How I fill my days...

I stare at the same things most days on my computer screen--flipping back and forth between my google homepage, cnn headlines, google reader and facebook.

I recall my dreams (future and past). Today there was a moment from my dream last night that is haunting me--with beauty and longing. I don't think i've had a dream quite like it in a while.

Sitting and waiting--for something to capture my attention, for an update that would interest me. For something to get caught up in. I think of things to write--but am too bored to do it.

Maybe it doesn't help that I don't know what my job is--or that i'm listening to sappy folk music, or that the thought of doing this forever scares the shit out of me.

The life you save may be your own

1. I’ve always had the dream of buying a motorhome and living in it for a year. Traveling around or even staying put—just living at the beach. Working, living, reading, having friends over to play cards at the camper table.

2. I’ve always had the dream of being married for a bit before having kids. (which means that I’ve dreamed about getting married and also having kids).

3. I’ve always dreamed of owning a home.

4. I’ve dreamed of going to Africa and/or dropping everything to serve the poor and get my hands dirty.

5. I’ve dreamed of being a business woman.

6. I’ve dreamed of working at a church again.

7. I’ve dreamed of being involved at a church with my husband. Teaching, partnering, mentoring, hosting events…

8. I’ve dreamed of not having a job—gardening, cooking, walking—yet having enough going on in my life that it doesn’t make me depressed.


But when do I plan on doing all these things? I am now 26. Haven’t started on many of these endeavors. Or have tried to and haven’t made much progress (e.g. 2, 5, 8). As I see these dreams setting before my eyes I am reminded that life is short. Jacob Kirkendall was trying to put out a fire at the beach and is now extremely, burnt internally and externally, undergoing surgery and paralyzed in the hospital. Lee Purkey will die from melanoma while his kids are still young. My dad only has a few years left to finish all the things he wants to do.

So I’m here—working at a job I don’t like—hoping that maybe, somehow it can get better. I can see potential for myself here but it seems like such a long way off.

I’m currently living a life that I love. But I’m realizing how I’m living the life of a 35 year old woman. I AM NOT 35 YET. I bake, cook, garden. When I come home from a boring day at work—all I think of doing is making a delicious dinner, having a glass of wine and watching Jeopardy. How will I fulfill said dreams this way? I have had the mantra of “live the life you want—now!”. But is this really the life I want? Single, playing in a sandbox full of married couples, working as an assistant raising money for a university I transferred away from? Or is this lifestyle enabling me of actually achieving the life I want? If there line drawn between proactive and patience, is it 50/50?

Is it worth risking some of the above dreams in order to gain others?

My Daily Walk: kids and puppies

consumed at work by spreadsheets, numbers and names, I decided to go for my regular walk around the neighborhood. Feeling more directed (God?) towards walking on San Jose ave instead of my usual Swanton to West Cliff route, I followed my instincts and cut thru the park.

a dad with his 7 and 3 year-old daughters were skateboarding at the skate park. At the site of a 3 year old with her oversized helmet and kid-sized board, I smiled and decided this might be worth sticking around for. I ventured to the swings to sit, listen to music and watch the fog burn off. I was soon interrupted (not really interrupted at all, actually) by the little girl who wanted to swing with me.
I: I'm coming to swing with you!
K: Hi! Are you 3?
I: Yeah, I'm three.
K: What's your name?
I: Isabella
K: Hi Isabella, i'm katie.
I: Hi. nice to meet you. there's lots of Katie's around here.
K: oh
I: I swing on my belly and you swing on your butt.
K: yup!

So much joy in a child. Joy that i've been missing. Simple, unashamed, unconcerned, free. As I sat there swinging, not thinking this situation could get much better, out of the corner of my eye I see a small puppy running around the grass. toddlers and puppies--just what i needed.

Isabella got off her swing and started chasing the puppy (which she said was hers and even made up a name for it--but i could tell it was not her dog) all around the grass. The puppy wanted nothing to do with her. She took her helmet off--not sure if that was to give her more mobility for the chase or if she thought THAT (as opposed to her screaming and chasing the poor pup) was the reason he was running away from her.

Our time ended with her inviting me to go play on the other jungle gym with her. I declined and decided to continue my walk--

• down San Jose ave--remembering when Kristin used to live there
• nasturtium covered sidewalks
• walked by the house that is never finished. (UPDATE: they have completely rebuilt the foundation and the wall structures and have halted the process again. beautiful house-gutted-rebuilt-waiting to be rebuilt completely. that process sounds familiar).
• picked a flower to bring back to my office
• examining the rose bushes as they are regrowing from their yearly pruning. leaves sprouting from branches that look dead (ahhh, the analogies....)

