light bulb.

I have encountered many surprising things in these first weeks of being a mom, but the most surprising things are not actually new. They are the familiar truths that I have seen in a new light—truths that I had previously acknowledged but struggled to take to heart. Loving our boy has given me a window into a deeper understanding of these truths: to know and truly believe them; to also accept them for myself as I whisper them over and over again to my son.

I told my therapist that becoming a parent has made them somehow tangible, as if I finally found the light bulb chain that’s been swinging above me, and I’ve finally turned on the light. Maybe you’ve experienced the same light bulb moment, or maybe you are still grasping around for the chain. Wherever you are at, I hope you find encouragement and hope in these things as I have recently:

It’s not a burden to care for you, even when you are having a hard time.

You can feel bad, and that does not make you bad. Feelings are something you have, not who you are. Feelings are finite: this too shall pass.

There’s nothing you could do to make me love you any less and nothing you need to do to make me love you any more. You are loved because you are worthy of love.

seeds for thought

Legacy, what is a legacy?

It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.  

– Lin-Manuel Miranda, “The World Was Wide Enough”, Hamilton: An American Musical

Today is my first Motherʼs Day as a mother. Iʼve thought a lot about my own birth story and my birth motherʼs pregnancy with me over the past twenty-four and half weeks. That is, Iʼve imagined what it might have been like. 

The beginning of my pregnancy was hard. I felt nauseated daily, I had little appetite, I lost weight over the first three months, and I was always exhausted. But I was still excited about our baby and felt proud to know that these were signs of my body doing an important job. 

The symptoms also made me wonder about my birth mother’s pregnancy with me. Did she feel as sick as I did? As tired as I did?

Iʼm acutely aware of the stark differences in our circumstances. I have a few sentences on ghost-thin paper about my mother’s pregnancy and my birth. I don’t know what symptoms she experienced, but I do know she was working in the city to send money to her family in a more rural area. I know she fell in love with my biological father, a “coffee shop DJ,” but “it was a one-sided love.” I know that she bound her stomach so that she could continue working. I know that she made the (literally) life-changing decisions to give me life and a chance at a life beyond what she would ever be able to provide.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude at the sacrifices she made. Her choices made way for the life I have now. As sick as I felt in those early days, I was working from home. I had sick days I could use. I had a husband who loved and took excellent care of me. 

As I continue to grow our baby, now starting to feel their kicks and somersaults, I am amazed at just how much I already love them. I like to think that my mother felt the same way. She saw the potential, the value of my life. Without her knowing anything about who I was or would become—about my personality, gifts, or skills—I was enough. Enough for her to endure the months of unpleasant symptoms. Enough for her to let her body be stretched and altered. Enough for her to go through additional discomfort to hide those changes so that she could continue to do what was expected of her.

My birth mother planted a seed that my adopted mom (and dad) were able to water. She gave me life and a family and opportunity. I hope, somehow, she knows that it was worth it. 

My life is her legacy.  And that legacy continues on through the life of my baby.

 

twenty twenty.

Today is the last day of the year.
The last day of the decade.
I have been feeling the ... impulse? ... obligation? to reflect.
So here is my attempt to put some words down.

This decade has seen such low points.
Ten years ago, at the end of a different decade, depression and anxiety felt like the masters of my life. Panic attacks were a common yet terrifyingly unexpected occurrence. I slept all the time because I didn't feel sad when I slept; I didn't panic when I slept--until I did. That year I found myself wondering if it would be better to not be around at all. It was made clear to me that that was not a better option. I'm thankful.

Two years ago I switched masters programs at Fuller after abruptly and heartbreakingly discovering that the plan and vision I had had was not something I could sustainably do. I'm still in the liminal space of finding what it is I should can will do. In the meantime, I can do what is in front of me. I'm thankful.

This decade has seen high points.
Five years ago Sam and I agreed to love, honor, and cherish one another for better or worse,  richer or poorer, in sickness or health. Only five years in and we've already walked through several of these scenarios. I'm thankful.

This decade brought hellos. 
I met seven out of eight nieces (from my siblings) in the past ten years. I met and became part of the Kelly (and Doman and Lovett) family. I started and changed jobs. I moved to a new city where I met new classmates, friends, and church family. I worked with a couple of therapists who have helped me to learn things about myself that I didn't even realize that I didn't know. I found new places and spaces and returned to familiar favorites too. I'm thankful.

