Amy Spiegel, Author at Wisdom & Folly

I suppose we all have a relationship or two which falls into the “guilty pleasure” category. We know they aren’t a good influence. We rarely leave their presence feeling better about ourselves or the world in general. They make us a worse version of ourselves, and yet we just can’t bring ourselves to walk away. We make up all sorts of excuses for not cutting ties with them: we’ve known them for such a long time. Our mutual friends would feel awkward if we didn’t associate with them anymore. Or worse, our mutual friends might choose them over us. We are a good influence, and if we abandon them who will be left to offer a more enlightened perspective? We tell ourselves maybe they will change for the better.

And then one day, you’ve just had enough. A line is drawn that you just can’t cross. And you suddenly realize the futility of continuing in this relationship any longer. It’s like eating Rocky Road ice cream straight from the tub and praying it will magically turn into non-fat sugar-free frozen yogurt. Going no contact won’t be fun, but it’s time.

I have come to this place with social media, by which I am referring to Facebook and Instagram. I know these aren’t the only social media platforms out there, but these are the two with which I mostly frequently engage and with which I am officially breaking up. For a few years now, I have known FB and IG were a negative influence on my life. It wasn’t just the time wasted but the overall impact on my outlook that bothered me. When Jim left Taylor, I inadvertently walked away from posting for the most part. I’m not sure of all the reasons this happened, but I do know the co-mingling of friends and former friends in my network made me feel vulnerable online and I started just sharing pics here and there with friends through text. To minimize time spent online, I deleted my IG app and only accessed it via web browser. (If ever you doubted the intentionally manipulative design of social media, contrast the browser and app version of the experience. I can’t believe how much faster I exit IG and FB when I’m not plugged into the app.) I was more conscious or rather self-conscious about how much time I spent browsing. It also made me aware of the distraction it created in others, as I tried to engage with people whose eyes kept drifting to their phones. I have also started the absolutely radical behavior of leaving my phone in the car for church services, dinners out, and walks with the fam. Try this exercise and you will quickly realize what a lurking presence your and others phones are, even when turned upside down or in a pocket. Phones in this situation are like a rude, socially awkward third wheel, just waiting to interrupt and turn all eyes on them. Stop inviting them along! But I digress…

I noticed that this somewhat distanced relationship had me questioning why I would be involved with social media at all. I found myself asking questions like “Who is this post for? The person you are writing about or your “fanbase”? I was alarmed at the use of children as props for their parents’ “brand” and recognized that I have been guilty of doing the same. One of the kids asked me not to post pics of them from fun family events and would ask me “Why are you doing that?” which made me stand up and think “Yeah, why am I doing that?” The fact that I stopped posting for the most part during the dark season after Jim’s firing is a good indication that I was more interested in highlighting our happy seasons than transparently sharing real life with friends.

As my relationship with social media weakened, I could feel more clearly the impact on my state of mind when I did engage with it, generally walking away feeling fatter, uglier, less accomplished, and poorer while simultaneously feeling smug and judgmental. Not a good combo for the psyche.

Then this winter, Andrew’s school hosted a night with Dr. Leonard Sax, a prominent physician and psychologist, who opened my eyes even further to the negative impacts of social media on children. Not only was I participating in something harmful to myself, I was engaging with a dangerous organism which was being weaponized against the young and vulnerable. Jim and I spent time in prayer, repenting of having, in ignorance, exposed our kids to this malignant force and talking with our kids, most of whom are now young adults, about the impact this activity has had and is having on them.

With all of this, I still haven’t been able to walk away. That is until I heard of a Wall Street Journal article exposing the fact that Instagram “helps connect and promote a vast network of accounts openly devoted to the commission and purchase of underage-sex content…” What further motivation did I need to cut ties with IG? Maybe I was willing to ignore the cancerous impact it had on my productivity, my thoughts and even my children’s mental health. Sure IG is the gateway drug for pornography and a vast number of physical and mental disorders, but it’s so deliciously entertaining. But when confronted with this horrifying though hardly shocking article, how could I ignore that I was willingly partnering with a monster that doesn’t simply allow but promotes and profits from the sexual exploitation of children?

So I am breaking up with Instagram and Facebook. I will no longer post or monitor my accounts. I’m sure I will slip up every now and again or will peer over someone’s shoulder to watch a funny dog video or see who just got engaged. I’ll take it one day at a time and hopefully turn those days into months and years, but I am planning for an anti-social media life moving forward. An anti-social media life that is full of actual socializing and genuine and authentic engagement with friends.

As the saying goes, you do you. I don’t have any desire to judge others and their navigation through the complex “Metaverse” we find ourselves in. But I hope you will do so with your eyes wide open to the dangerous waters you are sailing through and prayerfully consider your course.

“O Trinity of love and power

Our brethren shield in danger’s hour

From rock and tempest, fire and foe

Protect them wheresoe’er they go.”

