One month.

I have learned that God is not a consolation prize, but a promise that will never stop being true.

I have learned that our hearts don’t break, but just get bruised and get better.

I have learned that it is okay to cry

            That being open takes a lot of energy

                    And that sometimes it's okay to say, "not right now"

I have learned that changing habits and changing names in your phone are not the same thing.

I have learned to seek the light

            To praise God for manna

                        And to break jars of identity at His feet.

I have learned that beds are both dungeons and castles

            dead ends and innerstates

                        And laps to cry in

I have learned again what it means to laugh with your belly

And what it means to sing from your heart, saying the words so boldly you are sure they are true

                        And for the first time in a long time,

            They are.

I have learned that follow outshines trumps failure

            That when the focus shifts, your gaze is broadened

                        And that there is no shame in giving yourself time to feel anger, and joy, and remorse, and regret, and pain, and hatred, and love. And it is okay if every single one of those emotions happens three times a day; because dammit, it is hard to learn how to accept that something that was is suddenly just a memory bank full of broken promises. 

And after a month I am learning that I still don’t have answers.
I have good days

And days when I wake up at 5:30 convinced I am as terrible as you made me feel a month ago.

And there are bad days

And days where I am so unbelievably renewed that I wonder why I didn’t do it myself.

Mostly I have learned that tension is a hard pill to swallow.

            Because it makes you starve and feast all at once. 

Put a bow on it and call it a wrap.

One day and one week until my butt is in a seat heading back to Chicago. Praises be.

In the last month, I have begun anxiety counseling. Mostly, I have been reminded of the importance of belly breathing, how to write constructively in columns and on note cards, and how to notice my thinking. It has also made me 300% more aware of every little thing that gives me anxiety. This blog gives me anxiety. Summer gave me anxiety. Waking up and going downstairs on Sunday mornings gives me anxiety. Everything, more or less, contributes to this overriding experience of anxiousness.

In the last week, my family had a yard sale, I saw people for the first time in two years, and I started to say goodbye. These things all suck. Know what else sucks? Packing. I started that too. I am currently on step 1.5: hoard all possessions in a pile in your room without thinking about what you actually need for the next four months. Next comes step 2: feel anxious that it won't fit in the four pieces of luggage you are allowed. and ends with step 4: arrive in Chicago fully ashamed of the sheer number of items you tote around every 16 weeks. Blessings.

Thanks to anxiety counselling, now I no longer need to endure simply being mindful of the packing anxiety that exists, I also get to ride it out. I no longer get to blow up in the final 12 hours of packing (stage 3.7), instead I get to calmly explain how I am feeling, and maybe even make a note card about it.

But mostly, I am much more aware of how possessions have been a crutch. When I begin to feel pressure, anxiety, or tension; my instinct is to consume. (Right now, for example, I really think that I need a new pair of jeans, and some grey and black striped shirts. I do. I promise.). As one may imagine, having a yard sale where we give away items that are full of sentiment may have been one of the dumbest things to do. Especially since I just had this wave of sadness roll over me as I lamented: "why did we sell all the Peru wall hangings, how will I remember my childhood?" I will, I have faces, and memories of smells, and how the wooden benches in adobe churches made great coloring surfaces, and how itchy everything always was, and how good eggs tasted, and salt. I don't need possessions to be compete and to have valid memories.

What is the most interesting about such a revelation, is that belongings have been holding me back from having the memories be the possession. I think our society does the same with pictures. We have all these things that we use to trigger ideas and feelings, without allowing our brains and mental recall to do that for us. I can remember every dress I wore to the dances, and every nasty thrift store dress I bought thinking shoulder pads were cool, and every par of shorts I owned that made me feel like I had fat thighs. I can remember what junk I bought on missions trips and on family vacations, but I have a difficult time remembering faces, names, joys, and sorrows from those times.

I wonder, then, as I wrap up this summer of rest and calm and creation, how I could possibly characterize this summer by something different. How can I begin to undo my mental dependency on physical triggers, and instead live in a healthy mental recall state? And how, on earth, can I make packing a single-step-non-hassle-process?

The end.

feelings

My Junior year of high school, I fell into a depression, and a friend introduced me to the power of slam poetry.
As the words spewed from my computer speakers and called me to realize my worth as a human I began to cry uncontrollably. I had found something that was more powerful than the bible, something that gave life to dead bones, and something that has encouraged and sustained me in hard times since.

recently. I have been processing a lot.
So I am trying to write some poetry to help me through that

Here it is: poem 2 || a work in progress

The stamp on my wrist

From the concert where I saw you for the first time in two years

 Still burns

Of course, in a time such as that I would comment on your hair

I was terrified that you would see right through the kindness and sense the fear

I was terrified that in those thirty seconds

You

Would rush back into my blood stream, through my legs and my arms and into my heart

And that I would let you

And I am not ready to let you

I am not ready to let go of the person I have become at a risk of allowing the doubt that you planted

Revive

I am not ready to again feel like the dark part of the lightning bug—the dim and nasty part that people often want to forget exists

While you paint the sky with dancing lights that keep everyone at bay

And far away

From me

I am not ready to be ready to ask you how you have been, to know the pain that existed in your life the pain that I ran away from and knowingly

Left you alone in

I am not ready to see how you withered away in the dust that I left when I hit the gas as hard as I could and sped away telling myself over and over again "you can't save you both, you have to keep yourself alive"

So I let go.

