Author Kim Berkhof Bolt

Author – Speaker – Mom of 3 (+1 dog)

Author: Kim

  • What YOU’RE Writing

    December 2025

    Writing Prompt:

    New Year’s Resolutions Reflection

    If you know anything about me by now, you know that I’m a huge proponent of revision. My EN101 students could tell you firsthand that I ask them to reflect ad nauseam. But I really believe that in this fast-paced world, we don’t spend enough time slowing down and recognizing how we got here in the first place.

    To quote my old friend George Santayana, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” But reflection isn’t all doom and regret; there’s much to celebrate, too. I mean, we got here somehow, right? Even if we crossed the finish line crawling, we still earn the same finisher’s medal as the person who glided across effortlessly a long time ago (and is probably already enjoying a hot shower).

    The end of December and beginning of January is when many of us start thinking about New Year’s resolutions. Turning over the calendar and writing a new digit at the end of our dates feels like the perfect cue to start fresh. Quit smoking. Start running. Begin journaling. Stop losing my temper. The list of ways we want to “be better” is endless.

    Unfortunately, resolutions often look a lot prettier and more hopeful on January 1 than they do a few weeks (or months) later. According to a 2023 Forbes study, fewer than 1 in 10 people (8%) said their resolutions lasted a full month. About 22% made it three months, and only 1% said they kept theirs for an entire year. ​ Source: CBS News​

    There are plenty of theories about why resolutions fail, but that’s not what I want to focus on today. Instead, I want to offer something more positive, and honestly something that works every single time.

    What is this magical thing, you ask?

    It’s reflection. An “Old Year’s Reflection” if you will. You see, I don’t think we can truly know where we’re going in 2026 until we understand where we’ve been in 2025, both the good and the bad, the highs and the lows, the wins and the wipeouts.

    Thankfully, my good friend Mel Robbins agrees. She takes it even further with something she calls the Year-End Audit. She writes, “You can’t figure out where you’re going until you take a moment to understand where you are.”

    I’ll link her website and podcast at the end of this piece, but for those who like a good summary, here are the seven reflection questions she challenges us to ask before stepping into the new year:

    1. What were the highlights of the past year? (Hint: use your camera roll to jog your memory.)
    2. What were some of the hardest parts?
    3. What did you learn about yourself — for real — this year?
    4. What do you need to stop doing?
    5. What do you need to start doing?
    6. What will you continue doing?
    7. What’s one small step you can take today?

    That’s it. You’re done. No resolution required.

    You don’t have to promise to become a new person or set a goal that may or may not last until February. Instead, take a few minutes to look back — to honor what you did, how you grew, and who 2025 shaped you to be.

    And honestly?

    That’s enough.

    Mel Robbins

    Story Starter:

    Footprints in the Snow

    The house was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock, counting down the final hours of the year. Outside, the trees stood bare and silent, like they were holding their breath for something new to begin. Snow began to cover the footprints in the yard, hiding all the evidence of what had just happened there.

  • What I’m Thinking

    December 2025

    Climbing Out:

    (A Gobble Wobble Story)

    Kids' Food Basket 20th Annual Gobble Wobble 5k Run & Walk home
    ​https://runsignup.com/Race/MI/GrandRapids/KidsFoodBasketAnnualGobbleWobble5k​

    Last month, I signed up to run a Gobble Wobble on Thanksgiving Day. Thankfully, it was an untimed race — less about pace or bragging rights, and more a reason to coax people off their couches and justify the copious amounts of food we’d eat later. (Disappointing reality: the average runner burns about 350 calories during a 5K, which equals one cup of stuffing or one slice of pumpkin pie, not both.)

    I crossed the finish line much slower and more exhausted than I’ve ever finished a 5K. I used to joke that 5ks weren’t even worth running–they were too short to space out as a runner and run my own pace. But this time, I hit the two-mile mark and prayed I had enough left in the tank to finish.

    Before you judge me as some washed-up runner reliving her glory days from half-marathons past, hang with me. I promise this story has a point beyond making you feel bad if you’ve never laced up for a race.

    Here it is: I’m digging out of something.

    And it’s hard.

    There’s so much that shapes our sense of self. There’s something about middle age that brings both comfort and clarity—you start to accept who you are, wrinkles and all. My skin isn’t glowing anymore, but it carries the wisdom of decades. I trust my choices more, react less, and appreciate calm in a way my teenage self couldn’t. Still, I’ll admit I love the occasional ego boost: nailing a new recipe, taming my curls with a good haircut, or buying a new pair of jeans which are so fashionable that people stop me in public places to ask, “Where did you get those?” (True story).

