It was somewhere between 11:30pm and midnight. I turned off the light and began the stringray shuffle towards my bed. About 3/4 of the way there I stopped, contemplating a Lambeau Leap into bed just to entertain Jennifer. Jennifer! I turned around and shuffled back towards the blinking light switch. As soon as I hit it, my roommate Jennifer and I doubled over in laughter.
Well, I doubled over; she almost fell out of bed. It wasn't really that funny, but we laughed until our stomachs hurt. Everything's funnier in the middle of the night, right?
She had been reading when I walked in from the bathroom, turned off the light, and headed to bed.
Here's the kicker: I totally knew she was reading and turned out the light without thinking anything of it!
Here's the second kicker: She didn't say anything!
I guess you had to be there. We laughed until we couldn't breathe. That could be hazardous to your health.
You know what else could be hazardous to your health? Absent-mindedly going through life. Turning off the light before you get into bed despite the fact that your roommate is reading. Making it your goal to get from Point A to Point B as fast as you can without noticing the people you pass on your way. Every day counting down until the next day when you can sleep in.
I consider myself pretty observant and friendly. I noticed Jen was reading. I wave to snowplow drivers. I address people by name when I pass them on campus.
But get me in the caf and I am in a zone! Sure, I'll talk if I'm in line, but most people tell me they saw me in the caf but I looked like I was in a hurry, so they didn't say hi. In the caf, sometimes I don't acknowledge people until they call my name. Clueless.
What if we took the time to notice the other people in the caf? Instead of just seeing bodies in between us and the milk, what if we saw the faces of God's children? What if we actually payed attention to what we were doing rather than doing it half-heartedly or rush?
What if we left the light on for someone?
What if we cared?
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label attention. Show all posts
Showing posts with label attention. Show all posts
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
"And Then I Found Five Dollars"
Since I've been home, I've told a lot of stories around our dinner table. When I finally pause to breathe at the end of each story, Christina has looked at me and said, "And then did you find five dollars?"
Every time she's said it, I've boiled with anger and frustration. The desire to rip off her head has increased with every smart alec comment that could be translated to, "That pointless story was a waste of my time."
I think that may be why Max Lucado's A Love Worth Giving has resonated so well with me, the queen of pointless stories.
In the chapter "Your Kindness Quotient," Max talks about Christ wanting to hear your story. The example used is the woman with the bleeding problem whose story is found sandwiched in Mark 5.
Basically she's been sick for years and years. She was out of money, and everyone told her to be out of hope. But she wasn't. She had the faith to believe Jesus could heal her, so she went to find Him.
Of course, He was busy. The daughter of a city leader (Jairus) was dying, and Jesus was on His way to perform a miraculous healing. This woman didn't want to take up Jesus's time, so she slid behind Him in the crowd and touched the hem of His robe.
Instantly she was healed and ready to go on her way. Jesus wasn't going to let her get off that easily.
"Who touched me?" He demanded.
Can you imagine the disciples' response? "We're in the middle of a crowd and You wonder who touched You? A million people! That guy there, this woman over here, but I was the one who stepped on Your foot. Sorry. Come on; let's go!"
Christ was adamant, and the woman timidly came forward. If it was me, I'd be ashamed of the ruckus I'd caused. Maybe she was, but she was also healed.
Max writes, "A girl was dying, people were pressing, the disciples were questioning, but Jesus... Jesus was listening. Listening to the whole story. He didn't have to. The healing would have been enough. Enough for her. Enough for the crowd. But not enough for Him. Jesus wanted to do more than heal her body. He wanted to hear her story--all of it. The whole story" (26).
It blows my mind that we have a Savior who is willing to hear every story we tell. He's not even disappointed when they're long and pointless. He'll never ask if we found five dollars. If the story is important to us, it is important to Him.
I saw a prime example of this years ago at a concert meet and greet crowd. A little girl came up and cut me in the blob of a line. Of course, at the time I was annoyed but years later I'm glad to have witnessed such a beautiful moment.
The artist, Peder Eide, leaned over to be at her height, put his arm around her, and held his head next to hers in order to hear her over the crowd. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I knew it was intense because every once in a while Peder would draw back to make eye contact with her. As her story drew to a close, he started gently asking her questions. The crowd pressing for his attention no longer mattered; he wanted to know more about this little girl.
When she was done and he was done asking questions, Peder looked her in the eye and said, "Thank you for telling me that. I'll be praying for you."
Christ's waiting for you to tell Him the whole story. The crowd of people lobbying for His attention vanishes when He's got His arm around you listening to your story. He's willing to sit there and talk with you for as long as you want. He'll stay until your story is complete, even if it's long and boring. He'll ask questions and carefully listen to the answers. When you're done, He'll say, "Thank you for telling Me that. I'm sure it wasn't easy."
Sit and talk. Let Him be your Audience of One.
The non-monetary amount you find will be worth a whole lot more than five dollars.
<>< Katie
Every time she's said it, I've boiled with anger and frustration. The desire to rip off her head has increased with every smart alec comment that could be translated to, "That pointless story was a waste of my time."
I think that may be why Max Lucado's A Love Worth Giving has resonated so well with me, the queen of pointless stories.
