Peruvian Christmas Gifts

In my science class this semester, we've spent at least three lab periods watching awareness documentaries on global environmental problems. Sure, some days the professor feeds us popcorn or nutella and oranges but let's be honest: bor-ing.

On Monday the video we watched showed a shanty town in Peru. A mother and her three children, all wearing white, walked away from the camera and towards the town.

They didn’t carry water. They weren’t hauling belongings. They were just walking. The four of them strolled together as a family.

The youngest, a toddler, held her mother’s hand. A daughter a year older walked in front of them. A five year old ran around the slowly moving trio. He grabbed his youngest sister’s hand; she hesitated. Like a good mother, the woman noticed the change in speed. She looked down at her children and missed a step.

As she recovered her balance, I lost mine. It was as if God whispered, “Katie, they’re no different than you are.” They live in a shanty town with no water. They speak I language I don’t understand. But they are no different than us.

They are a mother, doing the best she can to provide for her children. They are children with big dreams just like mine. They are cherished by God just like I am.

Take them out of their Peruvian shanty town and one wouldn’t know they were poor. Except they are. That’s the difference between them and me.

I worry about whether or not I’ll have time to run to the grocery store to buy more gallons of water or if I’ll have to drink the metallic tap water. They worry about whether or not they’ll have any water. I worry about whether or not I’ll have to go to the TYME machine this week rather than whether or not money will cover what I need. I worry about whether or not the Christmas gifts I ordered will come on time. Not whether or not Christmas will be any different than any other day of the year.

My heart went out to this Peruvian family, and immediately I thought of Compassion and the impact they have had on these kinds of families worldwide.

My family sponsors a little girl in Columbia, Maria Jose.  With our help she has access to education, medication, and the gospel.

If you can’t sponsor a child year round, maybe you can buy a Christmas gift for a child like my Peruvian children from the video. It’s a one-time gift that’s a lot more feasible for students on a tight budget.

Have $10 to buy a mosquito netting so a child does not have to worry about getting malaria?

Have $13 to spend on a soccer ball to child? Let me tell you, the kids I met in Guatemala were passionate about their futbol.

Have $16 to buy a chicken? Really, how often do you get to buy chickens?

Let some impoverished kids make Christmas cookies with baking supplies for $20.

Or $25 for vaccinations… you know, the ones that made us all scream as babies?

Educational supplies… I like books… only $30.

The list goes on and on.  Prices range from $10 to $5,000... just in case you have that kind of money laying around, you know.  Check out the catalogue!

Really everything helps. Every gift is cherished. Every life is touched. In the name of Jesus.

I can pray for the Peruvian family I saw in the documentary. I can thank God for them. And I can make a difference in the lives of similar families. Maybe I’ll even choose to believe my vaccines are keeping those children alive. My baking supplies are giving them family bonding time. My soccer ball is keeping that boy on the field playing rather than in the streets playing with drugs. Maybe my simple sacrifice will make more difference than I can even comprehend. With God’s hand, it does.

<>< Katie

Campfire

Earlier this semester I read a blog about a little boy with burns that reminded me of my own burn story. The resonance hit me hard and after two days of dwelling finally I decided to take my own classic advice and "write about it."  I've written about it a million times before, but it was time to do it again and a little differently.

On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class.  I realize all of you are only here because you have to be.  You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father.  My father was a poet.  In my brain, you are all poets."

I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist. 

I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.

<>< Katie

"Campfire"

She ran her fingers over
discolored imperfections on her forearms
before pulling down her sleeves to hide
the scars of a clumsy childhood.

She didn’t remember
tripping over the pesky shoelace,
the metal safety rim bruising her leg.
But all too well she remembered
failing to choke back the tears
as smoldering coals gripped her forearms,

the firm grasp on the back of her shirt,
her rescuer, her mother,
dragging her to the a perfectly-placed water pump,
as if it had been awaiting her misfortune.

She remembered the
pain as her skin burned,
embarrassment of her own misstep,
fear and unknown in the Emergency Room
the doctor poking incessantly asking if she felt it.
Yes. It hurt.

She remembered the rules
no pool, no sun.
A bird was told not to fly.
She tried to argue but
her voice had vanished,
the verdict not negotiable.

She remembered
devastation,
summer lasting an eternity
bandages over both arms,
trying in vain to dry one hand,
always refusing to explain why.

Years later the bandages are gone,
but the scars remain like
she tanned while wearing fishnets,
even if only for her to see
and still she avoids explaining.

Reading Day

Little secret: I am not athletic.  Sometimes if I'm by myself I walk so fast that I'm winded by the time I get where I'm going, but that's the closest I ever get to running.  Sports are not my strength.  I played basketball in 5th grade and I got really good at catching the ball...with my nose.  I spent enough nights at the eye doctor getting my glasses fixed that I realized the WMBA was not in my future.  Fathers are supposed to teach their daughters how to throw and catch; somehow I missed that lesson.  In seventh grade I took up tennis because I had a weapon against the ball.  It wasn't long before I figured out my strongest spot on the tennis court was at the net because there's minimal running involved in a volley.  I played for six years but then I graduated high school and now the most exercise I get is ten minutes on the Wii Fit.  Knowing this about myself, I don't know why I ever thought this was a good idea.

Classes were cancelled on Friday, so we hosted our biannual kickball game.  Last year the English department started a new tradition where we play kickball once a semester.  For a year we played teams that basically boiled down to English Education vs. English Writing.  Well, then the science department got jealous and in a cowardly way challenged us to kickball, calling themselves the superior department.  If they were so superior I don't know why they needed to bring the math department with them in order to beat us but whatever.  They won this past fall, and Friday was our opportunity to earn our ball back.