    But then. We find ourselves facing a difficult issue, a problem without a quick answer. Something in our lives that reminds us that we are fragile and flawed and vulnerable.

    For me, that reminder has been running.

    Two years ago, I got sick, and I haven’t been the same physically since. And while I’ve become accustomed to it in most areas, I was missing the life I used to live as a runner. Great runs which felt effortless. Even hard runs where I could pride myself for finishing. So this fall, I decided to change my inner dialogue from “I can’t” to “maybe I can.” I downloaded a Couch-to-5K plan and started over with a run-walk routine.

    It’s been slow. Much slower than I expected. And harder (so much harder!) than I wanted it to be. I kept waiting for that rush of pride to show up, the sense of accomplishment that used to come so easily. But it didn’t. Mostly, I felt tired. Frustrated. Disappointed.

    Climbing out of anything is hard. Add in shorter days, increased darkness and the stress that comes from the busyness of the holidays. Starting something new, improving on something–it asks everything from us: physically, mentally and emotionally.

    As part of my “What You’re Writing” newsletter from October, I joined a small group in keeping a gratitude journal. On Thursday, November 27, I wrote that I was grateful to have crossed the finish line—running the entire way. I even took a selfie with my husband (who, annoyingly, looked far less tired than I did) and posted both in my Happyfeed app. Because here’s the truth: regardless of my slow pace, no one cared. People ran faster. People ran slower. But I trained. I showed up. I ran the race. I even went to church afterward, sweaty and still in my running gear (which, wonderfully, is a thing our church welcomes on Thanksgiving). And yes, I ate both the stuffing and the pumpkin pie and wrote both of them off as well-earned calories.

    End thought? Climbing out, trying something new, making a significant change–it’s difficult.

    But you know what’s not? Celebrating.

    The big achievements and the small milestones on the way.

    For the days we soar and the days we simply finish.

    Because sometimes, finishing is the victory.

  • What I’m Writing

    (December 2025)

    A Holiday Poem​
    ​

    I’m neck deep in writing curriculum for my winter semester, so I thought I would share a poem I wrote a few years ago about the holidays.

    Fair warning: it’s not snowflakes and sleigh rides and all things magical.

    I don’t know when December and the Christmas season lost some of its luster for me. Perhaps it’s the overly busy schedule or the myopic perspective on gift giving. Maybe it’s the cloudy dates and the increasing darkness.

    Every year, at this time, I wish for one thing: a simple Christmas. With no noise or lights or activities or stuff.

    Forgive the cynical tone of the poem. But maybe some of the phrases will resonate with you. (And when you’re done, listen to Bing Crosby’s “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”)

    ​

    A Lament for Christmas

    I wasn’t at the stable, Lord

    I was too busy at church

    with the preparation of food

    for the shared holiday meal

    (I brought a bagged salad but don’t tell anyone)

    and the donating of presents

    and the writing of cards for the shut ins

    and rehearsing the Christmas program for hours and hours

    softening my “r” s until “Lord” sounds “Lawd”

    and the entire chorus crescendos appropriately

    to the forte news that your son is born.

    ​

    I wasn’t at the stable, Lord

    I was at the multitudes of holiday parties

    which celebrate Hannukah and Christmas

    and Xmas and Kwanzaa and nothing at all

    (if that is your thing)

    consuming chocolate and cheese and lots of small foods on sticks

    and wine and beer and hard liquor

    and even champagne

    (even though it’s not New Year’s Eve yet).

    ​

    I wasn’t at the stable, Lord

    I was purchasing gifts

    you see, I cut short our reserved day of thanksgiving

    to push and shove in order to begin collecting gifts

    to give to teachers and non-teachers,

    to leaders and non-leaders

    (I can’t even tell who is who anymore)

    but I am proud to announce that I have purchased

    dozens of perfect gifts, and dozens more of non-perfect gifts

    and an innumerable amount of gift cards,

    joyfully announcing to those who receive them:
    “Jesus is born! Here—have some plastic.”

