14 years ago, I was a sophomore in high school. In my English class, we were assigned to write an essay on what age we would like to live to, and why. After some consideration, I put down “30″. My reasoning was pretty simple. By 30, I hoped to be finished with school, have a job, maybe have a family. I would have experienced “the big things” in life. Today, I turned 29, entering my thirtieth year of life.

30 is a lot closer now, but my heart feels pretty much the same. I have lived a good life, in so many many ways. I have lived on both sides of the world. I grew up an Easterner (and finally got to see my Phillies win the World Series last year), but now am becoming a Midwest girl. I have laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe, and cried so hard I wanted to stop breathing altogether, just so the pain would go away. I have seen someone die before my eyes; I watched a man be born again in a downtown Chicago soup kitchen. I was a student, now I have sweet and rascally students of my own. I have friends who have blurred the lines and are now more in the family category. My days are sometimes mundane, sometimes hectic, sometimes unpredictable. My 29 years have not been all that unusual. I’m an average girl. I have done nothing extraordinary, never had 15 minutes of fame.

And I am content with my life.

If God should take me home soon, I am content. If God sees fit that I should live to 102, I am content.I can rest in His wisdom. I can cherish my life, knowing who I am, why I am here, and where I am going when I die. I am a child of the One True God. I am here to shine a light on Him. Because Jesus Christ died for me and rose again, and I trusted in Him, I’m going to live eternally in Heaven.

Thank you, Lord, for 29 years. Thank you for whatever I have left. May I glorify you.

Pretty incredible, that, considering I deserve to go just as much as everyone else on earth.

Pastor preached on the destiny of the lost  on Wednesday night. Despite the urgency and somberness of the topic, it wasn’t a “fire and brimstone” rant. It was a simple, matter-of-fact, serious look at hell. That was enough.

Hell needs no embellishment. The message based on passage after passage of Scripture gripped me. I left with a deep thankfulness in my heart that by God’s grace I am saved from such a tormented eternity. I also left with a deep sadness for the billions who are going there because they have rejected the good news that Jesus Christ paid for all their sins and rose again so that they could live eternally with God, rather than be separated from him in the Lake of Fire.

The Bible tells us that he who believes that message “is not condemned.” (John 3:18)

Jesus did the work. I believed in him. I’m not going to hell. You don’t have to go either; the choice is yours.

See the “good news” link up top for more info.

I haven’t posted in a while because I was in PA visiting my mom and 4 of my 6 siblings. Mom came back to the States to take Noah to college. If you live an ocean away from each other, you tend to take advantage of being on the same continent. It was a good time, even if it was (as always) too short. But that’s the way this life is.

Tomorrow I head to TN for my 10 year reunion. I’m loving this summer!

Onward.

“Men go abroad to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.” – Augustine

Take a minute to wonder  today.

Psalm 139:14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

Like Adam and Eve, I often hide from God when I’ve sinned. I’ll do anything to avoid “eye contact” with my Father. I’ll read, I’ll do email, I’ll listen to the radio, I’ll do anything but turn to him. It’s so true, that verse in Isaiah 59: “but your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God”. Even as his child, I feel the wall I’ve put up as surely as if I’d built it from cinder blocks with my hands. It’s hard and harsh and cold. I hate it.

I know I’ve received eternal forgiveness for my sins, but daily I need parental forgiveness. I need to confess (say the same thing about) my sin, and have my heart cleansed by my Daddy.

I feel out of place, coming before the Holy One dirty with sin. My heart is burdened, my head is down, my guilt causes me to slink and shuffle in the shadows. Amazingly, I don’t have to do that.

Hebrews 4:16 “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

As God’s child, there’s no need for cowering in the shadows at the edge of the room. I can come before him with confidence. “Confidence”  does not mean being cavalier and careless about sin. It simply means I can be fully assured of God’s grace, mercy, and free forgiveness whenever I am in a “time of need”.

And that time comes around an awful lot.

I was thinking more about the lack of grace in the world, and how deeply the concept of “undeserved favor” goes against our human nature. How many times have I heard “there’s no such thing as a free lunch”? We are all skeptical of something we didn’t earn, something we don’t deserve. “Where’s the catch?” we ask.

We don’t naturally “get” grace.

People who hear the good news of free salvation by grace through faith for the first time are waiting for the catch. “Nah,” they say, shaking their heads, “I’ve still gotta do something. I’ve gotta at least pray a prayer, or get baptized, or go to church, or be kind to my neighbor. There’s no such thing as free lunch, you know.”

Free lunch? Maybe not. Free salvation? Yes, it’s true.

Others try to sneak works in the back door. “Well, it’s free, but if I go out and murder someone, then I’ll lose it.”  Sounds to me like you’re just trying to pay your way after the fact. You can’t.  Jesus already paid for every sin (and all of ours were future at that point). He paid for the pack of gum you stole in 1st grade. And if, God forbid, you take a life some time in the future, he paid for that sin, too.

“For the wages of sin is death” Romans 6:23a

Jesus paid that wage when he died in our place. As he hung on the cross, among his last words were:

It is finished [paid in full]” John 19:30

Grace is not deserved and, amazingly, it’s free because of the cross. The payment has been made.

Believe it, and you will know grace in a graceless world.

The longer I live, the more experiences I have with “gracelessness”. The world is ugly, mean, blunt, self-serving and unforgiving, which makes sense as it pretty much reflects our collective sin natures.

That’s what’s so amazing about God’s grace. Whenever I encounter the world’s lack of undeserved favor, I need to be reminded how graced I am. Every second I spend out of hell “is gravy”, as I heard a preacher say recently. I have absolutely nothing to complain about. My eternal destiny is heaven, my time on earth is a vapor (and often a beautiful vapor at that).

I love those moments when I see his grace in my circumstances and through other believers. I’m unspeakably grateful that it is in spite of ugly, mean, self-serving, unforgiving me.

We are smack dab in the middle of VBS here in southeastern Wisconsin, and it’s such a joy to share the Good News with these young’uns. Each day, we have a “thought for the day”. Yesterday’s was: “Believing Christ died, that’s history; believing Christ died for me that’s salvation!”

There are few sweeter things to hear from the mouth of an exuberant 4-year-old.

Last night a bunch of us went down in the “frigid” air (60s! in July) by the Lake to hand out tracts and strike up spiritual conversations with Festa Italiana goers.

A big part of me would have liked to just stay home and hide under the covers rather than stick my neck out for Jesus Christ, but there are people out there on their way to hell. When I think about it in light of eternity, what’s a little derisive laughter and sneering? Millions have been killed for their testimony.

Anyway, one of my favorite ways to start a conversation is to ask, “Can I offer you some good news about how you can know for sure where you are going when you die?” based on  1 John 5:13: “I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life.” (emphasis mine) No religion in the world can offer such certainty. God’s Word can guarantee heaven because salvation has NOTHING to do with our works, but is based entirely on the finished work of Jesus Christ, God incarnate, who died the death we deserve and rose again.

The idea of “knowing for sure” catches some people’s attention. If they are not believers in Jesus, they don’t have their eternal destiny settled in their mind or in reality. They are dangling on a precipice over eternal damnation.

They must hear. They must believe. Then they will know they have everlasting life.

God planned out my family in a very unique way. There are six of us kids, and at some point each year, we are 10 years apart from one of our siblings. There’s Luke (30) and Emily (20). Then me (28) and Noah (18 next month), and Pete (25) and Daniel (15).

Pretty cool, huh?

Another ten year tradition continues this weekend. On 17 July 1999, I graduated from Rift Valley Academy. Tomorrow, Noah will walk across the stage at Centennial Hall and receive his diploma. I am so proud of my little brother (who towers over me).

It’s never easy living an ocean and continent away from home. It’s days like these that are the hardest.

I laugh when I hear people say that Christianity is a crutch, because though that sentiment is meant to be an insult it’s actually the understatement of  . . . well, eternity.

It’s not my crutch. It (or He, Jesus Christ) is my entire life support system. Without him, I’m dead. I’m helpless. I’m hopeless. I’m hellbound. But since I trusted solely in His death in my place, He is my life (Colossians 3:4).

Just a crutch?? Ha!

It’s going on as I write, and I’m rooting for the underdog N.L. (of course). They haven’t won an All-Star Game since ‘96. Last year they lost a nail-biter on a play at the plate in the 15th inning. Good grief!

I’m also feeling somewhat vindicated for voting for Shane Victorino in the Final Vote (he of the single and game-tying run in the 3rd).

OK, back to the game  . . . ah, baseball.  Happy sigh.

[she] is teachable.”

That’s something my pastor said in his message yesterday from Titus 1:9.  I admit, I hate criticism and correction (my parents can attest to this). But I believe the Bible when it tells me that instruction and reproof is necessary and a good thing (see 2 Timothy 3:16-17).

He’s still working on me, and I’m still learning to take it with the right attitude. Good thing one of God’s attributes is patience!

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

- F. Lehman

I John 1:19 We love because he first loved us.

Are we to love God? Of course! But the emphasis of Scripture is clearly on his incomprehensible love for us.

Our love for him is flimsy and changes by the moment; his love for every one of us sinners is as steady, infinite, and eternal as he himself is.

a.k.a. 07/08/09, is this year’s sequential date!

Wrap your arms around it and squeeze the life out of this unique day. You can slog through tomorrow, but today, Carpe Diem!

(And I’m just kidding about tomorrow.)

So, I’m studying Spanish. I avoided the learning the language with all my might through high school and college. Not that I really had anything against it, but EVERYONE studies Spanish, and I wanted to be different.

Duh, Katie.

There’s a reason EVERYONE studies Spanish. A lot of people in this country (and in my city) speak it. This fall I will be transferring to a school smack-dab in the heart of the Hispanic section of Milwaukee. Many of my kids won’t have good English proficiency. I’ll work with an interpreter, but my days of avoiding Espanol are officially over.

My friend Erika from grad school agreed to be my L.A. (language assistant); in essence, she’s my Spanish teacher. And I’m learning little by little how to hear and speak basic Spanish. Much of what I’m learning is directly related to classroom activities. I know how to say “Be quiet”, “listen”, “come here”, “walk”, and”stop”, among other things. These are essential phrases, as any educator will tell you.

It feels good to exercise the 2nd language part of my brain. Now if only that pesky Swahili would stop sneaking out.

Inertia is a powerful force. Once I start writing, it’s easy to keep going. When I stop . . . well, it’s extraordinarily easy to stay stopped.

I just didn’t know I’d stopped for so long. Time to get the ball . . . or words . . . rolling again. As it is summer break, my goal is to write daily, or nearly daily, again through the end of August.

Tomorrow: my thoughts on Spanish. Betcha can’t wait, huh?

See ya then!

Tonight I want to go home – real home, with my Savior. I want the tears of a million losses, some small, some way too big, to be wiped from my face by the One with eternally nail scarred hands. I want to see Him, to gaze on His glory. I want to never say goodbye again. I want to never sin again. I want to rest.

I’m tired and my heart hurts.

It’s not a depression. I’m not suicidal. I don’t have a death wish. I simply desire with all my heart and soul to be where I was intended to be, as I was intended to be, with whom I was intended to be.

And I take comfort in knowing that it’s only a matter of time.

Philippians 1:23 ” . . .I desire to be depart and be with Christ, which is better by far . . .”

Author Doris Lessing once said that she was “preoccupied by a feeling that words are too thin for our experience”, and I would tend to agree with her. Language is a wonderful gift. Words are treasures, but they are truly as thin as the pages they are printed on. 

I’ve become aware of this over the past few thousand days, as I have spent most of them far from home and the faces dearest to me. We miss so much when all we have are words. Experiences can never be fully – or even mostly – shared, by words.

Last night, I went to the beach at Lake Michigan with some friends.  It was a warm day in Milwaukee, the first in months, so we got out to enjoy it before the temps plummeted back into the 40s today. We played two-hand touch football and talked and laughed. The wind was wild, whipping sand into my eyes and hair. I could smell the lake and marijuana from somewhere down the beach. The guys grilled up brats and burgers. Someone brought fresh strawberries that were big and sweet and perfect. My brat seemed to be equal parts meat, ketchup, bun, and sandy grit. It tasted like summer. 

I read what I just wrote, and it feels so not what happened. The night was much more vibrant than my words. And even if you never thought about it before, I’m sure you’ll agree with Ms. Lessing and me. Think about your life, your experiences. Words are just too thin, aren’t they?

