Surprise at Daybreak

I love surprises.

In fact, there are few things I can say I love more then surprises.

Want to make my day?

Leave a note on my desk.

Want to make my week?

Add a Diet Coke to that note.

Want to make my year?

Add a twelve pack of Diet Coke to that note.

I don't know why I love surprises so much.

Maybe it's because a surprise means that someone was thinking about you, when they didn't have to.

Maybe it's because a surprise can make what seems like an average day when you first open your eyes in the morning, far exceed your expectations when you lay down your head to close your eyes again that night.

Maybe it's simply because everyone likes to have some sort of physical representation that they are loved.

Recently, I've been praying for God to surprise me.

I desire know that God is thinking about me, thinking about my smallest steps, when I know He doesn't have to.

I desire for everyday to far exceed my expectations, to never know what God has planned, to be excited when I open my eyes in the morning, and beyond grateful for when I close my eyes at night.

And, as trivial as it might sound, somedays, I just really need some kind of physical representation that the Lord that can surprise us with the sunlight every morning,

" Surprise us with love at daybreak; then we'll skip and dance all the day long." ( Psalms 90:14)

Can, 

And adores,

showing us that He loves us.

In the small,

and the large.

I'm praying for small surprises daily.

And the large surprises, that I still continue to prayerfully expect.

Joyful in the Rest

Ive never been very good at rest.

I imagine it's the whole idea of sitting still-why would I be resting when there is so much to do?

So much to see?

So much to taste?

So much to experience?

Why would I rest when I can act?

Why would I rest when my future could practically be outside my door?

I know God knows this about me.

God created me to be this way.

But, he also knows that sometimes my ability to always be moving puts me at a handicap.

When you're moving 100 miles an hour, how can you notice the small details?

When you're moving 100 miles an hour, how can you stop and notice that those blurs on the side of the road are actually flowers?

When you're moving 100 miles an hour, how can you stop and notice that the sweetness of this season of your life may actually be in the resting and the waiting?

That sometimes God doesn't move in huge earth shattering ways.

That sometimes, God moves in the quiet,

And the stillness,

And He may be moving the most in the times you think He may not be moving at all.

Right now, I feel like God is trying to work in the stillness,

And the rest,

And the waiting.

And although I may hate the waiting,

It's my job to pump the breaks,

Take a moment,

Rest my heart,

And joyfully wait and see how The Lord is trying to move.

It's my job to see that those blurs are actually flowers,

And to rejoice in the fact that if my life had been moving at the speed that I wished it was,

I would never have gotten to see those blessings myself.

I would never have developed sweet friendships, that turn a new town into a home,

Or Saturday mornings, filled with Pom poms, crooked smiles, and hugs that will melt your heart,

Or precious moments over a new found love for vanilla lattes that allow me to reflect over all of these blessings.

So today, I choose to rest.

And I choose to rest with a rejoicing heart.

I choose to see the blessings in the small moments.

I choose to be still.

 

And listen.

And be prayerfully,

And joyfully,

Expectant.

"Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body will also rest in hope". Acts 2:26

A State of Anticipation

Christmas Eve used to be the night I looked forward to the most.

It would always start, and end, the same way.

With anticipation.

I would get dressed, put a bow in my bowl cut hair with anticipation of the night to come.

I would sit next to my family in the pews of the church that I grew up in with anticipation of singing Silent Night by candlelight, hoping I was finally old enough to hold a candle by myself.

I would pick at my food at dinner, anticipating what cookies we were going to leave for Santa and how many carrots Rudolph would eat that year.

I would put on my pajamas, snuggle up in my bed, and strain my ears for as long as I could keep my eyelids open, anticipating I would hear just one jingle bell or the thumps of boots atop my roof.

I anticipated because I knew, when I woke up the next morning, opened my stocking, and took the long walk down our steps, that the anticipation would pay off.

Gifts would be waiting, selected by Santa specifically for me.

I knew and believed without a shadow of a doubt that when my socked feet ran down the hallway, all the anticipation would be worth it.

Right now, I feel like I'm living in that same sense of anticipation.

There's been a stirring in my heart, movement in my life, but every time I sit down, ready to hear what The Lord has to say to me, I hear nothing.

