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Our four-day cohort gathering convened in a mid-town Atlanta hotel. The final session was filled with cheerful goodbyes and promises of continued conversation. After lunch, the participants left for the airport. Wabash Center staff members Rachel Mills, Paul Utterback and I were going home the next day. About 2pm the three of us sat together in one of first floor lounges of the hotel. We were debriefing and making plans for the next event. Without warning the electricity went out. The hotel’s backup generators did not turn on. The sudden darkness of the building, even with afternoon sunlight streaming into the large lobby windows, brought an uneasy feeling. Hotel staff rushed to rescue people trapped in the elevators. Arriving guests were unable to check into rooms. Guests who had been in rooms walked down the stairs and found seats in the lobby and lounges. We, along with the many other guests, were instructed by hotel staff to wait in the hotel bar. We were offered free cocktails and promised that the electricity would soon be restored. By 6pm, still without power, we went to a nearby restaurant for dinner. The restaurant and all the shops in the area had electricity. After lingering for an exceptionally long time in the delicious Indian restaurant, we returned to the hotel feeling confident that given the amount of time that had past that the hotel’s electricity surely would be restored.We entered the hotel lobby through the circular doors, and it felt as if we had gone through a portal into a disaster zone. Without the sunlight streaming through the large glass windows, the hotel lobby was mostly dark. The power loss meant little ventilation. The air was stale and uncomfortable. Flickers of light from cell phones and laptops were sprinkled around the large room. People were sitting on the furniture surrounded by their luggage. People were propped up on the floor along the walls. Everyone looked forlorn. A dank self-pity was heavy in the air. I heard a mother trying to comfort a crying infant. No hotel staff was at the registration desk. Muffled conversations on cell phones and whispered talking in small groups increased the eerie circumstance. A few people sat alone, staring off into space, looking drowsy and angry. The usually active pool table and ping pong table were unoccupied. One man had fallen asleep on the couch and his muffled snoring sounded like choking. We made our way through the crowd and back to the bar area where we had spent several hours in the afternoon. The mood at the bar was equally gloomy.  The bar tender noticed us and waved us over to where he was standing. As if he was passing along a secret, the bartender informed us that power had been restored on floors 6,7, and 8. He asked us where our rooms were. Our rooms were on the 6th floor. The bartender said, “Follow me.”  We obeyed. The bartender guided us through the crowd to a side door of the hotel and out into a small alley. He told us to get in line. We joined a line of people who were going to walk up an outside fire escape to the floors with power. As we started marching up the unlit stairwell, I was nervous. I was unsure if my arthritic knees could climb the six flights. I walked behind Rachel who was behind Paul. There were many people climbing in front of Paul and but only a few people behind me. Hotel staff had placed plastic glow sticks on the stairs and at the landings.  The dimly light staircase was creepy. The moment felt unsafe, even dangerous.As we ascended, the climbing pace was slow, but steady. The woman in front of Paul dragged her luggage. Her suitcase hit every step making a sound that was loud and unsettling. After two flights of stairs, the woman’s breathing became labored. The sound of her bag hitting every step and her heavy breathing amplified the precarity of our situation.  Still climbing, I heard Paul say to the woman ahead of him, “Ma’am, can I carry your luggage?” Through her wheeze and shallow breathing, the woman responded to Paul, “No.” After another slow-paced flight of stairs, and over the thump, thump, thump sound of the dragging luggage, Paul asked again, “Ma’am, I don’t mind. Can I help you with your luggage?” She did not answer immediately, but when she answered she said, “No.” I wanted to scream out and tell the woman, “Let him help you with your luggage, damn it!” But I did not. I was afraid that an emphatic interjection from me would make an already bad situation worse. By the time we got to the fifth floor, with her breathing quite loud, Paul asked the woman ahead of him again. He was almost pleading, “I can carry your luggage. I don’t mind.” The woman, a third time, said, “No.” When Paul, Rachel and I got to the 6th floor landing, a hotel staff person with a glow stick in his hand was