I have skin cancer. Don’t worry. It’s not serious, but I had to have this thing on my chest removed a few weeks ago. 8 stitches. It’s ugly and I’m stuck with it forever. The worst part is that it was kind of my fault because a weird combination of fear, denial & busyness led me to postpone taking care of it for over 2 years. I know, you are shaking your head. You see, I am really good at taking care of other people and stink at taking care of myself. The whole thing was fairly inevitable because years ago I was one of those people who slathered with baby oil and layed out on tinfoil. A few months ago, my husband Jose and a few good friends applied some pressure and forced me to go. When it was getting cut out I bravely told the doctor “well, no big deal, it’ll just be one of my war wounds.”
That was when I hadn’t seen it yet.
The next day, when I took off the initial bandage, I was a little stunned. It was a lot bigger than I thought and right smack in the middle of my chest. I started to cry. The war wound idea didn’t feel too glamorous anymore. I just wanted to go back to how it was before. Yes, it’ll fade. Everyone tells me that (It’s not the most helpful thing to hear in the moment. “I’m sorry, what a drag” just helps so much more). Bottom line is no matter how much it fades, I’ll always have the scar.
And I don’t want to be scarred. I think that all of the time. I don’t want the ugliness of life. I don’t want pain. I don’t want loss. I don’t want struggle. I don’t want anything bad.
I just want the good. I want Utopia. I want Mayberry. I want a steady paycheck (is that too much to ask?). I want everyone to like me and never be mad at me. I want everything to stay the way it is when I’m having a good day. I want to forget about the past. I want the scar to magically heal. I guess what I really want is heaven on earth.
But that’s not real life. Jesus made that pretty clear. He was painfully honest with us, that life on earth was sure to be hard. But that somehow it could also be good, that peace was still possible. Maybe peace would come if we’d just be willing to accept the bad better?
That’s what I want to do with my pain, accept it better. Embrace the loss of dreams. Maybe God can give me new ones? Embrace my insecurities. As much as I hate them, they always force me to go back to God because I don’t know where else to go. Embrace the confusion, that I have no idea what I’m doing but I guess this is where I’m supposed to be. Embrace that others hurt me. That’s part of risking our hearts with each other. Embrace change. It’s brutal in the moment but always moves me to new, better places somehow. Embrace that God never promised this was going to be easy. My big beef these days is why does it seem like every Christian book out there makes it seem so darn easy? “8 ways you can make your scars disappear.”
Okay so my bottom line is this. At The Refuge I don’t have to hide my scar. I showed up on a Sunday night tank top and all. It’s just part of me now. And like all of my other war wounds, I guess it what makes me, me. And at The Refuge I can be me. I looked around last Sunday and I was like “wow, there are a lot of scars in this place, lots of war wounds.” We really are battle-weary soliders on the front lines. And we’re all here for some wild reason. We’re all laughing. We’re all crying. We’re in this crazy hard battle together.
And somehow it’s beautiful. Can scars really be beautiful? Maybe so. I think yours are. They remind me that God heals. Gives hope. Makes something beautiful out of ashes. I need to believe the same thing about my scars, too. It is so hard for me to do. But I know I must try. Please, let’s keep trying together.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Sunday, July 23, 2006
KATHY - "I Believe in You"
Last week, my best friend Elaine sent me a donation to help fund my role at The Refuge. Jotted at the bottom of the sheet she only wrote four words: “We believe in you.” I immediately started to cry. I’ve been crying a lot lately; the past 8 months have been some of my hardest. I have been so vulnerable, scared, straining to listen to God but struggling with the din of the Enemy’s voice that always tells me that I really don’t have what it takes to be a pastor, that I’m all washed up and should just go try to find a real job.
“We believe in you.”
In the same group of mail was a donation from an outside friend of The Refuge. He wrote us a letter and said “Kathy and Karl, we just want you to know we believe in you and what you are doing at the Refuge.”
“We believe in you.”
A few days later I had coffee with my friend Brenda and she gave me a belated birthday present. The card said “I believe in you” across the top with some beautiful thoughts about God’s heart for me. I was a little surprised. I’m not a big believer in “signs”, but I know there was something here I wasn’t supposed to miss.
“I believe in you.”
It’s not hard at all for me to believe in YOU, my dear and faithful friends at The Refuge. That’s not a stretch at all. I can see God all over the place, at work in your life. I can see the hard work you are doing to try to find Him, God’s healing happening, changes being made, that He has a great plan for your life and wants to give you a hope and a future. I see all of your gifts and talents, all the things that could be. The beauty despite your pain. Believing in you is a piece of cake.