    ​

    I wasn’t at the stable, Lord

    I was at the local school,

    I was dropping off items for their Christmas donation pajama drive

    and food drive

    and toy drive

    and ziploc baggie drive

    (because everyone should have ziploc baggies this time of year)​
    and the school Christmas program

    (which, for the record, is different from the church program and yet very much the same)

    I was prepping snacks for classroom celebrations

    (because pretzels and popcorn and M&Ms are somehow directly tied to religious celebrations)

    and making meals for support staff brunches

    and covering playground duty

    so that teachers could attend their own lunchtime Christmas party

    (which, for the record, is completely different from the company parties and not at all the same).

    ​

    I wasn’t at the stable, Lord

    I was sitting on Santa’s lap

    (which is a bit embarrassing to admit)

    I wasn’t going to do it, but he was there

    and I really just wanted to vocalize to someone

    what I really wanted for Christmas

    (portable technology or at the very least a gift card to purchase what I want)

    I was participating in the gingerbread house contest (third place, thank you very much)

    and riding the Santa train to who-knows-where

    and sending Christmas cards to every address imaginable

    (scalloped edges and matte finish, of course)

    and starting every morning consuming a chocolate from my advent calendar

    (the wine and cheese calendars sold out before I could get one)

    and ending each evening pushing my own curfew in order to

    watch every single Hallmark holiday movie

    what does this have to do with the birth of your son, you ask?

    no one seems to know, but frankly, no one seems to care.

    ​

    I wasn’t at the stable, Lord

    I didn’t get to hug Mary or fist bump Joseph

    I didn’t get to smell baby Jesus

    (because you know even the Son of God must have had that wonderful new baby smell)

    I didn’t get to take in the simple complexity

    of diety in the flesh, of unfathomable greatness in the smallest of humans

    I didn’t get to “go tell it on the mountains” with the shepherds

    that “Jesus Christ was born,”

    not because it was an evite requiring my RSVP

    but because, in the stillness of the moment was joy

    True

    Joy

    “joy to the world” kind of joy

    and the response to that joy

    was adoration

    and excitement

    and jubilation

    that can only come from those who were there.

    ​

    But I didn’t get to experience that

    because

    I wasn’t at the stable, Lord.

  • What I’m Reading

    November 2025

    1. When Breath Becomes Air

    Author: Paul Kalanithi

    Length: 228 pages

    Publication: January 2016

    Genre: memoir

    Audience: adult

    SUMMARY

    Paul Kalanithi was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. One day he was a doctor treating the dying, and the next he was a patient struggling to live. And just like that, the future he and his wife had imagined evaporated. When Breath Becomes Air chronicles Kalanithi’s transformation from a naïve medical student “possessed,” as he wrote, “by the question of what, given that all organisms die, makes a virtuous and meaningful life” into a neurosurgeon at Stanford working in the brain, the most critical place for human identity, and finally into a patient and new father confronting his own mortality.

    What makes life worth living in the face of death? What do you do when the future, no longer a ladder toward your goals in life, flattens out into a perpetual present? What does it mean to have a child, to nurture a new life as another fades away? These are some of the questions Kalanithi wrestles with in this profoundly moving, exquisitely observed memoir.

    Goodreads review
    MY REVIEW

    This book had been on my “must reads” list for quite some time. Perhaps it was an overdose of too much fiction (is that even a thing?); maybe the firework explosion of colors on the trees reminded me that in the Midwest we are in the season where leaves die before winter.

    Within this short memoir, Kalanithi packs a poignant punch of what it means to walk the line between living and dying. As a neurosurgeon, he experienced that almost daily as he navigated his way around fragile spinal columns and complicated brains. He thought he understood the reality of death and our own finite timelines…until he himself was given a terminal cancer diagnosis.

    I loved how this memoir was written in two sections: one of his life pre-cancer and one after it. In the first part, we empathize with his fast-paced, goal-oriented life. How much can he get done in a day? How can he advance his career? He celebrates crawling into bed at night, beyond exhausted, from having accomplished more than was humanly possible. He thought he was living life to the fullest.

    And then. Life came to a screeching halt with his cancer diagnosis. Not just early stages either–stage 4. Kalanithi writes about how time changed, from a clock-driven, calendar-based concept to something more arbitrary. Instead of “what time is dinner?” or “what day should I get that done?” he asks himself, “what should I do with the rest of my life?”

    Despite his father’s relentless positivity, Kalanithi’s story does not end happily. Or maybe it does. As his wife writes in the epilogue, Paul lived his life with an authenticity as he “griev[ed] the loss of the future he planned and forge[d] a new one” (219).

