Thankful

It's hard.

It's hard to be thankful when you don't know when your next paycheck is coming (or from where). It's hard to be thankful when your best friends are 900 miles away. It's hard to be thankful when your office is the most central location of your parents' home, when your internal clock has no idea what time of the year it is, or when you don't have any idea what your calendar will look like even a month from now. It's hard to be thankful; it's easy to host a pity party.

Every once in awhile, I let the tears roll. They're good. They're healthy. But once they come, they're hard to stop.

Like Job, I speak bluntly and harshly to the Lord. While it's nice to get those feelings out on paper, it doesn't usually solve much. (Did I just say that out loud?) I still don't know what's next. I'm still playing pin the tail on the donkey.

And still even here, I have a lot to be thankful for. Did I not wake up this morning breathing and refreshed? When I rolled over and put my feet on the floor, did they not stay there and hold my weight? (No peanut gallery comments, please). Was there not toothpaste in the tube, toilet paper on the roll, and soap in the dispenser? Is there food in the pantry and hot water in the shower? Do I have a jacket, shoes, and gasoline?

Have I not people who love and care about me? People who encourage me and pour into me? Scripture tucked away in my heart? Is the Lord not in this limbo, this barren desert, this hideous time in between?

Life is hard. Yet still there is so much to be thankful for even if they're the small, simple things we tend to take for granted. Even if it's the tears and the angry words. Even if it's the promise, "I will be with you always to the very end of the age" (See Matthew 28).

Even if nothing else goes correctly, that one reason alone is enough to bring thanksgiving to my lips again and again.

<>< Katie

More than a Day

Almost a month ago a switch flipped inside of me. In 0.4 seconds I went from enjoying and appreciating fall to ready to deck the halls. I threatened to make Trick or Treaters pretend they were Christmas carolers before I gave them candy.  (No wonder no one came to my house).

Of course, my passion and excitement for Christmastime has been met with resistance. Everyone wants Thanksgiving to have its day.

Hogwash, I say! Hogwash.

Thanksgiving is not a day, friends; it's a lifestyle!

Let thanksgiving have its day... today and every day!

Yes, I'm eating turkey, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Yes, I'm participating in the round-table discussion of what we're thankful for.

But it goes beyond today. Since the beginning of September I've been keeping a list of 1,000 things I am thankful for, inspired by Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts.  I just passed thing number 500.

Should I not be further?  Should I not be able to list 1,000 things each day for which I am thankful?  Every breath, every minute...

Here are some highlights from my 1,000 gifts and counting.

I am thankful...
95. For working heat in my car.
100. For friends who are going to make sure I come out of limbo as a prayer warrior.
102. For Sunday lunch.
106. For hunger.
115. For the courage to blog about my struggles.
118. For Your appearance at rock bottom and the willingness to touch hearts of even the most broken people.
126. For the beautiful wet leaf on my sunroof.
149. For self-imported Chinese tea.
160. For warm wash cloths and the reminder You sent me through it.
188. For friends all across the country willing to let me stay with them.
190. For the reminder of what You've done and how You've been faithful.
205. For music videos that leave me with a "bowl full of tears."
208. That it somehow worked to have a queen mattress, king sheets, a twin comforter, and a full quilt.
225. For laughter so hard I can barely breathe.
236. For fifty hugs in eight hours.
245. For a busy schedule.
254. For the reminder that just because our circumstances aren't great doesn't mean You don't love us and we're not in Your will.
274. For peanut butter and chocolate covered pretzels.
280. For encouraging, not awkward, networking meetings.
291. For the ability to contact people around the world with the click of a button.
321. For the beautiful moment we shared during communion and the reminder that I am not worthy yet You grant me grace.
338. For Job who spoke harsh words to You long before I ever did.
342. For fast email responses. (And really email responses in general).
360. That the question is, "How much will I pay for gas?" Not "Will I find gas?" or "Can I afford gas?"
362. For esperar--hope, waiting
372. For a lifestyle of Thanksgiving rather than a day or a month.
387. For nearly-coffee-spewing laughter.
388. For the reminder that You want to fill my cup until it overflows (without cracks)
399. For memories so sweet.
427. For the hair dryer.
437. For Starbucks gift cards.
453. For the heart You've given me for missions and Your children worldwide.
460. For evenings of reading by the fire curled up in a blanket.
465. For the ability to proclaim, "If it's You, I'm in!" and both mean and believe it. To trust it.
474. For online ASL dictionaries.
488. For forgiveness when I sing happy birthday to the wrong person.

