I was a little frazzled as I headed towards the front of church for communion. Our self-guided section turned into a mob rather than a line. By the time we half-organized ourselves, I was ready for body, blood, seat. That fast.
I stepped to the front, held my hands out for the wafer, and looked up into the face of our senior pastor. Pastor Mike stopped and looked back at me.
"They're letting everybody in today!" He teased.
It's a joke I've heard many times over the last few years, but it still catches me off-guard every time. I chuckle but my first thought is always, "This is a church; we should be letting everybody in."
To be confronted with this joke at the communion table helped me remember that I am not worthy to even be let in the door much less invited to approach the table of grace or enjoy the sweet taste of forgiveness. This isn't a weekly ritual we do even when the lines turn into mobs... it's a beautiful gift purchased by the ultimate sacrifice.
Pastor Mike placed the wafer in my hand. "Body of our Lord," he said.
In my hands I clutched the tangible reminder of that gift, that forgiveness, that perfect love that I am not worthy of. The body of Christ given for me. The body of our Lord--Pastor Mike's and mine. We may not always agree yet share a common goal: to serve and honor Him. Along with Christians worldwide, we share hope, faith, and forgiveness through Christ. He's our Lord.
"It's good to see you," he said, smacking me playfully in the arm.
I was out of town for the entire month of October. He noticed. Thousands of members and he noticed my absence. Billions of people on earth yet when we haven't spent quality time with the Lord, He notices. Billions of people on earth and when we sit at His feet, He's glad to see us.
I ate the bread, drank the wine, and got lost on my way back to my seat. Both literally among the sea of people and pews but also figuratively in the beauty of that moment I shared with the Lord.
Thankful for grace,
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label blood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blood. Show all posts
Monday, November 7, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Saving Lives and Getting to Class Ontime
Last week I donated blood for the second time. My appointment was at 12:15 and, naturally, they were running behind. Even with my scarlet letter "A" (for "appointment"), 12:30 came and went. Taylor was sitting near me as I complained about being so close to getting to class on time. He said he had a 1:15 class, too. We didn't think we were going to make it.
Ms. Red Cross called for an appointment and I leaped to my feet. Then she changed her mind and called a walk-in instead. Taylor got to go instead. I made a snotty comment about being angry if he made it to class on time and I didn't.
"What time's your class?" a professor sitting nearby asked.
"One fifteen."
He looked at his watch: 12:35. "You're probably not going to make it."
I said I'd give them five more minutes before I left and came back after class. The only trouble with that was having to eat again and healthy mid-afternoon snacks don't exist here.
In that five minutes, a man called for the next appointment. I jumped up and literally ran to the computer station.
"Are we having fun yet?" he asked.
I told him about my class and he gave the clock a skeptical glance. It was going to be tight!
"Don't pass out on me."
I assured him I wouldn't... hoping I could stay true to that promise.
We sped through the identification questions as fast as we could. To the point where he almost asked my temperature before taking it, like I was supposed to know it off of the top of my head like my height and weight.
When I gave him my height and weight, he looked away from the computer and met my eye when he repeated it to confirm. I'm dangerously close to the limit. I know that. It's a generic weight limit not accounting for different heights. Which means I'm technically still over the limit even though I'm five eight and have the body of a microphone stand. (Shaun Groves said that). I was prepared to argue that I did not have a problem donating last time.
"Listen, you're very close," said Mr. Red Cross. "I don't care if you're late to class. When you're done, you're going to sit at the cookie table for at least ten minutes."
"Yes, sir." Honestly, if you're going to be put in time out, the cookie table is the place to do it!
"I'd rather you pass out here than on the asphalt outside."
Thanks for that encouragement, buddy!
In the interest of time, he read the questions aloud to me rather than letting me answer them privately. I think there were only 15 questions that would have made Melissa giggle. I speak fast, but this man could give me a run for my money! By the time we got to pulse and blood pressure we were in the middle of a marathon! Yeah, not exactly what you want when you're having your blood pressure taken. (Even if he had to inflate the cuff just to keep it on my arm).
“Are you nervous? Your heart rate’s fast. Don’t be nervous. I’m pretty good at this,” he said.
I wasn’t really scared nervous. I was time nervous, anxious, and excited. I was a big mess of emotions; no wonder my blood pressure was high.
However, having your blood moving fast does come in handy when you’re having a it stolen from your arm. The actual donation, like everything else that day, was super sonic speed!
"Utto," Mr. Red Cross said.
Yeah, that’s never a good thing to hear when you’ve got an IV in your arm! He tried to fill up the test tube and it wouldn’t fill properly.
“You already took all of my blood,” I teased.
“And I’m going to take a gallon more,” he said.
“Do I get extra cookies for that?”
“You can have as many cookies as you want,” he said.
A few more jokes (“This won’t hurt me a bit.” “Two fingers on the booboo. Yes, that’s the medical term.”) and I was free to go to cookie time-out.
I looked at my watch: 1:02.
God is good! He gave me my ten time-out minutes to eat cookies, inhale water, and be interviewed for the newspaper. I still made it to class on time!
In my interview, I was asked why I donate blood. Like my buddy Jesus, I answered her question with a question: why not?
Then I explained–I had been the queen of excuses. I didn’t weigh enough. I had a cold. I left the country.
And once I got over that, got over myself, I took the plunge and tried it. I loved it. The first time, I kind of felt like I was being rushed through and I was there for a longer amount of time. The second time, I was there for a shorter amount of time but Mr. Red Cross took the time to tease me, answer my questions, and truly care for me. It made a huge difference!
It’s a simple, financially painless way to give of yourself and make a huge difference. Sure, hurts a bit, makes you look like a druggy who loves Sharpie, and makes you feel a little weird for a few days but with the lives saved, it's worth it. I’m genuinely disappointed I’m leaving the country before I’m eligible again. But my April 2012 to do list: donate blood.
If you’re eligible to donate, why not?
<>< Katie
Ms. Red Cross called for an appointment and I leaped to my feet. Then she changed her mind and called a walk-in instead. Taylor got to go instead. I made a snotty comment about being angry if he made it to class on time and I didn't.
"What time's your class?" a professor sitting nearby asked.
"One fifteen."
He looked at his watch: 12:35. "You're probably not going to make it."
I said I'd give them five more minutes before I left and came back after class. The only trouble with that was having to eat again and healthy mid-afternoon snacks don't exist here.
In that five minutes, a man called for the next appointment. I jumped up and literally ran to the computer station.
"Are we having fun yet?" he asked.
I told him about my class and he gave the clock a skeptical glance. It was going to be tight!
"Don't pass out on me."
I assured him I wouldn't... hoping I could stay true to that promise.
We sped through the identification questions as fast as we could. To the point where he almost asked my temperature before taking it, like I was supposed to know it off of the top of my head like my height and weight.
