Author: mrslasuik

The term “homework” is commonly associated with being a student. It’s the leftovers of the day’s learning that still remain to be pondered, internalized, completed.
Perhaps one of the greatest victories of high school or university graduation is being able to say — “No more homework!”

What a humorous coincidence it is that, now, everybody has homework. We all have an overwhelming proverbial stack of learning tasks before us. Learning how to work from home. Learning how to teach remotely. For many families, learning how to balance work from home with schooling children at home. Learning how to live with spouses, siblings, children, parents 24/7 in the same space without losing it on each other.

Life has stopped.
But we haven’t stopped learning.
We haven’t stopped living.
On the contrary, I find there are daily opportunities to live more alive than I was living before…

Learning to have conversations where silence used to be preferred.
Learning to acknowledge rather than ignore.
Learning to repurpose, rediscover, refresh, redeem, reinvent, reconcile — time, hobbies, homes, space, relationships.
Learning to be content.
Learning to take a step back from consumerism.
Learning to see the blessings and mercies in what could be viewed as curses and torture.

Learning to be still.
Learning how to sit in quietness and the darkening glow of evening to watch the sun set.

You know. I think that is what I’m going to do now.

This is a post that certainly needs a photo of grocery store shelves completely devoid of toilet paper. Alas, I lacked the foresight to take a picture of this phenomenon the last time I was at the grocery store.
Nonetheless, I’m sure as you read through this post, you will have sufficient experience or imagination to picture in your mind the very things I am going to describe.

If your response to the following content is a knowing nod, or an outburst of laughter, it is likely that you are living through the oddities of the pandemic of 2020.

• You go to the grocery store to pick up a few basic items, and find that there is no toilet paper on the shelves. A few other staples you might find missing: sliced bread, non-perishable foods such as canned beans, instant noodles, Lysol wipes, common disinfectant products, paper towel, peanut butter, flour, sugar, and 2% milk.
  Note: Do not be alarmed! At this point in time, bread and peanut butter and 2% milk can easily be located in most grocery stores. There is no need for you to frantically stalk up on three years’ worth of any of these products. 
• You have a staff meeting at work in which everyone is comfortably seated two metres apart. You chalk it up to the recent trend of enlarged personal bubbles.
• You find yourself cleaning the parts of your house that would otherwise have been neglected for the next two years.
• You move ALL the books off the bookshelves, wipe each shelf, and reorganize your books either by author alphabetically, genre, or — if you’re feeling adventurous — colour coding!
• Your husband recently built an entire storage shelf unit in your garage, just to pass the time!
• You find yourself going to the grocery store every second day just to see if they’ve restocked toilet paper yet.
• You’re having Skype or Facebook calls with friends you haven’t spoken to in weeks, months, maybe even years — just to shoot the breeze and get someone else’s perspective on COVID-19.
• You bake bread, instead of buying it, because you have time!
• Despite the fact that you never thought you would homeschool your children, you find yourself in the throes (yes, for some it may seem like torture) of decoding curriculum and ordering homeschool resources!
• You try making homemade donuts for the first time ever.
• You feel like a bit of a rebel inviting a small group of friends over for board games and — wait for it — shared snacks!
• You see your federal leader routinely addressing the country every morning at 11:30, showing up on every major news channel.
• You’re watching the case count for COVID-19 in your area.
• You are hyper-aware of every sniff, sneeze, cough, temperature fluctuation, and ache in your body.
• Your daily hand-washing average is about 150, and climbing.
• Some of you have super dry skin for the first time in your life from constant washing.
• Spring cabin fever is more intense than ever before!
• All of your hobbies that have been metaphorically collecting dust are starting to make their way off the shelves of your life and find a place in your new routines.
• You start writing letters by hand. Washing before you write, of course.
• You are disinfecting your phone regularly.
• A day at a shopping mall feels like a distant memory.
• …
• Has anyone found toilet paper yet?

