Adoption is costly. Unfortunately, rescuing a child from poverty is not an easy task. It's costly financially and costly emotionally. But it's a price parents are willing to pay for their child(ren).
Likewise, our adoption was costly. In Ephesians Paul says, "God decided in advance to adopt us into His own family by bringing us to Himself through Jesus Christ. This is what He wanted to do, and it gave Him great pleasure." (Ephesians 1:6 NLT)
The price for our adoptions? Christ's death on the cross. Yet our Heavenly Father (and His Son) were willing to pay that price. More than willing.
For us.
<>< Katie
(Journal entry dated 10-10-11. Posted in honor of National Adoption Month)
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Why Not Today?
"You need a new phone."
I've been told that regularly for the last two years. They're right: I do need a new phone. When I started college the question was always, "Is that the new model?" Now that I've graduated, same phone in pocket, the question has become "When do you get an upgrade?"
They want me to make the leap into the twenty-first century and go from a dumb phone that only texts and calls to a smart phone that does everything except brush your teeth for you.
"With as much time as you spend on Facebook and Twitter, you're going to love it!"
That's what they all say. And they're probably right. I wish I could Tweet on the go, always had my email at my fingertips, and my text message inbox didn't remain at 98 percent full. The upgrade won't break my budget and the thirty dollars a month data plan is feasible.
Weeks of second-guessing and questioning led up to the moment when I signed the check. Knowing full well what I was doing, I handed it to Brent. He handed me a receipt.
Smile* was mine.
My check was not for thirty dollars. It was for thirty-eight. If I could feasibly pay thirty dollars a month just to have the internet with me wherever I went, how could I not spend thirty-eight dollars a month making sure a child had food?
For years I have been the primary letter writer for Maria, our family's sponsored child in Columbia. That means the misunderstanding about us having fourteen grandchildren... yeah, I'm culpable.
I knew someday I'd sponsor a child through Compassion. The question that ragged on my heart was: Why is that someday not today? I was out of excuses.
For a dollar and twenty-five cents a day, I can provide Smile with food. That's not even the cost of one cup of coffee. That's one small fries from McDonald's.
Let's be real: I don't have a lot of money. But I have enough. I'm not worrying about going hungry. Smile is.
Katie: God, why are you providing for me but not for Your children in third world countries? Is food not a necessity?
God: I am providing. Katie, I am providing you.
It's going to be a sacrifice. I want (borderline need) a new phone, but it's going to have to wait.
There's a little girl in El Salvador who needs an education. She needs medical care. She needs hope, esperanza. She needs to know someone cares. That someone is an unemployed hispanohablante in the US. That Someone is her Heavenly Father.
Why not today?
<>< Katie
*not her real name
PS: This is my story of how God led me to child sponsorship through Compassion. It might be reckless to commit to $38/month with no income. But I know the Lord and saw His hand in this decision long before I signed the check. I trust He will provide, and I've seen Him do so already. If that means I have to eat peanut butter and jelly for a week (I hate pbj) so Smile can eat rice and beans, so be it.
I've been told that regularly for the last two years. They're right: I do need a new phone. When I started college the question was always, "Is that the new model?" Now that I've graduated, same phone in pocket, the question has become "When do you get an upgrade?"
They want me to make the leap into the twenty-first century and go from a dumb phone that only texts and calls to a smart phone that does everything except brush your teeth for you.
"With as much time as you spend on Facebook and Twitter, you're going to love it!"
That's what they all say. And they're probably right. I wish I could Tweet on the go, always had my email at my fingertips, and my text message inbox didn't remain at 98 percent full. The upgrade won't break my budget and the thirty dollars a month data plan is feasible.
Weeks of second-guessing and questioning led up to the moment when I signed the check. Knowing full well what I was doing, I handed it to Brent. He handed me a receipt.
Smile* was mine.
My check was not for thirty dollars. It was for thirty-eight. If I could feasibly pay thirty dollars a month just to have the internet with me wherever I went, how could I not spend thirty-eight dollars a month making sure a child had food?
For years I have been the primary letter writer for Maria, our family's sponsored child in Columbia. That means the misunderstanding about us having fourteen grandchildren... yeah, I'm culpable.
I knew someday I'd sponsor a child through Compassion. The question that ragged on my heart was: Why is that someday not today? I was out of excuses.
For a dollar and twenty-five cents a day, I can provide Smile with food. That's not even the cost of one cup of coffee. That's one small fries from McDonald's.
Let's be real: I don't have a lot of money. But I have enough. I'm not worrying about going hungry. Smile is.
Katie: God, why are you providing for me but not for Your children in third world countries? Is food not a necessity?
God: I am providing. Katie, I am providing you.
It's going to be a sacrifice. I want (borderline need) a new phone, but it's going to have to wait.
There's a little girl in El Salvador who needs an education. She needs medical care. She needs hope, esperanza. She needs to know someone cares. That someone is an unemployed hispanohablante in the US. That Someone is her Heavenly Father.
Why not today?
<>< Katie
*not her real name
PS: This is my story of how God led me to child sponsorship through Compassion. It might be reckless to commit to $38/month with no income. But I know the Lord and saw His hand in this decision long before I signed the check. I trust He will provide, and I've seen Him do so already. If that means I have to eat peanut butter and jelly for a week (I hate pbj) so Smile can eat rice and beans, so be it.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thankful
It's hard.
It's hard to be thankful when you don't know when your next paycheck is coming (or from where). It's hard to be thankful when your best friends are 900 miles away. It's hard to be thankful when your office is the most central location of your parents' home, when your internal clock has no idea what time of the year it is, or when you don't have any idea what your calendar will look like even a month from now. It's hard to be thankful; it's easy to host a pity party.
Every once in awhile, I let the tears roll. They're good. They're healthy. But once they come, they're hard to stop.
Like Job, I speak bluntly and harshly to the Lord. While it's nice to get those feelings out on paper, it doesn't usually solve much. (Did I just say that out loud?) I still don't know what's next. I'm still playing pin the tail on the donkey.
