productive vs present

I woke up in the 3’s this morning. I described the feeling to my sister on the way to the airport.  It brought me back to the road trips I would take with my family to Kentucky, Wyoming, or the exotic land of the midwest… Wisconsin! My parents would gently wake us, and we would climb out of bed, still blinking our mr. sandman eyes. I would smile inside with butterflies fluttering, knowing that we were embarking on a Trayser family adventure.  Waking up while it was still dark was half the fun of the trip, even if I crashed the minute we left the driveway.

I woke up in the 3’s this morning to go with Austin on vacation to a place that used to be called home. There are some places that just drip with familiarity the moment you step off the plane. Phoenix, will inevitability and forever be one of those places. The sunshine literally hugs you when you take the time to soak it in. And never have I had more thawing to do when faced with the warmth and cozy caresses of the Arizona sun.

I came out with two books and a journal to the charcoal cushioned long chairs beside the Stockfisch pool in the backyard. Thirty minutes later, both books sat unopened, the journal blank with neglect ion. That  is what the desert sun does to a Chicago girl’s skin and a busied girl’s heart.  I felt like that late nineties Sheryl Crow song was on repeat in my brain. I wanna soak up the sun. While it’s still free.

Christmas is a funny season because it’s as busy as it is reflective. Meaningful as it is (tragically) filled with meaningless, and filled with productivity battling the power of the present moment.

At the beginning of a break from work, in the middle of the first day of vacation, landing the day after the most celebrated day of the year, my mind was perfectly planning and relentlessly rearranging to schedule and follow a day of nothing. Let me see if I can make it even simpler. On a day that I was determined to do nothing but slow down and enjoy, I had already planned my workout, my workout outfit, assigned my reading assignment for the day in my head, replayed the outlook for the week, and downloaded an app on my phone that fills the screen with sticky notes thanks to the brilliant over-thought of ‘real simple’ magazine.   Okay, that wasn’t any simpler.

On a day that I needed a nap in the sun more profoundly than I was even aware of, I hope to send a quiet warning to the over-worked and productive genius in all of us… stop. Don’t think deeper, try harder or even slow down, just stop. I’m finding the lure of productivity in my own life has been more for the oooo’s and ahhh’s of the people around me than the well done’s from my father in heaven.  I disregard the present moment with the hope that if I scribble ‘live in the moment’ at the bottom of my to-do list, I will magically end that day ahead of schedule with an impressive well-rounded mindset.   What a fool I have been to think that a day filled with more check marks than a third grader’s report card has truly accomplished more than a day lived soaked in the sun-like warmth of the Holy Spirit.

I’ve lived a couple days in the promise and power of His spirit. The minutes lengthen like stretched muscles and the moments with people I love seem to float above me like a virtual memory book. I do things that would otherwise scare me on an over-productive day and I ask things that I wouldn’t have time to hear the answer to on days filled up with appointments. I am obsessed with days like those. And God is his proudest when his children choose to live days like those.  But the gravitational pull of my sinful and fallen heart brings me subtly back into the tritely over-produced lifestyle mimicking the fast and the furious.

I was reading today about the difference in the warning label on cigarettes in the 1960’s to now. What first read something like, ‘use with slight caution’, now reads ‘cigarettes cause cancer, and will kill you if over used.’ Even though this present vs. productive battle is far from life-or-death, I feel like my productivity warning label is from the 60’s. I’ve heard it said that there are dangers to a busy life. I’ve listened to men and women that I respect deeply caution others of how the enemy can use the enticing praise of an over-scheduled and productive life as means to distract us from the truth of God’s timing and his perfect plan. But the warning remains watered down.  

So in the quiet of the desert, under the ironic peace of an olive tree, I pray that God would rush to my aid. That in my desire to try harder and be better, he would move and work in me to refine and prune like only he can.  Just for now. Just for today. 

all in

I wish there was some dramatic story I could tell behind why I have not done something I really love to do (write) in almost two months, but there’s not.  Like many of you, life has been moving along as it usually does—rhythmic, mostly pretty good, busy days, slower days, work, play, meet for coffee, read, clean, sleep, you know the drill. 

And tucked neatly away in a corner of my life is faith.  While discontent has been stirring in my heart for months, it hit me really hard not too long ago that the very same faith I claim to have— the one that keeps my life pretty dang comfortable— is the faith people all over the world will hide in a basement to talk about because they can be thrown in prison if they bring the conversation to a restaurant.  The faith people willingly give their lives to tell others about.  The faith that brings hope into a very dark world.  The faith that would cause a man to sell anything and everything he has ever owned just so he could follow with only one purpose the One at the center of it all.  This is my faith, but that is not what my life looks like.

So I stopped writing, because I felt like a fraud.  And yet somewhere in the act of admitting that, a small sense of relief hovered over my heart.  In my head, Jesus was saying something like this to me:

“Yes!  Get mad, be frustrated with your lack of passion for me.  I am not content either, Katie, because I don’t have your whole heart, we both know that.  And these things all around you that make you question where I am, finally, you notice them!  Please don’t act like this is something new, I have been begging my followers since the day I allowed them to walk on the earth to love justice as much as I love justice.   But you don’t.  You love your own lives, your jobs, your homes and everything you can keep not one day longer than I allow you to, and you work to protect those much harder than you work for my kingdom to come right where you are.  I could not be more clear about these things than I already have been… seek Me first, and everything else you worry so much about will be there.  But I meant it when I gave you those instructions in that order.  I will never leave you or forsake you, but that does not mean I do not ask anything of you…  Are you going to take my path, or yours?"

And that is where I am today, trying with all of my might to discern what He asks from my life.  Because it is not going to be the same thing He asks of you.  It is not going to be the same thing He asks of the widows and the orphans.  It is not going to be the same thing He asks of the millionaire, either.  But I think for most of us it is something more than we are giving him right now.  This is the cool thing about our God: He knows before we do when He has our hearts.  We want to put our devotion to Him into a monetary scale, or measure it in time, record it in a journal, or just compare it to other believers around us.  Who are we kidding?  The grave is empty, people, and if my most “sacrificial” response to that is to write a bigger check than I normally would, I may just have my Savior confused with something else.

