The plane was preparing to land and the man across the aisle from me frantically fastened his toddler back into the window seat. The little girl began to whimper.
"Shh, shhhh, shhhh," the man said.
The girl whimpered more. The shushing wasn't working. Eventually the man unbuckled the child and pulled her into his lap.
The whimpering stopped. The child was no longer afraid. She was in her daddy's arms.
That's who I want to be: the little girl perfectly content my Heavenly Daddy's arms.
Even when I don't know where my next paycheck is coming from. Even when I don't know when I'll get to see my friends (read: family) again.
Are you willing to curl up in the lap of your Abba Father?
Even when finals are hard. Even when your kids are disobedient. Even when you're not sure if you'll be able to pay for the avocados to make the guacamole you promised. Even when life is hard.
"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" 1 John 3:1a NIV
I pray in marker.
Putting prayers on paper prevents me from getting distracted (raise your hand if you have the attention span of a butterfly when praying). It's childish and messy to use a thin-line Crayola on college-ruled paper. It is good.
Prayer is messy. Life is messy.
Like a child whose hands are more colorful than the paper, I stretch them up to my Daddy and let Him shush me with His perfect love.
"The LORD your God is with you,
He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with his love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 NIV
Just as the daddy on the airplane cared for his little girl, all the more will my Heavenly Daddy care for me (and you).
Even through our childish fits about things not going our way. Even through our crying and panicking when there is nothing to fear.
Take a seat in His lap, stretch your marker-hands to the sky, let Him hold you, His child. Take peace and comfort in His love.
I do.
Love,
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label cry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cry. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Believe and Trust
Especially in my last days at school, I spent my share of time crying in Neal's office (our campus minister). I'd usually go in for chit chat and a hug, the conversation would change, and all of the sudden I was crying... again. Shortly after that, we'd get to a point in when I no longer had a response, an argument.
I would sit and listen while he encouraged me truths about God. We both acknowledged they were things I already knew but needed reminding. I had no choice but to nod and agree as he spoke. If my voice was strong enough or if I felt like I'd been quiet too long, I'd find the strength to whisper,
"I believe that."
It might have been more to convince myself than to convince him.
A few months later, I learned the New Testament word for believe: pisteuo. It's a verb that can also be translated, "To put one's faith in" or "to trust."
Looking back, part of me feels like I was lying every time I told Neal, "I believe that." Sure, I knew the truths he was speaking were indeed true. I acknowledged them, I accepted them, but I was having a hard time trusting them.
After all, if I weren't struggling with trust, I would not have been in his office in tears.
It's hard to trust God when He's forcing you to give up a place you love long before you feel it's time to leave. It's hard to trust God has a plan when all you're getting is rejection letters.
Honestly, not knowing what happens immediately after graduation, not having a plan makes me feel like a failure.
Maybe in an earthly sense I am.
But, I am leaning a lot about pisteuo. A lot about belief and trust. A lot about hope and peace. A lot about clinging to God.
And that can never be called "failure."
I believe that!
<>< Katie
PS: I learned the word pisteuo from Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Tomorrows. If you haven't read it, then I suggest you check it out.
I would sit and listen while he encouraged me truths about God. We both acknowledged they were things I already knew but needed reminding. I had no choice but to nod and agree as he spoke. If my voice was strong enough or if I felt like I'd been quiet too long, I'd find the strength to whisper,
"I believe that."
It might have been more to convince myself than to convince him.
A few months later, I learned the New Testament word for believe: pisteuo. It's a verb that can also be translated, "To put one's faith in" or "to trust."
Looking back, part of me feels like I was lying every time I told Neal, "I believe that." Sure, I knew the truths he was speaking were indeed true. I acknowledged them, I accepted them, but I was having a hard time trusting them.
After all, if I weren't struggling with trust, I would not have been in his office in tears.
It's hard to trust God when He's forcing you to give up a place you love long before you feel it's time to leave. It's hard to trust God has a plan when all you're getting is rejection letters.
Honestly, not knowing what happens immediately after graduation, not having a plan makes me feel like a failure.
Maybe in an earthly sense I am.
But, I am leaning a lot about pisteuo. A lot about belief and trust. A lot about hope and peace. A lot about clinging to God.
And that can never be called "failure."
I believe that!
<>< Katie
PS: I learned the word pisteuo from Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Tomorrows. If you haven't read it, then I suggest you check it out.
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Post in Which the Author Laments
It is the end of an era. Saying goodbye to my parents in what we now affectionately call "The Crying Parking Lot" seems like forever ago.
"One Sunday afternoon in June" is very quickly becoming "a Monday morning in May." That very expensive piece of paper is almost mine. But I don't want it.
I'm not ready to leave. I'm not ready to get a big girl job. I'm not ready to start over.
