Waiting

Let me tell you something you probably already know: waiting stinks.

Waiting for your oil to be changed, waiting in line at the grocery store, waiting for the bus.

Waiting for a company to post an opening, waiting for a manager to want you on her team, waiting for the phone to ring.

Waiting for someone on the other side of the world to say, "I've never met you but I love you."

As of when I'm writing this, there are 407 Compassion children who have been waiting, waiting, waiting for more than 180 days for a sponsor. That's six months or longer.

Where were you 180 days ago? That would have been September 2, 2011.

A forgettable day, perhaps? Too long ago to remember?

Not for Walson. One-hundred-and-eighty-three days ago Walson was at a Compassion Child Development Center in Haiti signing up to be a sponsored child. Walson has spent the last 183 days waiting for a sponsor.


Sponsor Walson here
His child ID number: HA8150328

On the Compassion website, the children that have been waiting for more than 180 days are marked with a heart.

It seems only appropriate.

When you're waiting, you need someone to love you and love on your. With every day of waiting, hope seems to dwindle.

Two-hundred-and-ninety-five days ago I walked across a stage and received the most important piece of paper of my life so far. Having spent almost 300 days unemployed/underemployed, I understand waiting. It's miserable.

There are things I can do (am doing) to bring my wait to an end. I can pray, pray, cry, and pray. I can network, I can apply for jobs, I can make cold-calls.

When you're waiting for a sponsor, there's not much you can do but wait and pray.

I've been waiting in hope.

These children are waiting for hope.

For fresh water. For medical care. For education. For someone to say, "I believe in you."

These 407 children waiting for sponsors want to be wanted. They need to be wanted. They deserve to be wanted, to be cared for, to be loved.

During my days of waiting, I've had so many great friends pray for me, offer suggestions, and pull me into their arms as I cry again. They've loved, encouraged, and held me. I appreciate every single one of them! (Yes, even the job suggestions that don't fit my skill set).

This is my plea: do the same for a child.

In turn, you're doing it for me.

The words "Thank you!" don't seem sufficient. If you decide to sponsor a longest waiting child (which I hope you do!) Compassion will give you a scrapbook for you to use to keep your letters, photos, et al.

What are you waiting for?
<>< Katie

The Climb

"It's not very, how do you say?  Es-steep," said our host-pastor, Manolo.

Famous last words.

From my first step off the bus I knew the hike up the mountain would be challenging for my out-of-shape self.  Manolo said it would take 45 minutes, but I didn't dare time it.

I followed in line behind some mountain runners... I don't run on flat ground much less up a mountain.  It was not long before, I was incredibly out of breath and I could feel my heart pound in about 87 different places.  It was so bad someone asked me if I have asthma.

Those in front of me kept going but I could not keep up no matter how hard I tried.  I gave everything and it wasn't enough.  Finally, I paused to rest.

Neal: Hey, Katie.
I didn't even have the breath to respond; I turned my head towards him.
Neal: That's where we're going.
He pointed above our heads to the rock.
 

Neal: Does that encourage you or discourage you?
Katie: I know it's supposed to encourage me, but, honestly, it's really discouraging.

I had no idea how far I'd come but it seemed shorter than I had left to go.  That was discouraging!

As the runners disappeared from my view, I found the strength to continue.  I'm not a quitter.  I knew it would eventually be worth the pain.  And I had been promised communion at the top of the mountain.

A Nicaraguan youth with our group offered to carry my bag.  I let him (that bilingual Word of the Lord is heavy!), and he disappeared up the mountain.

Katie: There goes my water.
Neal: I have some.
Katey: We can share mine.

I felt so cared for and loved.  I was getting up that mountain, my friends were going to make sure of it!

Neal would pop back down and again, but Katey and I walked together the rest of the way up the mountain. She accepted my pace, and we stopped frequently to enjoy the views (ok, and catch my breath). It was no longer a race to the top but about enjoying the journey. Slowly I began to enjoy my trek rather than only continuing for the communion at the end.

Tortoise-style Katey and I continued towards the top... Slow and steady. Eventually we heard laughter and shouts from nearby.  Even though we'd lost the rest of our group, they had to be nearby.  We rounded the corner and there they were.

We'd made it!  We had reached our destination!  The handiwork of our Creator was ours to enjoy!

From the top, we could see for miles, kilometers, actually.  It was breath-taking!  When everyone made it to the top (believe me or not, Katey and I weren't last) we took a group photo.  Best team photo ever!  Then we took a seat and listened to Manolo teach while we watched the Master Painter paint us a beautiful sunset!

