In Over My Head

There is a song I used to pray with. The song speaks about fearlessly being pulled closer to Christ…..closer to what He asks of us, and asking for more from Him.

I used to BEG for more from Him. Beg for a clearer understanding of what He wanted me to do with this life. I, with certainty, wanted to be fully immersed in a life that was calling me to greater depths, to a place that was closer to Him and further away from the ‘me’ that I knew. I wanted to grow, rely on Him more, and get back to the person I was when I was the most reliant on Him, and then some. I wanted more reliance, and more of an opportunity to glorify Him through service and obedience.

This song speaks specifically, saying ‘come and do whatever You want to.’ Did I really understand what I was asking for? Did I really mean it when I repeated these lyrics saying ‘Would You take me back to the place where my heart was only about You? Whatever it looks like, whatever may come, I am Yours.’

Did I really want to go back to the place where I felt so vulnerable, so lonely, and so broken? Did I really want to be back in that place where I was so open and transparent with myself? With others?

I was so sure that that is what I NEEDED and what I wanted. And then things changed. I sunk back in to a life that was less focused on Him and more focused on my regular comforts. I fell back in to a place where I was more concerned with what others thought of me, rather than who I needed to focus on.

And then things changed…….I was given an opportunity. One that excited me, terrified me, and that I felt flat out unqualified for. I wasn’t sure if this opportunity was one I should take, or one I even wanted.

I was given the opportunity to work as a Director for the orphanage that I had previously volunteered at in Sierra Leone. It was a dream. It was something I had only imagined I could do one day. ONE day. Not today. Today couldn’t be the day I said yes to something like this. I have a home here…..I have some of the best friends I’ve ever had…..I have wine……I have a really good bed with a REALLY good warm comforter that just wouldn’t work with the heat in Sierra Leone.

But I said yes……..I don’t think I was fully understanding what I was saying yes to….but I knew that that was my answer.

I spent the next several months with almost just this prepared answer to the common questions: Why are you going? Because I feel called to do so. How long will you be gone? Probably about two years, but I ultimately don’t know. When do you leave? May 17^th. Are you ready? No, but I will be.

I will be. I will get there. I will feel ready when the time comes. I will get there…..but I’m not there yet.

I felt this knot in my throat every time I answered – being aware that I wasn’t fully grasping what I was saying….or that this was about to be where my life was taking me. I have a major reason for saying yes, and one that I can’t share on here yet…..but one that has driven my very decisions and thoughts throughout this. I knew why, but did I fully understand what I was doing?

Absolutely not.

Last week I had a big meltdown, which consisted of my first true panic attack. I had the first moment where I REALLY realized what I was doing. I had the first moment where I fully grasped the life I am leaving…..and fell in to this deep fear and grief for what I am losing.

I. Lost. It.

Couldn’t breath, called my friend and told her I needed her to come over. Called my other friend to walk me through it until the first friend showed up. I had never felt anything like it……the feeling that I couldn’t catch my breath, or physically stand, and that I had gotten myself in to something so much larger than I could handle.

I have spent so many days wondering why I was still putting one foot in front of the other. Why I wasn’t stopping this. Why I wasn’t turning back and just staying put…..right in my happy place. And then I remembered…….

I asked for this. I asked to be completely submerged in this. I specifically asked the Lord to put me in over my head. I told Him that no matter it looked like I would be obedient.

I asked for this for a reason. Because I KNEW it would lead to a better relationship with God. I knew that it would allow me to sink deep in to what He knows I’m capable of doing. It was going to take me back to a place that was hard, yes, but so so worth it. It was going to take me back to me……as I find myself in Him.

A sweet, sweet friend told me (during one of worse moments) that there is only one difference between fear and excitement. The bring the same physical feelings….but one is expecting the worst, and one is hoping for the best.

Let that one sink in.

You can ask to be thrown in to the water, and freak out when it happens. Or you can realize that it is exactly where you are supposed to be, or where you asked to be, and you can swim your hardest, in awe of a God that is absolutely 100% going to draw you closer to Him because of it. You can stand in total amazement that you’re about to experience something incredible.

I am completely in over my head, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else….because I’m choosing excitement. I’m choosing to not thrash around and freak out, but to stand and wait for the show.

Mai Perso - For Jenny

On Saturday my sister marries her man.

On Saturday, our family welcomes him in, in the same moment that we let her go one step further away.

On Saturday, I’m supposed to give a speech, which I tried writing tonight, about them. I’m supposed to talk about how wonderful they are for each other, and they are. However, while writing, I realized that I have a lot to say…..and it’s not completely about them. Because she’s been wonderful for me, too.

