Sunday Ponderings

It is interesting how themes emerge in our thinking over periods of time, whether years of pondering a certain topic or days of giving yourself margin for thoughts.  I’ve been reminded over this past week of break (from both school and routine in general) of the uniqueness of each person that I pass, whether it is someone unknown or someone known, someone old or someone young.  We each have a story.  We each have steps that took us to that place at that time.  We each have understandings and expectations and wonderings that uniquely combine to make us, well, us.

As I walked into my building this afternoon after a quick trip to the grocery store on my way home from fellowship, I found myself entering at the same time as one of the cleaning ladies for my apartment complex.  She’s about half my height (and a slightly smaller percentage of my weight, but we won’t go there) and I would assume twice my age, with a smile that gives me an immense desire to speak the same language and hear her stories.  I hustled a bit ahead of her, not for my usual contest of who gets to push the button first (because of course I still act six and a half at times), but to open the door for her.  What was supposed to be a kind gesture turned into a bit of a show down of who was the kindest, with her insisting that I go and me insisting that she goes and both of us laughing in the doorway unsure of who would win our little contest.  She won.

As I rode up to my 27^th floor apartment, my mind started going a million miles a minute to analyze what just happened.  Why does what I see as such a simple act so often turn into a fun little banter here, and why can’t I approach everything with that same lightness and joy?  Why can’t I be that person more often, just enjoying the moment and the interactions rather than focused on the task.

The message this morning at fellowship was on 1 Peter 3:1-7…submission.  “Wives submit to your husbands…” Oh how I dreaded what would come.  I thought about sitting on my couch instead of going, giving myself a bit of control over the message that I would hear.  Maybe that one message on singleness that someone recommended a few weeks ago would be better? Or what about listening to something from my home fellowship for a change?  But no, I went and I didn’t attempt to throw my shoe (which is a good sign).

It was a good message overall with great advice for wives and husbands, I’m sure, but where does that leave me?  Can I take this message and apply it to me?  I walked away with three overarching questions: who should I submit to, how do I (or maybe should I?) model submission as a single, and what does this mean for the greater body?  I don’t have answers…just questions for now.  I think that’s okay, but is it really just for husbands and wives, or is there more to it?

I’ve heard this passage used as a call to marriage and a set of instructions for within marriage, but what is the Father trying to teach me in it?  It certainly inspires ideas of more qualifications to add to my “Mr. Right List”, but is there more?  The Mary & Martha passage is easy to apply…why isn’t this?

And then, as I often try to avoid doing, I started thinking about my thinking on the topic.  I dreaded todays messages.  Dreaded it.  Didn’t want to go, avoid at all costs, dreaded it.  Why? Because I don’t want to hear advice for others…I want it to apply to me.  I want it to fit my needs.  I want it to be the lesson I need to hear.

But life isn’t all about me.  The world doesn’t revolve around me.  The message doesn’t have to always fit my needs. Holding the door open for the cleaning lady doesn’t mean that she’s going to accept it…

…and that’s something to smile about, isn’t it?

Happy Sunday, friends.

Ohhhh hey there routine…

Do you ever have sudden moments of realization that make everything make sense?  Okay, by everything I mean just random things, but still, you know what I mean (maybe).

I’m flying again.  Another 11+ hour flight across an ocean.  I realize that to some people this would be something amazing.  Crossing an ocean, going from one place to a place totally different.  This past summer I met someone who has never been on a plane.  What an interesting life she leads...shocked by how nonchalant I am about flying. For me, it’s normal.  I’ve been doing this since before I could walk or talk.  Heck, I did it before I was born, as both the metaphorical and literal twinkle in my father’s eye…if you can literally be a twinkle in your fathers’ eye.  I digress…

Last time I flew across the pond (a month ago…), I had a row to myself and I slept 8+ hours.  That is not my norm for flying.  Usually I’m restless, crochet, watch a lot of TV, and drift in and out of various states of awake-ness.

