Comments make my day. :-) Since everyone likes the songs, I won't feel so bad about always including a song. I like songs.
Yesterday I drove the car my sister typically drives. (No, it's not her car). There were huge key scratches running from the driver's window to the keyhole. The car's a mess inside and out (two weeks ago I spent an hour plus cleaning this car... what the crap?). I get to the point where I actually turn the car on and the gas needle barely moves. Less than 1/4 of a tank of gas. What? That car shouldn't have less than 3/4 of a tank of gas! THEN Stellar Kart comes BLASTING through stereo. That 1999 stereo can't stand Stellar Kart! Ok, enough of my rant.
I pop out the CD and threw in The Altar and the Door by Casting Crowns. Good CD, but by the time I got to church I'd heard the whole CD. For the next three hours the songs rotated through my head. I finally stopped singing them and what song is part of the sermon? "Everyman" by Casting Crowns. Thanks, buddy!
Back to work!
In Christ,
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label scratch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scratch. Show all posts
Monday, July 28, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Beautiful Scars
I just started playing with the color feature, can you tell? Every thing's purple and I don't know how to change it back... haha
I love summer. It's warm, wonderful, and without school! There are also days when I'm not a fan of summer. You see, having a tan makes my scars visible. Maybe only to me, but they make me self conscious, and I hate looking in the mirror in the summer.
Some people have fun scars. My friend Brianne takes pride in telling me how she got every scar, bruise, and scratch up and down her legs. My scars aren't so fun. When I was little (like six) somehow I took a nose dive on pavement. I don't remember the incident, but I remember the nice scab is left between my two eyebrows. Eventually it went away, but it left this brown mark there for years afterwards. I used to tell everyone it was a birthmark. Sometimes my mom'd correct me and tell me it was a scar from the scratch I had for months. Sometimes she'd just let me think it was a birthmark. Well, eventually the "birthmark" went away, so I guess she must have been right.
The scars I'm more self-conscious about line my underarms as souvenirs from a Girl Scouts camping trip. I was trying to put the fire out, leaned over too far, and fell into smoldering coals. This resulted in the only ER trip of my life (besides when I was born... another story for another time... that one's actually funny) and second and third degree burns up and down both of my arms. (Oh, and a nice bruise on my leg). I had a miserable summer that year because I couldn't go swimming, I had to go to the doctor every few weeks, and it was almost impossible to wash my hands (Have you ever tried to wash and dry one hand?). Now, everyday when I put my hair up in a ponytail, I see the scars where my skin is messed up. Apparently, burning your arms kills the cells that tell your skin to stop growing (or something like that... My parents told me that recently when we were talking about it...). It also leaves fun designs on tanned skin... It's anything but beautiful.
You know Whose scars are beautiful? Jesus'. Physically the scars in His hands, feet, and side aren't necessarily beautiful but what they symbolize definitely is! Thanks to Jesus' scars, we're forgiven. Jesus' scars are the perfect example of God's mercy and grace. Mercy--God not giving us something we deserve--saved us from having those scars ourselves. Grace--God giving us something we don't deserve--sent Jesus to the cross so we didn't have to paid the price for our sin. The Sinless died for the sinful. You can't tell me that's not beautiful.
Lately, most blogs have included the lyrics to a song. Here's today's:
"Beautiful Scars" by Steven Curtis Chapman
Sit here with me
And tell me your story
Even if it breaks my heart
Let me see Your scars
Shame will whisper
Oh but we can't listen
'Cause these are the stories that make us who we are
And I love who You are,
and Your Beautiful scars,
Your beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
For us, bruised and broken
For us, He was forsaken
Our wounded Healer suffered to set us free
We see in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
See in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the Savior's love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
Oh how I love Your beautiful scars
So beautiful, so beautiful
Beautiful scars
In Christ,
<>< Katie
I love summer. It's warm, wonderful, and without school! There are also days when I'm not a fan of summer. You see, having a tan makes my scars visible. Maybe only to me, but they make me self conscious, and I hate looking in the mirror in the summer.
Some people have fun scars. My friend Brianne takes pride in telling me how she got every scar, bruise, and scratch up and down her legs. My scars aren't so fun. When I was little (like six) somehow I took a nose dive on pavement. I don't remember the incident, but I remember the nice scab is left between my two eyebrows. Eventually it went away, but it left this brown mark there for years afterwards. I used to tell everyone it was a birthmark. Sometimes my mom'd correct me and tell me it was a scar from the scratch I had for months. Sometimes she'd just let me think it was a birthmark. Well, eventually the "birthmark" went away, so I guess she must have been right.