Still, these little semi-meaningful squiggles on the screen are what we’ve got, so I’ll keep sharing as best I can.

They are building a median in the street by my apartment, which apparently requires an irritatingly regular pounding of the ground. My building is literally shaking every couple of seconds. I’m guessing 3.78 on the Richter Scale.

Good thing I bought Tylenol on my way home from work. My head appears to be trying to match the pounding outside.

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know I love Phillies baseball. Today the legendary voice of the Phillies, Harry Kalas, died at the age of 73. Fittingly, he was in the broadcast booth prepping for this afternoon’s Phils-Nats game at the time.

I’m sad. Very sad. I was surprised by the depth of my feelings when I heard the news, and the logical side of me kept telling me it was goofy to miss – so much – someone I never met. But then I realized that Harry wasn’t just the voice of the Phillies, he was the voice of my childhood. Even now, in my late 20s, whenever I hear(d) his smooth comforting voice (my brother Pete described it as “a warm blanket”), I slid back into little girl land.

I lost that today. 

A while ago, I wrote this poem – it pretty much sums my thoughts up.

Summertime Lullaby

On those nights when the heat overwhelmed

And the stickiness of the air made it hard to think,

Dressed in my thin cotton nightgown,

I’d sit at the table and wait for Daddy

To flip the switch on the radio

And turn the dial to my

Summertime lullaby.

But the voices that I heard on my way to sleep

Didn’t sing softly in mesmerizing tones, didn’t sing at all.

They shouted and chatted and groaned and joked

And when they talked, I was there

As the ball thunked – “He struck ‘im out!” – into the catcher’s mitt

Or squirted between the shortstop’s legs

Or was “OUTTA HERE! Home run, Michael Jack Schmidt!”

And in my young mind the dream was always alive,

No matter what the standings or how late it was in the season,

Back when the Phillies and Harry and the crew were my

Summertime lullaby.

Now I’ve moved on and discovered that no one else

Quite gets it right – not the way they did, the way they do.

So I still listen in from half a country away and

Something in the familiar rhythm of the game comforts me

And takes me back to when I was a little girl

Sitting at the table and waiting to hear

The latest version of my

Summertime lullaby.

I have discovered of late that most of my anxieties in life don’t come (first) from a lack of faith but from selfishness. I can’t remember a time that I ever feared that God did not hear a prayer of mine, or that he would not answer. I believe that he is my Father. I believe completely that he does answer the prayer, no matter how small (popsicles – see the previous post) or how big (salvation of a friend). 

Still my heart is often anxious. I’m selfish. I’m afraid that God won’t answer the prayer the way I want him to, with the timing I want, or in the place I want. I know in my heart he will give me what is best for me, but in my myopic selfish moments, I don’t want his best. Too often, I want what I want, even if what I want is not what’s ultimately the best for me, as decreed my an omniscient God.

Yikes. There were a lot of “I”s in that paragraph. That’s why I’m thankful for grace – grace that is greater than all my sin, all my wretched selfishness, all my foolish anxiety. 

Ephesians 1:7-8 In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight”

My friends Pierce and Natalie got married today in a beautiful gospel-proclaiming, Jesus Christ- honoring ceremony. It was in the low 50s during the afternoon, with partly cloudy skies. That was a definite blessing, because this being Wisconsin in early spring, the weather is pretty much a toss-up. Today’s meterological niceties bump up against tomorrow’s wind and sleet and 4 inches of snow.

During prayer time at church on Wednesday, my friend Julie prayed specifically for “temperatures between 50 and 60 and partly cloudy skies [which are good for pictures]“. And God answered equally specifically. When I left home to head out to the wedding, the temperature was 50.4 degrees, the sun was shining between the clouds, and I imagined Him smiling.

He is my Father after all, and like any father, he delights in heaping blessings on his children. So why not ask? And what do little children ask for? Yes, they may ask for the “big things”, like food and clothing, but they often request those special little items.

“Daddy, can I have a popsicle?” “Daddy, can you read Fox in Socks to me?” “Daddy can you push me on the swings?” “Daddy, can you make it between 50 and 60 degrees and partly cloudy on Saturday so it’s nice for the wedding?”

Nothing is too big for God. And nothing is too small, or too specific. As today’s events clearly show, my Father loves giving his children popsicles.

Psalm 68:19 “Blessed be the Lord, who daily loads us with benefits, the God of our salvation!”

Today was not a good day. This morning, I was barely 4 hours into the work week and I was already feeling beaten down, idiotic, and incompetent. This feeling is to be expected occasionally when you’re in your first year of a profession, so I wasn’t surprised. Still, I definitely needed encouragement.

During lunch, I grabbed my Bible from my desk drawer and turned to my favorite book whenever I’m in a brokedown place – the Psalms. I opened up right where I needed to be:

Psalm 56:8-9 “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book? Then my enemies will turn back in the day when I call. This I know, that God is for me.”

Now, my circumstances are nowhere near as dire as David’s when he wrote these words, but that beautiful truth is just as true. I love knowing that whoever is against me, my GOD is for me.

Today I was talking to one of my friends about field hockey. We got on the topic whilst discussing tennis, in which skirts are worn and I mentioned that there is another sport where women wear skirts. Sadly, my friend had never heard of field hockey despite coming from Minnesota, which is like the capital of ice hockey in America or something. Of course, green sports fields not located in domes are hard to come by in the Great White North, so I guess I can’t really blame her ignorance.

That said, hockey was beyond a doubt my favorite sport in high school. I discovered it in 10th grade during P.E. class and became somewhat obsessed. For the unintiated among us, field hockey is played on a soccer-like field with a round ball (which weights a bit more than a baseball) and wooden sticks that are flat on one side and rounded on the other. You can only use the flat side for contact with the ball. The object is to get the ball into the goal which is a good deal smaller than a soccer goal – maybe half the size. Pretty straight-forward, no?

I never made the actual school team, but had a great time playing intramural hockey on the dusty field as well as the grittier version we played in the gym on Sunday nights. During those games, the ball skittered at high speeds across the floor and few people wore shin or mouth guards. The boys played too, which always added an element of danger. I well remember the sharp clack of the sticks hitting one another and the blister-inducing rub of the taped-up wood in my hand. I also still have the tender area on the bone just above my ankle where someone swung hard, missing the ball but making excellent contact with my shin. 

Ah, hockey. I miss it.

That’d be the 16th President. 

He’s 200. 

And this is what he said back in 1863:

“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

I don’t often put my poetry on here for various reasons, but some of my dear ones are going through a tough time, and this one expresses my heart:

Psalm 34:18 “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

There are days when God takes this child

Through a storm so strong and wild

That the pain blinds me

And the disappointment binds me

With cords of numbness

And confusing lostness.

I weep through the rolling thunder,

As my storm-battered heart wonders

How is this trial ever going to end –

Will my upset world make sense again?

Yesterday I saw a clear blue sky

With whispers of clouds that floated by.

Today it turned dark shades of gray

And I’m afraid – I’ve lost the way.

Then a tender voice I hear,

Whisper gently in my ear,

“Do not fear My little one,

I know that you can’t see the sun,

All you feel is waves and wind,

But trust Me, child, I know the end.

I have brought you to this place,

You’re surrounded by My grace.

You’ve no one to trust but Me alone,

So rest, My child, I’ll take you home.”

I look around, and there I see

The oceans of His love for me

They spread about me, vast, deep, and wide

I could not measure them if I tried.

So in this dark and dreary day

I’ll trust in Him, He’ll lead the way.

He alone is truly good

And these things that are not understood

Pale as I grasp this verse anew

And know deep down that it is true,

“Whoever trusts in Him

Will never be disappointed.”

- from Made for Eternity: Reflections on Time and Timelessness © 2006

My sister sent me this dire message last night:

help me understand my college assignments! From tonight’s reading: “It follows from this that to understand a text must be to understand both the intention to be understood, and the intention that this intention should be understood, which the text itself as an intended act of communication must at least have embodied.” huh?

To which I replied:

It follows that my implicit reasoning for expressly expressing my thoughts to you is in order that you may infer all inferences that you wish to infer, regardless of my intention (or lack of direct intention {though presumably, at the very least, an inkling of intention would be noted in the reasoning with which I embarked upon this current communique}) and my desire that the meaning of my expressly expressed thoughts would in no way be obfuscated by the sudden and unintentional (though, it may be possible that in some ways it was intentional) logorrhea that has poured incessantly (although, cessation may be soon be in the offing) from the fertile lexicon of my cerebrum.

Hope this helps.

The scary thing is, writing intelligent sounding drivel ain’t all that hard . . .

Nearly completely lost in the adoring (worshipful?) coverage of the pre-inaguaration events is the fact that today is Mr. Bush’s last day in office. This makes sense for a few obvious reasons – we are a forward-looking country, the media loves (loves, loves) Barack Obama, and the media hates (hates, hates) George Bush.

So I want to take this opportunity to thank my President on his final day. I’m not one of those who agreed with everything he did. I cringed a few times. But, Mr. Bush, thank you.

Thank you for taking on the nearly impossible job of leading our nation. Thanks for being tough on terrorists. Thank you for protecting the youngest among us. Thanks for not always doing the popular thing, but what you thought was the best thing. Thank you for supporting Israel. 

Tomorrow Mr. Obama will become my President. My prayer is that in four years, or eight years, I will have much to thank him for as well.

And though we’ve never deserved it, may God continue to bless this land that I love.

Ah, this is the time of year when it’s good to be a Philadelphia sports fan, but not good to live any further north than, well, Texas. I was walking to work this morning when the air was still and the ambient temperature (i.e. not including wind chill) was six degrees. And I found myself thinking, this isn’t all that bad. That is until you add another 6-8 inches of snow by Wednesday, the mercury loses sight of zero (on the wrong side) for a while, and the wind kicks that “real feel” temp down to -40. 

I’m just sick of global warming. Stupid greenhouse gasses. We need to cool off already!

This evening I went over to the Marquette University library and checked out Good Morning, Little Fox. 

And thought about how doing so perfectly shows the dramatic shifts in my life over the last year – from grad school to elementary school, from spending most of my days with adults to spending most of  my days with little ones,  from heavy reading on speech sound development and language disorders to watercolor pictures and simple rhymes.

It’s been a good change.

It’s gone . . . at least for now. After the Phils took the World Series in October, I no longer feel like we can never ever win anything. 

So, despite the extremely low prospects that the Eagles will break through and win the Super Bowl in a month, it doesn’t feel like such a crazy idea anymore. After all, lightning struck once, so it can strike twice . . . .

Right?

My failures and the hardness of life in a disappointing and sin-sick world  - these are the things that often capture my mind when I have too-long breaks. Because they are difficult to dwell on, I attempt to drown them out with many “doings” that are not necessarily productive or profitable. But sometimes the music is off, the DVDs are on the shelf, the books are closed, and the only sound I hear is the humming of the refrigerator.

And I think. 

In those moments, I have a choice – to contemplate those dark details of sin and self . . . or to contemplate God. The former leads to despair and disillusionment. But the latter leads to a restful ease, a quieted heart, for in focusing on God (and particularly on my Savior, Jesus Christ), I focus on the best, most glorious, righteous, and true Being.

The things of earth grow dim in that Light.

to start a new year on:

Philippians 3:12-14

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. 

Happy ‘09, friends – Maranatha!

First, it’s an interesting linguistic error. I’m guessing this individual pronounces Jews with an s sound at the end instead of a z sound. Actually, I’m 99% sure he does.

Secondly, it’s getting really old, this hatred of Israel; several thousand years old, in fact. And what does the Bible have to say about it?

Genesis 12:1-3 Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2 And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 I will bless those who bless you, and him who curses you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” 

This promise has never been revoked.

I recently started teaching Sunday School, and not because I’m so adequate or spiritual. There was a need, I was asked, and here we are.

Thus began some intense humbling. Pastor suggested I start a series on the attributes of God for my seven year olds. OK, I thought, sounds good to me! What better to teach these little minds than truths about the one true God?

It’s one thing to know it’s a good idea, it’s another to actually study it out and boil down God’s infinite characteristics into something that can be consumed by second graders. As I started looking up verses on God’s holiness – the first attribute – I started to get a tiny bit of a sense of Isaiah’s response to seeing God in his throneroom. 

