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Since 2022, I have had the distinct privilege of serving as an editor and conversation-partner for Director Lynne Westfield through her ongoing written contributions to the Wabash Center. What began as a professional collaboration quickly became something more generative, more human—an evolving dialogue grounded in trust, care, and a shared commitment to clarity of thought and purpose in teaching.From the very beginning, I found myself drawn to Lynne’s voice. There is a particular kind of vulnerability in her writing, an openness that does not seek performance but instead insists on honesty. Month after month, for more than four years, I have sat with her words, responding not simply as an editor marking a page, but as a reader invited into a living, breathing intellectual and spiritual practice. With each blog post, I became a deeper admirer of her work—not because it sought perfection, but because it refused to hide from complexity.Those monthly exchanges were never transactional. They were conversations. They required attention, patience, and a willingness to listen beyond the surface of the text. As an editor, I believe it is important to understand one’s role is not to refine the author/artist into something more “polished,” but to help them become more fully themselves on the page.Many of the blog posts with Lynne have now found new life in her recent book, Thinking Teaching, out now from Cascade Books. Watching that manuscript take shape has been profoundly rewarding. It marks the second time I’ve had the honor of witnessing Lynne bring a book into the world, following her earlier work, Glimpses of Me and Mine (2023). To see the arc of her ideas develop from individual reflections to a cohesive, enduring text has been a reminder of what sustained writing practice can do.Editing, at its best, is an act of care. A good editor does not impose themselves onto the work. They do not flatten the writer’s voice into something more familiar or marketable. Instead, they listen. They ask questions. They create space for the writer to hear themselves more clearly.Over the years, working with Lynne has sharpened my understanding of what it means to be a compassionate and effective editor. For those engaged in similar work, I offer a few guiding principles:Listen for the writer’s intention, not just the sentence’s structure.Editing is not only about correctness; it is about coherence between what the writer means and what the reader receives.Protect the writer’s voice at all costs.Your job is not to rewrite the work in your own image. The distinctiveness of a writer’s voice is their greatest strength.Respond, don’t dictate.Frame your edits as invitations or inquiries rather than commands. This keeps the process collaborative rather than hierarchical.Cultivate patience and trust.Good writing, and good editing, takes time. Trust that clarity will emerge through conversation, not force.What I have learned through this work is that editing is not a neutral act. It is relational. It requires humility. And when done well, it becomes transformative, not only for the writer, who is given the space to grow and refine their voice, but also for the editor.To work with Lynne Westfield has been to witness an author bloom steadily, courageously, and without compromise. In supporting that process, I, too, have been changed. I have become a more attentive reader, a more patient collaborator, and, I hope, a more generous thinker.This is the quiet gift of editing: when we commit ourselves to the flourishing of another’s voice, we often find our own deepened in the process.Please check out Lynne Westfield’s latest…Thinking Teaching: Stories, Insights, and Strategies to Ignite Reflection, Discussion, and Imagination – Out Now!

On a recent visit to the faculty breakroom to heat up my lunch, I ran into a colleague who asked, “Richelle, how is the semester going?” We had not seen each other very much during the semester. We were at the midpoint—administering exams and collecting assignments. Among the faculty, there was an awareness that the consistent use of AI was presenting problems. We felt anxious because we were uneasy about moving forward regarding campus policies and the use of AI. We were skeptical and questioned whether students were even interested in learning anymore.My colleague’s question prompted me to move beyond the default response, “The semester is going well,” but I took a few seconds to answer. “I am experiencing some sharpening this semester.” With a puzzled look, he followed up with, “What do you mean?” “I am being challenged relationally by students, and vocationally I am being stretched.” Our brief conversation ended with him telling me to hang in there, and with me returning to my office to take some time to reflect on my response.Proverbs 27:17—“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” One Bible commentator offers: “Iron cutting tools are made sharp, bright, and useful by rubbing them against another form of iron. A person without the company and conversation of a friend is alone, dull, and inactive; but with the fellowship and communication of a friend, they are refreshed, revived, and fitted for—and incited to—action.”The experiences of sharpening that I encountered were not directly connected to friendship, but to the teacher-student relationship. I recalled the two intentions I set at the beginning of the semester:As a teacher, I would strive to be the best version of myself. As a teacher, I would help students read, write, and think better. The first intention caused me to remember my teacher, mentor, and dissertation advisor—Dr. Katie Geneva Cannon. She often shared the legacy of Black women educators in the Jim Crow South who taught in overcrowded, one-teacher schools with scarce funding and out-of-date resources. This lack did not prevent them from proclaiming to Black children, “I will give you the best that I’ve got, and I want you to be even better.” This mantra was my guiding star throughout the semester. I created, prepared, rearranged, revised, added, subtracted, engaged, and explored content and teaching strategies for student-centered learning.The second intention called for a complete overhaul of the first because I was confronting the reality that some students do not want to be better readers, writers, or thinkers. There was resistance and, oftentimes, a refusal to engage in those foundational educational tasks. My self-dialogue centered on the following questions:Why do they resist reading and writing? It seems like using ChatGPT is always their first choice—why do they refuse to think on their own? Have they been taught to think critically? Beyond offering objective answers, many students would not respond to questions in class. Students used ChatGPT for complete reflection questions and other learning assignments. Using AI is not a big deal for students—everybody does it. Students often avoid doing hard things. Facing consequences and/or being held accountable for actions, good or bad, has not been consistent.As I became more intentional about engaging in prayer and reading scripture, and paid attention to what I was seeing and experiencing among my students, I resonated with Matthew 9:36: “When he (Jesus) saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were confused and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” This verse helped me to identify the students’ need for character development, critical thinking, accountability, and facing consequences for their actions. They were confused and helplessly attached to cultural norms, social media, and subject to poor decision-making.These revelations helped change my perspective and navigate more effective ways of being my best self, while incorporating character development, accountability, critical thinking, and consequences within the foundational activities of reading, writing, and thinking. God was calling me to be a shepherd for this group of sheep, guiding them beyond confusion and poor decisions. This experience of sharpening is a continuous process. Progressing through the semester with these new changes was not easy, but it introduced all of us to becoming better—if not the best—versions of ourselves. Challenging, refining, and improving one another, the sparks and friction that ensued were difficult but necessary, and will hopefully produce lifelong learners who benefit from the sharpening.