"Well done, good and faithful servant."

Quakers have this practice of writing and recording what they call a "minute". I like the way Bethesda Friends Meeting defines this:

A minute is a statement of belief that an individual or group would like to record for others to see, both now and in the future about a certain topic or person.

On Sunday I was given a minute that Xenia Monthly Meeting, the church that I have been speaking at twice a month for the past couple of years, wrote about me.

It reads, in part:

Xenia has benefited from [Katie's] insights into the world of practical spiritual living. We have been uplifted by her infectious smile, her candor, and her ability to find a spiritual message in the most mundane activities of life. We have been buoyed in spirit by her eternal optimism and her willingness to take risks as God has led her in her life. 

If I could have put into words two years ago how I hoped God would use me during my time in Ohio, these are the kinds of things I would have asked for. This is precisely the kind of legacy I would have asked to leave. And through this minute it was like God was saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

My heart was humbled. And filled with love for God and this community.

The minute was read and presented to me right before I was invited to offer a final sermon. I used this time to reminisce with folks about our time together:

• The first sermon I gave, when it was so cold in the sanctuary that I wore a coat and hat. 
• The Sunday they invited Lois, their other regular pastor, and I to preach a sermon together. 
• Our sermon series on spiritual gifts.
• The Sunday I told them I was training for a triathlon. The Sunday I told them why I'd gotten divorced. The Sunday I told them I was going to Spain, and the Sunday I told them I was moving to California. 

I also used this time to tell them how they had ministered to me. From using our Sunday school hour and long lunches at Frisch's to get to know each other better, to sharing their very personal struggles so that we could pray for one another, to wearing brightly colored socks, holding hands with their spouses every week, and simply allowing me to be me.

God has blessed me so richly with the connection I have to this church. And I'm grateful to know that the feeling is mutual.

Do I have the courage to keep showing up?

Two people I care about have been "caught" in wrong actions this year. And have responded very differently in their relationship to the church.

The first was engaging in an extramarital relationship. And when confronted, stopped going to church. Labeled that particular church judgmental. And started looking for a new church filled with people who would be excited to support and worship with the new young couple, ignorant of their history.

The second is facing criminal charges for possessing child pornography. And when confronted, showed up the next Sunday morning in desperate need of prayer. The church responded with an outpouring of love and support, and is seeking to take whatever steps necessary to make themselves a safe and welcoming place for all, which includes full disclosure.

When I was going through my second divorce, I was the person who stopped going to church. Who started looking for a new church where no one knew my story. So I wouldn't have to confront my pain in community.

When I was in college, I attended the church that was a safe space. No one pretended to be perfect, but it even went beyond that. We fully embraced ourselves as a broken people, seeking to listen and respond to God in our lives and in the world. Together.

These situations have taught me how beautiful it is to be in a place where you can be who you are. Without having to hide for fear of condemnation. And how painful it can be to be so afraid of judgment that you'd rather turn your back on your community than invite them into your struggle.

Our conversations tend to focus on how the church should respond in these situations. And, more often than not, how the church gets it wrong.

But what about how we as individuals should respond when confronted with our own shortcomings?

It takes a great deal of courage and humility to keep showing up. And we do face the possibility of being judged and condemned by a people who are called to love. But we are also doing a disservice to the church if we never challenge them to be who they say they are. And we miss out on the beauty and healing that comes when the church gets it right.

Frozen Choices

Spoiler alert! If you haven't watched the movie Frozen, go buy it and watch it before continuing!

Ever since watching the movie Frozen for the first time (and the 20+ times that have followed), my sister-in-law has been waiting for me to write a sermon about it. 

She knew it wouldn't be hard. From being the first Disney film with a female director, to having a princess NOT rescued by a handsome prince in the end, there is much talk about this movie. And many sermons have already been written on the subject.

Since Sunday was my last sermon at my home church for the imminent future, I decided it was finally time for this message. And to invite my 5-year-old nieces up front to sing "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" and "Let It Go" for everyone's enjoyment. Well, mostly everyone. 

