Goal: Prayer Warrior

Sorry to dwell on the whole "Katie doesn't have a job" theme but it's kind of my life right now.  I want to be transparent in this struggle.

A long time ago I realize that if when I make it to the other side of this awful desert, I will be one of two people:
1. A cynical God-hater
2. A prayer warrior

The first one's easy.  It's easy to be mad when you say, "Here I am; send me!" and you're not going anywhere.  It's easy to get frustrated, host pity parties, and play the blame game when doors slam repeatedly.

But lucky for me, I've got friends making sure I come out to be the latter.

Friends all across the country praying me through.  Friends checking up on me to see how I'm doing and encouraging me.  I am blessed.  Plus, I've got friends who serve as great role models for that prayer warrior thing.

Amy: I wish tomorrow was Saturday.
Nikki: No, no, no we're not wishing away days!
Amy: I'm not wishing it away.  I'm wanting two Saturdays in a row.  Let's pray about that.
From the other room, Stacy heard the word "Pray" and came running in.
Stacy: Pray about what?

That's who I want to be: the girl who seeks out and seizes every available opportunity to pray.  Not just at church or small group.  Not just before meals or when people share prayer requests.  Every minute of every day.  Alone, in groups, for needs voiced, and those unspokens.

I remember watching a brother and sister in Christ converse.  He was borderline upset, angry.  She was super upset, teary.  He set aside his own situation to slowly calm her down.  As their conversation drew to a close and her eyes dried, he reached over, grabbed her shoulder, and lifted her concerns to the Lord.

That's who I want to be.  The friend who doesn't just say, "I'll pray for you" but does--right then and there.

I've had the urge to do it yet I've swallowed it.  I want the courage to act on that prompting of the Holy Spirit.

I don't want to be cynical and crabby for the rest of my life.  It'd be too easy.

So instead, I'm going to work on this prayer warrior thing.  It's not a destination but rather a journey.  There will always be room for improvement.  It's hard and uncomfortable.  But it's necessary.

Will you help me practice?  Leave me a prayer request in the comments section (or email it to me or Tweet it or text or your contact method of choice) and you bet it'll be prayed.  Maybe even more than once. ;-)

<>< Katie

Koolaid

I had my choice between going to church with Nikki or going to church with Melia.

Really, I was just happy to get to worship with my friends on a Wednesday night.

It was decided I'd go with Nikki so we could spend some extra time together before I had to leave.

The Bible study was good.  I learned.  I saw the congregation's hunger for the Lord, even though they make my grandparents look young.  I enjoyed time with my friend and listening to her pastor teach.  It was good.

When we got home, Melia was in awe of what happened at her church.  The more she spoke, the more I realized I made the wrong decision.  The scripture, the truths, the presentation seemed like God had hand-crafted that sermon for me... and I wasn't there.

I didn't ask why.  Rather, I was upset.

God, why wasn't I there?  You had the power to put me there.  I was torn on which church to attend.  It would have been very easy for the conclusion to have been the opposite, and I would have clearly seen Your hand.

I don't know why I wasn't there.  Maybe because Nikki and I needed some bonding time.  Maybe I needed to be encouraged by the old people eager to hear the Word.  Maybe the they needed to be encouraged by us youngin's.  Maybe "Uncle Bill" needed a new listener for his "the dog ate my hearing aid" story.  Maybe Melia needed to summarize the sermon for me.

Maybe it was selfish for me to have wished the evening had gone differently.

Do you ever do that?  Tell God He's the focus of your night but then get upset when He doesn't do what you wanted Him to do?

Guilty,
<>< Katie

PS: This post has nothing to do with Koolaid.  But it happens to be what I am drinking right now, and I could not come up with a better title.

Healed By His Wounds

Last week I got unjustifiably angry at my close friend "Keely."  It was silly really.  It all boiled down to me being jealous... and hurt.

Something happened in the living room and instead of addressing it like an adult, I pouted in my room and text-vented to Amber.  I got so worked up that I was crying.  Silently.  Even in the same room, my roommate was unaware that I was having one of the most intense text conversations of my life.

For the next several days I held a grudge against Keely.  That's when the suitemates began to notice. 
"You've been extra sensitive lately, Katie."
"Katie and Keely have to sit on opposite sides of the room because they might rip off each others' head."

