christianity

kitchen reminders

/ abby hummel / 5 Comments

As my “Spring Break” kicks off (no classes! no piano lessons! no Bible study!), I’m faced with a pretty daunting list of things to accomplish around the house. Taxes, business paperwork and billing, dry-cleaning, kitchen trimmings and a full “Spring Cleaning” check list mean that my break is just a change in the type  of work I’m doing, not a break from work. I’m looking forward to accomplishing some projects that have been bugging me for a while, but right now I’m especially grateful for these words of wisdom scattering the kitchen. I think sometimes I leave these things out because I know that my future self will need the reminder.

kitchen reminders

Praise to the Lord! Who doth prosper they work and defend thee;
Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,
If with His love He befriend thee.
— Praise to The Lord, words by Joachim  Neander, 1863.

We delight in the law of your word
We delight in the Son who was perfect from birth
We delight in the day He’s returning to earth, Hallelujah!
— We Delight, by Joshua Moore.

learning forgiveness

/ abby hummel / 5 Comments

Hardship brings with it an unwelcome guest that stays much longer than the original suffering: a new and unfamiliar set of personal-connection tools. Life difficulties are hard not just because of the initial situation, but also because moving through dark suffering changes relationships and the way you interact with people, whether you like it or not. I was just marveling at how grief is not a one-time experience but an ongoing spiritual journey while managing an internal battle with myself, processing a bunch of recent conversations that were really hard and hurtful for me. They were challenging not because there was anything wrong with the others involved, but because I have suffered and then because of this I am different. Healthy, encouraging, refreshing relational connections for me happen under a very different set of rules than they might for someone else.

[Image credit HERE]

[Image credit HERE]

I live in the real world, and I am blessed with people all around me, so I connect with many others for work, fun, church, ministry, and community projects. Sometimes this blessing is a challenge to my heart – all this connecting means that, by default, I have to do a lot of forgiving. And it’s forgiving for things I can’t ask an apology over, wiping clean my heart’s slate of these very real offenses that will never be recognized as such by anyone else. I’m in the middle of a huge chunk of this right now. It feels like I have been doing this for a long time, and it is easy to grow quite weary.

But natural weariness isn’t the defining factor here; I’m a Christian, which means the gospel is always relevant to my life and there is supernatural strength accomplishing what I cannot. I read the Psalms and know God’s mercy is over all that He has made. So I have to remind myself these moments of salty-wound-rubbing and salty-tear-spilling are all covered by that mercy, preaching to my own heart that this is part of why the Lord has compassion on us, why he suffered and saved. His clemency is entirely superior over any of these perceived wrongs, and I need it extended to me even more than to any of this stuff going on around me. His mercy is over me, and them, and those flippant words, and the abundance of flippant words I’ve carelessly spilled, and my sadness, and all this every-day experience of the Fall.

The Lord is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
The Lord is good to all, and his mercy is over all that he has made.
The Lord is faithful in all his words and kind in all his works. 
The Lord upholds all who are falling, and raises up all who are bowed down. 
The Lord is righteous in all his ways and kind in all his work.
My mouth will speak the praise of the Lord, and let all flesh bless his holy name forever.
-Psalm 145, esv. 

how many promises! (advent 2012)

/ abby hummel / 9 Comments
The first candle from our advent wreath

The first candle from our advent wreath

My explanation of the first few weeks of Advent 2012 would probably be much like everyone else’s: I’m busy and I don’t feel like I’m “reflecting” or “waiting expectantly” for the Lord at all. This fall has required lots of time-management, work, and bravery, but it has been very good. I am still a little bit tired and worn out from all of that. (When you are in high school or college and work really hard all semester, you come home and your mommy makes you food and takes care of your home. Not so for grown-ups like me.) And now, after teaching, tests, sharing about hard things, countless piano lessons, four recitals, bible studies, book clubs, and packaging up lots of venison, I’m finally on Christmas break. By some miracle, Aaron has had half the normal amount of stuff to do this week. He’s waiting on results for something… I don’t totally get why this happened now, but it means we’re both home a lot, and we spend our time listening to carols, enjoying the fireplace, and drinking lots of hot cocoa stirred with candy canes. This is fun!

