God of THIS City

A few years ago, my university sent a mission team to San Diego, California.  In their post-trip sharing they said they sang and prayed the song, "God of This City" over San Diego.  Ever since then, that song has been reserved in my head for that city.

Then it was everywhere.

I heard it in the car, at home, and in concerts.  I couldn't escape it, and it always made me think of the San Diego mission team.

Then the pastor at my Baptist church announced that we would be beginning a sermon series focusing on reaching those in our immediate community.  For the next six weeks, we would sing and pray "God of This City" over our city every week in worship.

Beautiful in theory, but the song was becoming overplayed and meaningless.  To me.

Fast forward a few months.  I'm on my way home from a wonderful coffee talk during which we mulled over and discussed some quite serious problems in my Lutheran church.

As I pull into the garage, I tune in to the song on the radio.

"God of This City" by Chris Tomlin

You're the God of this City.
You're the King of these people.
You're the Lord of this nation.
You are.

You're the Light in this darkness.
You're the Hope to the hopeless.
You're the Peace to the restless.
You are.

There is no one like our God.
There is no one like our God.

For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city.
Greater thing have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city.

Greater things have yet to come,
and greater things are still to be done in this city
Greater things have yet to come,
And greater things are still to be done here

There is no one like our God.
There is no one like You, God.

Will you take a minute right now and pray this over my church? My city? Your church? Your city?

Thanks!

Greater things have yet to come and greater things are still to be done here. I believe that.

<>< Katie

Worship Around the Campfire

We sat out by the fire literally in the middle of the woods.  No buildings, no platform tents within sight.  The trees opened to the stars illuminating the autumn sky.  The babbling brook down the hill accompanied our singing.  We did a mix of acoustic and a capella worship songs to our God, the Creator of this beautiful moment.

Listening to Mindy's rockstar voice, I'll admit, I got a bit jealous.  I enjoy singing; I do a decent job.  I don't sound like Mindy.  At all.

I watched an eight year old pick and play in the fire.  I'm not sure if it's my history of burns or my natural inclination towards safety but I've never been a fire picker.  I'm barely brave enough to roast a marshmallow.

I watched Kurt rhythmically strum his guitar.  Despite the smoke in his face, his fingers found the frets.  Allyson's slowly teaching me guitar.  But I only know four chords.

A high schooler cuddled with the camp dog.  I've always been more of a cat person, an idea reinforced when I was attacked by dogs a few weeks ago.

A chaperone faithfully kept the fire burning.  Not so big that we all had to scoot back.  Not so small that we needed additional blankets for heat.  Just perfect.

God, I said in my head, You've given Mindy the gift of singing.  She sounds wonderful.  You've given Kurt the gift to play guitar.  It's peaceful.  You've given these other folks bravery and fire-building abilities.  It's so great that we can all be here together amidst Your beautiful creation to enjoy this moment.

Katie, God responded, not in an audible voice, You're jealous that you can't sing like Mindy, play guitar like Kurt, find a cuddle-buddy in a limping, four-legged friend, and build a fire like the one we've got here.  But you know what you can do?  Make twenty s'mores in less than five minutes.  Ready, set, go.

"I'm ready for some chocolate and graham crackers..."
"Me, too."

Chaos.  And I only broke one half of a cracker.

<>< Katie

"Now if the foot should say, 'Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,' it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. And if the ear should say, 'Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,' it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I don’t need you!' And the head cannot say to the feet, 'I don’t need you!' On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has put the body together, giving greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it." 1 Corinthians 12:15-27

Sleepovers: College Style

Allyson said over the summer she'd get really homesick for our suite, so she would go through and read my old blogs about some of the crazy things we did. This post is really for Allyson, but if you want to read it, too, that's allowed.

Jennifer had finished doing her devotion, we had said good-night, and we were both in bed trying to fall asleep. Well, I was making a mental list of what hurts because I'm getting sick, and she was trying to plug in her phone. Either way, we were both headed to dreamland when the door burst open and light revealed a silhouette in the doorway.

“Jennifer!” Allyson whisper-shouted. “Jennifer!”

Allyson skipped into the dark room and jumped onto Jennifer’s bed. She had something important to tell Jennifer, but she forgot what it was. Instead we just sat there giggling. Shortly thereafter, Nikki ran into the room.

“FEET!” I shouted to remind her that I have them.

