Our motto for this family get together has been, "It's a Christmas miracle!" The pants I bought you actually fit? It's a Christmas miracle! You guys made it here safely through the snow? It's a Christmas miracle! You found some extra dipping sauce in the back of the fridge? It's a Christmas miracle!
It's been a bit overkill. Don't get me wrong, I love acknowledging everyday miracles but "Christmas Miracle" is kind of a term already on reserve.
A few days before Christmas 2006, we received a phone call from my grandma. Our family friend Arnie, 81, had a seizure during dinner. He vomited, aspirated, and earned himself a flight for life ride to the intensive care unit.
While the rest of the world was preparing for a joyful holiday, we were preparing for the worst. Decisions were to be made on December 26. The decision was that life support would be terminated the following day after everyone had the opportunity to say goodbye to a warm hand.
The following morning, my dad received a wake-up call asking him to make the drive to be with them. While he was showering my grandma called back. She had to hand the phone to my grandfather because she was crying too hard to talk to my mom. They were tears of joy. Arnie was awake, sitting up, and by that afternoon he was asking for a drink.
Arnie lived for eight more months before he passed away peacefully. There was no reason he should have survived that December. His funeral was planned! Even my agnostic grandparents admitted it was a Christmas Miracle.
Sometimes God works in life-saving miracles and sometimes He works through everyday miracles. The question becomes, will we acknowledge them?
I pray you all had a miraculous Christmas, my friends.
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label ER. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ER. Show all posts
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Painful Smile
Allyson and I were joking around when suddenly she stopped smiling and gripped the top of her head. The night before she'd gone to the ER for a head injury and came home five hours later with the hiccups. She explained that being hit on the head with a color guard flag made smiling a painful experience. Allyson smiles a lot, and to be able to not do it is... well... painful.
I can relate. I'm not really sure what I did but for two days freshman year it hurt to laugh. For two days I had a huge smile but I refused to laugh. You don't realize how often you laugh until you can't.
The world is not a fun place when smiles and laughter cause pain. It's miserable. Smiles and laughter are things God created for good and instead they were being used for evil.
How often does that happen? All too often.
Money, food, entertainment, and a million other things have been created for God's glory only to be tragically transformed by human wickedness. Instead of looking to others with love and self-sacrifice, we hoard for personal gain. Instead of honoring Him in what we watch, how we spend our money, and the words we use, we are frivolous and careless.
God created sex. (gasp!) It was a gift to man and woman to enjoy within the confines of marriage. Too often it's used in other scenarios making it less special. Less sacred. Less about God Himself.
God created me for a special purpose. Too often I disregard His plan and pursue my own. My words are full of hatred and grumpiness rather than compassion and grace. (gasp, again!)
No wonder the world is miserable. We're misusing His creation. The things He created for good we are using for evil. Of course it's causing pain. Our pain and His.
Brothers and sisters in Christ, let's reclaim the smile. The laughter. The finances. The sex. The entertainment. The word choice. Let's reclaim what it means to be a Christian by showing His love.
<>< Katie
I can relate. I'm not really sure what I did but for two days freshman year it hurt to laugh. For two days I had a huge smile but I refused to laugh. You don't realize how often you laugh until you can't.
The world is not a fun place when smiles and laughter cause pain. It's miserable. Smiles and laughter are things God created for good and instead they were being used for evil.
How often does that happen? All too often.
Money, food, entertainment, and a million other things have been created for God's glory only to be tragically transformed by human wickedness. Instead of looking to others with love and self-sacrifice, we hoard for personal gain. Instead of honoring Him in what we watch, how we spend our money, and the words we use, we are frivolous and careless.
God created sex. (gasp!) It was a gift to man and woman to enjoy within the confines of marriage. Too often it's used in other scenarios making it less special. Less sacred. Less about God Himself.
God created me for a special purpose. Too often I disregard His plan and pursue my own. My words are full of hatred and grumpiness rather than compassion and grace. (gasp, again!)
No wonder the world is miserable. We're misusing His creation. The things He created for good we are using for evil. Of course it's causing pain. Our pain and His.
Brothers and sisters in Christ, let's reclaim the smile. The laughter. The finances. The sex. The entertainment. The word choice. Let's reclaim what it means to be a Christian by showing His love.
<>< Katie
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
One of my Favorite Stories
On August 2, 1989, Freddy arrived home from a work dinner to find his house empty. Nothing unusual. He called his in-laws who lived down the street. He says he knew the moment his father-in-law answered the phone.
His wife, Parah, didn't know. She was too busy running up and down the stairs trying to relieve the cramps caused by eating a whole bowl of green beans for dinner. After the stairs, she moved on to the stationary bike before resolving herself to the bathroom floor. She still had three weeks.