In the chapter "Your Kindness Quotient," Max talks about Christ wanting to hear your story. The example used is the woman with the bleeding problem whose story is found sandwiched in Mark 5.
Basically she's been sick for years and years. She was out of money, and everyone told her to be out of hope. But she wasn't. She had the faith to believe Jesus could heal her, so she went to find Him.
Of course, He was busy. The daughter of a city leader (Jairus) was dying, and Jesus was on His way to perform a miraculous healing. This woman didn't want to take up Jesus's time, so she slid behind Him in the crowd and touched the hem of His robe.
Instantly she was healed and ready to go on her way. Jesus wasn't going to let her get off that easily.
"Who touched me?" He demanded.
Can you imagine the disciples' response? "We're in the middle of a crowd and You wonder who touched You? A million people! That guy there, this woman over here, but I was the one who stepped on Your foot. Sorry. Come on; let's go!"
Christ was adamant, and the woman timidly came forward. If it was me, I'd be ashamed of the ruckus I'd caused. Maybe she was, but she was also healed.
Max writes, "A girl was dying, people were pressing, the disciples were questioning, but Jesus... Jesus was listening. Listening to the whole story. He didn't have to. The healing would have been enough. Enough for her. Enough for the crowd. But not enough for Him. Jesus wanted to do more than heal her body. He wanted to hear her story--all of it. The whole story" (26).
It blows my mind that we have a Savior who is willing to hear every story we tell. He's not even disappointed when they're long and pointless. He'll never ask if we found five dollars. If the story is important to us, it is important to Him.
I saw a prime example of this years ago at a concert meet and greet crowd. A little girl came up and cut me in the blob of a line. Of course, at the time I was annoyed but years later I'm glad to have witnessed such a beautiful moment.
The artist, Peder Eide, leaned over to be at her height, put his arm around her, and held his head next to hers in order to hear her over the crowd. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I knew it was intense because every once in a while Peder would draw back to make eye contact with her. As her story drew to a close, he started gently asking her questions. The crowd pressing for his attention no longer mattered; he wanted to know more about this little girl.
When she was done and he was done asking questions, Peder looked her in the eye and said, "Thank you for telling me that. I'll be praying for you."
Christ's waiting for you to tell Him the whole story. The crowd of people lobbying for His attention vanishes when He's got His arm around you listening to your story. He's willing to sit there and talk with you for as long as you want. He'll stay until your story is complete, even if it's long and boring. He'll ask questions and carefully listen to the answers. When you're done, He'll say, "Thank you for telling Me that. I'm sure it wasn't easy."
Sit and talk. Let Him be your Audience of One.
The non-monetary amount you find will be worth a whole lot more than five dollars.
<>< Katie
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Craving Attention
With the Wiimote in her right hand the nunchaku in her left, she aimed for the television ready to shoot her archery arrow. As she prepared to complete her shot, she was interrupted by a flying monkey. Also known as her little brother.
When their mother told him to stop, he made her his next victim. She was sitting on the floor, and he began a game of king of the hill. I could see it was only a matter of time before my little buddy earned himself a time-out.
"Hey, Buddy, I've got a question for you," I said from the other side of the room.
"Did you hear that? Katie has a question for you," his mom echoed, giving me the "thanks" smile.
The six year old ran around the coffee table and leaped into my arms. There wasn't time to wonder if I was going to catch him or not. I did and in a matter of seconds I had him in a headlock.
Katie: First question, how old are you?
Buddy: Six.
Katie: Second question, how do you like being upside-down?
I flipped him over, and he giggled and giggled and giggled. I pulled him onto my knees. My next move was going to be a "walk in the woods" where my knees become a horse galloping and suddenly the rider drops in a hole. But it wasn't necessary. When I pulled him back up and onto my knees, he sat peacefully for almost five minutes. I was shocked. The kid who mere minutes earlier bouncing off the walls was relaxed on my lap.
He had been looking for attention, and I gave it to him. That's all he wanted. He didn't want to cause trouble, he wanted someone to pay attention to him.
Don't we do the same thing? We run around searching for attention in everything we can find. More often than not, the wrong things.
When we focus our attention on God, He gives us what we need. He catches us and holds us to His chest. Sure, life isn't perfect in His arms. Sometimes we even get flipped on our heads. But He's still there, with His arms held firmly around us. His constant love engulfing us.
When Buddy was on my lap, the adult conversation around me no longer mattered. He had my undivided attention. When we're talking to God, we are given His undivided attention. How cool is that? To know the Creator of the universe is listening to you?
Talk to Him, my friends. Seek His attention. Cuddle in His lap. You won't regret it.
<>< Katie
When their mother told him to stop, he made her his next victim. She was sitting on the floor, and he began a game of king of the hill. I could see it was only a matter of time before my little buddy earned himself a time-out.
"Hey, Buddy, I've got a question for you," I said from the other side of the room.
"Did you hear that? Katie has a question for you," his mom echoed, giving me the "thanks" smile.
The six year old ran around the coffee table and leaped into my arms. There wasn't time to wonder if I was going to catch him or not. I did and in a matter of seconds I had him in a headlock.
Katie: First question, how old are you?