I’m still not really sure how this happened.  You need to know, my bed is waist high.  My waist, not Nikki's.  Normally she falls on it and it's really awkward and humorous to watch.  This time, I was in my bed and she somehow leaped onto the bed, dodged my feet, flipped over me, and positioned herself right up against the wall.

Amy heard our giggles and screaming and came to investigate. She hopped onto Jennifer’s bed and the three of them sat cross-legged while we told stories, teased each other, and laughed. It was kind of like a sleepover. Minus the sleep part, but does that really happen at sleepovers anyway?

Like all good things, this too came to an end. Nikki left first, followed by Allyson, but Amy stayed to tuck Jennifer and me in again. As she was closing the door, Jennifer and I let out child-like cries.

“Allyson! Allyson! You have to sing us a lullaby.”

She complied and allowed us to pick our song of choice. I said the first lullaby that popped into my head, “My Little Buck-a-roo.” Allyson stood in the middle of our room, invented the song and accompanying dance moves on the fly, and made us laugh so hard we had to use the restroom.

We got lost on the way back from the bathroom and ended up in Amy and Allyson’s room. Jennifer on Amy’s bed and me on Allyson’s. Nikki stood in the middle and told us a thrilling fairy tale about how Allyson is the keeper of the butterfly bodies because she is so pure. Thus begins the tradition of bedtime storytelling by Nikki Raye.

Before the end of year we will each have individual stories by the lovely and talented Nikki Raye. Each will be told orally, recorded, drawn, and published for Amy to someday use in her classroom. The stories completed are: Allyson, Queen of the Butterflies and Nikki, The Lovely and Vicious Princess Finds her Prince (told by Katie and starring Jennifer and Amy).  Mine will probably be a horror story that will not be appropriate for young audiences...

After a knocking-through-the-walls rendition of "Jingle Bells" we were all in our respective beds and ready for a good, long night of z-catching.  Shockingly most of us still managed eight hours of sleep.  Elizabeth was jealous she missed this camaraderie.

<>< Katie

Happy birthday, Daddio

"Lunch? Noon. Love, Dad."

That's all the email read.  Luckily, I knew lunch our usual lunch location: the family pub on the lake.  This particular fall day, I arrived first.  I got a table but rather than shivering at the sight of the white caps, I flagged down the waitress.  I put in our drinks order, a root beer for me and an iced tea for Dad.  I then confided in her and shared a secret.

"It's his birthday," I whispered, pointing to the seat where my father would sit at some point.  She nodded and disappeared.

"You beat me here!  First time in your life," Dad teased about my punctuality.  I'm never later than a minute or two, but our restaurant is a few blocks from his office and fifteen minutes from our house.  Combine that with the fact that I was a college student home on fall break who'd rather be in bed at noon and you tell me who's going to arrive first.

We enjoyed our meal and as we finished up, I heard the maracas in the kitchen.  I bit my lip as to not spill my own beans.  I didn't think I was successful, but I still enjoyed the look on Dad's face when they serenaded him and placed an ice cream dessert in front of him.  I "got him" and got a good laugh.

As we were walking out we walked past his former secretary who happened to be having lunch with some friends.  "Now wait a second.  Your birthday's in June," she puzzled with a smile.  It was October.  A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

Dad is notorious for taking his "four girls" (my two sisters, my mom, and me) out for our birthdays, sneaking around the restaurant, and surprising us with a birthday serenade and free cake.  We all hate it.  We all love it.  As we've gotten wiser, so has Dad.  Since he's not allowed to leave the table during dinner, he's hired accomplices.  We know what restaurants will participate in this tomfoolery, and we've been known to sing ourselves in those that don't.  We've decided to bypass this mortifying tradition and enjoy a peaceful birthday dinner at home instead.  My birthday's in early August, and I make sure we eat every meal at home from late July until mid August.  You just never know when it's going to be your birthday TODAY!

Sure, we've turned it around on him a time or two.  Like when we went out on Christina's birthday but told the waitress it was Dad's birthday instead.  Or the time we made him wear the menu on his head while they serenaded Mom.  But that's what's go great about the October celebration: it was just a taste of his own medicine and he had no idea it was coming.  Not going to lie, I was pretty proud of myself and I did wish the rest of the family could have been there to see it.  Oh, well.  Maybe tonight we'll go out for lemon marang pie.

Happy birthday, Freddy Buttless.  I love you more than the grains of sand all mushed together.  Love, Sandi Beech.

<>< 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.

