This is a little weird to be confessing because I never dreamed these words would leave my mouth: I miss Spanish.
When I miss Spanish, I send a letter to Smile or Maria (my Compassion sisters in El Salvador and Columbia). They get a lot of letters.
When I miss Spanish, I pull out my Spanish-English Bible and pray to the God who understands espanglish.
When I miss Spanish, I read about what God is doing in paises hispanohablantes (Spanish-speaking countries).
When I miss Spanish, I seek out every opportunity to use it. From a simple facebook message to a real life conversation with a missionary confined by a language barrier.
The Spanish I miss is not a language learned in a classroom all the way through middle school, high school, and college. It's the ability to make a difference I learned from my community's food pantry, in a dusty school yard in Nicaragua, and through fútbol games in Guatemala.
Why do I confine the ability to make a difference to a language?
Why do I not miss serving the Lord in my mother tongue?
Why does my second language make me more bold? More so, why am I more reserved in English? After all, I don't grasp Spanish nearly as well as I do English which means the opportunity to make a complete fool of myself are all the more numerous.
Yet still I don't care.
"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be My witnesses, telling people about Me everywhere—in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." Acts 1:8 NLT
Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.
That's locally, nationalwide, internationally, and to the ends of the earth.
God, I'm sick of being timid and shy in English. Give me the passion for Your people here in the United States like You've given me for hispanohablantes worldwide. Help me be Your witness right here in "Jerusalem."
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label Spanish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spanish. Show all posts
Monday, December 12, 2011
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
Monday, October 31, 2011
Luch With Christ
My phone alarm rang: luch with Christ.
Yeah, that was really supposed to read "Lunch with Christa." Someone must have been in a hurry.
Yet that someone can't help but laugh at the irony. "Luchar" is a Spanish verb which means "to fight." While "Luch" isn't actually a word, it's similar enough.
Fight with Christ: 12:10.
As much as I hate to admit it, I fight with Christ. And it's more than just at 12:10.
<>< Katie
In other news, Happy Reformation Day!
And Happy Deep-Breath Day... NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow and I'm participating for the first time. The idea is that you write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. So, I apologize if I'm more sparse on your dashboard, but "every word on your blog is one less word in your novel" (I forget who said that, but it wasn't me).
Also, I'm thinking about making some changes on my blog in the future, and I would love to hear your feedback. What do you want to see more of? Less of? What haven't I done that you'd like to see? What do you never want to see again? You can post your feedback in the comments or email me at KatieAxelson[at]gmail[dot]com. I promise, I won't hate you for being honest (at least not forever).
Yeah, that was really supposed to read "Lunch with Christa." Someone must have been in a hurry.
Yet that someone can't help but laugh at the irony. "Luchar" is a Spanish verb which means "to fight." While "Luch" isn't actually a word, it's similar enough.
Fight with Christ: 12:10.
As much as I hate to admit it, I fight with Christ. And it's more than just at 12:10.
<>< Katie
In other news, Happy Reformation Day!
And Happy Deep-Breath Day... NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow and I'm participating for the first time. The idea is that you write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. So, I apologize if I'm more sparse on your dashboard, but "every word on your blog is one less word in your novel" (I forget who said that, but it wasn't me).
Also, I'm thinking about making some changes on my blog in the future, and I would love to hear your feedback. What do you want to see more of? Less of? What haven't I done that you'd like to see? What do you never want to see again? You can post your feedback in the comments or email me at KatieAxelson[at]gmail[dot]com. I promise, I won't hate you for being honest (at least not forever).
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Remember Brazil
A few months ago I was felling extremely discouraged. I had gotten a gut-wrenching rejection for a job I was passionate about at my own alma mater. I was hosting a pity party.
In the midst of my tears, God whispered, "Remember, Brazil."
Last fall, I applied for a mission trip to Brazil. I researched the city, borrowed a Portuguese Bible, began fund raising, and prayed for our trip.
All of the sudden, our team's planning came to a screeching hault.
Airline tickets and a Brazilian Visa put a stop to our trip. It might be an understatement to say our team was extremely discouraged. Truth be told, I cried at the team meeting when we decided Brazil would not come to fruition.
Several team members jumped ship and pursued other mission opportunities. No one blamed them. Those of us who remained spent some time not knowing if we were going to even have a trip. Never did the thought of changing trips cross my mind. Never did the thought of not having a trip sink in.
God opened up another opportunity, and on short notice we began to prepare for different destination: Nicaragua.
One student who had not expressed interest in Brazil, applied to go to Nicaragua. She wanted to practice her Spanish. I have no doubt she was supposed to be on our trip.
Of all of us, she came home the most changed. Even others noticed something different about her. If we had gone to Brazil, this change would not have happened. Today, her re-birth through baptism, would not have happened. We went to Nicaragua for her.
We went to Nicaragua for Stephanie, our Nicaraguan interpreter. After only a few days of traveling with us, Stephanie noticed something was different. She recognized the Holy Spirit in us and wanted to be filled in the same way. Right then and there she began a relationship with our Lord and Savior. If we had been in Brazil, God would not have used us to reach Stephanie.
God rearranged our entire trip for those two daughters. He changed the plans of thirty plus people in order to change the lives of two.
It's not every day that God rearranges plans for His glory.
Or is it?
A spilled cup of coffee gets you out of the house late to avoid a major traffic jam.
A rejection letter keeps you from a company going bankrupt.
A malfunctioning alarm clock kept you from being in the Twin Towers when they were hit.
God changes our plans for His glory.
Anytime I start to forget: I remember Brazil.
<>< Katie
PS: Everyone has a 9-11-01 story. Mine is of a selfish seventh grader who just didn't want to be in class. For a heart-piercing story, check out the blog of Meg Cabot, author of The Princess Diaries. My heart and prayers are with those affected by the tragedy. We will never forget.
In the midst of my tears, God whispered, "Remember, Brazil."
Last fall, I applied for a mission trip to Brazil. I researched the city, borrowed a Portuguese Bible, began fund raising, and prayed for our trip.
All of the sudden, our team's planning came to a screeching hault.
Airline tickets and a Brazilian Visa put a stop to our trip. It might be an understatement to say our team was extremely discouraged. Truth be told, I cried at the team meeting when we decided Brazil would not come to fruition.
Several team members jumped ship and pursued other mission opportunities. No one blamed them. Those of us who remained spent some time not knowing if we were going to even have a trip. Never did the thought of changing trips cross my mind. Never did the thought of not having a trip sink in.
God opened up another opportunity, and on short notice we began to prepare for different destination: Nicaragua.
One student who had not expressed interest in Brazil, applied to go to Nicaragua. She wanted to practice her Spanish. I have no doubt she was supposed to be on our trip.
Of all of us, she came home the most changed. Even others noticed something different about her. If we had gone to Brazil, this change would not have happened. Today, her re-birth through baptism, would not have happened. We went to Nicaragua for her.
We went to Nicaragua for Stephanie, our Nicaraguan interpreter. After only a few days of traveling with us, Stephanie noticed something was different. She recognized the Holy Spirit in us and wanted to be filled in the same way. Right then and there she began a relationship with our Lord and Savior. If we had been in Brazil, God would not have used us to reach Stephanie.
God rearranged our entire trip for those two daughters. He changed the plans of thirty plus people in order to change the lives of two.
It's not every day that God rearranges plans for His glory.
Or is it?
A spilled cup of coffee gets you out of the house late to avoid a major traffic jam.
A rejection letter keeps you from a company going bankrupt.
A malfunctioning alarm clock kept you from being in the Twin Towers when they were hit.
God changes our plans for His glory.
Anytime I start to forget: I remember Brazil.
<>< Katie
PS: Everyone has a 9-11-01 story. Mine is of a selfish seventh grader who just didn't want to be in class. For a heart-piercing story, check out the blog of Meg Cabot, author of The Princess Diaries. My heart and prayers are with those affected by the tragedy. We will never forget.
Friday, April 1, 2011
God: Interpreter, Provider
I didn't realize how much time Neal and I spent together in Nicaragua until I got home and started telling these stories. I think this is the last one (for now).
On Thursday morning we drove to another middle-of-nowhere church where we were going to do a service at 10am. The Nicaraguan pastors suggested we walk around town and invite people, especially children, to the service. So we did exactly that.
We strategically split into two groups with our best Spanish-speaking students split up and our bilingual Nicaraguan pastors split up. Manolo, the bilingual Nicaragua pastor in our group, told me he wasn't going to translate our invitations. That was all my job. Huh what? Not fair!