Buddy: Six.
Katie: Second question, how do you like being upside-down?
I flipped him over, and he giggled and giggled and giggled. I pulled him onto my knees. My next move was going to be a "walk in the woods" where my knees become a horse galloping and suddenly the rider drops in a hole. But it wasn't necessary. When I pulled him back up and onto my knees, he sat peacefully for almost five minutes. I was shocked. The kid who mere minutes earlier bouncing off the walls was relaxed on my lap.
He had been looking for attention, and I gave it to him. That's all he wanted. He didn't want to cause trouble, he wanted someone to pay attention to him.
Don't we do the same thing? We run around searching for attention in everything we can find. More often than not, the wrong things.
When we focus our attention on God, He gives us what we need. He catches us and holds us to His chest. Sure, life isn't perfect in His arms. Sometimes we even get flipped on our heads. But He's still there, with His arms held firmly around us. His constant love engulfing us.
When Buddy was on my lap, the adult conversation around me no longer mattered. He had my undivided attention. When we're talking to God, we are given His undivided attention. How cool is that? To know the Creator of the universe is listening to you?
Talk to Him, my friends. Seek His attention. Cuddle in His lap. You won't regret it.
<>< Katie
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Is this normal?
I've got a not-so-rare genetic disease. I got it from my mom. My sisters have it, too, but theirs isn't as severe.
When I was home in March, we couldn't park Maxwell (my dad's car) in the garage because there were new windows there. They couldn't put the new windows in until the wood floor on the first floor was refinished. They couldn't refinish the floor until they (a) decided on a color (b) sanded down all of the footboards in the entire house and refinished those with three coats of varnish. Yes, my mother on her hands and knees sanding the upstairs bathroom (with linoleum floor and no windows) is getting us one step closer to a refinished wood floor and replaced windows. Two months later, the windows are still in the garage. This is our disease: the inability to complete one project before moving on to the next.
My arrival home spurred a big episode...
My task: unpack the cars and fit everything into my bedroom or under the ping pong table downstairs. The living room make be borrowed but only until Laura's graduation party in late June.
Step One: clean the bedroom
This means all of the papers previously heaped neatly in the corner under the window are now sorted in piles and scattered across the room. Before finding homes for all of these "important documents" I moved on to step two.
Step Two: Operation Bookshelf
My family's notorious for trying to fit too much furniture in a single room. Right now, that room is my bedroom. It's already full with a matching bedroom set, I've added two white CD cases, and now a Dad-made bookshelf. Problem: there is no wall space for the bookshelf. I began sorting and piling next to the door to find a space for said bookshelf, thus adding to the mountains of paper sorted neatly all over the room. I also entertian the idea of rearranging every piece of furniture in my bedroom in order to accomodate said bookshelf. However, I then remember Mom and I have no upper body strength and Dad's not allowed to lift anything heavy. He's never been one for the rules, so I don't dare tempt him. Time to move on to step three.
Step Three: You have a window seat?
Well, a windowseat for the cats. It's so full of stuff animals that sometimes I'm working in my room for a solid five minutes before I realize one of my stuff animals is moving... hello, Cow (our holstein kitty whose name is really Sparkle). All of the stuff animals have been sorted into two piles: keep, donate. Donate pile moves to Mom and Dad's bedroom. Keep pile stays on my bed. Long-term they go into a plastic tub I have in the basement, but, go figure, it's on the bottom of the stack of tubs. Dad's still not allowed to lift anything heavy.
Step Four: Put photos in picture frames
You've had those picture frames for years; maybe it's time you put something in them. Go downstairs to the computer with a printer and search for the perfect photos. While you're waiting for the page to load, waste no time and blog a little bit. Make sure to read Kevin's hilarious blog about the humbling experience that was dislocating his shoulder. (Yes, Mr. "Katie, you update too much" forgot about his blog for a month... at least I'm loyal to my readers)
Step Five: Dad wants his car back
Translation: get your dorm room out of Maxwell. Freshman year, my dorm room lived in the living room all summer. Last year, it was almost a month before I unpacked my car (named Andy). We'll see what happens this year.
Step Six: Bedtime.
Oh, snap. I have a bed? And a safe fire escape for the middle of the night? Let's put these papers into a nice pile under the window, the stuff animals can live on the windowseat, and the bookshelf can chill in the middle of the room. What a successful day! :-)
Do you have this disease too? To my knowledge there is no known cure. However, books have be written about this horrible condition. They are entitled: If You Give a Moose a Muffin and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Check them out at your local library, don't forget to put gas in your car and pick up cheese at the grocery store on the way there.
<>< Katie
When I was home in March, we couldn't park Maxwell (my dad's car) in the garage because there were new windows there. They couldn't put the new windows in until the wood floor on the first floor was refinished. They couldn't refinish the floor until they (a) decided on a color (b) sanded down all of the footboards in the entire house and refinished those with three coats of varnish. Yes, my mother on her hands and knees sanding the upstairs bathroom (with linoleum floor and no windows) is getting us one step closer to a refinished wood floor and replaced windows. Two months later, the windows are still in the garage. This is our disease: the inability to complete one project before moving on to the next.