Believing in me isn’t so easy. I have great faith for you and little faith for me. I am realizing this more and more lately, how difficult it is for me to really believe God is going to take good care of me. Wouldn’t I live a little different if I really believed that? I would trust more. Risk more. Doubt less. Fear less. I am tired of feeling afraid. Aren’t good Christians supposed to be confident? Aren’t we supposed to have prayed our way toward perfect peace? Isn’t God’s will supposed to be more clear?
But then I think about most every character in the Bible and quickly arrive at a helpful reality--they were all afraid, too. Maybe even more afraid than me?????? They didn’t believe they could take the next step, go any further. They were often paralyzed, tired, ready to give up. But God kept pursuing them, calling them to listen and obey the crazy things He asked them to do.
He always has the bigger picture in mind. I can never see the bigger picture; I want to so desperately. I struggle to see something that I am starting to realize is impossible for me to grasp. I can only live for this moment. Do my best to stay in when I want to run and strain to listen for God’s hope, help…please, God, just something that I can hold on to.
I think God is speaking to me through my friends. I think He is reminding me that He believes in me. That He knows my life feels hard, that it’s been confusing. He understands I have doubts, fears, that I want to give up. But He doesn’t want me to miss the beauty that exists in this desert. He doesn’t want me to forget the amazing people He has put into my life that love me no matter how small my faith is.
My friends help me believe.
That’s why we need each other so desperately. I want The Refuge to be a community that believes in each other the way God believes in us. Where we see in each other what we can’t see on our own because we’re too messed up. Where we call out God’s plan in each other’s lives and remind each other that this journey is worth it. Where we show up for each other and send little notes out of the blue that say “I believe in you.”
“We believe in you.”
In the same group of mail was a donation from an outside friend of The Refuge. He wrote us a letter and said “Kathy and Karl, we just want you to know we believe in you and what you are doing at the Refuge.”
“We believe in you.”
A few days later I had coffee with my friend Brenda and she gave me a belated birthday present. The card said “I believe in you” across the top with some beautiful thoughts about God’s heart for me. I was a little surprised. I’m not a big believer in “signs”, but I know there was something here I wasn’t supposed to miss.
“I believe in you.”
It’s not hard at all for me to believe in YOU, my dear and faithful friends at The Refuge. That’s not a stretch at all. I can see God all over the place, at work in your life. I can see the hard work you are doing to try to find Him, God’s healing happening, changes being made, that He has a great plan for your life and wants to give you a hope and a future. I see all of your gifts and talents, all the things that could be. The beauty despite your pain. Believing in you is a piece of cake.
Believing in me isn’t so easy. I have great faith for you and little faith for me. I am realizing this more and more lately, how difficult it is for me to really believe God is going to take good care of me. Wouldn’t I live a little different if I really believed that? I would trust more. Risk more. Doubt less. Fear less. I am tired of feeling afraid. Aren’t good Christians supposed to be confident? Aren’t we supposed to have prayed our way toward perfect peace? Isn’t God’s will supposed to be more clear?
But then I think about most every character in the Bible and quickly arrive at a helpful reality--they were all afraid, too. Maybe even more afraid than me?????? They didn’t believe they could take the next step, go any further. They were often paralyzed, tired, ready to give up. But God kept pursuing them, calling them to listen and obey the crazy things He asked them to do.
He always has the bigger picture in mind. I can never see the bigger picture; I want to so desperately. I struggle to see something that I am starting to realize is impossible for me to grasp. I can only live for this moment. Do my best to stay in when I want to run and strain to listen for God’s hope, help…please, God, just something that I can hold on to.
I think God is speaking to me through my friends. I think He is reminding me that He believes in me. That He knows my life feels hard, that it’s been confusing. He understands I have doubts, fears, that I want to give up. But He doesn’t want me to miss the beauty that exists in this desert. He doesn’t want me to forget the amazing people He has put into my life that love me no matter how small my faith is.
My friends help me believe.
That’s why we need each other so desperately. I want The Refuge to be a community that believes in each other the way God believes in us. Where we see in each other what we can’t see on our own because we’re too messed up. Where we call out God’s plan in each other’s lives and remind each other that this journey is worth it. Where we show up for each other and send little notes out of the blue that say “I believe in you.”
Monday, July 17, 2006
KARL - Rock Bottom
In recovery speak, they talk about hitting our the bottom. DUI, divorce, homeless, bankrupt, STD’s all can be “bottom” moments that begin a new direction.
A few nights ago I may have hit bottom.
I am addicted to food. Actually, I am depressed. Food is what I use to try to feel good. A quick detour for those of you who do not understand depression, or at least my version, it is the inability to experience or sometimes even imagine true pleasure. I feel numb more than anything else. Sometimes I am sad, but when I am depressed I mostly feel numb. This is where sugar comes in. You can insert in place of sugar any number of quick fixes: sex, risky behavior, beer, shopping, porno, work and success, fighting, etc. The list is much longer than this, and I have tried them all, but my favorite is always sugar. Not very glamourous, but it is my default addiction. It is a bit embarrassing in that guys are not normally talking this addiction. The guys seem to often have work addictions, but at least they get six-figure incomes and a nice retirement. I get a huge ass and diabetes.
