All I Ever Needed to Know in Life I Learned in Covenant Players

As I approach 45, I find myself looking back at what is–if I am very fortunate–the first half of my life (Who knows?  Maybe it is the first three-quarters? ).  I have had an extraordinary life.  If I had died last year, which the doctors told me was entirely possible–although things look good now–the joys, adventures, blessings, gifts would have far, far, far exceeded the regrets.  If I ponder what lies beneath that last sentence for any length of time, it takes my breath away.  In truth, the word extraordinary doesn’t begin to name these almost-45 years.

My time in an international Christian repertory theater company, Covenant Players, although only five years, makes up a significant number of the experiences that are extraodinary.  Getting to tour and perform on three continents in three languages for thousands and thousands of people . . . well, how can I even give you a taste of how deeply that shaped who I am today?

On Facebook, people with whom I toured or served while in the company, as well as people who went before and after me, have found each other and we are (re)connecting.  I think it is because we understand what it was to live out of a van with three or four other people for 10 months of the year, learning and performing at least 200 new roles during that time and performing hundreds of times, and living on very little money while feeling very rich.  And also because in that environment, you tend to bond quickly and deeply.  There is one woman who served in Covenant Players about 10 years before I did, Andie Casey, who I have gotten to know through Facebook and we can’t wait to meet face-to-face.  We know each other because we share a foundational and unique experience.

Alright, the above was a long introduction to what is below, which is a questionnaire that some former Covenant Player put together and has been dropped on all of us.  I can’t tell you how much fun it has been to read others’ responses!  I held off filling it out because it felt overwhelming, and because some answers are experiences shared with my ex-husband–”we stories” that I am still trying to figure out how to tell because “we” aren’t a “we” anymore.  But the other day, I sat down and just started typing.  It has brought back memories, put some things into perspective, and reminded me of who I am.  

A lot of people in my present life don’t even know I was involved in Covenant Players.  Others knew vaguely, but it was so hazy that it just got a faint smile when I mentioned something about it.  I am amazed, still, that even my family has never really asked about what my experiences were on the road.  And maybe that is as it should be; I don’t know.  I just know that when someone else has done something so unique, I could sit and listen to stories all day long. 

However, there have been peole that have asked and I have tried to give some idea of the diverse opportunities and crazy situations and the miracles that made up these five years.  With this questionnaire, I think I was given the right questions to make a more robust response.

And so, with all that set-up, context, and introduction . . . my responses to the questionnaire “All I Ever Needed to Know in Life I Learned in Covenant Players!”

NAME: Kirsten (Chaplin Rucquoi) Christianson

Year(s) served? 83-88

Favorite Area: I had favorites for different reasons, but here goes:

1 Black Gold (Nigeria Cameroon), 1987

2 Catalyst Europe (Military on the Continent, Great Britain & Ireland, with special love for N. Ireland/Ireland!!), 1985

3 Catalyst 5 (let’s see . . . IN, OH, MI, VA, WV, MD, PA, DC and I think one more?), but this is a favorite more for my unit rather than the geographical area: Christina, Brad, Allen Bartley and Annika Linander (Oh Annnika!  Where are you!!?)

Top 5 Favorite Plays:

1 Not By Me

2 The Night is for Hiding & Glorious Day

3 The Couch & Unto the Least of These

4 The Western in which communion is served . . . indescribable

5 Proxy . . . Proxy, Proxy, Proxy! 

Five I loved to perform:  Name of the Game (although as far as I am concerned, Kapp and Linda Brown did it the very, very best!); Legacy (any role); Turnabout (am I remembering that title correctly?); 4′ 8.5″; and honestly, Search.  What an amazing play.  Really.

And for the record, LOVED these plays but HATED to perform them:  Anybody Know the Way (my Waterloo!); Concentration (a spur AND a burr for me!); et Fantastique (I can’t even remember the English title!)! Bah!

Most Memorable Miracle Story: I think my whole time in CP was a miracle . . . Sometimes when I am in a grocery store doing the mundane shopping I will stop and think, “I used to travel around the world and perform these amazingly Spirit-filled plays and live on people’s offerings and see God change people’s (inluding my) lives . . . And now here I am in MN upset that I can’t find my favorite kind of microwave popcorn!” 

Also, I think it is a miracle that Gary Barcus didn’t drive up to Far West and kill me when I called him from the road to tell him that I had backed into a brand new Ferrari (without the required backer) and that the Ferrari hood was now melded to the engine.  Although I heard a few choice words while he intook some breath, he was nothing but sweetness to me. 

Story: Marc Rucquoi, Emma Dowman and I were in Nigeria in our #$%&! VW van that we had to hammer on the alternator to get started each! and! every! time!  We were in the midst of this village when all of a sudden this group of about 30 villagers came out with masks and swords and machetes and in tribal paint and clothing.  (Now, remember I was VERY YOUNG–and forget that Anita Mix had SPECIFICALLY WARNED AGAINST DOING THIS in her most-helpful letter she left us.)  I felt a Kodak  moment come on and took out  my camera to capture this amazing spectacle on camera.  ALL. HELL. BROKE. LOOSE!!  They surrounded our van, beating on it, trying to reach into the open windows, and trying to open the doors, screaming, gesturing, etc., etc., etc.  Emma was in the back seat yelling, “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”  Marc shouted, “Lock the door!  Emma!!!  Lock your door!”  “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”  Hands reached in and tore off my watch and tried to get the camera. 

We were mobbed and I knew we were going to die right there and we hadn’t telexed the office where we were in the last few days.  Doomed.

Somehow, Marc gunned the engine and we broke away!  Freedom!

But no.  Out of nowhere one of the men with a two-foot two-sided mask on his head dashed in front of the van!  Marc slammed on the brakes.  The man slowly turned so the scary side of the mask faced us and he pointed his sabers at us while he started chanting something.  The others started screaming and surrounding the van (and thus us) again.

“Jesus!  Jesus!  Jesus!”  I joined Emma.

Suddenly another one of the men who had been beating on our van began screaming AT THE OTHERS, including Scary Two-Face and swinging his saber at them, chasing them away from our van.  Then he turned to Marc and yelled, “Go now!  Go now!  Go now!”

