Waiting Waiting Waiting

I’m not very good at waiting, honestly.  I get impatient inside when there is nothing left to be done.  I’m much better at doing something – anything!  Give me a project and a deadline and I will complete it regardless of how long it might take or how specific the details.  I will enjoy the whole work of it.

But waiting means I have to give the work of something to someone else and then not think about the thing until it’s given back.

In the meantime, who knows what someone else is doing with my project while I don’t have control of it anymore!  What if they make a mistake?  What if my expectations of them are misplaced?  What if ….

I suppose that’s where faith comes in.

When it’s God and the Russian government you are waiting on it takes a lot of faith!

So here I am waiting for my Letter of Invitation.  The official piece of paper that I need before I can apply for my visa to start my adventures in Moscow.

I’m not really doing nothing while I’m waiting.  I’m doing all kinds of things, actually.  Getting all the details ready for the responsibilities I leave behind like my house and car and the random assorted collection of stuff I have amassed.  

And collecting memories, too.  Lunches and dinners and small trips overflow with blessings, “I love you!” and hugs – lots of hugs.  Funny how the idea of going overseas makes us reconsider the importance of the friendships we fill our lives with.  As fragile as life is, I think we should fill more moments with those things.

I haven’t done much writing lately, honestly, because I am too busy living and find myself at a loss for words.  I absolutely, 100% can NOT believe how supportive people have been of this trip!  

My church family in Thorp, to start with, made pledges so fast the pledge-writer couldn’t keep up.  My son said it took 7 minutes to get a full year’s support!  That’s crazy.  Most of these people don’t even know me.  They have shared this quiet season with me from a distance watching, perhaps, but not participating in my every day.  

Then there was my church family in Bloomington.  Same story, different city.  Their prayers, their encouragement, their support leaves me without words.  Many of them know me well having helped to put me back together through one of the most difficult times of my life.  I knew I could count on their encouragement and their prayers, but financially, too, they gave and gave.  And all I could do was smile and cry and hope I can be worth their investment.

And then my co-workers worked behind my back to put together a surprise that totally surprised me!  “Let’s have dinner with Lyn” turned into “let’s have a party for Kris!” and laughter laced laughter and lives connected in another level of friendship. Their generosity makes a huge impression on my heart.

The camera they pitched in for is well beyond what I had prayed for – well beyond.  I asked God if I couldn’t have a new camera that wouldn’t take shaky pictures, that would let me get a good close up, that would make the things I see shareable.  “Could I have $150 or something at the end of the list of needs for the trip?  I’d like a camera, God, a better one than I have so I can share what I see.”  

God is probably laughing at my idea of better compared to His idea of better!

People ask me some questions the same over and over, “aren’t you afraid of what will happen with what you leave behind?”

I’m taking the best things with me.  I have discovered in all of my traipsing between hither and yon that friendships don’t really end no matter where you go.  The impressions of your friends remain on your heart, in your thoughts, entwined about you.  “Iron sharpens iron” is how the Bible describes it.  Friends remain a part of you.  Always.

I take with me the kindness, the support, the laughter, the complicity, the joy, the bonds, the sorrows, the hardships, the tears of my friends.

I hope I leave the right things behind.  Lingering smiles, gentle answers, laughter to overcome strained days, easy compassion, a quick “Thanks, God!” when interesting people challenge perspectives.

I will miss my angelbabies, that’s a fact.  But I take them with me in a thousand ways.  Mavrik’s shy smile when he realizes he’s being watched.  Anna’s laughter and sheer joy in life.  Arthur’s blunt honesty.  Eli’s giggle and teasing.   And the rest of the collection, too.  Their "got a mint?" smiles and running, leaping hugs fill my cup.  I will miss my kids, too.  John’s gentle wisdom. Thi’s crazy humor.  Melissa’s foundational friendship.  

I hope I leave a lot of things behind for them, too.  My love for Jesus, my sense of adventure, my desire to bring change to the world’s problems even if it’s only a drop in the bucket.  I want them to follow the good I do, but also to learn from my failures so they aren’t repeated.

I would like to be already there.  This waiting is trying my patience!  But while I’m waiting I’m working hard to collect what I will need when I get there, too.  I guess waiting really is ok after all.

9/11 (Repost)

It's been 12 years now and still the memories linger.  Where were you when ....

I wasn't there. I didn't see the planes or smell the dust or hear the screams or the agonizing silence.

Safely tucked away in the Midwest where nothing bad like that ever happens, I listened in horror. The radio newscaster's voice broke as he tried to relay information about unreal events. It sounded like a bad Hollywood movie, but it was real.

This time it wasn't Jerusalem or Belfast or Seoul. It was happening in our country. The United States of America.