Receiving Christmas cards in the mail is one of my favorite parts of the holiday preparations. This year I found adorable mini-clothespins at a craft store, so we’re keeping a card-line. It’s so special to see these friends and family on our mantel! Mailing Christmas cards seems like a throw-back, a trend of days gone by, but we’re still hanging on to this tradition. Communication and relationships are so much more important than the technology we usually use to facilitate them. Sometimes sharing something tangible is a special way to express your well-wishes and encouragement to others – and I’m glad I’m not the only person who thinks this way!  (My friend Hannah said it well: “Luckily, I went to a college attended by many people (most of them ladies – let’s be real here) who still practice the art of letter writing.”)

christmas cardline

This week’s blizzard required some significant snow-removal efforts on our driveway. As I looked out the window from my cushy perch in the house, I snapped this shot, and it occurred to me that Aaron was not only clearing the snow from around my car, he was also sweeping it off the top. He is a good man. Also, I’m really excited about these winter-wonderland surroundings!

blizzard

Our Christmas travel plans are probably augmented because of all this snow, but it’s hard to complain when we are inside and cozy by the fire.

It feels only fair to admit that I’ve had an outline for a post called “Advent is for those who fail” in my folder for almost three weeks. At this point, I’m pretty sure I won’t actually sit down and finish it before Christmas. The basic point is that  those who fail should use Advent to look forward in hope to Christ, who unfailingly fulfills all promises. This is great news, especially for people who have a hard time sitting down and finishing projects, even when they are on a break.

For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through him the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God. – 2 Corinthians 1:20, niv.

And in case we missed you in the “real mail” – Merry Christmas!

Mock_One

Thoughts on “weeping with…”

/ abby hummel / 29 Comments

“Contribute to the needs of the saints… Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.” -Romans 12.

Last month we were blessed to host a memorial service for “National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.” I’m not going to say I really “enjoyed” this, because it was challenging to spend so much time focused on these sad and heavy experiences, but I was blessed by this experience and I think the others there were, too. We lit candles in honor of the babies’ lives and spent some time mourning these losses in light of God’s mercy to us.

“I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.”
“So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. There are other forces at work, Frodo, besides the will of evil.”
– The Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien.

I’m often asked for practical advice about how to help a friend experiencing a miscarriage. I first commend you to think about miscarriage like a Christian, which means, to think of this in terms of the gospel. That is primary, but secondarily I offer the following tips.

PHYSICAL EXPERIENCE OF MISCARRIAGE.
To put it delicately, in most cases miscarriage is essentially a mini-birth. Just like a full-term delivery, some require surgical or medical intervention while others progress naturally. There are also hormonal and emotional fluctuations similar to those experienced by other post-partum women. If you are bringing food during or immediately after these events (because you ARE bringing food), she probably needs protein and iron. Bring steak, spinach, and chocolate. For some women, this is among the most physically traumatic events they have experienced; she may need to recount her “birth story,” just like someone who delivered at term. Or not.

HER FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS.
 This experience brings stress and sadness for the whole family. Women usually take this harder, but I think men who mourn feel very isolated. Furthermore, many men may not realize they are grieving. Check in on both of them. Older children may be aware of this and often do not know how to process their sadness. (I remember sitting out of a gymnastics class after my aunt had a miscarriage, overwhelmed by the loss of a tiny  prayed-for cousin, not knowing what to do.) Keep in mind that this may be a huge stress on the marriage, too, and Satan is going to pounce on any opportunity to drive the family apart. A prowling lion does not have any qualms about seeking to devour someone who is empty with sadness or driving apart a couple when they need each other’s support the most. Pray often.

IDENTITY AS A MOTHER.
A mother does not forget her child. You do not need to worry about “reminding” her of grief by bringing it up. It’s there. She knows it’s Mothers’s Day, or that she should be 7 months pregnant, or that her child would be as old as the one running around in the next aisle at the grocery store. Most women identify their child with a name and a gender – be sure to follow her lead in speaking of the baby this way. It is always a gift to remind her that you remember what is most precious to her. Please be sure to tame your tongue while talking about the difficulties of your own pregnancy or parenting experiences if your children are alive. No one is saying raising children is easy, but statements like, “Diapers, crying, and stepping on legos! Life of a mom!” disregard the actual motherhood of a woman whose child died. Yes, motherhood is a hard and important job – but the mom with empty arms may have a harder road than the one with her hands full. I’ve even heard comments from overly-pregnant women like, “It’s so disappointing to not be having a baby on your due date!” Yes, but it’s not as disappointing as not having a baby on your due date because it died, I assure you. I make a point not to hold these things against others, and we can all seek merciful hearts here. But now that you know, pray about how your discussions of parenthood could seek to bless others who may be suffering instead of serving solely for personal expression. Maybe text another friend your frustration in the thick of things instead of posting a vent about it on Facebook?

