Going through the Motions

On one of my post online-teaching evening walks in the last few weeks, I listened to Joshua Harris in conversation with Nadia Meli. He talked about this deconstruction process and compared it to a LEGO house being smashed by a basketball. 

This made me wonder about my own journey into the wilderness, which I set out on more than six years ago. 

It is difficult to put deconstruction into one coherent structure because while it involves loss and pain, it is very different from death and grief. Nevertheless, I have tried to reflect on my faith journey and tried to identify different phases of unlearning and relearning.
Not everyone experiences the same and not all experiences are equally intense, but maybe these thoughts might help you put some of your questions and emotions into perspective.

Surprise. 
I would probably compare my deconstruction to a JENGA game. For years I had built up a stable tower of Christian doctrine, practices, routines and answers to everything. My faith felt unshakeable. 

Nevertheless, many small events began to pull out buildings blocks from my tower. There were some questions and doubts I couldn’t answer, but I tried to push them to the side. I was really busy with finishing up my university degree, but I still took on a major role at a Christian conference working myself close to burnout. My faith failed in times of despair and tragedy.  

The tower began to wobble, but I kept pushing and going. It was only a matter of time until the whole thing would come down. While I was leading worship at a camp I was really looking forward to, that last fatal block was pulled and my tower crumbled (here’s the extended version of this event, in case you’re interested). 

I fell apart.  
After so many years of doing, I finally had to stop and relearn to just be. 
I had to uncover who I was and what my faith was actually made of.  

Anger. 
I spent some months grieving in the midst of the broken pieces of my faith. I just couldn’t believe that the security I had held onto for so long just didn’t work anymore. I thought it was a phase and would smooth itself out if I just waited. But it didn’t. 

As I rummaged through the rubble, I became angry. 
Angry at God for allowing this to happen and seeming so absent in this wilderness. 
Angry at people in church for their prayers and bible verses instead of walking through my questions with me. 
Angry at the system with its strict doctrines and its quick fixes. Instead of welcoming complexity, it offered dualistic simplicity. I knew I didn’t want to go back to simply rebuilding that same tower, I just couldn’t. But I also felt incredibly lost without it. 
Angry at myself for being angry at people I loved, for feeling so disconnected from everyone and everything, for being so vulnerable. 

Wilderness. 
I began to turn over every block of that JENGA tower which once used to be my faith. Looked at them in more detail. How did it get there? Why did I really practice this or that?
I let go of every routine I ever had. All the things a “good Christian” was supposed to do. I expected things to change for the worse or some form of punishment for not reading the Bible or not praying – but nothing happened. I grew frustrated and incredibly lost. What was the point of doing all these things if they didn’t change my life at all?
I thought about throwing all of the blocks away since they seemed to be useless. Would I be left with nothing then? I couldn’t bear the thought that all my beliefs I had carried for 25 years were an illusion.

Encounter. 
In the midst of frustration and desperation, I also felt a breath of fresh air. It was liberating to throw away buildings blocks that didn’t fit anymore and make space for something new. 
As I walked further into the wilderness, I realized that I am not alone. The blocks of my tower have been cleared away and I can see the foundations. I met Emmanuel – the God who is here. I was finally honest with him about my questions and doubts. 
I contended with him for answers. – He told me that faith actually happens in this tension between knowing and unknowing.
I just wanted to go back to ‘when everything was still alright.’ – He introduced me to facets about himself I had missed all these years.  
I met people with similar thoughts and wide hearts – fellow wanderers who became kindred spirits. They helped me see the magic that’s out here in the wilderness. They opened my eyes to the depth that can be found in ancient truths and practices. I discovered God around my table, in food, on my evening walks, on the radio, in other people. 
I began to hope that maybe, just maybe, my faith was still there – but it had taken on a different form. 

Freedom. 
The last six years were difficult. I gave myself permission to experience the process with all its emotions and allow myself time not to think for a while. To walk through uncertainty and let go of security. For someone who always needed all the answers (and bible verses to back them up), it was a completely new and liberating experience to say, “I don’t know (yet)”. 
I have come to appreciate the ambiguity of believing, being and living. I am still learning to make my home here in the wilderness. A place of great freedom and beauty. A place of belly laughs, deep thoughts and honest faith. A place where God is always near. 
I have fought and cried and despaired. But I have found peace.

