Note: This is the fourth and final (planned) post in our ghostwriting series. Sorry they've been so spread out. Be sure to check out the first three posts: Moral, Famous, and Voice. If you've got questions, enjoyed the series, or just want to say hi, feel free to leave it in the comments.
As soon as I hang up the phone accepting a new ghostwriting offer, I'm giddy. I run around the house like a crazy woman; I giggle uncontrollably. You'd have to try really hard to remove the smile from my face.
Like good family and friends, people who see me ask why I'm so excited.
Here's the thing about ghostwriting: I can't tell them. The job of a ghostwriter is to be invisible. That includes not telling people she wrote that book, article, letter, piece.
When my family/friends ask, sometimes I tell them I have a new ghostwriting opportunity. Sometimes I just smile and smile and smile. Sometimes I'm a bad secret-keeper and blurt out my new opportunity. I am so excited I just can't keep it inside of me. Like a small child who purchased a parent a Christmas present, that present will not remain a secret until Christmas no matter how hard the child tries.
In the original ending of the Gospel of Mark, the women leave the empty tomb and don't tell anyone what they saw.
What if the story ended there?
What if they kept the resurrection of Christ a secret?
Imagine how different life would be. For you. For me. Imagine how different history would be.
Yet don't we do that all of the time? If you call yourself a Christian, then inside of you is the secret of the ressurected Christ. That good news should evoke the same emotion in you that ghostwriting does for me (only moreso). Unceasing smiles, uncontrollable laughter, looking so silly that people ask you what's up.
Um, hello, your debt has been paid in blood and you get to call the Creator of the universe "Daddy."
And I get excited over writing in someone else's name.
Through Christ, we get to live in someone else's name. Forever.
If you're ghostwriting for the Lord, you've got to blurt your "secret."
Are you a child-like ghostwriter bursting to tell or are you leaving the tomb in fear?
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label smile. Show all posts
Showing posts with label smile. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Saturday, December 17, 2011
An Inspirational Gift Idea
They wanted to watch Glee. I didn't have any good distractions.
My suitemates used to love watching Glee. It was not unusual to find twenty people in our apartment squished around the TV on Thursday night. One roommate even wrote her undergrad thesis on Glee.
My family watches Glee too and honestly I just can't stand the show. All of the adults act like children and makes me cranky.
Last night I was too comfortable in the family room with my notebook to move when they turned on the Christmas episode. So I half-watched it and half-wrote (and half-talked but that's apparently three halves).
For maybe the first time ever, I actually enjoyed it! I'm not itching to watch it again, but I don't regret the first time.
On national television the real Christmas story was read! My Jesus was called Lord and Savior!
On national television characters that are often selfish and immature realize that the reason for the season is not for gift giving. Instead, they seize opportunities to give back.
They serve at a homeless shelter, they ring the Salvation Army bells, and they give African pigs as gifts for Christmas.
Rather than the earrings she wanted, Finn gave Rachel a pig in Africa that will get fattened up all year long and then serve as food for an entire family. Rachel rejects the gift at first but then recognizes the beauty of it and names it Barbara after her inspiration grandmother.
I just checked the Compassion gift catalog, there's a pig you can give for Christmas! If that pig gives birth to about 16 piglets a year, that family will have a lifetime of income! Name it after your own inspirational grandmother.
That or an African drought survival kit.
A cow.
A "Survive to Age 5" kit.
Really, go check it out.
Give a gift in memory of someone inspirational. Give it to someone inspirational (aren't those people always the hardest to buy for?). Be inspirational and ask your relatives to give you a goat, chickens, and a blankets for Christmas.
Thank you for making a difference!
<>< Katie
PS: Grandma, I circled the safe and sanitary bathroom. But I won't name it.
My suitemates used to love watching Glee. It was not unusual to find twenty people in our apartment squished around the TV on Thursday night. One roommate even wrote her undergrad thesis on Glee.
My family watches Glee too and honestly I just can't stand the show. All of the adults act like children and makes me cranky.
Last night I was too comfortable in the family room with my notebook to move when they turned on the Christmas episode. So I half-watched it and half-wrote (and half-talked but that's apparently three halves).
For maybe the first time ever, I actually enjoyed it! I'm not itching to watch it again, but I don't regret the first time.
On national television the real Christmas story was read! My Jesus was called Lord and Savior!
On national television characters that are often selfish and immature realize that the reason for the season is not for gift giving. Instead, they seize opportunities to give back.
They serve at a homeless shelter, they ring the Salvation Army bells, and they give African pigs as gifts for Christmas.
Rather than the earrings she wanted, Finn gave Rachel a pig in Africa that will get fattened up all year long and then serve as food for an entire family. Rachel rejects the gift at first but then recognizes the beauty of it and names it Barbara after her inspiration grandmother.
