1,000 words

I was going through my pictures (22,000+) yesterday in order to find a few to print, mat, frame and hang. Needless to say, looking at the pictures brought me back to all sorts of places...Ecuador, Thailand, India, Alaska, Minnesota summers and every season in Chicago.

There were a few images that were begging to have their stories told. I printed six, and just had to share their stories with you. They're just that good.

Above is one of my favorite pictures. Ever. This was taken in the Burmese refugee camp Mae La in Mae Sot, northern Thailand right along the Thai-Burma border. The people who live in Mae La are displaced and, for the most part, forgotten by the government. Though Thailand provides land for Mae La and the other seven surrounding refugee camps, Thai officials are anything but sympathetic toward the refugees. In the eyes of the Thai government, the refugees take up land, resources and jobs from native Thai people. We heard story upon story of the cruelty the Burmese Karin people have endured. Not only did we hear stories, we ourselves witnessed first hand the corruption of the officials who manned the camps and saw how poorly they treated the Burmese.

The Red Cross is one of the few international presences the Thai allow into the camps. The Red Cross' main goal is to provide decent health care for the people living in the camps as they are not allowed to leave unless given approval from the Thais (eg: sponsorship through a refugee program in another country). This picture was taken right outside the hospital in Mae La and the baby in the picture was a patient. I don't know what was wrong with her, but her entire leg was bandaged. She had a make-shift IV and was running a fever. Visitors are not allowed in the hospital, but I made friends with the dad and went in with him. The hospital itself was a series of 'rooms' divided by low (waist high) walls, concrete beds and two or three nurses. Being in the hospital infuriated me. Hearing stories of how Thai officials would gather mass numbers of Burmese refugees, tell them they were being moved to a new camp, put them on a boat, ship them to sea and leave them sans food or water on the boat at sea to die...that was heart breaking. This hospital in a camp where people get food MAYBE once a day and are forced in live in squalor with hardly any hope of leaving, that hit me harder than I explain.

This image reminds me of my refugee friends, my sponsorship and the reality that the 'news' will never come close to covering what goes on behind fences.

Below is a picture of a small shop in the Himalayas somewhere between India and Nepal. As you may know, China and the state/territory/country

of Tibet are in constant turmoil. Many Tibetans flee China occupied Tibet and come to Nepal where they can follow the Dalai Lama, worship and live in peace. In fact, the Nepali and Tibetan peoples' cultures have so blended in northern India that some natives call it 'Little Tibet'. The shop below was, we were told by the owners, a safe house for those Tibetans who were fleeing the Chinese and making their way to southern India. The house fronts as a momo (like gyoza) shop, but the floor lifts up to an underground reprieve. Meeting expat Tibetans and seeing how they lived in fear put an entirely new perspective on peace for me.

The image above is of a lady who lived in Kolkata. Every day, we would get up at six am and take a bus into the worst part of the city. We would walk to the Kali Temple, the place where Mother Teresa built the first of the Missionaries of Charity homes. Each morning, without fail, this precious little lady would be sitting on the steps ready to greet us. Standing a maximum of four feet tall with a severe 70 degree angle in her back, she was by far one of the smallest people I have ever seen. But small does not even touch her spirit. She wasn't looking for money, food, shelter or even acknowledgement. She simply liked to sit on the steps and watch us and come and go from the Home of the Dying. When we'd take breaks, she'd smoke a cigarette with us and rub our backs. She'd braid our hair. She'd sing in Hindi. And she'd smile. Her smile was captivating, illuminating and spacious. This was a woman with whom I shared nothing but the fact that we were both living in what felt like, most of the time, hell on earth. As people were dying, she would sit and wait to care for those who were ushering them into Heaven. When I think of India, of Kolkata, of Kali Temple, I think of her. The woman who I shared no language with other than that of death.

For now,

K

A Switch

It has been quite the month, to say the least.

Today I got to sleep in...way in, and it was wonderful. This whole past week I have been dead tired, and I mentioned this to a friend who told me, "Well, Kate, you're emotionally exhausted."

Emotionally exhausted. I guess that makes sense.


If I were writing this a week ago, Jehovah only knows how riddled it would have been with emotion, pain, frustration and anger. However, like I said, I got to sleep in today.

It's always amazes me, no matter how many times I go through something and the cycle happens the same way, that I forget how I work. I mean no matter what, I seem to forget. I forget that when I am in something, I am in it: I feel it in my bones. And I forget that after I buckle down and let emotions run their course, I am the most logical person alive.

I'd like to get this tattooed on my forearm so next I am in the middle of the bone-breaking emotional shit storm (there really is no other term, sorry), I will look down and remember, "Okay. I've done this before. I've gone through this before. I'm going to be more than okay. In fact, according to this arm tattoo, I will be better and walk into more of what God has for me."