A few hours later, they were in the car on the way to the hospital. Freddy's eyes rotated between the road, the clock, and his screaming wife. Less than five minutes. As they drew nearer, he expressed his lifelong dream of being pulled over at that very moment. Through gritted teeth Parah told him to shut up and drive the car.
One stoplight away and an ambulance appeared on the horizon. Freddy didn't stop to think. He knew he had to get his wife to the hospital before that ambulance arrived. He ran the red light and threatened to park in the ambulance bay. He parked in the on-call physician spot instead.
Inside of the hospital a few floors up, their sister-in-law Sasha heard about Freddy and Parah's late-night arrival. She slowly meandered downstairs thinking she had plenty of time. Stopping at the nurse's station to talk to her friends, she was told about a patient in Room One mere minutes away from giving birth. Suddenly the pieces fell into place and she rushed into the room, almost missing the birth of her goddaughter.
She wasn't the only one who almost missed it. The doctor almost missed it, too. He arrived at the hospital and poked his head in Parah's room. "Do I have time to change my clothes?"
"If you hurry," the nurse said.
They teased he could have been there sooner if Freddy hadn't been parked in his spot. Luckily, the doctor did make it back in time to deliver a baby girl at 1:35am on August 3.
That was 21 years ago tonight. How do you think I should celebrate?
<>< Katie
His wife, Parah, didn't know. She was too busy running up and down the stairs trying to relieve the cramps caused by eating a whole bowl of green beans for dinner. After the stairs, she moved on to the stationary bike before resolving herself to the bathroom floor. She still had three weeks.
A few hours later, they were in the car on the way to the hospital. Freddy's eyes rotated between the road, the clock, and his screaming wife. Less than five minutes. As they drew nearer, he expressed his lifelong dream of being pulled over at that very moment. Through gritted teeth Parah told him to shut up and drive the car.
One stoplight away and an ambulance appeared on the horizon. Freddy didn't stop to think. He knew he had to get his wife to the hospital before that ambulance arrived. He ran the red light and threatened to park in the ambulance bay. He parked in the on-call physician spot instead.
Inside of the hospital a few floors up, their sister-in-law Sasha heard about Freddy and Parah's late-night arrival. She slowly meandered downstairs thinking she had plenty of time. Stopping at the nurse's station to talk to her friends, she was told about a patient in Room One mere minutes away from giving birth. Suddenly the pieces fell into place and she rushed into the room, almost missing the birth of her goddaughter.
She wasn't the only one who almost missed it. The doctor almost missed it, too. He arrived at the hospital and poked his head in Parah's room. "Do I have time to change my clothes?"
"If you hurry," the nurse said.
They teased he could have been there sooner if Freddy hadn't been parked in his spot. Luckily, the doctor did make it back in time to deliver a baby girl at 1:35am on August 3.
That was 21 years ago tonight. How do you think I should celebrate?
<>< Katie
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Campfire
Earlier this semester I read a blog about a little boy with burns that reminded me of my own burn story. The resonance hit me hard and after two days of dwelling finally I decided to take my own classic advice and "write about it." I've written about it a million times before, but it was time to do it again and a little differently.
On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class. I realize all of you are only here because you have to be. You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father. My father was a poet. In my brain, you are all poets."
I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist.
I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.
<>< Katie
"Campfire"On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class. I realize all of you are only here because you have to be. You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father. My father was a poet. In my brain, you are all poets."
I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist.
I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.
<>< Katie
She ran her fingers over
discolored imperfections on her forearms
before pulling down her sleeves to hide
the scars of a clumsy childhood.
She didn’t remember
tripping over the pesky shoelace,
the metal safety rim bruising her leg.
But all too well she remembered
failing to choke back the tears
as smoldering coals gripped her forearms,
the firm grasp on the back of her shirt,
her rescuer, her mother,
dragging her to the a perfectly-placed water pump,
as if it had been awaiting her misfortune.
She remembered the
pain as her skin burned,
embarrassment of her own misstep,
fear and unknown in the Emergency Room
the doctor poking incessantly asking if she felt it.
Yes. It hurt.
She remembered the rules
no pool, no sun.
A bird was told not to fly.
She tried to argue but
her voice had vanished,
the verdict not negotiable.
She remembered
devastation,
summer lasting an eternity
bandages over both arms,
trying in vain to dry one hand,
always refusing to explain why.
Years later the bandages are gone,
but the scars remain like
she tanned while wearing fishnets,
even if only for her to see
and still she avoids explaining.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Double the Mistake
There are about a million birthdays in April. Some of them I was able to write birthday blogs for but some of them I had to miss. If you didn't get one, I am incredibly sorry. Please, don't take it personally. :-)
Today's is a birthday I cannot miss. I'm often complemented on how I can see God in all sorts of weird ways and call them "God Moments." I haven't always been able to do that. Through a year's worth of God moments of her own, I was able to copy Natalie's lead and see God in little, weird things. Trust me, if you think some of my God moments are weird, ask Natalie about He spoke through the chemistry principle of microscopic reverse or anything else that relates to sports, science, and the bathroom.