I want my single-minded purpose to be God’s kingdom.  But you know what else, I love my job working with students and I want to do it really well.  I love reading books, and I want to build a huge library in our house someday.  I love having people over, and I want to be able to feed crowds with great food and decorate the table beautifully.  And I want kids—lots of them—and I would love to be able to paint their rooms fun colors, sign them up for every sport they want to play, and someday help them out with college educations.  But at a moment’s notice, without thought of a bank account, clothing, food or anything else, I want to respond to God.  If that means walking through muddy and garbage filled slums to bring a blanket to a shivering little girl, if it means taking the bus so that we have more to give, if it means our only vacations ever are to a Guatemalan orphanage, or if it means none of this and something I can’t even picture in my head right now… if responding to God means He is allowing us to be part of bringing His kingdom to earth, I want my heart to be so ready to say “Here I am, send me.”  It is funny how I have given myself the option lately, to be all in or not, because I don’t think God’s word gives us a choice. 

I don’t want to be a fraud.  I believe with every ounce of me that Jesus is who He says He is.  So it is time to be all in.  As I learn what that looks like in my life, in my marriage—because it is really our life—I am sure I will miss it, I will be too easy on myself, and I will still work pretty hard to stay comfortable.  But if Jesus is truly the only hope this world has, and if I let that dictate everything else I do with the years God gives me, maybe life will feel as full of joy as it ever could. 

In just a few days we get to celebrate the humble birth of a King.  Our King.  Let's give him everything we have... He did it for us.       

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Just like you, I’m very, very imperfect and still searching for God in so many ways.  But if it is at all helpful on your pursuit of being all in, these books below have been incredibly humbling and heart-shaping for me:

The book of Jeremiah
Yep, the one in the Bible.  Wow, ours is not a God who messes around.

The Inner Life by Thomas a Kempis
I think I underlined something on every page.  Kempis might as well have been talking directly to me when he wrote it!

A Place for Truth edited by Dallas Willard
Super academic and philosophical, but well worth the effort!  Basically, some of the smartest people in the world talking about truth, faith, Christianity, and really hard questions.  It is a big collection of speeches and essays and while I am not even finished with it, this book is bringing me deeply back to why I believe at all.

advent.ure

It’s a marvelous season. No two ways around it. I walked up our first flight of stairs tonight and immediately felt the glow of the Christmas lights welcoming me home. What a fantastic tradition it is to have miniature lights flickering inside and outside the house. It’s as if someone knew that extra light would be needed due to the ungodly hour the sun sets these days. This afternoon, I sat with a friend and drank a chai tea out of a red cup while the fire crackled behind us. Warmth in my soul battled the chilly Wheaton air, while sweet conversation lengthened the minutes and put a halt to the hurry. I. Love. Christmastime.

We’re right in the middle of celebrating advent. This year, more so than my twenty-four others, I’m struck by the magnitude of anticipation and giddy expectance linked to the coming King. So much so, that the adventure of expectation is popping up all around me. Similar to the theme of redemption over Easter, these days, it’s as if advent is the genre of music attached to the soundtrack of my life.

When I’m quiet enough to get away from my daily tasks and present enough to tune into the spirit, I think about a world stuck without the free gift of grace, chained without the freeing streams of mercy, and trapped without the true hope of glory. It must have felt dark. It must have felt lonely. It must have felt incomplete.

Yesterday I got to witness something miraculous. A young lady, who saw this world as dark, felt alone in her struggles and longed for genuine completion prayed to receive an early Christmas present. The gift of God’s never-ending mercy and revitalizing hope was hers, wrapped beautifully in His perfect timing. The coming king came right on time, and advent 2011 will forever be remembered as the day her adventure began. That, my friends, is a waiting game that never gets old.

Advent is Latin for coming. And whether you’re awaiting a vacation, a proposal, a grade, an answer, or even a new-born king, it’s coming. Advent is a special reminder to be content in the coming and excited in the midst of expectation. How sweet it will be when that day is here, but for now, I’m delighting in the days leading up to. Slowly learning to celebrate the wait.

all caught up

I just got off the phone with one of the nearest and dearest friends I will ever have. I had started a couple different blog posts in the past couple weeks, but none of them felt authentic in the way writing should, poignant in the way words can be, or timely in the way God is a part of it. This post is authentic, poignant and timely because it’s what I’m living, thinking, breathing as I type.

So here it goes. I don’t know where you’re at in the world or where you’re at with God but there is something he taught me that he might just want to re-teach you tonight.

Due to the fact that I have moved a couple times and because there are several friends of mine that have moved as well, there are relationships that have to be nurtured despite lengthy distance. It takes time, effort and supernatural skills in scheduling to keep a relationship growing and thriving at a distance. Often, I find myself on the line with a great friend playing catch up to how her job is going, what she did for her birthday, and maybe (if there’s time) what God has been teaching her lately. As badly as I wish there was a way I could do life with her, know the ins and outs of her daily triumphs, and be there to pray in person at each mishap, I just can’t. But it’s okay.

If a long-distance friend would've called me tonight and asked about each aspect of my life (my job, my husband, being close to my family) all of those answers would be ‘great!’ There just happens to be numerous circumstances in my life that are each, simultaneously, going well. It’s a great season. New? To be sure. Exciting? To say the least, but great- all in all.

But fortunately, the phone call tonight wasn’t from a long-distance friend. She was as present in spirit and in love as anybody ever has been. After asking me how things were going, I found myself answering by traveling down several different rabbit trails that eventually led to her asking even more questions, more probing, with more effort to try and understand.

And that’s when I said it out loud. I feel distant from God and I’m treating him like a long-distant friend. It finally hit me that I had been approaching God as if I was playing catch up. I wasn’t spending enough time with him. I wasn’t listening. My prayers were half-hearted. And I was dishing out empty promises that somehow put me back even further in the catch-up line.