I seldom know why I am getting depressed, or even that it is happening, I just seem to not fit into any of my clothes anymore. I think sugar will make me happy. It feels good, and if it feels good, I might be happy, even if it is for the briefest of moments while I chew. This has been an especially hard season, and the darkness is fast approaching.
Yesterday I woke with a new resolve to defeat my dependency on food, actually I always wake convinced that I will never again fall to the temptation to gorge. I drank a low calorie nutritional drink for breakfast and had a ½ apple for lunch. Wow, I am healed.
But the evening is what always gets me. After 10 hours of sobriety, I deserve a little reward. I never have a little of anything, however. Then I always have this thought, “oh, screw it, I am a loser and now I have blown it. I may as well go all the way…”
I gorged. Picture a bear at the spring salmon run, or any six year old left unattended in the candy store. I discovered Nutella (Nutella is a peanut butter like concoction made of hazelnut and chocolate that Satan invented. In the periodic table it is the caloric equivalent of lead.) I began with Nutella on a graham cracker, but it felt more like a tease. Alas, there were no more crackers. The next installment was Nutella on a spoon, a large spoon. Good, but not quite enough. I needed something substantial to carry the Nutella. I found chocolate pop-tarts. I promise that in that moment it made perfect sense, the proper antidote to my pain. After what a civilian would have considered an excessive amount, I loaded a chocolate pop-tart with an inch of Nutella frosting and looked for Nirvana.
That must be a bottom. I hope it will motivate me to a new direction. I called the doctor, resolved to get back on my med’s. This blog has no real point, just a confession.
p.s. some of you might be reading, starting to feel anxious. How can we help Karl, you might wonder? Just understanding. That’s all I need. And please, no favorite sugar free jello recipes.
A few nights ago I may have hit bottom.
I am addicted to food. Actually, I am depressed. Food is what I use to try to feel good. A quick detour for those of you who do not understand depression, or at least my version, it is the inability to experience or sometimes even imagine true pleasure. I feel numb more than anything else. Sometimes I am sad, but when I am depressed I mostly feel numb. This is where sugar comes in. You can insert in place of sugar any number of quick fixes: sex, risky behavior, beer, shopping, porno, work and success, fighting, etc. The list is much longer than this, and I have tried them all, but my favorite is always sugar. Not very glamourous, but it is my default addiction. It is a bit embarrassing in that guys are not normally talking this addiction. The guys seem to often have work addictions, but at least they get six-figure incomes and a nice retirement. I get a huge ass and diabetes.
I seldom know why I am getting depressed, or even that it is happening, I just seem to not fit into any of my clothes anymore. I think sugar will make me happy. It feels good, and if it feels good, I might be happy, even if it is for the briefest of moments while I chew. This has been an especially hard season, and the darkness is fast approaching.
Yesterday I woke with a new resolve to defeat my dependency on food, actually I always wake convinced that I will never again fall to the temptation to gorge. I drank a low calorie nutritional drink for breakfast and had a ½ apple for lunch. Wow, I am healed.
But the evening is what always gets me. After 10 hours of sobriety, I deserve a little reward. I never have a little of anything, however. Then I always have this thought, “oh, screw it, I am a loser and now I have blown it. I may as well go all the way…”
I gorged. Picture a bear at the spring salmon run, or any six year old left unattended in the candy store. I discovered Nutella (Nutella is a peanut butter like concoction made of hazelnut and chocolate that Satan invented. In the periodic table it is the caloric equivalent of lead.) I began with Nutella on a graham cracker, but it felt more like a tease. Alas, there were no more crackers. The next installment was Nutella on a spoon, a large spoon. Good, but not quite enough. I needed something substantial to carry the Nutella. I found chocolate pop-tarts. I promise that in that moment it made perfect sense, the proper antidote to my pain. After what a civilian would have considered an excessive amount, I loaded a chocolate pop-tart with an inch of Nutella frosting and looked for Nirvana.
That must be a bottom. I hope it will motivate me to a new direction. I called the doctor, resolved to get back on my med’s. This blog has no real point, just a confession.
p.s. some of you might be reading, starting to feel anxious. How can we help Karl, you might wonder? Just understanding. That’s all I need. And please, no favorite sugar free jello recipes.
Monday, July 10, 2006
KARL--Church Uniforms
Here is my proposal: let's all get church uniforms.