When I gave him my height and weight, he looked away from the computer and met my eye when he repeated it to confirm. I'm dangerously close to the limit. I know that. It's a generic weight limit not accounting for different heights. Which means I'm technically still over the limit even though I'm five eight and have the body of a microphone stand. (Shaun Groves said that). I was prepared to argue that I did not have a problem donating last time.
"Listen, you're very close," said Mr. Red Cross. "I don't care if you're late to class. When you're done, you're going to sit at the cookie table for at least ten minutes."
"Yes, sir." Honestly, if you're going to be put in time out, the cookie table is the place to do it!
"I'd rather you pass out here than on the asphalt outside."
Thanks for that encouragement, buddy!
In the interest of time, he read the questions aloud to me rather than letting me answer them privately. I think there were only 15 questions that would have made Melissa giggle. I speak fast, but this man could give me a run for my money! By the time we got to pulse and blood pressure we were in the middle of a marathon! Yeah, not exactly what you want when you're having your blood pressure taken. (Even if he had to inflate the cuff just to keep it on my arm).
“Are you nervous? Your heart rate’s fast. Don’t be nervous. I’m pretty good at this,” he said.
I wasn’t really scared nervous. I was time nervous, anxious, and excited. I was a big mess of emotions; no wonder my blood pressure was high.
However, having your blood moving fast does come in handy when you’re having a it stolen from your arm. The actual donation, like everything else that day, was super sonic speed!
"Utto," Mr. Red Cross said.
Yeah, that’s never a good thing to hear when you’ve got an IV in your arm! He tried to fill up the test tube and it wouldn’t fill properly.
“You already took all of my blood,” I teased.
“And I’m going to take a gallon more,” he said.
“Do I get extra cookies for that?”
“You can have as many cookies as you want,” he said.
A few more jokes (“This won’t hurt me a bit.” “Two fingers on the booboo. Yes, that’s the medical term.”) and I was free to go to cookie time-out.
I looked at my watch: 1:02.
God is good! He gave me my ten time-out minutes to eat cookies, inhale water, and be interviewed for the newspaper. I still made it to class on time!
In my interview, I was asked why I donate blood. Like my buddy Jesus, I answered her question with a question: why not?
Then I explained–I had been the queen of excuses. I didn’t weigh enough. I had a cold. I left the country.
And once I got over that, got over myself, I took the plunge and tried it. I loved it. The first time, I kind of felt like I was being rushed through and I was there for a longer amount of time. The second time, I was there for a shorter amount of time but Mr. Red Cross took the time to tease me, answer my questions, and truly care for me. It made a huge difference!
It’s a simple, financially painless way to give of yourself and make a huge difference. Sure, hurts a bit, makes you look like a druggy who loves Sharpie, and makes you feel a little weird for a few days but with the lives saved, it's worth it. I’m genuinely disappointed I’m leaving the country before I’m eligible again. But my April 2012 to do list: donate blood.
If you’re eligible to donate, why not?
<>< Katie
Sunday, October 17, 2010
I have been rejected
As part of my English major, I have to take a Communications class. Someone please explain that one to me. All I know is I would much rather write about donating blood or girls tumbling from walls than yesterday's bank robbery on 15th and Main St.
My optimistic attitude about this class quickly moved to dislike. I even mentioned it to one of my English professors.
Professor: You know, you could have taken Poetry Writing instead of Communications Class.
Katie: I know, but I thought this would have been the lesser of the two evils.
Professor: You would have had more fun in the other evil.
Well, I think out of boredom, some of very clever lines have flowed through my fingers in this class. And let me tell you, they're not about the hit-and-run that happened around 10pm last night...
The professor handed us a speech asked us to write an article about it, and said, "You're going to like this one." I'm not sure if it was out of spite for the professor or spite for the class, but I was determined for prove him wrong. It was pretty easy. This was a Steve Jobs speech, and I'm a Windows girl. The irony is that this post was written from a Mac.
With a Shaun Groves post about fear pulled up as an incentive to finish the assignment, I began to read the speech. Naturally, I did everything my English background told me to do: critique, analyze, examine. Well, that's apparently a big no-no for journalism, but I didn't really care. I figured I would turn the filter on later.
Somewhere around the middle of the speech, I moved from loathing the assignment to tolerating it. Although I did not agree with all of the theology, Jobs was making good points.
"I had been rejected, but I was still in love," he said.
Jobs was talking about being fired from his own company, but I think that's a line that can be applied to a plethora of different aspects of life.
"I had been rejected, but I was still in love."
For me, the application that shines through most clearly is in writing. I submitted a piece that I thought was a sure-thing, but it was rejected. That's a hard pill to swallow, especially for someone who can't swallow pills.
"I had been rejected, but I was still in love."
I was rejected, but I still love to write. Just like Jobs continued to pursue a dream that eventually turned into the development of Pixar and NeXT, I am continuing to pursue a dream. Who knows where it will turn out.
This is what I do know: God gave me a passion for writing. It is one of my strengths. There is no way that He isn't going to use it for His glory. I am willing to suffer through every Communications class required for my English major just to see that come to fruition.
<>< Katie
My optimistic attitude about this class quickly moved to dislike. I even mentioned it to one of my English professors.
Professor: You know, you could have taken Poetry Writing instead of Communications Class.
Katie: I know, but I thought this would have been the lesser of the two evils.
Professor: You would have had more fun in the other evil.
Well, I think out of boredom, some of very clever lines have flowed through my fingers in this class. And let me tell you, they're not about the hit-and-run that happened around 10pm last night...
The professor handed us a speech asked us to write an article about it, and said, "You're going to like this one." I'm not sure if it was out of spite for the professor or spite for the class, but I was determined for prove him wrong. It was pretty easy. This was a Steve Jobs speech, and I'm a Windows girl. The irony is that this post was written from a Mac.
With a Shaun Groves post about fear pulled up as an incentive to finish the assignment, I began to read the speech. Naturally, I did everything my English background told me to do: critique, analyze, examine. Well, that's apparently a big no-no for journalism, but I didn't really care. I figured I would turn the filter on later.
Somewhere around the middle of the speech, I moved from loathing the assignment to tolerating it. Although I did not agree with all of the theology, Jobs was making good points.
"I had been rejected, but I was still in love," he said.
Jobs was talking about being fired from his own company, but I think that's a line that can be applied to a plethora of different aspects of life.
"I had been rejected, but I was still in love."
For me, the application that shines through most clearly is in writing. I submitted a piece that I thought was a sure-thing, but it was rejected. That's a hard pill to swallow, especially for someone who can't swallow pills.
"I had been rejected, but I was still in love."
I was rejected, but I still love to write. Just like Jobs continued to pursue a dream that eventually turned into the development of Pixar and NeXT, I am continuing to pursue a dream. Who knows where it will turn out.
