Looks Like

Amber and I were dragging a little as we walked through yet another airport.  This was our sixth airport and sixth flight involved in our journey to and from China.

We got fifteen hours of sleep between Friday morning and Monday-Round Two.  Then sixteen hours between Monday-Round Two and Tuesday.  There was a lot still to make up for.

A man shouted at us, "Would you care to hear about the Lord Jesus Christ?"

Normally I would have ignored him.  I'm not a fan of street-corner preachers.  And I just got back from China where you are constantly heckled to buy this product, hire this taxi, etc.  But in a burst of energy, I turned to him, pumped my first in the air, and proudly proclaimed, "We know the Lord!"

"Doesn't look like it," he said.

We kept walking.  Amber laughed.  But I was annoyed.

What does it look like to love the Lord?

Does it look like this Christian t-shirt I'm wearing?

Does it look like the cross around my neck?

Does it look like kapris rather than short-shorts?

Does it look like a pep in my step even though I'm exhausted?

Does it look like the bags under my eyes from a three-week mission trip?

Maybe it's not physical.

Maybe it looks like loving, even those people who are hard to love.

Maybe it looks like serving others, even when you'd rather fall into bed.

Maybe it looks like being patient and understanding, even as you explain something for the hundredth time.
Maybe it looks like being kind to everyone, even the man in the airport using tracts.

Maybe it doesn't look like I love the Lord.

Maybe that's something I need to work on.  Now and always.

<>< Katie

Home

Last week I made my first trip to Baptist Country as an alumna.  When we pulled into town, it didn't feel like I had been gone a month.  It felt like we had just gone to Elizabeth's for the weekend.

Very little has changed. 
A few trees have blown down, the construction projects have progressed, and there are not nearly as many cars in the parking lot. 

So much has changed.
My ID card no longer lets me into buildings, my mailbox is boarded up, and I am not returning in the fall.  Yet still it feels like home.

It was years ago when I first referred to that little town as "home."  If I flew to The Homeland, I said I was flying home.  If I flew to Baptist Country, I said I was flying home.  The lines between "home" and "school" were so blurry that I gave up on what to call each place and declared travel days "Airplane Day," no matter which direction I was going.

What is home?

Is home my parents' house?  Is home the college town where I went couch-surfing last week?  What exactly is home?

I wish I posted everything I've drafted because in February I wrote a post entitled "Redefining Family."  It claimed "family" was my five suitemates, my ten-person ministry team, and my lunch buddies.  Sometimes family has little to do with blood relation.

Home is where your family is.

I'm having a hard time deciding where "home" is because my family is in The Homeland, my family is in Baptist Country, my family is in Nicaragua, in Guatemala...  Does that make home all of those places as well?

In the same way that The Homeland will always be "home" because my family is here, Baptist Country will always be "home" because my family is there, too.

Beauty and the Beast taught me "home is where the heart is."  If that's true, then I'm heartbroken.  In Baptist Country, I want to be in The Homeland.  While in The Homeland, I yearn for Baptist Country.  I don't think this is necessarily a bad problem to have, but I am not a fan.  For four years my life has been split by 900 miles, a chasm that is not closing anytime soon.

Until God sends me somewhere else, home will have to be my parents' house.  No more trying to outsmart amazon.com to get packages delivered to my P.O. box.  No more loitering in the caf.  No more spontaneous trips to Wal-mart even though we don't need anything.  No more "Katie, party of twelve, your table is ready."

As I struggle to define such a basic four-letter word, I must also remember that in the grand scheme of things, none of these places are "home."  They are all temporary dwellings prior to an eternal home.  I honestly believe that someday there will be no sixteen-hour drives and no time change because there will be no time at all.  There will be a day when tears won't roll, hearts won't break, and pain won't hurt.  All of God's children will be home, constantly singing praises to Him, for He deserves it. 

That, my friends, will be Home.