Now, I am not going to do this. I would like, despite my life pattern, a real job someday. And I think the title "Poem to Read During Emotional Shit Storm" is too long for a arm tattoo. So, I go to God:
Me: God?
G: Yes?
Me: Will you help me remember I am not a weak little flower next time something like this happens? Actually, just don't let this happen again.
G: I tell you all the time who you are and who you are not.
Me: Okay. Just tell me I'm going to be okay.
G: You're going to be more than fine, Kate.
Me: Why can't I see that right now, G? (yes, I call God 'g'. we tight)
G: Because you're too busy staring at yourself.
Me: Oh snap.
G: Yup.

The reality is, everything changes when your perspective changes. At least that's how it is for me. When I can stop looking down, focusing on the ground, and start looking up and around, I see all there is for me HERE and NOW. It's so freeing. So freeing. When I ask God to show me truth (enter logical Katie here) and commit to believing His truth, it's like the weight and even pain of my situation is lifted.

The reality is, 90% of my life is perspective. Right now, for the first time in 24 years, my future is sealed off. All I have is right now and the people around me. God is growing in me an intolerance for broken integrity, a desire for contentment and the ability to live in the Kingdom of God right here and now. Now, that's all a work in progress...especially living in the Kingdom each moment.

The truth: no one is perfect, but we can love the Perfect One. This, in my eyes, frees us from hypocrisy. Life is good and life is hard, a butterfly garden and a shit storm. We get to choose how it shapes us and what me make of it.


Here's to switching our perspectives,

K
...reading The Sermon on the Mount.

Worry

A good friend wrote this.

It speaks to me on so many levels, and I know it will do the same for you.

Be blessed.

Worry Notes – for The Gallery Church, March 13/11

Matthew Atkinson, © 2011

Jesus said “Don’t worry about what you will eat or drink or wear.” Fair enough. I still have to get up and go to work and use these hands and this mind God gave me. And that can be tough some days. But I try not to worry about whether I’ll have a job tomorrow. Money and chaos slosh across the globe, and we get caught up in it. Yet I work hard and trust that God loves me. I try not to worry about a roof and a plate of food.

I haven’t always been this way. I used to collect worry like my sweater collects dog hair. Where ever I turned some new worry was attached to my mind. A horrible way to live. Now only by the grace of God, I don’t worry as much about money and health. “The Lord is my shepherd.” I have to trust Him.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t worry at all. It’s simply that when I take the focus off my navel, like I think Jesus is telling me, I can look up and see what’s going on around me. And what I see worries me. Is this wrong? What was Jesus talking about when He said “don’t worry”?

Jesus didn’t say, “Don’t worry about hungry children.”

Jesus didn’t say, “Don’t worry about battered wives.”

Jesus didn’t say, “Don’t worry about Frida or Jesse or Reuben freezing to death on the streets.”

I do worry about these people. Their faces trouble my dreams. And I not only worry, I weep.

I weep for the child living in fear of a parent.

I weep for the young women, who believe the lies and don’t know that they are beautiful just the way they are.

I weep for the company man, wrung dry and discarded after decades of service.

I weep for the elderly, sitting unvisited, out of sight, out of mind.

I weep that I am able to forget all of this because I am so comfortable.

How did I come to this place, my very own desert? The Spirit has led me out of my comfortable life to this place of tears to learn - something. I fall to my knees, pound my fists on the ground and cry in outrage against the pain I see. The Spirit waits. Laying exhausted after my anguish, a quiet question. A frightening suggestion. I turn away, but the question hangs there. Will I follow Jesus? Into the pain of the world?

Or will I stay here and turn inwards, and let the worry grow, consuming me from the inside, turning my guts to water and my spine to jelly. My mind fixated and my eyes darkened until all I see is unending bleakness instead of eternal goodness. No, I can’t put down roots in this desert; I will wither and die.

The path does not end here.

Or will I return to my old life, and numb myself with busyness and trivia and sandcastles and television and life on the hamster wheel, and with religious talk and a couple of bucks thrown in the plate?

Then what would I be? A numb, uncaring religious guy. Didn’t Jesus make it clear what he thought of that?

No, the path does not lead back either.

And the question still hangs in front of me. Can I trust Jesus enough to follow him into the pain of the world? Can I wrap the worry and tears and pain in prayer, and carry them with me? I try: worry in the embrace of prayer hurts, but it enlarges my heart, making a sanctuary for others. The peace of God descends but only to the extent that I try to live out what I ask God to do. This is where the Spirit is leading me. This is the path out of my desert.

So I move forward into the world of blood and tears, of pain and joy and redemption, of light breaking into darkness. While I take these hesitant steps, please don’t give me greeting-card theology; it will only distract me from the words of Jesus.