My arrival home spurred a big episode...
My task: unpack the cars and fit everything into my bedroom or under the ping pong table downstairs. The living room make be borrowed but only until Laura's graduation party in late June.
Step One: clean the bedroom
This means all of the papers previously heaped neatly in the corner under the window are now sorted in piles and scattered across the room. Before finding homes for all of these "important documents" I moved on to step two.
Step Two: Operation Bookshelf
My family's notorious for trying to fit too much furniture in a single room. Right now, that room is my bedroom. It's already full with a matching bedroom set, I've added two white CD cases, and now a Dad-made bookshelf. Problem: there is no wall space for the bookshelf. I began sorting and piling next to the door to find a space for said bookshelf, thus adding to the mountains of paper sorted neatly all over the room. I also entertian the idea of rearranging every piece of furniture in my bedroom in order to accomodate said bookshelf. However, I then remember Mom and I have no upper body strength and Dad's not allowed to lift anything heavy. He's never been one for the rules, so I don't dare tempt him. Time to move on to step three.
Step Three: You have a window seat?
Well, a windowseat for the cats. It's so full of stuff animals that sometimes I'm working in my room for a solid five minutes before I realize one of my stuff animals is moving... hello, Cow (our holstein kitty whose name is really Sparkle). All of the stuff animals have been sorted into two piles: keep, donate. Donate pile moves to Mom and Dad's bedroom. Keep pile stays on my bed. Long-term they go into a plastic tub I have in the basement, but, go figure, it's on the bottom of the stack of tubs. Dad's still not allowed to lift anything heavy.
Step Four: Put photos in picture frames
You've had those picture frames for years; maybe it's time you put something in them. Go downstairs to the computer with a printer and search for the perfect photos. While you're waiting for the page to load, waste no time and blog a little bit. Make sure to read Kevin's hilarious blog about the humbling experience that was dislocating his shoulder. (Yes, Mr. "Katie, you update too much" forgot about his blog for a month... at least I'm loyal to my readers)
Step Five: Dad wants his car back
Translation: get your dorm room out of Maxwell. Freshman year, my dorm room lived in the living room all summer. Last year, it was almost a month before I unpacked my car (named Andy). We'll see what happens this year.
Step Six: Bedtime.
Oh, snap. I have a bed? And a safe fire escape for the middle of the night? Let's put these papers into a nice pile under the window, the stuff animals can live on the windowseat, and the bookshelf can chill in the middle of the room. What a successful day! :-)
Do you have this disease too? To my knowledge there is no known cure. However, books have be written about this horrible condition. They are entitled: If You Give a Moose a Muffin and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Check them out at your local library, don't forget to put gas in your car and pick up cheese at the grocery store on the way there.
<>< Katie
Friday, April 23, 2010
Double the Mistake
There are about a million birthdays in April. Some of them I was able to write birthday blogs for but some of them I had to miss. If you didn't get one, I am incredibly sorry. Please, don't take it personally. :-)
Today's is a birthday I cannot miss. I'm often complemented on how I can see God in all sorts of weird ways and call them "God Moments." I haven't always been able to do that. Through a year's worth of God moments of her own, I was able to copy Natalie's lead and see God in little, weird things. Trust me, if you think some of my God moments are weird, ask Natalie about He spoke through the chemistry principle of microscopic reverse or anything else that relates to sports, science, and the bathroom.
Thus, for her birthday, I'd love to share one of her God moments. The problem is that I need to find a censored one that is appropriate for such a wide reading audience. Not mortifying Natalie isn't quite an option. Hey, she's the one that showed up to small group wearing a bathrobe to demonstrate how Isaiah walked around naked for three years (see Isaiah 20). She's the one that took our small group on Babylonian exile through the icy rain. She's the one that burned two bagels in less than a half an hour. She's the one that broke two fingers playing flag football.
After a few days of pain, Natalie finally decided she should go to the doctor for her two injured fingers. The identical x-rays were hanging side-by-side and, as she tells it, the doctor was looking from one to the other to her to her hands with a confused look on his face.
Doctor: These are two different fingers.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: These are two different hands.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: Please tell me this was the same play.
Natalie: No, sir.
She'd been playing a co-ed game of flag football here on campus when she reached for the flag of one of her opponents. She got the flag but she also got her right hand tangled in his shorts. Broken right middle finger. She's broken enough bones to realize what she'd done but is way too competitive to remove herself from the game. Besides, if she benched herself her team would have to forfeit. A little while later she reached for her opponent's flag with her left hand and the exact same thing happened again. Broken finger on the left hand. Any sensible person would have learned her lesson and forced her team for forfeit the game. She'd already not just taken one for the team but two. Nope, Natalie kept playing. In fact, she even scored a touchdown with two broken fingers; she said she carried the ball clutched between her forearms and her chest as she waddled towards the end zone.
By Monday at small group time she'd be amused by the identical x-rays and had two splints on her fingers.
Apparently the flesh-colored splints make it look like her fingers were wearing hoodies, so she drew faces on her fingernails. The right-hand one became Jesus and the left-hand one became John the Baptist. Imagine Laura's reaction (her faithful co-leader who frequently reminded her "Be censored, Natalie!"). It went something like, "NATALIE! You cannot flip someone off with Jesus!"
