Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts

Monday, November 7, 2011

Communion

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

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Koolaid

I had my choice between going to church with Nikki or going to church with Melia.

Really, I was just happy to get to worship with my friends on a Wednesday night.

It was decided I'd go with Nikki so we could spend some extra time together before I had to leave.

The Bible study was good.  I learned.  I saw the congregation's hunger for the Lord, even though they make my grandparents look young.  I enjoyed time with my friend and listening to her pastor teach.  It was good.

When we got home, Melia was in awe of what happened at her church.  The more she spoke, the more I realized I made the wrong decision.  The scripture, the truths, the presentation seemed like God had hand-crafted that sermon for me... and I wasn't there.

I didn't ask why.  Rather, I was upset.

God, why wasn't I there?  You had the power to put me there.  I was torn on which church to attend.  It would have been very easy for the conclusion to have been the opposite, and I would have clearly seen Your hand.

I don't know why I wasn't there.  Maybe because Nikki and I needed some bonding time.  Maybe I needed to be encouraged by the old people eager to hear the Word.  Maybe the they needed to be encouraged by us youngin's.  Maybe "Uncle Bill" needed a new listener for his "the dog ate my hearing aid" story.  Maybe Melia needed to summarize the sermon for me.

Maybe it was selfish for me to have wished the evening had gone differently.

Do you ever do that?  Tell God He's the focus of your night but then get upset when He doesn't do what you wanted Him to do?

Guilty,
<>< Katie

PS: This post has nothing to do with Koolaid.  But it happens to be what I am drinking right now, and I could not come up with a better title.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Hallelujah

A Chinese woman noticed the English Bible in Mike's hand.

She pointed to it and, with a huge smile on her face, pulled her Chinese Bible out of her purse. Mike smiled back, and the exchange ended. At least as far as I could see from my seat across the over-crowded public bus.

The bus only got hotter and more crowded as we approached our destination: a Chinese church meeting at a chicken plant because they spent thirty years fighting the government to regain their land that was seized.*

Our team and several Chinese people got off at the stop at the church's gate. This woman was thrilled!

She grabbed Juanita by the arm, looked directly in her eyes, and began to ramble in Chinese. Juanita didn't understand a word of it, but she understood this woman's joy.

The woman kept trying different phrases, willing Juanita to understand.

"Hallelujah," the Chinese woman said.  Juanita understood.

"Hallelujah!"

It's not identical in both languages, but it's a cognate. The two sisters could not converse with words, but they could worship together.

What more does one need?

Hallelujah,
<>< Katie

Note: Words like "Amen" and "Jesus" are also cognates. That's about all we understood of the service.

* Though it is significantly smaller and more out of the way than the original land, the Chinese government has given the church land along with monetary contributions (to make up for the rest of the acreage) and a promise to assist in the placement of a bus stop near church property. This fall, they hope to break ground to complete the 1,500-seat building by Christmas 2012.  The pastor of this church rotates between it and at least ten other local churches.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Perfectionist Pen

This year I was asked to help with the rewriting and tweaking of the narrations for our church's patriotic musical.

I listened to the songs on repeat, reading the music and listening.  I puked out thoughts and words before prayerfully putting them into complete, logical sentences.

I let them sit for a few days before rereading them and sending them off to the director.  He thought they were great, so I pushed them from my mind.

I still wasn't pleased.  At the performance, I heard the start of a phrase and my first thought was, "I hope that wasn't my sentence."  It was.  The longer the narration went, the more upset I became.

Katie: Why didn't I read over that once more before sending it in?  A few changed words could have made it better.  That doesn't even make sense!  Why?  Ugh!

God: Fine, then no one can hear it.

And the sound system gave feedback for the first (and only) time all night.  The mic blew and the narrator continued.  When my phrase was over, the narrator's microphone came back on and the program continued.

God: I wrote that; you didn't.  Those words were exactly the way I wanted them to be; I'm using them as they are.  I AM the Writer; you are the pen.

Yes, Lord.

<>< Katie

Monday, July 4, 2011

Freedom

Right now I'm reading The Heavenly Man, a nonfiction book recommended to me prior to my trip to China.  It tells the story of Brother Yun, a Chinese pastor who has faced heavy persecution for his faith and ministry.

I've lost track of how many times he's been arrested, and I'm only in chapter ten (of twenty-nine).  Every time he faces brutal torture, undying faith, and miraculous escapes.

In reading this testimony, I can't help but wonder what the church in the United States would look like if we had that kind of faith.  The faith where we'd be willing to face electric shock, starvation, and frigid temperatures all because we believe in God.  would we be found faithful or would we relent?  It's convicting.

But it also makes me thankful for what we, as Americans, have.  The persecution we may face is verbal slander and judgment not physical abuse and death.  We live in a country where we don't have to be afraid of our churches being attacked by the government and our members arrested for simply being on the premises.  We can play our Christian music in our cars, at festivals, and even in retail stores.  We can proclaim we believe with our t-shirts, bumper stickers, and blog posts.

