Adoption is costly. Unfortunately, rescuing a child from poverty is not an easy task. It's costly financially and costly emotionally. But it's a price parents are willing to pay for their child(ren).
Likewise, our adoption was costly. In Ephesians Paul says, "God decided in advance to adopt us into His own family by bringing us to Himself through Jesus Christ. This is what He wanted to do, and it gave Him great pleasure." (Ephesians 1:6 NLT)
The price for our adoptions? Christ's death on the cross. Yet our Heavenly Father (and His Son) were willing to pay that price. More than willing.
For us.
<>< Katie
(Journal entry dated 10-10-11. Posted in honor of National Adoption Month)
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
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
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
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Home
Last week I made my first trip to Baptist Country as an alumna. When we pulled into town, it didn't feel like I had been gone a month. It felt like we had just gone to Elizabeth's for the weekend.
Very little has changed.
A few trees have blown down, the construction projects have progressed, and there are not nearly as many cars in the parking lot.
So much has changed.
My ID card no longer lets me into buildings, my mailbox is boarded up, and I am not returning in the fall. Yet still it feels like home.
It was years ago when I first referred to that little town as "home." If I flew to The Homeland, I said I was flying home. If I flew to Baptist Country, I said I was flying home. The lines between "home" and "school" were so blurry that I gave up on what to call each place and declared travel days "Airplane Day," no matter which direction I was going.
What is home?
Is home my parents' house? Is home the college town where I went couch-surfing last week? What exactly is home?
I wish I posted everything I've drafted because in February I wrote a post entitled "Redefining Family." It claimed "family" was my five suitemates, my ten-person ministry team, and my lunch buddies. Sometimes family has little to do with blood relation.
Home is where your family is.
I'm having a hard time deciding where "home" is because my family is in The Homeland, my family is in Baptist Country, my family is in Nicaragua, in Guatemala... Does that make home all of those places as well?
In the same way that The Homeland will always be "home" because my family is here, Baptist Country will always be "home" because my family is there, too.
Beauty and the Beast taught me "home is where the heart is." If that's true, then I'm heartbroken. In Baptist Country, I want to be in The Homeland. While in The Homeland, I yearn for Baptist Country. I don't think this is necessarily a bad problem to have, but I am not a fan. For four years my life has been split by 900 miles, a chasm that is not closing anytime soon.
Until God sends me somewhere else, home will have to be my parents' house. No more trying to outsmart amazon.com to get packages delivered to my P.O. box. No more loitering in the caf. No more spontaneous trips to Wal-mart even though we don't need anything. No more "Katie, party of twelve, your table is ready."
As I struggle to define such a basic four-letter word, I must also remember that in the grand scheme of things, none of these places are "home." They are all temporary dwellings prior to an eternal home. I honestly believe that someday there will be no sixteen-hour drives and no time change because there will be no time at all. There will be a day when tears won't roll, hearts won't break, and pain won't hurt. All of God's children will be home, constantly singing praises to Him, for He deserves it.
That, my friends, will be Home.
<>< Katie
Very little has changed.
A few trees have blown down, the construction projects have progressed, and there are not nearly as many cars in the parking lot.
So much has changed.
My ID card no longer lets me into buildings, my mailbox is boarded up, and I am not returning in the fall. Yet still it feels like home.
It was years ago when I first referred to that little town as "home." If I flew to The Homeland, I said I was flying home. If I flew to Baptist Country, I said I was flying home. The lines between "home" and "school" were so blurry that I gave up on what to call each place and declared travel days "Airplane Day," no matter which direction I was going.
What is home?
Is home my parents' house? Is home the college town where I went couch-surfing last week? What exactly is home?
I wish I posted everything I've drafted because in February I wrote a post entitled "Redefining Family." It claimed "family" was my five suitemates, my ten-person ministry team, and my lunch buddies. Sometimes family has little to do with blood relation.
Home is where your family is.
I'm having a hard time deciding where "home" is because my family is in The Homeland, my family is in Baptist Country, my family is in Nicaragua, in Guatemala... Does that make home all of those places as well?
In the same way that The Homeland will always be "home" because my family is here, Baptist Country will always be "home" because my family is there, too.
Beauty and the Beast taught me "home is where the heart is." If that's true, then I'm heartbroken. In Baptist Country, I want to be in The Homeland. While in The Homeland, I yearn for Baptist Country. I don't think this is necessarily a bad problem to have, but I am not a fan. For four years my life has been split by 900 miles, a chasm that is not closing anytime soon.
Until God sends me somewhere else, home will have to be my parents' house. No more trying to outsmart amazon.com to get packages delivered to my P.O. box. No more loitering in the caf. No more spontaneous trips to Wal-mart even though we don't need anything. No more "Katie, party of twelve, your table is ready."