And when I did I thought, maybe someday I’ll be ready again

Ready again to accept that laughter and that squealing appreciation for everything round and shiny and inhuman

Ready again to love your luster and your glow

Ready to tell you how beautiful your hair is when you notice the simplest things about people

And that when you speak, you shine so brightly that everyone else seems to dull 

and that you are electric.

But tonight, I was not ready, and my skin burns with the reality of such fates.

Today I am fasting.

Today, Friends, I am fasting.

I have been blessed with many opportunities this summer to increase my understanding of what my call is and what it means to be a peacemaker. 

My first encounter with this theme of summer was two months ago in the backyard of a fellow Friend, who shared with me that her call is to midwife to others. Not literally, but in the sense that it is her hope to sit with people and help them work through the tensions, the stress, the angst, and to be able to arrive at a mutual understanding. This image of mediation is one I have held onto dearly this summer, and has shifted my thinking away from this idea that peacemakers carry around clipboards and gavels in order to condemn and accuse, but that peacemakers are gentle, and aid in the difficult and painful process of reconciliation. 

This image seemed to serve just fine, and then a week ago Matthew 10:16 was brought to my attention. In this verse disciples are called to be serpents and doves. Peacemakers are not just called to help through pain and offer comfort, we are also called to be engaged in political discourse, to understand the ways of the world, while simultaneously being a prophetic voice for justice one behalf of others. 

So now my understanding of my role was turning into some strange pokemon character: midserdovwife.

This understanding was furthered by a Friend I had the opportunity of meeting with who spoke with me about her new ideas about the blessing of being an outsider. Now. Anyone who has gone on  a missions trip, taken and international communications class, or encountered any sort of learning trip through University Ministries knows that the emphasis that is put on being an outsider is negative. Adaptation and acceptance are key. Yes, you want to be critical, but in country you want to follow the rules, avoid sidewalks, and never question why things are done the way they are. So, given this educational background, the concept of the outsider being a blessing was strange to me. But here is what was so important about what she had to say. 

The outsider is able to come in and look at what is being done and what has been done and give critical feedback about practices or actions or attitudes which are hindering the entire process. Instead of going in and saying "I understand," outsiders are able to go in and say, "I understand, but..." this opened my eyes to an entirely new arena. 

As a peacemaker I am not only called to advocate and challenge for others, but I am also called to challenge those I work with in the same way.

And finally, the cherry on top. I was reminded of the importance of Christ and His teachings of peace and neighbor love. The past Saturday a couple of friends and I participated in a protest for Gaza in Portland. The entire event was emotionally charged, chaotic, and individual. This was the first Palestinian activism I had done in a non-christ-centered setting. And it was hard. It was hard to utter words like "long live the intefada" and "Palestine will always fight" as a pacifist. It was hard to block sidewalks and see fellow protesters yelling at cars or individuals who gave opposing feedback. It was hard to see signs that read "end zionism" or "no more Israel". Because, friends, these are not Christian testimonies. We are called to love our neighbors regardless of how they hurt or insult us. We are called to welcome the foreigner, no matter their past wrongs to us, and we are called to pray for those who persecute us, not to condemn them. 

Before I end this: a quick note on prayer.
Yes, we should be praying for peace in Gaza and Israel. But perhaps, more effective than praying for peace (what really is peace, anyways?) I encourage all of you to be praying for the political leaders of Gaza and Israel, that they would begin to think about the consequences of their actions. Pray for the families who have lost children, who are fearfully living outside their homes. Pray for mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. And pray for justice. 

I have been so blessed to have my understanding of who I am called to be shaped in so many ways by so many individuals and experiences, and I am thankful for future opportunities to further hone this understanding. As the way opens, you know what I mean?

Today I am fasting because it is a way to stand with those families in Isreal and Gaza and the West Bank who have lost family and neighbors. As it is Ramadan, and today is also a Jewish Fasting Holiday, many people around the world have found today to be a day where we can all begin to seek peace by meditating on the hunger in our stomachs, understanding that we hunger for peace in the same way.

Blessings,
Katie  

Since October...

Since october a lot has happened, and the process of divulging relationship tumult, travel experiences, and life development seems exhausting. So I'll explain as needed, which will save both of us some drama and heartache. Some things need to be held inside a little bit longer before I find words to process them out onto a screen--and that is acceptable, needed, and healthy.

I'll start with where I am this summer.
Three months ago this summer was going to be the best. I was going to be working at a camp, or traveling to the Middle East, or working with sex trafficked women . . . and none of that really worked out. And I realized (through prayer, conversation, and my own ingenious rationality) that I was being lead to be home and to rest for the summer. Wow.