We went NOW at Warp Speed and utterly silent.

Five minutes later, without looking at me Marc barked: “I hope like HELL that picture turns out!”

I feel that God intervened.  All kidding aside, we were in serious danger.

Did you get married in CP? Yes.  Yes I did. And very sadly, I got divorced after CP.

Favorite CMT quote: (from a play)  This is one off the top of my head.  I would have to dig through showcase notes to remember lines that really IMPACTED me.  “I’ve looked at the signs!  They all say, ‘This is the way’ and point in completely different directions.” (Hope I haven’t paraphrased it!)

Favorite CMT quote: (general speech)  Was made to me on a phone call when he was letting me know that while he would love to send me to Ireland (my request), he needed Marc in France and if we were married, then he needed me in France, too.  My favorite quote is at the end, which is when I knew I had been finessed:

CMT:  So you  see, Dear, Pam (the other French unit leader) and Marc are needed in France.  If you are really going to marry Marc, then I need you in France, too.  After you go to France, THEN  you can go to Ireland.

ME:  But Chuck, I don’t speak French. 

CMT:  When I was over there a couple years ago, I was amazed at how much of my French came back to me!

ME:  But Chuck, I don’t have any French to come back!  I’ve never even HAD French!  I’ve had three years of German and two years of Spanish.  But no French!

CMT:  You’re a smart girl; I know you will pick it right up!

Note:  I toured in French-speaking Europe for 18 months, living and performing in French.  I wouldn’t say I  picked it “right up”, but I did learn French and for the opportunity and the faith in me, I am so grateful to Chuck and the people who toured with me!  C’etait formidable!

Favorite Life Series: RAF, hands down.  Chase’s singlet kept me from ever looking at Scott Hamilton in the same way again!!

Most embarrassing stage moment: I was doing a footballer (think Charlie Brown and Lucy with the football) with Kerry Brooks at a very upscale Congregational church in Connecticut.  It was a dinner theater booking.  We were performing on a full stage and it was the requisite 4′ off the ground.  I pulled away the “football” and stood up to deliver my Cleo line.  However, as I stood up my heel came down on my skirt AND my slip and thus keeping them down around my ankles.  So I was standing in front of 300 upper-class Congregationalists in my blouse, panty hose and underwear, with an invisible football. 

Kerry rolled over and covered his face, guffawing.  The audience gasped.  I threw the football over my shoulder and ran off stage.  Kerry followed, poked his head back out and said, “That was for free!”

Brought down the house.

Most unusual experience: Every! Single! Day! in Nigeria.  I woke up each day thinking, “I wonder what will happen today!”  I ate goat with the skin and fur on; I watched a “doctor” throw a baby chicken into a pit of alligators to see what God had to say (while people who were “possessed” walked around us with manacles and chains on their ankles and wrists); I continued on with plays while bats flew overhead and rats skittered across the dirt floor . . . And also, performing in this church in Virginia that had spent an unGodly amount of money on a stained glass window that they would unveil to a timpani roll at the beginning of their Sunday telecast . . .

Ten Things I learned in CP:

1 That I had an accent.(Hey, I’m from Iowa!  Who knew bathroom was just a two-syllable word?)

2 How to grease the nipples of a Ford transit van (thanks to Marc; it’s how he courted me!)

3 Pentecostals and Catholics are Christians too!

4 How to work HARD and play HARD (Thank you, Ruth-Angela Norman!)

5 To learn lines, own lines and perform in other languages (and to project, pivot, own lines, eye-to-eye contact, etc.)

6 I could do far more than I believed, thanks first to God and second to CMT’s trust and the opportunities he gave me!

7 The difference between what God requires and what are just my preferences (learned whilst living with other people and them sharing what it is like to live with me!)

8 How weak and selfish and prideful I can be (especially learned while I was unit leading)

9 How to affirm people

10 The reality of Jesus Christ

And all of this is just the tip of the iceberg! 

So there is a thumbnail sketch of five years of my life . . . and that doesn’t even cover the time that the Salinas Police Department held guns on our unit and made us raise our hands in the air when someone called in that we had a gun–which was a TOY GUN we were using in a play we were rehearsing! . . . or the time Vaughn Drumm and I hitchhiked with two Turkish men when we broke down in Belgium in the middle of winter in the middle of the night, and we, along with the rest of our unit, ended up at a Greek restaurant owned by two Greek Communists . . . or the time we performed Proxy, a play in which a guy has climbed up on a ledge and is going to jump when a woman walks by and finds she can’t just ignore him, and an audience member came up and told us that he had been planning to kill himself later that night but the play reminded him that he was not alone and he was going to go talk to the pastor . . . and several journals-full more. 

Yes, these last 45 years have been exquisite!

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The Myth of Divorce & Facebook as God's Scalpel

"There are those who believe it is simple selfishness that leads people to divorce;

for those of us who have lived it, it's hard to see why anyone would

rip out their veins for some immature or narcissistic desire

to get what they want, because that is what [divorce] feels like."

Wendy Swallow in Breaking Apart

It wasn't that I didn't know divorce was gut-wrenching, horrifying, difficult . . . fill in the blank. My mom had been divorced. I have family members who have been divorced. I have friends, too many to stop and count, who have been divorced. It was always before me as I packed up possessions, met with a lawyer, called friends to tell them, and did the never-ending tasks that make up divorce.

Still, the day I pulled out the eight boxes of photographs (this was before digital cameras were common), sat down, and sorted through hundreds--if not thousands--of pictures was the day that I understood a new truth: the divorce was merely a legal instrument, a nod from the state that said, "Yes. We hear that you have come to a place at which you believe that this relationshp is untenable. We will no longer hold you responsible for each other in any way. We won't think about you as a set anymore. Go your own ways and forget this ever happened."

But sitting on that floor surrounded by 17 years of recorded life, I got it: the divorce that people want--that I wanted--was really a myth. There is no forgetting. I could cut my ex-husband out of the photograph, but I could not excise him from the memory of the moment. Even now, I could more elegantly Photoshop him out of the pictures of my time touring with Covenant Players, but there was no splitting the shared memories, or the shared relationships.