holding open the hallway door. We walked past the man and into the lit corridor. As I crossed the threshold, I said a prayer, “Thank you.” The doorman mistook my prayer as gratitude to him and he replied, “You’re welcome.” I was grateful to all who had given us safe passage up the dark staircase. We walked to our rooms, spent a restless night in the hotel, then checked out early the next morning.I suspect the woman walking ahead of Paul got to her room.I do not know. I hope she did not need medical attention later that night. Now, months after this harrowing event, I am haunted. I am haunted by the sound of the woman’s labored breathing, as well as by the sound of her luggage hitting every step of the six flights of stairs. My haunting has lingering questions. Question OneWhy was the woman unable or unwilling to accept help in her moment of distress and anxiety? We are accustomed to experiences of needing help with no help being offered; or needing help but no help being available; or needing help but help is not possible or too expensive or reserved for someone else. But this situation was none of that. Paul offered and was quite able to carry the woman’s luggage. He noticed her dilemma and offered to help. Why was his offer of assistance refused? We can speculate on the reasons Paul’s gesture of help might have been declined. Perhaps the woman was too afraid to trust Paul and believed if he carried her luggage then she would owe him a debt or she would owe him a favor in return? Maybe she despised chivalry and refused the genteel gestures of all men? Or, perhaps she was used to doing everything for herself. Maybe she genuinely did not think that—through her wheezing and dragging of luggage—she needed help. Question TwoWhy, for the good of the others climbing the stairwell, did the woman refuse the offer of help? Surely, she could hear the loud, exasperating sound made by dragging her luggage and how this was nerve wracking for others. Surely, she felt the ways that that sound exacerbated an already bad situation. Why, in considering the needs of the group, did she not know that relieving her burden would lower the collective anxiety? Did she know and not care? In the woman’s defense, maybe it is easier to accept help when we are not traveling alone. Maybe accepting help requires that we are not riddled with fear or struggling to breathe. Or, maybe it is easier to accept help from people we know and trust. Maybe she had previously been betrayed by strangers offering assistance in the dark. Is it better to only rely upon yourself? Accepting help can demonstrate that you, like all of us, have limitations, weaknesses, inadequacies, and needs. Receiving help shows that there are others who have more capacity, more ability, are better fit or are more prepared. The vulnerability of showing our needs might be too much for our egos or for our self-understandings. Perhaps we like thinking of ourselves as self-contained, self-reliant, and in no way dependent. What do our refusals of help cost the community? What is at stake for the community when individuals refuse assistance? Living with the illusion of independence in the teaching life can result in long, uphill, journeys of dragging too much stuff and straining to breathe. What would it take for our teaching journeys not to be onerous, especially when help is offered? What if agreeing to accept help becomes part of the culture of our faculties? So that we might learn from this peculiar situation in ways that might strengthen our teaching and teaching life, ask yourself:When have I been the woman dragging my bag up hundreds of stairs, while gasping for breath, and refusing assistance when offered? When has my judgement about my teaching and teaching life been so poor as to refuse help?When could my burden have been relieved had I said yes to an offer of assistance?When was I unable to see that help for me would have benefited the community?When is it necessary to refuse help and when is it foolish? ReflectionIdentify a burden in your teaching or teaching life. Ask for help.Identify ways you carry too much baggage. Ask for help.Identify colleagues who are struggling in their teaching or teaching life. Offer help. 

Katherine Turpin reflects on the emotional impact of student plagiarism, especially in the age of AI-generated content. She shares how these incidents erode trust, complicate teaching, and prompt deeper questions about course design, student engagement, and the purpose of theological education. Despite compassion for overwhelmed students, Turpin grapples with feelings of betrayal and the challenge of maintaining integrity in remote learning environments.

When emotion replaces inquiry, teaching falters. Fred Glennon reflects on passion, objectivity, and missed opportunities in ethical classroom dialogue.