As I reconstruct my JENGA tower, I realize that it might be time to excavate a few more of the foundations below the surface. Fellow wanderers tell me about their journeys and how they have intellectually deconstructed many of their old beliefs. They have made me aware that there’s still so much to discover out there. 

So far, my deconstruction journey has been very experiential. I needed to let go of rituals and practices and try out new forms instead. For this process it was helpful not to go into all kinds of deep theological debates and arguments. I guess I wasn’t really ready for it back then and I am glad I wasn’t. It would’ve been too much to lose form and content at the same time, I’m not sure I’d still believe today.

But now, I have found new freedoms and I am more okay with ambiguity and not knowing all the answers. So I might be ready to enter a new phase of reconstruction.  

Understanding the intersection of faith and culture. 
Touching the big concepts of faith and maybe killing some darlings along the way.
Clearing away some of the theological clouds hiding the divine character behind them.  
Finding God over and over again. 

Wherever you are on this journey: Your thoughts matter. Your emotions are valid. It takes time, but you are not alone.


One of the greatest joys in this reconstruction process has been to meet so many interesting people and their stories of faith. I am now collecting them in a podcast called strich;punkt to share thoughts on unlearning and relearning God together. If you speak German, you can find it on Spotify or Apple Podcasts!

A Practice for Uncertainty

It’s day Godknowswhat of this lockdown – how are you doing? 

We have reached a state where nothing is sure anymore. 

We don’t know when we’ll go back to school or what school will look like in the future.
We don’t know if we’ll see some students this year at all.
We don’t know if there will be grades or any graduation.

I don’t know what my summer break will look like.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to see real human beings in real life again.
I don’t know when we’ll be able to just sit on the lawn together, with a beer in hand, watching the sunset.
I don’t know if my family will be spared from the virus.
I don’t know how our hearts and minds will overcome this collective trauma.
I don’t know if any of the good practices we discover now – self-care, long walks, enough sleep, solidarity – will uphold once the speed of life is back on.  

Uncertainty really sinks in now and I feel a shift in so many. So far we were able to push back the circumstances as temporary, now we have to get used to the reality that this could really take a while and we need to adjust everything – our schedules, plans, lives – to it. 

This can be overwhelming. 

In the last few weeks I’ve practiced some meditative rituals (inspired by Aaron Niequist’s The Eternal Current) which help me to acknowledge my joys and fears in these crazy times. I can’t make them go away, but I can lay them out in the open and place them into the hand of the Divine who’s right here with me. In such crazy and uncertain times, it is important to reflect (and maybe adjust) our perspective regularly. 

Maybe you’d like to join me? 

Find a comfortable position, close your eyes and breathe. Inhale and exhale deeply. Once you’ve found a rhythm, start the meditation. 

This practice is not about dragging God into my life. I rather want to discover the places God is already at work in it. I focus on God right now, as much as this is possible in this moment. I ask him to help me look at my day with open eyes and ears and a receptive heart. 

I look at my day in gratitude, thinking of what I’ve experienced. 

I notice what I feel. God reminds me that I can look back without judgement or shame at how I treated others – and myself – today. 

If you want, you can reach out your right hand, palm up.

I look at the things that brought me joy, comfort and hope today. I express gratitude for them. 

If you want, you can also reach out your left hand, palm up. 

I look at the things that caused me pain, discouragement and fear today. I sit and grieve, then let them go into the hands of God. 

I look to what lies ahead. I ask: What do I want to take with me from today? I ask for strength, wisdom and courage. 

Inhale. Exhale. End.      


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

The Darkness around and in Us

It’s the first week of Easter break, but who really cares? There’s no visible change to the scenery, I can travel from my bed to the kitchen to the balcony with an occasional layover in the bathroom. Things have become so dull, so same, so lifeless. 

It’s actually the perfect way to begin Holy Week. 

In a week when we remember a life giving story in the midst of darkness, it can be difficult to grasp such abstract concepts like sin and forgiveness, death and resurrection. So many of us struggle to feel the right things at the right time because it all just seems so removed from our reality. 

