A Run in the Park

My family and I used to go to Lifest for the bands.  Hours were spent circling artist names in the program and making a strategic plan of where we needed to be and when.  Unfortunately for me, long gone are the years when I spent five days running from stage to stage, from mosh pit to lawn chair, from merch table to meet and greet line.

This past opening night of Lifest we got caught in the madness where the one-lane road through the park became a parking lot.  The only show I wanted to see all evening was to start in four minutes.  So still in the holding pattern at the park's entrance, I abandoned my family and our minivan.  I began to walk with a purpose towards a party with a purpose.  It took me fifteen minutes to walk from the park entrance to the fairgrounds entrance (in case you ever need to know).

Fifteen minutes is long time to repeatedly glance at your watch and realize you're missing the only show you wanted to see that day.  It's also a long time to question if you're approaching with the right heart.

Even if I miss my show, will tonight still be worth it?  Am I willing to hear from the Lord through a speaker I've never heard of, a band whose CD I have never purchased?  Am I here for an artist, a speaker, or am I here for the Lord?

Valid questions to take my mind off of the ticking minutes.

A fifteen minute jog through the park, thirteen minutes in line to exchange my ticket for a wristband, and I finally made it to the Grandstand as Peder Eide was wrapping up "Yes, Lord" and beginning a new song, "We are Not Orphans."  A new, new song.  So new the CD it's on won't be released until July 15th.  Peder has personally told me about this song twice, but I've been waiting a year to hear it.

A year.  No embellishing.

I thought I was late.  Twenty-three minutes late, to be exact.  Twenty-three minutes late to a forty minute show.

I wasn't.  I was right on time.  Sure, I missed the first twenty-three minutes that I would have thoroughly enjoyed, but I was right on time to hear the song I had been anxiously awaiting.

It was a beautiful moment.

"I haven't forgotten.  Welcome to Lifest.  We've been waiting for you," the Lord whispered to me.

It might have taken twenty-three minutes of anxiety, but once again I could honestly proclaim, "God, I'm all in.  I'm here for You.  Not the artists, not the speakers, not the expo center, not the camaraderie.  I'm here for YOU!" 

What a wonderful feeling that is!

When's the last time you spent fifteen minutes running through a (figurative) park adjusting the focus of your heart?  When's the last time you let your Abba Father sing over you and remind you of His goodness?  He's waiting.

"For the Lord your God is living among you.
He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
With his love, he will calm all your fears.
He will rejoice over you with joyful songs."
Zephaniah 3:17 NLT

"You are Faithful"

Some families watch movies. Some families have a game night. My family goes to concerts. It's our bonding activity.

I think it's safe to say we are professional concert go-ers. We are armed with CDs to have signed and even bring our own Sharpies. We consider our seats good ones if we can see the performer's teeth. We know all the words and sing along, even if not invited. We've had artists talk to us from the stage, tease us in the Meet & Greet line, and remember us from concert to concert.

The other night, we went to a Peder Eide concert. Peder has recognized me before, but I was out of context so I wasn't sure if he'd recognize me again. At one point during the show, I was looking at the screen and he was looking at me. When I looked back, we made eye contact and he gave me an "I see you" look.

After the show, we made our way through the crowd and towards Peder. When it was my turn, he greeted me with a hug and said, “It’s good to see you, Katie.”

He remembered my name! If I ever gave him my name, it was six months ago in a very different atmosphere. Maybe he found eight seconds to facebook stalk me. I don’t know, but he knew my name! We could have walked away right then and I would have been happy.

But we didn’t. When he signed my CD, while teasing me about being old school for bringing a CD from 1999, he signed his name, wrote my name (which he spelled correctly), and then thought for a minute. Eventually he wrote, “You are faithful.”

Ok, Peder Eide addressing me by name and calling me faithful. That’s cool!

But you know who I really want to hear that from? God.

I want God to put His arm around me and say, “Katie, you are faithful.”

I don’t want my faith to be limited to Christian concerts and blog posts. I want my faith to be a daily experience. I want to always seek God more. I don’t want the smile on my face to be fake. I want to be filled with joy—even when I have a headache, even when I’m stressed, even when the world seems to be against me.

Through it all, may I live faithfully to the Lord.  After all, He's the one that gave me my name.

<>< Katie

Your Neighborhood Merch Sellers

Amy: Things like this only happen when I'm with you, Katie.

I subconsciously collect two things:
1. People named Mark (my family has FIVE family friends named Mark... we don't have any other duplicates).
2.  Odd situations.  I AM living a story worth telling.

On Friday night, Amy got another opportunity to experience this with me.  I wanted to go to Miracle in Bedford Falls, a musical in town, and Amy was the only one brave enough to go with me.

We showed up and the sign said the show was sold out.  I had four tickets on reserve, but we were only going to need two.  When I gave my name at Will Call the woman made an, "Oh!" face.  You know, the one that can only be followed by bad news.

Woman: We sold them.  We could only hold tickets for a week.  We tried to call you but we didn't have a phone number and you're not in the phone book.

When I spoke to a woman on the phone three weeks ago she never mentioned the week rule and I told her I was out of state.

