Ten Steps

What did you do thirteen days ago?  At some point during the day did you walk to your living room and sit down on the couch?  For the first time in two years, so did my friend Kaitlyn.

In October 2007, Kaitlyn was sent home from school sick.  At first they thought she had the flu, but she got worse rather than better, and no one knew why.  Her hyper-sensitivity to sound, touch, smell, light, etc. left her to sit in a dark room all day watching tv and the lowest possible volume level.  Her family read the subtitles because the tv was too quiet to hear. 

In April 2008, she lost the ability to walk.  That June she was finally diagnosed with Lyme Disease and multiple co-infections.  Her family of five (plus two dogs) packed up their lives, left their 3,800 square foot house, and moved 800 miles to a two-bedroom apartment.

Over the last few years they have faithfully walked through a battle that I cannot fathom.  The air conditioner, the act of cooking dinner, and even the gurling of the fridge are painfully loud to her.  Hugs are out of the question.  She's been treated almost daily at same clinic since 2008 and the doctor and nurses have never seen her face because she wears a towel over her head to block the light. 

The week before the Steelers (this family's football team of choice) won the Superbowl, Kaitlyn independently walked ten steps, something medicine could not explain.  That ability was lost again but the hope it provided was remarkable.  She's now learning to walk again, and less than two weeks ago she got to sit in the living room for the first time since they've lived there.

This week, on September 29, Kaitlyn turns sixteen.  What did you do for your sixteenth birthday?  Not sit around in a dark apartment or go to a clinic with a towel over your head, right? 

For her 14th birthday, their apartment was flooded with cards. 
For her 15th, we were asked to fast and petition the Lord, the Great Physician, for her healing. 
This year, her family has asked that we find a way to make her 16th birthday memorable. 

What they want everyone to do is something sweet or uplifting. Something out of the ordinary.  They suggested volunteering at a soup kitchen, making a meal for someone, visiting hospice, writing to a solider, volunteering at a dog shelter... Bless someone on her behalf.  In Kaitlyn's honor and for God's glory.

I would love for you to participate with us.  If you do, please comment on this post or send me an email with what was done and where it was, your state if you're within the US or your country (since I know there are some international lurkers!).  What they're going to do is collect these stories and bind them into a keepsake book for Kaitlyn.

“Therefore, we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:15-18

As for what I did, well, you'll have to come back on Friday.
<>< Katie

PS: For more information, visit her caringbridge.  You do have to register for the site but it's free and open to everyone.

One of my Favorite Stories

On August 2, 1989, Freddy arrived home from a work dinner to find his house empty.  Nothing unusual.  He called his in-laws who lived down the street.  He says he knew the moment his father-in-law answered the phone.

His wife, Parah, didn't know.  She was too busy running up and down the stairs trying to relieve the cramps caused by eating a whole bowl of green beans for dinner.  After the stairs, she moved on to the stationary bike before resolving herself to the bathroom floor.  She still had three weeks.

A few hours later, they were in the car on the way to the hospital.  Freddy's eyes rotated between the road, the clock, and his screaming wife.  Less than five minutes.  As they drew nearer, he expressed his lifelong dream of being pulled over at that very moment.  Through gritted teeth Parah told him to shut up and drive the car.

One stoplight away and an ambulance appeared on the horizon.  Freddy didn't stop to think.  He knew he had to get his wife to the hospital before that ambulance arrived.  He ran the red light and threatened to park in the ambulance bay.  He parked in the on-call physician spot instead.

Inside of the hospital a few floors up, their sister-in-law Sasha heard about Freddy and Parah's late-night arrival.  She slowly meandered downstairs thinking she had plenty of time.  Stopping at the nurse's station to talk to her friends, she was told about a patient in Room One mere minutes away from giving birth.  Suddenly the pieces fell into place and she rushed into the room, almost missing the birth of her goddaughter.

She wasn't the only one who almost missed it.  The doctor almost missed it, too.  He arrived at the hospital and poked his head in Parah's room.  "Do I have time to change my clothes?"

