something new

Something amazing happened this week. Sure, it happens every day in every part of the world—but it's not every day it happens in your own family. This week, we celebrated the birth of a beautiful baby girl, my niece, Bayley Joy Blackburn.

Bayley’s birth is special for a lot of reasons. She was an unexpected five weeks early, and her mom went through a lot in the days leading up to her arrival. But when she finally made her appearance after an emergency C-section on Wednesday night, she was 5 lbs, 19 inches long, and amazingly healthy! We all expected her to go right to the NICU, but instead we got to watch through the nursery window as her dad held her proudly, smiling like had had never smiled before.

Many of you know exactly what this moment feels like, to hold your own child for the first time. Not being a mommy yet, I can’t imagine how amazingly profound it must be when something so small takes your breath away. But as I looked at tiny little Bayley, her little nose, little fingers, little lips, it struck me in such a powerful way how incredibly beautiful new life is.

If you have read my entries the past two weeks, it is no secret how discontent I have felt with myself, with my role in the world, and with the loss, pain and desperation we all live in the midst of. On a global level, I am struck utterly speechless when my eyes are opened to the terrible things people I know— and people I don’t know— are really living through. And on a personal level, I have been humbled day after day as the motives of my heart have been brought to light, and as I’ve seen how the myopic tendencies of my life affect people I love. The best word I can come up with to describe living in my world the past few weeks is “depressing.”

And then came Bayley… innocent, vulnerable, precious, new…

Bayley reminded me that our God is the God of new life. He does not allow us to sit in the brokenness of the world and the selfishness of our own life too long. I felt like he put this little girl right in front of me and said, “Katie, I’m still here, I’m still moving and working and living and loving in this world. You have to notice me. You have to embrace what is hard and still rejoice. You have to remember that I am still making all things new…”

So, dear Bayley Joy, thank you for coming to this world and into my life right on time. Believe it or not, I needed you. Your little nose, little fingers, and little lips show me how big our God is. Bayley, with no words at all, you told me that God’s work is never done, and He is never done amazing us with his goodness. In the midst of everything that is so hard to look at about ourselves and our world, we can’t take our eyes off of you.

My prayer is that each of us start believing with new passion how wonderful God is, and that we believe this even in the hard, the pain, the tears, the broken… and we cling to the promise that something beautiful is just around the corner.

Now, go tell someone something new and wonderful about life- your words might be right one time.

chai tea and tai chi

When I was a gangly, brace-faced middle schooler, I was in the ‘gifted’ classes. Don’t ask me how or why, but I was. I often felt so miserably out of place. While the rest of my class was learning when to use affect and when to use effect in a sentence, and discussing the political climate in South Korea (yes, middle school!) I was writing notes in multi-colored markers to my friends who seemed a little more, well… normal.

Mrs. E was our language arts teacher. She wore glasses and Birkenstocks even when it was 40 degrees outside. She loved to show us slides from her worldwide travels. Groans of impatient thirteen year olds would fill the room as she dimmed the lights and sifted through still frames of Bali, Romania or Kazakhstan. Mrs. E traveled to Cuba when Americans weren’t allowed there. She made us watch old western movies to analyze the lighting. She marched us out of our stuffy classroom to practice Tai Chi under the big Oak Trees of our school’s front lawn. I smile when I picture Lundahl Middle School’s nerdiest seventh graders balancing in bare feet and moving ‘energy’ from hand to hand. While the majority of the late nineties’ junior high population was doodling on their trapper keepers, I was learning the ancient Chinese martial art that I had mistaken with a latte.

Mrs. E was fascinating. She was cultured, articulate and kind of a badass. She knew more of the world than I will ever know. And yet, I didn’t appreciate her. I didn’t value learning, or at least learning from her.

Sometimes when I write I come up with multiple ways to form my next thought to make it punch with impact. I begin to compose a sentence, stop halfway through, press enter twice and start a new thought. I want this next thought to be a punch.

I don’t learn enough. I’ve too often been a victim of this lie that if you’re in your 20’s, you don’t have to care about what’s going on in the world or think deeply about how you can change it. I’ve been trapped by the idea that life is lived better when you’re completely comfortable. And sadly, I’ve become accustomed to days planned around the status quo- both in relationships and in living- too afraid to want something more, live with actual passion, or demand real LIFE out of others.

So how do I learn more? From teachers. I have many of them.