[Giving a 5-year-old a microphone takes a lot of faith. But they did awesome. Even Tysen who refused to sing and had her hands over her ears the whole time.]

The sermon was about choices, decisions, and consequences. Here is a quick summary of the "Frozen parts": 

Elsa's parents, the king and queen, choose to lock Elsa up so she can’t hurt anyone with her powers to produce ice and snow. It’s a choice made with good intentions because they want to protect Elsa while she learns how to control her powers. But it comes with the consequences of isolating Elsa from her family and her community, and teaching her that what makes her unique is not to be celebrated.

Elsa chooses to run away after her parents die and her abilities are exposed to the community. It is again a choice made with good intentions because it lines up with what she was taught, to protect others from herself, but again it results in her isolation and alienation and feeling like she can only be herself when she is a safe distance from others.  

Elsa’s younger sister Anna [which Tessa frequently reminded me from the congregation is pronounced "Aahh-na"] chooses to accept a marriage proposal from a prince she just met. This ends up being a really bad choice. In some fairy tales this works out for the princess, but not so for Anna ["Aahh-na"]. Prince Hans turns out to be a bad guy with bad motives which are revealed after she gets to know him a little better.

Anna ["Aahh-na"] has to choose whether to save herself or save her sister. In the end, she chooses to sacrifice herself in order to save her sister, and in turn she ends up saving the entire kingdom. This act of true love is the very best choice, even though it seems to come with the consequence of losing her own life. But lucky for Anna ["Aahh-na"], her choice to save her sister was the act of true love needed to save her own life. 

You can see how we sometimes have to choose between what is good and what is bad, or what is good and what is good, or what is good and what is best. And that regardless of what we decide, there are always consequences, positive and negative.

Christian tradition tells us that Jesus made the same sacrifice for us that Anna ["Aahh-na"] did for Elsa. [I love that we get to be Elsa in this analogy, the beautiful Queen with special abilities and unique qualities.] And that even though it meant a gruesome death for Jesus, it was still the very best choice.

married in McDonalds

One of the many life lessons that I took away from my time in Spain is that we can't confine God to a "box" (ie., a church building).

I expected to come to know and love the Lord better in churches and cathedrals, through prayer and walking meditation, learning to recite the 23rd Psalm in Spanish, and honoring the Sabbath. But, in retrospect, I spent very little time doing any of those things.

And yet, I still came away feeling closer to God.

Because I encountered God in the people I walked with, the hospitality shown to me when I was tired and hungry, conversations over bread and wine, tending to one another's feet. Rainbows and snow covered mountains, watching shepherds tend their sheep.

Which shouldn't be surprising. After all, Jesus spent way more time outside the church -- on mountain tops, beside the sea, in gardens and other people's homes -- than he did inside.

And while I still think it is important to have a church home where we regularly attend, we shouldn't think that God can only be experienced within those walls.

I was reminded of this yesterday when I shared this picture on my Facebook page, asking friends if they would marry their partners where they first met:

As I read through their responses: French class, 4-H camp, BP gas station, church, square dance, martini bar, football stadium... I couldn't help but think that these are all perfect places to get married. On the travel channel this week I even saw a wedding in McDonalds. And that seemed perfect too.

Because they are places of significance to the couple. Maybe where they fell in love at first site. Or at least the place where the energy of one first encountered the energy of the other. A reminder of how and why they came together.

Not long ago I would have told you that church was the best place to get married. I might have gone so far as to say the only place for a Christian couple. Symbolizing the importance of God's role as the One holding it all together.

But God has been working in my heart to get me to lighten up. To remind me that nothing can separate us from his love -- not a gas station or a fast food drive-thru, not an elementary school hallway or Ohio stadium when Ohio State and Michigan are playing.

And if God is in all those places he can certainly honor commitments we make in those places. After all, it's the commitment that is important, not the place.