And still even here, I have a lot to be thankful for. Did I not wake up this morning breathing and refreshed? When I rolled over and put my feet on the floor, did they not stay there and hold my weight? (No peanut gallery comments, please). Was there not toothpaste in the tube, toilet paper on the roll, and soap in the dispenser? Is there food in the pantry and hot water in the shower? Do I have a jacket, shoes, and gasoline?
Have I not people who love and care about me? People who encourage me and pour into me? Scripture tucked away in my heart? Is the Lord not in this limbo, this barren desert, this hideous time in between?
Life is hard. Yet still there is so much to be thankful for even if they're the small, simple things we tend to take for granted. Even if it's the tears and the angry words. Even if it's the promise, "I will be with you always to the very end of the age" (See Matthew 28).
Even if nothing else goes correctly, that one reason alone is enough to bring thanksgiving to my lips again and again.
<>< Katie
It's hard to be thankful when you don't know when your next paycheck is coming (or from where). It's hard to be thankful when your best friends are 900 miles away. It's hard to be thankful when your office is the most central location of your parents' home, when your internal clock has no idea what time of the year it is, or when you don't have any idea what your calendar will look like even a month from now. It's hard to be thankful; it's easy to host a pity party.
Every once in awhile, I let the tears roll. They're good. They're healthy. But once they come, they're hard to stop.
Like Job, I speak bluntly and harshly to the Lord. While it's nice to get those feelings out on paper, it doesn't usually solve much. (Did I just say that out loud?) I still don't know what's next. I'm still playing pin the tail on the donkey.
And still even here, I have a lot to be thankful for. Did I not wake up this morning breathing and refreshed? When I rolled over and put my feet on the floor, did they not stay there and hold my weight? (No peanut gallery comments, please). Was there not toothpaste in the tube, toilet paper on the roll, and soap in the dispenser? Is there food in the pantry and hot water in the shower? Do I have a jacket, shoes, and gasoline?
Have I not people who love and care about me? People who encourage me and pour into me? Scripture tucked away in my heart? Is the Lord not in this limbo, this barren desert, this hideous time in between?
Life is hard. Yet still there is so much to be thankful for even if they're the small, simple things we tend to take for granted. Even if it's the tears and the angry words. Even if it's the promise, "I will be with you always to the very end of the age" (See Matthew 28).
Even if nothing else goes correctly, that one reason alone is enough to bring thanksgiving to my lips again and again.
<>< Katie
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
More than a Day
Almost a month ago a switch flipped inside of me. In 0.4 seconds I went from enjoying and appreciating fall to ready to deck the halls. I threatened to make Trick or Treaters pretend they were Christmas carolers before I gave them candy. (No wonder no one came to my house).
Of course, my passion and excitement for Christmastime has been met with resistance. Everyone wants Thanksgiving to have its day.
Hogwash, I say! Hogwash.
Thanksgiving is not a day, friends; it's a lifestyle!
Let thanksgiving have its day... today and every day!
Yes, I'm eating turkey, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Yes, I'm participating in the round-table discussion of what we're thankful for.
But it goes beyond today. Since the beginning of September I've been keeping a list of 1,000 things I am thankful for, inspired by Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts. I just passed thing number 500.
Should I not be further? Should I not be able to list 1,000 things each day for which I am thankful? Every breath, every minute...
Here are some highlights from my 1,000 gifts and counting.
I am thankful...
95. For working heat in my car.
100. For friends who are going to make sure I come out of limbo as a prayer warrior.
102. For Sunday lunch.
106. For hunger.
115. For the courage to blog about my struggles.
118. For Your appearance at rock bottom and the willingness to touch hearts of even the most broken people.
126. For the beautiful wet leaf on my sunroof.
149. For self-imported Chinese tea.
160. For warm wash cloths and the reminder You sent me through it.
188. For friends all across the country willing to let me stay with them.
190. For the reminder of what You've done and how You've been faithful.
205. For music videos that leave me with a "bowl full of tears."
208. That it somehow worked to have a queen mattress, king sheets, a twin comforter, and a full quilt.
225. For laughter so hard I can barely breathe.
236. For fifty hugs in eight hours.
245. For a busy schedule.
254. For the reminder that just because our circumstances aren't great doesn't mean You don't love us and we're not in Your will.
274. For peanut butter and chocolate covered pretzels.
280. For encouraging, not awkward, networking meetings.
291. For the ability to contact people around the world with the click of a button.
321. For the beautiful moment we shared during communion and the reminder that I am not worthy yet You grant me grace.
338. For Job who spoke harsh words to You long before I ever did.
342. For fast email responses. (And really email responses in general).
360. That the question is, "How much will I pay for gas?" Not "Will I find gas?" or "Can I afford gas?"
362. For esperar--hope, waiting
372. For a lifestyle of Thanksgiving rather than a day or a month.
387. For nearly-coffee-spewing laughter.
388. For the reminder that You want to fill my cup until it overflows (without cracks)
399. For memories so sweet.
427. For the hair dryer.
437. For Starbucks gift cards.
453. For the heart You've given me for missions and Your children worldwide.
460. For evenings of reading by the fire curled up in a blanket.
465. For the ability to proclaim, "If it's You, I'm in!" and both mean and believe it. To trust it.
474. For online ASL dictionaries.
488. For forgiveness when I sing happy birthday to the wrong person.
Of course, my passion and excitement for Christmastime has been met with resistance. Everyone wants Thanksgiving to have its day.
Hogwash, I say! Hogwash.
Thanksgiving is not a day, friends; it's a lifestyle!
Let thanksgiving have its day... today and every day!
Yes, I'm eating turkey, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Yes, I'm participating in the round-table discussion of what we're thankful for.
But it goes beyond today. Since the beginning of September I've been keeping a list of 1,000 things I am thankful for, inspired by Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts. I just passed thing number 500.
Should I not be further? Should I not be able to list 1,000 things each day for which I am thankful? Every breath, every minute...
Here are some highlights from my 1,000 gifts and counting.
I am thankful...