God doesn’t play catch up. And he doesn’t need us to either. He’s been that friend doing life with me, experiencing the ins and outs of my daily triumphs, and wishing I’d pray about each mishap. He knows what’s new with me and here’s the crazy part- there’s nothing new with him. He’s the same. He’s still present. He’s still powerful. He’s still perfect. He’s still God.

He’s been quietly waiting, patiently hoping that I’d realize there’s no catching up to do. There’s not enough Bible verses to read, devotions to ponder, deep conversations to have, or church to attend to make myself more presentable in the eyes of my God.  Right where I am is the closest I could ever be. And it feels good to be all caught up. 

really full

Alex and I have been married almost three months, and being married to my best friend has been wonderful and fun and full of laughter and newness and… absolutely nothing that I expected it to be.  Call me traditional, but as a new bride the things I was most excited for included folding Alex’s clothes, making dinners for us to sit down and eat together, watching SportsCenter as part of our nightly routine, and sending him out the door in the morning with a lunch full of his favorites. 

In 3 months I have cooked maybe a dozen times.  The last date we went on was during our 4-day honeymoon.   Last week the laundry was so bad that as I was getting ready in the morning I said in very frustrated tone (as if it was his fault), “Babe, I need a bra!” And proceeded to dig through the blue laundry basket until I found one.  Yeah, that happened.  Full time work and an extra busy month, full time school, book club, men’s group… like all of you, our lives have been incredibly, at times overwhelmingly, full.     

And Tuesday, I felt a whole lot of empty. 

I had not been to my bible study group in five weeks.  Five full weeks— sans the one week the girls picked up the group and brought it to me because they are just that great.  And Tuesday, the first day I actually could go in over month, I really didn’t want to.  I was battling a cold and feeling sluggish (read: lazy) and didn’t really want to make the drive and…yada yada yada.  So I decided not to go… and that lasted a few minutes before I decided I HAD to go.  Well, by the end of the night I was crying—I think it was part exhaustion, part emotional release, and part guilt about being a really poor wife and friend as of late.  I said I felt spent, totally empty, and that I just wanted to rest.  {The ironic part is that I said this to a group of moms who 1) they know “spent” and 2) they fix things.  And these girls got awesome.}

Before leaving, not only did they not make me feel silly for being overwhelmed, they offered to cook a few meals I can leave in my freezer so that on really busy days Alex and I can just take one out, heat it up and spend time together.  WOW.  I really thought meal deliveries only applied when you have just had a baby or are taking care of a sick family member or some other huge life event.  But when you are part of the body of Christ, stressful seasons of life totally count as a huge life event, and that is pretty amazing.   

I should mention that my mini-meltdown is probably the smallest thing going on in all the lives of this group.  There are working moms, wives, students, wanting /expecting/wondering about/not super interested in/can’t wait for another baby moms.  There are six marriages in this group that are made up of a dozen sinful, selfish people.  There are financial issues and stewardship concerns.  There are doctor appointments and realtor appointments and job interviews.  And there are casseroles for the overwhelmed girl. 

Jesus came that we might have life, and feel really full of hope and joy and gratitude in that life.  But it is absurd to think we can manufacture that fullness all the time on our own.  We’ll get stressed or over-extended or jealous or hormonal or a million other things, but at some point we will all empty ourselves out.  All it took was hot tea with honey and the promise of a good meal to help fill me back up.  Simple, sincere, just what I did not know I needed but so badly did.

Today, I am extra grateful for women who are committed to filling one another up.  One day I hope to return the favor.  I want the world to see women who love Jesus and say, “They are loving their husband, raising kids, working in a hospital, running a business, opening their home, driving in the carpool, writing a book, praying for each other, and every so often they even go to the gym (kidding).  But they are FULL.  I want some of that.” 

B.O.C.O.D.  Body of Christ on Display. 

The thief comes to kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.  John 10:10

where i think big and feel small

I grew up going to a big church. Huge, actually. The kind that has its own lake to do baptisms and its own ministry for the amount of cars donated. Willow means more than a tree to me. It’s huge, but it’s home. It’s home because I’ve planted flowers by the chapel with my dad. It’s home because of the smell the old auditorium has, and it’s home because it’s where I first heard truth and met others that lived truth out. This weekend the worship team led us through a profoundly simple hymn.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you. Thank you.

These words. Minimal and to the point. Repeated for affect, and so refreshing to me this week.

Upon entering Kristin’s brain and taking note of the popular thoughts over the past few months, one might be surprised to find a subtle cynicism towards this world, it’s issues, and the people in it. It doesn’t take much to dim the shade of my rose-colored glasses until all I can see is darkness. The oppression, the injustice, the overall craziness creates an angst in me that I don’t know what to do with.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you? Thank you?

If beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, what exactly am I beholding these days? What view of this world would cause me to recklessly and radically thank the God that created it?

One of the most beautiful places I go is to the top of the hill at Indian Prairie elementary school. I visited this hill with Maisy, (the one dog I can have a full conversation with) after I got home from church on Sunday. There’s real beauty found on this hill because 1.) it floods me with memories of being young and free, 2.) it’s quiet and stoic and looks over a loud and busy town 3.) it forces me to think big and feel small. I watched my dog relentlessly concentrating to identify and enjoy each unknown smell, I closed my eyes as the crisp, fall wind blew the last of the season’s dandelion particles up the hill, and I breathed deeper the beautiful parts of the hill, the surroundings, the world. At least for a moment the overall craziness was no match for the overwhelming goodness in front of me. All I could think and quietly sing were those simple words, this time with reinvigorated meaning and penetrating authenticity.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you. Thank you!

There is good happening. There is hope being discovered. There is joy being lived out and there is unbearable beauty that should catch me and cut off my breath. Do I see this world as a masterpiece of a beautiful God? Or am I a piece of the problem the master longs to restore back to beauty? 

God, help me to behold the beauty you’ve put on display. May my shades of gray be warmed into colors that beam with your goodness. May my hardened heart be softened by the good you’re doing and still promise to do.  And may I find hope in a place that defaults to darkness, secure in the illuminating truth that the battle has been won.