Thus was my small group freshman year, and as is common for Natalie, God spoke through such a bizarre series of events.
She went on to talk about how sometimes she makes the same mistake twice. Sometimes she puts bagels in the oven and forgets about them until they're burned to chars and sometimes she does it again ten minute later. Sometimes she burns two bagels again two weeks later. Sometimes she breaks two fingers in the same football game. Sometimes she had to make the same mistake twice before God gets her attention. Do we do the same thing? Are we so caught up in what we're doing that we forget to pay attention to what we're doing? That we forget to pay attention to God?
Luckily, there is good news for us. Even out of her mistake of breaking fingers, God was still able to do something remarkable when He helped her score. He can still do pretty cool things with our double-mess ups. And frankly, I think that's a darn good thing.
I love you guys. A lot.
<>< Katie
Today's is a birthday I cannot miss. I'm often complemented on how I can see God in all sorts of weird ways and call them "God Moments." I haven't always been able to do that. Through a year's worth of God moments of her own, I was able to copy Natalie's lead and see God in little, weird things. Trust me, if you think some of my God moments are weird, ask Natalie about He spoke through the chemistry principle of microscopic reverse or anything else that relates to sports, science, and the bathroom.
Thus, for her birthday, I'd love to share one of her God moments. The problem is that I need to find a censored one that is appropriate for such a wide reading audience. Not mortifying Natalie isn't quite an option. Hey, she's the one that showed up to small group wearing a bathrobe to demonstrate how Isaiah walked around naked for three years (see Isaiah 20). She's the one that took our small group on Babylonian exile through the icy rain. She's the one that burned two bagels in less than a half an hour. She's the one that broke two fingers playing flag football.
After a few days of pain, Natalie finally decided she should go to the doctor for her two injured fingers. The identical x-rays were hanging side-by-side and, as she tells it, the doctor was looking from one to the other to her to her hands with a confused look on his face.
Doctor: These are two different fingers.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: These are two different hands.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: Please tell me this was the same play.
Natalie: No, sir.
She'd been playing a co-ed game of flag football here on campus when she reached for the flag of one of her opponents. She got the flag but she also got her right hand tangled in his shorts. Broken right middle finger. She's broken enough bones to realize what she'd done but is way too competitive to remove herself from the game. Besides, if she benched herself her team would have to forfeit. A little while later she reached for her opponent's flag with her left hand and the exact same thing happened again. Broken finger on the left hand. Any sensible person would have learned her lesson and forced her team for forfeit the game. She'd already not just taken one for the team but two. Nope, Natalie kept playing. In fact, she even scored a touchdown with two broken fingers; she said she carried the ball clutched between her forearms and her chest as she waddled towards the end zone.
By Monday at small group time she'd be amused by the identical x-rays and had two splints on her fingers.
Apparently the flesh-colored splints make it look like her fingers were wearing hoodies, so she drew faces on her fingernails. The right-hand one became Jesus and the left-hand one became John the Baptist. Imagine Laura's reaction (her faithful co-leader who frequently reminded her "Be censored, Natalie!"). It went something like, "NATALIE! You cannot flip someone off with Jesus!"
Thus was my small group freshman year, and as is common for Natalie, God spoke through such a bizarre series of events.
She went on to talk about how sometimes she makes the same mistake twice. Sometimes she puts bagels in the oven and forgets about them until they're burned to chars and sometimes she does it again ten minute later. Sometimes she burns two bagels again two weeks later. Sometimes she breaks two fingers in the same football game. Sometimes she had to make the same mistake twice before God gets her attention. Do we do the same thing? Are we so caught up in what we're doing that we forget to pay attention to what we're doing? That we forget to pay attention to God?
Luckily, there is good news for us. Even out of her mistake of breaking fingers, God was still able to do something remarkable when He helped her score. He can still do pretty cool things with our double-mess ups. And frankly, I think that's a darn good thing.
I love you guys. A lot.
<>< Katie
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Nose Knows
It's happened. I've been waiting patiently all semester and it has finally come to fruition. A cold has taken up residence in my body and no amount of hand sanitizer, bottled water, or Zicam will be evicting my newest suitemate. Until it decides to leave on its own terms, I will be sanitizing everything I look at.
But you know what? It's ok. Don't get me wrong, breathing is really annoying right now, but if it's March and I just now got sick for the first time: it's been a good year!
The other day at sign choir practice, Lizzie and I got into each others' sign space. Her hand got a little too close to my face. If Malachi poking me in the nose made it bleed, Lizzie's fingers definitely would have come out covered in ... censored. Ew gross! Filter, Katie, filter.
The sign Lizzie almost sent up my nose was "God." Yes, Lizzie's God almost went up my nose. Sometimes we need God to bloody our boogy nose before He gets our attention. That shouldn't be the case but it is reality. He shouldn't have to take such drastic measures before we give Him our undivided attention. Yet we're too busy running around trying to stay healthy, be productive, and keep the peace that we don't find the time to thank Him for our health, work, and relationships. We don't take a second and look for Him in those situations; we wait until He's taken drastic measures before we focus on Him.