I know that there will be a day when all the tears will be wiped away, and there will be no more pain, sorrow and death. Yes, I hold that treasure in my soul. But today, there is pain. And choosing neither numbness nor despair, I act. But I must act with love. If I help you without loving you, these hands become tools of manipulation and that can do violence to the soul. How can these hands be made safe?

At first, fists clenched in anger, these hands are now prepared by clasping in prayer. These palms are cleansed by the sweat I wipe from your brow. (Reaching out …) these fingertips are baptized by the tears I wipe from your cheek.

This is the path. I can’t go back.

New New New

Well, it has been quite a long time since I've posted.

But, here we are again.

So much has changed in the last fewmonths. I ended a long relationship, I dropped out of Seminary at North Park, got baptized (water and the Holy Spirit!), moved back home to Minnesota, started nannying again, moved into (yet another) Pink House with some amazing women, started going to the Gallery Covenant Church and started dating an amazing man.

It has been an insane time. In.Sane.

As with most transitions in my life, it has been a time of major reflection, repentance and new vision for moving forward. After being in Michigan this summer, I went through an intense bout of counseling that, when coupled with this most recent set of changes, leaves me with an overwhelming feeling that I am growing up.

So, read along. The adventures of a slightly crazy, mostly honest, flawed, God-captivated, not-so-young-but-still-young, woman.

Enjoy.

Ode to 4735 N Campbell. Too short.

Jess and Mike

I had the huge honor of blessing my good friends Mike and Jessica at their wedding. This is what I wrote for them:

Mike and Jess, may you grow so deep in truth and love that your marriage has no choice but to grow and flourish into something beautiful.

And as your grow deeper and deeper into that love and truth, may your marriage become an actual living, breathing space.

And may that space that will be you marriage be so spacious, so secure, so inviting that those who are without either food or family or love be able to find both home and hope in you two.

May you perpetually be aware of the elaborate gifts God has given you and may that awareness spur both of you to live your lives with open hands with willingness to give back all that has been given to you with grace.

Jessica and Mike, may you fearlessly and uninhibitedly chase and grab a hold of the story God is waiting to tell with your life.

May you have a humble courage to live your story in a way that invites others who do not yet know God into a vibrant relationship with Him, the Living God.

May your story be irresistible to the community you’re apart of now and the communities you have yet to be apart of.

And may your children be raised in a story where the Kingdom of God present and actualized in their parents.

Finally, Jess and Mike, as you continue to work out your faith with fear and trembling both together and individually, may your marriage be the catalyst through which Christ’s character is formed for fully in you so that when people look at you they no longer see Jessica Michael Bernard, but rather God’s love manifest.

Amen.

Michigan and Today

It has been quite the summer so far.

Since May, I have gone to Japan and Thailand, got a new apartment, got a new job, took a four credit class, took a couple weekend trips, been in a wedding, made the decision to go Thailand from September 2011 to May 2012, and started a month-long nanny gig in northwestern Michigan with my dear friend Miranda.

I took a four hour nap today. It was glorious.

As I write, I am sitting in the room designated for the nannies that come to live-in for the summer. It’s a nice little room with a huge window with a lake view, two twin beds and a stash of our nighttime treat: two buck chuck. It’s not bad. Miranda, my friend who was on the North Park team to Thailand is here with me for the month. Without a doubt, if she was not here, I would not be able to do this. It is a 24/7 job of watching four kids who have never been disciplined. Currently, she is playing with the kids outside with her fiancé, Ryan.

Miranda got a call yesterday that her biological mother was killed in a car accident. Ryan drove up at three am to be with her. She has done amazingly well and is handling it far better than I know I would be. Having Ryan here for a couple days is good too. Life has a funny way of doing what it wants.

Being here, watching Miranda go through this, and, honestly, being convicted of my horrible attitude about this job, has got me thinking: am I ready for my world to be turned upside down?

Jesus told His disciples that life has little mercy and that things are going to happen that will feel like (and very well be!) a storm. He said the only way to actually withstand would be to be with Him. He said that when we build our lives on Him, we will be able to come out alive from the storms. And how do we be with Him? How do we build our lives on Him? Well, I guess it starts with living as He commands and ordering first lives and then eventually our hearts (feelings always seem to be last) around what He said. When we do that we are prepared for life in a certain way.

Example: If I got a call informing me my mom died, how would I feel? Devastated, of course. But what else? Two years ago I would have felt huge regret. I would have felt like there was unfinished business between my mom and I. Essentially, I didn’t love my mom or do life with my mom as Jesus commanded or as He would have wanted. Thus, there would have been huge, gaping wounds left unattended.

Now, I am not saying that if my mom died it would be okay or that I would even be okay. What I am saying is that my mom and I have healed quite a bit in the last two years. What’s changed? Well, for me I know I surrendered more to God and asked Him to teach me to love and seek forgiveness. I think it’s from doing that I feel like there is no longer unfinished business. If she died there would be regret, but regret about missed time, not missed love.