Remind me of Steven...

“Remind me, Jesus, yet again

Of all Thine anguish and distress,

Remind me of Thy soul’s deep pain…

Ah, it is true, Our Lord and Savior, that not even in this respect dare we rely upon our own strength, as though we were able of ourselves to recall impressively enough to retain steadily this remembrance of Thee, we would so much rather dwell upon the joyful side than upon the sorrowful, we who all of us desire for ourselves good days and the peace and security of happy times, we who prefer to remain unaware in a profounder sense of the dreadful things, lest, as we foolishly think, they might make our happy life gloomy and serious…”

-Soren Kierkegaard

We all want a happy life.  We want good jobs, nice homes, new-enough cars and a closet full of presentable fashion.  Nobody wants to wonder where the next meal will come from.  Nobody grows up dreaming about their glamorous life on the streets.  And I sure don’t think there are many young girls who believe that the occupation matching their level of dignity involves the physical abuse of strangers.  No, that cannot be how little children bearing the image of the perfect Creator come into the world.  They are full of hope and promise and potential and have no idea of the limits the world will put on them when they are dreaming their young dreams.

I am a white American female, born to a middle-class family with a father who worked very hard to climb the corporate ladder (with complete integrity, I should add) and a mother who stayed home and had close to perfect attendance at every field trip and soccer game we ever had.  My life is the definition of blessed potential.

Steven is a Colombian male, born to a very poor family as one of several siblings with a father who is gone and a mother for whom it is all she can do to get out of bed every day and attempt to take care of her children.  Steven does not know how to read or write.  His life is the definition of the least of these.  And the only difference between me and little Steven: where we born— nothing either one of us earned or deserved.    

I don’t think that because so much of the world lives in poverty that we are all supposed to.  And I don’t think that because I was blessed to be born where I was as the person I am that means I should immediately move to a third world country and try to be a poor Colombian in the name of justice.  But I do think that among the many things I ask God for on a daily basis, one of them should be for Him to remind me of the things that break his heart.  It is so easy for me to go about my day in the pursuit of success and comfort, while all around me people are hurting, crying, hungry and without hope.  The least of these… the people nearest to the heart of God are most often far from mine…

I heard a story a few years ago from a well-known speaker about her young daughter, who was fascinated by flashlights.  As they checked out of the Wal-Mart with a new flashlight in hand, this little girl immediately looked up at her mother and said, “Mommy, Mommy, can we please go find some darkness?”  What wisdom there is in those words…  We have the light the world is looking for, why are we so afraid to ask for darkness?  In our pursuit of a life that is financially secure and a home that looks like it could be on pintrest, are we missing the pleas of the prophets*, the commands of God*, and the direction of Jesus*—all of them telling us to spend our lives doing everything except worrying about ourselves. 

*Isaiah 58: 6-11

*Micah 6:8

*Matthew 25:31-40/Luke 12:33

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None of this is new to you.  It is not new to me.  The discomfort of the pursuit of comfort in my own life has been nagging at me for the past year.  And I cannot do much today that will have a world-changing impact by tomorrow.  But I can keep my eyes open.  I can ask God for a broken heart.  My prayer requests are consistently things like please keep us safe and healthy, be with my friend who is struggling with this, help this to go well for me or my loved ones… And please don’t hear me say I am going to stop praying for these things—because I won’t, in fact I want to pray protection and happiness over the people I love my entire life. 

But, please, Lord, do not let me forget the least of these… keep close to my mind and heart all of the people who are longing for a hope that you offer… never let my world get so small that I forget you care so much more about the orphans and the widows and the homeless than you do about my next car.  I want you to remind me of Steven.  Teach me what it really looks like to live in my tiny corner of the Northwest like Jesus did—confident in His Father, bold in His faith, fair in His love, passionate in His convictions, living for your Kingdom to come on earth.      

it can wait

Katie came to visit this weekend. Extended amounts of laughter, self-discoveries and dark chocolate were to be expected. We sat down at the corner window table of the Wheaton Starbucks at 10 am and at about 12:15 pm we got up nearly having to catch our breath from the non-stop questioning, encouraging, dreaming. We walked around the farmers market, talking. Bought some daisies and an independent jazzy artist’s CD, talking. Shopped for snacks at Trader Joes, talking. Plopped on opposite ends of our sectional couch, talking. Got on the train in our sweaters, talking. And searched endlessly for a place to meet Austin for dinner, quietly. (Let’s face it, at this point we had walked the city and found ourselves too hungry to think of new topics.) I have been wanting to get my oil changed in my car for a couple weeks, but this weekend, it could wait. I had been meaning to call back this new FCA contact, but that could wait too. I was long-overdue to pay attention to my eye-brows, but all of that could wait because of the special time I was spending with my Spokane- residing best friend.

Yesterday was the 2^nd anniversary of the day Austin and I got to declare to the world, (or to about 65 of our dedicated and directionally competent friends and family) that our love was one we were willing to deepen and be committed to forever. We got married two years ago and even though our marriage is like a preemie compared to my parents’ 33 years, it is a preemie so cute and full of potential that we decided to celebrate it. We looked through the pictures of the familiar fall colors, remembering how chilly I was during the last prayer of the ceremony, how the rain fell the minute everyone sat safely inside the tent, and how we danced fearlessly and ridiculously because, well, we could.

Last night, I got to sit across from my husband and explain what he did well this past year. I got to tell him how much he challenges me, how proud I am to be his wife and how richly blessed I feel to get to talk through and walk through our days together. All the plans, scheduling, chores, relationships, and blog writing in the world could wait because of this man and what he means to me.

Who in your life is so unmistakably important that you gladly put the world on hold while you two sit and chat? Who is worth the line, ‘that can wait, I’m with ______ right now’?

This morning, God was that important. I sat and wrestled distraction. I prayed and battled doubt. I read and fought off mental to-do lists.

I sat, rested, and embraced the Holy presence of God because of one active thought pattern on repeat… it can wait.