A Real Person

Eight twenty-somethings sat squished around a card table. It has become a Monday night tradition.

Although I sit among them with minimal elbow space, I feel far away. Six of them are in graduate school together taking the conversation to a level where I spend more time trying to find the verb in the sentence than actually comprehending it. The other two have jobs. Real jobs, careers. They make money, own homes, and cook real meals.

There I am. Lost among friends. It's not their fault. Does that mean it's my fault?

My fault I didn't get into grad school? My fault I don't have a job? My fault I'm stuck in limbo? My fault that sometimes I wear work clothes just so I can feel like a real person?

Even putting those words on paper... er... the screen seems ridiculous. But it's very real. Real enough to bring tears to my eyes... again.

Let's just be real: job searching sucks. (Although, I have a new appreciation for rejection letter because it means the company loves you enough to tell you they don't want you rather than just letting you guess).

People always ask me what I'm called to do, if I feel led to a certain job or company, etc. What the heck does that even mean?

I am called to do the same thing every one else is called to do: to love and serve the Lord wherever He puts us.

For six of my Monday dinner buddies that means serving Him through divinity school. For the other two, it means honoring Him in their respective careers.

For me, it means trusting in the unknown. It means looking hopefully towards the future (whatever that is) but also finding a way to enjoy today. It means adding "free Monday dinner and enjoyable socialization time" to my list of 1,000 gifts.  It means knowing this time in between isn't a wasteland. It means trusting that I haven't been deserted in this desert.

It means sometimes I get to write mopey posts because, in order to be a real person, I need to be real about my struggles and fears. I don't have it all together. I don't know what I'm going to be if I grow up. I don't know what tomorrow looks like.

But I do know One who will accompany me tomorrow.

Because He is faithful.

"Yet still I dare to hope when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies begin a new each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritence' therefore I will hope in Him." Lamentations 3:21-24

Keeping it real,
<>< Katie

Believe and Trust

Especially in my last days at school, I spent my share of time crying in Neal's office (our campus minister).  I'd usually go in for chit chat and a hug, the conversation would change, and all of the sudden I was crying... again.  Shortly after that, we'd get to a point in when I no longer had a response, an argument.

I would sit and listen while he encouraged me truths about God.  We both acknowledged they were things I already knew but needed reminding.  I had no choice but to nod and agree as he spoke.  If my voice was strong enough or if I felt like I'd been quiet too long, I'd find the strength to whisper,

"I believe that."

It might have been more to convince myself than to convince him.

A few months later, I learned the New Testament word for believe: pisteuo.  It's a verb that can also be translated, "To put one's faith in" or "to trust."

Looking back, part of me feels like I was lying every time I told Neal, "I believe that."  Sure, I knew the truths he was speaking were indeed true.  I acknowledged them, I accepted them, but I was having a hard time trusting them.

After all, if I weren't struggling with trust, I would not have been in his office in tears.

It's hard to trust God when He's forcing you to give up a place you love long before you feel it's time to leave.  It's hard to trust God has a plan when all you're getting is rejection letters.

Honestly, not knowing what happens immediately after graduation, not having a plan makes me feel like a failure.

Maybe in an earthly sense I am.

But, I am leaning a lot about pisteuo.  A lot about belief and trust.  A lot about hope and peace.  A lot about clinging to God.

And that can never be called "failure."

I believe that!

<>< Katie

PS: I learned the word pisteuo from Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Tomorrows.  If you haven't read it, then I suggest you check it out.

Hard

It had been a long day.  The car said I'd been on the road for 31 minutes but it felt like considerably longer.  I'd left my house fourteen hours earlier and hadn't been home since.

I'll be honest, I was starting to feel sorry for myself and my long day.  While parts of it (like dinner!) were really nice, but other parts (like repeatedly trying to convince a 5 year old to share) weren't so nice.  I was exhausted and on the brink of tears for no apparent reason.

