tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-94702302024-03-07T12:10:06.005-06:00Brownie BytesSince I have a hard time keeping up with my people, this is just a place for my people to keep up with me!Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-86757213618165254392011-03-20T21:24:00.001-05:002011-03-20T21:26:08.327-05:00I'm Moving!!Not houses. Blog spots. {sigh of relief for those that would miss me too much if I left town...}<br />
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After lots of thought, I have decided to expand my blog to allow for a more well-rounded picture of myself. Lots of posts that I had for Brownie Bytes didn't make the cut because they seemed too...trivial. I always felt that the Brownie 'bytes' had to be of a certain category ('And what would that be?' you probably wonder). <br />
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Well, now I want to break out of my self-defined cage and probably annoy some people with my ridiculousness. If you want to join me in that, head:<br />
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HERE--> <a href="http://www.princessandthe-p.blogspot.com">Princess and the P</a><br />
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{The premise is a blog with my commentary on all aspects of life, annoyingly alliterated (is that a word?!) with the Letter P--and no, this is not Sesame Street}<br />
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If you are not so much into hearing my commentary, then let's part ways here old friend. But know that you will miss me. So when you do, go: <br />
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<a href="http://www.princessandthe-p.blogspot.com">HERE</a><br />
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Love you all and thanks for reading my musings for the last half-decade. *gulp* I will keep this blog up and running for my own archival purposes, and so that I can laugh at my 25 year old self when I ranted about singleness. ha!<br />
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New address for future reference: www.princessandthe-p.blogspot.com<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSgAWEe6xokVt5oTtLkPongCbqyiNzhfKVRZGdbZZbkpEEAyoB0ZIJuAHLgBuSBNjqjQHtxAe0ySj5GEq8cpbBukubqQmbWXjRL3gonZf3trTx62ylL8ERI4PfyNx9CkksiOe-A/s1600/Picture+49.png" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="241" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSgAWEe6xokVt5oTtLkPongCbqyiNzhfKVRZGdbZZbkpEEAyoB0ZIJuAHLgBuSBNjqjQHtxAe0ySj5GEq8cpbBukubqQmbWXjRL3gonZf3trTx62ylL8ERI4PfyNx9CkksiOe-A/s400/Picture+49.png" /></a></div>Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-82586209972090218762011-02-04T12:55:00.001-06:002011-02-04T12:58:25.248-06:00Blog Envy.I've been reading all kinds of blogs during this "Snowpocolypse 2011" and I have to say that the green-eyed monster has reared its ugly mug a time or two. I see all these precious stay at home moms/entrepreneurs/stylish crafty people and I confess, I wish that was my life sometimes. They have loads of blog traffic, ads & sponsors, cute DIY projects and monthly giveaways (I can't even afford to have a GET-away, much less a GIVE-away!)<br />
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In all of this, I have continued to come back to the thought that the Lord has made me uniquely...not to be like someone else, but to write and create from what I know; to write/create from my heart. After reminding myself of that, I managed to give ol' green-eyes the snow-boot.<br />
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So, since I'm too lame to host my own stuff, I'm gonna link you to a giveaway from another cute gal's blog (and selfishly, blogging about it enters me for a chance to win one of my favorite designer's poppy-licious flowers--look, I said my motives were selfish, all right?!)<br />
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Thanks for those who read my thoughts...even if it is only 4 of you. You are cherished all the same. <br />
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Here's the link to the <a href="http://samanthacabreraphoto.blogspot.com/2011/02/emersonmade-giveaway.html">AWESOME Emersonmade Giveaway via Samantha Cabrera</a>Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-10920003265169134322011-01-01T19:06:00.000-06:002011-01-01T19:06:40.807-06:00Either I'm old or I'm just lameI went to a New Year's Eve party last night and had a great time. As the night wore on, I started to get the sneaking suspicion that I was maybe the oldest person at the party. Or, I'm just lame. Here were 7 clues that got me thinking:<br />
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7. Most of the teachers I talked to were just starting to teach...I was wondering how I've lasted so long in this profession.<br />
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6. When a drink spilled, everyone just left it. My first thought was concern for the hardwood floor's finish. Thankfully, an older guy ran to clean it up. Perhaps we were on the same wavelength?<br />
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5. I was the only person quietly singing along to Morrissey before they changed it to the Cupid Shuffle.<br />
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4. I had to sit out of most of the "group" dances. I mean, it's not my fault that no one has taught me how to dougie...I'm still stuck on soulja boy.<br />
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3. When the Macarena came on (which, sadly I DID know), someone commented, "You guys remember this from our 6th grade dances?" My reply was, "Well, I remember it from my senior trip to Cancun, but yeah." Class of 96, holla!<br />
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2. I knew all the words to "Ice Ice Baby", which WAS actually from my 6th grade dances.<br />
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But this was the kicker:<br />
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1. When Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" came on, half the room groaned (though I was not one of them). As one girl was leaving the dance floor, she said to me, "That's OK, I don't like Bon Jovi anyway." <br />
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So much for staying relevant, huh?Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-72443448464779919252010-12-05T13:46:00.003-06:002010-12-05T22:26:09.299-06:00Sandy in the SwingWhen I was in elementary school, there was this sweet friend of mine named Sandy. Now, I call her a sweet friend, but I have the sneaking suspicion that she took pity on me and let me tag along. I don't say that to sound pathetic, I just now see it through adult eyes and can interpret her actions through my lens of experience. You get the point...<br />