For this I am grateful.  But I know the price for this freedom was very high.  Men and women have lost lives and limbs fighting for our independence.  For my right to write this blog post.  For your opportunity to read it.

Please take the time to thank a soldier.  Not just on Independence Day, Veterans' Day, and Memorial Day, but any day and every day that you are grateful for your comfortable life free from persecution.

Now, let's go out and proclaim God with more than just our music, bumper stickers, t-shirts, and blog posts. God can and does use Americans just as He uses Brother Yun and Chinese Christians.

Have you thanked Christ for the price He paid for that freedom, too?

<>< Katie

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Blessing in Disguise

My friend Elizabeth was asked to lead an evening twenty-somethings Bible study at her church.  No one thought to give her a key to the church, and she didn't think to ask for it.

So, after dinner, we pulled up to church without a way to get inside.  Instead, we set up camp in the parking lot and began to study the Word of the Lord.

The evening was beautiful.  A light breeze, no humidity, and a beautiful sunset.  If we had had a key, we would have missed the beautiful day God created for us!  It was absolutely perfect for sitting outside.

While we were finishing up our study, the pastor drove up and offered to let us inside.  We were all pretty content with where we were.  Then he told us they were going to shoot off fireworks from the field next to the church in a few minutes.

If we had been inside, we would have missed the fireworks, the coolest end to Bible study ever.

Sometimes what's seen as a problem, such as a lack of a key, can really be a blessing in disguise.

Are you looking for blessings in disguise?

<>< Katie

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Trust, Even in the Desert

Let's be honest for a minute: some days I don't want to read my Bible, don't want to pray, don't want to spend time with the Lord.

It was one of those days.  Even though I wasn't tired, I was ready to call it a night.  I just didn't feel like doing a devotion.

Grudgingly I threw my Bible on my bed and flipped to where I was reading in Nehemiah.  Chapter 9.  The same chapter the pastor used in his sermon on Sunday.  The same chapter we'd read in small group.  In two days I had gone from oblivious to practically an expert on Nehemiah 9; I didn't want to read it yet again.  I figured I'd skim it quickly and go to bed.  Wrong.

Here's what you need to know: my favorite Bible is held together by purple duct tape.  If you drop it, a tree of papers will fall out.  The margins notes are numerous.  It's in such rough shape that I rarely take it out of my room.  But it's in that Bible where all of my sermon notes have been transferred... since sixth grade.

I flipped to Nehemiah 9 and lo and behold sometime in the last ten years (excluding this past Sunday), I heard a sermon on Nehemiah 9.  It was at our student worship service a few years back.  It wasn't my favorite guest speaker and based on the date and when that would have fallen in the semester, I debated even going that night.  I'm glad I did.

In Nehemiah 9, the wall around Jerusalem has already been rebuilt.  The people have literally wept upon hearing (and understanding) the Law they have not kept.  Now they're confessing their sins and reminding God of how He's been faithful to them through the exodus, the desert, and into the promised land.

It's an exercise I have been encouraged to use myself.  Since we're being honest, post-college life is a bit (ok, a lot) like a desert.  My days are filled with job searching and rejections.  My support system in 900 miles away.  I have to constantly remind myself of God's faithfulness.  But, as He did not abandon the Israelites many thousand years ago, God has not abandoned me here.

Have I abandoned Him?  Not quite.  But some days I do my devotion grudgingly; I grit my teeth while praying.

The notes in my margins around Nehemiah 9 say:

How far ahead could they see?
1. Not very far due to the pillar
2. As far as they needed to see

"You're not ready for the Promised Land if you can't trust Him in the dessert."
Hum.

Nehemiah 9:21 says, "For forty years You sustained them in the desert; they lacked nothing, their clothes did not wear out nor did their feet become swollen."

I could make a list of things I lack here in the desert of unemployment.  But in Matthew 6, Jesus prays for daily bread not daily steak.  I have clothes sticking to on my back, I have a roof and ceiling fan over my head, and I have dinner on my plate.  It's definitely not ideal but it's satisfactory, at least for today.

And still, here I am annoyed that God said, "Not now" to graduate school, disappointed that my ideal job has not been dropped into my lap, and sad visiting my closest friends requires an airplane ticket.

How far ahead can I see?  Not very far.  But just far enough.  Not as far as I would like to see but just as far as God is willing to let me see... for now.  As difficult as it is to remember, He sees beyond the pillar.  He knows what comes next.  As I need to see it, He will reveal it to me.  Until then, will I trust Him in the desert?

God, I want to trust You in this desert.  But it's hard.  I am not ready for the Promised Land. Without Your grace and love, I will never be ready.  Prepare me for what lies ahead beyond my vision but not beyond Yours.  Let me focus on You and the pillar You have provided to lead me both by day and night.  I don't have to enjoy this desert, but I want to be found faithful through it.  Thank You for not abandoning me here.  I love You.  Amen.