I'm ready to listen, but I'm not sure The Lord is ready to speak.

And sometimes, that silence can be frustrating.

Sometimes that silence can make me want to throw my hands up in the air, close my bible, and spend my time at Starbucks surfing their free, very slow internet and looking for recipes that I will never actually make on Pinterest.

But still, I sit.

And I wait. 

And I listen.

 

Because even in this silence, I have faith that God is working.

Even in this silence, I believe He is the one stirring my heart.

And in this time of waiting, I'm trying to learn a sense of holy anticipation.

Even though I can't see the fruit of the work in front of my own eyes, I know there is work being done.

Even though there is silence, there are still words to be said.

And even though I always want to be the one to do the talking, I choose to sit and wait.

And listen.

And live in this state of anticipation.

A state of holy anticipation, for the great works and great gifts being selected specifically for me. 

"I wait for The Lord, my whole being waits, and on his word I put my hope". -Psalm 130:5

Work In Progress

When I studied abroad in my sophomore year of college, I got to see many sights that took my breath away.

A sunset in Florence Italy from the Piazza Michelangelo overlooking the Duomo,

The Eiffel Tower lighting up the Parisian sky, tiny sparkles reflecting on the windows of the city,

The crystal clear water of the Mediterranean Ocean.

But there is one sight that I never had the chance to visit, that as I sit in my room in Athens Georgia, I desire so greatly to see.

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, in Barcelona Spain.

And it's not because I have this deep desire to see Spain.

And it's not because I'm a fan of his work.

And it's not because the architectural structure was, and still continues to be ahead of it's time.

No, I simply desire to see what many call Gaudi's masterpiece, because today, 130 years after construction began, it still remains unfinished.

And I think that's they way God looks at us.

Lately, I've been having a hard time with this idea of a lifestyle change.

That this new healthy lifestyle that I've begun isn't something I'm ever going to be something I can just give up on completely.

It's a process.

A way of life.

Something I'm going to have to continue and learn along the way.

And the same principle goes for my body as I continue along this path.

My body isn't going to change overnight.

And even when my body does change, my thoughts about my body aren't going to change overnight.

Everyday, when I look in the mirror, I have to make a conscious effort-

How am I going to think about my body today?

Am I going to see how far I've come?

Or am I going to see how far I have to go?

Am I going to choose to look at all my beautiful features?

Or am I going to choose to look at those thighs that might be just a smidge too big, or the arms that might be just a bit too jiggly?

And that process, every morning, can be exhausting,

And frustrating,

And downright discouraging.

Why can't I ever look just the way I want to look?

And why can't I get my brain to understand that the way I look is perfect in the sight of God?

But this morning, as I was reading Philippians, I found a verse that really struck a cord in my heart, and began to bring the way God sees me into focus.

⁶ being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

I am a work in progress.

A work in progress that God sees and deems as good.

And just like the Sagrada Familia, my beauty won't just magically appear when this work is done,

My beauty becomes evident from the work that is being done in the process.

My beauty becomes evident in the struggle, because God is with me in the struggle.

My beauty become evident in the doubts, because I serve a Lord that continues to whisper truths.

My beauty becomes evident in the moments of dissatisfaction, because I have a heavenly father that looks at me and is nothing but satisfied.

My beauty becomes evident because I am a child of a King who will never stop working on, and in me.

And even on those days when I look in the mirror and think " I have so far to come"

I have to know that the Lord looks in the mirror and thinks " Sure, we have some work to do. But look how beautiful you already are? Why are you doubting my handiwork?"

So, today, when I look in the mirror, I'm going to try to stand in that truth. 

The truth that I am the handiwork of the same God that created the sunset over the city of Florence, the Parisian night sky, and continues to watch over the work of the Sagrada Familia.

And my worth comes from the fact that I'm still a work in progress.

Tongue Tied In Target Science

For being a fat kid, I always had a lot of confidence.

Need someone to make up a song about selling Girl Scout Cookies and sing it in front of the local Target?

I was your girl.

Skit night at Wednesday night bible study?

You better believe I was the first hand raised.

Elvis impersonation contest in the elementary school program on the cruise you went on with your family?

I took home that trophy and slept with it next to my bed every night.

But when it came to true confidence,

True freedom to talk to the one person I wanted to talk to the most,

I froze.

