Mary

I wonder what it was that made Mary highly favored by God to be the mother of His Son, to hold him when he cried, to feed him, to laugh with him, to play with him, to nurture him and love him the way no one else in all the history of the universe ever would. I wonder what she was like and I wonder what it was that made her how she was. I wonder if as a kid she got made fun of. I wonder if even before this scandalous event she was already a bit of an outcast in her village. I wonder if she tripped and people laughed as she dusted off her robe. I wonder if she was really as immaculately beautiful as all the movies and paintings make her out to be. I wonder if maybe she was plain. I wonder if she was betrothed to such an older man because nobody else would have her. I wonder what kind of loss and pain she knew. I wonder what she talked to God about as she went about her daily work. She called herself humble, and humility always comes with a story. And part of me wonders if by humble, she really means lonely and scared sometimes, but full of trust. I wonder if in the face of fear and hurt and other things a human girl would know, she leaned the entire weight of her inner being into the kingdom of God and understood that things were simply not at they seemed.

What was it that made her so irresistibly beautiful to God. I can just imagine His pulsing heart over her thinking, “Yes, this is her, this is the one. This is the one who bends my heart to breaking with love. Her faith is irresistible to me. This is the one I want to honor more than any other woman on earth.” I think of God’s track record throughout the Bible, the people that he likes to honor, and they are real people who make really big mistakes and experience heartache and confusion, but they say, “Yes.”

And this, I would argue, is the most brave, beautiful, and powerful “yes” there ever was, simply:

“I am the Lord's servant. Let it be unto me according to your word.”

This is not the statement of a weak and timid girl. This is the statement of a warrior, of someone who knows who they are. I imagine her head reeling with confusion, her heart battling up against her saying, “Don’t believe it. This is simply too good to be true. Who do you think you are?” A sentiment quite often expressed by the greatest people of faith throughout the Bible after being confronted with the voice of the Lord. She seemed more concerned with logistics of pregnancy than with her worthiness. She sat there in the presence of the Angel Gabriel, her heart stood up and shook off the fear and chose to believe. She received. And interestingly, this is one of the first things that her cousin Elizabeth says to her when she comes to visit, “Blessed is she who believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises over her.”

I have always assumed (and perhaps even been taught) that it was her perfect innate purity that qualified her. But she was a human and I find myself wondering if it was really more to bring favor in a place of lack than it was for Jesus to be raised by a person who was pretty darn close to perfect, as if the King of Heaven needed human help to be the exact image of God. I imagine the Father and the Holy Spirit watching them together, those sweet moments between mother and child, Jesus wrapping his chubby little arms around Mary's neck, planting a kiss on her cheek, and her heart nearly bursting with joy. Arms that were empty are full, a heart that was downcast rejoices. That just seems like the Lord to me, that He would entrust his son to a girl who despite all of her earthly circumstances, knew her place as daughter. Yes, I imagine them watching from heaven, hearts breaking forth like the sun, fully pleased with this arrangement.

Luke 1

“My soul glorifies the Lord 


47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, 


48 for he has been mindful 


of the humble state of his servant.


 From now on all generations will call me blessed, 


49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me—


 holy is his name. 
50 His mercy extends to those who fear him,


 from generation to generation. 


51 He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;


 he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.


52 He has brought down rulers from their thrones


 but has lifted up the humble. 


53 He has filled the hungry with good things


 but has sent the rich away empty. 


54 He has helped his servant Israel,


 remembering to be merciful 


55 to Abraham and his descendants forever,


 just as he promised our ancestors.”

Home

I was told recently during a conversation about transplanting, that you should move to people, not to place. This statement keeps peeking itself around random corners here in Kansas City, winking at me with a sneaky little twinkle in its eye; here in middle America, here where the land is flat and one camps on mowed grass with a big black plastic tube running through the campsite. Here. Kansas City.

