Last Friday when we got in the van on our way to Philadelphia, Lori was a bit groggy from her midnight shopping trip. She talked about seeing a man from her church, Mark. His pregnant wife Beth was two days overdue at the time. Obviously she couldn't go shopping, so she sent him out with a huge list of items to get Black Friday shopping.
"Wouldn't it be funny if he went home ready to take a nice long nap and she went into labor?" Lori said.
God thought it would be funny, too. By the time we were in the Wells Fargo Center enjoying our intense hockey experience, Beth had gone into labor.
After the game, we got back in the van and Mr. Steve said, "God said we can come to Him in the good and in the bad. Today we need to go before Him in the bad."
I thought he was referring to the recent devastating Flyers' loss in the third round of the shoot out.
No, Beth had delivered the baby and there were complications. We didn't have a lot of information. Neither did Beth. But the baby had been transferred to a different hospital, and the prayer chain notified.
So pray we did. Right there in the middle of a traffic jam in Philadelphia. We said we wanted healing for Mark and Beth's youngster. We didn't even know if it was a girl or a boy. We didn't know what was wrong. But we knew God knew. We knew God cared. We knew God could heal the baby, if it was His will.
It was His will. But He healed the baby in the way we weren't hoping for. By the time we made it home after a cheese steak, Mark and Beth's son was being held safely in the arms of his Heavenly Father.
Do me a favor and take a minute to pray for Mark and Beth and other families that have lost children. I cannot fathom such a joyous occasion turning so devastating so quickly.
Do me another favor and let me know how I can best pray for you.
Thanks, friends.
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label van. Show all posts
Showing posts with label van. Show all posts
Friday, December 3, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Major Parking Lot Incident
A few years ago, my family went on vacation. Dad's our pack mule and therefore moving the suitcases into the hotel is his job. Naturally, he commandeered one of those bell hop carts most hotels have. We helped him unload the van and load the cart. Six suitcases, two computer bags, five backpacks, three purses, a brief case, eight jackets, seven shoes... the cart was loaded. Full. I don't think we could have fit another bag on it if we tried.
It was only at that point we discovered the problem: the sidewalk. There was no ramp into the hotel. We were going to have to take the cart over the curb. Not a problem, we had Super Dad. He backed the cart up a bit and prepared for his task at hand.
"Ramming speed," he said, running towards the curb. The cart bounced onto the sidewalk and directly into a plant.
"BUSH!" I shouted. There was no way he could see over the eighty-seven bags.
"Push?" He repeated, doing as he said.
"No! BUSH. Like the president," I clarified.
"Reverse," he said, pulling the cart backwards, off the curb. He realigned it so as to avoid the bush that may forever grow with a big dent in it.
"Ramming speed." He wasn't so lucky the second time. The wheel hit the curb and the entire cart fell over, toppling all of our bags onto the ground.
As luck would have it, another van drove by at that exact moment. They waved. Dad's face turned red. We women were rolling.
Of course, we had to unload the cart, put it on the sidewalk, and then reload it. Someone took the front as we helped Dad navigate (naviget?) through the hotel and up to our rooms. Still laughing, we passed a maid in the hallway.
"Everything ok?" She asked.
"Yup. We just had a minor incident in the parking lot," Dad said, brushing it off.
"Actually, we just had a major parking lot incident," Mom corrected.
Bell hop carts make my heart smile.
<>< Katie
It was only at that point we discovered the problem: the sidewalk. There was no ramp into the hotel. We were going to have to take the cart over the curb. Not a problem, we had Super Dad. He backed the cart up a bit and prepared for his task at hand.
"Ramming speed," he said, running towards the curb. The cart bounced onto the sidewalk and directly into a plant.
"BUSH!" I shouted. There was no way he could see over the eighty-seven bags.
"Push?" He repeated, doing as he said.
"No! BUSH. Like the president," I clarified.
"Reverse," he said, pulling the cart backwards, off the curb. He realigned it so as to avoid the bush that may forever grow with a big dent in it.
"Ramming speed." He wasn't so lucky the second time. The wheel hit the curb and the entire cart fell over, toppling all of our bags onto the ground.
As luck would have it, another van drove by at that exact moment. They waved. Dad's face turned red. We women were rolling.
Of course, we had to unload the cart, put it on the sidewalk, and then reload it. Someone took the front as we helped Dad navigate (naviget?) through the hotel and up to our rooms. Still laughing, we passed a maid in the hallway.
"Everything ok?" She asked.
"Yup. We just had a minor incident in the parking lot," Dad said, brushing it off.