I needed to make a phone call to some friends.  Since I knew they go to bed early (and were an hour ahead) I contemplated calling them while driving, something I rarely (one might say "never") do.  Even though it meant missing them tonight, I'm so glad I waited.

Instead, as I pulled into my subdivision, my phone lit up.  On the other end, I found my friend Kevin.

He himself on his way home after a very long day... except after work he joined a friend at a hospital bedside where he stayed until he called me.  Tomorrow, he's getting up to do it all over again. 

"They haven't gotten any good news lately, and don't except to," he said.

Instantly my self-pity washed away.  I felt so convicted that I was upset over my fourteen-hour day that I planned myself when he was dealing with a longer, unplanned day.

We spoke for forty minutes.  There were no tears.  But there was a lot of honest confession and sympathizing with each other.  "This is hard," we must have each said fifteen times.  But almost as many times we said how God has worked and is working through hard.

In the words of the five year old who refuses to share, "Don't do easy things.  Do hard things."

Let's do hard.  Let's do it for His glory.  And let's not feel sorry for ourselves in it.

I don't know about you, but I needed that reminder today and every day.

<>< Katie

PS: Check out my friend Hannah's blog about a Bulgarian Sunrise.  It was another reminder I needed.  Hannah's on the World Race right now so they're ministering in eleven different countries in the next eleven months.  Wow!

Glory in Tragedy

I don't think we could have fit anything else into this weekend had we tried.  A pasta dinner for 30 high school tennis girls, a baby shower (with two-week old baby), a graduation/ birthday party, a tennis quad, a family reunion, church, dinner out, and... the wake for a fourteen year old.

Her death was instant. There was no warning. There was nothing that could have been done.  It could not have been prevented.  Her life could not have been saved.  No one is at fault.

Yet a fourteen year old is dead.

In all honesty, I don't know how non-Christians cope with tragedies like this.  Even with hope and a loving God, it's hard to bury a fourteen year old who seemed healthy one minute and gone the next.

Is our God not a loving God who cares for His children? I don't just mean Emily. What about her family? Her parents? Her older sister? Her friends whose home she was walking home from? Fifty minutes worth of drivers who drove down that busy street without noticing her unconscious and not breathing on the sidewalk? Her classmates about to enter high school without her?

Tough questions.

But I believe Emily was not alone on that sidewalk. God was with her every step of her walk home; she just arrived at a different Home than would have been expected. Even though her body was kept breathing for two days, Emily was immediately delivered into the loving arms of her Creator.

The same God that cradles their precious daughter, holds tight to Emily's parents giving them the strength to host mourners in their home, the ability to make jokes and even laugh a little as the receiving line weaved through the funeral home and out into the parking lot. He holds their tears, their hands, and their hearts.

He will be glorified, even though this situation our human eyes see as tragic and incomprehensible. That is my prayer.

It’s the only thing I can pray.  And I was just a student, nine years ahead of her at the same school.

<>< Katie

GIGATT

My heart was not in the right place last night.  It was one of those days where all of the little things add up and get to you until the smallest thing causes a waterfall.  Someone asks you what's wrong and you can't come up a reason worth crying.

Sure, your unreliable internet spent more time in the "cannot connect" phase than the "connected" phase, but that's not worth crying over.  Your laundry was disrespected in the community laundry room, but that's a perk of college life.  Today's caf food and your stomach are having an argument, but it will work itself out eventually.  A playful sass from your suitemates crossed the invisible line, but that's all (supposedly) backed with love.  And you ran out of blaze orange notecards before you were done making notes.  But none of those seem to justify the tears.

"Can't one thing just go right please, Lord," I said out loud, much to the chagrin of my sleeping roommate.

I walked into the bathroom to take out my contacts before they were permanently glued to my watery eyes.  A drying shirt slung over the shower curtain caught my eye.  Big white letters on a black shirt.

GIGATT

It was as if Andy's bouncy ball hit me in the face.

God is Good.

All The Time

Thanks.  I needed that.

I bought this Peder Eide shirt to wear on days where things aren't going too well just so people ask me what my shirt says.  Telling them, "God is good all the time" is a great reminder for myself, too.