I have lived in a lot of different places, a lot. A lot of epically beautiful places actually. I could regale tales for endless hours of things my eyes have beheld from Thetis Island, British Columbia to Novgorod, Russia. You would hardly believe me. You would hardly even believe the places that I have seen, the mountains, the stars, the rivers, the oceans, the glacier headwaters, the palaces, the paintings. I nearly lose my breath just thinking about it because beauty is not something I take for granted. There is much that I do take for granted, much that I squander, but beauty is not one of them, not for one single second. I live for it. I long for it. And the Lord has shown me so much of it. He has held me and fed me on the movement of water. And oh how I needed it after growing up in inner-city America, nearly swallowed whole by decay and ugliness. I needed it more than I could have ever known. He takes such good care of me. I hear His voice so clearly in those places. He restores my soul. His presence is free, easy, and uninhibited by the hospitality of beauty. And then I try to make it my home. My heart hovers and searches for a beautiful place to plant my roots and be unmoved, but it finds none.

Sometimes I feel like the baby Robin in a children’s book I have read a nearly infinite amount of times to the various children of my life. A bird pops out of its egg while its mom is out getting food. It hops around from animal to animal asking, “Are you my mother?” to which they replay, “No silly, I’m not you’re your mother, I am a cat, etc.” And then theres me, hopping around from place to place asking, “Are you my home?” “No silly, I’m not your home, I’m just a place.” I have tried to make them all my home, but they are not.

And so, for now, here, Kansas City is my home. My eyes roam the streets looking for a beautiful place to rest their gaze, and they are not disappointed. No, there are breathtaking landscapes in unsuspecting places. I find myself ushered into the easy presence of God, like a flowing river, by the interior landscapes of the extraordinary people around me. And my prayer is that all the beauty I have seen would become apart of me, that I can open my chest cavity and out will pour the Moyie River and you will also know what Gods voice sounds like while standing in its mighty current. After all, creation is good, but the image of God in humanity is very good.

Yes

Thanks to my dear friend Steph Gehring for posting this on her blog.

Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said: Abba, as much as I am able I practice a small rule, a little fasting, some prayer and meditation, and remain quiet, and as much as possible I keep my thoughts clean. What else should I do? Then the old man stood up and stretched out his hands toward heaven, and his fingers became like ten torches of flame. And he said: If you wish, you can become all flame.

[From Desert Wisdom, translated by Yushi Nomura]

Once Upon a Time

(Warning: first episode spoiler alert)

I realize its still a bit early to tell how it will hold up, but I can’t help myself, it’s a fairy tale, and aside from some of the questionable costumes I am fascinated with the new show Once Upon a Time on abc. The premise of this show is that through an evil curse, an array of fairy tale characters have been sentenced to life on earth -where there are no happy endings. They completely forget who it is they are and they go about their every day lives unaware that they are extraordinary. Through some sort of secret portal in a magical tree, Snow White and Prince Charming’s infant daughter is saved from the curse but separated from her family. She grows up on earth as an orphan, going from foster home to foster home with no sense of who she is, no sense of where she has come from or where she belongs. As a teenager she gives up a son who is then adopted by the evil queen, i.e. the mayor of Storybrook, the town on earth where they have been banished. He’s the only one who knows the truth, who knows everyone’s real identity and is adorably confidant that there is hope. The story weaves in and out of fairly tale land and life on earth. There are all kinds of other details that I won’t get into, but as we all know, every curse has its loophole, and it is prophesied that on her 28^th birthday, Snow White’s daughter will return and break the curse. Mmm…goosebumps. I sure do love broken curses. I can hardly wait.

(A few other things I love - that heroines are now 28 rather than 16 and Snow White kicks butt as a super-tough-animal-skin-wearing forest dweller.)

I am so glad that the creators of LOST are taking another attempt at removing the dreary and deceiving veil of normalcy. I’m not sure they fully succeeded in their first attempt, but if I were to try and summarize what it is they are after, whether they know it or not, its this: that life is epic beyond comprehension, that the mundane is a sneaky disguise for extraordinary, that when the fog of reality is lifted, a vast and magical kingdom lays before us, and the role that we play in the story is absolutely pivotal.