I just checked the Compassion gift catalog, there's a pig you can give for Christmas! If that pig gives birth to about 16 piglets a year, that family will have a lifetime of income! Name it after your own inspirational grandmother.
That or an African drought survival kit.
A cow.
A "Survive to Age 5" kit.
Really, go check it out.
Give a gift in memory of someone inspirational. Give it to someone inspirational (aren't those people always the hardest to buy for?). Be inspirational and ask your relatives to give you a goat, chickens, and a blankets for Christmas.
Thank you for making a difference!
<>< Katie
PS: Grandma, I circled the safe and sanitary bathroom. But I won't name it.
Monday, December 12, 2011
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
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
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Why Not Today?
"You need a new phone."
I've been told that regularly for the last two years. They're right: I do need a new phone. When I started college the question was always, "Is that the new model?" Now that I've graduated, same phone in pocket, the question has become "When do you get an upgrade?"
They want me to make the leap into the twenty-first century and go from a dumb phone that only texts and calls to a smart phone that does everything except brush your teeth for you.
"With as much time as you spend on Facebook and Twitter, you're going to love it!"
That's what they all say. And they're probably right. I wish I could Tweet on the go, always had my email at my fingertips, and my text message inbox didn't remain at 98 percent full. The upgrade won't break my budget and the thirty dollars a month data plan is feasible.
Weeks of second-guessing and questioning led up to the moment when I signed the check. Knowing full well what I was doing, I handed it to Brent. He handed me a receipt.
Smile* was mine.
My check was not for thirty dollars. It was for thirty-eight. If I could feasibly pay thirty dollars a month just to have the internet with me wherever I went, how could I not spend thirty-eight dollars a month making sure a child had food?
For years I have been the primary letter writer for Maria, our family's sponsored child in Columbia. That means the misunderstanding about us having fourteen grandchildren... yeah, I'm culpable.
I knew someday I'd sponsor a child through Compassion. The question that ragged on my heart was: Why is that someday not today? I was out of excuses.
For a dollar and twenty-five cents a day, I can provide Smile with food. That's not even the cost of one cup of coffee. That's one small fries from McDonald's.
Let's be real: I don't have a lot of money. But I have enough. I'm not worrying about going hungry. Smile is.
Katie: God, why are you providing for me but not for Your children in third world countries? Is food not a necessity?
God: I am providing. Katie, I am providing you.
It's going to be a sacrifice. I want (borderline need) a new phone, but it's going to have to wait.
There's a little girl in El Salvador who needs an education. She needs medical care. She needs hope, esperanza. She needs to know someone cares. That someone is an unemployed hispanohablante in the US. That Someone is her Heavenly Father.
Why not today?
<>< Katie
*not her real name
PS: This is my story of how God led me to child sponsorship through Compassion. It might be reckless to commit to $38/month with no income. But I know the Lord and saw His hand in this decision long before I signed the check. I trust He will provide, and I've seen Him do so already. If that means I have to eat peanut butter and jelly for a week (I hate pbj) so Smile can eat rice and beans, so be it.
I've been told that regularly for the last two years. They're right: I do need a new phone. When I started college the question was always, "Is that the new model?" Now that I've graduated, same phone in pocket, the question has become "When do you get an upgrade?"
They want me to make the leap into the twenty-first century and go from a dumb phone that only texts and calls to a smart phone that does everything except brush your teeth for you.
"With as much time as you spend on Facebook and Twitter, you're going to love it!"
That's what they all say. And they're probably right. I wish I could Tweet on the go, always had my email at my fingertips, and my text message inbox didn't remain at 98 percent full. The upgrade won't break my budget and the thirty dollars a month data plan is feasible.
Weeks of second-guessing and questioning led up to the moment when I signed the check. Knowing full well what I was doing, I handed it to Brent. He handed me a receipt.
Smile* was mine.
My check was not for thirty dollars. It was for thirty-eight. If I could feasibly pay thirty dollars a month just to have the internet with me wherever I went, how could I not spend thirty-eight dollars a month making sure a child had food?
For years I have been the primary letter writer for Maria, our family's sponsored child in Columbia. That means the misunderstanding about us having fourteen grandchildren... yeah, I'm culpable.
I knew someday I'd sponsor a child through Compassion. The question that ragged on my heart was: Why is that someday not today? I was out of excuses.
For a dollar and twenty-five cents a day, I can provide Smile with food. That's not even the cost of one cup of coffee. That's one small fries from McDonald's.
Let's be real: I don't have a lot of money. But I have enough. I'm not worrying about going hungry. Smile is.
Katie: God, why are you providing for me but not for Your children in third world countries? Is food not a necessity?
God: I am providing. Katie, I am providing you.
It's going to be a sacrifice. I want (borderline need) a new phone, but it's going to have to wait.
There's a little girl in El Salvador who needs an education. She needs medical care. She needs hope, esperanza. She needs to know someone cares. That someone is an unemployed hispanohablante in the US. That Someone is her Heavenly Father.