Truly, to quote the prophet, “Woe is me!” In modern terms, that’d be, “I’m in deeeeeeeep trouble!” The more I read about God and his holiness, the more I am aware of my stinkiness as a sinner. No wonder Isaiah later wrote about even our “righteous” acts as being “filthy rags”. 

But, oh how wonderful to realize the beauty that is my God. To have the wonderful privilege to be reconciled to him because of his Son’s work for me. And to joy in the fact that he is utterly not me. 

He is holy.

My version of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” is pretty much the same as the original, except for the following phrase:

Please don’t have snow or mistletoe/Just a view of the Great Rift Valley

So of course I was dreaming of a green Christmas . . .

But this is Wisconsin. There was about a foot of snow on the ground when I woke up on the 25th and the temperature hovered near zero. I forewent (is that the past tense of forego??) my Christmas Day walk as I’ve had enough of braving the elements already this winter season. Sigh. Mom sent pics of their Kenyan Christmas, and I vicariously enjoyed the green.

Then a funny thing happened. Last night we had a thunderstorm. Weird. And this morning when I took my trash out, I was shocked at how unseasonably warm it was. In fact, my first thought was, boy it feels just like early morning in Kijabe after a rainstorm. I ran back inside and looked up the weather. Mid-fifties/rain. Then I looked up the weather over there. Tonight in Kenya, the temps would fall to the . . . mid-fifties – with a chance of rain. 

I put my light jacket on, left my hat and gloves inside, and went out for my slightly delayed Christmas walk. It was just like being in Kenya – well, except for the mounds of snow and ice. But the heavy rains from the night had melted much of the snow in areas, and there was green. 

Some might think today is the lousiest weather day we’ve had in a while. It’s dark, rainy, foggy, muddy. But for one homesick girl in Milwaukee, this brief weather transplant  is just fine.

Thank you, Lord.

I know, it is literally dirt, but I’m obviously talking in a more figurative sense here.

It’s like when you drive down a dusty road in the back of a pick-up truck and the dirt and grime fly into every crack and wrinkle of your skin and hair and your mouth is just caked and dried with the stuff and your snot turns reddish-brown – or what ever color your dirt may be . . . gray, perhaps? (Sorry about the last reference, but it does make the idea a little more vivid, eh?) 

What do you want most of all upon arrving home? Yeah, a refreshing shower and about a gallon of water to drench every crevice of your mouth and thorougly rinse out that nasty dusty flavor. Some nice cool sweet tea would do the trick, too.

So, our days in the world are the ride in the pick-up truck. We come home with a layer of dirt clinging us – all that human philosophy and fallenness that we encounter (from inside us and outside us) – and we need a shower and some sweet tea to wash it all away. We need the “renewing of your mind” Paul speaks of in Romans. 

Has your mind been refreshed lately?

 After spending 45 minutes outside in below zero windchills (Why? That’s a long story that involves a clumsy grip due to thick gloves, a slippery bus pass, a sudden gust of wind just as the bus came, and . . . well, you get the picture – I missed it while retrieving the pass, had to wait for the next bus, and oh, I guess you know the story now.), it is important to get warm. I would recommend the following:

1. Make a steaming hot cup of coffee – preferably with special seasonal eggnog creamer.

2. Curl up in bed.

3. Watch the 2008 Phillies highlights DVD. What better to bring along a little warmth than to enjoy the summer-y game of baseball?

4. Dream of places like  . . . . Kenya.

2 hours later, only my toes are still a tad chilly. Hurrah for homeostasis!

Sometimes I get shocked again by the fact that I am one whom Jesus loves. I hear it all the time, but sometimes there’s that stop-dead-in-my-tracks moment when it comes at me from a new angle (and considering the fact that it is an infinite love, there’ll be forever new angles). In that moment I am awed and humbled afresh. Me = crummy sinner. God = holy. I have nothing to offer; he offers everything. God became a man, died, and rose again so that by simple faith I could live forever in his heaven.

And all I can think is: Jesus. Loves. Me.  

Wow.

Just for fun, my mom sent this picture of my brother Noah in Kenya to us Morrison kids on this side, and asked us to “please submit a caption for this picture”. Here were the results:

Luka: This is a very rare sight indeed, the Pajero allowing a human to get this close.

Me: Just a split second too late, Noah realized the front bumper of the car might not be the best rugby tackle dummy.

Pete: noah skillfully avoiding mom’s “dinner dishes radar”

Em: Noah, a little too eager to ride shotgun, shows off his calf muscles.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love my family’s sense of humor?

Last night I was watching that good ol’ Charlie Brown Christmas special. The no-frills animation and barely-acting vocal talent is classic. I’m always amazed that I get chills when the Linus comes on the stage and proclaims the portion from Luke 2 on the birth of our Savior. No music, no drama, just an understated recitation of the first part of the gospel for all to hear as “the true meaning of Christmas”. I’m even more amazed that this still gets airtime on the secular networks.

Of course, the jolt back to reality came when the screen switched from the Peanuts stage to the Target stage where little children were singing the praises of holiday bargains at the big box store. Alas, commercialization is still with us.

But for a little relief, here’s that wonderful passage (in the Old King James, which is how I always like to hear it):

Luke 2:8-13

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ’Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’”

After work today, I was browsing the books at my school’s library when I spotted the Nancy Drew series. Like many girls growing up in yesteryear, I’d done my share of perusing that young “sleuth’s” adventures. Feeling a bit nostalgic, I picked one of the oldies (i.e. the originals, not that modern day garbage) off the shelf and skimmed through the pages. 

I must say I got a good chuckle out of  the heroine’s stilted speech mannerisms. At one point, I read something along the lines of, “‘I must report this incident to the authorities,’ Nancy said to herself”. In another place she describes a certain man to her friends  as being “unscrupulous”. Seriously, when was the last time you heard an adult use that word in normal conversation, much less a teenage girl?   Strangely enough, these books were written for young adolescents and pre-adolescents. I’m trying hard to imagine my kids being able to wade through this kind of children’s literature from several decades ago. It’s not working too well, and part of me is sad for that. 

The weird thing is, although I know most of the odd words went over my head, I realize now that learned a lot of vocabulary from books like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. Or at least I was exposed to a lot of good vocab. Today’s kids books seem to be so dumbed down or smart-alecky. They just don’t write books like Freckles, Rifles for Watie, Stuart Little, or, well . . . even Nancy Drew’s adventures for children anymore.

Makes you want a little more “unscrupulous” writing, doesn’t it?

“I’m gonna die, you’re gonna die, and it’s gonna be sweet, dawg!”

That’s what my friend Brian said (or rather, exuberantly declared) while we were on our way to church,and I know that out of context, it  seems  . . . odd. But we were discussing the inevitability of death and how we believers can talk about it candidly and without fear.

We are quite literally immortal until the Lord calls us home. David states in Psalm 31:14-15a, “But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God. My times are in your hand.’”  At the “time” of his choosing, we’ll walk through that door called death into his presence, where we will remain for all eternity.

And yes, Brian, it’ll be very sweet.

for as long as I can remember. It’s been long out of print and the only reason I know it is because of my Grandpa’s nickname for me. All my life he’s called me Katrina van Ost after the title character in the 1934 novel, Katrina van Ost and the Silver Rose. I know little else about the book, but that name has always been a special bond between the two of us. 

Last week, I finally looked it up and found it on Amazon for the reasonable price of $10. So I bought it. 

Today, the package arrived in my mailbox from Virginia. When I opened it and pulled out that weathered book with the silver rose on the cover, I thought how nice it was to meet the “original” Katrina after all these years.

Thought you’d like to know too, Grandpa.

I took a nap. I like to take a nap when I get home from work on this day because it keeps me alert for church at night. I knew I was dead tired when I was startled from my deep sleep by my alarm an hour and half into lala-land. Only 12 days of work left before Christmas (pardon, winter [you know how it is]) break. 

As of last week, I’m just three months in, but I’m weary. Weary of seeing little ones with big problems I can’t understand or handle. Weary of not being able to share with them the one thing that matters in eternity. I’m not downcast or discouraged; just plain weary.

That is why this is so like a drink of cool water on a hot day:

Isaiah 40:28-29

Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and to him who has no might he increases strength.

Onward . . . in his strength.

2 Corinthians 12: 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

According to the American Heritage Dictionary, a calamity is “an event that brings terrible loss, lasting distress, or severe affliction; a disaster”.

I haven’t had much experence with calamities. But I do know in the face of one, I’d feel very weak. Good thing that in verse nine we have this promise from the Strong, Sovereign One:

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

I took the month of November off from blogging, if only because the rest of my life was so “on”. That, and the juices had run dry. Or something.

Anyway . . .

It snowed today. It seems like the weather in Milwaukee switches to winter on 1 December, as if it’s saying, “Oh, it’s December? That means SNOW!” 2 years ago today, we got a blizzard. Last year today, we got a bunch of snow. This year today, it was a few inches along with 30mph northwest winds. 

Batten down the hatches, troops. Winter’s back again!

(Me too.)

On 2 April 2007, I wrote a post about baseball’s opening day:

Besides the first day of spring, this is probably my favorite “lesser” holiday. On this day, the games count. On this day, I am always certain the Phillies will begin their march to their first World Series championship since they won it three weeks before I was born back in ‘80. On this day, “next year” is finally here.

Unbelieveably, “next year” happened yesterday. I was sitting in church as Pastor wrapped up the evening message, and my phone started buzzing. The caller ID told me my friend Abigail was calling. And I knew. There was only one reason she’d be calling her die-hard Phillies fan friend on this night.

The first person I called after church was Dad. He and Mom and Daniel had gotten up at 3 AM to watch the game in Kenya. “We won the World Series, Dad!” “I know!” he said. “Dad, we won the World Series!” The conversation went on for a couple more minutes. I think those were the only 6 words I said. Over and over. It just didn’t seem real and I was trying to convince myself.

My calls to Pete and Luke and my grandparents went pretty much the same way. We were all deliriously incredulous. After all, we’re the Fightin’ Phillies. We grind out seasons in mediocrity, in near-contention. We lose 10,000 games. We don’t go around winning World Series every year or two. We win it all maybe once a century.

I thought it might be happening for the first time when Brett Myers worked that walk and Shane Victorino hit that grand slam against CC Sabathia. Then Shane and Matt Stairs hit their homers to silence L.A. And when even Joe the Pitcher hit a home run in the Game 4 of the Series, I really thought this was the year.

It was. We waited 28 years for October 29th, and despite Game 5’s historic 46 hour rain delay, the Boys of Philly’s Summer pulled it off at 9:58PM.

And like I keep saying, we won the World Series.

the Phillies decided to go to the World Series. And with their hard work and the assistance of the Brewers and the Dodgers, they made it.

I’m a little happy right now.

I was born in November of 1980, 3 weeks after the Phillies won their only World Series. Due to my dad and extended family, I’ve been a die-hard Phillies fan all my life, on both sides of the world. I bleed white and blue with red pinstripes.

I became a Brewers fan in April 2007 on the first day of the season. I sat down by my radio and turned it on as the Brew Crew kicked off their year. I missed baseball and the Phillies were far away and Milwaukee was convenient, so I literally decided on Opening Day to root for the Brewers, come what may.  And I’ve kept up the cheering over the past 2 seasons, with one small caveat. I’d be a Brewers backer unless they interfere with Philadelphia. The arrangement has worked out well on both sides. I got a new team, they suddenly got good (not that I’m claiming any credit). This year, they made the playoffs for the 1st time since ‘82.

And who do the Brewers play in the first postseason series? Yup. The Fightin’ Phils.

I didn’t even blink. Let’s go Phillies!

One of the nice things I’ve discovered about getting up at 5:17 is that at 5:29, the radio station I wake up to plays the national anthem – a different version every day. I love The Star Spangled Banner. It never fails to give me goosebumps, even before I can see anything “by the dawn’s early light”.

Wow, what I have missed by sleeping in ’til 7 all those years in grad school!

That’s my mom. It’s her birthday today . . . or it was. She lives in Africa where it’s already the 20th. But for the sake of my time zone, we’ll call it today.

Slight issue: I’m 27, too. But that’s ok, ’cause every year since I was little Mom turned 27 again (amazingly enough).

I’m thinking of carrying on that particular family traditon.

Happy Birthday Mom – I love you!

That’s what’s written on a post-it note by my desk at work to remind me that before I can have right relationships and interactions with those around me (x = the horizontal axis), I need to be in right relationship with my heavenly Father (y = the vertical axis).