Does anyone know the origin of the current sentiment of xenophobia prevalent in this day and age? As I have conversations with pastors, church members, and other people, national security is their main issue. Perhaps the aftermath of 9/11 elevated this issue to the forefront. September 11 reminded us of the delicate nature of democracy and the equally delicate peace enjoyed in the United States.[i] I traveled internationally during that time and I remember soldiers standing guard at several airports. However, xenophobia has risen since those days. Nativist sentiments post-9/11 turned against immigrants. I remember being home and receiving angry anonymous phone calls; “Get out of my country!” they shouted, as if I was to blame for the terrorist attacks. The perception was that the terrorists were immigrants, and that all immigrants were suspect. Somehow all immigrants, even those with proper documentation, were less than true Americans and posed a security threat no matter where they came from or how long they had lived in the United States. The issue was that the 9/11 hijackers had visas, entered, and remained legally in the United States. But the anti-immigrant sentiment became so strong that somehow we thought we could be all-powerful and secure the enormous porous borders of the United States – the southern border and then the northern border. Furthermore, everybody had to be screened and they somehow discovered the eleven million undocumented workers present in the Unites States. They were all a threat and had to be removed. I remember the strong anti-immigration proponents on television. And I remember how they pointed out that many Latinos were undocumented. People would come up to me and my Latino friends and ask point blank if we were legally present in the United States. It is like they assume that every Latino they see is undocumented.I am a Pentecostal and I attend church regularly. When these anti-immigrant sentiments peaked, I was deeply immersed in my Pentecostal Latino community of faith. In contrast to the society around us, my community of faith was not scared of the immigrants who happened to attend the church. We did not ask about people’s immigration status. The church regularly reached out to all people, and as far as I can remember no one asked about other people’s immigration status. We also had people who were Caucasian Americans who loved us and wanted to learn Spanish and immerse themselves in our cultures. Our community did not understand the fear and anger at the perception that some in our community may have been undocumented. When I became a pastor in New York, I had some members who confided in me that they entered the United States without documentation many years ago. However, they were given amnesty during Ronald Reagan’s presidency through the 1986 Immigration Reform and Control Act. Reagan was arguably the best friend to immigrant Latinos because of this opportunity. Politically, my experience is that there is no such thing as a “Latino vote.” Our communities come from diverse backgrounds: some lean left and others lean right but our values as a whole tend to be on the conservative side even among those who left oppressive countries like Cuba, Nicaragua, and Venezuela. When President Trump said he was going to deport many people, the community still decided to vote for him.Immigration is not easy to control. People come to the Unites States on visas, and some choose to overstay their visas. The US typically sees 75 to 77 million visitors per year. In 2024 the grand total was 72,390,321 visitors.[ii] These are the legally permitted visitors with visas. One wonders how the US can control the mass movement of millions of people. Furthermore, visitors can stay for 180 days on a tourist visa and then apply to prolong their stay. The US also resettles refugees. The restrictions on refugee resettlement fluctuate according to the current presidency and its immigration policies. Since 1980, the US has resettled three million refugees.[iii]Undocumented immigration is less easy to control. According to estimates by the CBS network, the cost to deport one person is $19,599.[iv] More conservative costs place it at $14,614 per person. If in the year 2025, the government wishes to deport an estimated 11 million undocumented persons, this means it will spend between $215 to $160 billion US dollars to do so. Perhaps this exorbitant cost is the reason many are being deported without due process. The government is trying to save fiscally. However, it is trampling due process and habeas corpus. People who are in court proceedings over immigration are being arrested at their hearings and deported. But there is something darker at work for the government to use the military, federal law enforcement, and local police departments to enforce deportation, even though it is fiscally unsustainable. It is a matter of human affections and how one perceives and thinks of the “other.” Relating to the immigrant has to do with deep human dispositions. In Pentecostal spirituality we discuss orthodoxy, orthopraxy, and orthopathy. This last term deals with the dispositions and the orientation of the heart. Many Americans think, “These people broke the law so deport them,” but theology is not merely a rational exercise. It is asking, Why did they transgress the border? Are they fleeing violence, poverty, and/or crime? Are they genuinely scared for their lives? Let us have the courage to understand before we make a judgment. In other words, let’s not be prejudiced or bigoted.  Notes & Bibliography[i] Department of Homeland Security, “September 11 Chronology,” https://www.dhs.gov/september-11-chronology (last accessed June 9, 2025).[ii] International Trade Administration, “International Visitors,” https://www.trade.gov/sites/default/files/2022-03/Annual-Arrivals-2000-to-Present%E2%80%93Country-of-Residence.xlsx (last accessed June 9, 2025). [iii] Migration Policy Institute, “U.S. Annual Refugee Resettlement Ceilings and Number of Refugees Admitted, 1980-Present,” https://www.migrationpolicy.org/programs/data-hub/charts/us-refugee-resettlement (Last accessed June 9, 2025).          [iv] Julia Ingram, “Trump’s plan to deport millions of immigrants would cost hundreds of billions, CBS News analysis shows,” October 17, 2024, https://www.cbsnews.com/news/trump-plan-deport-immigrants-cost/ (last accessed June 9, 2025).