95. For working heat in my car.
100. For friends who are going to make sure I come out of limbo as a prayer warrior.
102. For Sunday lunch.
106. For hunger.
115. For the courage to blog about my struggles.
118. For Your appearance at rock bottom and the willingness to touch hearts of even the most broken people.
126. For the beautiful wet leaf on my sunroof.
149. For self-imported Chinese tea.
160. For warm wash cloths and the reminder You sent me through it.
188. For friends all across the country willing to let me stay with them.
190. For the reminder of what You've done and how You've been faithful.
205. For music videos that leave me with a "bowl full of tears."
208. That it somehow worked to have a queen mattress, king sheets, a twin comforter, and a full quilt.
225. For laughter so hard I can barely breathe.
236. For fifty hugs in eight hours.
245. For a busy schedule.
254. For the reminder that just because our circumstances aren't great doesn't mean You don't love us and we're not in Your will.
274. For peanut butter and chocolate covered pretzels.
280. For encouraging, not awkward, networking meetings.
291. For the ability to contact people around the world with the click of a button.
321. For the beautiful moment we shared during communion and the reminder that I am not worthy yet You grant me grace.
338. For Job who spoke harsh words to You long before I ever did.
342. For fast email responses. (And really email responses in general).
360. That the question is, "How much will I pay for gas?" Not "Will I find gas?" or "Can I afford gas?"
362. For esperar--hope, waiting
372. For a lifestyle of Thanksgiving rather than a day or a month.
387. For nearly-coffee-spewing laughter.
388. For the reminder that You want to fill my cup until it overflows (without cracks)
399. For memories so sweet.
427. For the hair dryer.
437. For Starbucks gift cards.
453. For the heart You've given me for missions and Your children worldwide.
460. For evenings of reading by the fire curled up in a blanket.
465. For the ability to proclaim, "If it's You, I'm in!" and both mean and believe it. To trust it.
474. For online ASL dictionaries.
488. For forgiveness when I sing happy birthday to the wrong person.
Monday, November 21, 2011
What Would You Write?
Write what you know.
That's what writers are always told. I'm not good at following that advice. I always seem to start writing stories that I have no authority to write, horrors I can barely imagine.
What do I know? I know what it's like to go to a college prep school. I know what it's like to live with seven other girls in a four-bedroom apartment. I know what it's like to attend fifteen concerts by the same artist.
What I know is boring, at least to me.
Who wants to read a fictional work based on the reality of being an unemployed recent grad? Not me, that's for sure.
But it got me thinking: if I were the author who got my fictional character into this mess, how would I get her out?
Would I turn one of her cold-calling strangers turn into a job offer? (In this economy?)
Would I send a knight in shining armor to whisk her away to marital bliss? (That sounds pleasant, cheesy, and unrealistic)
Would I have her blog discovered and novel picked up by Huge Name Publishing House and it become a best seller? (I'm just dreaming all possibilities here)
Would I send her to graduate school, the international mission field, or a homeless shelter?
Would I make her sulk and wait? Wonder and hope? Would I teach her about trust and obedience?
I am not the Author of this life. And I guess that's a good thing since none of these options seem good and viable at the moment.
I am the protagonist in this lifestory, trusting the Author's plan. Unlike me, He doesn't change His mind, He doesn't kill characters for plot excitement, and He definitely doesn't abandon half-finished stories.
And that, my friends, brings me hope.
<>< Katie
That's what writers are always told. I'm not good at following that advice. I always seem to start writing stories that I have no authority to write, horrors I can barely imagine.
What do I know? I know what it's like to go to a college prep school. I know what it's like to live with seven other girls in a four-bedroom apartment. I know what it's like to attend fifteen concerts by the same artist.
What I know is boring, at least to me.
Who wants to read a fictional work based on the reality of being an unemployed recent grad? Not me, that's for sure.
But it got me thinking: if I were the author who got my fictional character into this mess, how would I get her out?
Would I turn one of her cold-calling strangers turn into a job offer? (In this economy?)
Would I send a knight in shining armor to whisk her away to marital bliss? (That sounds pleasant, cheesy, and unrealistic)
Would I have her blog discovered and novel picked up by Huge Name Publishing House and it become a best seller? (I'm just dreaming all possibilities here)
Would I send her to graduate school, the international mission field, or a homeless shelter?
Would I make her sulk and wait? Wonder and hope? Would I teach her about trust and obedience?
I am not the Author of this life. And I guess that's a good thing since none of these options seem good and viable at the moment.
I am the protagonist in this lifestory, trusting the Author's plan. Unlike me, He doesn't change His mind, He doesn't kill characters for plot excitement, and He definitely doesn't abandon half-finished stories.
And that, my friends, brings me hope.
<>< Katie
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Cup
Something crunches beneath my tires as I parallel park outside of a Christian bookstore. Coming around to pay the meter, I see the crunching came from what used to be a coffee cup that is now smashed to smithereens. Clearly, I was not the first one to run it over.
"You alone hold my broken cup."
I can't help but smile at the irony of the moment. Over coffee a few days before, I had a conversation about (among other things) parking meters, Christian books, and cracked cups.
"You alone hold my broken cup. My heart's so dusty and dry."
Two days earlier I stood in the audience and listened to singer/songwriter Peder Eide talk about cracked cups.
We all have cups. God pours out love, affirmation, encouragement intending to fill our cup until it overflows. Yet fear, abandonment, rejection, etc. have cracked our cups. Some cracks are bigger than others yet still the goodness of God leaks out and the cup never overflows. This is not what God intended.
"I'll ache 'til You make me whole."
As an audience, we extended our hand-cups into the air, handing them to our Abba Father like a small child hands a broken object to a parent. Individually we identified a specific crack and asked Him to fix it.
"Abba, this belongs to You."
I had just spent the last hour closely examining the multiple cracks in my cup. The cracks that are causing fast leaks and those that are slower. The causes of the cracks and the repercussions of them. The need for the Lord to repair the cracks and fill my cup.
"Abba, this belongs to You. This belongs to You, Abba Father."
Mending takes time, especially when your cup has been run over... twice. Especially when the cause of the cracks lead to multiple, "Oh, Honey"s. Yet when you, when I, lift our broken cups before the Lord, He graciously repairs them and pours into them until they are overflowing. He fills them until it's not the former cracks or even the cup itself that can be seen but rather His love pouring over the edges.