Blessed Be Your Name

I spent all weekend helping lead a youth retreat weekend.  On Saturday afternoon we did a service project and gardened for a few elderly church members.  Upon returning to the church, we each took some quiet time to reflect and pray.  As that kind of wrapped up, people seemed to be gathering in the grass on the hill and it became a spontaneous worship song session.  One of the songs we sang was "Blessed Be Your Name."  As we went through the familiar verses and chorus, I pondered how many times I'd sung that song.  On campus, in church, in my car, in Spanish in Guatemala, in ASL, with 35,000 teens, by myself, with a small group around a campfire... the list goes on and on.  Every summer for almost the last ten years my family has gone to an outdoor Christian music festival.  In the last few years, it seems every artist sings "Blessed Be Your Name."  I've sung with the hot July sun beating down on me.  I've sung it as refreshing night rain pelts my face.  I've sung it a lot.  You'd think I'd know the verses in the right order...

On May 21, 2008, singer/songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest daughter died tragically at age 5 after being accidently hit by a car in the family's driveway.  On July 11 of the same year SCC returned to the stage for the first time since the accident and earned a standing ovation prior to playing a note.  He softly explained after such a tragedy there was one song that kept running through his head and he began to sing "Blessed Be Your Name."  I highly doubt there was a dry eye in the entire audience.  With heavy hearts and sore feet we extended our arms to the heavens and worshipped our precious Holy Father while He painted us a beautiful sunset in the Midwestern sky.  The lyrics took on a whole new meaning as we proclaimed, "Blessed be Your name when the sun's shining down on me.  When the world's all as it should be, blessed be Your name, on the road marked with suffering, though there's pain in the offering, blessed be Your name."  If a hurting father could say it, so can we.  If the responsible brother could say it, so can we.  If the sunburned, mud-laden audience can say it, so can we.  Right?

It doesn't mean your pain is gone.  It doesn't mean you need to be happy-go-lucky.  It means God is still God.  It means you'll praise Him in the hard times in addition to the easy times.  In the United States, in foreign countries.  In the sun and in the rain.  From the top of the mountain and the bottom of the valley.  As yourself honestly, no matter what you're going through today, are you willing to say, "Blessed be Your name"?

Blessed be,

<>< Katie

Tell Her She's Beautiful

This only blogging every other day has been really hard this week. Just a reminder, I'm updating my blog every other day for Lent. That means this week I'm on a Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday schedule; next week it'll be Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday and so on. Oh, and a special thanks to my newest "followers." I logged in and had a new one then refreshed the page and had another new one. I refreshed it again and nothing happened. However, several hours later Hannah joined blogger and my number of followers has almost doubled in one day! :-)

A few weeks ago an anonymous woman wrote encouraging notes and stuck them on the mirrors in every woman's bathroom campus wide. Apparently some people found them cheesy but personally I enjoyed being reminded that the mirror doesn't determine my self-worth. She (whoever the anonymous "she" may be) put a lot of effort into this project because every Post-It note I saw was different. Wow!

Like I said, this was several weeks ago and most of the Post-It notes are now gone. I don't think they were pitched, however. Instead, they're appearing in other bizarre places: on dashboards of cars, stuck to the outside of Moby Dick's fish tank, and on class notebooks. It's as if a girl says, "I need to hear this every single day, so I'm going to take it remember."

I didn't steal a Post-It note. Sure, I throw rants about clothing not being made for people but all in all I'm pretty content with who I am. I don't really struggle with my image, or at least I didn't think so. I don't wear make-up. My wardrobe consists of jeans and a t-shirt day in and day out (remember those clothes not made for people?). I use a mirror but don't spend hours fixing my hair. I really don't care that much. At least I thought I didn't. Until I realized I was only wearing earrings on days when I saw people I wanted to impress. That didn't really bother me. This past Sunday bothered me more.

Allyson and I were invited to sing with my church's choir. Wearing robes. This means all the congregations sees is heads. I actually curled my hair, wore earrings, and put on a full face of make-up (and I'm still paying for it, thank you, dry skin). Since she's learned almost everything I do is intentional and enjoys hearing my bizarre reasons, Allyson asked me why. My answer surprised me.

"If all the congregation can see of me is my face, it might as well be a pretty face."

Woah! This from the girl who doesn't really care?

Later that night, my dress for spring formal arrived. It's the same dress I wore for prom, so I already knew it fit, yet I still had to try it on. As the lavender floor-length dress slid over my head I was transformed from the exhausted college student ready to go to bed into a princess headed to a ball. Five minutes later, the dress came off and the exhaustion returned in an almost-overwhelming wave. I got nothing done for the rest of the night because I let the desire to feel beautiful control me and the pony-tail line in my hair wasn't helping.