"Actually, we just had a major parking lot incident," Mom corrected.
Bell hop carts make my heart smile.
<>< Katie
Friday, January 8, 2010
Are you going to pass me or not?
I enjoy people watching. You never know when you're going to see something that's worth using in a story (or blog).
Yesterday we were dumped with snow which made for some great people-watching as I drove around town today. The snowplow shimming around the corner to push the snow further and further off the road. The woman using all of her strength in vain to push the snow blower up her driveway caked with at least a foot of snow. The father (brother?) who lead his young son down the street with a sled ready to take advantage of this blizzard. My favorite, however, was the van that drove behind me through downtown.
He appeared out of nowhere and was not content to drive behind me. On days where the roads are properly plowed and there are no parked cars, this road has a left lane and a right lane. Much to Mr. Impatient's dismay, today was not one of those days. I drove in the left lane, the cleared lane. The problem was that he couldn't pass me on the left due to the no-passing zone (and the minor detail of oncoming traffic). Instead, he opted to pass me on the right. He'd move over into the half-plowed right land and prepare to make a move when all of the sudden directly in front of him was a displaced snowbank or a parked school bus or the mailman. Every time, he'd slow down and sadly return to his place behind me and I'd smile.
That sucks, I thought to myself with a little laughter inside. Not going to lie, I was amused by his poor luck and repeated failed attempts to get around me.
Eventually we made it to a stop light and he pulled up next to me. The light turned green and the race began. I know better than to drag race especially downtown, but I couldn't help myself. This van had been trying to get around me for at least a mile and I wasn't about to let him to it now! A few blocks there was a string of parked cars, and I was going to make it to them first because then Mr. Impatient in the right lane was going to have to return to his position behind Miss Always-Drive-The-Speed-Limit-Katie in the left lane.
Mr. Impatient doesn't drive the speed limit. He won. But only because I let him. Playtime was over.
<>< Katie
Yesterday we were dumped with snow which made for some great people-watching as I drove around town today. The snowplow shimming around the corner to push the snow further and further off the road. The woman using all of her strength in vain to push the snow blower up her driveway caked with at least a foot of snow. The father (brother?) who lead his young son down the street with a sled ready to take advantage of this blizzard. My favorite, however, was the van that drove behind me through downtown.
He appeared out of nowhere and was not content to drive behind me. On days where the roads are properly plowed and there are no parked cars, this road has a left lane and a right lane. Much to Mr. Impatient's dismay, today was not one of those days. I drove in the left lane, the cleared lane. The problem was that he couldn't pass me on the left due to the no-passing zone (and the minor detail of oncoming traffic). Instead, he opted to pass me on the right. He'd move over into the half-plowed right land and prepare to make a move when all of the sudden directly in front of him was a displaced snowbank or a parked school bus or the mailman. Every time, he'd slow down and sadly return to his place behind me and I'd smile.
That sucks, I thought to myself with a little laughter inside. Not going to lie, I was amused by his poor luck and repeated failed attempts to get around me.
Eventually we made it to a stop light and he pulled up next to me. The light turned green and the race began. I know better than to drag race especially downtown, but I couldn't help myself. This van had been trying to get around me for at least a mile and I wasn't about to let him to it now! A few blocks there was a string of parked cars, and I was going to make it to them first because then Mr. Impatient in the right lane was going to have to return to his position behind Miss Always-Drive-The-Speed-Limit-Katie in the left lane.
Mr. Impatient doesn't drive the speed limit. He won. But only because I let him. Playtime was over.
<>< Katie
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Book Buying with a Writer
"What do you want to do today?" Dad asks me every morning (or afternoon) when I get up. Everyday all week the answer has been the same,
"Sleep!"
"You've already done that; it's noon-thirty. What else do you want to do today?"
"Nothing!"
"That's what you did yesterday."
He's bored and therefore is objective is to annoy the rest of us, but he's right. As I look at my yesterday, my day before yesterday, my everyday since Christmas I realize I haven't done much. I read The Five Love Languages: Singles Edition and that's about it. I've read some blogs, written some blogs, played a few million games of Bejeweled Blitz, whooped butt in Bananagrams, scrapbooked a bit, and that's really about it. I'm not ok with that. I decided I have this time, so I should work on the story. Well, since I have this time the characters don't want to play with me. I've also found when I'm blogging regularly I obtain my "writing fix" without even opening a Word doc. That's a problem.