I’m kinda tired… it can wait.

My closet is really messy… it can wait.

Breakfast is the most important meal of the… it can wait

I need to write a list of things to do today… it can wait.

I’ve got to start reading… it can wait.

I should really wash this dish before the cereal crusts over… it can wait.

I want to email… it can wait.

I need to text that person and tell them I’m praying for them… it can wait.

…

…

…

Strength will rise as you wait upon the Lord.

…

…

…

I need to write the blog post about this... even that can wait.

To be honest, I'm not always that good at saying, it can wait.  In fact there are an embarrassing amount of mornings my priorities look like this: ‘God can wait, I’m with my blanket and pillow right now,’ or 'God can wait, I'm with Matt Lauer right now.'  And you know what? Those days are tragic. I know I'm not filled up to extraordinarily love how God would have me love, I'm not equipped to detect lies from a mile away, and I'm not reflecting the light my savior has called me to shine into dark places. And unlike my facebook, those things can't wait. So help me get there. Check in on me to make sure I'm putting all else on hold. For HE is worth it and will be tomorrow too.

the dream table

What do you get when you combine two incredibly extroverted friends, iced coffee, and an early Friday morning?  You get that table you wish you were not sitting by at Starbucks because you can no longer focus on your morning paper over the “oh myyy gossshh” and “that’s amazziinggg” and “I’m sooo exciteddd for youuu” statements.  My dear friend, Emily, and I… we are not quiet or shy with our emotion.  Pretty much if we think it, we say it, and when we say it, we feel it for each other.  It makes for one heck of a friendship.  It does not make for a good reading environment if you are anywhere near us and for that, I am sorry (kind of… because it is open seating at Starbucks, and you are more than welcome to either eavesdrop or move {insert somewhat smug smile here}).

I love this time.  And I love it even more now that Emily has deemed it our “dream table.” 

The conversations that happen around this table are a lot of things: they are hopeful and encouraging and sometimes thought provoking and often hard.  But they are always real.  One of us is confessing that we want to check our heart when it comes to material things, never replacing the Giver with the gift.  The other saying that she totally gets it, and has to remind herself all the time not to compare who has more or dresses better.  Then we talk about adoption (“does it sound crazy to you?”), serving out of our comfort zone (“should we put ourselves out there?”), church (“what did you get out of it?”), body image (“oh sheesh, it never gets better than college!”), raising kids (“how can I inspire them?”) … and how to live in the balance of all of those things with an accurate view of Jesus in the center of it all.  It is not easy to do that, and that is why we need the dream table.

Here are the rules for sitting at the dream table: You have to be 100% honest.  Whether we agree or disagree with each other, we have to say what we are really thinking no matter how much we know the other person won’t want to hear it, or else we won’t be growing—and therefore never really living.  You have to be 100% vulnerable.  If you aren’t willing to share the insecurities, the mistakes, or the depths of who you are and what you have been through with the people sitting across from you, the dream table is probably not going to be your thing.  And you have to be 100% there.  You have to fully guard that time at the dream table as sacred time, willing to learn, willing to put out of your mind the agenda for the rest of your day, willing to let some serious holy humbling happen to you.

The thing about life is that we don’t really know as much as we think we do.  Kristin wrote so beautifully last week about the few truths we really can hold on to in life, but outside of those, most of what we do and how we live is simply one foot in front of the other, often in the dark, sometimes feeling totally alone, and every once in a walking straight in to a wall when we were so sure the door was open.  I think we will live between the tensions of our lives here in this world and the desperate longing for our real home until the day we get there, and the answers about how to do that well are not always that tangible.  But to tell you the truth, I feel a lot closer to answers at the dream table.  If nothing else, I feel more confident in what that next step in the dark is or isn’t, because I was vulnerable enough to share it and my friend was honest enough to tell me what she thought.

A few years from now, we might look back at our time at the dream table and remember that it was the place so many ideas were born and encouraged, so many topics covered, so many tears cried, and so many prayers offered.  And what could be better than that?  If you can find a table and a few gals to pull up a chair and together put your messy lives out there, you’ll be better for it.  We have a mighty mission in front of us: doing our part to let God’s kingdom come on earth.  And we all have a part.  Learning how to live this out, in word and in action, just might start at your dream table. 

what i know for sure

I must confess: I have been putting off this entry. Today’s post has been in the works in my mind for um… two weeks. Not because of the complexities of material, the poetic details, or intricacies of thought… no… simply because I have NO idea where to start.

I’ve spent the past couple weeks engulfed with information. I’m one of those people who will choose to read about six books at a time. I’ll begin reading a book about humility, be drawn by an author that I love that’s written about grace, receive a recommendation from a person I trust of a book I NEED TO READ NOW (I mean, it’s life changing), all the while, I’m half-way into two assigned books from work, a book I’ve started in a study, and oh yeah, the WORD of God every once in awhile.

It’s gotten to the point that I’m bringing my kindle to “workout.” I place my reader on the front of the treadmill as I walk at a slight incline. Yes, I walk uphill at a slight incline. This coming from the girl who had to do lunges and sprints up the track stadium bleachers at ASU. (If you know the track bleachers, you’ll be impressed. If you are a track athlete, volleyball players probably don’t impress you.)  I still remember running 400’s with my team while some Olympic track and field athletes were training in Tempe. First off, why are volleyball players running 400’s? Secondly, that was embarrassing. As embarrassing as admitting you're a 25 year old that walks uphill for a workout? Eh, it's a toss-up. 

All this to say, the information darting through my brain has made the start of this post nearly impossible. Theories. Ideas. Opinions. Tactics. Practices. Musings. All great. All thought-provoking. But missing one common theme. Truth.

I don’t know much about this life. I know even less about the one to come. But in the midst of jumbled jibber jabber what quietly raises back up to the surface of my mind is what I know for sure. What I’m certain of, and what I base my life around. And even though you may think this entry is one giant contradiction because you think the statements I’m about to make are my opinions, I invite you to dig a little deeper and start dialogue with someone you trust about what exactly YOU know for sure.