Someone had the audacity to take advantage of our trust. The idea that everyone here from wherever they came could learn to become whoever they wanted to be.

No one expected that would mean that a would-be pilot would destroy instead of build.

Over the years I have spoken with New Yorkers about what this meant to them. They tell of their sorrow, who they knew, how they got out, where they were. They never tire of the telling and I'm grateful.

We can't forget this.

Not so we become angry, refusing to allow "foreigners" to learn new trades. Not so we become suspicious of everyone who looks like someone who might have been involved.

So we can be wary, alert, cautious and protect not only our country from this violence - but other countries as well.

This time it was New York City. It's true. How did we feel?

Many, many times in my lifetime it's has been Beirut, Kabul, Seoul, Belfast, Jersusalem. Lockerbie, Moscow. How do they feel?

What can we as human beings do to lessen the violence in our world? What would Jesus do?

Crossing Bridges - Thorp to Moscow

I have had an overwhelming response to the last blog post about my trip to Russia.  Many have asked how to partner with me.

The greatest need is prayer.  Honestly.  I am going to have a middle school classroom of 16 students from 9 different countries.  Which means 9 different cultures, 9 different languages, 9 different views of religious tradition.  Gives a whole new meaning to melting pot!

Being a teacher first requires me to assist their basic academic education.  Readin', Writin' and 'Rithmatic are important.  But my past students seem to remember more of the character things we learned together - random acts of kindness, volunteering at a shelter, expanding creative writing, believing in themselves when no one else did, learning to face challenges.

I want those kinds of things to be the benchmark of learning for my new students, too.

Under it all, I want to share Jesus with them in a new dimension, a greater way, to encourage a personal relationship with Him that will last through their lifetimes wherever they go.  I really do.

And to do that with that depth of cultural background - I am going to need a lot of prayer!   If you would like to be a prayer partner and receive updates of the trip, please e-mail me at newkris@yahoo.com and I will add you to the mailing list. 

The second thing I will need is finances.  I will get a stipend from the school for which I am very grateful.  But the costs associated with dropping where I am to go where I am going are greater than the stipend will allow.  I will have church support and so I'm not fretting over how it can happen.

At the same time I have long been on the other side of watching my friends go hither and yon to share the Gospel in many different countries and I jumped at the chance to be a small part of their work.  It's funny how tight the bonds and connections are when you invest some of yourself into someone else.

At the prodding of my youngest, I have set up a Go Fund Me page in the event you would like to partner with me financially.  Here is the link for that page:  GoFundMe

I still am jumping through hoops to get all the paperwork in order.  But as long as the door keep opening, I will keep walking through them.  I feel like Alice in Wonderland moving through an unreal place where the unexpected is to be expected.

God is good.  I am honored to be offered this opportunity.  I hope you'll come with me.  Oh!  The stories we will tell!

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To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges or a Friend Named Jesus,
 please visit my website:  Writer's Pages
Facebook:  Author Kris A. Newman

Ready if You Are!

When I was a teen looking at my future with rose-colored glasses anticipating the perfect life I might have living happily-ever-after, I pictured a little house with a little picket fence and a little dog and the breeze blowing the curtains on a summer day while I cooked Sunday dinner for my handsome husband, all my children and grandchildren.  I would be a teacher and a writer. I imagined how peaceful life would be with nary a care in the world.  

Although there are some notably missing elements, I really expected I had finally gotten to the settled season.   I have a little house in a little town down the street from my son and his family who randomly come to my house.  Although he doesn’t live with me, my other son has a room to call his own here.   I have a great job with a lawyer who I really like.  We work in an area of law that doesn’t make my heart sad.  Life has a certain gentle ebb and flow to it.  

 But real life has a way of happening and changing our expectations.  Funny, though, no matter how much real life we are given, dreams die hard.  

I don’t know who taught me to follow my dreams.  I don’t know if it was when I talked of being a teacher and was given all of the younger cousins to babysit and subject to my teaching skills?  Or when a teacher told me I was a good writer – not like my peers – something else – and I should do something with it.  

Here I am all these years later still dreaming of being a teacher and a writer and finding every excuse I can to give life to those dreams.

I have the blog, obviously, and two books published with more rambling around in my mind waiting for the right time.  I get regular assignments to interview amazing, interesting people for a polished magazine in the Chippewa Valley.  I am a writer.  That dream grows easily when it is fed.

The teaching dream is a little trickier to answer.  It requires someone in authority to recognize the abilities that lie beneath the surface.   Someone has to give me a classroom, students, opportunity.  

I have taught.  Middle School, mostly, but other things, too.  In a classroom, no less.  Certified by the School of Tomorrow and reminded by past students that I teach well, I jump at every chance to stretch those teaching talents.  And my students, now rather grown, tell me I was a good teacher and they remind me of things I taught them.  

