The Wash Cloth

It had been a good but long 15 hour day.  I left at 8am and returned home at 11pm with only a few hours before I had to get up and do it all over again.

But there were things separating me from that extra soft twin bed with two king size pillows. Namely: a shower.

I showered as fast as I could, sinus headache growing in intensity with every passing minute, but I kept my eyes on the promised land.

I reached absentmindedly for my facial lotion. Welcome cold weather, the phase of the year when my face is at risk of falling off because it's so dry. Lotion would bring me one step closer to dreamland.

But then I stopped.

I had an idea that would at worst be one step further from dreamland (and one step closer to a missing face) and at best relief to my painful head. Idea: to drape a warm wash cloth over my face.

So I did. As hot as I could stand it. It was heavenly!

In that moment, nothing but the warm wash cloth mattered. The rest of me was getting hypothermia as my wet hair dripped down my back.

But I didn't care. That simple hot cloth was the best thing that happened to me in all fifteen hours of my day (sixteen if you count the getting ready hour). I wanted to stay there forever, wash cloth over my face, cold hair dripping onto the floor.

Except I couldn't. So eventually, I bore the separation and continued my bedtime routine.

"Hey, Katie," God spoke but not in an audible voice.

Of course, He would start speaking as I was rushing to bed. Sometimes He's like my family, starting a conversation with me as I'm on my way out the door.

"Yes, Lord," I answered. Something like that.

"Remember how that wash cloth felt?"

"How could I forget?" Ooh! Jesus-like. I answered a question with a question.

"Remember how nothing else mattered and you wanted to stay there forever even thought your toes were cold and those hairs I numbered were matting together as they dripped water molecules down your back and onto the slippery floor?"

"Yes, Lord, and if You say to stay like that forever I totally will! After all, You're God and I'm not, so if you tell me, I'll do it obediently."

"Katie, stay that way forever. But let Me be the warm wash cloth. Bury your face in Me so nothing else matters. Not this world, not the job hunt, not even the fact that your pants don't fit. Let Me be your wash cloth."

"Yes, Lord."

"Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'" Psalm 91:1-2 NIV

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!

a YAV at the NYG in NOLA

Every three years the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod hosts a National Youth Gathering (NYG) where, you guessed it, youth from all over the nation gather together.  I was lucky enough to attend the gatherings in Orlando in 2004 and 2007.  This year it was in New Orleans (NOLA) and my role was a little bit different than in the past.  Instead of participating this year, I had the opportunity to serve as a Young Adult Volunteer (YAV, pronounced like "yam" but with a "v") and quite literally be the hands and feet of the gathering and, more importantly, of Christ.

What does this mean?

A. It means I got to wear the same orange shirt every day for a week.  One night they made a joke about the stench around NOLA and blamed it on Orange Nation (the YAVs) and Yellow Nation because they were both only given a single shirt for the entire Gathering.  They joke continued to say a portion of that night's offering was going to buying air fresheners for us to wear around our necks.  Yummy.  It also means I got a green backpack that, combined with the shirt, made us all look like pumpkins.  And I got a gold VIP bracelet that let me go just about anywhere I wanted (or needed) to go.

Read: Long days, short nights, and sore feet.

B. At 7am every morning I was headed into the community to serve and help rebuild in the wake of Katrina.  Vegetation removal, landscaping development, etc.  They let me be in charge of a bus.  One day I almost left a group in the bayou.  The next day a different group left me at the woods.  The first day I was actually able to give away my Bible to a New Orleanian!

Read: Physically exhausting; spiritually exhilarating.

C. At 7pm, I was wearing the same orange shirt with a pretty yellow vest as I tried to make sure no one was trampled as they invaded the Superdome.  Basically that meant I was the first one trampled.  I'm 5'8" and 120 lbs.  There's not much I can do to slow down 25,000 excited teens except to be a speed bump.  I don't know if you're familiar with the Superdome, but what is considered the first floor is filled with dangerous catwalks that I had to stand next to for five hours every day.  Sure, there's a railing but it's was almost exactly at the top of my hips.  Since my body naturally bends there, it would not have been hard to push me to a nice soft landing on concrete a floor below.  I will admit, there were some people I would have preferred they knocked me to my death than forced me to deal with them...
Read: Crowd control = Fear.  Lotta fear.  It is only by the grace of God that I survived.