I’m sure this list is by no means exhaustive; but for those of us living in these unusual times, hopefully we are choosing to laugh at these oddities instead of cry. Hopefully we are pulling those dusty hobbies off the shelf and exercising creativity. Hopefully we are taking time to connect with people — whether that be the people who live in our homes with us, or those who are far away.
It is also my hope that we are respecting the new restrictions in place, knowing that it is honourable to submit to the government authorities over us. Hopefully we are praying daily for the revival of the church in North America. Hopefully we are looking with joyful anticipation to the One who saw all of this coming, and who is providentially allowing it to unfold.

And hopefully you haven’t run out of toilet paper.

Yesterday I walked into my classroom with no real concept of what kind of work lay before me. Monday kicked off with a brief staff meeting and the circulation of speculations among staff.

COVID-19.

It’s changed our lives. It’s changing the landscape of education; of families’ day-to-day experiences. It is not only affecting our privileged North American population. I keep hearing snippets of the surreal effects this super-virus is inflicting on communities all over the globe. A world-wide pandemic. Nobody alive today has seen anything like it.

It has been surreal to pack my students’ personal effects and school supplies into plastic bags. Hands covered in latex protection, skin dry and cracked from more soap-and-water washings than I would normally have done. Social distancing prohibiting the proximity we are accustomed to. Halls that are usually teeming with the vitality of children, eyes wide and cheeks glowing with enthusiasm — now quiet, save for the footsteps and voices of us adults. I know it will only be a matter of time before I miss solving the post-recess problems of snowballs thrown, forts being accidentally damaged by a careless foot, and temporarily disbanded friendships. I already miss their unrestrained excitement, the sparkly eyes that look up at me adoringly every day, the sincere hugs of affectionate 6- and 7-year-olds who know me as their teacher and a safe person.

That is just a snippet of the bitter side of this bittersweet unfolding of unchartered experiences.

Yes, there is a sweet side.
While some are closing their fists tightly and acting out in fear — and truly, the human side of us cannot blame them — I see a remnant rising up in generosity, faith, and hope. People who are usually running at the rat-race pace of a consumerist society are forced to slow . . . d o w n . . .
and to have conversations. To reach out to those who are fearful. To re-evaluate priorities. To embrace time with family, friends, spouses, children. To revisit hobbies that have been collecting dust on the back-burners of their overloaded commitment plates. To practice instructing our hearts in truth when the world and human feeling scream at us to panic, to close our fists, to succumb to fear.

But the word of the Lord says
Fear not. 

So as you begin to process your own thoughts and experiences of this season, be mindful:
For everything there is a season, a time for every matter under heaven…

Where, or in whom, are you finding your purpose right now?

A friend posted a question to me recently about handling unsteady emotions. I sat on the question for a day (which is more time than I usually take to respond to anything); and a response came to me quite suddenly after work today.
I share it with you now because I think it is one that so many people need to hear — including me. So here’s an excerpt of my thoughts on how to handle difficult emotions…

…I have periodic swings where I just feel completely emotionally off balance: feelings of unworthiness, being a failure, fear of “what ifs”, anxiousness, doubt about myself [or the Lord], or even just the weight of tedium and the overwhelming amount of work that looms ahead of me in the school year (welcome to first year teaching)…

Personally I’m a verbal processor. So when emotions get to be too big to stay inside my head, I journal them out and try to counteract them with truth (from the Bible) — especially when the emotions are rooted in lies of the enemy. I have also gotten kind of into the habit of messaging a few trusted people to pray for me at those times. Sometimes I share details of what I’m feeling, sometimes I don’t. It’s also beneficial for me to just straight up TALK. IT. OUT. with someone. Often an emotion seems huge and real inside my head; but once I get it out into words to another person, and out of the dark, it holds less power. Another person also has the ability to see my emotions more objectively than I do, and they are often able to say, “[You’re] being too hard on yourself”, or “That sounds like the enemy getting at you” etc.

I guess the bottom line is…don’t walk through it alone. Seek prayer, counsel, and someone to speak truth to you when you are struggling to admonish your own spirit. Keep bathing in the word of God. Memorizing scripture is a great tactic (one I need to put into practice more!).

“I guess the bottom line is…don’t walk through it alone.”

