Losing Narnia

At the end of Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Aslan tells Lucy and Edmund that they will never return to Narnia. Lucy is devastated. But then she confesses it's not actually Narnia she wants, it's Aslan. Aslan says he's in the other world too only by a different name. In fact, Lucy and Edmund only spent time in Narnia so that they could better recognize Aslan in the other world.

I understand Lucy's disappointment in never being able to return to Narnia. I just graduated from a university I love very much, and God has asked me (at least for now) to give it up. If you've a regular visitor, you are familiar with my moping. If you're new, there have been lots of tears. I'm sure the feeling is similar to Lucy's leaving Narnia for the final time.

What I miss about my university is the people--their love, their transparency, and their friendships. Yet, I also miss being able to see the Lord everywhere, to not be afraid to vulnerably ask for prayer ... in the caf, to lock myself in the prayer room for an hour or four for some privacy with God.

Yet maybe God put me there so that I would better learn to identify Him here (wherever "here" is this week). I learned some awesome things, saw Him work in miraculous ways, and felt His presence like I never have before. But I now have a responsibility to take what I learned, what I saw, and what I experienced and apply it elsewhere. God is not only to be found in a one stoplight town that shuts down half of its sewer when students go home during the summer.

God can be, has been, and is found here, too.

But sometimes I'm too busy mourning the loss of Narnia that I forget that Aslan is on the move right here with me in this world.

<>< Katie

PS: Have you taken a minute to give me your opinion about my blog? I really appreciate your feedback-both good and bad! Thanks!

The Cup

Something crunches beneath my tires as I parallel park outside of a Christian bookstore. Coming around to pay the meter, I see the crunching came from what used to be a coffee cup that is now smashed to smithereens. Clearly, I was not the first one to run it over.

"You alone hold my broken cup."

I can't help but smile at the irony of the moment. Over coffee a few days before, I had a conversation about (among other things) parking meters, Christian books, and cracked cups.

"You alone hold my broken cup. My heart's so dusty and dry."

Two days earlier I stood in the audience and listened to singer/songwriter Peder Eide talk about cracked cups.

We all have cups. God pours out love, affirmation, encouragement intending to fill our cup until it overflows. Yet fear, abandonment, rejection, etc. have cracked our cups. Some cracks are bigger than others yet still the goodness of God leaks out and the cup never overflows. This is not what God intended.

"I'll ache 'til You make me whole."

As an audience, we extended our hand-cups into the air, handing them to our Abba Father like a small child hands a broken object to a parent. Individually we identified a specific crack and asked Him to fix it.

"Abba, this belongs to You."

I had just spent the last hour closely examining the multiple cracks in my cup. The cracks that are causing fast leaks and those that are slower. The causes of the cracks and the repercussions of them. The need for the Lord to repair the cracks and fill my cup.

"Abba, this belongs to You. This belongs to You, Abba Father."

Mending takes time, especially when your cup has been run over... twice.  Especially when the cause of the cracks lead to multiple, "Oh, Honey"s.  Yet when you, when I, lift our broken cups before the Lord, He graciously repairs them and pours into them until they are overflowing.  He fills them until it's not the former cracks or even the cup itself that can be seen but rather His love pouring over the edges.

"I thirst for You, Jesus, fill me up!"

<>< Katie

Lyrics from "Make Me Whole" and "Abba, I Belong to You" by Peder Eide.

A Real Person

Eight twenty-somethings sat squished around a card table. It has become a Monday night tradition.

Although I sit among them with minimal elbow space, I feel far away. Six of them are in graduate school together taking the conversation to a level where I spend more time trying to find the verb in the sentence than actually comprehending it. The other two have jobs. Real jobs, careers. They make money, own homes, and cook real meals.

There I am. Lost among friends. It's not their fault. Does that mean it's my fault?

My fault I didn't get into grad school? My fault I don't have a job? My fault I'm stuck in limbo? My fault that sometimes I wear work clothes just so I can feel like a real person?

Even putting those words on paper... er... the screen seems ridiculous. But it's very real. Real enough to bring tears to my eyes... again.