This is what I do know: God gave me a passion for writing. It is one of my strengths. There is no way that He isn't going to use it for His glory. I am willing to suffer through every Communications class required for my English major just to see that come to fruition.
<>< Katie
Friday, October 8, 2010
I finally did it!
Four years ago, as part of our university orientation class we had to make what is called a 50 by 50. Basically it's a bucket list of 50 things you want to accomplish by the time you turn 50. I never finished mine but on it was donate blood. I figured that would be one of those things I would do at 49 when my 50 by 50 resurfaced, unaccomplished. Well, I did at 49 but that was my donor number rather than my age.
Stephanie was sitting outside the caf on Tuesday trying to get people to sign up for appointments. I got "caught in the lunch rush" and didn't sign up. She caught me on the way out instead.
"Are you still thinking about donating?"
"Thinking about donating" was something I'd done for four years. The furthest I ever got was my first time: I got my mom to sign the permission form (I was 17) and signed up. Lo and behold in the two days between when I signed up and when my time came, I got a cold. I went by, talked to someone, and explained I had just a bit of a cold.
"We recommend you don't donate then because we don't want you to get any worser."
Yes, she said "worser." I cancelled my appointment and continued by day... cold free.
Another time I considered donating but I didn't weigh enough.
Then I went to Mexico... then Guatemala... then Costa Rica...
But now I'm one-year chloroquine-free (anti-malaria medicine that made me nauseous for nine weeks...), and I got bit by a dog. But even it if breaks the skin you're still eligible as long as the dog doesn't have rabies and the bite isn't inflammed or infected.
Ok, Moses, you're out of excuses.
I signed up for a time, told my roommates, and "ate healthy" for a day. I really have no idea what it means to "eat healthy," especially in a cafeteria, but I gave it my best shot. It apparently worked.
We had a few kinks: the once-over of doubt when I said I weigh more than 110 lbs, the lost stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, the woman vanishing on break while I was (giggling and) answering questions on the computer, and I had a very difficult time understanding the mumbled directions caked with a thick accent. Cattle herding.
As I was sitting there, needle in my arm, thinking. I thought about all of the germy surfaces surrounding me as blood poured from my vein. I realized that I have no memories of having blood drawn as a kid. None. I also thought about how mad Sarah got at me when she chose to read something I wrote while she was donating blood. "I'm in public with a needle in my arm, and I'm shouting, crying, and giggling. People keep asking if I'm ok, and it's all your fault!" I thought about my amazing roommates who called me exactly as I was struck with the needle. No, I didn't pass out!
All of this babbering to say: I finally did it! Another fear conquered! Another item crossed off the 50 by 50!
The goal for our blood drive was 90 units of blood. I was there two hours before it was supposed to close and we were barely halfway there, and the woman at the door was getting really nervous about coming in so low. Two hours later, they stopped taking walk-ins, but the existing line left them there for an extra hour. We raised 106 units! God is good!
If you're eligible to donate, there is a huge need right now. Check out The American Red Cross or your local blood center. Be a hero. Give an hour of your life to save three (lives that is).
<>< Katie
Stephanie was sitting outside the caf on Tuesday trying to get people to sign up for appointments. I got "caught in the lunch rush" and didn't sign up. She caught me on the way out instead.
"Are you still thinking about donating?"
"Thinking about donating" was something I'd done for four years. The furthest I ever got was my first time: I got my mom to sign the permission form (I was 17) and signed up. Lo and behold in the two days between when I signed up and when my time came, I got a cold. I went by, talked to someone, and explained I had just a bit of a cold.
"We recommend you don't donate then because we don't want you to get any worser."
Yes, she said "worser." I cancelled my appointment and continued by day... cold free.
Another time I considered donating but I didn't weigh enough.
Then I went to Mexico... then Guatemala... then Costa Rica...
But now I'm one-year chloroquine-free (anti-malaria medicine that made me nauseous for nine weeks...), and I got bit by a dog. But even it if breaks the skin you're still eligible as long as the dog doesn't have rabies and the bite isn't inflammed or infected.
Ok, Moses, you're out of excuses.
I signed up for a time, told my roommates, and "ate healthy" for a day. I really have no idea what it means to "eat healthy," especially in a cafeteria, but I gave it my best shot. It apparently worked.
We had a few kinks: the once-over of doubt when I said I weigh more than 110 lbs, the lost stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, the woman vanishing on break while I was (giggling and) answering questions on the computer, and I had a very difficult time understanding the mumbled directions caked with a thick accent. Cattle herding.
As I was sitting there, needle in my arm, thinking. I thought about all of the germy surfaces surrounding me as blood poured from my vein. I realized that I have no memories of having blood drawn as a kid. None. I also thought about how mad Sarah got at me when she chose to read something I wrote while she was donating blood. "I'm in public with a needle in my arm, and I'm shouting, crying, and giggling. People keep asking if I'm ok, and it's all your fault!" I thought about my amazing roommates who called me exactly as I was struck with the needle. No, I didn't pass out!
All of this babbering to say: I finally did it! Another fear conquered! Another item crossed off the 50 by 50!
The goal for our blood drive was 90 units of blood. I was there two hours before it was supposed to close and we were barely halfway there, and the woman at the door was getting really nervous about coming in so low. Two hours later, they stopped taking walk-ins, but the existing line left them there for an extra hour. We raised 106 units! God is good!
If you're eligible to donate, there is a huge need right now. Check out The American Red Cross or your local blood center. Be a hero. Give an hour of your life to save three (lives that is).
<>< Katie
Monday, September 27, 2010
Hurt
If I could summarize this past week in one word I'd say: hurt.
In the last few days I've been bizarrely injured multiple times. With a few of them I've had to seriously contemplate if professional medical attention would have been inappropriate. It seemed every time I put my First Aid kit away it needs to come out again a few hours later. I've always been the "girl with the Band-Aids" and now I'm "the girl who needs the Band-Aids." It's annoying, but what is more annoying is that not all hurts are physical.
Emotional wounds are harder to treat. Neosporin and Band-Aids don't cover it (no pun intended). You think they're healing and suddenly you're gushing tears again.
At (adult) Sunday School I shared the prayer request that I keep getting hurt physically and emotionally, and I am sick of reaching for Band-Aids.
Our Sunday School teacher Matt smiled. He said he could write his own name next to that request every day. He said many others could do the same.
When Matt prayed, he thanked God for the rain pounding on the roof. He said it was healing rain sent to cleanse and heal those of us who have hurts like I mentioned. Later, he asked God to relieve our (my) physical, emotional, and spiritual hurts.
My first thought was defensive. "I didn't say I was hurt spiritually." As Matt prayed, God prodded gently.
"Yes, you are."
I can put a Band-Aid over my scratches to cover them up. I don't have to see their nastiness and neither does anyone else. Why am I still putting man's Band-Aid over God's band-aid (a scab)?