Afterwards, we were given the assurance of the forgiveness of sins through the body and blood of Jesus Christ.  We then sang "Revelation Song" a capella.  Breath-taking!

The wind was blowing and the sun going down, taking the temperature with it.  Even with the goose bumps on my arms, I didn't care much. 

Now in the dark, we began our journey down the mountain, under the barbed wire, and around the rocks.  Except we hadn't planned to be hiking in the dark, so we didn't have enough flashlights for everyone.  New version of walk by faith and not by sight!

We walked slowly, getting split up as we went.  We prayed for safety.  Cold rain began to fall.

Hiking down a mountain in the dark, shivering, and it's raining.  Sounds awful, right? 

"Well, it'll be a story to tell when we get back," I said.  Honestly, I thought it was wonderful.  Maybe I'm biased because I was one of the lucky ones with a flashlight.

Sherry began a rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus."  That turned into "The Hokey Pokey" which became "I'm in the Lord's Army" and "Father Abraham."  (Those are Baptist songs... I don't really know them either).  We were having so much fun singing and slipping.

Eventually our group got separated, and I walked alone with my flashlight.  Under my breath I continued to sing.

I love You, Lord,
and I lift my voice
to worship You.
Oh my soul, rejoice.
Take joy, my King,
in what You hear.
May it be a
sweet, sweet sound
in Your ear.

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

Worthy is the
Lamb who was slain
Holy, Holy is He.
Sing a new song
to Him to sits on
heaven's mercy seat.
Holy, Holy, Holy
is the Lord God Almighty
who was and is and is to come.
With all creation I sing
praise to the King of Kings.
You are my everything,
and I will adore You.

Just me and Jesus time.  Somehow amidst the literally rocky ground, the cold breeze of night, the gentle rainfall, and the tiredness of my body, I found the strength to praise Him.

The climb down was considerably better than the trek up because I had a goal.  It wasn't the top of the mountain.  It wasn't even the bus at the bottom.  It was to spend time in the presence of the One who formed every mountain, placed every rock, and grew every leaf.

The same One who put me there was worthy of all of my praise.

When we made it to the bus, those who were already there cheered for the newcomers.  I smiled.  We did it.  Not by our own strength or power. God's hand of protection guided us up and down.

Take a minute to praise Him today.  Amidst the barbed wire, the rocky ground, and the wind.  As you share the heavy load and water with friends, thank Him for the friendship.  As you see flowers, sunsets, and raindrops realized He formed you, too. Enjoy the hike up; it's not a race.  Enjoy the stumble down; it's ok to fall.

<>< Katie

PS: No one was hurt in the making of this blog.  (Except maybe a spider).

Project 7

What can make or break a college student's self-esteem in mere seconds?
A trip to the post office.

For years I've been listening to Peder Eide talk about Taste Worship's family bonding activities.  My family is mostly grown, lives in three states, and refuses to participate in anything I suggest.  I'm sick of waiting for a future family to apply the things I'm learning.

Last week I began to ponder: what about my Ministry Team Family?  We're a group of ten students who go out in the community and lead youth retreats, lock-ins, Wednesday nights, etc.  We spend time weekly sharing life by praying for each other, talking about what God has been teaching us lately, sharing our testimonies, doing devotions, etc.

Like all good ideas, what if?  What if we all do our own Project 25?  The idea is that you write, "I love you because" on the top of a piece of paper and then list 25 reasons why you love a particular family member.  Well, 25 things I love about that person is a lot to come up with for someone I met six months ago and see once a week for an hour.

The what ifs continued and out popped Project 7.  I immediately facebooked the idea to my co-leader.  If I hadn't, I probably would have chickened out.  My mailbox was empty that day and thus so was my self-esteem.

By the strength of the Holy Spirit, I pitched the idea to my team.  What if every day for the next seven days we as a team were each going to anonymously encourage a certain team member?  Lift them up in prayer, affirm them, mail them Bible verses and candy, etc.  I really thought they'd think it lame.  (Mailbox was empty that day, too).  I told them to be creative.

We exchanged names and went on our way. I prayed everyone would participate so no one was left out.  I had no idea how God would use a silly "What If?" idea.

Day One
I saw three excited facebook status updates thanking their Project Seven person.

Day Two
Taste Worship sent out the Project 25 idea.  I realized how far we've come from the original idea!

Day Three
One girl told me she was loving sending her Project Seven person anonymous notes.  It took some prodding to figure out she was not receiving anything but she didn't mind.  (Her sender was home sick).