"If you hurry," the nurse said.

They teased he could have been there sooner if Freddy hadn't been parked in his spot.  Luckily, the doctor did make it back in time to deliver a baby girl at 1:35am on August 3.

That was 21 years ago tonight.  How do you think I should celebrate?

<>< Katie

April

Last summer, I helped with an inner-city VBS.  I was sitting at the table with several preteen boys.  I knew the family situation of these boys was not good.  Two of the boys were being removed from their home and put into foster care.  A different boy at the table was their cousin; he began trash-talking their parents.  The older of the two kids in foster care, naturally, became defensive of his parents and threatened violence against his cousin.

I've worked with kids a long time.  I can say, "I'm trained to handle that" to most situations, but this one was out of my expertise.  I tried to get the kid to apologize.  Fail.  I tried to "jump the shark" and change the subject.  Fail.  I had no idea what to do.  And I froze.

April came to my rescue.  She knew this family's story and how to handle these boys.  As soon as she had the situation under control, I excused myself from the table and moved to color with the little kids.  I'm much more comfortable with crayons.  It was during that week that I decided I wanted to be April when I grow up.

This week, I jokingly said, "God, I'd love to grow up to be April as long as I don't have to marry a guy like Christian."  April's husband is one of the leaders of my 20s ministry, and on Monday we played Jenga.  Until I accidentally knocked the tower into Christian's lap and he showered me with blocks.  Mind you, Christian is a pastor and we are at church.  We moved on to building with Jenga blocks where I used my right hand to build while using my left to knock Christian's hand away from destroying my creation.  Luckily, I learned a long time ago that sassing and vexing is a love language, and most of my friends think it's my primary love language.

I love Christian and April.  They're such a godly couple.  Sure, they don't always get long.  I've seen that, but I've also seen them both admit when they're wrong.  I've seen them willingly give of themselves to serve God's Kingdom.  I've seen them be used by Him.  I've only known Christian and April for a year or so, but I do know I need more people like them in my life.

Happy birthday, April.  I'm so glad you're coming home soon.  We both know it's not good for Christian to be home alone.  :-)

<>< Katie

Happy birthday, Daddio

"Lunch? Noon. Love, Dad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<>< Katie

Bees are Bad

It's apparently teacher's week.  My mother is a teacher.
It's apparently my mother's birthday.  My mother was born on Mother's Day.
It's apparently Mother's Day.  I love my mother.  And my godmother.  And my grandmothers.  And my adoptive mothers. And...

We should be doing something super fun and girly like getting manicures and celebrating them.  But we're not.  In fact, I don't think my mom is seeing any of her daughters on Mother's Day.

I could write something super sappy to go with the super sappy card and maybe send some flowers to... the car?  As I write this my parents are driving across the country to pick me up from another year of school.  I'm fervently studying for finals (can't you tell?) instead of packing to move home again.  Maybe a funny story would be better.

A couple of years ago my mom was planting bushes in our garden.  She jumped on the shovel and it went into the ground really easily.  When she pulled it out, she realized why: it was a bees nest.  Suddenly, bees began to swarm out of the ground around her.  She said it was like a cartoon as she ran across the yard trying to figure out what to do.  She couldn't go inside or they would infest our house.  She couldn't keep running forever.  Luckily, we have a pool.  Mentally she searched herself to see if she was wearing anything that wasn't water proof as she flung open the pool gate.  She pitched her gardening gloves onto the sidewalk as she slid into the pool under the cover.  It's an in-ground pool where the stairs don't have a cover but the rest of the pool does, so she made sure her head stayed underwater above the stairs but the rest of her body was under the pool cover.  She said she could see the bees swarming above where she was and eventually they went away.  When she finally poked her head out she saw Dad and my sister get in the car and drive away, oblivious to the backyard brouhaha and the fact that my fully-clothed mother was in the closed pool.  When all of the bees were gone, she got out of the pool and walked to the back of the house.  In the most pitiful voice she could muster she rang the intercom, "Will someone please bring me a towel?"