The fear and wonder it took to create me is worth writing about.

The grace I call amazing is worth singing about.

The weakness of God is stronger than I’ll ever be.

True love is dying for someone without caring if they ever acknowledge it.

The more trying I do the more imperfect I become.

I know a man that is the same today as he was yesterday. And will be forever perfect.

When I breathe my last, I’ll know true freedom. In heaven with a good and gracious God.

And Lastly, the Chicago Cubs will again win the World Series… (that one’s for my mom.)

my least favorite word

I can tell you with full assurance that I am better at writing than I am at living.  Sometimes I wrap up an entry and feel somewhat decent about what meaning it held for me and the meaning I hope you glean from it.  In spite of that momentary impact, it does not take me long to move on, to forget the momentum beginning in my heart, and to jump with two feet fully back in to the world writing takes me out of for a brief time.  I realize stating up front that I am a hypocrite in every way is not the best way to open this— shattering any credibility I may have built.  But it needed to be said.  I needed to say it to myself.  I am incapable of consistency- in my actions, thoughts, emotions, and disciplines.  What I tell you not to worry about, I will find myself worrying about the very same thing shortly after.  What I think is a silly argument you are having with your husband, I will have an even more ridiculous one within 48 hours- count on it.      

My mind can be a cacophony of thoughts.  And cacophony is my least favorite word, so that is not a good thing.  The whole word is ugly and sounds gross both as I say it and hear it.  And it really is tough to pull any positive meaning out of cacophony: loudness, harshness, disharmony, unmelodiousness.  When is any of that good?  Certainly not when you feel like it is happening in your life. 

I tend to want to blame all of this noise on the fact that I can just be too high-strung, energetic and opinionated, and that if I lighten up a bit the noise will settle.  But I don’t think that’s the answer.  To be perfectly honest, I have no answer.  I do have some ideas about where to find peace and I am betting they have to do with Jesus- but I would be totally lying and insincere if I ended this entry by pretending I know something will change simply by writing down what I think needs to change.

But I don’t think I am alone in this.  I think chances are if you are a living, breathing human being, you hear a lot of noise in your life.  Pray more.  Read your Bible today.  Get a workout in.  Are we being generous enough with our time and money? Don’t buy that magazine, you’ll only compare yourself to who is inside.  Did you call her back yet?  Oh, wow, that woman should not be wearing that skirt.  Shoot, the towels are still in the washing machine.  Why didn’t I volunteer for that?  Am I enough?  Does my life—my heart—make Jesus proud?  (That can be about thirty-five seconds in my brain, and this is without kids.  Please stay my friend when I actually do have one—it is likely to get real ugly then).

I wish I knew where all the noise comes from.  I wish I could control the switch that turns it on and off.  I wish the anxiety, guilt, and that paralyzing sense of feeling misunderstood that comes with it would just go away.  But life is not that simple.  This is the noise that echoes in our hearts all the time: should we have another child?  Did the doctor figure anything out?  Should I support my husband when to my core I disagree?  Did you hear about the accusation against the pastor?  Can we afford it?  Were you able to find a job? Is their marriage ok?  Should I be at home with my baby or continue working?

And what does God say in response: be still.  And in even the shortest moment of quiet you can manage, remember who I am.  I am before time and beyond it.  I formed the ground you stand on, the legs you walk on, and the arms you carry all of the things you love in.  I know your heart, your fears and your dreams more intimately than even you do.  And when things are the most confusing, just remember it is finished, everything you could not do, I did.  Your condemnation went to the cross with me, and I left it there.  Be still.  I want only your heart, you can’t bring me anything else more lovely.  And I’m waiting for you.    

I can only manage today and the noise I hear right now.  I won't be able to change the fact that every day will bring a new noise, and that I will continue to wrestle with the tension of it.  But I can be still.  And maybe all the quiet moments we slowly but surely carve out for our hearts will become the sweetest parts of our walk with Jesus, and maybe we will simply live our way into the melody that brings rest, not confusion.  Maybe the sum of a lifetime's worth of stillness is how we drown out the noise in order to hear the music God is playing: sounds of justice, of burdens being lifted, oppression being broken, slaves being set free, orphans given a home, the hungry being fed, hope being offered to the broken.  Those things we should listen for... I wonder if all the other noise would drown out if we did...

two words that changed everything

The other day I asked Austin what he thought of the name, Autumn. I think it’s just lovely due in large to the fact that its synonymous with fall. I haven’t gotten to experience the crisp bites of autumn air in it’s season’s entirety for years, so I get soft butterflies in my stomach when I can smell the changes and feel the shift in my bones. I’ve noticed the orangey hues are beginning to pop in our neighborhood’s oak trees, and today I slipped on my tan boots, more to look the part of fall than to participate in the practicality of it. It’s a glorious time of year, filled with a bittersweet feeling of what’s to come and a heavy heart of gratitude for the satisfyingly- sweaty summer months.

So in the name of fall I thought I’d share a pre-pumpkin, pre-turkey disclosure of what God has been doing in and through my own heart. Simplicity at it’s finest, but challenge at it’s most profound.

Two words. Thank (and) you.

Everybody has his or her ‘thing’ and mine is my back. It’s testy and moody and decides for itself when it’s going to rock a yoga class and when it’s necessary to wake me up in the middle of the night. Lately, there have been spasms and episodes that have taken me back to the pain I felt right before my back surgery in 2006. I get scared; not as much for the pain but for the process of the pain… the unknown, the setbacks, the yatta, yatta, yatta.

Because there are people out there that love me, I was able to get a massage this past weekend. It was then that it dawned on me that I have been living in a discontented, self-pity trap when it comes to my back. There is no room for God when I’m too busy picking at, fussing about, or criticizing what he created. So, I chose to do something radical. I chose to thank God for my back. I thanked him for the years I’ve been able to be active, I thanked him for doctors that have made it better, I thanked him for the pain that causes me to rest, and above all, I thanked him for my back's incredible limitation. ONLY in the limits of my back am I reminded I’m not invincible, I’m desperately broken and I’m unavoidably needy. I'm the desire of an invincible Lord, broken by my fallen nature and needy for his renewing mercy. All while I was lying there, prayers of thanks filled the room and brought a couple tears to my eyes, which, now that I think about it, probably deeply worried the technician.

