“Z”—An unexpected author of healing and hope
Alexander Andreyevich Ivanov’s Christ's Appearance to Mary Magdalene after the Resurrection (1835). Russian Museum, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
Teaching is a part of my vocation, and, as my CMU coffee mug says, My heart is in the work. I love my work as a teacher, but I was recently upset from the turmoil going on where I work. Beloved colleagues were leaving and my teaching team—like a family to me—was to be broken-up. These work issues brought up old ACOD wounds and I was reacting to them as if they were unhealed.
Old ACOD Wounds
The day I left for college, my parents had split and I knew a “long war” between them had begun. I felt abandoned at school where I knew no one and now had no “home” to go back to. Self-reliance and an Only Child’s sense that I was the cause have probably shaped my relationships with co-workers. Even though we need to rely upon one another in doing our jobs, I could not do this easily, and I usually would “power through,” alone.
My ACOD “Mindset”
Recently, I was paired to teach with a fairly new instructor, we will call him“Z.” I cringed a bit when I found out he would be my teaching partner. For me, he had been a “problem child” administratively; and without knowing him, I had a “mindset” he was unreliable. My ACOD experience told me never to trust him, and to do it all alone.
Mindsets require a great deal of evidence to reframe. When we lack that evidence, we get stuck in incorrect thinking. Z humbled me with plenty of evidence to overturn my mindset about him. He was impeccably professional, patient with difficult students, and as kind as he was brilliant. Students’ work, after he taught particular lessons, reflected that he was probably one of the best instructors I had ever worked with. He unconditionally covered for me when I took a day off to attend a funeral, and he took on twice his share of papers to grade. All without complaint and with good cheer. In the process, Z unknowingly taught me lessons about unexpected connection, inspiration, brotherly love, loss, and ultimately, letting go. In the process, I learned to do the following:
Drop assumptions about people
Assumptions are things we make up to fill in gaps in what we do not know to support our judgments. Making things up to support our beliefs, makes those judgments vulnerable to being wrong. My judgment that Z was flaky was based on an assumption thought to be true, because of prior experience. Yet, that experience turned out to be a terrible proxy to support my judgment.
Perhaps we assume things about people as a means of self-protection. “I assume this person is” (something horrible). “I think this is true because” (I recall my yet-healed wounds). My assumption supports my judgment that…people cannot be trusted, will hurt me, etc. Your judgment is now a convenient excuse to push people away and never trust anyone, ever.
Let people surprise you…in a good way
After I dropped my assumption about my colleague, I began to drop assumptios about everyone around me and saw them as Christ sees them: as the wonderful people they really are.
My colleague surprised me as a fantastic instructor and also surprised me by mentioning in an offhand way that he was a novelist. In connecting with him about writing, (which I love to do here), I told him about how I tried to write romance novels long ago. I wrote reams and reams of dreadful prose that never got published for good reason.
My failed attempt to get published, however, led to me starting my own law practice representing authors, like him. It had been over thirty years since I thought about those dreadful drafts, or thought of myself as the publishing lawyer I once was and loved being. I became nostalgic for a different time and place in my life.
“I love you not only for what you are but for what I am when I am with you.’”
Be your authentic self
In my Rick Springfield article, I discussed that in his most recent concert I attended, he did not try to go back to being 1981-Rick. He still put on an amazing, but very different, concert than he did forty years ago. He was comfortable with his age, authentic, and he was having fun. Why shouldn’t I do the same?
Around the time of this article’s publication, my colleague’s eighth book will be released. His newest book is being published within just two months after his previous work that wrapped up a completely different five part series. He is gifted with a vivid imagination and writing with authenticity. Z being a fairly prolific author at about half my age, even while working a “day job,” made me wonder, “What is my excuse not to write an occasional blog article?” If God gave me a gift to write to support my peers, why do I lack the courage to share it? Why am I hiding it? As our Lord said:
You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it in a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father. (Matthew 5:14-16)
A few weeks after this realization, Z’s example inspired me to be bold and put my writing talents back to work. I proposed almost a dozen new blog articles to LGW’s Editor. I resumed professional research that I had dropped years ago, and committed to presenting a paper on it at Cambridge in 2026. Lastly, I came up with chapter headings for a book on security that might make vulnerable people safer. Far from romance novels, but creative outlets that are authentically mine. These are works that only I can write to share what I know, and what I have uniquely experienced. These are ways I can share the gifts He has given me. I am writing to be a light in the world, to glorify my heavenly Father, and, as my CMU coffee mug still says, “my heart is in the work.”
I dropped my incorrect assumption and mindset—not only about my colleague Z—but about myself. I had assumed that I was, somehow, not able to do what I genuinely loved and I am probably called to do. The only person holding me back was me and I was hiding my light under a bushel basket. That is not how Christ wants us to live.
