Leaving “Almost” Behind

I get it.
We want to know for sure, to have a definite answer.
We want to be certain of what’s right and wrong.
Almost is not good enough for us, we need 100%.

There’s safety in black and white.
There’s a community with those who are in.
We don’t want to be outside in the dark where everything is unsure.
No one wants to be left alone.

But what if we stepped outside the familiar realm into the great unknown?

We crawl through the dust and reach for something – anything – that will hold us.
Our feet touch ground we’ve never felt before. It’s uncomfortable at first, but it quickly warms up and feels soft.
It carries us to new places where we discover that there’s always more to the story than what we’ve known.
There are new voices, new perspectives, new colors.
The black and white picture suddenly lights up and comes to life in ways we’d never expected.
We confront giants and watch as they become companions on our journey.
We find others on this path to freedom.
We jump across the cliff and… fly.

Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

Little moments of rest

How do you know when you need a break? How does your body tell you that it’s enough and you need to take a step back? I believe that our body is a vital part of us and we should listen more closely to her.

For me, it’s headaches.

This morning, I woke up with a sharp pain piercing through my head, forcing me to lie down again instead of starting my day.
It’s Friday, the end of a long and demanding week. I had a lot to think of, many unforeseen tasks that meant long hours at work and very little time to take a break. Now my body screams to slow down and I’m a bit angry at myself for having waited so long.

We need periods of respite in our lives. And this starts with little moments of rest when we allow our mind and body to slow down and step away from the world for a moment.
Like eating lunch away from the desk and savoring every bite.
Like going to bed at a decent time and not binge another episode.
Like holding your face into the sun and let it warm you.
Like shedding a tear when the pressure is just too much.
Like doing one thing at a time instead of staring at multiple screens.
Like exchanging the phone for a book in the evening.
Like taking a deep breath when the chaos runs high.

It doesn’t have to be much, but over time these small things build a habit of listening and granting ourselves permission to rest in the midst of full schedules, minds and lives. They will still be there, but we’ll approach them differently.

What are your little moments of respite this week?

Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

You’re worth it

On Wednesday I felt like celebrating. I invited some girls from my book club over and enjoyed getting dressed up. I set the table with nice silverware and opened a bottle of sparkling wine.
We spoiled ourselves with salmon and burrata.
We enjoyed cocktails and toasted to our friendship.
We laughed at silly stories and nodded at shared experiences.
We shared a bit of life.

A table full of great food, conversations and life.


Yes, it was Valentine’s Day.
Yes, the news around the world still sound bleak.
Yes, it was in the middle of the week.

And yet, we celebrate.
We’re caught in comparisons and competitions (especially as women!), always modest and humble.
We take care of everyone but ourselves.
We believe far too often that we’re not worth it.
We’re surrounded by so much darkness, chaos, exhaustion and uncertainty, so maybe the biggest act of defiance is to pause for a moment, spoil ourselves and celebrate life and friendships in the midst of it all.

Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

Waste time well

Racing thoughts before my body is fully awake.
Ticking boxes on the to do list.
Scrolling mindlessly through social media, hoping for something– anything – to distract me from life.
Filling in paperwork at work while questioning what it is actually about.
Running errands with tired feet and an exhausted mind.

Annie Dillard once said, “How we spend our days is how we spend our lives.”

Sometimes I wonder if we waste our time by focusing so much on things that don’t really matter in the long run. By blowing minor details out of proportion. By continuing to run a show we might never have wanted to be a part of anyway. By allowing external factors to push us constantly forward. By keeping ourselves so busy that we have forgotten to listen to the essential, quiet voices in our lives.

I often wish I was more productive. I don’t mean hyper productivity or putting even more pressure on myself (I guess we have enough of that already!). What I mean is to tread carefully and take conscious steps into each day and task.
Do my work with room for creativity, failure and growth.
Be fully present in conversations.
Rest with intention.
Get lost in the good moments and waste time for the things that nourish my soul and relationships with others.
Hold still to watch that sunrise for a moment longer.
Use the hours and minutes that I’ve been given well.
Experience life in abundance with all its highs and lows.
Give myself enough time to feel it all.

Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

The work of the people

“Do you think I can still live here when I’m 30 or will the right-wing government have deported people like me?” a student asked me in history class last week.

A lot more anxious questions followed.
“What will I have to do to prove that I’m German enough?”
“Where should I go back to? I have no other home than this.”

“People like me.” – This means the majority of my students. Second or third generation migrants from forty different nations. Refugees from the horrors of the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan and Syria. People with stories of flight, persecution and the struggle to make a home elsewhere. Youngsters with questions of identity, origin and belonging. They have an immense treasure of cultures inside of them and have overcome so much to be here.

A debate flared up when the news broke last week of a secret meeting between right-wing extremists and conservative groups to plan the deportation of “people not integrated enough” in order to create a “pure Germany” (I put words into quotation marks because they often reflect Nazi rhetoric, which should’ve been banned from our vocabulary long ago).
This meeting is yet another peak of a long journey towards radicalization and nationalist ideals. It is one we’ve seen all around our European neighbors and other Western countries. It is a wake up call for all of us to realize that democracy is not set in stone and maybe more endangered than we’d imagined.