They said don't panic.  Yes, the show was sold out but there were always no-shows, so they'd be able to find us two seats.  Just hang out for a bit.

Ok, great.  While we were standing in the atrium people watching, in came Mark.  This Mark happened to be the man who wrote the musical we were about to see.  Long story short, I know him.  We greeted each other with a nice long hug and some friendly chit chat.  I told him what had happened to our tickets and he apologized again.  As he was walking away he turned back to me.

Mark: Katie, can you stay after a little while and help me sell CDs?  [to Amy] And can you help too?

We didn't even have tickets to the musical but we were hired to sell CDs.  Of course, we said yes.

Amy: This is the second time this semester you've been asked to sell merchandise and I've been roped in to help.

She was right.  A few months ago we sold CDs for Shaun Groves and got to talk about Compassion.  It was the best job ever!  It was also moderately intense.  Everything I know about CD sales I learned from Ben, Shaun's merch and sound guy.

After the show, Amy and I set up the table to look nice, sold CDs, even made a make-shift cash box.
Mark: So, how many did we sell?  Two?
Katie: Five actually.  And you gave away two.
Mark: [Surprised] I'm glad you kept track of that!

Amy and I decided we're going to drop out of college and just become professional merchandise saleswomen.  We rock at this job!   Now, if only someone would pay us...

Amy: I have never done stuff like that in my life!  But I've done it twice this semester and it's because of you!
Katie: Either I don't know how to say no or I just know the right people.  Take your pick.

By the way, we did end up getting to see the musical.  We had third row seats even!  They were better than the tickets I had reserved.  God is good, right?

Have a great Saturday, and if you need someone to sell CDs, I know some good ones.  We could probably do books too.  ;-)

<>< Katie

Fridge Kids

Growing up I spent my share of time at a certain neighbor's house.  One of the things I always noticed was a certain photo on their fridge.  It was of a girl who was clearly not from around here.  I asked who she was and never remembered the answer.  Seriously, I think I asked three or four times before I finally resolved myself to believe it was one of Kaitlyn's friends, and in my head I called her "Fridge Girl."

When I was looking for an "in Kaitlyn's honor" project for her 16th birthday, I sat down and thought about Kaitlyn.  Lyme disease, dogs, Christ, and love all came to mind.  As I was getting lost in memories, Fridge Girl popped up.  I now realize Fridge Girl was a child they sponsored through Compassion.  You see, my apartment now has our own Fridge Girl.

On Tuesday afternoon Neal asked begged me to help with an event on campus.  My primary job was to sell merchandise but I also got to talk about Compassion.  Play with money and CDs while talking about child sponsorship.  Basically it was the perfect job for me.

I got to talk about my family's Fridge Girl.  Her name is Maria Jose and she lives in Columbia with her two sisters and parents.  Since she's in a Spanish-speaking country, I write letters to her directly in Spanish.  Of course, Compassion has translators, but it feels more personal to me to exchange words in her native language. 

My roommate Jennifer just recently got back from a trip through Compassion.  She got to go to the Philippines to visit her sponsored child, Jamsell.  Photos of Jamsell are all over our room and it makes me smile (and a little jealous) every time I see them.

Among us were volunteers from Compassion.  One man showed us letters from his sponsored child in Ecuador, a map of where Compassion works, and then he ran out to his car.  He came back with an arm full of computer-printed photographs of his grandchildren.  He told us the age and full name of each child.  It was actually quite sweet.

"And this is my new knee."

I was selling a CD at the time, so I was really hoping I misheard him.  A discrete glance in their direction told me I was in no such luck.  Right there on the table was a photograph of an x-ray.

"It has four parts..."

Let's just say I learned infinitely more than I ever wanted to know about knee replacements.  Honestly, it was more awkward than the awkward moment the Compassion coordinator warned us about: The Packet Pass.

Each of us took a pile of packets (each packet has information about a real child somewhere in the world) and went through the audience handing them out.  Our director told us to stay there among the audience until about halfway through the song.

"Two minutes," he said, "but it's going to feel like eight."

When I was standing up there with a smile and God's children in my hands, two minutes felt like eight seconds.  It was while I was standing there I realized that in my hands I held fifteen children all who happened to be from Africa and Asia.  That means that even though I can communicate in three languages, my communication with these kids would look like a game of charades.  Not God's.  He can talk to them directly in their language and vice versa.  How cool is that?  God speaks English, German, Chinese, all tribal languages, etc.  It's a simple realization but when you're looking at photographs of real children, it's mind boggling.

As a student body, we sponsored 53 children on Tuesday!  That is forty more than our previous record.  That is 53 children whose were just given an education, medicine, and hope thanks to "poor college students."  Fifty-three children and their families are being told about Christ!  Well done, y'all!  My apartment now has two of our own Fridge Girls and one Fridge Boy.  I can't wait to start sending them letters and photos.  Our Fridge Kids are going to think Americans are crazy.  :-)

As for me, well, I'm just in awe at how God works.  And I'm thankful for "Kaitlyn's friend," the first Fridge Girl in my life.

