Creating a Home

Randy and I just moved into a place of our own. Yet another adventure!

When I came to visit for the month of September, the primary item on our agenda was to find a new home. Something small and homey, with room for the dog to run. Each week we looked at Craigslist and Zillow, the local newspaper and the Loomis Facebook page. We told everyone we knew and even had a local realtor friend checking on upcoming properties for us.

Finally, on the last day of September, just hours before my return to Ohio, we visited what this week became our new home.

But not without lots of minor hiccups along the way.

The current tenant hadn't yet given her landlord notice, because she was waiting for everything to be finalized with the home she had just purchased. So we didn't actually know if or when we would be moving in.

I had more than one meltdown about where I was going to work and where the dog was going to sleep and how I was going to feel about moving to California in November and living in a place that wasn't ours. Out of suitcases until this place came thru. Which prompted Randy to wonder if this was in fact the place for us, or if he should find us somewhere that we could immediately move into on or around November 10 when we'd be arriving after a 16-day road trip.

But 3 days into our trip, the last week of October while at my grandma's in Arkansas, we got word that the current tenant had given notice. We were then able to speak with the landlord, fill out a rental application, and sign a rental agreement, all over our cell phones. The place would be ours! We just had to wait until December 1.

Meanwhile, Randy had an office all setup for me in the condo he was living in, and a place for the dog to sleep. My clothes found their way into the closet and we enjoyed a comfortable three weeks together, hoping each day that the current tenant would decide to move out early so we could get in and settled.

She didn't.

In fact, she injured herself so she wasn't able to clean the place, an assignment left to her by the landlord who was out of town getting a face lift, having left another one of her tenants in charge of caring for her 35 indoor cats.

So when we finally did get into our new home we found nests of black widow spiders, earthworms creeping along the tile floors, a distinct cat smell, and two days worth of cleaning on our hands.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed cleaning side by side, creating the welcoming environment we had dreamed of.

When the day came to move in our stuff, a mix up meant Randy's suburban was not at our disposal. And there was no way we could move everything in my car.

So we went shopping! Where we found a great deal on a washer and dryer. And my credit card was promptly declined.

99 percent of the time I appreciate Capital One's fraud protection which automatically declines "unusual" purchases. But this was not one of them.

Then, at the same store, while admiring a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, we broke the one ornament that decorated its pitiful branches.

Still determined, we gathered Randy's son and another friend and made our move on Wednesday. Even while the rain poured down and my phone repeatedly alerted us to the flash flood warnings that made our new country living driveway a muddy mess and drew even more earthworms into our living room.

But here we are at last! Happily making a home. Not even letting the mountain lion that lives in our backyard deter us from loving life together!

Carley's Invitation

At church yesterday Randy and I heard a very inspirational testimony from a man named Joe.

Joe lived in Texas, grew up as a pastor's kid, but in his adult life turned away from the Lord. He started living for himself and pretty much made a mess of his life and his marriage.

At the same time, in California, a little girl was born. Her name was Carley. Carley was brought up in a Christian home and attended Rock Harbor Church with her family.

Eight years later, Joe and Carley's paths crossed for the first time.

It was at that time that Joe and his family moved to California for a job opportunity. Joe still didn't want anything to do with God, but God had other plans.

One Sunday, Rock Harbor Church passed out invitation cards and told each member to invite someone to church. Eight-year-old Carley took 7 invitation cards, put them all in one envelope, and gave them to Joe.

How could Joe turn down such a sincere invitation?

It was that invitation that started him on the path toward repentance, forgiveness, grace, love, and joy. And, as Joe said yesterday, "The rest is history."

One of the most beautiful parts of this story, for me, was that Carley was in church yesterday when Joe was sharing his testimony.

How often do we wonder if the things we do make an impact? How often do we do things without intending for them to be life-changing, only for God to use them in powerful ways?

On our 16-day drive from Ohio to California Randy and I had several opportunities to be the hands and feet of Jesus to strangers.

When the credit card machine wasn't working at the farmer's market in Ohio, we used our cash to pay for another customer's purchase.

When a homeless man in Dallas was anticipating winter, Randy gave him his jacket.