GIGATT, friends, ATTGIG,
<>< Katie

Godspeed and Good Luck

"One Sunday afternoon in June, you'll walk across a stage and I'll hand you a diploma" the headmaster of our school told us for years.  For me, that one Sunday afternoon in June came three years ago.  For Laura, it was yesterday.

At my graduation, tears welled up in my eyes but not until I sat down, diploma in hand.  I kept a smile, and they never leaked out, but my family in the front row knew exactly what was happening.

For Laura's graduation, the tears appeared as soon as I walked into the gym where I recognized the set and the colored lines on the floor underneath it all.  Again, I kept a smile and the water in my eyes but it was like someone hit me upside the head with emotion all of the sudden.

We took our seats in the back row and I fought to regain my composure.  Before this one, every graduation we have purchased front row tickets at an auction.  This year, my parents were competing with the wealthiest family in our town.  She owns a company that probably affects your everyday life.  He owns a professional sports team.  There was no possible way Dad was winning those tickets.  Instead, we took our seats in the back.  At first we were worried about photos, but then I pointed to the end of our row: Uncle Greg.  Tucked safely under his arm was the expensive camera of this professional photographer.  We'd have photos from Laura's one Sunday afternoon in June, that's for sure.

The ceremony began with the graduates lining the aisle to applaud the faculty as they progressed into the seats that faced the audience.  The graduates double back and sit in front of the faculty.  At the end of the ceremony, the faculty progress out first, lining the aisle to applaud the newest batch of alumni.  It's a special moment and a powerful tradition.

A more powerful moment and special tradition is that parents who are on the board or staff of the school are given the opportunity to call their graduate's name.  For Laura and I, this meant we received our high school diplomas directly from the hand of our father.  For Dad, this means he writes our names on his hand, so he doesn't forget what he's going to say (and then hopes he doesn't sweat it off).  A friend's father took a photo of me hugging my father on the stage.  It's a photo I cherish.  I tried to do the same for Laura and was successful, but it's less than perfect quality.

An equally important photo to me is one of me in my robe with all four of my grandparents standing beside me.  Sure, Boppy's sticking out his tongue (he refuses smile for photos, isn't that right, Boppy?), and Grandma's looking the wrong direction.  But it's still the five of us, healthy and happy.  Even though it's been three years since that one Sunday afternoon in June, that's still my desktop photo on my computer.  I was too busy talking to Brian (my favorite advisor) to know if Laura got that same photo, but even if she didn't: we're still some of the lucky ones.  Lucky enough to have our parents still married.  Lucky enough to have four living grandparents.  Lucky enough to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins take time out of their busy schedules to sit through a two-hour graduation ceremony celebrating our achievement.  Lucky and blessed beyond belief.

As I looked around at the rest of Laura's graduating class, I realized not everyone was so lucky.  Some of them come from broken homes, incomplete homes.  One of her classmates lost an older brother a few years ago.  Two classmates who graduated from a different school, lost their older brother.  The class as a whole hasn't been so lucky either.  In eight grade, they lost one of their own to leukemia.  Two years ago, a classmate committed suicide. 

For some, one Sunday afternoon in June is a day that never comes.  For some, it is an end, a goal achieved. For some, it is expected.  Either way, it is a milestone and everyone who meets it deserves a pat on the back.  A sad ending to the book of high school but a great beginning of the future.  For Laura and I, that has meant a move to a small, out-of-state college.  For others, it means something else.  It is s time to be celebrated (but tears are expected).  Godspeed and good luck.

Well done, graduates!
<>< Katie

PS: I kind of rambled today... sorry.  Thanks for reading!

Significant First

It came today. The first of many, I’m sure. I might even accumulate enough to write an obscenity on the wall. Except while this was a surprise to me, it was not a surprise to God. He saw it coming. He let it come and during this hard week. He was sitting next to me when my first rejection letter made its way into my inbox. I realize I’m a writer. I realize I’m going to face a lot of these in my life. There’s no way to avoid them except by not sharing. That’s what hurts the most. I was confident with this one. Yes, apparently over confident. The people that rejected these pieces are the same people that keep urging me to share. Here I have and it’s shot down. Reject my work. That’s fine. I can’t win them all. However, please tell me why. What makes my pieces different from the other pieces that made it? I’m not saying my piece was perfect. There is no such thing as a perfect piece; I want to know where I can improve. I won’t take it personally. I won’t give them evil stares across the classroom tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop the waterfall that’s running down my face.