<>< Katie

Reunited

A long time ago I said if you all were nice to me I would post some fiction.  I haven't forgotten that promise but I have not fulfilled it either.  Until now.  Ta-da!  It's just a first draft (well, second if you count the version in my Writer's Notebook). Inspired by a couple I saw for ten seconds while people watching in the airport.  <>< K

Juggling a cranky toddler in one arm and an overfull diaper bag with the other, Samantha slowly made her way down the airport concourse.

"Sam."

His booming voice made her insides swell with excitement.  Had it really only been four days?  She felt like she had been gone for four years.  Even though she had not yet found Brad in the crowd, she knew they were close because Alexi squirmed more with every step Samantha took.  Finally Samantha saw him.  His big white smile, deep blue eyes, and shaggy brown hair.  She could get lost staring at him.

Alexi flew out of Samantha's arms and fell into her father's chest.  Samantha watched as Brad nuzzled his face into Alexi's hair.  If ever there had been a doubt regarding this father's love for his daughter, this moment eliminated it.

"Hey, Beautiful," he said to Samantha.  He stepped forward and kiss her on the forehead.  With his free arm he wrapped her into him.  Letting the diaper bag fall to the ground, she gripped his back with both hands and breathed in his scent.  She loved being held firmly in his embrace.

Alexi let out a giggle and leaped backwards, almost throwing herself to the ground.  Brad let go of his wife and shifted his attention back to the baby.  He entertained Alexi while Samantha claimed their stroller and large suitcase with a heavy tag, again she questioned if the trip had truly only been four days.  She reassembled the stroller and threw the diaper bag into the seat.  There would be no removing Alexi from her daddy's arms anytime in the near future; they both would protest if Samantha tried.

"Ready?"

Samantha nodded.  She pushed the stroller with her left hand and pulled the suitcase with her right.  The three of them headed out the door.  Samantha was ready to get home.  Ready to relax on her own couch, cuddle with her husband, and let him take care of the baby.  She didn't think he'd mind.

As they stepped into crosswalk, Brad switched Alexi to his right arm and reached for the suitcase with his left hand.  Samantha let him take the weight, but she did not remove her hand.  She wrapped her pinky around his and held on as they walked to the car.

The Savior, The Seat Belt, The Superdome

A snapshot from my time at the LCMS National Youth Gathering.  See the first post here.

The Savior
On my way to New Orleans, I flew alone.  I am no stranger to being a party of one, but I have rarely felt as lonely as I did on that airplane.  I was frantically searching for someone else headed in my direction.  Every time I passed someone about my age, I looked at them with expectant eyes as if to say, "Are you my savior?  Will you share a taxi with me?  Will you help me figure out where to go?"  Ultimately, I got on a shuttle for $20 and made it to the hotel fine and by myself.  It was as if God was saying, "No, I AM your Savior."

The Seat Belt

My plane had a layover but I did not switch planes.  On the first leg of my journey, the woman seated in front of me noticed she was missing half of her seat belt.  Since she didn't want to be reseated, she didn't say anything to the flight attendant.  On the continuing flight into New Orleans, a little boy had that seat.  Of course, his mother was not thrilled about her son flying without a seat belt.  She called the flight attendant who quickly came over and put the new seat belt together.  A simple fix.

That's life.  We try and hide things from God and solve it on our own.  We literally try to fly by the seat of our pants as we attempt to take our lives into our own hands.  We can't.  As soon as we admit that and say, "Help!"  He does.  Maybe it's not a simple fix, but it's no longer our problem.*

The Superdome

Five years ago, it served as a shelter during Hurricane Katrina.  People died here.

Five hours ago, it was so empty you could converse across it and be heard.

Now, it is the home of the Superbowl Champions.

Now, it is filled with 25,000 youth praising God!

The saints are marching into the home of the Saints.