But it isn’t one of those professions I have figured how to manage while paying a mortgage and driving a car.  So I set it aside and work for lawyers.

Somewhere along the line God gave me another dream.  To work in a foreign country, to bring grace to a culture where He had become a tradition.  Russia rose to the top of the list for many reasons.  I went there once for a month.  I reveled in the history, culture, bustle of Moscow.  Many times I have found myself wistful of Moscow.  Not with rose-colored glasses, but with a heavy heart seeing the impossibility of going again.  I have read Tolstoy and Tergenev and Pasternak to appease my dream.  

Funny how the picture I once painted of my ideal future is so static, unchanging, settled.  My life has been anything but still.  Given my own choices, I have gone from here to there.   Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Thorp.   I have gone from working with attorneys to teaching in a private school setting back to lawyers, back to teaching, back to lawyers.  

When I look at my path, even I think I’m awfully impulsive from the outside.  

Following me on the inside is a little less chaotic, however.  Certain things are unchanged – I want to be a writer and a teacher.  I want my life to have relevance.  I want to be the change I want to see in the world.  I want to overcome evil with good.

A call recently from a friend has led me down an unexpected, seemingly sudden path.  “I have a proposition for you.”  

 

The offer is to teach in Moscow.  For two years.  In Moscow.  Teaching.  I still can’t quite believe the adventure could be mine.  I will have a classroom of 16 students from 9 different countries.  They speak many languages and come from many different cultures.  Thankfully they all speak English.  I can live in an apartment about 10 minutes from the school. 

I will also work with American missionaries.  They don’t know I have followed their progress and struggles through prayer since my last visit to Moscow 11 years ago.  No doubt they, like I, thought the dream of working in Moscow was far behind me.  But God, apparently, had other plans.

So, here I am following this path as far as it will take me. 

I have talked with everyone who would tether me if I were unrealistically cloud dreaming.  I keep hearing the same phrases from them:  “I think it will be a great experience for you.  I have a good feeling about this.”

I have applied to have my passport renewed.  “We will have this back to you by Friday.”

I know the list of documents and things I need to gather to continue the paperwork. I know my flight options.  I know how much I will need to raise to supplement my small teacher’s salary.  Pastor has offered to bring the need before the church in September. 

And the list keeps growing.  Target date to be onsite is mid-October.

Every time I say, “Ok, God, if this happens then I’ll know I need to stay.  The doors are closed.”

But instead of THIS happening, it’s always THAT and the doors keep opening.  

You can share this adventure with me, if you like, though prayer or finances.  I will be selling my books to help fund this trip, of course.   If you want to know more, just ask.  I will do my best to come down from the clouds to answer you coherently.  

Thanks, God.  A teacher in Moscow – now that will give me something to write about!

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To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges or a Friend Named Jesus,
 please visit my website:  Writer's Pages
Facebook:  Author Kris A. Newman

Silence Shouts

Sometimes I find myself sitting down to my laptop to check Facebook or read the news and instead my hands begin to write.  

It's not like I'm possessed of a spirit, don't get the holy water out.  But the words which fill my thoughts and my heart need to be expressed, to be left behind. 

Sometimes I am inclined to share them because I think perhaps someone else in this great big planet needs to know that someone else sees the world through the same struggles and triumphs. 

 After spending the better part of the last three days alone, as I do most week-ends,  these words fell from my hands.  

I hope they bless someone. I hope someone is encouraged by them.  I hope someone sees how near God can be even when we think He is far removed and has left us to be alone.

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Silence Shouts

The silence shouts

His Accusations

His Perceptions of

My reality.

His doubts.

His rejections.

His opinions based on

Nothing.

I disdain the silence

For all of its fullness.

I know where the truth

Lies.

For behind every accusation

Is a measure of guilt.

Behind every perception

Is an ounce of action.

I know how stark is the reality.

Behind every doubt

Is a moment of weakness.

Behind every rejection

Is a time of darkness.

Behind every opinion

Is a judgment weighed honestly.

What the silence doesn’t know

Can’t see

Won’t look for

Is the foundational Truth that

Carries me through.

The truth is the Truth is my foundation

And the darkness and the light are both alike

To the Truth.

Opinions reverse.

Rejections erase.

Reality clears.

Doubts diminish.

Perceptions change.

Accusations are silenced.

In the stillness when

The wind has blown itself out

The earthquake has come to rest

The fire is brought to ash

Then, the Truth speaks clearly.

“Be still and know that I am God.”

“I have carved you in the palm of My Hand.”

“My plans for you are for good and not for evil.”

“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

And that’s when the silence is silenced.

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To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges or a Friend Named Jesus,
 please visit my website:  Writer's Pages

Facebook:  Author Kris A. Newman