I would have much preferred to hide in the back and not do any of the talking. Manolo was going to make sure that didn't happen.
So towards the first house we walked. Our team stayed in a crowd in the street, and Neal and I approached the front door.
"Buenas," he said. "We're going to have a church service over there at ten o'clock if you'd be interested in joining us. Especially children, we're going to have activities and games for them."
Yeah, I don't know those words. But I translated the best I could. Then Neal and I walked on to the next house, and Manolo talked to the people, probably clarifying what I said.
Neal tried to get the other people in our group to introduce the neighbors, but only a few did and still I did all of the translating. Honestly, I didn't really think it fair that they got to hang out and talk while I did all of the work.
That's because it was awkward and very uncomfortable to walk up to a house and talk to strangers about church... in Spanish never the less! Neal and I confessed to each other that it was out of our comfort zones. But with every house, we admitted, it got easier. Neal became comfortable with his spiel and thus I began to anticipate what he was going to say. Of course, he threw me a curve ball now and again but the more houses we talked to, the less clarification Manolo gave afterwards.
Of course, by now it was 10:05 and we were still inviting people to the service at 10:00... Nicaraguan time.
As we walked back to the church to prepare for the service, we talked about how the Holy Spirit interprets for us. It communicates what we cannot. That brought me so much peace. Even with my befuddled Spanish, the Holy Spirit allowed to be heard what needed to be heard.
When we got back to the church, we were able to see the fruits of our labor. Not at first, mind you, but slowly the church filled up. Eventually, they dismissed the kids to go out back.
One... two... three... four... I stopped counting at 50. Our final estimate was about 80. All squished into an area the size of a dorm room.
And again we had no plan.
We did a skit to stall for time. Then Sara told the story of Jonah (and Annalisa, our best Spanish-speaker, interpreted). Then we handed out Jonah coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out home safety coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out blank pieces of paper... until we ran out. That time we ran out of kids asking for paper.
I manned the paper and crayons while our other team members scattered themselves among the masses.
Some of our girls set up in the corner of the backyard area and made Salvation Bracelets.
We kept worrying about running out of beads, so we signaled for those incharge of the service to wrap it up. They saw, "Keep going."
Five loaves, two fish, and a half-a-bag of beads we did not run out. God is such a provider! It's was awesome!
It was great to be on the bus leaving and see the children wave, each boasting a Salvation Bracelet on the wrist that matches mine.
I came home with some very important lessons learned:
1. Sometimes God asks us to do things that are uncomfortable. But the more you do them, the more comfortable they become.
2. The Holy Spirit interprets and speaks when we cannot. What needs to be said is said through no doing of our own.
3. The Lord provides. It's as simple as that.
Thankful for Grace,
<>< Katie
On Thursday morning we drove to another middle-of-nowhere church where we were going to do a service at 10am. The Nicaraguan pastors suggested we walk around town and invite people, especially children, to the service. So we did exactly that.
We strategically split into two groups with our best Spanish-speaking students split up and our bilingual Nicaraguan pastors split up. Manolo, the bilingual Nicaragua pastor in our group, told me he wasn't going to translate our invitations. That was all my job. Huh what? Not fair!
I would have much preferred to hide in the back and not do any of the talking. Manolo was going to make sure that didn't happen.
So towards the first house we walked. Our team stayed in a crowd in the street, and Neal and I approached the front door.
"Buenas," he said. "We're going to have a church service over there at ten o'clock if you'd be interested in joining us. Especially children, we're going to have activities and games for them."
Yeah, I don't know those words. But I translated the best I could. Then Neal and I walked on to the next house, and Manolo talked to the people, probably clarifying what I said.
Neal tried to get the other people in our group to introduce the neighbors, but only a few did and still I did all of the translating. Honestly, I didn't really think it fair that they got to hang out and talk while I did all of the work.
That's because it was awkward and very uncomfortable to walk up to a house and talk to strangers about church... in Spanish never the less! Neal and I confessed to each other that it was out of our comfort zones. But with every house, we admitted, it got easier. Neal became comfortable with his spiel and thus I began to anticipate what he was going to say. Of course, he threw me a curve ball now and again but the more houses we talked to, the less clarification Manolo gave afterwards.
Of course, by now it was 10:05 and we were still inviting people to the service at 10:00... Nicaraguan time.
As we walked back to the church to prepare for the service, we talked about how the Holy Spirit interprets for us. It communicates what we cannot. That brought me so much peace. Even with my befuddled Spanish, the Holy Spirit allowed to be heard what needed to be heard.
When we got back to the church, we were able to see the fruits of our labor. Not at first, mind you, but slowly the church filled up. Eventually, they dismissed the kids to go out back.
One... two... three... four... I stopped counting at 50. Our final estimate was about 80. All squished into an area the size of a dorm room.
And again we had no plan.
We did a skit to stall for time. Then Sara told the story of Jonah (and Annalisa, our best Spanish-speaker, interpreted). Then we handed out Jonah coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out home safety coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out blank pieces of paper... until we ran out. That time we ran out of kids asking for paper.
I manned the paper and crayons while our other team members scattered themselves among the masses.
Some of our girls set up in the corner of the backyard area and made Salvation Bracelets.
We kept worrying about running out of beads, so we signaled for those incharge of the service to wrap it up. They saw, "Keep going."
Five loaves, two fish, and a half-a-bag of beads we did not run out. God is such a provider! It's was awesome!
It was great to be on the bus leaving and see the children wave, each boasting a Salvation Bracelet on the wrist that matches mine.
I came home with some very important lessons learned:
1. Sometimes God asks us to do things that are uncomfortable. But the more you do them, the more comfortable they become.
2. The Holy Spirit interprets and speaks when we cannot. What needs to be said is said through no doing of our own.
3. The Lord provides. It's as simple as that.
Thankful for Grace,
<>< Katie
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Nicaragua
I have crayon under my fingernails.
My hair has dirt in it and is uncooperative.
My legs are scratched up, bug-bitten, and hairy.
I'll spare you the details about the revolt happening inside of my body.
I'm physically drained but emotionally and spiritually on a mountain top!
Sorry for the silence last week. I was on a mission trip to Nicaragua. We had one goal and one goal only: serve God.
That meant going to five church services in one week but being the church all week.
It meant entertaining 80 kids for an hour... twice.
It meant building relationships and encouraging people in what they're already doing.
It meant loving and serving with everything we have.
It meant visiting the fire station, touring the local hospital, and climbing mountains.
Let me tell you, the Holy Spirit is alive and well in Nicaragua! It was so encouraging to see!
I'm trying to get all of my thoughts into the same language. As I do that, I'll share stories and photos... so don't go anywhere!
But now... I must go to bed. Yesterday was a 22-hour travel day that included a six am pit stop because someone was bus-sick, two plane rides, and a 1am tire-change on a 12-passenger van. But we are all home safe and healthy!
<>< Katie
My hair has dirt in it and is uncooperative.
My legs are scratched up, bug-bitten, and hairy.
I'll spare you the details about the revolt happening inside of my body.
I'm physically drained but emotionally and spiritually on a mountain top!
Sorry for the silence last week. I was on a mission trip to Nicaragua. We had one goal and one goal only: serve God.
That meant going to five church services in one week but being the church all week.
It meant entertaining 80 kids for an hour... twice.
It meant building relationships and encouraging people in what they're already doing.
It meant loving and serving with everything we have.
It meant visiting the fire station, touring the local hospital, and climbing mountains.
Let me tell you, the Holy Spirit is alive and well in Nicaragua! It was so encouraging to see!
I'm trying to get all of my thoughts into the same language. As I do that, I'll share stories and photos... so don't go anywhere!
But now... I must go to bed. Yesterday was a 22-hour travel day that included a six am pit stop because someone was bus-sick, two plane rides, and a 1am tire-change on a 12-passenger van. But we are all home safe and healthy!
<>< Katie
Friday, March 4, 2011
China-Bound
Secretly, I've always dreamed of going to China. In my dreams I've always envisioned my future husband and me going and bringing home a child. As always, God had a different vision. (But I haven't given up mine).
An opportunity has been made available for Amber and me to go to China for three weeks this summer. We will be teaching English but--more importantly--we will be witnesses for Christ.
"Being called" to do something was not part of my church lingo growing up, and I've really wrestled with what it means to "be called" to China. I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I am perusing this opportunity with the intention of doing God's will rather than not doing it because I'm unsure if it's His will or not. (My friend Ron gave me that advice years ago and it was pretty much the best advice ever).