This decade has brought goodbyes. 
Some were healthy; some were expected; others were neither. All of them were difficult.

The freshest goodbye is to the house I grew up in. The house my family brought me home to. The house where I had the room with the famously long closet and the swamp cooler. The house where I took my engagement photos and where I later got ready for my wedding day. It was and is a great place to live. Family members are buying the house so I'll still be able to visit. I'm thankful.


This has been a hodgepodge of memories. Lest you think too highly of me, the thankfulness that punctuates each one is found through much effort, and even then I don't always feel it.

As I close this post, and the year, I'll share this poem by Rilke. It's one I keep returning to and that I feel captures my reflections on the past, the work of the present, and my hope for the future.


God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby us the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

– Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours, I, 59.

2009 to 2019

yet.

Last week I opened a large, flat envelope at my parents’ house to find my diploma from Fuller. A couple of weeks ago, I had seen some excited and celebratory posts from some of my classmates who had received theirs, which made me anxious to see my own. However, when I opened that envelope and carefully removed the piece of paper confirming the completion of my master’s degree, I cried — not tears of joy or gratitude (I feel guilty just typing that out) but tears of grief, frustration, and shame.

Because in that moment, that piece of paper did not represent the time, work, growth, and discovery of the past two years. It represented unrealized plans, unmet expectations — my failure. It held all of the shame, anxiety, and anguish of the decision to leave the MS MFT program and switch to an MA degree in family studies — a degree that I had not planned to get nor had a clear picture of how to use. It amplified the unknown and the uncertainty of the past two months of being back in Fresno.

I know my last posts present the opposing and perhaps more rational and reasonable perspectives: the hope found in the unknown, the peace from “just enough light,” and the constant learning process of freely accepting grace. I still believe those are true and valid. They are what I strive for. However, it also feels important to share this true and valid part of my story, because while there is hope in what’s to come, there are also feelings of loss and grief from what I let go, from what could have been.

While I realize that personality categorizations and assessments, especially when self-assessed, should be taken with a grain of salt, I have found learning about the Enneagram to be a helpful and healing resource in this season. David Daniels and Virginia Price’s description of the Type One in The Essential Enneagram is overwhelmingly relatable.

Reading this made sense of the tearful reaction to my diploma. It explained the shaming inner monologue that keeps making an appearance in my mind:

“I’ve been back in Fresno for just over two months. I don’t have a job. I don’t have any actionable ideas of how I want to use my degree or pursue involvement in member care. I don’t have our apartment fully unpacked or decorated. We haven’t joined a church community.”

And it’s helping me to add a little word to the end of each of those sentences: Yet.

I don’t have a job yet. I don’t have any actionable ideas of how I want to use my degree or pursue involvement in member care yet. I don’t have our apartment fully unpacked or decorated yet. We haven’t joined a church community yet.

What a difference that little three-letter word can make.

Predictably, Nouwen again has words to encourage and challenge me. This time from Can You Drink the Cup?:

We have to live our life, not someone else’s. We have to hold our own cup. We have to dare to say: “This is my life, the life that is given to me, and it is this life that I have to live, as well as I can. My life is unique. Nobody else will ever live it. I have my own history, my own family, my own body, my own character, my own friends, my own way of thinking, speaking, and acting—yes, I have my own life to live. No one else has the same challenge. I am alone, because I am unique. Many people can help me to live my life, but after all is said and done, I have to make my own choices about how to live.”

Finding hope in the “yet,”

Kate

just enough light

Today is my last full day in Pasadena. This week has been filled with packing and cleaning; the week before was all about finishing school. We said our first goodbyes (to our community group) two weeks ago and we'll say our last ones tomorrow as friends come to help us load up the moving truck. Over the last few weeks, as the end of school and our time here was fast approaching, I have been trying to reflect upon and reminisce about this past season. There's so much I want to say, so many experiences to recount, so many people I want to thank. Maybe I'll make another post to do that. For now, I want to take a moment to claim and affirm some of the things I'm taking home with me.

My time here has looked nothing like I thought, hoped, or at some times even wanted, but I wouldn't change a thing. I am leaving Pasadena/coming back to Fresno so different than who I was when left Fresno/came to Pasadena two years and seven months ago. I have struggled, learned, ached, and grown in ways that I never expected. I've allowed myself to feel sad, angry, afraid, and confused and because of that, I experienced a greater hope and deeper joy than I ever knew was possible. It's not because those all of those emotions are enjoyable to experience, but rather it is because by experiencing them, I was able to be unapologetically myself. And ultimately, although I have changed, I am still me. In fact,

I am more myself than I have ever been. 

