Early Fall Update (Part 1 of 2)

I don’t know who all has been praying for me, but thank you. The transition to the new semester has gone better than I had really dared to hope. Several months ago, I could not have imagined that I would be able to get through an eight-hour work day, much less have energy to make dinner afterward, or turn around and work on my dissertation the next morning. My energy levels have improved pretty dramatically (helped somewhat by the discovery that coffee is powerful). The loosely structured, lengthy summer was exactly what I needed (and no doubt a big part of what’s helped me feel better and more ready to tackle things), and the more regimented schedule is exactly what I need now.

It is worth saying that, unless I were truly under the gun to finish a chapter, I still don’t think I could get through a full day of working solely on my dissertation (at least not without plenty of existential angst and pitiful whimpering). The partitioning of energies seems to be the only thing that makes this work. And that is useful information to have as I think about what might come after I graduate.

I’m in awe of people who can work demanding jobs while carrying a full course load. I don’t think I could have handled that. But for whatever reason, my current 20-hour-a-week job seems—so far—to lend itself pretty well to the way I approach the dissertation stage. I like having a totally distinct set of responsibilities that I don’t have to carry with me into the other set, and vice versa. And I like getting up early in the morning (!) and being able to do several different kinds of things over the course of the day. Again, these are things I would never have learned about myself if not for the struggles of the past two years!

For the time being, the dissertation progresses somewhat slowly, since I haven’t yet managed to balance writing and work as equitably as I will probably need to. Between full days at work, then making and cleaning up from dinner, and getting some time with my husband, there really isn’t space for writing during the first half of the week. But the good thing is that it’s progressing, even though it feels like it’s inching along more days than not. I am going on 70 pages at this point, and once adrenaline kicks in, I shouldn’t have trouble hitting my goal of 100 pages by Christmas. As long as I set goals focused on tangible output rather than time spent, and don’t worry too much about comparing my process to anyone else’s, I seem to do pretty well. As soon as I start comparing myself to other students, or trying to adhere to a certain pattern for what dissertation work should look like, I start to falter.

I had hoped and expected to teach in my fifth year, but since that didn’t work out, I was offered the opportunity to work as a graduate research assistant in my library’s Special Collections department. I hope to explain this in more detail in a later post.

I have to say, I was a little bit crushed when teaching didn’t work out. Not even so much because of the teaching itself, but because it threw my career expectations into yet more of a muddle. I’m not sure what this will mean for my future career in academics.

However, it must also be said that I’m happier than I’ve been for a long time. There are plenty of struggles, certainly; but I no longer feel trapped in a routine that wasn’t serving me well at all, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself it was right. Thank you, again, for praying.

Things I've reflected on this summer, or ambition and discipleship (again)

Yesterday the Timehop app on my iPhone reminded me that I had published this blog post exactly three years ago. I almost didn't read it again, but when I did, I had to smile, and maybe tear up a little. It was both humbling and comforting to see how I keep circling back to the same questions, doubts, and struggles -- and how, having survived four years of graduate school, my overall longings and goals haven't altered much from what they were in 2011, or 2009.

For much of those four years (especially the past two, as this blog well attests), I've struggled to conform to specific expectations of what the patterns of my academic life should look like. The result was that I've spent most of the past two years feeling like a complete failure, and doubting the wisdom of pressing on with a task for which I could muster so little enthusiasm. I felt so much more useful, thus happier, when I was working on things I knew had a point -- as counter-intuitive as it might sound, even something as mundane as folding laundry. At least then I was achieving something concrete, contributing to the overall functioning of our home. I'll wait for you to roll your eyes if you need to -- it's just the truth.

What changed this summer is that I decided to just own the fact that, especially now that Kevin has a full-time job, taking care of things like dishes and laundry is a legitimate part of my daily work. That way, instead of using those things to procrastinate from my "real work" (and feeling half guilty and resentful all the while), I was finding ways to fit them into the natural pattern of my days. Acknowledging the existence of complementary callings -- academics and taking care of things at home (which is a privilege!) -- has helped me move from a rebellious attitude to a more contented and fulfilled one. Even if it means that my routine looks much different from that of most of my grad student peers, it's what finally seems to be working.

Again, it might sound backwards, but it's helping me be more productive, too. I miss the days when I could sit still and concentrate on studies for hours at a time, but that's just not where I am anymore (and why in the world would I expect the same study methods that worked for me at 15 to work at 31?!). I focus better on my writing when there are breaks throughout my day to focus wholeheartedly on very different activities. And, if I'm being honest, this approach better reflects the relative importance of academics at this stage of my life. It just can't have the same prominence in my daily life that it had when I was 23 and single, and that's okay. The dissertation will still get done.

