Life Without Music

Earlier this week I had coffee with a delightful woman whose family does not listen to much music. My understanding is that it's a sound issue where they can't handle the volume level. They went to a concert and had to leave because the sound stimulation was too much.

I tried to envision what my life would be like without music. I almost always have music playing. If it's not on, there's probably a song running through my head. Concerts are my family's bonding activity.

We've gone to the same multi-day Christian music festival for nine years. Our record is six Mark Schultz concerts in one calendar year. We sit around quoting "As Is" by Peder Eide as if "Samson was a long-haired, arrogant womanizer" is a perfectly logical thing to say in conversation.

If it weren't for music, we'd probably have to watch movies or take up karate like normal people.

When I talk about Lifest, I tell the silly stories: the standing ovation earned by a water bottle, the mud so bad our van had to be pushed into the parking lot, using my lawn chair as an umbrella, etc.

But I think about it, I think about worshipping with Phillips, Craig, and Dean as the rain gently fell on my face. I think about kneeling on fist-sized gravel to stretch my arms up to my Abba Father like a child wanting to be held. I remember Peter Furler (when he was in Newsboys) talking about God's perfect timing only to have a nearby train interrupt his sentence.

Can I worship without music?

I love how the Lord gets my attention through songs I've heard a million times. I get a taste of heaven when strangers unite as a family to sing praises to our Father. I didn't perform "My Savior, My God" in ASL in front of a crowded room of Nicaraguan believers; I worshipped my Savior, my God with my hands.

Through music may be one of my favorite ways to worship, but it's certainly not the only way.

To affirm or encourage someone, that's worship. To serve and love on someone, that's worship. To hug someone, to squeeze a shoulder as you pass, to look someone in the eye. Worship. To genuinely ask how someone's doing, to sit down and share life over a cup of coffee, to bring lunch to an under-employed freelance writer. Worship. To dance, to play ping pong, to sign, to make copies, etc. they can all be worship. (My thoughts on this have been heavily influenced by TASTE Worship--check it out).

In Guatemala, there was a day I was "forbidden" to sing and sign. I worshipped that day. I removed flecks of orange paint from a brush and bucket, and it was worshipful.

Can I worship with music?

Last summer, I remember running through the park arguing with God about being twenty minutes late to a forty-minute show. He brought to my attention that I was not approaching the concert with the right heart.

It wasn't the first time.

How often do I attend a concert just to add another artist to my repertoire? How often do I absent-mindedly sing along without realizing what I'm saying?

These questions hurt because I am ashamed of their answers.

Even at Christian concerts, my heart is not always in the right place. I've sung along, I've waved my arms, I've screamed at the top of my lungs, and I hate to confess it has not always been for the Lord.

It happens under a rain-free sky. It happens in a crowded, dark auditorium. It happens in my church on Sunday mornings. It happens to me more often than I care to admit.

I voluntarily took a day this week and turned the music off. I washed dishes in silence. I drove across town in the quiet. I worked without any accompaniment.

It was weird and awkward at first but then it became peaceful.

That's worship.

Weird and awkward at first. Uncomfortable and strange. But then peaceful, wonderful, and necessary.

Whether you're a person who loves to literally feel the beat of the drums or just prefers white noise in the background, take some time this week to worship with the radio off.

Let me know how it works for you.

<>< Katie

Missing Spanish

This is a little weird to be confessing because I never dreamed these words would leave my mouth: I miss Spanish.

When I miss Spanish, I send a letter to Smile or Maria (my Compassion sisters in El Salvador and Columbia). They get a lot of letters.

When I miss Spanish, I pull out my Spanish-English Bible and pray to the God who understands espanglish.

When I miss Spanish, I read about what God is doing in paises hispanohablantes (Spanish-speaking countries).

When I miss Spanish, I seek out every opportunity to use it. From a simple facebook message to a real life conversation with a missionary confined by a language barrier.

The Spanish I miss is not a language learned in a classroom all the way through middle school, high school, and college. It's the ability to make a difference I learned from my community's food pantry, in a dusty school yard in Nicaragua, and through fútbol games in Guatemala.

Why do I confine the ability to make a difference to a language?