… back to my work experience
After closing our course, I was looking forward to (rather than dreading) our next teaching assignment together. We got THE best student reviews I had ever received, probably due to the joy (I thought) we both had in a job well done. Then, I was stunned by one word on our updated teaching calendar next to Z’s name: Departure.
He would go without us saying “good-bye” as I was away during his final days at work. I would never see him again. At least, working together again was not to be.
Reflexively, I darkly thought: “Was it me that made him leave?”
This abrupt ending to a great but fleeting relationship prompted me to think I was the cause, as I did during my parents’ divorce. I was also surprised by grief. I grieved our lost connection–albeit brief–because he is just like the talented authors I had loved representing long ago. I grieved losing someone who shared a passion for writing and books. I grieved losing someone who might become a rare friend in a chaotic place.
In my sadness, an ACOD friend said to me: “God gave you a sign of hope in that space, even if it was for a short time. You are not alone.” So, why did God have to take away that glimmer of hope so abruptly?
“Stop Holding on to Me”
Abandonment and isolation going forward all troubled me and I could not sleep. I found a Perpetual Adoration chapel nearby, and I was given the grace to recall the image you see at the beginning of this article, Ivanov's Christ's Appearance to Mary Magdalene after the Resurrection, and discover the Ignatian Suscipe – meaning “Take, Lord, and receive.” The image comes from John 20:15-18:
Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” She thought it was the gardener and said to him, “Sir, if you carried him away, tell me where you laid him, and I will take him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabboni,” which means Teacher. Jesus said to her, “Stop holding on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary of Magdala went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord,” and what he told her.
To be clear, my departing coworker is NOT, nor ever will be, what Jesus is to me. Z may have been sent by Him and was His messenger of the lessons I learned. But no – he is not Jesus.
Meditating on the image of Mary Magdalene, I recalled how she suffered until Jesus cast out her demons. She may have thought she was hopelessly broken but probably for the first time, in a long while, she was happy and hopeful. According to Luke’s Gospel (Cf Luke 8:1-3), she provided for Him and His followers. She was fully invested or “all in,” as we might say today. I too was struggling with my own demons at work but somehow, I was released to pursue my joy in being of service to Him.
Then, Mary Magdalene witnessed His crucifixion. Her friend, her teacher, her healer, was taken from her and she wanted Him back. In her grief, she did not recognize Him. She needed to hear Him call her name, like the sheep who knows the shepherd’s voice (Cf. John 10:27), to overturn her “mindset” that He had to be dead. Instead, He had Risen to be with His Father.
Jesus telling Mary Magdalene, “Stop holding on to me,” was not about her – just as my colleague leaving was not about me. It was about Him. He has greater things to do and so does she. Mary Magdalene was the first to see the Risen Christ, and He entrusted only to her the mission to “tell my brothers”...the greatest news of all time. But first, she needed to release Him and release herself to have the courage to announce to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.” (John 20:18)
As for Z, I will not try to “say good-bye,” or ask where he has gone. Perhaps HBO offered to make his books into a mini-series. Why he left does not matter. What matters is that
Christ sent this young “Rabboni” to teach me, the seasoned teacher, lessons she needed to learn – among them, not to cling to the past, no matter how wonderful it may have been, and to loosen my grip so that something new could breathe in me. Like Mary Magdalene, I had to let Z go. I had to completely surrender him, and our brief time together, to the Lord with joy and gratitude.
The Suscipe He sent in Adoration was the ultimate surrender prayer for me. “Take, Lord, and receive…All I have…Everything is yours.” I am all in—coincidentally, the title of one of Z’s books. (Which makes me smile whenever I think of that.) In return, I received His love and grace, and “that is enough for me.”
Suscipe by St. Ignatius of Loyola
Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
Everything is yours;
do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.
(The above prayer was copied exactly from the one the author found in the Adoration Chapel discussed in this article.)
About the Author
Eudora Jayne is a pseudonym and means “good gift” and “God is gracious.”
Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals
When has Christ surprised you by introducing people into your life as part of your healing journey and self-discovery? How have these people influenced you and the way you see yourself and others?
What ACOD mindsets do you have that may influence the way you respond to change, friendship, and loss?
When might you have been “clinging” in an unhealthy way to the way things were? Have you asked Jesus to release you from this attachment?
Where might the Risen Christ be asking you to loosen your grip so He can release you to love and live in a new way?
[Editor’s note: This article discusses reframing your mindset. There is another article on the Life-Giving Wounds blog that the author thought would be a great tie-in to this piece. It is "The Soul of Shame" in my life: A book review & testimony by Kara. In it, there is a section called “Retelling our story.”]