I’m finding that with every passing thank you the discontentment I feel about myself, my relationships, and my life’s course, are gently being replaced with a pure and holy contentment for the life I’ve been trusted with, the people that surround me, and ultimately, the God that I pursue. This kind of contentment can only be found in gratitude and it can only last when I take the time to audibly, repeatedly say… thanks... that was a gift.

Often, I find myself being consumed by my past or feeling anxious for the future. And usually, when these thoughts are prevalent, God feels distant, my days seem to blend together and I second guess myself or my worth.  Freedom comes from finding something (anything!) to be sincerely thankful for in every moment. IE: the colorwheel of the flowers bunched together at Trader Joes, the book of Psalms, the work God's done through past wounds, Oreo cookies, quiet moments, or that crazy feeling of knowing I'm living and walking out an answered prayer. 

Thanksgiving is still yet to come, but thanks is giving me much to dwell on until then.  So, as I thank God for readers that somehow deem me worthy of being heard, I invite you to pray your first, second, or 7000^th prayer of thanksgiving to a God from whom all blessings flow.


For now, pass the pie.   

one conversation- two perspectives- one desire

“for to me, to live is Christ…”
philippians 1:21

{kristin}

Every once in awhile, a slight stroke of brilliance comes sweeping across our minds. It's rare, inspired, and often the result of living in the moment just long enough to hear clearly from heaven. It is even more of a rarity when we’re able to experience one of these dazzling breakthroughs in the presence of another human being. Having a partner in crime gives an instant sense of credibility, a shared longing to act, and a common dream tangible enough to recollect and put into motion.

I was able to have one of those moments a few months ago on the telephone with my best friend. One friend on the campus of Gonzaga University in Spokane, Washington, the other in her car driving north on the 101 in the middle of a scorching Phoenix day.  

As we glued our phones to our ears, we spoke of written words. Words we’ve read and the words we write ourselves. We spoke meaningfully and transparently about how we came upon this love of the written word. We agreed that writing makes us better, makes us feel like ourselves, makes us present, makes us real. And we began to discover the reason our writing makes us feel such powerful things is because it’s oozing, dripping and saturated in the good news of Jesus.

_________________________

{katie}

It is easy for life to feel routine, monotonous, and insignificant.  Way too easy.  If you’re not careful, weeks go by, then months, and then it is years before you notice everything that has happened around you—the changes in yourself, the changes in the people you love, the growth, the lessons learned.  And without ever intending to be, we are stuck in the trap of believing our life is trivial.  And it is a trap.

For more reasons than I can say, Kristin is my best friend.  But if you had heard the conversation we recently had, well, it would just be even more obvious why.  We were talking about writing: about the highs and the lows (there are lots), about why we do it (which is an invaluable question I think we should consistently ask ourselves), about how the delete button is always following closely behind insincerity (because it just doesn’t work to fake it), and about what it does to our soul to be real, and to create something that expresses what we really mean.  And then Kristin adds this:

{You know, Kate, I’ve been thinking a lot about what our writing is and what it means, and it’s like everything always comes back to the gospel.  All we write about has this way of landing back on Jesus; and, just how everything in our lives makes the most sense when we talk about it through that lens.  And that’s exactly how it should be} 

Kristin hit the heart of everything with that statement.  That is exactly what we want our writing to be about: how every day, everything that happens is a part of what God always intended, a reflection of what it means to live in light of the gospel.  There are no meaningless relationships, no unimportant jobs, no pointless discussions.  The good things are gifts to be treasured.  The people we love are but glimpses of what it means to be loved by a Savior.  And the painful moments are longings for our true home. 

_________________________

{kristin}

The gospel is more than 4 laws. It’s more than a one-time prayer. It’s more than church, than memorization. It’s even more than good news. It’s the unshakable foundation of our every move and the electric source of our every thought.  Suddenly, when we shine the light of Jesus on our everyday thoughts and musings, colors are more vibrant, people look more like miracles, and a life we once classified as mundane spins and twists into fruitful motion.

Katie and I refuse the mundane. And that’s because beyond our simple commonalties, we share a deep-sea, sky-high love of Jesus Christ. We believe in his power and choose to see him in all things. He doesn’t promise it’ll be easy or flowing in prosperity, but he does promise perfect love and endless grace, and that’s what we want to rest in.  

We write imperfectly to showcase a perfect God.

_________________________

{katie}

Life is a lot of things, but it is never trivial.  And as much as anything, that is what we want to remind you of when we write.  God is a good, good God.  And the world is full of reflections of this goodness in so many places: early morning quiet, a baby’s laugh, a genuine friendship, a good pizza, the ocean, the first flowers after a long winter, a cozy blanket and just-can’t-put-it-down-book, the hand of your soul mate, sunsets… But all of us know there are plenty of hard things, too: sickness, injustice, scary doctor appointments, arguments, corrupt leaders, poverty, earthquakes, divorce, losing a job—or a leg, or a loved one… And it is all real.

So we write about what is real, and about how everything begins and ends with the Gospel.  And it is our most sincere prayer that you find in our words some evidence that your life matters so deeply, and that for everyone, our joy, our hope, our saving grace, and the deepest longings of our hearts are met in a man named Jesus.        

_________________________

lesson plans

I think I was born wanting to be a teacher.  I once (or twice, maybe more) set up a classroom with my stuffed animals and dolls, then read Little House on the Prairie out loud to them.  In high school I created pretend lesson plans for The House on Mango Street, not as a class assignment but just because I was on a long airplane ride home and could not sleep.  I declared my major as English Education no more than three weeks in to my college career, and I never looked back, never changed my mind, never stopped dreaming of the classroom I would call my own.  True story: I shopped for posters for my future classroom at 17 years old.  My mom still has them.