To Speak or Not to Speak...

I've taken a liking to a show called Garfunkel and Oates, about two female comedians. It is pretty stupid but it makes me laugh. Which is almost always a good thing.

So there is this one episode in which the girls decide to go on a double blind date and not talk at all. In fact, they decide to keep dating these guys and see how long it takes for the guys to notice they never speak. And the girls find it strangely liberating to not have to contribute at all.

Which is kind of what God and I have been wrestling with lately.

When to speak. And when to remain silent.

While Facebook and Twitter and whatever else you kids are using these days thrive on making us believe that what we want to say should be said, and said for all the world to hear -- it simply isn't true.

And I'm not talking about telling people what you had for breakfast or that you are on your way to the grocery store. Maybe no one really needs to know that, but at least you aren't hurting anyone by saying so.

But sometimes our opinions are hurtful. Or really don't matter. And should be kept to ourselves. Especially if we are putting our noses into someone else's business where we weren't invited. Especially if our opinions are said to tear people down instead of building them up. Especially if they aren't said in love.

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love. 1 Cor 13:1-7 MSG

Did you take time to read that passage? It says even if I'm speaking straight out of the Bible, and even if my opinion is 100 percent right, but I don't speak in love, I would be better off keeping my mouth shut.

There have been many times, just this week alone, that I have wanted to express my opinion. Told someone they were wrong. Or told them they were right. Gossipped. Or given my take on an issue, even though 100 others had already done so and I had nothing new to say.

But this week (okay maybe not the whole week, but at least the last 3 days) I have kept my mouth shut. And found it strangely liberating.

In a Quaker Meeting everyone is invited to preach every Sunday. As prompted by the Holy Spirit. And that is the key -- to listen to whether this is something God wants you to share with everyone, or if it is something for you alone.

What would happen if we carried this practice over into our everyday lives?

I once was lost...

On Monday morning I bought a copy of the movie August Rush, because I love the idea of our souls being connected by music. And by evening I heard the news of Robin Williams' passing.

In the movie, a baby is given up for adoption. And 11 years later we see him searching for his parents, by following the music.

Robin Williams' character tells the boy: "Music is God's reminder that there is something else besides us in this universe." And then he asks the boy: "What do you want to be, in the whole world?"

And the boy answers: "Found."

I can't imagine a more perfect word to sum up the answer to the longing, the loneliness, and the empty spaces that pervade our society.

ABRA

I had just sat down in the driver's seat of my car, closed the door and put my new book purchase in my lap, when I was rocked from behind. I got out to see a man gracefully and apologetically removing his Dodge Ram from the rear panel of my car. We exchanged info; he parked and went into Walmart while his son made fun of his poor driving/parking skills, and I drove away.

Within the hour this same Walmart was evacuated. A suspected shooter was inside. The news reported from the same parking lot where I had left some of my paint on someone else's bumper.

My instinct was to pray for the man and his son. I knew nothing more of him than his name, the make and model of his vehicle, and his insurance policy number. But that wasn't nothing. That was something. I could pray specifically for this man, whose name I knew. That after hitting me in the parking lot his day didn't get a whole lot worse.

When I talked to the insurance company later they told me to go have my car looked at, that the nearest place was called ABRA.

I just opened my new book, the one that was on my lap when the man hit my car. It wasn't the book I went in to purchase. But when I couldn't find the one I wanted I bought this one instead. Doctor Sleep. Stephen King's sequel to The Shining. Wouldn't you know that Part 1 of Doctor Sleep is called: ABRA.

Isn't it strange that my car got hit outside a Walmart that was later evacuated, and the collision shop had the same name that opened the book I had just purchased?

And on my way home a black cat ran in front of my car.

I don't think the black cat has anything to do with it. I just threw it in there to remind us not to over analyze life's synchronicities.

Maybe there is some deeper meaning to all this that will eventually be revealed to me. But maybe it is just a little reminder that if we pay attention we will see these connections happen all the time, to all of us. Because there is Someone greater at work in the world.

"Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening." 1 Samuel 3

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.

groceries

Resting, it seems, is going to take some practice.

Yesterday, instead of sitting on the couch with my feet up, I dropped my dog off with the groomer and spent the afternoon at the grocery store.

I expected to be overwhelmed by the choices. Only twice while I was gone was I ever asked if I wanted white or wheat bread, and one of those times was in Philadelphia.

I expected to have a hard time thinking about cooking for myself. Because over the past two months the most I have done is butter my own toast and peel my own oranges (and that I only started doing after Randy left).

But the thing that surprised me was how challenging it was to buy food for an entire week.

We went to plenty of grocery stores in Spain, big and small. Hit lots of fresh markets. But never bought more than what we needed for the moment. Because whatever we bought we had to carry in our packs.

One of the beautiful parts about the Camino is learning to trust each day to take care of itself. To carry only as much water as you need to get to the next rest stop. Enough fruit and granola to satisfy a hunger that may arise before the next cafe. A fresh baguette if you happened to pass the bread truck that morning. At most the makings of a sandwich if 15 or more kilometers stood between you and lunch.  

I guess it isn't practical to go to the grocery store every day or eat out for every meal now that I'm home. Especially since it would take me all day to walk to any of those places (or a 20-minute drive!).

But I think I will be more mindful of what I need each day, and what I can do without. And not just when it comes to food.

Ellie, my host in Trabadelo. Who took care of all my needs for one night:
dinner, laundry, hot shower, and a bed. And made me breakfast the next morning.

Day 54

Day 54: Samos to Sarria - 13.6 km by taxi; Sarria to Barbadelo - 4.2 km ON FOOT!!

Juan drove me to Sarria late this morning and I asked him to drop me off at the bottom of town. He told me I didn't need to climb all those steps, but I insisted. If the other pilgrims were going to have to climb 50+ steps to get lunch then so was I.

And I was met with a beautiful site at the top... my new friend Aeren from yesterday! She waved me over and introduced me to Kim from Korea who started in St Jean the same time she did.

After teasing me that I don't eat like a pilgrim who takes a taxi, Kim made sure to leave me with these words before he left us: "Whatever you do, don't give up. Even if you are taking the taxi or the bus, don't give up."

I needed this reminder that my attitude was my choice. And I could either finish my journey with joy, or I could end feeling defeated.

So I started walking. Looking for a place to stay in Sarria that felt good to my soul. And found myself leaving town.

I was about to pick up the dirt path when a local woman stopped me.

She told me the terrain was rough, muddy, and very steep. And added, "Es imposible con las muletas."

Impossible on crutches? Impossible?

It was just the kick in the pants I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and do something about it.

She was still shaking her head when I started my muddy walk, singing "I can do all things..." (Matthew West, "Strong Enough"), reminding myself that it is in God's strength that all things are possible.

(Don't worry Mom. I had Juan the taxi driver's cell phone number just in case!)

And even if these are my last kilometers, I can honestly say I enjoyed, celebrated, embraced every last muddy, steep, rough step of the day and the pilgrims I had the pleasure to walk with!

Day 53

Day 53: Las Herrerias to Samos by taxi - 39.9 km

I woke up to pouring rain, high winds, and cold temperatures. I felt for my fellow pilgrims, but was equally jealous of the adventure that awaited them. A difficult mountain climb. But by now their legs and feet are strong. Unlike mine.

Victor had offered to take me up the mountain on horseback. But because of the weather, he called me a taxi instead.

David showed up and opened his passenger door. We sat side by side, listening to Rihanna and Eminem, while he gave me the tour of the small towns I would otherwise be walking through. In addition to driving, he also owns a bar, has a graphics design degree, and works for a dentist. And one of these days he will come to America and drive Route 66. He was a good driver (ie. I didn't get car sick), so I would happily ride along for this adventure!