Let's just be real: job searching sucks. (Although, I have a new appreciation for rejection letter because it means the company loves you enough to tell you they don't want you rather than just letting you guess).

People always ask me what I'm called to do, if I feel led to a certain job or company, etc. What the heck does that even mean?

I am called to do the same thing every one else is called to do: to love and serve the Lord wherever He puts us.

For six of my Monday dinner buddies that means serving Him through divinity school. For the other two, it means honoring Him in their respective careers.

For me, it means trusting in the unknown. It means looking hopefully towards the future (whatever that is) but also finding a way to enjoy today. It means adding "free Monday dinner and enjoyable socialization time" to my list of 1,000 gifts.  It means knowing this time in between isn't a wasteland. It means trusting that I haven't been deserted in this desert.

It means sometimes I get to write mopey posts because, in order to be a real person, I need to be real about my struggles and fears. I don't have it all together. I don't know what I'm going to be if I grow up. I don't know what tomorrow looks like.

But I do know One who will accompany me tomorrow.

Because He is faithful.

"Yet still I dare to hope when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies begin a new each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritence' therefore I will hope in Him." Lamentations 3:21-24

Keeping it real,
<>< Katie

That's What Family Does

I was talking through some of my feelings and challenges on the phone with my friend Stacy.  Basically, I melted on her.  I don't understand why God has asked (forced) me to leave home to move across the country home.  Among other things, she reminded me that my friends, though 900 miles away, are still here for me. 

Next time I was bored and lonely, I picked up the phone.

It has been so good to hear the voices of the people I love so much.  Sometimes we talk about our days, sometimes about superfluous things, and sometimes our conversations go deeper.  Sometimes there is silence on the phone, just like there is in face to face conversation.  But neither of us hang up.

Over the phone you can't have a sleepover with two twenty-somethings in a twin bed, you can't have children fall out of the laundry shoot, and you can't have a spontaneous dance party in the living room... but you can remember and laugh about them.

Over Skype, there are still quotes for Wacky Wednesday, still crazy facial expressions, and still people falling off the bed.

As I sat down to dinner alone, I plugged in my new Peder Eide Rescue CD.  The first time I heard "That's What Family Does," I figured it would need some time to grow on me.  It only took one more listening and it had grown!  It had me almost in tears.  (Though, I will admit: that's pretty easy these days).

"That's What Family Does" by Peder Eide

There are times when life is tough
and a yes to God is not enough.
When the hill is steep,
the summit high.
You wonder why.
You've lost your spark, your fight, your song
now wrong seems right
and right seems wrong.

Look around and see
the face of family
and lean into the love.
Lift each other up,
cheer each other on.
We do it all because
that's what family does.

The table's set
and the food is hot
reminding you what you've forgot
the warmth of home,
and a fragrant grace,
a holy place.
And all of us
can hardly wait
to hold you close
and celebrate.

Look around and see
the face of family
and lean into the love.
Lift each other up,
cheer each other on.
We do it all because
that's what family does.

They say out there that no one cares and you are all alone.
Seems they may be alone, well, we claim you as our own.

My spark, fight, and song are missing in action...

I can't physically look around and see... but I can see the face of family in my phone bill and my Skype's "Recent" log.  I can lean into the love even if that means no hugs.

Though it's not ideal, I'm lovin' it!

<>< Katie

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!

Fear of Rejection

I've always struggled with fear of rejection.  Part of it comes from eight long years of middle and high school feeling like an outcast.

But overcoming the fear of rejection is more than having a place saved for you at the lunch table.  More than hearing the words, "Katie, we'd love for you to live in our apartment."  More than, "Will you go to the dance with me?"

It also involves a graduate school saying, "We see potential in her and want to grow her."  It's an employer saying, "We want her on our team!"  It's someone, anyone, saying "I believe in you."

Fear of rejection is still very real in my life, even if my name is shouted joyously when I enter the caf.  It still has a bigger hold than I'd care to admit, a bigger hold than I thought it did six months ago.

But in Christ I've found someone who says, "I believe in you."  I've found acceptance.  And it comes from the Creator of the Universe.  What more can one want?