It's probably no surprise that I have found words from the ever-sage Henri Nouwen to help me articulate my perspective.  These excerpts describe hope. The kind of hope that I have found, that I carry with me.

From Here and Now:

While optimism makes us live as if someday soon things will go better for us, hope frees us from the need to predict the future and allows us to live in the present, with the deep trust that God will never leave us alone but will fulfill the deepest desires of our heart. When I trust deeply that today God is truly with me and holds me safe in a divine embrace, guiding every one of my steps I can let go of my anxious need to know how tomorrow will look, or what will happen next month or next year. I can be fully where I am and pay attention to the many signs of God's love within me and around me.  

From Turn My Mourning into Dancing:

Hope is willing to leave unanswered questions unanswered and unknown futures unknown. Hope makes you see God's guiding hand not only in the gentle and pleasant moments but also in the shadows of disappointment and darkness. 

And finally, from Bread for the Journey:

Often we want to be able to see into the future. We say, “How will next year be for me? Where will I be five or ten years from now?” There are no answers to these questions. Mostly we have just enough light to see the next step: what we have to do in the coming hour or the following day. The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark. When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go. Let’s rejoice in the little light we carry and not ask for the great beam that would take all shadows away.

Moving forward in hope,
Kate

a letter to my[year-ago]self.

Dear Kate (or Kathryn, as you've decided to go by here),

You are about to start your first day of grad school after what seems like the longest wait—congratulations! I am happy to report that you make it through the first year. It's both easier and harder than you anticipated. It won't be the most difficult year you've experienced but neither will it be without trials. You will face new challenges, revisit old struggles, and explore a deeper understanding of what makes you, you. From all of that, there are a few key points that I'd like to highlight. You may not believe or be able to fully understand their significance just yet, but they’re worth having somewhere in your mind.

Be like a redwood.
Tap into your amateur dendrology knowledge and remember the way that Redwood trees depend on the vast network of roots surrounding them to stay anchored in the ground. In other words, don’t go at it alone. Give others a chance to see and hear you. Let them hold hope for you, just as you will do for them. You are not excluded from asking for help.

Approach self-care as a posture rather than a task.
Although a “self-care Sunday” routine can provide a helpful structure (and also has a nice alliteration), it can also become counterproductive when you berate yourself for not “doing” enough, in quantity or quality, self-care. Instead, think of self-care as an attitude or perspective you have towards yourself. This leads into perhaps the most important thing I have learned/am learning…

Be gentle with yourself.
Give yourself the grace to do good enough. Failing to do perfect work does not equate to being a failure. You are not perfect, but you are deeply loved.

So there they are; three lessons from a year in grad school. You might be doing the polite "nod-and-smile-because-this-is-obvious" right now but tuck these away somewhere, just in case.

Choose Joy,
Your second-year self

present today.

As of today, I have closed my time at my practicum site. That might seem a bit abrupt, but the past few weeks have been a whirlwind. Here's what you may have missed:

Six weeks ago, I started Spring quarter feeling exhausted. Winter quarter had been extremely demanding and draining in almost every area of my life, and the week between the two quarters felt overwhelmingly insufficient.

Five weeks ago I began practicum. It felt like taking a drink from a firehose. Everyone at the site was so kind, but I came home from my first day of supervision and training feeling overstimulated, underprepared, and even more exhausted.

Five weeks ago, I also received my first client referral and subsequently experienced a panic attack—the first in several years. I was terrified.

The two weeks that followed are a blur. I went to class, went to practicum, and (eventually) completed my homework, but the most prominent things I noticed were the red flags I had come to know so well from my previous struggles with anxiety and depression. I knew I was not doing well.

Three weeks ago, we went home for the weekend to attend a wedding and for the first time in . . . well, it felt like months, but at least since the start of this quarter, I felt peace. I enjoyed time surrounded by family and friends. I went on a bike ride in the foothills of my childhood neighborhood. I leisurely worked on homework in my favorite tea shop while sipping on lavender creme earl grey. Time seemed to stop for a bit, and I finally felt like I could breathe. I did not want to come back to Pasadena.