Thus, for her birthday, I'd love to share one of her God moments. The problem is that I need to find a censored one that is appropriate for such a wide reading audience. Not mortifying Natalie isn't quite an option. Hey, she's the one that showed up to small group wearing a bathrobe to demonstrate how Isaiah walked around naked for three years (see Isaiah 20). She's the one that took our small group on Babylonian exile through the icy rain. She's the one that burned two bagels in less than a half an hour. She's the one that broke two fingers playing flag football.
After a few days of pain, Natalie finally decided she should go to the doctor for her two injured fingers. The identical x-rays were hanging side-by-side and, as she tells it, the doctor was looking from one to the other to her to her hands with a confused look on his face.
Doctor: These are two different fingers.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: These are two different hands.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: Please tell me this was the same play.
Natalie: No, sir.
She'd been playing a co-ed game of flag football here on campus when she reached for the flag of one of her opponents. She got the flag but she also got her right hand tangled in his shorts. Broken right middle finger. She's broken enough bones to realize what she'd done but is way too competitive to remove herself from the game. Besides, if she benched herself her team would have to forfeit. A little while later she reached for her opponent's flag with her left hand and the exact same thing happened again. Broken finger on the left hand. Any sensible person would have learned her lesson and forced her team for forfeit the game. She'd already not just taken one for the team but two. Nope, Natalie kept playing. In fact, she even scored a touchdown with two broken fingers; she said she carried the ball clutched between her forearms and her chest as she waddled towards the end zone.
By Monday at small group time she'd be amused by the identical x-rays and had two splints on her fingers.
Apparently the flesh-colored splints make it look like her fingers were wearing hoodies, so she drew faces on her fingernails. The right-hand one became Jesus and the left-hand one became John the Baptist. Imagine Laura's reaction (her faithful co-leader who frequently reminded her "Be censored, Natalie!"). It went something like, "NATALIE! You cannot flip someone off with Jesus!"
Thus was my small group freshman year, and as is common for Natalie, God spoke through such a bizarre series of events.
She went on to talk about how sometimes she makes the same mistake twice. Sometimes she puts bagels in the oven and forgets about them until they're burned to chars and sometimes she does it again ten minute later. Sometimes she burns two bagels again two weeks later. Sometimes she breaks two fingers in the same football game. Sometimes she had to make the same mistake twice before God gets her attention. Do we do the same thing? Are we so caught up in what we're doing that we forget to pay attention to what we're doing? That we forget to pay attention to God?
Luckily, there is good news for us. Even out of her mistake of breaking fingers, God was still able to do something remarkable when He helped her score. He can still do pretty cool things with our double-mess ups. And frankly, I think that's a darn good thing.
I love you guys. A lot.
<>< Katie
Today's is a birthday I cannot miss. I'm often complemented on how I can see God in all sorts of weird ways and call them "God Moments." I haven't always been able to do that. Through a year's worth of God moments of her own, I was able to copy Natalie's lead and see God in little, weird things. Trust me, if you think some of my God moments are weird, ask Natalie about He spoke through the chemistry principle of microscopic reverse or anything else that relates to sports, science, and the bathroom.
Thus, for her birthday, I'd love to share one of her God moments. The problem is that I need to find a censored one that is appropriate for such a wide reading audience. Not mortifying Natalie isn't quite an option. Hey, she's the one that showed up to small group wearing a bathrobe to demonstrate how Isaiah walked around naked for three years (see Isaiah 20). She's the one that took our small group on Babylonian exile through the icy rain. She's the one that burned two bagels in less than a half an hour. She's the one that broke two fingers playing flag football.
After a few days of pain, Natalie finally decided she should go to the doctor for her two injured fingers. The identical x-rays were hanging side-by-side and, as she tells it, the doctor was looking from one to the other to her to her hands with a confused look on his face.
Doctor: These are two different fingers.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: These are two different hands.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: Please tell me this was the same play.
Natalie: No, sir.
She'd been playing a co-ed game of flag football here on campus when she reached for the flag of one of her opponents. She got the flag but she also got her right hand tangled in his shorts. Broken right middle finger. She's broken enough bones to realize what she'd done but is way too competitive to remove herself from the game. Besides, if she benched herself her team would have to forfeit. A little while later she reached for her opponent's flag with her left hand and the exact same thing happened again. Broken finger on the left hand. Any sensible person would have learned her lesson and forced her team for forfeit the game. She'd already not just taken one for the team but two. Nope, Natalie kept playing. In fact, she even scored a touchdown with two broken fingers; she said she carried the ball clutched between her forearms and her chest as she waddled towards the end zone.
