Thank you, Mrs. Lowry by Michelle Joy Teigrob

 

My first book came out when I was 12 years old, thanks to my Grade 8 English teacher, Mrs. Lowry, who chose to notice and respond to two needy students in her class.

My twin, Maria, and I had recently immigrated to Canada. The experience of culture shock entwined with pre-teen hormones meant we had entered the most excruciating time of our lives yet. We were probably the most painfully shy, awkward, freckle-faced girls our teacher had ever met.

Overwhelmed, resentful, flailing to find a place to belong, we turned to the greatest solace of our lives at the time – books. Maria and I read obsessively in those years. Anne of Green Gables was a lifeline. I honestly can’t imagine how we would have coped during that period of emotional upheaval without the ability to read.

(I teach new immigrants to read now, people who never learned what letters mean, even in their first language. Perhaps my junior high experience is part of the reason I am so passionate about this work.)

With her bright red lipstick, dangling gold earrings, and heels, Mrs. Lowry was unlike any of the teachers we’d experienced in our small, rural school in Belize. She laughed and spoke loudly, enjoyed the Cats musical immensely, and planned to move west shortly to be with her second husband after a failed first marriage.

Mrs. Lowry gave us a writing project – a story birthed from our own imaginations. All the Grade 8 students would have been required to complete it, of course. Breathlessly inspired by our Lucy Maud Montgomery books consumption, my twin and I took to the task as if we had been asked to save the world.

Intoxicated by the joy of creation, we planned and wrote and planned some more with possibly greater intensity than our heroine author ever did. We did so for our own sakes, not with the goal of getting the highest grade or becoming world-famous, but because we came alive as we wrote.

Mrs. Lowry decided our stories – both mine and my twin’s – needed to be published. Perhaps the tales showed some flair, though both of us cringed later to reread them. My twin even went so far as to destroy her copy some years afterward, she was so embarrassed by it. Certainly, the stories weren’t good enough to warrant the extra cost and work to get them typed up and hard-bound.

At the time, however, we were overjoyed. Our stories would be published! The winner of a lottery could not be as happy as we were on learning this news. I felt as though my bliss lifted me above the ground for weeks. My culture shock and pre-teen hormonal troubles shrank to almost nothing during that period.

I firmly believe this is why Mrs. Lowry decided to put in the extra work and cost to publish our stories – she noticed the struggle of two new students, and she decided to do what she could to bring just a bit more joy into their lives.

Thank you and bless you, Mrs. Lowry. Your kindness will always be remembered.

Michelle Joy Teigrob is an author, college instructor, mom of three, and wife of one. She grew up as a missionary kid in Belize, Central America, the youngest of 10 children. In addition to her twin’s death, she has since lived through the loss of two other sisters. Michelle is launching a blog on her journey through her wrenching sadness. Visit www.michellejoybooks.ca to learn more.

Writing that Makes My Heart Hurt by Michelle Joy Teigrob

I really appreciate this month’s invitation to consider beauty and the infusion of holiness in our writing. I’ll be honest: I have tended to aim mostly for simplicity and clarity as a writer. Part of this stems from my former job in journalism, but I think I also just naturally incline towards plainness in both my life and work.

However, I was intrigued to notice my heart straining with longing as I considered how I might weave the qualities of beauty and holiness more intentionally into my writing.

Just after learning about this month’s prompt, I happened to be reading through Job 38 and 39 for my day’s devotional. “This is what beautiful, holy writing looks like!” I murmured to myself. “Of course, it’s holy,” you may be mumbling in response, “It’s Scripture.”

Would you agree, however, that there is something extra special about the words attributed to God in those chapters?

Consider even just a couple of excerpts from God’s challenge to Job:

- Have you visited the treasuries of the snow? (38:22, NLT)
- Where is the home of the east wind? (38:24b, NLT)
- Can you hold back the movements of the stars? (38:31, NLT)
- Who can tilt the water jars of heaven…? (38:37b, NLT)
- Is it at your command that the eagle rises to the heights to make its nest? It lives on the cliffs, making its home on a distant, rocky crag. (39:27)

As I read these chapters, my heart expands with longing. It is rather like homesickness, though a homesickness for something I’ve never experienced, a place I’ve never visited.

Perhaps this is what beautiful, holy writing does – it makes our hearts hurt for something more, something other, something beyond what we can pull up on our screens, pay for with a card, or otherwise instantly consume.

As I ponder all this, I feel quite inadequate to ever be capable of writing in such a way. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the first step isn’t to go out and try my hand at it. Maybe it’s fine to simply to seek out such writing and immerse myself in it. If anyone has suggestions for books and articles that you would say exude the qualities of beauty and holiness, I would love to hear.

