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.

"And Then I Found Five Dollars"

Since I've been home, I've told a lot of stories around our dinner table. When I finally pause to breathe at the end of each story, Christina has looked at me and said, "And then did you find five dollars?"

Every time she's said it, I've boiled with anger and frustration.  The desire to rip off her head has increased with every smart alec comment that could be translated to, "That pointless story was a waste of my time."

I think that may be why Max Lucado's A Love Worth Giving has resonated so well with me, the queen of pointless stories.

In the chapter "Your Kindness Quotient," Max talks about Christ wanting to hear your story.  The example used is the woman with the bleeding problem whose story is found sandwiched in Mark 5. 

Basically she's been sick for years and years.  She was out of money, and everyone told her to be out of hope.  But she wasn't.  She had the faith to believe Jesus could heal her, so she went to find Him.

Of course, He was busy.  The daughter of a city leader (Jairus) was dying, and Jesus was on His way to perform a miraculous healing.  This woman didn't want to take up Jesus's time, so she slid behind Him in the crowd and touched the hem of His robe. 

Instantly she was healed and ready to go on her way.  Jesus wasn't going to let her get off that easily.

"Who touched me?"  He demanded.

Can you imagine the disciples' response?  "We're in the middle of a crowd and You wonder who touched You?  A million people!  That guy there, this woman over here, but I was the one who stepped on Your foot.  Sorry.  Come on; let's go!"

Christ was adamant, and the woman timidly came forward.  If it was me, I'd be ashamed of the ruckus I'd caused.  Maybe she was, but she was also healed.

Max writes, "A girl was dying, people were pressing, the disciples were questioning, but Jesus... Jesus was listening.  Listening to the whole story.  He didn't have to.  The healing would have been enough.  Enough for her.  Enough for the crowd.  But not enough for Him.  Jesus wanted to do more than heal her body.  He wanted to hear her story--all of it.  The whole story" (26).

It blows my mind that we have a Savior who is willing to hear every story we tell.  He's not even disappointed when they're long and pointless.  He'll never ask if we found five dollars.  If the story is important to us, it is important to Him.

I saw a prime example of this years ago at a concert meet and greet crowd.  A little girl came up and cut me in the blob of a line.  Of course, at the time I was annoyed but years later I'm glad to have witnessed such a beautiful moment.

The artist, Peder Eide, leaned over to be at her height, put his arm around her, and held his head next to hers in order to hear her over the crowd.  I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I knew it was intense because every once in a while Peder would draw back to make eye contact with her.  As her story drew to a close, he started gently asking her questions.  The crowd pressing for his attention no longer mattered; he wanted to know more about this little girl.

When she was done and he was done asking questions, Peder looked her in the eye and said, "Thank you for telling me that.  I'll be praying for you."

Christ's waiting for you to tell Him the whole story.  The crowd of people lobbying for His attention vanishes when He's got His arm around you listening to your story.  He's willing to sit there and talk with you for as long as you want.  He'll stay until your story is complete, even if it's long and boring.  He'll ask questions and carefully listen to the answers.  When you're done, He'll say, "Thank you for telling Me that.  I'm sure it wasn't easy."

Sit and talk.  Let Him be your Audience of One.

The non-monetary amount you find will be worth a whole lot more than five dollars.
<>< Katie

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

Tall and thin isn't great

I normally try to keep the blog a complain-free zone.  Today you're going to have to excuse me while I throw a temper tantrum.

"Oh my gosh, you are soooo skinny!"
Every single one of us have said it at some point in time.  Please, let's every single one of us erase this sentence from our vocabulary.  As well-meaning as it may be, it is often not well-received.

1. You wouldn't walk up to someone who's overweight and say, "Oh my gosh, you are sooooo fat."  Would you?

2. A lot of times it's followed up with a concern--either verbally or mentally--about how much the "stick" eats.  I understand and appreciate the concern.  Eating disorders are a problem in today's society, absolutely.  But do you really think your question about how much he/she eats is really the best way to approach the (suspected) problem?  I have a close friend who has strugged with an eating disorder.  She says comments, even complements, on her weight now are well-meaning but they make her cringe.  She hates words like "healthy" and "well" because of the connotations they have, even if those connotations are ones she's put on them.

As someone who has always been skinny, the question about what I eat is down right obnoxious and, frankly, borderline rude.  If you want to know about my eating habits, watch me devour a steak dinner.  It was delicious the first time.  There is no possible way I'd like to taste it a second.

3. "Try finding pants that fit." 
That's usually my response to people who feel the need to give me this counter-productive complement.  I've written many a blog-rant from fitting rooms as I'm choking back tears of frustrations.  It happened again today.  Before we left on our shopping excursion, Laura, Mom, and I took measurements.  My waist?  Yup, ended in a .5.  Hips?  --.75.  Inseam?  --.25.  It's no wonder clothes don't fit me!  We arrived at the store, and I picked out a pair of jeans one .5 larger than my measured waist.  They were great... if I were going for a muffin-top look.  I searched for pants one size bigger (which is really two sizes since all of the pants were even numbered).  Perfect, if I wanted to store a book in the back of my pants.  Mom miraculously was able to find the odd number, the middle size.  Too small in the front; too big in the back.  Just my luck!  Discouraged, we left, and I realized I have one alternative to this constant fight: nudist colony.