I was back in Milwaukee a few weeks ago visiting family. This past trip my five-year-old nephew Remy was particularly delightful. I could practically see with my very eyes his inner landscape expanding, growing and moving, forming new thoughts and feelings. He looked at me differently. He understood the temporal nature of my visit and he just wanted to be near me. Towards the end of my visit he was deeply conflicted about playing in the backyard with his neighborhood friends or sitting on my lap. He bounced around outside and peeked in the door every couple minutes to make sure I was still there, running in to tell me a story or crawl up in my lap for a minute. I could hear him outside telling his friends stories about me as if I was some sort of a magical fairy. My heart actually aches with joy just thinking about it. At one point I picked him up and swung him around and plopped him back down on the floor. His big eyes sparkled and his little heart overflowed. He went over to the counter, grabbed a tiny little thing and said “This is fo you.” He drops in my hand a little silver charm. Dazzled, I thought to myself, “This is way too good to be true. It’s a little castle. Surely it belongs to someone and is not really his to give away.” My sister-in-law looked at him seriously and said slowly and calmly, “Remy, do you really want to give this to Auntie Katie?” He didn’t think twice. He didn’t even flinch, “Yea!” He had found it on the ground a few weeks earlier. It was his treasured possession. It had hardly left his hand or pocket. He always knew exactly where it was, and he gave it to me.

So, here I am, a month later, still starry eyed as I look at this tiny little wonder with its intricate trellises and spires, towers and bridges. Be still my heart. And what I love more than this charm is the way that God knows my language, the way that this little treasure was given to me by the sweet and generous heart of someone who delights me to the core of my being, and the way that this thing is not just a thing, but it is the very breath of God clearing the fog of forgetfulness. It is a reminder of my secret hidden identity. I am adopted by a King, betrothed to a Prince, and indwelt by the Holy Spirit who clothes me in otherworldly garments by the song of His heart. Bold, I know, but true. Painfully difficult to believe some days, but He is so faithful and patient to remind me, so jealous and determined that I remember who I really am.

Inheritance

The whole thing about inheritances is that they increase. Investments are made and the small offering of one man can become a fortune for his children. Its all rather confusing to me, the facts and figures, but I do know that one way or another money begets money if it is invested wisely. And likewise, I know that when you plant one something in the ground, it produces the seeds for hundreds of somethings. It is a concept so close to the Fathers heart. He dreamed it up. He speaks of it relentlessly. It points to His kingdom. He just really likes for things to increase, and he likes to give things away that we have neither earned, nor do we deserve. Its topsy-turvy, upside-down, and completely, dazzlingly wonderful.

And I am lucky enough to have gotten a real live taste of this on earth, a dad who's love still baffles me by its undeserved unconditional-ness. A dad who would drop everything to look for my missing sock and whistle about it while I raged about the house like a thunder storm. A dad who took great pleasure in saving everything to take us on extravagant, adventurous vacations when in everyday life we didn't have two nickels to to rub together. A dad who was patient and present. A dad who has fathered not only me and my three brothers, but hundreds and hundreds of the most dejected and outcast of this world. A dad who for no apparent reason was proud to have me as a daughter. (And trust me, there were years when there was absolutely no apparent reason.)

But back to inheritance: What my (formerly) hippy, buddhist dad invested one summer evening while driving through the fields of Vermont was himself, into the heart Jesus. A flock of birds took off with it to the heavens and there it lives, gaining significant interest daily. And here I am, the beneficiary, rich beyond my wildest dreams, swimming around in an absolutely limitless fortune. My earthly treasures may be meager, but I have inherited the entire Kingdom of Heaven, and this is more real to me than the very ground I stand on. So, I think its pretty safe to say that I don't need no trust fund. I believe this will do just fine. Thanks dad. And by the grace of God I will invest it as generously, selflessly, and creatively as you have, and my children will run positively wild with the freedom.