Being here in Michigan, I have struggled with being content. I’m not going to lie, it’s hard. It’s really hard to be here with the four kids, live with them, be at the whim of their parents and not have any freedom at all. Given all this, it’s hard for me to be present. I find myself wanting to, well, not be here. And I also find myself counting down the hours until dinner time, then bath time and then bed time. The reality is that it’s beautiful here. The kids, when not with their parents, are not that bad and there is plenty to do. You see, I can’t see this when I am thinking about how much I hate it, how much I want a venti soy chai or how much I miss my friends and bed.

I miss what’s here. I miss what God is trying to give me right here, right now.

If my world was thrown upside down while I was here, like something happened to me or one of the kids or even I had to go home, I would be devastated, and not just generally devastated because it ended. I would be devastated because I would have regret. Regret because I missed a million opportunities each day to be a part of something wonderful and bigger than myself and a million and half more opportunities to see and experience God.

I would be devastated because I wasn’t living the way God intended me to.

It’s almost as if I had cheapened life or something.

It’s pretty clear what God has for me in Michigan: to live well, as He intended.

Weather it’s something wonderful or tragic, I want no regrets or questions. And the beautiful thing is that I know that’s what God wants for me too.

I think I’ll take the kids swimming tomorrow. And make them hold a bug. They’re scared of bugs.

Yeah.

::::spring:::::

it's been a long time.

There is no excuse, though I would love to make one.

So, moving on, Chicago has come back to life. Spring is amazing in this city because until maybe March, nobody moves. people huddle in tall brick buildings and complain about the city. Then, come sweet, glorious March, things change.

All of a sudden windows are....open. Restaurants put tables and chairs outside (including the local Starbucks). People go on walks, runs, rollerblades, bikes, strollers, horse and carriages, long boards, and scooters around the lake and city.

It's like the city comes back to life again and breathes a collective sigh of relief.

I am certainly breathing a sigh of relief. Spring brings about changes and my life is not immune to those changes, even though some days I long for the certainty of being in one place and not experiencing constant transitions.

The changes include: moving, again; starting seminary full time in the fall; saying goodbye to some wonderful undergrads; watching some close roommates go; finding a new family to nanny for; having my own room and not living in an overly-crowded space for the first time in five years and, finally, joining with other friends in celebrating lots of new marriages and babies.

Yes, there are plenty of changes. Not to mention I am heading to Thailand for the fifth time in about...six days. I am so excited to go. I don't remember the last time I was this excited to go on a trip, even though, for a lot of reasons, this has been the hardest trip for me to lead thus far. We are going to living with thai families in a village just north of Chiang Mia. We will be working on a fish farm with the missionaries, learning about how evangelism is done in the East through the efforts of contextualization and, ultimately, furthering through our presence and actions the witness of Christ that is already present in the village. After a week there, we will be traveling to the Burmese border to work in the nine refugee camps. In the camps we are going to be working in the orphanages, bringing school supplies and smiles and getting to spend some quality time with the kids. We also will be funding the building (and building) several toilets in the largest camp. Throughout the trip we will be hearing from missionaries working with women in the sex industry and learning about what advocacy in the States can and should look like. We are going with the very real awareness that we do not speak Thai or Kerrin, nor are going to be in the country long enough to stand in full solidarity with the people. However, we know that by going, we are opening ourselves to new experiences and are entering another story.

We are entering a story that needs advocacy, and, unfortunately, we know that most times people do not change their priorities until their story intersects with someone else's. That is why we are going.

Please, please, please pray for this trip. Pray as the Spirit leads. I am leading with Zach, and the students on the trip are Miranda, Matt, Sarah, Brad, Poe Clee, and Maren.

As we are getting ready to leave, I am clinging to the words in the book of Second Corinthians. The first chapter is about allowing God the room and authority to work in your life. Whenever we experience suffering, we are making room for God's comfort. When our perspective shifts, we are making room for a new one. When we allow God to break our boxes, through whatever means He uses, we are making tangible room for something new. The following chapters are filled with encouragement that in our weaknesses, God can be strong. Again with the theme of less of us and more of Him. The less we have, the more there is room for God to show us He is right, good and ABLE. Chapter six begins with a verse about not wasting the gift of kindness, love and salvation God has given us.

God wants room in our lives to show us He is big enough. He is more than enough. He does not want us to take for granted and waste the power of the Holy Spirit in us on our own fear.

I pray that we would believe God more.

As the trees have blossomed, and kids' chalk litters sidewalk, I have a felt a new wave of joy. There is something terrifying and liberating in change. There is space in my life that has not been there before. There are situations, opportunities and people in my life that have been there before.

I have not been here before.

Man, I love spring.