Why not today?
<>< Katie
*not her real name
PS: This is my story of how God led me to child sponsorship through Compassion. It might be reckless to commit to $38/month with no income. But I know the Lord and saw His hand in this decision long before I signed the check. I trust He will provide, and I've seen Him do so already. If that means I have to eat peanut butter and jelly for a week (I hate pbj) so Smile can eat rice and beans, so be it.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Reverse Trick or Treat
It was a few days after Halloween and I was driving across the country.
Sixteen hours. Alone.
I was constantly searching for cheap(er) gas, only stopping at fast food restaurants where I had coupons, and paying half of my life savings to the state of West Virginia in tolls.
I got cranky fast. At two dollars a pop, those tolls were adding up fast. It cost me more to drive through West Virginia than I spent on food, by the way.
But then I got an idea.
At the next toll booth, I pleasantly greeted the man. What an awful job he has. I handed him a five dollar bill. He gave me my change. I took it and extended my hand with a Baby Ruth in it.
"Happy Halloween," I said. He laughed. Not a chuckle, not a smirk, not a courteous "that was a joke attempt that wasn't really funny." No, a full-belly laugh.
The gate went up, I wished him a good day and drove off. Maybe his day really was good. After all, he had a fun size Baby Ruth to munch on until the next driver came.
But my day was good. I had "miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep" but I also had his laughter bottled up in my memory.
All it took was a piece of candy and a smile. It didn't hurt me a bit.
I've heard it said it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. The huge bag of Trick or Treat candy was sitting in my passenger seat just waiting, begging to be eaten (maybe that's why I spent so little on food). I don't even like Baby Ruth. But from this guy's laugh, he does.
Make a difference today. It doesn't hurt much. Laughter overrides cranky.
<>< Katie
Sixteen hours. Alone.
I was constantly searching for cheap(er) gas, only stopping at fast food restaurants where I had coupons, and paying half of my life savings to the state of West Virginia in tolls.
I got cranky fast. At two dollars a pop, those tolls were adding up fast. It cost me more to drive through West Virginia than I spent on food, by the way.
But then I got an idea.
At the next toll booth, I pleasantly greeted the man. What an awful job he has. I handed him a five dollar bill. He gave me my change. I took it and extended my hand with a Baby Ruth in it.
"Happy Halloween," I said. He laughed. Not a chuckle, not a smirk, not a courteous "that was a joke attempt that wasn't really funny." No, a full-belly laugh.
The gate went up, I wished him a good day and drove off. Maybe his day really was good. After all, he had a fun size Baby Ruth to munch on until the next driver came.
But my day was good. I had "miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep" but I also had his laughter bottled up in my memory.
All it took was a piece of candy and a smile. It didn't hurt me a bit.
I've heard it said it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. The huge bag of Trick or Treat candy was sitting in my passenger seat just waiting, begging to be eaten (maybe that's why I spent so little on food). I don't even like Baby Ruth. But from this guy's laugh, he does.
Make a difference today. It doesn't hurt much. Laughter overrides cranky.
<>< Katie
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Craving Attention
With the Wiimote in her right hand the nunchaku in her left, she aimed for the television ready to shoot her archery arrow. As she prepared to complete her shot, she was interrupted by a flying monkey. Also known as her little brother.
When their mother told him to stop, he made her his next victim. She was sitting on the floor, and he began a game of king of the hill. I could see it was only a matter of time before my little buddy earned himself a time-out.
"Hey, Buddy, I've got a question for you," I said from the other side of the room.
"Did you hear that? Katie has a question for you," his mom echoed, giving me the "thanks" smile.
The six year old ran around the coffee table and leaped into my arms. There wasn't time to wonder if I was going to catch him or not. I did and in a matter of seconds I had him in a headlock.
Katie: First question, how old are you?
Buddy: Six.
Katie: Second question, how do you like being upside-down?
I flipped him over, and he giggled and giggled and giggled. I pulled him onto my knees. My next move was going to be a "walk in the woods" where my knees become a horse galloping and suddenly the rider drops in a hole. But it wasn't necessary. When I pulled him back up and onto my knees, he sat peacefully for almost five minutes. I was shocked. The kid who mere minutes earlier bouncing off the walls was relaxed on my lap.
He had been looking for attention, and I gave it to him. That's all he wanted. He didn't want to cause trouble, he wanted someone to pay attention to him.
Don't we do the same thing? We run around searching for attention in everything we can find. More often than not, the wrong things.
When we focus our attention on God, He gives us what we need. He catches us and holds us to His chest. Sure, life isn't perfect in His arms. Sometimes we even get flipped on our heads. But He's still there, with His arms held firmly around us. His constant love engulfing us.
When Buddy was on my lap, the adult conversation around me no longer mattered. He had my undivided attention. When we're talking to God, we are given His undivided attention. How cool is that? To know the Creator of the universe is listening to you?
