weakness and fever earlier this year coupled with
all of this fun of the past two months and nothing but negative results in all other blood tests bring
us here for now. So I wait some more to
see if I improve. So I take my vitamins,
listen to my body, rest A LOT, do my very gentle yoga routine (truly all I can
manage), and I have embraced a very clean eating regimen (Whole30). <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is week 8 of my medical leave. Please don't misunderstand. I'm not exclusively Self-pitying Whiny Girl. I do realize many (myself included in the past) would LOVE two months to stop everything for a rest. It's not quite that simple, but I get that part. On the upside, I am so blessed and grateful to
be with my husband and kids more, to have time to connect, in person or electronically,
with people who are dear to me, and time to be still and present. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But still, this doesn’t feel like me. And I can’t help but wonder if this is my new
normal. No longer the indispensable gal
in my office, fixing everything for everyone and making my boss’s life easier,
no longer being that woman who can climb Half Dome, do P90X and Insanity, walk
all day in San Francisco and still play with her family, cook, clean and
decorate her house. I have no idea how
this kind of new normal would even look.
But I’m guessing: Limited. I don’t know that this will be the case. All the things I’m doing could really help,
the virus could run its course and I could be back to where I once was. But I can’t help but wonder. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet I am reminded in all of this that He is <b><u>not</u></b>
limited. He is strong. He is more than enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But he said to me, “My <b><u>grace is sufficient for you</u></b>, for my <b><u>power is made perfect in weakness</u></b>.”
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that
Christ’s power may rest on me. <i>(emphasis
mine)</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20Corinthians+12:9&version=NIV" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">2 Corinthians 12:9</span></a></div>
Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-87226497539479776462012-09-09T14:59:00.000-07:002012-09-09T15:01:01.160-07:00The Blur...or exhaustedly satisfiedThree weeks of a new school year have rushed by in a heated blur, to say the least. I have gotten to know many new students and their parents, been impressed with both, and worked like crazy to get everything in my world organized. There have been many days that I have wanted to sit down and record some things, but time slipped away and so did my inspiration. Tired doesn't cover it. Busy is too small a word for what life has looked like recently. <br />
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However, I have been blessed with some amazing experiences the past few days. <br />
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First of all, I got to be in on a great surprise for my wonderful parents: my middle brother, Rickey (aka That Crazy Texan, check out his blog on Blogspot), rode his motorcycle out for a visit. We were blessed with a couple of great visits with him and the rest of my local immediate family, but for me one of the coolest memories I will carry from this week was from a great experience shared just between Rickey and me. I had mentioned earlier in the week that I would love to ride with him, but there wasn't a helmet for me. He showed up the next time at my house with a red helmet that he bought just so we could ride with him. I climbed on the back of his bike, a beautiful blue Honda Goldwing with every possible bell and whistle, including an impressive stereo, on a warm evening, for the first time in 25 years. He drove me all around my dusk-covered hometown, perfect breeze washing over us, beautiful moon shining down, while The Beatles played on the stereo, and I remembered. I remembered how I first heard The Beatles, the soundtrack of my childhood, because Rickey played the records in our parents' home. I remembered how I would beg him to take me for a ride when I was a little girl and feel so special when he would let me climb on behind him and roar off, in for adventure. I remembered all the years that passed between then and now and how much we had both changed, too, but mostly I knew that evening would be something always remembered. <br />
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Friday night my awesome Student Council kids (with a bit of help from me :-)) pulled off our first student event of the year. I was incredibly proud to see how they all worked together, how they all already get that Student Council is more about serving others (as Jesus served) rather than being in charge of things. They made sure their classmates had opportunities to step out of their comfort zones to socialize, play sports, enjoy fun music, and just hang out with each other. Their hard work paid off and their event was a huge success. So proud of them. So glad we're past that first event.<br />
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Yesterday James and I finished our 6th week of Insanity. The second month started this past Monday, and Month Two's workouts are brutal. I am proud of us for persevering in spite of a very busy season of our lives. I feel so strong and I can't wait to see what the end results will look like. Three weeks remain, I have some pounds that still need to come off, but I have noticed that food is less and less of an issue for me. I seem to have lost some of the desire for the wrong kinds of food, don't feel that I need to have sweets anymore, and am looking at how food can fuel me and serve me, rather than filling the need of putting me in a better frame of mind. Still waiting to see how it will work to maintain all that I've worked for, as I've said before, that's where I falter. <br />