Recently, I discovered “tea mindfulness,” the term I use for turning the time used in making and drinking tea into moments of meditation. While I have enjoyed tea mindfulness as a means of intentionally thinking and reflecting, I wanted to move beyond the personal practice and engage others in mindful conversation. I started imagining what tea mindfulness might look like in community. Making and sharing tea is an act of hospitality. I thought intently on how to be mindful, intentional, and hospitable while incorporating the practice of drinking tea with my students and colleagues. I considered my Human Diversity course where we encounter, engage, and explore difficult topics which sometimes lead to cognitive dissonance. In a nutshell, Human Diversity builds cultural competence by increasing student’s self-awareness and cross-cultural awareness. Modifying a tea mindfulness practice in the classroom by focusing on mindful conversation and group engagement seemed like a winning strategy for cultivating cultural competence. It would give us the opportunity to engage meaningfully while nurturing appreciation for each other. Thus, the beginning of “Tea, Connections, and Necessary Conversation.”As students entered the classroom, they would encounter a tea station with hot water, an assortment of teas, sweeteners, creamers, lemon wedges, and snacks. At each student’s seat I placed a menu highlighting the variety of teas available, along with an index card. Students moved toward their seats, wondering what was going to happen next. Once everyone had arrived and was seated, I welcomed them to participate in Tea, Connections, and Necessary Conversation, offered directions, and facilitated the process for each student to prepare their tea of choice. One by one they approached the tea station, requested their tea bag, doctored their drink, and engaged in small talk before returning to their seats. After everyone was served, the connections began. Present were: Daniel and DeAndre, twin brothers and basketball players from Metro-Detroit; Josephina, a business major from Grand Rapids; Carl, a thirty-five-year-old non-traditional student who serves as a resident assistant on campus; Abbie, a homeschooled freshman in her second semester; Aisha, an exceptional athlete, who is making her mark on the women’s basketball team; and Eli, a student from a homogenous rural community in Northern Michigan.[i] These are a few of my Human Diversity students whose differences brought them together at Kuyper College. My intention for Tea, Connections, and Necessary Conversation was to provide an opportunity for the students to link up, interface, and join together in dialogue to learn more than surface-level information through engaging, exploring, and experiencing an interchange of thoughts about their similarities, differences, and even points of cognitive dissonance.As students paired up I simulated a “speed dating” activity. I asked a series of questions, where students could enter into short conversations to compare and contrast their interests, insights, perspectives, and experiences. Following two to three minutes of interaction, students would find a new partner and begin a new conversation. The classroom buzzed with excitement, motivating the shyest students to share and dialogue in genuine ways. Questions/prompts included:Tell me about some traditions or rituals your family participates in? Are there new traditions or rituals you would like to introduce to your family?Identify three things you and your conversation partner have in common. Although you share these commonalities, how do you express them differently?What is one word in the English language that irritates you when you hear it? What is another word you could use to replace it?With each question, communication grew deeper, mutual respect increased, and opportunities for connection beyond the classroom became a possibility. The start of necessary conversations began with tea and connection and continued throughout the semester.Human Diversity is a challenging course; it encourages reflection on the difficult truth that we harbor bias and prejudice, engage in racist thinking, and use microaggressions in our daily lives. We spend time confronting these fallen parts of ourselves and identify ways to become our best selves with the Holy Spirit’s advocacy. By engaging and exploring the seven dimensions of diversity (gender, age, ability, religion, race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, class) and the oppression associated with each one, we covenant to love God, others, and ourselves, and seek liberation. This is not an easy task, but Marianne Williamson encourages us by saying – “As we let our own light shine, we consciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others” (A Return to Love [HarperCollins, 1996]).Necessary conversations are those dialogues that are initiated after the introduction of stories of hard history, culture, and personal experiences. Asking questions, actively listening, and sometimes agreeing to disagree, we grow in self-awareness and cross-cultural awareness and build our cultural competence. Tea, Conversation and Necessary Conversations intentionally provided opportunities for some students to speak to each other for the first time, hear each other’s stories, gain an understanding of one another, and have fun. In one student’s words, “While drinking Jasmine Green tea, relationships became deeper, joy came forth, friends were made.” Notes & Bibliography[i] Names of students changed to protect privacy. 