"I thirst for You, Jesus, fill me up!"
<>< Katie
Lyrics from "Make Me Whole" and "Abba, I Belong to You" by Peder Eide.
"You alone hold my broken cup."
I can't help but smile at the irony of the moment. Over coffee a few days before, I had a conversation about (among other things) parking meters, Christian books, and cracked cups.
"You alone hold my broken cup. My heart's so dusty and dry."
Two days earlier I stood in the audience and listened to singer/songwriter Peder Eide talk about cracked cups.
We all have cups. God pours out love, affirmation, encouragement intending to fill our cup until it overflows. Yet fear, abandonment, rejection, etc. have cracked our cups. Some cracks are bigger than others yet still the goodness of God leaks out and the cup never overflows. This is not what God intended.
"I'll ache 'til You make me whole."
As an audience, we extended our hand-cups into the air, handing them to our Abba Father like a small child hands a broken object to a parent. Individually we identified a specific crack and asked Him to fix it.
"Abba, this belongs to You."
I had just spent the last hour closely examining the multiple cracks in my cup. The cracks that are causing fast leaks and those that are slower. The causes of the cracks and the repercussions of them. The need for the Lord to repair the cracks and fill my cup.
"Abba, this belongs to You. This belongs to You, Abba Father."
Mending takes time, especially when your cup has been run over... twice. Especially when the cause of the cracks lead to multiple, "Oh, Honey"s. Yet when you, when I, lift our broken cups before the Lord, He graciously repairs them and pours into them until they are overflowing. He fills them until it's not the former cracks or even the cup itself that can be seen but rather His love pouring over the edges.
"I thirst for You, Jesus, fill me up!"
<>< Katie
Lyrics from "Make Me Whole" and "Abba, I Belong to You" by Peder Eide.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Quality Time
As my week back home in Baptist Country was drawing to a close, I pondered who I had gotten to see for a substantial amount of time and who I wanted to spend more time with.
The friends I am closest to, naturally, fit into the "I want more time!" category. But I began to wonder, how much more time did I want? If life and other obligations were no object, how much time would be sufficient with them?
Forever.
I wanted to stay in their apartment forever. I wanted to sit in their offices and chat days away. I wanted to never ever leave again.
Of course, an infinite amount of time with my friends would be fun.
But I decided that's what kind of relationship I want with the Lord. I want to lock myself in the prayer room and never come out. I want to sit at His feet and never move. I want to rest on the chest of my Abba Father.
Forever.
<>< Katie
The friends I am closest to, naturally, fit into the "I want more time!" category. But I began to wonder, how much more time did I want? If life and other obligations were no object, how much time would be sufficient with them?
Forever.
I wanted to stay in their apartment forever. I wanted to sit in their offices and chat days away. I wanted to never ever leave again.
Of course, an infinite amount of time with my friends would be fun.
But I decided that's what kind of relationship I want with the Lord. I want to lock myself in the prayer room and never come out. I want to sit at His feet and never move. I want to rest on the chest of my Abba Father.
Forever.
<>< Katie
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Esperanza
Ann Voskamp wrote this beautiful blog post entitled "When You Are in Desperate Need of Hope" contrasting an Ecuadorian girl named Lidia waiting for a sponsor through Compassion and the joy of finally getting one. She wrote about being picked by hope.
Esperanza, she sprinkles in. The word hope, coming from the verb esperar.
Esperar, the Spanish verb for to hope.
Esperar, the Spanish verb for to wait.
I remember learning esperar, struggling to spell it and struggling to remember both of its meanings. They seemed like a weird combination.
Then "Esperanza" became the name belonging to the protagonist of my thesis. (The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros) Daily I wrote about Esperanza and her multicultural struggling. I know all about Esperanza's struggle with her name: too many letters, sadness, waiting.
Yet today, "esperar" is hope and, in it, waiting.
To hope for something means you're waiting for it. Nine years after first learning the word, the light bulb clicked.
I remember some of my current favorite verses:
"Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies begin anew each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritance; therefore I will hope in Him!'" Lamentations 3:21-24 NLT
What if I took it upon myself to translate that word differently? (If it makes you feel better, I looked it up in Hebrew: yachal, it also has the connotation of "waiting" that the word "hope" loses in English).
"Yet I still dare to WAIT when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies begin anew each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritance; therefore I will WAIT in Him." Lamentations 3:21-24 (emphasis mine)
The same promise. A new spin.
Hopeful yet waiting.
Hopeful in His; waiting on (and in) Him.
That's what I want. Nothing else.
<>< Katie
Esperanza, she sprinkles in. The word hope, coming from the verb esperar.
Esperar, the Spanish verb for to hope.
Esperar, the Spanish verb for to wait.
I remember learning esperar, struggling to spell it and struggling to remember both of its meanings. They seemed like a weird combination.
Then "Esperanza" became the name belonging to the protagonist of my thesis. (The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros) Daily I wrote about Esperanza and her multicultural struggling. I know all about Esperanza's struggle with her name: too many letters, sadness, waiting.
Yet today, "esperar" is hope and, in it, waiting.
To hope for something means you're waiting for it. Nine years after first learning the word, the light bulb clicked.
I remember some of my current favorite verses:
"Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies begin anew each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritance; therefore I will hope in Him!'" Lamentations 3:21-24 NLT
What if I took it upon myself to translate that word differently? (If it makes you feel better, I looked it up in Hebrew: yachal, it also has the connotation of "waiting" that the word "hope" loses in English).
"Yet I still dare to WAIT when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies begin anew each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritance; therefore I will WAIT in Him." Lamentations 3:21-24 (emphasis mine)
The same promise. A new spin.
Hopeful yet waiting.
Hopeful in His; waiting on (and in) Him.
That's what I want. Nothing else.
<>< Katie
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Reverse Trick or Treat
It was a few days after Halloween and I was driving across the country.
Sixteen hours. Alone.
I was constantly searching for cheap(er) gas, only stopping at fast food restaurants where I had coupons, and paying half of my life savings to the state of West Virginia in tolls.