Rejection letter = upset = tears = runny nose = blow nose = (fear of) bloody nose

It’s been a long time since I’ve taken math but Chris tells me that means I could just say:

rejection letter = bloody nose.

Translation? Rejection letters punch me in the face.

The next step is my decision. Am I going to punch someone else in the face or am I going to move on? Am I going to let the pen dry out, pick a new major, and find a new career goal or am I going to accept this and realize it’ll happen again but some day it’ll change? Am I going to stay here hiding in my bedroom, ignoring text messages or am I going to go out in the living room and laugh at the formerly-constipated, now-possessed plastic mooing love cow? The choice is mine.

I did venture out.  I opted against going to my writers' group where I could wallow in pity with other rejects, if there were any.  Instead, I went to sign choir and kicked tables.  A classroom magically turns into a practice studio on Wednesday nights and that means all of the tables and chairs need to be collapsed and disposed of into the closet.    It's incredibly theraputic to kick in the hinges of class tables.

I tried to laugh and brush off the sasses but they hurt more than they do on an average day.  Especially the, "Katie, are you even literate?" when I misread the Wii directions.  It was a joke on my direction-following ability not my writing.

I remembered it's not Lent anymore, so I took my own cliche advice and wrote about it.  I guess the events of Wednesday weren't better than Tuesday.  In fact, the tears flowed instead of just threatening to do so, but my mood over all was better.  Even just a little.  I really appreciate your prayers today, and I could use a double dose tomorrow, please.

What really helped was Andy willingly playing "For the Moments I Feel Faint" by Relient K.  If you don't want to take a second to listen to the song, at least read the lyrics and sing them back to me when I forget them.

Am I at the point of no improvement?
What of the death I still dwell in?
I try to excel, but I feel no movement.
Can I be free of this unreleasable sin?

[Chorus:]
Never underestimate my Jesus.
You're telling me that there's no hope.
I'm telling you you're wrong.
Never underestimate my Jesus
When the world around you crumbles
He will be strong, He will be strong

I throw up my hands
"Oh, the impossibilities"
Frustrated and tired
Where do I go from here?
Now I'm searching for the confidence I've lost so willingly
Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fear

[Chorus]

I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can
I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can

Gather my insufficiencies and
place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands

Much love,
<>< Katie

Prayer

Last night I went to practice expecting to be learning a new song. Well, Queen Emily is drained right now, so she didn't have time to write a new song. Instead, the thirty of us girls spend the next hour drafting signs for "Let the Waters Rise" by Mikechair.

It was a song I hadn't heard before but I do enjoy it. These are the lyrics we were trying to convey:

Don’t know where to begin
It's like my world's caving in
And I try but I can't control my fear
Where do I go from here

Sometimes it's so hard to pray
When You feel so far away
but I am willing to go where You want me to
God I Trust You

There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees

So let the waters rise
If You want them to
I will follow You
I will follow You

I will swim in the deep
Cuz you’ll be next to me
You’re in the eye of the storm and the calm of the sea
Your never out of reach

God You know where I’ve been
And You were there with me then
You were faithful before You’ll be faithful again
I’m holding Your hand

There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees

God Your love is enough
You will pull me through
I’m holding onto You
God Your love is enough
I will follow You
I will follow You

The trick with ASL that it's not translated verbatim from English to sign. There is a lot of room for interpretation and with these songs we account for what God is saying to us through those lyrics at that very moment. This means that our gloss (ASL words) were all over the board. It seems each group focused in on a different stanza of the song, each group had a different line that really spoke to them. While I firmly believe that 30 girls is too many to be writing any one thing, it was very interesting to hear the different ideas.