Even though there is still a lot of unknown, I officially submitted my application today. Now I need your help, friends.
1. Pray. Pray. Pray. Right now. Pray for me as I venture on this journey. Pray for Amber and all of the other volunteers we'll be working with. Pray for the people already in China. Pray for safety and health. Pray for us as we prepare to answer tough, blunt questions about our faith. Daily. Pray. Pray. Pray. Please.
2. I have no idea where on a college student's budget I'm going to come up with $3,000 to pay for the program. I firmly believe that God provides. Support letters, bake sales, begging on my hands and knees... If you have ideas or can support us financially, leave a comment or shoot me an email (katieaxelson [at] gmail [dot] com). Even just a dollar or two helps because God can use anything!
3. If you have any materials, teaching advice, donations, etc. We'd love to hear it. Haven't really thought that far ahead, but it's never too early to start planning.
My calendar officially doesn't end until August now! I'm really excited to see what God does with this trip! This is my first trip to a foreign country where I don't speak the language. I'll let you know how well Chinese people speak Spanish and ASL... I don't promise to blog every other day while I'm in China, but I will try to update you all periodically.
Thanks!
For His glory,
<>< Katie
"Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?' And I said, 'Here am I. Send me!'"
Isaiah 6:8
"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” Acts 1:8
An opportunity has been made available for Amber and me to go to China for three weeks this summer. We will be teaching English but--more importantly--we will be witnesses for Christ.
"Being called" to do something was not part of my church lingo growing up, and I've really wrestled with what it means to "be called" to China. I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I am perusing this opportunity with the intention of doing God's will rather than not doing it because I'm unsure if it's His will or not. (My friend Ron gave me that advice years ago and it was pretty much the best advice ever).
Even though there is still a lot of unknown, I officially submitted my application today. Now I need your help, friends.
1. Pray. Pray. Pray. Right now. Pray for me as I venture on this journey. Pray for Amber and all of the other volunteers we'll be working with. Pray for the people already in China. Pray for safety and health. Pray for us as we prepare to answer tough, blunt questions about our faith. Daily. Pray. Pray. Pray. Please.
2. I have no idea where on a college student's budget I'm going to come up with $3,000 to pay for the program. I firmly believe that God provides. Support letters, bake sales, begging on my hands and knees... If you have ideas or can support us financially, leave a comment or shoot me an email (katieaxelson [at] gmail [dot] com). Even just a dollar or two helps because God can use anything!
3. If you have any materials, teaching advice, donations, etc. We'd love to hear it. Haven't really thought that far ahead, but it's never too early to start planning.
My calendar officially doesn't end until August now! I'm really excited to see what God does with this trip! This is my first trip to a foreign country where I don't speak the language. I'll let you know how well Chinese people speak Spanish and ASL... I don't promise to blog every other day while I'm in China, but I will try to update you all periodically.
Thanks!
For His glory,
<>< Katie
"Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?' And I said, 'Here am I. Send me!'"
Isaiah 6:8
"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” Acts 1:8
Saturday, January 29, 2011
What have you read?
As I was running late to class, Amber sent me a text message. "What have you read today? It's for a class."
I left her a long, rambling voicemail that went something like this,
"I read a chapter in Lipstick in Afghanistan, a handout for class, fifty pages in a textbook, blogs, a letter of recommendation that waived my right to see but the professor gave me anyway, emails, facebook updates, um... the caf menu... um... I haven't read my Bible yet but will before the day's over."
It was 3:00 in the afternoon. I'd gone to three classes, eaten breakfast and lunch, submitted my last graduate school application, played badminton, harassed Evan about his bland office, and five minutes earlier I had single-handedly kept my suitemate conscious. (Unfortunately, "Saving lives and getting to class on time" could become a blog series... she's much better now but it was a scary afternoon). It had been a busy day. But I hadn't spent any time in the Word.
As I write this, it's 11:30pm. Guess what I still haven't done today?
Yeah, that nearly-completed blog-post is going to have to wait until tomorrow. I've got an important appointment to fulfill a promise. Actually, two promises. One to Amber and one to the Lord.
There are days when getting into the Word is the last thing on the to-do list and prayer seems like a waste of time. I have a lot of those days, I'll be honest.
But I'm slowly learning to push through. I try to read the Bible even though I'd rather be reading be reading a fiction novel. I try to pray even though I'd rather be in conversation with my (not dying) suitemates.
To an extent, that's normal. There is a fine line between establishing a healthy habit, persisting even when you're "not feeling it" and going through the motions. Find that line. Persevere. Even if it feels a little insincere.
"What we call insincerity, God calls obedience." - Jonathan Martin "Sometimes God's doing the most profound changing in your life when you don't feel His presence but you keep showing up."
Keep showing up. Even when it's hard.
Ok, for real now. "Today" has become "yesterday" and the book of Exodus still calls.
Friends, what have you read today?
<>< Katie
I left her a long, rambling voicemail that went something like this,
"I read a chapter in Lipstick in Afghanistan, a handout for class, fifty pages in a textbook, blogs, a letter of recommendation that waived my right to see but the professor gave me anyway, emails, facebook updates, um... the caf menu... um... I haven't read my Bible yet but will before the day's over."
It was 3:00 in the afternoon. I'd gone to three classes, eaten breakfast and lunch, submitted my last graduate school application, played badminton, harassed Evan about his bland office, and five minutes earlier I had single-handedly kept my suitemate conscious. (Unfortunately, "Saving lives and getting to class on time" could become a blog series... she's much better now but it was a scary afternoon). It had been a busy day. But I hadn't spent any time in the Word.
As I write this, it's 11:30pm. Guess what I still haven't done today?
Yeah, that nearly-completed blog-post is going to have to wait until tomorrow. I've got an important appointment to fulfill a promise. Actually, two promises. One to Amber and one to the Lord.
There are days when getting into the Word is the last thing on the to-do list and prayer seems like a waste of time. I have a lot of those days, I'll be honest.
But I'm slowly learning to push through. I try to read the Bible even though I'd rather be reading be reading a fiction novel. I try to pray even though I'd rather be in conversation with my (not dying) suitemates.
To an extent, that's normal. There is a fine line between establishing a healthy habit, persisting even when you're "not feeling it" and going through the motions. Find that line. Persevere. Even if it feels a little insincere.
"What we call insincerity, God calls obedience." - Jonathan Martin "Sometimes God's doing the most profound changing in your life when you don't feel His presence but you keep showing up."
Keep showing up. Even when it's hard.
Ok, for real now. "Today" has become "yesterday" and the book of Exodus still calls.
Friends, what have you read today?
<>< Katie
Friday, October 1, 2010
Fridge Kids
Growing up I spent my share of time at a certain neighbor's house. One of the things I always noticed was a certain photo on their fridge. It was of a girl who was clearly not from around here. I asked who she was and never remembered the answer. Seriously, I think I asked three or four times before I finally resolved myself to believe it was one of Kaitlyn's friends, and in my head I called her "Fridge Girl."
When I was looking for an "in Kaitlyn's honor" project for her 16th birthday, I sat down and thought about Kaitlyn. Lyme disease, dogs, Christ, and love all came to mind. As I was getting lost in memories, Fridge Girl popped up. I now realize Fridge Girl was a child they sponsored through Compassion. You see, my apartment now has our own Fridge Girl.
On Tuesday afternoon Nealasked begged me to help with an event on campus. My primary job was to sell merchandise but I also got to talk about Compassion. Play with money and CDs while talking about child sponsorship. Basically it was the perfect job for me.
I got to talk about my family's Fridge Girl. Her name is Maria Jose and she lives in Columbia with her two sisters and parents. Since she's in a Spanish-speaking country, I write letters to her directly in Spanish. Of course, Compassion has translators, but it feels more personal to me to exchange words in her native language.
My roommate Jennifer just recently got back from a trip through Compassion. She got to go to the Philippines to visit her sponsored child, Jamsell. Photos of Jamsell are all over our room and it makes me smile (and a little jealous) every time I see them.
Among us were volunteers from Compassion. One man showed us letters from his sponsored child in Ecuador, a map of where Compassion works, and then he ran out to his car. He came back with an arm full of computer-printed photographs of his grandchildren. He told us the age and full name of each child. It was actually quite sweet.
"And this is my new knee."
I was selling a CD at the time, so I was really hoping I misheard him. A discrete glance in their direction told me I was in no such luck. Right there on the table was a photograph of an x-ray.