By Monday at small group time she'd be amused by the identical x-rays and had two splints on her fingers.
Apparently the flesh-colored splints make it look like her fingers were wearing hoodies, so she drew faces on her fingernails. The right-hand one became Jesus and the left-hand one became John the Baptist. Imagine Laura's reaction (her faithful co-leader who frequently reminded her "Be censored, Natalie!"). It went something like, "NATALIE! You cannot flip someone off with Jesus!"
Thus was my small group freshman year, and as is common for Natalie, God spoke through such a bizarre series of events.
She went on to talk about how sometimes she makes the same mistake twice. Sometimes she puts bagels in the oven and forgets about them until they're burned to chars and sometimes she does it again ten minute later. Sometimes she burns two bagels again two weeks later. Sometimes she breaks two fingers in the same football game. Sometimes she had to make the same mistake twice before God gets her attention. Do we do the same thing? Are we so caught up in what we're doing that we forget to pay attention to what we're doing? That we forget to pay attention to God?
Luckily, there is good news for us. Even out of her mistake of breaking fingers, God was still able to do something remarkable when He helped her score. He can still do pretty cool things with our double-mess ups. And frankly, I think that's a darn good thing.
I love you guys. A lot.
<>< Katie
Friday, January 29, 2010
Crash Boom Bash
"I'll give you a ride back to your apartment," Jessica offered as we walked out of practice tonight. Then she added only half-jokingly, "If you don't mind riding with me."
I could have walked back to my apartment, in fact I seriously considered it. However, the dangers of riding with Jess seemed less than the dangers of walking across campus alone in the dark.
As I got in her new car, I thought back to that warm October day. I remember getting in her car that morning and thinking, If we crash, these color guard flags are going to cause some serious internal damage. We did and they didn't.
This past October, Jessica and I were headed to an academic event when we blew a tire by running off the road to avoid getting hit head-on by a line of Dodge Rams. God sent us some of our classmates to change the tire. We were going to get to our destination and get a new tire since we were in the middle of nowhere and were headed towards a bigger city.
In this brouhaha our GPS got messed up. It was telling us to get on the freeway, get off at the next exit, get back on the freeway going the other direction, get off at the next exit and on and on and on. Since we were driving on a spare tire, we didn't think it was wise to be on the freeway at all but neither of us knew an alternative route. Well, it wasn't long before we needed more than just a new tire.
We pulled over in a vacant parking lot to adjust the GPS. Destination reset, directions make sense, knew where we're going, put the GPS down, and continued our journey. Not a mile later we t-boned a Dodge Ram.
Afterwards I didn't talk about the accident much because, well, there's no nice way to say, "Jess and I totaled her car yesterday." Besides, the conversation was always more or less the same.
"Oh my gosh, are you ok?"
I'm fine. Yes, I'm a bit sore, we totaled a car for heaven sake, but I've been more sore from tennis practice. No ambulance ride. No ER. No nothing. No, that answer isn't going to change if you call back in two hours.
"Were you scared?"
First off, what kind of question is that? Who crashes a car and isn't scared? Me apparently. I watched the truck stop at the stop sign, cross oncoming traffic, cross the left lane, appear directly in front of our car. The only few seconds I cannot physically see were us making contact, the airbag deploying, and the trunk spinning. It would have been logical for me to close my eyes, after all there was an airbag colliding with my face (not to mention the truck colliding with our car). Even though I can't see those few seconds, I can hear the crunching of mental. With confidence I could tell EMS that my head was not responsible for the cracked windshield on the passenger side."Does the other driver have insurance?"
Can you drive a car without insurance? He admitted it was his fault and apologized. He said he never saw us but did stop at the stop sign. I know this to be true. I watched him do it.
Although it's not something I'm happy we experienced, we've both learned a lot from this day.
First off, we are thankful for flat tires. Since we were driving with the spare tire, we were driving slowly, ten to fifteen miles under the speed limit. It's not hard to notice that if we had been driving the speed limit, the hood of our car could have easily gotten stuck under the truck. That's would have made for an entirely different outcome. 
Secondly, it is a miracle that we had no injuries. The car took the brunt of the impact. Besides the dashboard, the only thing inside that was broken was Jess's GPS. (Which was already not in proper working order). Both of us were offered medical care. Jess opted for on-site evaluation, and I turned it down. For days I wondered if this was something I was going to regret, but I don't because I was not injured. In all honesty, I'm kind of disappointed we totaled a car and the only bruise on my body was from where I'd gotten body-slammed into the counter the week before. We are incredibly thankful for God's arms of protection surrounding us.