Ladies, we all need to feel beautiful now and again. It's natural. But it's not natural for this desire to consume you every being. Sure, some days we feel prettier than others. It's natural, again, if it's not controlling you. The mirror can be cruel but it does not determine who you are. Whether you want to admit it or not, you are beautiful on the inside and out. You won't be more beautiful with your hair curled (or straightened). Guess what: you won't be happy when you Wii Fit's Mii shrinks because you're underweight. Please trust me on this one. Be content in who you are.

Gentlemen, you had better tell her she's beautiful. Not "hot." Not "sexy." Not even "fine" like Andy tried the other day. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. Radiant. Every woman needs to hear she's beautiful. Have you told her today?

"You are altogether beautiful, My love; there is no flaw in you." - Songs of Solomon 4:7

That's God talking to you, friends.

<>< Katie

What is Worship

I'm scrapbooking my Guatemala trip right now, and I realized I never blogged much about it (see March and April for the few stories I shared). This is an excerpt of my journal from March regarding a lesson I learned again in July and again last week. I guess we could call this my theme for the year since apparently I haven't fully grasped it yet. This was our last night in Guatemala after we'd said good-bye to the children:

"In group devotion, we read Psalm 139. It was perfect for our saddened hearts after saying 'Good-bye.' We also sang a few songs (in English). I did sing for awhile* otherwise I didn't focus. I always feel weird not singing. I feel like I'm not focused/ unenthusiastic, etc. I think that's because I judge those who aren't singing. Another thing I've learned on this trip: it's ok to be silent and listen. That sounds like something I've been taught again and again, but it was reinforced today. Singing your heart out and praising God with your hands is not the only way to worship. It is just as much worship if you sit still and allow Him to move. It's worship by looking at His beautiful creation. Worship is painting a building. Worship is tediously cleaning a paint tray... twice. Worship is everything you do if you do it for God and to the best of your ability. Worship is sitting around a cement table with a few friends, freezing cold, looking at the starts, being amazed by the city/ mountain views, and reminiscing about the week."

<>< Katie

*This was during the time when I was forbidden to sing and sign. Click here for the full story.

καλός

As a part of one of my classes, we have a weekly tradition of singing an ancient Greek song. It wasn't, so we made up a reason to sing. Sometimes we sing because someone's sick. Sometimes we sing because someone's feeling better. Sometimes we sing for birthdays. Sometimes we make up fake birthdays. Sometimes we sing just because we want to sing. On Monday the professor asked if it was anybody's birthday. It wasn't, but my half birthday is this week. I told him that and he decided that was a good enough reason to sing.

I was then forced to come to the front of the room and stand directly in the light from the LCD projector onto the screen. Instead of allowing me to stand there and look silly, he put my hands on my head and I kind of looked like a moose. (This is the same professor I ran into at IHOP two weeks ago with his grandkids, and I wanted to shoot a straw wrapper across the restaurant at him. He told me he wished I would have not because I would have hit him, but because it would have been funny to watch me try). Anyway.

I stood there and they all sang to me in Greek. When we finished, he looked at me with my moose antlers being blinded by the LCD projector, and noticed something. New Testament Survey class turned sermon for a moment there. Jesus's name was being projected on my forehead (ok, it was really the first five letters of "Jerusalem", but I moved and then we got "Jesus" on my forehead). Shouldn't having Jesus on our forehead's being the goal of all people? Living so He is seen instead of us should be the ultimate reason to sing.

καλός
<>< Katie

Song of the Sick

Well, it's official: I have the cold that's going around. Despite washing my hands incessantly and drinking a case of water (and then some) in four days (approximately 13 liters), I am sick. I wonder if orthodontists know that translucent sheath retainers make it almost impossible to breathe.

When I get sick, it attacks my speaking voice first followed by my singing voice. Even though I've sounded like crap all day, I was able to sing to God tonight and actually keep the song in the right key! It was an amazing miracle!

By the end of night, my singing voice was going quickly and I started squoaking. Well, go figure the next song was "Praise You In This Storm" by Casting Crowns. My sign choir did this song last year, so when my voice disappeared, I praised God with my hands.

Lord, God, I give You all that I have. I will praise You will all that I have. Whether You take those abilities away from me or not, I will praise You!