When another couple was boarding their dog at Carlsbad Caverns the same time we were boarding Jovi, we paid for their dog too.

When a waitress in Las Vegas had several customers in a row complain about their food, we left her an extra large tip. Which took some coordinating because she wasn't our waitress.

While it would be awesome to have a Carley moment, sitting in the audience to hear how our simple acts of obedience changed a life, we'll never know if or how we made a difference. But that's okay. It isn't our job to know. It is our job to love and care for the people in our path.

flexibility

We learned right away we were going to have to be flexible on this journey.

The week before we were to leave, my car was in the shop to fix the minor scrape I got two months ago when I got hit in a parking lot, and to make sure it was in fact minor and not hiding something major.

It did end up being minor, but they estimated it taking until the day before we were to leave to get done.

Which meant that we wouldn't be able to get a hitch put on my car to pull the u-haul until the day we were to leave.

Which meant borrowing my dad's truck in the middle of harvest in order to pick up the u-haul so we could get it loaded while the car got worked on, and pushing our take off by at least half a day.

Then Randy missed his flight to Ohio.

Luckily the next flight had him landing just an hour later. His luggage, however, took the scenic route, through airports he never even flew through, and we had to pray it would arrive before we departed.

It did. In the middle of the night. With a loud banging on the door and a need for a signature.

The trip itself was smooth sailing compared to this rough start. But I'm glad we had it. Because it reminded us that whatever came up we would be able to handle it. That we might have to be patient. That our schedule might get changed. That we can see the delays and detours as opportunities, rather than annoyances.

You see, because we couldn't leave until Tuesday afternoon, I got to go to the airport with my little brother (who was in town visiting for the weekend) and my parents on Tuesday morning. We had the car ride and breakfast to spend time together.

And because we didn't get an early start, there were other times in the trip when we decided that we could also wait until noon to begin our driving day. Days that one or both of us had to work. A morning just hanging out with my niece Riley. Lingering over breakfast or taking Jovi (my dog) for a long walk before we spent the rest of the day in the car.

And because Randy missed his flight, my nieces had time to put on their Halloween costumes after church to go with me to surprise him at the airport. Followed by a trip to Foy's in Fairborn where we could buy them candy since we would be missing out on trick or treat.

The flexibility and patience of this trip was similar to that of our walk across Spain. Never knowing from one night to the next where we would be sleeping. Taking much longer than most to make the journey. More often than not stopping short of our daily goal. Intentionally adding miles, even when our deadline for being home was approaching.

And enjoying every step of the way!

a necessary mess

I've been too busy making a mess to write much lately. 

But I've been thinking about how sometimes life is messy right before a breakthrough. A move. A new adventure. A growth opportunity. A deeper sense of purpose.

So I'm embracing my mess.

Knowing that it is necessary to get me where I want to be. 

Randy flew into town yesterday. Today we load the u-haul. And tomorrow we'll be on our way!

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.

spiritual friendships

I've been richly blessed over the years with the deep, spiritual friendships I've formed with so many amazing women. And I had the opportunity to be with the majority of them last week!

Christina and I were in the college gospel choir together and did ministry at the Grand Canyon for three months one summer. She continues to minister to me as I see her putting God first and praying daily to be the best wife and mother she can be.

Angie and I were in a weekly prayer group for several years after I first moved to Indiana. Her friendship saw me through the hardest times of my life. And she continues to minister to me as I see her trusting God in her workplace and in navigating the single life.

My former coworkers at Friends United Meeting, their new staff members, and many members of their board of directors have also given rise to spiritual friendships, shoulders to cry on, women to celebrate with, who also hunger to do God's work in the world, the office, and the home.

Each of these relationships has enriched my life. Encouraged me. Held me accountable. And challenged me to be faithful.

Thank you ladies! You are loved.

I trust God to bring into my life another deep, spiritual friendship(s) when I make the move to California. Because he knows how important these relationships are to me. How they help nurture and guide me, and teach me more about him.

Thank you for joining me in prayer that a new friendship would form for me, and for those of you in need of enriching friendships!

"home"

I did not want to leave California yesterday morning. I had such an amazing month with Randy, his family and friends. From getting a closer look at his catering business, to house hunting, a weekend at the beach, concerts, hikes, and visiting several churches, I felt completely at home.