Talk to Him, my friends. Seek His attention. Cuddle in His lap. You won't regret it.
<>< Katie
When their mother told him to stop, he made her his next victim. She was sitting on the floor, and he began a game of king of the hill. I could see it was only a matter of time before my little buddy earned himself a time-out.
"Hey, Buddy, I've got a question for you," I said from the other side of the room.
"Did you hear that? Katie has a question for you," his mom echoed, giving me the "thanks" smile.
The six year old ran around the coffee table and leaped into my arms. There wasn't time to wonder if I was going to catch him or not. I did and in a matter of seconds I had him in a headlock.
Katie: First question, how old are you?
Buddy: Six.
Katie: Second question, how do you like being upside-down?
I flipped him over, and he giggled and giggled and giggled. I pulled him onto my knees. My next move was going to be a "walk in the woods" where my knees become a horse galloping and suddenly the rider drops in a hole. But it wasn't necessary. When I pulled him back up and onto my knees, he sat peacefully for almost five minutes. I was shocked. The kid who mere minutes earlier bouncing off the walls was relaxed on my lap.
He had been looking for attention, and I gave it to him. That's all he wanted. He didn't want to cause trouble, he wanted someone to pay attention to him.
Don't we do the same thing? We run around searching for attention in everything we can find. More often than not, the wrong things.
When we focus our attention on God, He gives us what we need. He catches us and holds us to His chest. Sure, life isn't perfect in His arms. Sometimes we even get flipped on our heads. But He's still there, with His arms held firmly around us. His constant love engulfing us.
When Buddy was on my lap, the adult conversation around me no longer mattered. He had my undivided attention. When we're talking to God, we are given His undivided attention. How cool is that? To know the Creator of the universe is listening to you?
Talk to Him, my friends. Seek His attention. Cuddle in His lap. You won't regret it.
<>< Katie
Friday, October 29, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Interdigiting
"Let a child take you for a week every week." - Max LucadoMy Baptist Church had a (dry) tailgate before my college's Homecoming football game. Amber wanted to take little Abby to the parade. I figured my six year old boyfriend would enjoy it, too.
Several weeks ago it came out that this busy six year old has three girlfriends. I asked if I could be number four. His father applauded him for working the college girls. He was too embarrassed to look at me all day. I think that means yes.
I knew getting him to go to the parade with me was a long shot but it was worth a try. At his father's insistence, he came. The four of us walked (ok, Amber carried Abby) to what we thought was the parade route only to discover we were on the wrong side of the soccer field. Even at their slowest speed my long legs move twice as fast as this six year old's little legs. I didn't want him to get lost in the crowd. I also realized he'd still a bit uncomfortable with me. I kept a close eye on him and my hand at a level where he could grab it if he so desired.
The closer we got to the parade, the closer he got to me. When we stopped, he reached up and took my hand. He then reached up with his other hand and grabbed hold. We watched the parade together, my right hand held captive in both of his.
I was no longer jealous of Amber with the toddler. I had a six year old comfortable enough to grab my hand with both hands. Maybe he was afraid the animals on the floats were going to jump off. Maybe he was afraid I was going to wander off and leave him. Maybe he was lost but he knew I wasn't; I knew where his parents were. All the way back, he held me hand with one hand and stuck so close I had to step around him to move. I didn't mind.
Is that how we should be with God? Our inclination, especially at first, is to wander nearby God. As we walk, we realize He knows where we're going. And we don't. We step closer and closer to Him. We link hands and let Him show us the way. He leads; we follow closely and (sometimes) obediently.
When my "boyfriend" had my hand, my face had a smile. I loved walking hand in hand with him. I wanted to introduce him to everyone we passed, I steered him clear of hot grilles, I returned him safely to his parents. If I can feel that much joy from walking with a six year old who may or may not claim to be my boyfriend (my vote is on not), how much more joy does God feel when we walk with Him? God takes pride in calling us His children. He does not steer us clear of all trials and turbulence but He does walk with us all of the way. With His shield of protect, nothing happens to us without His knowledge. That's more than I could promise my "boyfriend."
<>< Katie
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Painful Smile
Allyson and I were joking around when suddenly she stopped smiling and gripped the top of her head. The night before she'd gone to the ER for a head injury and came home five hours later with the hiccups. She explained that being hit on the head with a color guard flag made smiling a painful experience. Allyson smiles a lot, and to be able to not do it is... well... painful.
I can relate. I'm not really sure what I did but for two days freshman year it hurt to laugh. For two days I had a huge smile but I refused to laugh. You don't realize how often you laugh until you can't.
The world is not a fun place when smiles and laughter cause pain. It's miserable. Smiles and laughter are things God created for good and instead they were being used for evil.
How often does that happen? All too often.