NAVIGATING FRIENDSHIP.
Let’s level here: It’s awkward to have something that your friend wants and doesn’t have. Most of my best friends are single (one is even divorced), and would prefer to be married, or at least dating. I carried one of our babies longer than a coworker who shared my due-date. And really, my husband came home from Iraq alive while other people died. I know that sometimes there is hardship on the “haves” side of things… But it’s important to make sure that doesn’t cripple you from living compassionately. Remember that St. Paul’s admonition about weeping and rejoicing with others goes both ways, even though most people are only naturally inclined to do one or the other. If your friend is experiencing grief, the gospel compels and equips you to put aside your feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty to weep with her. It does not necessarily compel you to make her stop grieving. God put these commands together for a reason, and he works mightily in our humility.  (It will be easier for her to rejoice with you if you have wept with her, too, which leads me to…)

PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENTS. 
If you’re pregnant, I think it’s best to share your good news personally and privately – maybe an email or text message? A baby on the way is still good news. You don’t need to be ashamed or afraid, but know that it can bring up a big rush of hard, painful emotions for someone who is grieving. Give her a gracious way to avoid your public announcements and baby showers. And mostly, just remember: a sad reaction on her part doesn’t mean she isn’t happy for you – it’s just complicated. I can promise she’d much rather be happy than sad, too.
GRIEF & HEALING.
Take care not to add needlessly to your friend’s pain, but remember it is not your job to make someone else feel better. You don’t need to communicate annoyance or frustration if her grief lingers longer that you expect. She probably feels embarrassed enough without knowing her friends think she’s hanging on to this too long. Don’t take it personally if she struggles. God alone heals. Remember, too, that miscarriage is a real loss. It’s not like she’s healing from a cut on her hand; it’s more like healing from having that hand cut off. This will probably always hurt a little bit and it will probably change the rest of her life in some way, even if you don’t see it in those terms.

Finally, I’m going to go out on a limb here – it might be wise to consider these things when interacting with everyone.  Miscarriage is very, very common. I imagine those struggling with infertility would appreciate your tenderness as well.  You do not know if one of your friends may be struggling and hasn’t shared this with you. It’s always safe to assume that others carry some pain you don’t know about, so be gentle with people.

As always, I’d love to hear comments if you have anything to add to the discussion. What helped you through a miscarriage? What do you wish you could tell people about the way they helped or hurt you? Do you have other questions about caring for friends after pregnancy loss?

Greater Love…

/ abby hummel / 5 Comments

I think this is the busiest fall Aaron and I have ever had together! I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for all the opportunities in my path, but I also haven’t been fully “caught up” on my to-do lists in any sphere of responsibility since August. There has certainly been much stretching and sacrifice in this season. I expected this, and it’s a good thing. Thanksgiving break starts in 8 days and that is a very good thing, too.

One of the hardest (and best) parts of this fall has been working on some miscarriage and pregnancy loss ministry. It’s really rough to wrestle with God’s goodness in the giving and taking away of little babies I love, especially when it seems like everyone else just gets whatever they want. That isn’t true, I know; I confess this because I’m terrified by how easy it is to believe these lies.

*****

But today I’m writing about Veteran’s Day, and I find myself wrestling with God’s goodness from the other side of things, where you face awful circumstances and still get what you want. It has been over five years since Aaron was in Fallujah, Iraq and he is, at this exact moment, home safely, married to me, able-bodied and humming the Star Wars theme song in the shower. I’m not sure which one of these things I’m most thankful for today.

And while he slept in earlier this morning, I tearfully composed text messages to dear ones certainly grieving their own beloved veterans who served and did not come home. They did nothing to deserve their sorrow. And even though Aaron is here and safe, we find life mixed up by the aftershock of war even now. There is destruction all around — though I do far prefer our circumstances over the alternative, of course — and this whole thing makes no sense to me.