Why do I not miss serving the Lord in my mother tongue?

Why does my second language make me more bold? More so, why am I more reserved in English? After all, I don't grasp Spanish nearly as well as I do English which means the opportunity to make a complete fool of myself are all the more numerous.

Yet still I don't care.

"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be My witnesses, telling people about Me everywhere—in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." Acts 1:8 NLT

Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.
That's locally, nationalwide, internationally, and to the ends of the earth.

God, I'm sick of being timid and shy in English. Give me the passion for Your people here in the United States like You've given me for hispanohablantes worldwide. Help me be Your witness right here in "Jerusalem."

<>< Katie

The Kitchen

Just as a kitchen has a variety of utensils, so does life have a variety of people.

We can't all be forks.  We can't all be ladles.  We can't all be cheese graders. 

Sometimes God asks us to be uncomfortable and fill anothers' role.  At that point, He provides the tools necessary to grow you, stretch you, and complete the job for His glory.  As He always does.

The Ladle
Server.  Serves deep, serves well, serves always.

The Cheese Grader
The block of cheese is a big dream.  I love cheese but a block is not practical.  The cheese grader breaks down the dream into manageable slices in order to make it a reality.  Big dream.  Small pieces.  One step at a time.  Cheese grader.

The Fork
The fork gets the credit but a lot has to happen before everyone sees the fork move from here to there.  The fork's the missionary.  But being a fork isn't always glamorous.  Would you want to be drown in saliva?

What else can we add to the kitchen?

<>< Katie

Looks Like

Amber and I were dragging a little as we walked through yet another airport.  This was our sixth airport and sixth flight involved in our journey to and from China.

We got fifteen hours of sleep between Friday morning and Monday-Round Two.  Then sixteen hours between Monday-Round Two and Tuesday.  There was a lot still to make up for.

A man shouted at us, "Would you care to hear about the Lord Jesus Christ?"

Normally I would have ignored him.  I'm not a fan of street-corner preachers.  And I just got back from China where you are constantly heckled to buy this product, hire this taxi, etc.  But in a burst of energy, I turned to him, pumped my first in the air, and proudly proclaimed, "We know the Lord!"

"Doesn't look like it," he said.

We kept walking.  Amber laughed.  But I was annoyed.

What does it look like to love the Lord?

Does it look like this Christian t-shirt I'm wearing?

Does it look like the cross around my neck?

Does it look like kapris rather than short-shorts?

Does it look like a pep in my step even though I'm exhausted?

Does it look like the bags under my eyes from a three-week mission trip?

Maybe it's not physical.

Maybe it looks like loving, even those people who are hard to love.

Maybe it looks like serving others, even when you'd rather fall into bed.

Maybe it looks like being patient and understanding, even as you explain something for the hundredth time.
Maybe it looks like being kind to everyone, even the man in the airport using tracts.

Maybe it doesn't look like I love the Lord.

Maybe that's something I need to work on.  Now and always.

<>< Katie

Ice Cream Stains

Every ice cream cone you eat is a race: you versus the melting ice cream.

On Wednesday, I lost the race when a drop of chocolate ice cream landed on my Carolina-blue shirt.  Of course, I was devastated and used every means available to remove the evidence.

After all, this wasn't just any blue t-shirt.  This t-shirt was purchased as part of a fundraiser to send my friend Hannah to eleven countries in eleven months through The World Race.  Hannah is important to me, and I want to proudly wear her missions shirt to support her.  I don't want it to have chocolate ice cream stains on it.

Wait just a second.

What's the shirt for?  Hannah's mission work through The World Race.  I wonder if she has Shout wipes in her pack.  I wonder if she's going to come home unstained after visiting eleven countries in eleven months.

I doubt it. 

Friends, God doesn't call us to look as nice as pristine as we can.  We're called to get dirty.

Jesus got dirty: He washed sore, dusty feet. (See John 13:1-17)
Jesus got dirty: He spent His time with tax collectors.  (See Matthew 9:9-13)
Jesus got dirty: He wept when His friend died. (See John 11:1-44)
Jesus got dirty: He touched lepers.  (See Matthew 8:1-4)
Jesus got dirty: He spit on His own fingers to heal.  (See Mark 7:32-35)
Jesus got dirty: He was whipped, mocked, and crucified. (See Luke 22:47-24:12)
Jesus got dirty; why don't we?