He promised the weather would be better in Samos and he was right. The sun came out and I was able to walk the monastery grounds. I so miss long hours spent outdoors!! I didn't even realize how much.

I went on a tour of the monastery with 20 others, pilgrims and tourists. Despite the fact that half of them spoke English or Spanish (the rest French), no one talked to me. But plenty stared and talked about me.

I'm no stranger to crutches and wheelchairs. And how these are somehow an invitation to be ostracized and ogled.

So I was especially grateful to meet Mazen and Erin on the way to Mass later.

Mazen (Syrian, living in France) and I bonded when he took off his shoes and socks to show me the skin on the bottom of his feet had peeled off in one long strip. I wanted to look away because it was so disgusting, but I also longed to be seen in my hurt. And to do so I must see others in theirs.

Erin and I bonded when she told me she stepped wrong off a curb and sprained her ankle.

"The same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world..." (1 Peter 5:9)

Erin (Puerto Rican, living in Texas) had coffee with me while I ate dinner and explained what I hadn't understood at Mass. The message was about doubting Thomas. And how we can't say we don't believe if we don't give God a chance. Just like seeing a man with long hair doesn't prove that barbers don't exist, seeing humans fail to represent God doesn't prove that God doesn't exist.

Erin and I talked for hours about our journeys, heartaches, and how God has directed us along the Way. It was so nice to connect deeply with someone again about things that really matter!

Day 50

Day 50 - Resting (against my will) in Ponferrada

For the past 50 days I have been singing the lyrics "Make me broken, so I can be healed, Cause I'm so calloused, And now I can't feel, I want to run to You, With heart wide open, Make me broken" (Sidewalk Prophets, "Keep Making Me") as a prayer while I walk.

Stupid, right? Who prays to be broken?!!

Because God always answers prayer. And obviously He would answer me literally on this one!

A while back, Suzie sent me this quote from Kathleen Norris: "Prayer is not asking for what you think that you want, but asking to be changed in ways that you can only imagine."

I thought I wanted to be broken, empty, lonely, like the song says, so that God could heal me, fill me, comfort me. But as soon as I hurt I prayed for it all to go away!!

Not that I shouldn't have. After all, BEFORE Jesus prayed for God's will to be done, He prayed to be spared.

So my challenge today has been to pray for healing, but in the meantime to be open to learning and receiving whatever it is He has to teach me through this. To be changed, healed, and filled in ways I can't even fathom.

And as I consider the prayers I am holding for you, those you shared with me before I left and those that have come to me along the way, I know that God's answers for you are bigger than any prayer I could ever pray. That He will do mighty things in you and through your circumstances.

Please keep sharing your prayers and His answers with me and with others. Because if I have learned anything on this journey it is that we must participate, deeply and authentically, in the communities we are blessed to be part of.

Thank you for being part of my community and for all your thoughts and prayers while I wait "patiently" (try to anyway!) on the Lord!

Day 45

Day 45 – Good Friday

It was my hope to be in Santiago for Easter weekend (along with tens of thousands of other people). But nothing about this journey has gone according to plan. So I have found myself in Villafranca del Bierzo instead.

In medieval times, pilgrims who couldn’t make the long trek all the way to Santiago could receive their absolution in Villafranca del Bierzo. By passing through the church's la puerta de pardon (the door of pardon, a north facing door). 

Perhaps it was Divine planning for me to be here all along!

With 3 churches, 2 convents, 1 monastery, and a castle, plus everyone in town being off work for holiday, there is a lot of activity this weekend!

The morning started with two processions, one on either side of town, meeting in the central park. I was on the side of town that followed Jesus carrying His cross, while the other side of town followed His mother Mary.

I have never experienced anything like this before. The first thing that caught my attention was how quiet everyone was. I guess I had envisioned a “parade” instead of a “procession”. But there was no band. No jeering or cheering or weeping. Even the children were quiet.

(Watching the news I see that the celebrations are unique in every town. Some are loud. Some are quiet. Some are elaborate. Some are simple. And each procession is to remember a different Holy Week event, so even in the same town they can be different from one day to the next.)