I loved college partly because I absolutely loved what I was learning.  If I was not taking classes on how to be a teacher, I was reading and writing about the very things I might someday teach: Twain and Stein and Shakespeare and Chaucer, prepositions and adverbs and gerunds and antonyms.  I learned as much from Huck Finn and Scout Finch as I did from Dr. Blassingame and Dr. Kelleher—and I could not wait to introduce my own students to characters who they would relate to more than me.  I was so set on being a teacher, so taken by the idea of impacting lives and imparting knowledge.  In a lot of ways, I still am.

But somewhere along the way, I began only wanting to be the teacher and neglected the learner, as it became more important to me to know the answer—and get credit for it— than to really listen to the question.  My husband gently pointed this out to me yesterday.  As we discussed a really great sermon we had just heard at church, I stepped right in and interrupted his thoughts on what he was learning with my interpretation of them.  He was not asking me for my analysis, he really was not even asking for my opinion.  But for some reason I cannot justify or explain, I felt compelled to give him both of those things.  And I do this much.too.often.  (side note: marry someone who will do this for you- let you know when you are not as right as you think you are, but still love you more than life)

I really don’t love being around people who don’t know what they don’t know.  But I can be that person.  I have always admired people who can answer my questions with a deeper question.  But I seem to answer others with my version of the right answer.  I respect the characteristic of humility more than any other in people.  But I have a tendency to be over-impressed with how hard I am trying to be humble myself. 

As much as I have always wanted to be a teacher, and still want to be, my deepest, strongest desire right now is to be a learner…

I want to learn how to sit across the table from you and hear how hard your relationship is without saying, “Have you read this, or done that, or been to this…”

I want to learn what you are most passionate about, what the dream of your life is, and I want to marvel at it and get excited about it with you, not comment on it and certainly not criticize it behind your back.

I want to learn what you are most afraid of, what makes you anxious or wakes you up at night, and I want to pray with you, not tell you that story of how one time I was afraid of the same thing and it all turned out ok so you will be just fine, too. 

I want to learn more about my real-self, about the things that I am ok at and the (many) areas I need refining.  And I want to learn how to embrace those things so that I am always aware of how little I can do on my own.

I want to learn more about God, His story, and my place in it.  I want to remember to use pencil as I write down the theories of my life, knowing that I will inevitably have to erase many things I thought I knew and tried to tell you were correct.  

If God has a lesson plan for us every day, it might be to teach us something like this:  “You are more sinful and flawed than you ever dared believe.  You are more accepted and loved than you ever dared hope.”  (thanks, Tim Keller).  What a beautiful, humbling and yet hopeful paradox.  Let’s learn to live in that today.  

receive and repeat

Like any outpouring of creativity, writing has its ways of creeping into each fiber of my thinking.  It’s hilarious when ‘my Monday’ comes around how everything in front of me turns into a writing prompt.  A woman’s shoes in the airport spark questions of why on earth we put ourselves through such pain just to walk somewhere. Suddenly, parallels engulf my mind in ways that are as much profound as they are over-thought and well, a little nerdy. Nevertheless, when I finally sit down at my computer (this time my PC courtesy of Arizona FCA) and begin to pick and squeeze at each thought I’ve thought in the past two weeks, there’s always an inevitable, unavoidable topic that circles my mind like seagulls right before they go in for food. Whether I decide to write on the topic or auto-archive it in the back of my mind usually predicts the ease, flow and honesty of the words that follow.

All of that to say, I’ve been wanting to write on a certain thought for the short end of two months. And it can be wrapped up with a silky bow in one word… receive.

I’ve gotten to be a part of a sports camp in Flagstaff for the past seven years (minus the one year I was in St. Lucia on a mission’s trip. Judge all you want, we ‘suffered’ for the Lord on those sandy beaches.) Each summer, athletes and coaches at the top of their game give up a weekend, along with some fireworks, to retreat the heat and breathe in some pine air. I’ve had some form of leadership role at each camp I’ve attended, so if I wasn’t scurrying around as a huddle leader, chasing my boy-crazy, teenage girl campers, I was making sure the new huddle leaders were caffeinated and encouraged enough to keep up with their own boy-crazy teenage campers.   Quite often, those same campers have a first-time interaction with the perfect, loving God of the universe. Soon, they're gladly trading in their boy-crazy for grace-crazy. It’s that intangible, yet recognizable transformation that happens within the soul of a young person that keeps me coming back for more. That, and the wicked cafeteria food.

This past year as I stood in the back of the large room where we have our evening program, I witnessed several strong, grown, athletic boys walking up to receive Christ for the first time. I was captivated by the reckless power and encapsulated freedom receiving allows.  That’s when it hit me. The love I’m able to give out, the love God is able to spill out through me, depends utterly and exclusively on the love I’m willing to receive.  God was moving in hearts, adopting sons and daughters, and shifting all of eternity before my very eyes, and this time, I decided to stop watching and start participating. He had invited me to do so countless times before, but I had politely declined because I needed to be responsible, or I was somehow ‘good’ on the amount of grace and love I had already gotten that day. Um… what? How hardened my heart has become towards grace because I received my ‘get out of jail free card’ 15 years ago, and how tragic to think that the author of salvation wrote this story only to be read or received once.

 Today, I am certain that in order to fully experience and know God I don’t just want to, but NEED to receive his son in an irresponsible, off-the-to-do-list, brought-to-tears kind of way. Every day. Every way. Every single avenue or outlet possible.  I will always have a first time I received Christ, but how radically different would my life look if the last time I received his gift was two days ago? Two hours ago? Two minutes ago? Imagine the available love, the freeing grace, the restored hope and the unshaken faith I would not only live in, but gleefully hand out along the way.

So next time you see, hear, or taste something so good it makes you close your eyes to make it last a little longer, view that moment as an open invitation to receive God’s outpouring love. Every good and pleasant thing is from him, and further, an invite to experience the miracle of grace all over again. What invaluable instruments we could be if we had the courage to truly rest in it. Relish in it. Re-open it. Receive it. And repeat it.