Do I care more about the chocolate stain on Hannah's Race shirt than the people she's going to be ministering to, loving, and serving?  Of course not.  At least not anymore. 

Do you?

<>< Katie

PS: The stain washed out of my shirt, but I don't want this lesson to wash out of my heart.

Free Candy

"Didn't I just see you walk by?" Matthew asked.

I had just walked from the English building to Quick Snacks for a candy bar and back to the English building for class.  When I walked in chomping on a Snickers, my classmates started drooling. Even though class was about to start, I asked the professor if I could run back and get candy bars for the seven of us unfortunate enough to have class all afternoon.  Of course, he said yes.  So back to Quick Snacks I ran and passed Matthew for the second time in five minutes.

Matthew: We have free Twix right here.
Katie: No thanks.  They want Snickers and Kit Kats.

I walked away.
I turned around.

Katie: Wait, did you say free?
Matthew: Yes.
Katie: As in I don't have to buy them?
Jacob: You're an English major; what other definitions for the term "free" are there?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, mock me.  It's cool.  Everyone does it.

Free.

Surely there had to be some catch.  Why would some college boys be sitting on a swing offering free candy bars?  These weren't the unfun Fun Size candy bars either.  These were normal-size candy bars.  The kind next to the check out aisle at Wal-mart that we always begged our parents for and our parents always said no.  Yeah, those.  For free.

Free.

No charge. No catch.

What have you gotten for free today?
What have you given for free today?

Let me rephrase the question: What have you done today without expecting anything in return?

How have you given of your time?  How have you given of your resources?  How have you given of yourself?

Seriously.

What have you done today without expecting anything in return?

<>< 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

Self-Serve Ice Cream

When it comes to upper body strength, I'm a weakling.  Lift this heavy item?  No, thanks.  Do a pull up?  Yeah, right.  When you're a weakling, you need tricks.  You wedge your hip against the ice cream cooler and pull, with two hands if necessary.

Most days, that works.  Yesterday not so much.  I've scooped myself a lot of ice cream over the last three plus years, and I will say this was honestly the hardest I've ever seen the ice cream.  After five minutes of struggling I still didn't even have a spoonful.

"It's really hard today.  We just put in the new buckets," said the male voice behind me.  "Do you want me to give it a try?"

Out of breath, I turned and surrendered my scoop... to our executive chef.

You know those people who are always smiling and have a kind word?  I call them "Radiators" because they radiate love, grace, and compassion.  Our executive chef is one of them.

He took the scoop and half-disappeared into the cooler.  He came up for a breath and gave me an "Oh my gosh!" look before diving in for a second go.

The executive chef stopped what he was doing (probably refilling the dessert tray, explaining to Nikki the science behind why the alfredo sauce looks like gravy, or making something delicious at the end of the salad bar) to serve me from the self-serve ice cream.  I did nothing to deserve his help but he saw a need and sought to satisfy it.

Ladies and gentlemen, that's is exactly what God calls us to do.  Stop what we're doing and offer to help.  See needs, no matter how big or how small, and satisfy them.  To serve one another, even if that means putting our other responsibilities on hold.

Thank you, Mr. Executive Chef, for the reminder.  And for the ice cream.

<>< Katie

Ten Steps

What did you do thirteen days ago?  At some point during the day did you walk to your living room and sit down on the couch?  For the first time in two years, so did my friend Kaitlyn.

In October 2007, Kaitlyn was sent home from school sick.  At first they thought she had the flu, but she got worse rather than better, and no one knew why.  Her hyper-sensitivity to sound, touch, smell, light, etc. left her to sit in a dark room all day watching tv and the lowest possible volume level.  Her family read the subtitles because the tv was too quiet to hear. 

In April 2008, she lost the ability to walk.  That June she was finally diagnosed with Lyme Disease and multiple co-infections.  Her family of five (plus two dogs) packed up their lives, left their 3,800 square foot house, and moved 800 miles to a two-bedroom apartment.