Emotional wounds don't need Band-Aids; they're covered in a different way. They're hidden deep within me as if that'll make them go away. The other day Luci said, "Katie, you're like a box. I keep trying to open you, and I can't." That hurt. But it was true.
Is God saying that to me too? "Katie, I'm here ready to open you, ready to heal you. I'm ready and you won't let Me."
Just like physical wounds need to be cleaned, so do emotional and, more importantly, spiritual wounds. Boy, does it hurt! But it's vital.
<>< Katie
"More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5
In the last few days I've been bizarrely injured multiple times. With a few of them I've had to seriously contemplate if professional medical attention would have been inappropriate. It seemed every time I put my First Aid kit away it needs to come out again a few hours later. I've always been the "girl with the Band-Aids" and now I'm "the girl who needs the Band-Aids." It's annoying, but what is more annoying is that not all hurts are physical.
Emotional wounds are harder to treat. Neosporin and Band-Aids don't cover it (no pun intended). You think they're healing and suddenly you're gushing tears again.
At (adult) Sunday School I shared the prayer request that I keep getting hurt physically and emotionally, and I am sick of reaching for Band-Aids.
Our Sunday School teacher Matt smiled. He said he could write his own name next to that request every day. He said many others could do the same.
When Matt prayed, he thanked God for the rain pounding on the roof. He said it was healing rain sent to cleanse and heal those of us who have hurts like I mentioned. Later, he asked God to relieve our (my) physical, emotional, and spiritual hurts.
My first thought was defensive. "I didn't say I was hurt spiritually." As Matt prayed, God prodded gently.
"Yes, you are."
I can put a Band-Aid over my scratches to cover them up. I don't have to see their nastiness and neither does anyone else. Why am I still putting man's Band-Aid over God's band-aid (a scab)?
Emotional wounds don't need Band-Aids; they're covered in a different way. They're hidden deep within me as if that'll make them go away. The other day Luci said, "Katie, you're like a box. I keep trying to open you, and I can't." That hurt. But it was true.
Is God saying that to me too? "Katie, I'm here ready to open you, ready to heal you. I'm ready and you won't let Me."
Just like physical wounds need to be cleaned, so do emotional and, more importantly, spiritual wounds. Boy, does it hurt! But it's vital.
<>< Katie
"More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Unusual Joy
All of the following are real quotes from one person's mouth.
The same girl who was on the jumbotron speaking whale...
One of my anonymous readers... Melissa Joy Noel.
She's been begging me for a birthday blog for years, and I'm really not sure what to say to the girl who threw herself a 19th birthday party at the city pool. We played with shaving cream and silly string on the playground...
I think for her birthday I will donate blood because I'm eligible for the first time ever. Then I'll give her the information pamphlet. I can just hear her reading it, "Definition of sexual content... AHHHH!!! ... whether or not a hmmmhmmm is used... EWWWW!!!"
I love Melissa. She brings unusual joy into my life. Selflessness, a strange sense of humor, and silly string. What more does a person really need?
<>< Katie
- "We should eat eight of the elderly because then we wouldn't have to go buy more prizes."
- "Ohh! Ambulance parking. We could park there. Bob, turn on your lights!" [Bob drives a minivan]
- "Men don't have hair."
- "I want to eat my words because I didn't have breakfast, and I'm hungry."
- "AH! You just decapitated me again."
- "I had a dream last night that I actually behaved at youth group. Thank goodness it was only a dream!"
- "There are dominoes in my shorts!"
- "Look! That tree is moving. Oh, wait, the bus is moving."
- "Naked! Hehehe Silly! Plethora, giggle, tomatoes." [This was a text message sent to the wrong person]
- "Ew! Rick Warren!"
- "What does 'nagivet' mean?"
- "ATHANASIAN CREED! Exploring His manhood? Oh! This creed is dirty!"
- "That's why I make out with Katie: she goes to seminary next week." [That is what we heard. What she really said was: "That's why I hang out with Katie: she leaves for school next week."]
- "I don't need caffeine. I'm pre-caffeinated."
The same girl who was on the jumbotron speaking whale...
One of my anonymous readers... Melissa Joy Noel.
She's been begging me for a birthday blog for years, and I'm really not sure what to say to the girl who threw herself a 19th birthday party at the city pool. We played with shaving cream and silly string on the playground...
I think for her birthday I will donate blood because I'm eligible for the first time ever. Then I'll give her the information pamphlet. I can just hear her reading it, "Definition of sexual content... AHHHH!!! ... whether or not a hmmmhmmm is used... EWWWW!!!"
I love Melissa. She brings unusual joy into my life. Selflessness, a strange sense of humor, and silly string. What more does a person really need?
<>< Katie
Monday, June 28, 2010
Bloody Hell
Disclaimer One: Sometimes these God moments are great when God and I are talking about them... but they don't seem as great when I write them down.
Disclaimer Two: The title of this post may only be read aloud in a British accent, particularly one that belongs to Rupert Grint, aka Ron Weasley.
The other day I got brown Sharpie on my finger where the fingernail meets finger. I apparently haven't washed my hands enough (no peanut gallery comments, please) because it hasn't come off yet. Every time it catches my eye, I think I'm bleeding. Naturally, I stop what I'm doing to further investigate. It's not normal to be bleeding.
A few years ago, my aunt and I were putting something into a Ziploc bag (shells? rocks? wild flowers? I don't know) when I noticed some blood on the bag.
"Are you bleeding?" I asked.
"No, you are," she told me.
I'd say most people are pretty quick to tell each other when they're bleeding. If you have something stuck in your teeth or a booger hanging from your nose, they're not as quick to let you know but your real friends will still do it. What about if you're messed up spiritually?
I'll be honest: you're bleeding, I'll tell you. You've got food in your teeth, no big deal. Your zipper's down, chances are I'll let you know. If you're messing up spiritually, I'm not so quick to jump in.
First of all, I'm far from perfect: who am I to correct someone else? I've got more than my share of battles of my own, thank you. Frankly, I think that's an excellent excuse. Until something inside of me remembers I am quick to exhibit physical common courtesy but a little more slow to offer spiritual common courtesy.
But where do you draw the line between spiritual common courtesy and bashing someone upside the head with a Bible? (Side note: my mom physically did that to my sister once... it was an accident). Does it matter? An open zipper, a stray piece of food, and a little bit of blood is hardly life and death. Spiritually, it's eternal life or not. The stakes are bigger and the risk less willing to be taken. Why is that? The only answer I have is fear.
Most people consider faith to be a matter of opinion. Hey, guys, Jesus didn't say, "Follow whomever you like." He said, "Follow Me."
Does that mean I'm going to stand on a street corner with a megaphone? No. Does it mean I'm going to reconsider before I let another witnessing opportunity pass? Does it mean I'm going to try to be more obedient to that nudge from the Holy Spirit? Does that mean when people ask what I'm doing next year instead of saying, "I don't know" I'm going to say, "I'll be wherever the Lord leads"? You betcha.