I got cranky fast. At two dollars a pop, those tolls were adding up fast. It cost me more to drive through West Virginia than I spent on food, by the way.
But then I got an idea.
At the next toll booth, I pleasantly greeted the man. What an awful job he has. I handed him a five dollar bill. He gave me my change. I took it and extended my hand with a Baby Ruth in it.
"Happy Halloween," I said. He laughed. Not a chuckle, not a smirk, not a courteous "that was a joke attempt that wasn't really funny." No, a full-belly laugh.
The gate went up, I wished him a good day and drove off. Maybe his day really was good. After all, he had a fun size Baby Ruth to munch on until the next driver came.
But my day was good. I had "miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep" but I also had his laughter bottled up in my memory.
All it took was a piece of candy and a smile. It didn't hurt me a bit.
I've heard it said it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. The huge bag of Trick or Treat candy was sitting in my passenger seat just waiting, begging to be eaten (maybe that's why I spent so little on food). I don't even like Baby Ruth. But from this guy's laugh, he does.
Make a difference today. It doesn't hurt much. Laughter overrides cranky.
<>< Katie
Sixteen hours. Alone.
I was constantly searching for cheap(er) gas, only stopping at fast food restaurants where I had coupons, and paying half of my life savings to the state of West Virginia in tolls.
I got cranky fast. At two dollars a pop, those tolls were adding up fast. It cost me more to drive through West Virginia than I spent on food, by the way.
But then I got an idea.
At the next toll booth, I pleasantly greeted the man. What an awful job he has. I handed him a five dollar bill. He gave me my change. I took it and extended my hand with a Baby Ruth in it.
"Happy Halloween," I said. He laughed. Not a chuckle, not a smirk, not a courteous "that was a joke attempt that wasn't really funny." No, a full-belly laugh.
The gate went up, I wished him a good day and drove off. Maybe his day really was good. After all, he had a fun size Baby Ruth to munch on until the next driver came.
But my day was good. I had "miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep" but I also had his laughter bottled up in my memory.
All it took was a piece of candy and a smile. It didn't hurt me a bit.
I've heard it said it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. The huge bag of Trick or Treat candy was sitting in my passenger seat just waiting, begging to be eaten (maybe that's why I spent so little on food). I don't even like Baby Ruth. But from this guy's laugh, he does.
Make a difference today. It doesn't hurt much. Laughter overrides cranky.
<>< Katie
Friday, November 11, 2011
News from Brazil and Ecuador
Toddler. Emergency neurosurgery. Third world country.
Those six words make me shudder. This wasn't some heart-breaking story from a world away, this was Jenny's son Ethan. (You may know Jennifer Rogers Spinola as the author of Southern Fried Sushi... if you don't yet, you need to!)
As some of the aforementioned words in English and Portuguese started popping up on my facebook and blog dashboard, I tried to piece together what was happening and how I could best pray for the Spinola family. Jenny wrote this beautiful post detailing their terrifying experience.
Now, a week later, this popped up on my newsfeed: The CT scan was clear! Followed by another beautiful post about the power of our Creator!
Third world country. Compassion International.
Right NOW there's a team of Compassion Bloggers visiting Ecuador to see what the Lord is doing there through Compassion International. They're telling stories of hope in a poverty-striken town that will break your heart. They're making a photo dictionary of words like "kitchen" and "closet" in Ecuador. It's hard. It's right. It's good. Read it.
National Novel Writing Month
NaNoWriMo... Those words make my brain hurt. I hit 17,000 words tonight. Several thousand of them were puked out in the last four hours or so. That and it's 1am. I'm going to bed, friends. Happy 11-11-11!
But don't forget to check out Jenny's blog and the Compassion bloggers! You won't regret it!
Peace!
<>< K
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Where to Start?
"The first sentence is always the most difficult."
That's the post I saw on Twitter from my blogger-friend, Ashley. Her statement is true: the first sentence is the most difficult to write. It's also the most important.
Katie: I never write it first.
Ashley: What do you write first? I tried the last chapter one time. Failed miserably.
Katie: Somewhere. Usually towards the beginning.
This conversation made me ponder my own writing habits and wonder about yours. So, in the spirit of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo): where do you start when you're writing?
It doesn't necessarily have to be a novel. It could be a blog post, a poem, or a song. Where do you start?
Like I told Ashley, I start somewhere towards the beginning but not usually the first line. The first line is probably the most important line of the novel (or post). I've heard of people who collect first lines. The first line is vital, so why start with something so important?
I start later. I have a temporary first line, write the brunt of the piece, and then adjust the first line to be the stunning opening line it should be. I don't think I write good first lines (except in that one post from Philly last November; that was a killer first line, if I may say so).
I like backstory. I like to set the scene. I don't like to jump right in and make the reader try to tread water while he/she is figuring out how deep the lake is and who else is in it. I write like I think sharks should come with big huge arrows in the sky pointing to them. But, I have been told that the first line is an awful place for backstory. What are your thoughts?
Ashley mentioned she tried starting at the end once. That's what I have in my NaNoWriMo novel: the beginning (sans opening line) and the end. Now I'm sitting here like a child on Christmas as my parents open their gifts from me and I'm telling them what it is before the paper is off.
I'll ask it again: where do you start? And why?
I guess it doesn't matter much as long as you start somewhere.
Happy writing,
<>< Katie
That's the post I saw on Twitter from my blogger-friend, Ashley. Her statement is true: the first sentence is the most difficult to write. It's also the most important.
Katie: I never write it first.
Ashley: What do you write first? I tried the last chapter one time. Failed miserably.
Katie: Somewhere. Usually towards the beginning.
This conversation made me ponder my own writing habits and wonder about yours. So, in the spirit of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo): where do you start when you're writing?
It doesn't necessarily have to be a novel. It could be a blog post, a poem, or a song. Where do you start?
Like I told Ashley, I start somewhere towards the beginning but not usually the first line. The first line is probably the most important line of the novel (or post). I've heard of people who collect first lines. The first line is vital, so why start with something so important?