I wondered what that day, so long ago, must have been like. Was it hot? Did it rain? Was it simple, elaborate, quiet, or loud? 

Did Jesus' feet hurt anything like mine?

And what was it like for His followers? Did they follow quietly? Confidently? Naturally? Because as His replica passed by this morning, we all fell silently in step behind.

In the evening I went to Mass. Jesus hung on the cross at the altar, and after all of the gospel versions of the crucifixion were read, we were invited to come forward and kiss His feet.

As I stood in line I thought, “I’m not worthy to touch the feet of Jesus.”

I looked around to see if anyone else was looking at me, thinking the same thing. But as I drew nearer I was reminded that it was His being there, on the cross, that made me worthy. Not anything I have done or could ever do. And when it came my turn to approach, no one turned me away.

I’ve loved experiencing this acceptance from the church here in Spain.

I’m reminded of my first Mass. In Roncesvalles. I was fresh off the Pyrenees. With my pants still duct taped to my boots. Mud and snowmelt pooling at my feet. And still I was invited to come forward to receive the priest’s blessing.

Last week at the cathedral in Astorga, the priest’s acolyte wore jeans and a sweatshirt to perform his duties. And I didn’t hear a single person whispering about it.

And here today they’ve invited me to kiss the feet of Jesus.

After Mass was over, another silent procession formed to follow the crucified Jesus across town. I fell in step with the others, but quickly sensed discomfort.

The man behind me took my arm and pulled me aside, out of the procession. “No mujeres,” he said. And I realized why I had felt so out of place. I was the only woman in the line.

An older woman took me from him and pulled me even further from the procession. “No mujeres,” she repeated.

“Por que?” I asked. Why couldn’t I follow Jesus when I so desperately wanted to?

“No se,” she said, unable to give me a clear reason, yet simultaneously surprised that I would even question the tradition. “Hombres andan con Jesus. Mujeres miran.” The men walk. The women watch.

She could see that I was either going to argue or cry, so she attempted to distract me with questions about where I was from, what languages I spoke, if I was a pilgrim. A woman who I had seen at lunch with her young family came over and told me there would be a beautiful procession later tonight that I could walk in if I wanted. Several teenage girls stood close, listening to the conversation.

I’m actually very traditional in my religious beliefs. And I know the Scripture that says the women “watched from a distance”. But being asked not to participate in the procession stirred up a million emotions in me.

Embarrassment at being corrected in front of the entire village. Confusion because I had just felt so accepted by Jesus and the church. Alone (as if I needed another reminder that I am a stranger here).

And frustrated. Because I dropped everything to follow Jesus during this season of Lent. Like James the apostle, whose footsteps I walk in, who went to the ends of the earth because Jesus asked him to.

Day 41

Day 41: Rest day in Acebo - 0 kilometers!!

Today was the first true rest day I have taken on my journey.

Yes, Randy and I took two "rest" days, one on Day 11 in Estella and another on Day 21 in one of the many Villafrancas ("home to the Franks") we passed/will pass through. But in Estella we walked 10 kilometers roundtrip to the wine fountain, and on Day 21 we hiked out to a gorge, climbed a dam, and scaled a mountain just to have a picnic in a cave.

Not exactly a "rest" as far as my body is concerned.

So today I decided (actually my foot decided for me) that I deserved a day of no walking.

I am staying in a "bbb" (a bed above a bar that serves breakfast). And I have literally stayed in bed (or on my balcony) all day, except to go downstairs for breakfast (coffee and toast), lunch (a ham and cheese sandwich), and dinner (salad, steak, and a bottle of wine).

Making the decision to take a day off of walking was a difficult one for me. Even after all the sympathy I received yesterday from the pilgrims who passed me on the trail as I limped my way up and down the mountain pass. (I'm especially grateful to the Javier Bardem lookalike who told me walking the road would be better for me than taking the path. "Los piedras estan muy mal por sus pies." He was right!!)