Happy Fathers Day! I love you!

"I, however, followed the LORD my God wholeheartedly. So on that day Moses swore to me, 'The land on which your feet have walked will be your inheritance and that of your children forever, because you have followed the LORD my God wholeheartedly." Joshua 14:8-9

Yes, I would like to be a river.

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.

I want to free what waits within me

so that what no one has dared to wish for

may for once spring clear

without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,

but this is what I need to say.

May what I do flow from me like a river,

no forcing and no holding back,

the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,

these deepening tides moving out, returning,

I will sing you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels

into the open sea.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

My Mom's Hands

Sometimes I look down at my hands and see my moms. Its strange and comforting. Her hands are so deeply familiar, her fingers, the shape of her nail beds, the simple gold hand-forged wedding band. I have watched them knead dough, cut out paper dolls, and turn the pages of Little Women as I lay in bed with her as a child. Hundreds of times I have watched them roll out her famous crust for the best apple pie in the world. I have watched them shuffle scrabble letters, take a whack with a wooden spoon, fold in prayer, and write sermons. I have seen them waving down the street in the ghetto of Milwaukee as she chased down the kids who stole my brothers bike out from under him. (They dropped it and ran by the way.) I have seen them make dinner for a house full of inner city teenagers and teach lonely international housewives how to make apple sauce. They are truly remarkable hands.

My mom and I don't look anything alike. In fact, we are nothing alike. She has dark straight hair and mine is blond and untamable. She's pragmatic and I'm romantic. She lives fully in the moment and I'm a bit of a dreamer. We can not recognize anything of ourselves in the other and have sufficiently wounded eachother in trying. But I have her hands, and I am thankful. Our hands move quickly and efficiently and I look down and I know who I am. And I am so thankful that we should walk this side of heaven together as mother and daughter, sisters, and friends, forming and sharpening each other into the likeness of our Creator. "And he saw that it was good."

I love my mom's hands.

best story EVER

(Read the whole thing. Please.)

"A Swim" by Arnold Lobel

Toad and Frog went down to the river. "What a day for a swim," said frog.

"Yes," said Toad. "I will go behind these rocks and put on my bathing suit."

"I don't wear a bathing suit," said Frog.

"Well, I do," said Toad. "After I put on my bathing suit, you must not look at me until I get into the water."

"Why not?" asked Frog.

"Because I look funny in my bathing suit. That is why," said Toad.

Frog closed his eyes when Toad came out from behind the rocks. Toad was wearing his bathing suit. "Don't peek," he said.

Frog and Toad jumped into the water. They swam all afternoon. Frog swam fast and made big splashes. Toad swam slowly and made smaller splashes.

A turtle came along the riverbank. "Frog, tell that turtle to go away," said Toad. "I do not want him to see me in my bathing suit when I come out of the river."

Frog swam over to the turtle. "Turtle," said Frog, "you will have to go away."

"Why should I?" asked the turtle.

"Because Toad thinks that he looks funny in his bathing suit, and he does not want you to see him," said Frog.

Some lizards were sitting nearby. "Does Toad really look funny in his bathing suit?" they asked.

A snake crawled out of the grass. "If Toad looks funny in his bathing suit," said the snake, "then I, for one, want to see him."

"We want to see him too," said two dragonflies.

"Me too," said a field mouse. "I have not seen anything funny in a long time."

Frog swam back to Toad. "I am sorry, Toad," he said. "Everyone wants to see how you will look."

"Then I will stay right here until they go away," said Toad.

The turtle and the lizards and the snake and the dragonflies and the field mouse all sat on the riverbank. They waited for Toad to come out of the water.

"Please," cried Frog, "please go away!" But no one went away.

Toad was getting colder and colder. He was beginning to shiver and sneeze. "I will have to come out of the water," said Toad. "I am catching a cold."

Toad climbed out of the river. The water dripped out of his bathing suit and down onto his feet.