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Hopefully, as we settle into routine a bit more, life will seem less of a blur. But I know I learn a lot in the midst of the blur, that God will provide these wonderful moments within the blur that remind me of how much He is working in my life. Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-29584359392597046992012-08-11T14:53:00.000-07:002012-08-11T14:53:08.336-07:00This week...This week I went back to work full time after a summer that wasn't exactly work-free. I loved seeing all my colleagues, meeting my new colleagues, and beginning to dig into all that this next school year will hold. I had to remember how to balance home and work a bit, making sure I had meals planned (and somewhat prepped) ahead of time. I had to start waking up to an alarm again and stop staying up late watching TV with James and the kids. And I'm really tired. Already :-).<br />
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This week (today, in fact) James and I finished week 2 of Insanity. I have lost 7.5 lbs. so far and have at least another 12.5 to go. 7 more weeks of the program to go. I am very encouraged at my progress so far: excited to see the scale move, of course, but even more excited to see my strength and stamina increasing as James and I push ourselves through these very challenging workouts 6 days a week. The thing will be maintaining AFTER we're done with the program, that's where I struggle every time. A good friend of ours is 3 weeks ahead of us in the program, and another has recently finished, so they're keeping me pretty motivated.<br />
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This week my daughter and her first boyfriend broke up. This is really a milestone. Austin's family was transferred to Ft. Drum, NY and left June 7, 5 months after they started "going out" ( a term I use loosely, since they never actually went anywhere without us, being 14 and 15 most of the time they were together). Long distance proved to be more difficult for their relationship than either of them had anticipated. They tried hard, but in the end, God led them to see that they needed to move on and concentrate on what was near them (their Christian walk, high school, friends, youth group, family) rather than those things 3000 miles away. I was very impressed with both of them and the maturity with which they handled it. There were many tears on both sides, I'm sure (I only saw my daughter's, but there were plenty), but they kept their friendship intact. He even texted both James and I to thank us for making him part of our family for those months, for our kindness to him, and for letting him date our daughter. God has big plans for each of these precious young people.<br />
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This week my firstborn, my only son, turned 17. I have reflected a lot on how my life was before Conor came into it and all he's taught me. I'm convinced God gives us children so that WE grow up. It's been a wild ride, to say the least. I'm sure I've changed almost as much as he has in 17 years. I have thought about how he was as a newborn, how he's always, his whole life, loved to laugh and had an amazing sense of humor. Our amazing, brilliantly intelligent red-haired boy has never made parenting super easy. But then, when is it? I have thought about the challenges we have faced and how people have misunderstood him or our parenting of him. One thing I've learned (and I learned it early, thanks to wiser people than I), is that you don't EVER judge someone else's parenting, especially if your child isn't to that phase yet, because you don't know the whole situation and your kid may end up doing the same thing. I've thought about all the triumphs and the amazing achievements he's had and seeing him find his voice as an actor, a singer, a writer, and a leader in his youth group. I've learned so much about God's love for us in the way I've loved my son (and daughter). I've learned to let go of so much, a step at a time, because every step your child takes is a step toward their own independence, toward adulthood, down the path God has for them. I'm proud of him as I look at the hours he volunteers every week at church to run tech for the student worship team, as I look at his heart that loves God, and as I look at how much he has grown in his character and heart in the past year. He is still misjudged and misunderstood by many who don't take the time to really see him or know him, which makes me sad. He's starting his senior year in a matter of days and next fall he hopes to be at William Jessup University, a great local Christian University, another step away from me.<br />
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This week a lot changed, but change is good.Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-33288879242163890292012-08-03T08:36:00.002-07:002012-08-03T08:36:57.087-07:00The last sweet day of summer break...OR taking up the gauntletToday is bittersweet. For many reasons. I have really enjoyed the slower pace that summer affords this wife/parent/teacher. I have enjoyed our travels to southern California, New York state, Tahoe, and Yosemite. I have enjoyed watching all 4 seasons of "Damages" with James and wasting time on Pinterest (without James). I have enjoyed letting my teenagers sleep late, having a fairly open schedule which has included many opportunities to spend time with precious friends, get my house in order (literally), hang out with my kids, have impromptu lunch with James, and *gasp* read things NOT related to my life as a teacher. And today's my last. I go back to a job I adore this coming Monday, I begin my two weeks of student-free preparations for the first day of school, I will see my beloved colleagues again and we will catch up on each other's lives, and set up my classroom (fun!) in a new and exciting way, though still themed in black/white brocade and shades of blue and green with giant "books" on the wall. I love my "normal," though I will miss the quiet, long mornings to myself that have given me time to pause, think, listen to God, be still. <br />