Today is a normal flying day for me.  Watch a movie, take a sleeping pill, have a quick nap while listening to a podcast, wake up remembering that last time you tried to take a sleeping pill on a flight it backfired, turn on a soundtrack that you like, fall asleep again for twenty minutes, turn on another movie, crochet, realize that you have to take out thirty minutes of crocheting because you were one stitch off and it will drive you crazy if you don't remedy it immediately, take another nap, watch another movie, and DS al Coda because you sure as heck aren’t going to take another sleeping pill.

As I waited in line for the bathroom, wishing they’d tell everyone to sit down so I could be the first one to pop up and snag prime bathroom time (because, hey, might as well make this a game/competition of some sort), I got to thinking.  Minus the sleeping pill and being in an aluminum tube full of strangers, this is like a normal Saturday don’t leave the apartment day for Bekah Teusink.  I wake up, make coffee, move to the couch, turn on a movie, fall asleep, make breakfast, remember that I haven’t had any coffee yet, put coffee in the microwave, fall asleep before I drink the coffee, realize that I didn’t turn on a movie but instead it’s a Netflix show that is automatically going on to more and more episodes, drink cold coffee, fall asleep, and repeat to some degree.

My normal Saturday avoid people routine is basically the same as my flying routine.

We could get into the chicken or the egg argument and try to figure out if I spend my Saturdays that way because of how I fly or vice versa, but let’s not.  I’m just happy to have cracked one of the mysteries of me.  I’ve always loved to fly…I’ve only recently (last 6 years or so…that’s recent, right?) discovered how much I like being a hermitess from time to time.

Mind blown?  Mine was.  Time for a nap.

But first...sunrise :)

New Years and New Tears

There’s an excitement that comes with the beginning of the school year, even for principals. It’s almost a nervous anticipation (wondering if everything got done and if everything will go even close to semi right) coupled with eager anticipation for the students to return. 

I do the job I do and keep at it year after year because of those kiddos. I absolutely adore my students. Every single one. They are all differently gifted and uniquely unique, but there is something about each of them that draws me in. I want to know their stories. I want to share in their triumphs. I want to cry with them in their sorrows.

And then there’s that dreaded text message, that of course always comes the evening before or the week before or some amount of time before that is never quite enough time to make it okay. “So and so won’t be returning. They’ll be going to such and such a city/place instead.”

And I’m left heartbroken. No chance of saying goodbye. No closure. No final conversation. 

I’m not sure if it’s worse for me because I feel it all so deeply or for them because the processing is never going to happen. The victories that aren’t going to be celebrated as we reflect on their seasons here and the sorrows and failures that won’t be acknowledged. 

I read the other day that one of the saddest parts of TCK life are the goodbyes that happen so gradually that you don’t even realize it. The friendships that fizzle and no longer matter but that used to be a high point in a day. 

For this TCK principals heart, one of the hardest parts of the job is not being able to walk alongside these amazing kiddos as they go through the leaving process. Not being able to give that last high five or have that last good chat. 

School starts tomorrow and I’m excited. But I might just cry a little for the ones that won’t be there, too. 

Oh life. 

No writing = no thinking, right?

I haven’t written for a while.

I have a million excuses, of course.  School.  The move.  The end of the year.  Studying for classes.  Traveling.  Fatigue.  You name it, I can justify it being a reason for silence in the blogosphere.

But really, I haven’t written because I don’t want to deal with my thoughts.

I don’t want to deal with figuring out coming steps or thinking through ones that were already taken.

I don’t want to get into the comparison game for where I’m at compared to where good friends are that used to be in the same place that we shared.

I don’t want to think through friendships and changes and loss.

I don’t even really want to celebrate and all that is good.

I have this list on my phone of things to blog about.  Things I want to ponder and then share ponderings on.

But again, writing means thinking.

And my thinker is tired.

So for now, I’m writing to let you know that I’m okay.  And I’m planning on writing soon…ish.