Take a second and thank Him. Ask Him to reveal Himself to you in a new way today.
As for me, I will do the same. I'll also make sure I'm rexercising ("rest" and "exercise" combined) to make sure this cold doesn't apply to be my roommate for next year. Oh, and since Zicam recalled their excellent up-the-nose product, I'll try to make sure the only thing headed up my nose is a tissue... and the occasional finger. Kidding. I think.
<>< Katie
But you know what? It's ok. Don't get me wrong, breathing is really annoying right now, but if it's March and I just now got sick for the first time: it's been a good year!
The other day at sign choir practice, Lizzie and I got into each others' sign space. Her hand got a little too close to my face. If Malachi poking me in the nose made it bleed, Lizzie's fingers definitely would have come out covered in ... censored. Ew gross! Filter, Katie, filter.
The sign Lizzie almost sent up my nose was "God." Yes, Lizzie's God almost went up my nose. Sometimes we need God to bloody our boogy nose before He gets our attention. That shouldn't be the case but it is reality. He shouldn't have to take such drastic measures before we give Him our undivided attention. Yet we're too busy running around trying to stay healthy, be productive, and keep the peace that we don't find the time to thank Him for our health, work, and relationships. We don't take a second and look for Him in those situations; we wait until He's taken drastic measures before we focus on Him.
Take a second and thank Him. Ask Him to reveal Himself to you in a new way today.
As for me, I will do the same. I'll also make sure I'm rexercising ("rest" and "exercise" combined) to make sure this cold doesn't apply to be my roommate for next year. Oh, and since Zicam recalled their excellent up-the-nose product, I'll try to make sure the only thing headed up my nose is a tissue... and the occasional finger. Kidding. I think.
<>< Katie
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Escape
BAH!
You know those days when you just want to scream? Everyone wants you and they all want you NOW! Not to mention other responsibilities you need to take care of. No matter where you go people follow you. For introverts like me, it's hard.
"But now even more the report about [Jesus] went abroad, and great crowds gathered to hear Him and to be healed of their infirmities. But He would withdraw to desolate places and pray" - Luke 5:15-16
We've probably all skimmed over this passage a million times without stopping to think about it. Today in the midst of the daily bedlam that comes with living in an apartment with six other girl this verse finally caught my attention. Maybe peace and quiet do not exist at home anymore. Maybe I can't retreat to my bedroom like I always did in high school. But that doesn't mean I don't need alone time. That doesn't mean I can't find some. Maybe it's a walk around the lake, maybe a bike ride, maybe it's a trip to Wal-mart alone. Maybe it's just disappearing for a few hours and silencing my phone.
Find a way to recharge. Jesus did.
<>< Katie
PS: The other day I had Malachi (age 8) in a headlock on the floor tickling him. Micah (age 11) was running around behind me ready to help his brother but a bit hesitant. This made sense: Micah is more reserved than Malachi. What didn't make sense was the perplexed look on his face. Finally he looked up at Andy (age 22) to express his concern, "She's a girl! I don't know where I'm allowed to touch her!"
You know those days when you just want to scream? Everyone wants you and they all want you NOW! Not to mention other responsibilities you need to take care of. No matter where you go people follow you. For introverts like me, it's hard.
"But now even more the report about [Jesus] went abroad, and great crowds gathered to hear Him and to be healed of their infirmities. But He would withdraw to desolate places and pray" - Luke 5:15-16
We've probably all skimmed over this passage a million times without stopping to think about it. Today in the midst of the daily bedlam that comes with living in an apartment with six other girl this verse finally caught my attention. Maybe peace and quiet do not exist at home anymore. Maybe I can't retreat to my bedroom like I always did in high school. But that doesn't mean I don't need alone time. That doesn't mean I can't find some. Maybe it's a walk around the lake, maybe a bike ride, maybe it's a trip to Wal-mart alone. Maybe it's just disappearing for a few hours and silencing my phone.
Find a way to recharge. Jesus did.
<>< Katie
PS: The other day I had Malachi (age 8) in a headlock on the floor tickling him. Micah (age 11) was running around behind me ready to help his brother but a bit hesitant. This made sense: Micah is more reserved than Malachi. What didn't make sense was the perplexed look on his face. Finally he looked up at Andy (age 22) to express his concern, "She's a girl! I don't know where I'm allowed to touch her!"
Friday, December 11, 2009
Are you thinking?
Papers are written. Exams are taken. Grades are being turned in. Life is good. Time to head home!
Going to school a million miles away from home has made me a frequent flier. I think in terms of flights and never put anything I can't take on an airplane in my purse for fear that it won't leave before I fly next and therefore will be confiscated. I store my 3oz liquids in quart-sized Ziploc bags. Flying is the story of my life. This year alone I've flown 15 times (not counting lay-overs). I'm pretty sure that qualifies me as being able to go through the expert traveler line at security.