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Sandy was well-loved by all. Girls wanted to be her and boys wanted to be with her. Yes, even 3rd grade boys knew a good thing when they saw it. But, the funny part is that she wasn't super-cute. She was...average, but with tiny, buck teeth. But she had it all: money, confidence, sass, etc. and even the teachers loved her. Where am I going with this?<br />
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I wanted to know Sandy. Being on the periphery was not enough for me. If I couldn't BE her, I wanted to be right next to her. Even if it meant that I was more like her sidekick. Her shadow. I remember the day I went to get my hair cut in a bob--JUST LIKE SANDY--I told my mom, despite warnings that curly hair (mine) and straight hair (Sandy's) were two very different animals. And hey, it was the 80's...bobs were in, right? Wrong. I felt so luxurious as he chopped off my hair and razored it. He even straightened it to look JUST LIKE SANDY. Then I went home. You know how you always feel that you can never style it like they do in the salon? Well, that saying is a massive understatement in this here 'got-my-hair-cut-like-Sandy's-but-it-looks-more-like-Annies' story. The sun'll come out tomorrow indeed...and shine itself down on yo' fro that your mom warned you about. I didn't want to go to school--I didn't even want to look in a mirror (thus beginning a long, tumultuous relationship with my curls, but that's another story for another day).<br />
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Who cares about your 3rd grade hair anyway, Katie? You're 32. What gives?<br />
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The other day, I was having a little breakdown in front of my sister, so we prayed and asked the Lord where these intense feelings were coming from. Why was I so distraught over such a seemingly meaningless exchange? What came to mind was Sandy. A memory of her on the swings. I waited in line for her to get off her swing, so that I could have a turn. And finally, she did. She was OVER the swings. Her paparazzi asked, "what's next?" and she moved on to the slides. I jumped in the swing, but instead of enjoying it, I felt like I had just copied her. Like a SHADOW. I hate feeling like a shadow. Plus, the admirers had all deserted the area. So, I followed her to the slide...and you can guess what happened next, can't you? You bet. I turned into her shadow, always being mildly satisfied with her leftovers, but always hating myself for not getting there first. Ah, the beginning of female competition. yuck. What the Lord spoke to me in that memory was that I kept waiting for SANDY'S swing (talent, money, voice, personality) when I should've grabbed my OWN swing right next to her. If I swing my swing and stop competing with the Sandy's of the world (you know who I'm referring to: [insert that girl's name here]), I will not only glorify the One who gave me the talents & personality, but probably enjoy myself in the process. Plus, I would've saved myself the torture of a curly bob and even channeled 'The Birth of Venus' as a 3rd grader.<br />
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I was planning to write this blog last week when it happened, but so much has kept me from writing publicly lately. This very story is why...and then I happened upon Lauren Chandler's blog last night. I read one about 'Constructive Criticism' and found the courage to write again. I don't know Lauren, but after reading her writing, I sure do like her. And not in an 'I've-found-a-new-Sandy-at-32' way, I promise. <br />
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Her May 2007 blog <a href="http://themchandlers.blogspot.com/2007/05/constructive-criticism.html">'Constructive Criticism'</a> (in case you want to read it from the source)Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-26547379202607020132010-07-18T20:46:00.000-05:002010-07-18T20:46:40.230-05:00I think it is time...to stop the 'only journaling privately' and start <strike>ranting</strike> blogging again. Just sayin.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-85409474986592940352009-08-25T22:57:00.001-05:002009-08-25T22:58:38.059-05:00My Date with Murphy ('s Law, that is...)How to start school off on the right foot:<br /><br />5:45 Wake up; hit snooze a few times<br /><br />6:15 Get up; go downstairs and make a smoothie and hot lemon water to take to work; running early instead of late for a change<br /><br />6:45 Get ready without getting distracted by the description of the drug cocktail found in MJ’s dead body<br /><br />7:00 Realize that an afro of curls is NOT the way a first grader should be introduced to his or her teacher<br /><br />7-7:18 Tame the afro with high-powered CHI iron<br /><br />7:18 Look down at watch and realize that I need to leave like 5 minutes ago<br /><br />7:18-7:22 Race around like a madwoman...dressed and ready at last!<br /><br />7:22 Pick up school bag with pertinent info and simultaneously pour the last half of my breakfast smoothie down my back, in my hair, and down in my bag...don't ask how, I still don't know<br /><br />7:25 Wonder why my back is wet; Scream and panic and rip off clothes; throw them to bewildered mom standing nearby in confusion<br /><br />7:28 Clothing set #2...wouldn’t have chosen this for the first day, but oh well. It is sans smoothie, so it’ll do. Glad I did laundry yesterday.<br /><br />7:28-7:40 Speed up I-35 and pray that God will overlook this law-breaking just this once<br /><br />7:40 Yay...Denton. Uh-oh, a bit of traffic on my normal route<br /><br />7:41 Go back way--or, as some would call, a shortcut<br /><br />7:42-7:48 Stuck in school traffic; finally arrive in school parking lot...I’m gonna make it before the kids get there at 7:50! Yay!<br /><br />7:48-7:52 No, I’m not. Everyone and their dog has come to drop their kids off and walk in. People are parking in the grass. I circle like a vulture. I cut people off. The fire lane will just have to do for now.<br /><br />7:53 Sprint for the doors...realize keys are in other clothes<br /><br />7:56 Knock on doors until Assistant Principal sees me and walks to let me in; tears welling in my eyeballs<br /><br />7:57 Keys tossed to Assistant principal, who becomes my valet service and goes to park my messy car (he claims later to wanting to clean up my many straw wrappers from Sonic). What a guy!<br /><br />7:58 Arrive in my classroom to greet kids already working; parents hovering in their child’s ‘teacher-less’ classroom; apologies handed out like candy; wondered if I might have cut one of them off in the parking lot. oops.