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...

begin again

It has been almost two years since I last wrote something in this space. That's a lot of life—ups, downs, and moving arounds. Even now, I'm in an interesting place, though not a totally foreign one. It's a place of ending and beginning, losing and gaining, fear and excitement. It's the coming and going of seasons.

I am heading into my last week of working with Aplos after three and a half years. It has been such a fun ride and I am sad it's coming to an end. I have worked for the best boss, with the best people, and that has made all the difference. I got connected with Aplos by a friend who knew I was desperate to leave the place I was in, but I could never have imaged how much better it would be. Since we were still a smaller startup when I joined there was flexibility for me to find what role fit me best, which ended up being customer support. Yeah, talking on the phone all day was surprisingly the best fit for me. (Sorry to all of you whom I've had awkward phone calls with—not even my husband is exempt from those. This really has been the only environment where I am not as awkward to talk to on the phone.) This season has been full of surprises and unexpected joys. I have been stretched and challenged and encouraged to keep growing, all while quoting Arrested Development daily and eating Chipotle on Wednesdays. I have learned the difference between cash and accrual reporting, about debits and credits for different types of accounts, and that eating a whole Costco chicken bake so I that can go "to the field!" is worth the stomach ache. I have met friends who will be stuck with me long after my last day. Leaving is held with feelings of sadness, nostalgia, and fear that can come with an ending. The overarching feeling, though, is thankfulness. Let's not overlook that. Oh, how thankful I am.

After this week, Sam and I will be headed off to Northern California to visit our ninth and tenth national parks: Lassen and Redwood. I see this as my transition time—something else I am so thankful to have since I know we do not always have that luxury. It is also, of course, a chance to celebrate that we have been married for two years, which seem to have flown by and at the same time it feels like we have been doing this for much longer in the best way.

Once we return to Pasadena, I will head into orientation, welcome week, and all of the other going back to school things. Aside from the handful of prerequisite classes I took online through a community college, it has been almost five years since I was last in school. That really feels like a long time ago. I am hoping that I quickly settle into the new but not so unfamiliar rhythm of being a student. I'm also a wife, which is new this time around. I am thankful for a husband who has supported and encouraged me to go back to school without hesitation from the very beginning. I am thankful for, albeit still working on graciously and humbly accepting, his willingness to "switch roles" so that I can be a full-time student and not have to balance a job of my own.

Sometimes I fear that I won't be able to bring enough to the table. If I am not working and have a schedule filled with classes and training and small groups, what will I have to give? There are times I feel myself heading towards the spiral of anxiety in the midst of this new and exciting next season, which is just frustrating, honestly. I have found Herni Nouwen to be a source of great encouragement over the years and once again he brings a refreshing reminder about what to do when the red flags and flashing lights of this anxiety spiral start to grow:

Perhaps the challenge of the gospel lies precisely in the invitation to accept a gift for which we can give nothing in return. For the gift is the life breath of God himself, the Spirit who is poured out on us through Jesus Christ. The life breath frees us from fear and gives us new room to live. A man who prayerfully goes about his life is constantly ready to receive the breath of God, and to let his life be renewed and expanded. The man who never prays, on the contrary, is like the child with asthma; because he is short of breath, the whole world shrivels up before him. He creeps in a corner gasping for air, and is virtually in agony. But the man who prays opens himself to God and can freely breathe again. He stands upright, stretches out his hands and comes out of his corner, free to boldly stride through the world because he can live without fear. (Henri Nouwen, With Open Hands, p. 64., emphasis added.)

So I am reminded that it is important for me to be willing to bring myself to the table, just as I am. I work on practicing what I preach about self-care and the great thing it is to allow others to help you in that. This is the beginning of much more than a graduate program, it is the beginning of a new season. One of trusting, hoping, humbling, and much more learning. I head into these next few weeks of transition, of endings and beginnings, and all that is in between with my hands open and eyes fixed above.

a thank you.

Based on the speech I gave at the celebration held back in April for Sherry's work and service at Mountain View Community Church.

I met Sherry Martin about 15 years ago. I was a fifth grader visiting a new church that met at Clovis High School. I still remember meeting a petite, soft-spoken, kind-eyed lady who led me to the K.I.D.S. Church room in Building K on that overcast Sunday morning.

Over the years Sherry has been a knowledgeable teacher, a gracious boss, a caring mentor and an ever-loving friend. I have been serving in children's ministry in some capacity for the past 11 years and it was Sherry who provided me with the first opportunity to do so. I will forever be thankful that she extended that first invitation to me.

Sherry has had such an influence and impact on my philosophy of and approach to children's ministry. She taught me through her words, recommended books and faithful example the precious value of a child's heart, faith and prayer. One of the books she recommended to me was When Children Pray, which I've talked about before. Reading and discussing this book with her gave me a fresh understanding of the importance of what we were doing as we served and loved kids.

Sherry has always been one of my favorite people to talk to about children's ministry and member care. I always felt that she truly understood my passion for member care--supporting, encouraging and equipping the Church and encouraged me to keep pursuing that. That's just Sherry. Even though it's been several years since we've attended the same church she continues to be such a whole-hearted supporter and encourager in my life.

I am honored to have had the opportunity to see Sherry before she got to join our Savior. I found the only words I could muster were thank you. It feels like there's so much more I could or should say, but that's another thing about Sherry, she always made you feel like enough while still gently pushing you to keep growing.  Her quiet patience and unconditional compassion inspire me to be a better teacher, small group leader, friend and hopefully someday, a parent. Her life provides such a beautiful example of what it looks like to truly love those you serve.

Thank you, Sherry.

valentine.

I've held off posting this because I wanted to have the opportunity to share the news personally (in person, on the phone) but I wrote this on Friday night, well technically early Saturday morning...


Today will forever be one of the greatest days of my life.

Today was Valentine's day. I have never really been a fan of this day, all of the  pressure for grand gestures and overpriced purchases to tell your love for others on this one day. Still, today was an excellent day.

Can I briefly back up to yesterday? Just yesterday night. Last night the following text conversation happened:

My best friend drove out to my house, brought me a flower and admired the moon with me for a few minutes. A flower on a day that's not Valentine's day--such a great gift.

Okay, back to today. Since I'm a list person, here's my list of what made today so excellent:

Today, my best friend started my day off with a quote from one of my favorite little books, The Little Prince.
Today, my best friend and I dressed up really nice.
Today, my best friend and I ate panang chicken and it was delicious.
Today, my best friend and I shared a pot of lavender cream earl grey while watching Downton Abbey.
Today, my best friend and I came back to his apartment complex to find my car had been towed. Note, this was excellent because a) it wasn't stolen b) nothing valuable was inside and c)...
Today, my best friend took a "detour" on our way to take me home.
Today, my best friend and I took off our shoes and walked around the place where we met, were declared to be BFFs (by me), took classes together, got to know each other, first liked each other (without the others' knowledge): Fresno Pacific University.
Today, my best friend told me he loved me. (and I told him I loved him)
Today, my best friend asked me to marry him. (and I said yes)

I really don't think it's fully sunk in yet...
that I get to spend the rest of my life, whatever that might entail, with my best friend.
I am humbled to be given such a wonderful gift.
Our prayer is that we will be able to serve the Kingdom better together than we would be able to apart and that our relationship would bring glory and bear witness to our gracious God.