God provided us with compassionate people all the way through the day. From the other students who helped us change the tire to the woman who stopped to make sure we had a phone to call 911 to the bikers who waited with us until emergency personnel arrived to the emergency personnel themselves. Even the other driver was nice. There's no way I can ever thank everyone that helped us. I thought to thank some on the scene but some I didn't and that is one thing I regret from that day.
The other thing I regret is not being more of a backseat driver. I had been watching the truck the whole time. Jessica said she'd never heard me, "Jess, are you watching that truck? He doesn't see us. Jess! Truck!" I'd already been a backseat driver that day (as always), so I was trying not to be obnoxious. I was not screaming. Except for the millisecond as we were about to make contact when I doubted myself, I knew the whole time that he was not going to make it across the road before we both tried to be in the same place at the same time. I've resolved myself to forever be a backseat driver because I'd rather be annoying than be in a crushed car.
There are a zillion reasons why this accident didn't make sense:
- Periodically throughout our journey, Jess had been texting or talking on her cell phone. Texting/talking and driving has always bothered me. The irony is that she was not messing with her phone when we crashed.
- We should have never been on that road at all in our journey. If the GPS hadn't been messed up we would not have gotten off the freeway. If we would not have done the safe thing and pulled over in the parking lot, we would not have had to travel back down the road to get back to the freeway.
- If those first trucks and their ATVs had not made Jessica so nervous, we would not have swerved so far off the road that we hit the curb and popped her tire, so we could have been to our destination on time.
- If...
If, ands, and buts aside, we had an accident. That's exactly what this is: an accident. Except not to God. God doesn't have accidents; He may be the only one to know why it happened. But it did happen, and God is good. All the time.
Just because God is good doesn't mean our day was good. I mean, we got up on a Saturday to leave campus at 8am on what should have been a 55 minute drive only to return to campus at noon (the time I normally wake up on Saturdays) having never made it to our destination.
No, we did not get credit for the academic event we tried to attend. When I told the professor we tried to go and got into a car accident she looked me in the eye and essentially said, "Bummer." That irked me. If someone tells you they totaled a car trying to go to your event: do NOT under any circumstances say, "Bummer!" Even an, "I'm sorry" would have been nice... and necessary.
I've really struggled with this blog. Writing about the accident isn't hard; telling people about it is. However, I've really felt God's give me a story to tell, and I've been disobedient by keeping it to myself. I wrote this post a week ago and have revised/ rewritten it several times since then. Except I haven't posted it. I put it in my "next time I don't have something to say" collection of blogs. Face it, I always have something to say. I couldn't figure out why I was being so selfish and keeping this story silent.
Last night, I figured it out. Worshipping three rows in front of me was Jessica, my driver. Whether we like it or not, she and I will always have a bond because we crashed a car together.
Sitting in front of her was a different girl, also named Jessica. This other Jessica was in a car accident when she was in high school. A horrific accident where people died. She almost did, too. I'd known this for years but never really knew her story. Seeing her today helped me realize why I was being shy about sharing my story. The night before we crashed, Jessica told me about her car accident. She should not have lived! We talked about how God has healed her, physically and emotionally.
It clicked tonight seeing her for the first time in months. She was in a car accident and almost died, and God has used her story. I was in a car accident and walked away without a scratch; God can and will use my story, too.
I will not be silent any more!
<><>
PS. If you read this all the way through you deserve a hug because it's the Microsoft Word equivalent of three pages (without the photo). I'm sorry. Honestly, I tried to keep the details minimal. If I included everything I wanted to this post could have easily been fifteen pages. Ask me if you want more information because I'll freely give it. :-) Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Persistence Pays Off
There almost was no blog today because I've been entertaining all day. The only time I've had to be alone is when I've snuck in to the den to play Bejeweled Blitz (Yes, I am addicted to that facebook game). That is... until everyone was fixing to leave and we had a very important moment.
Every time we say goodbye in my family we always end up wrestling. Yes, there are a few reminders of our latest line, "No time for the ER on Christmas." It's not Christmas anymore, folks. Punching, hitting, flicking, and karate chopping is all legal. Right after we hug, I become the recipient of one of these things from my uncle. The problem is that he forgets I'm a girl and hits just a little too hard. I cry, he tells me I need to work on my speed, I grab his hat and disappear until I'm ready to forgive him. Anywhere from 30 seconds to five minutes later (yes, this is all while we've got coats on and are saying goodbyes) I come back and return the hat; he hugs me again (without hurting me). I've gotten a lot of self-defense lessons while fighting back tears. This has been happening for years; it's normal.
Today when we hugged he was holding a few boxes for Ziploc bags. After the hug, he picked up one of the boxes and went to hit me on the shoulder. With my left hand I grabbed the box and with my right hand I stole his hat. We stood there staring at each other both in shock.