 …His understanding is unsearchable. -Isaiah 40.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind that from nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, to war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase, the first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace a sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such as you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more.
– “To Lucasta, Going to the Wars” by Richard Lovelace

I often read this poem while Aaron was deployed, and I love how clearly it reflects all the conversations we had about war during our preparations for that time, that this military service was a natural extension of his sense of honor, duty, and self-sacrifice. Those qualities I most loved in him demanded fulfillment in these hardships; he would be false to himself, to me, and to God otherwise. It is a rare man who would risk his own life  for the sake of others, and it was true comfort to know this strength came internally, from faith demonstrated by life sacrificed. How can we consider these things and not humbly revere the greatest love of all, that Christ has laid down his own life for us?


You might also like: 
Veteran’s Day 2011
A Cruel Month

A voice in Ramah

/ abby hummel / 9 Comments

“A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more.” – Matthew 2:18

Well! Fall has been outrageously busy for us and lots of good things are going on. I’m stretched far in all directions, but fall is one of my favorite seasons, and I’m really thankful that we haven’t spent these cooler months under the heavy weight of grief like we have during autumn in the last few years. One of my big projects has been working on some stuff about ministry and awareness for pregnancy and infant loss. I have some thoughts here to share as a follow-up to a conversation I had on a radio program on Friday about Christians ministering to each other after suffering miscarriage and infant loss. (If you’re interested, you can listen or watch that HERE.) Although Aaron and I are not particularly secretive about the babies we lost in miscarriages during the past few years, I haven’t really written about this topic publicly before. Privately, however, I have frequently shared from a huge file of unsorted thoughts and quotes, often sending these to people who are in their own pit of grief after a loss or are asking about comforting someone else going through this, and I thought I’d pull a few thoughts from there as an addendum to that radio discussion.

Mother and Son, by Fader.

Unfortunately, it’s touchy to talk about how to minister to someone after a miscarriage. The people who can write about it have likely experienced both miscarriage and plenty of botched comforting attempts from their nearest and dearest. It’s hard to know how to share without pointing fingers at those who gave you the comfort of Job’s friends instead of the comfort of Christ. And so I have often hesitated in commenting about this because I don’t want anyone who has mis-stepped to feel like they “failed” me in my grief! However, I doubt holding back is doing anyone a favor here.

It seems like many people hear about a woman who has miscarried and immediately think, “Oh no! That’s too bad. I have no idea what to say to her or how to help.” I have heard those hushed statements not meant for my ears:
“Did you hear about so-and-so? They lost their baby. It’s so awful.”
“I know. I have no idea what to say.”
“I hope she has another baby soon. It’s so sad. I just stay away and pray. She probably doesn’t want to be reminded of it, so I don’t want to bring it up.”
And then when this happens, there is conversational fumbling and perhaps some avoidance or awkward, pithy statements, and the bereaved woman is then left feeling more alone than she was before. This is not always the case, which I know because I’ve experienced many kindnesses from friends, family, and my church, but I have seen the dark side of “comfort,” too, and I think the general attitude about comforting in evangelical culture is usually one of uncertain helplessness or avoidance. After thinking about this a little bit, I’m coming to the opinion that this is not how Christians should respond. Why? Here are a few things to consider. I am referring here mostly to the mother, but many fathers also deal with their own set of emotions. I can only speak for myself, but if you are smart enough to read this article, you should be able to glean insights to help you minister to a man after his child is miscarried as well.
1) We know that God is the creator and author of every life. If He has knit every person together in their mother’s womb, there is no reason to hesitate to minister to someone who had a miscarriage. Her dear baby was created in the image of God, fearfully and wonderfully made. This miscarriage is not just a disappointment or a little blip on the road to having a “real” baby. I will not mince words here: she had a real baby who is now dead; she is a mother in the valley of the shadow of death; she has every right to miss this son or daughter very much, often for a very long time. Since we know these things are true, there is no reason to say something like “You can have another baby,” or “At least you know you can get pregnant,” because these statements brush off the value of the life of her baby who was very real, very loved, and very much created in the image of God. This worth of a human life is just as true of a baby who barely grew as it is for another born healthy at full-term,  or your brother, or grandma.
2) We know that death is real.  Any death is a stark reminder of the Fall, that things are absolutely not as they should be, that Jesus has not come back yet. And if someone is facing these things head-on, because perhaps she has very literally “carried death in her body,” it would be unloving to look in her face of grief, just telling her to cheer up and get over it. Proverbs 25:20 says, “Whoever sings songs to a heavy heart is like one who takes off a garment on a cold day.” Please know the days of grieving a baby are often quite cold. A more compassionate response would be to sit with her in the hour of grief and offer your love in the way she needs it, not just in the way you want to give it. Pray, and when the time is right, lovingly remind her of the gospel and the Resurrection. Because that’s one of the best parts of Christianity: Death is real, but the Resurrection is, too! 
3) We have the Bible as a “guide book” for our lives. Scripture has much to say about loss, personal darkness, and ministering to those in distress. You might have to do some extra digging, though, in analyzing entire chapters and books (like all of the Psalms, 1 Thessalonians 4 or Romans 8) instead of grabbing a verse and quoting it out of context (like Psalm 37:4 or Romans 8:28). You won’t find anywhere that scripture mandates you to comfort someone with a reminder of their possible future earthly blessings, but you will find a lot about clinging to the sufferings of Christ and the hope of eternal life. 1 Thessalonians 4 very specifically tells us how to comfort those who grieve: remind them of the truth of Jesus’ life, death, resurrection, and imminent return. That’s it. Keep it there. If you know how to say “I love you, and I am so sorry you are in pain,” and can really read your Bible, you can extend Christ’s comfort to someone who is suffering.
4) We have the gospel! We have a special understanding of the purpose of life, death, and salvation. We know any ability to truly comfort someone else comes directly from Christ, who has borne all sin, sorrow, and suffering on the cross. You don’t need to tell someone that “God will never give you more than you can bear,” when, in fact, there is nothing in life that we can bear apart from Christ and his work on the Cross. You don’t have to wonder how to approach someone in grief, because you can pray for them and lovingly share the gospel. In a season shadowed by terrible news, like, “we can’t find a heartbeat,” or “your pregnancy is over,” your friend needs now, more than ever, to hear the good news. It’s not just for the lost! Christians still need to hear it. And when everyone else is trying to comfort this woman with lies, half-truths, or unfounded prophecies (“I just know you’ll have another baby soon!”), you can lovingly recount the truth of her salvation with her. This is the greatest gift you can give anyone, and you have the opportunity to share it with someone in one of her darkest hours. 