Austin is my theology teacher. He speaks soulfully of apologetics, finding truth in his faith, and speaking confidently about what he believes. And I’m listening. Katie is my art teacher. She photographs what we see as ugly in a light that radiates beauty. She creates, experiments and feels fearlessly by experiencing the world in constant awe. And I am watching. Leah is my geography teacher. Living among peoples of all races and ethnicities, breaking barriers of language and religion, she travels and pitches her tent to better understand and love people that aren’t like her. And I’m taking notes. My dad is my foods teacher. Whipping up meals without measuring or knowing how it will turn out. Feeling more satisfied by feeding the people he loves than actually savoring every bite. He’s the chef of our family. And I’m learning.


We all have teachers, from our past and in our present. And we're all teachers to someone else. I'm learning to love learning. And I want to learn more.

But these days, I’m learning the most from the greatest teacher that ever lived. The teacher that taught in parables, spoke in truth and loved in grace. Jesus. Rabbi. Teacher. May I listen, watch, take notes, and learn from you all the days of my life.

Amen.

"shut-down places"

To be honest, my thoughts today are not so different from what they were two weeks ago...

I am still taken aback by the enormity of all that I am incapable of doing, incapable of being.

On my heart today is:

*Japan

*Lybia

*Yemen

*Ivory Coast

*Afghanistan

And those are just the countries on the front page

And in my life I am learning daily:

*how selfish I can be

*how much I think of myself

*how little I am actually grateful for

*how often I worry about things that don't really matter

And I want so desperately to change those things

I'm left with not a lot to say, again. Other than I need the Holy Spirit, the world needs a Savior, and we all have a lot to be on our knees for...

"It does not come easy to us to imagine that you

closed the womb of mother Hannah

and thereby foreclosed the future for a time.

And yet, we can name in your presence a myriad of shut-down places around us...

those shut down in poverty and despair,

those shut down in fear and in rage,

those shut down by abuse and violence,

too hurt to speak, too frightened to appear, t00 scarred to dance.

And closer, our own shut downs:

in anxiety, in resentment, in pretense,

too weary to care, too greedy to share, too much of us for our neighbor.

These are not all your doing, we confess.

But you are the God who opens all shut downs
by your power, you give futures,

by your goodness, you give hope,by your mercy, you make new.

So we bid you this day come to our shut down places and give birth anew.
We pray through the Easter opening of the Friday shut downs. Amen."

-Walter Bruggeman

quick to remember

Lately I’ve been stopped in my tracks by the unthinkable and unbelievable worth in all things old. Vintage skirts that tell stories of former fashionistas rockin’ their own style in their own day, glorious and humungous oak trees that provide shade and embody wisdom from the years they’ve occupied space on this earth, grandparents that have more stories and experiences than any other living being- just waiting to be tapped into like a fresh-water well, and my most recent obsession: the Old Testament, dripping with history and tradition. Rich both in word and in deed.

I’m coming to the end of the Isrealites’ 40 year journey through the wilderness. I’ve read accounts of deliverance, supernatural acts, mistrust, complaint, awe, intricacies, laws and guidance. Their leader, Moses, on the brink of the Jordan River- mere steps away from the promiseD land is moved to pause and remember the journey. And in this time of exciting transition in my own life, I think it’s time I do the same.

Such tangible value is found when I stop to remember each step of God’s faithfulness in my own story. Because after all, when I’m quick to remember His faithfulness… I’m quick to trust. And when I’m quick to trust… God can do anything.

So.

I will be quick to remember how as an innocent 15 year old- much like the girl in Taylor Swift’s song- God placed four amazing girls around me. Girls that made me laugh and believed that fun could be had without cliché high school experiences. Girls that were my teammates, my confidants, and who always called on the weekend with plans for new adventures. God knew I needed great friends at a young age. And He was faithful.

I will be quick to remember my road with volleyball. From club teammates that sparked and deepened my love for the game as living examples of selfless competitors- to my ASU sisters that battled and fought along side of me for four years. Each with a front row seat to my most gut-wrenching sorrows and grandest triumphs. God knew I needed a sport that centered around a team. He knew I was able to reach my potential only when people I loved pushed me. He knew the pruning that would take place in the volleyball arena- one of my life’s most profound metaphors. And He knew it needed to one day end. Faithful.

I will be quick to remember the man he placed in my life when I was my weakest and most vulnerable. As I cringed with physical pain, this man eased my troubled heart. He called and cared and took off my surgery bandages I couldn’t reach myself. God knew that I needed to be taken care of- but what I didn’t know was that this man would take care of me for the rest of my life. So faithful.