It’s a good thing to have brought back to mind as a sinner dealing with sinner – first things first!

When I was last home, my sister Emily and I were listening (in the presence of our brother Daniel) to Ingrid Michaelson’s song “Far Away” which starts out like this:

I will live my life as a lobsterman’s wife on an island in the blue bay.
He will take care of me, he will smell like the sea,
And close to my heart he’ll always stay.

Being a girl, my first thought was “that’s really sweet”.

Daniel’s first thought (or at least what popped out of his mouth): “Yeah, he’ll smell like dead fish.”

Oh, brother.

If you haven’t noticed, I generally stay away from the political arena on this blog. I have my opinions and I do enjoy politics to an extent, but I know they are devisive, and there are far more important things that I’d like to use my confrontative/persuasve blog post quota for (i.e. the Gospel).

But a new development in the political world has caught my eye . . . or ear. As a wannabe linguist and someone who does speech/language stuff (I’m having word-finding issues) for a living, I have a certain fascination with accents. I can’t “do” accents like some, but I enjoy a little analysis and/or playful mockery (at least when it comes to my mid-Western friends).

That’s why, when I first heard Governor Sarah Palin speak, I could hardly listen to what she was saying – I was focused on how she was saying it. Her accent isn’t typical in that it’s not exactly Standard American English or Southern English or anything that’s easy to place (there apparently is not a true, identifiable Alaskan dialect).

On the Mr. Verb blog, there’s been a discussion going on about the Mrs. Palin’s accent – it appears to be a benign non-poiltical conversation, which I appreciate. I particularly liked the following analysis by poster “Wishydig” (warning: you are entering the land of linguist-speak – reader beware):

. . . some of the features I’ve noticed are the chicago onglide of æ: a slight tensing and perhaps raising of the ‘bit’ vowel. I thought I heard some pen/pin merging too so maybe just a general raising of front vowels. slightly simplified /o/ but not quite as simplified as the Minne-Kota /o/. Also what sounds like (occasional) Canadian raising on the /aI/ diphthong even before a 0-coda or before voiced consonants in a word like “supplies”. And the easiest feature for SNL to mock: dark rhoticity and shorter pre-R vowels in words like “here”. . . not that SNL should mock it of course . . .

Next on Political Accents with Katie: The Influence of  the Mid-Atlantic dialect on Senator Biden’s Production of Plosives (um, kidding)

See how fun politics can be?

Job 23:8-10 “Behold, I go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but I do not perceive him; on the left hand when he is working, I do not behold him; he turns to the right hand, but I do not see him. But he knows the way that I take; when he has tried me, I shall come out as gold.”

I’ve started carrying around Bible verses in my pocket on an index card as I have found that in new (read: scary) situations, it helps to have the Word at the ready to get my focus back on the Lord. The above passage was one of my verses from last week, and was particularly encouraging as I recognized that it’s not important for me to know all the ins-and-outs of God’s workings. He doesn’t have to answer to me, after all. What is crucial (and oh, so comforting), is that he knows my path . . . and he controls it.

Yesterday, Kenya earned its FIRST ever Olympic gold medal in the marathon, courtesy of Samuel Kamau Wanjiru.

Hongera, Bwana!

I must say, it was very cool to hear the Kenyan National Anthem during the closing ceremonies.

I used to think of educators in the typical way kids do. Teachers acted mature, they were proper, responsible, and polite, they weren’t awkward in the way I always was (am).

This week, I became one of “them”. And as I did so, I realized that these math and 1st grade and special ed and English teachers and my fellow SLPs weren’t all that different from our students. In the classrooms during orientation and training sessions, there were the chatty girls, the back seat slouchers, the clowning guys, the know-it-all devil’s advocate types, and people who left their time cards at home. It felt . . . well, like high school.

I think it’d be an eye-opener for our students to see us like this. I guess in some ways, we really don’t change. We are who we are. We just get more responsibilities, more education, more experience, and then someone hires us, and we start getting paid to be on the other side of the desk.

And that just feels really weird right now.

So, life is moving through it’s phases. My brother Pete is now married to Melissa. The fam (4/9 of it, anyway) returned to Kenya last Tuesday. The rest of us are scattered across North America, and we have resumed using email & Skype as our international communication tools. I keep starting to call Mom’s cell phone, then remember that our normal has changed again, and that she and Dad and the boys are 8000 miles away. Sigh.

Speaking of new normals, I started work today. Real work. As in I’m not a student worker anymore. These first days are orientation, of course, but I am getting paid and that is a definite improvement over the last couple months.

I’m terrified about the day after Labor Day when school starts while at the same time chomping at the bit to meet my kids. I guess most first days feel that way.

Ain’t this life a wonderful adventure?

The Very Symmetrical Day of this year – I love it.

Also, Happy Olympics . . . Go Kenya! Go USA!

I’m currently in PA, getting ready for my brother’s wedding after being in a wedding last weekend in MN. My oh my – ’tis the season for babies & weddings galore.

On an entirely different note, a quote from Dennis Rokser, found in the current issue of the Grace Family Journal:

It is important, and interesting to note that there is not even one passage in the entire Word of God that specifically states that a sinner must “repent from his sins” to be saved or redeemed. Why is this? It is because Jesus Christ has already “died for our sins” (an integral part of the Gospel). His propitiatory sacrifice has forever satisfied the righteous demands of a thrice, holy God.

Thus, the real issue today is not the SIN issue, but the SON issue, namely, “what do you think and believe about Jesus Christ?”

He who believes in Him is not condemned but he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. (John 3:18 )

Oh, I do love the clarity and simplicity of the gospel!

“Freedom is living within God’s guidelines.” – Chet McCalley (from a message on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood – http://www.wordoftruth.net/subject.htm ) Wow, does that fly in the face of the world’s definition of freedom!

Romans 6:18 “and, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.”

In essence, we believers are free slaves.

I’m at the stage in life where my friends seem to be having babies in bunches, and so the topic of baby names is quite in vogue. Today I checked a book out of the library called Bad Baby Names by Michael Sherrod and Matthew Rayback which details the highs and (mostly) lows of names found in the U.S. Census records. I’ve chosen some of my favorites as a sample. The following are all actual names of American citizens, dating back to the late 19th century.

Warren Peace

Ima Bumm (Is that better or worse than her fellow Ima, Ima Butt? I’m(a) not sure.)

Hades Fryher (surely a darling little girl)

Jump Jump

Doctor Love

Ura Scholar

God Brown (not a lot to live up to there)

Mahershalahashbaz Sturgeon

Good Dog

Hell Hess (who’s name is bad enough, but get this – her hubby’s first name was Christian. As the authors stated, “That’s marital irony for you”).

Parents, I implore you. Think twice before naming your child a cutsie name. They’ll thank you for it. Post Office, Cholera Peace, and White Bread would all agree with me. Really.

“Don’t let what you want steal the enjoyment of what you have.”

I recently came across this quote my mom sent me, and it was the kind of statement that is convicting and encouraging at the same time. Discontentment can indeed steal my joy, while contentment in the Lord and his abundant blessings (both now and for all eternity!) is the most joyous life there is.

Today I held a week old baby in my arms. She was beautiful – from her the top of her downy head to her miniature fingernails to her little feet that fit comfortably in the palm of my hand. I could have stared at this handiwork of God all day.

I love the fact that something as big as a star in the sky and something as small as a newborn point us to the same loving Creator. We need not look far to find God; atheists sure have a problem.

The following is an item I found in my stash of old letters. It was written several years ago from my three youngest siblings to our mother (who photocopied it and sent it to me), asking for permission to buy a fancy toy from a neighbor who was moving back to the States. I have done as little editing as possible.

Dear Mom,

These are the reasons we would like to buy the Lego ship:

1. It has a lot of gear – like a compass, a wheel that moves the rudder, sailors in uniform – etc.

2. The money we would like to spend on it is ours, so we feel we should be able to because it is our money after all.

3. J. is going to college and is trying to sell the ship. if we buy it, it might give him some money sort of like Pete was selling stuff for money.

4. If we do get it we will not argue over it, or at least we will try not to argue over it.

5. The ship would provide lots of fun for us, especially with how big and realistic, and good it is.

6. Because it is a complete set, it would be nice to have because it is whole and the parts are not missing. This would make it more fun because we don’t have to replace parts.

7. It would also be a nice replacement for our homemade, [illegible], multicolored, ships that do not have real equipment and are litterally [sic] shagalabagala [Swahili term for messy, chaotic, etc.]. We say this because our “ships” are not complete our men are mismatched, our things are different colors, and we don’t have all the supplies

8. The ship could also be fun to share with other kids who visit and love Legos like the Ks.

9. Lastly if we decided not to keep the ship any more when we grow older, we could sell it or give it away to somebody who could enjoy it.

Love,

Emily J. Morrison

Noah Morrison

Daniel

P.S. We are sure this is how we want to spend our money. We would really enjoy the ship even if it is 1000 shillings.

They got it.

9 years ago, my life plans were pretty set. I was going to be a doctor. I was going to pay off my loans somewhere in the rural U.S., far far away from any city. Then I was going to move back to Africa to live and die.

9 years ago today, I received my high school diploma.

Now, 9 years later, I am not a doctor; I’m a speech-language pathologist (which, by the by, is a profession I did not know existed 9 years ago). I don’t live in the boonies; I reside near downtown in the largest city in Wisconsin (which, by the by, is a state I probably couldn’t have even found on a map 9 years ago). And though I hope to visit on occasion, I very well may never live in Africa again (which, by the by, is not an easy thing for me to contemplate).

“The heart of man plans his way,
but the Lord establishes his steps.”

Wow – I’m living proof of Proverbs 16:9!

15 innings, four hours and fifty minutes of baseball. And I watched it all, into the wee hours of this morning, a luxury afforded to few others than the unemployed-until-next-month, I suppose.

It showed me again why I love the game, which started out slow and scoreless in last evening, but built up to an nail-biting, error-plagued, close-outs-at-the-plate, sleeplessness-inducing affair that stretched out til today.

I’m a National League girl, so the end result wasn’t what I could’ve wished for, especially with the Phillies‘ Brad Lidge giving up the go-ahead run when the Brewers‘ Corey Hart’s throw home was a tad late, but it was an epic as far as I’m concerned. It’s a good thing they’ve made the Game count, otherwise, it probably wouldn’t have gotten that far, and  would most certainly have been less exciting. The American League will once again have World Series home field advantage. But don’t worry, NL fans. Say it with me now . . .

There’s always next year.

I told my friend, Emily, this weekend that sometimes I feel as if I live in the quotes of other people because their words say what I’m thinking so much better than I ever could. The following is an exception, however. It is thoroughly my quote. 

You see, we were fooling around on Saturday night with those magnetic words (and random prefixes and suffixes) that you put on refrigerators. Basically, we turned them upside down and chose several without knowing what they were, then tried to make grammatical sentences out of them. My first effort was:

“As an entertainer, chapterly sit between each device.”

Profound, no? So profound, indeed, that I don’t even know what it means . . . but it is grammatical. This illustrates an interesting linguistic point – that a sentence can be absolutely correct in its grammar, while at the same time, it is absolutely meaningless. Ah, the joy and mystery of language.

On the original note, I think we can now agree that I should stick to other people’s quotes rather than creating my own, right?

“she spoke with lips that love to laugh” – Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, trans. Simon Armitage

I like that description. It makes me smile.

“I took a course in speed-waiting. Now I can wait an hour in only ten minutes.” – Steven Wright

Wish it were true, but in the meantime, I’ll delight in that for which I wait:

1 Thessalonians 1:9-10 “For they themselves report concerning us the kind of reception we had among you, and how you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead, Jesus who delivers us from the wrath to come.”

I read the following quote in Steven Pinker’s The Stuff of Thought (which is one of those fascinating mind-benders that language nerds like me enjoy immensely) and thought I’d share. It’s from an actual high schooler’s paper. . .  he should’ve gotten some points for creativity at least.

“He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.”

I think I might slip this little “gem” into a conversation someday.

Do I really believe the promises of God? When he promises to give ”peace that passes understanding” (Philippians 4:9) as I bring my worries to him, to “supply all [my] needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19), or to “withhold no good thing from them who walk uprightly” (Psalm 84:11), do I rest in his Word?