Over the last few years they have faithfully walked through a battle that I cannot fathom.  The air conditioner, the act of cooking dinner, and even the gurling of the fridge are painfully loud to her.  Hugs are out of the question.  She's been treated almost daily at same clinic since 2008 and the doctor and nurses have never seen her face because she wears a towel over her head to block the light. 

The week before the Steelers (this family's football team of choice) won the Superbowl, Kaitlyn independently walked ten steps, something medicine could not explain.  That ability was lost again but the hope it provided was remarkable.  She's now learning to walk again, and less than two weeks ago she got to sit in the living room for the first time since they've lived there.

This week, on September 29, Kaitlyn turns sixteen.  What did you do for your sixteenth birthday?  Not sit around in a dark apartment or go to a clinic with a towel over your head, right? 

For her 14th birthday, their apartment was flooded with cards. 
For her 15th, we were asked to fast and petition the Lord, the Great Physician, for her healing. 
This year, her family has asked that we find a way to make her 16th birthday memorable. 

What they want everyone to do is something sweet or uplifting. Something out of the ordinary.  They suggested volunteering at a soup kitchen, making a meal for someone, visiting hospice, writing to a solider, volunteering at a dog shelter... Bless someone on her behalf.  In Kaitlyn's honor and for God's glory.

I would love for you to participate with us.  If you do, please comment on this post or send me an email with what was done and where it was, your state if you're within the US or your country (since I know there are some international lurkers!).  What they're going to do is collect these stories and bind them into a keepsake book for Kaitlyn.

“Therefore, we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:15-18

As for what I did, well, you'll have to come back on Friday.
<>< Katie

PS: For more information, visit her caringbridge.  You do have to register for the site but it's free and open to everyone.

Putting on the Towel

I went to a small seminar where Stephanie the leader began to call names for volunteers. 

"Keith, Elizabeth, and..."

I knew my name was coming and sure enough it came.  The three of us went to the front of the room, and Stephanie began her analogy.

We were a family.  Keith was the father and there was no mother.  Elizabeth and I were Keith's daughters; we both dropped to our knees and walked towards him.  Stephanie narrated that Keith loved us both very much, so he put his arms around our shoulders and held us close.  We smiled.  Stephanie continued by saying that Keith gave Elizabeth all of the food, the clothes, and everything and told her to take care of her sister (that's me).  Then Keith went away but continued to watch on his brand new Nanny Cam.

With Keith no longer between us, there was a gap between Elizabeth and me.  Stephanie said Elizabeth ate a big dinner, and I went hungry.  Since I truly was hungry at the time it was not difficult to act out: I frowned and rubbed my stomach.  While Elizabeth slept in her warm bed, I was left out in the cold without a bed at all.

While aspects of this drama are not Biblically accurate, it does hold some fraction of the truth.

The first chapter of James calls us to care for the widows and orphans.  In the time when this was written, widows held no role in society.  The least of these.

Plain and simple: He calls us to put the towel on and serve.

Just before Passover, Jesus and His disciples gathered for a meal.  The disciples argued over who would wash the feet.  This is a dirty job; a job for the lowest one on the totem pole.  The job of a servant.  Think about it, would you like to wash someone else's feet?  Keep in mind the disciples were wearing sandals not nice sneakers.  Think of the worst Chaco dirt-tan you've ever seen and then multiple it by twelve.  Yucky, right?  No wonder they're arguing.

Jesus stands up, leaves the room, and returns wearing a towel around his waist.  He gets down on one knee and one by one takes the feet of the disciples and washes them clean.  The Lord above all got on His knees and served His friends.  The Creator of the feet (and the dirt) caressed the callouses clean of crud.  Jesus, the Most High, took the role of the lowest of the low.  He served His brothers, and He calls us to do the same.

In today's society, serving is the cool thing to do.  People love to stand up and fight for a cause.  Look at the fund raisers for New Orleans.  For Darfur.  For Haiti.  For AIDs.  For malaria.  How many of those projects are Christ-based?  Sure, some, but many are not.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, non-Christians are doing our job.  They are taking care of one another which is what Christ calls US to do.  We serve for a different reason than they do.  We serve for God's glory, not our own.

Right?

Or do we sit on our couches for Christ's glory and not our own?