The two of us agreed to tone down our playful sassing for awhile and make sure we're showing love.  Through carefully planned words (and some not-so-carefully planned ones) I acknowledged why I had been so sensitive.  When it all boiled down to it, my anger had nothing to do with Keely.  Yet she had been the recipient of my frustration, jealousy, and anger.

She accepted my apology, which she said was unnecessary.  She hadn't considered my feelings about the situation.  We both decided to be more careful and move forward.

I got to take communion this week (a rare event in Baptist Country).  In confessing my sin to my Lord, the first situation that popped into my head was the situation with Keely.  I again asked for forgiveness and for those hurt feelings to be removed.  I wanted to be healed of the whole situation.

I almost cried again when Keely served me the bread.
"Body of Christ, given for you."

Forgiveness.  Given to me. 

"But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed." Isaiah 53:5 (emphasis mine)

Be healed in His wounds today, friends.
 
<>< Katie

Significant First

It came today. The first of many, I’m sure. I might even accumulate enough to write an obscenity on the wall. Except while this was a surprise to me, it was not a surprise to God. He saw it coming. He let it come and during this hard week. He was sitting next to me when my first rejection letter made its way into my inbox. I realize I’m a writer. I realize I’m going to face a lot of these in my life. There’s no way to avoid them except by not sharing. That’s what hurts the most. I was confident with this one. Yes, apparently over confident. The people that rejected these pieces are the same people that keep urging me to share. Here I have and it’s shot down. Reject my work. That’s fine. I can’t win them all. However, please tell me why. What makes my pieces different from the other pieces that made it? I’m not saying my piece was perfect. There is no such thing as a perfect piece; I want to know where I can improve. I won’t take it personally. I won’t give them evil stares across the classroom tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop the waterfall that’s running down my face.

Rejection letter = upset = tears = runny nose = blow nose = (fear of) bloody nose

It’s been a long time since I’ve taken math but Chris tells me that means I could just say:

rejection letter = bloody nose.

Translation? Rejection letters punch me in the face.

The next step is my decision. Am I going to punch someone else in the face or am I going to move on? Am I going to let the pen dry out, pick a new major, and find a new career goal or am I going to accept this and realize it’ll happen again but some day it’ll change? Am I going to stay here hiding in my bedroom, ignoring text messages or am I going to go out in the living room and laugh at the formerly-constipated, now-possessed plastic mooing love cow? The choice is mine.

I did venture out.  I opted against going to my writers' group where I could wallow in pity with other rejects, if there were any.  Instead, I went to sign choir and kicked tables.  A classroom magically turns into a practice studio on Wednesday nights and that means all of the tables and chairs need to be collapsed and disposed of into the closet.    It's incredibly theraputic to kick in the hinges of class tables.

I tried to laugh and brush off the sasses but they hurt more than they do on an average day.  Especially the, "Katie, are you even literate?" when I misread the Wii directions.  It was a joke on my direction-following ability not my writing.

I remembered it's not Lent anymore, so I took my own cliche advice and wrote about it.  I guess the events of Wednesday weren't better than Tuesday.  In fact, the tears flowed instead of just threatening to do so, but my mood over all was better.  Even just a little.  I really appreciate your prayers today, and I could use a double dose tomorrow, please.

What really helped was Andy willingly playing "For the Moments I Feel Faint" by Relient K.  If you don't want to take a second to listen to the song, at least read the lyrics and sing them back to me when I forget them.

Am I at the point of no improvement?
What of the death I still dwell in?
I try to excel, but I feel no movement.
Can I be free of this unreleasable sin?

[Chorus:]
Never underestimate my Jesus.
You're telling me that there's no hope.
I'm telling you you're wrong.
Never underestimate my Jesus
When the world around you crumbles
He will be strong, He will be strong

I throw up my hands
"Oh, the impossibilities"
Frustrated and tired
Where do I go from here?
Now I'm searching for the confidence I've lost so willingly
Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fear

[Chorus]

I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can
I think I can't, I think I can't
But I think You can, I think You can

Gather my insufficiencies and
place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands, place them in Your hands

Much love,
<>< Katie