Day Four
God used my Project Seven Person to encourage me exactly how I needed it that day.

Day Five
Blew! My! Mind!  A friend not on my team cornered me in the caf. 
"Hypothetically, if my Project Seven person lives in your apartment and I, hypothetically, had something to leave on her bed.  Would you, hypothetically, let me in?"
Hypothetically, how did you learn about Project Seven?
Another team stole the idea and were participating as well!  How awesome is that?

Day Six
I began to get emails and text messages, "Are we going to do this again next week?!  We're not meeting this week because of the Green Bay Packers bringing the Lombardi Trophy home to Titletown, can we keep sending our person stuff?"

Day Seven
I have a gift in my backpack to slide into a friend's backpack tomorrow... on behalf of my roommate who didn't have any idea that this whole cockamamie scheme developed in her own bedroom.

God multiplied a simple "What if?" idea and used it well beyond what I could have ever dreamed!  The only credit I can take is obediently following the prompting of the Spirit.

Some of our creative ideas:
- campus mailed handwritten notes containing encouragement and Bible verses and accompanied with candy bars (campus mail is free)
- a card with seven note cards: one for each day (sent through real mail... postage paid)
- notes slid under dorm room doors
- affirming text messages sent from blocked numbers
- a phone call on behalf of a Project Seven Person with a personal, encouraging message.

And unlike most things that happen in my suite, Project Seven has stayed anonymous.  No one wants to be figured out!  They want to keep it a secret and guess at our next meeting.  Our next meeting we will, by popular demand, re-exchange names and do it again, getting more creative as the semester progresses.

Two lessons here:
1. Let the Holy Spirit use you.  Don't make our self-esteem depended on what you receive (or don't receive) in the mail.  Be willing to be bold.
2.  A little bit of encouragement goes a long, long way.  The knowledge that someone is praying for you is HUGE!

<>< Katie
PS: Feel free to take this idea and use it as you and the Lord see fit.

Have Pen; Will Travel

My life ends in May.

Or at least my calendar ends in May.  In May, I will walk across the stage to receive a hard-earned diploma, but I have no idea where I'm going to walk when I descend the stage.

I'm praying by then I'll have it all figured out.

Today I started filling out five graduate school applications to study creative writing.  I've been told getting a masters in creative writing is like getting a masters in violin: you're never going to use it.

Thanks for the encouragement!

The person who told me that went on to explain that I should do it because I love to write and I want to get better.

So I'm throwing caution into the wind and applying to MFA programs in five states around the country (only one of which have I ever visited before).

On tomorrow's to do list is updating my resume and applying for writing and editing jobs all over the country.  So if you know anyone that needs a writer/editor, I can probably hook you up with a good one!

The next day I'll apply for hobo positions in mid-sized cities.  Does anyone have a shopping cart I can borrow?

As I was mulling over these options and moping, I was having a nice facebook conversation with Casey.  She provided the traditional suggestions: Have you considered journalism or teaching?  Yes, thanks, and, no, I'm not interested.

She also provided me with some encouragement, said she was praying for me, and sent me on my way.  It helped.

That night, as I was going to turn off my iPod off, "Peace Be Still" by Rush of Fools began to play.

I didn't sign.  I didn't sing.

I sat cross-legged on my bed and let those words wash over me as God sang His daughter to sleep.

Come to Me, you who are weak.

Let My strength be yours tonight.
Come and rest, let My love be your bed
Let My heart be yours tonight.

Peace be still; peace be still.
Please be still and know that I AM God.
And know that I AM God.

Come empty cup, let Me fill you up.
I'll descent on you like a dove tonight.
Lift your head, let your eyes fall into Mine.
Let your fear subside tonight.

Peace be still, peace be still.
Please be still and know that I AM God.
And know that I AM God.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

The line that hit me the most was, "Please know [in your heart] that I AM God." I know that He is God.  I know that He has it all figured out.  I know that I don't have to know.  But that doesn't give me peace.

Please know in your heart that I AM God.

<>< Katie

Writer's Notebook entry dated 12-30-10.
Update 1-20-11: Four of the applications are now complete, the resume is updated, Dad told me I'd make a good hobo (what the heck does that mean?), and the oldest working iPod known to man has since died (August 3, 2005-January 13, 2011).

Make a Difference

The following is a story requested by Wess Stafford of Compassion International requesting people tell stories about a time when an adult encouraged you as a child.  A moment that has stayed with you.  It is part of the push to get adults to make a difference in childrens' lives.  See the whole story here.