The scars I'm more self-conscious about line my underarms as souvenirs from a Girl Scouts camping trip. I was trying to put the fire out, leaned over too far, and fell into smoldering coals. This resulted in the only ER trip of my life (besides when I was born... another story for another time... that one's actually funny) and second and third degree burns up and down both of my arms. (Oh, and a nice bruise on my leg). I had a miserable summer that year because I couldn't go swimming, I had to go to the doctor every few weeks, and it was almost impossible to wash my hands (Have you ever tried to wash and dry one hand?). Now, everyday when I put my hair up in a ponytail, I see the scars where my skin is messed up. Apparently, burning your arms kills the cells that tell your skin to stop growing (or something like that... My parents told me that recently when we were talking about it...). It also leaves fun designs on tanned skin... It's anything but beautiful.
You know Whose scars are beautiful? Jesus'. Physically the scars in His hands, feet, and side aren't necessarily beautiful but what they symbolize definitely is! Thanks to Jesus' scars, we're forgiven. Jesus' scars are the perfect example of God's mercy and grace. Mercy--God not giving us something we deserve--saved us from having those scars ourselves. Grace--God giving us something we don't deserve--sent Jesus to the cross so we didn't have to paid the price for our sin. The Sinless died for the sinful. You can't tell me that's not beautiful.
Lately, most blogs have included the lyrics to a song. Here's today's:
"Beautiful Scars" by Steven Curtis Chapman
Sit here with me
And tell me your story
Even if it breaks my heart
Let me see Your scars
Shame will whisper
Oh but we can't listen
'Cause these are the stories that make us who we are
And I love who You are,
and Your Beautiful scars,
Your beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
For us, bruised and broken
For us, He was forsaken
Our wounded Healer suffered to set us free
We see in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the wounded love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
See in His hands and His feet
Beautiful scars, beautiful scars
Reminders of the Savior's love that has carried us this far
Beautiful scars,
turning the marks
Of our pain into beautiful scars
Oh how I love Your beautiful scars
So beautiful, so beautiful
Beautiful scars
In Christ,
<>< Katie
Thursday, July 3, 2008
War Wounds
Today was more of a winter day than a construction day... The banging has stopped temporarily, but I am wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt. What the crap?
I cut the grass today for the third time since Saturday. I've come to a conclusion: cutting the grass shouldn't be this painful. It is literally painful for all aspects of personal health. Ok, maybe not relational, but then again, I've never tried to have a deep conversation on the tractor. Emotionally it's hard especially when the neighbors are those kinds of people who measure their grass with a rule and use a scissors to cut the grass (just kidding, but only a little). Spiritually it's a challenge because I listen to sermons on my iPod. Mentally it's a strategic battle because I have to make sure I'm going the right direction at the right time in order to avoid grass shavings in the trees... (Whatever you say, Dad.)
Cutting the grass causes physical pain. Our trees, bushes, etc. are taking over and desperately need trimming! Cutting the grass next to them involves scratching, pricking, and (since it just rained) wetness. It's not pleasant. Especially compiled with the fact that my "Lay on the steering wheel, close your eyes, hit the gas, and pray for the best" no longer saves me from scars.
Cutting the grass leaves me with war wounds in the same way being a witness for Christ leaves me with war wounds. Wounds from the trees are a lot more visible on the outside, but wounds for Christ hurt just as much on the inside. God's changing out lives and sometimes we have to get a little dirty in order for Him to do it. To quote Audio Adrenaline, 'Let's get dirty, let's get used..."
<>< Katie
I cut the grass today for the third time since Saturday. I've come to a conclusion: cutting the grass shouldn't be this painful. It is literally painful for all aspects of personal health. Ok, maybe not relational, but then again, I've never tried to have a deep conversation on the tractor. Emotionally it's hard especially when the neighbors are those kinds of people who measure their grass with a rule and use a scissors to cut the grass (just kidding, but only a little). Spiritually it's a challenge because I listen to sermons on my iPod. Mentally it's a strategic battle because I have to make sure I'm going the right direction at the right time in order to avoid grass shavings in the trees... (Whatever you say, Dad.)
Cutting the grass causes physical pain. Our trees, bushes, etc. are taking over and desperately need trimming! Cutting the grass next to them involves scratching, pricking, and (since it just rained) wetness. It's not pleasant. Especially compiled with the fact that my "Lay on the steering wheel, close your eyes, hit the gas, and pray for the best" no longer saves me from scars.
Cutting the grass leaves me with war wounds in the same way being a witness for Christ leaves me with war wounds. Wounds from the trees are a lot more visible on the outside, but wounds for Christ hurt just as much on the inside. God's changing out lives and sometimes we have to get a little dirty in order for Him to do it. To quote Audio Adrenaline, 'Let's get dirty, let's get used..."
<>< Katie
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