Jenny is three years older than me. Unbeknownst to my parents upon having me, this is an age gap that is HORRIFYING during middle and high school. My sister and I were complete opposites during that time. We fought like CRAZY. Preeetttty much any chance we had.

She moved to Georgia when I was starting college, and for the first time, I realized how much she had been holding me up. Let’s not even mention the countless times she covered for me when I came home after drinking in high school, or the few times she blankly stared at the police at the front door, who were responding to a noise complaint, telling them “no one is here”, after she shoved all of my friends and I underneath the staircase in the basement so that they couldn’t see us through the window.

When she was gone, I realized that although I only answered half the time, I needed those phone calls. Although it drove me NUTS that she always wanted to know what was going on in my life, I needed those reminders that someone was thinking of me, worried about me, caring for me.

She has always been within arms reach…..even from across the ocean. She has either been behind me whispering words of encouragement, or right in front of me lighting my path. I have absolutely taken this for granted throughout my life. And I often still do.

We’ve grown a ton. We’ve learned each other’s language. How to confront each other, talk to each other, support each other, remind each other when one of us is being a pain in the ass. We still fail at it at times….but I have truly learned that the base of all of this is an extreme amount of love and respect. A foundation that I believe is only something one can have in a sister. 

Although ours lives have looked so very different at times, I know that we will always have this common path between our two worlds. We will always have this place, this bond, where we can meet. She will forever be a few steps ahead of me, but I couldn't be more grateful. I deeply cherish the role model I have in her, and the example she is to me. She has fallen in to holes for me, just to keep me safe. She has warned me of things ahead and prepared me for them with love and grace. She has been everything and more.

Jenn,

            No idea how I’ll get through even 10 seconds of a speech on Saturday. Cheers to that ;) ……I don’t say it enough, but you are a damn good sister. You are beautiful, kind, generous, loving, thoughtful, faithful, wonderful, and so incredibly smart. You look at others through the lens of grace and compassion. I absolutely cannot wait to watch you continue to grow in your relationship with Josh. I can’t wait for little Hinds’ to be running around. Can’t wait to take family vacations as adults, with our own little families merging together. Can’t wait to watch you continue to grow in your walk with Christ. Your faith has magnified, and you are a shining light to so many because of it. I truly couldn’t be happier for the both of you. It’s going to be one hilarious, crazy, messy, and beautiful life you two will create. Thank you for being my whisperer, my guide, a soft place to land, and a hard place to stand. And although you successfully give me the WORST nicknames ever, I love you infinitely. Because of you, I am ‘mai perso’.

All my love and many hugs,

Kat

Sitting in the Stars

I’m sitting on the plane on my way back to Sierra Leone. I usually appreciate that the part of the flight where we fly over the ocean is in the late evening, just so I can sleep through that part and not think about the big, wide, pitch black, open ocean. I usually close my window as the sun is setting, since it’s right in my eyes, and watch a movie as I drift off.

I haven’t been able to fall asleep yet, and I decided to pull up the blind to see if I could see any land still. I looked back and could only see glimmers of land left through the clouds. As I looked out, I saw one of the most incredible skies. It went from black, to red, and then in a rainbow back to black. We are well above the clouds, so there is not a single thing in the way of seeing the stars. The sky is painted in this incredible rainbow, and the stars are speckled all throughout it. It’s quiet. Almost numbing, but it’s the most peaceful picture I think I’ve ever seen. The world is below us, under the clouds, maybe under the rain. But from up here, we can see what it is supposed to look like.

We are supposed to be able to see the stars, humbling ourselves enough to understand how truly small we are, and how big our God is.

We are supposed to be able to see the rainbows throughout something as simple and regular as the sun setting and rising.

We are supposed to be able to quiet ourselves enough to feel peace within the silence.

We are supposed to become even more aware of how truly beautiful this world is, how perfectly it was made for us.

We are supposed to be able to see past the clouds.

We are supposed to see black fade to red, going through every color.

Finding beauty should not be a game of hide and seek. It’s here. Under us, in front of us, behind us, below us.

Up here, there isn’t war. There isn’t jealousy. Hatred. Separation. Anger. Resentment. Exhaustion. Guilt.

I wish there were a way to climb up here and sit. Alone, quiet, and with God. Truly admiring His beauty without the muck, without the clouds, without the darkness to trudge through.

I wish there was a way to pause this, freeze it and show it to everyone I love.

Find your thing. Maybe it’s a rare flight, or maybe it’s a garden, sitting watching your family play, or listening to the perfect song. Find your beauty…….find what was given to you and maybe has been in front of you the whole time. Find what has been there, but maybe you kept the blind closed, or closed it just a tad too early.