~William Whiting, “Eternal Father, Strong to Save”

April 24, 2023

Passing Into History

By Amy Spiegel

Recently, I had the sad honor of attending a memorial service for a dear friend’s father who passed away quite unexpectedly. I listened as several people shared their memories of Fred, some funny, some touching, but all laced with the sorrow of his absence. It is a tragic irony of such events that the more beloved and accomplished the person is, the deeper the sense of loss and grief. It struck me that most of us are striving to live life in such a way as to make many people, whom we love, miserable when we are gone. The only thing worse than a funeral for someone for whom everyone is grieving is a funeral for someone for whom no one is mourning.

My friend’s dad was, fortunately, not such a person. There were many tears from the large crowd who gathered to comfort his family and celebrate his life. There was beautiful singing and a truth-filled homily declaring faith in life after death and the hope of resurrection. And then . . . it was over. We wiped away our tears and hugged one last time. Some of us gathered for a meal and caught up on life. Then we drove home and did chores, walked our dogs and spent time with our families. Of course, the grieving process is not over and for his family and close friends. It never will be, at least this side of heaven. He will be missed at each family event, talked about among those who didn’t have the privilege of knowing him. But as those who had that privilege slip away, so will their memories. So it will be for each of us. One day in the future our lives, however long, will be reduced to an obituary and an afternoon service.

There are, of course, a select few whose lives take on historic relevance, but they are few and far between. Most of us will not be a world leader, a great inventor or the writer of a timeless classic. Even these figures aren’t really remembered as people but more by their accomplishments. Their deeds and works live on in our memories rather than in their personal impact on individual lives.

As I reflected on this truth, I realized that this is actually true for all of us. In the case of my friend’s dad, Fred, his skills will carry on every time his grandson tees up for a round of golf. His smile and kindness will echo through history in the smiles and kindness of each person whom he influenced for good. Each time his daughter stands in front of her class, his love of teaching will continue.

We each have the opportunity to live a historic life, one that ripples through time far after we are gone. Each day presents us with countless opportunities to reach beyond our eventual grave and live on through small acts of kindness or faithful service. There is no telling how you might echo through history, how loudly your life might resonate through time.

Of course, this requires one to think beyond oneself. After all, if I live a life that is primarily focused on myself, then that leaves very little behind after I am gone. While writing this post, the lyrics of the Beatles’ famous Eleanor Rigby kept playing through my mind. The namesake of this famous song which asks “all the lonely people, where do they all come from?” is buried in Liverpool’s St. Peter’s church cemetery. In the song, Eleanor is alone, touching the lives of no one, she is not mourned or missed at the end of her life. According to the gravestone of the real Eleanor, however, she was a beloved granddaughter and wife. One version of Eleanor has been enshrined as a monument to human isolation and loneliness. But the impact of the real Eleanor is quietly rippling through history in who knows how many ways. Let us strive to do the same.

March 13, 2023

The Waiting Room

By Amy Spiegel

The past two years and counting have brought quite a few personal challenges for the Spiegels as a collective and for each of us individually. Jim’s termination, the loss of friends and pets, various health issues, moving, and new jobs and schools make up just the highlight reel. One of these circumstances is enough to inspire stress and anxiety, but experiencing them simultaneously is enough to bring you to your knees. While all living through the these major life events, it was fascinating to see how the same circumstances have acted as “opportunities for growth” for all us but in sometimes entirely different ways. Change brings previously undiscovered weaknesses (and strengths) to the surface the same way that traveling to a foreign country can highlight aspects of your own culture and personality that you weren’t aware of before.

I learned a lot about myself through all these changes. But I was also given the chance to change myself, or rather choose to allow the Holy Spirit to bring about change. And the end of 2022 brought a scenario which allowed me to put some of these changes to the test.

As many of you know, Bailey and Andrew, our oldest and youngest sons, traveled to Bolivia in July–Bailey to teach art at Highlands International School in La Paz and Andrew to spend the semester as a student at that school. This wasn’t our first time sending off kids to international destinations and I was so happy for the both of them that while I missed them, I was thrilled to send them on their way. With Sam and Maggie off at school, it gave Jim and I a taste of empty-nesting which we quite enjoyed. Of course, waiting was made easier because we knew the boys would be returning at Christmas, Andrew for good and Bailey for a visit. Or so we thought. In a hotel in Miami, with dreams of being reunited with the kids still dancing in my head, I got a phone call. I had driven down a week before to drop Maggie and Sam off at the airport. They flew down for a visit with their brothers and then I was to drive them home for the holidays. The phone call was Bailey saying that Maggie and Sam had made their flight but that Bolivian officials were refusing to allow Andrew to leave the country. He was missing an important piece of documentation and to make matters worse, it was the Friday before Christmas. Offices would soon be closing for the weekend and not re-opening until later the next week. After a frantic day of driving from one office to the next, I was able to get the necessary papers on a flight to Bolivia but had to leave the airport two kids short. The sadness of not having them with us for Christmas was compounded by the fact that Andrew was set to start a new school a few days after New Year’s. I won’t bore you with the details of the roller coaster ride that was the next two weeks but ultimately Andrew arrived back in Indiana, after what he says were the best two weeks of his trip (!!), though sadly Bailey didn’t have enough time left of his break to come home. This situation taught me many things, one of which was never to make complicated travel plans around the holidays. But it also clarified my thinking regarding stress and anxiety.