Over the last eight years, the myth has been underscored again and again. A marriage is made up of at least a thousand connections (even when the most important and intimate connections have been broken). Friendships, family, experiences, books read, travel, dreams, places lived . . . I could go on and on and on and on and on.

The pictures weren't just of him and me; they had others in them. Who gets cut out of the picture? Who leaves the friendship?

Shared experiences are intimate connections. Take our dear close friend who died while we were married. Her death was an agonizing blow for both of us. We had toured with her for a year. She was thisclose to us. Every year on the anniversary of her death and of her birth, I mourn quietly. There is only one other person in this world who knows my particular loss, who understands why I can barely breathe two days of the year. I can explain it to my (present) husband, but he didn't know her and he simply can't fully grasp the grief.

Nor is there a way to cover over the loss of relationship with my ex-husband's mother and brother, whom I loved dearly and miss in a way I cannot articulate. She was my mom, he was my brother. And it's worse than if they had died, because I know that they are just half a continent away, living, breathing, and yet they might as well be on the moon. I miss them just about every day.

Wendy Swallow, in Breaking Apart, states that "As a fantasy, divorce has a lot to recommend it. A good divorce fantasy can feel like an open window in a life otherwise shuttered in on itself. It can comfort a heart stinging from marital strife . . . Most people, though, will tell you that divorce is a nightmare rather than a fantasy. Many, in fact, will tell you it is the American nightmare of the late twentieth century. And in may ways they are right."

Why am I writing all of this? Am I regretting my divorce? Did I make a mistake by divorcing my ex-husband?

I am writing this because Facebook brought me, well, us, to another juncture at which I have been confronted with the myth yet again. Just about daily.

But to back up one step: No, I don't regret my divorce. I do regret the sin on both of our parts that led us to that specious place. I hate that what God put together someone did put asunder, including the two of us. Dan Allender, in Intimate Allies, puts it succinctly: "Our only option in all encounters is to glorify or to degrade." My first marriage was more about the latter and less about the former.

I am grateful for my present husband and for the healing and redemption I have found in my second marriage. But make no mistake: God has used this second marriage to show me where I had deceived myself in my first marriage. The sinful behaviors that I used to blame on the ex-husband are still with me, even though he is not. I am keenly aware (as God has revealed thus far) of where I failed/fell down/sinned. And I am flinchingly grateful that God will continue to reveal my heart to me as I live in this second marriage.

Back to Facebook. My ex-husband has a profile. How do I know? Because every time he friends or is friended by one of my friends, I get an update: "Ex-Husband is now friends with Good Friend!" Yippee! Skippy! Yea!

At first, this sent me reeling. I felt intruded upon and very proprietary of my friends. This was my turf! Hadn't I divorced him so that I wouldn't have to think about him, see him, know his movements . . . so I could pretend he didn't exist? It's not that I bore him malice; I actually wanted good for him and desired a certain reconciliation. Earlier this year, when going through a serious medical issue, I had very much wished that I could speak with him and apologize for the things God had brought to light.

And those desires were still there, just . . . at a distance (cue Bette Midler).

Ah, but there he is. A real person. Alive. Friends with my friends. Enjoying Facebook. And again I am Faced(!) with the reality that divorce is a myth: our two lives are joined by those thousands of connections that were formed throughout 17 years.

In the past month as I have watched the Facebook Status Updates, I have become aware of a question--perhaps a call?--from God: What would redemption do to the myth? What would redemption even look like between two people who used to be one and now they aren't, but who have the memories of being one? And memories of putting the oneness asunder?

As the status updates have continued, I have found myself beginning to prayerfully reflect upon each friendship that is shared, the story that is of a fabric. I am grateful that just because the marriage died doesn't mean that those thousand connections died--for either one of us. I ponder my first marriage a little and ask God to continue to show me the unfaced-sin in my own heart.

I realize that Facebook offers an opportunity to turn the myth on its head. As I take joy in the longevity and richness of all those shared connections (over 50 and counting!) and I continue to ask God to "Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting" (Ps. 139.23-24), I am more divorced than I have ever been. What I held onto was the selfishness (my friends, my turf) and the anger ("I will cut him out of the pictures!") and the old story of a dead marriage ("I refuse to remember him; he is dead to me.").

God is a Redeemer. Redemption is the story of the Bible, told and retold and being retold now. We are a people of the Book. I am called to live out the Gospel, to repent and beg mercy and "forgive and cancel debts and love boldly" (Allender). It is good to hunger for reconciliation and to be open to what it might look like in this cyber-rich twenty-first century.

What's it looking like is that Facebook gives me an opportunity to remember my first marriage and husband in a new way, as one for whom much, much, much has been forgiven and given back and made new.

It is a taste--the briefest, most subtly-exquisite taste--of heaven: repentance, forgiveness, reconciliation, fellowship, worship of the Redeemer. When all myths die at the feet of Reality.

Dear Thaddeus Evan:

I think I didn't write this on your birthday because I am trying to deny that you are really growing up. Every cliche about the time flying and you growing so fast, etc., is true. I have enjoyed every day, every stage that has led us to your fourth birthday. You are the most loveable sinner I have ever known!

This year you have matured a lot. Some of it was natural progression and some of it was forced on you. You graduated to big-boy underpants--and you did it in under two weeks. I am forever grateful to the book Everyone Poops which made pooping on the potty so much fun for you!

You also relinquished your binkies (the four that you slept with plus the six that you kept in various areas of our house). I say relinquished instead of gave up because there was no giving on your part. It was not your idea, nor a good idea to your way of thinking. However, once we explained that other children needed your binkies, you reluctantly consented to send them to those poor needy urchins.

This summer you made friends with the pool. The first few weeks you wouldn't move off the steps of Uncle Matt and Auntie Bea's pool. But one afternoon, when Auntie Julie was in the pool watching you while I was at an appointment, she coaxed you off the steps and there was no looking back for you! Auntie Julie is an expert at getting people to do things they don't know they want to do!!

You became a fish and it became impossible to get you out of the pool! With your water wings on, you paddled merrily all over the pool with "large Superman" (who is actually all of three inches high) in one hand and a water rocket in the other. Auntie Julie's next task is to get you to simply shake the water out of your eyes when you are splashed, rather than insisting on going to the edge of the pool and wiping your eyes with a towel! Next year.