I start later. I have a temporary first line, write the brunt of the piece, and then adjust the first line to be the stunning opening line it should be. I don't think I write good first lines (except in that one post from Philly last November; that was a killer first line, if I may say so).
I like backstory. I like to set the scene. I don't like to jump right in and make the reader try to tread water while he/she is figuring out how deep the lake is and who else is in it. I write like I think sharks should come with big huge arrows in the sky pointing to them. But, I have been told that the first line is an awful place for backstory. What are your thoughts?
Ashley mentioned she tried starting at the end once. That's what I have in my NaNoWriMo novel: the beginning (sans opening line) and the end. Now I'm sitting here like a child on Christmas as my parents open their gifts from me and I'm telling them what it is before the paper is off.
I'll ask it again: where do you start? And why?
I guess it doesn't matter much as long as you start somewhere.
Happy writing,
<>< Katie
Monday, November 7, 2011
Communion
I was a little frazzled as I headed towards the front of church for communion. Our self-guided section turned into a mob rather than a line. By the time we half-organized ourselves, I was ready for body, blood, seat. That fast.
I stepped to the front, held my hands out for the wafer, and looked up into the face of our senior pastor. Pastor Mike stopped and looked back at me.
"They're letting everybody in today!" He teased.
It's a joke I've heard many times over the last few years, but it still catches me off-guard every time. I chuckle but my first thought is always, "This is a church; we should be letting everybody in."
To be confronted with this joke at the communion table helped me remember that I am not worthy to even be let in the door much less invited to approach the table of grace or enjoy the sweet taste of forgiveness. This isn't a weekly ritual we do even when the lines turn into mobs... it's a beautiful gift purchased by the ultimate sacrifice.
Pastor Mike placed the wafer in my hand. "Body of our Lord," he said.
In my hands I clutched the tangible reminder of that gift, that forgiveness, that perfect love that I am not worthy of. The body of Christ given for me. The body of our Lord--Pastor Mike's and mine. We may not always agree yet share a common goal: to serve and honor Him. Along with Christians worldwide, we share hope, faith, and forgiveness through Christ. He's our Lord.
"It's good to see you," he said, smacking me playfully in the arm.
I was out of town for the entire month of October. He noticed. Thousands of members and he noticed my absence. Billions of people on earth yet when we haven't spent quality time with the Lord, He notices. Billions of people on earth and when we sit at His feet, He's glad to see us.
I ate the bread, drank the wine, and got lost on my way back to my seat. Both literally among the sea of people and pews but also figuratively in the beauty of that moment I shared with the Lord.
Thankful for grace,
<>< Katie
I stepped to the front, held my hands out for the wafer, and looked up into the face of our senior pastor. Pastor Mike stopped and looked back at me.
"They're letting everybody in today!" He teased.
It's a joke I've heard many times over the last few years, but it still catches me off-guard every time. I chuckle but my first thought is always, "This is a church; we should be letting everybody in."
To be confronted with this joke at the communion table helped me remember that I am not worthy to even be let in the door much less invited to approach the table of grace or enjoy the sweet taste of forgiveness. This isn't a weekly ritual we do even when the lines turn into mobs... it's a beautiful gift purchased by the ultimate sacrifice.
Pastor Mike placed the wafer in my hand. "Body of our Lord," he said.
In my hands I clutched the tangible reminder of that gift, that forgiveness, that perfect love that I am not worthy of. The body of Christ given for me. The body of our Lord--Pastor Mike's and mine. We may not always agree yet share a common goal: to serve and honor Him. Along with Christians worldwide, we share hope, faith, and forgiveness through Christ. He's our Lord.
"It's good to see you," he said, smacking me playfully in the arm.
I was out of town for the entire month of October. He noticed. Thousands of members and he noticed my absence. Billions of people on earth yet when we haven't spent quality time with the Lord, He notices. Billions of people on earth and when we sit at His feet, He's glad to see us.
I ate the bread, drank the wine, and got lost on my way back to my seat. Both literally among the sea of people and pews but also figuratively in the beauty of that moment I shared with the Lord.
Thankful for grace,
<>< Katie
Friday, November 4, 2011
Who are the Poor?
For the last week I have been dog-sitting in a very nice neighborhood. Day after day, I walk the dog down the freshy-swept street looking at the fancy homes, the manicured lawns, and expensive cars. Part of me wonders if I could ever afford to live here.
Financially, it's a lofty goal for this unemployed recent grad. That's not what I meant.
I mean, could I afford to live here
when some live here?
The Bible doesn't say "Don't live in a nice house"... but it does say "give everything you have to the poor."
But who are the poor?
Are the poor the children in a hogar in Guatemala who play with one-armed Barbies but have the joy of the Lord in their hearts and it shows on their faces?
Are the poor the people paying taxes on their 4,000 square-foot homes who are on the brink of divorce, have disrespectful children, and hire someone else to pick up their dog poop?
Part of me says, no way, I will never live in a classy neighborhood. (Especially based on those stereotypes). I've seen too much poverty to be comfortable in a large, neat home.
Perhaps that is true. For just me and the dog, this four-bedroom, three-bath home is way too big. But what if I had a husband and children?
Through trial and error, I have learned some aspects of third-world ministry. I have been to places where hand sanitizer and toilet paper are luxuries. The girls in the photo above aren't just children worlds away with stories that would break your heart. We know each others' names, they are my sisters, and they almost knocked me fifteen feet off that ledge ten seconds after that photo was taken when they tried to all see it simultaneously.
Yet, as I walk through this nice neighborhood and wonder about the people inside of the homes, I wonder about them and their lives. Do they know their neighbors? Do they realize there's more to life than fnancial success? Most importantly, do they know that God loves them?
How can I walk my dog down this street
knowing stray dogs roam down this street?
Easy. On both streets there are people that have never heard the name of Jesus.
How can I limit ministry to the without-money poor without including the without-Jesus poor?
Third world ministry may be teaching people how to brush their teeth, handing out bracelets, and fitting them with eye glasses. It can be loving them, making a fool of yourself, and living the gospel.
Is that not also what is the first world also needs? Love, humor, and (most importantly) Jesus.