I love it here. It's why I prayerfully chose this place. God has grown me and used me here.
I'm not the same woman I was four years ago when we cried in the parking lot. All too soon I'll be crying in a different parking lot. Pulling away from a place that has shaped me, formed me, and made me who I am.
As my peers discuss what dorm they're living in next year, I ponder what state (country?) I'll be in. As they plan their schedule, I look at the classes I wish I could take.
When my parents, sisters, and I said goodbye, I walked back to my dorm while their van pull away. I never looked back.
Will I be able to do the same in a month?
Based on how easily the tears filled my eyes tonight, no.
I refuse to count the days until I walk across the stage. Instead, I'm being pulled towards it kicking and screaming. Even my pullers are screaming.
"I'm going to have a hard time when you graduate."
"Are you sure you don't want to add an seventh major and stay a little while longer?"
But, unfortunately, it's time.
The rites of passage passed and the mile stones crossed. Those "one day in the future" events have become items to be crossed off the to-do list.
Yet still it hurts.
I'm comfortable here. Four years will do that.
I cannot walk across campus without stopping to chat. I know the chain of command for almost every problem and situation. I'm not afraid to jump to the top of the chain, I know the loop holes, and I call people by their first names. I keep emergency numbers in my phone, and I have used them.
This is my school.
This is my home.
I understand now why people linger long after graduation. Part of me hopes I become one of them.
<>< Katie
And to think, this post was supposed to be about my final youth trip this weekend.
Sorry, friends. Thanks for letting me be nostalgic today.
Amber and I purchsed our flights to China on Friday! Now my life doesn't end until August. But I still don't have any idea what I'm doing when I get back.
"One Sunday afternoon in June" is very quickly becoming "a Monday morning in May." That very expensive piece of paper is almost mine. But I don't want it.
I'm not ready to leave. I'm not ready to get a big girl job. I'm not ready to start over.
I love it here. It's why I prayerfully chose this place. God has grown me and used me here.
I'm not the same woman I was four years ago when we cried in the parking lot. All too soon I'll be crying in a different parking lot. Pulling away from a place that has shaped me, formed me, and made me who I am.
As my peers discuss what dorm they're living in next year, I ponder what state (country?) I'll be in. As they plan their schedule, I look at the classes I wish I could take.
When my parents, sisters, and I said goodbye, I walked back to my dorm while their van pull away. I never looked back.
Will I be able to do the same in a month?
Based on how easily the tears filled my eyes tonight, no.
I refuse to count the days until I walk across the stage. Instead, I'm being pulled towards it kicking and screaming. Even my pullers are screaming.
"I'm going to have a hard time when you graduate."
"Are you sure you don't want to add an seventh major and stay a little while longer?"
But, unfortunately, it's time.
The rites of passage passed and the mile stones crossed. Those "one day in the future" events have become items to be crossed off the to-do list.
Yet still it hurts.
I'm comfortable here. Four years will do that.
I cannot walk across campus without stopping to chat. I know the chain of command for almost every problem and situation. I'm not afraid to jump to the top of the chain, I know the loop holes, and I call people by their first names. I keep emergency numbers in my phone, and I have used them.
This is my school.
This is my home.
I understand now why people linger long after graduation. Part of me hopes I become one of them.
<>< Katie
And to think, this post was supposed to be about my final youth trip this weekend.
Sorry, friends. Thanks for letting me be nostalgic today.
Amber and I purchsed our flights to China on Friday! Now my life doesn't end until August. But I still don't have any idea what I'm doing when I get back.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Broken Hearted
I had never before seen The Heart Skit when our campus minister Neal gave us the thirty second plotline. Three or four of us volunteered to be the protagonist, but Jessica chose me. I kept quiet while they discussed who would be the man to break my heart. They unanimously decided on Neal. After making sure no one else wanted the part, Neal agreed. Due to time constraints, the final cast was not able to practice together.
That night, the magnitude of the skit hit me.
1. I was going to have my heart broken on stage in a silent skit. Can you say: FACIAL EXPRESSIONS?
2. I was going to have to flirt with my married campus minister.
I prayed for emotional strength and thought about boundaries.
During church the following morning, Neal and I took opposite sides of the stage. In my hands I held a paper heart. Neal's object was to romance me until I gave him my heart. We made eye contact and showed embarrassment. He waved; I giggled. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to me. I looked away and made the same move. He put his arm around me; I leaned into him. He reached out for my heart, and I pulled away. He hugged me, I hesitated before surrendering the heart. We both smiled from ear to ear. He took my hand and paraded me around. He pointed into the distance, I looked, and he planted a kiss on my cheek. I blushed.
Was NOT expecting that.