<>< Katie

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Guilty Getting Gas

Sometimes I have a problem with the "You are now entering the mission field" signs on the edge of church parking lots.  Can the church property not also be a mission field?  Yet sometimes we need that reminder.  Sometimes we forget worship does not conclude when we leave the parking lot.

I forgot that on Sunday.

After church and lunch, we said goodbye to the youth who had touched our lives for the last two days and prepared for our three-hour journey back to school. 

First stop: gas station.

The university keeps a gas card in the twelve-passenger van was I driving.  I plugged in the card and it said, "See attendant."

Trip into the gas station number one.  She told me to try it again and if it didn't work I could pay inside after I filled up.

Back at the pump, it didn't work a second time.  I filled up the van and went inside to pay.

Trip into the gas station number two.  We ran the card and it was denied.  We ran it again, still denied.  We ran it as debit, but I didn't have a PIN.

Back at the van, I called Heather.  No answer.  We called Kevin.  He said he didn't know the PIN and told us to call Neal.  Neal was apologetic that we hadn't been given the PIN before we left campus.

Trip into the gas station number three.  On the phone with Neal, I punched in the PIN he gave me.  Still no luck.

That's when I started to get short with him.  It was out of frustration but that didn't make it right.  Had I learned nothing on our weekend of living to worship?  I could have been worshipping at the gas station... thanking God that we had gas to fill up the van, that our only snafu was a misbehaving gas card, and the ability to reach someone who was willing to help us on a Sunday afternoon while he was spending time with his family.  I could have been courteous to the attendant and the man on the phone.

Getting mad at Neal wasn't worship.  In fact, it was the opposite.  It was getting cranky with someone who was trying to help.

The chorus of the Casting Crowns's song "The Altar and the Door" saying, "I will not lose my follow through between the altar and the door."  Not forgetting everything we learned in church between when we leave the sanctuary and when we, as the sign in the parking lot says, enter the mission field.  Instead, we should take what we've learned home with us and implement it into our lives.

Well, fail, Katie.

I lost a fight with a gas card and I lost my worship mindset.  A mile from the church and I had two apologies to make: one to Neal and one to God.

Thankful for forgiveness,
<>< Katie

PS: On the fourth trip into the gas station, I paid out of pocket and was reimbursed when we made it safely back to campus.

Friday, April 1, 2011

God: Interpreter, Provider

I didn't realize how much time Neal and I spent together in Nicaragua until I got home and started telling these stories.  I think this is the last one (for now).

On Thursday morning we drove to another middle-of-nowhere church where we were going to do a service at 10am.  The Nicaraguan pastors suggested we walk around town and invite people, especially children, to the service.  So we did exactly that.

We strategically split into two groups with our best Spanish-speaking students split up and our bilingual Nicaraguan pastors split up.  Manolo, the bilingual Nicaragua pastor in our group, told me he wasn't going to translate our invitations.  That was all my job.  Huh what?  Not fair!

I would have much preferred to hide in the back and not do any of the talking.  Manolo was going to make sure that didn't happen.

So towards the first house we walked.  Our team stayed in a crowd in the street, and Neal and I approached the front door.

"Buenas," he said.  "We're going to have a church service over there at ten o'clock if you'd be interested in joining us.  Especially children, we're going to have activities and games for them."

Yeah, I don't know those words.  But I translated the best I could.  Then Neal and I walked on to the next house, and Manolo talked to the people, probably clarifying what I said.

Neal tried to get the other people in our group to introduce the neighbors, but only a few did and still I did all of the translating.  Honestly, I didn't really think it fair that they got to hang out and talk while I did all of the work.

That's because it was awkward and very uncomfortable to walk up to a house and talk to strangers about church... in Spanish never the less!  Neal and I confessed to each other that it was out of our comfort zones.  But with every house, we admitted, it got easier.  Neal became comfortable with his spiel and thus I began to anticipate what he was going to say.  Of course, he threw me a curve ball now and again but the more houses we talked to, the less clarification Manolo gave afterwards.

 Of course, by now it was 10:05 and we were still inviting people to the service at 10:00... Nicaraguan time.

As we walked back to the church to prepare for the service, we talked about how the Holy Spirit interprets for us.  It communicates what we cannot.  That brought me so much peace.  Even with my befuddled Spanish, the Holy Spirit allowed to be heard what needed to be heard.

When we got back to the church, we were able to see the fruits of our labor.  Not at first, mind you, but slowly the church filled up.  Eventually, they dismissed the kids to go out back.

One... two... three... four... I stopped counting at 50.  Our final estimate was about 80.  All squished into an area the size of a dorm room. 

And again we had no plan.

We did a skit to stall for time.  Then Sara told the story of Jonah (and Annalisa, our best Spanish-speaker, interpreted).  Then we handed out Jonah coloring pages... until we ran out.

Then we handed out home safety coloring pages... until we ran out.

Then we handed out blank pieces of paper... until we ran out.  That time we ran out of kids asking for paper.

I manned the paper and crayons while our other team members scattered themselves among the masses.