<br /><br />7:59 Pictures snapped...hope the sweat rings didn’t show in this child’s keepsake<br /><br />8:00 Set of parents ask if I am single and offer to set me up as I greet more children; I laugh and wipe the sweat off my forehead...is it awkward in here or is it just me?<br /><br />8:01 Doors closed and kids smile...I share what happened and we all laugh; they know I’m not playing when I say ‘if you are having a rough morning, I understand’<br /><br />Glad they do too. Happy first day of school.<br /><br />Note to self: tomorrow...no smoothie.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-8465181307774797712009-08-11T09:46:00.002-05:002009-08-11T09:48:07.819-05:00Tryin New Things<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnPGKJ-NuMuaMrab-gBfrqjQMSLS2gmbQSWUfFgRy721zpFDyDde7iO4fwyODohz2ug15d1KINznEh4xL0HqgUiyg6cXUFkhKhh87liD-8XqcG3DAYFDEKYfUG0ZX_AzkgR9M-g/s1600-h/P4280049-711684.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnPGKJ-NuMuaMrab-gBfrqjQMSLS2gmbQSWUfFgRy721zpFDyDde7iO4fwyODohz2ug15d1KINznEh4xL0HqgUiyg6cXUFkhKhh87liD-8XqcG3DAYFDEKYfUG0ZX_AzkgR9M-g/s320/P4280049-711684.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368717763514825026" /></a></p>This is a test post from e-mail...cool!Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-60865479745607763682008-11-21T18:42:00.004-06:002008-11-21T18:47:00.584-06:00Coldplay Like God (Great Expectations)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBG62ZQqesp-D4wLQpbNJ5_MhKX9d2Ksp5gnyG5Ac0Fw4vCA2gQuFlgf1gUnVWgV3sGb52X0bJBKN-ccotNY0GX4HoQx9r6dDUbVl_GBvME_m4E3nJnCTCvtb5k0tNBfcgZfsuOg/s1600-h/chris.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBG62ZQqesp-D4wLQpbNJ5_MhKX9d2Ksp5gnyG5Ac0Fw4vCA2gQuFlgf1gUnVWgV3sGb52X0bJBKN-ccotNY0GX4HoQx9r6dDUbVl_GBvME_m4E3nJnCTCvtb5k0tNBfcgZfsuOg/s400/chris.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271276388350786786" /></a><br />As I was sitting at Coldplay, I realized that they were like God. Wait, before you question whether or not I’m pulling my golden calf out of the furnace, hear me out. <br /><br />When I went to see Coldplay for the first time a few weeks ago, I was expectant but had no idea what those expectations looked like. I knew it would be good, but I didn’t know HOW good. My seats were perfect too. I had a perfect view of the stage, great acoustics, and they even came out from the stage to the tier right below me. I had paid 2nd tier prices for 8th row seats (well, for at least 2 songs) A-mazing…I almost cried at one point. I can’t even explain the emotion I felt because of my life situation at that moment. I was with one of my best friends, away from work (destressed), and in sunny Florida sharing space with Chris Martin. Does it get better??<br /><br />Well, if one show is good, isn’t a 2nd show better? That was my mindset as I bought one lonely ticket to the Dallas show for that next week (that was all they had left, I might add). I fought traffic solo, parked, bundled up in the wind, and braced myself for the hike to my nosebleed seats that I swear were situated in the Himalayas. In fact, I was in what I call the “echo nook” of the AAC—it trapped all the echoes and bounced them back and forth like a game of “keep away.” Only, I was the sad little kid in the middle. Not good. I certainly enjoyed the performance, but I honestly felt a little slighted. At one point I thought, “I’m sure glad I had Orlando because I know they sound better than this (and for the record, it was still phenomenal). I kind of felt sorry for the folks who experienced Coldplay like that. I watched as some walked out early and others left to use the bathroom in the middle of ‘Fix You’ (what?!) Part of me wanted to stop them and start explaining how amazing it could be. What good would that do? It doesn’t change their experience…but it also doesn’t change the truth that Coldplay is much better than this. It was all a matter of distorted experience and circumstance.<br /><br />THAT is when I realized how much this is like my feelings toward the LORD. How often do I come to Him with a plan already mapped out, expectantly waiting for Him to “recreate” His 1st performance by my standards. But, by the nature of location and emotional circumstance, it is never what I expect (even if it was the exact plan I’d had—it wouldn’t meet my precise expectations). Just as a music note travels a different path in a different venue, so God cannot be measured or calculated. We can never guess the mind and plan of the LORD.<br /><br />Even when my experience with Him tells me that He “let me down” or failed my great expectations, it doesn’t change the Universal Truth of His promises or how magnificent He is. He makes no apology for where you are sitting—how close or far depends on you. If you put yourself in a nosebleed echo chamber, the fault is not His. That same dissonance you hear from there is a spine-tingling masterpiece to those in correct proximity. God designed you to sit on the front row of creation; Himself, center stage. That scenario is the best, but certainly not the only one. I often feel the need to “explain Jesus” to people (or really, stick up for Him), as if He needs ME as His PR person [insert belly laugh here].<br /><br />I believe I need to keep myself in the front row and allow Him to blow my mind instead of trying to recreate 2nd rate, calculated experiences full of human expectation. I also feel I should start pulling people from the rafters and offer the front row ticket Jesus bought with His life. They need only to pick it up at ‘will call’…<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUpCAslgigZAfcbAaFlw6Kp8ing0OMtQptQotEREf6q9qwWwptv5Fd3cH6vEcj8itBgHzuesNT0IXmltJXMqwPnH4DF1dCiVkCwBFzN0oHaGMcVnm1fMkwUCXCcyKPEkw7XQZXA/s1600-h/lightbutterflies.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUpCAslgigZAfcbAaFlw6Kp8ing0OMtQptQotEREf6q9qwWwptv5Fd3cH6vEcj8itBgHzuesNT0IXmltJXMqwPnH4DF1dCiVkCwBFzN0oHaGMcVnm1fMkwUCXCcyKPEkw7XQZXA/s400/lightbutterflies.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271276695449759362" /></a>Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-39138641259744550282008-06-10T23:50:00.002-05:002008-06-11T00:01:59.290-05:00My Birthday GiftI am turning 30 in a just a few weeks, and I am pretty excited! 29 has been awesome and I fully expect 30 to be even better (or so I've heard...). But, I really love presents and today I think I got the best one of all:<br /><br />I was sitting with my little high school campers that are in my small group for the Texas Governor's School at UNT. Two "college" guys came and sat down and started chatting. They were complete morons and one of my kids even said, "They remind me of Superbad. All we would need is McLovin'!" (I laughed hysterically here)<br /><br />They were 'enlightening' us on the joys of college life such as drinking and sex and how it will be awesome for us if we would do those things when we finally get to college. I turned to my little teens and said, "I beg to differ...I think you can do the exact opposite and have an amazing experience." The guys looked confused and said, "Oh, are you a college student?"