There’s certainly more that could be said here, but I’ll wrap it up for now. If you’ve experienced miscarriage, what ministered to you the most during your grief? And if you have been afraid to reach out to someone suffering in this way, what holds you back?

Since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
– 1 Corinthians 15:21-22

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,  and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
She said to him, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.” – John 11:25–27

You might also like: 
Thoughts on “weeping with…” 

The Great Hall Collage (Home Tour)

/ abby hummel / 7 Comments

A small house is a great blessing, and we have been surprised by much joy coming from the limited size of our home. I’m not the only one to think a diminutive space is good, too! The popular blog Apartment Therapy regularly features “Small, Cool Places” that make our little cabin a mansion, comparatively, and even Leonardo Da Vinci said “Small rooms or dwellings discipline the mind.” I’ve thought of his quote frequently since living here, and that mental discipline has stretched and improved me many times over during these three years.

In this smallish dwelling, we have just one hallway that twists around from the kitchen, up a few stairs, and leads to the bedroom, linen closet, bathroom and office. This cozy passageway is one of the dearest spots in my home because of the photo project built up on the walls. Inspiration came from a few different sources, but I didn’t really know how to start so I just got some pictures and started nailing them up on the wall.

Collage wall from Pottery Barn, via my pinterest board. I love the different textures on the wall, but I think the clash of black and brown frames is distracting.

source unknown, via my pinterest boards. I love the black frames against white walls with lots of natural wood in the house, just like ours.

When I don’t know how to start something, I either panic and procrastinate forever or jump right in and hope it works out. This hall collage came about because I responded in the second way. Now after three years we have one giant collage that is about 90% done. There are a few empty frames and some empty spots that need frames and artwork. When I look at this, I think I meant to have photos on just one wall, but I had a general idea instead of a specific vision for the project so it ballooned from there. I’m certainly not disappointed with how it turned out.

I left the light buttons on this picture because they are so cool. We turn the lights on and off by pressing round buttons, not flipping switches! This little house has serious quirks, and I love it.

A beautiful thank-you note; The cover of a cult book on prayer; Pictures from Aaron’s homecoming; Take-out cookie fortune: “Your path is arduous but will be amply rewarding”; 1st verse of For the Beauty of the Earth.

artsy cabbage; lots of Van Gogh; pictures from the beach; friends; family; virtus tentamine gaudet; embroidery from my friend J; Mattise goldfish poster; anniversary card; baby ducks; letterpress christmas cards;  honeymoon photography; psalm 51:8; Psalm 91; flowers from the Hillsdale campus.