Some of our girls set up in the corner of the backyard area and made Salvation Bracelets. 

We kept worrying about running out of beads, so we signaled for those incharge of the service to wrap it up.  They saw, "Keep going."

Five loaves, two fish, and a half-a-bag of beads we did not run out.  God is such a provider!  It's was awesome!

It was great to be on the bus leaving and see the children wave, each boasting a Salvation Bracelet on the wrist that matches mine.

I came home with some very important lessons learned:
1. Sometimes God asks us to do things that are uncomfortable.  But the more you do them, the more comfortable they become.
2. The Holy Spirit interprets and speaks when we cannot.  What needs to be said is said through no doing of our own.
3. The Lord provides.  It's as simple as that.

Thankful for Grace,
<>< Katie

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Being Used

"I'm tired," I said, resting my head on Neal's shoulder.  It was lunchtime on our third day in Nicaragua and we'd already done three church services, visited three schools, and been performed for twice. 

He put his arm around me in a side hug.  There we stood in silence for a few minutes.  I never said this but I was more than tired; I was discouraged.

The previous night we had done a worship service at a youth-filled home church in the city.  It was in the upper room of this little house where our team of 26 took up most of the incredibly uncomfortable seats.  The youth from this church sat scattered among us, crouched on the floor in the back, or stood squished in the corner.

They started out the worship service with some songs, prayer, a dance, and a short message.  Then we did some of the same things: three songs, a skit (the only service we didn't do The Heart Skit), a prayer, a sign performance, a testimony, and a sermon.  By the end of the service, most of our team was in tears, in awe of how alive the Spirit of the Lord was in that church.

This is an excerpt from my journal that night:

God, I'm a little jealous that everyone else had such wonderful experiences tonight. I know You are alive and here in Nicaragua but I didn't feel it the way everyone else did. I know that You speak to everyone in different ways but it seemed like You spoke to everyone in the same way tonight... except me.
My eyes were dry.  I felt nothing.  I was annoyed with God for not allowing me to feel the same thing as everyone else.  I was jealous, and I hadn't told anyone but God.

My head still resting on his chest, Neal rubbed my arm with his hand.

"God's using you, you know," he said.

As silly as this sounds, I was surprised to hear that.  I knew that God would use me but I did not know He is using me.  Present tense.  Not some abstract future occurrence but right now.

Neal continued, "A lot of people said when you signed 'My Savior, My God' last night was when the Holy Spirit started to work on them."

What?

I had no idea.  I figured God had started speaking when they danced, when we sang in two languages, when the father and son did a duet, when we prayed... sometime long before I took the stage.

Apparently not.  The Holy Spirit used me and I had no idea.  While I still would have liked to enjoy the overwhelming experience like the rest of my teammates, I was stunned and amazed to learn that I had been used and I had no idea.

I think I thanked Neal for telling me exactly what I needed to hear.

The version of "My Savior, My God" I signed was written to be a trio.  I signed it by myself.  A Trio, a Holy Trio, perfromed it.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit uses you and you know it.  You feel it.  But sometimes the Holy Spirit uses you and you have no idea.  You don't feel it.

Are you ok with both?

I am.

<>< Katie

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Nicaragua

I have crayon under my fingernails.
My hair has dirt in it and is uncooperative.
My legs are scratched up, bug-bitten, and hairy.
I'll spare you the details about the revolt happening inside of my body.
I'm physically drained but emotionally and spiritually on a mountain top!

Sorry for the silence last week.  I was on a mission trip to Nicaragua.  We had one goal and one goal only: serve God.

That meant going to five church services in one week but being the church all week.
It meant entertaining 80 kids for an hour... twice.
It meant building relationships and encouraging people in what they're already doing.
It meant loving and serving with everything we have.
It meant visiting the fire station, touring the local hospital, and climbing mountains.

Let me tell you, the Holy Spirit is alive and well in Nicaragua!  It was so encouraging to see!

I'm trying to get all of my thoughts into the same language. As I do that, I'll share stories and photos... so don't go anywhere!

But now... I must go to bed.  Yesterday was a 22-hour travel day that included a six am pit stop because someone was bus-sick, two plane rides, and a 1am tire-change on a 12-passenger van.  But we are all home safe and healthy!

<>< Katie

Saturday, January 15, 2011

One Handed Mermaids

At school I'm a part of a ministry team that works with local churches to lead youth nights, retreats, lock-ins, et al.  Our job is to basically be silly, bond with the youth, and teach them about Jesus.  I like the ministry, but I always feel like there's an element missing.  We work with the youth all weekend and then on Sunday night we go home.  The might be-friend us on facebook or something but the relationship's pretty much over.  That makes me sad.

Which is why I love going home.  Even though I'm only there every few months, I get to spend time with middle and high schoolers.  Sure, I have to go back to school eventually but I get to go back and forth between the two.

On Sunday, I spent the morning getting powered sugar all over the ancient, blue church pew with my middle schoolers.  They're almost done with Confirmation class, looking towards high school, and have built a great friendship among them.