As I struggle to define such a basic four-letter word, I must also remember that in the grand scheme of things, none of these places are "home." They are all temporary dwellings prior to an eternal home. I honestly believe that someday there will be no sixteen-hour drives and no time change because there will be no time at all. There will be a day when tears won't roll, hearts won't break, and pain won't hurt. All of God's children will be home, constantly singing praises to Him, for He deserves it.
That, my friends, will be Home.
<>< Katie
Monday, May 17, 2010
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
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
Monday, April 12, 2010
Wet Willy
Growing up, when we went to a party my sisters and all of the other kids were always lost in a made up world somewhere else. I, on the other hand, loved to sit at the table and listen to my parents and their friends tell stories and relive the Before Kids Days. My favorites were the college stories, the post-college stories, and the ones from my dad's annual camping trips (the one that had to come to an end when he left my mom home alone with a one-month old very colicky baby who now enjoys telling these stories herself). Of course, most of them involved alcohol... and extreme amounts of it. Going to a dry school I thought/ was kind of sad I'd be missing these stories from my life. Well, I'm not. Mine just involve less (read "no") alcohol.
One thing I've never really understood is why my mom had the audacity to give Mark--a man she's not married to--a wet willy just for sassing her. When I witnessed this first hand, boys still had coodies, and there was no way I would be getting anywhere near them much less close enough to stick my tongue in their ears. Well, I now have friends who are male, and I discovered this weekend that it's only a matter of time before Nikki, Elizabeth, and Andy get hard core wet willies (no finger).
I was giving my goodnight hugs on Saturday night when Elizabeth and Andy were on the Platonic Loveseat being, well, not very platonic. Instead of asking for goodnight hugs, I plunked myself down on the couch between them. Half of me was on top of Andy and the other half on top of Elizabeth. In about, oh, 1.5 seconds flat they flipped me on my back in the fetal position. Amy and Jennifer watched this whole deal and said all they could see of me were my knees. Not good!
"Watch my glasses!"
"Take them off!"
"No! Then I'm consenting to this rough housing. I don't consent! I don't consent!"
"Ooooh! Is she ticklish?!"
I am, but they didn't know that, and I sure as heck wasn't telling them.
Elizabeth and Andy decided the only thing to do to me in this situation was to lick me. Are we not past this game yet!? Elizabeth had the bottom half of my body in her lap, so she chose to lick the back of my right hand, not a big deal, I can wash that once I get free. Andy had my upper half and opted for the top of my head. I wasn't planning on showering before bed, thanks.
"I really want to lick her forehead," Elizabeth confessed. It's kind of a long-term goal, and they had me in the proper position. It was one of those "now or never" situations, and my goal was to make it a "never."
"Wouldn't that be awful?! She could just watch your tongue coming the whole time!"
Yes, that would be awful. I slapped my forearm to my forehead and held it tightly. All of the sudden there was a firm grasp on my wrist as Andy gently but forcefully pulled my hand away from my face. He's a "medical person;" he's done that before. Not fair! Elizabeth moved in for the kill but I beat her to the punch as my knees rapidly collided with my face. Word of advice: don't do that on a regular basis. A few more minutes of struggle and Elizabeth finally settled... her wet finger into my ear. Much further into my ear than a finger should go, I might add. I pushed her away with my feet and shoved Andy off of the couch. No winding up before bed... de-rile, de-rile.
I don't know if our three-on-a-couch experience will stand the test of time and be placed among the great "college stories" in my repertoire, but I do know that at the next opportunity they both will be receiving true business wet willies, tongue meet ear style.
<>< Katie
One thing I've never really understood is why my mom had the audacity to give Mark--a man she's not married to--a wet willy just for sassing her. When I witnessed this first hand, boys still had coodies, and there was no way I would be getting anywhere near them much less close enough to stick my tongue in their ears. Well, I now have friends who are male, and I discovered this weekend that it's only a matter of time before Nikki, Elizabeth, and Andy get hard core wet willies (no finger).
I was giving my goodnight hugs on Saturday night when Elizabeth and Andy were on the Platonic Loveseat being, well, not very platonic. Instead of asking for goodnight hugs, I plunked myself down on the couch between them. Half of me was on top of Andy and the other half on top of Elizabeth. In about, oh, 1.5 seconds flat they flipped me on my back in the fetal position. Amy and Jennifer watched this whole deal and said all they could see of me were my knees. Not good!
"Watch my glasses!"
"Take them off!"
"No! Then I'm consenting to this rough housing. I don't consent! I don't consent!"