<>< Katie

See the blue; be the blue

My summer days have been pretty much the same: check blogger for updates, facebook, read blogs, check blogger for updates, write a new blog, read a chapter, work on novel (50,000 words!), check blogger for updates, read a chapter, work on novel, check blogger for updates...

When I finally tear myself away from the computer, I head to the basement to work on my scrapbook.  Directly above my workstation is a window that leads to a hole in our backyard.  When we first punched holes in the walls to add the windows, we put flowers in the terraced dug-out because they were pretty.  Well, the years have gone by and so have the flowers.

The other day I was banished to the basement (tornado warning?).  After cranking out a few pages, I looked up and saw this:

That's the best photo I could get without climbing on the counter and sitting in the window well in a "super safe way," sorry.  There is one small clump of blue flowers in a huge sea of green.  I looked at those blue flowers and smiled.

That's how we're supposed to be: one blue flower in a sea of green.  We're supposed to stand out in the crowd.  Stand strong for Christ, even when we're alone.  Daily show His grace, mercy, joy, and compassion even when it isn't easy.  We're supposed to be the blue.

A couple of hours later, I was still thinking about this God moment when I remembered the title of disc two in my car: See the Blue by Peder Eide.

The back of the CD case says,

If you look around yourself right now - even as you read this- and look for the color blue, you will most likely find many things that are blue.  The color stands out when you look for it.  It has always been there, but it's when you look for it that you find it!  The same goes for God's presence, God's fingerprint, God's grace, and God's still small voice.  It's always there, but often we don't notice it, hear it, or see it until we look for it."

Do you see the blue?  Can you be the blue?

<>< Katie

Is this normal?

I've got a not-so-rare genetic disease.  I got it from my mom.  My sisters have it, too, but theirs isn't as severe.

When I was home in March, we couldn't park Maxwell (my dad's car) in the garage because there were new windows there.  They couldn't put the new windows in until the wood floor on the first floor was refinished.  They couldn't refinish the floor until they (a) decided on a color (b) sanded down all of the footboards in the entire house and refinished those with three coats of varnish.  Yes, my mother on her hands and knees sanding the upstairs bathroom (with linoleum floor and no windows) is getting us one step closer to a refinished wood floor and replaced windows.  Two months later, the windows are still in the garage.  This is our disease: the inability to complete one project before moving on to the next.

My arrival home spurred a big episode...
My task: unpack the cars and fit everything into my bedroom or under the ping pong table downstairs.  The living room make be borrowed but only until Laura's graduation party in late June.

Step One: clean the bedroom
This means all of the papers previously heaped neatly in the corner under the window are now sorted in piles and scattered across the room.  Before finding homes for all of these "important documents" I moved on to step two.

Step Two: Operation Bookshelf
My family's notorious for trying to fit too much furniture in a single room.  Right now, that room is my bedroom.  It's already full with a matching bedroom set, I've added two white CD cases, and now a Dad-made bookshelf.  Problem: there is no wall space for the bookshelf.  I began sorting and piling next to the door to find a space for said bookshelf, thus adding to the mountains of paper sorted neatly all over the room.  I also entertian the idea of rearranging every piece of furniture in my bedroom in order to accomodate said bookshelf.  However, I then remember Mom and I have no upper body strength and Dad's not allowed to lift anything heavy.  He's never been one for the rules, so I don't dare tempt him.  Time to move on to step three.

Step Three: You have a window seat?
Well, a windowseat for the cats.  It's so full of stuff animals that sometimes I'm working in my room for a solid five minutes before I realize one of my stuff animals is moving... hello, Cow (our holstein kitty whose name is really Sparkle).  All of the stuff animals have been sorted into two piles: keep, donate.  Donate pile moves to Mom and Dad's bedroom.  Keep pile stays on my bed.  Long-term they go into a plastic tub I have in the basement, but, go figure, it's on the bottom of the stack of tubs.  Dad's still not allowed to lift anything heavy.

Step Four: Put photos in picture frames
You've had those picture frames for years; maybe it's time you put something in them.  Go downstairs to the computer with a printer and search for the perfect photos.  While you're waiting for the page to load, waste no time and blog a little bit.  Make sure to read Kevin's hilarious blog about the humbling experience that was dislocating his shoulder.  (Yes, Mr. "Katie, you update too much" forgot about his blog for a month... at least I'm loyal to my readers)

Step Five: Dad wants his car back
Translation: get your dorm room out of Maxwell.  Freshman year, my dorm room lived in the living room all summer.  Last year, it was almost a month before I unpacked my car (named Andy).  We'll see what happens this year.

Step Six: Bedtime.
Oh, snap.  I have a bed?  And a safe fire escape for the middle of the night?  Let's put these papers into a nice pile under the window, the stuff animals can live on the windowseat, and the bookshelf can chill in the middle of the room.  What a successful day!  :-)

Do you have this disease too?  To my knowledge there is no known cure.  However, books have be written about this horrible condition.  They are entitled: If You Give a Moose a Muffin and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.  Check them out at your local library, don't forget to put gas in your car and pick up cheese at the grocery store on the way there.

<>< Katie