Sarchi, Land of Broken People

Sarchi, Costa Rica, will forever be ingrained in my brain as the "Land of Broken People."

In the one afternoon we spent their, we saw more physically disabled people than I have seen in my entire life. He's wearing an eye patch, she's missing a leg, and that is not what a bandaged arm is supposed to look like.

I really wish I could say I did something noble like praying over the ailing or dispensing Advil or something.

I didn't.

I gawked and laughed at jokes about what must be in the water. It ashames me now. But to this day, anytime I see people with physical handicaps or disabilities, I remember Sarchi, land of broken people.

Could we not all be considered to be from Sarchi? Are we not all broken people?

Wounded physically, maybe but more likely wounded emotionally. Broken hearted.

Ironically, one of the two friends who visited Sarchi with me, the one who made the joke about the water, is responsible for breaking my heart. Intentionally or unintentionally doesn't matter. It happened.

Broken people.

I am growing to love broken people. It's in their vulnerability, when they share their brokenness, that God's glory shines most brightly. We can't all be perfect people. Let me rephrase that, none of us are perfect people.

Just admit it: you are broken. It's hard to say, but I am broken. I don't have it all together. I don't spend time with the Lord like I should. I snap when I should be courteous. I miss blog days when I have committed to blogging every other day. I try to exalt myself sometimes even at the expense of someone else. I even, gasp, cry.

I hate being broken. I want my body to do what I tell it to do. I want my emotions in check all the time. I want my heart guarded and unbroken. But trying to heal myself only turns into a more-contorted broken arm. More damage than good.

Yet I choose to sit at the feet of the Great Physician and let Him, in His time, bind up my wounds, replace my broken heart, and mend my soul. It is only then that I begin to heal. Maybe more slowly than I would like; maybe not perfect in the world's sense but perfect in God's sense.

And it gives me a story to tell. A story that boasts my weakness and His greatness.

I understand now, the older song that says, "Brokenness, it's what I long for. Brokenness, it's what I need."

I am broken.
I am Sarchian.

<>< Katie

Glory in Tragedy

I don't think we could have fit anything else into this weekend had we tried.  A pasta dinner for 30 high school tennis girls, a baby shower (with two-week old baby), a graduation/ birthday party, a tennis quad, a family reunion, church, dinner out, and... the wake for a fourteen year old.

Her death was instant. There was no warning. There was nothing that could have been done.  It could not have been prevented.  Her life could not have been saved.  No one is at fault.

Yet a fourteen year old is dead.

In all honesty, I don't know how non-Christians cope with tragedies like this.  Even with hope and a loving God, it's hard to bury a fourteen year old who seemed healthy one minute and gone the next.

Is our God not a loving God who cares for His children? I don't just mean Emily. What about her family? Her parents? Her older sister? Her friends whose home she was walking home from? Fifty minutes worth of drivers who drove down that busy street without noticing her unconscious and not breathing on the sidewalk? Her classmates about to enter high school without her?

Tough questions.

But I believe Emily was not alone on that sidewalk. God was with her every step of her walk home; she just arrived at a different Home than would have been expected. Even though her body was kept breathing for two days, Emily was immediately delivered into the loving arms of her Creator.

The same God that cradles their precious daughter, holds tight to Emily's parents giving them the strength to host mourners in their home, the ability to make jokes and even laugh a little as the receiving line weaved through the funeral home and out into the parking lot. He holds their tears, their hands, and their hearts.

He will be glorified, even though this situation our human eyes see as tragic and incomprehensible. That is my prayer.

It’s the only thing I can pray.  And I was just a student, nine years ahead of her at the same school.

<>< Katie

A Saved Catholic?

"I don't know if you can be Catholic and be saved... I'm still figuring that out," cried one of my Catholic friends during our team worship night in Nicaragua.

When she first made the statement, my defenses went up.  I'm not Catholic, but I have a lot of friends and family who are Catholics.  Of course you can be Catholic and be saved.

Throughout the rest of the week, God let me see the plight that literally brought her to tears before us in a moment of transparency.

We walked into Central American cathedrals and my heart broke due to the distorted Jesus so many people have been taught.

The man huddled in the corner fervently praying to the painting of a deceased bishop.

The woman filling the offering box with Cordobas as if she could buy forgiveness.

The crowds ritually progressing through the streets holding a crucifix high in the air.

Jesus still on the cross.

As we walked through those decorated cathedrals, I found myself praying for the lost within the sanctuary.  I wanted to stay and minister there rather than be a tourist.

It wasn't the label "Catholic" that bothered me. It was the un-biblically based Jesus.  The Jesus represented is not the Jesus I know.  That's what broke my heart.  The desire to earn forgiveness and eternal life doesn't take into account for grace and mercy.  The lack of understanding that Jesus is accessible to each and everyone of us, made me sad.

I'm not bashing Catholicism, I promise.  I'm bashing the missing of Jesus that we are all guilty of.  We get caught up in talking about homosexuality, abortion, and divorce rather than showing and teaching the love Jesus was adamant about.

We can call ourselves Christians and not know Christ.  Worship can be a weekly event we attend out of habit not a lifestyle we lead.

Yes, you can be Catholic and be saved.  But going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than going to the race track makes you a race car driver... going to a ballet makes you a ballerina...