"It has four parts..."
Let's just say I learned infinitely more than I ever wanted to know about knee replacements. Honestly, it was more awkward than the awkward moment the Compassion coordinator warned us about: The Packet Pass.
Each of us took a pile of packets (each packet has information about a real child somewhere in the world) and went through the audience handing them out. Our director told us to stay there among the audience until about halfway through the song.
"Two minutes," he said, "but it's going to feel like eight."
When I was standing up there with a smile and God's children in my hands, two minutes felt like eight seconds. It was while I was standing there I realized that in my hands I held fifteen children all who happened to be from Africa and Asia. That means that even though I can communicate in three languages, my communication with these kids would look like a game of charades. Not God's. He can talk to them directly in their language and vice versa. How cool is that? God speaks English, German, Chinese, all tribal languages, etc. It's a simple realization but when you're looking at photographs of real children, it's mind boggling.
As a student body, we sponsored 53 children on Tuesday! That is forty more than our previous record. That is 53 children whose were just given an education, medicine, and hope thanks to "poor college students." Fifty-three children and their families are being told about Christ! Well done, y'all! My apartment now has two of our own Fridge Girls and one Fridge Boy. I can't wait to start sending them letters and photos. Our Fridge Kids are going to think Americans are crazy. :-)
As for me, well, I'm just in awe at how God works. And I'm thankful for "Kaitlyn's friend," the first Fridge Girl in my life.
<>< Katie
When I was looking for an "in Kaitlyn's honor" project for her 16th birthday, I sat down and thought about Kaitlyn. Lyme disease, dogs, Christ, and love all came to mind. As I was getting lost in memories, Fridge Girl popped up. I now realize Fridge Girl was a child they sponsored through Compassion. You see, my apartment now has our own Fridge Girl.
On Tuesday afternoon Neal
I got to talk about my family's Fridge Girl. Her name is Maria Jose and she lives in Columbia with her two sisters and parents. Since she's in a Spanish-speaking country, I write letters to her directly in Spanish. Of course, Compassion has translators, but it feels more personal to me to exchange words in her native language.
My roommate Jennifer just recently got back from a trip through Compassion. She got to go to the Philippines to visit her sponsored child, Jamsell. Photos of Jamsell are all over our room and it makes me smile (and a little jealous) every time I see them.
Among us were volunteers from Compassion. One man showed us letters from his sponsored child in Ecuador, a map of where Compassion works, and then he ran out to his car. He came back with an arm full of computer-printed photographs of his grandchildren. He told us the age and full name of each child. It was actually quite sweet.
"And this is my new knee."
I was selling a CD at the time, so I was really hoping I misheard him. A discrete glance in their direction told me I was in no such luck. Right there on the table was a photograph of an x-ray.
"It has four parts..."
Let's just say I learned infinitely more than I ever wanted to know about knee replacements. Honestly, it was more awkward than the awkward moment the Compassion coordinator warned us about: The Packet Pass.
Each of us took a pile of packets (each packet has information about a real child somewhere in the world) and went through the audience handing them out. Our director told us to stay there among the audience until about halfway through the song.
"Two minutes," he said, "but it's going to feel like eight."
When I was standing up there with a smile and God's children in my hands, two minutes felt like eight seconds. It was while I was standing there I realized that in my hands I held fifteen children all who happened to be from Africa and Asia. That means that even though I can communicate in three languages, my communication with these kids would look like a game of charades. Not God's. He can talk to them directly in their language and vice versa. How cool is that? God speaks English, German, Chinese, all tribal languages, etc. It's a simple realization but when you're looking at photographs of real children, it's mind boggling.
As a student body, we sponsored 53 children on Tuesday! That is forty more than our previous record. That is 53 children whose were just given an education, medicine, and hope thanks to "poor college students." Fifty-three children and their families are being told about Christ! Well done, y'all! My apartment now has two of our own Fridge Girls and one Fridge Boy. I can't wait to start sending them letters and photos. Our Fridge Kids are going to think Americans are crazy. :-)
As for me, well, I'm just in awe at how God works. And I'm thankful for "Kaitlyn's friend," the first Fridge Girl in my life.
<>< Katie
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Las Chicas
I went out to dinner with Las Chicas the other day. These four girls left South America and Europe to come to Small Town, USA for a year to teach Spanish and French. They all speak English very well, but it is their second language. They are also new to the United States and not well-acquainted with the area, so some of my friends and I offered to go out to dinner with them. I was their chauffeur.
When I lived in Costa Rica, I remembered always being so annoyed with the Spanish radio. I didn't understand a word of it; it was just noise making it harder to hear. I didn't want Las Chicas to have the same problem in my car. I regretted leaving my Juanes CD at home and put in my Spanish worship CD instead.
While we were driving and talking, Las Chicas asked me all sort of questions. Is what I'm wearing ok for where we’re going? What kind of rag do I need to buy to use with my mop? I'm getting five hours of sleep a night; why am I so tired? Do they sell textbooks at Wal-mart? What do you call the little white thing you use to clean your ear? Do I have to be a United States citizen to get a driver's license here?
In a break between conversations, the music was heard through the silence.
Cynthia: Is this a Christian CD?
Katie: It is.
Cynthia: Oh. I am a Christian in Argentina.
Katie: You can be a Christian in the United States, too.
I was glad she laughed because it came out so fast that I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want her to think I was mocking her, but they all enjoyed it. This added a whole new dimension to the questions they asked me.
What is the name of the guy who, you know, how do you say? And you know the thing that he does, what is that part called? What is the difference between Baptist and Methodist? Most of the people here are Baptist, yes?
Let me be transparent for just a second. I can write, blog, and read about God all day without a problem. To talk about Him is more of a challenge. Even sometimes among my Christian friends I feel silly for saying, "God showed me this today." I rarely tell people I'll pray for them (but if I say it, I try to really do it). When Christ came up with Las Chicas, I knew I had a witnessing opportunity. I also knew my tendency to be turned down when I offer a ride to church.
That's why I was shocked when they accepted the invitation! Even after I told them we'd have to leave at 8:30am. Las Chicas began to talk about their home churches. One did mission work every Saturday where she worked in local neighborhoods helping people. Another's pastor and his wife sent her with all sorts of photos and wanted her return with photos of American churches. It was humbling to hear about what God is doing in other countries.
On Sunday morning, they were ready early. One of them even made a joke about it. I have since realized why. This was their first opportunity to hear God's Word proclaimed since they've been in our country.
Shame on you, America. We're sending mission teams all over the world to spread the gospel. Yes, I went to Guatemala last year for that very purpose. But do you want to know what I found? Jesus is already there. He's in Guatemala. He's in Argentina. Yes, going and showing His love is important, but we also need to realize there are people in this country yearning to hear His name and they are not being filled. These girls are living on a Christian campus and no one had invited them to church. No one has stopped to ask if they need prayer. No one.
Shame on me. The thought never even crossed my mind until they said they had been looking for a church to attend. This is my twelfth year of Spanish, and I don’t even know the word for “prayer.” I feel ashamed to admit that, but it’s the truth.
When I took three of Las Chicas to church with me, I wondered how much they were getting out of the service. The sermon was less than engaging, the power-points with lyrics weren’t working, and the southern drawl was more pronounced than normal. Afterwards, Cynthia waved her notes in front of me.
“This is exactly what I needed! Thank you!”
Don’t thank me. Thank God. He coordinated it all.
If you could do me a favor, pray for these four girls and they are in a foreign country teaching their native languages. Pray that they can see God's love shown through those of us they encounter here. And, if you don't mind, pray that the Lord gives me the desire to speak boldly about Him. How can I pray for you?
Thanks,
<>< Katie
When I lived in Costa Rica, I remembered always being so annoyed with the Spanish radio. I didn't understand a word of it; it was just noise making it harder to hear. I didn't want Las Chicas to have the same problem in my car. I regretted leaving my Juanes CD at home and put in my Spanish worship CD instead.
While we were driving and talking, Las Chicas asked me all sort of questions. Is what I'm wearing ok for where we’re going? What kind of rag do I need to buy to use with my mop? I'm getting five hours of sleep a night; why am I so tired? Do they sell textbooks at Wal-mart? What do you call the little white thing you use to clean your ear? Do I have to be a United States citizen to get a driver's license here?
In a break between conversations, the music was heard through the silence.
Cynthia: Is this a Christian CD?
Katie: It is.
Cynthia: Oh. I am a Christian in Argentina.