As you read this years from now, Thad, you probably willl think, "Large Superman? Three inches high?" Large Superman has been your security blanket, rarely leaving your hand. In fact, you were so attached that we got a spare on ebay incase Large Superman ever flew away. Your love of Superman has only grown over the last two years. This year you insisted on a Superman costume again AND a Superman-themed birthday party.

You also have matured relationally. You revel in your cousins and when all of you are together you are a tribe. You adore Eliza and you look up to Andy. You are learning to share and to hold your own. You also enjoy Bible study childcare--there are six boys in the room and by the time I come pick you up, you are spent!

You are growing intellectually, too! You love preschool and I couldn't have been prouder at the parent-teacher conference. You are a sponge and very curious: why, why, why to the seventh level down. And I am simply not smart enough to explain the physics and trigonometry behind it all. So I give the best answer I have: "Let's ask Daddy when he gets home; I'm sure he knows!"

You know your ABCs (now that you have just recently decided to allow L into the alphabet). You can count to 30 two times out of five attempts: you don't like 14 and 15 and you don't like me forcing them on you! You have decided you want to be called Thad and I am convinced it's because you don't want to learn to write Thaddeus. But you write Thad really well and you take pride in signing your name. Tonight you brought a bag of marshmallows to me on which you had "written" something. You translated for me: "I love Dad and I love Mama, and I love Thaddeus and we have Christianson love."

One of your weaknesses is that you are a budding perfectionist. You often will balk at doing something until you know you can do it perfectly, and you are hard on yourself when something you do isn't up to your standards. So when an A doesn't meet perfectly at the top, you will cross it out and say, "I didn't do it right!" Daddy and I are working at making sure we ease up on ourselves so you don't get the idea that perfection is the goal.

You also have a temper! I would love to say I don't know where it comes from, but I know myself too well. Daddy and I have tried to gather wise counsel and also read and re-read Love and Logic Magic for Early Childhood. We are so pleased wth the progress you have made in handling your anger. We have stressed to you that it is okay to feel anger and to express it in ways that don't hurt yourself or others. You have really caught on well.

We have had an interesting year. I had several small strokes and a surgical procedure to repair a dissecting carotid aneurysm. The week that I was in the hospital was the first time that you and I hadn't slept in the same house since you were born. We were so fortunate to have Uncle Matt and Auntie Bea close by, and you just rolled with the crisis and bedded down with them quite nicely! We both survived the separation and are probably better for it!

You also are going to church and Sunday School and enjoy Sunday School a lot. I am so thrilled at the Biblical education you are getting. My deepest, fondest, most passionate dream/prayer/desire for you is that you know God, know His love for you and are passionate to love others out of His love. I believe knowing His word is the surest foundation for my dream for you being realized. You are conversant about God and Jesus, and often will talk about Jesus dying on the cross. You love Bible stories and will listen to 10 in a row at bedtime and still want more. Right now Samson has caught your fancy. You can't understand why he would let a girl get the best of him!

When you were still riding around in my tummy, I hoped that when you finally talked you would call me Mama. However, from the first time that you addressed me, it has been Mom. And of course, because it was you and said in your inimitable way, Mom was wonderful and I didn't give Mama another thought.Then, just after I came home from the hospital, you started calling me Mama. Just like that. And it is said with such affection and love, that it is . . . breathtaking. I thought maybe it would taper off, but it hasn't and it has been a wonderful gift to hear you call me Mama.

Along with my new name, you also have become very cuddily and love to, what you call, "snuggle-buggle-wuggle" with me. Several times a day you make sure to tell me that I am your best mama, that you love me so much . . . You rub your cheek on mine and pat my other cheek with your hand. It's heaven.

You ADORE your dad!!! The two of you have loads of fun adventuring together around the house and outside with swords and capes and pirate treasure and forts . . . You two have created a whole ongoing story about Captain T-Addeus and D-Daddeus with sidekicks Chaser the Dog, Superman, Batman, and LarryBoy. You wrestle, you chase, you play at the Man Store (Menards and Home Depot), you burp . . . . you glory in each other and your shared testosterone. It's a beautiful, gross thing to behold!

You also are getting into jokes. Like any toddler-preschooler, your made-up jokes put you into hysterics while Daddy and I are grinning at your silliness. You are starting to get the humor of some jokes and your favorite is "Why does the chicken cross the road?" and "Why did the elephant paint his toenails purple?" You also like a good knock-knock joke and again, make them up at your whim!

On a day-to-day level, you are simply delightful and a joy. You are witty, funny, active, imaginative (you carry on whole conversations with yourself and imaginary friends), and creative. You love playing what Auntie Shannon and Uncle Dude used to call "People". Superheroes, stuffed animals, pencils, Little People all become characters in your elaborate play. It is common for you to command Daddy or me: "Make LarryBoy talk! Make Large Superman talk!" Daddy is better at this than me!!!

You love to make art and enjoy painting, coloring, drawing on any kind of paper that is around. I have made an art wall for you and you take real pride in putting up your artwork. As the collection has grown, you enjoy rearranging what will be on top and what needs some touch-up work.

You are 39.5" tall and you hover at 35 pounds. You have loooonnnngggg legs. Your eyes are a lovely hazel that favor green, particularly when you wear green (which I stock your wardrobe with!). Your hair is a dark blond right now and unfortuntely, you got your mama's pale complexion! You also drew the short stick and have your daddy's allergies and so you take Zyrtec and Nasonex every day, something that you remind me daily is boring and that you don't like. Although I ask if you want to pick out your clothes, you usually tell me to do it.

In short, you are a gift from God! A week doesn't go by that Dad and I don't look at each other and express how great you are, how blessed we are, and wonderful God is to have given you to us. You inspire us to be better people, better lovers of God and each other, better parents. There is a saying that to have a child is to have your heart go walking around outside your body and that is so profoundly true. I get sick to my stomach when I think of harm coming to you, from others or from me. I so want you to be able to be safe and yet I know the call for me is to prepare you to be God's man in whatever situation.

Lately we have been talking about your name and I told you again what it meant: brave and kindhearted. You are both of those things and I pray you will grow into the fullness of what God defines those terms to be. You are well on your way, all thanks to God.