I would like to issue the disclaimer that I understand that anxiety takes many forms and comes from many places. The type of anxiety I wish to address is the type we volunteer for rather than the type that creeps unbidden into our minds without our giving permission. I have several family members who struggle with anxiety and I know this struggle is real. But there is a garden variety anxiety over which we have much more control.

I discovered this distinction before Andrew was “held hostage” over Christmas. As I mentioned, Andrew was starting a new school upon his return. That’s because we were moving…again. This time to Michigan in order for Jim to take a position as a Templeton Fellow at Hillsdale College. The timing of this move was tricky and with several months of Jim’s contract in Bloomington left, we agonized over when to put our house on the market, not wanting to sell it out from under ourselves. Instead of finding ourselves homeless, we found ourselves with too many houses, the one we owned in Indiana and the one we wanted to own in Michigan. When describing our situation to friends and family, I would find myself feeling obligated to say “I am really anxious about selling the house” or “It’s so stressful that it isn’t selling.” One day I realized that neither of those things was true. I wasn’t anxious or stressed. So why did I feel compelled to say I was? Even when our holidays were ambushed by a hurricane of bureaucratic mishaps, I wasn’t really stressed or anxious. Despite it all, there was this eye-of-the-storm calm at the center of my mind. I knew that this was not just a product of me being laid back, which I am decidedly not, nor was it a lack of concern. I very much wanted to sell our house and very much wanted the boys home. Instead, it was putting into practice the lessons I had learned through all the hardships that were now in the rear window.

Looking back I could see how God had provided and trust that He would do so moving forward. I realized that stress and anxiety are a choice. I can choose to pick them and pretend that by doing so I am actually accomplishing something. I could see all the misspent hours of worry and planning that did nothing but rob me of the joys of the present. So I chose to do the only things I can: trust. Okay, I will admit to obsessing over the tidiness of our house each morning with the confidence that today’s showing would bring someone who was on the fence about the house and then see how neatly the bed was made and declare “This is the one!” And I drove around Miami like a mad woman gathering official stamps and signatures. But then you just have to lay all that work down and wait and trust and wait some more. We are still waiting. Thank goodness not for Andrew who is thriving in his new school and still regaling us with stories of South America. But our house still hasn’t sold and I am still not stressed about it. I’m in the waiting room and any moment they are going to call our name and it’s going to be our turn. And who knows, maybe it will be our turn for more “bad” news, more challenges and “growth opportunities.” But if that’s the case, I hope I have the faith to look over my shoulder at all the mountains we have climbed and face the next one without the extra luggage of anxiety regarding the destination. I advise you to do the same; keep your eyes on the Guide and He will lead you safely home.

January 3, 2023

Safety First

By Amy Spiegel

Monday Night Football is a near sacred ritual in our home, dating back to Jim’s younger years. In one of my favorite anecdotes from his childhood, little Jimmy, who is the youngest of four boys, would come home from school each week as a young elementary student, eat dinner, do his homework, and go to bed to be woken up in time for kick-off. With Andrew in Bolivia this NFL season, I have picked up the mantle of Jim’s watching companion and embraced Monday night dinners in front of the TV watching football.

Last night I had an after work haircut and didn’t get in till late. Flinging open the front door, my greeting was “Let’s go Bills!” whom I had picked to win only to see Jim stone-faced, somberly watching coverage of Buffalo Bill’s safety Damar Hamlin’s dramatic on-field collapse. There was no trash talk or celebratory end zone dances to be found. Instead, grown men, who are paid to slam other grown men to the ground each

week, hid their faces and cried while countless sports commentators and fans sent thoughts and prayers to Hamlin and his family.

I in no way wish to minimize the trauma of those who witnessed the medical personnel’s desperate struggle to revive Hamlin. What his family, teammates and fans witnessed was, I am sure, a horror they will never forget. I applaud the NFL’s decision to suspend play in deference not only to Hamlin but also out of respect for the shock and grief of both teams.

However (you knew a “however” was coming), I do take issue with a great deal of the hyperbole spouted by ESPN commentators and others regarding the significance of this event. Yes, Hamlin obviously experienced a potentially life-altering injury or at least a life-altering event. We can only speculate as to the cause of his cardiac arrest. While it could be entirely unrelated to the blow to the chest he received seconds before he fell to the ground, that seems unlikely. Assuming it was related, this event only differs in severity to the countless smaller, but nonetheless life-altering injuries players experience each time they take the field. How many other players in the very same game received a few more bumps and bruises, a little more damage to their knees, another blow to the head, all of which add up to wear and tear on their bodies which is irreversible, impacting their quality and likely length of life?

And how does this differ from highway workers hit by cars, policemen killed in the line of duty, coal miners with black lungs, etc., except in the size of their paychecks and the amount of attention and concern their injuries arouse? There was a baggage handler killed earlier this week while going about his unglamorous job in an Alabama regional airport. Where were the mourners questioning the safety of his working conditions or calling for the airport to be closed longer than a few hours out of respect?