Not enough. I tend to push aside the all-powerful, all-caring, all-sufficient God who “owns the cattle on a thousand hills” (Psalm 50:10), and carry the weight of the world on my shoulders and in my heart. The problem there is, this fading flower (Isaiah 40:6-7) of a human was never meant to lug  so heavy a burden.

Oh, for grace to trust him more.

Actually, it is. According to http://hnn.us/articles/132.html,

“America’s independence was actually declared by the Continental Congress on July 2, 1776. The night of the second the Pennsylvania Evening Post published the statement: “This day the Continental Congress declared the United Colonies Free and Independent States.”

The announcement of said declaration was made on the Fourth, hence the date on the document.

By His grace, that’s 232 years of freedom. May God continue to bless these United States with his undeserved favor.

One of the “nice” things, I suppose, about unemployment is the freedom to do things spur of the moment. Take yesterday – I’m walking down the street and seen a sign – “Blood Drive – Walk Ins Welcome”.

So I walked in. And gave about 1/16 of my blood. I still find it amazing that even with that much taken out of me (and it sure looks like a LOT in that 700mL bag), I can still function normally, with no ill effects (save a bruised arm). I was told I could look away as the needle went in, but I never do. If some sharp metal object is going to be invading my body, I want to watch if at all possible. The tubes carrying the life giving stuff away from my veins rested gently on my forearm, and I felt the warmth on my skin, which struck me as strange for some reason. The blood itself was not red, of course, but a deep purple, untouched by oxygen. And weird as it may seem, I think it’s beautiful. Truly, the life is in the blood.

I was thinking about believers and our relationship to blood, particularly the blood of Jesus Christ. In many ways, it must seem odd to the world that this blood is so valued by us, that we sing songs about it and give thanks to the One who shed it. But when a person truly understands that “without the shedding of blood, there is no remission of sins”(Hebrews 9:22), and that Jesus didn’t just die, he died for me and you, the idea of blood really does take on a preciousness which is hard to describe in mere words.

Soaring Gas Prices

Soaring Food Prices

Presidential Election

War in Iraq and Afghanistan

North Korea = Nuclear Power??

If you’re like me (and most of the rest of America), one of these five phrases (if not ALL of them) made you a little unsettled, a little nervous, a little perturbed. Things keep piling up, piling on, getting worse. I sometimes wonder how people who don’t have the Lord sleep at night – and I just listed a few universal issues . .

Yeah, getting upset would be really easy right now, but for this:

Philippians 4:6 “do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God, And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Psalm 37:25 “I have been young, and now am old, yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken
or his children begging for bread.”

How comforting to be unforsaken as the world tumbles down.

Last night, I went out with friends. We had a picnic supper of BLTs, chips, strawberries, and sweet tea while listening to Jazz in the Park. We then played sand volleyball for an hour and a half until it got too dark to see and hiked down to the lake to hear the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra play for free. We got there with the concert almost over, but their finale of “The Stars and Stripes Forever” was well worth the trek. As it was the first night of the world-famous music festival, Summerfest, they had what’s referred to as the “Big Bang” to kick things off – fireworks! And I didn’t get home ’til nearly midnight (quite the aberration).

OK, seriously, does it get any better on a summer night than that??

The old 50’s song, “If I Knew You Were Coming” (I’d've Baked a Cake)  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss941vaoe_A) started me thinking about contractions, and how I can’t imagine life without them. I mean, I cannot. Consider never using another contraction again. This is easier to do when writing, much harder to do when speaking. Talking gets clunky when we take out the contracted verbs and negatives.

Singing does too:

. . . I would have baked a cake, I would have baked a cake, I would have baked a cake . . .

Contractions are they’re good, especially lovely double ones like “I’d've”. And the song ain’t all that bad either.

I rediscovered the Boggle on Saturday night. It’s one of those games I remember playing as a kid at the kitchen table with Mom and my brothers, but I hadn’t played it in years. I forgot how much fun it was, but when you combine letters, obscure words (“boded”, anyone?) and a 3 minute time limit – wow! It’s great!

Also, when there’s the “th” letter combination right in the middle is helpful as it doth bringeth back the Olde English feel to things.

Psalm 27:13-14 – I found these verses to be very encouraging this morning, especially as I’m . . . waiting. (I always seem to be doing that!)

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living!
Wait for the Lord;
be strong, and let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord!

Last night I had the wonderful experience of eating supper with a friend from grad school, her husband, and her Argentine in-laws. The food was fresh from scratch South American cooking, and English and Spanish flew about in equal quantities, much to the delight of my always-anxious-for-anything-international ears. We talked, via frequent translation, of Africa, languages, school, work, and a recently stolen lawn mower. They wanted to learn some Swahili words, and after going over only a few phrases, Swahili was proclaimed to be much easier to pronounce than cumbersome English words like “siblings”. I find that whenever my mind hears another language, Swahili is on the tip of my tongue. Of course, this is rarely productive when talking to someone from South America . . .

After dinner, we watched a World War I movie in which actors occasionally dialogued in French or German. And there we were, a farm girl from Iowa, her Argentine family, and the girl from Kenya, sitting in a living room in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, watching a film that took place in Europe.

And those continental connections sure felt like home to this alien and stranger.

That is, according to psychologist Cliff Arnall, who has actually developed an equation demonstrating variables that makes this, 20 June, the happiest day of the year. The following quote is from an article at ajc.com:

“Apparently it’s the combination of brighter evenings, childhood memories, and the prospect of summer holidays that puts the best possible spin on today.”

So . . . feel any better?

Even more wonderful than sunshine, good memories, and holidays, though, is this promise from  Romans 4:

“Blessed [Happy] are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven, and whose sins are covered; blessed [happy] is the man against whom the Lord will not count his sin.”

Hallelujah!

As I write this blog entry, I’m listening to comfort music. Just like we eat certain kinds of food because they are comfortable, so we listen to music that comforts us.

I was thinking about why I have certain songs that I play over and over again, and why my iPod has such a weird mix on it. One of my very kind friends described my music collection as “eclectic” (which I think is nicer than “weird”), and it is that. I have about every musical genre, including rap, folk, classical, pop, country, hymns – and some songs that don’t fit really well in any category. I imagine that most people have “eclectic” collections.

But why?

Sometimes, a lot of times, I’ll add a song because it reminds me of a place or a time or a friend. I might not have otherwise liked and listened to it, but it has meaning attached. That’s why Horowitz’s rendition of ”The Stars and Stripes Forever” bumps up against the Kenyan song “Chonga Viazi” which in turn precedes the thoughtful ”How Deep the Father’s Love” which is incongruously followed by “The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything” which leads us, oddly enough, to “Canon in D” (that’s on shuffle, by the way).

And that’s why I have numbers like ”Hey There Delilah” in my repertoire. That one is only in there because when I was home last summer, Noah was picking it out on his guitar. It reminds me of my brother, and I smile.

It’s my comfort music.

I woke up at 4 this morning thinking about Santa Claus. Yes, him. Despite the fact that summer, not winter, is nigh, and there are about a zillion other things I could/should think about if I happen to awaken in the wee hours of the morning, it was the Jolly Elf  on the tip of my brain.

I’ve been listening to the enjoyable audiobook memoirs of a girl growing up in rural Indiana. I finished it last night before going to bed, and in the final chapter, the author writes about when she received a much wished for gift at Christmas, complete with a handwritten letter from – you guessed it - Mr. Claus himself. The story was told in a very touching, sweet way, but early this morning I awoke to find myself contemplating the aftermath.

Millions of kids are told about Santa’s existence by well-meaning (and well-trusted) parents, and of course these young’uns believe the story. They have no reason not to. And in most cases, Santa has taken over the role of God - we know from that old holiday tune that he’s all-knowing, and pretty close to being omnipresent and omnipotent too. He is a really good guy to believe in.

Imagine the kick in the gut, then, when these kids are at recess with a slightly wiser friend who (smugly) disabuses them of their belief in Santa, revealing to them that they’ve been lied to their whole life. Ouch.

It reminds me (on an infinitely larger scale) of friends I have who have been saved out of religion. Some were told all their lives that you can get to heaven because of your baptism or good works, etc., only to discover that salvation is by the grace of God, apart from works, in the work and person of Jesus Christ. That revelation stings too, but it is a needed sting.

I realize it is probably one of the biggest barriers to a person placing their trust in Christ, and only the Spirit of God can break the walls down. May we be used of him to (kindly, gently) disabuse people of their faulty beliefs, and point them to the Light.

There it is – a month ago tomorrow. I figured since I spent a lot of time on this blog looking forward to that day, it might be nice to take a look back to 18 May. (And I think, good grief! Is that for real?) It was great to have both my parents (as well as a brother, my dad’s parents, and two sweet college friends) there for the momentous occasion. Thus ended my formal education, but it figures I would find myself back at school in the fall – after all, my friends call me a “lifer”.

I take that as a compliment.

“Not much to do when you got time on your side/You sit and think about your wasted life . . . “

I don’t exactly agree with the sentiments of this song that Emily Jane White sings, but I can relate. In the last month I’ve gone from student with two part time jobs to unemployed to employed to unemployed again. It’s a long story which I won’t go into on this blog, but suffice it to say that I currently have a lot of time on my hands.

Job hunting for summer work has proved fruitless to this point. I haven’t stopped looking, but have resigned myself that I might not be employed until the end of August when I start working for the school district. Which leaves me with . . . time – about 2 months of the precious commodity.

And unlike the lyrics above, I don’t want to waste it. I want to use it, to redeem it. (Ephesians 5:16) I want this “time on my side” to be used to glorify God.

So I’m going to start blogging daily again (that’s my goal anyway). And I’m planning to study in preparation for my job in the fall, memorize Scripture, go for walks by Lake Michigan, enjoy Jazz in the Park, listen to audiobooks from the public library, among other things. I’ll have a schedule.

It’s not what I thought this summer would be, but it’s what God has for me. He’s changed my plans before, he can change them again. That’s why this life is such an adventure.

So, onward!

barely

Yipes, ’tis for real. I got them yesterday, along with my hood’n'tassel. I woke up at 4 AM, too excited to sleep. I even flipped on the light to make sure they were real. They were. And I’ll be wearing them on Sunday.

Joyfully.

Also at 4 AM, I read Romans 4. Verses 18-21 reveal Abraham to a stunningly faith-full man, who believed in a God, who to this day, and through all eternity, is stunningly promise-keeping.

“In hope he believed against hope, that he should become the father of many nations, as he had been told, ‘So shall your offspring be.’ He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was as good as dead (since he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah’s womb. No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised.”

May I be that trusting, believing in hope against hope, fully convinced of my God’s abilities to do what he has promised.

I finished graduate school last night, taking the last exam of my educational career. I sat there for a few minutes after completing the test, staring at it, not really believing that I was done. I didn’t feel sentimental or nostalgic – it’d be hard for anyone (except for some hard-core statisticians) to get worked up over a final on quantitative analysis, confounding variables, and nonparametric tests. I got a little emotional on the phone when I called home afterward; there was such a sense of relief, an overwhelming sense of “doneness”, and a deep sense of gratitude to the Lord for bringing me through.

Hard to believe, this.

So now, I begin a whole new journey as a productive member of society. In August, Lord willing, I’ll be a Speech-Language Pathologist in a public school. It’s nice to be employed (or to be “pre-employed” until I officially sign the contract).

In the meantime, I’m applying to the zoo. Seriously. I’m doubtful that I’ll actually get that job, but if I do, I’m sure I could teach the lions a thing or two about protecting their vocal cords.

Onward.

Psalm 150 seems so appropriate right now (ok, it’s always appropriate):

Praise the Lord!
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty heavens! 
Praise him for his mighty deeds;
praise him according to his excellent greatness!

Praise him with trumpet sound;
praise him with lute and harp!
Praise him with tambourine and dance;
praise him with strings and pipe!
Praise him with sounding cymbals;
praise him with loud clashing cymbals!
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord!

A 1999 Letter to the Editor of National Review on the clunky term, “Congressperson”. It is best read aloud.

Dear Mr. Buckley:

Ms. Ellen P. Ward’s letter to you regarding the use of “Congressperson” when referring to a member of Congress does not go far enough. Since the last syllable (son) refers to the male gender, the politically correct term of address for a female member of Congress is “Congressperdaughter.” This, then, brings into question the use of “female” to refer to a member of the feminine sex. Again, the politically correct term should be “feperdaughter” (God created them male and feperdaughter). This gives rise to other absurdities, such as “woperdaughter” for “woman,” “huperdaughterity” for “humanity,” “woperdaughteracles” for handcuffs used on “feperdaughters.” It then makes a work written by a “woperdaughter,” a “woperdaughteruscript.”I’m sure that I need not belabor the point.