Therefore since we have a great High Priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are — yet He did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
(Hebrews 4:14-16, NIV)

prone to many cravings, we human kind
all sensations vie for our attention
food, fashion, feel, fame combined
assault us with their offers, full aggression
to leave us now in hungering oppression

a thousand fragrances pass by so softly
whispering alluring vanity
while that One voice that calls gently, warmly
is tender, steady, speaking from eternity
warning, guiding us far from calamity

do we listen to the fallen voice of pleasure?
which speaks from empty promises galore
it guarantees, but never will deliver
the carrot it will make you to abhor
your hungering soul, with anguish, will be sore

to be fulfilled is found upon the dust
the bloody foot of that Golgotha tree
the veins of Mercy hanging on a cross
who yields, with bleeding veins, a final plea
that He, I AM, in grace, remember me

with lustful eyes and hearts, we daily hunger;
with outstretched hand, He reaches, brimful grace
at His feet, inviting us –  peaceful, quiet – linger
in the field of pasture green and space
enfolded, satisfied, in His embrace.

by Amy Michnik

There are seasons in which it is best not to ask too many questions.

There are seasons in which you just know that a happy surprise is around the next corner. The smells, sounds, hints, secret trips to the store, and sneaking about with bags or boxes that you weren’t supposed to see, all make you so excitedly inquisitive that you nearly stretch your skin trying to contain your eagerness. But you don’t snoop too much or sleuth around the house because you know that, should you get too nosey, you might spoil some delectable wonder for yourself. You would rather reap the reward of not-so-patient waiting than discover the delight before it’s time.

There are seasons in which a long-anticipated fear is realized, and it is so desolating that nobody has the energy to answer questions. It might be the loss of a job, the death of a loved one, or rejection of an all-too-important application. The curious confused cat inside of you wants to know why: why now? why me? how did this happen? And yet, there’s a segment of your soul that is weary, barren, mourning, and just needs to realize and process the disappointing reality before moving on to any investigation.

There are seasons in which you can sense transition on the horizon. It makes the air you breathe quiver with your anticipation. You know that the fateful shifting of the shadows will reveal a new challenge, a fresh perspective, an unforeseen redirection; however, it is not for you to know the times or seasons.

There are seasons in which the season has been too long, and you need the wind to change. The cold, grey, and howl of winter need to fold to the warmth, green, and chirping of spring. Your cabin fever reaches a burning temperature. But spring cannot wait forever, and winter is weary. And so waiting, dreaming of sunshine and cherry blossoms, you anticipate the awakening of spring.

There are seasons in which the petition has yet to be realized. Your knees are bruised from being pressed into the floor as you’ve prayed. Your soul feels restless as it looks for the long-awaited answer. Your mind would wander to places of deep, despairing analysis as to why it hasn’t come, why the vision has not been realized, why the request has not been granted. Nonetheless, you speak to your soul of the goodness and patience of the Almighty, who sees and knows and hears all things. And you hush the fretting voices in order to receive the peaceful command to be still.

There are seasons in which it is best not to ask too many questions.
There are seasons in which it is best to breathe in the pause; to hold the question in your heart’s palm, and allow the tension of waiting and longing to be held in the palm of the Father.
Anticipate. Ponder. Rest. Be still. Trust.
The answer will come.
For to everything, there is a season.

Comparison is a nasty, often subtle, cruel game that we play. Men and women alike are duped into various editions of the game of “Me vs. Them”.

This detrimental game we play is rarely confined to childhood and adolescent years. Many of us carry comparisons well into adulthood — perhaps even throughout our entire lives. It can become a constant toxic mindset of seeing someone else’s grass through green, lush glasses, and failing to recognize that your own grass is just as green. Perhaps your lawn just needs some fertilizer. (Take that metaphor however you wish.)

Let me tell you from experience, it takes work to stop playing the game. Why? Because nearly everyone and everything around you invites you to play it. Media portrays ideals for body image, clothing, jobs, houses, vehicles, relationships, happiness, and so forth; and our self-gratification-saturated society will try to convince you that if you do not have what you see on a screen or billboard or magazine page, then you are missing an essential ingredient to happiness and fulfillment. Even if you manage to stay away from popular culture-generated ideals, you do not have to look far to see a friend or colleague or acquaintance who has something in their life that you seem to lack.