Climb your ladder towards the stars and sit. Appreciate it, breathe it in, and be truly and deeply grateful for the sight you have. There is too much that gets in the way of it on a day-to-day basis. When someone hands you a painting and tells you it’s a masterpiece, do you instantly try to find the flaws, or do you sit and try to see the beauty? Do you try to find what is so magical about it, just to catch a glimpse of what everyone else might see?

We’re in one. We are in an incredible masterpiece. Look around at it.

"Just Slow Down"

My dad…the one who is usually right. The one who usually made me the angriest, but was usually right. The one who always tried to help, even when I did not want it. The one who reminded me of the things I already knew but was going to learn the hard way on anyway.

He always told me ‘Just slow down, Kate’. I always said ‘ok’ or huffed, or rolled my eyes…but as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized how valuable those few words are. Just. Slow. Down. I always talk about sitting and enjoying the small moments, and I’m pretty darn good at telling others to do it…but when it comes to my own life I’m realizing how crummy I am at this. I rarely force myself to slow down and be in the moment. Sounds great. Rarely happens. As I’ve said before, life gets in the way of life. However, I’m realizing that life has gotten in the way of living. Truly living…breathing it in, stopping to look, settling long enough to really hear what is around me….sitting in the window to look at the snow fall instead of just wishing it would stop so that I could move on with what I wanted to do….with what I thought I needed to be doing. This all had smacked me in the face when Gram passed away, but I’ve managed to sink back in to ‘I don’t have time for that’, unfortunately. Selfishly, it is something I appreciate about the cycle of life…when those things happen that take our heart out of our chest and force us to just STOP. It’s usually surrounded by pain, but it is damn beautiful when it happens.

“Just slow down”. Although this usually meant that I was rushing and dropped something, or was driving too fast, or I ran around the corner and smacked in to someone, he meant more with it. He was reacting to this sense of urgency that I’ve always seemed to carry with me. If someone asked me if ‘slow and appreciative’ is how I live my life, I’d say yes. I’d love to have yes be the truth…it’s something I want and admire. However, if I’m honest and truly reflective, I move fast. I love hard, am constantly searching for something new, worry about the unknown, and have a very hard time being in each and every moment. I find a lot of beauty in the way I currently live, but I see a lot of need to slow down. In fact, the last time I remember truly sitting and soaking everything in was on a super breezy day in March in Sierra Leone. I was laying in the hammock and baby M was sitting in my lap, stretched out along the crease of my legs. We sat for hours, going in and out of sleeping, making noises, giggling, just watching him in all of his perfectness. He brought peace, and I remember what that day smelled like, what his tiny fingers felt like wrapped around mine, and the sound of his mouth opening to smile…I was living and breathing in that moment. I miss that feeling…that alive, peaceful, joyful feeling.

I have always said that I can’t wait to have kids. I can’t wait to be married. I can’t wait to own my first home. I can’t wait to feel settled and nest in to my home. I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait. In a lot of ways, I feel like I’m constantly waiting on the next something…and although this mindset is great in some ways, my waiting causes me to forget the reality of not only where I am, but what I am waiting on. Yes, I want kids….but when I do I might wish at times that I had fully lived my time alone to the fullest. I’m sure I’ll love being married…but I also know that I love having my own space and time alone. I’ll probably love my home and constantly be in a state of redecorating…but I also love my super cheap rent and that I have a landlord who will replace light bulbs and fix broken appliances for me.

Just slow down.

I find myself looking back often…over the last few days, weeks, even months. I look back at the time I’ve had since coming back to the states and I honestly wonder where it went. I have been back for just shy of a year…a year…a year of saying ‘I can’t wait to go back’. I had moments of truly being in the moment while I was here, but I was still saying and believing the same thing. I can’t wait.

I needed to wait. I still need to wait…to slow down. To be here emotionally, spiritually, and physically. To be in the present, breathing in each day in the best way I can. There will always be something to look forward to, the next step, the next move, the next love…something.

I don’t want to look back and see that I was always waiting, never feeling fully satisfied with now. Because next will turn in to now, which will have a next, which will turn in to now. Aligning myself with God and what He sees in that moment is SO powerful... I was recently reading a book called “The Best Yes” and there is a part in the book that talks about finding and feeling that moment…big or small…and saying ‘yes’. Not waiting for something huge and magical to happen, but seeing the huge amount of magic in the tiniest of moments. It’s SO hard to do…to truly do each day, but I think it’s worth trying.

I want to stop looking back and wondering where it went. I want to have more days in the hammock where my senses feel alive. I want to look my friends in the eyes and truly appreciate their presence and tell them. I want to remember how it feels to sit under a blanket while the snow falls, or how the cold air feels when I walk inside after a lot walk with a friend on a summer day. I want to remember the sound of fire crackling or music playing. I don’t want to be a hamster on a wheel that just does what is comfortable, regular, and expected.