Will you join me in doing the same? Consider this my telling you that there is a piece of broccoli hanging from your spiritual braces.
<>< Katie
Disclaimer Two: The title of this post may only be read aloud in a British accent, particularly one that belongs to Rupert Grint, aka Ron Weasley.
The other day I got brown Sharpie on my finger where the fingernail meets finger. I apparently haven't washed my hands enough (no peanut gallery comments, please) because it hasn't come off yet. Every time it catches my eye, I think I'm bleeding. Naturally, I stop what I'm doing to further investigate. It's not normal to be bleeding.
A few years ago, my aunt and I were putting something into a Ziploc bag (shells? rocks? wild flowers? I don't know) when I noticed some blood on the bag.
"Are you bleeding?" I asked.
"No, you are," she told me.
I'd say most people are pretty quick to tell each other when they're bleeding. If you have something stuck in your teeth or a booger hanging from your nose, they're not as quick to let you know but your real friends will still do it. What about if you're messed up spiritually?
I'll be honest: you're bleeding, I'll tell you. You've got food in your teeth, no big deal. Your zipper's down, chances are I'll let you know. If you're messing up spiritually, I'm not so quick to jump in.
First of all, I'm far from perfect: who am I to correct someone else? I've got more than my share of battles of my own, thank you. Frankly, I think that's an excellent excuse. Until something inside of me remembers I am quick to exhibit physical common courtesy but a little more slow to offer spiritual common courtesy.
But where do you draw the line between spiritual common courtesy and bashing someone upside the head with a Bible? (Side note: my mom physically did that to my sister once... it was an accident). Does it matter? An open zipper, a stray piece of food, and a little bit of blood is hardly life and death. Spiritually, it's eternal life or not. The stakes are bigger and the risk less willing to be taken. Why is that? The only answer I have is fear.
Most people consider faith to be a matter of opinion. Hey, guys, Jesus didn't say, "Follow whomever you like." He said, "Follow Me."
Does that mean I'm going to stand on a street corner with a megaphone? No. Does it mean I'm going to reconsider before I let another witnessing opportunity pass? Does it mean I'm going to try to be more obedient to that nudge from the Holy Spirit? Does that mean when people ask what I'm doing next year instead of saying, "I don't know" I'm going to say, "I'll be wherever the Lord leads"? You betcha.
Will you join me in doing the same? Consider this my telling you that there is a piece of broccoli hanging from your spiritual braces.
<>< Katie
Thursday, April 29, 2010
My life is awesome
Author's Note: All of the following is a collection of achronological stories that have all happened in the last two days. Minor creative liberties may have been taken but these stories are as true as I can put them to where a reader can understand without having actually been here. Please don't pity me. I am cranky, but I am not being sarcastic; my life is awesome. Enjoy. <>< K
My life is awesome
Katie: Guys, I just had another bloody nose.
Andy: I'm trained handle that.
Elizabeth: How many times do we have to tell you, Katie: stop getting punched in the face!
Katie: It was Allyson!
(side note: this is a whole lot funnier if you know Allyson because she'd never hurt a fly)
Allyson (butter knife in hand): Do you want me to cut off your nose? That would help!
Katie: Actually, I think that'd make it bleed a bit more.
Andy: Well, look at it this way: it would hurt and bleed a lot right away but then you'd never have to worry about it again!
Elizabeth: Yeah, 'cuz you'd be dead.
(insert big argument about whether or not it's possible to live after getting your nose chopped off with a butter knife)
My life is awesome
Nikki: Gah! Why don't I ever date my notes?
Katie: Because they're not male.
Nikki: I never send my notes in the mail.
My life is awesome
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: Huh?
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: I still can't understand Katie's man-voice.
Nikki: You mean Kenny's man-voice?
Elizabeth: Talk to me again when you sound normal.
Katie (in the most pitiful stuffy-nose voice I could make): Just because I don't have a sense of smell doesn't mean I don't have feelings!
My life is awesome
If you've never been in an ASL class it's hard to imagine twenty people sitting around in complete silence when no one has died. Please try to picture it for me. Oh, and we were watching a silent movie, so... well... we know what happens when videos are shown in class... Anyway, I was in desperate need of some Tylenol. This cold might kill me, my headache was not helping, and after watching 50 minutes of ASL storytelling on a small tv screen you'd be groping for Tylenol, too. I was trying to decide if it would have been socially acceptable to take it in the middle of class. Most classes I wouldn't have cared, but this one is completely silent, so all of my classmates will hear me unzip my personal pharmacy; the bottle rattle; plus, I dropped my Nalgene splash guard on the floor yesterday and haven't had time to wash it, so I'm going to make a noisy mess as I nearly drown myself trying to swallow the pesky pill; eventually I'll give up and the "crunch" will reverberate through the classroom as if we were in a tunnel. This was my very long internal debate. I finally decided I didn't care: I needed some Tylenol. So I uncrossed my legs and began to dig into my backpack, but before I got there I accidently kicked one of the desks in front of me. "That desk is going to fall and there is nothing I can do about it." It fell in slow motion and the clang rang through the previously silent classroom.
My. Life. Is. Awesome.
My life is awesome
Katie: Guys, I just had another bloody nose.
Andy: I'm trained handle that.
Elizabeth: How many times do we have to tell you, Katie: stop getting punched in the face!
Katie: It was Allyson!
(side note: this is a whole lot funnier if you know Allyson because she'd never hurt a fly)
Allyson (butter knife in hand): Do you want me to cut off your nose? That would help!
Katie: Actually, I think that'd make it bleed a bit more.
Andy: Well, look at it this way: it would hurt and bleed a lot right away but then you'd never have to worry about it again!
Elizabeth: Yeah, 'cuz you'd be dead.
(insert big argument about whether or not it's possible to live after getting your nose chopped off with a butter knife)
My life is awesome
Nikki: Gah! Why don't I ever date my notes?
Katie: Because they're not male.
Nikki: I never send my notes in the mail.
My life is awesome
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: Huh?
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: I still can't understand Katie's man-voice.
Nikki: You mean Kenny's man-voice?
Elizabeth: Talk to me again when you sound normal.
Katie (in the most pitiful stuffy-nose voice I could make): Just because I don't have a sense of smell doesn't mean I don't have feelings!