I need a little innocence in my life. Little moments of being carefree. Not so many serious conversations, deep analysis or counseling myself and others regarding our fallen state, our hopes, our longings and our lifestyles.

Just give me some kids, puppies, a swing set and a garden and I'll be fine.

benefits of teaching

I love teaching. Sitting at coffeehouses, outside in the sun or walking on the beach contemplating the teaching topic and how it can be translated to a group of people. I love the idea that there is an outlet for me to dig further into the insights God has given me and communicate that to others.

But long after the message is done, the benefits of teaching are still lingering. As I sit here tonight journaling about life I realize how much the concepts I once taught to others are now teaching me once again.

• I am reminded that I am God's MASTERPIECE, his work of art, his poem--as I taught 3 years ago to elementary school kids.
• When I am in the garden, I am constantly contemplating the abundant analogies of God's character, faith and spirituality (too many to mention here). I remember the line that I taught from, which staff member at Camp Hammer still have memorized and recite to me often, "I am vine, you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit. but, apart from me you can do nothing"
• When I am alone and lonely, I remember that I am homesick for heaven and that my longings will one day be fulfilled when I see Jesus face to face...which I got to teach about a few months ago to a group of high school students.
  

I am grateful for all the avenues that bring further knowledge and understanding to my soul

Anonymous Work Related Letters

I came across this letter today:

Dear ________,

I don't know what your mom taught you, but it is just plain rude to stand and stare at someone when they are on the phone. It seems as though you have something important to say...BUT, you can tell that I am on the phone with a business related phone call. I usually give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you are unaware of my prior commitment to the person on the phone. So I point at my ear and whisper, "I'm on the phone". You look at me as if that has no affect on you and continue to stand and stare.

-If you were more than 2 feet away from me, I would feel more comfortable.
-If you weren't staring at my computer screen and reading my stuff, I would feel more comfortable.
-If, when I whispered, "is this an emergency?", you quietly replied "no" and back peddled toward your office, I would feel more comfortable.
-If, when I interrupt my WORK-RELATED phone call to ask you, "can I come into your office when I'm done?", you gave me some sort of sign that you are picking up on my hints--I would feel more comfortable.
-If I could be more than 90% confident that you weren't looking down my shirt, I would feel more comfortable.
-IF YOU DIDN'T DO THIS ON A WEEKLY BASIS, I WOULD FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE.

Sincerely,
_________

on another note, not completely unrelated:

Dear New Zealand,
I am coming to see you in June for 4 weeks. We might just have to extend that trip.
Love,
Katie

and:

Dear Economy,
Please pick up.
Best,
Katie

Tilling the spring soil

The multi-level planters surrounding the perimeter of my yard were made for growth; ideal for an organic vegetable garden. Gratitude filled my heart every time I looked outside until I looked at the soil and how much work would be needed to make the ground a hospitable environment for my little garden seedlings. Cracked clay- like dirt made me doubt whether any plant variety had made their home there before my takeover.

So I purchased a tool—a tiller thingy like you see on the infomercials. As I sit here typing my arms burn from pounding it into the dirt and turning clockwise until the dirt broke; I only got through about 1/10th of the ground that cries out to be tilled (“till me, Katie!”).

The tilling process left me with better ground but still not appropriate for growth. Much more work needed to be done. The balls of dirt that resembled rocks melted as they rolled between my palms. Breaking down the remnants of the clay it once was. They looked like rocks. Any small child would have stacked them, thrown them or put them in their pocket, only to be surprised that, when handled aggressively enough, they would break apart showing their true identity. We are not made of rock. The clumps of dirt from our past, like calcium build-ups in the top of the Brita, hold fast to each other making it difficult to decipher if they are permanent fixtures in our life. But as the gardener, with hands that wont grow weary as mine are, squeezes them and rolls them between his hands, they slowly disintegrate creating an environment ideal for growth and cultivating fruit.

As the day ends, I am nowhere near ready to plant. There is much more to be done. But there is a portion of my soul (and my soil) that is soft and broken down.

Missed Connections: a great one!

The Young Man Who Let Me Talk (santa cruz)
Reply to: pers-cqpvd-1093185389@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]
Date: 2009-03-26, 11:20AM PDT


I was sitting alone on the bench overlooking the ocean. You saw me cry. You asked if I was ok. You sat next to me and let me talk. I explained that I had just lost my son. You never asked questions. You just let me talk. How nice it was for such a kind man to lend an ear to another man. I know men are to portray the pillars of strength. But when a man looses his son. The pillars fall. You touched my hand and said god will bless you. I never got your name. But thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Mark