Their leader asked the best present they received for Christmas.  One of them responded, "Jesus's forgiveness."

That was the end of that discussion question.  She blew us out of the water!  So powerful.  So profound.  So perfect.  So simple.

When I got home from church, I looked at a national weather map and noticed this itty bitty snowstorm hitting half of our country... including Baptist Country.  I wanted to just sit around and mope about how I probably wasn't getting back to school in the near future.

I'm so glad I didn't cancel my plans for Sunday night.  Instead I went to what my church calls Home Group.  Basically it's like small group where high schoolers get together in a family's house to hang out, learn about Jesus, and eat, eat, eat.

I wanted to get home and mope about my potentially cancelled flight.  Instead I got lost in the most intense conversation ever.  Or at least in the week.

Trevor (Who's been begging me all week to blog about this just so he can see his own name in print) asked the question: Why did God give us two of everything? 

Two arms, two legs, two halves of the brain...

One stomach so we don't overindulge.
One tongue to control.
One appendix to have removed.

But two lungs, two kidneys, two eyes...

The best answer we could devise is that God likes symmetry.

Dawn, Jake, Trevor, and I continued our conversation to pondering if there are any warm-blooded animals that do not have four appendages.  Mermaids.

Maybe it was a weird conversation.  A "Peanut Butter Bagel" blog post.  But still something to ponder.

I love being able to spend time with the same youth.  I knew most of these guys from the Gathering in July.  Wonder about weird things that have never crossed my mind before.  Spend some time with youth and see what you come away wondering...

<>< Katie

PS: Happy now, Trevor?

Monday, December 6, 2010

That's My Daddy

Every Christmas my entire extended family worships together to start our Christmas Eve brouhaha.

As a toddler, I would walk between the knees of my relatives and the pew in front of us.  One of my uncles, neither will fess up to being the culprit but it could have feasibly been either one, handed me a piece of paper and told me to take it to my other uncle.

I looked down at the piece of paper, recognized a big "D" scribbled and loudly proclaimed, "That's my daddy!"

The paper really said, "Dork."

Yeah, church was pretty much over for my family at that point in time.
Happy Monday!
<>< Katie

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

The House that Pukes Kids

There is a local family that invites Amber and me over for lunch on a regular basis.  Sunday dinner is a gathering of three generations, approximately thirteen people, in a house near the church.  We know this family so well that we don't even knock before walking it.
Rather than briefing first-timer Kevin on the chaos he was about to encounter, we spent the ride there discussing some of our best pranks.  Those we've pulled and those that have been pulled on us.  The appropriate and the inappropriate.  The hilarious and the flops.

When we got there, we pulled the conversation to a temporary halt (primarily because I was telling alcohol-related stories and those are frowned upon in Baptist Country).  Amber pulled open the back door and I followed her in.  Behind me I heard a thud.

Kevin said as he was about to step inside the house, an eleven year old girl tumbled onto the ground from inside the wall.  She was quickly followed by her three year old cousin wrapped in one of Granddaddy's dress shirts.  They both laughed hysterically when Kevin jumped.

Amber and I were thoroughly amused but we knew there was still one missing.  I walked back and looked into the hole in the wall.  Sure enough, there was my six year old "boyfriend" with a pair of boxers on his head.

I guess the original plan had been to lure the three of us into the bathroom, together, and scare us by popping out of the top of the laundry shoot.  Well, that wasn't good enough.  Instead, they rolled out the side of it.
It definitely goes on the list of best pranks!
<>< Katie

Disclaimer: No one was hurt in the making of this blog.  The laundry shoot is like a built-in cabinet basket that opens in the laundry room on the other side of the wall.  The author claims no responsibility for any injuries that result from attempting similar pranks.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Can't I just pray in peace?

The pastor had finished his sermon with a "Let's pray."  I bowed my head and just as he started to pray, someone grabbed my knee.  Not going to lie, I jumped a little.  I looked up to see Queen Emily beckoning me towards her.  She, Amber, and I had to leave church early, and the service was running long than we anticipated.  Instead of staying for our arranged exit time, we snuck out during the prayer.  A spontaneous change in plan that I was not informed of.

Not an hour later, Queen Emily, Amber, and  were in our second church service for the day. We double-dipped on church because our sign choir had been asked to perform at the second service.  Neal said, "Let's pray," I bowed my head, and Amber grabbed my knee.  No praying allowed in church apparently.  Instead, we had to progress on stage like an army preparing for battle. 

The performance went better than expected.  Not flawless but quite well considering the extremely limited amount of time we had to prepare.  After the service, I was mingling and everyone seemed very impressed.

"You were my favorite one up there."  You're biased.
"We always love it when you guys perform."  Thanks, we love it, too.

It was Jennifer's words that stuck with me the most.

"You know, some people just sign with their hands.  But you sign with your whole body.  It's like you're telling a story."  I like to tell stories.