Welcome to the National Youth Gathering, the place where all of those rules your mother taught you do not apply. Talking to strangers is encouraged (hugs welcome). Running, dancing, and jumping in the concourse are totally acceptable. Oh, and no indoor voices. Buckle up and get ready for a wild ride.
I'll be honest, it's hard to be friendly, fun, and flexible when you're working eleven to twelve hours a day and sleeping five to six hours a night.  It's hard to be spiritually fed while you're worried about making sure you're physically fed.  However, hard is not synonymous with impossible.

Even though the trip was last week, free time was sparse.  Instead of updating you while I was there, I'll use the next week or so to tell some of the great stories from my trip to New Orleans.
<>< Katie

Potter

Tuesday wasn't exactly a great day. There was nothing major that went wrong and a lot of good things happened but it was kind of one of those days. It wasn't until the fourth person asked me if I was ok that I realized I had let the "one of those days" mentality take over. Of course, then I was mad. At myself. After being out of bed for five minutes this morning I knew it was going to be one of those days. I had the opportunity to make it a good day with some bad events rather than a bad day with some good events. And I failed.

At our Tuesday night worship service my friend Brad spoke. Now Brad's a potter so his "speaking" was really giving us a visual of Jeremiah 18. He made a tall jug out of clay and then smashed it. I knew ahead of time he was going to do that, but it was still cool to see all of his hard work smashed. He reformed the exact same clay and made a bowl instead.

Brad: See, this bowl a whole lot better, more practical than the tall, long thing that I didn't really know what it was.
Andy: That’s what they called me in high school.
Katie: Tall, long thing no one really knows what it is?
Amy: Katie, did you get that, too?
Andy: And they called Amy a bowl thing.

Each one of us is different but each one of us is going to be used. Maybe right now I’m in a tall, long shape where I’m stuck in the old way rather than the new form.  That doesn't mean I cannot be used or reformed.  In fact, today is Wednesday and I am the same piece of clay I was on Tuesday, but I am willing to let the Potter shape me in a new way. Are you?

"Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?" Romans 9:21

<>< Katie

Adventures from the Flying Cesspool

Dear Fellow Compansions on This Flying Cesspool,

For the strangers who keep giving me the once-over, yes, I'm talking to you. No, you don't know me.

To the woman on the loud speaker, shut up.

To the man driving the golf-cart, I don't care how many times you offer me a ride. I have three hours and am able-bodied. I am good to go, thank you.

To the man complaining about his son, maybe we should trade books. You read Disconnect by Chap Clark and I'll read "Parents apparently don't play a role in their children's upbringing" that you've got your nose stuck in.

To the woman sitting in front of me, I don't care how many times you slam your body into the chair, it doesn't come back any further. In fact, those are my knees you're hitting. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.

To the woman who can't get on this flight, I'm sorry the flight is full. Maybe next time it would be a good idea to book ahead of time.

To the woman with the small child, ever considered a sedative? (For yourself or the child)

To the man yawning while walking on the moving walkway, don't walk. It saves energy. Don't yawn, I've been up since 6:45am (in a different time zone), and I have four hours until I even get home. Twelve hours ago, I was finishing class for the day. My grades for that class are already posted. Should we compare long days?

To whoever thought it was smart to put flashing lights at the end of the moving walkway, you idiot. I'm very glad I don't have a photosensitive epilepsy.

To the people with the wheelchair on the moving walk-way, that was quite hilarious.

To the grounds crew who can't properly close the cargo door, thanks for delaying us 45 minutes. Just close it, let the pilot lie and say it's closed and move on. Whatever you do... DON'T CALL... Maintenance!

To the pilot who had the nerve to tell me we were flying right over my final destination, just let me off this darn plane! Give me a parachute, get me close, and we'll be good to go!

To everyone else who has caught my eye, thank you for your amusement.

Have a great day, here or wherever your final destination may be!
<>< Katie