I’m in no way saying that in the face of such a sudden and dramatic event we shouldn’t be moved, or pause to reflect, or if so inclined to say a prayer. But instead, I first caution against painting Damar Hamlin as a victim. Life is a game of weighing pros and cons and choosing which risks you are willing to take and which you wish to avoid. Hamlin chose an inherently risky profession, with decidedly high rewards. Let’s honor that choice rather than paint him as an oppressed victim of a violent profession.

Secondly, I suggest we all take stock and recognize that if an exceptionally healthy 24-year-old can go to work one day and drop, even momentarily, dead of a heart attack, then who knows what the game of life has in store for the rest of us? Death is just a drive down the highway or a visit to the doctor for any of us. I think that is what stirred such raw emotion among commentators, fans, and players alike. Not the singularity of Hamlin’s collapse but the universality of it. The idea that it could have been me and it will be one day. Are you ready for your final play?

There once was a young man, healthy and strong. And He was engaged in a game of sorts, a high stakes game of life and death. He lived and then He died and then He rose in victory. One day He will return and settle the score. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, it could even be on a Monday night.

December 26, 2022

For Crown and Country

By Amy Spiegel

For years while living in Upland, I was a part of a women’s book club. I enjoyed the group for many reasons: it had a long history and I loved being a part of something that spanned decades. It was multi-generational and made up of women at all stages of life which added a depth to our discussions I really appreciated. We had varied tastes in books so it forced me to read books I never would have chosen, some of which I really enjoyed. One such book that I did not appreciate at the time was Elizabeth the Queen: The Life of a Modern Monarch by Sally Bedell Smith. This was definitely a book I would not have read on my own, and I never really warmed to it. It was very long and at the end, while I felt I knew a great deal more about Queen Elizabeth’s life, I didn’t feel I knew all that much more about her. My summary to the group was “She has met a ridiculous number of historical figures and led an extremely eventful and interesting life, but she doesn’t seem like a very interesting person.”

Though I have strong opinions on the subject, I don’t intend to use this post to go into the credibility of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s claims of mistreatment and prejudice. I will leave that to the royal experts to publicly debate. But there was one statement by Prince Harry which has been rattling around in my brain for the last week that seems worth further explanation, whether you are Team Sussex or Whales.

In discussing his choice of a wife, Prince Harry said “I think for so many people in the family, especially obviously the men, there can be a temptation or an urge to marry someone who would fit the mold, as opposed to somebody who you are perhaps destined to be with…”

There followed clips of Katherine and Meghan, and the viewer, I suppose, is meant to draw the conclusion that Prince William made a calculated decision for someone who “fit the mold” and Prince Harry made the bolder, more courageous decision to follow his heart. This is certainly the advice that every modern day fairy tale would endorse: take a “leap of faith,” look beyond differences in personality, family backgrounds and plans for the future, and go with your gut. I couldn’t disagree more. Going with my gut leads to me sitting on the coach, eating improvised Rice Krispie treats from a bowl at 10 pm. Taking leaps of faith can sometimes lead to wish fulfillment, but it can also lead your life straight off a cliff if you haven’t first determined just where you will be landing.

I don’t believe it is necessary to make evaluative statements regarding the morality or wisdom of choosing a spouse with one’s head or with one’s heart, but rather that one should carefully consider the possible outcomes and accept the consequences of either choice, nor do I think this applies exclusively to one’s choice of life partner. In choosing a husband or wife, career or calling, it seems essential to one’s long-term happiness to accept that by choosing a particular person, profession, or path, one is naturally excluding other options. If I choose a job that pays well but requires long hours, I can’t complain about working overtime. If I choose to work a job with flexible hours and low stress, I can’t complain about lower wages or boredom. Prince Harry should be free to choose a wife who doesn’t “fit the mold,” but it seems unfair to then complain when she doesn’t fit in. Joining an institution steeped in tradition and hierarchy would definitely require loss of autonomy. Leaving that institution would involve loss of another kind. Life seems to be orchestrated with those types of trade-offs as part of the package. Our current cultural trends glorify victimhood in a way that tempts many to paint themselves as helpless. I don’t see the appeal of that mindset. Isn’t it better to take ownership of one’s decisions and their consequences?

This brings me back to Queen Elizabeth and my initial assessment of her as bland. I see now that this “blandness” was a choice on her part, an intentional suppression of personality in service to what she saw as her duty. Now I will leave it to you to decide whether or not the role of Queen of England is a worthy role to devote one’s life to, but I think we can agree that she believed it to be so and was willing to pay the price for a job well done. If, perhaps, more of us embraced our own duty, as husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, community members and citizens, and were willing to pay the price required rather than demanding that we have our cake and eat it too, we would have more successful marriages, happier children, and peace between nations. We might not end our lives with millions paying tribute, but I think there would be more jewels in our crowns.