He sat next to me in middle school Target Social Studies.

He wore soccer shorts to school.

He could eat 10 corn dogs in a single sitting.

And I thought that the sun rose and set on this boys buzz cut head.

We had tons of things in common.

He liked soccer.

I had seen a soccer ball.

He was athletic.

I admired his athleticism.

He liked to listen to Eminem.

I had once listened to one song of Eminem before my Mom caught me and grounded me for a week.

We were clearly made for each other.

And to make matters even better, we had been paired to sit next to each other for the entire semester.

All I had to do was flip my bowl cut hair ( if that was even possible), bat my clear mascared, blue eyeshadow eyes and say something witty like-

" Cool trapper keeper. Want to borrow one of my Lisa Frank stickers?"

Or

"Did you see American Idol last night? Are you rooting for Justin or Kelly?"

Or even something simple as-

"Hey- I know we've been sitting next to each other all semester, and I've never spoken a word to you, but my name's Katie."

But no.

I said nothing.

Everyday I sat in silence, when I knew all I had to do was open my mouth, and say that one word-

Hello.

I think a lot of times, we act this way about talking to God.

This God is so big,

So mystical,

So unseeable,

That we get tongue tied.

We don't know what to say,

Or how to say it,

So we just say nothing at all.

And if this God is really as great,

And powerful,

And loving,

As everyone says He is, why should someone as small and worthless as me get to talk to Him?

And why would He even care about my small problems?

But Paul paints an amazing picture of the freedom that we have when we go to talk to The Lord.

"In him, and through faith in him, we may approach God with freedom and confidence" - Ephesians 3:12

Because of Jesus, we don't have to tiptoe to talk to God.

We don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing,

Or make sure that we look alright on the outside,

Or wonder if our problems are too small.

Because of Jesus, and his death on the cross, and the salvation we're offered through that, we can come to God with freedom,

And confidence.

Just as we are.

With all our flaws,

And small problems,

And blue eyeshadow,

And sit in the presence of the King.

And even if we've sat silent,

Waiting for the right time to talk to him,

When we finally decide to muster up the confidence,

And say that one small word-

Hello,

Even if we're not sure He'll even hear,

We can go to Him with the utmost confidence and freedom,

To say whatever is on our hearts.

Even if we think its something He may not want to hear,

That freedom is still allowed.

And to me, that is so precious,

And worth making that step.

Even if its been five years,

Or five weeks,

Or five minutes since I've taken that gift,

I have to wonder

Why sit in silence,

When the God of the Universe has given me the freedom to talk to Him?

And not only that, but I can do so with confidence that I am deeply and dearly loved?

Slide of Faith

I remember it so well.

The moment I loved, and dreaded, that combination of feelings that would leave knots in your stomach and butterflies in your chest.

My mom wanted to go to the mall.

And when Mom when to the mall, I went to Playland.

I'm sure you've all seen Playlands just like this one.

A place in the mall where Mom's and Dad's can check in their kids in hopes of having a few hours of uninterrupted time, full of sales, shopping bags, and the smell of cinnamon pretzels.

And honestly, I loved Playland.

I loved to hang out with other kids.

I loved to play in the ball pit.

And I loved to sneak other kids' snacks while they were in said ballpit.

Life was good at Playland.

Except for one thing.

The one element of Playland that haunted my dreams, and caused me to stare my six year old failure and inadequacy in the face.

The slide.

This was no ordinary slide.

This slide was a massive, pastel painted, waterfall motif slope of death-

That I wanted to go on desperately.

And every time I would step foot into Playland.

I would pull up my stirrup pants,

Push my bowlcut out of my eyes,

And take my Keds off to begin the long and treacherous walk up the stairs to get to the top of the slide.

As each foot was placed in front of the other, I would try to amp up my courage.

"You can do this Katie".

"All the little kids are doing it".

"If you do this, I bet Mom will buy you a Zebra Cake".

And every time I would get to the top of the slide, I would stop.

And look down at the plunge that was before me.

And freeze.

I couldn't go.

I wanted to try.

It was the thing I wanted most in the world.

I tried to force my legs to sit down,

And force my arms to give myself a push.

But I just couldn't move.