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I have been reflecting on these past three and a half years of teaching. My first full year I learned to survive. Marked by the challenges of learning all the things I didn't know (and there were SO many) about running a classroom, managing students, parent interactions, and balancing work and home, that first year also brought some major health issues that could have stopped me in my tracks but for God's grace and strength. My second year I learned to teach well. Not that I've arrived, by any means, I will ALWAYS strive to improve and grow as an educator, but I made great strides that second year. Last year, I learned how to really love my students. God gave me a heart last year for a group of particularly sassy 8th grade girls, most of whom I'd had since they were 6th graders. These girls had alternated between making me cry, making me laugh, making me call their parents, and stressing me out over three years' time. Distruptive? Yes. Attitude? Yes. Leaders? To the core, but not always using their powers for good. Good hearts? Yes, but didn't know how to show that. By the end of last year, God had done an amazing thing. These were the girls I cried over as I said goodbye to them at graduation, amid their promises to come and visit me next year. They had asked me to lead a Bible study for them at lunch this past February, which I did, and God moved greatly in their hearts. And in mine. Through that experience, God opened me up to seeing so many other students as He would have me see them, and He taught me to love them with His heart.<br />
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As I begin my 4th year of full time teaching, I don't fully know what He has for me yet (when do we ever??). I begin with some trepidation, as this is my son's senior year of high school and my daughter's freshman year. For the first time I won't have one of my kids on my campus. This, honestly, makes me so very sad. I will miss them. But I also know they, particularly Grace (since she's been on my campus since the day she started Bradshaw), have a need to find their own paths, continue find their own identities in Christ, and branch out more and more into being someone other than that teacher's kid. I'm so blessed by the growth and maturity I've seen in each of them this summer. I know God has great things for them, but I lament the end of this, their last real summer together as kids. I choke up just typing that. Wow. Big reality. Another step toward independence for these precious kids with whom God has entrusted us, if only for a short time. Next summer Conor will have graduated, will be (hopefully) working part time, and preparing to leave for college. Grace will be even more independent than she already is, working on her driver's permit, I'm sure. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. <br />
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Back to this fall: I am taking on a new position this year in addition to teaching English: heading up events and teaching a class on Student Leadership. I'm very excited and a little scared. We're getting Conor ready for SATs, ACTs, and college applications. We're getting Grace ready to start high school and I'm teaching her the rudiments of flute since she's starting band in a few days. Also exciting/scary. My English department head/colleague/good friend Ric Reyes has thrown down the gauntlet that I (actually we as an English department, including him) should blog at least every other week. We try to teach our students to think like writers and readers, and I have to be in that mode myself, thinking as a writer rather than just pushing through life, my head down, eyes fixed on the task at hand. Writing helps me reflect, see the bigger picture, and keep things in perspective, as I hope it will do for my students. So the challenge has been issued, Ric Reyes. Challenge accepted. <br />
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So! What does one do on the last day of summer break? Savor. Every. Moment.Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2303507271042730776.post-42137377346637673772012-08-01T09:27:00.000-07:002012-08-01T09:27:54.538-07:00Some important things I've learned...OR Week 1 of Insanity1. Even if you are 15-20 lbs overweight, you can still climb Half Dome successfully. And you won't even die.<br />
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2. Even if you are exercising regularly, this does NOT mean that you won't gain weight if you are eating like your teenage kids. You will, especially if you're over 40. Ice cream and fried food doesn't get balanced out, and neither does chocolate. Not even dark chocolate that you eat while telling yourself it's for the antioxidants. That weight creeps up when you least expect it. Especially if, like me, you refuse to weigh yourself regularly because doing so (sadly) has the power to ruin my day. Working on that part.<br />
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3. I am SUPER disciplined if I'm on some kind of nutrition "program." I have will power of steel. I can turn down the most decadent dessert or the most amazing-looking cream-based pasta and sauce. However, all that goes right out the window if I'm not on a nutrition program of some kind. I revert back to all kinds of crazy when it comes to food. Therefore, I need to be on a nutrition program, not only for my weight, but for my overall health and energy level. Did I mention I have teenage kids I have to keep up with?<br />
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4. Working out with your husband is WAY more fun and motivating than working out on your own. This is how James and I managed, in our "early" 40's, to get through two rounds of P90X last year AND to the top of a few giant mountains this year (two major hikes in Tahoe before we did the Half Dome hike). We have dabbled in "Insanity," never getting through the whole program, something would come up with our schedules, we'd be travelling, things got too busy, etc. So we started again, with the nutrition plan and everything, this Monday. We weighed ourselves (ugh), took the requisite measurements, took "before" pictures (which I will NOT be posting, thank you very much), and took the "fit test" that is the beginning of the program; it helps you track your progress in stamina and fitness. We are determined to make it through the whole 9 weeks in a row. I'll keep you posted.Kathleen Tysingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17083051250591145011noreply@blogger.com1