Well, today I flew on autopilot (pun unintended). I went through security, took of my shoes, pulled out my bag of liquids, arranged my bags in order so that it's easiest to pick them up on the other side, and walked through the metal detector. This no longer worries me. I've been selected for extra screening in the past; I've got nothing to hide therefore don't mind the magic wand. Today, I made it through and was waiting for my bags when I heard it, "Bag check!" Crap. It's mine. "Laptop!" CRAP! How often do I fly? When is the last time I flew? Not really a big deal, they pulled my laptop out and run the bag through again, but I felt like an idiot. I should know better. I think I forgot I had it with me because last time I flew (two weeks ago) I didn't bring it.
Just wait, it gets better.
I realize I'm halfway through the concourse before I even bothered to look at the monitor to see where my gate was located. Thank goodness I was headed in the right direction. I buy my customary bottle of water and something to snack on (I can almost never eat on "airplane days"...I've come to accept it rather than fight it), take a seat at the gate, and start to read. I pondered briefly if my bag would fit in the overhead compartment. No, it won't. Sadness! Gate check. See you at baggage claim, wonderful blue bag I carry-on so as not to have to wait at baggage claim... They began boarding the flight, so I walked up with my ticket in hand and was halfway through the tunnel before I realized I didn't know what zone I was sitting in. I knew my seat assignment, but they load by zones, so I shouldn't be allowed to board the plane until my zone is called. I definitely think I boarded with the "Parents with small children, and people needing extra time or assistance." Oops. In my defense, I think they might have called, "Gold, Silver, and Preferred customers" which IS me, but I couldn't prove that. Oh, well.
Sometimes when we do something so often it becomes ritual. What once was so important it was the only thing you could focus on for days has become so mundane that it barely crosses your mind. Pay attention when you do something ritual because otherwise you miss important steps. Ask yourself why you're going to church today and be sure you know what the pastor discussed. Don't simply read your Bible because it's what you do every morning but take a look at what the words actually say. Think. Don't just do.
Oh, I did make it home safely, picked up my bag, and headed out to the car when it hit me. It hit like knives piercing through my skin. Ladies and gentlemen, it is FIVE degrees Fahrenheit here. Welcome to Alaska, Katie. Merry Christmas!
<>< Katie
Going to school a million miles away from home has made me a frequent flier. I think in terms of flights and never put anything I can't take on an airplane in my purse for fear that it won't leave before I fly next and therefore will be confiscated. I store my 3oz liquids in quart-sized Ziploc bags. Flying is the story of my life. This year alone I've flown 15 times (not counting lay-overs). I'm pretty sure that qualifies me as being able to go through the expert traveler line at security.
Well, today I flew on autopilot (pun unintended). I went through security, took of my shoes, pulled out my bag of liquids, arranged my bags in order so that it's easiest to pick them up on the other side, and walked through the metal detector. This no longer worries me. I've been selected for extra screening in the past; I've got nothing to hide therefore don't mind the magic wand. Today, I made it through and was waiting for my bags when I heard it, "Bag check!" Crap. It's mine. "Laptop!" CRAP! How often do I fly? When is the last time I flew? Not really a big deal, they pulled my laptop out and run the bag through again, but I felt like an idiot. I should know better. I think I forgot I had it with me because last time I flew (two weeks ago) I didn't bring it.
Just wait, it gets better.
I realize I'm halfway through the concourse before I even bothered to look at the monitor to see where my gate was located. Thank goodness I was headed in the right direction. I buy my customary bottle of water and something to snack on (I can almost never eat on "airplane days"...I've come to accept it rather than fight it), take a seat at the gate, and start to read. I pondered briefly if my bag would fit in the overhead compartment. No, it won't. Sadness! Gate check. See you at baggage claim, wonderful blue bag I carry-on so as not to have to wait at baggage claim... They began boarding the flight, so I walked up with my ticket in hand and was halfway through the tunnel before I realized I didn't know what zone I was sitting in. I knew my seat assignment, but they load by zones, so I shouldn't be allowed to board the plane until my zone is called. I definitely think I boarded with the "Parents with small children, and people needing extra time or assistance." Oops. In my defense, I think they might have called, "Gold, Silver, and Preferred customers" which IS me, but I couldn't prove that. Oh, well.
Sometimes when we do something so often it becomes ritual. What once was so important it was the only thing you could focus on for days has become so mundane that it barely crosses your mind. Pay attention when you do something ritual because otherwise you miss important steps. Ask yourself why you're going to church today and be sure you know what the pastor discussed. Don't simply read your Bible because it's what you do every morning but take a look at what the words actually say. Think. Don't just do.
Oh, I did make it home safely, picked up my bag, and headed out to the car when it hit me. It hit like knives piercing through my skin. Ladies and gentlemen, it is FIVE degrees Fahrenheit here. Welcome to Alaska, Katie. Merry Christmas!
<>< Katie
Friday, August 15, 2008
Sad day
It's good to be back to having a social life! Today, during dinner, I got a text message from Melissa that I was answering. Brittany and Nathaniel were deep in some other conversation, and Jonathan was watching the news (on mute) across the caf. Bigfoot's body has been found, someone was raped, and a child was abducted. Quite sad!
"Some football player died," Jonathan said nonchalantly.
"Sad day," I said glancing at the tv before turning back to my phone.
"Did you just hear that conversation?" Nathaniel got really excited.
"What?" I inquired, thinking Brittany had just said something I would need to quote (we had about ten one-liners that hour meal...)