I did it! I finally did it! I don't have any idea how it happened but the persistence paid off! Yes, I'm going to toot my own horn with this blog, but you have no idea how big of a deal this is! For my entire life I've been playfully beat up as part of "good-bye," and I finally was able to stand my ground!
<>< Katie
Every time we say goodbye in my family we always end up wrestling. Yes, there are a few reminders of our latest line, "No time for the ER on Christmas." It's not Christmas anymore, folks. Punching, hitting, flicking, and karate chopping is all legal. Right after we hug, I become the recipient of one of these things from my uncle. The problem is that he forgets I'm a girl and hits just a little too hard. I cry, he tells me I need to work on my speed, I grab his hat and disappear until I'm ready to forgive him. Anywhere from 30 seconds to five minutes later (yes, this is all while we've got coats on and are saying goodbyes) I come back and return the hat; he hugs me again (without hurting me). I've gotten a lot of self-defense lessons while fighting back tears. This has been happening for years; it's normal.
Today when we hugged he was holding a few boxes for Ziploc bags. After the hug, he picked up one of the boxes and went to hit me on the shoulder. With my left hand I grabbed the box and with my right hand I stole his hat. We stood there staring at each other both in shock.
I did it! I finally did it! I don't have any idea how it happened but the persistence paid off! Yes, I'm going to toot my own horn with this blog, but you have no idea how big of a deal this is! For my entire life I've been playfully beat up as part of "good-bye," and I finally was able to stand my ground!
<>< Katie
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Squirrel Bite
Like I said yesterday, I'm a part of an interpretive dance to the song "Hosanna." There were like 15 of us, and we met for dinner, followed by a time of prayer. During that time we split up into groups of approximately three and God showed up! Our group talked about how we were so uncertain and how it was hard to see God's plans for our lives. I am so grateful God has put such Biblically-grounded people in my life. Before our twenty-minute prayer time was over, we'd all shared Scripture. Nikki (the coordinator) walked in and could just see the look of relief on one girl's face. It was amazing!
After our time of prayer, we headed over to practice with the live band. Ryan and I were walking down the stairs and a squirrel ran in front of us. Well, more like stumbled in front of us. He was walking very weirdly, and I figured he just had an extra leg or a bum leg or something. "Oh, that's weird," and keep going. That was my plan. Well, little did I know that Ryan wants to be a vet. Of course, he wanted to see this poor squirrel as did the rest of the team.
"What are we going to do with this squirrel?"
"He's going into the building!"
"I think he's bloody."
"We can't just leave him here."
"Look, he's stuck!"
"Awe, the poor guy."
"What are we going to for him?"
"Let's call Dr. Jones!"
"Yeah! Call Dr. Jones! He'll know what to do!"
So we called Dr. Jones, and the prognosis for this poor squirrel was grim. As suspected, Dr. Jones recommended putting this squirrel out of his misery. It was at this point that I walked away, knowing that was not going to be fun to watch. Well, they decided the easiest way to do that would be to take the squirrel to Dr. Jones' office (on the other side of campus) and euthanize him (the squirrel).
"How are we going to get this squirrel to Dr. Jones?"
"Anyone have a cardboard box?"
"No, but I have a bag."
"I have paper towel." (Laughter. "I don't know much about squirrels. Just an idea." "Apparently you don't know much about gravity either.")
"I have..."
They concluded a shirt was their best bet. Ryan captured the squirrel with the shirt and Tony was holding the squirrel. I think this squirrel probably could have survived for awhile based on the way he was moving, and he moved right out of the shirt and bit Tony.
Dancer down! Long story short...
"Everything's fine. It's all taken care of. We called 911. Now let's practice."
Ambulance took Tony and the squirrel (who has a name by this point, but I can't remember it) to the ER.
We practiced a bit more and decided Nikki would stand in for Tony. Watching Tony come in the building, talk to Nikki, give her a hug, leave, and Nikki jump up on stage to practice was priceless. All along, Nikki had said she wasn't going to dance. We were worshipping God and she was going to worship Him on the floor. It's not stage fright or anything (she's the director of the drama ministry). It's not that she doesn't know the dance (she performed it two weeks ago). No, she wasn't going to dance. Even if we were one person short; she wasn't going to dance; she'd make Tony do it. Tony's in the back of an ambulance.
Nikki was a little rusty, but she knew the dance. Unfortunately, she wasn't at peace about the situation. In fact, she left in the middle of worship and prayed in the bathroom. Sermon ends, pastor prays, we get on stage, pastor still praying, we get into position, pastor praying, we're ready, pastor's praying... We're all in position (lying on the ground as if we were dead) and I feel someone go past my head. I was the last one on stage. We're all here. I look up. It's Tony!
Tony walked in the room, saw us on stage getting ready and the pastor still praying, so he ran on stage, and still danced. I think Nikki almost cried.
In the case of the squirrel, we were all responsible.