<br /><br />"No, I am actually 30." To my delight, they almost fell out of their chairs and said, "We thought you were in high school...we thought you were one of them!"<br /><br />While it doesn't change the fact that I am turning 30 (which I honestly don't mind), it is good to know that I may need to keep my ID handy--not just for drinks, but maybe for R-rated movies as well!<br /><br />Ps. About four hours after that, I spent the evening in the ER with symptoms of a heart attack. Turns out to be grief-related anxiety I think, so no worries. However, it somewhat took the wind out of my "high school" sails.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-25902165631840267372008-02-26T20:08:00.002-06:002008-02-26T20:19:00.088-06:00The Dreaded Purple PenToday I'm using a purple pen...and I don't like it. In fact, I've been downright resisting its use. It comes right to the fact that I don't accept change very easily. I will do it, but I find my heart tends to hold a grudge for a bit, remembering the good 'ole days of black ink. Even small things such as the color of my words gets me in a state of fear...where will it end? Who will see to it that I get my recognition? How will I feel when this new change takes affect??<br /><br />I also feel sometimes it is related to my control (or lack thereof). When change happens, you are usually forced to deal...and I can't really say "forcing" is the best way to get Katie Brown to do anything. Flowers...yes. Kind words, flattery...sure. Reason...absolutely. Dragging...not so much.<br /><br />I guess what I realize is that if I don't switch to purple ink sometimes, my words will become merely an indentation on a page--an embossing of my thoughts--because sometimes the black ink runs out whether you like it or not.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-23318250057105078312008-01-09T10:05:00.001-06:002008-01-09T10:05:59.260-06:00What to do when you have the flu...As I was taking a break from sleeping by sitting on my couch this morning, the sunlight broke through the blinds, creating a streak across my sightline. There in the light, I saw a “fuzzy” floating through the air—dainty and graceful. I have a weird fascination with “little things” and my friends all know that to be true. Something about it made me want to grab the little fuzzy. I’m not sure why…I don’t even know what I would’ve done with it if I had captured it anyway. Regardless, my instinct was to reach out and grab what I wanted. Like a child, I let desire overcome logic and just as I pinched it, the force of the air pushed it away from my grip. I admit to being a little sad that it floated away (okay, before you judge, know that I am recovering from a self-diagnosed flu and have nothing better to do than sleep and watch “fuzzies” float through the air!). What I realized (as I often do) is how much of a life comparison that is for humans. <br /><br />If we want something, we are taught to “go for it” or “go get it”—strive, work, toil for it. That makes sense for some things, but I don’t think it always bodes well for things of the heart: desires, dreams, hopes. Not that I am advocating sitting on our behinds doing nothing, but I wonder how much more joy we would have it we would hold out our extended, open palm (work to get ourselves ready and in position for blessing) and then wait for the floating fuzzy to gracefully land on our hand (allow God to bless the work we’ve done in whatever way He chooses).<br /><br />I’ve noticed that the more I strive in my own desire for things, the more it repels from my grasp—much like the dancing fuzzball. If I trust and allow God to work with my open fingers by laying my desires, requests, hopes and dreams before Him, stuff just seems to work out for the best, you know? I hope this makes sense, as I may just realize I’m writing gibberish when I fully recover from “medicine head.”Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-59477897961813592712007-12-30T23:41:00.000-06:002007-12-31T00:02:43.367-06:00The Lost HairSo, confession...I struggle with boys. There, I said it. If I find one of them attractive in ANY way, I am tongue tied and unable to be myself. Then, I sit back and watch as something about them disappoints me, and suddenly, I am free to be me. Do you see the dilemma?? I am free to be me...who cares about being you if you don't want them to notice anymore? It's wild really. My "head" is too active in the process and I struggle with the faith to continue to believe that God works ridiculously through us, around us, beside us, and without us.<br /><br />A few months ago, I realized that faith is most certainly a gift from God, for it comes on so suddenly. But, how do we "lose" it?? This had been my week: I had lost faith in God's goodness with guys on Monday. Manhood and marriage for me was hopelessly drowning in a sea of mediocrity and cowardice...until Tuesday. Then, just as I felt I couldn't believe because I did not see "manhood," I realized I should renounce Christ altogether. **Don't freak...I didn't...stay with me here on the logic** Is it not ALL faith: one body, one mind, one Lord? If I doubt the part, I must doubt the whole. There is so much to my saving faith that doesn't involve sight that I realized how ridiculous it seems that I couldn't trust Him for much smaller (dare I say, easier?) things in my heart and life. By Wedenesday, I knew how important that realization had been because my faith in love & manhood (well, more God's goodness) had returned completely. What a gift! (meaning: given to me; not acquired on my own)<br /><br />Sight cannot bring faith--it merely confirms or refutes the past. It is not an indicator even of what is to come. I am such a formula person, that faith irritates me--life appears random & irrational and I struggle to have faith without unbending expectations. How do you hope for something unseen & then not feel disappointed when the light reveals the actual? When this relates to loving a person, I'm a hopeless romantic. Or, wait, maybe romantically hopeless...<br /><br />Right now, you are probably thinking, "Nice post, Katie, but what the crap does this have to do with the title, 'The Lost Hair'??" In my mind, it seems only routine to lose faith, like strands of hair--natural, daily, unnoticeable to the whole unless you are forced to look at the lost pieces--leaving room for stronger, more plentiful, growth-hungry hair.