The turtle laughed. The lizards laughed. The snake laughed. The field mouse laughed, and Frog laughed.

"What are you laughing at, Frog?" said Toad.

"I am laughing at you, Toad," said Frog, "because you do look funny in your bathing suit."

"Of course I do," said Toad. Then he picked up his clothes and went home.

Just another miracle

Firstly, this is going to be way cooler to read if you have read the previous post first.

Two weeks after moving to Kansas City I stumbled into my dream job. Paper. Paper everywhere! Bright colorful paper, and more paper, plain paper, patterned paper, PAPER! I really love paper. Almost as much as I love fabric. I am a firm believer in thank you notes, brown paper packages, and regretful, impulsive letters feverishly scribbled at midnight. I love handwriting. I love weddings and invitations and baby showers and celebrations. I love gifts. I love being surrounded by things I love. I love helping people find the treasure they are looking for.

I sheepishly asked at the counter if they were hiring. She looked up quizzically and said that they were, in fact that very day a position had opened up. I ran home and sent out the online application, poured my heart out into the cover letter. I reeealy wanted that job. Like, really. I had this immediate gut feeling that it was meant for me. I got a call first thing the next day. I rocked the interview. I felt like the assistant manager Tom and I were old friends, you know, just chattin' about paper and graduating from high school in '98 and stuff. I was called in for a second interview right away with the manager. It was great. I took a deep breath and reveled in Gods swift and extravagant provision. Sigh...that was easy enough. People were shocked I had even gotten an interview there. It is apparently a highly coveted job notoriously reserved for people with art degrees, which I did not have. Man, this is good. I pictured myself biking to work, having lunch on the side of the Plaza fountain. Perfection. I kept asking God why he was so good to me.

A week went by, then two. Nothing. I called. They hadn't decided yet. I waited. Worry. There were bills to pay, rent due. Fear began to creep its way around my heart. I went back to WI for the weekend to get some more odds and ends. I balled up in front of the wood stove and rocked back and forth in a daze of anxiety. I asked God what was going on. This move was his idea. I thought he was going to provide for me. Then he told me something that shook the foundations of my independence. He told me that job was not going to take care of me, He was.

^{Luke 12:27} “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. ²⁸ If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! ²⁹ And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. ³⁰ For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. ³¹ But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

I said, "Ok, ok God, I think get it. You are taking care of me...through the job, right?" I thought we had things sorted out. But I had not idea that we had only just begun. He began to peel my fingers back from their deadly grip. I dropped into the store and casually bought a half-off calendar. Awkward glances. "Oh Kate, hi, did you get the letter I sent?" Hm, didn't like the sound of that. They went with someone else. I was sad and confused.

Although that job had ruined me for anything else, for two months I sent out resumes and filled out applications and didn't get a single bite. But what I did get were pockets overflowing with miracle after miracle of provision. And time, lots of glorious, glorious time. Time to contemplate Luke 12 and the weight of what it means when the Author of Life tells you not to worry, to seek his kingdom, and "all these things" will be added.

Yesterday, two months after my interview, on a beautiful April afternoon, I got a call, out of the blue. It was Paper Source, asking if I was still interested in the job. I said heck yes and I laughed and danced around and praised God because I really want to be friends with those people and bike to work and eat lunch by the fountain. But that store is not my work place. It is not my provision. My work place is at Jesus' feet. That paycheck is not buying my food, Jesus is my food. It is simply a place to love my new city and point people in the direction of the Treasure they are looking for. (And maybe get a sweet discount on paper!)

"Your greatest purpose is to be with Me."

This is the somewhat perplexing answer that I continually receive from the Lord when asking him about why I am here walking this earth year after year. I keep begging him for greater clarity on my calling, my gifts, my destiny, my purpose. My heart keeps saying, "Give me a noble task." And God keeps saying, "Just come over here and be with me." He keeps distracting me from being a responsible contributing member of society. While I want to work for him, he simply wants to take a stroll in the garden, to sit together on our mossy forest bed and whisper sweet nothings into my heart. I live in a bustling house with four other extraordinary girls, all going about their Fathers business with so much grace and unremitting purpose. And here I sit, day after day, week after week, in a new city, unemployed, gleaning grains of wisdom, jewels of insight from behind them as they come and go.