Honestly, when is the last time you served someone in Christ's name?  I'm not talking about your Christian roommate or your church.  Sure, those things are important, too, absolutely, but that's not what we're discussing today.

When was the last time you stepped out of your comfort zone, put the towel on, and cared for the least of these?  Hugged the man dying of AIDs?  Watched the single mother's children for free?  Gave food to the homeless man?  Reached out to the woman in the abusive situation?  The least of these.

"Katie, I don't know anyone with AIDs, dying of hunger, and living on the street."

You're right.  Neither do I.  Because I haven't taken the time to find them.  They exist in my city.  I bet they exist in your city, too.  They're in line at the soup kitchen every Wednesday begging for something to eat.  They're in the nursing homes yearning to be visited.  They're in the schools in needing someone to help them with their homework and teach them that they are important.  They are all around you waiting to hear the name of Christ.  Will you tell them?

Look around you.  The world's isn't all hunky dory.  It's a matter of opening our eyes and seeing the needs.  It's only after physical and emotional needs are met that we can be God's mouthpiece to reach the spiritual needs.  Do you truly believe that there are "greater things still to be done in this city"?  Why aren't you out there doing them?

Otherwise it's like Stephanie's sketch where Keith told me he loved me, but I didn't see it because Elizabeth had all of the food and I had none.  I saw that Keith loved Elizabeth, but I could not see how he loved me.  If she would take the time to show me rather than tell me Dad loved me, I might have believed her.

<>< Katie

Note: I am preaching to myself here just as much as I am preaching to anyone else.

ASL Pride

Part of my new optimism ploy for the last eleven months or so has been to catch people doing things right.  If I'm going to do it for my "real life" friends, I feel the need to exhibit the same courtesy to my virtual friends.  As an ASL minor, I cannot let this story slip by uncelebrated.  Please take a moment and realize not everyone in the hearing and medical worlds are the evil deaf-haters that our professors make us out to be.  There are exceptions.  Please got take a few minutes and read it.  Thank you, Jim.  Well done.  <>< Katie

National Youth Gathering Post One: a YAV at the NYG in NOLA
NYG Post Two: The Savior, The Seat Belt, The Superdome

For the last week, I've been in New Orleans at the LCMS National Youth Gathering.  Basically, 25,000 teens from around the country (and world) gather to worship God.  As a volunteer, it was my job be enthusiastic, loud and crazy, and cheerful.  For a pessimistic introvert, that's not easy.  On top of the fact that I knew a grand total of one person at the event.  One.  Everyone else was greeting friends they hadn't seen in months or years and I was sitting there going, "Yeah, I haven't seen you ever.  My name is Katie; what's yours?"  Not going to lie, I was jealous and homesick (for my college friends).

My first night in NOLA, they split us up into groups of about 20 to 30 people that we would get to know over the next few days.  We shared our name, hometown, and one safety item we brought with us.  The conversation had kind of moved on, but it wasn't anything deep or serious (yet).  One girl got the attention of our group.

"Just so you all know, I'm completely deaf.  If you could please face towards me when you're talking, it'll help me read your lips."  Her voice was excellent.  I never would have known she could not hear had she not said something.

A little adrenaline rush started inside of me.  I wanted to know if she signed.  Ten minutes later, we were in a circle more conducive to conversation, and I threw out a simple, "Do you sign?" with Casey's favorite Question Finger.  I got a yes.  PAH!  My little adrenaline rush turned into a bigger adrenaline rush, and I'm amazed I didn't tangle myself into a literal knot.  It had been two months since I'd done any serious signing, so I was a little rusty.  But it didn't matter.

She was drinking out of her water bottle with her left hand as she watched me.  Her eyes lit up.  She didn't say, "Cool" or "Neat" or anything.  No, she said "Wonderful."  I babbled some more and then she took a turn talking about how so many people in the world are clueless about Deaf culture.  With the rest of our group staring rather rudely, she and I talked for a few minutes.  I learned she, too, knew no one at the NYG.

We weren't glued to the hip, but I made a point to know where she was at most times.  I began to imagine what it had been like for her to be trying to lip read everything.  A lot of times, she'd just give up and read her book instead of listening (or watching).  Once or twice she asked me what someone had said and I signed it back to her.