My life is awesome
If you've never been in an ASL class it's hard to imagine twenty people sitting around in complete silence when no one has died. Please try to picture it for me. Oh, and we were watching a silent movie, so... well... we know what happens when videos are shown in class... Anyway, I was in desperate need of some Tylenol. This cold might kill me, my headache was not helping, and after watching 50 minutes of ASL storytelling on a small tv screen you'd be groping for Tylenol, too. I was trying to decide if it would have been socially acceptable to take it in the middle of class. Most classes I wouldn't have cared, but this one is completely silent, so all of my classmates will hear me unzip my personal pharmacy; the bottle rattle; plus, I dropped my Nalgene splash guard on the floor yesterday and haven't had time to wash it, so I'm going to make a noisy mess as I nearly drown myself trying to swallow the pesky pill; eventually I'll give up and the "crunch" will reverberate through the classroom as if we were in a tunnel. This was my very long internal debate. I finally decided I didn't care: I needed some Tylenol. So I uncrossed my legs and began to dig into my backpack, but before I got there I accidently kicked one of the desks in front of me. "That desk is going to fall and there is nothing I can do about it." It fell in slow motion and the clang rang through the previously silent classroom.
My. Life. Is. Awesome.
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
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Buckle Up... It's the Law
Sometimes I feel like our trips in the car should be a blog saga. Might I add, that the longest travel time is twenty minutes and the shortest is three. It's usually the same people, so this could be like a column in a newspaper but really it's a blog.
They all start in the same way: Elizabeth and me fighting over shot gun. Sometimes I win; sometimes she wins. Either way it's a physical struggle between the two of us. We're both the oldest of three girls so we know how to fight and don't always fight fair. Hair pulling is not out of the question.
On Tuesday, Elizabeth won, so Amy and I sat in the back. Once seats are assigned and we all crawl in the second fight beings: to wear a seat belt or not to wear a seat belt, that is the question.
"Are you wearing your seat belts?" Andy asks every time. For the record, my seat belt is always on. It's Amy and Elizabeth that he has to worry about. They have been known to unbuckle each other so they can honestly answer "no" when he asks "Did you just unbuckle your seat belt?" He still pulled over and refused to go again until their seat belts were on correctly.
"I'll put my seat belt on if Katie takes hers off," Amy argued. I took my seat belt off. She put hers on. I put mine on. She took hers off. "And keeps it off!" That wasn't part of the deal.
"No, no, no the law says everyone in the vehicle must have their seat belts on at all times," Andy argued.
"Andy, do you plan on crashing?" Elizabeth asked.
"I don't think anyone plans on crashing. I think that's why it's called an accident," I suggested.
"But, really, Andy, you're a safe driver; he drives ambulances. We'll be ok."
"Put your seat belt on anyway," he argued.
"No! I've got a great Mom Arm. If we crash I'll just use my Mom Arm to save myself," Elizabeth suggested.
"You can't Mom Arm yourself. That just doesn't work!" Andy argued.
"Fine the I'll Mom Arm you and your seat belt will save us both."
For some reason I don't think that's going to work either.
"I'll put my seat belt on if Amy puts on her seat belt," Elizabeth started.
"I'll put on my seat belt if Elizabeth puts on her seat belt," Amy countered.
"Ok, on the count of three the two of you are going to simultaneously put on your seat belts... One... two... three!" Failure.
"If you don't put your seat belt on Katie's going to hold your shoulders, and I'm sure her hands are cold," Andy told Elizabeth.
Ten minutes after we got in the car both girls put on their respective seat belts which remained on for the duration of our three minute venture. Although it is always a concern. If he hadn't been driving stick shift I think he would have held Elizabeth's hands in his to prevent her from removing her seat belt.
While we were driving we created a what-if scenario regarding the importance of seat belts. My own accident story apparently isn't good enough for them.
"What if a deer jumps out in the middle of the road, I hit it, and you go flying through the windshield because you weren't wearing your seat belt and your Mom Arm failed. Then you crack your head open on the road and blood is spewing everywhere!" Andy started our hypothetical.
"You're trained to handle that," she said mocking Andy's EMS training; this has become one of our favorite lines (third favorite to be exact. The first two are "That's what she said" and "-er? You barely know her!").
"What if the airbag pushed me backwards while seat belt-less Amy is pushed forward behind me so we clunk heads and both pass out. Now you're still bleeding to death in the middle of the street," Andy continued.
"Katie, will you call 9-1-1 before you go crazy and start sanitizing everything?" Elizabeth asked me.
"I can't. My cell phone was in the bag you chucked into the elevator a half hour ago. Sorry," I said.
I was still sitting helplessly in the back seat, seatbelt fastened and hand sanitizer ready, as my friends struggled for consciousness when our hypothetical came to an abrupt hault. It was not by choice, however. You see at that very moment we learned the meaning of the word "irony." From the woods on our left jumped a deer. There was a mix of laughter and shock in the car as the deer disappeared into the woods across the stree.
No, Andy didn't hit it and our bizarre scenario didn't come to fruition, but I think Elizabeth and Amy will wear their seat belts next time we all go for a joy ride in Charlie.
And to think this post was going to be "Why I Wear a Helmet"... That'll be next week. :-)
Buckle up for safety, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,
<>< Katie
They all start in the same way: Elizabeth and me fighting over shot gun. Sometimes I win; sometimes she wins. Either way it's a physical struggle between the two of us. We're both the oldest of three girls so we know how to fight and don't always fight fair. Hair pulling is not out of the question.
On Tuesday, Elizabeth won, so Amy and I sat in the back. Once seats are assigned and we all crawl in the second fight beings: to wear a seat belt or not to wear a seat belt, that is the question.
"Are you wearing your seat belts?" Andy asks every time. For the record, my seat belt is always on. It's Amy and Elizabeth that he has to worry about. They have been known to unbuckle each other so they can honestly answer "no" when he asks "Did you just unbuckle your seat belt?" He still pulled over and refused to go again until their seat belts were on correctly.
"I'll put my seat belt on if Katie takes hers off," Amy argued. I took my seat belt off. She put hers on. I put mine on. She took hers off. "And keeps it off!" That wasn't part of the deal.
"No, no, no the law says everyone in the vehicle must have their seat belts on at all times," Andy argued.
"Andy, do you plan on crashing?" Elizabeth asked.
"I don't think anyone plans on crashing. I think that's why it's called an accident," I suggested.
"But, really, Andy, you're a safe driver; he drives ambulances. We'll be ok."
"Put your seat belt on anyway," he argued.
"No! I've got a great Mom Arm. If we crash I'll just use my Mom Arm to save myself," Elizabeth suggested.
"You can't Mom Arm yourself. That just doesn't work!" Andy argued.
"Fine the I'll Mom Arm you and your seat belt will save us both."
For some reason I don't think that's going to work either.
"I'll put my seat belt on if Amy puts on her seat belt," Elizabeth started.
"I'll put on my seat belt if Elizabeth puts on her seat belt," Amy countered.
"Ok, on the count of three the two of you are going to simultaneously put on your seat belts... One... two... three!" Failure.
"If you don't put your seat belt on Katie's going to hold your shoulders, and I'm sure her hands are cold," Andy told Elizabeth.
Ten minutes after we got in the car both girls put on their respective seat belts which remained on for the duration of our three minute venture. Although it is always a concern. If he hadn't been driving stick shift I think he would have held Elizabeth's hands in his to prevent her from removing her seat belt.