So it's great that I'm finally realizing a perspective and working-from-home rhythm that are effective for me. But are you asking yourself what all this means for my long-term fitness for academia?  Because I sure am. And I don't have an easy answer right now. I think, for a long time, I couldn't countenance the possibility of giving up a traditional academic career, because it would mean that all my years of training, all that people had invested in me, had gone to waste. Kevin's new job has freed me up to think differently about that. I don't think for a moment that Kevin's historical training was a waste of time -- anyone who's acquainted with him knows that "historian" will always be a big part of who he is -- or that his new career in IT is any less worthy than a career in seminary teaching and ministry might have been. So why would I feel that there's shame in my not pursuing work as a professor (if indeed I decide not to)?  I guess there's still a lingering sense that, somehow, theologically-oriented "callings" are more special somehow, and that I need a formal title and position to justify the past decade of my life. But I don't think any of that is really logical, much less biblical.

There might also be guilt about the fact that we relocated to St. Louis so that I could have a shot at an academic career, so if I jettison that at this point, I'm afraid I'll be letting "everyone" down. But I don't think that's a right perspective, either. I am beginning to doubt that it's God's. At any rate, I don't think He planted us here for the sake of prioritizing one person's career over the other's (though I would honestly be more than thrilled if Kevin's career ends up being the bigger takeaway from our time here). Early on, I remember praying that whatever happened with our careers, we would be able to build a life in St. Louis, and that it could be home for us. I still pray for that -- and it seems to me that, for all the uncertainties remaining, the Lord has clearly been answering that prayer.

I remind myself, too, that maybe it isn't my business what God's intentions are, anyway! It's so easy to get myself tied up in knots over questions of vocation and identity, but that's a burden I've taken on myself, not something He has asked of me. It's my job to love Him and obey, one step at a time. Many times that's the hardest calling to hang onto, but it's the only one that promises peace.

Odds & ends in January

Traditionally, January has been one of my least favorite times of year. The transition from rest and family to the prospect of unbroken weeks of stressful obligations is wrenching. At least that's how it has usually felt. But even though coming back to St. Louis after Christmas was pretty painful, this January hasn't been quite so bad. I wouldn't say it's categorically wonderful, either. It's just been odd.

For one thing, it has continued to feel as if God's been gently shaking loose my attachments to some things...my expectations and daydreams of how I think my short-term future would best unfold. As if, just when I imagined myself comfortable, God started shaking up some of the lesser things as if to steel me for bigger ones.

To give an innocuous example, we will likely need to search for a new apartment in the next few months. Wasn't expecting that. I had pictured us staying put for as long as we could, perhaps even for the duration of our time in St. Louis. But now I'm not sure where we're going to be living. The odd thing is how comparatively little I've been stressing over that. It hasn't been sitting heavily on my chest like these things often do. I can't say I'm excited by the possibility of moving further into the city, if indeed that turns out to be necessary. But whatever we end up needing to do, I feel mostly at peace about it...at least for now.

For another thing, my husband is starting to pursue the process toward ordination in earnest, which is actually a wonderful development and an answer to prayer. I'm very proud of his perseverance in the process, and as I think about him beginning to work on internship requirements, I feel confident that God is going to be bringing about great things for His purposes. But that's the thing...I hadn't pictured myself being included in those purposes. Ministry has always been something that other people do; that category of "other people" has expanded enough in my mind to include my husband, but I have only the blurriest concept of how it would include me. I have enjoyed picturing myself as the wife of a professor and myself a professor, and all that would mean for our life together. I just can't picture myself in the role of a pastor's wife. This is not to say I'm resistant, exactly; it's simply beyond my imagining. I was telling a friend today that I still feel puzzled sometimes by my personality and what God could be doing with it; I suppose I tend to think of it in terms of limitation rather than gift. But I know that God didn't haphazardly assign me to a family and church I would be unable to serve; and my temperament, the things I love and the ways I encounter the world are not accidents either. This is another area where I have to walk by faith on a daily basis.

In summary, a lot of things feel open-ended right now. There's this waiting feeling. Even more than before, I'm being asked to trust without being able to see far ahead. (Or while my imagined scenarios are being lovingly papered over with something real.) Surrounded by the love of Christ's people, I certainly don't feel alone or without hope. It's unsettling, though. And just odd.