I don't know how she felt about encountering someone else who signed, but to me it was a sign from God that my week was going to be ok.  He was there with me.  There I was feeling sorry for myself about not knowing anyong and God sent me someone in a smiliar predicament.

Her honesty in admitting her deafness broke the ice for my group.  By the end of the 45-minute Get to Know You time, most of us were in tears.  Every person sitting in that circle had a story that would break your heart.  Financial challenges that meant it was only by the grace of God that he was able to attend the Gathering.  A girl that was signed up to attend the 2007 Gathering but found herself in the hospital instead.  A boy who was trying to quit smoking asked us to throw away his cigarettes to remove the tempation that week.  A friend of a 2007 participant who has since gone Home to Heaven.

Wow.

When the adult coordinator came by to give us a five-minute warning, our group was locked together in a hug.  In less than three hours we transformed from strangers trying to learn names ("When in doubt, guess Katie") to the family of Christ crying together.  I love it!

"It's All in the Serve"

Do me a favor and hold your imaginary tennis ball in your left hand, racket in your right.  Bounce the ball on the ground a few times because in a second you're going to toss it straight into the air.  Now, cross your wrists.  You know this.  "Down together; up together; swing when you're ready."

How's your serve?

Off the court, how's your serve?  Invisible?  Are you putting the towel on like Jesus and washing dirty, smelly feet?  Are you getting dirty?  Are you being used?  Are you serving your own intentions or feeding the needs of others?

Honestly?

No one's judging you (except God, of course, but He loves you anyway).

The serve
An Ace: A job well done.  Applaud but not because of what you did.  Applaud that God used you, and no one saw.  Don't you dare tell anyone what happened.  Now, go do it again.

The Let: The job was completed, but you got caught in the act.  Bounce the ball a few times, brush it off, and step up to the baseline.  Take two.  Don't get caught.  Let God work.

It's Out: You pushed your own intentions, and the ball went long.  You didn't do what needed to be done, and the ball went wide.  That's ok.  Try again.  Whatever you do, don't let the ball fall short.  Good intentions do nothing.  Follow through.

<>< Katie

Note One: some of the ideas in this post come from Peder Eide.  If you have never explored his Taste Worship ministry, I highly recommend you do so.  Especially if you have a family.  Which you do.

Note Two: The title of this post comes from a Michael W. Smith song from The Second Chance movie.

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

What is Worship?

Saturday I woke up with a headache, cramps, and sore throat.  Some expired Tylenol took care of the first two but the sore throat is here to stay.  Sunday I woke up nauseous with a sore throat.  This is a fun game.  I managed to add another day to my no-puking stretch (2.5 years and counting; my record is 6 years) but by the time I made it to church I had a really good Scooby Doo voice.  Wonderful.  Normally when I get sick I can sing through loosing my voice.  With a hopeful heart I began to sing, "Everyone needs compass-squoak.  A love that's ----- let mercy fa-- on muheee."

God!  I'm trying to praise You here.  I'm worshipping YOU and You're taking away my ability to do that.  Something just doesn't seem right with this picture.  I'm giving You everything I've got.
The more I tried to sing, the worse my voice became (pity the people sitting next to me!) and the more frustrated I became.
Can't this wait until this afternoon?  I just want to sing praises to You.
It was as if God responded, Katie, you don't need a voice to worship Me.
Huh?
You heard Me: you don't need a voice to worship Me.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.  Serve the least of these.  There aren't any least-of-theses around right now.  Yes, I'm listening to our sermon series on compassion.  I know, but right now I'm praising You with what's left of my voice.
Look around you.
On my left was Emma, a first year nursing student who'd previously been sitting by herself.
I'm sitting with Emma instead of sitting in my normal spot!
Good start.  Keep looking.
On my right was Kevin who'd dislocated his shoulder on Thursday.
Kevin can't drive for three to six weeks.  How do you think He got here?
Keep thinking.
Last night after dinner Chris and I went to Dairy Queen to get blizzards buy one get one for a quarter.  The line was literally to the door.  The team manager was having a rough day.  She made small blizzards instead of mediums, so she had to throw them away and start over.  Based on the look on her face, this was one of many things that had gone wrong.  A woman in front of us started chewing this employee out. 