Money, food, entertainment, and a million other things have been created for God's glory only to be tragically transformed by human wickedness. Instead of looking to others with love and self-sacrifice, we hoard for personal gain. Instead of honoring Him in what we watch, how we spend our money, and the words we use, we are frivolous and careless.
God created sex. (gasp!) It was a gift to man and woman to enjoy within the confines of marriage. Too often it's used in other scenarios making it less special. Less sacred. Less about God Himself.
God created me for a special purpose. Too often I disregard His plan and pursue my own. My words are full of hatred and grumpiness rather than compassion and grace. (gasp, again!)
No wonder the world is miserable. We're misusing His creation. The things He created for good we are using for evil. Of course it's causing pain. Our pain and His.
Brothers and sisters in Christ, let's reclaim the smile. The laughter. The finances. The sex. The entertainment. The word choice. Let's reclaim what it means to be a Christian by showing His love.
<>< Katie
I can relate. I'm not really sure what I did but for two days freshman year it hurt to laugh. For two days I had a huge smile but I refused to laugh. You don't realize how often you laugh until you can't.
The world is not a fun place when smiles and laughter cause pain. It's miserable. Smiles and laughter are things God created for good and instead they were being used for evil.
How often does that happen? All too often.
Money, food, entertainment, and a million other things have been created for God's glory only to be tragically transformed by human wickedness. Instead of looking to others with love and self-sacrifice, we hoard for personal gain. Instead of honoring Him in what we watch, how we spend our money, and the words we use, we are frivolous and careless.
God created sex. (gasp!) It was a gift to man and woman to enjoy within the confines of marriage. Too often it's used in other scenarios making it less special. Less sacred. Less about God Himself.
God created me for a special purpose. Too often I disregard His plan and pursue my own. My words are full of hatred and grumpiness rather than compassion and grace. (gasp, again!)
No wonder the world is miserable. We're misusing His creation. The things He created for good we are using for evil. Of course it's causing pain. Our pain and His.
Brothers and sisters in Christ, let's reclaim the smile. The laughter. The finances. The sex. The entertainment. The word choice. Let's reclaim what it means to be a Christian by showing His love.
<>< Katie
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Mirror
Sometimes I want to have a "Did you know?" blog series. My brain is filled with random things that I enjoy making people stop and go "Wait, what?"
Examples:
Did you know, watermelon floats?
Did you know, shaving cream cleans tables?
Did you know, dry erase markers write on mirrors?
The other morning, I stumbled into the bathroom to find two notes.
Ten minutes later I ventured into the bathroom again and found a whole new set of notes.
Do something simple and make someone's day today.
PS: I didn't wash the mirror.
<>< Katie
Examples:
Did you know, watermelon floats?
Did you know, shaving cream cleans tables?
Did you know, dry erase markers write on mirrors?
The other morning, I stumbled into the bathroom to find two notes.
"Amy, I'm not going to class. It's a stress/sleep thing. Love, Liz."
"Jen, you're beautiful. Love, Nikki."Still half asleep, I brushed my teeth and didn't think anything of it.
Ten minutes later I ventured into the bathroom again and found a whole new set of notes.
KATIE!The mirror was covered in purple notes! And my sweet suitemates earned their keep. Their simple action put a smile on my face all day long.
We love you! We hope you have a wonderful day! Your beautiful face here: : )
PS: Please wash the mirror.
Do something simple and make someone's day today.
PS: I didn't wash the mirror.
<>< Katie
Monday, September 27, 2010
Hurt
If I could summarize this past week in one word I'd say: hurt.
In the last few days I've been bizarrely injured multiple times. With a few of them I've had to seriously contemplate if professional medical attention would have been inappropriate. It seemed every time I put my First Aid kit away it needs to come out again a few hours later. I've always been the "girl with the Band-Aids" and now I'm "the girl who needs the Band-Aids." It's annoying, but what is more annoying is that not all hurts are physical.
Emotional wounds are harder to treat. Neosporin and Band-Aids don't cover it (no pun intended). You think they're healing and suddenly you're gushing tears again.
At (adult) Sunday School I shared the prayer request that I keep getting hurt physically and emotionally, and I am sick of reaching for Band-Aids.
Our Sunday School teacher Matt smiled. He said he could write his own name next to that request every day. He said many others could do the same.
When Matt prayed, he thanked God for the rain pounding on the roof. He said it was healing rain sent to cleanse and heal those of us who have hurts like I mentioned. Later, he asked God to relieve our (my) physical, emotional, and spiritual hurts.
My first thought was defensive. "I didn't say I was hurt spiritually." As Matt prayed, God prodded gently.
"Yes, you are."
I can put a Band-Aid over my scratches to cover them up. I don't have to see their nastiness and neither does anyone else. Why am I still putting man's Band-Aid over God's band-aid (a scab)?