Yet I find myself comfortable in Ohio this morning as well. In a place I've made home for the past two years. Walking my dog to the sound of combines in nearby fields. With my family right around the corner.

I imagine this will make leaving at the end of the month both easier and harder. Harder because I'll be leaving home. But easier because I'll be going home.

My hope for the next few weeks is to take time to focus on what I have here. To cherish the relationships, the scenery, the support, and the life lessons that make up Ohio. So that when the car is loaded and we are on our way west, the memories and the gratitude will go with us.  

Do fish listen to iTunes?

Yesterday Randy and I took an early morning walk at the fish hatchery. The fish aren't running yet, but lots of people were out walking, running, and enjoying the bike trail.

We detoured onto the dirt paths to walk closer to the river, and stopped to sit and watch the fishermen throw out their lines while the sun came up.

"There is something so calming about water," Randy said, barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the men at work.

I nodded in agreement. Just as one of the fisherman's cell phones went off.

The man answered it. Chatted for a while. Then pocketed the phone.

"My grandpa would have grabbed that phone right out of his hand and thrown it into the water," I said. Thinking of the man who regularly took my brothers and I fishing.

It wasn't long before another fisherman answered his phone. Rod and reel in one hand, iPhone in the other. And when he hung up he set his iTunes to play. Loud enough that we could make out the words from our seats up the bank.

I found this incredibly disenchanting. I haven't been fishing but once since my grandpa died in 1996. But I assumed this past-time still held on to the sanctity of silence. The appeal of being removed from technology and transported to a simpler time. Where you became one with nature.

Is there no longer anywhere that this generation is allowed, expected, to be quiet and leave the noise behind?

Keep Calm and Fly On

Shortly before leaving for the airport on Tuesday I received notification that my connecting flight in Chicago was delayed half an hour. A few minutes later it was delayed another hour. I only had an hour to make my connection to begin with so there was no way I was going to make my plane to California.

I called the airlines from home and they quickly and efficiently got me on another flight, through Dallas, landing just 45 minutes later than my original flight.

Once in Dayton and safely on the plane, I sat next to a young guy headed to LAX for a morning meeting. The pilot came on over the speaker and shared with us that the auxiliary power wasn't working. We didn't need it to fly, he said. Just to turn the plane on. It should only take about 10 minutes, he concluded.

That 10 minutes soon became 90. Something to do with paperwork and a fax machine. (Who still uses fax machines? we wondered.)

But during that time, sitting on the tarmac waiting for a jump start,  I got to know the guy beside me. Married for 3 years, he was expecting his first child. He was a lawyer, headed to Los Angeles to fix someone else's mistake, and would be on the red eye home the following day.

By the time we finally took flight he knew there was no way he was going to make his connection in Dallas. Which was the last flight out for the night.

But here is the crazy part. He wasn't the least bit angry, frustrated, anxious, or upset about the situation.

"Maybe there will be another flight after all," he said. "Or maybe an early morning one so I can still make the 9 o'clock meeting. If I can't make the meeting, I'll just grab the next flight back to Dayton."

He was so casual about his options. Not the least bit frazzled by his plans not working out, or the idea of making a roundtrip flight to Dallas and never leaving the airport.

It was very comforting to be in his presence. Which helped me relax as my own layover grew shorter and shorter.

As we disembarked in Dallas and everyone ran to make their connection, he was the one who stopped and asked a woman in a wheelchair if he could help her to her gate.

I felt incredibly grateful to have witnessed such kindness, such a peaceful spirit, which is so rare these days. It reminded me that my own attitude can have an affect on others, either positive or negative, depending on how I choose to live and respond to the world.

Apparently a reminder that I needed since I wasn't originally scheduled to be on this flight. In fact, I wasn't even scheduled to sit next to this guy. But someone was sitting in my seat so I took the open one next to him. I love the way God works!

 

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?

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

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.

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

graduation

My nieces graduated from preschool yesterday.

All of the kids were adorable, singing songs about ice cream and guacamole, receiving their diplomas, walking down the aisle to Pomp and Circumstance.