Also three weeks ago, on our drive back, I received a voicemail from my practicum site that I was not expecting or prepared for. The time-stopping bubble of peace and rest instantly burst and I was thrown into panic mode again. All I could say was, "I want to go home."

The next day, I was ready to go home. I think I had known that this was not a sustainable way to live and that second anxiety attack seemed to block any last hope of making it through the rest of the quarter, let alone the program. I realized that the "home" I longed for was not only the familiar, family-filled fields of Central Valley, but also a sense peace, safety, and stability.

That Tuesday, I had long talks with a trusted friend in my cohort, my integration formation group, some of my closest friends, my therapist, my pastor, and, of course, my husband. I received supportive, nonjudgmental listening, prudent and practical questions, and prayer. My own prayers were more along the lines of, "Help. Help. Help."

The following Tuesday—my 28th birthday—I met with the clinical director of training with every intention of leaving the program and Pasadena. I expected to feel shame and her disappointment but was willing to face that for the relief of freedom. What I received was beyond what I could have imagined. She listened patiently, helped me sort out the decisions and options I actually had, and affirmed her support of me. I had not realized it was possible to delay practicum even though I had already started. I could take a step back to have the time and energy I needed to get the overbearing monster of anxiety under control so that I could make a more informed decision about the future. She helped me to realize that it is almost impossible to make the kind of researched and meticulous decision I was wanting to make (something she caught onto when I mentioned it took me five years to even decide to apply for grad school) when anxiety is in control and safety outranks any other goal or objective. I was not only consumed with anxiety, I was also burnt out. I had an epiphany moment when I realized that this kind of experience is the very one I came to grad school to learn how to help with. When you're feeling completely drained and then pile on stressors, or trauma, or fill in the blank, of course you feel like you just want to quit, get away, and go home.

So for now I am pausing. I am resting. I am healing.

I don't know what the future holds, I may still end up going home before finishing the program. I may delay practicum until finishing classes. I may start up practicum again in June. I don't know, and for the first time in a while, I am (mostly) okay with that.

Sam has been reading The Lord of the Rings to me, often times to help me sleep, and the following quote grabbed my attention a few weeks ago as I was drifting off. I made him go back so I could write it down, feeling like there would be a time and place for me to come back to it. Seems like now is the time.

"The future, good or ill, was not forgotten, but ceased to have any power over the present."

-John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

deja vu.

I should be working other things. Like the paper that's due later this week or the endless reading that will end with the quarter and not a moment sooner. But I think this is important enough for me to take the time to do. Well, I guess I'm making it that important.

Today was difficult. The kind of difficult I haven't seen (or felt) in quite a while. It was a terrible kind of deja vu or like being trapped in an all too familiar dream I couldn't wake up from.

I knew that this struggle was possible to reappear as I went back to school because the first time I encountered it was in undergrad. What I did not expect was how fearful I would be, of even the slightest inkling of its return. All of a sudden my mind was stuck showing reruns of undergrad and I began to despair of the impending chaos that was due to follow.

I did make it through the rest of the day without completely falling apart, until I got to my therapy session.

Thank Jesus for therapy. I guess you could say I'm a bit biased because that what I'm studying now, but really, I can't adequately express the value of having that space of being seen and heard. As my professor said today, it's a sacred space.

A takeaway: Instead of defining my success in grad school as "Doing well without any anxiety"
I can try out, "Success means doing well, acknowledging I will have times of anxiety, and managing it well when it presents itself."

Finally, I can always count on Henri Nouwen to speak the words of my soul. From The Inner Voice of Love in a section titled "Keep Returning to the Road of Freedom":

"When suddenly you seem to lose all you thought you had gained, do not despair. Your healing is not a straight line. You must expect setbacks and regressions. Don't say to yourself, 'All is lost. I have to start all over again." This is not true. What you have gained, you have gained...When you return to the road, you return to the place where you left it, not to where you started...It is important not to dwell on the small moments when you feel pulled away from your progeess...In everything, keep trusting that God is with you, that God has given you companions on the journey. Keep returning to the road to freedom?"

There is hope, friends. Tomorrow's a new day.

And now back to regularly scheduled programming...

enjoying now.

It's that time. New year, new outlook, new goals...new blog post. I can hardly believe I started this blog two years ago. I didn't turn out to be the most consistent of writers, but I'm glad I've at least written as much as I did.