Emotional wounds don't need Band-Aids; they're covered in a different way. They're hidden deep within me as if that'll make them go away. The other day Luci said, "Katie, you're like a box. I keep trying to open you, and I can't." That hurt. But it was true.
Is God saying that to me too? "Katie, I'm here ready to open you, ready to heal you. I'm ready and you won't let Me."
Just like physical wounds need to be cleaned, so do emotional and, more importantly, spiritual wounds. Boy, does it hurt! But it's vital.
<>< Katie
"More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5
In the last few days I've been bizarrely injured multiple times. With a few of them I've had to seriously contemplate if professional medical attention would have been inappropriate. It seemed every time I put my First Aid kit away it needs to come out again a few hours later. I've always been the "girl with the Band-Aids" and now I'm "the girl who needs the Band-Aids." It's annoying, but what is more annoying is that not all hurts are physical.
Emotional wounds are harder to treat. Neosporin and Band-Aids don't cover it (no pun intended). You think they're healing and suddenly you're gushing tears again.
At (adult) Sunday School I shared the prayer request that I keep getting hurt physically and emotionally, and I am sick of reaching for Band-Aids.
Our Sunday School teacher Matt smiled. He said he could write his own name next to that request every day. He said many others could do the same.
When Matt prayed, he thanked God for the rain pounding on the roof. He said it was healing rain sent to cleanse and heal those of us who have hurts like I mentioned. Later, he asked God to relieve our (my) physical, emotional, and spiritual hurts.
My first thought was defensive. "I didn't say I was hurt spiritually." As Matt prayed, God prodded gently.
"Yes, you are."
I can put a Band-Aid over my scratches to cover them up. I don't have to see their nastiness and neither does anyone else. Why am I still putting man's Band-Aid over God's band-aid (a scab)?
Emotional wounds don't need Band-Aids; they're covered in a different way. They're hidden deep within me as if that'll make them go away. The other day Luci said, "Katie, you're like a box. I keep trying to open you, and I can't." That hurt. But it was true.
Is God saying that to me too? "Katie, I'm here ready to open you, ready to heal you. I'm ready and you won't let Me."
Just like physical wounds need to be cleaned, so do emotional and, more importantly, spiritual wounds. Boy, does it hurt! But it's vital.
<>< Katie
"More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Single-Handedly Entertaining the World
At some point when I was in middle or high school, my sisters and/or I needed physical(s) for school and into the doctor's office piled our crew. I can only imagine the dread that poor doctor felt walking into our loud room. Well, it quickly disappeared into a genuine smile. Without being obtrusive and preventing what needed to be done from getting done, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. A joke here and there, a fit of laughter now and again, and the room was full of smiles.
“He wishes he could be a fly on the wall in our house,” Mom said about the doctor as we walked out to the car. Of course, we asked how she could tell. She explained the authentic smile and the twinkle in his amused eyes.
Since Mom mentioned that, I’ve seen the same smile and shimmer in the eyes of other people. A store clerk here; a passer-by there. Last week I saw it on the neighbors sitting on their pier.
The five of us had gone for an hour and a half boat ride where we chased bald eagles, spied on turtles, and stirred up wake with our pontoon boat. The ride had to come to a close as our stomachs growled in hunger, so we brought the boat in for lunch. A light breeze glided across the lake and we came in too far away from our pier to dock on the first try. Mom leapt off but couldn’t grab the boat and pull it in manually.
Dad backed up and we tried again. We’d been teasing him that for four days he brought the boat in perfectly on the first try but on days five and six he started to lose his touch.
On the second try, Mom grabbed the bow and almost fell into the water between the boat the pier. I might add that by now we were all rolling in laughter. Laura leapt onto pier but failed to grab the stern. The bow was all but tied down while the stern tried to sail of to sea again. Which, of course, was amusing because normally the stern, the part of the boat that steers, is easy to control while it’s the bow that misbehaves. Well, we decided coming in stern towards the lake wasn’t going to work, so (with the bow still tied down) we swung the boat around and successfully parked bow-out. Problem: the propeller was digging in the sand. They untied the bow and Dad, Christina, and I went back out in the lake and spun the boat around.
On try three, we crashed into the pier head-on. Oops. Try four we couldn’t grab hands with Mom and Laura. Dad offered up a fishing pole for extra length but we decided that wasn’t the best idea. Try five and all of our energy stretching between the boat and the pier as we held onto each other for dear life, we finally successfully docked the boat without throwing anyone into “the drink."
That’s when we realized our problem: this was an alcohol-free boating experience. Every other time when Dad docked, he had already downed a beer or two. No one fell into the drink, but Dad needed a drink. From their pier and in between uncontrolled burst of laughter the neighbors offered Dad a beer.
It’s no wonder we have a tendency to be the loudest people everywhere we go: we enjoy ourselves. We’re not going to let a little breeze stop of us from an amusing boat ride!