And no amount of coaxing, or promise of Zebra Cakes ,could get me to move from that spot.

Sometimes, I feel like that with my faith.

I look around, and I see these amazing people with this unwavering faith.

People that can follow wherever the Lord leads without looking back,

Without any kind of coaxing.

I see this faith,

The kind of faith that gives you knots in your stomach and butterflies in your chest because of the sheer beauty of what the Lord is doing in your life,

And it's what I want most in the world.

And sometimes, I don't feel like my faith is that strong.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm standing at the top of that slide,

Wanting to take the leap,

But not be able to.

And then I feel embarrassed.

And ashamed.

And no amount of Zebra Cakes can solve this question that lingers in the back of my mind-

Why can't I make my faith stronger?

Why am I so scared to take that plunge?

But this morning, I felt this sense of peace and encouragement when I read this verse from Ephesians.

⁸ For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God

The glorious and amazing thing I discovered is that my faith doesn't come from myself.

My faith is a gift of God.

A gift that can be asked for.

And a gift that can be received.

No amount of willing,

Or coaxing, 

Or stressing,

Can cause my strength to grow stronger.

Only God, the provider of all blessings, and all things good,

Can help me to do that.

Only God can give me the courage to pull up my stirrup pants,

Push my bowl cut out of my eyes,

Walk my Keds up that long flight of stairs,

Sit down,

And give me the push I need to have that unwavering, slide into the great unknown kind of faith.

And somehow, I find such freedom in that.

That this is not a journey I'm going on alone.

The same person who I desire to have greater faith in,

Has been standing beside me, ready to offer the gift that whole time.

And all I have to do is sit down and take it.

Justified

I hate to admit it.

But lately, I've been struggling to be joyful.

And I'm not talking about happy.

I've been happy.

I've laughed.

I've had fun.

No, I'm talking about real joy, that comes from the very depths of your soul.

Joy that doesn't go away depending on the circumstances.

Joy that can only be breathed from The Lord.

I've known this joy before.

And so I've been confused at why in such an exciting season of my life,

Where each day has been filled with new adventures,

Graduations,

Starting new jobs,

Making new friends,

Why every night, when I lay my head on my pillow,I've still felt this sadness.

This pressure,

This unmistakable and annoying feeling at the pit of your stomach that something isn't right.

This tiny voice saying,

You are just not right.

I've shared before that weight loss is a huge part of my story.

I've shared that healthy eating and exercise will always have to be a part of my life.

But, what I don't think I've ever shared, is how much pressure I put on myself to stay the same size,

To not eat the dessert,

To get to the gym six days a week.

Yes, I know that no matter the size, I am perfect and wonderfully made in God's eyes.

But, Gods opinion isn't the one I've been struggling with.

It's been my own.

If those pants start to feel a little tight, I panic.

If I eat that dessert, I worry.

If I only get to the gym four days, I feel guilty.

And even though in an act of sheer necessity I threw away my scale,

I still find myself judging the size of my thighs,

Or the jiggle on my arms,

Trying to find justification in how much I weigh, the way I look.

And there has been a battle in my heart over this for a while.

And tonight, God has continued to open my eyes to where my true justification has to come from.

16 knowing that a man is not justified by the works of the law but by faith in Jesus Christ, even we have believed in Christ Jesus, that we might be justified by faith in Christ and not by the works of the law; for by the works of the law no flesh shall be justified. ( Galations 2:16)

I can't be justified by my weight,

Or my age,

Or my job,

Because I, and every other follower if Christ is justified by their faith.

I became justified on the day I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, not the day I was able to fit into a size 6.

And from that justification, comes true joy.

I can have true joy because I have freedom from sin, not because I was able to resist a cookie.

I can have true joy because I am a child of the Living God, not because I ran four miles.

I can have joy because I have a Father who cares about all the smallest cracks in my heart, enough to send His spirit to do a great work in me, to heal and help those hurts.

Real joy comes from living a full and abundant life in The Lord.

And the hard part is, food will always be a part of that life.

So this walk,

This struggle,

This balance,

Will be ever constant.

But if I want that kind of true, feel it from the depths of your soul, perfect peace kind of joy,

I'm going to have to press in,

Depend on The Lord,

And remember where my true justification comes from.