Earlier this week I had coffee with a delightful woman whose family does not listen to much music. My understanding is that it's a sound issue where they can't handle the volume level. They went to a concert and had to leave because the sound stimulation was too much.
I tried to envision what my life would be like without music. I almost always have music playing. If it's not on, there's probably a song running through my head. Concerts are my family's bonding activity.
We've gone to the same multi-day Christian music festival for nine years. Our record is six Mark Schultz concerts in one calendar year. We sit around quoting "As Is" by Peder Eide as if "Samson was a long-haired, arrogant womanizer" is a perfectly logical thing to say in conversation.
If it weren't for music, we'd probably have to watch movies or take up karate like normal people.
When I talk about Lifest, I tell the silly stories: the standing ovation earned by a water bottle, the mud so bad our van had to be pushed into the parking lot, using my lawn chair as an umbrella, etc.
But I think about it, I think about worshipping with Phillips, Craig, and Dean as the rain gently fell on my face. I think about kneeling on fist-sized gravel to stretch my arms up to my Abba Father like a child wanting to be held. I remember Peter Furler (when he was in Newsboys) talking about God's perfect timing only to have a nearby train interrupt his sentence.
Can I worship without music?
I love how the Lord gets my attention through songs I've heard a million times. I get a taste of heaven when strangers unite as a family to sing praises to our Father. I didn't perform "My Savior, My God" in ASL in front of a crowded room of Nicaraguan believers; I worshipped my Savior, my God with my hands.
Through music may be one of my favorite ways to worship, but it's certainly not the only way.
To affirm or encourage someone, that's worship. To serve and love on someone, that's worship. To hug someone, to squeeze a shoulder as you pass, to look someone in the eye. Worship. To genuinely ask how someone's doing, to sit down and share life over a cup of coffee, to bring lunch to an under-employed freelance writer. Worship. To dance, to play ping pong, to sign, to make copies, etc. they can all be worship. (My thoughts on this have been heavily influenced by TASTE Worship--check it out).
In Guatemala, there was a day I was "forbidden" to sing and sign. I worshipped that day. I removed flecks of orange paint from a brush and bucket, and it was worshipful.
Can I worship with music?
Last summer, I remember running through the park arguing with God about being twenty minutes late to a forty-minute show. He brought to my attention that I was not approaching the concert with the right heart.
It wasn't the first time.
How often do I attend a concert just to add another artist to my repertoire? How often do I absent-mindedly sing along without realizing what I'm saying?
These questions hurt because I am ashamed of their answers.
Even at Christian concerts, my heart is not always in the right place. I've sung along, I've waved my arms, I've screamed at the top of my lungs, and I hate to confess it has not always been for the Lord.
It happens under a rain-free sky. It happens in a crowded, dark auditorium. It happens in my church on Sunday mornings. It happens to me more often than I care to admit.
I voluntarily took a day this week and turned the music off. I washed dishes in silence. I drove across town in the quiet. I worked without any accompaniment.
It was weird and awkward at first but then it became peaceful.
That's worship.
Weird and awkward at first. Uncomfortable and strange. But then peaceful, wonderful, and necessary.
Whether you're a person who loves to literally feel the beat of the drums or just prefers white noise in the background, take some time this week to worship with the radio off.
Let me know how it works for you.
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label uncomfortable. Show all posts
Showing posts with label uncomfortable. Show all posts
Friday, February 24, 2012
Friday, September 9, 2011
The Kitchen
Just as a kitchen has a variety of utensils, so does life have a variety of people.
We can't all be forks. We can't all be ladles. We can't all be cheese graders.
Sometimes God asks us to be uncomfortable and fill anothers' role. At that point, He provides the tools necessary to grow you, stretch you, and complete the job for His glory. As He always does.
The Ladle
Server. Serves deep, serves well, serves always.
The Cheese Grader
The block of cheese is a big dream. I love cheese but a block is not practical. The cheese grader breaks down the dream into manageable slices in order to make it a reality. Big dream. Small pieces. One step at a time. Cheese grader.
The Fork
The fork gets the credit but a lot has to happen before everyone sees the fork move from here to there. The fork's the missionary. But being a fork isn't always glamorous. Would you want to be drown in saliva?
What else can we add to the kitchen?
<>< Katie
We can't all be forks. We can't all be ladles. We can't all be cheese graders.
Sometimes God asks us to be uncomfortable and fill anothers' role. At that point, He provides the tools necessary to grow you, stretch you, and complete the job for His glory. As He always does.
The Ladle
Server. Serves deep, serves well, serves always.
The Cheese Grader
The block of cheese is a big dream. I love cheese but a block is not practical. The cheese grader breaks down the dream into manageable slices in order to make it a reality. Big dream. Small pieces. One step at a time. Cheese grader.