    Maybe that’s all we should strive for in our own lives.

    2. Challenger Deep

    Author: Neal Shusterman

    Length: 320 pages

    Publication: April 2016

    Genre: fiction

    Audience: middle grade/young adult (deal with mental illness)

    SUMMARY

    Caden Bosch is on a ship that’s headed for the deepest point on Earth: Challenger Deep, the southern part of the Marianas Trench.

    Caden Bosch is a brilliant high school student whose friends are starting to notice his odd behaviour.

    Caden Bosch is designated the ship’s artist in residence to document the journey with images.

    Caden Bosch pretends to join the school track team but spends his days walking for miles, absorbed by the thoughts in his head.

    Caden Bosch is split between his allegiance to the captain and the allure of mutiny.

    Caden Bosch is torn.

    Goodreads Review
    MY REVIEW

    Neal Shusterman is coming to a writing festival a local university holds in my area, and this was a recommended read. I am always looking for a middle grade-to-young adult novel; there’s something for me in the way authors of this genre are willing to tackle seemingly “adult-only” topics and bring them down to the middle school and high school level. I feel we have always underestimated this age group, and my years teaching middle school and high school confirmed this. They are clearly aware of what is going on in the world and what is happening to people; they just need it brought to them on a level they can understand. Since the onset of the internet and mobile devices, I believe this is even more true today. We shouldn’t shelter this age group from reality; instead, we should carefully choose how to present it to them.

    Shusterman accepts this challenge and presents a world where Caden Bosch lives in a deep dark place of mental illness. “Unable to function in everyday society” mental illness. “We have no choice but to hospitalize you” mental illness. It’s a fascinating journey into Caden’s head, to experience med changes and hallucinations and friendships and reconfiguring life. But the world of mental illness is not an easy one for those who live it, or for those who love someone with it.

    Shusterman’s ability to write so poignantly comes from–as I feared while reading this novel–his own pain and heartbreak as he watched his son battle mental illness. The drawings in the book come from his son. Not all stories end well, but Brendan Shusterman “found his piece of sky and escaped gloriously from the deep” (Author’s Note).

    I appreciated Shusterman’s final thoughts that he hopes Challenger Deep will help others “to empathize, and to understand what it’s like to sail the dark, unpredictable waters of mental illness” (Author’s Note).

    This was a difficult, but worthwhile read. And I would gladly put it in the hands of someone of a younger age who is able to handle the depth and struggle of this topic.

    3. What Happened to Rachel Riley?

    Author: Claire Swinarski

    Length: 352 pages

    Publication: November 2024

    Genre: fiction

    Audience: middle grade/young adult (deals with gender harassment)

    SUMMARY

    An eighth grader uses social media posts, passed notes, and other clues to find out why a formerly popular girl is now the pariah of her new school in this #metoo story.

    Anna Hunt may be the new girl at East Middle School, but she can already tell there’s something off about her eighth-grade class. Rachel Riley, who just last year was one of the most popular girls in school, has become a social outcast. But no one, including Rachel Riley herself, will tell Anna why. As a die-hard podcast enthusiast, Anna knows there’s always more to a story than meets the eye. So she decides to put her fact-seeking skills to the test and create her own podcast around the question that won’t stop running through her. What happened to Rachel Riley? With the entire eighth grade working against her, Anna dives headfirst into the evidence. Clue after clue, the mystery widens, painting an even more complex story than Anna could have anticipated. But there’s one thing she’s certain about, if you’re going to ask a complicated question, you better be prepared for the fallout that may come with the answer.

    Goodreads Review
    MY REVIEW

    When a beloved middle school teacher “highly” recommends a book, I read it. In fact, in this particular case, I walked to the library that very afternoon and picked up a copy. She was spot on that this was a great read, and I had it finished within 48 hours.

    I loved how this book was told through different elements in addition to narrative writing. There were emails and announcements and text strands, completely immersing itself in contemporary Middle Grade fiction. Because the story was told in reverse order (we don’t actually know what happened to Rachel Riley until the end of the book, although the “what happened” occurred before the book was written), many of the emails and announcements don’t entirely make sense as we untangle the massive plot knot that is teenage relationships.