Wedding pictures; grapes on a card from my friend A; quaking aspens; easter hymn; CS Lewis quote from “The Four Loves” on vulnerability; heartbeat; fake leaf above the door to our bedroom; antique postcards my friend E sent from Paris; college diplomas.

I have learned much about pictures and decorating and arranging in the last few years, so I am really inspired about where this could go in the future. We have a nice mix of art, pictures, quotes and other memorabilia here, and I’m daydreaming about doing this timeline style in another house someday, so the quotes and other art would somehow correspond with what was going on in our life at the same point of the pictures we’re in. I think it would be a really neat testament to God’s faithfulness in our lives, and a tangible illustration that our lives really are God’s artwork always in process.

PS: I will also admit that this post bugs me because it doesn’t feel “real.” I’ve done a fair amount of tweaking since taking these pictures, so I’ll update sometime when it’s “100% done.” Just in time to list the house for sale and remove them all for Realtor staging, you know.

PPS: Did you notice how many photos and cards we have from friends and family here? Those are some of my favorite pieces in our hall, so if you send us something neat it might become a special part of our collage. I’m not begging or anything, just throwing the idea out there for your consideration.

sharpened pencils

/ abby hummel / 13 Comments

This rest of this summer was brutally dry and hot, but now our mid-August weather has mellowed into a gentle respite of 70-degree days. With a cool breeze at night, sleep comes easier and deeper. (At last. I never sleep well in the summer.) And after that, these mornings are just right for steaming cups of coffee on the patio. I love this. The very end of summer signifies a turn to my favorite season, fall, and I usually call these weeks of changing weather “Pre-Autumn” in anticipation. I spend them obsessively dreaming about piles of leaves, apple cider, flannel shirts, butternut squash (not spaghetti squash – I will never eat that again), mugs of chili topped with sour cream, wool sweaters, hot tea, crisp mornings, thick socks, and orchard apples. Also, school supplies. I can’t get enough. I love the feel of paper, the tab dividers on folders, the sharp open-close of the rings on 3-ring-binders, and, second only to sticky post-its, I love writing with regular sharpened wood pencils. I usually indulge myself in some unnecessary stationery purchases during this time because that urge to browse the school supply aisles is so overwhelming.

“Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.” – Joe Fox in You’ve Got Mail.

This year I join my teacher-friends in a collective mid-August panic attack because school is starting. On Monday I leave this state of suspense and enter my favorite season with exciting challenges that will stretch me in many different ways for ministry and business. (And luckily, I feel like the business is a bit of a ministry, too.)  There are thirty-one students registered for fall semester piano lessons, I’m leading a group of other ladies in my Bible study program, I’m on a Sunday-School rotation at church, and I’m directing six academic subjects for a group of ten home-school students in 8th and 9th grades.  It was a huge leap for us when I quit my job and let my marketable skills and budding entrepreneurial spirit take us into uncharted income territory, and it’s wonderful to see this dream coming to fruition. I’m overjoyed that this is happening, but I’m also hyperventilating every time I look ahead to how much is already filled in on my calendar.

But I think fall is a great time to be stretched. Nature will provide some important lessons, because I know there is a lot that has to die and fall away in my life during the next few months. I’m thrilled about my new adventures, but also very aware that  last year’s leisure is almost entirely over. There will be a lot of dying-to-self required this year. There is beauty in that mortification. And there are also freshly-sharpened pencils, so I’m sure it will all be okay!

a bouquet of pencils via u-create.

it takes courage

/ abby hummel / 7 Comments

I’ve never thought of myself as a writer, really. A musician, an artist, a creator? Yes, but not much of a writer.  During my senior year of high school I had a tutor for my college entrance essay assignments, and I remember confessing this frustration during an editing session. Nearly every other form of creative expression came easily for me. I could write a song, arrange a collage, perform a piano solo, lead in a musical, knit a scarf, or decorate a room with confidence, but every time I tried to write, I questioned myself and was consistently unhappy with the results of my hard work. She listened patiently, and then suggested that frustration about my challenges as a writer might actually be a cover for the fear that my ideas weren’t valuable. Writing doesn’t have to come naturally to matter, she assured me, and good things are worth working for. I didn’t really understand what she meant for several years, and I rarely thought of this conversation after it happened. (I can recount this now because, in a move that is admittedly ironic, I recorded her comments in my journal, which is my long-standing habit after all thought-provoking conversations.)