I could give you paragraphs of how this comparison game has played out in my head. Oh yes, I have experienced some emotional, spiritual, and mental casualties resulting from trying to be something that I am not.

The problem with — and, I submit, the solution to — this comparison game is that I can only ever be me. There are many things I will never be because those things are intrinsic to the make-up of another person. But there are many equally wonderful, beautiful, important things that I will ever be because they are God-given intrinsic threads in the fabric of me.

I may never be like ____________.
But I will ever be myself.
And as God’s grace has begun to wash the scales of comparison from my eyes, it is increasingly my desire
to ever be
who God made me
to be
to the best of my ability.

Never try to be him or her. You cannot.
But ever be the person that God made you to be.

Anxiety will never ask you for permission.

“Hey, can I come wreak havoc on your mind for awhile?”

No, it doesn’t work like that. If it did, none of us would struggle with it. Although many of us find familiar bondage more comfortable than unfamiliar freedom, I don’t think any of us would choose to keep on being anxious. Ridiculous…

Or would we?

I cross-examine myself internally on this notion of  f r e e d o m . Because as I sit here typing, I am fighting against that age-old enemy called the spirit of anxiety. It nags and pulls and yells and throws a fit inside my head, and my spirit tells it to back off. And my theology says, “Take every thought captive”, and “do not be anxious about anything”.

Come to Me…

Yes, anxiety will often just present itself, and suddenly I find it is bombarding my mental highways and threatening my peace.
But at the same time, the Prince of Peace challenges it — and me — head on.

Amy, I’ve conquered this. It doesn’t have to rule you. 

And at this moment I find myself asking Him for the grace to not be anxious.
Do not be anxious, the Spirit says.
And my spirit replies, “Yes, Lord.”
And my feelings keep yelling.
But the truth is, He holds all that I am anxious about in His hands.
He won’t cast me out because of my anxiety. No matter how irrational it is, He won’t laugh at me for it.
But He will invite me to rest.
My feelings will go hysterical,
But He will challenge me with Truth.

My feelings say “Worry!”
But the Truth says Trust.

My feelings say “Be anxious!”
But the Truth says Do not.

My feelings…
But Truth.

My–
TRUTH.

* T R U T H *

Be still.

Autumn has a way of stealthily creeping up on me. Its silent footsteps can only be perceived in the turning leaves. Its presence is subtly detected as its chilled breath mingles with the mild zephyrs of summer; not quite wintery, still possessing a hint of green warmth. I recognize its entrance gradually, until it comes upon the world around me in full, vibrant force. And I know that it will suddenly, quite complacently, succumb to the frosted grasp of winter’s hand, bending to the white and grey until no trace of golden autumn remains.

This romantic, sensuous, somewhat foreboding picture hails the opening of a new chapter, the turning over of a new leaf (pun intended). Summer was a short, flushed whirlwind of work, rest, fellowship, healing, pondering, wandering, wondering. Without much warning, it has quickly given way to the focused, refreshing blast of fall, both in the natural changes outside and circumstantial changes of a new academic year.

As fall comes and goes, without asking anyone’s permission, I find it is always accompanied by a downpour of “the new”. Not just a new school year, a new season, a new stack of textbooks. New life, new heartache, new challenges, new responsibilities, new relationships, new trepidations, new expectations. Just, well, new about many things. It is exciting, overwhelming, scary, unsettling, delightful, sobering.

And here, at the threshold of this fifth chapter of my university career, I find myself reeling at the tidal wave of changes and newishness before me. It has not knocked the breath out of me just yet, but I know it very well could. I am not immune to the over-busyness that characterizes so many students’ lives.
But as a wise person once told me: when life gets busy, God always gives an extra measure of grace.

Although it will feel — and perhaps already feels — like I am drinking from a fire hose, I simultaneously stand under a waterfall of grace to cover, carry, bear up, overshadow, and shelter me through this next year.

The season changes. And the grace just keeps coming.