Blessings.


Michelle Joy Teigrob is an author, college instructor, mom of three, and wife of one. She grew up as a missionary kid in Belize, Central America, the youngest of 10 children. In addition to her twin’s death, she has since lived through the loss of two other sisters. Michelle's new book, Joyfully Star-Mapping through Life's Dung Piles, shares about her journey through her wrenching sadness. Visit www.michellejoybooks.ca to learn more.

Writing While Walking by Michelle Joy Teigrob

 

I do my best writing away from screens and notebooks, usually while I’m out on a long walk in the countryside. The writing all takes place inside my head. However, I may tap out a quick reminder note in my phone if I’m worried that I’ll forget what my brain has spun.

I have noticed that the most inspiring words and ideas show up as I near the end of my long trek. Could it be due to the increased levels of oxygen hitting my brain, I’ve wondered? Certainly, all that exercise seems to be sending my blood cells marching more than they usually do.

It turns out I’m far from alone in finding that I’m most creative when I’m walking. Studies have compared the creativity levels of people while sitting versus while walking, either outside or on a treadmill. In one series of three experiments, 81%, 88%, and 100% of participants demonstrated higher levels of creativity when walking as compared to when sitting (Oppezzo and Schwartz).

And this boost in inventiveness does apparently stem in part from the heightened action in one’s veins and arteries, I’ve also learned. Walking may hike blood flow by about 25%, feeding the brain more of its favourite fuel – oxygen and glucose (Montago).

Of course, after the walk, I do need to sit down before a computer screen and transcribe my thoughts. The best time for doing that, I’ve learned, is early morning, when there’s no risk of interruption from anyone for at least a good hour. The absolute stillness of the house in that time allows me to focus in ways that I find difficult throughout most of the rest of my busy day.

For me, my creativity tends to calcify in front of a computer screen. However, give me some fresh air, a long road flanked by open fields, and bird-song, and, while I will never be a C.S. Lewis or John Milton, I certainly enjoy many more adventures of the imagination than if I’d stayed home on my couch.

Michelle Joy Teigrob is an author, college instructor, mom of three, and wife of one. She grew up as a missionary kid in Belize, Central America, the youngest of 10 children. In addition to her twin’s death, she has since lived through the loss of two other sisters. Michelle's new book, Joyfully Star-Mapping through Life's Dung Piles, shares about her journey through her wrenching sadness. Visit www.michellejoybooks.ca to learn more.

References

Oppezzo, M., & Schwartz, D. L. (2014). Give your ideas some legs: the positive effect of walking on creative thinking. Journal of experimental psychology. Learning, memory, and cognition, 40(4), 1142–1152. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0036577

Montago, Margaretha. (February 22, 2025). Does Walking Make You More Creative (and Better at Problem-Solving)? DOI: https://margarethamontagu.com/does-walking-make-you-more-creative/

Mail at Death’s Door by Michelle Joy Teigrob

 

To Me on My Final Day,

Well, I guess this is it. You’re about to become the shadow, the mist, the flower, that vanishes from earth forever. Of course, we both know this also means you’re stepping into something more glorious than you could ever imagine. (More on that in another letter).

For this missive, I want to talk about your time on earth.

Oh, how I yearn to know that you are finishing well. How my heart strains with the hope that that, as you heave your final breath, your spirit rests fully at peace.

Finish well, my dear, older self. Whether that final day occurs one day from now, one month, or one year, cross the finish line with your spiritual chin up, shoulders back, arms pumping.

I know middle age shook you harder than you expected. For a time, you allowed discouragement and even some despair to rattle your spirit into nearly giving up in bitterness. As heartache and trouble slammed into your middle years, you wondered why God had ever let you live.

Why did you and your twin survive a very difficult birth, when the doctor believed both of you could likely not make it? Why, at 21 years of age, could you walk away with only minor injuries from the same car crash that took your twin to heaven much too early? So very often your spirit cried out these questions.

I suspect, even on your last day on earth, you don’t hold the complete answer to these wonderings. They are the sorts of anguished musings that I truly believe can only be fully and satisfactorily responded to in heaven.

But, I hope, oh, I pray so hard, that between the time that I pen this letter and the day you step into eternity, you found a way to exist with the tension of not knowing those answers while also living every day as faithfully and fully as God gave you strength.

I pray you discovered and held onto whatever it was you needed to remain faithful – faithful to God, faithful to your family, and faithful to your life’s purpose, including the call you sensed on your heart to write.

