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?