This year the darkness has become tangible. 

For weeks now public life has stopped and we’re confined to our own spaces. While some of us might appreciate this unexpected pause in their busy lives, you might also be one who struggles to enjoy this time. 

You who lives with the risk of domestic violence, turning your safe home into a war zone.
You who craves just a short moment to yourself without your partner, children or siblings demanding more of your time and energy.
You who has not seen or touched another human face in weeks.
You who feels the weight of isolation taking its toll on you as loneliness seeps through your body and slowly takes a hold of your mind and soul.

You who are crammed into broken cold tents on an island at the outskirts of Europe, waiting for a promise to be fulfilled.
You who are most at risk from dying of our merciless politics and rejection.  

You who have seen your dreams of a birthday, a vacation, a wedding being taken from you without warning.
You who have closed your shop and don’t know if you’ll ever reopen.
You who face illness with no chance of a cure. 

You who have lost a loved one in this time and find no safe space to mourn.
You who feel like your grief is going to overpower you.
You who wonder how long this uncertainty will last. 

Welcome to the darkness. 

Maybe this is what Holy Week is about: As we lean into this unknown space together struggling to make sense of it all, we gain a bit more understanding of this death so long ago. No matter where you are on this planet, in your life span, in your emotions – the darkness encompasses us all and makes us one. 

We become aware of each other’s suffering.
We feel each other’s pain.
We grow closer as we blindly stumble towards the light.  


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

Teaching in Times of Corona

We live in weird times. 

Two weeks ago, schools closed all around the country. Thousands of teachers and students had to re-organize their way of teaching and learning over night, parents had to become used to having their kids home all day and help them with school assignments while doing their own work as well. Following all the funny and more serious posts from parents and teachers online, I guess it’s been a challenging time for all of us. 

When I was a student myself and my parents were missionaries in the Ugandan bush, we were homeschooled, so learning by myself was not completely new to me. But what would it look like applied to my own teaching? Here’s what I have learned from distance teaching so far.

Teaching is hard work. Teaching from a distance is exhausting.
On a normal school day, I teach two to four classes seeing about a hundred students. I prepare my material and hand it out to students. They work through it, ask questions, we discuss the results. Distance takes away the immediate student – teacher interaction, and this week I’ve learned again how important it actually is. 

When learning a language, you need to practice it with someone and a teacher to give you feedback. When you learn about something in history, it’s about so much more than just facts. Issues are complex and only become alive and relevant for our world today in a discussion with the class. 

Whenever a student has a question, I can quickly explain it to them verbally. During a study phase I can walk around and see where students are stuck or might have taken a wrong turn. Giving them direction can be solved with a couple of words. 

‘Translating’ all of this into written form has kept me busy for the last two weeks. You have to prepare your lessons even more carefully, putting every explanation and task into such words that every student can follow them. Instead of quick questions in class I receive 50-100 emails or messages a day from students to clarify a task or asking for feedback on a completed exercise. Sending out standard answers won’t help their learning progress, but replying to each learner individually takes time. 

I truly hope that the experience of homeschooling might change the perspective on teachers, who are often stereotyped as ‘lazy’ or ‘overpaid’ by the public (and some parents as well).

You need a routine and help others create one.
The first few days of this new situation felt a little bit like a holiday with no one waiting for me to show up at a specific time and place. You can suddenly have a lie in or watch Netflix all day – which is cool for a few days. But when it suddenly dawns on us that this is not a game and staying home is our new reality, living and working in it can become quite a challenge. 

I try to stay outside the hole of purposelessness and dullness by keeping up a routine. I set my alarm clock and try to get up around the same time every day. I put on proper clothes and clean my apartment. I eat my meals at the table instead of on the couch. I schedule daily meetings with students and friends to have something to look forward to. Since I’m in quarantine, I can’t leave the house, but I try to exercise inside and take in fresh air on my balcony. I make time to read and relax. And yes, I Netflix (obviously). 