June 26, 2022

Being Pro-Choice

By Amy Spiegel

In a historic decision, the Supreme Court has been asked and has answered a fundamental question regarding personal autonomy and freedom: under the law, does one have the basic right to secure one’s life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? The Court has resoundingly denied that freedom. This decision creates two classes of citizens; one free to go about their daily lives unencumbered and often enjoying pleasure at the expense of the other, subjugated and less powerful class. This class is forced to carry the burdens of others without the right to determine their own future, unable to pursue their dreams and to develop their potential.

I am speaking of course of the monumentally misjudged case of Dred Scott vs Sandford (1857) in which the Court ruled that Scott was the property of another human being and therefore had no legal standing under the Constitution. To me, the parallels between this horrific blot on our nation’s legal legacy and the now overturned Roe vs Wade scream out for comparison. In both cases, the rights of one citizen were denied for the convenience of another. In Dred Scott, he, along with millions of other black Americans, were denied their freedom for the financial gain of their masters. As a result of Roe, tens of millions of children have been stripped not only of their legal rights but their very lives. In both cases, the vulnerable were left unheard and not seen as human beings, despite the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary.

Another similarity between the two is that the arguments made in defense of the unjust actions of the Court often fail to address the fundamental issue being debated: is this a human being who, through no fault of his or her own, has been made dependent and at the mercy of another? Once one recognizes the undeniable fact that we are all one race of human beings, no matter what the color of our skin or the stage of our development, the argument is over. But, at the time of Scott, many argued about the financial devastation which would befall the South if slavery were to be ended just as now people argue about the economic consequences of an unplanned pregnancy for the mother and society. There were even arguments made that slaves were better off as slaves rather than fending for themselves just as many argue that children of unplanned pregnancies or those suffering from various genetic issues are better off dead than alive.

While the unmet needs of women and their children are certainly something we should consider and address, this does not justify the killing of one let alone millions of innocent and helpless children, any more than it justified the enslavement of millions of slaves. Look at the millions of dollars devoted to treating sick and injured children each year in this country; or the enormous economic cost we were asked to pay as a nation and individually through loss of income and other various government mandates during the pandemic. If those situations justify such great financial outlays, shouldn’t we be willing to do the same in order to save the millions of children aborted each year? I’m certainly willing to support various agencies designed to do just that; are you? One would certainly question that willingness on the part of some in the pro-choice movement given the recent wave of vandalism against crisis pregnancy centers.

I think it is also worth noting that the proponents of both slavery and abortion profited handsomely from its continuation. Planned Parenthood, the most recognizable abortion provider in the U.S., makes millions of dollars a year through the dismembering of the unborn. This is done at the expense of not only those children but also their mothers who, we can all agree, are often in a vulnerable place themselves. It is well-documented that not only do PP workers lie to and pressure women into abortions, but also fail to report those who are being exploited by sex traffickers and abusers. Those who call for the pro-life movement to step up and provide resources to pregnant women, as they should and often do, should be equally vocal in their condemnation of what is clearly not an isolated phenomenon. On the topic of Planned Parenthood, it should be noted that like slavery itself, this organization was founded by racists who sought to limit the influence of those they deemed subhuman.

The final comparison I will make between these two cases is the obvious one: they have both been overturned, righting the wrongs of decades of immoral behavior and illogical thinking. In the case of Dred Scott, it was overruled by the 14th amendment which granted citizenship to all those born in the United States regardless of their skin color. In the case of Roe, of course, it was overruled this month by Dobbs vs Jackson Women’s Health Organization. The 14th amendment by no means brought immediate equality and was only accomplished after years of bloody battles, not in the courtroom but on the battlefields. But it did bring about an age when former slaves and their descendants were free to contribute mightily to our nation’s legacy. They were free to become lawyers and continue the fight for freedom; free to become doctors and advance our understanding of what it means to be human; free to enter civil service and even rise to the highest offices in the land, including the White House and, yes, the Supreme Court of the United States.

In the case of Dobbs, despite what some seem to think, this decision is very pro-choice. It has not made abortion illegal; rather it has sent the issue back to individual states who now have the freedom to stand on the side of justice and morality or to stand on the side of oppression and murder. The choice seems an obvious one, just as Dred Scott seems to us now. I hope that, in whatever state you may live, you will find yourself making the right choice: the choice to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, that we can truly become a nation “indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

August 15, 2021

The Starting Point of Sin

By Amy Spiegel

Some of you may know that month Jim, the kids, and I moved to southern Indiana as a result of his accepting a new position as head of school for Lighthouse Christian Academy in Bloomington. While this is the third time our family has moved premises, this was by far the biggest change of scene for us all. The distance wasn’t the only factor, though moving hours away is a far cry from the puddle jump moves we have made in the past. We were leaving behind the only community the kids have ever known, as home base at least. The church they were baptized in as infants; neighbors, schools, childhood friends, and on and on it goes. It has been disorienting to say the least.

Packing up the house, we discovered all sorts of things, some good and some not so good. Items we thought were lost were found; dirt and dust we didn’t know were accumulating was discovered, etc. And then we went about the process of repositioning old furniture in a new setting, sorting through forgotten boxes and deciding what to keep, what to pass on to others, and what to throw to the curb. This new setting has helped me to see our possessions in a new light, both literally and figuratively. And this is true of me as well.