The fascist past screams so loudly in today’s news of secret meetings, populist politicians and openly extremist propaganda. The brown might have been painted over with blue, notions of “protection” and “conservatism”, but the message is still the same nationalist, fascist, homophobic, destructive poison.

Democracy means work of the people – and I am convinced more than ever that all of us need to do this work.

It could mean to march on the streets and demonstrate.
It could mean to show our faces and raise our voices.
It could mean to speak up when propaganda, fake news and half-truths spread in our conversations, news or online.
It could mean to realize that democracy should not be taken for granted and to educate others about democratic values.

As a teacher, I wonder what this would look like in my classrooms. What should we teach?

We need to talk about history and its terrible consequences
It might not be everyone’s favorite subject and for a long time, history has been taught as a mere collection of boring dates and facts. But when you zoom out and put events into perspective, you realize that the past has more impact on the present than you’d probably imagined.
We learn about the dark years of wars, and destructive concepts like racism, antisemitism and dictatorship.
We learn how the strife for national unity and belonging morphed into nationalism and exclusion.
We learn about the long struggle for diversity, freedom and human rights.
We learn about the accomplishments of peace, people’s power and modernity.

Learning about the past from multiple angles shows us how complex situations often were and still are, but also that life is never linear or without hope. And only when we make these connections, we can do better not to let history repeat itself.

We need to create space for emotions and the people behind them
The students in our classrooms are no automated robots but people with feelings. Growing up in a VUCA* world comes with a lot of emotional baggage and it is just all too natural that young people experience uncertainty, anxiety, helplessness and a lot of questions. Maybe even anger and frustration.

Before we talk about the big questions in life, we need to meet our students where they are.
This might mean to open up space for questions that won’t be answered immediately.
This might mean to allow room for raw emotions and tears.
This might mean to just sit with them in discomfort instead of stepping in right away.
This might mean to step away from the idea that teachers have to know and fix everything.

Students need a place where they can open up and process their unfinished thoughts and emotions. If they’re not allowed to think out loud or have to repress what they feel, it could cause great damage to their own sense of self as well as the people around them. Learning to recognize and deal with your own emotions is part of the journey to mature adulthood.
Our schools should become such places.

* VUCA is a term coined by economists to describe the state of our world. The abbreviation spells out into volative – uncertain – complex – ambiguous.

We need to practice and foster ambiguity tolerance
Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines ambiguity as something “that can be understood in two or more possible ways”. In a world of heated debates and cancel culture, we have somehow forgotten to truly listen to each other and allow space for several statements to be true. We no longer differentiate between facts and opinions, algorithms have created echo chambers in which we only hear what aligns with our own worldview.

Instead of walking away when we hear dissenting opinions, we need to take steps towards each other, as uncomfortable and challenging that might be at times.
Instead of excluding everything that does not fit into our own picture, we might have to invite other voices to the table and let them tell their stories.
Teach how to check facts and classify different opinions.
Relearn patience to really listen to one another and ask questions before passing judgment.
Give ourselves time to think before blasting out half-cooked statements.
Invest in face-to-face conversations instead of energy draining battles online. Accept that there could be more than one answer and not consider this a threat. Seeing the whole spectrum of facts and opinions might open up a whole new perspective on the world and its beauty that is waiting for us to discover it – together.

Democracy calls us to do the work, everyone in their own homes, work places and public spheres. Shall we get started?

Take a step back

For several mornings this week I’ve woken up long before my alarm.
My body was still tired, but my mind had already begun racing.

In the dark everything seems to be louder and bigger.
Up close.
Tasks scream to be done right now.
Worries appear twice as big as they probably are. Fear creeps in and slowly makes its way through your whole body.
By the time, the alarm goes off I already feel exhausted and overwhelmed.

In moments like this, it helps me to take a step back and see things from afar. meet my emotions with reason. Examine where they come from and which role they should play in this moment.
Writing things down helps to untangle my thoughts and create coherence in the midst of chaos. Penciling dates in a calendar puts things into perspective. I realize what is mine to do and what isn’t. It allows me to get to work when needed, but it also gives me freedom to release the worries I need to let go of.

Writing for Five Minute Friday today.

The patterns that make up a life

January is an invitation.
I don’t know if you’re the kind of person who reflects on what worked well in the previous year, which rhythms and rituals you’d like to continue or modify. Being too much in your head can be exhausting, but I have to come realize that I actually benefit from taking a step back once in a while to observe what I do and why I do things.

Do I live the life I want or does life just happen to me?

As this new year begins, I sit down and reflect on the patterns that make up my life: Which relationships surround me?
Which routines do I do every day?
Which activities do I slip into when I want to unwind?

This year I want to observe what I pay attention to.
How do I spend my time and thoughts?
Which emotions come and go, which impact do they have on me?

I realize that I tend to escape into social media scrolls when I just hope for some distracting entertainment and it usually leaves me empty afterwards. Reading a book is much more uplifting.
I realize that I want to connect more with people, so scheduling intentional community time with others might be a good next step.
I realize that my job is really busy and keeps me on track, but it also enables me to learn and discover so much.

My life is made up of so many different patterns and colors – together, they make up the blanket that holds my stories and keeps me warm in colder times. And the more I realize, the more grateful I become for this wild, wonder-ful life I’ve been given to explore.

Writing for Five Minute Friday today.
It’s been a while, but I’m glad to revisit this beloved rhythm.

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.