Umpteen years of writer's block has taught me to read when I want to write. Problem: there's nothing here I want to read. Sure, just within arm's reach I can grab four different books with bookmarks less than 100 pages in and almost a million more I've never read. Yet none of them seem appealing at the moment. I need to do something with my days, and I need to read more.
"One of these days I should go to Barnes and Noble," I said aloud to myself. Then I decided: why wait? Go right now. Instead of waiting for a car, I hopped in our minivan and tooled down the road. I don't like driving the van but nothing gets between a girl and her books!
As I was on my way out the door Dad asked where I was going. He's bored, and I was the only one home. When I told him he asked for how long. My response didn't please him. "Until I'm done kinking my neck to read book title sideways."
"You're just going to walk up and down the aisles until you find something you want to read?"
"Exactly."
"Then I'm definitely not going!"
Good because you weren't invited. Going to B&N alone is something I love. It started freshman year of college when I didn't have a car on campus. I always went shopping with people. Yes, Wal-mart by yourself can be lame, but it's also refreshing to wander the aisles alone and at your leisure. I'm not allowed to go to Wal-mart when I'm home, so I always try to make at least one trip to Barnes and Noble by myself.
"I have my phone but don't call me. I'll be home when I'm done," I announce as I depart.
"What if we need the car?" It's a legitimate concern because we have four and a half drivers and three cars.
"If Dad can hog a car sitting in the parking structure at work untouched all day five days a week I can hog one for a few hours."
No, you can't even go to the mall while I'm at the bookstore because when you're done I have to be done. I want the freedom to be on my own time.
Call me rude but if I run in to people I know while at B&N, our conversations are exceptionally brief. I'm on a mission and I cannot be distracted. However, sometimes I have to pause to people watch.
"Can you just point me to my section?" an annoyed father asked his wife. Their grade school daughter stood in between them.
"This is the adult section," the girl says waving her hands. "All of these books are for adults."
I didn't hear how his wife responded, but he apparently was not satisfied.
"You mean I have to walk around and read every sign to find what I'm looking for?"
Yes, sir. That is exactly what I do.
I wander through the bookstore searching for something to read. For an English major, I'm not very well-read, so I investigate the classics. Nope. No Dickens of Shakespeare for Katie, please. I peruse the 1/2 off books. Since I don't know what I want how marvelous would it be to find it to be on sale? No luck. I sneak to the back corner where my B&N keeps the Christian books. I already have all of those Max Lucado books. They're out of Francine Rivers, and I don't love Karen Kinsbury's grammar.
Without fail I always find my hands on a writing book. Today I laughed at myself when I picked up the first one and quickly put it back. Not even five minutes later I picked up a second one. Realized I'd flipped them both open at random and they both fell open to sections dealing with rejection. That's not something I handle well, so I figured it was a message from God and am now the owner of A Novel Idea. :-)
After this it's the purposeless roaming. I think about books I've heard other people are reading. I recognize authors' names and check out their other books. I remember I've had professors encourage me to read more non-fiction, so I try to come home with at least one non-fiction book (usually this goal fails miserably). Really, though, I'm looking for a novel, and my B&N doesn't have a creative nonfiction section. I want something good to get lost in during these cold winter days as I fight cabin fever.
After that, I do exactly what every child is told never to do: I judge books by their covers. If I like the cover (or title or whatever) I pick up the book and read the back. If there's no synopsis on the back of the jacket I usually put it back down. If the synopsis sounds interesting, I fan the book open. Does it look like a book I could read? Laugh if you want but I almost stopped reading The Five Love Languages because the page number was really close to the edge of the page and I was afraid it was going to get cut off. I also scan for words; books littered with swears will not be enjoyed. For me, sex doesn't sell. No dark, no dirty.
My last stop before hitting the check-out counter is the investigate the teenage section. I didn't discover this section until I was a little too big. I always figured the teen section was for... well... teenagers. Not sheltered twelve or thirteen year old me. I read Harry Potter and Princess Diaries throughout most of my teenage years (this could explain why I'm not very well-read). Oh, well.
Few people enjoy going to bookstores with writers. Thanks for going there with me today (but not literally because I really just want to be there alone).
<>< Katie
"Sleep!"
"You've already done that; it's noon-thirty. What else do you want to do today?"
"Nothing!"
"That's what you did yesterday."
