Thankful

It's hard.

It's hard to be thankful when you don't know when your next paycheck is coming (or from where). It's hard to be thankful when your best friends are 900 miles away. It's hard to be thankful when your office is the most central location of your parents' home, when your internal clock has no idea what time of the year it is, or when you don't have any idea what your calendar will look like even a month from now. It's hard to be thankful; it's easy to host a pity party.

Every once in awhile, I let the tears roll. They're good. They're healthy. But once they come, they're hard to stop.

Like Job, I speak bluntly and harshly to the Lord. While it's nice to get those feelings out on paper, it doesn't usually solve much. (Did I just say that out loud?) I still don't know what's next. I'm still playing pin the tail on the donkey.

And still even here, I have a lot to be thankful for. Did I not wake up this morning breathing and refreshed? When I rolled over and put my feet on the floor, did they not stay there and hold my weight? (No peanut gallery comments, please). Was there not toothpaste in the tube, toilet paper on the roll, and soap in the dispenser? Is there food in the pantry and hot water in the shower? Do I have a jacket, shoes, and gasoline?

Have I not people who love and care about me? People who encourage me and pour into me? Scripture tucked away in my heart? Is the Lord not in this limbo, this barren desert, this hideous time in between?

Life is hard. Yet still there is so much to be thankful for even if they're the small, simple things we tend to take for granted. Even if it's the tears and the angry words. Even if it's the promise, "I will be with you always to the very end of the age" (See Matthew 28).

Even if nothing else goes correctly, that one reason alone is enough to bring thanksgiving to my lips again and again.

<>< Katie

A Real Person

Eight twenty-somethings sat squished around a card table. It has become a Monday night tradition.

Although I sit among them with minimal elbow space, I feel far away. Six of them are in graduate school together taking the conversation to a level where I spend more time trying to find the verb in the sentence than actually comprehending it. The other two have jobs. Real jobs, careers. They make money, own homes, and cook real meals.

There I am. Lost among friends. It's not their fault. Does that mean it's my fault?

My fault I didn't get into grad school? My fault I don't have a job? My fault I'm stuck in limbo? My fault that sometimes I wear work clothes just so I can feel like a real person?

Even putting those words on paper... er... the screen seems ridiculous. But it's very real. Real enough to bring tears to my eyes... again.

Let's just be real: job searching sucks. (Although, I have a new appreciation for rejection letter because it means the company loves you enough to tell you they don't want you rather than just letting you guess).

People always ask me what I'm called to do, if I feel led to a certain job or company, etc. What the heck does that even mean?

I am called to do the same thing every one else is called to do: to love and serve the Lord wherever He puts us.

For six of my Monday dinner buddies that means serving Him through divinity school. For the other two, it means honoring Him in their respective careers.

For me, it means trusting in the unknown. It means looking hopefully towards the future (whatever that is) but also finding a way to enjoy today. It means adding "free Monday dinner and enjoyable socialization time" to my list of 1,000 gifts.  It means knowing this time in between isn't a wasteland. It means trusting that I haven't been deserted in this desert.

It means sometimes I get to write mopey posts because, in order to be a real person, I need to be real about my struggles and fears. I don't have it all together. I don't know what I'm going to be if I grow up. I don't know what tomorrow looks like.

But I do know One who will accompany me tomorrow.

Because He is faithful.

"Yet still I dare to hope when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies begin a new each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritence' therefore I will hope in Him." Lamentations 3:21-24

Keeping it real,
<>< Katie

Stable

I've been living out of my suitcase for two weeks as I job search. It's been two weeks of ups and downs. Of awkwardly cold-calling strangers and laughing until I can't breathe. Awful and great. Uncomfortable and easy. Yin and yang.

It makes me miss my favorite roller coasters: mission trips. If you've ever been on an international mission trip before, you probably know what I'm talking about. The ups and downs. The high highs and low lows. Encouraged, discouraged. Peaks and valleys. One minute of tears of joy; the next tears of sadness. You switch back and forth so many times in one day that you forget what it's like to be stable.

What is stable? Stable is somewhere in the middle. Somewhere I don't often find on mission trips. Stable is what we cling to in everyday life. Stable is comfort, contentment, conformity. Stable is lukewarm.