"Jonathan just informed us some football player died, you glanced up said, 'Sad day' and kept right on texting. It's like, 'He's dead. Sad. Text,'" he mocked me. I told him I was fully aware of the conversation and knew exactly what I said.
How often are we unaware of what we say? How often are we not paying any attention to those around us. Sure, we may have heard what they said, but do we hear what they don't say?
Someone is your life is screaming for attention. Are you listening with your heart? Try it tomorrow. Strive to hear the unsaid conversation.
In Christ,
<>< Katie
"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. " Psalm 139:23
"Some football player died," Jonathan said nonchalantly.
"Sad day," I said glancing at the tv before turning back to my phone.
"Did you just hear that conversation?" Nathaniel got really excited.
"What?" I inquired, thinking Brittany had just said something I would need to quote (we had about ten one-liners that hour meal...)
"Jonathan just informed us some football player died, you glanced up said, 'Sad day' and kept right on texting. It's like, 'He's dead. Sad. Text,'" he mocked me. I told him I was fully aware of the conversation and knew exactly what I said.
How often are we unaware of what we say? How often are we not paying any attention to those around us. Sure, we may have heard what they said, but do we hear what they don't say?
Someone is your life is screaming for attention. Are you listening with your heart? Try it tomorrow. Strive to hear the unsaid conversation.
In Christ,
<>< Katie
"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. " Psalm 139:23
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Burnt Bagels and Broken Fingers
So many birthdays lead to so many updates!
Yesterday was Natalie's birthday. I couldn't decide what Natalie story to tell and to still "be censored" (to quote Laura one small group). For some reason Natalie's stories always end of in one of three places: sports, science, or the bathroom. Did you know God can speak through the chemistry Principle of Microscopic Reverse? How about getting your eyebrows waxed? Using the same bathroom stall repeatedly? He's God and He can do anything but that doesn't mean He needs to speak through spell check. In hearing from Natalie how God speaks through bathrobes and lip stick, I've come to hear God speaking a lot more clearly through the strangest things.
My friend Natalie is an amazing woman, but sometimes the things she does makes me laugh at her. Natalie dislikes the way a toaster toasts a bagel, so whenever she wants a toasted bagel she has cook it in the oven. One afternoon she decided she wanted a bagel. Well, she put it in the oven and got distracted. She remembered the bagel a little while later and it was literally flaming in her oven. After getting the flames to stop, she realized the scorched bagel was not going to giver her body nutrition; she threw it away and made a second bagel. As luck would have it, poor Natalie did the exact same thing! On the third try she finally was able to have a snack.
A few weeks later, Natalie was playing flag football with a group of people when she once again made the same mistake twice. During a play she was reaching for one of her opponents’ flags when the flag slipped out of her hand and she got her finger caught. A wise choice perhaps would have been to stop playing for the day, but Natalie is way too competitive to bench herself. Instead a few plays later, using the exact same move with her other hand. She succeeded in fracturing two fingers on two different hands during two plays so exact to the point where the x-rays were identical.
Natalie needed to break two fingers in order to stop playing football and burn two bagels in order to pay attention to what she was doing. Sometimes we're incredibly stubborn to the point where we have to make the same mistakes twice before God is able to get our attention.
What does God have to do to get your attention?
<>< Katie
"As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received." Ephesians 4:1
Yesterday was Natalie's birthday. I couldn't decide what Natalie story to tell and to still "be censored" (to quote Laura one small group). For some reason Natalie's stories always end of in one of three places: sports, science, or the bathroom. Did you know God can speak through the chemistry Principle of Microscopic Reverse? How about getting your eyebrows waxed? Using the same bathroom stall repeatedly? He's God and He can do anything but that doesn't mean He needs to speak through spell check. In hearing from Natalie how God speaks through bathrobes and lip stick, I've come to hear God speaking a lot more clearly through the strangest things.
My friend Natalie is an amazing woman, but sometimes the things she does makes me laugh at her. Natalie dislikes the way a toaster toasts a bagel, so whenever she wants a toasted bagel she has cook it in the oven. One afternoon she decided she wanted a bagel. Well, she put it in the oven and got distracted. She remembered the bagel a little while later and it was literally flaming in her oven. After getting the flames to stop, she realized the scorched bagel was not going to giver her body nutrition; she threw it away and made a second bagel. As luck would have it, poor Natalie did the exact same thing! On the third try she finally was able to have a snack.
A few weeks later, Natalie was playing flag football with a group of people when she once again made the same mistake twice. During a play she was reaching for one of her opponents’ flags when the flag slipped out of her hand and she got her finger caught. A wise choice perhaps would have been to stop playing for the day, but Natalie is way too competitive to bench herself. Instead a few plays later, using the exact same move with her other hand. She succeeded in fracturing two fingers on two different hands during two plays so exact to the point where the x-rays were identical.
Natalie needed to break two fingers in order to stop playing football and burn two bagels in order to pay attention to what she was doing. Sometimes we're incredibly stubborn to the point where we have to make the same mistakes twice before God is able to get our attention.
What does God have to do to get your attention?
<>< Katie
"As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received." Ephesians 4:1
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