Katie: You can be a Christian in the United States, too.
I was glad she laughed because it came out so fast that I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want her to think I was mocking her, but they all enjoyed it. This added a whole new dimension to the questions they asked me.
What is the name of the guy who, you know, how do you say? And you know the thing that he does, what is that part called? What is the difference between Baptist and Methodist? Most of the people here are Baptist, yes?
Let me be transparent for just a second. I can write, blog, and read about God all day without a problem. To talk about Him is more of a challenge. Even sometimes among my Christian friends I feel silly for saying, "God showed me this today." I rarely tell people I'll pray for them (but if I say it, I try to really do it). When Christ came up with Las Chicas, I knew I had a witnessing opportunity. I also knew my tendency to be turned down when I offer a ride to church.
That's why I was shocked when they accepted the invitation! Even after I told them we'd have to leave at 8:30am. Las Chicas began to talk about their home churches. One did mission work every Saturday where she worked in local neighborhoods helping people. Another's pastor and his wife sent her with all sorts of photos and wanted her return with photos of American churches. It was humbling to hear about what God is doing in other countries.
On Sunday morning, they were ready early. One of them even made a joke about it. I have since realized why. This was their first opportunity to hear God's Word proclaimed since they've been in our country.
Shame on you, America. We're sending mission teams all over the world to spread the gospel. Yes, I went to Guatemala last year for that very purpose. But do you want to know what I found? Jesus is already there. He's in Guatemala. He's in Argentina. Yes, going and showing His love is important, but we also need to realize there are people in this country yearning to hear His name and they are not being filled. These girls are living on a Christian campus and no one had invited them to church. No one has stopped to ask if they need prayer. No one.
Shame on me. The thought never even crossed my mind until they said they had been looking for a church to attend. This is my twelfth year of Spanish, and I don’t even know the word for “prayer.” I feel ashamed to admit that, but it’s the truth.
When I took three of Las Chicas to church with me, I wondered how much they were getting out of the service. The sermon was less than engaging, the power-points with lyrics weren’t working, and the southern drawl was more pronounced than normal. Afterwards, Cynthia waved her notes in front of me.
“This is exactly what I needed! Thank you!”
Don’t thank me. Thank God. He coordinated it all.
If you could do me a favor, pray for these four girls and they are in a foreign country teaching their native languages. Pray that they can see God's love shown through those of us they encounter here. And, if you don't mind, pray that the Lord gives me the desire to speak boldly about Him. How can I pray for you?
Thanks,
<>< Katie
Friday, June 11, 2010
One Year Ago Today
I don't think I'll ever forget my last night in Costa Rica. I lived there for a month taking Spanish classes and living with a tico family. My final night, a big group of us went out to dinner. My host parents, my host aunt and family, one of my classmates, and myself. We went to a restaurant that serves all of the food on one plate and you kind of grab the food and eat it with your fingers. Yeah, not a germ-o-phobe's favorite restaurant. Top if off with the fact that I felt like crap and it was not a pleasant night. (I blame the chloroquine...next time I might take my chances with malaria). I tried to eat but really had no appetite. To distract myself from the nausea on the ride back, I started making a mental list of all of the memories/ stories/ things I'd learned that I wanted to share with Sra. Wright, my high school Spanish teacher. Learning a language is one of those things you remember learning every detail, at least for me. There were so many things I wanted to talk to her about, so I decided I was going to make a list on the plane ride back.
When made it home safely (that's actually a big surprise), and I stood in the family room contemplating checking my email one last night or waiting until I got back to the States. I decided to go for it. It'd be quick and then I'd go to bed and pray I was feeling better in the morning. Well, it wasn't as quick as I had wanted it to be. In fact, I learned that on the plane I'd be writing a different letter to Sra. Wright. One she would never receive. She'd passed away two days earlier.
The plane ride back was a roller coaster. Sitting behind me on the plane was not just a student from my high school but someone that graduated with me... took Spanish with me. I asked him if he'd heard and he said, "Yeah, it's a bummer." A woman dies and you say a bummer? That's worse than when I told a professor I was in a car accident on a way to her event and she said bummer.
I regretted not visiting Sra. Wright all of those times I'd visited my Alma Mater. She'd asked about me, but I never made it down to see her. I regretted not going in the one week I was home before leaving for Costa Rica. (Again, I blame the chloroquine... nine weeks of nasty pink pills meant nine weeks of feeling nasty). It helped me to know she hadn't been at school that day, but it didn't help much. I regretted not emailing her to tell her I was still using my Spanish and going to Costa Rica to learn more. I regretted not thanking her for taking the time to teach me. I regretted not being able to look her in the eye the last time we spoke. Her jaundice grossed me out. I'd known she was sick, but I never knew she was that sick. The word "cancer" was never shared, at least not with me.
I'll be honest, she was never my favorite teacher. I was disappointed when I saw her name on my schedule for the fourth consecutive year. In fact, there were many days I'd "Go to my locker" and get distracted by friends who had a free period; at least once a week I'd hear, "Katie, go back to Spanish." However, even the teachers we don't always appreciate leave lasting impacts on our lives, especially when you see them every day for four years.
Earlier this week, my sister Christina asked me to explain the difference between "por" and "para." I never get those two right, but I explained it to her the same way Sra. Wright explained it to me countless times. In fact, one day in class the example we were doing was a post card written to a teacher years after Spanish class thanking the teacher for teaching the difference between por and para. Sra Wright kind of laughed, "Please don't ever send me a post card thanking me for teaching you the difference between por and para. Por and para can't be taught... they must just be learned." That didn't stop her from trying.
The same idea didn't stop her from trying to teach us the difference between "ser" and "estar" either. Remembering this brought tears to my eyes. She said, "Estar is used with changing things. The soup is hot- estar. Today I'm sad- estar. The one I don't really understand is death. To me, death isn't a temporary thing but the Spanish use estar."
Death isn't a temporary thing. Life is the temporary thing. How do we spend it? Running a million miles an hour too busy to notice the little moments or investing in children and teaching them something they have the capabilities to use for the rest of their life? Being too stuck up to laugh at yourself or stopping class to remark about the "delightful aroma" of fart in the room before leaving and locking your students in it? Do you put up with their "Senora, how do you say (insert some super random word here like "lipgloss" or "headphones" or "@")" or do you cut off their fun?
Thank you, Sra. Wright, for taking the time to teach us the difference between "por" and "para" but, more importantly, thank you for taking the time to invest in us. To show us we can do it even when we don't think it's possible. In the words of the Celine Dion song sung at Sra. Wright's funeral, "You gave me wings and I could fly/ you touched my hand I could touch the sky/ I lost my faith you gave it back to me/ you said no star was out of reach... you saw the best there was in me..."
Muchas gracias.
<>< Katie
When made it home safely (that's actually a big surprise), and I stood in the family room contemplating checking my email one last night or waiting until I got back to the States. I decided to go for it. It'd be quick and then I'd go to bed and pray I was feeling better in the morning. Well, it wasn't as quick as I had wanted it to be. In fact, I learned that on the plane I'd be writing a different letter to Sra. Wright. One she would never receive. She'd passed away two days earlier.
The plane ride back was a roller coaster. Sitting behind me on the plane was not just a student from my high school but someone that graduated with me... took Spanish with me. I asked him if he'd heard and he said, "Yeah, it's a bummer." A woman dies and you say a bummer? That's worse than when I told a professor I was in a car accident on a way to her event and she said bummer.
I regretted not visiting Sra. Wright all of those times I'd visited my Alma Mater. She'd asked about me, but I never made it down to see her. I regretted not going in the one week I was home before leaving for Costa Rica. (Again, I blame the chloroquine... nine weeks of nasty pink pills meant nine weeks of feeling nasty). It helped me to know she hadn't been at school that day, but it didn't help much. I regretted not emailing her to tell her I was still using my Spanish and going to Costa Rica to learn more. I regretted not thanking her for taking the time to teach me. I regretted not being able to look her in the eye the last time we spoke. Her jaundice grossed me out. I'd known she was sick, but I never knew she was that sick. The word "cancer" was never shared, at least not with me.
I'll be honest, she was never my favorite teacher. I was disappointed when I saw her name on my schedule for the fourth consecutive year. In fact, there were many days I'd "Go to my locker" and get distracted by friends who had a free period; at least once a week I'd hear, "Katie, go back to Spanish." However, even the teachers we don't always appreciate leave lasting impacts on our lives, especially when you see them every day for four years.