I did as I was told and Mom wrapped herself up the towel and pouted on the deck.  (My mom looks like Sarah Palin if you want to put an image of this in your head).  Of course, I laughed at her before finding some Benadryl for her bee stings since she had to stay outside.  The rule in our house is that after swimming you can't go inside until you don't leave a "butt print" anymore.  In other words, if you sit down on the deck, does your swimsuit make the deck wet?  Well, Mom was going to have a butt print for a very long time.  While we were waiting, the phone rang and we recognized the number as Dad's cell.

Mom [pitiful voice]: Bees are bad.
Dad: Tornados are worse; get in the basement.
Mom [looking around at the sunny, clear sky]: Now?
Dad: No, next week Wednesday.  Go!

Thanks to a tornado somewhere else in the county Mom broke her own "butt print" rule, and we were banished to the basement instead of enjoying our beautiful, sunny day outside.

I love you, Mom.

<>< Katie

PS: While we were picking out cards, Jo mentioned it's also nurse's week.  I think she just wanted us to buy her a card.  But my godmother is a nurse, so I suppose I could buy her a card.  Happy nurse's week, too!

Double the Mistake

There are about a million birthdays in April. Some of them I was able to write birthday blogs for but some of them I had to miss. If you didn't get one, I am incredibly sorry. Please, don't take it personally. :-)

Today's is a birthday I cannot miss. I'm often complemented on how I can see God in all sorts of weird ways and call them "God Moments." I haven't always been able to do that. Through a year's worth of God moments of her own, I was able to copy Natalie's lead and see God in little, weird things. Trust me, if you think some of my God moments are weird, ask Natalie about He spoke through the chemistry principle of microscopic reverse or anything else that relates to sports, science, and the bathroom.

Thus, for her birthday, I'd love to share one of her God moments. The problem is that I need to find a censored one that is appropriate for such a wide reading audience. Not mortifying Natalie isn't quite an option. Hey, she's the one that showed up to small group wearing a bathrobe to demonstrate how Isaiah walked around naked for three years (see Isaiah 20). She's the one that took our small group on Babylonian exile through the icy rain. She's the one that burned two bagels in less than a half an hour. She's the one that broke two fingers playing flag football.

After a few days of pain, Natalie finally decided she should go to the doctor for her two injured fingers. The identical x-rays were hanging side-by-side and, as she tells it, the doctor was looking from one to the other to her to her hands with a confused look on his face.
Doctor: These are two different fingers.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: These are two different hands.
Natalie: Yes, sir.
Doctor: Please tell me this was the same play.
Natalie: No, sir.
She'd been playing a co-ed game of flag football here on campus when she reached for the flag of one of her opponents.  She got the flag but she also got her right hand tangled in his shorts.  Broken right middle finger.  She's broken enough bones to realize what she'd done but is way too competitive to remove herself from the game.  Besides, if she benched herself her team would have to forfeit.  A little while later she reached for her opponent's flag with her left hand and the exact same thing happened again.  Broken finger on the left hand.  Any sensible person would have learned her lesson and forced her team for forfeit the game.  She'd already not just taken one for the team but two.  Nope, Natalie kept playing.  In fact, she even scored a touchdown with two broken fingers; she said she carried the ball clutched between her forearms and her chest as she waddled towards the end zone.

By Monday at small group time she'd be amused by the identical x-rays and had two splints on her fingers. 
Apparently the flesh-colored splints make it look like her fingers were wearing hoodies, so she drew faces on her fingernails.  The right-hand one became Jesus and the left-hand one became John the Baptist.  Imagine Laura's reaction (her faithful co-leader who frequently reminded her "Be censored, Natalie!").  It went something like, "NATALIE!  You cannot flip someone off with Jesus!"

Thus was my small group freshman year, and as is common for Natalie, God spoke through such a bizarre series of events.