I open my eyes in the morning and my day sprawls open before me. Some days this is daunting and lonely, but more often than not I eventually find myself accidentally tripping and tumbling headlong into the well of Gods surprising presence, perpetual availability, his baffling affection, as relentless as the ocean waves. Its absolute bliss. Then I reluctantly pull myself away after what seems to be an indulgent amount of time and get on with the day, find something "productive" to do. I do this not because I want to, but to prove to all the hypothetical, imagined, and perhaps real judgers around me that I'm not a lazy bum.

I checked my bank account today and it's overdrawn. Through an endless series of miraculous provision, I have not missed a bill in two months. I have written two rather substantial rent checks and truly I can hardly tell you how on earth that money landed in my account. But like Peter, I suddenly realized I was standing on water. And that's impossible. People can't stand on water. I removed my gaze and my mind started whirling and spinning and compiling a list of all the things I should be doing rather than daydreaming with God. It's still early. I could easily apply to a handful of jobs. I could sew all afternoon. And then I remember the ghastly balance on my credit card due to a series of unfortunate incidents with my car and various other regrettable decisions. Then I remember my school loans. Its time to seriously sit down and strategize my way out. Whoa. Its time to fix this.

And of course Gods perfectly logical response is to casually suggest a trip to Forever 21. Seriously. And so I go. Perhaps the Lord finds that this would be a good place in which to confront me with my irresponsibility and show me things I can't have. I don't know. I go with no means or intention of making a purchase. And I find myself standing at the counter with a $12 dress. And next thing I know I am pulling out two gift cards from my wallet that I had completely forgotten were there until that very second. I handed them over, doubtful that there was any balance left. They covered the cost of the dress with $1 left over. And I walk back to my car utterly baffled at what had just taken place, staring off into an invisible kingdom that is more real than the pavement I am walking on.

I go home and pull Gods redemption over my head. The soft cotton drops all the way to my ankles. I grab a couple books, a big jar of water, and my computer. I walk out onto the porch. The dress feels so good, the warm summer breeze pushing it against my skin. I am clothed by the Lord. I did not toil, nor did I spin. I did not earn this dress. I am simply wearing it. My bare feet on the cement feel cool and natural, my hair wild and frizzy. I am an earthen vessel. I am a clothed lily. Just a half hour, just a half hour on the porch with the Lord on this glorious sunny day and then I'll work. I just need to be with him for another half an hour and then I'll go do something productive. And SLAM, the wind shuts the door behind me. And it's locked. On any other day this would be inconsequential as the door is generally opening and closing every five minutes, however; three of my roommates are out of town and one of them is working. So here I am, indefinitely.

I pick up a book that was recently lent to me, Adoration, by Martha Kilpatrick, about Mary of Bethany. What unfolds before me can only be described as the most freeing moment of my life, the absolute stillness and simplicity of my origin, the final permission to trust God more than I have ever dared hope possible. The silencing, once and for all, of all the voices of distrust echoing through my heart.

Yesterday a friend told me about a job opening at a nursing home as a podiatrist's assistant. I eagerly said yes, as I am open to absolutely anything, but must confess my stomach nearly turned at the thought. I can't stand the sight of my own feet and have never really been a fan of anyone else's either. And then there is Mary, this beautiful woman who spent her life at Jesus' feet. Feet were her job. There he taught her. There she poured out her broken heart. There she wasted her entire inheritance and anointed Jesus for burial. There she wiped them with her gratitude. She knew her place. While her sister Martha was perpetually tossed and agitated at God's obvious lack of understanding as to what is truly important, she simply sat at Jesus' feet. It was her life's work.