I know that in mid-life you drank fresh courage and inspiration from learning about the lives of writers who embarked on their writing ministries in the latter half of their existence. The story of Hildegard of Bingen especially nourished your motivation. Born in 1098, Hildegard started writing for publication in middle age. Despite physical sickness and an acute sense of her own inadequacies, she went on to pen visionary books, two volumes on natural medicine, 77 pieces of music, and more than 400 letter corresponding with popes, emperors, and other leading figures of her day. (The fact that she was the youngest of ten children, like you, sparked a special sense of connection with her, despite the centuries between you).

“Never, never, never give up.” Long before the days of social media posts, our twin Maria had discovered this line famously spoken by Winston Churchill during the black days of World War II. I remember seeing it scribbled in one of her notebooks. Decades later, our son Micah, drawn to the same powerful line, copied it out on a card and taped it to his wall. You always loved to collect snippets of sayings that ignited your spirit – and quotes loved by people you loved gave you extra fire.

I pray that to your final day, you never stopped drawing courage, hope, and strength from stories and sayings.

More than anything, I pray so earnestly that you never ever gave up the practice you started as a young woman of calling out to the Giver of Life, of always seeking to know him more, and of depending on him fully and completely for your every need.

Dear, older self on your last day on earth, as the windows of heaven begin to part, my whole being yearns to know that you are hearing these words: “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23, ESV).

Please, for my sake, for the sake of all who ever loved you -- those who have gone before, those still alive, and the generations of the future -- but, most of all, for the sake of Jesus, your Saviour and Lord – finish well.

Michelle Joy Teigrob lives with her family in Peterborough, Ontario. Her book on grief, Joyfully Star-mapping Through Life's Dung Piles, is now available at michellejoybooks.ca.

 

 

Ministering to Our Future Selves by Michelle Joy Teigrob

After stumbling through a year-long gauntlet of heartache and trouble, including the deaths of two loved ones, my spirit finally succumbed to my burden one grey November afternoon. For almost two days, I could not bring myself to rise. While I mostly felt overcome and unable to process much of anything, deep down a sense of humiliation and anxiety stirred. How could I have allowed myself to reach such a state? I trusted in Jesus to help me through anything and everything, so why was I lying on my couch feeling as though I could not go on?

Even as I shamed myself, my family reacted with kindness, patience, and understanding. My son spent hours sitting near me as he worked on his college studies. My husband and daughter picked up the chores I had left undone. I felt both undeserving and worried. My family always depended on my caretaking; maybe they didn’t need me as much as I liked to believe they did.

When I could finally do more than just sleep, I turned to reading. Normally a voracious reader and able to plough through a whole novel in a day, I found myself unable to get through more than a few lines at a time. One verse from Scripture kept drawing me back. I read it many times over: "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out, till he has brought justice through to victory" (Matthew 12:20, NIV). "I have become a bruised reed and a smoldering wick. I have become of no use to anyone.".

Eventually, I had enough strength to pull out my journal and write down some thoughts in response to the verse.

The fervent prayers of some loved ones, the kind mentoring of a friend, and a booklet on recovering from burnout helped me get back on my feet over the next several weeks. I found myself once again working at my job, ministering to others, and caring for my family with most of my old joy and strength.

Then one day I hit a low spot again, not as bad as the time before, but sadness and doubt troubled my spirit. Not expecting to find anything in particular to help me, I paged aimlessly through my journal while also reflecting on what I might write in it next. Then I came to the note I had jotted weeks before in response to Matthew 12:20.

The words I had written did not hold flashes of genius. They had not been carefully crafted into eloquence and elegance. They were just simple declarations of belief in the promise of the verse I had read and reread.

"You don’t have to worry about being a smoldering wick," I had written to myself.
"You don’t have to apologize for it, or be embarrassed about it, ashamed, guilty, afraid, or anxious.
Jesus is not going to snuff you out.
Instead, he is going to enact justice.
He is going to make things right.
Everything and everyone that have hurt and broken and chipped away at you over this past year, he is going to make right. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But he will."

As I reread this message to myself weeks after I had written it, the plain, simple words of declared belief nudged my spirit once again towards renewed hope and motivation.

We may not plan for it to be so, but sometimes our journals can be tools of hope and healing for our future selves. We may be writing simply to encourage ourselves in the moment, yet we never know when our declarations of faith in one instance of pain and suffering may be just the ministration we need in another time.

Michelle Joy Teigrob lives with her family in Peterborough, Ontario. Her book on grief, Joyfully Star-mapping through Life's Dung-piles, was shortlisted for the 2025 Word Awards.