In Revelation 3, John transcribes what the Lord commands him to write to the church in Laodicea:

“To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:

'These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.'" Rev. 3:14-16 (italics mine)

It's like God is saying, "When you're on fire for Me, I can use that. When you're cold, I can use that, too. But when you're apathetic, when you're stable, I don't want you."

This passage isn't really talking about emotional roller coasters. But I think it applies here, too. When our hearts break for and with others, we connect as God's children. When we rejoice and celebrate, we exalt God and His goodness. It's when we're in the middle, stable, and comfortable that we're in the most dangerous position of all.

We don't want to change. We overlook the needs of others. We're too caught in our own ways to see matters worthy of praise. While I would love for the tears to stop coming so easily, I don't want to be stable. Not now, not ever.

I don't want to be comfortable and content. I want my heart to break for what breaks God's heart. I want to love the way Jesus loved--the least of these, the broken people, the forgotten. I want to live a life worthy of the calling I have received!

I do not ever want to be lukewarm!

<>< Katie

As The Deer

During our family's annual birthday celebration my grandpa was telling a story about an interaction he and Grandma had with a deer while they were on vacation.

Apparently they were driving down a woodsy neighborhood road and there were some women walking down the street towards the car.  In between their car and the women was a deer.  The deer was focused on the pedestrians, so Grandpa slowed down and approached it as slowly and quietly as they could.

The car got right up next to the deer before the deer took its eyes from the women and noticed Grandpa and Grandma.  Of course, then it took off running.

I can't help but wonder how often we are that deer.  We are the deer focused on what's ahead, the women walking towards us, rather than noticing what's going on around us.

I am that deer.  I'm focused on my future career, job opportunities, and the next step rather than focusing on the here and now.  I'm concerned about what I'm going to be doing when I get back from China rather than focusing on what I'll be doing while in China.

Are you the deer?  Are you looking at what you'll be doing this weekend rather than what you're doing today?  Are you expecting something when God's working in a different way? 

Oh, deer,
<>< Katie

God's Character

Last night I dreamed I got an email from my friend Whitney. She was leaving her job and looking for a new one. The email that I had to read twice described in detail her ideal job and asked if I had any suggestions for where she should start looking. Right, ask the unemployed for a job idea. Good call.

First thing when I woke up this morning was reach for my phone. I needed to hear again why Whitney was leaving her job after only a year and a half. As I typed out the text message, I replayed the dream in my head.

Something wasn't adding up:
- The email. Whitney and I rarely email. We prefer facebook, text messages, and Skype.

- The job. While the transition into this job has been a struggle, Whitney regularly tells me how it's a blessing, a prayed-for job.

- The idea job. What she described is essentially where she is.

I never sent her the text. I knew she wasn't leaving her job. Why? Because I know Whitney. I know how much Whitney loves her job, enjoys what she does, and sees God work in it. Knowing Whitney's character helped me differentiate between what was a dream and what was reality.

Just like I know Whitney, I want to know God. I want to know His character so well that in musing and praying over something, I can tell whether it was from Him or the enemy. I want to be aware of whether what is happening is consistent with the God I see in the Bible, the God I experience on the daily basis, and the God I know to be real.

If it's not, stop! Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
If it is, proceed, pursuing His will. Always.

<>< Katie

PS: Just because Whitney and I don't usually converse via email doesn't mean we can't. Just because God doesn't usually get your attention through a medium as crazy as He and I often use doesn't mean He can't or won't.

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).

Lunch with a Stranger

It was a little after 1, and I had somewhere to be at 1:30 and lunch to eat first when I flew into the caf.  I got my food and had resolved myself to sit alone, something I actually enjoy doing periodically.  I still don't know how I saw her since she was behind me, around the corner, and hidden by the crowd, but I did.  She, too, was sitting alone.  I walked up and slid my tray onto the table.

"Can I sit here?"

She had food in her mouth but nodded, and I told her I'd be right back.  I dropped my bag, left my tray, and went to get my milk.  I came back, sat down, prayed the Common Table Prayer, and asked her name.  Marta.  I recognized it from working check-in that morning.  She was a transfer student; it was her first day on campus.  I asked how it was going.

As she talked, slowly the tears welled in her eyes.  They matched the ones I had been sporting earlier.  Sometime between my golf-cart ride to McDonalds with Megan after check-in and this lunch, I discovered the job I had last year was no longer available to me.  It was a complicated situation, and I was the victim of the system.  I was confused.  Upset.  Frustrated.  Livid.  I cried.  I called my dad.  I cried again.  I had a plan: talk to my boss, but I couldn't do that until I knew I was not going to melt in his office.