The Fork
The fork gets the credit but a lot has to happen before everyone sees the fork move from here to there. The fork's the missionary. But being a fork isn't always glamorous. Would you want to be drown in saliva?
What else can we add to the kitchen?
<>< Katie
Friday, April 1, 2011
God: Interpreter, Provider
I didn't realize how much time Neal and I spent together in Nicaragua until I got home and started telling these stories. I think this is the last one (for now).
On Thursday morning we drove to another middle-of-nowhere church where we were going to do a service at 10am. The Nicaraguan pastors suggested we walk around town and invite people, especially children, to the service. So we did exactly that.
We strategically split into two groups with our best Spanish-speaking students split up and our bilingual Nicaraguan pastors split up. Manolo, the bilingual Nicaragua pastor in our group, told me he wasn't going to translate our invitations. That was all my job. Huh what? Not fair!
I would have much preferred to hide in the back and not do any of the talking. Manolo was going to make sure that didn't happen.
So towards the first house we walked. Our team stayed in a crowd in the street, and Neal and I approached the front door.
"Buenas," he said. "We're going to have a church service over there at ten o'clock if you'd be interested in joining us. Especially children, we're going to have activities and games for them."
Yeah, I don't know those words. But I translated the best I could. Then Neal and I walked on to the next house, and Manolo talked to the people, probably clarifying what I said.
Neal tried to get the other people in our group to introduce the neighbors, but only a few did and still I did all of the translating. Honestly, I didn't really think it fair that they got to hang out and talk while I did all of the work.
That's because it was awkward and very uncomfortable to walk up to a house and talk to strangers about church... in Spanish never the less! Neal and I confessed to each other that it was out of our comfort zones. But with every house, we admitted, it got easier. Neal became comfortable with his spiel and thus I began to anticipate what he was going to say. Of course, he threw me a curve ball now and again but the more houses we talked to, the less clarification Manolo gave afterwards.
Of course, by now it was 10:05 and we were still inviting people to the service at 10:00... Nicaraguan time.
As we walked back to the church to prepare for the service, we talked about how the Holy Spirit interprets for us. It communicates what we cannot. That brought me so much peace. Even with my befuddled Spanish, the Holy Spirit allowed to be heard what needed to be heard.
When we got back to the church, we were able to see the fruits of our labor. Not at first, mind you, but slowly the church filled up. Eventually, they dismissed the kids to go out back.
One... two... three... four... I stopped counting at 50. Our final estimate was about 80. All squished into an area the size of a dorm room.
And again we had no plan.
We did a skit to stall for time. Then Sara told the story of Jonah (and Annalisa, our best Spanish-speaker, interpreted). Then we handed out Jonah coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out home safety coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out blank pieces of paper... until we ran out. That time we ran out of kids asking for paper.
I manned the paper and crayons while our other team members scattered themselves among the masses.
Some of our girls set up in the corner of the backyard area and made Salvation Bracelets.
We kept worrying about running out of beads, so we signaled for those incharge of the service to wrap it up. They saw, "Keep going."
Five loaves, two fish, and a half-a-bag of beads we did not run out. God is such a provider! It's was awesome!
It was great to be on the bus leaving and see the children wave, each boasting a Salvation Bracelet on the wrist that matches mine.
I came home with some very important lessons learned:
1. Sometimes God asks us to do things that are uncomfortable. But the more you do them, the more comfortable they become.
2. The Holy Spirit interprets and speaks when we cannot. What needs to be said is said through no doing of our own.
3. The Lord provides. It's as simple as that.
Thankful for Grace,
<>< Katie
On Thursday morning we drove to another middle-of-nowhere church where we were going to do a service at 10am. The Nicaraguan pastors suggested we walk around town and invite people, especially children, to the service. So we did exactly that.
We strategically split into two groups with our best Spanish-speaking students split up and our bilingual Nicaraguan pastors split up. Manolo, the bilingual Nicaragua pastor in our group, told me he wasn't going to translate our invitations. That was all my job. Huh what? Not fair!
I would have much preferred to hide in the back and not do any of the talking. Manolo was going to make sure that didn't happen.
So towards the first house we walked. Our team stayed in a crowd in the street, and Neal and I approached the front door.
"Buenas," he said. "We're going to have a church service over there at ten o'clock if you'd be interested in joining us. Especially children, we're going to have activities and games for them."
Yeah, I don't know those words. But I translated the best I could. Then Neal and I walked on to the next house, and Manolo talked to the people, probably clarifying what I said.