An Unwanted Christmas Guest by Michelle Joy Teigrob

 

A week before Christmas as I was reflecting with gratitude on all who planned to join us for the big day, including my daughter and her husband from overseas, I sent up a sincere prayer. Lord, may our home shine with your hospitality. May all our guests know you are present through our joy, peace, and genuine love.

The very next day, my phone splintered with a text message that reminded me to always be sure I truly mean my prayers as the Lord does hear and answer. Through the text message, I learned that a woman who had recently divorced one of our family members expected to attend our cozy, family Christmas Eve gathering as she always had in the past.

I didn’t understand. This woman enjoyed her own large, separate circle of loving family and friends. Why would she care to join those she had chosen to leave through divorce? Cynical and suspicious thoughts prickled my peace. While I did not worry that she would deliberately do anything to disrupt our time, I couldn’t help wondering if her reasons for attending our gathering had more to do with a desire to collect juicy gossip tidbits to bring back to her own circles than because she enjoyed our company. Was this choice to visit our home truly an act of love and care on her part?

To be completely transparent, I simply did not want her to come; I also felt ashamed of my reaction. I have always sought to follow the biblical call to respect and welcome every person as a child of God. As someone who works daily with refugees from around the world, I feel I am fulfilling a deeply Christian mission to welcome and care for the “stranger.” And yet, here I was, struggling to accept this woman who had been part of our lives for so many years.

God, help me, I prayed. I know you call us to show hospitality to strangers, those in need, and fellow believers (Hebrews 13:2; Luke 14:12-14; Galatians 6:10). But this woman is not a stranger, she is not in need, and I’m not even sure of her faith.  

We decided as a family to accept the woman’s attendance at our gathering, yet my feelings of distrust and aversion to her participation continued to prickle.

As I worked on finishing preparations for the day of celebration, a thought came to me – Jesus was an unwanted Christmas guest. The innkeepers of Bethlehem claimed they could not fit him and his family into their apparently crowded lodgings. But was that the real reason – absolutely no room anywhere? Or were other secret prejudices at work? Mary and Joseph hailed from Nazareth, a small town viewed with apparent skepticism and maybe even distaste in that time (John 1:46). Also, could the nasty rumours that likely swirled around the circumstances of Mary’s pregnancy have followed her to Bethlehem? Of course, this is all conjecture. The Bible only tells us that a lack of space led to Jesus’ birth in the stable. 

Whatever the real reasons for the rejection of that Christmas family on that Christmas night, the truth is – they were left out in the cold. It came to me that I was acting like one of those innkeepers. While I was not leaving Jesus outside literally, my chilly reception of this unwanted former family member basically amounted to the same thing. After all, it was Jesus who said, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40). But, Lord, she is not “one of the least.” She is well-set financially and socially. Yet again I received a reminder. What about her spiritual resources? How well-set is she there? Although I wasn’t sure of where this woman stood in her Christian faith now, I knew that years before she had decided to become a Christian after a decidedly difficult upbringing. She still bore the signs of those challenging childhood years in her abrasive personality. As someone who had not been blessed with a loving Christian childhood, what if she was looking to me and our family as those who claimed to be genuine Christ-followers, not for gossip fodder, but genuine love and care? What if she was checking in – not to see if she could find something juicy to take back to her friends – but to learn whether one’s avowed Christian beliefs truly make a difference in how one lives and loves?

Of course, there was no way I could know the true motives of her heart. But I determined then and there that I would do whatever I could to ensure my heart was right. I would be praying fervently that Jesus would be shining brightly through our whole home that evening. Yes, this woman might be coming only to get “news,” but I began to pray that the only stories she’d be leaving with would be ones of how much Jesus-like love she had experienced.

Michelle Joy Teigrob lives with her family in Peterborough, Ontario. Her book on grief, Joyfully Star-mapping through Life's Dung-piles, was shortlisted for the 2025 Word Awards. 

Writers as Keepers by Michelle Joy Teigrob

 

What if we as Christian writers see our role as keepers? Of course, a keeper must have something that he or she is keeping. What might that be?

In the Bible, there are keepers of all sorts of things. They read like roles in medieval tales. Here are just some I found:

- keeper of the prison
- keeper of the East Gate
- keeper of the wardrobe
- keeper of the door
- keeper of the records
- keeper of the money box
- and many references to keeper of the sheep.

The word keeper in the biblical context has some similarity to the word manager in our times. A keeper would be responsible for a certain item, like the wardrobe or the door.