In one of our calls, a student asked if we continued classes during Easter break. When I replied, “No because you deserve some holidays as well”, he desperately begged to keep going and admitted that he was quite overwhelmed and bored. Many teachers have drowned their students in piles of exercises and tasks without any structure or plan to proceed. While I’m a huge fan of responsibility and ownership, the ability to organize yourself doesn’t come naturally to everyone. For families and young people who struggle to make time for their tasks and motivate themselves to do something, teachers can help to set up a schedule that is challenging and not overpowering at the same time.  


This is not a holiday, but this is also real life.
While I do think that keeping ourselves busy is a good strategy to fight boredom and panic in these uncertain times, we just also be realistic. There are tons of memes and videos out there from parents ranting about homeschooling and all the work teachers give their kids. Yes, for some students (and some parents) it might be a wake-up call that teaching and learning is actual work. Even though we don’t get to meet in a classroom, it doesn’t mean that we’re off for the next five weeks (or more) without any tasks or expectations. So don’t call it a holiday, take it seriously. 

However, we as teachers have to consider the circumstances. We cannot expect a kid or teenager to concentrate for eight hours a day with younger siblings bouncing around or parents to explain complicated math problems. Our tasks have to modified for easy access and easy understanding. Or maybe abandoned all together. Families now have the chance to be together, enjoy each other’s company, learn things outside the classroom and curriculum. Why not spend some time cooking with a parent or experimenting with play dough or naming the plants in the garden? If we allow our students to breathe and their parents to be their teachers for once, we might support families and their learning experience even better. 


(Re-)Discover yourself.
As much as I love a routine, it doesn’t have to look the same for everyone. A traditional school environment doesn’t allow for much individuality with specific classes and mostly one method of teaching and learning. This unusual situation might prove to be a blessing to those struggling to fit into the strict patterns of a school day. 

Times like these challenge us to focus on ourselves a bit more and discover what we’re made of. When no schedule dictates what we have to do when, we might learn that we’re not as tough or organized as we’d hoped to be. However, we might also re-discover strengths that we’ve had all along and which can now be brought to fruition. 

It helps to identify times throughout the day (or night) when you’re most productive: Are you an early riser? Do you work best during the night? Which setting helps you concentrate the best, which factors distract you the most? Get to know yourself and then work accordingly. If you work early in the morning, why not relax in the afternoon? If other people motivate you, why not connect with them virtually while you both do your respective work? 

In order to maximize your results in the individual tasks, it helps to sort them into heavy and light work. 

Collect all the tasks you have or want to do. Which of them need a lot of headspace, creativity and energy? Which ones have a deadline attached to them? Which of them do you dread the most? Label them as heavy work and do them in your most productive times. 

Use your down time (less productive time) for less demanding and fun tasks, your light work. 

In my case, I am a morning person and therefore get up early to do my heavy work: writing and creating things. My down times are often used for light work, such as responding to emails or research. 

Teachers and parents can help students to find their best working times and settings, and then allow them space to work with that. At the of the day, you’ll look back on today’s accomplishments feeling productive and content.

 

Challenge yourself and challenge the system. 
A normal school week has me so busy that I don’t have the time and energy to experiment a lot and sometimes I am not happy with how my lessons turn out. School resources, especially digital ones, are often limited and don’t allow for many new teaching or testing options. With so much time at home right now, I enjoy looking into new ways of lesson planning and communicating with students online. Putting together online quizzes, videos and whole lessons is a challenge, but also quite fun. 

Observing the rapid change in the last few weeks has been quite interesting actually:  Pedagogical researchers have demanded more individualized learning strategies and support for years, open-minded teachers have struggled with restricting rules and politics have held back support for too long. Issues like data security, money or lack of knowledge have always been recited as stumbling blocks to innovation and change – until a national crisis hits and people are forced to teach and learn differently. May this challenge encourage teachers to make use of what is already out there and may politicians and those who have something to say in the educational sector finally cash in on their promises and pave the way to true change and innovation.


Thank God for technology.
The most obvious challenges and changes happen in the digital realm. Every day, I log into a zoom meeting with a bunch of students. With a shared screen we talk through new content and old exercises. We play vocabulary and history quizzes on our phones and tablets. I put together tests which every student can access through our cloud classroom. All while lying in bed and sipping coffee. 