From the side of the stage came another girl. His attention shifted. I tried to pull him back but he pulled away. From behind, I wrapped both of my arms around his waist; he dragged me across the stage. Using his foot, he pushed me off. I stumbled backwards, regained my balance, and ran at him, jumping for my heart. He pointed to the heart, pointed to me, pointed back to the heart, and got a devious look.
He took his hand off the other girl long enough to rip my heart to pieces and throw them on the ground.
I fell to the ground with my broken heart.
A friend walked by, picked up a piece of my heart, looked at it, dropped it, stomped on it, and walked away.
Two friends came and tried to help me piece it together. When they let go, my heart fell apart again.
I sat on my knees trying to put my heart back together like a puzzle. It didn't work.
Brett knelt at my side. He put one hand on my back and a Bible in my lap. His eyes dripping compassion, he pointed up, crossed his arms over his chest, and pointed to me. I turned away. He tapped me and pointed to the Bible. I pushed him away.
Alone I sat, cupping the pieces of my heart to my chest. It wasn't working. I sat them down and turned my interest to the Bible Brett gave me. I hesitated, closed the broken heart into the Bible, sat back, and prayed. I waited until the camera flashes stopped. I opened the Bible and tucked in the Psalms was a brand new heart!
Praise the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting...He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:1, 3
I love the image of being healed in Christ represented in this skit. But I think it's oversimplified.
Heart breaks are very real; being healed is a long, slow, painful process. I've been there. Five times last week and my share of times in weeks and months previous.
Our hearts are not the only ones that get broken. We are often cast in Neal's role doing the heart breaking every time something we find more attractive or interesting comes along. God's heart breaks every time we turn away from Him.
Every time, ladies, we're infatuated with a guy rather than with Him.
Every time we put our focus in something else.
Every time we doubt, fail to trust, are too hard on ourselves.
Every time we cry, God's tears outnumber ours.
Take a moment right now and tell Him how much you love Him. Let Him love you back. Let Him heal your heart.
With love,
<>< Katie
That night, the magnitude of the skit hit me.
1. I was going to have my heart broken on stage in a silent skit. Can you say: FACIAL EXPRESSIONS?
2. I was going to have to flirt with my married campus minister.
I prayed for emotional strength and thought about boundaries.
During church the following morning, Neal and I took opposite sides of the stage. In my hands I held a paper heart. Neal's object was to romance me until I gave him my heart. We made eye contact and showed embarrassment. He waved; I giggled. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to me. I looked away and made the same move. He put his arm around me; I leaned into him. He reached out for my heart, and I pulled away. He hugged me, I hesitated before surrendering the heart. We both smiled from ear to ear. He took my hand and paraded me around. He pointed into the distance, I looked, and he planted a kiss on my cheek. I blushed.
Was NOT expecting that.
From the side of the stage came another girl. His attention shifted. I tried to pull him back but he pulled away. From behind, I wrapped both of my arms around his waist; he dragged me across the stage. Using his foot, he pushed me off. I stumbled backwards, regained my balance, and ran at him, jumping for my heart. He pointed to the heart, pointed to me, pointed back to the heart, and got a devious look.
He took his hand off the other girl long enough to rip my heart to pieces and throw them on the ground.
I fell to the ground with my broken heart.
A friend walked by, picked up a piece of my heart, looked at it, dropped it, stomped on it, and walked away.
Two friends came and tried to help me piece it together. When they let go, my heart fell apart again.
I sat on my knees trying to put my heart back together like a puzzle. It didn't work.
Brett knelt at my side. He put one hand on my back and a Bible in my lap. His eyes dripping compassion, he pointed up, crossed his arms over his chest, and pointed to me. I turned away. He tapped me and pointed to the Bible. I pushed him away.
Alone I sat, cupping the pieces of my heart to my chest. It wasn't working. I sat them down and turned my interest to the Bible Brett gave me. I hesitated, closed the broken heart into the Bible, sat back, and prayed. I waited until the camera flashes stopped. I opened the Bible and tucked in the Psalms was a brand new heart!
Praise the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting...He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:1, 3
I love the image of being healed in Christ represented in this skit. But I think it's oversimplified.
Heart breaks are very real; being healed is a long, slow, painful process. I've been there. Five times last week and my share of times in weeks and months previous.
Our hearts are not the only ones that get broken. We are often cast in Neal's role doing the heart breaking every time something we find more attractive or interesting comes along. God's heart breaks every time we turn away from Him.
Every time, ladies, we're infatuated with a guy rather than with Him.
Every time we put our focus in something else.
Every time we doubt, fail to trust, are too hard on ourselves.
Every time we cry, God's tears outnumber ours.
Take a moment right now and tell Him how much you love Him. Let Him love you back. Let Him heal your heart.
With love,
<>< Katie
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Healed By His Wounds
Last week I got unjustifiably angry at my close friend "Keely." It was silly really. It all boiled down to me being jealous... and hurt.