<br /><br />When faith is lost through reason, it seems only faith can bring it back. When it does, your faith seems more reasonable. You trackin'?Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-8637573494950215012007-12-04T18:09:00.000-06:002007-12-04T18:25:01.523-06:00My Spiderman SuitI wrote this in my journal in September, but it was coming back to my mind--so, I thought I'd write it down officially (I guess others reading it makes it 'official' in my mind):<br /><br />While driving home after an exhausting week, I turn the corner near my apartment complex to find Spiderman and his friend chasing a teasing bunch of balloons. Well, it wasn't really Spiderman, but the cutest little kid decked out head-to-toe in a long-sleeve pant suit--spinning and running wildly in the blazing heat. He seemed not to care--the colorful balloons were the object of his attention. I was struck by how odd this was...not because kids were playing, but because we as adults have lost that. At some point, that excitement leaves us and fatigue or boredom takes over. That little kid woke up too early, raced off to school (his 'work'), worked for 7 hours, played 20 minutes of that 7 hours, then was herded out to his car to go home. Can you imagine the scene as he races to his bedroom to change into his Spiderman sauna suit? He'll spend another 3-4 hours playing his heart out, passion sustaining him--with a like-minded friend at his side. I was jealous...<br /><br />My first thought was: what is my Spiderman suit? What passion do I have that would make me continue to burn the energy after my day job? At that point, I realized what my passions are and how often I don't do anything about them. But, that little boy showed me the importance of going full speed ahead toward something you love after working each day. We need to race home, pursue our passions & share them with people who'll run with us--even without a spiderman suit that looks like ours. They just need your fuel...your overflowing cup to drink from. Otherwise, we are bored.<br /><br />What is your Spiderman suit? Go ahead, try it on again.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-55943508863565929992007-11-18T22:20:00.000-06:002007-11-18T22:35:10.361-06:00Invasion of the Candy SnatcherI chose a long time ago to entrust Jesus with my greatest desires--let's equate this to a BIG bowl of candy (all my favorite kinds...Reese's, Swedish Fish...you get the idea). Candy is good to have, but only in the right time. If acquired/consumed too early, the goodness of the candy is lost & your nutritious dinner is spoiled (or so 'they' indoctrinated us). Maybe if you have too much of the good thing, you also end up with rotten teeth. Therefore, you hand over these desires (the bowl) to One who has your best interest at heart...One who'd never hold out on You, but wouldn't let you push past the boundaries that keep you well.<br /><br />Well, I gave that bowl to the Lord and asked that He would guard it and bless me when He knew the time was right. <br /><br />God is good, so He has. Only, He guards the bowl uniquely: you have the ability to access the contents. So, everyday, in word I say "Guard my candy" and yet, everyday, I walk up and try to snatch a few handfuls. Because He's good and because I asked, He has to pry my greedy, desperate fingers off the stem to get the lollipop back to the bowl. He knows what's best, and I know that, but my hunger overtakes me (or is it my impatience??) I must have what I want...and now! Like a child, I am unable to see how his prying my fingers is good. In fact, I'm downright angry at God. Why can't he just hide the freakin' bowl?! I blame Him for holding out on me. I point to the other kids who have candy and I wonder why God is being so cruel...then He reminds me that I gave Him my bowl; I ASKED Him to watch over it. Is that His fault?<br /><br />I resolve to try to stop inflicting the pain on myself each day, and to sit back & trust that the Lord brings His goodness to match my deep desires in His perfect timing. In that way, I'll never get a toothache.<br /><br />Man, that candy sure looks good though...Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-57919521264468041382007-10-21T16:24:00.000-05:002007-10-21T16:48:44.741-05:00Are we all 8 legged freaks??Well, my tarantula and I have a love/hate type of bond--I love watching her, I hate doing just about anything else--opening the cage, feeding her, thinking about holding her, etc.<br /><br />So, you can imagine my surprise at my own attachment to her when I glanced by her cage to find her belly up, listless, all 8 legs reaching for heaven, while laying in a little self-spun web "grave" cradle. I thought, "How sad, this gives new meaning to the phrase: 'Make your bed and lie in it.' She made her own little resting place."<br /><br />My heart sank at the thought of Princess exiting the world--not just because I'd have to spend $25 for her replacement--but because, in some small way, we bonded. Not that she ever crawled on me or cuddled, but life in any form connects with life--a dependent on you becomes close no matter what the species (especially considering my extreme fear of arachnids). I pondered a little funeral & decided to check online at the appropriate grieving process for a spider owner. This was new to me...<br /><br />Well, I'm glad I checked or Princess would've wondered why she was trapped in a shoebox underground when she came to strength from MOLTING. What an amazing process--they fast, then make themselves completely vulnerable by laying on their backs, "unzip" their exoskeleton to make room to grow (the new body already underneath), pump fluid to remove the old body, and emerge as a delicate, shiny, vulnerable, and most importantly, "more adult" like spider. <br /><br />As a nerd and a teacher, I captured it all on video clips and I sat in awe at God's process for tarantulas. With fascination mounting, I wondered at the growth process for human hearts. Are we any different?? Just like all spiders know how to do this instinctively, I feel that we humans do some of the same things, if we are willing to grow. What growth does not happen without a little vulnerability toward God--you choose to spin the cradle and lie in it, belly up...or not. (Although I believe you end up on your back at some point whether you choose to have a cushiony preparation or a hard landing...) At that point, you experience the process of shedding old ideals, convictions, heart strings, and habits. The real (new & improved and ever so slightly more "adult-like") you is revealed in its fresh glory. Recovery time is important as new ways are challenged by old mechanisms, leaving you vulnerable until convictions strengthen and your heart resolves the growth by God's grace. <br /><br />There are shreds of evidence that a spider is about to molt...dull color, missing hairs on the abdomen, etc. as it prepares to grow. I believe the same for a human heart. Sometimes things seem the lowest right before they begin to ascend. And here I thought my little Princess just had the mange...Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-9471307297532230172007-10-09T21:14:00.000-05:002007-10-09T21:37:52.537-05:00ReflectionsI've had some weird experiences regarding memories of my dad, and I have been thinking alot about him. This summer, I was reading Harry Potter: Book 7 (awesome, BTW) and remember writing about my dad. I revisited this entry today and thought I'd share...<br /><br />There is a part of [Harry Potter] I truly identify with. When he is around others who want to understand but can't...when he thinks about [his deceased parents] often, but feels angry and guilty at times. Some part of you is torn apart when you lose a parent--the part of you that looks like them is lost...but your reflection in the mirror is your living reminder of who they were in a breathing body...good and bad morphs together, blurred, and you have faint memories of what you ought to loathe, but can't...the good blurred in like words on the tip of your tongue...barely there, but your sub-conscious mind has a hold of them... you long for more moments with them, but know that new knowledge only comes with others who knew their past-tense--a person you never knew...like they are describing a stranger who was supposed to have birthed you. The feeling is unreal, really...unable to be put in words, but understood, from one orphan to another, an unspoken bond that allows you to relax a little, knowing that they "get" you without words...a sign of relief from having to pretend you are "over" their death. Truth be told, you are never "over" losing a parent (or anyone, for that matter)...all the days of your life, you grieve the lost moments of the future as you stare at them in the mirror.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-10098121822867111522007-10-01T21:43:00.000-05:002007-10-01T21:59:49.997-05:00My Hol(e)y CloakJust some more thoughts from my journaling this summer:<br /><br />I realize my faith is in the process of "becoming real." When I first came to you, God, it is like other Christians handed me a well-meaning cloak of righteousness. Designed to cover all the ugly roots growing out of me, I was thrilled to wear it. In fact, I took pride in how it looked on me, forgetting what it was covering. Over time though, in moments of stress, fatigue, trial...those roots (which had been growing faithfully) started peeking through.<br /><br />Frantically, I tried to cover them with the tail of my cloak, or I would go to another conference and earn a "patch" for my cloak. More pride swelled from the "out of sight, out of mind" righteousness. Then, I realized the roots had grown out so far, they could no longer be concealed. I couldn't hide behind quiet times, Christian checklists, scripture memory, Christian lingo, a 'gold star' perfect attendance record at church, or leading others. <br /><br />It was time for the cloak to be ripped off. In one fell swoop, frustration and feeling fake prompted the revealing motion, and my ugly roots scared every Christian who still proudly wore their cloaks. Only Jesus was smiling--well, so were the former 'cloak wearers' who had mustered the courage to face the process of root pulling (I think it is a favorite pasttime of the Lord's, by the way!) And so begins the process of my faith "becoming real," as Jesus asks me to bring each ugly thing before Him and request the divine help to uproot it. Then, and only then, can I help You [Jesus] heal others as their roots are ripped out.<br /><br />I then gave my tattered cloak to CCA...just kidding. I burned it with holy fire...Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-23300169164028098532007-07-29T12:40:00.000-05:002007-07-29T13:04:21.024-05:00On the WheelWhen I was in Chicago this summer, it seemed as though there was a nice little heat wave for a few days. Then, the day I decided to go to Navy Pier, cold wind started to blow. I went anyway and I'm glad I did. Sometimes, reality hits you like a brick...<br /><br />I got on the Navy Pier ferris wheel with nervousness and anticipation as the wind was whipping through the crossbars. Did I mention I am pretty scared of heights? I try to face that fear any chance I get, but the fear remains. I got in the car which I had to close the doors on because the worker was chatting and missed securing me in. That instills confidence! :p As I started up, the view was breathtaking--skyline, water, people--just gorgeous. Around the top, I noticed my car wasn't moving. <br /><br />Panic set in as the wind rocked my car back and forth. Sweat began appearing as I pictured a mechanical problem. This ferris wheel is continuous--it is not supposed to stop. The fear of plummeting started to take over. I breathed short prayers and gripped the sides with my sweaty hands to secure what I felt I could secure. I sat like that for a long minute when I felt the whisper of God, "Turn around and look."<br /><br />Slowly (as if any sudden movement would detach my car from the railing) I turned around to find we had been moving the whole time--the car is attached to the spokes, so you aren't able to have a stable focal point besides the sky. Peace rushed over me as reality dissolved my fear. My anxiety was perception-driven, not based on reality. <br /><br />How much of life is faith in God's goodness!? Sometimes it is a matter of ignoring how circumstances are creating a false reality. God's truth and promises are like the breath that says, "Turn around and look"; "Take your eyes off of the perception and drink the dose of reality." Peace is instantaneous and bitterness can't take root when truth dwells in a heart. <br /><br />"Wait for the Lord, be strong and let your heart take courage...Yes, wait for the Lord..."Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-33223986070904358152007-07-04T12:33:00.000-05:002007-07-04T12:47:16.251-05:00The Last Crayon Standing?My friend and I were talking in one of our late night sessions that we always do when we visit twice a year, and some of these thoughts were sparked from that conversation.<br /><br />I wrote this to expound on her comment and this journal entry is regarding the feeling that many "aging" Christian women have toward singleness, pickiness vs. standards, and the like...