Thaddeus, Thad: I love you so much. Thank you for four wonderful years. I look forward to the next year . . . and pray it goes SLOWLY!

All my love,

Mama

Need

Pete and I have an ongoing conversation with TEWC about the difference between want and need, which is a conversation we also have with ourselves. TEWC pretty much gets it and I have been proud of him when we have been in his second home, our local Target, and he tells me he wants something "but I don't need it, Mama."

I enjoy gifts. I equally enjoy giving to getting, but make no mistake: I love getting gifts. It is probably my primary love language. I am not sure how it developed in me, but I just know that when I get a gift, it can be very small, I feel loved by the giver. So it follows that need and want get very mixed up for me.

Trying to sort it out is like trying to untangle the knot of electronics cords beneath your desk. It is time consuming. It takes patience. It can seem hopeless if you know you can't get rid of any of the wires and are pretty much convinced that in six months you will be under the desk untangling it all again.

The unending floods in Iowa and the devastating tornados in Parkersburg, IA and Hugo, MN (yes, one-half mile from where we live) have brought home to me, again, how important it is to hold onto things very loosely. Because they can easily just float away.

If, twenty minutes after the tornado siren sounded, I stood up in my basement and looked around to see most of my house and its contents strewn as far away as a couple miles, what would I search for first?

If I was standing behind a wall of sandbags that ring my house and the water came up to the second bag from the top, what would I evacuate first (after my family)?

What do I need? What is most important? Where do I find my core identity and feeling of eternal security?

"Lament for the Maker" by Joe Scanlan

an updated version of

"Lament for the Makaris"

by William Dunbar

I who was full of health and gladness,

Am troubled now with great sickness,

And feebled by infirmity—

Fear of death unsettles me.

Our pleasure here is all vain glory,

This false world is transitory,

The flesh is porous, and Fate is sly—

Fear of death unsettles me.

The state of man does change and vary,

Now sound, now sick, now blithe, now sorry,

Now dancing and merry, now like to die—

Fear of death unsettles me.

***

Unto the end we'll scrutinize,

The blooming of forsythias,

In admirable absurdity—

Fear of death unsettles me.

And since we'll devote all our years,

To making things that disappear,

We'll have no use for this frail plea:

Fear of death unsettles me.

Fear of death unsettles me.

Fear of death unsettles me.

http://www.thingsthatfall.com/lament.php

Near-Life Experience, Part III (The Conclusion, So Far)

From: Kirsten Christianson
Sent: Tuesday, May 20, 2008 7:49 AM
Subject: Stroke/Aneurysm Recovery or "You Are So Lucky to Be Alive"

Thank you for your thoughts, prayers, cards, e-mail and phone calls over the past three weeks (it seems like three years to me). A lot of people have asked for an update and so I thought I would send out another note. If this is your first update (I have had limited access to my address book), you can get the story from the beginning by reading from the bottom! I won’t send out anymore updates unless you ask, but I ask for your continued prayers. I am still not full time on e-mail and phone, so if you contact me please don’t despair! I will get back to you!

I have wanted to send this out for about one week, but I have wrestled with the content. There are two components to this recovery: the physical and the psychospiritual. To say that the past month has been life changing just begins to describe the experience.

I was released from the hospital on Friday, April 25. I was so grateful to get sprung! I was discharged with a prescription for Plavix, an anti-platelet medication, and instructions to go home and do nothing. Bo. Ring. I was released into the care of my family who have followed doctor’s orders with frightening precision.

So for the next two weeks Thad and I spent our days at Uncle Matt & Aunt Bea’s house. We were dropped off by Daddy in the morning and picked up in the evening. We are so grateful to Aunties Bea and Julie, and Cousins Naomi and Abigail for the visits, extraordinary care, meals, and servanthood. The Family Christianson would have been up a creek without a BOAT let alone a paddle without them!

I had a follow-up ophthalmology appointment about 10 days ago. Dr. Terry dilated my eyes and took about 30 pictures of my eyeballs (amazing). He showed me four pea-sized areas of damage in the right eyeball. Now that he has the pictures, he will be able to track progress when he follows me every six weeks over the next six months.

Last week was my first follow-up appointment with my neurology team (I have a neurology team!). Dr. Shah showed me several video clips of the deployment of the stents during the angiogram procedure. It was fascinating and also made me a little woozy. The three stents start at just below my jaw line and continue up behind and almost to the top of my right ear, stopping right at the base of my brain. I don’t feel them and the soreness is now gone.

The news was hopeful. My recovery is progressing. I had worried that the strokes, the aneurysms and the stents would prevent me from attempting to have one more baby. While the neuro team didn’t make any promises, they said that they would move up the six-month angiogram to three months (end of July) and if everything looked good, we could then try for one more baby. I will have to stay on Plavix and the aspirin for the pregnancy. So at least I have some hope!

Physically, I still tire quickly. I think part of that is the hospitalization, part of it is being post-operation, and part of it is that I lost so much blood during the last angiogram. The neuro team has released me to regular activity. The biggest change is that I am to be very protective of my neck. Right now that is no problem because I am a little paranoid!

I am still having issues with my eyes and last night had a particularly scary bout of impaired eyesight. For the first time it was in the left eye as well as the right. So I am waiting to hear back from the neuro team and the ophthalmologist.

Having said all of the above, I am overwhelmed with gratitude to God for my life. As I was riding down to the University Hospital in the ambulance, I knew I was ready to see God; I had no qualms or regrets. But I also knew that there were several people to whom I still wanted to say things, and I didn’t want to leave Pete and Thad. I wasn’t ready. So I told God that I trusted Him and if this was the day, this was the day, but I would love a chance to love people better and longer before dying.

Honestly, I feel the psychospiritual recovery is the bigger issue. I wrestle at times with fear and it can feel overwhelming. I am trying to spend a lot of quiet time reading and listening for God’s Word. I think it will all take time.

The biggest epiphany I’ve had: Nothing has changed. I’ve changed, but the truth of my life has not. It’s just I am more keenly aware that God does know the number of my days and I do not. John Piper preached a sermon a number of years ago, while he was in the midst of his cancer treatment, entitled “Don’t Waste Your Cancer.” I have taken that to heart, offering the strokes and aneurysms to God and looking at this time as an opportunity God has given me. It’s an invitation to join Christ in His sufferings and to enjoy the sweet fellowship that really can only be found in such circumstances.

