an imprint only you can leave

"God's given us this fingerprint that nobody else has, that nobody has ever had in history, that nobody in the future will ever have, so that we can leave an imprint in the world that nobody else can leave." - Keith Craft

Kasen and Grandpa

simple solutions

Last week was my week to go to Quaker Knoll Church Camp in Wilmington, Ohio, to share devotions with the kids around their nightly campfires. Last year I learned that what these kids (grades 5-8) are looking for is authenticity. So during my first campfire talk I shared with them my recent struggle...

Me: Lately I've been feeling lost. Like I'm not sure what God wants me to do next. Do you have any suggestions for me?
Camper: Take a nap.
Me: Great suggestion. And if I wake up and still feel lost?
Another camper: Take a longer nap.

It's easy for me to want to over-spiritualize whatever I'm going through. To think if I just pray hard enough, read the Bible long enough, or sing loud enough then I will start to see the signs God is planting in my path. But these kids reminded me that no matter what I'm going through, Jesus is there and He is the way. And sometimes all I need in order to see that is a really long nap.

an ant is a bug

Tessa: Aunt Katie, are you a mom or a dad?
Me: Neither.
Tessa: You are a mom AND a dad!
Me: No. "Neither" means I'm not a mom and I'm not a dad.
Tessa: Then what are you?
Me: I'm an aunt.
Tessa: An ant is a bug.

To the kids, "aunt" is not a title, like mom or dad or grandma or grandpa. To them, I don't have an "other name", like dad whose other name is Tim, or grandpa whose other name is Tom. To the kids, "aunt" does not define my relationship with their father. It's simply my name. Aunt Katie. Not Katie. Not Katie Terrell. But Aunt Katie. (And "ant" also happens to be a bug.)

Our society is such that titles are important. The world tells us they give us value. And without them we can feel as insignificant as Tessa's ant.

I've held the title of Mrs. and Mom and Editor. But through change and circumstance I can no longer claim these. To the world I'm simply Katie. To the kids I'm simply Aunt Katie. And sometimes that is a hard thing to be.

It's not the life God wants for us. God doesn't want us to get our value from titles or roles or corner offices. He wants us to know we are worthy without any of those things. That the title "child of God", which we can all claim, is the only one that matters.

But it can be a real challenge. When the world says otherwise. And you feel more like an ordinary ant than a child of the King.

healing hurts

Two months ago my feet started to hurt. I had just walked 500 kilometers so it was kind of understandable.

Two weeks later a doctor treated me for tendinitis and told me to "be more quiet." I rested for a few days but then walked another 110 kilometers, so it was kind of understandable why my feet kept hurting.

But in the last month, since returning to the U.S., I have done a much better job of being quiet. So why do my feet still hurt?

I went to the hospital yesterday to find out.

Doctors are adorable when they get excited, so I had to laugh at mine when he said, regarding my x-rays, "Come check this out!"

He pointed out the broken bone.

But that wasn't the cool part.

The cool part was the new bone growth. Developing on both sides of the fourth metatarsal. Which nearly doubled the width of this bone. (No wonder my foot feels swollen!)

He said this is exactly what you want to see happen after a broken bone. That the healing process is progressing as it should. That I shouldn't go home and run, but I could walk as much as my foot says is okay.

Hooray!

I could talk now about how, just like my broken bone, we grow and develop and become stronger through times of trial. Putting a positive spin on the adversity that is simply part of life. But I think that denies a key point: healing hurts.

We expect to hurt at the moment an injustice occurs. A bone breaks. A loved one dies. A marriage ends. But after the point of impact we think the pain should go away. Immediately. And if it doesn't go away immediately we must be doing something wrong.

Only that isn't the case.

In reality, we continue to hurt through the healing.

Eventually it might go away. Or lessen. Maybe it will come and go with a memory, anniversary, or the rain. Or maybe it doesn't go away at all and we simply learn to live with the pain.

Regardless of what the future brings, I think it is okay to tell the truth today: healing hurts.

what is hard now

Looking back at my pictures from the Pyrenees, I am in awe of the beauty. The adventure. The wonder. I feel a sense of accomplishment. A desire to return. To conquer new mountains. And other heights. 

In the back of my mind I remember the two men, younger and in better shape than Randy and me, we met several days later in Pamplona. Who had followed in our footsteps. "We seriously thought we were going to die up there," they said. 

The paths were steep. The snow was deep. The hours kept ticking by with little sense of accomplishment. If giving up had been an option we surely would have considered it.

But all that is a distant memory. A feeling I can no longer relate to. Now I only see beauty and joy in those paths, those drifts, those feats. 

A reminder to me that what is hard now will soon be a distant memory.   

March 7, atop the Pyrenees, Spain

first steps

Three months ago I took my first steps on the Camino de Santiago, embarking on an adventure I couldn't even fathom.

I often get asked what my favorite part of the journey was. There were so many amazing moments, days, views, meals, conversations... you would think it would be hard to pick just one.

But my favorite part was definitely those first few steps. Adrenaline at an all time high. Realizing I was about to do this epic thing. And immediately bumping into Randy. Knowing I would not have to take this walk alone.

March 6, St. Jean Pied de Port, France

leaving the nest

My best friend since kindergarten and I were talking over the weekend. About how no matter how old we get we still want the approval of our parents. To know that we make them proud.

Even when it is time to leave the nest. And long after.

We leave the nest in many different ways. From finding our own spirituality/religion/church, to making our own relationship and career decisions. How we choose to raise our children, how many we have or whether or not we even have any. Our dreams become not theirs but our own.

And, of course, we leave literally. Just as my turtledoves have spread their wings and set sites on nests of their own.