Every day I am getting closer to the end of my time here. And yet there is still so much to see and do. I don't want to waste it resting.

But I don't want to be stupid either. If resting today means I'll be able to enjoy my walk tomorrow, then it is worth it.

It's all part of the journey...

To make myself feel better about resting, I pulled out my map of Spain and blacked out the path I have already traveled: 558.2 kilometers. With just a little over 200 kilometers to go to get to Santiago.

Maybe I do deserve a rest!

"Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow." James 1:2-3 NLT

expectations

No one has ever been more excited to win anything than Kenzi was when she won this tool set at the annual Lions Club pancake breakfast on Saturday (except maybe Kasen, who won an ice scraper last year).

The surprise of hearing her name called literally lifted her out of her seat and had her running to the prize table to receive her very first socket set. Her smile lit up the room for the rest of the hour, not the least bit concerned with the impractical nature of the prize.

I was sitting on the opposite side of the table, next to Tessa, when Kenzi's big win occurred. And suddenly Tessa was presented with the challenge of now expecting to hear her name called as well. But her name wasn't immediately called, which gave her time to eye the prize table. Presenting the additional challenge of not only expecting her name to be called, but expecting her prize to be the giant flashlight that was obviously the missing piece to the magic show she performs for us nightly.

"Expectations" has been a huge word for me in the past week. Realizing how easily I am disappointed when they aren't met. How I, like Tessa, have so much room to grow in patience and being a gracious receiver of what is offered to me, even if it isn't what I've laid out so carefully in my mind.

At the same time I am fiercely against the adage, "Don't expect too much and you won't be disappointed." I think this is a terrible philosophy. One that denies the opportunity for hard work, dreaming big, and growth in times of disappointment.

I would much rather teach Tessa to Walk With an expectant attitude, to expect to hear her name called, and expect the giant flashlight as her prize, but to be happy regardless. (And to confess to her that I am continuing to learn and grow right alongside her.)

But before I could get around to discussing this life lesson with Tessa, her name was called.

And when Kevin told her that her prize was a bottle of tire cleaner, she responded, "But I wanted the giant flashlight." And he kindly gave it to her.

Because sometimes life really does measure up to the fullness of our expectations!

(With special thanks to Judy and Kevin for making it happen!)

the best sermon

For the past month I've been praying for God to give me a sermon. And each week He has responded by sending enough snow and cold temperatures to cancel church.

But this week I knew it would be different.

So I prayed even more fervently: "Lord, please give me a sermon, because I know we are having church on Sunday!"

And I tried everything I could think of to give Him an avenue to speak to me. Listening to Christian music. Watching a video devotional every morning. Meditating on Scripture. (Okay, maybe not meditating. But at least reading a verse a day.) Quoting the Bible to all my friends going through hard times. Even my job has had me reading Christian nonfiction all month long.

But I just wasn't getting a sermon.

What was I doing wrong?

On Saturday (after watching TV most of the day Friday because that is what I do when I am stressed), I decided that distracting myself by reading the latest book from the fabulously sarcastic Angie Smith would be as good a plan as any.

And it was precisely where God had hidden my sermon.

In addition to being an all around amazing book, Chasing God included this quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

In an instant I knew my prayer, and my approach, had been all wrong. I had been doing and praying what I thought was important. But God didn't want me to busy myself with "religious" activities all the while praying "Lord, give me a sermon." What GOD wanted me to pray was: "Lord, MAKE ME a sermon!"

In other words:

Lord, take this life--this messy, selfish, imperfect life--and let others see your grace, mercy, forgiveness, and love in me. Not because I am consistently faithful, but because You are. Lord, make my life--MAKE ME--a sermon!

Because walking with God is not about listening to the "right" music or reading the "right" number of Bible verses a day or even learning to talk like Jesus.

To walk with God is to learn to LIVE like Jesus.

