What Would You Write?

Write what you know.

That's what writers are always told. I'm not good at following that advice. I always seem to start writing stories that I have no authority to write, horrors I can barely imagine.

What do I know? I know what it's like to go to a college prep school. I know what it's like to live with seven other girls in a four-bedroom apartment. I know what it's like to attend fifteen concerts by the same artist.

What I know is boring, at least to me.

Who wants to read a fictional work based on the reality of being an unemployed recent grad? Not me, that's for sure.

But it got me thinking: if I were the author who got my fictional character into this mess, how would I get her out?

Would I turn one of her cold-calling strangers turn into a job offer? (In this economy?)

Would I send a knight in shining armor to whisk her away to marital bliss? (That sounds pleasant, cheesy, and unrealistic)

Would I have her blog discovered and novel picked up by Huge Name Publishing House and it become a best seller? (I'm just dreaming all possibilities here)

Would I send her to graduate school, the international mission field, or a homeless shelter?

Would I make her sulk and wait? Wonder and hope? Would I teach her about trust and obedience?

I am not the Author of this life. And I guess that's a good thing since none of these options seem good and viable at the moment.

I am the protagonist in this lifestory, trusting the Author's plan. Unlike me, He doesn't change His mind, He doesn't kill characters for plot excitement, and He definitely doesn't abandon half-finished stories. 

And that, my friends, brings me hope.

<>< Katie

Welcome to my Nightmare

I went shopping today. I haven't done laundry in a month and my clothes still need to be pushed down in order for the drawers to close completely. I need new clothes like I need a hole in the head. There were a few things I needed like a new Pastor Mike swimsuit (another story for another day) and a pair of sandals, but really I didn't need to be at the store. It turned out to be a really (really) comical mother-daughter bonding time that I'm grateful for but shopping today hurt, too.

I'm in the fitting room going through my normal mental rant about how they don't make clothes for people. Sure, it looks great on the manikin, but come on. How am I supposed to honor God with clothes like this? That's not very flattering, but look, two of me could fit in the next size up. This isn't working! I literally tried on ten pair of shorts and none of them fit. Talk about depressing! All of the sudden, from a neighboring fitting room I hear a girl (probably in her early teens maybe) screamed,
"NOTHING FITS!"
Amen, Sista I said in my head (ok, not quite, but pretty close).
"I HATE THIS STORE!" Either there were tears streaming down this poor girls face or she's a really good actress. I heard her friends laughing in another dressing room. "YOU GUYS DON'T UNDERSTAND! NOTHING EVER FITS!"
"Welcome to the story of my life," I wanted to say aloud.

This girl broke my heart. Maybe it was that she was experiencing the same problem I was. I don't know how many articles of clothing she tried on. I don't know why they don't fit. I do know she was frustrated to the point of tears. Chances are, she's not going to go home and forget about her experience in the fitting room today. Today could be the day she stops eating because she thinks she's too fat. If clothes were made for real people, maybe we wouldn't have so many young girls suffering from anorexia and bulimia. Just a thought.

<>< Katie

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body." 1 Corinthians 6:19-20