This is one of the nerdiest statements I will ever write: I was recently on a bus traveling from Istanbul to Iznik (ancient Nicaea) with a group of Wesleyan scholars on a tour of ancient Christian sites in Asia Minor for the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea. Yes, we visited the ruins of the basilica where the Council of Nicaea was held on the anniversary—to the day—of the start of the council. If you understood even partly why this was exciting, congratulations! You’re a nerd too.Aside from seeing a bunch of old rocks (how my parents described the pictures I sent them), we gave talks during the long bus rides about various aspects of history and theology related to the ecumenical councils. As a participant, I got to observe a kind of wild teaching different from my own. I came home with ideas.People frequently ask about my use of technology if I’m going outside: “How do you show them videos or PowerPoints?!” I don’t. (Honestly, I don’t use them in my indoor classrooms either.) On the tour bus, though, I saw some teachers thinking about analog versions of the technology they would use in the classroom. The tour guide himself wanted to describe some geography of Turkey to us on the first day, and people struggled. In a classroom, he might have pulled up a map on the projector. Or if we’d been in my elementary classroom, he’d have pulled down the correct map from the roll screwed to the wall. Instead, he handed a large map to one of my colleagues and asked him to hold it up at the front of the bus—even walk down the aisle if people needed to see better. Later on the trip, one colleague tried to explain her conception of a Trinitarian doctrine and drew a large diagram on a piece of butcher paper for us, again walking closer to people as they needed.I was also fortunate to tour the necropolis under the Vatican and a set of catacombs in Rome, and there again I watched my guides give excellent presentations with analog visual aids. These two tour guides had a packet of images printed off, each laminated for longevity and bound with metal rings. They flipped through the packet at the proper times in their spiel to help us see what they described—an analog PowerPoint!All of this has me thinking more about one colleague’s thoughtful question: “I need to use the projector for showing some things, or I have maps I like to use. Help me think about making analog versions of digital aids so I can teach outside more.” I’ll bet we can be more creative. All of our digital realities had analog versions to begin with, right? My students don’t know that a “file” was a thing before computers—but it was. What is the digital thing replacing, and can we go back to the original?If we can go back to the original, there is still the question of whether we want to, which is partly a question of ease. Presumably, we’re using the digital version of a thing instead of the analog because it is easier or more efficient. Why would we go back? Well, I’ve been reading some Wendell Berry lately, so I’m wondering if there are situations when doing things the less efficient way is better for reasons other than productivity. Which leads me back to the question of why I take students outside in the first place. Are those reasons worth working through the challenges of this choice? Yes, for me they are. Need to show students a passage in Greek? Have them bring their NT and work through it together. Or make a handout. Yes, it will take a little more time, but perhaps that little more time is enough for some of them to figure it out because they’re holding something in their hands and tactilely working with the thing. Buy a big map if you use a lot of them. Or draw one. My students love when I draw because I am so bad at it.Are there technologies that might be hard to replicate? Yes. A reader recently got in touch to ask about hearing-impaired students—do I use a microphone? No, I don’t. We don’t even have that capability in our classrooms. But on this tour of Turkey, we used whispers—devices with headphones that each of us wore while our guide had the device with a microphone that transmitted to all of us. This is a great technological invention for hearing in spaces full of people or cars. Perhaps we could invest in a set for classroom use outdoors? For non-hearing-impaired students, is it more important to rely on each other to understand what’s happening—even if it’s less efficient—or do I value more the clarity they would gain from hearing me better the first time through?I realize I’ve asked more questions than given answers, but the question of how to teach outside the classroom—or even inside the classroom—is always going to ask us to consider our values. How we teach is an extension of why we teach. And the more aligned our how is with our why, the more our students will receive the formation we hope for them. 