He's bored and therefore is objective is to annoy the rest of us, but he's right. As I look at my yesterday, my day before yesterday, my everyday since Christmas I realize I haven't done much. I read The Five Love Languages: Singles Edition and that's about it. I've read some blogs, written some blogs, played a few million games of Bejeweled Blitz, whooped butt in Bananagrams, scrapbooked a bit, and that's really about it. I'm not ok with that. I decided I have this time, so I should work on the story. Well, since I have this time the characters don't want to play with me. I've also found when I'm blogging regularly I obtain my "writing fix" without even opening a Word doc. That's a problem.
Umpteen years of writer's block has taught me to read when I want to write. Problem: there's nothing here I want to read. Sure, just within arm's reach I can grab four different books with bookmarks less than 100 pages in and almost a million more I've never read. Yet none of them seem appealing at the moment. I need to do something with my days, and I need to read more.
"One of these days I should go to Barnes and Noble," I said aloud to myself. Then I decided: why wait? Go right now. Instead of waiting for a car, I hopped in our minivan and tooled down the road. I don't like driving the van but nothing gets between a girl and her books!
As I was on my way out the door Dad asked where I was going. He's bored, and I was the only one home. When I told him he asked for how long. My response didn't please him. "Until I'm done kinking my neck to read book title sideways."
"You're just going to walk up and down the aisles until you find something you want to read?"
"Exactly."
"Then I'm definitely not going!"
Good because you weren't invited. Going to B&N alone is something I love. It started freshman year of college when I didn't have a car on campus. I always went shopping with people. Yes, Wal-mart by yourself can be lame, but it's also refreshing to wander the aisles alone and at your leisure. I'm not allowed to go to Wal-mart when I'm home, so I always try to make at least one trip to Barnes and Noble by myself.
"I have my phone but don't call me. I'll be home when I'm done," I announce as I depart.
"What if we need the car?" It's a legitimate concern because we have four and a half drivers and three cars.
"If Dad can hog a car sitting in the parking structure at work untouched all day five days a week I can hog one for a few hours."
No, you can't even go to the mall while I'm at the bookstore because when you're done I have to be done. I want the freedom to be on my own time.
Call me rude but if I run in to people I know while at B&N, our conversations are exceptionally brief. I'm on a mission and I cannot be distracted. However, sometimes I have to pause to people watch.
"Can you just point me to my section?" an annoyed father asked his wife. Their grade school daughter stood in between them.
"This is the adult section," the girl says waving her hands. "All of these books are for adults."
I didn't hear how his wife responded, but he apparently was not satisfied.
"You mean I have to walk around and read every sign to find what I'm looking for?"
Yes, sir. That is exactly what I do.
I wander through the bookstore searching for something to read. For an English major, I'm not very well-read, so I investigate the classics. Nope. No Dickens of Shakespeare for Katie, please. I peruse the 1/2 off books. Since I don't know what I want how marvelous would it be to find it to be on sale? No luck. I sneak to the back corner where my B&N keeps the Christian books. I already have all of those Max Lucado books. They're out of Francine Rivers, and I don't love Karen Kinsbury's grammar.
Without fail I always find my hands on a writing book. Today I laughed at myself when I picked up the first one and quickly put it back. Not even five minutes later I picked up a second one. Realized I'd flipped them both open at random and they both fell open to sections dealing with rejection. That's not something I handle well, so I figured it was a message from God and am now the owner of A Novel Idea. :-)
After this it's the purposeless roaming. I think about books I've heard other people are reading. I recognize authors' names and check out their other books. I remember I've had professors encourage me to read more non-fiction, so I try to come home with at least one non-fiction book (usually this goal fails miserably). Really, though, I'm looking for a novel, and my B&N doesn't have a creative nonfiction section. I want something good to get lost in during these cold winter days as I fight cabin fever.
After that, I do exactly what every child is told never to do: I judge books by their covers. If I like the cover (or title or whatever) I pick up the book and read the back. If there's no synopsis on the back of the jacket I usually put it back down. If the synopsis sounds interesting, I fan the book open. Does it look like a book I could read? Laugh if you want but I almost stopped reading The Five Love Languages because the page number was really close to the edge of the page and I was afraid it was going to get cut off. I also scan for words; books littered with swears will not be enjoyed. For me, sex doesn't sell. No dark, no dirty.
My last stop before hitting the check-out counter is the investigate the teenage section. I didn't discover this section until I was a little too big. I always figured the teen section was for... well... teenagers. Not sheltered twelve or thirteen year old me. I read Harry Potter and Princess Diaries throughout most of my teenage years (this could explain why I'm not very well-read). Oh, well.
Few people enjoy going to bookstores with writers. Thanks for going there with me today (but not literally because I really just want to be there alone).
<>< Katie
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)