The combination of quitting my job which, for the last two years has consumed so much of my time and energy, and moving out of the community I have spent my entire adult life in has been a great opportunity for self-reflection. For me, as I am sure it would be for many of you, self-reflection is usually an opportunity for self-berating. Critical evaluations of oneself aren’t always a bad thing, but too often I use it as a chance to focus on my flaws, cry to God about what a failure I am and crawl into a hole of embarrassment and shame.

Recently, however, I have been trying to take a different approach. I’ve been attempting to see my moral failings with gratitude. If I never see areas where I am weak, how can I grow strong? Yes, it’s unpleasant to have one’s frailties and faults exposed but the alternative is much worse. I must ask myself, do I want to have the appearance of goodness all the while hiding my sinful thoughts and deeds or do I want to expose them in order to grow?

Imagine going to the doctor because, while appearing perfecty healthy, you know there is something internally wrong with you.mThe nurse comes in and hands you one of those delightfully revealing paper gowns and tells you to get undressed so the doctor can diagnose the issue. Are you going to be uncomfortable? Clearly yes, but you have a choice: get uncomfortable and be exposed or stay clothed and continue to get sicker. We are faced with the same choice when dealing with our sin and the Great Physician. He cannot heal us unless He first exposes our disease.

Now I am not calling for some sort of celebration of sin. Not saying that we should all start indiscriminately dropping our metaphorical drawers and glorying in our exposed failures. There is both a time and place for sharing our sin through confession, both with God and with others. Just as none of us particularly want to see people traipsing through the malls in paper medical gowns, I don’t think we should go about broadcasting our moral failures in an attempt to normalize behavior which we are biblically told is wrong.

What I am calling myself to do is to see my sin coming into focus as a starting point to begin from rather than a finish line I failed to cross. From this starting point, I can start the journey, first to repentance and then to growth and freedom. The diagnosis is just the first step; it doesn’t immediately bring the cure. But it is a necessary one without which there can be no healing.

This move was not one that I looked forward to. But I am grateful for the chance to see myself in a different light and to grow as a result. One day, I will make my final move, from earth to my heavenly home. Then I will have the chance to see myself in the light of God’s Glory, clothed not in a flimsy exam gown but in Christ’s righteousness. Then I will be diagnosed, treated and cured, surrounded by the saints and home for good.

May 12, 2021

Lessons from the Road

By Amy Spiegel

The past year has been a rough one for all of us. The pandemic has hit everyone in one way or another. Diminished freedom, closed businesses, canceled travel plans, school shutdowns and of course the deaths of loved ones. As most of you know, over the last nine months, outside of the pandemic our family has been on a rather painful and frightening journey. Not only was Jim unexpectedly fired from his job, but he also lost two dear friends in a tragic accident, our beloved dog passed away from cancer at only 5 years old, and our youngest son, Andrew, broke his arm in what seemed like a routine fall while playing basketball. All of these events have left me emotionally drained and frankly perplexed; wondering what God’s plan is for our future, asking how we can appease Him to make the compounding losses stop. But the past months have also left me with some insights that I wanted to share, in the midst of the story, rather than at the “end.” While Andrew’s arm has healed and he is back on the courts, Jim is still looking for employment and, to put it bluntly, Ben, Meg and Penny are still dead. My hope is that as you deal with your own tragedies, disappointments and trials, some of my observations can come in handy and I want to share them before the curtain closes on this particular season for us, when they are harder to affirm and seem less inevitable. Most mothers will tell you all the pain was worth it when they are holding their baby in their arms, but fewer by far will say the same in the throes of labor pains. Most travelers will say it was worth the journey when they are sitting by the fireside, but rare is the content person when lost and low on gas.

Lesson One: No one knows what tomorrow brings. Repeatedly since August, when Jim was terminated, I have said “I don’t care where we go. I just want to know.” As different job opportunities have come and gone, I have embraced the idea of moving to the city, moving to the country, staying where we are and moving far away. Any of these prospects would be hard, but for someone like myself who loves to plan and organize (read: someone who is a total control freak), none would have been as nearly as hard as not knowing. A week or so ago, when another seemingly viable job opportunity dead-ended, Jim told me he felt God telling us to be still and wait. Well, duh, what else could we do? But there is waiting and then there is waiting. I have been waiting like a five year old on a road trip, kicking the back of God’s seat, asking “Are we there yet?” every two minutes. I am trying, semi-successfully, to wait as in “wait upon the LORD…” kind of waiting. And doing so has stilled something inside, loosened my grip on the future, and made me realize I may not know what lies ahead, but this is nothing new. I thought I knew before, when we got up on that morning last fall like hundreds of other mornings. Ben and Meg thought they knew when driving home from their date night in November. You, dear reader, think you know right now. But, unbeknownst to us, the decision had been made and the driver was going too fast to stop. And unbeknownst to you, the detour could be straight ahead. Who knows? I know who doesn’t know, and that’s you and me. Acknowledging that God has planned this trip long before you could read a map, and that this detour isn’t really a “change of plans” at all can bring a peace that passes understanding. I have cried out “Just tell me what to want and I will want it. This job? That job? No job? I’m good with anything. I just want to know.” And God has repeatedly answered “Just want me and let the rest sort itself out.” Such an annoyingly wise and beneficial truth. It’s just like God to tell us exactly the opposite of what we want to hear, but in a way that is exactly what we need to hear. I have no doubt I will still kick and whine from the backseat in the future, but by God’s grace I will do so fewer times before we arrive “home.”