Something happened in the living room and instead of addressing it like an adult, I pouted in my room and text-vented to Amber. I got so worked up that I was crying. Silently. Even in the same room, my roommate was unaware that I was having one of the most intense text conversations of my life.
For the next several days I held a grudge against Keely. That's when the suitemates began to notice.
"You've been extra sensitive lately, Katie."
"Katie and Keely have to sit on opposite sides of the room because they might rip off each others' head."
The two of us agreed to tone down our playful sassing for awhile and make sure we're showing love. Through carefully planned words (and some not-so-carefully planned ones) I acknowledged why I had been so sensitive. When it all boiled down to it, my anger had nothing to do with Keely. Yet she had been the recipient of my frustration, jealousy, and anger.
She accepted my apology, which she said was unnecessary. She hadn't considered my feelings about the situation. We both decided to be more careful and move forward.
I got to take communion this week (a rare event in Baptist Country). In confessing my sin to my Lord, the first situation that popped into my head was the situation with Keely. I again asked for forgiveness and for those hurt feelings to be removed. I wanted to be healed of the whole situation.
I almost cried again when Keely served me the bread.
"Body of Christ, given for you."
Forgiveness. Given to me.
"But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed." Isaiah 53:5 (emphasis mine)
Be healed in His wounds today, friends.
<>< Katie
Something happened in the living room and instead of addressing it like an adult, I pouted in my room and text-vented to Amber. I got so worked up that I was crying. Silently. Even in the same room, my roommate was unaware that I was having one of the most intense text conversations of my life.
For the next several days I held a grudge against Keely. That's when the suitemates began to notice.
"You've been extra sensitive lately, Katie."
"Katie and Keely have to sit on opposite sides of the room because they might rip off each others' head."
The two of us agreed to tone down our playful sassing for awhile and make sure we're showing love. Through carefully planned words (and some not-so-carefully planned ones) I acknowledged why I had been so sensitive. When it all boiled down to it, my anger had nothing to do with Keely. Yet she had been the recipient of my frustration, jealousy, and anger.
She accepted my apology, which she said was unnecessary. She hadn't considered my feelings about the situation. We both decided to be more careful and move forward.
I got to take communion this week (a rare event in Baptist Country). In confessing my sin to my Lord, the first situation that popped into my head was the situation with Keely. I again asked for forgiveness and for those hurt feelings to be removed. I wanted to be healed of the whole situation.
I almost cried again when Keely served me the bread.
"Body of Christ, given for you."
Forgiveness. Given to me.
"But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed." Isaiah 53:5 (emphasis mine)
Be healed in His wounds today, friends.
<>< Katie
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Give Thanks
"Happy Thanksgiving," said the man on the other end of the phone. Those two words caught my off guard and it wasn't just because the phone was answered on the first ring.
Every holiday my dad answers the phone by wishing the caller a happy day. Happy Thanksgiving. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Happy Labor Day... you get the idea. I've listened to him do this all my life, but we've always been on the same side of the phone.
"Happy Thanksgiving," I choked back.
Two words was all he needed to recognize my voice, and I heard the smile in his. For the next hour we played "Pass the phone" with my nine relatives.
I was told that this year our family was not separated by gender. Instead of men in the kitchen and women in the dining room, all nine of them fit around the dining room table. Somebody got the bright idea that they should all share something they're thankful for. I'm thankful I wasn't there for Sap Fest.
Christina: I'm thankful for Jesus.
Aunt: I'm thankful for our family and that we don't fight.
Uncle: [to my aunt] I'm thankful we're not facebook friends.
Grandma: I'm thankful we're all alive and here and...
Mom: I'm thankful Laura loves her college, and they were able to "unbreak" our dog.
Dad: I'm thankful we're all healthy. [insert sappy sermon here]
Grandpa: I'm thankful for your momma and that she puts up with me. I love her.
I've never heard my grandparents express love to each other. Love pats here and there but sassiness is more common. For my grandfather to compliment my grandmother and say he loves her in front of all of those people made Grandma cry. I've seen the video to prove it.
Every holiday my dad answers the phone by wishing the caller a happy day. Happy Thanksgiving. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Happy Labor Day... you get the idea. I've listened to him do this all my life, but we've always been on the same side of the phone.
"Happy Thanksgiving," I choked back.
Two words was all he needed to recognize my voice, and I heard the smile in his. For the next hour we played "Pass the phone" with my nine relatives.
I was told that this year our family was not separated by gender. Instead of men in the kitchen and women in the dining room, all nine of them fit around the dining room table. Somebody got the bright idea that they should all share something they're thankful for. I'm thankful I wasn't there for Sap Fest.
Christina: I'm thankful for Jesus.