Two years ago.
I was recently graduated from college and about a month into my first full-time,"grown up" job.  I had student loans looming and a heart pining to be anywhere but where I was...mostly for Portugal. I remembering  feeling (and often complaining) that I was in an awkward limbo place life--finished with one chapter, but not allowed to move on to the next.

Two years later, I must say...I was wrong. Lots of life happened during this so-called limbo time. By the grace of God, my student loans were paid off. I learned a little about designing and coding and a lot about what kind of work environment I want (or don't want) to work in. I met some new friends and became closer to others. One in particular being my self-appointed "BFF"(a story worth sharing...someday) who has truly become my best friend. I started a different job and was given the honor of helping out two non-profits run by people near and dear to my heart. I became an aunt to another niece and found out that there will be three more lovies coming this Spring. There's so much more that's happened, but the point is...the past two years have not been empty. They have not been simply for waiting, although there was definitely some waiting...but isn't there always?

Sometimes there are clear beginnings and ends to the chapters in your life, but I'm finding that more often than that, you're in the middle of the next chapter before you even realize it's begun. I've got a couple of practical New Years resolutions written down (in a list with checkboxes) but I think that one thing I really want to focus on is the NOW. I can get so carried away with planning and thinking about the future or longing for what used to be that I dismiss the life space I'm in now as insignificant. It's not until I take the time to pause and look around that I can see how very significant now is.

I realize this epiphany of mine is neither original nor deeply profound, but I hope it encourages someone as it has encouraged me.

Happy New Year!

Just because I never tire of this view, from our most recent trip to Yosemite.

starting on Someday.

It wasn't too long after I started college that I knew I wanted to work in missionary/member care. Through conversations with missionaries I served with and my own experiences with re-entry and debriefing, I saw a need for a holistic approach to the way we take care of the Body—and I wanted to be a part of meeting that need.  Throughout my time in college missionary care remained something I hoped I'd get to be a part of...someday.  Someday, when I've finished college. Someday when I've had more experience. Someday when I'm better equipped.

Someday, someday someday...

During my final semester of college I realized that I didn't know what master's degree I would or should pursue or if I even wanted/needed another degree. The thought of going into more debt, investing more time and money on something that I didn't know if I wanted or needed seemed unwise. 

So, I didn't. I was blessed to find a job before I even graduated and started a week after that. It wasn't what I wanted to do forever, definitely not a career I wanted to build my life around, but I was working full time—a cherished gift for a recent college grad.

But even though this job allowed me to pay off my student loans and start saving a bit of money, the yearning for Someday remained. I still didn't know how to get there, so I just kept working and waiting for Someday to show up.

A few weeks ago I had a chance to catch up with two dear friends (who also happen to be two of the ladies I lived with in Portugal).  I always leave feeling encouraged, inspired, loved and full of potential after spending time with these two. They both just have a gentle and genuine way of reminding me of who I am in Christ and how they see Him working in my life. During this conversation, I was asked about my passion/dream for missionary care and what I was doing to make that happen. I sputtered out some roundabout response about not knowing how to go about it or where to even start and all the unknowns and questions when my dear friend reminded me,

"The beauty is, you only have to make one decision at a time"

So, I've decided to start being proactive about figuring out what it would like for me to serve in missionary care. I've started researching schools, even went to visit one last month! (Arguably) More importantly, I'm having conversations with lots of people. People who I respect and look up to as mentors and friends. People who have the degrees I'm considering. People who have a heart for missionaries and the Church and taking care of other people.

I'm not at Someday yet, but I'm starting to look for ways to get there.

here we go.

to do (and to not do).

Quite some time ago, my sweet friend Emery suggested I read this book:

That day, I added it to my Amazon Book Wish list and then promptly forgot about it until a few weeks ago when I picked it up on sale at a little bookstore in SLO. And am I ever glad I did. 

One of the things I like most about this book is that each chapter can stand on its own, so I didn't feel overwhelmed to read all of it RIGHT NOW. I breezed through the first few chapters, pausing for some "Hmm's" and shoulder shrugs, but I got a big fat  "Oomph" to the gut when I read the following from the chapter titled, "things I don't do":

I'm a list-keeper. I always, always have a to-do list, and it ranges from the mundane: go to the dry cleaner, go to the post office, buy batteries; to the far-reaching: stop eating Henry's leftover Dino Bites, get over yourself, forgive nasty reviewer, wear more jewelry.

At one point, I kept adding to the list, more and more items, more and more sweeping in their scope, until I added this line: DO EVERYTHING BETTER. 

-Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet p. 54

Now, this chapter already packed quite a punch but it wasn't until a few nights later that I really understood how necessary it was for me to read that.

---

It started when a very tired and disoriented me had an argument with my parents about something so trivial. Feeling overwhelmed, I fled the scene to my room. There I curled up in the dark and all I could hear was the booming voice in my mind was broadcasting, "You can't do enough. You can't be enough. "

I felt sick to my stomach, like my even my body was rejecting me.
I wished I could  get up and boldly stand on the truth--that God is enough, He is more than enough. But Instead, I just cried. Mourning over something I'd never had, someone I'd never been.

And then, after quite some time of being paralyzed by the darkness, I realized I was still learning what I had been hit with over and over last week:
it's not about me.

Let me be clear in explaining that this wasn't a beautiful epiphany.
I didn't just snap out of my pitiful state, get out of bed and slap a big smile on my face.

No, it was more like my process of waking up...which is the farthest thing from immediate. (Ask ANYONE who has tried to wake me up). I have stages of waking up including resistance and grumpiness. I need time. And that's how exactly how I'm learning this whole "it's not about me" thing--slowly, with moments of resistance and grumpiness. But I have hope that I'll eventually "wake up" to the idea as I find practical, daily ways to remind myself.

Coming back to the book, Shauna explains in that chapter how and why deciding what you want your life to be about isn't the hard part, but it's deciding what you're willing to give up for those things that is "like yoga for your superego, stretching and pushing and ultimately healing that nasty little person inside of you who exists only for what other people think."

So, the questions I'm leaving here are:  What are the things I don't do, the things I'm giving up, so my life can be about the things I've decided it should be about? (I hope that makes sense, it's poorly worded)

And the moral of this story is, LORD, I need You.

with open hands.

Sam went to a book sale a few weeks ago and picked up this book for me:

and I truly enjoyed it! I really appreciate  Nouwen's writing, and this book in particular had the added aesthetic of black and white photos. 

There were so many take aways from this book, the pages are already peppered with flags and underlines and quotes and notes have been scribbled into a notebook, but there's one in particular that has been showing up in my life repeatedly over the past week so I figured it was a good idea to chew on it a bit more.

"Praying  means to  stop expecting from God that same small-mindedness which you discover in yourself. To pray is to walk in the full light of God, and to say simply, without holding back, "I am a man and you are God." At that moment, conversion occurs, the restoration of the true relationship. Man is not the one who once in a while makes a mistake and God is not the one who now and then forgives. No, man is a sinner and God is love." - Henri J.M. Nouwen, With Open Hands

The message I gleaned from this, the one that kept making an appearance in my life this past week was this: it is not about me; trust Him.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, it was prepping for my Kinder life group.
The theme of the week? "I can trust God  is the One who knows everything; He knows what is best."
I don't know what I want to/am supposed to do with my life,
where I will be in a year
or even what tomorrow looks like.
But it is not about me.
I can TRUST God because He knows everything. He knows all of the options I have before me, and He knows which is best.  He knows my hurts, my anxieties, my sins and shortcomings, my joys and delights. He knows everything that I was, am and will become.

On Thursday it was two and a half hours of sharing life with the ladies in my life group.
Although we did specifically talk about the fact that "it is not about me", it was more than hearing and saying those words.
It was listening to each other's struggles and experiences. It was sharing my own insight and hearing a completely different perspective and understanding from someone else.
It is not about me, it is about US.

Today was probably the toughest bite to swallow. Today it was PJ message on James. My faith in Christ is (far too often) challenged by...myself.
My  desire to be in control
and know the plan
and find a way to make things (that I want) happen.
My plans, my way.
Apparently I still needed to hear it again: IT IS NOT ABOUT ME.
When I let myself get consumed in introspectiveness, planning and all of the unknown in my life, when I try to depend on myself, I grow anxious and ill and completely overwhelmed.

So the aim this week, this month, this year, this lifetime? Fix my heart on the One who it IS all about, the One who knows everything. To release my death grip on the plans and lists I've made and open my hands to receive the LOVE and HOPE and JOY that God gives. To let go, and trust Him.

ten and eleven. [of ten thousand]

Here we are, the end of  a wonderful weekend.