With a compassionate smile, I asked Marta how many times she had gotten lost that day.  Lots.  She'd lost her map.  She laughed.  I laughed.  She cried.  I cared.  By the end of lunch, I had gotten her two new maps.  Each had her apartment building circled, the building where her nursing classes would be circled, and a big huge "F" over the building where the food was.  What more does a person need, right?  I walked her to where she needed to go, and we said goodbye.

I visited my favorite coffee shop to email my hippy boss.  My internet's still spotty.  "We have a problem," the email said.  "When are you going to be in your office?"

Almost instantly he responded, "I'm here now; come on over."

I did.  When I walked in, he asked how I was.  I said I was cranky.  He didn't understand: worms were burrowing and he'd just gotten his iTouch to work after two years; how could I be cranky?  Then I told him what happened to my job.  He became distressed and no longer cared about the worms.  He called his boss who called her boss who promised to work on the mess for me.  The hippy told me it was just a matter of faith that the situation would work itself out.  It was weird.

At dinner, I saw Marta again.  I asked if the rest of her day had improved.  She said it had.  She even had a new friend!  I was so excited for her I "woooh-who-ed" right there in the middle of the caf.  I had intended to sit with them, but we got separated in the mob.

It's been four days since I've seen Marta.  My job situation has been rectified.  My boss's boss's boss, who has a big important title, made some phone calls, got me my job back, and earned himself a hand-written thank you card.  I can only hope Marta has memorized her maps, made more than one friend, and is enjoying herself.

I think we both needed each other at that lunch.  It was a simple exchange, a breach of the comfort zone, and a world gained.  God's way to remind us that He is Jehovah-Jirah, the Lord provider.

<>< Katie

Tractor on Fire; Katie on Tractor

When it comes to household jobs, cutting the grass is my favorite.  I get to fly around the yard, write, and get paid for it.  Sweet!

I'm quite a sight when I cut the grass.  Today I am wearing a blaze orange shirt, not quite matching the orange of my tractor, and brown shorts with black Chacos (I'm looking to enhance the Zorro-like tanlines on my feet).  To top it off, I'm wearing my notorious cowboy hat, I have a blue Off! fan latched to my shorts, and my iPod is strapped to my thigh using the elastic band intended for a runner's arm.  Yeah, really pretty.

I'm lost deep in thought, memories, and stories that may someday be blog-worthy when all of the sudden I hear this nasty noise.  It kind of sounds like I ran over something, but I haven't.  I keep going and there is a second noise, not as loud as the first.  At the third noise, I stop the tractor.  I see Mom inside the house walking towards me as I turn it off.

"Did you hear that?" I ask.

She assures me she has and asks what it was.  Like I know.  Then she tells me the tractor was smoking.

I hop off the tractor.   "It's on fire," I say.  "Yes, I see a flame."  Keep in mind, I hate fire.  Been there; done that.  Lived to tell the tale; have the scars to prove it.

Mom runs to get the fire extinguisher, her trademark move.  From a reasonable distance, I watch the grass burn.  There is only one flame, but it is bigger than you would see on a candle.

"Do I even know how to work this?" She asks as she pulled the pin out of the fire extinguisher.  She pushes the levers together and it blows a fog-like gas.  Well, the wind take it and it showers me with fire extinguisher fluid.

The flame goes out, our tractor needs to be serviced, our fire extinguisher needs to be inspected, and the grass still needs to be cut.  Oh, and I smell like Off!, grease, freshly cut grass, forget me nots, smoke, and fire extinguisher.

When we tell Dad what happened, he just laughs.  And laughs.  And laughs.  He's now outside trying to fix the poor piece of flaming machinery.  I told him to scream if he needs me to call 911.  All quiet in the front.

I'm fine, by the way.  A little traumatized and just as pyro-phobic as ever, but it's just another day in the life...

<>< Katie

Wacky Wednesday

Just another day in the life...

Christina (from the back seat of the van): Mom, can I text you a photo of my toe?  It hurts.
Mom (passenger seat): No, I can probably see it just as well from here.