When I joined this choir, I had no knowledge of American Sign Language.  None.  During practice, I would feverishly scribble what the signs looked like to me.  For example, next to Queen Emily's "WHO" I wrote "inhaler."  That's where I got my first sign name, a "K" on the chin, to remind everyone of my silly "WHO = inhaler" moment.  When I started, the signs were just motions to me.

Now, almost four years later, I am conversant in ASL.  The signs have moved on from being motions to being worship.  It means I get to worship with all that I am.  My hands, my body, my face, my heart, my mind, and sometimes even my voice.  I use all that I am to praise God and tell His story.

It's worth all of those hours freshman year trying and trying to figure out what was going on.  Every "WHO = inhaler" moment and the laughter that followed.  Every trip to practice in the icy rain.  Every sore shoulder/wrist from overuse and abuse.  Every moved table and chair to create ample practice space.  It's even worth every interrupted prayer to use all of my being to worship God as I tell His story.

<>< Katie

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Las Chicas

I went out to dinner with Las Chicas the other day. These four girls left South America and Europe to come to Small Town, USA for a year to teach Spanish and French. They all speak English very well, but it is their second language. They are also new to the United States and not well-acquainted with the area, so some of my friends and I offered to go out to dinner with them. I was their chauffeur.

When I lived in Costa Rica, I remembered always being so annoyed with the Spanish radio. I didn't understand a word of it; it was just noise making it harder to hear. I didn't want Las Chicas to have the same problem in my car. I regretted leaving my Juanes CD at home and put in my Spanish worship CD instead.

While we were driving and talking, Las Chicas asked me all sort of questions. Is what I'm wearing ok for where we’re going? What kind of rag do I need to buy to use with my mop? I'm getting five hours of sleep a night; why am I so tired? Do they sell textbooks at Wal-mart? What do you call the little white thing you use to clean your ear? Do I have to be a United States citizen to get a driver's license here?

In a break between conversations, the music was heard through the silence.
Cynthia: Is this a Christian CD?
Katie: It is.
Cynthia: Oh. I am a Christian in Argentina.
Katie: You can be a Christian in the United States, too.
I was glad she laughed because it came out so fast that I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want her to think I was mocking her, but they all enjoyed it. This added a whole new dimension to the questions they asked me.

What is the name of the guy who, you know, how do you say? And you know the thing that he does, what is that part called? What is the difference between Baptist and Methodist? Most of the people here are Baptist, yes?

Let me be transparent for just a second. I can write, blog, and read about God all day without a problem. To talk about Him is more of a challenge. Even sometimes among my Christian friends I feel silly for saying, "God showed me this today." I rarely tell people I'll pray for them (but if I say it, I try to really do it). When Christ came up with Las Chicas, I knew I had a witnessing opportunity. I also knew my tendency to be turned down when I offer a ride to church.

That's why I was shocked when they accepted the invitation! Even after I told them we'd have to leave at 8:30am. Las Chicas began to talk about their home churches. One did mission work every Saturday where she worked in local neighborhoods helping people. Another's pastor and his wife sent her with all sorts of photos and wanted her return with photos of American churches. It was humbling to hear about what God is doing in other countries.

On Sunday morning, they were ready early. One of them even made a joke about it. I have since realized why. This was their first opportunity to hear God's Word proclaimed since they've been in our country.

Shame on you, America. We're sending mission teams all over the world to spread the gospel. Yes, I went to Guatemala last year for that very purpose. But do you want to know what I found? Jesus is already there. He's in Guatemala. He's in Argentina. Yes, going and showing His love is important, but we also need to realize there are people in this country yearning to hear His name and they are not being filled. These girls are living on a Christian campus and no one had invited them to church. No one has stopped to ask if they need prayer. No one.

Shame on me. The thought never even crossed my mind until they said they had been looking for a church to attend. This is my twelfth year of Spanish, and I don’t even know the word for “prayer.” I feel ashamed to admit that, but it’s the truth.

When I took three of Las Chicas to church with me, I wondered how much they were getting out of the service. The sermon was less than engaging, the power-points with lyrics weren’t working, and the southern drawl was more pronounced than normal. Afterwards, Cynthia waved her notes in front of me.

“This is exactly what I needed! Thank you!”

Don’t thank me. Thank God. He coordinated it all.

If you could do me a favor, pray for these four girls and they are in a foreign country teaching their native languages. Pray that they can see God's love shown through those of us they encounter here. And, if you don't mind, pray that the Lord gives me the desire to speak boldly about Him. How can I pray for you?

Thanks,
<>< Katie

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Happy Birthday, Homeland

For the last ten years or so, my church has done a patriotic musical every Fourth of July, and I have made it part of my Independence Day celebration.  One of the songs we do is entitled "Salute to the Armed Forces" where we sing the song of every branch of our military.  When their song is sung, the veterans are told to stand.  The congregation and choir alike applaud them for their sacrifice as we sing together. 