I went to a show on Friday with my [former] roomie and it was excellent. Well, the two of the three bands were excellent. The headliner, The Head and The Heart had a really great set and I found some new music to intake from the opener, Bryan John Appleby.
I've been asked before how I "get into" a band. The typical process is usually:

1. Gotta dig the sound. 
• I have a fairly wide range of genres I like, hard to describe exactly what I like and why I like it...but I know what I like.
2. Scrutinize the lyrics
• Doesn't mean I have to completely understand or interpret them, sometimes that's near impossible. (Or actually impossible...Sigur Rós...) Sometimes the lyrics just paint a brillant image. But sometimes, and best of all, lyrics speak directly to my heart. Those songs that seem to take the jumble of my thoughts and emotions and put them into a great song.
3. Get to know the people.
• Call me a creeper, but I'm definitely in the habit of wanting to get to know the people behind the music. Even if I'm not actually meeting them, I love to learn and hear the stories of the artists, especially the ones who have written songs that really spoke to me. How does their story relate to mine?

Anyway, all that to say The Head and The Heart has written a couple of necessary songs. Songs that have lyrics that hit home. I couldn't help but belt them out with the rest of the crowd. 

ten.

"you're already at home where you feel loved"

Praise God for home. 

The kind of home that is more a state of the heart rather than a physical place. I think I associate "home" with people more than I do with places. My roomie is home. The Feavers are home. The kids and families of Espaço are home. My family is home. 

"these are the places I will always go"

eleven.

"and I am on my way, I am on my way back to where I started"

Praise God for memories. 

I know it's impossible and unhealthy to pine for the past, but I do think it's important to look back every once in awhile. To see where you came from and how you got to where you stand now. To remember and not forget. Look at Israel and how they were called to remember and not forget (the Psalter alone has so many other examples of salvation-history!)   So praise God for reminding me where I was, even though it's difficult to want to remember some of the places I was. Praise God I remember what it's like to be in a place of desperation. Praise God He brought me out of that. Praise God I'm not there now. Praise God I can see the signs and little red flags and have time and energy to do something about them. 

rivers and roads

rivers and roads

rivers till I reach You.

nine. [of ten thousand]

nine.
Praise God for knowing even the smallest details.
Those few extra minutes of sleep. That  feeling after a good shower. The smell of a hot cup of lav cream earl grey. Those first familiar chords of that one song. That safe, comfortable place in the company of your best friend.

It's the little things that remind me that God sees me and knows me. When I notice these little things, I remember He hasn't forgotten about me.

So, I keep fighting, knowing I'm not alone.

seven and eight. [of ten thousand]

I'd be lying if I said this has gotten easier each day. Going on in faith that one day it will be easier, that it will be as natural as breathing.

seven.
Praise God for cleaning.
My car, my room, my heart. Clearing the windshield to see, making a path to walk, shining the light of truth in to expose...from quite insignificant to most important, slowly but surely I'm we're making progress.


eight.

Praise God He's patiently full of grace.

As I was reminded through the radio today, "If I'm so thankful, why do I easily forget that You died for all of this?" This is why  I have to choose daily to see and remember just how good He's been to me. And every time I forget, He just patiently and gracefully reminds me again...and again...

five. [of ten thousand]

Here I am, end of today.

Funny how ever since making the decision to be intentionally focused on finding [at least] one reason a day to praise God, the days seem to present themselves with opportunities to do the opposite. But I've got another.

five.
Praise God He knows our hearts, He knows my heart.

Today I met with the director of Friends of Portugal to discuss my role in the organization. I'm going to be doing a lot of their  administrative  work (mailing lists, newsletters, etc.) and later on outreach and "advertising" (social media presence, website maintenance, seeking out blog content). I'm so excited to be moving from the "sidelines" of supporting what FOP is doing to being "put in the game" with this opportunity to be working with everyone to help them get things done! This position combines my clerical/administrative knowledge and experience with my love for and of Portugal in an excellent way. I know I'll really have to manage my time well with my full time job, kindergarten life group and other commitments in addition to this part-time postion, but it definitely helps that this is something I'm so passionate about!

Praise God for knowing I needed a way to be connected and involved with what's going on at home and providing one that utilizes the skills I'm gaining at the job He provided for me while I'm here.

four. [of ten thousand]

Yesterday I was dead asleep before 9pm. Yesterday, and today, my heart sang His praise for rest.

four.
Praise God for rest.

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” -Matthew 11:28-30

And from that, I can see I'm still learning...

two and three. [of ten thousand]

Well, it's been a tough weekend. This really is a battle.