<br /><br /> She mentioned that she felt like the odd color in a box of crayons. You all start out in the same box--uniform shape and representing all the colors of the rainbow. Then, as each one chooses his favorite color, you develop emptiness around you...a void in the crayon box. The popular colors are snatched up--red, blue, green. But, you are the obscure one, different from the rest. You are "violet red"--on the surface you look like regular red--like the others. But, when you put your vibrant color to the paper, you represent more than your surface shows. You are really more purple, so you are put back, because they really wanted just plain red. <br /><br />The world of men (even Christian ones) seem to want red, but you are more complex than that. Your standards--following Jesus--makes you more violet (but not purple), therefore a rarity in the crayon box. It takes patience and confidence to keep standing proud of your color as the space in your crayon box grows with time.<br /><br />Disclaimer: This is not a complaint, merely an observation from the collective whole of women I speak to all over the world.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-54328892175370440732007-07-03T21:28:00.000-05:002007-07-03T21:50:10.119-05:00The word Holiness looks a lot like LonelinessI have been journaling a lot on my travels and have been thinking about my views on life, my walk with Jesus and other mind boggling thoughts. I will post a few of these journal entries in the next few days/weeks (depending on how together I am). :) This was the first "realization" that stemmed out of my spring/summer this year and a dear friend helped me crystalize it before she left this summer...<br /><br />My Christian life (I'm going on a 10 year anniversary now) has certain "rules" that keep me from doing things that I know I don't desire--God never put them there specifically, but they stemmed from my understanding of "walking uprightly". They are good when followed with the right intentions. I am not advocating cheap grace, but only true dependence on a real God. Well, this year, these "rules" I had created over the past 10 years started becoming a noose around my neck. One move in any direction and the life was strangled out of me...I know that is dramatic but literally how I felt. I saw my self-righteousness and it was like looking at an ugly picture of myself--barely recognizable, but definitely me. How did it get like this?? I thought I was following Christ...<br /><br />I prayed for humility in certain self-righteous areas and God is quick to answer that prayer (praise Him for that). Here is the start of my journal entry in response...<br /> <br /> I love that you showed me that my "rules" were first created by me at a time when I was close to sin, rather than far from it. Purity was purposefully protected because I saw my potential for botching it all up, not because I was so amazing and put together. Therefore, it wasn't legalism then. But, somehow it morphed. Somewhere it twisted--in my own mind--to a set of guidelines that I felt made me "better," more evolved in my faith. Really, it just stunted my belief in You [Jesus]. I no longer needed Your [God's] grace--I coasted on my own synthetic version of it...a 30 minute quiet time here, a conference there, like a 10-year anniversary pin to keep me thinking I was on the right track. Thank You for de-railing my rule-bound train--it was headed for a mountain of loneliness that I had misread for "holiness." Holiness is not walking to a set of rules that make you look good--it is walking with a compass that points to the face and heart of Jesus. May I only look at my True North. Thank you again for humbling me in this area. I want never again to build another self-sufficient railway where I travel in a lonely car of bitterness.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-38122290995178235852007-06-10T20:43:00.001-05:002007-06-10T20:43:54.370-05:00I miss him...So, today is the 7 year anniversary (is that what you would call it??) of my dad passing away...I miss him always but am reminded more on this day.<br /><br />Thanks to all my great friends who remembered and gave me hugs and flowers...I love all of you!Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-37837644321542888272007-06-06T16:11:00.000-05:002007-06-06T16:20:11.945-05:00House of MirrorsI was reflecting (and by that I mean crying) the other day, and I realized that my life has felt a bit like a house of mirrors...<br /><br />At first, it is so intriguing to lose yourself in all the chaos. Your mind tricked and teased into which reflection is actually you. As you move through, you become increasingly engrossed in the peculiarity of the experience. As you get lost in the hundreds of angles, panic starts to set in. You sweat slightly at the thought that you may be lost--not forever, even if just for a moment--you laugh nervously at how such a childish endeavor has turned you upside down. <br /><br />As time passes, confusion sets in as you question where "you" ends and reflections begin; the lines blur between reality and created illusion. "You" (flesh & bone, soul & spirit) are lost. Or, maybe just fragmented; pieces of you scattered down an eternal pathway in view. <br /><br />The only way to be grounded is to have the sense to step out into the Sun; fresh air...breathe; take in the wholeness of yourself; gathering the pieces of who you are in an instant. "You" are found. Sometimes we have to be fragmented and confused to appreciate our wholeness again.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-25673146564642441802007-05-27T18:06:00.000-05:002007-05-27T18:33:24.868-05:00Magnetic People: God is a Mad ScientistIn my many conversations with people in my life, I am continually reminded of the natural laws at work in our universe. One of those laws is the fact that God is not under them. I love that and hate it at the same time. As we were discussing one-sided attraction, my friend said she feels like God is a mad scientist sometimes, using a chemistry set that is out of this world. I started thinking how true this FEELS (with the emphasis on feelings, because I know He is GOOD). Sometimes it seems that just when you have it all figured out, God bends the rules or makes them work for His end product, rather than what you thought He had planned. It becomes hard as a rule-bound human to manuever in the Creator's laboratory. He has no formula that makes sense to us, no natural law it seems (or He breaks it for our good constantly), but He is gloriously correct in His calcualations. HIS formulas arrive at all the best and most favorable conclusions. He is not crossing His fingers, hiding behind His lab coat, and hoping that it all works out. But it sure does FEEL that way often in my life and in the lives of those I connect with.