I’m working on it, and I’m sure tomorrow I will smack myself in the head and be reminded of what I felt today. I’m sure I’ll do it many more times, and that I’ll hear my dad’s voice…’Just slow down, Kate’.

I’m so grateful for that voice… for the regular reminder that life goes WAY too fast…so incredibly fast. Why rush through it? Next will come, and now will be gone.

Don’t miss now. It’s too precious and beautiful to forget….and if it isn’t, you're probably missing what is unforgettable about it.

It doesn’t feel okay to ‘be okay’

A friend said to me not too long ago “Even when it’s not okay, it’s okay.”

I have clung to that. It was a breath that I needed. It was a message that came at the right time for me.

Since arriving back to the states, it hasn’t been okay. It has been absolutely wonderful to see family and friends……I missed them more than I had realized while I was gone. I filled back up gaps that I didn’t realize were there while I was gone. I was able to sit and eat dinner with my family, laugh, talk, and play games. I was able to sit on the porch and talk with Lana. I was able to call Jamie and not spend $100 just chatting. I was able to sit on the big red couch with Liz and watch TV like we used to (while indulging in a snack that is the opposite of healthy).

I was able to spend time with Gram, and be here to tell her goodbye. I was able to thank her for the life she gave me, and was able to kiss her on the cheek and watch Jesus take her home.

My cup has overflown with the comfort of being back, with the familiarities that lie within being with the ones you love most and who love you back the same.

I have tried being consistently positive about it, listening to those who say ‘Thank God you’re home”. I want to feel the same. I want to be thankful that I am healthy and safe, more so than I do on a regular basis. But I can’t get there.

I feel completely detached from where I feel I am supposed to be. I feel like my heart is split in to two pieces; thankfulness and anger. It’s hard for me to hear people say, “I bet you’re so relieved to be here.” or “Man, glad you got out”. Yes, I am happy to be healthy. But it is not as simple as ‘Sierra Leone isn’t healthy, and America is good’. The one that got me the most was when someone said ‘Can you imagine if you were there right now?!’ Uh, yes. I can! It is my home.

About a month in to life in SL, I had a shift. I hit a time where I was able to reflect on the difference between what I expected to change and what had actually changed. And to be honest, not that much changed. I had exposure to new things, I met new people, but not that much in life actually changed! I am still me. God is still God. And life still keeps moving forward: heartache, joy, pain, love, and death.

I had been expecting a change with a closed mind. As if America was THE place to be, and all these other places were below America. That sounds bad, but it is the truth in terms of where my thinking was. SL was an ‘experience’……it was a ride that I would one day get off of.

That mindset was crap. Sierra Leone, just like any other place in the world, was life. There are people there that I grew to love the same way I love people here at ‘home’. There were struggles that we all worked through, moments we rejoiced over, deaths that we mourned, and lives that we celebrated. I learned to LIVE there.

Coming back to the US hasn’t been the return from a vacation, or getting off of a ride at the carnival that proved to be a dangerous one. Coming to the US was leaving home….and in parts it felt like leaving life; leaving what I thought was supposed to be my life at that time. And I know I am not alone in that feeling, as many missionaries have had to return to their previous home as a result of Ebola.

They aren’t ‘returning home’ because of something bad in this far away place……they have had to watch their home, neighbors, and friends go through something horrible, and then leave that place. It feels like abandonment in a way, I guess. Leaving them behind. Leaving that place behind.

‘See ya when you’re safe’ doesn’t feel acceptable, right, or good at all.

It doesn’t feel okay to know that I’m okay.

It doesn’t feel okay to know that I am safe, look through the computer at the kids and staff and know they are stuck.

It doesn’t feel okay to hear them say ‘Auntie Kate, please keep praying, we are scared’.

This isn’t okay.

It will be okay……and when that day comes, we will celebrate life; the lives that ended and the ones still pushing forward. Sierra Leone, and surrounding countries, will get back up, dust of the dirt, and continue forward just like they always do.

Their faith will not waver in this time, and their strength will not weaken. They are strong, beautiful, and wonderful.

They are heroes.

I miss it terribly, and it doesn’t feel okay. It will, because God is faithful and restorative. 

If you happen to have friends who have had to leave the mission field to this, or anything similar, wrap your arms around them and let them grieve. It’s not like running away from something bad. It’s watching something beautiful become overtaken by something devastating, and it puts a pain in the pit of your stomach that is sickening. Love them, and understand that although they are now 'safe', their heart may still be across the water. 

Please continue to pray for those affected by the virus. The enemy is roaring, but he will not rise up. He never has, and never will. Sierra Leone isn't done fighting, and they never will be :) 

It doesn’t feel okay to ‘be okay’..….. and that’s okay.