Ryan and I were at fault because we were the first ones to see it.
Caroline was at fault because she called Dr. Jones.
Ryan was at fault because he put it in Tony's hands.
The nursing major was at fault because she witnessed the incident and forced Tony to go to the hospital.
Nikki was at fault because she organized the whole dance day.
All 15 of us claimed responsibility.
Claim responsibility for your actions and watch God work through them. React when you get the "Go" from God. Don't use excuses, Moses, but go.
"We're not called to be successful; we're called to be obedient." - Dimitri
In Christ,
<>< Katie
PS: Tony is fine. The same can not be said for the squirrel...
After our time of prayer, we headed over to practice with the live band. Ryan and I were walking down the stairs and a squirrel ran in front of us. Well, more like stumbled in front of us. He was walking very weirdly, and I figured he just had an extra leg or a bum leg or something. "Oh, that's weird," and keep going. That was my plan. Well, little did I know that Ryan wants to be a vet. Of course, he wanted to see this poor squirrel as did the rest of the team.
"What are we going to do with this squirrel?"
"He's going into the building!"
"I think he's bloody."
"We can't just leave him here."
"Look, he's stuck!"
"Awe, the poor guy."
"What are we going to for him?"
"Let's call Dr. Jones!"
"Yeah! Call Dr. Jones! He'll know what to do!"
So we called Dr. Jones, and the prognosis for this poor squirrel was grim. As suspected, Dr. Jones recommended putting this squirrel out of his misery. It was at this point that I walked away, knowing that was not going to be fun to watch. Well, they decided the easiest way to do that would be to take the squirrel to Dr. Jones' office (on the other side of campus) and euthanize him (the squirrel).
"How are we going to get this squirrel to Dr. Jones?"
"Anyone have a cardboard box?"
"No, but I have a bag."
"I have paper towel." (Laughter. "I don't know much about squirrels. Just an idea." "Apparently you don't know much about gravity either.")
"I have..."
They concluded a shirt was their best bet. Ryan captured the squirrel with the shirt and Tony was holding the squirrel. I think this squirrel probably could have survived for awhile based on the way he was moving, and he moved right out of the shirt and bit Tony.
Dancer down! Long story short...
"Everything's fine. It's all taken care of. We called 911. Now let's practice."
Ambulance took Tony and the squirrel (who has a name by this point, but I can't remember it) to the ER.
We practiced a bit more and decided Nikki would stand in for Tony. Watching Tony come in the building, talk to Nikki, give her a hug, leave, and Nikki jump up on stage to practice was priceless. All along, Nikki had said she wasn't going to dance. We were worshipping God and she was going to worship Him on the floor. It's not stage fright or anything (she's the director of the drama ministry). It's not that she doesn't know the dance (she performed it two weeks ago). No, she wasn't going to dance. Even if we were one person short; she wasn't going to dance; she'd make Tony do it. Tony's in the back of an ambulance.
Nikki was a little rusty, but she knew the dance. Unfortunately, she wasn't at peace about the situation. In fact, she left in the middle of worship and prayed in the bathroom. Sermon ends, pastor prays, we get on stage, pastor still praying, we get into position, pastor praying, we're ready, pastor's praying... We're all in position (lying on the ground as if we were dead) and I feel someone go past my head. I was the last one on stage. We're all here. I look up. It's Tony!
Tony walked in the room, saw us on stage getting ready and the pastor still praying, so he ran on stage, and still danced. I think Nikki almost cried.
In the case of the squirrel, we were all responsible.
Ryan and I were at fault because we were the first ones to see it.
Caroline was at fault because she called Dr. Jones.
Ryan was at fault because he put it in Tony's hands.
The nursing major was at fault because she witnessed the incident and forced Tony to go to the hospital.
Nikki was at fault because she organized the whole dance day.
All 15 of us claimed responsibility.
Claim responsibility for your actions and watch God work through them. React when you get the "Go" from God. Don't use excuses, Moses, but go.
"We're not called to be successful; we're called to be obedient." - Dimitri
In Christ,
<>< Katie
PS: Tony is fine. The same can not be said for the squirrel...
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Beautiful Scars
I just started playing with the color feature, can you tell? Every thing's purple and I don't know how to change it back... haha
I love summer. It's warm, wonderful, and without school! There are also days when I'm not a fan of summer. You see, having a tan makes my scars visible. Maybe only to me, but they make me self conscious, and I hate looking in the mirror in the summer.
Some people have fun scars. My friend Brianne takes pride in telling me how she got every scar, bruise, and scratch up and down her legs. My scars aren't so fun. When I was little (like six) somehow I took a nose dive on pavement. I don't remember the incident, but I remember the nice scab is left between my two eyebrows. Eventually it went away, but it left this brown mark there for years afterwards. I used to tell everyone it was a birthmark. Sometimes my mom'd correct me and tell me it was a scar from the scratch I had for months. Sometimes she'd just let me think it was a birthmark. Well, eventually the "birthmark" went away, so I guess she must have been right.