Please, I beg you, just leave the weight subject alone. If you must make a complement about a physical aspect of a girl's body, pick her hair, her eyes, her smile.  Tell her she's beautiful but don't use her weight to justify your opinion.

Thanks for letting me vent.  I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you agree or if you think I'm crazy.

<>< Katie

Are you going to pass me or not?

I enjoy people watching. You never know when you're going to see something that's worth using in a story (or blog).

Yesterday we were dumped with snow which made for some great people-watching as I drove around town today. The snowplow shimming around the corner to push the snow further and further off the road. The woman using all of her strength in vain to push the snow blower up her driveway caked with at least a foot of snow. The father (brother?) who lead his young son down the street with a sled ready to take advantage of this blizzard. My favorite, however, was the van that drove behind me through downtown.

He appeared out of nowhere and was not content to drive behind me. On days where the roads are properly plowed and there are no parked cars, this road has a left lane and a right lane. Much to Mr. Impatient's dismay, today was not one of those days. I drove in the left lane, the cleared lane. The problem was that he couldn't pass me on the left due to the no-passing zone (and the minor detail of oncoming traffic). Instead, he opted to pass me on the right. He'd move over into the half-plowed right land and prepare to make a move when all of the sudden directly in front of him was a displaced snowbank or a parked school bus or the mailman. Every time, he'd slow down and sadly return to his place behind me and I'd smile.

That sucks, I thought to myself with a little laughter inside. Not going to lie, I was amused by his poor luck and repeated failed attempts to get around me.

Eventually we made it to a stop light and he pulled up next to me. The light turned green and the race began. I know better than to drag race especially downtown, but I couldn't help myself. This van had been trying to get around me for at least a mile and I wasn't about to let him to it now! A few blocks there was a string of parked cars, and I was going to make it to them first because then Mr. Impatient in the right lane was going to have to return to his position behind Miss Always-Drive-The-Speed-Limit-Katie in the left lane.

Mr. Impatient doesn't drive the speed limit. He won. But only because I let him. Playtime was over.

<>< Katie

Broken Glass

"You cannot say you've never had the urge to throw a glass against a fireplace," my family said, almost in unison, as all eyes fell on my aunt.

I thought for a second about the question.

Honestly, no. I haven't ever had the urge to throw a glass against a fireplace much less the lack of self control to act on such an impulse. Sure, I've wanted to throw people against walls and sometimes I've thrown other things but never a glass. It'll break.

"You're never so frustrated you just need to break something?" The family continued.

Sure but not glass. Perhaps it's because my mother spent most of my childhood walking behind me, "Don't touch broken glass. Don't walk in the street barefoot just in case there's broken glass. Leave the broken glass alone. You don't want to cut yourself." Grandma has the scar to prove broken glass isn't something I want to be playing with.

"Yes," my aunt confessed. She once threw a glass against the wall out of frustration, "But then I was even more mad because I had a big mess to clean up!" Broken glass is pretty common at her house. When she and my uncle buy wine glasses they always buy two and without fail one is broken on the first use. We tease at her house no one needs individual charms to identify wine glasses everyone just gets an unique glass because no two glasses are the same.

Everyone else concluded the mess isn't a problem for them. Cleaning it up helps relieve the frustration (until they cut themselves and then they're re-living the frustration, I'm sure).

"Dad throws glasses against the fireplace all of the time," Grandma said.

"Once... MAYBE twice," Grandpa defended himself. This made everyone laugh remembering a similar conversation a few years ago. When my mom and her siblings were growing up my grandpa sneezed egg all over the wall. According to my aunt, this was a weekly occurrence. My mom realizes not quite weekly but quite often. Grandpa, on the other hand, swears it only happened once. Just like he only threw the glass against the wall once.

<>< Katie

Bananagrams

I have a new favorite games: Bananagrams. It's basically like Scrabble but without the board, you play off your own letters, and you can rearrange. To me, the best part is flipping over your tiles for the first time and seeing what kind of crazy words you can make. I also love it when you're so frustrated you start rearranging insanely and are amazed and some of the words that pop up. Those words weren't there thirty seconds earlier, but now all of the sudden you have huge words like "Taxation" or "Planet" or "Quiver". They all appear.

In the same way, after you're looking at one thing (or aspect of life) in one manner for eons, it looks boring. You seem to feel like there's nowhere to go, no way to change, nothing. Yet if you rearrange a bit, break the rut, and suddenly all sorts of new options appear!

"I don't expect God to speak to me through that metal pole." - Jonathan
"BUT He can!" - Katie

<>< Katie