Martha Kilpatrick says,

"The great irony of the universe is this:

those who lower themselves to the

earthly mud of their origins

-can touch heaven."

Martha lived her life striving and unhappy.

Mary lived in the blissful stillness of One Thing.

Jesus said, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which will not be taken away from her." (Luke 10:41-42) It was not a condemnation. It was not that he loved Mary more, she just made the better choice, and Jesus ached for Martha to put down the pots and pans and come feast on his love.

God makes it so abundantly clear in scripture that what he has for us comes by way of gift and by inheritance (which is perhaps a study for another day). It's so clear all of a sudden I feel rather foolish and shocked at how deceived I have been. I thought I was providing for myself. I thought I was taking care of myself. It's staggering how dead-set we are on limiting an absolutely limitless God, how enslaved we are to this system of weights and measures. God has no respect for it. Perhaps I will never have anything of earthly value "to show for myself." And what that really means is, "to show to other people for approval." And perhaps sometime I will. There will most likely come a time when my days are again full of activity. Although I must say I am less and less eager for that. And who knows, maybe someday I will even be standing in the wild fullness of all the hopes, dreams, longings, and purposes God has placed in my heart. But by the grace of God (hear me now my Father) it simply won't hold even the most miniscule amount of satisfaction apart from His ever steady gaze of approval. Jesus says, "Do not work for food that perishes, but for food which endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you, for on Him, the Father God has set His seal." (John 6:26) Later Jesus says, "I am the bread of life, he who comes to me will not hunger, and he who believes in me will never thirst."

Big deep sigh...can it really be? Can it really be that my greatest purpose is to feed on Jesus? What a glorious life this is. What ecstasy. And why am I so surprised to find that this is just exactly what I've always wanted. How did you know Jesus? Just what I've always wanted...

Oh, and a check just arrived in the mail.

Painting: Feast in the House of Simon the Pharisee; Peter Paul RUBENS; c. 1618

While I realize it is not the same story, the same Mary, it is meaningful none-the-less. Was lucky enough to stand in front of it for hour at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg.

And away we go...

(Originally written January 26, 2011.)

Here is the story. Well, a few scraps of it anyway. Enough to piece together a little picture. Some pieces are too sacred to share, and some are saved to unfold over a cup of tea. And some pieces I simply won’t find until they are ready to be found. It is a story of both sorrow and joy.

Feb 1st I am moving to Kansas City, Missouri, two days before my 31st birthday. And thus a new journey begins. For those of you who know me, I am never one to turn down an adventure, and yet, this one was a harder sell. Living back in Milwaukee after so many years away was one of the more unexpected turns of my life. Why I was so determined not to return here, I don’t really know, but God has His ways of herding our stubborn, independent hearts exactly where they need to be.

I arrived in Milwaukee three years ago browbeaten and broke. I moved into my parents attic, which at the time was a depressing dungeon of fake wood paneling. I, who greatly pride myself in my vision for transforming ugly spaces, deemed it once and for all a lost cause and sulked in the corner for a couple months while scheming my way out. Then I got over it and started to paint. Then I found a delightful couch on craigslist. Then my parents graciously installed a sky light. Then I hung a little glass ball from it that was made from the ashes of Mount St. Helens, a volcano I watched huffing and puffing for years from my favorite little bridge in Portland. I hung an oval picture of my great grandmother on the wall. And then one day it felt like a little cottage in the woods. And say what you will, but I am convinced that something happened up there beyond a can of paint and a glass ball. It was my secret retreat. I dwelt there. And I had been so longing to dwell. I could see the moon from my sky light some nights, and green branches in the summer. The city around me seemed to evaporate from my tower in the sky. It felt safe, hearing my dad whistle his way up and down the stairs, hearing my mom make her 4 am cup of coffee, knowing that her early morning prayers were helping chart the course of my own life, coming downstairs to a blazing wood stove and my parents playing scrabble at the dining room table. And like a stray cat, my wild and distrusting heart began to curl up contentedly in the sun. My little attic space has held so many sacred moments of healing, bore witness so many agonizing conversations with God, has been a place of joy, confusion, comfort, and of purest worship.