I will be quick to remember the sisters I’ve met at Arizona State FCA. I found an Emily that was literally love walking and talking. She squeezed hard when she hugged me, got more excited for me than for herself, and listened well even though her words would’ve fit the moment perfectly. I found an Abra that scooped me up in her silver civic and drove me to the church I soon called home. I loved her love of necklaces, Coffee Bean, and Jesus, and I became a little more me every time we spoke. I found a Katie that met me in my pain, showcased the Christ I wanted to know, and became so foundational in molding what pure friendship looks like. God knew that I needed to be stretched. He knew I could only grow if I had ample models of Christ right in front of me. These three personify His faithfulness.

I will be quick to remember a lot of things… more than I can even bare to write. But we’re all on a journey with God.  Some journeys are bright and new, some deeply worn in, but wherever you are be quick to remember where you’ve been. Notice and stand in awe at the fingerprints of God. Whether faint or vibrant, these prints tell a story, build up trust and give us confidence to make the next move. After all, HE’S GOD and I am not. And today I will be quick to remember that.

a writer's block prayer

Stuck. Lost. More or less. For the past three years, whether I was writing my thesis or sharing my thoughts with my journal, Starbucks has been my dependable partner-in-writing. I have never had trouble focusing here above the background music, the buzz of blenders, or the many side conversations going on around me. Today, I am half way in to my second iced coffee of the morning, and despite my best efforts at focusing, my striving for some sort of clarity to leave my mind and come onto the page, I cannot seem to get the words I want. Usually when we write a blog entry, there is a point to it, at the very least a theme. I’ve got nothing right now. I am distracted and disturbed, and I am thinking that after more than two hours, I should probably stop trying to be profound and just start praying for the things I cannot get off of my mind, random and jumbled as they are…

Holy, perfect, good and loving Father,You see into my heart and mind right now, and you know all the things that are bouncing like a pin-ball around and around. Maybe I am distracted for a reason this morning. Maybe you are not going to let me walk through the world I live in every day and ignore how much you are missing in it anymore. Maybe I should thank you for the way my heart is so burdened right now. Maybe this, right in this moment, is what it feels like for my heart to be broken like yours…

God, I pray for the three young girls sitting at the table next to me right now. I have no idea who they are, I don’t know their names or where they are from. All I know is that for the past hour they have gone from arguing to gossiping to sharing the joys and pitfalls of their junior year of high school, and I have tears in my eyes. They should not be dealing with all that they are, they should not have the baggage that they do, they will carry the weight of their choices forever and they don’t have any idea what that will mean.

I pray for our government, the people you have put in the position of power and the people who make the decisions that shape our lives. After spending a weekend with some of these men and women learning about the complexities of what they do every day, the tension between living their faith and living their “party ideals,” and the enormity of governing a society and world that is fallen, I am overwhelmed thinking of how much we need you—we are desperate for a savior.

I pray for the vulnerable souls in every corner of the world. I know that tonight some child will go to sleep hungry; some young girl will be forced to bed with a man she does not know; some father will take his own life; some young mother will watch her newborn die in her arms; some family will be broken by dishonesty; some homeless woman will fall asleep under the stupor of alcohol… and I feel helpless to do a thing about any of this. The more I know, the more responsible I feel—but God, I don’t know what to do next, and I am asking you to show me.

I pray for my friends, the ones I am close to and the ones far away. Each season of life brings new challenges, and with all of my heart I want to be there for the people I love in those challenges. But I can’t go to Arizona right now, I can’t have two young kids and know how hard it is, I can’t pretend I know what it is like to lose my father, I can’t be there like I want to be. So Lord, help me to let go of the illusion that anything depends on me. None of this depends on me. You are Yaweh Yireh, “the Lord who provides,” and you were long before I got to this world, you will be long after I leave.

Lord, if I got a glimpse today of how difficult it is for you to see your children daily turn their back to the purest love we will ever know, thank you. If you are allowing me to feel in a deeper way than I have ever felt before, thank you. If I can be some small part of putting something broken back together, I just ask that you would show me. If being distracted by the things I tend to not think twice about reminds me to cling to you, I want more of them. And my wonderful Father, may the most genuine cry of my heart be to know Christ and Him crucified.

the middle

One of the things I love most about writing is the fearless honesty it demands out of me. I could use this entry on this lovely last day in February to write of how to squeeze the most juice out of life or to enlighten others on a lesson I have recently learned, but today is different. Today I’m in the middle.