<>< Katie

*When I shared this (what I considered to be a mediocre) metaphor with my group, they loved it.  It kind of became a challenge to see who could come up with the best metaphor for the day.  Everyone always compared their metaphors to it in terms of, "this one isn't as good as the seat belt metaphor."  They ultimately said I should write a book of them... Wouldn't that be cool?

Seat Buddy

I first noticed her at the gate.  I think it was the three bags and pillow she was carrying.  That's twice as many as the allotted number of carry-ons.  With her unkempt, wet hair and the luggage she was juggling she personified the word "disheveled."

I was already seated when she boarded the plane.  I began to have an internal panic moment as she made her way down the aisle towards me.

Please don't be my seat partner.  Please don't be my seat partner.

Lucky for me, she stopped one seat short.  This meant I could hear her loud music and conversation without having any of her bags fall in my lap.

I got lost in my book and was only snapped back to reality when I heard the word "publisher."  For the next few minutes I eavesdropped.  She was in the process of publishing a book.  No, she wasn't the child photographed on the cover.  That would have cost more.  She trusts her publisher and isn't so worried about what to write any more.

At that moment, I wished I could have traded seats with her seat partner.  I wanted to ask Disheveled about her publishing experiences.  How she find a publisher, did she have an agent, what was her book about, where would it be sold, was she exploring online publishing?  I had a million questions and not the opportunity to ask them.  Quite possibly because I'd been praying for her to be seated somewhere else.

Shame on me.  I judged before I knew.
Oops.

<>< Katie

An Airport Adventure

Alexis said it would be no problem to pick me up at the airport.  We were both headed back to school from a break and she drove past the airport on her way.  I told her what time my flight was arriving, and, despite my not checking a bag, we planned to meet at baggage claim.

The plane landed safely and I texted her tell her I'd just landed.  I'd be there shortly.

"You'll never guess what I just did." She texted back.  I thought she'd forgotten me, honestly.  Nope, better.

She'd arrived at the airport, parked the car, and came into baggage claim, our planned meeting place despite my not having any checked bags.  She walked up to the monitor and searched for flights coming in from Philadelphia, a city she's visited.  She then looked to the beginning of the alphabet for "Arizona."  It wasn't listed.  In a near-panic, she called home and told her mom my flight wasn't coming in.  I'm so glad her mom assured her my flight was coming and told her to wait for it.

When Alexis explained this to me on the bus back to her car--the wrong bus, I might add--I looked at her and could not stifle my laughter. 

"Alexis, my plane didn't come from the whole state of Arizona.  It came from Phoenix.  'P-h-o' right next to the 'P-h-i' of Philadelphia."

So she's a bit airport challenged... but I love her anyway.

<>< Katie

PS: Happy birthday, Elizabeth.

Never Underestimate the Power of a Good Book

On the way to the airport to come home for Christmas, my friend Kevin (who sometimes reads this blog) told me he rarely reads books anymore and never books that are more than 200 pages. I asked him if he'd read a 201 page book if I wrote it, and he said no. He's pretty serious about this 200 page rule.

The other day I jokingly asked him if he's read anything good over break and he said yes! Just from the tone in his... er... text message, I could tell he was excited about this book. Yes, a quick google search revealed it is less than 200 pages but that isn't the point.

That's all it takes, one good book. Earlier this break I was feeling lazy and apathetic. All I did all day was blog, participate in "family somethings," and play Bejeweled Blitz. That is until a spontaneous trip to Barnes & Noble changed (and charged) by break.

I'm now deep in to two books. Whether I love them or not is beside the point because once again the words are flowing. While I haven't written a substantial amount, maybe five pages, there has been a lot of plotting and some major changes. In this case, change is good. And I owe it all to the 300 pages I've read this week. (Ok, and my Almighty God who has given me the words to speak).

Excuse me now why I go disappear into a comfortable recliner with a blanket, a good book, and a glass of wine on this beautiful blizzarding day. (Ok, just kidding about the wine... maybe).

Be verbose!
<>< Katie