She went on to talk about how sometimes she makes the same mistake twice.  Sometimes she puts bagels in the oven and forgets about them until they're burned to chars and sometimes she does it again ten minute later.  Sometimes she burns two bagels again two weeks later.  Sometimes she breaks two fingers in the same football game.  Sometimes she had to make the same mistake twice before God gets her attention.  Do we do the same thing?  Are we so caught up in what we're doing that we forget to pay attention to what we're doing? That we forget to pay attention to God?

Luckily, there is good news for us.  Even out of her mistake of breaking fingers, God was still able to do something remarkable when He helped her score.  He can still do pretty cool things with our double-mess ups.  And frankly, I think that's a darn good thing.

I love you guys.  A lot.
<>< Katie

Happy birthday, Rebecca

"How's your family?"  I asked Rebecca over dinner a few months back.  I already knew the answer thanks to the sporadic caringbridge updates, but it would have been ruder of me not to ask.

"They're having a grand time in their little tiny apartment," she told me, her Pennsylvania accent not nearly as thick as her mother's.  Mrs. Karen and I used to tease about the desire to sit for hours and listen to the other talk just to hear our different accents.  Mine's not as strong as it used to be, a repercussion of living in the south nine months out of the year, but it's still there to be a frequent source of mocking.  Rebecca's accent has faded, too, I noticed as she went on to tell me about her family of five (plus two dogs) living in a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with a hyper-sensitive (no light, sound, touch, etc.) sister battling Lyme disease.  If Rebecca wanted to talk Lyme, I was more than willing to discuss it with her, but a year and a half after diagnosis who really wants to keep repeating the horrors of the debilitating disease?  That's what caringbridge is for.  Dinners are for reminiscing with old friends, and that's exactly what we did.  We retold our favorite stories about growing up together, the three years we were neighbors.

"Remember when we had a four-bedroom cardboard house in your basement?"
"The one we used seven rolls of duct tape to build? Yes!"

It's so funny to hear the different memories we both share in addition to the ones the other has forgotten.  Sometimes I think these stories are better than the ones we both remember.  I'd forgotten about the time we "flew" into her basement by climbing through the window.  She'd forgotten about our "synchronized swimming routine" in my pool.  Of course, neither one of us has forgotten the "pump up the new born baby," the restaurant in her basement, or playing hide and go seek.  One set of parents would laid down some rules and the other would obey them.  Even grandparents knew we had to be home for dinner at 5:30, and after dinner we could play again until the neighborhood lights came on.  Those were the rules and we accepted them.

When sharing my testimony I always say Rebecca was placed in my life to provide me when a friend during the challenges of middle school.  Really, I believe that to be true but I also believe Rebecca and her family were placed in my life to show me what it's like to live as a Christian.  To show me selflessness, hope, discipline, and love.  Even now, when I get emails about their medical fight, every update ends with a scripture, hope-filled song lyrics, or a prayer.

Living in different parts of the country now (between the two of us, we could claim residency in six different states) makes it hard to get together and share life on a regular basis.  Prior to our dinner last month, it had been three years since I'd seen her.  Even though I wasn't feeling well enough to actually enjoy eating dinner, I thoroughly enjoyed our dinner conversation.  We picked up exactly where we left off, as friends and sisters in Christ.

All this to say, happy birthday, Rebecca; thank you for the joy, hope, and love you've brought into my life.  One day I will watch you play basketball; I hope it's in a WMBA game.

<>< Katie

Concierge Adam

Today is Adam's birthday, and even though he doesn't read this blog, I feel compelled to write him a birthday blog. Yesterday my suitemates were taking turnings asking if they were in my blog. Without thinking, I could answer yes. Then it was Adam's turn, and I hesitated. Most of my funny memories with Adam are eye glances and smiles that cannot be explained in words. It's like we understood something no one else did but cannot voice our thoughts. How do you blog to explain why I just shot him a dirty look for closing the door?