Neal tried to get the other people in our group to introduce the neighbors, but only a few did and still I did all of the translating. Honestly, I didn't really think it fair that they got to hang out and talk while I did all of the work.
That's because it was awkward and very uncomfortable to walk up to a house and talk to strangers about church... in Spanish never the less! Neal and I confessed to each other that it was out of our comfort zones. But with every house, we admitted, it got easier. Neal became comfortable with his spiel and thus I began to anticipate what he was going to say. Of course, he threw me a curve ball now and again but the more houses we talked to, the less clarification Manolo gave afterwards.
Of course, by now it was 10:05 and we were still inviting people to the service at 10:00... Nicaraguan time.
As we walked back to the church to prepare for the service, we talked about how the Holy Spirit interprets for us. It communicates what we cannot. That brought me so much peace. Even with my befuddled Spanish, the Holy Spirit allowed to be heard what needed to be heard.
When we got back to the church, we were able to see the fruits of our labor. Not at first, mind you, but slowly the church filled up. Eventually, they dismissed the kids to go out back.
One... two... three... four... I stopped counting at 50. Our final estimate was about 80. All squished into an area the size of a dorm room.
And again we had no plan.
We did a skit to stall for time. Then Sara told the story of Jonah (and Annalisa, our best Spanish-speaker, interpreted). Then we handed out Jonah coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out home safety coloring pages... until we ran out.
Then we handed out blank pieces of paper... until we ran out. That time we ran out of kids asking for paper.
I manned the paper and crayons while our other team members scattered themselves among the masses.
Some of our girls set up in the corner of the backyard area and made Salvation Bracelets.
We kept worrying about running out of beads, so we signaled for those incharge of the service to wrap it up. They saw, "Keep going."
Five loaves, two fish, and a half-a-bag of beads we did not run out. God is such a provider! It's was awesome!
It was great to be on the bus leaving and see the children wave, each boasting a Salvation Bracelet on the wrist that matches mine.
I came home with some very important lessons learned:
1. Sometimes God asks us to do things that are uncomfortable. But the more you do them, the more comfortable they become.
2. The Holy Spirit interprets and speaks when we cannot. What needs to be said is said through no doing of our own.
3. The Lord provides. It's as simple as that.
Thankful for Grace,
<>< Katie
Monday, January 31, 2011
Moving Mountains & What If Questions
During church, we were doing an illustration about moving mountains.
"God will move the mountain if we're willing to put in our shovel," Pastor Rob explained.
To demonstrate this, the entire congregation got up in an unorganized communion-style line and proceeded to the front where we used a playground shovel to move some sand from a litter-box like mountain to a new box. It was actually really powerful.
While we were in line, out of my peripheral vision I saw this kid flailing. I didn't think much of it because I grew up in a church with a lot of (sometimes unruly) kids. You learn to ignore them.
"Katie."
I turned. Those flailing legs belonged to my favorite six year old. When I turned and opened my arms, my buddy took a leap of faith and jumped into my arms. I talked to him a bit as we walked to the front of the church, but he wasn't interested in conversation. He just wanted to be held.
I think it's illegal to walk like a normal person when you are carrying a child. We danced down the aisle. Yes, I danced in a Baptist church. And I didn't care what everyone else thought. I was focused on my buddy.
We got to the front of the church and I shifted him to my right hip. He shoveled his sand, and I did the same awkwardly with my left (nondominant) hand.
I went back to my seat, (temporarily) kidnapping Buddy. He worshipped with us for the rest of the service. I don't know that I've ever worshipped with a young child without his/her parents in the same pew. It was weird. Cool weird!
After church, our "Self Imposed Minster of Coffee" caught me.
SIMC: I saw you got yourself a child today.
Katie: I did!
SIMC: Where'd he come from?
Katie: He kind fell from the sky and into my arms.
SIMC: No, really, whose kid was he?
What if we were willing to take a leap of faith and jump into the arms of God?
What if we just allowed our Abba Father to hold us, to carry us?
What if we danced like no one was watching?
What if no opinions mattered except for the Lord's?
What if we were willing to be used to move mountains, even when it's awkward and uncomfortable?
What if we shared our pew with others, even if it's a bit strange?
What if our posture and attitude change with God's presence in our lives?
When I was carrying my buddy, I no longer mattered. Everyone wanted to know where the random kid came from. As a Christian, I no longer matter. I want everyone to know about God.
Going from "Katie the college student" to "Katie the college student carrying a random child" was an obvious change. Is the change from "Katie that girl" to "God's daughter Katie" as obvious? What if people saw that kind of change in me? What if they asked where it came from?
It fell from the sky. It was all God.
<>< Katie
"God will move the mountain if we're willing to put in our shovel," Pastor Rob explained.