"That's not a llama that's a little girl.  Oh, they put sunglasses on the llama's butt.  That's obscene.  Oh, it was a dog's butt not a llama's butt.  Oh, look it's a little kid riding a bike again.  I saw this kid already.  No, it's a different kid.  Why do none of these kids wear helmets?!  Oh, wait, it is the same kid crashing into the mailbox.  I don't know if it's the same kid or not. THESE KIDS NEED HELMETS!  Woman tossing monkey.  Monkey tossing woman.  Now there's a gorilla on top of a post." - Mom's play-by-play of America's Funniest Home Videos

Christina: There's a cat outside somewhere.
Katie: Oh!  I see it!  It's a bunny.

Christina had just finished telling some "really funny" story and no one laughed.
Christina: OK, well, I guess it was just really funny in my head.
Mom: Well, I hope so because it wasn't really funny in any of our heads.

Laura's in the family room video chatting with her friend Jake who's currently in Louisiana.  I was sitting there as well, and Jake asks for Christina to come downstairs and video chat, too, so we'd all be there.  Laura texts Tina and she responds that she's sleeping.  "Clearly she's not since she's texting," Jake said, picking up his phone.  He then calls Christina.  The two of us in the family room could hear Christina's voice from upstairs... through the computer... through Jake's phone... in Louisiana.

Dad: Why is there one egg on the counter?
Mom: I'm making cookies later.
Dad: Oh, of course, why didn't I think of that?

Katie: Gar!  I don't want to read this manuscript.  I want to write my own manuscript.
Mom: It is a writing internship.
Katie: I'm switching my POV from third--my favorite POV--to first because I think it will work better, but I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do that.
Mom: That's why Cindy keeps all of her choir music.
Huh?

In the middle of a hamburger dinner I almost shot milk out my nose. Everyone looked at me, but I couldn't defend myself since I was at risk of choking... Instead I picked up the mustard and turned it around so they could all see the expiration date: June 4, 2007. I swallowed and we all laughed that the mustard expired before I graduated. (Throughout high school I'd keep track of what expired after I graduated, and I said the scary day would be when the milk expired after I graduated). We threw away that mustard and Mom went to the fridge to get another one. "Oh, good," she said, "now we only have four open mustards!"

Mom: You're writing this down?  For your blog?
Katie: Yeah.
Mom: Great... I'm never going to be able to get a job again.
Katie: No, I blog you as "Para Salin" or "Sarah Palin."
Mom: Oh, ok, instead you're screwing the future of this country instead of just my future.
Katie: You're the weird one.

Laura: Katie, you talk too much!
Katie: Laura, you listen too little!

<>< Katie

Bedtime Books

When people call my house requesting a specific babysitter, they normally strike out.  However, since there are three of us, normally someone else is there to pick up the slack.  Somebody called for Laura, but she had a photo shoot, so I was second best.  I'm ok with that.  I had never babysat for this family before, and Laura had.  The kid's mom worked at my high school, and I'd met Cole through day camp, my summer job a few years back.

Cole was pretty well behaved and quite self-sufficient for being five years old.  A couple little problems here and there, but he's five.  Even the best five year old doesn't always drop everything and do what is requested of him (or her) at that exact moment (not even the best twenty year old does that, eh, Mom? :-)).  However, bedtime was a different story. Stall Queen here may have met her match.  "Two more kicks with the soccer ball before we go inside."  "I can't get my socks off because my legs are made of rubber."  "Look, I'm a dummy!"  "That's too much toothpaste."  "No, I don't want to wear those pajamas"... you know, kid stuff.  Yes, I did start counting.  I got to two, and Cole picked a book to read.  I breathed a sigh of relief; I didn't know what I was going to do if I got to three.  No brushing your teeth?

The book Cole picked out was entitled The Human Body, and he flipped through it looking at the pictures and asking questions.  That human biology class I took a few semesters back came in handy in an unanticipated way.  All else fails, I could just read the words next to the drawings.  "That's the ribcage; it's this part of your body."  "That's a tooth and there are four different kinds."  "The smallest bone in the body is in the ear."  Piece of cake!  Until we flipped to the last page.  When he first turned the page, I was thrilled because it meant the book was almost done and it would be lights out.  Except then I remembered what publishers keep on the last page of human body books just to torment unsuspecting babysitters.  Yup, as that dawned on me Cole's little fingers slammed down on a drawing showing the differences between boys and girls.

"What's that?"
I lied.  I said I didn't know.
Problem: this five year old can read.
"What's 'protection' mean?"