While we were driving we created a what-if scenario regarding the importance of seat belts. My own accident story apparently isn't good enough for them.
"What if a deer jumps out in the middle of the road, I hit it, and you go flying through the windshield because you weren't wearing your seat belt and your Mom Arm failed. Then you crack your head open on the road and blood is spewing everywhere!" Andy started our hypothetical.
"You're trained to handle that," she said mocking Andy's EMS training; this has become one of our favorite lines (third favorite to be exact. The first two are "That's what she said" and "-er? You barely know her!").
"What if the airbag pushed me backwards while seat belt-less Amy is pushed forward behind me so we clunk heads and both pass out. Now you're still bleeding to death in the middle of the street," Andy continued.
"Katie, will you call 9-1-1 before you go crazy and start sanitizing everything?" Elizabeth asked me.
"I can't. My cell phone was in the bag you chucked into the elevator a half hour ago. Sorry," I said.
I was still sitting helplessly in the back seat, seatbelt fastened and hand sanitizer ready, as my friends struggled for consciousness when our hypothetical came to an abrupt hault. It was not by choice, however. You see at that very moment we learned the meaning of the word "irony." From the woods on our left jumped a deer. There was a mix of laughter and shock in the car as the deer disappeared into the woods across the stree.
No, Andy didn't hit it and our bizarre scenario didn't come to fruition, but I think Elizabeth and Amy will wear their seat belts next time we all go for a joy ride in Charlie.
And to think this post was going to be "Why I Wear a Helmet"... That'll be next week. :-)
Buckle up for safety, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,
<>< Katie
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
How Katie "Broke" Elizabeth's Finger
My Melodramatic Life Part One: How Katie Broke Elizabeth's Finger
Elizabeth: We were getting out of the car, and Katie slammed the car door into my finger and MURDERED IT! See! It's gushing blood.
[Note the lack of blood]
Elizabeth: It's purple!
[Note the tan finger]
Elizabeth: I can't move my whole hand!
[she says waving to a friend]
Elizabeth: IT HURTS! [Wails in pain] I'm going to DIE!
Katie: Andy, would you look at Liz's finger please. Tell her how long she has to live!
Elizabeth: ANDY! Save ME! My finger is dead! Katie aggressively attacked it with the car door!
[Andy opens his EMS jacket, pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen, and places it ontop of the "purple" finger]
Andy: There you go.
Elizabeth: [Sigh of relief] That's better.
Andy: Now what happened?
Katie: She got in a fight with the car door.
Elizabeth: NO! Katie assulted me with Amy's car door! She slammed my finger into it and KILLED it! I'm dying!
Katie: We were fighting over shot-gun...
Andy: The two of you fighing over shot-gun? NEVER!
Katie: Yeah, well, I won for the first time in my life only because you weren't there to push me out of the way! Anyway, Liz isn't used to sitting in the backseat, so when she got out of the car she was a little too close...
Elizabeth: I was just excited to get here! I was running! And now it hurts! I'm DYING!
Katie: I opened the door and she slammed her finger into it.
Andy: So, Liz, you slammed into Amy's car door with your finger; Katie didn't slam the car door ON your finger.
Katie: Thank you!
Elizabeth: She MURDERED IT! Katie's a murderer! An Ax-murderer!
Amy: Katie, you have to walk back to our apartment because I need to take Elizabeth to the hospital. But not the close hospital, the far hospital because that's where Jo works and therefore it's the best.
Andy: I'll drive! I can get there real fast!
Katie: Yeah, in your car or in your ambulence?
Elizabeth: IT HURTS!! The medicine didn't help, Andy. Kiss it. That's what Katie did! Brad tried to kiss it, but he really just licked it. That didn't help! AHHH!!
Andy: Let me see.
Elizabeth: Don't TOUCH it!
Andy: How are you going to get better if no one can touch it?
Elizabeth: [moaning] I don't know.
Amy: We'll have to sign your cast.
Elizabeth: [Smile] Ok! [Viciously] But NOT Katie! Katie can't get anywhere near it!
Andy: They wouldn't put a cast on your finger. They'd splint it. I'm trained to handle that. If you broke your femur--which is very dangerous, so please don't do it--I am trained to handle that, too.
Katie: Last time I took biology I learned the femur is not in the finger.
Andy: Splint the femur; splint the finger. Same idea.
Adam: Liz, are you ok?
Elizabeth: KATIE KILLED ME!
Katie: Here we go again.
Elizabeth: She brutally slammed the car door into my finger...
Katie: But Andy put the closed bottle of ibuprofen on it, so we're good now.
Adam: Oh, ok. Good. I'm glad Andy were there to help.
Elizabeth: He WASN'T! He wasn't there and I was gushing blood EVERYWHERE! Worse than the other finger I cut while shaving this morning!
Katie: Liz, these are fingers. You only get ten! A new endangered species: Liz's fingers.
Elizabeth: AHHH!!! It's been a rough day for my appendages!
If she's lucky, she might live..
<>< Katie
Elizabeth: We were getting out of the car, and Katie slammed the car door into my finger and MURDERED IT! See! It's gushing blood.
[Note the lack of blood]
Elizabeth: It's purple!
[Note the tan finger]
Elizabeth: I can't move my whole hand!
[she says waving to a friend]
Elizabeth: IT HURTS! [Wails in pain] I'm going to DIE!
Katie: Andy, would you look at Liz's finger please. Tell her how long she has to live!
Elizabeth: ANDY! Save ME! My finger is dead! Katie aggressively attacked it with the car door!
[Andy opens his EMS jacket, pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen, and places it ontop of the "purple" finger]
Andy: There you go.
Elizabeth: [Sigh of relief] That's better.
Andy: Now what happened?
Katie: She got in a fight with the car door.
Elizabeth: NO! Katie assulted me with Amy's car door! She slammed my finger into it and KILLED it! I'm dying!
Katie: We were fighting over shot-gun...
Andy: The two of you fighing over shot-gun? NEVER!
Katie: Yeah, well, I won for the first time in my life only because you weren't there to push me out of the way! Anyway, Liz isn't used to sitting in the backseat, so when she got out of the car she was a little too close...
Elizabeth: I was just excited to get here! I was running! And now it hurts! I'm DYING!
Katie: I opened the door and she slammed her finger into it.
Andy: So, Liz, you slammed into Amy's car door with your finger; Katie didn't slam the car door ON your finger.
Katie: Thank you!
Elizabeth: She MURDERED IT! Katie's a murderer! An Ax-murderer!
Amy: Katie, you have to walk back to our apartment because I need to take Elizabeth to the hospital. But not the close hospital, the far hospital because that's where Jo works and therefore it's the best.
Andy: I'll drive! I can get there real fast!
Katie: Yeah, in your car or in your ambulence?