<>< Katie
“He wishes he could be a fly on the wall in our house,” Mom said about the doctor as we walked out to the car. Of course, we asked how she could tell. She explained the authentic smile and the twinkle in his amused eyes.
Since Mom mentioned that, I’ve seen the same smile and shimmer in the eyes of other people. A store clerk here; a passer-by there. Last week I saw it on the neighbors sitting on their pier.
The five of us had gone for an hour and a half boat ride where we chased bald eagles, spied on turtles, and stirred up wake with our pontoon boat. The ride had to come to a close as our stomachs growled in hunger, so we brought the boat in for lunch. A light breeze glided across the lake and we came in too far away from our pier to dock on the first try. Mom leapt off but couldn’t grab the boat and pull it in manually.
Dad backed up and we tried again. We’d been teasing him that for four days he brought the boat in perfectly on the first try but on days five and six he started to lose his touch.
On the second try, Mom grabbed the bow and almost fell into the water between the boat the pier. I might add that by now we were all rolling in laughter. Laura leapt onto pier but failed to grab the stern. The bow was all but tied down while the stern tried to sail of to sea again. Which, of course, was amusing because normally the stern, the part of the boat that steers, is easy to control while it’s the bow that misbehaves. Well, we decided coming in stern towards the lake wasn’t going to work, so (with the bow still tied down) we swung the boat around and successfully parked bow-out. Problem: the propeller was digging in the sand. They untied the bow and Dad, Christina, and I went back out in the lake and spun the boat around.
On try three, we crashed into the pier head-on. Oops. Try four we couldn’t grab hands with Mom and Laura. Dad offered up a fishing pole for extra length but we decided that wasn’t the best idea. Try five and all of our energy stretching between the boat and the pier as we held onto each other for dear life, we finally successfully docked the boat without throwing anyone into “the drink."
That’s when we realized our problem: this was an alcohol-free boating experience. Every other time when Dad docked, he had already downed a beer or two. No one fell into the drink, but Dad needed a drink. From their pier and in between uncontrolled burst of laughter the neighbors offered Dad a beer.
It’s no wonder we have a tendency to be the loudest people everywhere we go: we enjoy ourselves. We’re not going to let a little breeze stop of us from an amusing boat ride!
<>< Katie
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Tall and thin isn't great
I normally try to keep the blog a complain-free zone. Today you're going to have to excuse me while I throw a temper tantrum.
"Oh my gosh, you are soooo skinny!"
Every single one of us have said it at some point in time. Please, let's every single one of us erase this sentence from our vocabulary. As well-meaning as it may be, it is often not well-received.
1. You wouldn't walk up to someone who's overweight and say, "Oh my gosh, you are sooooo fat." Would you?
2. A lot of times it's followed up with a concern--either verbally or mentally--about how much the "stick" eats. I understand and appreciate the concern. Eating disorders are a problem in today's society, absolutely. But do you really think your question about how much he/she eats is really the best way to approach the (suspected) problem? I have a close friend who has strugged with an eating disorder. She says comments, even complements, on her weight now are well-meaning but they make her cringe. She hates words like "healthy" and "well" because of the connotations they have, even if those connotations are ones she's put on them.
As someone who has always been skinny, the question about what I eat is down right obnoxious and, frankly, borderline rude. If you want to know about my eating habits, watch me devour a steak dinner. It was delicious the first time. There is no possible way I'd like to taste it a second.
3. "Try finding pants that fit."
That's usually my response to people who feel the need to give me this counter-productive complement. I've written many a blog-rant from fitting rooms as I'm choking back tears of frustrations. It happened again today. Before we left on our shopping excursion, Laura, Mom, and I took measurements. My waist? Yup, ended in a .5. Hips? --.75. Inseam? --.25. It's no wonder clothes don't fit me! We arrived at the store, and I picked out a pair of jeans one .5 larger than my measured waist. They were great... if I were going for a muffin-top look. I searched for pants one size bigger (which is really two sizes since all of the pants were even numbered). Perfect, if I wanted to store a book in the back of my pants. Mom miraculously was able to find the odd number, the middle size. Too small in the front; too big in the back. Just my luck! Discouraged, we left, and I realized I have one alternative to this constant fight: nudist colony.
Please, I beg you, just leave the weight subject alone. If you must make a complement about a physical aspect of a girl's body, pick her hair, her eyes, her smile. Tell her she's beautiful but don't use her weight to justify your opinion.
Thanks for letting me vent. I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you agree or if you think I'm crazy.
<>< Katie
"Oh my gosh, you are soooo skinny!"
Every single one of us have said it at some point in time. Please, let's every single one of us erase this sentence from our vocabulary. As well-meaning as it may be, it is often not well-received.