I had planned to use this blog post to grumble about (antiquated, exclusionary, misguided) notions of “rigor” and how many of my colleagues seem to assume that if your students all get good grades, or if the average class GPA is “too high,” you must be too easy of a teacher, there must be grade inflation, you must be giving out easy A’s. I assigned a movie review paper in my upper-level Religion and Film course. I took many steps to help students prepare for writing a successful movie review, which is worth 10 percent of their final grade:Read the movie review assignment I created (which includes a detailed rubric of my criteria for evaluation) in class and ask any questions. Read a chapter on writing about movies for homework, which includes a description of movie reviews; discuss this genre in class.Watch a short YouTube video by a professional movie critic about movie reviews for homework; discuss this video in class.Read Anne Lamott’s “Shitty First Drafts” essay and discuss in class the importance of drafting and revising – and starting a paper early enough to provide time for that process.Find their own three examples of online movie reviews in class, take notes on what those reviews seem to have in common and what makes a strong movie review; discuss findings in class.Practice writing a short movie review in class; get feedback on it from the instructor.Listen to their peers read examples of those in-class movie reviews and note what they thought was good.Be constantly reminded about the purpose and content of a movie review by their instructor.I was all ready to write about how students did so well on this assignment … and then to wonder how anyone could label the process I put students through as NOT rigorous? There was so much scaffolding! So much prep! So much required just for this one paper – more than I think most people ask of their students, especially for a relatively short paper (2 pages minimum).Except the thing is: students didn’t do all that well on this assignment.The grade average was an 87 percent or B+. Now, this is a far cry, certainly, from averages in some classes that are, even when curved, still in the D-range. A B+ is a solidly respectable individual grade. But I would have expected most of these papers to be A’s, given all of the above. A few were, but not most.The movie reviews contained errors that the above activities should have (I would have assumed) prevented. For instance, many of the papers were more like critical analyses (another genre we discussed) rather than reviews. Their appraisal wasn’t obvious or consistent. They didn’t include details from the films to back up their assertions. They reviewed films that didn’t really relate to religion. They wrote about movies that were too old. They included tracked changes, misspellings, typos, and incomplete sentences.So my anticipated blog post went a bit sideways. What did student performance on this assignment, instead, teach me? I’m considering several possible (definitely not exclusive) lessons:It’s not enough to teach students the importance of, for instance, not turning in their shitty first drafts; I’ve got to actually build it in/require it as a part of the process – or it may not happen.It’s probably a good idea (ok, it is a good idea) to provide students with annotated examples, so they get exposed to a range of quality and the reasons for it.I could spend more time explicitly identifying common mistakes or pitfalls of movie reviews (e.g., too much analysis, not enough review) and either demonstrating or leading students in an activity where we explore how to fix those issues.I could give them class time for peer review and/or revision.I could build in an actual revision process, where they take my feedback and fix the issues for a new deadline (and a potentially better grade).I could assign multiple movie reviews, so they can take what they learned from this assignment and apply it to the next; my guess is that those grades would improve (this has happened in other classes when I gave the same type of assignment multiple times).There will always be a range of effort and performance on any given task?Instructor efforts cannot guarantee student success; there are limits to how much instructors can do to affect positive student outcomes.What else?Mostly, I think I should actually talk to my students to try to find out what went awry. Why or where were they confused? What got lost in translating the rubric to an actual paper? What roadblocks did they encounter? Where was I unclear? What, if anything, could I have done to help them better prepare? Maybe I’ll learn something to make the above prep list even better for next time.