With the absence of classrooms, suspended tests and loss of personal contact you have to become creative. Yes, using new technology can be exhausting and work intensive at first, it takes a while to figure out how it works. I’m grateful for my students’ feedback what worked and what didn’t. 

But now we have the time to experiment and try new things which can be incredibly useful in our teaching (both in and outside the classroom). Why not click through the ebook versions of your normal school books and see what is already on offer there? Why not enrol in an online class for fun and see what is possible in digital teaching? Why not set up a cloud classroom and explore the possibilities to engage and connect with students in new ways? Why not reinvent the ways you teach and test? 

If we spend some time challenging ourselves and our teaching styles now, we will hopefully be better prepared for the digital challenges in education in the future. And we might have some fun along the way, who knows. 


Why social distancing is wrong (by definition).
Technology can solve a lot of problems, but there are a few things no screen or app can replace: The personal connection to another human being. 

These days, politicians and media urge us to practice ‘social distancing’. While I understand the logic and reasoning behind it, I am also a word person and struggle with the word choice. ‘Social distancing’ implies that we stop communicating with each other and focus solely on ourselves. This would be catastrophic in times when so many of our students are stuck in struggling homes. Many of them share rooms with siblings and don’t have a lot of space to themselves. Some have no other form of distraction than their phone. Some of them struggle to connect with family members. Some of them face domestic violence.   

If we teachers stop communicating with our students, they might lose a valuable contact to trust and talk to. We could be the key people to provide a routine, encouragement or simply an open ear. These strange weeks at home have made us more vulnerable, more hungry for human interaction and connection. They reveal what humanity is made of, the good and the bad. We need to be in touch with others – not physically, but with every opportunity we can find online. It will help us grow together, as teachers and students, as human beings. 
This lockdown is a challenge for the entire society – doctors and politicians, nurses and farmers,   workers, parents and their children, teachers. There will be hindrances and conflict along the way, but hopefully this will be an opportunity for all of us to explore and thrive. As individuals in our roles as students, parents and teachers, but also as a community helping and encouraging each other. 

What have you learned from this experience so far – as a student, teacher or parent? I’d love to hear from you! 

When We Meet Here

A simple piece of wood can mean the world to some.

When we meet at the table, a transformation takes place.
All of a sudden,
your age,
your profession,
your ethnicity,
your family status,
your gender,
your faith don’t matter.
Here we are all equal.
Human beings, ready to share a meal together. 

When we meet at the table, we gather with our stories and know that people will listen. Our questions
and doubts
are welcome
because we trust others to hold them for us. 

At the table we delight in the colorful diversity and richness creation has to offer.
We taste
the goodness of the Lord
in new flavors,
spices
and recipes. 

When we meet at the table, we enjoy each other’s company by doing something mundane as eating together.
Everyone does it
everyday,
but far too many of us have to eat alone so often. 

Being together over food nourishes our bodies,
warms our hearts
and strengthens our souls.   

A simple place that has become home to so many. 

Welcome people with their thoughts and stories to your table – and you might give them the world today. 


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.
Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash

Taking Stock

Last night a strong urge to clean came over me. Don’t ask me why it often hits me at such unusual times. Some call it procrastination to avoid more pressing tasks, some need it in order to fully function. For me, it might be a bit of both.

Once in a while it’s good to take stock.
To examine what I have on my shelves and in my drawers and decide which of these things I truly need.
To sift through the stacks of books and boxes full of nonsense.
To realize that things I once bought or held onto for so long are no longer needed.
To get rid of objects simply taking up space and dust in your drawers.
To regain control over the chaos, make space in my head and heart.
To discover long-forgotten treasures and fall in love with them all over again.

It is exhausting and tiresome, but when I clean out drawers and shelves, I learn.

Once in a while it’s time for a spiritual clean-up.
To take stock of my faith and ideas.
To examine what I have been taught and decide what I actually believe.
To sift through the limiting boxes I have put God in.
To realize that the doctrines I once held onto so tightly no longer explain the God I have come to know now.
To get rid of empty forms cluttering my mind and deafening the spirit.
To rediscover old practices and fall in love with truths my soul has known all along.
To make space to breath and new life to come in.

It is risky and often painful, but when I clean out my life and faith, I grow. 