As our hour drew to a close, the Queen asked for prayer. She asked if anyone else had prayer requests and I was shocked as hands flew up all over the room. It's the second week of the semester who on earth has that many prayer requests already? I hate to imply that some prayer requests are more important than others because God hears them all, but these weren't "I'm stressed" or "I want it to snow" prayer requests. These were heart-wrenching requests that will bring even the strongest of people to their knees. Requests like, "tuition was due last week and I haven't payed yet because my dad lost his job," "I was in the ER yesterday and might need heart surgery," "my uncle was in Haiti when the earthquake happened," "my mom's got a bad disease and there's nothing they can do," and "I can't tell you anything but just saying the word 'unspoken' makes me cry." Before we prayed, there were at least four different people crying and by the time we were done, I don't know if there was a dry eye in the mirror room.


For the last hour we'd spend laughing and pouring our hearts into a song. It's no wonder we all focused on different things because different things are plaguing our lives right now. Go read the lyrics again.

"Don’t know where to begin/It's like my world's caving in/And I try but I can't control my fear/Where do I go from here/Sometimes it's so hard to pray /When You feel so far away/ but I am willing to go where/ You want me to /God I Trust You /There's a raging sea Right in front of me /Wants to pull me in /Bring me to my knees /So let the waters rise /If You want them to/ I will follow You /I will swim in the deep /Cuz you’ll be next to me /You’re in the eye of the storm and the calm of the sea /Your never out of reach /God You know where I’ve been/ And You were there with me then /You were faithful before /You’ll be faithful again/ I’m holding Your hand."

Ladies and gentlemen, our family of faith is hurting. Family prayers for each other. Will you join us in prayer? Not just for these girls that are so important to me but for our family all around the world.
Let me know how I can prayer for you more specifically.

Con Amor,

<>< Katie

Exercise

Gosh, I love Mondays. Hear the sarcasm. My first class starts at 9am and my last class ends at 9:50pm. Yes, please pray fr me on Mondays especially. This is relational exercise in patience.

I knew it was going to be a weird day in my ASL class this morning. We were talking about different shapes and the professor signed, "KNOW MEDICAL DOCTOR SERVE HAMBURGER CIRCLE IN BOX." Huh? Must have zoned out because that didn't make sense. Yeah, it was "McDonalds" not "Doctor." Both signed "MD" with one on the back of the hand and the other on the inside of the wrist. Oops. Wrong me. Mental exercise.

This afternoon, I was sitting in my hammock reading about poetry. My favorite thing. More sarcasm. It's no wonder I couldn't focus. So, I looked across my room and noticed my bike. Let's go for a bike ride! Ladies and gentlemen, it is JANUARY and I went for a bike ride without my jacket. The terrain here is different than I'm used to and I'm completely out of shape, but even my short bike ride was enough to get some exercise, clear my brain, and enjoy the wonderful weather.

One of my suitemates is currently taking violin for the first time. Back in the day, I used to play viola. Not well, mind you, but I played never the less. Everyone took a turn trying to play her violin and everyone sounded awful. Sorry, girls. When it was my turn, I played an old simple song I remembered and jaws dropped. I remind you, I am not a good violist, but it was great to have a stringed instrument in my hands again. Excellent exercise for my fingers and my brain.

Part one of my Christmas present arrived in the mail today, our Wii. I call it the "you and your suitemates aren't good enough at killing time" gift. It was later followed by a Wii Fit, the "you need to lose weight" aspect of the gift. Huh? The Wii Fit isn't here yet but my shoulder hurts from bowling and tennis. More physical exercise.

However, the most challenging exercise happened in my night class. This is the first time we've met, but the professor has had all of us as his students previously. Prior to even handing out the syllabus, he stated a vague situation and gave us an hour to respond to it privately. This was an excellent writing exercise in my religion class, and I might post what I wrote tomorrow. Really, it was a masked-exercise in discovering Christology. However, it was hard! An emotional and spiritual battle. At the end of class, the professor apologized for "any tear and sweat this may have caused." It caused both. Spiritual and emotional exercise.

Are you in shape? Relationally? Emotionally? Physically? Mentally? Most importantly, spiritually?

<>< Katie

PS: Yes, I realize this was kind of a "I had peanut butter on my bagel instead of cream cheese" post and no one really cares, but it was just a very interesting day and I think you should hear about it. I tried to tie it together. Oh, and I don't really believe the Wii Fit joke aspect of the Christmas present, by the way.