I really cannot thank everyone enough for all of the support I have received. Thank you seems so inadequate, but I trust you will receive my gratitude in all its meaning and strength.

With gratitude and joy,


Kϊrsten

A Near Life Experience, Part 2

From: Kirsten Christianson
Sent: Friday, April 25, 2008 6:13 PM
To: 'Kirsten Christianson'
Subject: News/Updates/Prayer Requests

For those of you who are getting this news for the first time, my apologies. I had limited access to my e-mail when the events below unfolded. Feel free to read the bottom e-mail first so you are up-to-speed!

Thank you to everyone who has prayed. It has made a difference in my countenance, bravery and hope. As you know I have been diagnosed with two dissecting aneurysms (one mostly healed, one not). When I wrote the last e-mail, the hope was that they unhealed one could be treated through medicine. I was looking forward to getting out of the hospital Thursday morning.

However, Thursday I woke up with a painful headache and several blind spots that came and went in my field-of-vision. After some talk, consultations and exams, I was wheeled into surgery for another angiogram to confirm what was suspected—the left aneurysm was deteriorating and throwing clots. During the angiogram they were able to see that the aneurysm was much worse than originally thought and the doctors ended up putting three (rather than the anticipated one) stents into my carotid artery and then rebuilding the artery. After four hours of work, they were satisfied with the blood flow and ended the procedure.

Thursday night I was in quite a bit of pain. This morning I awoke with a permanent black patch in my right eye's field-of-vision. I was emergently sent to the ophthalmologist who did several tests and diagnosed me with having several retinal infarctions. Mostly likely, between the time I discovered the blind spot and the time we made it into the operating room, the aneurysm "threw" several clots up into my retina. The ophthalmologist is unsure whether plain sight will return to my right eye. Right now, it is as though I have a sheath of black gauze hanging off my eyelid. They told me only time will tell.

Dr. Shah showed me the pictures from my procedure before discharging me. It was sobering. Basically, the right side of my brain was getting very limited blood and oxygen. Three inches of the right carotid artery was almost completely blocked. Dr. Shah told me that if we had not caught this there was a greater than 80% chance that I would have had a catastrophic stroke in the near future. Needless to say, I am very grateful for my life. I was quite terrified yesterday as I was wheeled into the operating room.

Our family has rallied around us and Thad has enjoyed a lot of time at his aunt and uncles. I also had my first ride in an ambulance—with lights and sirens, too! I met some wonderful people at the hospital. I had a private room for all but five minutes of my stay—and I really liked my roommate. We had to laugh when we found out each other's situations. At 66, she was in for a tonsillectomy while at 43, I was in for stents! The stay at the hospital was by far the best hospital experience I have ever had. The nurses and doctors were incredible and the level of care was everything I could have wished for if I had the opportunity.

My prognosis is good. I need to take it easy for the next week or so. Dr. Shah said that with this procedure, my stroke risk is in the single digits through this aneurysm. I will be monitored regularly for the other aneurysm. I feel very blessed and incredibly glad to be HOME! Hopefully the headaches will fade out over the next two to three months, and take the black gauze with it.

Thanks again, for all y our wonderful notes, prayers and wishes. I truly felt surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses!

Kϊrsten

a Near-Life Experience, Part I

From: Kirsten [mailto:]
Sent: Wednesday, April 23, 2008 10:19 PM
To: 'Kirsten'
Subject: a Little News & a Prayer Request

I am typing this from Fairview University of Minnesota Medical Center in Minneapolis, where the doctors have diagnosed me with two “dissecting aneurysms”, one on each carotid artery, just below my skull. (Just a little word of caution: I am on some pain medication as I am writing this, so feel free to giggle where called for. Apparently, yesterday when I was asked if there were incidents of stroke in my family history, I replied, “The man wanted to buy more cows, but he ran out of money.” So you are forewarned!)

Thankfully, my aneurysms are not in my brain and so are far less dangerous than those that are. Still, they do still pose a danger and need to be addressed immediately. A dissecting aneurysm is a tear that occurs in the wall of the artery so that blood gets in between the inner part of the wall and the outer part of the wall. As blood collects in the “pocket”, it restricts blood and oxygen flow to the brain and if it doesn’t make its way back into the artery, it will burst. Right now, in my aneurysm, the blood makes its way back into the artery through the inner wall. However, the doctors have found that my arterial walls, in general, are quite weak and so want to correct this problem.

The aneurysm on the left appears to be older and healed over. Blood flow to the brain is minimally restricted. The one on the right is new and blood and oxygen flow is fairly restricted, so it needs to be treated. I have had countless CAT scans (well, at least four), several MRI’s, one MRA, an angiogram, and an ultrasound of my head (weird experience!).

The hope is that this aneurysm can be healed medically—meaning through medicine. Currently I am taking one aspirin a day and a drug called Plavix. The aspirin thins the blood and the Plavix restricts the blood from forming platelets. However, if tomorrow’s contrast CAT scan shows poor blood flow or any other complications, then they will put in a stent (made up of material and fabric) to reinforce the weak wall of the artery. Needless to say, that is an invasive and more risky treatment and will require more time in the hospital.

I have been suffering with severe headaches for about four months. I thought they were sinus headaches and have been on a couple courses of antibiotics. Two weeks ago, I had a headache that was excruciating and included an aura. This motivated me to go to the doctor again last week. Tests were ordered for this week. However, last weekend I acquired several new symptoms, including a numb face, vertigo and nasusea. Monday evening I went to the ER near our house and then was transported to the main hospital just after midnight.

Given all that has happened, everything has gone very smoothly. Thad is staying with my Aunt Bea and Uncle Matt and is happy as a lark. Pete has been just incredible in every way. My time in the hospital has been the best I have ever experienced. The level of care and the kindness extended by the doctors and staff has helped Pete and me feel confident and supported.

Thoughts and prayers are very much appreciated. I will let you know how it all turns out once I find out—in the next few days.