Lesson Two: God is faithful whether you are happy or not. If you know me at all, you know that I love and respect my parents beyond measure. My folks have been absolute rocks, praying for and encouraging us on a daily basis. As we have waited for news on various job leads, my dad has texted or called to say, “God is faithful.” This, of course, is true. He is faithful to His plans, to His glory and to our ultimate good. But that doesn’t mean He is faithful to provide for our happiness. So each time, my dad has reminded me of God’s faithfulness, I have reminded him that God’s faithfulness does not equate to my happiness. I have never doubted God’s faithfulness. But I serve a god who has allowed His prophets to be jailed, His saints to be martyred, and His Son to be killed. Even Jesus asked for a quick change of plans in the garden. But here’s the thing: when God is faithful to His plans, His glory and our ultimate good, that should be enough to make us happy. It’s like the saying “When Mama’s happy, everyone’s happy.” That’s not because Mama is selfish. It’s because she is the heart of the home and out of her happiness flows the service, planning and love that provides for everyone else. God is the heart of creation and out of His will flows salvation for us all. So maybe my dad was right after all, darn it; my happiness does rest in God’s faithfulness. It just might not be the quick fix sort of happiness I long for; but the kind that His prophets, martyrs and Son are enjoying even now, the kind that lasts forever.

Lesson Three: There comes a time to wipe your eyes and start faking it. This lesson came from my co-worker, a 6’5” giant Nigerian man I call my little brother. When he told me that maybe it was time to stop hiding under my desk and crying, it really annoyed me. Didn’t he know how hard the last months had been? Didn’t he understand the emotional load I was carrying? Didn’t he get it? Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t; either way, though, he was right. The grief we have experienced is real and has changed our family forever. But we are still alive; we still have work to do and there comes a time when you have to get back at it. I think Jim has been much better at this than I have, pouring himself into his music and using his time wisely. I have obviously kept working and kept busy with the kids, but my thoughts have been consumed by our situation. Analyzing it, planning for what’s next, talking through all the “what ifs” ad nauseam, opening up the wounds again and again. Sometimes I can’t help being overwhelmed by the emotion of it all. I just don’t have a lot of buffer to absorb any additional blows. Some things send me back under the desk for a brief time out. Like the time the kids convinced me Maggie had shaved her head and was really upset. But after a few minutes, I have to get back in my chair and go back to work. I don’t want to allow our circumstances to blind me to the struggles of others around me. Just because we are having a tough time doesn’t mean everyone else is off in Candyland having a grand ole time of it. It’s amazing how reaching out to encourage others helps my wounds to heal a little faster. It’s like playing “I Spy” to pass the time on a road trip; being more attentive to the world around you really does make the journey less tiresome.

I hope these reflections are helpful to you, whatever you are currently experiencing. If you are in a season of sorrow, may they bring comfort to you. If you are in a season of joy, may they serve as a “caution ahead” sign; not to diminish the happiness of today but to prepare you for any rough road that might lie ahead.

October 27, 2020

Roadtrip for America

By Amy Spiegel

As voting continues in one of the most contentious elections in our nation’s history, I have seen many posts, tweets, and stories in which Christians are defending, some even celebrating, their choice to hold their noses and vote for Joe Biden. I say they are holding their noses because: 1) I can’t imagine a universe in which he would be anyone’s dream candidate and 2) many of them have expressed that this is a vote against President Trump rather than for the Biden/Harris ticket.

I can relate. Four years ago, I was faced with a similar dilemma: vote for a morally corrupt candidate who stood for everything I oppose, including participation in the physical assault and victimization of countless women or vote for Donald Trump. Nothing about Trump appealed to me—his personality, his appearance, his mode of communication, his history of adulterous behavior. But while these are all important characteristics to consider when choosing a friend or a spouse or somehow to take a cross country road trip with, I wasn’t sure how many of them should be criteria for choosing my President. In the end, providence intervened and the death of a close family member prevented me from voting, though I was heavily leaning toward voting for neither candidate and writing in a candidate whom I felt embodied my ideal leader. I have done this before: in 2008 I chose Condoleezza Rice.

This election, however, I will be voting for one of the two major party candidates, and with chaos in our streets, our civil liberties under attack and our most vulnerable being killed on a daily basis, I will be proudly voting for Donald J. Trump in hopes that he will continue to defend law and order, including the brave men and women in blue whatever the color of their skin, defend the Constitution and protect the sanctity of life. Four years ago, I was doubtful of his commitment to these values, but he has proven to be a man of his word in the face of historic challenges all while combating inexcusable treatment by the media and his political opponents. Coming to this decision has been a journey for me so I would like to share some of the thoughts and events that have led me to this position.