But in the grand scheme of things it was just another day.

Why? Because a ceremony can't capture all that they have learned. Experienced. The fun. The challenges. Growth. Daily victories. The hilarious things that come out of their mouths (during yesterday's slideshow Tessa kept asking when she was going to get to play on the slides). The light bulbs that go off when they finally connect. Friendships made. With students, teachers, parents, and aides.

It's kind of like walking across Spain. And expecting the Cathedral in Santiago (or the piece of paper you get that says you walked there) to hold all of the magic. Only to realize that the moments you will forever cherish didn't take place on that last day. But all along the way. In the people you met, the mountains you climbed, the bones you broke, the tears and the laughs and the wine.

blank pages

I have no idea what to write about.

It isn't writers block.
It's more like when a person retires and they don't know how to fill all of their new found time.
Or a relationship ends and you have to figure out all over again who you are without that other person.

Writing was easy when I was in Spain. There were new adventures every day. People. Food. Vistas. Pain. Determination. Kilometers that needed walked.
And it felt amazing to have such a clearly defined purpose. In life. And in writing.

But now it feels like I'm trying on all of my clothes (literally and metaphorically) to see what still fits and what doesn't. What still serves me and what I can give up.

And in the meantime I have no idea what to do with myself. Or this blog.

comfortable

Last night, after his sisters went to bed, my nephew propped a pillow up against his mother's hip. Grabbed a blanket, tablet, and his penguin. And settled in for a few peaceful moments in his little nest. 

This kid knows how to get comfortable!  

And I'm completely envious.

I haven't found that comfortable place yet since leaving Spain. Not in my body or my home. My head or my work.

I'm sure it will come. And I'll be just as content as Kasen, in his last week as a 7-year-old. I just have to be patient...

birds

My nephew enlightened me over the weekend about cardinals. (His chosen bird for a school project because he's a Louisville fan.) They can sing up to 16 different songs and are the state bird for 7 states. (I don't know why I imagined Ohio had sole claims to this one.)

Birds are amazing creatures. Seemingly connecting heaven and earth, the human and Divine. Inviting us to spread our wings in order to reach new heights, embracing what we can see and what we can't.

Birds were very much a part of my journey across Spain.

The cuckoo bird that showed up any time we were struggling--with sickness, pain, or doubt.

The vultures that circled overhead, hoping we would give up in the Pyrenees.

Small birds with large voices and large birds that were silent. Some that floated easily on the wind, and others that struggled against it.

One man told me that he walked the Camino during a particularly hot summer and didn't hear a single bird on his journey. I don't know that I went a single moment without one making itself known.

And of course the stork. Nesting on every church top in northern Spain. "The one that brings babies" everyone called it, regardless of the country they were from or the language they spoke. The perfect symbol for what we all hoped to gain from our walk--new life, rebirth, awakening.

The stork returns to its nest, year after year, to raise its young. Just like we all returned home, after walking, to begin the process of raising up whatever new insights were birthed inside of us.

I even came home to the promise of two new turtledoves.

celebrating the ordinary

Watching my nieces "play" this week has reminded me that there are many ordinary, daily tasks in my "normal" life that I didn't think about while walking the Camino... 

I only did dishes once in Spain. 

I haven't vacuumed in two months.

Music was church bells and bird calls, not filling up my i-pod and turning on the car stereo. 

By the end of the journey I could go several days without ever looking in the mirror. And "fixing" my hair meant putting on a hat. 

Watching the kids celebrate these activities, as if rites of passage, reminds me that I can celebrate them too. I can be grateful to have dishes to wash, because I'm home where I can make healthy food choices. I can be grateful to vacuum, because I like carpet and they don't have much of that in Spain. I can be grateful for bird calls AND car stereos, because music is how I connect with the Creator. And I am certainly grateful for shampoo, because using the same soap for my hair, body, dishes, and clothes is not a trend I want to continue.

Thank you girls for the reminder that all of life is worth celebrating!

alone

My aunt asked me yesterday if it was hard to go from being around people 24/7 for two months, to living alone.

Incredibly hard. Impossibly hard.

Like I've lost my sense of community.

But family dinner and movie nights are certainly helping.