To demonstrate this, the entire congregation got up in an unorganized communion-style line and proceeded to the front where we used a playground shovel to move some sand from a litter-box like mountain to a new box. It was actually really powerful.
While we were in line, out of my peripheral vision I saw this kid flailing. I didn't think much of it because I grew up in a church with a lot of (sometimes unruly) kids. You learn to ignore them.
"Katie."
I turned. Those flailing legs belonged to my favorite six year old. When I turned and opened my arms, my buddy took a leap of faith and jumped into my arms. I talked to him a bit as we walked to the front of the church, but he wasn't interested in conversation. He just wanted to be held.
I think it's illegal to walk like a normal person when you are carrying a child. We danced down the aisle. Yes, I danced in a Baptist church. And I didn't care what everyone else thought. I was focused on my buddy.
We got to the front of the church and I shifted him to my right hip. He shoveled his sand, and I did the same awkwardly with my left (nondominant) hand.
I went back to my seat, (temporarily) kidnapping Buddy. He worshipped with us for the rest of the service. I don't know that I've ever worshipped with a young child without his/her parents in the same pew. It was weird. Cool weird!
After church, our "Self Imposed Minster of Coffee" caught me.
SIMC: I saw you got yourself a child today.
Katie: I did!
SIMC: Where'd he come from?
Katie: He kind fell from the sky and into my arms.
SIMC: No, really, whose kid was he?
What if we were willing to take a leap of faith and jump into the arms of God?
What if we just allowed our Abba Father to hold us, to carry us?
What if we danced like no one was watching?
What if no opinions mattered except for the Lord's?
What if we were willing to be used to move mountains, even when it's awkward and uncomfortable?
What if we shared our pew with others, even if it's a bit strange?
What if our posture and attitude change with God's presence in our lives?
When I was carrying my buddy, I no longer mattered. Everyone wanted to know where the random kid came from. As a Christian, I no longer matter. I want everyone to know about God.
Going from "Katie the college student" to "Katie the college student carrying a random child" was an obvious change. Is the change from "Katie that girl" to "God's daughter Katie" as obvious? What if people saw that kind of change in me? What if they asked where it came from?
It fell from the sky. It was all God.
<>< Katie
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Can't I Just...
My friend Danny updated his blog the other day with a post about how it's much easier to minister to people from the other side of the radio, podium, or cyberworld, than it is to sit down with people in person. I'd have to agree.
God has this tendency to make us a bit uncomfortable.
This year I became a small group leader for a wonderful group of girls. God literally shoved me out of my comfort zone and forced me to put down the pen and use my voice instead. Now, I have no problem talking. I love it, actually. But there are so many reasons I didn't want to talk in front of people: what if I tell them something that's not of God, what if I talk too fast (quite possible since apparently I'm "Telemundo in English"), what if I sound stupid, what if they don't understand what I'm trying to say. What if I make a fool of myself?
Well, I have made a fool of myself. (Although I'm not the one that thought she was really smart when she realized you had to be a Jew to be Jewish). :-D It happens. Just goes to show I'm human. But guess, what: God still loves me no matter how silly I sound (or look).
Like I've told my small group girls: I'd much rather write about God and how amazing He is because that's easy. He doesn't want me to only thank because it's easy. He's thrown my way out of my comfort zone, but He hasn't left me there.
Do we see a trend? How many times now have a blogged about God pushing me out of my comfort zone but not leaving me there? You'd think I'd have learned by now...
<>< Katie
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love that is in Jesus Christ our Lord." Romans 8:38-39
God has this tendency to make us a bit uncomfortable.
This year I became a small group leader for a wonderful group of girls. God literally shoved me out of my comfort zone and forced me to put down the pen and use my voice instead. Now, I have no problem talking. I love it, actually. But there are so many reasons I didn't want to talk in front of people: what if I tell them something that's not of God, what if I talk too fast (quite possible since apparently I'm "Telemundo in English"), what if I sound stupid, what if they don't understand what I'm trying to say. What if I make a fool of myself?
Well, I have made a fool of myself. (Although I'm not the one that thought she was really smart when she realized you had to be a Jew to be Jewish). :-D It happens. Just goes to show I'm human. But guess, what: God still loves me no matter how silly I sound (or look).
Like I've told my small group girls: I'd much rather write about God and how amazing He is because that's easy. He doesn't want me to only thank because it's easy. He's thrown my way out of my comfort zone, but He hasn't left me there.
Do we see a trend? How many times now have a blogged about God pushing me out of my comfort zone but not leaving me there? You'd think I'd have learned by now...
<>< Katie
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love that is in Jesus Christ our Lord." Romans 8:38-39
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