Earlier this week, my sister Christina asked me to explain the difference between "por" and "para." I never get those two right, but I explained it to her the same way Sra. Wright explained it to me countless times. In fact, one day in class the example we were doing was a post card written to a teacher years after Spanish class thanking the teacher for teaching the difference between por and para. Sra Wright kind of laughed, "Please don't ever send me a post card thanking me for teaching you the difference between por and para. Por and para can't be taught... they must just be learned." That didn't stop her from trying.
The same idea didn't stop her from trying to teach us the difference between "ser" and "estar" either. Remembering this brought tears to my eyes. She said, "Estar is used with changing things. The soup is hot- estar. Today I'm sad- estar. The one I don't really understand is death. To me, death isn't a temporary thing but the Spanish use estar."
Death isn't a temporary thing. Life is the temporary thing. How do we spend it? Running a million miles an hour too busy to notice the little moments or investing in children and teaching them something they have the capabilities to use for the rest of their life? Being too stuck up to laugh at yourself or stopping class to remark about the "delightful aroma" of fart in the room before leaving and locking your students in it? Do you put up with their "Senora, how do you say (insert some super random word here like "lipgloss" or "headphones" or "@")" or do you cut off their fun?
Thank you, Sra. Wright, for taking the time to teach us the difference between "por" and "para" but, more importantly, thank you for taking the time to invest in us. To show us we can do it even when we don't think it's possible. In the words of the Celine Dion song sung at Sra. Wright's funeral, "You gave me wings and I could fly/ you touched my hand I could touch the sky/ I lost my faith you gave it back to me/ you said no star was out of reach... you saw the best there was in me..."
Muchas gracias.
<>< Katie
Monday, April 19, 2010
Blessed Be Your Name
I spent all weekend helping lead a youth retreat weekend. On Saturday afternoon we did a service project and gardened for a few elderly church members. Upon returning to the church, we each took some quiet time to reflect and pray. As that kind of wrapped up, people seemed to be gathering in the grass on the hill and it became a spontaneous worship song session. One of the songs we sang was "Blessed Be Your Name." As we went through the familiar verses and chorus, I pondered how many times I'd sung that song. On campus, in church, in my car, in Spanish in Guatemala, in ASL, with 35,000 teens, by myself, with a small group around a campfire... the list goes on and on. Every summer for almost the last ten years my family has gone to an outdoor Christian music festival. In the last few years, it seems every artist sings "Blessed Be Your Name." I've sung with the hot July sun beating down on me. I've sung it as refreshing night rain pelts my face. I've sung it a lot. You'd think I'd know the verses in the right order...
On May 21, 2008, singer/songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest daughter died tragically at age 5 after being accidently hit by a car in the family's driveway. On July 11 of the same year SCC returned to the stage for the first time since the accident and earned a standing ovation prior to playing a note. He softly explained after such a tragedy there was one song that kept running through his head and he began to sing "Blessed Be Your Name." I highly doubt there was a dry eye in the entire audience. With heavy hearts and sore feet we extended our arms to the heavens and worshipped our precious Holy Father while He painted us a beautiful sunset in the Midwestern sky. The lyrics took on a whole new meaning as we proclaimed, "Blessed be Your name when the sun's shining down on me. When the world's all as it should be, blessed be Your name, on the road marked with suffering, though there's pain in the offering, blessed be Your name." If a hurting father could say it, so can we. If the responsible brother could say it, so can we. If the sunburned, mud-laden audience can say it, so can we. Right?
It doesn't mean your pain is gone. It doesn't mean you need to be happy-go-lucky. It means God is still God. It means you'll praise Him in the hard times in addition to the easy times. In the United States, in foreign countries. In the sun and in the rain. From the top of the mountain and the bottom of the valley. As yourself honestly, no matter what you're going through today, are you willing to say, "Blessed be Your name"?
Blessed be,
<>< Katie
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Manuel Antonio
Guys, let me just confess for a second that I am the host to a parasite. She bums off me, uses my stuff, and just kinda hangs around. It's icky. :-) She also told me I'm not allowed to blog this weekend since I have a twenty page paper to write on the Christology of Jack Kerouac (puke!). Well, I'm going to be a disobedient enabler and post something I wrote a few days ago. It also seems appropriate given the fact that I'm up to my eyeballs in Kerouac.
<>< Katie
Heidi peered over her book and gazed out at the Pacific Ocean in front of her. It should have been a picture-perfect scene. And it was, except the book in her hands was an English copy of the Sun Also Rises rather than On the Road or anything else by Jack Kerouac and his fellow Beat writers. Not that she particularly enjoyed Kerouac; in fact, she much preferred Hemingway, but Kerouac would have been more appropriate for a Costa Rican hostel.
She glanced at Isaac asleep in the next hammock. While she was glad for him, she wished she could sleep, too. After all, it was his fault she hadn't slept well the night before. He'd spent the whole night hurling. Alcohol? Food poisoning? It was hard telling but it was still unpleasant to listen to for hours. But, she supposed that's what she got for spending $10 on a place to stay for the night. At least the bunk bed didn't collapse on her from the two girls sharing the top.
As she listened to the chicken-like sounds of the people speaking Spanish while playing cards on the other side of the patio, she glanced down at her book. Again she was disappointed with the language and setting. The Costa Rican pura vida atmosphere combined with the pot-smell of the hostel would have been perfect for Kerouac, and she was reading high-class, European Hemingway. Oh well, there was not much she could do about it but try to enjoy the salty ocean breeze as it blew the pages closed.
<>< Katie
Heidi peered over her book and gazed out at the Pacific Ocean in front of her. It should have been a picture-perfect scene. And it was, except the book in her hands was an English copy of the Sun Also Rises rather than On the Road or anything else by Jack Kerouac and his fellow Beat writers. Not that she particularly enjoyed Kerouac; in fact, she much preferred Hemingway, but Kerouac would have been more appropriate for a Costa Rican hostel.
She glanced at Isaac asleep in the next hammock. While she was glad for him, she wished she could sleep, too. After all, it was his fault she hadn't slept well the night before. He'd spent the whole night hurling. Alcohol? Food poisoning? It was hard telling but it was still unpleasant to listen to for hours. But, she supposed that's what she got for spending $10 on a place to stay for the night. At least the bunk bed didn't collapse on her from the two girls sharing the top.
As she listened to the chicken-like sounds of the people speaking Spanish while playing cards on the other side of the patio, she glanced down at her book. Again she was disappointed with the language and setting. The Costa Rican pura vida atmosphere combined with the pot-smell of the hostel would have been perfect for Kerouac, and she was reading high-class, European Hemingway. Oh well, there was not much she could do about it but try to enjoy the salty ocean breeze as it blew the pages closed.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Spring Break-ing
You know you're an out-of-state college student when you're hardly off the plane before being handed a list of appointments and interviews that fill your spring break. That's ok because once you wrestle with your two sisters for the one car you know these roads and can get to your destination without the GPS (named Goopus... it's "GPS" and "Doofus" combined). In fact, you know where the lanes end, the speed limit changes, and where the police officers hide.
One thing my family does together is watch House, MD. Dad and I started it, but my sisters have jumped on the bandwagon. I don't have time to watch during the semester, so I hadn't seen any episodes since I was home at Christmastime. One of the episodes we watched this week involved a woman who blogged literally everything. Even I'm not that bad! See, look. This is me sparing you every intricate detail of my spring break and summarizing it in ten highlights. (I'd also like to note that I don't actually post my blogs at 6:48am or whatever. I schedule their publication, so don't tell me my sleeping habits have changed so I can blog at 6am or something crazy like that...)
1. First and foremost, the term "spring break" is not at all what I have experienced. It's not a "break" when the first day you get to sleep in is the day before you go back. It's not "spring" when you wake up that day to find three inches of snow on the ground. Don't get me wrong, we had some nice warm days, but silly me, I thought in spring the warm days were supposed to follow the snow not precede it.
2. Seeing my sister's college and eating the only pancakes and pasta for four days. The only person brave enough to venture from this strict diet found herself at urgent care with food poisoning. Oops.
3. Drinking ancient champagne with Christian in the church copy room. Don't worry, April was there, too.*
4. Some of our windows need to be replaced, so we're restaining the hardwood floor first... "if you give a mouse a cookie" style.
5. My first trip to the dentist in five years. It's really not that I have dentist-phobia but rather my mother has phone-call-making-phobia. I think it's a genetic condition.