If I'd have been thinking on the spot I could have explained the word in a different context, but the only word that was coming into my head was "condom."  Sorry, Cole, not gonna happen.  Instead, I changed the subject and said it was time for bed.  It was true, and I like to think it I did it in an inconspicuous way; he'd been stalling long enough.  I'll be honest, I have no problem with the anatomy subject.  Yes, I can say those words without giggling.  Just a few months ago I taught a female friend infinitely more than she ever wants to know about male anatomy using my own drawings, textbook diagrams, and webmd.  Not a problem. Also not a conversation I'm having with the five year old who had ten minutes earlier asked me to leave his room so he could put on his pajamas.  That is not in my job description.  Since I think he asked more out of a desire to stall than he did out of a need to know, I didn't even go for the "Ask Mom and Dad."  The last thing I wanted was to invoke a, "Daddy, Miss Katie said..."  Frankly, I don't think that's a conversation a five year old needs to have and definitely not with a babysitter.

I took the book away before he had the opportunity to read any more words and said it was bedtime.  Cole really was just stalling.  We moved on to something I'm a little more comfortable with: bedtime prayers.  "Now I lay me... and thanks for helping Miss Katie dodge a bullet."

Thoughts?  Similar stories?

<>< Katie

PS: In an earlier conversation, Cole told me that with his principal's permission his school's mascot could eat my school's mascot.  Thanks a lot.

Peace

I walked away from my desk and something white on my chair caught my eye.  At first I thought it was a piece of paper, but when I picked it up I instantly recognized it as one of the words from our fridge.  We have those "create-a-sentence" words stuck all over our fridge.  With three English majors living here I thought they'd get used more but they really don't.  For a long time our fridge has read:

Jesus drinks wine.  Amen.
Cry when you give blood.
Sister rejoice and embrace hope.
One red fish.

I chuckled to myself as I picked up the magnet pondering how on earth it got to my desk chair, but then I read it: PEACE.  I wanted to pocket it rather than returning it to the fridge.

At the end of the semester, peace is in short supply and high demand.  Even though I still have another year, every day is a day closer to graduation and I have no idea what I'm going after that.  Every wedding invitation I receive in the mail leaves me pensive about my own someday.  That all is if I live through the rest of this semester.  Two more weeks of papers, presentations, and finals before a 16-hour drive home that makes me leap back into my homelife at full speed.  Will I be healthy by then or is this not a cold?  What internship will I be doing this summer?  How will that go?  Will my horse with the Kentucky Derby?

Big questions + little questions = lots of questions

But ultimately, it doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter who put the peace piece on my desk either because it was a God-send and I needed it.

Peace,
<>< Katie

Assembly Line

We were working hard packing bags getting ready for the arrival of newcomers today! We set up an assembly line that didn't always work the best. One side worked faster than the other. Of course, the slower side ran out of materials more often. Plus, there was minimal transportation from the end of the line to the next section. Every time we got into a routine, it was broken in about four bags when someone felt their job was insignificant and felt their time would be better spent elsewhere. The removal of a single person from a ten-person assembly line really screws things up. Even if they just went to get more materials.

I'm glad we're not on God's assembly line where we're just shuffled haphazardly from one spot to another. Believe it or not, God doesn't just have a people assembly line when He creates us either. Each one of us is hand-crafted by God. We're not generic. God doesn't throw a handful of confidence, a little compassion, and, oops, forgot the charisma into our personalities. He creates each of us individually with specific amounts of everything to be exactly the way He wants us. Thus making each and every one of us different but none more loved than another.

In the words of the David Crowder*Band, "You make everything glorious, and I am Yours. What does that make me?"

My friends Laura and Natalie are on my heart and mind today because I saw Natalie and can't wait to see Laura on Monday! Laura is filled with compassion but sometimes lacks confidence in front of large groups of people. Natalie has no problem speaking in front of people but admits she often fails in the compassion department. (That's why the two of them made such a great team last year! I'm going to miss my small group! :-)) They're two very different people but both of them were hand-crafted by God. If I wanted to know how God can speak through just about anything, I'd ask Natalie. If I wanted to know how to help my hurting friend, Laura's my girl! Two different people, both Godly women. Both stupendous!

You are also hand crafted by God. How cool is that?

<>< Katie

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb." Psalm 139:13