In the family waiting room at Abington Hospital, a nurse delivered news to my father and me. She informed us that my mother’s second surgery in four days had been a success. After her announcement, the nurse seemed confused when my father did not react. My father’s mental condition was not evident to most people. His dementia did not allow him to react.  I thanked the nurse, patted my dad on his hand, then went out into the hallway. About three steps out of the room I collapsed against the wall.“Are you okay?” asked a stranger. I was leaning, dazed with eyes turned down at the floor, trying to decide if I was going to cry or keep holding back the tidal wave of tears. Without meeting the caring stranger’s eyes, I replied, “Yes.”Taking me at my word, the man dressed in blue scrubs and black sneakers continued down the corridor and disappeared through the double doors.“Are you okay?” I found it quite easy to lie. In the moment, I did not know what I needed, but I knew I was not okay. I knew I needed help, but I was the one who was the help provider, the caregiver, the only child. I was a kind of tired I had never been.During their last years, both of my parents experienced dramatic health issues. I cared for both, first in their home, then I moved them to my house. While caregiving, I experienced a kind of weariness that I had never before felt. I was on faculty trying to meet all the obligations of a tenured appointment while navigating the doctor appointments for two elderly people. I was tending to household chores for two homes, writing a second book, and accepting consultations to make extra money. I was worn-out. In retrospect, I am surprised exhaustion did not debilitate me into  my own sickness or death. When I was a child, I was raised to be helpful. In elementary school I was proud when my teacher reported to my parents how helpful I was in class to her or to other students. In our home, being helpful to our neighbors and church was a glad obligation. My brother and I were taught that helping would provide meaning and purpose to our lives. Mahlia Jackson, part of the soundtrack of our household, reinforced this faith stance with her rendition of “If I Could Help Somebody.” She sang, “…. then my living will not be in vain.” My parents made it quite clear that the strength and health of our church and neighborhood depended upon our interconnection, interdependence and the support provided by those who were able to help. Our family was a helping family – capable of being of service. Lending help was a bedrock value of our family’s life. This communal ethic of helpfulness was now stretched so thin it was harming me. By the time I was leaning against the wall in the hospital corridor, our family’s code of helpfulness had deteriorated into my collapse. In retrospect, I had befriended my fatigue. On the few days I did not feel tired I wondered why. As I write today, I thank the man in the hospital for inquiring about my state of being. I can only imagine what kind of help I might have received if I had answered truthfully and told him, “No, I am not okay.” Each summer Wabash Center hosts groups of colleagues. Most arrive exhausted. I suspect many colleagues are the kind of exhausted I was in the hospital corridor. Over the days we are convened, my staff and I watch as participants rest in clean beds, eat balanced meals, hydrate, distance themselves from agitations, and engage in heaping portions of play and fun. We witness the exhausted slow their pace and refocus. By day three or four we can see that clinched jaws have loosened, furrowed eyebrows have unstacked, and previously shallow breathing has deepened. The fatigue gives way to vitality.  People unfurl, unknot, unwind. We watch as colleagues who arrived vacant and mere shadows of themselves return to themselves. I am glad Wabash can provide a space for renewal and restoration – at least a little bit.My concern is that when colleagues return to their institutions they return to the patterns of overwork, grind, fatigue and exhaustion. They use the experience of our cohorts as an oasis then return to the desert journey of the academy. Exhaustion should not be the norm for faculty. I suspect that most colleagues have not taken the time to get to know the kind of tired they are living with and the ways their tired is limiting their teaching, dangerous for their health and welfare, potentially death dealing for themselves and their families. My concern is colleagues answer “I am okay”—even when they are not. ReflectionPlease take time to check in and ask yourself:Do you know the warning signs of burn out, depression, and high anxiety?How will you take advantage of the services of therapists, clergy, spiritual directors, or coaches?How will you create routines to help you manage your work, so fatigue is not standard, not normative?What help you will get for yourself? What help will you be to yourself?  What routines, rites, rituals, habits and practices will bring work/life balance?Are you okay?