Grace for Dirty Dishes (and other daunting obstacles)

When I was newly married, one of the biggest obstacles in my household was dirty dishes. I simply couldn't stay on top of the ever-accumulating pile in our tiny kitchen. No sooner would I triumph over one stack than the sink would fill up tauntingly, and I'd be faced with hours of washing once again. Filled with resentment and a mounting sense of defeat, I would procrastinate to the point that there was barely space in the kitchen to scrub effectively, much less cook meals. Things grew ugly. At some point, I virtually surrendered to the dirty dishes.

It sounds so ridiculous now. But it's hard to overstate how defeated I felt. Somehow, the dirty dishes were a metaphor for all my failures as a wife, my aimless non-student status, the ugly sin in my heart, everything. All of it coiled tightly in my chest and spilled out in tears whenever I summoned the nerve to tackle the dishes. I remember standing in the kitchen thinking about what our pastor had preached on Sunday. I knew that my domestic failures said nothing about my identity in Christ. The thought that my existence was defined more by my disastrous kitchen than by the beauty of Christ was an insidious lie. I agreed with that. It just didn't change what I saw before me -- or my sense of utter powerlessness in the face of it. Considering that I allowed a simple household task to become freighted with so much, it's little wonder that I gave up.

Nowadays, I can praise the Lord that He's brought me to the other side of much of that. It's taken the better part of four years, a relocation, consistent effort toward fresh starts in habit and attitude, and the aid of a beautiful dishwasher (!). What it hasn't been is automatic. In wrestling with the meaning of grace for my life, I've wondered if I've operated under wrong assumptions about how grace changes things.

For example, as I discussed with my husband recently, grace is not some sort of "positive-thinking alchemy" that instantaneously transforms my circumstances. Sometimes it does work in plainly miraculous ways. Other times, I've looked at apparently unchanged circumstances as evidence that I'm just not believing hard enough, or that I haven't sufficiently humbled my heart to "get it." Even if that were true, it's missing the point. It risks twisting grace into another form of works-righteousness, something that I muster up on my own behalf. Such "grace" would be no grace at all.

For another, grace is too big for my heart to receive all at once.
The truth about my soul's union with Christ may take awhile, may take a long time, to work itself out in forms that I can confidently perceive and put words to. There's much walking by faith, not by sight, and waiting on the Lord to work as He has promised to do. This can be painful and pretty messy in the in-between. That doesn't make His grace a bit less objectively real.

I can say that, even though I no longer struggle in the same way with chores like washing dishes, dirty dishes scenarios linger in my life. So how to confront them? I'm still struggling. One thing the Lord has been teaching me is that it's hard to let others be party to those scenarios, but that sometimes He calls us to do this, and with excellent reason. Not that we need to be transparent about them to whomever will listen. That's not necessarily God-glorifying or helpful. Yet opening up about the shameful things, to trusted brothers and sisters, can be a thing the Lord uses to make His grace powerfully seen and felt in daily life. Insurmountable situations begin to look survivable, and burdens more bearable, in the fresh light of such grace.

You'll likely find that you are loved and prayed for more than you'd guessed, and that you'll be received with more grace than you'd dared hope for. That's all Jesus. He knows the depth and cost of our sin better than we do, and He has already obtained an undiminishing supply of the grace we need. I'm preaching to myself here: we can trust Him to give it to us in the time and through the means He knows to be best for us, and for His glory.

A glimpse of my domain

One of the things my university does well is that the grounds crew keeps our urban campus beautifully landscaped, every season of the year. I have really come to appreciate this.

If you were in St. Louis and ever came to visit me on campus (which would very possibly make my day, or week), this is probably the first spot I'd show you. It's a perfect place for a picnic and conversation (my friend R. and I meet there often). There are even goldfish!

There are also lots of nice fountains--four I can think of offhand. This one's actually a series of cascading pools, though that didn't come through in my shot.

Some of the architecture is lovely. This mansion is more than 120 years old and can be toured, apparently, though I have yet to venture inside myself.



Here is a palm tree. Yes! A palm tree! In Missouri!

So this is pretty funny. Every late spring/summer and into the early part of the fall, these large planters contain awkward-looking little palms. Throughout the rest of the year, they contain evergreen trees. On Tuesday, I finally got to see how this mysterious exchange occurs. It basically involves a gigantic truck and crane occupying the width of the West Pine Mall, hoisting the pines, and plopping the seasonally appropriate trees into place. It all seems a touch indulgent to me, but I have to admit, I smile each time I walk past them.

This is where I work. It's...not one of the more inspiring edifices on campus.

Neither is our office, which is totally a locked room in a basement. Fittingly ascetic, right?

My cubicle.

It's nice to know that when I emerge from the grad student dungeon (which I do, sometimes, I promise), there are some pretty things to look at. (As long as you avoid the heinous statues...but that's for another post.)