During my junior year in high school, I ran for a position that required a certain number of support signatures before I could even get my name on the ballot.

Approaching me for another reason, my adviser (who now lets me call him by his first name) saw the petition in my hand. He grabbed it from me and reached to his breast pocket for a pen.

“Can I sign this?” he offered.

I was taken aback. We were told a signature would require a polite, well-timed request followed by a semi-brief interview. Brian asked me if he could sign my paper not vice versa.

“I’m not even going to ask you those silly questions. I know your heart is always in the right place.”

Woah!

If I wasn’t caught off guard before, I was then.

“Your heart is always in the right place.”

Always?

I might have chosen “sometimes,” “periodically,” or “occasionally.” Yeah, those would definitely be more accurate. But no, he said “always.”

“Your heart is always in the right place.”

While I still don’t quite believe that statement, it was wonderful encouragement at that time and has been an excellent challenge since then.

I would love to hear your stories about some encouragement you received from an adult!  Little moments matter, especially to little people.

<>< Katie

Tell Her She's Beautiful

This only blogging every other day has been really hard this week. Just a reminder, I'm updating my blog every other day for Lent. That means this week I'm on a Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday schedule; next week it'll be Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday and so on. Oh, and a special thanks to my newest "followers." I logged in and had a new one then refreshed the page and had another new one. I refreshed it again and nothing happened. However, several hours later Hannah joined blogger and my number of followers has almost doubled in one day! :-)

A few weeks ago an anonymous woman wrote encouraging notes and stuck them on the mirrors in every woman's bathroom campus wide. Apparently some people found them cheesy but personally I enjoyed being reminded that the mirror doesn't determine my self-worth. She (whoever the anonymous "she" may be) put a lot of effort into this project because every Post-It note I saw was different. Wow!

Like I said, this was several weeks ago and most of the Post-It notes are now gone. I don't think they were pitched, however. Instead, they're appearing in other bizarre places: on dashboards of cars, stuck to the outside of Moby Dick's fish tank, and on class notebooks. It's as if a girl says, "I need to hear this every single day, so I'm going to take it remember."

I didn't steal a Post-It note. Sure, I throw rants about clothing not being made for people but all in all I'm pretty content with who I am. I don't really struggle with my image, or at least I didn't think so. I don't wear make-up. My wardrobe consists of jeans and a t-shirt day in and day out (remember those clothes not made for people?). I use a mirror but don't spend hours fixing my hair. I really don't care that much. At least I thought I didn't. Until I realized I was only wearing earrings on days when I saw people I wanted to impress. That didn't really bother me. This past Sunday bothered me more.

Allyson and I were invited to sing with my church's choir. Wearing robes. This means all the congregations sees is heads. I actually curled my hair, wore earrings, and put on a full face of make-up (and I'm still paying for it, thank you, dry skin). Since she's learned almost everything I do is intentional and enjoys hearing my bizarre reasons, Allyson asked me why. My answer surprised me.

"If all the congregation can see of me is my face, it might as well be a pretty face."

Woah! This from the girl who doesn't really care?

Later that night, my dress for spring formal arrived. It's the same dress I wore for prom, so I already knew it fit, yet I still had to try it on. As the lavender floor-length dress slid over my head I was transformed from the exhausted college student ready to go to bed into a princess headed to a ball. Five minutes later, the dress came off and the exhaustion returned in an almost-overwhelming wave. I got nothing done for the rest of the night because I let the desire to feel beautiful control me and the pony-tail line in my hair wasn't helping.

Ladies, we all need to feel beautiful now and again. It's natural. But it's not natural for this desire to consume you every being. Sure, some days we feel prettier than others. It's natural, again, if it's not controlling you. The mirror can be cruel but it does not determine who you are. Whether you want to admit it or not, you are beautiful on the inside and out. You won't be more beautiful with your hair curled (or straightened). Guess what: you won't be happy when you Wii Fit's Mii shrinks because you're underweight. Please trust me on this one. Be content in who you are.

Gentlemen, you had better tell her she's beautiful. Not "hot." Not "sexy." Not even "fine" like Andy tried the other day. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. Radiant. Every woman needs to hear she's beautiful. Have you told her today?

"You are altogether beautiful, My love; there is no flaw in you." - Songs of Solomon 4:7

That's God talking to you, friends.