We had more players than they did, so some of our players didn't get to play in the field.  Elizabeth and I took ones for the team and just kicked and cheered.  My first two kicks I was out before making it to first base.  My third kick I made it all the way to second but we already had two outs and the play at the first made three.  My fourth kick I managed to eventually get all the way home scoring a point for the good guys.  English won 16-12!

Sometime in the two minutes between when I got back to my apartment and when I was planning on getting in the shower, Chris called. 
"Come play ultimate frisbee!"
Little known fact, it was one of my secret goals before graduating to play ultimate frisbee.  It's kind of our school's favorite game, so I didn't think it would be right for me to graduate without playing.  Even though I have one more year I figured now was as good a time as ever; plus, I was already sweaty.  Oh, and still fighting this cold, minor detail.

"I'm not very good at frisbee," I told Chris.
"That's ok; I am," he said.  Between the two of us we could be two average players.
I held my own and even touched the frisbee a few times.  I didn't score, but Hannah (the girl I was guarding) didn't score either... except the first one which didn't count because it was part of warm ups.  I really did enjoy myself and the "Oh, my gosh, I'm so out of shape and thirsty" feeling that I had for an hour.  But I lived.

After getting cleaned up and eating Japanese for dinner, a few of us went to see a movie.  It was 8:00 and I could have gone to be (mind you, I hadn't yet been awake for 12 hours that day).  I almost made it all the way through the movie, too, but in the last ten minutes I made a mad-dash from the theater.  Since I'm pretty prone to bloody noses, no one really thought anything of it.  Nope, it's going to be a long time before I eat Japanese food again.  :-(  Other than for those few minutes, I feel fine; it's weird.  Whatever.  Although, more than that I'm more upset my no-puking streak has to start over at just shy of three years.  Before that random stomach bug in the middle of July (who the heck gets sick in July?  The kids I babysat...) it had been six and a half years.  That's still my record.  Oh, well.  One day I will break it!

Happy Reading Day, Katie... next year you should stick to reading on Reading Day.

<>< Katie

God's Bandaid

I'm starting to feel like Natalie: within ten seconds of me being out of bed this morning God spoke to me. To make it better: it was something kinda science-y. (Or at least body-related). haha

This morning I went to put my contacts in and there was this huge scab right above my eyebrow. It was at least a centimeter in diameter. Yesterday I kept randomly finding blood on my finger but not that much blood and it was nowhere else but this one finger, so I don't have a clue how off the sudden I had this big scab in the middle of my FACE! I have no idea where it came from, but it didn't matter: it need to go away before my final at 8am. I had two choices:
1. Pick it off
2. Attempt to cover it up with makeup.

The first seemed easier, so I started picking off ... God's band aid. Here God was healing some obscure blemish on my face and I was doing everything I could to work against Him.

How often does God start working on something in our lives, we think He's doing it wrong and it's ugly, so we do everything in our power to change it. Sometimes we try to cover it up. Other times we try and undo everything He's doing. Either way: we think He's wrong and we're right. After all, could He have any idea what having a huge bloody scab on my face could do to my entire day? Of course He knows, but He knows the healing will make it all worth it in the end.

Sorry, that was a bit more graphic than I'm sure you wanted, but come on: was it anything we don't do? At least I was in my room and not in the bathroom! (Right, Natalie? :-))

<>< Katie

"Look at the nations and watch—and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told. " Habakkuk 1:5

Burnt Bagels and Broken Fingers

So many birthdays lead to so many updates!

Yesterday was Natalie's birthday. I couldn't decide what Natalie story to tell and to still "be censored" (to quote Laura one small group). For some reason Natalie's stories always end of in one of three places: sports, science, or the bathroom. Did you know God can speak through the chemistry Principle of Microscopic Reverse? How about getting your eyebrows waxed? Using the same bathroom stall repeatedly? He's God and He can do anything but that doesn't mean He needs to speak through spell check. In hearing from Natalie how God speaks through bathrobes and lip stick, I've come to hear God speaking a lot more clearly through the strangest things.

My friend Natalie is an amazing woman, but sometimes the things she does makes me laugh at her. Natalie dislikes the way a toaster toasts a bagel, so whenever she wants a toasted bagel she has cook it in the oven. One afternoon she decided she wanted a bagel. Well, she put it in the oven and got distracted. She remembered the bagel a little while later and it was literally flaming in her oven. After getting the flames to stop, she realized the scorched bagel was not going to giver her body nutrition; she threw it away and made a second bagel. As luck would have it, poor Natalie did the exact same thing! On the third try she finally was able to have a snack.

A few weeks later, Natalie was playing flag football with a group of people when she once again made the same mistake twice. During a play she was reaching for one of her opponents’ flags when the flag slipped out of her hand and she got her finger caught. A wise choice perhaps would have been to stop playing for the day, but Natalie is way too competitive to bench herself. Instead a few plays later, using the exact same move with her other hand. She succeeded in fracturing two fingers on two different hands during two plays so exact to the point where the x-rays were identical.

Natalie needed to break two fingers in order to stop playing football and burn two bagels in order to pay attention to what she was doing. Sometimes we're incredibly stubborn to the point where we have to make the same mistakes twice before God is able to get our attention.

What does God have to do to get your attention?

<>< Katie

"As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received." Ephesians 4:1