Maybe I don't know what comes after China, but I am slowly learning to say, "It's going to be alright."  And do you know why?

Because God IS good.  ALL the time.

Even when it's hard to believe.  Even when you get seven rejections in five months.  Even when the world says, "She's not good enough."  Even when you're alone at the lunch table.

Hypocrite

Nikki asked me to write a very transparent short piece about on campus interactions with non-Christians.  She wanted me to write those things that I'd never say out loud to anyone.  A bunch of us had similar assignments that would be recorded as sound clips over videos of campus.

As I pondered this assignment, I was immediately drawn to the Great Divide that is the cafeteria salad bar.  Our school has a long-standing joke that the salad bar divides the campus: Christian, non-athletes on one side; non-Christian, athletes on the other.  Of course, there are exceptions, but this is the stereotype.

Sometimes I forget there are non-Christians here, too.  But then I walk on the wrong side of the salad bar to get some yogurt. Instantly I feel judged and unwelcome.  Like I'm supposed to be perfect because I love Jesus.  I'm supposed to always love, always care, and always be willing to help. 

"I'm not perfect," I want to shout.  Like that's an excuse.  An excuse to exhibit un-Christ-like behavior.  An excuse to be inconsiderate.  An excuse to judge.

It's not them, it's me who's doing the judging.  I shoot evil glares when I see someone struggling in class.  I avoid non-Christians like they have some kind of contagious disease I'm going to catch just from looking them in the eye.

Some of my close family members aren't Christians; they're not poisonous.  I hug, love, and serve them.  Why can't I do the same for my peers?

The night the video played and my northern accent ran through the full auditorium I realized that we divide ourselves even there at worship.  I had accidentally chosen a seat behind four boys who... well, aren't from my side of the salad bar.

They sat an empty seat between each of them so that their legs in athletic shorts or sweatpants could be spread apart.  They were so buff they could have swallowed me whole if they had wanted to. 

The head of the man right in front of me blocked my view of the speaker.  The speaker who looks like the stereotypical Jesus and has my same haircut.  Instead of marveling at these things, I was stuck staring at this guy's backwards baseball cap with our mascot on it.  Our mascot that looks like he's sharting.

He wasn't the only one.  Someone near me, potentially one of the four athletes who could swallow me whole, let one rip.  I didn't hear it.  I just smelled it.  Check your shorts, dude!

My dad's the king of SBDs.  I grew up surrounded by rancid rear-end smells.  If I have to breathe in through my mouth, it's bad!  It was bad!

"Some of my family members are not Christians.  I hug, love, and serve them.  Why can't I do the same for my peers?"

You hypocrite!

For the next hour I watched Mr. Swallow Me Whole.  He had his Bible with him.  After flipping to the scripture passage for the night, he handed it to his friend two seats over.  Then he pulled out his "assorted electronic device" and read along with the Jesus-twin speaker.  He removed his hat when we prayed.  He pulled the "Statue of Liberty" and sang along.  He even gave an "Amen!"

You hypocrite!

You talk about destroying the salad bar divide and you build a brick wall between you and the seat in front of you!  All because you're scared.  Scared that such a large man might have a heart for Christ.  Scared that your brother might swallow you whole.  Scared that God hears both of your prayers.  Katie, that's ridiculous.

Mr. Swallow Me Whole, it was a joy to worship behind you last week.  Thank you for not biting off my head when I realized I was a hypocrite.  Let's do it again sometime.  But maybe I'll bring some air freshener.

<>< Katie

Fear

Today was my least favorite day of the semester: Syllabus Day because it means I'm stressed. Yesterday was my favorite day of the semester: Spring Retreat. Of course, why not save the best day for the worst day and blog about them in reverse?

Yesterday we did a lot of introspective stuff and spend a lot of time talking about being transparent and revealing ourselves to each other.

One question we had to answer: What keeps you from sharing?

The most common responses was fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of humiliation. Fear of vulnerability. And on and on. Fear.

Do we run our lives based off of fear? Why do let fear control us when the only One whose opinion matters has already made up His mind? I've blogged about this before. Just once or twice. :-)

God loves you. Never forget that!

I love you, too,

<><>