Though I got plenty of challenging writing assignments once I started college (thank you, Dr. Freeh, et al!), I spent most of those years surrounded by absolute geniuses in every variety of written communication – literature analysts, poets, journalists, scriptural exegetes, curriculum editors, and columnists of every sort. I’m sure my writing competence sharpened significantly during this time, but I never felt like I was even close to average abilities. My insecurity might make even more sense if you know that I was tight with these writers: I married a scholarship-winning journalist, one of my wedding bridesmaids has now published a book, and several other friends from that life are in graduate school or regularly writing things read by people they don’t know. Spending my life with people who were beyond my own mastery in this one area was a fertile breeding ground for that long-held fear of inadequacy, the nagging sense that I just didn’t have much to say. I didn’t realize this was exactly what my tutor meant yet by then, or even in the following years when I would escape boredom at work by maintaining frighteningly voluminous email correspondence.

I finally remembered the admonition about writing-insecurity hiding my idea-insecurity again at the end of our recent Michigan vacation when I was packing up a box of my belongings from my old bedroom in my parents’ house. It’s been four years since I “officially” moved out after graduating from college and marrying Aaron, and we own our home so I don’t have many things left there. This final load was a collection of my journals, now chronicling over half of my life. There were twenty-five notebooks that I brought home, with dates stretching back to 1998. I was twelve years old then.

After arriving back in Iowa, I organized this small library by date and added my other recent journals, which brings the total number to thirty-four. While setting things in order, I thumbed through a few books and recalled God’s kindness and my growth with laughter and cringing. I’m glad I don’t have to go back to middle school… or high school, for that matter!

And maybe it’s a sign of that same kindness and growth that in the middle of this project (besides wondering where on earth I am actually going to keep these) I couldn’t help but think: It’s probably time to stop pretending I don’t write. And I should stop being afraid of my ideas, too.

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
– e. e. cummings.

great things He hath done!

/ abby hummel / 5 Comments

I recently asked if we could go on vacation all the time, and, as life would have it, this summer it was high time that some of our college friends got the knot tied. Since we drove twelve hours from Iowa to Kentucky, stayed in a room by ourselves and didn’t do much cooking, I think we can safely call this trip a vacation. The bride, Hannah, who was one of my room-mates at Hillsdale, is an artist and photographer so I tried to take lots of pictures in her honor. (It was the snap of the button that was in her honor, not the end quality of the shots.) After arriving back home, we realized we have lots more memories than photos! Of course!

Aaron and I had our fourth anniversary during the festivities, and it was a delight to commemorate the special day with such a joyful wedding weekend. We’ve been in separate countries for two of our anniversaries, so it seemed quite trivial to complain about the fact that we were spending our time at the bachelorette parties instead of celebrating a romantic evening alone. (Party preparations for the ladies were so frenzied that we kept calling the boys’ shooting-grilling-drinking-and-cigar gathering a “Bachelorette” as well.)

The hours the wedding support team spent preparing food trays for parties, wrapping shower gifts, running errands, cleaning the outdoor reception pavilion, dipping flower balls in tubs of water, practicing piano for the ceremony, wrapping twinkle lights around banisters, scrubbing chairs, and tying tulle after driving twelve hours to get there was a tangible witness of our commitment to support Hannah and James in their marriage as the months and years pass. We were entirely thrilled to see so many college friends and participate in this happy wedding!

Since there was a little bit of empty time on our agenda before the wedding, we explored the gorgeous area and went hiking by the Kentucky River. You can note my oh-so-appropriate foot attire. Kentucky hiking is a little more intense than Iowa hiking!

As slightly older friends, just barely ahead of Hannah and James in our own marriage, we have a little bit of sage advice to offer about their life together.
I played piano for most of the wedding music, but when I think back on the songs they selected I keep hearing the glorious organ hymn they played for the recessional. It’s the exact soundtrack I want to play in my mind when I remember this day.

image from Zach Stone

“…Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Let the earth hear his voice!
Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Let the people rejoice.
Oh, come to the Father through Jesus the Son,
And give him the glory, great things He hath done!”
– To God Be The Glory, lyrics by Fanny Crosby.