I know that for many of you, a vote for four more years of President Trump is an unforgivable sin so here is a brief list of the issues which compel me to make that choice.

Abortion: Do I really need to say more? Many say, “You can’t vote based on one issue.” Would you have said that to those who chose to vote Republican in 1860 when slavery was the primary issue? They are children and they are being murdered. Every day. By the thousands. Not only that but the lives of countless women, often young and often abused, are being ruined by this “choice.” President Trump attended the March to Life, cut funding to Planned Parenthood, and has promoted adoption and foster care reform.
Corruption: It seems clear that Joe Biden has enriched his family over his decades of time in government and is in fact guilty of the very quid pro quo behavior he has accused the President of while the President has donated his entire salary and has taken significant hits to his net worth while in office.
Enslavement of minorities: Government assistance has become government dependence and incentivized the destruction of the nuclear family in minority communities, not to mention the 1994 crime bill which led to the mass incarceration of blacks for non-violent drug offenses. President Trump has invested in black communities, historically black colleges and universities, and overseen the lowest unemployment rates for minorities in history.
Civil unrest and infringement of our basic civil liberties: I put these together because it has floored me to see on one hand the churches and businesses being closed, children being deprived of their education and the mental and economic health of millions being put at risk while rioters and vandals have been allowed to roam the streets and destroy and terrify communities.

This isn’t even mentioning the steps the President has taken to improve our national security, avoid foreign wars, bring our service men and women home, ensure the proper care of veterans through VA reforms, renegotiate numerous international trade deals, and strengthen federal laws against animal cruelty.

I hope that my defense of my choice for President doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I know that your choice certainly won’t mean that for me. We can argue and scratch our heads at one another’s reasoning or perceived lack thereof, but for my part, I don’t doubt the sincerity and good intentions of many on the other side of the aisle. I know that we are all on a journey of thought, keeping some positions, changing others and it is important to respect that process. Maybe when it’s all over, we can go on a road trip across this beautiful country of ours. Maybe we can invite the President, though I’m guessing Trump will call shotgun.

September 11, 2020

Homeland Security

By Amy Spiegel

So the past few weeks have been . . . interesting. I feel like the end of August was like a micro-2020 for the Spiegels. We were just going along like any other fall and “Wham!” out of nowhere came a life-altering event.

If you haven’t heard, on August 24, Jim was unexpectedly fired from his tenured position at Taylor University, after 27 years, countless awards and accolades, not to mention decades of relationships and investment. If you want to know more, you can read any number of articles on what happened. Several news outlets have covered the story, including the New York Post, The College Fix, Religion News Service, Ministry Watch, the Todd Starnes Radio Show, and Taylor’s student newspaper The Echo. All I will say here is that Jim is not guilty of any moral failing and has been given the support of an enormous number of Taylor faculty, staff, students and alum.

While I doubt that many of you have experienced the exact same scenario, I am sure you can relate to the feeling of the rug suddenly being pulled out from underneath you. The one-moment-everything-is-fine-the-next-you-are-falling-teacup-over-kettle feeling that comes with a late night phone call, an unexpected diagnosis, or a disappointing fall from grace.

It seems appropriate that I am writing this on the eve of one of our nation’s collective rug-pullings. Anyone old enough to remember can tell you where they were on September 11, 2001 just like generations before us could tell you where they were on December 7, 1941 (the Pearl Harbor attack) or November 22, 1963 (the JFK assassination). I was making pancakes and my sister called. She thought it was just a small plane, and then news started coming in on the radio (we didn’t have a TV at the time). To this day, when I am listening to the radio and I hear confusion in the background, a jolt of fear runs through my veins.

So I am only a few weeks into processing this major life event, which, as major life events go, I have to say is not my favorite. However, it has already taught me something that perhaps I should have learned years ago: “On Christ the solid rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand.” Think you have a solid career ahead of you? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the company goes under. Maybe you underperform and they let you go. Maybe you post a song on YouTube and they fire you. Think you have a secure retirement? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe a pandemic breaks out and you get trapped in your assisted living facility for months on end. Maybe you get swindled out of your life savings. Maybe the stock market crashes, taking your dreams of days spent on the golf course with it. Think you have years of health and happiness ahead of you? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the test comes back malignant. Maybe the other driver doesn’t see the light turn red. Maybe she decides she doesn’t love you anymore. Our achievements, our possessions, our future plans, hopes and dreams. They are all sinking sand. Nineteen years ago, buildings full of people and all of their hopes and dreams crashed to the ground in a heap of rubble and ash.

But there is a solid rock on which to stand. This rock is sure and unmovable. It will not give way and is the cornerstone on which our faith is built. That doesn’t mean it is comfortable. Or even predictable. It is, however, a rock to which we can cling. It is Christ. He is perfect when I am not. He is sure when I am uncertain. He is steadfast when I am weak. This side of heaven, I can hold fast to Him in times of trouble and use Him as a landmark in times of plenty. On the other side of heaven, He will be the foundation on which my eternity is built. Christ is my ground zero. He is my homeland security. Here I stand. I can do no other.