<br /><br />I have seen this over and over with what I call "magnetic people": I am talking about those people that usually have a group of people surrounding them, wanting to be known and held dear, waiting to be included. These are the people that, when they don't include you (for whatever reason), you have to fight off feelings of worthlessness--even though 5 others invited you to the same thing--THEY didn't. I am sure you know who I mean...we all have some we encounter. <br /><br />I am very analytical and I have spent several Starbucks times thinking about why this exists and what it looks like. I wrote this in my journal in April, but I am just now getting to write it down:<br /><br />I feel magnetism is like a combo of intensity mixed with and opposed by aloofness. A tricky combination, like an elusive butterfly. You are initially stunned by its beauty or intrigued by its abrupt entrance into your life. It lands on you, kisses your nose, touches down, tickles your arm and heart, flatters your senses--you breathe in the fragrance it carries; drinking its presence until you are almost drunk with delight. Just as you get your fill of intoxication and grab for more--desiring to harness its beauty, cage it somehow--it slips through your desperate fingers as it flies on to another, leaving you vulnerable, hungover, needy, stripped bare...like an emotional one night stand. Your friends that are available and constant, there to catch you in your drunken stupor. Lean on them...their availability and stablility will be your blanket & hot cup of coffee after being stuck in a torrential downpour: security, love, warmth, true intimacy.<br /><br />And the next time the butterfly returns to delight your world, let it land--but with the security, intelligence & maturity of an adult who knows that a butterfly is most beautiful when it is free and would be crushed or frantic in the hands of its captor. Unlike a child who seeks to gratify desires, we know better to stand back and admire an elusive creature, smile a little, and then return to life as usual...blessed by the account, yet immune to its intoxicating effect.Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-21344175602947985572007-03-08T20:15:00.000-06:002007-03-08T20:32:18.863-06:00I Wanna Ride the StickhorseWhy, you ask? It was something that I was thinking about during our Kindergarten Rodeo Day last Friday. It is interesting how everything you need to know you REALLY did learn in Kindergarten (or should've...).<br /><br />We had 6 super sweet rodeo stations including: potato sack races, pin the star on the sheriff, sidewalk chalk/bathroom break, lasso the chair, horshoes, and stickhorse relay. My kids were wicked excited--with the emphasis on wicked--and we were off to have a load o' fun, at the expense of my energy and vocals.<br /><br />While we were at the stickhorse relay, I learned a major life lesson. About 4 or 5 kids were standing in the back of the line peering over to the next station, lassoing, but they had been the same ones who strained to watch the stickhorse relay while doing potato sack relay. Only, they never got to experience the stickhorse because of their "forward thinking". And, whadduyah know, they didn't get to enjoy lassoing because they were already playing with the sidewalk chalk in their minds--and so on...<br /><br />About 2 or 3 kids were timidly watching the stickhorse relay and when prompted, said, "No, I'll just watch--I feel silly/scared..." They never experienced the fun because of fear.<br /><br />Then, the rest of the class went buck wild on the stickhorse. They participated the fake head right off of the horse. Poor guy had to be taped on three times due to extreme enthusiasm. Some kids even slapped their imaginary horse as if they truly BELIEVED it would help them "ride faster" (not realizing that it was their tiny legs that brought them around the tree and back). I realized then how often I am the kid in the back, checking out what could be better in the future--only, I'm missing out everytime because there is always a "future" something. Then I questioned how often I was the fearful one who watched others participate, while growing ripe with jealousy and thoughts such as, "If only I had this or that, THEN I could...(you fill in the blank)."<br /><br />What I really want to be is the group in the races who neither noticed anyone else nor cared of the future events--they sold out to the moment. All there; present. I wanna ride the stickhorse...Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9470230.post-1165551186255145862006-12-07T21:56:00.000-06:002006-12-07T22:16:04.460-06:00Thirsty?Just as I had begun to pray tonight, I caught something moving in the corner of my eye. It was startling to me because it was the wilted plant that I had earlier watered. I have always wondered if you could "see" a plant get refreshed, much like watching the hands of a clock--mysteriously they pass time without your notice, although you are aware of their constancy. I had the same thought about my little plant. It is cramped in a too-small pot that I have been "meaning" to get around to re-potting, and it has been gracious with my neglect. It seems to mirror my days when I come home: perky, but with a few damaged leaves; wilted and sagging; alive and bright green (not that I'm bright green...); somewhere in between...<br /><br />Tonight it was completely wilted. How does it get there that fast? This morning it seemed fresh and didn't seem to need my attention. Why do some days seem to suck the life right out of it while other times it seems that it lives for weeks on a drop of water? Maybe at this point you are wondering why I am rambling about a houseplant...or why I keep using the word "seems"...<br /><br />It is a spiritual parallel to me tonight--as most mundane things seem to be to me. What I realized as I watched the leaves "jump" around, drinking in the life-giving water, is how quick the plant responded to my care. It didn't sag around for hours after I watered it...no, it started returning to its natural state as if I had never missed a beat. How true this is to my relationship with the Lord. Or, rather, how I want it to be. Some days seem to take the life right out of me and I want to come to Him for the life-giving water...but I don't want to wallow in the misery of my situations. I want to immediately respond to this quenching. And, I realized tonight that the longer the plant goes without its soul food, the longer it takes to perk back up. And, really, after that amount of time, it never fully returns to "normal".<br /><br />That, in a nutshell, is the point of why I am rambling about my houseplant...Katie Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13190456585175483184noreply@blogger.com0