Elizabeth: IT HURTS!! The medicine didn't help, Andy. Kiss it. That's what Katie did! Brad tried to kiss it, but he really just licked it. That didn't help! AHHH!!
Andy: Let me see.
Elizabeth: Don't TOUCH it!
Andy: How are you going to get better if no one can touch it?
Elizabeth: [moaning] I don't know.
Amy: We'll have to sign your cast.
Elizabeth: [Smile] Ok! [Viciously] But NOT Katie! Katie can't get anywhere near it!
Andy: They wouldn't put a cast on your finger. They'd splint it. I'm trained to handle that. If you broke your femur--which is very dangerous, so please don't do it--I am trained to handle that, too.
Katie: Last time I took biology I learned the femur is not in the finger.
Andy: Splint the femur; splint the finger. Same idea.
Adam: Liz, are you ok?
Elizabeth: KATIE KILLED ME!
Katie: Here we go again.
Elizabeth: She brutally slammed the car door into my finger...
Katie: But Andy put the closed bottle of ibuprofen on it, so we're good now.
Adam: Oh, ok. Good. I'm glad Andy were there to help.
Elizabeth: He WASN'T! He wasn't there and I was gushing blood EVERYWHERE! Worse than the other finger I cut while shaving this morning!
Katie: Liz, these are fingers. You only get ten! A new endangered species: Liz's fingers.
Elizabeth: AHHH!!! It's been a rough day for my appendages!
If she's lucky, she might live..
<>< Katie
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Indecisiveness Leads to Skinned Knees
After going to a meeting that is really next week, I was carrying a stack of papers, water bottle, and camera while I rode my bike back to my apartment today. I had a decision to make: take the sidewalk or the road. It's up and hill and the two are not parallel in this area. Yesterday, I took the sidewalk and didn't quite make it up the hill. Today I couldn't decide if I wanted to take the road or the sidewalk.
Road? Sidewalk? Road? Sidewalk? Road?
As I created a pros and cons chart for each option, I continued to race towards the intersection. I finally decided on the road, but then I noticed the road has speed bumps. I changed my mind and opted for the sidewalk. Unfortunately, it was too late to decide, and I met the grass, rocks, and sidewalk up close and personally.
Luckily, only two people saw (or admitted they saw). Of course, they're two people I don't know, so I will forever be ingrained in their brains as the girl who can't ride a bike. My ego and knees are bruised, but I'm OK. My bike, took a harder fall than I did; the chain fell off.
Several hours later I was talking to my friend Hannah about this mishap and about another problem I've been facing. I'm trying to decide which ministry to join this year. There are two and I can't do both (or I'll be over committed). One minute, I'm game to do one, and the next minute I change to the other one.
This? That? This? That?
Road? Sidewalk? Road? Sidewalk?
It was kind of as if God said, "Either is fine, but you'd better decide before it's too late and you wipe out completely. Oh, and don't change your mind either."
Well, folks, let's go ride a bike!
<>< Katie
PS: For those of you who are wondering: yes, I was wearing my helmet. No, the papers did not go flying everywhere. Yes, the chain is back on my bike thanks to Daddy Delaware.
Road? Sidewalk? Road? Sidewalk? Road?
As I created a pros and cons chart for each option, I continued to race towards the intersection. I finally decided on the road, but then I noticed the road has speed bumps. I changed my mind and opted for the sidewalk. Unfortunately, it was too late to decide, and I met the grass, rocks, and sidewalk up close and personally.
Luckily, only two people saw (or admitted they saw). Of course, they're two people I don't know, so I will forever be ingrained in their brains as the girl who can't ride a bike. My ego and knees are bruised, but I'm OK. My bike, took a harder fall than I did; the chain fell off.
Several hours later I was talking to my friend Hannah about this mishap and about another problem I've been facing. I'm trying to decide which ministry to join this year. There are two and I can't do both (or I'll be over committed). One minute, I'm game to do one, and the next minute I change to the other one.
This? That? This? That?
Road? Sidewalk? Road? Sidewalk?
It was kind of as if God said, "Either is fine, but you'd better decide before it's too late and you wipe out completely. Oh, and don't change your mind either."
Well, folks, let's go ride a bike!
<>< Katie
PS: For those of you who are wondering: yes, I was wearing my helmet. No, the papers did not go flying everywhere. Yes, the chain is back on my bike thanks to Daddy Delaware.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
God's Bandaid
I'm starting to feel like Natalie: within ten seconds of me being out of bed this morning God spoke to me. To make it better: it was something kinda science-y. (Or at least body-related). haha
This morning I went to put my contacts in and there was this huge scab right above my eyebrow. It was at least a centimeter in diameter. Yesterday I kept randomly finding blood on my finger but not that much blood and it was nowhere else but this one finger, so I don't have a clue how off the sudden I had this big scab in the middle of my FACE! I have no idea where it came from, but it didn't matter: it need to go away before my final at 8am. I had two choices:
1. Pick it off
2. Attempt to cover it up with makeup.
The first seemed easier, so I started picking off ... God's band aid. Here God was healing some obscure blemish on my face and I was doing everything I could to work against Him.
How often does God start working on something in our lives, we think He's doing it wrong and it's ugly, so we do everything in our power to change it. Sometimes we try to cover it up. Other times we try and undo everything He's doing. Either way: we think He's wrong and we're right. After all, could He have any idea what having a huge bloody scab on my face could do to my entire day? Of course He knows, but He knows the healing will make it all worth it in the end.
Sorry, that was a bit more graphic than I'm sure you wanted, but come on: was it anything we don't do? At least I was in my room and not in the bathroom! (Right, Natalie? :-))
<>< Katie
"Look at the nations and watch—and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told. " Habakkuk 1:5
This morning I went to put my contacts in and there was this huge scab right above my eyebrow. It was at least a centimeter in diameter. Yesterday I kept randomly finding blood on my finger but not that much blood and it was nowhere else but this one finger, so I don't have a clue how off the sudden I had this big scab in the middle of my FACE! I have no idea where it came from, but it didn't matter: it need to go away before my final at 8am. I had two choices:
1. Pick it off
2. Attempt to cover it up with makeup.
The first seemed easier, so I started picking off ... God's band aid. Here God was healing some obscure blemish on my face and I was doing everything I could to work against Him.
How often does God start working on something in our lives, we think He's doing it wrong and it's ugly, so we do everything in our power to change it. Sometimes we try to cover it up. Other times we try and undo everything He's doing. Either way: we think He's wrong and we're right. After all, could He have any idea what having a huge bloody scab on my face could do to my entire day? Of course He knows, but He knows the healing will make it all worth it in the end.
Sorry, that was a bit more graphic than I'm sure you wanted, but come on: was it anything we don't do? At least I was in my room and not in the bathroom! (Right, Natalie? :-))
<>< Katie
"Look at the nations and watch—and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told. " Habakkuk 1:5
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