Aunt: I'm thankful for our family and that we don't fight.
Uncle: [to my aunt] I'm thankful we're not facebook friends.
Grandma: I'm thankful we're all alive and here and...
Mom: I'm thankful Laura loves her college, and they were able to "unbreak" our dog.
Dad: I'm thankful we're all healthy. [insert sappy sermon here]
Grandpa: I'm thankful for your momma and that she puts up with me. I love her.
I've never heard my grandparents express love to each other. Love pats here and there but sassiness is more common. For my grandfather to compliment my grandmother and say he loves her in front of all of those people made Grandma cry. I've seen the video to prove it.
How was your Thanksgiving this year? Was it the typical sweet potatoes, turkey, and pumpkin pie? Was it merely a the precursor to Christmas? Or was it really a time of reflection and thankfulness?
My friend Caitlin is extending Thanksgiving for a year. For the next 365 days she's going to share something she's thankful for. I'd love to be able to do the same thing. Look at every day with the realization that I do have something to be thankful for.
Even when it rains. Even when my suitemates pick on me. Even when my computer refuses to cooperate.
I still can be thankful. I can still tell someone I am thankful for their influence in my life. Thankful for their love. Their smile. Their encouraging word.
I can tell Christ I am thankful for His sacrifice. Thankful for His love. Thankful for His controlling, disciplining hand.
I wasn't going to post about being thankful. After all, it's Thanksgiving. That's kind of the cliche thing to do, right? Wrong. It's something we need to do more often than we do. Not just on the fourth Thursday of November. Be thankful around the year.
Cyber friends, I am thankful for you.
<>< 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
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 7, 2010
Godspeed and Good Luck
"One Sunday afternoon in June, you'll walk across a stage and I'll hand you a diploma" the headmaster of our school told us for years. For me, that one Sunday afternoon in June came three years ago. For Laura, it was yesterday.
At my graduation, tears welled up in my eyes but not until I sat down, diploma in hand. I kept a smile, and they never leaked out, but my family in the front row knew exactly what was happening.
For Laura's graduation, the tears appeared as soon as I walked into the gym where I recognized the set and the colored lines on the floor underneath it all. Again, I kept a smile and the water in my eyes but it was like someone hit me upside the head with emotion all of the sudden.
We took our seats in the back row and I fought to regain my composure. Before this one, every graduation we have purchased front row tickets at an auction. This year, my parents were competing with the wealthiest family in our town. She owns a company that probably affects your everyday life. He owns a professional sports team. There was no possible way Dad was winning those tickets. Instead, we took our seats in the back. At first we were worried about photos, but then I pointed to the end of our row: Uncle Greg. Tucked safely under his arm was the expensive camera of this professional photographer. We'd have photos from Laura's one Sunday afternoon in June, that's for sure.
The ceremony began with the graduates lining the aisle to applaud the faculty as they progressed into the seats that faced the audience. The graduates double back and sit in front of the faculty. At the end of the ceremony, the faculty progress out first, lining the aisle to applaud the newest batch of alumni. It's a special moment and a powerful tradition.
A more powerful moment and special tradition is that parents who are on the board or staff of the school are given the opportunity to call their graduate's name. For Laura and I, this meant we received our high school diplomas directly from the hand of our father. For Dad, this means he writes our names on his hand, so he doesn't forget what he's going to say (and then hopes he doesn't sweat it off). A friend's father took a photo of me hugging my father on the stage. It's a photo I cherish. I tried to do the same for Laura and was successful, but it's less than perfect quality.
An equally important photo to me is one of me in my robe with all four of my grandparents standing beside me. Sure, Boppy's sticking out his tongue (he refuses smile for photos, isn't that right, Boppy?), and Grandma's looking the wrong direction. But it's still the five of us, healthy and happy. Even though it's been three years since that one Sunday afternoon in June, that's still my desktop photo on my computer. I was too busy talking to Brian (my favorite advisor) to know if Laura got that same photo, but even if she didn't: we're still some of the lucky ones. Lucky enough to have our parents still married. Lucky enough to have four living grandparents. Lucky enough to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins take time out of their busy schedules to sit through a two-hour graduation ceremony celebrating our achievement. Lucky and blessed beyond belief.
As I looked around at the rest of Laura's graduating class, I realized not everyone was so lucky. Some of them come from broken homes, incomplete homes. One of her classmates lost an older brother a few years ago. Two classmates who graduated from a different school, lost their older brother. The class as a whole hasn't been so lucky either. In eight grade, they lost one of their own to leukemia. Two years ago, a classmate committed suicide.
For some, one Sunday afternoon in June is a day that never comes. For some, it is an end, a goal achieved. For some, it is expected. Either way, it is a milestone and everyone who meets it deserves a pat on the back. A sad ending to the book of high school but a great beginning of the future. For Laura and I, that has meant a move to a small, out-of-state college. For others, it means something else. It is s time to be celebrated (but tears are expected). Godspeed and good luck.