<>< Katie

To-do List

In February, sitting on my desk was a to-do list:

• Email staff writers
• Read for African American lit
• Read Playboy of the Western World
• Read Orchid of the Bayou
• write poem
• ILL for class (Inter-library Loan)
• change oil in car
• buy ink
• pointless paperwork

I returned from class to learn my to-do list has been modified:

• Harass Lizzie Poo about writing her articles
• Get scoliosis from African American lit book
• Read Playboy
• Read about the woman who won't go blind in "Orchard" of the Bayou
• blog a book review
• write poems
• be ill for class
• clean the apartment
• sanitize hands
• blog about it
• learn to play guitar (more than four chords)
• blog
• sanitize door knobs
• eat cheese
• blog
• Wii (but not the skiing Wii)
• Make cheese dip for sweet suitemates
• Blog
• Be mocked by Nikki

Thanks.

Actually, that last one has been crossed off... several times.

For two weeks we kept a sass chart known as "Mockery Madness." Every time someone sassed me they earned a point (except Andy who earned a drawing...). Sassing kind of became a game but we used golf-scoring meaning whoever had the lowest score won.

Our predictions were accurate: Nikki lost by a landslide and Jo won. Nicole didn't really earn her point until after the week was over, but we put it on there anyway since she's never here long enough to sass me. Melia avoided me for two weeks because she didn't want to be a smart alec on accident and get her name on the chart. Danielle earned all of her points in one night. Andy joined several days late and almost came in dead last. Even our campus minister, Neal, found his way on our sass chart. Unfortunately no one remembers what he said but we remembered it was really good and I threw a grape at him to retort.

After a few days we decided we needed a new category: physical sass. These points are exactly what they sound like: someone touched me for the sole purpose of being a vexation. Physical touch is valued in our apartment and hugs, back rubs, and new hairdos are welcome. On the other hand, being poked while trying to stand still on the Wii, being hit in the face with a goldfish (cracker), having my cell phone stolen, being assaulted with a bouncy ball, and being kicked in the back of my knee just so I fall over are not welcome.

I should be honest: we all pick on each other. However, I have a different accent and unique diction than the rest of my friends, so I'm an easy target. It's really not fair. Just because I can use words like "TYME machine" and "schluck" does not give you permission to mock me. :-) Oh, and I get mocked for sounding too northern so I throw in a "hey yall" and get mocked for sounding too southern. I just can't win!

It was during these two weeks of Mockery Madness that we decided mocking is a love language, at least in my life. Every person that sassed me did it because they love me. In fact, every single one of them took a moment throughout the week to also build me up and encourage me. Maybe the encouragement doesn't happen as frequently as the sass does, but that's ok as long as the both exist.

After all, if we're going to call each other brothers and sisters in Christ, we need to fight like brothers and sisters do. Make sure your sibling rivalries aren't one-sided. Build each other up in brotherly love, too. (Yes, I'm preaching to myself, Mom, I know).

<><>

Book Review: Love Languages

I asked for the Five Love Languages for Christmas. Grandma thought it sounded dirty but didn't consult my mother before buying it. She figured the singles edition would be cleaner, so she made the executive decision that I needed The Five Love Languages: Singles Edition.

Ouch!

Upon further investigation, I realize I do fit the target audience.
Adult? Check
Single? Check
I could not help but laugh to myself because receiving the singles edition of a book is in stark contrast to the Christmas with the other side of the family the night before ("Katie, any cute guys at your school?"). The irony is that the stalking-family doesn't invite boyfriends/girlfriends to Christmas and the book-gifting side included four boyfriends in our midst. Mixed messages here, folks.

I put the "You're going to be single for the rest of your life" condemnation aside and read the book. Enjoyed it, too.

Gary Chapman analyzes five ways people feel loved:
1. Quality time
2. Gifts
3. Acts of service
4. Words of encouragement, affirmation
5. Physical touch
He argues every person enjoys all five but has one specific love language they need in order to truly feel loved. I struggled to figure out my own primary love languages but had no trouble discovering the love languages of those around me. It was actually really fun to think about the important people in my life and how I can best express my love and appreciation to them.

Even though I am not currently in a romantic relationship, I feel this book was worth my time. I'd recommend reading it (singles edition or normal edition) to anyone who interacts with people on a regular basis. Chapman is not humble when discussing how the concept of the five love languages has saved countless marriages. I don't know if this is true or not but I can see how it could be helpful between couples, struggling or not. I would love to someday read it again with my fiancé prior to our marriage because I think it's an area where we should be on the same page.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the singles edition isn't actually cleaner but neither book is dirty. I've read things in class that are dirtier than this (BEFORE I took an entire semester of Beat Lit).

One book down for 2010, meaning 14 to go!
<>< Katie