1. You wouldn't walk up to someone who's overweight and say, "Oh my gosh, you are sooooo fat." Would you?
2. A lot of times it's followed up with a concern--either verbally or mentally--about how much the "stick" eats. I understand and appreciate the concern. Eating disorders are a problem in today's society, absolutely. But do you really think your question about how much he/she eats is really the best way to approach the (suspected) problem? I have a close friend who has strugged with an eating disorder. She says comments, even complements, on her weight now are well-meaning but they make her cringe. She hates words like "healthy" and "well" because of the connotations they have, even if those connotations are ones she's put on them.
As someone who has always been skinny, the question about what I eat is down right obnoxious and, frankly, borderline rude. If you want to know about my eating habits, watch me devour a steak dinner. It was delicious the first time. There is no possible way I'd like to taste it a second.
3. "Try finding pants that fit."
That's usually my response to people who feel the need to give me this counter-productive complement. I've written many a blog-rant from fitting rooms as I'm choking back tears of frustrations. It happened again today. Before we left on our shopping excursion, Laura, Mom, and I took measurements. My waist? Yup, ended in a .5. Hips? --.75. Inseam? --.25. It's no wonder clothes don't fit me! We arrived at the store, and I picked out a pair of jeans one .5 larger than my measured waist. They were great... if I were going for a muffin-top look. I searched for pants one size bigger (which is really two sizes since all of the pants were even numbered). Perfect, if I wanted to store a book in the back of my pants. Mom miraculously was able to find the odd number, the middle size. Too small in the front; too big in the back. Just my luck! Discouraged, we left, and I realized I have one alternative to this constant fight: nudist colony.
Please, I beg you, just leave the weight subject alone. If you must make a complement about a physical aspect of a girl's body, pick her hair, her eyes, her smile. Tell her she's beautiful but don't use her weight to justify your opinion.
Thanks for letting me vent. I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you agree or if you think I'm crazy.
<>< Katie
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Rainy Days
This was not written with the intention of being a blog, yet it's something I've been struggling with this week and I feel the need to share it.
I never realized quite how big of an impact the weather has on attitude and moreso relationships. For example, yesterday I passed my friend Jordan on the quad from a distance. Normally when I see Jordan he’s got a big smile and is enjoying himself. Yesterday when I saw him I gave him a big wave and a smile. I probably would have walked over and given him a hug but it was raining and I really wanted to get into a building instead. Later, I wished I would have walked in the wet grass because he needed a hug. I could tell from the look on his face. No smile and a small wave. We passed and headed on to class. Once I got there, I texted him asking him if everything was ok. He said yes, he was just a little sad because it was rainy. I offered him a free hug and he said even a free hug probably couldn’t cheer him up today. Free hugs solve everything. Nope. His facebook status that night was talking about how he hates rainy days because they’re depressing. I was worried about him yesterday because he just seemed so sad. When I saw him today I gave him a free hug and asked if today was better. He said today was much better. Perhaps it's because the sun is shining today.
I know I’ve done the exact same thing. Why do we let the weather control our moods? Why? God makes the rainy days just like God makes the sunny days. God loves us on the rainy days just like He does on the sunny days. I don’t get it, but I fall victim to the rainy day trap, too.
Learning to love the rain,
<>< Katie
I never realized quite how big of an impact the weather has on attitude and moreso relationships. For example, yesterday I passed my friend Jordan on the quad from a distance. Normally when I see Jordan he’s got a big smile and is enjoying himself. Yesterday when I saw him I gave him a big wave and a smile. I probably would have walked over and given him a hug but it was raining and I really wanted to get into a building instead. Later, I wished I would have walked in the wet grass because he needed a hug. I could tell from the look on his face. No smile and a small wave. We passed and headed on to class. Once I got there, I texted him asking him if everything was ok. He said yes, he was just a little sad because it was rainy. I offered him a free hug and he said even a free hug probably couldn’t cheer him up today. Free hugs solve everything. Nope. His facebook status that night was talking about how he hates rainy days because they’re depressing. I was worried about him yesterday because he just seemed so sad. When I saw him today I gave him a free hug and asked if today was better. He said today was much better. Perhaps it's because the sun is shining today.
I know I’ve done the exact same thing. Why do we let the weather control our moods? Why? God makes the rainy days just like God makes the sunny days. God loves us on the rainy days just like He does on the sunny days. I don’t get it, but I fall victim to the rainy day trap, too.
Learning to love the rain,
<>< Katie
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Chosen for God's Kickball Team
I played kickball with some friends today. I think it's safe to say none of us are kickball professionals, but we still had fun. By the end of the game, we were sore. Not in our legs. Rather our cheeks.
We smiled and laughed harder than any of us had in a long time. Our faces are definitely out of shape and need more exercise!
Smile and someone today. It'll make his/her day. It'll also help your facial muscles. :-)
<>< Katie
We smiled and laughed harder than any of us had in a long time. Our faces are definitely out of shape and need more exercise!
Smile and someone today. It'll make his/her day. It'll also help your facial muscles. :-)
<>< Katie
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