6.Driving through the morning rush hour traffic for an internship interview at a downtown coffee shop. However, it was an incredibly interesting, informative interview. The first of three that day.
7.My first pedicure ever. Enough said.
8. Translating at the food pantry and soup kitchen. A hard of hearing Hispanic woman told me (in English) that the first time she heard her family speaking Spanish she told them they sounded like a bunch of chickens. Love it!
9. Remembering that I live in a house where refrigerated black olives are guarded by rotten tomatoes and sometimes the toilet paper pukes cat food. Don't ask unless you really want to know!
10. Last but definitely not least was having the opportunity to read for fun! Gasp! What's that? Book review coming soon.
How was your break?
<>< Katie
* Christian's the pastor of an ancient inner-city church; April is his wife. No one knows where this champagne came from nor how old it is, so, no, we didn't actually drink it.
One thing my family does together is watch House, MD. Dad and I started it, but my sisters have jumped on the bandwagon. I don't have time to watch during the semester, so I hadn't seen any episodes since I was home at Christmastime. One of the episodes we watched this week involved a woman who blogged literally everything. Even I'm not that bad! See, look. This is me sparing you every intricate detail of my spring break and summarizing it in ten highlights. (I'd also like to note that I don't actually post my blogs at 6:48am or whatever. I schedule their publication, so don't tell me my sleeping habits have changed so I can blog at 6am or something crazy like that...)
1. First and foremost, the term "spring break" is not at all what I have experienced. It's not a "break" when the first day you get to sleep in is the day before you go back. It's not "spring" when you wake up that day to find three inches of snow on the ground. Don't get me wrong, we had some nice warm days, but silly me, I thought in spring the warm days were supposed to follow the snow not precede it.
2. Seeing my sister's college and eating the only pancakes and pasta for four days. The only person brave enough to venture from this strict diet found herself at urgent care with food poisoning. Oops.
3. Drinking ancient champagne with Christian in the church copy room. Don't worry, April was there, too.*
4. Some of our windows need to be replaced, so we're restaining the hardwood floor first... "if you give a mouse a cookie" style.
5. My first trip to the dentist in five years. It's really not that I have dentist-phobia but rather my mother has phone-call-making-phobia. I think it's a genetic condition.
6.Driving through the morning rush hour traffic for an internship interview at a downtown coffee shop. However, it was an incredibly interesting, informative interview. The first of three that day.
7.My first pedicure ever. Enough said.
8. Translating at the food pantry and soup kitchen. A hard of hearing Hispanic woman told me (in English) that the first time she heard her family speaking Spanish she told them they sounded like a bunch of chickens. Love it!
9. Remembering that I live in a house where refrigerated black olives are guarded by rotten tomatoes and sometimes the toilet paper pukes cat food. Don't ask unless you really want to know!
10. Last but definitely not least was having the opportunity to read for fun! Gasp! What's that? Book review coming soon.
How was your break?
<>< Katie
* Christian's the pastor of an ancient inner-city church; April is his wife. No one knows where this champagne came from nor how old it is, so, no, we didn't actually drink it.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Te Amo or Te Quiero
As per tradition, the night before a mission trip our friends gather on the floot and pray over those leaving. Last year when I went to Guatemala, Amber prayed in ASL. This year Amber was headed on an ASL mission trip, so I teased about praying in Spanish. I wasn't actually prepared to do that, but I did end with some Spanish just for kicks and giggles. I said, "Dios, Te amo" or "God, I love You."
Unlike in English, Spanish has multiple words for the word "love" and multiple ways to say, "I love you." When I first learned how to say "I love you" the teacher taught me "te amo," but I've since learned it's an intimate love typically only used between husband and wife. A better term to use on a daily basis is "te quiero" or more of a friendship love. I'm slowly working "te amo" out of my vocabulary and felt dumb when I said it in our prayer. Not really like Amber knew, but I knew I used the wrong type of love.
The more I was thinking about it, the more I decided I didn't actually mess it up. I want to know Him in an intimate way. I want to be able to say to Him "te amo." Don't you?
Te quiero,
<>< Katie
PS. The last part of our mission trip tradition will come to fruition on Sunday when I return to campus and take a window marker to Amber's car... dun, dun, dun. :-)
Oh, and by the way, where's the spell check button on the new blogger? Sorry!
Unlike in English, Spanish has multiple words for the word "love" and multiple ways to say, "I love you." When I first learned how to say "I love you" the teacher taught me "te amo," but I've since learned it's an intimate love typically only used between husband and wife. A better term to use on a daily basis is "te quiero" or more of a friendship love. I'm slowly working "te amo" out of my vocabulary and felt dumb when I said it in our prayer. Not really like Amber knew, but I knew I used the wrong type of love.
The more I was thinking about it, the more I decided I didn't actually mess it up. I want to know Him in an intimate way. I want to be able to say to Him "te amo." Don't you?
Te quiero,
<>< Katie
PS. The last part of our mission trip tradition will come to fruition on Sunday when I return to campus and take a window marker to Amber's car... dun, dun, dun. :-)
Oh, and by the way, where's the spell check button on the new blogger? Sorry!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Keep Looking
When it comes to the blog, there's no real system for what I post. I know it's a shocker for "Don't touch it; I have a system" Katie to not have a method to this madness.
I do try to include a nice mix of God moments, this is what my crazy friends did this week, book reviews, and other random stories. I've had the last two well-covered this week, but I was thinking it's been awhile since I posted my last God moment.
First thing this morning, I decided I wanted to post a God moment today. Problem: that means I need to have a God moment today and God moments don't always come when you call. You have to go searching for them. So I've been looking...
In my dreams... nope, I dreamed about a hearing man complaining to me (in ASL) about the lack of closed captioning on certain television channels. Gosh my dream-life is exciting.
In my social life... My creative writing friend has strep throat and one of my suitemates has a staph infection. My life is filled with hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes, and vitamin C. God did not get my attention through disinfecting the door-knobs and light switches, sorry.
In my academic life... "What language am I supposed to be using now?" has been my motto for this week. Signing to people who speak Spanish doesn't work any better than speaking Spanish to deaf people. I've tried both.
In my free time... what's that?
Just because I've been searching for God and haven't heard from Him directly doesn't mean He's not here. Just because you can't see His hand in your daily life doesn't mean He's not there. He's there. Trust me: He's there. Keep looking. Keep praying. Keep listening. When He gets your attention, don't be shocked if it's not life shattering. While He can do ostentatious divine interventions, most of the times He's gotten my attention it's been through mundane, every day activities. He's with you in the crazy and in the daily.
<>< Katie
I do try to include a nice mix of God moments, this is what my crazy friends did this week, book reviews, and other random stories. I've had the last two well-covered this week, but I was thinking it's been awhile since I posted my last God moment.
First thing this morning, I decided I wanted to post a God moment today. Problem: that means I need to have a God moment today and God moments don't always come when you call. You have to go searching for them. So I've been looking...
In my dreams... nope, I dreamed about a hearing man complaining to me (in ASL) about the lack of closed captioning on certain television channels. Gosh my dream-life is exciting.
In my social life... My creative writing friend has strep throat and one of my suitemates has a staph infection. My life is filled with hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes, and vitamin C. God did not get my attention through disinfecting the door-knobs and light switches, sorry.
In my academic life... "What language am I supposed to be using now?" has been my motto for this week. Signing to people who speak Spanish doesn't work any better than speaking Spanish to deaf people. I've tried both.
In my free time... what's that?
Just because I've been searching for God and haven't heard from Him directly doesn't mean He's not here. Just because you can't see His hand in your daily life doesn't mean He's not there. He's there. Trust me: He's there. Keep looking. Keep praying. Keep listening. When He gets your attention, don't be shocked if it's not life shattering. While He can do ostentatious divine interventions, most of the times He's gotten my attention it's been through mundane, every day activities. He's with you in the crazy and in the daily.
<>< Katie
Monday, January 11, 2010
Él es grande
Well, I've finally finished scrapbooking Guatemala! Phew! That was job! Approximately sixty pages in a month (on top of Christmas and other bizarre family somethings :-)). Ok, minus the page with my roommates because it's going to take a lot of laughter to explain why Heather in the shower could hold hands with Caitlin in bed.
Today I was making a short list of things didn't make the cut and fit into the scrapbook.
- "Ok, let's see if my suitcase closes. I took out some socks, but I put in some chickens and a hammock." Oh, Heather. This can go on the Guate-mate page.
- "Él es grande."