Sincerely,William F. Brna Monongahela, Pa

No, really – happy May Day to you all.

The trees are budding, so spring is here. Yes, even in Wisconsin.

Happy sigh.

You won’t find crystal

In a Styrofoam cup,

Just like you can’t swim in concrete

And you’ll never fall up.

And you can’t get to Heaven

By your good deeds

Just like you won’t grow flowers

When you’re planting weeds.

“And to him who does not work but believes in him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted as righteousness.” Romans 4:5

No, not really . . . I do love my Eagles, but I sure got a kick out of George Carlin’s comparison of baseball and football.

“Baseball is a 19^th century pastoral game.

Football is a 20^th century technological struggle.

Baseball is played on a diamond. In a park – the baseball park.

Football is played on a gridiron in a stadium (sometimes called ‘Soldier Field’ or ‘War Memorial Stadium’).

Baseball has the 7^th inning stretch.

Football has the 2 minute warning.

Baseball has no time limit. We don’t know when it’s gonna end. We might have extra innings!

Football is rigidly timed and it will end even if we have to go to sudden death.

Finally, the objectives of the 2 games are totally different:

In football, the object is for the quarterback, otherwise known as the ‘field general’, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with a deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use the shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he moves his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack which punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy’s defensive line. . .

In baseball, the object is to go home. And to be safe - “I hope I’ll be safe at home!”

Good stuff.

I just read Dave Berg’s article at nationalreview.com on Ben Stein’s new film Expelled, which exposes “Big Science” (i.e. nearly all institutions of “higher” learning in the U.S.) and it’s stonewalling of any discussion regarding the possibility that evolution might not be true. I found this statement by Mr. Berg to be particularly revealing, as he gets to the crux of the issue.

“The film’s endeavor is to respond to one simple question: ‘Were we designed, or are we simply the end result of an ancient mud puddle struck by lightning?’

Big science doesn’t like that question because they can’t answer it. Underneath their antagonism toward explanations that suggest an intelligent cause, lies a fundamental egoism. Science wants to deny any evidence of a supreme being precisely because it wants to be a supreme being.”

The apostle Paul would agree with that idea. He wrote the following in Romans 1:21-23:

“For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things.”

Big Science, you lose.

I could not do without Thee
O Savior of the lost,
Whose precious blood redeemed me
At such tremendous cost.
Thy righteousness, thy pardon
Thy precious blood, must be
My only hope and comfort,
My glory and my plea.

I could not do without Thee,
I cannot stand alone,
I have no strength or goodness,
No wisdom of my own;
But Thou, beloved Savior,
Art all in all to me,
And weakness will be power
If leaning hard on Thee.

I could not do without Thee,
O Jesus, Savior dear;
E’en when my eyes are holden,
I know that Thou art near.
How dreary and how lonely
This changeful life would be,
Without the sweet communion,
The secret rest with Thee!

I could not do without Thee;
No other friend can read
The spirit’s strange deep longings,
Interpreting its need;
No human heart could enter
Each dim recess of mine,
And soothe, and hush, and calm it,
O blessed Lord, but Thine.

I could not do without Thee,
For years are fleeting fast,
And soon in solemn oneness
The river must be passed;
But Thou wilt never leave me,
And though the waves roll high,
I know Thou wilt be near me,
And whisper, “It is I.”

- Frances Havergal

Ok, not mad in the sense of insane, and the pope doesn’t really make me feel angry. It’s more that the whole idea of this man, (yes, man)  being worshipped by people around the world, and this country in particular right now stirs me up, gets under my skin. The hullabaloo in the media has been rather magnificent – you’d think that Jesus himself had stepped on to American soil this week. Hmmm.

I’ve heard Catholics say that they don’t worship this man, that they just “venerate” him . . . strange - it looks a lot like worship to me. They bow, they kiss his hand, they are thrilled just to “breathe the air he’s breathing” as I heard someone say on the radio, they call him the “holy father”. The “holy father”? The only person we should call Holy Father is the One who is the 1st Person of the Triune Godhead. The pope is neither holy nor anyone’s father. He is not some mediator between God and man. He is a sinner in need of a Savior just like everyone else in the world.

I have a friend who recently got saved out of devout Catholicism, and his eyes have been opened to the lies and the folly associated with that system of religion. He was the one who brought up the “holy father” deal last night, and it got me thinking about how many millions and billions of people are being deceived by another wolf in sheep’s clothing; deceived right into a tormented godless eternity.

Religion is one of Satan’s favorite tools, no doubt about that.

Where am I going?

I think this is my favorite of the four major life questions because it fills my heart with sense of peace to know the answer. I’m not being proud in saying that – I have read what the Bible says on life after death and I’ve staked my eternal destiny on the One who promises everlasting life to all who trust Him alone. (John 3:16)

I’m going to Heaven. How about you? Are you going too? Or are you one of the billions who are currently on their way to the lake of fire (i.e. the very real Hell)?

You can  know the answer to this question, one that nags at the mind of every person in the world. Click on the “Good News” link to the right. It’ll tell you the whole story.

Why am I here?

To have a good time, go for it, get everything I can, die with a lot of toys.

No?

Ok, then. I’m here to leave a legacy – to be so nice and good to my fellow man that I’ll have 1000 people at my funeral who’ll give one heartfelt tribute after another to the wonderful person that was me.

Sounds good. But again, no. The true answer is quite antithetical to how most (all, actually) humans conduct themselves.

John the Baptist said it very well. In fact he summed up what a person’s whole life is to be about in one sentence.

John 3:30 “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

We are here for no other reason than to bring him glory. Unbelievers live very unfulfilling lives because they can’t glorify God in their separated-from-him state. They live life to bring glory to themselves. Sadly, believers all too often do too.

I know I forget why I’m here. Daily. Hourly. I rarely remember “He must increase”. It’s “Katie must increase”.

But when I come around to the right way of thinking, there’s God’s grace, his mercy, his forgiveness.

Psalm 17: 7 I will give to the Lord the thanks due to his righteousness, and I will sing praise to the name of the Lord, the Most High.

Where did I come from?

I touched on this during my discussion on the first question, “Who am I?” in regards to the sad belief in the flukes of evolution, but there is need for expansion. The answer to this second question is simple. In fact, the answers to life’s most important questions are all straightforward when you know the One from whom all life flows.

I did not come to exist in some random way. I was tenderly and lovingly ”knit together in my mother’s womb”. Before time began, the Creator had my whole life planned and organized. He arranged my specific combination of DNA to originate with Adam and Eve and be passed down through thousands of years and countless generations of parents and eventually form the person that is me. I am no accident. I am unique. To acknowledge that is not to be proud. It’s actually very humbling and worship-inspiring to recognize my origins and to realize that I am indeed “fearfully and wonderfully made” by my awesome God and Father.

Psalm 139:13-16

13 For you formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.

And that’s the beautiful story of where we all came from.

Attention, please.

I am resuming posting on this blog after a two week hiatus/sabbatical during which spring came (kind of, ’cause we got a foot of snow on the first day), Easter came and went, and I had a school break. Of sorts.

I started a series on The Four Most Important Questions in Life . (I know, I know. It was a month ago.) I hope to continue with #2 tomorrow.

See ya then.

1998

2003

Drumroll, please . . . .

13 March 2008!!!

um . . .ok, everyone ready? Dad, is your hair ok?? . . . ok . . .2008!!!

Now, let’s all wave goodbye for another 5 years!

Who am I?

Ask most of your friends who they are, and you’ll often get a blank stare or a “Huh?” or an answer such as “I’m a (fill in the blank) parent, a student, an accountant, a laundromat owner”. Their identity is wrapped in what they do because they really don’t know who they are.

If you asked an evolutionist to describe who he was in his very essence, he might say, “I’m a (random) conglomeration of billions of cells that are a product of my ape-like ancestors, which in turn were a product of a string of creatures in various stages of evolution that trace their roots way back billions of years ago to a couple of (chance) proteins in some (fortuitous) primordial stew that (accidentally) smacked into each other (coincidentally) and –zing – (somehow) a spark of life was produced.”

How touching. But that’s not me.

Who am I? First and foremost, my life is in Christ and he lives in me. My identity is completely wrapped up in my Savior, and not in what I may or may not accomplish in life.

Colossians 3:3 “For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.”

Galatians 2:20 “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

I am a child of God through the blood of his Son. I am accepted and blessed in the Beloved One, Jesus Christ. I am a citizen of heaven. I am a not-chance one – God himself knit me together in my mother’s womb.

There is such security in knowing the answer to this most basic of questions.

I don’t have much to say today, but I wanted to post on Leap Day, just ’cause I won’t get a chance to post on it for another 4 years . . .

Speaking of 4, I’ve been contemplating life’s 4 biggest questions. Important as they are, these questions are ones that majority of the people in this world have no idea how to answer. I think I might be starting a little series addressing them, so stay tuned.

It’s snowing today. Or raining. Not sure which one, really. Still, it’s thinking weather out there.  And this is what I’m thinking today.

I’m gonna start a blog . . . .

That’s how this whole thing began on 25 February 2007, so Happy Anniversary, and thanks for reading.

It’s funny, because as far as the weather goes, it’s pretty much the same as it was on this day last year. I think it might be raining tonight, then snowing. And that snowfall will most likely send us over the 80 inch mark for the winter.

Been a lovely winter here. We seem to be breaking weather records left & right. It’s either snowing furiously or the windchill is -25. But our 80+ inches of snow pales in comparison to the 109.8 inches they got in ‘85-’86. Um, 1885-1886, that is.

On 21 Feb, Jim Stingl, a columnist for The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, had this humorous take on that Wisconsin winter, and the current one:

“Plentiful snow back then was known as excellent sleighing weather. ‘Mrs. George Lord’s sleigh ride party comprising about 20 couples went to the insane asylum Monday evening and, notwithstanding the intensely cold weather, report a very pleasant time,’ The Milwaukee Journal reported.

We’re all going to be sleighing over to the insane asylum if this winter doesn’t let up soon.”

Indeed. But there is light at the end of the tunnel: spring training games kick off this week.

It’s awful being one of those, isn’t it? The longer I live and the more I read God’s Word, the more I see the ugliness of my heart and my thoughts and my deeds and my words. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to turn into a gut-spilling confessional – the wide world web isn’t the appropriate place and I’ve spoken to Someone about the particulars already. If you are a believer in that Someone, you, my fellow sinner, know how it is to suddenly or gradually recognize our unholiness before the pure and holy King of the Universe. To realize that:

A. I am not a good person. (Romans 3:10)

B. I deserve to be in hell at this very moment. (Romans 6:23a)

Not a pretty picture, eh? Yet these two points are absolutely true of every single person (i.e. sinner) walking this earth. That’s why it is so unbelievably miraculously wonderful that that Someone, that pure and holy King is also something else.

He is, as I heard recently a pastor say in a message, “the Friend of sinners without condoning their sin”. He is the Lover of the unlovely, of prostitutes, crooked judges, candy bar thieves, drunks, disobedient 5 year olds, serial rapists, and Katie Morrison. He, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, has provided his own righteousness and deliverance from hell to each believing sinner on the basis of his death for us and his resurrection. And that’s (you guessed it)
grace.

Psalm 23:6 “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.“

My sister sent me this little commentary on the word “follow”:

“The Hebrew word is ‘radaph,’ and can be translated as ‘to pursue, hound, or chase.’ I think it’s such a cool picture! God’s goodness and unfailing love does not meekly follow, trailing along behind us. It aggressively pursues us, hounds us, and chases us down.”

What a precious thought – he is active in his faithful pursuing of me, even when I’m so unfaithful in pursuing him.

From today’s Nation (a newspaper in Kenya):

“The government dropped its demands for a re-count and a new tally of the presidential votes, while the ODM leadership gave up pushing for the resignation of President Kibaki, a re-run of the elections, or a new election in a year’s time. It was agreed that the only option was a political settlement that would bring together the government and ODM sides in a regime whose task would be to enact far-reaching constitutional, legal and institutional reforms over a three-year period. The public breathed a sigh of relief as President Kibaki and ODM leader Raila Odinga shook hands — for the third time in two weeks — and members from both sides exchanged pleasantries.”