As humbling it is to admit, I never saw myself leaving Milwaukee again. I’ve lived in six states, one Provence, and three countries. I kinda thought I was done with all that nonsense. Makes me think of Rachel Lynde from Anne of Green Gables saying, “The way girls roam the earth now is something terrible. It reminds me of Satan in the book of Job: going to and fro, and walking up and down. I don't think the Lord ever intended it.” Remove gender stereotypes from the equation and I was pretty much on board. I was ready to grow some roots. I had so many dreams, hopes and expectations for a life here. However, the space around me began to move and shift. Things near felt distant. Things distant felt near. I felt like Alice, too big one moment, craning my neck on the ceiling, and too small the next, disoriented by my surroundings. New prayers were conceived in my heart and began to stretch it and move in it and kick their feet at its walls like the sweet little baby in my friend Shelley’s gloriously pregnant belly (to be birthed around the same time as my move!). And little did I know their fulfillment would not be in Milwaukee, but rather in a little community in Kansas City called The Boiler Room.

I will be joining a colorful and faithful little family of prayers, artists, visionaries, bread bakers, fruit canners, gardeners, worshippers, sewers, and friends. When first visiting over a year ago, and then again a few months ago, it was as if I was speaking my native tongue for the very first time. The intensity of my own heart echoed and reverberated back at me even louder. I sat wide eyed and hungry and thought to myself, “these are my people”. The purity and abandon with which they seek with God is blindingly beautiful. After making such a dramatic statement, the decision would seem obvious, but comfort is a funny thing. It took some unbearably painful hours of wrestling with God before the decision was made, and joy came tumbling after. While tearily confessing to Wendy, my soon-to-be new housemate, that I will do this for God if He wants me to, she reminded me that if He wants me to, then really its for me, right? Deep breath, sniffle. Hm. Well that's kind of an intriguing idea.

I will miss Milwaukee. I will miss the safety and comfort of my parents home. I will miss the wood stove’s friendly chatter on cold days and the laughter around it. I will miss the most wonderful, magical job in the world. I will miss my precious new friends. I will miss my nephews. I will miss Remy’s brutal head-butts of impassioned affection, and those cheeks, AH! the cheeks! I will miss Sam’s bright, smiling eyes and long contented cuddles, curled up like a tender little fern in my lap.

But the next leg of this journey begins.

I am reminded of a line from a Rich Mullins song, that even after years of various moves, seems as significant now as it was when I graduated high school and left for Bible school on Thetis Island, BC. “I dont know where this road will take me, but they say theres a place there for a man, and when they hoist that sail, I know my heart will break, as bright and as fine as the morning...” It brought me to large, gulping, lonely tears once while sitting on a piece of drift wood overlooking the ocean straight between two islands, alone in a strange new world. And I imagine it will again. And as much as I hate that vulnerable, aching moment, I love the feeling of the Potters hands on my inner being. And I am reminded of all the priceless treasures and beauty the year on that island held. I am reminded of how that cavernous ache overflowed with wonders beyond my wildest imagination; watching the stars from a tiny island surrounded by fathoms of black water, the spontaneousfullyclothedrunningleapsoffthedock into the icy ocean water, phosphorescence, purple starfish, standing at “high point” and watching the sun set over the endless miles of ocean, the deep, fruitful, and enduring friendships.

So off I go once again into the unknown, a sojourner and stranger in this land. After all, I am a pioneer at heart. Its in my blood. My namesake and great great great grandmother Catherine journaled her way west and I have the pages to this day. I was reading in Psalm 65 recently. It says “You crown the year with bounty; your wagon tracks overflow with abundance.” I’ve read this verse before, but never this particular translation. It made me smile to myself. An image so vivid in my mind, so close to my heart. Dear Father, what new and breath-taking vistas to behold?