However, the role goes beyond just being responsible for an item, at least in certain contexts. The keeper would also be taking on the role of protector. That is a connotation that doesn’t necessarily come up in relation to the word manager. The keeper of the sheep, for example, would be ensuring the safety of the animals.

The keeper in certain contexts might also be preserving the item. The keeper of the records, for example, would be ensuring the documents were kept intact.

So, back to my question, if we as Christian writers see ourselves as keepers, what might we be responsible for, protect, and preserve?

What if we are the keepers of hope for this generation?

There is so much trouble and so much hopelessness, more so than ever, it seems. How might our words, the words we write, keep hope alive for those who read our work?

Not long ago, my children and I rewatched Prince Caspian, the movie based on one of the beloved Narnia Chronicles by C.S. Lewis. Afterwards, my daughter exclaimed. “I love that story because it gives me hope.”

Her response reminds me that a number of different genres of writing may be infused with hope.

What was it about the Narnia story that gave my daughter hope? How can we write in order to infuse this generation with Christ’s hope?

Speaking of being a keeper, I am reminded also of lighthouse keepers and the hymn by Philip P. Bliss, Let The Lower Lights Be Burning (1871).

Brightly beams our Father's mercy
From his lighthouse evermore,
But to us he gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore.

Let the lower lights be burning,
Send a gleam across the wave!
Some poor fainting struggling seaman,
You may rescue, you may save.

Lord, guide our pens today as we work as keepers of your light in this dark world.

Michelle Joy Teigrob lives with her family in Peterborough, Ontario. Her book on grief, Joyfully Star-mapping through Life's Dung-piles, was shortlisted for the 2025 Word Awards. Formerly writing under her married name, Strutzenberger, Michelle is in the process of shifting her writing portfolio to her pen name, Michelle Joy Teigrob.

Reworking as an Act of Love by Michelle Joy Teigrob

Photo by Micah Strutzenberger 2025

Years after the death of my beloved twin Maria I discovered the magnitude of a new world she had been inventing. Maria had died within minutes after a horrific car accident in Mexico. She was 21 years old. I couldn’t touch her things for years.

When I could finally bring myself to open her many notebooks, I realized the treasure hidden there. Her world of Shumayim lay waiting to be explored, complete with fascinating landmarks, unique creatures, several languages, and even a partially completed history.

My discovery burst a new bird of hope and purpose out of my bones.

I would find a way to introduce Shumayim to the world, so that others could enjoy its wonder and be inspired by its depth.

Decades later, I have attempted to complete my twin’s invented world history, as well as rewritten her story into two children’s books, one book for adults, a mini blog series, and two podcasts.

While working on each of these iterations of my Maria’s work, I’ve felt inspired and hopeful. But, invariably, upon completion, a sense of dissatisfaction hangs so heavy on my spirit that I almost immediately set them aside as “not quite right.”

Weeks or months later, I find myself attempting a new version of her work.

My latest project is the telling of her story for middle-grade readers. This time, it feels “more right” than all the others. But who knows what the completion will bring.

Over the years, I’ve come to places of feeling deeply frustrated by my inability to find a way to share my twin’s work in a truly satisfying way. If only I had more time in a day. If only I was a better writer – as good as she had been.

If only she had not died, so that I could be the one helping her to pass on her amazing creative gift, instead of trying to do it myself.

Sometimes I park in the lot of “if onlys,” but usually only for a short while. It is too depressing, and I find myself yearning to get on the road of possibility again.

Most recently I have been considering that perhaps my constant reworking of my twin’s writing is more the point than completing it. That is, it’s a way to both stay close to her, and also to express my love for her.

Throughout our teen years together, Maria and I bonded most closely over our shared passion for reading and writing. While we can no longer huddle in our chilly attic room reading Emily Dickinson and John Milton aloud to one another, followed by hours of silent scribbling in our notebooks, when I sit down with my twin’s characters and wander into her invented world yet again, I feel like I am back in that attic again. It is just my twin and I, taking on the universe with our pens and our dreams.

Although I have long moved on to a full and fulfilling life blessed with marriage, three children, a career, and active church engagement, I am now coming to accept that I may always have a corner in my life where I chip away at my twin’s work.

Perhaps in each of our lives, we need to make peace with a project we have been reworking forever. Perhaps that reworking is enough, and a greater act of love than we realize.

Michelle Joy Teigrob lives with her family in Peterborough, Ontario. Her book on grief, Joyfully Star-mapping through Life's Dung-piles, was shortlisted for the 2025 Word Awards. Formerly writing under her married name, Strutzenberger, Michelle is in the process of shifting her writing portfolio to her pen name, Michelle Joy Teigrob.