First world ministry is greeting neighbors as you pass them on the street, hand-delivering a warm breakfast to the neighbor's housesitter and inviting her over for dinner, or cutting someone else's grass because they're having a busy week. It can be releasing a child from poverty through child sponsorship and telling others about your Fridge Kid. It's loving the way Christ commands us and living the gospel.
He is the God of this city
just as He is of this one.
Can I afford it?
How can I NOT?
The Great Commission commands us to GO and make disciples of ALL nations (Matthew 28:19, emphasis mine). I like to GO to another nation; it has become comfortable to me. But GO can also mean GO to the other side of the shurbery.
No matter where you live, GO and be the missionary you were called to be (Acts 1:8).
It starts with me.
<>< Katie
Financially, it's a lofty goal for this unemployed recent grad. That's not what I meant.
I mean, could I afford to live here
when some live here?
Can I live here
having been here?
The Bible doesn't say "Don't live in a nice house"... but it does say "give everything you have to the poor."
But who are the poor?
Are the poor the children in a hogar in Guatemala who play with one-armed Barbies but have the joy of the Lord in their hearts and it shows on their faces?
Are the poor the people paying taxes on their 4,000 square-foot homes who are on the brink of divorce, have disrespectful children, and hire someone else to pick up their dog poop?
Part of me says, no way, I will never live in a classy neighborhood. (Especially based on those stereotypes). I've seen too much poverty to be comfortable in a large, neat home.
Perhaps that is true. For just me and the dog, this four-bedroom, three-bath home is way too big. But what if I had a husband and children?
Through trial and error, I have learned some aspects of third-world ministry. I have been to places where hand sanitizer and toilet paper are luxuries. The girls in the photo above aren't just children worlds away with stories that would break your heart. We know each others' names, they are my sisters, and they almost knocked me fifteen feet off that ledge ten seconds after that photo was taken when they tried to all see it simultaneously.
Yet, as I walk through this nice neighborhood and wonder about the people inside of the homes, I wonder about them and their lives. Do they know their neighbors? Do they realize there's more to life than fnancial success? Most importantly, do they know that God loves them?
How can I walk my dog down this street
knowing stray dogs roam down this street?
Easy. On both streets there are people that have never heard the name of Jesus.
How can I limit ministry to the without-money poor without including the without-Jesus poor?
Third world ministry may be teaching people how to brush their teeth, handing out bracelets, and fitting them with eye glasses. It can be loving them, making a fool of yourself, and living the gospel.
Is that not also what is the first world also needs? Love, humor, and (most importantly) Jesus.
First world ministry is greeting neighbors as you pass them on the street, hand-delivering a warm breakfast to the neighbor's housesitter and inviting her over for dinner, or cutting someone else's grass because they're having a busy week. It can be releasing a child from poverty through child sponsorship and telling others about your Fridge Kid. It's loving the way Christ commands us and living the gospel.
He is the God of this city
Can I afford it?
How can I NOT?
The Great Commission commands us to GO and make disciples of ALL nations (Matthew 28:19, emphasis mine). I like to GO to another nation; it has become comfortable to me. But GO can also mean GO to the other side of the shurbery.
No matter where you live, GO and be the missionary you were called to be (Acts 1:8).
It starts with me.
<>< Katie
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Wacky Wednesday
Author's Note: The following come from real conversations. They are the crazy, funny, or profound things heard in everyday, sober conversation or discovered in a book. If you ever hear a great/weird conversation, please feel free to send it to me. Who knows, it may be featured in a Wacky Wednesday! <>< Katie
Katie: I'm going to write that down for Wacky Wednesday.
Jennifer: No! You have to wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow is Wednesday.
Katie: No, no, no Wacky Wednesday is only the first Wednesday of the month.
Jennifer: Well, tomorrow is the first Wednesday of the month you've been with me!
Allyson: I don't know why "bewares" camed out.
Dad: Do you need any help with anything before I go to bed?
Uncle Bill: You could brush my teeth for me or take out my contacts. I'll just lay there.
Dad: I'm going to hurt you in the morning.
Katie: What's the weather like outside?
Elizabeth: It's like medium.
Mom: Ooooh! Do these stoplights tweet like the ones in Baptist Country? Oh, no, those are real birds.
Katie: You've got candy all over your face.
Amy: Your face is candy!
Alex: You have to assert your manhood.
Jennifer: I don't have any manhood to search.
Dad: Do you growl at them sometimes?
Laura: [Sheepishly] Yeah. [Proudly] I even bark at them sometimes!
Laura: The capital of Honduras is To-gucci-golf-ball.
"I don't think I'm a failure because I have had fears, and I certainly don't think that it is a requirement for Christians to forgo fear in order to be good followers of Christ. I believe fear is the natural response to the question satan whispered, and I find that every day I have to adjust my footing consciously to move toward Jesus." - Angie Smith, What Women Fear, 4
Sara: You [Katie] only have good ideas today. And on Wacky Wednesday.
Alex: Katie, what would you say are Jennifer's top three qualities?
Jennifer: You can't just limit it to three; I have so many. Humility is one of them.
[SC, 16, counting on her fingers]
Katie: Do you need me to take off my shoes?
SC: Huh?
[explained]
SC: But why did she make it sound like an insult?
Girl, 13: There are no cows here, so--!
Amy: What is that?
Katie: It's a flower on the top of the mountain. It was my attempt at being artsy. Apparently I'm not as good as Allyson.
Amy: No, I like it. I was just... confused.
Boy, 11: You can stay here and you won't even have to fold laundry!
Jennifer: I like your ring. Who made it for you? [She had]
Katie: I don't know. Some stranger.
Jennifer: Stranger than who?
Katie: Allyson.
Allyson: What?
Allyson: Wait! Was this morning Wednesday?
"The world is not going to teach us how to love God; only God can do that." - Angie Smith, What Women Fear, 43
David: The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.
Rebekah: That's what little girls are made of!
Jennifer: My right foot writes well.
Carson: I don't really understand why girls like making their heads look like horse butts.
Girls: What?!
Carson: Ponytails. Where is a pony's tail? The butt.