When Neal was playing basketball with a Guatemalan woman she kept saying "Él es grande; él es grande." This literally translates to, "He is big; he is big."
When I wrote this I used a capital "É" since it's the beginning of a sentence but that made me stop and think.
"Él es grande."
What if we change the "Él" to mean God instead of Neal?
"Él es grande; Él es grande."
He's big; He's big.
God is big. Dios es grande.
Never forget that.
<>< Katie
PS. Spell-check doesn't like this post. Do you like it?
Today I was making a short list of things didn't make the cut and fit into the scrapbook.
- "Ok, let's see if my suitcase closes. I took out some socks, but I put in some chickens and a hammock." Oh, Heather. This can go on the Guate-mate page.
- "Él es grande."
When Neal was playing basketball with a Guatemalan woman she kept saying "Él es grande; él es grande." This literally translates to, "He is big; he is big."
When I wrote this I used a capital "É" since it's the beginning of a sentence but that made me stop and think.
"Él es grande."
What if we change the "Él" to mean God instead of Neal?
"Él es grande; Él es grande."
He's big; He's big.
God is big. Dios es grande.
Never forget that.
<>< Katie
PS. Spell-check doesn't like this post. Do you like it?
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Did I Really Just Do That?
"Hey, Keith, are you going the dinner party tomorrow night?" I shouted down the dorm hallway to my friend at the other end. He mumbled something and beckoned me towards him.
The dinner party was an exclusive party and only certain people had been invited. I'd heard about it via word of mouth (from the hosts and others), so I didn't realize it was such a secret thing. Maybe it wasn't, but either way, I'd just done what I've sworn I'd never do.
I hate it when people are talking about parties in front of others who haven't been invited. Let is be a birthday party, dinner party, Guitar Hero party, anything. Whether it be they were intentionally uninvited or it just so happened that they hadn't heard about it. Either way, I strive to not mention events in front of others if I can help it.
Then I screamed down the hall to Keith about a party. There was only one person within my viewing area that hadn't been invited (and not because she wasn't invited but because it's a Spanish party and she doesn't speak Spanish), but I don't know how many heard me. I probably wouldn't have thought anything about it except that Keith had the decency to call me out on what I did. He compassionately let me know that it was in invitation-only event, so I should probably keep it quiet.
Even though it made me feel awful, I'm glad he let me know that what I did was wrong. We all need friends like that. To let us know we're wrong, even when it hurts. Even if we didn't mean to be wrong. Even if we don't like to hear that we're wrong.
<>< Katie
"Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction." 2 Timothy 4:2
The dinner party was an exclusive party and only certain people had been invited. I'd heard about it via word of mouth (from the hosts and others), so I didn't realize it was such a secret thing. Maybe it wasn't, but either way, I'd just done what I've sworn I'd never do.
I hate it when people are talking about parties in front of others who haven't been invited. Let is be a birthday party, dinner party, Guitar Hero party, anything. Whether it be they were intentionally uninvited or it just so happened that they hadn't heard about it. Either way, I strive to not mention events in front of others if I can help it.
Then I screamed down the hall to Keith about a party. There was only one person within my viewing area that hadn't been invited (and not because she wasn't invited but because it's a Spanish party and she doesn't speak Spanish), but I don't know how many heard me. I probably wouldn't have thought anything about it except that Keith had the decency to call me out on what I did. He compassionately let me know that it was in invitation-only event, so I should probably keep it quiet.
Even though it made me feel awful, I'm glad he let me know that what I did was wrong. We all need friends like that. To let us know we're wrong, even when it hurts. Even if we didn't mean to be wrong. Even if we don't like to hear that we're wrong.
<>< Katie
"Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction." 2 Timothy 4:2
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Adventures of Katie and Laura Part Four: A Run-in with the Law
One Friday evening, Laura and I were sitting at the coffee shop and decided we needed to go to Wal-mart. Instead of going to our “normal Wal-mart” we need a change of scenery and headed to the other one relatively equidistant from here as the normal one. Except this one is over state lines. One the return trip, we crossed back into the proper state and less than a mile down the road was a group of police officers stopping every single car both entering and leaving the state. The car three in front of us was asked to pull over. The following two cars were allowed to continue on. We were asked to wait while a car at the cross road was checked. The police officer was kind enough to turn his flashlight off so he didn’t blind us as he stood next to our car preventing us from continuing our journey home.
When he returned, he requested Laura’s drivers’ license. I asked if he wanted mine, too, and he said only if Laura was driving with a permit. Of course, because she looks like she’s under 16. And I look like I’m several years old than she is. Clearly the police officer’s did not have any age-guessing perspicacity but that’s ok. He took Laura’s license and commented about where she was from: neither the state we had just left nor the state we had just entered, nor any other state bordering the two aforementioned states. He guessed she was here for education and she quickly gave the name of our school, less than ten minutes up the road. He handed her license back to her and said we were free to go.
The entire way back to campus, Laura and I brain stormed possibilities for the random security check point. We came up with everything from boredom to being worried about an alien attack (just kidding… but only a little). Our best guess was that they were preventing someone from entering or leaving the state. However, that did not explain why they only wanted Laura’s license and not mine. I admitted I had hoped they wanted mine so they could be completely confused as to why we represented two different states half-way across the country, neither of which were the two we were driving between. She admitted she wanted to be pulled over so she could inquire about the situation. We then imagined the two of us being asked to walk a straight line. Both completely sober: she’d fall over and I’d stumble and bumble my way through. As the flair says, “We’re not clumsy, we’re uniquely coordinated.”
Unique is one word for the night. I’d seen similar security check points in Mexico but never had to stop at one because I was a tourist on a big flashy bus. We did have to stop in the taxi when the taxi driver had to stop and prove he was really a certified taxi driver. That was reassuring to know since he spoke minimal English and I was not in the mood to translate and conjugate all in an attempt to communicate.
The only other time Laura had ever had to stop like that is when she drove over the border into Canada. She said today—all two minutes of it—was more of a shebang than that was.
We later learned there had been a strange car accident in the same spot a little while earlier (actually, we saw the repercussions of it on our way to Wal-mart). Luckily no one was injured (to my knowledge), but it is suspected that our police stop was a DUI check point. Good thing we decided against buying the beer at Wal-mart! (Just kidding… about contemplating to buy it, that is). Neither Laura nor I had ever gone through anything like that before, but Amber said she gets stopped for that all the time. Personally, I think it was a bit early for a DUI check point and those police officers should wait until bar time but that’s just me.
No spiritual connection at the moment. However, I do present to you a new vocabulary word:
Pusillanimous is an adjective meaning lacking courage, unmanly, fearful, and spineless.
Chillingworth in The Scarlet Letter is a pusillanimous character.
Check out the other stories in “Adventures of Katie and Laura” series:
Part One: Getting lost in a one stop-light town
Part Two: playing Marco Polo at the nursing home
Part Three: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
<><>
"Be still, and know that I am God." - Psalm 46:10a
Monday, May 19, 2008
Uno Mas
This started as a game with my friends from high school, but I'm pretty sure I've never played with them. :-) My church friends now love it, and we play every chance we get (we even played in a bus once!). It involves going around a round-about repeated while giggling and screaming "Uno Mas! UNO MAS!" ("One more! One more!").
It's really fun (and funny). The problem is: you waste gas and don't go anywhere. You drive in circles again and again and again until the passengers get dizzy, the driver is bored, or another car comes.
Sometimes do you drive in circles repeatedly with God? Keep passing by the same spot but never really going anywhere? Sometimes you have to hit the turn signal and exit the round-about. It's not easy. Driving in circles is much more fun but moving on is much more productive.
<>< Katie
Disclaimer: Do not play on big round-abouts with lots of cars nor at busy times of the day. Round-abouts in parking lots work very well. This blogger is not responsible for any injuries, dirty looks, nor tickets as a result of playing Uno Mas.
It's really fun (and funny). The problem is: you waste gas and don't go anywhere. You drive in circles again and again and again until the passengers get dizzy, the driver is bored, or another car comes.
Sometimes do you drive in circles repeatedly with God? Keep passing by the same spot but never really going anywhere? Sometimes you have to hit the turn signal and exit the round-about. It's not easy. Driving in circles is much more fun but moving on is much more productive.
<>< Katie
Disclaimer: Do not play on big round-abouts with lots of cars nor at busy times of the day. Round-abouts in parking lots work very well. This blogger is not responsible for any injuries, dirty looks, nor tickets as a result of playing Uno Mas.
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