Well done, graduates!
<>< Katie
PS: I kind of rambled today... sorry. Thanks for reading!
At my graduation, tears welled up in my eyes but not until I sat down, diploma in hand. I kept a smile, and they never leaked out, but my family in the front row knew exactly what was happening.
For Laura's graduation, the tears appeared as soon as I walked into the gym where I recognized the set and the colored lines on the floor underneath it all. Again, I kept a smile and the water in my eyes but it was like someone hit me upside the head with emotion all of the sudden.
We took our seats in the back row and I fought to regain my composure. Before this one, every graduation we have purchased front row tickets at an auction. This year, my parents were competing with the wealthiest family in our town. She owns a company that probably affects your everyday life. He owns a professional sports team. There was no possible way Dad was winning those tickets. Instead, we took our seats in the back. At first we were worried about photos, but then I pointed to the end of our row: Uncle Greg. Tucked safely under his arm was the expensive camera of this professional photographer. We'd have photos from Laura's one Sunday afternoon in June, that's for sure.
The ceremony began with the graduates lining the aisle to applaud the faculty as they progressed into the seats that faced the audience. The graduates double back and sit in front of the faculty. At the end of the ceremony, the faculty progress out first, lining the aisle to applaud the newest batch of alumni. It's a special moment and a powerful tradition.
A more powerful moment and special tradition is that parents who are on the board or staff of the school are given the opportunity to call their graduate's name. For Laura and I, this meant we received our high school diplomas directly from the hand of our father. For Dad, this means he writes our names on his hand, so he doesn't forget what he's going to say (and then hopes he doesn't sweat it off). A friend's father took a photo of me hugging my father on the stage. It's a photo I cherish. I tried to do the same for Laura and was successful, but it's less than perfect quality.
An equally important photo to me is one of me in my robe with all four of my grandparents standing beside me. Sure, Boppy's sticking out his tongue (he refuses smile for photos, isn't that right, Boppy?), and Grandma's looking the wrong direction. But it's still the five of us, healthy and happy. Even though it's been three years since that one Sunday afternoon in June, that's still my desktop photo on my computer. I was too busy talking to Brian (my favorite advisor) to know if Laura got that same photo, but even if she didn't: we're still some of the lucky ones. Lucky enough to have our parents still married. Lucky enough to have four living grandparents. Lucky enough to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins take time out of their busy schedules to sit through a two-hour graduation ceremony celebrating our achievement. Lucky and blessed beyond belief.
As I looked around at the rest of Laura's graduating class, I realized not everyone was so lucky. Some of them come from broken homes, incomplete homes. One of her classmates lost an older brother a few years ago. Two classmates who graduated from a different school, lost their older brother. The class as a whole hasn't been so lucky either. In eight grade, they lost one of their own to leukemia. Two years ago, a classmate committed suicide.
For some, one Sunday afternoon in June is a day that never comes. For some, it is an end, a goal achieved. For some, it is expected. Either way, it is a milestone and everyone who meets it deserves a pat on the back. A sad ending to the book of high school but a great beginning of the future. For Laura and I, that has meant a move to a small, out-of-state college. For others, it means something else. It is s time to be celebrated (but tears are expected). Godspeed and good luck.
Well done, graduates!
<>< Katie
PS: I kind of rambled today... sorry. Thanks for reading!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Significant First
It came today. The first of many, I’m sure. I might even accumulate enough to write an obscenity on the wall. Except while this was a surprise to me, it was not a surprise to God. He saw it coming. He let it come and during this hard week. He was sitting next to me when my first rejection letter made its way into my inbox. I realize I’m a writer. I realize I’m going to face a lot of these in my life. There’s no way to avoid them except by not sharing. That’s what hurts the most. I was confident with this one. Yes, apparently over confident. The people that rejected these pieces are the same people that keep urging me to share. Here I have and it’s shot down. Reject my work. That’s fine. I can’t win them all. However, please tell me why. What makes my pieces different from the other pieces that made it? I’m not saying my piece was perfect. There is no such thing as a perfect piece; I want to know where I can improve. I won’t take it personally. I won’t give them evil stares across the classroom tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop the waterfall that’s running down my face.
Rejection letter = upset = tears = runny nose = blow nose = (fear of) bloody nose
It’s been a long time since I’ve taken math but Chris tells me that means I could just say:
rejection letter = bloody nose.
Translation? Rejection letters punch me in the face.