Kϊrsten

Time to Say Goodbye

I am closing this blog down. I am unable to keep it up like I would like. I had hoped that the blog format would motivate me to write everyday, and I do think about writing on it everyday, but I haven't made the last connection from thinking posts to writing and posting posts.

Thanks for reading and commenting. I appreciate it. Once I get the blog posts saved, I will delete the blog entirely.

Blessings on all.

More Pictures are Worth MORE Words!

Notice my pretty toenails!

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

We took Thad to the ER at 12a last Sunday morning (8/5) with a temp of 104. We brought him back home at 3a with the instructions to keep him hydrated and dosed with ibuprofen and acetaminophen. He woke at 7a and promptly vomited—four times. I called the ER and they asked us to bring him back into the ER, which we did at about 7:30a. We left again at 11a with a prescription for an anti-nausea medicine and a diagnosis of—you guessed it—the stomach flu. It was a big weekend for Thad: he went on his first boat trip, vomited for the first time, went to the ER for the first time . . . excitement all around.

After we left the ER we went to get his prescription filled at CVS. Pete dropped me off so he could go pick up some lunch before we headed home. I picked up the medicine and a few other things and went outside to wait. Exhausted and flooded with bright sunshine, I missed the curb step and broke my foot.

Yes, you read that right: I broke my foot 30 minutes after we left the ER.

I called Pete and asked him to pick me up and take me back to the ER. After four hours there—x-rays, Vicodin (!!), jello—I was released wearing a boot and on crutches. I was told I had a bad break in an “unusual” place.

Yea!

I went to the orthopedist on Wednesday (HUGE thanks to Penna for the ride and moral support!). I received excellent news: I didn't have to have a cast and I didn't need surgery. I will wear this lovely boot for six to eight weeks, though! After five days completely off the foot, I can get up on crutches; however, I can't weight bear on the foot for three weeks, due to the placement of the break.

STILL. I can take the boot off when I am down and I can still get in a pool, which is EXCELLENT given that our temps are now in the 100s!!!!

So, right now I am on the couch with my foot up in the air. Thad (after starting antibiotics on Thursday) is well on his way to health. Pete? Pete is exhausted with two full-time jobs! He has been great!

Also, huge props to Leeanne, who has stepped into the gap in a big way to serve Thad and me while Pete was at his other job. She cleaned, played with Thad, ran errands, and was my general handmaiden . . . all on her last week of summer vacation before returning to Texas A&M for her sophomore year. Thad is totally in love with her and I harbor a big affection as well!

We do have our senses of humor and I think that, along with a good dose of God’s grace, will pull us through in fine form.

So. How's your summer shaping up??

A Life-Long Ponder

I have always wondered why, when I get I get a pimple on one side of my face, I get another in the exact mirror location--on the other side of my face.



Weird.

All Gone . . .

The reason I chose this house to rent (and Pete was sweet enough to trust me!) was the big, full, beautiful tree in the back yard. It was spectacular in its shape and health. In Texas, so much is new development that trees are still in sapling stage.

In fact, I loved the tree so much that a few nights ago I began to tell Thad a story about that tree for his bedtime story. The tree was magic and a little boy named Thaddeus was discovering that the tree whispered to him to come climb to the sky in its branches . . .

However, last night's powerful storm took it away from us.

As you can see, half of it was "left" at the end of the storm. We lost the rest this evening to the tree doctors. Because Texas has been so dry for the last several years, the trees were too dry to withstand the wind. If the tree-half were left, it would either rot or fall on the house.



I was so looking forward to Thad playing under this tree this summer. I wanted him to have a sandbox or a sand/water table under the protection of the tree.

Joyce Kilmer - Trees
(For Mrs. Henry Mills Alden)

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Thank you, God, for the gift of five months with that tree. It was spectacular.

My Favorite Word of the Day

hence

I just saw this word in a message and I realized

how underutilized in our daily speech

this magnificent word is.

HENCE, I will use it more often and start a word revolution!

We are the Stories We Tell

(published in Pittman Creek Community Newsletter)

.

“It is not so much that things happen in a family

as it is that the family is the things that happen in it.

The family is continually becoming what becomes of it.

It is every christening and every commencement,

every falling in love, every fight,

every departure and return . . .”

(Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark)

The last time my family got together was for my grandfather’s funeral; before that, it was grandmother’s funeral. Beyond that it was for my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. Family reunions faded away around the time I hit my latter teen years. As the years stretch longer between gatherings, I have mourned the loss of connection, recollection, and memory making. As we gathered before and after my grandparents’ funerals, there were many moments of poignant remembrances and tear-inducing hilarity. For me, anytime the family gathered at “the homeplace”, I got a taste of heaven, a glimpse of how things should be.

It used to be that family reunions were an annual event of each and every summer for the extended Anderson Family. Our 600-acre farm would overflow with people ranging in age from one week to 90 years young. A volleyball net would be set up, the front lawn hosted a softball game, the horses were saddled and ridden, Grandpa’s homemade “jitneys” were gassed up and zooming around the farm. Lawn chairs and picnic tables were set up all over the orchard. Tables fairly bowed under the weight of my Grandma’s excellent potato salad, plates of grilled chicken and hamburgers, every kind of jello/whip cream salad you can imagine, pies in a variety of summer fruits.

Best of all was the crowd of people! Between my parents, they have nine siblings who have supplied me with scads of cousins. There were also great-grandparents, great-uncles and –aunts, cousins removed any number of times, and a plethora of honorary relatives, too. As the talk and activity swirled around me, I felt loved and protected and significant. I belonged to something bigger than myself!

Grandpa Evan died eight years ago. It has been eight years since I’ve seen the more immediate relatives. The others I haven’t seen since I was a teenager. Typing this last sentence grieves me very much.

I have a two-year-old son, Thaddeus. I am sad that he won’t hear Uncle Joe tell about the time he experimented with a bullet, a vise, and a hammer (and grandpa’s fierce anger [which sprang from being totally scared out of his mind!]). I hate that he won’t grow up in a gaggle of cousins, running all over the farm, eating hot juicy strawberries from the patch, and being affectionately teased by his older relatives. He is poorer because he will not hear the handed-down story of how the family worked and played on that farm for over 100 years.