    More importantly, this is a novel about what constitutes as bullying and teasing. Yes, there is a gendered aspect to this particular tale and it is an important one. However, what is critical for this age group in our social media filled society is understanding what qualifies as bullying, “soft” as it may be. People may laugh it off or say it was “just for fun” and that “no one was really hurt,” but until we can teach this next generation to protect themselves physically, mentally and emotionally and to place their own safety first, we have to keep preaching loudly. Personally, I find a MG novel is the perfect way to do that.

    All ages should read this book. And, if you’re a parent of a teenager, read this book and talk about it together.

    4. Wreck

    Author: Catherine Newman

    Length:224 pages

    Publication: October 2025

    Genre: fiction

    Audience: adult

    SUMMARY

    Rocky, still anxious, nostalgic, and funny, is living in Western Massachusetts with her husband Nick and their daughter Willa, who’s back home after college. Their son, Jamie, has taken a new job in New York, and Mort, Rocky’s widowed father, has moved in.

    It all couldn’t be more ridiculously normal . . . until Rocky finds herself obsessed with a local accident that only tangentially affects them—and with a medical condition that, she hopes, won’t affect them at all.

    Goodreads Review
    MY REVIEW

    After reading and loving Sandwich earlier this year, I highly anticipated Newman’s sequel. I had considered purchasing it as my special Winter Break vacation book, but when my hold request became available at the library, I decided to read it early.

    When people ask me what Newman’s books are about, I usually respond with a shoulder shrug and the word “nothing.” Because Newman’s books aren’t about driving plots or action over the course of a certain period of time. Both have been about a middle-age woman living with all the thoughts and feelings that come with the age and learning to unpublished rule book that comes with having adult kids.

    In a way that Sandwich was lovely to me, Wreck felt a little bit too much like its own title. Perhaps it’s because this book was not set in the nostalgic beach home with her family on vacation. Perhaps it’s because both wrecks in the novel, an external event and her own internal one, posed a much darker view on life. For me, whereas Rocky was pleasantly emotional in the first book, she became unpleasantly mental in this novel. A friend saw this coming with the first book and told me that Rocky just thinks everything and every situation is about her.

    Ultimately, I am glad I did not spend my money on purchasing this rather expensive, shortish-length hardcover book. It did continue to offer provoking thoughts and perspectives on middle age and what “wrecks” us (or, maybe more astutely, what we allow to wreck us), but overall it felt like a country song where the same, sad tune was sung, just different lyrics in the second verse.

  • What YOU’RE Writing

    November 2025

    A Thank You Note

    Maybe it’s all that gratitude I’ve been practicing with a few friends that brought me to this place. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not suddenly a saint of thankfulness or a perpetually grateful person moving forward. (If you know me, you know December is my most Grinchy month. I’m so grateful I don’t have to keep a journal then…)

    But the daily practice of looking around and seeing the good has been impactful. Who knew that seeing a pile of clean laundry waiting to be folded could remind me how lucky I am to have so many clothes to wear?

    There were things I was thankful for, to be sure. And even places that found themselves regularly in my journal (hot showers and my bed). But what I noticed most is that my gratitude was most genuine when I was thankful for people. (I tried thanking my clean laundry basket, but apparently it fell on deaf ears).

    Did you realize how many people show up for you on a regular basis? From the garbage collector who hauls away our stinky bins, to the neighbor who pauses for a quick chat while walking the dog. From the friend who texts you a meme she knows you’ll laugh at, to the family member who quietly does the chore you hate.

    There are so many good people in the world. Too often the news, and even local gossip, floods my world and turns me cynical. But on the seesaw of life, the good ones definitely outweigh the bad.

    As we tiptoe from November and December, I challenge all of you, my Readers, to write one thank you note. Recognize someone who performed the tiniest act with the biggest heart or someone that shows up for you again and again.

    Write it on a card and send it snail mail. Or send an email. Or even a text. Don’t let the medium get in the way of the message that needs to be sent.

    Thanks need to be given away. Daily and unconditionally. Because thanks are free (even if stamps aren’t).

    So what are you waiting for? Send out a thank-you note today. And maybe one tomorrow. Hopefully, this will become your practice for the month of December. We could all use a little extra positivity and encouragement to get through one of the busiest, most stressful months of the year.

    After all, gratitude isn’t just something we should feel on our own. It’s something meant to share.

    ​
    In the meantime, I’ll check my mailbox daily. Just in case one of your thank-you notes comes my way. 😉