I'm determined to keep going, to keep trying, to keep fighting.

This morning I read through the majority of my previous posts. It left me feeling pretty convicted and down. Like, who is this girl writing these words? She's trying, she's learning, she's growing. And then she stopped. I stopped. But I'm back again, willing and wanting to pick up where I left off and move onward and upward.

Anyway,I have reasons two and three to share today:

two.
He sees me, He knows me, He loves me. Specifically: I am quite thankful He put the notion in my head to start up a blog at the beginning of this year. In my first post I mentioned that this would serve as a giant post-it of sorts. I remember things much better when they're written down. Even when I don't remember them, I can look back and remember if they're written down. I forgot, but I had written it down and now I'm remembering. He sees me, He knows me, He loves me.

three.
He provides. Specifically: I have a home, a bed, a car, a plethora of clothes, a full fridge and pantry and a steady job. The essentials and then some.

This is short, but it's something.

As another wise friend once told me, deep breaths and small steps.

one. [of ten thousand]

After quite a hiatus, I am back. Back with words, words that matter.

To be completely honest, these past couple of months have been/are still difficult. There are many factors  that have contributed to that. But I'm being honest here, so I have to say, the biggest factor is...ME.

Paul sums it pretty well here:
"For we know that the law is spiritual; but I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin. I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me."

I've definitely been feeling overwhelmed by my sin rather than His love. It's a constant battle within myself, and some days I really don't feel like fighting it. But I have to. Why? As a wise friend told me less than an hour ago, "to give up is to give away Christ's victory."

 As a step forward in this battle I'm challenging myself, and anyone who'd like to keep me accountable or join in, to find 10,000 reasons to praise God. (yeah, I was inspired by the song)

The plan is to share at least one a day. And these are  solid, specific reasons. 

Tonight, I praise God for the friends He's put in my life to pray me through this battle. For Trav and Beth and Tom, for Anna, for Lys, for Lauren, for Marissa,  Courtney, Fran, Micaella, Kelsey, Natalie, Cynthia, Ashley, Faith, Jianni, Amanda and Krissy, for Annie, for Marisela, for Amie, for Av, for Steven, for Sarah, for Emery, for Kim and Susan, and for so many others. These encouragers and prayer warriors,these friends and givers of great hugs, these tear-driers and hand-holders...they are reminders that I am seen, I am loved and I am not fighting this alone.

"But there's one other thing I remember, 

 and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

God's loyal love couldn't have run out,
   his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
They're created new every morning.
   How great your faithfulness!
I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over).
   He's all I've got."

- Lamentations 3:21-23 

adopted.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, just as He chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before Him in love. He destined us for adoption as His children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of His will, to the praise of His glorious grace that he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved.In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace that He lavished on us. With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of His will, according to his good pleasure that He set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in Him, things in heaven and things on earth. In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance,having been destined according to the purpose of Him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory. In Him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; this is the pledge of our inheritance towards redemption as God’s own people, to the praise of His glory.

--Ephesians 1:3-14, NRSV (emphasis added)

Ohhh LORD, You're doing something in me. 

There's a big long story that goes along with all that has the wheels in my mind turning, but I think there's just this one part that I need to share here. The rest is best saved for a solid conversation over a good cup of tea.

Being adopted, I feel I have been blessed with a fairly unique experience and understanding of being called a Child of God. When I was adopted twenty-three years ago, I became a part of this family called the Hetheringtons. I became a Hetherington. 

I am my parents' daughter. I am my brothers' sister. 

Where I came from doesn't define me. I am loved as a part of my family.

How much more so is this true with Christ? 

I have sinned, epically. I have failed, constantly. 

But that is not what defines me, I am a daughter of The King.

Did you get that , Katy? A DAUGHTER of the KING.

All He has is mine. 

And yet, I am stuck living as if I am nothing, no one. 

Lacking in knowledge, skill, faith, ability.

As if He isn't sufficient, that He isn't enough. 

But I'm taking a stand against the lies. 

The lie that I am not good enough but somehow have the ability to make myself better.

The lie that I have no purpose, no use for The Kingdom. 

The lie that my identity is found in anything or anyone but Christ alone.

And claiming the truth. 

That I am no longer defined by my past, my sin, but am made NEW in Christ. 

That I am a child of the King, I am loved as part of His family--the Church.

I am His. He is All.