"You've thrown away $30 worth of stuff.  I know you've had a bad day but you cannot let your customers see you like this.  I've worked in retail a LONG TIME and you CANNOT let your customers see you like this.  Did you notice?  They're all standing in line patiently waiting why you throw a fit..."

She went on for a very long time.  I don't understand how that was supposed to be beneficial for the employee.  Both of the women were wrong.  The woman behind us in line looked at the "angry woman" and said, "We all heard that."  I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt thinking maybe she was saying "shut up"... until she got to the front of the line and whispered to her daughter, "Make sure that employee doesn't spit in our blizzards." 

Chris and I both agreed this was "more awkward than 'The Office'" but neither one of us did anything about it.  Why?  We were scared the rest of the line was going to leap down our throats (maybe that would have healed my sore throat).  Back up: we were scared.  I wanted to give the employee a smile or wish her a good day but she never acknowledged my presence.  I would have had to go out of my way to wish this woman a good day and I chickened out.

My intentions were good.
Good intentions don't get you anywhere.  Picking up Kevin and sitting with Emma are good starts but neither one inconvenienced you.  In fact, they both mean you don't have to sit in the pew alone.
I like sitting in the pew by myself!
It's my turn to talk.  Put the towel on, Katie.  Not just when you're at an inner-city church.  Not just when you feel like it or it's convenient to you.  Do it when it benefits My Kingdom.  Clean the bathroom when it's not your turn and do it without complaining.  Do the dishes even though you didn't dirty them.  Give someone a ride to the caf because it's raining; don't see it as a waste of gas.  Take up someone's dishes when you aren't headed that way.  Give up a computer during your 10:00 blog-hour to let someone do homework.  Put the towel on and serve the least of these.  Touch the untouchables.  Worship means so much more than singing.
We've talked about this before.
We have; you needed a reminder today.
Ok, got it.  Can I have my voice back now?Nope.  You know ASL; use those signs.

<>< Katie-Doo

Elizabeth: Between Katie and Adam someone is always sneezing today.
Adam: Nah, I'm always sneezing; it's not just today.
Elizabeth: Well, you're doing it excessively, and I'd like you to stop.

Put the Towel On

I love to be served. For someone to take care of my dishes at the end of a meal, to take out the garbage even though it's my turn, to have a glass of water and a blanket handed to me when I walk in the door. Sometimes it's because I'm lazy but more so it's because being served is how I feel loved.

While I love to be served, I need to make sure I'm serving as well. Regularly I need to ask myself: have I gotten dirty today? I'm not talking "Where is the hand sanitizer?" I'm talking, have I sacrificed some part of myself to help someone else? Have I put the towel on?

In John 13, Jesus' disciples are fighting over who will serve. More accurately, who will not serve. They've been out traveling and their feet are filled with grime. Yuck!

When supper's ready at my house Mom screams "W-A-S-H" and a stampede of elephants rushes to the bathroom to wash our hands. In Jesus' time, they washed feet before eating. Not because they ate with their toes but because they wore sandals and by the end of the day their feet were caked with dust, dirt, and whatever else happened in the street.

Since it was a dirty job, the feet-washing responsibility fell on the person with the lowest status. Can't you just hear the disciples? "I'm not doing it!" "EWW! I am NOT washing the poop out from between your toes!" "Not gonna happen."

While they're busy bickering about who is NOT going to do the dirty work, Jesus is in the other room changing His clothes. He comes out wearing a towel and bends down at the feet of His followers and begins scrubbing.

It might just be me but something doesn't add up in this passage. The is a job for the lowest person. Jesus is doing it. Jesus is God. Last time I checked, God is NOT the lowest on the totem pole. That's the point. Our God named Jesus was willing to become the least of these to serve His friends. Even His friend that would betray Him. He knew all this and He still put the towel on.

What about you? Have you put the towel on? Do me a favor and serve someone today. Oh, and don't do it because Katie said so. Don't even do it because it's your job. Do it out of love (you can decide whether for that person or for God).

Let me know how I can serve you,
<>< Katie