Forgiven

Last night, seventeen of us went out to dinner. Of course, with a group that size you need four cars, and somehow I ended up in the Deep Theological Conversation Car. I should have guess that by noticing the four men in the jeep with me, but I didn't mind.

"Ok, what kind of cool thoughts has anyone had about God lately? Let's start there," Keith said nonchalantly.

For the next hour or so we discussed forgiveness. One of the many conclusions we finally drew was that forgiveness is more for the forgiving than the forgiven. Forgiveness also doesn't mean what the other person did was right. Forgiveness does not make the sin acceptable. Rather, forgiveness is admitting, "Yes, what you did was wrong, but I've decided to put in the the past and move on. I wish you well."

This conclusion became important at dinner. Trey tried to throw an empty sugar wrapper at Matthew and missed, hitting me in the face. Me getting hit in the face is actually incredibly common. I narrowly avoided being hit in the head with a bowling ball tonight. I'm actually kind f sad it didn't hit me because that may be the only sports ball that has never collided with my face at some point in my life. Sometimes I really wonder if there is a magnetic field connecting my nose to anything being thrown.

Through laughter and tears, I told Trey I forgave him. I wasn't saying hitting me in the face was ok, but I was willing to move past it and be friends with Trey again. I wish Trey well.


While I was home for break, our church service times changed and no one bothered to tell the college students. Of course, we all showed up this morning and realized there was 45 minutes before the service started. Emily figured Matt told us. Matt thought we were on the email list. Really, it came down to John who completely forgot to mention it to us.

"I'll forgive Emily and Matt; it wasn't their responsibility. But I won't forgive John," Amber said, kind of in jest. "Ok, I'll forgive him, but not until after I tease him for it."

One of the things we pondered last night: is it ok to tell someone you forgive them if they don't know they wronged you? We concluded: no, you're shoving it in their face. Your sole motive is to hurt them back. That's wrong.

John came over and apologized. We teased about it for awhile. And then expressed forgiveness. We admitted what John did (or didn't do) was wrong, but opted to move on and wish him well instead of holding a grudge against John. After all, what had it hurt us? We lost forty-five minutes of precious sleep but that's it. No real harm done. Yes, Kevin, no real harm done; it was only 45 minutes.

Find it within you to forgive someone today. That doesn't make what he/she did right. It makes you willing to move on and wish that person well.

<>< Katie

Hope, Pray, Wish

I didn't come up with this idea but rather stole it from another blog I read.

Hope, Pray, Wish

I hope you all have a blessed, healthy, and safe white Christmas. This is especially important for my family because it would be a significant first if we made it through Christmas without a glitch. Let's just say we're gotten really good at throwing flaming items into snowbanks, and we tease my sister that it isn't Christmas until she almost passes out. :-) However, we always have a good time, laugh a lot, and take a million photos enjoying each others' company.

I pray for those who aren't with their families this holiday. I am thankful we know if in all of our brouhaha we need emergency personnel they're on the other end of 9-1-1 ready to take our call, but this also means they are not celebrating with their families. Likewise, I pray for those who are fighting for our freedom both here and abroad. I pray for those too sick to enjoy today the way we think when we think of Christmas. I pray for those stranded both due to problematic travel plans and financial difficulties.

I wish for everyone to know the real reason to be joyful this Christmas season. It's not about the big man in red who magically squeezes down the chimney. It's not about the candy. It's not about the pretty lights outside. It's not about the gifts under the tree. It's about the Gift God gave when He sent His Son to leave the heavenly realms and become a baby. What a marvelous gift.

Every time I write "Hope, pray, wish" I have to think because it reminds me of "Tears, Hopes, and Promises" a wonderful Easter song that discusses how after Jesus died on Good Friday there were many tears, lost hopes, and broken promises. However, those of us who know the rest of the story know the tears became tears of joy, the hopes came to fruition, and the promises were fulfilled. May your Christmas be filled with hope, prayer, wishes, joyful tears, and promises.

I thank you for reading and I thank you for putting up with my grammar errors this blog. We're leaving in twenty minutes and my hair is still wet, but I had to post this before my Christmas got too wrapped up in the traditions and I hadn't taken a minute to remember the real reason we celebrate.

Merry Christmas, everyone!
<>< Katie

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

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