More than anything, I hate that we have become a family mostly in name only. We have lost our stories because we have abandoned the event during which storytelling flourishes: the Family Reunion. The family reunion is more than an event, it is a place. It is a location in which we can come home to where we are known and still learn more about others and ultimately ourselves. It is the place from which we can stand against the alienations that our world and culture thrust upon us: online living . . . not being thin—pretty—rich—smart enough . . . living lives so busy and so far from home that even annual visits are difficult to fit into our lives.

But earlier this month I made an April Fool’s Resolution: I am going to plan a family reunion for next year. Every month I am going to send out letters, make phone calls, beg, plead, cajole, and flirt my way into producing a family reunion. I need to hear Uncle Joe’s story of the bullet shattering the light bulb and grandpa’s yell shattering his ear drum! I need to hear how Uncle Jeff flipped the motorcycle while showing off for a girlfriend in front of Grandpa and Grandma. I need to remember I come from a specific location and a specific family.

God’s kindest (and most confounding) gift is the gift of each other in family--

“Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family:

Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.”

(Jane Howard)

She Looks: Apostrophe to Sarah Pierpont by Jonathan Edwards [c. 1723]

They say there is a young lady in [New Haven] who is beloved of that almighty Being, who made and rules the world, and that there are certain seasons in which this great Being, in some way or other invisible, comes to her and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, and that she hardly cares for anything, except to meditate on him--that she expects after a while to be received up where he is, to be raised up out of the world and caught up into heaven; being assured that he loves her too well to let her remain at a distance from him always. There she is to dwell with him, and to be ravished with his love and delight forever. Therefore, if you present all the world before her, with the richest of its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for it, and is unmindful of any pain or affliction. She has a strange sweetness in her mind, and singular purity in her affections; is most just and conscientious in all her actions; and you could not persuade her to do anything wrong or sinful, if you would give her all the world, lest she should offend this great Being. She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness and universal benevolence of mind; especially after those seasons in which this great God has manifested himself to her mind. She will sometimes go about from place to place, singing sweetly; and seems to be always full of joy and pleasure; and no one knows for what. She loves to be alone, and to wander in the fields and on the mountains, and seems to have someone invisible always conversing with her.

Hail to Texas!

I have missed Midwestern storms! Missed the big thunder, the pouring rain, the excitement of tornados (when they are close enough to threaten but far enough away that they don't live up to the potential), the dramatic weather bulletins . . . It's glorious!

Growing up on the farm, inclement weather meant everyone gathered at Grandpa Evan's and Grandma Johnnie's and fun was had! If we were snowed in, there was a big pot of chili (before we lost the electricity), sleeping in sleeping bags in the living room, missing school, playing games, etc. The town grandparents--Grandpa Keith and Grandma Wanda--would bring groceries to the end of the road where it met the highway and we would snowmobile the half-mile to get them. Fun!

If there was a tornado warning or bad winds, then we'd run up to the "big house" (not a jail, just what we called my grandparents' home!) and try to guess when to quick run to the basement! The power would often go out and the air was electric with excitement (and electricity from the lightning, too!)! Danger approached!

My aunt Julie had duly filled me up with horror stories for every situation. For the tornado, it was that a piece of straw had been wind-driven through a man's heart. To this day, when there are high winds I try to make sure that there isn't any loose straw around!

Oh, all the impending disaster!

Anyway, one day last week I was aware, sort of, that it was kind of dark outside, but it wasn't until I received an e-mail from my mom (in Iowa) that said she hoped that I (in Texas) was watching the weather and that I had a plan.

A plan? I suddenly realized that I didn't even have a basement, let alone a plan! For some reason, even though they live in a state with a healthy tornado season, Texans don't build every house with a basement. Like, ours doesn't have a basement. We do have a garden tub which is quite deep; however, it shares a wall with a huge picture window.

We have beautiful vaulted ceilings. We have a house FULL of gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows. We have new carpet.

Yes, we have no basement. (Sung to the tune of Yes, We Have No Bananas!)

Thankfully, it only hailed. We do have a garage.




No plan yet, though.

So. Incredibly. Sad.

Johnny and June Carter Cash's home burned down yesterday . . .

They entertained presidents and Billy & Ruth Graham . . .

Hurt was partially filmed there.

They wrote music and lived their whole married lives in that house.

It is sad.

Thanks, Flemon!

Our lawn had become the eyesore of the neighborhood. We don't have a lawnmower and cringed at the prices. Then our neighbors confessed: it's a lovely, hard-working man named Flemon who keeps their lawns so well manicured and swept and lovely--for a price that is well below any market value I've heard!

Look at our beautiful lawn! (It is hard for me to say yard because in England, yard means a junkyard; they have lawns in England. And so shall I!)

Thanks to the rain we are finally getting, it is even greening up quite nicely!

URGENT

An acquaintance of ours, Eric Volz, has been wrongfully convicted of murder and imprisoned in Nicaragua and sentenced to 30 years in their penitentiary. A friend, Nick Purdy, was with Eric during the time Eric was supposedly committing the murder.

This is NOT an “iffy” story; Eric did NOT commit this murder. Please go to this site and acquaint yourself with the facts. You can see the YouTube video made to try and raise awareness about this gross miscarriage of justice.

Then I beg you to do three things:

1 Pray as often as you are able for Eric: his spirits, his health, his appeal, his safety, his freedom.
2 Forward this to as many people as you can, including local news outlets, contacts you have in marketing, PR, government . . . get it out there.
3 Write Eric & his family a note of support through his website. Maybe make a donation, even. These notes and gifts are sustaining the Volzes through this nightmare.

Thank you for reading and for acting.

“. . . Righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.” (Ps. 97.2)
“When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers.” (Prov. 21.15)

Kϊrsten & Pete Christianson
http://solakirsten.blogspot.com/
http://thadwatch.blogspot.com/

You’ve heard about the Nicaraguan trial I’ve been involved in – my friend Eric
Volz is in prison.
A YouTube video has been made by a couple NYC filmmakers
to raise awareness – we need to get people to view this so that it rises up the
rankings and creates a sensation.
Please view it and forward to your
distribution lists:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YChhOHrFA4

Thanks!

Nick
Purdy
President, On The Square Media
404.493.1176
http://www.onthesquaremedia.com/