The next step is my decision. Am I going to punch someone else in the face or am I going to move on? Am I going to let the pen dry out, pick a new major, and find a new career goal or am I going to accept this and realize it’ll happen again but some day it’ll change? Am I going to stay here hiding in my bedroom, ignoring text messages or am I going to go out in the living room and laugh at the formerly-constipated, now-possessed plastic mooing love cow? The choice is mine.
I did venture out. I opted against going to my writers' group where I could wallow in pity with other rejects, if there were any. Instead, I went to sign choir and kicked tables. A classroom magically turns into a practice studio on Wednesday nights and that means all of the tables and chairs need to be collapsed and disposed of into the closet. It's incredibly theraputic to kick in the hinges of class tables.
I tried to laugh and brush off the sasses but they hurt more than they do on an average day. Especially the, "Katie, are you even literate?" when I misread the Wii directions. It was a joke on my direction-following ability not my writing.
I remembered it's not Lent anymore, so I took my own cliche advice and wrote about it. I guess the events of Wednesday weren't better than Tuesday. In fact, the tears flowed instead of just threatening to do so, but my mood over all was better. Even just a little. I really appreciate your prayers today, and I could use a double dose tomorrow, please.
What really helped was Andy willingly playing "For the Moments I Feel Faint" by Relient K. If you don't want to take a second to listen to the song, at least read the lyrics and sing them back to me when I forget them.
Am I at the point of no improvement?
What of the death I still dwell in?
I try to excel, but I feel no movement.
Can I be free of this unreleasable sin?
[Chorus:]
Never underestimate my Jesus.
You're telling me that there's no hope.
I'm telling you you're wrong.
Never underestimate my Jesus
When the world around you crumbles
He will be strong, He will be strong
I throw up my hands
"Oh, the impossibilities"
Frustrated and tired
Where do I go from here?
Now I'm searching for the confidence I've lost so willingly
Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fear
[Chorus]
I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can
I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can
Gather my insufficiencies and
place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands
Much love,
<>< Katie
Rejection letter = upset = tears = runny nose = blow nose = (fear of) bloody nose
It’s been a long time since I’ve taken math but Chris tells me that means I could just say:
rejection letter = bloody nose.
Translation? Rejection letters punch me in the face.
The next step is my decision. Am I going to punch someone else in the face or am I going to move on? Am I going to let the pen dry out, pick a new major, and find a new career goal or am I going to accept this and realize it’ll happen again but some day it’ll change? Am I going to stay here hiding in my bedroom, ignoring text messages or am I going to go out in the living room and laugh at the formerly-constipated, now-possessed plastic mooing love cow? The choice is mine.
I did venture out. I opted against going to my writers' group where I could wallow in pity with other rejects, if there were any. Instead, I went to sign choir and kicked tables. A classroom magically turns into a practice studio on Wednesday nights and that means all of the tables and chairs need to be collapsed and disposed of into the closet. It's incredibly theraputic to kick in the hinges of class tables.
I tried to laugh and brush off the sasses but they hurt more than they do on an average day. Especially the, "Katie, are you even literate?" when I misread the Wii directions. It was a joke on my direction-following ability not my writing.
I remembered it's not Lent anymore, so I took my own cliche advice and wrote about it. I guess the events of Wednesday weren't better than Tuesday. In fact, the tears flowed instead of just threatening to do so, but my mood over all was better. Even just a little. I really appreciate your prayers today, and I could use a double dose tomorrow, please.
What really helped was Andy willingly playing "For the Moments I Feel Faint" by Relient K. If you don't want to take a second to listen to the song, at least read the lyrics and sing them back to me when I forget them.
Am I at the point of no improvement?
What of the death I still dwell in?
I try to excel, but I feel no movement.
Can I be free of this unreleasable sin?
[Chorus:]
Never underestimate my Jesus.
You're telling me that there's no hope.
I'm telling you you're wrong.
Never underestimate my Jesus
When the world around you crumbles
He will be strong, He will be strong
I throw up my hands
"Oh, the impossibilities"
Frustrated and tired
Where do I go from here?
Now I'm searching for the confidence I've lost so willingly
Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fear
[Chorus]
I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can
I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can
Gather my insufficiencies and
place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands
Much love,
<>< Katie
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Prayer
Last night I went to practice expecting to be learning a new song. Well, Queen Emily is drained right now, so she didn't have time to write a new song. Instead, the thirty of us girls spend the next hour drafting signs for "Let the Waters Rise" by Mikechair.