In Christ,
<>< Katie

"I will praise you, O Lord my God, with all my heart; I will glorify your name forever." Psalm 86:12

It's not about me

A few days ago I wrote about the song "How Great is Our God" and how whenever we sing it at church it makes my heart smile. Today we had an outdoor student-led worship event and (since it's a popular song) we sang "How Great is Our God." When I read the song list and saw it on there I had mixed feelings. It makes me happy to sing it but I feel like it's my "home church song" and shouldn't be sung elsewhere.

Eventually we got to "How Great is Our God" and the leader put it in a key right out of my range. Some songs I sing high, some songs I sing low. I prefer to sing high, but I can do both but I can't do the middle. Don't ask me to explain it any better than that because I can't. I know I have the approximate range of the treble clef, but somehow I seem to have this gray-area problem. I don't know but it's annoying.

Anyway, so I was really struggling through "How Great is Our God" and I felt so bad for the people sitting around me because of course I didn't think to sing quietly. Quiet? What's that? I'm singing for God, and He doesn't care.

CLICK! I light bulb in my brain went off as if God said,
"Katie, this isn't about you. It's about Me. I don't care how, where, or when you sing I just care what you're singing about. Why are you trying to please everyone else? Remember why you're singing."

We moved on to the next song and this one I could actually sing. I was sitting on the cement hugging my knees with my eyes closed. All of the sudden I heard this noise next to me and realized everyone in front of me and on my right was standing. Of course, as an instant reaction, I stood up as well. As soon as I hit full height I regreted it. God didn't need a real tree branch to whack me upside the head. There He was again,

"Why does it matter what they're doing? You said you didn't want to be influenced by others. Why are you standing? You're standing because they're standing. I thought you didn't care what others thought of you? Don't be shaped by this world; be your own person. Katie, I created you to be different. You aren't going to blend in with those around you no matter how hard you try. Stop trying and let Me do My work."

Ouch.

In Christ,
<>< Katie

"I cry out to God Most High, to God, who fulfills His purpose for me. " Psalm 57:2

Abba, I Belong to You

In Aramaic, the word Abba is an intimate word that means Papa or Daddy. When I saw Peder Eide in concert last summer, I heard his song "Abba, I Belong to You" for the first time. He made the energetic audience sit down and take a pause while we sang to our Daddy.

Since I hear them on my iPod, on the radio, at church, and everywhere I go, worship songs so quickly become just another song. It's refreshing to know I'm singing to Jesus all of the time and cusses aren't slipping out if I'm not playing attention while I sing, but that's not enough. All too often I'm singing to God without paying any attention to the lyrics. I promised myself I'd not do that with "Abba, I Belong to You." Now, whenever I hear it, I stop what I'm doing and give those three minutes to God. If I'm driving, sometimes I even pull over. It's a pretty simple song but touching none the less. Read the lyrics.

"Abba, I Belong to You" by Peder Eide

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You,
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

I kneel now,
and feel how I felt You before.
This pausing is causing my heart to explore
Why when I'm weary so often you seem far away
Still I will say:

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You,
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

What I feel is less real than all that You say.
You told me, You'd hold me through all of my days.
So though my spirit is tossing and turning about
Still there's no doubt:

Abba, I belong to You
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You,
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You,
Yes, I belong to You.
My Abba, Father, God.

You're my Abba, Father, God."

Peder asked us to raise our hands to our Abba, Father. I'm not one to pull the "fork lift" or the "Statue of Liberty" very often, so outstretching my hands to the sky was a little out of my comfort zone, but I did it. I closed my eyes and half expected my Papa, Daddy to swoop down and scoop me up into His loving arms. I kind of felt like a four year old.

Last night, we sang it again. I put my arms up again, and I still felt like a four year old. Except this time, instead of closing my eyes, I looked up to the dusky sky. I looked at the pen mark on my left hand, like a four year old who is first learning to color with markers. I looked at the band aid on my right hand and thought of my trip to the First Aid tent, like the four year old who cries for the littlest scratch. (I scraped my hand on an old nail in a barn, ok, you would have gone to the First Aid tent, too). I looked up to the deep blue sky between my hands waiting for His smiling face to appear. Waiting to be held close and all of my tears wiped away.

Maybe I wasn't literally scooped up, but God was there. He was indeed holding me in His loving arms. I will forever be a four year old, and that's ok. God calls us to come like a child, and come like a child I shall!

Abba, I belong to You.
<>< Katie

"Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'" Matthew 19:14