So here I am. Working two super-super-part-and-a-half-time jobs, helping my parents organize, sort, clean, and maintain our home, and reconnecting with old friends. It's been about a month, and it still seems super uncomfortable. I missed research papers, and roommates, and the CTA, and walking everywhere, and cooking for myself (sorry, mom). But it's also been a process in finding the difference between wasting a day being lazy, and spending a day preforming tasks that allow me to rest, meditate, and grow.

It's been a process of settling into something I tend to avoid--down time. And that has been healthy.

A lot of this blog is going to serve as a tracker for my in the following two-and-a-half months on what I accomplish, what works, what doesn't, and how I intend to keep certain activities in my life when I return to the hectic world of Chicago.

It's a process I have never gone through before. I'm used to programming and being told when to go to bed and wake up, used to having daily schedules which dictated my whereabouts. And now--it's all on me. In a lot of ways I am my own summer camp counselor. Which a weird analogy I will never make again.

So here are my summer goals:
walk places
read books that grow my understanding of Theology, the World, and what I can do.
Reflect on these books through journaling
stay up-to-date and reflective on what is going on in the Middle East (did we all know that Fatah and Hamas are together now?)
craft (a lot, this can include baking)
and spend quality time with people doing things that I enjoy--and honesty with this.

That's all for now.

Quarter-life Crisis

Dear friends,
This last month has been hard. Between failing an exam, waking up at 4 am unable to breathe, and feeling as though everything is about to fall apart--I have been struggling. I live in an apartment with my three best friends and we have all been struggling.

But, in the last two days redemption has happened in unimaginable and blessed ways.
On Monday, I woke up and began to cry. I was so overwhelmed. I wanted out.
I texted my pastor and set up a meeting, I knew I couldn't keep going on how I was. As soon as I was in her office everything came out. I hated the way living in the apartment felt--it was hostile, unwelcoming, a felt alone. And I hated what I was doing in school. I hated Arabic, I hated my major, I hated that I was pushing myself down a path that three years ago seemed perfect and now seems forced.

There's a lot of dimension to this and so I'm going to break it down in a way that helps me process and perhaps helps you to understand as well.

I'll start with the living situation and how that came to be resolved:
All four of us carry a lot of fear with us.
Fears of being alone, of not being loved, of doing the wrong thing, of not loving others, of never getting married, of failing academically, of futures....breathe. It's a lot of force constantly pushing down on us. And those fears began to manifest themselves in spiritual torment. It tore us apart. I honestly began to hate the women I am living with.
Which is absurd. I love these girls.
So last night as we all accumulated after jobs and study sessions and activities, we began to identify the demons in our lives. The demons of fear that were causing us to hate each other and to hate our home. We prayed. I honestly don't think that I have ever prayed such a genuine prayer before in my life. We cast those demons out of our house and invited the Lord back in and instantly the room was full of peace. We laughed and celebrated and drank cocoa. And it was home again.

Now the only reason why I was able to do this, was because what had really been plaguing me since June had begun to be resolved.

I hated what I was majoring in. And that was especially difficult because this was the major I had been declaring my identity in since my sophomore year of high school. And this was the life path that I had been pursuing since I was two. Seriously. But now, at 19 I was realizing: there has to be more to life than this.

As I sat in my pastor's office on Monday I sobbed that I didn't want to let the people in my life down. I didn't want to feel like the last 19 years of my life had been a lie, or a waste or that I was suddenly going to end up doing nothing but mothering 13 children on a farm in Arkansas...breathe.
She looked at me, with more empathy than I have ever received from anyone, and told me to mourn it. "Mourn it like a baby that died", she told me. Because then I don't see it as a waste. I don't see it as a lie. But instead I can start to understand it as something good, that just wasn't ready for the world. As something that did have a life, but that life was a bit shorter than expected. For 19 years I have been a global studies major. for 19 years I have wanted to save those in occupation, and wanted to love those who needed love.

I still want that. And those desires will live on until I am 85 and rollin' in a wheel chair.
I am just realizing that those desires are not synonymous with spending the rest of my life outside the country. I am realizing that I also want a family.
I want lifelong relationship with the people around me.
And the path I was going on didn't allow for that.

So. As of today, October 16, 2013. I am a Sociology and Conflict Transformation Major.
And I am blessed to know that I am still following the will of God, and I am still pursuing a life which advocates for the least of these. Now, I am just able to do that anywhere that God leads me.

Doing this has also given me the freedom to choose the activities I am involve in. No longer do I look at MESA or the upcoming Bethlehem trip or studying abroad as things that I "have to do" because they are major requirements. Instead I get to do them because I am passionate about them.
No longer do I have to feel trapped in a minor that I feel stressed and overwhelmed and frustrated by, instead I can say "let's figure out this Arabic thing," and one of my options is to let it go. To celebrate the life it had, but to be able to say "it is finished."

I am at peace. And God is with me.
Praise the Lord.