Mother: We could cage him [the dog].
Son: We could cage Brother.
Rebekah: Like you licking Nikki?
Katie: NO!!
Rebekah: Sorry, Nikki licking you?
Mark: You [Katie] take the left over brownies. They'll look better on you than they will one me.
Katie: Ok, I'm going to leave it blank.
Alex: Go to the bank.
Jennifer: Why are you going to the bank?! It's 11pm. They're closed.
Katie: I have helicopter parents: they hover but they don't choke.
Allyson: I don't think we were acting too strange.
Katie: We were pretty normal for us but strange for most people.
Allyson [light bulb]: That was it!
Nikki: MW did it, and if he can do it then so can I, maybe even teach at a better university.
Katie: Woah, woah, woah! First, did you just compare yourself to All Star English Major MW? Second, did you just dis our alma mater?
"Faith for my deliverance is not faith in God. Faith means, whether I am visibly delivered or not, I will stick to my belief that God is love. There are some things only learned from a fiery furnace." - Oswald Chambers in Run Today's Race
Allyson: Are you going to get your haircut?
Jennifer: I don't know where.
Allyson: Tah-tay-tow?
Neal: Are you blogging?
Katie: Are you making fun of me?
Neal: I don't make fun of people.
Katie: Neither do I.
Neal: You're not sarcastic either.
Sarah: He's not Slut Bucket; he's Garret the Ferret.
Rebekah: He's not a rodent!
Sarah: He's more of a rodent than a slut.
Garret: Hey, now!
Allyson: Katie's just so cool. She has good body language, too, and her thinking is so... inter... intermaculate. It's real cool. And, Katie, I like her walk.
"We don't just want to get them out of the dumpsite; we want to get the dumpsite out of their hearts." - Tania Meza
Katie: I'm going to write that down for Wacky Wednesday.
Jennifer: No! You have to wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow is Wednesday.
Katie: No, no, no Wacky Wednesday is only the first Wednesday of the month.
Jennifer: Well, tomorrow is the first Wednesday of the month you've been with me!
Allyson: I don't know why "bewares" camed out.
Dad: Do you need any help with anything before I go to bed?
Uncle Bill: You could brush my teeth for me or take out my contacts. I'll just lay there.
Dad: I'm going to hurt you in the morning.
Katie: What's the weather like outside?
Elizabeth: It's like medium.
Mom: Ooooh! Do these stoplights tweet like the ones in Baptist Country? Oh, no, those are real birds.
Katie: You've got candy all over your face.
Amy: Your face is candy!
Alex: You have to assert your manhood.
Jennifer: I don't have any manhood to search.
Dad: Do you growl at them sometimes?
Laura: [Sheepishly] Yeah. [Proudly] I even bark at them sometimes!
Laura: The capital of Honduras is To-gucci-golf-ball.
"I don't think I'm a failure because I have had fears, and I certainly don't think that it is a requirement for Christians to forgo fear in order to be good followers of Christ. I believe fear is the natural response to the question satan whispered, and I find that every day I have to adjust my footing consciously to move toward Jesus." - Angie Smith, What Women Fear, 4
Sara: You [Katie] only have good ideas today. And on Wacky Wednesday.
Alex: Katie, what would you say are Jennifer's top three qualities?
Jennifer: You can't just limit it to three; I have so many. Humility is one of them.
[SC, 16, counting on her fingers]
Katie: Do you need me to take off my shoes?
SC: Huh?
[explained]
SC: But why did she make it sound like an insult?
Girl, 13: There are no cows here, so--!
Amy: What is that?
Katie: It's a flower on the top of the mountain. It was my attempt at being artsy. Apparently I'm not as good as Allyson.
Amy: No, I like it. I was just... confused.
Boy, 11: You can stay here and you won't even have to fold laundry!
Jennifer: I like your ring. Who made it for you? [She had]
Katie: I don't know. Some stranger.
Jennifer: Stranger than who?
Katie: Allyson.
Allyson: What?
Allyson: Wait! Was this morning Wednesday?
"The world is not going to teach us how to love God; only God can do that." - Angie Smith, What Women Fear, 43
David: The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.
Rebekah: That's what little girls are made of!
Jennifer: My right foot writes well.
Carson: I don't really understand why girls like making their heads look like horse butts.
Girls: What?!
Carson: Ponytails. Where is a pony's tail? The butt.
Mother: We could cage him [the dog].
Son: We could cage Brother.
Rebekah: Like you licking Nikki?
Katie: NO!!
Rebekah: Sorry, Nikki licking you?
Mark: You [Katie] take the left over brownies. They'll look better on you than they will one me.
Katie: Ok, I'm going to leave it blank.
Alex: Go to the bank.
Jennifer: Why are you going to the bank?! It's 11pm. They're closed.
Katie: I have helicopter parents: they hover but they don't choke.
Allyson: I don't think we were acting too strange.
Katie: We were pretty normal for us but strange for most people.
Allyson [light bulb]: That was it!
Nikki: MW did it, and if he can do it then so can I, maybe even teach at a better university.
Katie: Woah, woah, woah! First, did you just compare yourself to All Star English Major MW? Second, did you just dis our alma mater?
"Faith for my deliverance is not faith in God. Faith means, whether I am visibly delivered or not, I will stick to my belief that God is love. There are some things only learned from a fiery furnace." - Oswald Chambers in Run Today's Race
Allyson: Are you going to get your haircut?
Jennifer: I don't know where.
Allyson: Tah-tay-tow?
Neal: Are you blogging?
Katie: Are you making fun of me?
Neal: I don't make fun of people.
Katie: Neither do I.
Neal: You're not sarcastic either.
Sarah: He's not Slut Bucket; he's Garret the Ferret.
Rebekah: He's not a rodent!
Sarah: He's more of a rodent than a slut.
Garret: Hey, now!
Allyson: Katie's just so cool. She has good body language, too, and her thinking is so... inter... intermaculate. It's real cool. And, Katie, I like her walk.
"We don't just want to get them out of the dumpsite; we want to get the dumpsite out of their hearts." - Tania Meza
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