The Christ I know is more than a character in a big book.  He's more than a man who did some really nice things.

He's God and man.  He lived by example, practiced what He preached, and gave the ultimate sacrifice.  And He calls us to do the same.

Do you agree? 

Then show it.  Not in my comments section but today on the road, in the classroom, in the cafeteria, and at the store.  Let's redefine Christianity.

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

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

Life Box

One of my friend's art expressions class had to fill a box with items to represent them.  Any kind of box/container was accepted.  One student used a guitar case; my friend used a shoe box.  The then had to present the items in their box, explaining its representation, and talking about themselves for ten minutes.

In telling us about this project, I asked my friend what she put in her box.

"A guitar pick because I'm learning guitar.  A flip flop because I'm from the beach.  Pictures of my family and my best friends.  A puzzle piece because I love puzzles.  My favorite scarf because fashion is really important to me..."

She went on for a long time trying to remember all of the items in her box.

"Oh, and I put in a Book of Common Prayer because I couldn't put in a Bible," she said.

"Why couldn't you put in a Bible?"  I figured maybe it was a class rule.

"It didn't fit."

I continued to listen patiently but inside my heart was breaking.  We all pack our life box and realize God doesn't "fit" into the plan we've created.  We take everything out, rearrange a little bit, and realize everything's not going to fit.  Some thing's going to have to go.  But what?  We're attached to everything.  Letting go of anything is a painful part of life.  But, unfortunately, it's necessary.  Sometimes God asks us to say good bye to hobbies, relationships, locations, traditions...

The question is: are you building your life box around Him or are you trying to fit Him in at the last second?

<>< Katie
PS: What would you put in your life box?
Mine: my Bible, my iPod (we'll pretend I have a working one), my Writer's Notebook, my purple Nalgene, my phone, some hand sanitizer (of course), lotion, the ring and cross necklace I wear daily, a glassblown cup, a scrapbook, and my passport (for journeys past and present), and a book to read all in a Louis M. Martini wine box to represent my cultural heritage.

Volunteers

Sunday morning Pastor Russ spoke about the "communion of saints" line in the Apostle's Creed.  (Baptist readers: please don't condemn me because I go to a creedal church...).  One of the things he mentioned was that Christian life is like breathing.  Going to church (physically) is breathing in.  Going out into the world and being the church is breathing out.  You need both.  You can't just breathe in and you can't just breathe out.  There needs to be a balance between the two.  I completely agree.

Later he said something else I'd never really thought about before.  He called parents volunteers.  He supported that idea by saying they've volunteered their time and gas money to get their children to and from activities.  They coordinate carpool, snacks, and game schedules... They're the volunteers that get the least amount of credit.  Sunday night I got to see that idea in action.

There's a group of middle school girls currently a part of our confirmation class.  As a class they sponsor me through an adopt a college kid ministry.  Basically this means they send me packages periodically, I send them cards, and I visit them when I'm in town.  I'm in town, so Sunday night I paid them a visit.

In case you've never spent time with eight 7th grade girls: they are crazy.  To top it off, this was their end of the year party, so we had a chocolate fountain in class.  BIG MESS, BIG MESS!

Yes, there was chocolate everywhere.  As we were cleaning it up, I asked the leader how she was going to go about cleaning it.  She explained she'd used the same fountain with her son's Sunday School class that morning, and she just let it sit in the sink all afternoon.  Here I was thinking about how I never wanted to clean a chocolate fountain and she did it twice... today.

After the girls left, she was telling me some of their stories.  Mind you, this is a middle class, primarily-white, suburban church.  Well, a lot of the students in her group came from single parent/ divorced homes.  Most of them weren't just a "it is what it is" situation but rather there was baggage.  A "Mom died six days after she was told she had two months to live" story.  A "Dad's got a girlfriend abroad and spends most of his time there but also has primary custody of the kids."  The ones that have two parents have heart-breaking stories, too.  "Her brother died in the military."  "Mom had the primary income, but then she lost her job, so they're living on Dad's part-time salary."

On the surface, these are average middle school girls who enjoy chocolate a bit too much, spend all summer in the swimming pool, and can't wait to go to camp.  When you look a little deeper, they've all got stories that will break your heart.

"I'm just trying to make a difference," the leader said.  She explained most of them are not in church other than confirmation class, so she struggles to find the balance between fun and teaching about God.  "This may be their only opportunity to hear His word; that's a big responsibility on me," she explained, maybe not orally, but I heard it.  "I've been trying so hard to reach this one girl, and I just can't seem to get through."

I told her I'd pray for her.  And I did.  All the way home.  Those girls' stories tug on my heart-strings, and that woman's obedience to God's call and willingness to do what's right.  She's an everyday, unsung hero.  She's the kind of woman I want to be when I grow up, even if it means I have to clean a chocolate fountain twice in one day.  As soon as I wrote that sentence, a little voice in my head said, "Why wait?"  Why wait to be obedient and willing to volunteer your time, energy, and gas?  So I ask you, why wait?

But this blog isn't about you and me.  It's about this the volunteering that often goes unnoticed.

Parents, thank you for volunteering your time and making a difference, not just in the lives of your youngsters but also in the lives of their friends.  With your kids, you can see your impact.  With their friends, it's hard to see the fruits of your labor, but they're ripening.  Somewhere.

<>< Katie