Last September, we were just getting used to living in a new building with co-ed laundry facilities. Nikki had left her laundry in the drying a bit too long and returned to find them folded. In a panic, she walked into the breezeway,

"A BOY FOLDED MY CLOTHES!!" She shouted, wearing her hamper on her head and waving her hands for emphasis. This fiasco created quite a spectacle.

"How do you know it was a boy?" Everyone asked.

"Because! The underwear is folded on top. A girl would NEVER leave another girl's underwear on top. Girls ALWAYS know to tuck the underwear inside the top shirt. It's just common courtesy."

This became a major discussion for the next several hours.

"Oh, those were your clothes I folded," Adam fessed up when he heard Nikki's rampage about a boy folding her clothes.

"ADAM TOUCHED MY PANTIES!" She shouted loud enough for the entire building to hear. Of course, everyone loved to tease about Adam and Nikki's panties.

A few weeks later, Adam left clothes unfolded in the dryer and waited for the owner to return to reclaim the clothes and vacate the dryer.

"I got fussed at last time I tried to fold someone's clothes," he explained.

One afternoon, Allyson, Adam, and I were playing Rack-O on the floor in the living room. Elizabeth was in the kitchen chopping an apple with her back to us.

"How was the end of your book?" Adam asked.

"I don't know. Well, you see, this person that was dead isn't dead anymore. And now there was this prophesy about Percy, and we don't know if that's good or bad..." She explained for literally five straight minutes with an elaborate plot summary.

"Oh?" Adam asked "What do you think about that?"

"I don't really know. I like that the person who was dead isn't dead anymore, I think, but Percy..." she continued for five more minutes before finally turning around to face us.

Much to her surprise, Adam, Allyson, and I were all trying really hard to stifle our laughter. We were expecting a simple, "It turned out well" or "I want to read the next book in the series" or "I didn't like the ending" and instead got a detailed plot summary followed by Elizabeth's thoughts on the novel.

Yes, Adam egged her on, but she thought he was genuinely interested in the novel. While we all found this hilarious, she was "offended" and stormed to her bedroom for a few hours. :-) We joke about it now, though. Periodically we'll ask for a Percy update and she just go "Humph!"


I love it when Adam and Allyson go on "dates" but can't get off campus because it often involves them cleaning our living room. Luckily, our fussing hasn't stopped him from doing our dishes, emptying our garbage, and tidying up our living room.

Happy birthday, Concierge Adam! Thanks for your willingness to serve, your witty humor, and how comfortable you make yourself in our apartment.
<>< Katie

Door Decks

Last night at 11:30pm when I sat down to blog, no words were here, and I wanted to be in bed in the next half-hour. I'd had a plethora of ideas throughout the day, but they had all vanished. Instead of blogging, I spent the last half hour of my day talking to my sweet suitemates. Sorry, few faithful readers.

Yesterday was Tony's birthday, and I felt it necessary to give him a birthday blog. The problem is that I don't really have a lot of stories about Tony (except the time he got bit by a squirrel but I've already written about that). This morning we were both in the computer lab at the same time and he laughed as he asked me how many blogs I have. Only two: a personal blog and a work/school blog.

This semester, Tony is my RA. This means he's responsible for making our door-decks (aka name tags for the door). Several of the girls in my apartment don't go by their proper names. Well, our door-decks all say our proper names. Tony knows us and should have known to change the names. So we were giving him a hard time about it.

"Ok, listen," he said. "Keith was there when I was making the door-decks, and when I said, 'Which name should I use?' He got this devious look on his face and kind of laughed--"

"Are we ready to go to dinner?" Keith asked bursting in to our apartment in the middle of Tony's story. All of our eyes darted from Tony to Keith. Drama Queen Keith figured out what story was being told, grunted, and stormed out of the apartment.

"KEITH!" We screamed, running after him to take our anger out on him instead of Tony. Love you, Keith.

Happy birthday, Tony! We now know the truth: you are mostly innocent in the instance of the mislabeled door-decks.

<>< Katie