So the best sermon I can give is not going to be found in the words I speak on Sunday morning. The best sermon is going to be the one I live each and every day.

word of the year

Selah. Brave. Commitment. Journey. Explore.

Selah is what I needed during the cold, dark month of January snow and cancelled Sunday services. A reminder to pause at the feet of Jesus and rest in His embrace.

Brave is what I want to be on days when I'm afraid.

Commitment tells me who and what I should invest my time and energy and life into.

Journey is simply life and living and discovering what it's all about.

Explore reminds me to live a life of depth in a world of superficiality, where time is wasted and relationships skim the surface of truth and integrity.


I promised you I would pick one, ONE, and that I would pick it today. But how am I to choose ONE of these five words that speak to me in such distinct, yet overlapping ways?

And then I began to wonder...

What if I didn't pick ONE? What if I picked them ALL? What if I had a statement instead of a word...

I like this. I like it a ton. It feels good and right and I imagine myself repeating it each and every day like a mantra.

And I will.

But if I have to be honest, which I try to be, I realized yesterday that there is in fact a word--a phrase actually--that wants to guide me this year. I've been avoiding it because it isn't the fun one. Or the easy one. It's not the safe one or the deep one. It's the one that is left when I truly sit and listen and ask God what kind of person He wants me to be.

A faithful person. Reliable. Trusting and trustworthy. Vulnerable. Dedicated. Hot or cold but not lukewarm.

"Commitment" is the word that led me here.

But more than that, I think God wants me to be a person who WALKS WITH.

Did you notice that this year's web address is "Walks With Katie"?

I thought I came up with it randomly. Because I needed a new address and I plan to walk a lot this year. But it isn't "Katie walks a lot". It's "Walks With" Katie.

Because God wants to Walk With me this year. And He wants me to Walk With others. God wants me to Walk With integrity. And confidence. He wants me to Walk With intention. All the while being brave and committed, exploring the journey and taking time to pause and reflect on the beauty all around us.

So what do you say? Will you WALK WITH me this year??

explore, take 2

That crazy person laying in the grass outside my office window is my boyfriend. If you are wondering what he is doing in negative 4 degree temperatures just laying there I will tell you: he's exploring the light.

I've been watching this exploration for a few months now and it has been absolutely beautiful. It started with sunrises. Then sunsets. And now it has progressed to any time the sun is up he wants to be in it, with it, celebrating this discovery that there is life outside of darkness.

Many of us live in darkness. Either in our own minds, through negativity, depression, etc. Or literally, hiding behind walled offices and closed curtains. Going to work when it is dark and not returning home until it is dark again. Or working a shift that requires sleeping during the day.  

But not me. And now not him. We are drawn to the light. To lay in it (yes I've been out there on the grass and snow in these temperatures too!). Walk in it. Be grateful for it. To allow it to penetrate us so that we can then share that light with you. Because we are not the light, but we can bear witness to the light that is available to all.

There are countless Scriptures that talk about light but here is one of my favorites:

“Awake, O sleeper, 

rise up from the dead,
and Christ will give you light.”

One of the richest treasures of my life is to encourage this kind of exploration in others. 

selah

The word "selah" is found over 70 times in the Old Testament. But most dictionaries will tell you that selah is "a word of uncertain meaning". The Amplified Bible, however, translates selah as "pause, and calmly think of that".

Most of my days go by in a blur of deadlines and to-do lists. How much better would life be if I took time to pause, and calmly focus on the task at hand?

Words can trigger my emotions quickly. How much better would life be if I took time to pause, and calmly think of what was said, why it stirred me up, and how I could best respond?

Life is a series of moments, most of which get missed or rushed. How much better would life be if I paused, prayed, thanked, and savored them?

Not having a word of the year has left me feeling unsettled. But what if that is part of the lesson? To remind me to pause, be calm, to think and reflect and pray. To not try and rush life, but to slow down, be calm. To simply be.

Selah (pause, and calmly think of that).