It's a powerful moment.  Or string of moments.  It's amazing to be in the congregation as amen and women all around you stand and are honored for their willingness to give.  One year, I sang in the choir and sitting in the second row was a solider in his dress blues.  I don't know if there was a dry eye in the building.

This year, something a little bit different happened. After we applauded, without the prompting of the choir or the director, the entire congregation moved to keep the beat with our hands.  I wasn't quite sure how to handle this in my no clapping, barely sing along Lutheran congregation.  We were all clapping together and singing at the top of our lungs.

In ten years, that has never happened before.  It happened at both performances this year.  Wow.

Those men and women who stood and could not stand deserve more than a round of applause.  So many more gave the ultimate sacrifice in laying down their lives so that I can sit here and type this sentence.  So many of them suffered horrific injuries, physical and emotional.  They've experienced more than I can ever imagine and they did it all for us. 
Army.
Navy.
Coast Guard.
Air Force.
Marines.
Thank you!

Happy birthday, America.  I am so glad to call you my homeland.

<>< Katie

Monday, June 14, 2010

Trinity Sunday

"I have a favor to task of you," I said, looking up and backwards, searching to find Pastor Mike's face.  As with most conversations we've had, PM had me in a headlock.

"You do?"  he asked, spinning me around again.  I was glad today's greeting didn't involve his binder pounding on my head.  That's apparently reserved for the days when I already have a headache.

"Can I borrow your keys?"

"For?"

Dang it.  Had I really hoped the senior pastor of a megachurch would willingly surrender his keys to some mischievous members?

"Pastor Russ's office."  I quickly began to explain the situation in the briefest of terms.  I also regretted not chasing down Pastor Jim (PT) instead.  To PT, all I would have needed to say was, "It's Trinity Sunday" and the keys would have been mine.

"Well--" PM started.  I knew what was coming: no.  It's understandable.  You can't have three girls unchaperoned in a pastor's office, even if it is Trinity Sunday.

"We won't touch anything," I added, holding my hands in the air.  PM's face softened to a smile.

"I already saw the balloons," he said, reaching through his robe and into his pocket to pull out his keys.  "And touch anything you'd like," he added with a laugh.

Yes!  Pastor Mike has always liked me.  Something to do with his being the father of four girls and my being the oldest of three.  Either that or the fact that we were pranking Pastor Russ.

Drums and I tried not to run as we headed down the office hallway and back to our heap of balloons outside PR's office door.  The hard work had been done.  The Athanasian Creed had been cut apart line by line.  Each line had been shoved into a balloon.  The balloons had been blown up and the key obtained.  Now the fun stuff: the decorating.

We didn't have enough hot air, I mean, balloons to fill the office.  Unfortunate!  Instead we filled every nook and cranny we could fine.  A few under his desk, another behind the guitar, some on the bookshelf, one in the Easter basket, one next to the Jesus doll... more or less, everywhere.  We even taped one to his desk that read "Trinity Sunday" and one to his door that read "Athanasian Creed."  Now everyone that walks by will be curious as to why PR's office door became a bulletin board... today.

You see, this is a four-year tradition.  The first year Melissa and I were caught red-handed.  We had the Creed in a plethora of different languages taped to his door.  He thought it was hate mail from the "Sex Sermon" he'd done on the 6th Commandment the week before.  We learned PT felt left out so the following year we used 12-inch white letters to write "Athanasian" down PR's door and "Creed" up PT's.  I was in Costa Rica for the third year, but Dawn and Melissa decorated the door with the Creed... on Post-It notes.

A few weeks ago, Trinity Sunday talk began on facebook.
Melissa: This week is Pentecost.  You know what that means next week is?
Pastor Russ: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooo... just kidding.
Katie: Pastor Russ is just kidding.  He likes Trinity Sunday.
PR: I like Trinity Sunday.  I just don't like "Let's celebrate Trinity Sunday on Pastor Russ's office door."
Katie: We could celebrate Trinity Sunday in Pastor Russ's office, if that would be better.
Dawn: OOOHH!  I want in!
Somewhere in here a secret leaked that PR would be out of town this weekend.  We started an email conversation.
Katie: Let me get this straight, you're fleeing on Trinity Sunday, leaving your office open for whatever cockamamie scheme we develop?
PR: My office may be boobie trapped.  Enter at you own risk.
Katie: For the Trinity, we're willing to risk it.

And we did.  PR congratulated us on another clever and successful Trinity Sunday.  (Even though he'd popped half of the balloons before discovering the Creed was inside of them).  Rumor has it PT felt left out again.  We'll have to fix that next year.  Any ideas?

<>< Katie

PS: Happy birthday, Drums!

Sunday, April 25, 2010

What is Worship?

Saturday I woke up with a headache, cramps, and sore throat.  Some expired Tylenol took care of the first two but the sore throat is here to stay.  Sunday I woke up nauseous with a sore throat.  This is a fun game.  I managed to add another day to my no-puking stretch (2.5 years and counting; my record is 6 years) but by the time I made it to church I had a really good Scooby Doo voice.  Wonderful.  Normally when I get sick I can sing through loosing my voice.  With a hopeful heart I began to sing, "Everyone needs compass-squoak.  A love that's ----- let mercy fa-- on muheee."