It was a song I hadn't heard before but I do enjoy it. These are the lyrics we were trying to convey:
Don’t know where to begin
It's like my world's caving in
And I try but I can't control my fear
Where do I go from here
Sometimes it's so hard to pray
When You feel so far away
but I am willing to go where You want me to
God I Trust You
There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
So let the waters rise
If You want them to
I will follow You
I will follow You
I will swim in the deep
Cuz you’ll be next to me
You’re in the eye of the storm and the calm of the sea
Your never out of reach
God You know where I’ve been
And You were there with me then
You were faithful before You’ll be faithful again
I’m holding Your hand
There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
God Your love is enough
You will pull me through
I’m holding onto You
God Your love is enough
I will follow You
I will follow You
The trick with ASL that it's not translated verbatim from English to sign. There is a lot of room for interpretation and with these songs we account for what God is saying to us through those lyrics at that very moment. This means that our gloss (ASL words) were all over the board. It seems each group focused in on a different stanza of the song, each group had a different line that really spoke to them. While I firmly believe that 30 girls is too many to be writing any one thing, it was very interesting to hear the different ideas.
As our hour drew to a close, the Queen asked for prayer. She asked if anyone else had prayer requests and I was shocked as hands flew up all over the room. It's the second week of the semester who on earth has that many prayer requests already? I hate to imply that some prayer requests are more important than others because God hears them all, but these weren't "I'm stressed" or "I want it to snow" prayer requests. These were heart-wrenching requests that will bring even the strongest of people to their knees. Requests like, "tuition was due last week and I haven't payed yet because my dad lost his job," "I was in the ER yesterday and might need heart surgery," "my uncle was in Haiti when the earthquake happened," "my mom's got a bad disease and there's nothing they can do," and "I can't tell you anything but just saying the word 'unspoken' makes me cry." Before we prayed, there were at least four different people crying and by the time we were done, I don't know if there was a dry eye in the mirror room.
For the last hour we'd spend laughing and pouring our hearts into a song. It's no wonder we all focused on different things because different things are plaguing our lives right now. Go read the lyrics again.
Ladies and gentlemen, our family of faith is hurting. Family prayers for each other. Will you join us in prayer? Not just for these girls that are so important to me but for our family all around the world.
Let me know how I can prayer for you more specifically.
Con Amor,
<>< Katie
It was a song I hadn't heard before but I do enjoy it. These are the lyrics we were trying to convey:
Don’t know where to begin
It's like my world's caving in
And I try but I can't control my fear
Where do I go from here
Sometimes it's so hard to pray
When You feel so far away
but I am willing to go where You want me to
God I Trust You
There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
So let the waters rise
If You want them to
I will follow You
I will follow You
I will swim in the deep
Cuz you’ll be next to me
You’re in the eye of the storm and the calm of the sea
Your never out of reach
God You know where I’ve been
And You were there with me then
You were faithful before You’ll be faithful again
I’m holding Your hand
There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
God Your love is enough
You will pull me through
I’m holding onto You
God Your love is enough
I will follow You
I will follow You
The trick with ASL that it's not translated verbatim from English to sign. There is a lot of room for interpretation and with these songs we account for what God is saying to us through those lyrics at that very moment. This means that our gloss (ASL words) were all over the board. It seems each group focused in on a different stanza of the song, each group had a different line that really spoke to them. While I firmly believe that 30 girls is too many to be writing any one thing, it was very interesting to hear the different ideas.
As our hour drew to a close, the Queen asked for prayer. She asked if anyone else had prayer requests and I was shocked as hands flew up all over the room. It's the second week of the semester who on earth has that many prayer requests already? I hate to imply that some prayer requests are more important than others because God hears them all, but these weren't "I'm stressed" or "I want it to snow" prayer requests. These were heart-wrenching requests that will bring even the strongest of people to their knees. Requests like, "tuition was due last week and I haven't payed yet because my dad lost his job," "I was in the ER yesterday and might need heart surgery," "my uncle was in Haiti when the earthquake happened," "my mom's got a bad disease and there's nothing they can do," and "I can't tell you anything but just saying the word 'unspoken' makes me cry." Before we prayed, there were at least four different people crying and by the time we were done, I don't know if there was a dry eye in the mirror room.
For the last hour we'd spend laughing and pouring our hearts into a song. It's no wonder we all focused on different things because different things are plaguing our lives right now. Go read the lyrics again.
"Don’t know where to begin/It's like my world's caving in/And I try but I can't control my fear/Where do I go from here/Sometimes it's so hard to pray /When You feel so far away/ but I am willing to go where/ You want me to /God I Trust You /There's a raging sea Right in front of me /Wants to pull me in /Bring me to my knees /So let the waters rise /If You want them to/ I will follow You /I will swim in the deep /Cuz you’ll be next to me /You’re in the eye of the storm and the calm of the sea /Your never out of reach /God You know where I’ve been/ And You were there with me then /You were faithful before /You’ll be faithful again/ I’m holding Your hand."
Ladies and gentlemen, our family of faith is hurting. Family prayers for each other. Will you join us in prayer? Not just for these girls that are so important to me but for our family all around the world.
Let me know how I can prayer for you more specifically.
Con Amor,
<>< Katie
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