Thank you, Lord.

Please keep praying!

(I wrote this post over Christmas break, then kind of forgot to post it. . . better late than never, I suppose.) 

The other night I played Scrabble with my mom. The game amazes me. I think about all the connections my brain is making as it manipulates words and letters – it’s actually an extremely complex process that I have come to appreciate all the more as I have studied language.

Of course, the way I play, I often end up putting my mind through extra and unnecessary contortions trying to figure out how to use all seven tiles on one play, only to end up playing “N-U-T” on the triple word score for a whopping 9 points. Hey, you gotta play with what you got, right?

Last night, it was time for another type of competition as our family took a trip down to see the Flyers play hockey vs. the Maple Leafs (Leaves??). They won, 4-1. It was the first time we’d gone to a major sporting event as a family in 10 years. We picked up my older brother at his apartment and headed into Philly in our Mercury minivan, which “seats seven”.

Ha.

Ten years ago when most of us were a good deal smaller, that might’ve been true. It’s not anymore. My littlest brother is as tall as my dad, my little sister is taller than both my mom and me, so there’s pretty much zero wiggle room. As one of the smaller family members, I had the privilege of sitting in the 3rd row, middle seat. Ah, there’s nothing like a little family bonding time, eh?

And there’s nothing like sitting in the backseat of the family car to makes you feel like a kid again.

Psalm 147:16 “He gives snow like wool; He scatters the frost like ashes.”

We sure got given a whole lot of wooly snow today in southeast Wisconsin – over a foot right now, with more coming down. When I walked out the door on my way to work, I thought, This is about the whitest day I’ve ever seen. The unplowed, nearly impassable roads are white. The sky is white. The trees are white. The buildings, thanks to the howling winds, are white with the driven snow. Windows are frosted from top to bottom.

This morning, I lay in bed at 5:45 and listened to the nostalgic drone of school closings, remembering when I was young and I sat next to the radio on winter mornings, rooting for them to say the name of my school. Snow days, as any kid knows, are a wonderful unexpected gift.

So, thanks, Lord, for giving us this gift of snow. It’s beautiful.

Last night my sister, Emily, and I bonded over a song, one you’ve probably heard if you’ve watched TV at all lately. I know, it’s a corny way to come across new music, but it’s the tune that plays during the latest Mac laptop commercial – “New Soul” by Yael Naim. (The song’s on YouTube, if you want to take a listen.)

The first time I heard it, I liked it’s whimsical jauntiness, playful trombone, and stick-in-your-head-all-day quality. But there was something else that resonated with me, something which I didn’t recognize ’til I was listening to again it as I got ready for bed. The lyrics start out like this:

“I’m a new soul, I came to this strange world hoping I could learn a bit ’bout how to give and take /But since I came here, felt the joy and the fear, finding myself making every possible mistake.”

Hey, wait a sec! That pretty much describes me the first couple years after I came back to the States for college. New? Check. Strange world? Check. Wanting to learn? Check. Joy and fear? Check. Making Every Possible Mistake? Well, it sure felt like it.

Even 8.5 years into my adult life in the US of A, there are times when I still feel strangely out of place here, not unlike most MKs. We may look American, sound American, and (mostly) act American, but inside, we aren’t really American. We have too much of “Other Place” in us. Someone has called us “hidden immigrants”.

I suppose for all it’s discomfort, this “belonginglessness” isn’t a bad thing. We kind of get a head start on understanding the concept of being “aliens and strangers” on earth (1 Peter 2:11). And as much as I ache for people and places in other parts of the world, I never ache so much as when I ache for heaven. Heaven is home. It’s belonging. It’s with, not without. On that day that the Lord has chosen, I’ll end my sojourn and I’ll be with Christ. Home. Forever.

That’s what I was made for.

A friend gave me a Bible promise book for Christmas and I find myself turning through its pages frequently as I face different trying situations. Some situations are difficult due to the day-to-day stress of life, others are hard because there are no easy answers, no quick fixes, no instant healing balm for the deeper pains in my heart. But what better place to turn in any trial than to “the God of all comfort” and his Word?

Today was a “deeper pain” day. The news out of Kenya breaks my heart. I see my country with its cities, villages, and families being torn apart literally and figuratively. People – children – are being burned alive. I cried as I read the newspaper account, saw the picture of a little boy cowering with wide, terrified eyes.

When I got home tonight, I opened up my promises book to the segment with verses about “peace”, and there was John 14:27: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”

Now I’ve read this verse so many times before. I’ve been comforted by it before. But this time I realized I didn’t really get what “troubled” means, so I grabbed my trusty Strong’s Concordance off the shelf and looked up the word.

5015 tarasso (in the passive)”to be disturbed, terrified, confused, to be stirred up”

That Greek word seems to, in a tragic way, describe Kenya fittingly at the moment. It also perfectly describes, in the opposite, the attitude of heart God wants me to have. He’s telling me, “Katie, do not let your heart be disturbed. Do not let your heart be terrified. Do not let your heart be confused. Do not let your heart be stirred up.”

Psalm 37:1 “Do not fret because of evildoers . . . . trust in the LORD and do good . . .”

And as I trust in the universe’s King in the midst of my grief, my heart is at rest.

Please join me in praying for peace in Kenya, as well as for comfort for those who have lost loved ones and those who are displaced. Pray that many would get saved as a result of the turmoil – that the unrest may bring them to see their need for peace with God through the work of Jesus Christ.

From the Flying McCoys comic strip:

Yeah, I got a kick out of that creativity.

I’m reading a book called 10 Questions Science Can’t Answer (Yet) by Michael Hanlon. It’s quirky and fascinating, and the questions (which are the chapter titles) are stated in an offbeat way that are meant to catch your attention. For instance, the query, “Do animals have cognitive abilities?” is stated, “Is Fido a zombie?”

As I was perusing the table of contents, I was struck by the question, “Can I live forever please?” The chapter is a treatment of a series of some of the most troubling scientific questions, questions like “Why do we age? Why do our bodies break down? Why do we die?”

Scientifically speaking, we know how we die and we know everyone eventually succumbs to something. If you ignore the Bible, you’ll believe the ratio of person born: person dead is 1:1. Of course, if you ignore the Bible, you also won’t find the answer to the why of dying.

It’s sin. Romans 5:12 puts it out there pretty clearly: “Therefore, just as through one man sin entered the world, and death through sin, and thus death spread to all men, because all sinned . . .”

I’m pretty sure you won’t find that explanation in any medical textbook. Scientists have gone down some pretty strange trails trying to figure this whole death thing out, and they’ve come up empty (which is what normally happens when you ignore the clear teaching of God’s Word).

But I do have an answer to Mr. Hanlon’s somewhat facetious question, “Can I live forever please?”, an answer he probably would never expect to hear.

Yes, sir, of course you can.

Just as the Bible holds the answer to the why of death, it also speaks wonderfully to the how of eternal life – it’s “the free gift of God . . . in Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Rom 6:23b).

See, for those of us who have accepted this gift by simply trusting in God the Son who died in our place and rose again, death ( the separation of our soul and spirit from our body) is merely the door that we walk through from life on this planet to life forever in the glorious presence of God.

And the promise of life on the other side makes the whole inevitability of death a whole lot easier to swallow.

Taxes, on the other hand . . . . J

“If the empty space in atoms were removed, the entire human race would fit in the volume of a sugar cube.” – Marcus Chown, The Quantum Zoo.

In other words, we are overwhelmingly made up of, well . . . emptiness. It’s hard to fathom that, considering how solid everything looks and feels. I love statements like this one because it stretches my mind to it’s limit and then leaves my ability to understand far behind. This is a good thing, because then I see my smallness, and as I have written before, I need to be reminded of my smallness again and again. I get far too big-headed far too often.

My mom recently went to California and while there, saw and touched one of the largest trees in the world. She remarked on what a worship experience it was, as she praised the Creator of this magnificent plant. (It is that, though it sounds strange to call a redwood a plant, as if it were a wildflower or some sort of classroom foilage.)

It’s never a bad thing to be reminded of our tininess in light of our God – the One who “determines the number of the stars; he gives them to all of them their names”(Psalm 147:4 ESV). So much for those star name registries – my Father has already named each one.

Wow.

Well, I should be back to a more regular blogging schedule now that the craziness of traveling and the craziness of studying for/taking the national speech-language pathology exam and the craziness of getting settled into my medical practicum are all behind me.

I think “a more regular blogging schedule” hopefully means a few posts a week . . . we shall see. I have a lot of thoughts going through my head as I embark on my last semester in school.

Right now, I’m enjoying the thought of Jesus Christ as the bright morning star (Rev 22:16). As my pastor described last night, that star is the one that shines the brightest just before darkness turns to dawn – the herald that night is ending and glorious day is about to break.

It’s a beautiful and fitting picture of our Savior.

I used to struggle with the concept of contentment. I thought it meant I could never want anything. Of course by that definition, I was not content. Ever.

But then I realized that the Bible speaks of desires, and not in a disparaging way. The Psalmist writes about God granting us “the desires of [our] heart” (Psalm 37:4). The apostle Paul wished he could be with the beloved believers in the different churches he wrote to. He also “desired to depart and be with Christ”(Phil 1:23). Yearnings are part of being human. They are part of the way God made us. If we never wanted anything, we’d be sticks in the mud, going nowhere, doing nothing. That’s rather problematic. Also problematic is the other end of the desire spectrum, where our wants control and devour us.

This middle ground is where contentment comes into play.

Contentment is not the absence of longings; it is being unconsumed by one’s longings. It is the peaceful acceptance of what God has for me in the present, trusting him that his provision is adequate (and so often, far far better than simply “adequate”).

And, like Paul, we can learn the “secret” to being content: reliance on the strength of Christ. (Phil 4:12-13)

My other homeland, Kenya, is in turmoil. This country, which since its independence in 1963 has been an oasis of peace and stability in an often volatile region of the world, is being torn apart by post-election violence. It hurts to see the images, to read the horrifying accounts of “ethnic cleansing”, to have no answers. I’m concerned for my friends and for the future. I wonder how and if it can all be resolved.

And I turn to the One who has the answers, to the One who knew this was going to happen and is completely sovereign. I turn to the God of all peace. I pray for peace in Kenya. I pray for peace between the Luo tribe and the Kikuyu tribe, between supporters of Odinga and supporters of Kibaki.

I pray for ultimate peace for the people of Kenya - the peace that comes as a result of simply believing in Jesus Christ’s death for our sins and his resurrection. That is only way to gain eternal life, and the only way to a right relationship with God and a right relationship with those around us.

This morning I remembered that Kenya’s national anthem is actually a prayer, and a very appropriate one at that. In closing, here’s the first verse of the English version:

O God of all creation,
Bless this our land and nation.
Justice be our shield and defender,
May we dwell in unity,
Peace and liberty,
Plenty be found within our borders.

Amen and amen.

I am home for Christmas, and it’s not just in my dreams . . .

John 1:14 “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

This is a poem I wrote a while back when I was in the middle of a very difficult situation, but had to keep going about my daily routine. It’s an example of my own Lamentations, my acknowledgment that the life we lead here on earth can be so very hard at times.

Life doesn’t stop for a broken heart.

It doesn’t slow down just because

It hurts to breathe, think, talk, eat, write.

And it doesn’t let us off so we can

Cease living for a while

‘Til the pain ceases stabbing every thought

And we can once again laugh without

Wanting to cry.

No, life speeds on,

Careless and carefree,

And there are dishes to wash,

Papers to write,

Meetings to sit through,

Clocks to be punched,

And the broken heart is

Left crumpled and torn

In a corner of our life

Like an old sweater

That there’s no time to mend.
 

I’ve been reading in Jeremiah of late. It’s a tough book to wade through. It’s full of righteous judgment upon judgment upon judgment against rebellious Israel; each one sad and painful. But then, I come to passages like this one in chapter 32:37-41 (ESV):

“Behold, I will gather them from all the countries to which I drove them in my anger and my wrath and in great indignation. I will bring them back to this place, and I will make them dwell in safety. And they shall be my people, and I will be their God.  I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me. I will rejoice in doing them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.”

My heart rejoices greatly in that.

Why should I so delight in promises made thousands of years ago to this tiny chosen nation? After all, I am not an Israelite. These promises are not for me, a Gentile member of the Church.