God!  I'm trying to praise You here.  I'm worshipping YOU and You're taking away my ability to do that.  Something just doesn't seem right with this picture.  I'm giving You everything I've got.
The more I tried to sing, the worse my voice became (pity the people sitting next to me!) and the more frustrated I became.
Can't this wait until this afternoon?  I just want to sing praises to You.
It was as if God responded, Katie, you don't need a voice to worship Me.
Huh?
You heard Me: you don't need a voice to worship Me.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.  Serve the least of these.  There aren't any least-of-theses around right now.  Yes, I'm listening to our sermon series on compassion.  I know, but right now I'm praising You with what's left of my voice.
Look around you.
On my left was Emma, a first year nursing student who'd previously been sitting by herself.
I'm sitting with Emma instead of sitting in my normal spot!
Good start.  Keep looking.
On my right was Kevin who'd dislocated his shoulder on Thursday.
Kevin can't drive for three to six weeks.  How do you think He got here?
Keep thinking.
Last night after dinner Chris and I went to Dairy Queen to get blizzards buy one get one for a quarter.  The line was literally to the door.  The team manager was having a rough day.  She made small blizzards instead of mediums, so she had to throw them away and start over.  Based on the look on her face, this was one of many things that had gone wrong.  A woman in front of us started chewing this employee out. 

"You've thrown away $30 worth of stuff.  I know you've had a bad day but you cannot let your customers see you like this.  I've worked in retail a LONG TIME and you CANNOT let your customers see you like this.  Did you notice?  They're all standing in line patiently waiting why you throw a fit..."

She went on for a very long time.  I don't understand how that was supposed to be beneficial for the employee.  Both of the women were wrong.  The woman behind us in line looked at the "angry woman" and said, "We all heard that."  I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt thinking maybe she was saying "shut up"... until she got to the front of the line and whispered to her daughter, "Make sure that employee doesn't spit in our blizzards." 

Chris and I both agreed this was "more awkward than 'The Office'" but neither one of us did anything about it.  Why?  We were scared the rest of the line was going to leap down our throats (maybe that would have healed my sore throat).  Back up: we were scared.  I wanted to give the employee a smile or wish her a good day but she never acknowledged my presence.  I would have had to go out of my way to wish this woman a good day and I chickened out.

My intentions were good.
Good intentions don't get you anywhere.  Picking up Kevin and sitting with Emma are good starts but neither one inconvenienced you.  In fact, they both mean you don't have to sit in the pew alone.
I like sitting in the pew by myself!
It's my turn to talk.  Put the towel on, Katie.  Not just when you're at an inner-city church.  Not just when you feel like it or it's convenient to you.  Do it when it benefits My Kingdom.  Clean the bathroom when it's not your turn and do it without complaining.  Do the dishes even though you didn't dirty them.  Give someone a ride to the caf because it's raining; don't see it as a waste of gas.  Take up someone's dishes when you aren't headed that way.  Give up a computer during your 10:00 blog-hour to let someone do homework.  Put the towel on and serve the least of these.  Touch the untouchables.  Worship means so much more than singing.
We've talked about this before.
We have; you needed a reminder today.
Ok, got it.  Can I have my voice back now?Nope.  You know ASL; use those signs.

<>< Katie-Doo

Elizabeth: Between Katie and Adam someone is always sneezing today.
Adam: Nah, I'm always sneezing; it's not just today.
Elizabeth: Well, you're doing it excessively, and I'd like you to stop.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Potter

Tuesday wasn't exactly a great day. There was nothing major that went wrong and a lot of good things happened but it was kind of one of those days. It wasn't until the fourth person asked me if I was ok that I realized I had let the "one of those days" mentality take over. Of course, then I was mad. At myself. After being out of bed for five minutes this morning I knew it was going to be one of those days. I had the opportunity to make it a good day with some bad events rather than a bad day with some good events. And I failed.

At our Tuesday night worship service my friend Brad spoke. Now Brad's a potter so his "speaking" was really giving us a visual of Jeremiah 18. He made a tall jug out of clay and then smashed it. I knew ahead of time he was going to do that, but it was still cool to see all of his hard work smashed. He reformed the exact same clay and made a bowl instead.

Brad: See, this bowl a whole lot better, more practical than the tall, long thing that I didn't really know what it was.
Andy: That’s what they called me in high school.
Katie: Tall, long thing no one really knows what it is?
Amy: Katie, did you get that, too?
Andy: And they called Amy a bowl thing.

Each one of us is different but each one of us is going to be used. Maybe right now I’m in a tall, long shape where I’m stuck in the old way rather than the new form.  That doesn't mean I cannot be used or reformed.  In fact, today is Wednesday and I am the same piece of clay I was on Tuesday, but I am willing to let the Potter shape me in a new way. Are you?

"Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?" Romans 9:21

<>< Katie