"Ooooh! Is she ticklish?!"
I am, but they didn't know that, and I sure as heck wasn't telling them.
Elizabeth and Andy decided the only thing to do to me in this situation was to lick me. Are we not past this game yet!? Elizabeth had the bottom half of my body in her lap, so she chose to lick the back of my right hand, not a big deal, I can wash that once I get free. Andy had my upper half and opted for the top of my head. I wasn't planning on showering before bed, thanks.
"I really want to lick her forehead," Elizabeth confessed. It's kind of a long-term goal, and they had me in the proper position. It was one of those "now or never" situations, and my goal was to make it a "never."
"Wouldn't that be awful?! She could just watch your tongue coming the whole time!"
Yes, that would be awful. I slapped my forearm to my forehead and held it tightly. All of the sudden there was a firm grasp on my wrist as Andy gently but forcefully pulled my hand away from my face. He's a "medical person;" he's done that before. Not fair! Elizabeth moved in for the kill but I beat her to the punch as my knees rapidly collided with my face. Word of advice: don't do that on a regular basis. A few more minutes of struggle and Elizabeth finally settled... her wet finger into my ear. Much further into my ear than a finger should go, I might add. I pushed her away with my feet and shoved Andy off of the couch. No winding up before bed... de-rile, de-rile.
I don't know if our three-on-a-couch experience will stand the test of time and be placed among the great "college stories" in my repertoire, but I do know that at the next opportunity they both will be receiving true business wet willies, tongue meet ear style.
<>< Katie
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
To Be Loved
I'm back on campus after being gone for the summer. It's kind of weird because most people aren't back yet. My roommate won't be here until Sunday (which is really good because now I have until Sunday to find a place for all of my stuff!). I've seen a few of my friends and we've picked up as if we never left. It's been really great!
But it's weird. This year I'm living in a new building and all that goes along with it. New hall. New room. New roommate. New hallmates. New RA. New ResTech (that reminds me: need to call her... haha). New air conditioner that keeps blowing on me. New just about everything.
I've only seen a handful of my friends because most people aren't back yet. Then there are the friends who aren't coming back. Some graduated. Some transferred. They're still not going to be here, and it's weird. I'm glad there are still people coming because right now I feel like there's a huge hole that needs to be filled! (Get your rear ends here, ladies!)
My parents have been stalling in leaving. I mistakenly allowed them to wander campus unchaperoned while I was in a training session. Luckily, most of the faculty are on a retreat right now so they aren't here to be interrogated. However, my parents went to talk to some people with a real purpose and they ran into the director of my sign choir. They talked to her for about ten minutes before she connected them with me. They said it was like a light bulb went on and she said,
"Oh, Katie! She's one of my girls!" I'm not one of the girls in her choir. I'm one of HER girls. :-) I've heard her refer to some other members in such a fashion, but never me. After all, there are thirty of us, can she really know us all? I figured I can be quiet, I probably slipped through the cracks. Nope, she knows us all. We're her girls. It's a pretty fun feeling.
Imagine what God says about us.
"Oh, Katie! She's one of my girls! I'm especially fond of her. I love her so much." It makes me smile just to think about it. :-)
One of His girls,
<>< Katie
"Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God." John 1:12
But it's weird. This year I'm living in a new building and all that goes along with it. New hall. New room. New roommate. New hallmates. New RA. New ResTech (that reminds me: need to call her... haha). New air conditioner that keeps blowing on me. New just about everything.
I've only seen a handful of my friends because most people aren't back yet. Then there are the friends who aren't coming back. Some graduated. Some transferred. They're still not going to be here, and it's weird. I'm glad there are still people coming because right now I feel like there's a huge hole that needs to be filled! (Get your rear ends here, ladies!)
My parents have been stalling in leaving. I mistakenly allowed them to wander campus unchaperoned while I was in a training session. Luckily, most of the faculty are on a retreat right now so they aren't here to be interrogated. However, my parents went to talk to some people with a real purpose and they ran into the director of my sign choir. They talked to her for about ten minutes before she connected them with me. They said it was like a light bulb went on and she said,
"Oh, Katie! She's one of my girls!" I'm not one of the girls in her choir. I'm one of HER girls. :-) I've heard her refer to some other members in such a fashion, but never me. After all, there are thirty of us, can she really know us all? I figured I can be quiet, I probably slipped through the cracks. Nope, she knows us all. We're her girls. It's a pretty fun feeling.
Imagine what God says about us.
"Oh, Katie! She's one of my girls! I'm especially fond of her. I love her so much." It makes me smile just to think about it. :-)
One of His girls,
<>< Katie
"Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God." John 1:12
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