The scars I'm more self-conscious about line my underarms as souvenirs from a Girl Scouts camping trip. I was trying to put the fire out, leaned over too far, and fell into smoldering coals. This resulted in the only ER trip of my life (besides when I was born... another story for another time... that one's actually funny) and second and third degree burns up and down both of my arms. (Oh, and a nice bruise on my leg). I had a miserable summer that year because I couldn't go swimming, I had to go to the doctor every few weeks, and it was almost impossible to wash my hands (Have you ever tried to wash and dry one hand?). Now, everyday when I put my hair up in a ponytail, I see the scars where my skin is messed up. Apparently, burning your arms kills the cells that tell your skin to stop growing (or something like that... My parents told me that recently when we were talking about it...). It also leaves fun designs on tanned skin... It's anything but beautiful.
You know Whose scars are beautiful? Jesus'. Physically the scars in His hands, feet, and side aren't necessarily beautiful but what they symbolize definitely is! Thanks to Jesus' scars, we're forgiven. Jesus' scars are the perfect example of God's mercy and grace. Mercy--God not giving us something we deserve--saved us from having those scars ourselves. Grace--God giving us something we don't deserve--sent Jesus to the cross so we didn't have to paid the price for our sin. The Sinless died for the sinful. You can't tell me that's not beautiful.
Lately, most blogs have included the lyrics to a song. Here's today's:
"Beautiful Scars" by Steven Curtis Chapman
Sit here with me
And tell me your story
Even if it breaks my heart
Let me see Your scars
Shame will whisper
Oh but we can't listen
'Cause these are the stories that make us who we are
And I love who You are,
and Your Beautiful scars,
Your beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
For us, bruised and broken
For us, He was forsaken
Our wounded Healer suffered to set us free
We see in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
See in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the Savior's love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
Oh how I love Your beautiful scars
So beautiful, so beautiful
Beautiful scars
In Christ,
<>< Katie
I love summer. It's warm, wonderful, and without school! There are also days when I'm not a fan of summer. You see, having a tan makes my scars visible. Maybe only to me, but they make me self conscious, and I hate looking in the mirror in the summer.
Some people have fun scars. My friend Brianne takes pride in telling me how she got every scar, bruise, and scratch up and down her legs. My scars aren't so fun. When I was little (like six) somehow I took a nose dive on pavement. I don't remember the incident, but I remember the nice scab is left between my two eyebrows. Eventually it went away, but it left this brown mark there for years afterwards. I used to tell everyone it was a birthmark. Sometimes my mom'd correct me and tell me it was a scar from the scratch I had for months. Sometimes she'd just let me think it was a birthmark. Well, eventually the "birthmark" went away, so I guess she must have been right.
The scars I'm more self-conscious about line my underarms as souvenirs from a Girl Scouts camping trip. I was trying to put the fire out, leaned over too far, and fell into smoldering coals. This resulted in the only ER trip of my life (besides when I was born... another story for another time... that one's actually funny) and second and third degree burns up and down both of my arms. (Oh, and a nice bruise on my leg). I had a miserable summer that year because I couldn't go swimming, I had to go to the doctor every few weeks, and it was almost impossible to wash my hands (Have you ever tried to wash and dry one hand?). Now, everyday when I put my hair up in a ponytail, I see the scars where my skin is messed up. Apparently, burning your arms kills the cells that tell your skin to stop growing (or something like that... My parents told me that recently when we were talking about it...). It also leaves fun designs on tanned skin... It's anything but beautiful.
You know Whose scars are beautiful? Jesus'. Physically the scars in His hands, feet, and side aren't necessarily beautiful but what they symbolize definitely is! Thanks to Jesus' scars, we're forgiven. Jesus' scars are the perfect example of God's mercy and grace. Mercy--God not giving us something we deserve--saved us from having those scars ourselves. Grace--God giving us something we don't deserve--sent Jesus to the cross so we didn't have to paid the price for our sin. The Sinless died for the sinful. You can't tell me that's not beautiful.
Lately, most blogs have included the lyrics to a song. Here's today's:
"Beautiful Scars" by Steven Curtis Chapman
Sit here with me
And tell me your story
Even if it breaks my heart
Let me see Your scars
Shame will whisper
Oh but we can't listen
'Cause these are the stories that make us who we are
And I love who You are,
and Your Beautiful scars,
Your beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
For us, bruised and broken
For us, He was forsaken
Our wounded Healer suffered to set us free
We see in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
See in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the Savior's love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
Oh how I love Your beautiful scars
So beautiful, so beautiful
Beautiful scars
In Christ,
<>< Katie
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