When was your last clean-up? What have you gotten rid of? Which truths have you rediscovered?


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

A Full Table

Last night we sat at a full table.
Full of delicious food and fancy wines.
Full of jokes and laughter.
Full of stories.

Stories of travels across Europe I was able to do this year.
Stories of war and survival, of courage and human connection in dire circumstances.
Stories of hope throughout history.
Stories of dreams for the future that students, colleagues and friends have shared with me.
Stories of struggles and big questions as they allowed me a glimpse into their lives and hearts.
Stories of growing up and discovering how beautifully complex this world is.

Being on the road and walking alongside so many people this year has been a huge privilege.
Being a witness to their stories, thoughts and dreams has been an immeasurable gift I’ll treasure for the months and years to come.

Last night we sat at a table full of gratitude.
Happy Friendsgiving.


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

Into the Unknown

I have peeled away layer after layer
dived deeper into who you are
and if I’ve ever known you at all.

Dissected what I learned about you
relished in the moments when you came to meet me
let go of beliefs I had held on so tightly
released my grip on convictions that no longer seemed convincing at all
said goodbye to broken images of you and myself.

I have felt alone and wrong and lost so many times
moments when I heard the past calling me
to just shut off my thoughts
silence my questions
and return.

But I can’t.

I’ve tasted the freedom
I have seen beauty in the wilderness
I keep moving forward even though I have no idea where this will lead me.

I stand in front of the great unknown
with no clue of the destination
There’s no map that tells me where to go next
there’s nothing left but trust.

At the crossroads of doubts and promises is where faith begins.


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

Permission to Settle

When people used to ask me, “So where do you want to be in the future?”, I would always say somewhere abroad. Staying here or settling down was never an option.

TCKs never settle.
That’s a fact.
Something that has seeped into my veins and become part of my identity.
I cannot settle.
I am not allowed to settle.
I am made for a nomad life, wandering from place to place in search of the next adventure, a sense of home.

After I graduated from university and started to work, something changed.

I have become more at ease with staying in a place. When I moved into my apartment, I was brave enough to hang up pictures and make myself comfortable for the first time. No matter how long I would stay, I wanted it to look like my place.

There have been battles raging inside of me.
Flashes of envy whenever I read about my TCK friends taking a job in a faraway country and living the global lifestyle.
Inner urges to look out for other job opportunities, to keep on moving.
Unknown feelings of actually liking my work and the people I’m with every day from all kinds of cultures and backgrounds.

The world I had longed to explored has been put right in front of me.

The thought of being stuck in one place and becoming too comfortable still creeps me out and I hope I won’t fall into this trap. But when people ask me now where I want to be in the future, I tell them,
“I don’t know.
But for now, I want to invest myself in the work I’ve been given.
To be present with the people in this place.
To make a home and get to know new parts of myself here.
I give myself permission to stay and settle.

To my fellow TCKs: Have you settled somewhere? How do you feel about settling vs. constantly moving?


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

When I close my eyes…

… I can see it all.
The table, decorated with autumn leaves
and burning candles.

Plates filled to the brim with food
in different shapes and colors,
exuding a seductive smell.

People who’ve known each other for years,
gathering to share a meal,
to celebrate life.

I can hear our laughter because
someone has made a bad joke,
but that’s how we are
with each other.

I can hear the stories
we tell each other,
memories of days past and
dreams of the future.

Questions and thoughts
we don’t have to keep from each other
because that’s who we are –
friends who carry
each other’s thoughts,
who hold each other’s hearts.

But when I open my eyes it’s all gone.

There’s just me sitting
at an empty table
in an empty apartment.

There’s just
an empty heart
yearning to connect
with people,
longing for
a place
to belong
and grow.

And I realize that
it won’t ever change
unless I actively walk
towards my dreams.

Unless I take small steps
towards other people
and invest in a relationship
from scratch.

Unless I give something
of myself and
trust the other person
to treat it well.

Unless I show up
for someone else,
time and time
again.

Unless I step in front of
my own door and go
where people are.

Unless I set my table
and welcome people
to join me there.


Writing for Five Minute Friday today.
Photo courtesy of Hannah Busing @Unsplash