I find myself falling into the middle category quite often. I’m a middle child in order of birth, I’ve lived in the middle of the United States for a majority of my life, and rarely do I range anywhere from the middle when selecting the heat of my salsa. But today I’m in the middle of a decision. A decision so mentally, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting that I’m ready for a nap by 10 am. A decision so exquisitely cut down the middle that I’m finding a deeper meaning to the term “50/50.” A decision that can only be made with the aid, wise counsel, and divinity of the One True God.

I work with high school students. And even though I’m finding a new appreciation for texting an entire conversation, Vans that go with every outfit, and hearing the words, “oh my gosh you look like Taylor Swift,” I feel for these kids when it comes to decision making. For many, college is on the horizon.  I can remember with such clarity the mind-numbing process of selecting the ONE school, among thousands, that perfectly suited me and fit my criteria. (Palm trees? Check. Pool at my dorm? Check.)  I went back and forth so many times. Confused and in desperate need of wisdom.

And that’s where I find myself today. Confused and in desperate need of wisdom. The middle causes lists that run deeper than pros and cons. The middle produces scenarios that resemble reality because of how often they’ve been played out in my mind. The middle is scary and uncharted. Spinning, but eerily still. And after what seems like a marathon of back and forth there’s only one thing left to do. Decide.

Life is full of hard decisions. The ones that make your arms hurt from the equal pull of each side. And I’m finding that all I can do while I’m stuck in the middle is embrace this stance with my arms wide open. Reassured that true freedom comes from surrendering it all. And as I wait in desperate need of wisdom from my Wonderful Counselor, I envision the cross. And how a man followed through with a hard decision with arms wide open, nailed to a tree. Jesus came to rid this world of the middle. Eliminating with one loving act the shaky uncertainty of the future. So I could know for certain that only ONE decision truly matters. And that’s choosing Him.

And so even though when I was 10 years old I chose Him for the first time… Fifteen years later I choose Him again. I choose Jesus. And that, my friends, is far from the middle.

use your words

A friend asked me the other day why I like to write. It was a simple enough question, and at the time I thought I gave a simple enough answer, which was something like, “I don’t know, I’ve just always kept a journal, and writing helps me get all my thoughts together in one place…” I don’t think there is anything wrong with my answer, because both of those things are still true—I am just a much better communicator in writing than in any other medium. But even in the few minutes after I said it, I knew there was so much more to that question that I wanted to say.

Why do we write? I have no doubt that the answer to this question could change every week I tried to answer it. But for right now, I keep coming back to two things.

We write because words are powerful. Words can make your day or ruin it. Words can encourage or tear down. Words can be sincere or artificial. Words can make you laugh or make you cry. You can use your words to say too much, or not say enough.

We write because we really are all so similar with all of our differences. When we write, our desire is to put some sort of metaphorical, understandable spin on the commonalities of being human. And our writing is simply our spin, our opinions and viewpoints; never, ever, would we claim to have the final word on something, we just happen to enjoy the process of putting any words on anything that is on our hearts. I love Albert Camus’ thoughts on this aspect of writing:

“[The writer] has only to translate the sufferings and happiness of all into the language of all and he will be universally understood. As a reward for being absolutely faithful to reality, he will achieve complete communication among men. This ideal of universal communication is indeed the ideal of any great writer… For what is there more real, for instance, in our universe than a man’s life, and how can we hope to preserve it better than in our realistic writing?” - “Create Dangerously”

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

And finally, we write because it reminds us who we are. I spend a great deal of time reflecting on something and spinning it into “my language,” but in the process I am forced to focus on not just the creative semantics, but the actual meaning behind what I am writing. What I have learned through the intentional focus of the writing process is this: the words I am CAPABLE of putting on paper are gentle pointers to how INCAPABLE I am to living up to them without Jesus. I write about loving selflessly, listening well, focusing on what matters and living honestly. I fail to do these things each and every day. But I keep writing about the things I want to be, as God gently gives me the words to remind me.

For all of us, I hope that our words, spoken or written, are thought about before said.

I hope that our words bring life and joy and smiles to others.

I hope that our words teach and do not discourage.

I hope that today, we use our words for something really, really good. Write a note, send a text, make a phone call. Mama meant it when she taught you to, "Use your words."