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.