I love these truths because they reveal the God I serve as a compassionate, covenant-keeping God. He loves Israel with an everlasting love. And despite their past and present rejection of him and of his Messiah, these promises will come true. I will see them come true.

And I will marvel at such a wonderful Savior, such a faithful King.

I don’t dread my own death, only others’. It’s selfish of me, I know, but I don’t want to have to be the one to deal with the pain, the mind and heart-breaking loss. I dread the phone call, the burn of tears on my eyelashes, the crazy disbelief, like the time when I was little and Dad and Mom told me a friend had died in a car accident and I just kept thinking they could put her body back together again and she’d be OK. But life, once broken into a billion pieces by the mallet we call death, can’t be fixed.

Not yet anyway.

And the dread I feel sometimes overwhelms the hope – the settled assurance – that the lives of those I love are in the most capable, caring hands in the universe. Their times, as well as mine, are His to determine. He knows when, or if, we will die. I need to rest in that fact that when tragedy strikes my fragile heart, His grace will be all sufficient. Still, I long for, ache for, live for, the “if”. I desire with all my heart to be of the generation of believers who never died, but were instead raptured to live forever with our Savior, to be free from dread, to be free of sin, to be free of decay, to be free eternally from death.

Today I said goodbye to my kids. The last thing I heard as I walked out the classroom door was their laughter. It was a fitting end to the few special months I was privileged to spend with these little guys. I laughed with them every day.

A lot.

This morning was no exception. When my supervisor announced that this was my last day, she told them I was leaving and that I was going to be working at a hospital (my medical practicum starts in January). The kids were quite impressed, based on the chorus of wows. Tommy, apparently, was especially impressed. As he walked out the door, bundled up in his heavy winter jacket and Packers hat, he threw his arms around me, buried his head in my stomach, and said, “Bye, Miss Morrison. Have a good time at the doctor’s!”

And I laughed.

I wasn’t really thinking about it yesterday when I walked into class, but I was thinking a lot about it when I walked out. It was my last class session of the semester. On Friday, I have my last day at my practicum. By this time next week, my semester will be over. I have just one final on Monday. Then in January, I begin my last semester in school. Quite possibly the last one ever.

Wow. That snuck on me. I think I get so used to routine, just getting through the day or the week or the month. And then, wham! what I’ve been doing is over and it feels extremely sudden. I hit that last date hard and get mental whiplash. The end of something is sneaky in a very subtle way. I never expect to be surprised at how quickly it comes, but I always am.

I’m looking out the window now where it’s snowing in the deepening dusk. I’ll be going out a walkin’ in it soon, which will be a nice end to the day.

And for the end of this post, here’s a great statement of trust in the LORD by King Jehoshaphat when “a great horde” was coming against Judah:

2 Chronicles 20:12b “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”

In Kenya when you haven’t seen someone for a while, you might say upon encountering them again, “You have been so lost.”

And I have been.

But I’m back to wish my faithful (???) readers a Happy December. Last year here in Milwaukee we had a blizzard on the 1st of December. This year the new month has brought with it a lovely wintry mix, i.e. snow and stinging ice pellets driven by 25 mph winds into one’s face. It was a perfect day to play football. Truly it was a fun time, because of the following  combination of factors:

December. Snow. A Saturday afternoon. A pick-up football game with good friends.

What more could you ask for?

(Perhaps me, actually blogging more than 5 times a month, ala November? I’ll be working on it.)

His real name’s not Harold, but due to privacy issues, I probably shouldn’t broadcast it over cyberspace. Calling him Harold gives you the gist, because I’m not talking about a 73 year-old man here. Harold is 5. He’s one of my kids. One of my favorites, actually, which is kind of surprising considering what a distraction he is in the classroom. He rambles on incoherently about everything and nothing, he rarely raises his hand, he is a whirl of constant motion, he has little concept of classroom etiquette and social norms. Sadly, the other kids have noticed he’s a little odd.

But I love the rascal. Everything Harold does is done with a sweetness and sincerity and abandon I’ve rarely seen. His wide eyes take in life enthusiastically (if a tad cluelessly) and he usually sports a charming huge gap-toothed grin. His hair is usually matted down in places and sticking straight up in others, adding a bit of Norman Rockwellian whimsy to his persona. He laughs easily and hands out hugs just as freely. Everyone – teachers, classmates, the substitute - is ”my friend” (even if they don’t necessarily think so).

Last Monday as the children were coming into the room, I saw that some looked a little draggy. I began asking them one by one if they were sad or happy. When I got to Harold, sitting in the center of the room Indian style, his back straight, eyes wide, I asked, “Harold are you sad today?”

“No, I’m HAPPY!” He leapt to his feet.

“Harold, why are you happy?”

He flung his arms wide. “I took a shower today!”

“You took a shower?”

He was nearly jumping up and down with barely corralled energy. “Yeah! And then I came to school!“

I sat there and laughed. A shower and school. Two very good reasons to be happy.

Harold is going to be leaving us soon for another classroom where he can get the kind of special education he needs. I’m going to miss that sweet little boy with the old man’s name.

I’m going to miss my friend.

There’s one good thing I can say about having to leave home a bit before 6:30 AM to catch a bus – you surely do get to see Milwaukee’s beauty. Seems that during other times of the day, creation is drowned out by the noise and bustle or it’s wrapped in darkness.

But in the early morning, Milwaukee shines. I nearly forget I’m in a city. On Tuesday, the heavens boisterously and exuberantly declared the glory of God (Psalm 19), with the rising sun warming the undersides of feathery clouds to the tune of brilliant oranges and pinks. I started singing at the bus stop, joining the chorus of the skies.

A little while later while riding through a residential section of town, the trees were glowing. It was the perfect combination of soft light and fall leaves. This year there is a lot of yellow on the trees. And when that early sun hits those leaves just right, the word “burning” becomes extremely appropriate. I find it difficult to study my articulation textbook at that point.

I’ve started getting off the bus a stop early so I can walk through a little park on the south side. The combination of relative quiet and crunchy leaves and frost-encrusted grass underfoot has proved irresistible.

Yes, Milwaukee shines. And I worship the Creator of beauty in the city.

or, 27 years. As of yesterday, that’s how long I’ve lived. Somehow, it seems like it should be longer. More days, I mean.

You mean I haven’t even hit 10,000 days?  It’s a reminder again how short this life is compared to eternity. My life span since 1980 is like the tiniest plop, blip, blot, speck, compared to unfathomable vastness of timelessness. Actually, it’s less. It is so insignificant. And yet, what happens here in time influences eternity future.

Amazing!

I’ve asked this before and I’ll asked it again: is your eternity settled? Do you know where you will spend it? Don’t push the question aside. Consider forever. Consider that we are all sinners who deserve to spend eternity in torment in hell, separated from God. Consider that the one true God became man – Jesus Christ - died on the cross, taking that eternal punishment for us, then rose again. Consider the fact that he offers salvation from hell as a totally free gift. Consider that the only way to obtain this gift is by believing (depending) solely on the work and person of Jesus (not by any works we do).

Consider the TRUTH. Then believe it and live forever.

Sometimes during my therapy sessions with one of my 4 year olds, I feel like a broken record. Mandy is on the autism spectrum, and lately we’ve been working on the social aspects of language, in essence, eye contact.

This is how I sound:

“Mandy, look at my eyes when I am talking to you. . . good looking . . . no, do not look at the computers . . . Mandy, where are my eyes? . . . good looking . . . no, do not look at Ms. B . . . . look at my eyes . . . good looking . . . no, do not look at what the other kids are doing . . . .” and so on.

See? Broken record.

Yesterday, I couldn’t help but think that this is what the Lord is like with me. He is so patient and yet so persistent with his reminders: “Katie, look at me . . . no, don’t go looking at the world’s distractions . . . no, don’t go looking at what I’m doing in your friends lives . . . look at me.”

‘Cause in reality, I’m an awful lot like Mandy. My eyes wander. I need those constant nudgings, the finger on the chin guiding my gaze back to the Savior.

Hebrew 12:1-2 ESV  “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Now that wasn’t all that hard, was it?

We sang this one on Sunday and it was  great: 

Safe is my refuge, sweet is my rest,
Ill cannot harm me, nor foes e’er molest;
Jesus my spirit so tenderly calms,
Holding me close in His Mighty arms.

Chorus: Oh! what wonderful, wonderful rest!
Trusting completely in Jesus I’m blest;
Sweetly He comforts and shields from alarms,
Holding me safe in His mighty arms.

Pressing my tear-stained cheek to His own,
Hushing my grief with His sweet gentle tone;
Touching my heart with His healing balms,
Holding me still in His mighty arms.

Tempests may rage, sin’s surges may beat,
Ne’er can they reach my sheltered retreat;
Free from all danger, from dread alarms,
Resting so safe in His mighty arms.

- Winfield MaComber

I like knowing things. If I know something, I cope easier because I can outline in my mind the steps that I need to take based on my knowledge of a situation. I’m a serious ducks-in-a-row addict.

So when the Lord, in his infinite wisdom and kindness, gives me a trial, he generally includes a hefty dose of uncertainty. Oh, and a nice dollop of waiting. Uncertainty and waiting – those two words pretty much sum up my trials.

Like the one I’m in now.

And I know why he gives these tests to me – because when mind is full of wonderings but my hands are tied, my only hope is in looking up to my wonderful Savior in whom there is rest and peace.

As I remember the Lord, I find great joy in the truths of songs like this gem by August L. Storm:

Thanks to God for my Redeemer,
Thanks for all Thou dost provide!
Thanks for times now but a memory,
Thanks for Jesus by my side!
Thanks for pleasant, balmy springtime,
Thanks for winter, summer, fall!
Thanks for tears by now forgotten,
Thanks for peace within my soul!

Thanks for prayers that Thou hast answered,
Thanks for what Thou dost deny!
Thanks for storms that I have weathered,
Thanks for all Thou dost supply!
Thanks for pain, and thanks for pleasure,
Thanks for comfort in despair!
Thanks for grace that none can measure,
Thanks for love beyond compare!

Thanks for roses by the wayside,
Thanks for thorns their stems contain!
Thanks for home and thanks for fireside,
Thanks for hope, that sweet refrain!
Thanks for joy and thanks for sorrow,
Thanks for heav’nly peace with Thee!
Thanks for hope in the tomorrow,
Thanks through all eternity!

I love writing because it is unnatural as far as communication modes go; we acquire spoken language, but we must be taught how to read and write.

Despite it’s lack of “naturalness”, our brains display an amazing ability to grasp and master written language in its various forms. There are many different orthographies (writing systems – think Roman [we use this in English] Hebrew, Chinese, Arabic, Cyrillic, my personal favorite, the IPA, etc.), but given time and study we can learn to read and write in any of them. Then we put little black squiggles and straight lines and dots on a white page and suddenly they mean “I love you” and “duck” and “stroganoff” and a zillion other words and ideas.

That’s pretty incredible. Yup, I love writing.

Dr. John Whitcomb, speaking of the foolishness of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:5):

“‘Then the LORD came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of men had built.’ By the way, do you know how far down God had to come to find the tower? Psalm 113 says he has to humble himself to find the universe! And then he passes through all these billions of galaxies, each with billions of stars and finally finds our little galaxy called the Milky Way, which has 100 billion stars, and then he finds one star called the sun and around it there are nine little dots called planets and the third one isn’t so big. It’s called Earth. And then he comes and finds an infinitesimal pimple called the Tower of Babel.”

Taking a break from my “reasons” series . . .

Ephesians 4:17, 18 (ESV) “Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you no longer walk as the Gentiles [unsaved] do, in the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to the hardness of their hearts.”

I’m currently reading a book on the wonders of science called The Canon. The author, Natalie Angier, is a talented and engaging writer, and that, along with the fact that the subject matter is awe-inspiring, makes for a mostly enjoyable read. I say only mostly enjoyable because Ms. Angier, like most people in the sciences these days, does not hesitate to enthusiastically and frequently bash anyone who believes in creation as being unscientific and by inferences (if not outright labeling), unintelligent.

She, like most evolutionists, finds strength in numbers (as if that is a cogent argument for or against a position). One passage that particularly struck me was the following:

“David Baltimore recalled an MIT scientist . . . who was one of the last remaining critics of the theory of the origin of the universe that is now almost universally accepted by astronomers and indeed the entire scientific community. ‘He didn’t believe in the Big Bang,’ said Baltimore, ‘and he was in ev