Uniforms are great! They make it easy to recognize who is on your team and who is the enemy. A uniform could help take some of the guess work out of who is "in" and who is "out" , who we are for, who we are against. I will attempt to design a uniform that I think best represents and serves the suburban, typical, evangelical, church (S.T.E.N.CH)
Ok, I think it needs to be one solid color, something light, say peach or barely beige, because brown and black and yellow are not often seen. We like mostly whites.
It should be extremely masculine. It needs to have pants and a zipper, nothing too frilly or even remotely androgynous. You will see woman in attendance at S.T.E.N.CH, but not in any decision making capacity. God made them to be happiest in the nursery, didn't He?
It needs to be highly flammable, because everyone knows Jesus hates it when you smoke. Enough said.
Pockets are needed, but only the right side. Anything to do with the "left" is disgusting.
I think a nice red, white and blue tie would help make it clear that we are primarily concerned with America.
A small cross necklace, of course empty, without Jesus hanging across it, is a nice
way to say Not Catholic. We are still pretty pissed off about that Rome thing.
It must be medium sized. This is subtle, but we really do not like obese people. Jesus wants excellence, and chubby Christians are just not trying hard enough.
The helmet is critical. It must be able to protect our brains and ears from anything that does not come from our team. Something that would limit our vision and ability to hear would be helpful. "be careful little eyes what you see..."
Finally, winged tipped shoes. Nothing says we are "conservative" like wing tips.
I hope this catches on. It seems critical that we be able to identify who is not on our team. This idea of loving people as they are as the great Christian distinction is just not working very well.
If this fails I have this really cool, secret handshake I am working on.
Ok, I am dying to know your thoughts, so let us know. Anything you would add to the uniform?
Karl
Uniforms are great! They make it easy to recognize who is on your team and who is the enemy. A uniform could help take some of the guess work out of who is "in" and who is "out" , who we are for, who we are against. I will attempt to design a uniform that I think best represents and serves the suburban, typical, evangelical, church (S.T.E.N.CH)
Ok, I think it needs to be one solid color, something light, say peach or barely beige, because brown and black and yellow are not often seen. We like mostly whites.
It should be extremely masculine. It needs to have pants and a zipper, nothing too frilly or even remotely androgynous. You will see woman in attendance at S.T.E.N.CH, but not in any decision making capacity. God made them to be happiest in the nursery, didn't He?
It needs to be highly flammable, because everyone knows Jesus hates it when you smoke. Enough said.
Pockets are needed, but only the right side. Anything to do with the "left" is disgusting.
I think a nice red, white and blue tie would help make it clear that we are primarily concerned with America.
A small cross necklace, of course empty, without Jesus hanging across it, is a nice
way to say Not Catholic. We are still pretty pissed off about that Rome thing.
It must be medium sized. This is subtle, but we really do not like obese people. Jesus wants excellence, and chubby Christians are just not trying hard enough.
The helmet is critical. It must be able to protect our brains and ears from anything that does not come from our team. Something that would limit our vision and ability to hear would be helpful. "be careful little eyes what you see..."
Finally, winged tipped shoes. Nothing says we are "conservative" like wing tips.
I hope this catches on. It seems critical that we be able to identify who is not on our team. This idea of loving people as they are as the great Christian distinction is just not working very well.
If this fails I have this really cool, secret handshake I am working on.
Ok, I am dying to know your thoughts, so let us know. Anything you would add to the uniform?
Karl
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
KARL - Blogged Down
This is my first blog, and it will be a daily blog. Just like my “devotions” are daily. I am thinking twice a week is a good mark.
So here goes, I am now a blogger. I do not think it can be all that difficult, lots of my friends do it, and there are now 3,000,000,000 bloggers in the world. (I am not sure of the exact number, I just pulled that number out of the place my brother says I get most of my facts.) I am in a cool coffee shop with free wireless and surrounded by 7 people under 30, and I think they are also blogging. This is so cool; I am actually about to blog. I have heard so much about it, how famous people have thousands of people read their blogs. I am about to think/write something so profound that people will wish they could know God like I do, and of course I will give God all the glory for this because I am just a tool. I have a hunch that I am probably going to be a pretty good blogger.
I am just going to start typing and see where the wisdom wants to go….
Aljoaiub qoe;ljas;pui p[aljfwq;l bjpojetqj ljou wpou jpoqaitHmmm, can you type in tongues?
I remember this feeling. I have had it since Junior High.
I went to my first dance in 8th grade. I was not a popular kid, so I was not with a posse, I went alone. I heard dances are lots of fun and everyone goes.I stood with my back pressed against the wall, watching all the cool kids; they seemed so natural and smooth. It looked so easy. I have hunch that I am probably a pretty good dancer. I think all you have to do is have some type of seizure and nature takes its course. The dj announces that it is time for the final song, I ask Pam S. who sits next to me in history and whose mom has shrunk all her clothes in the dryer. She is hot.We walk out onto the floor, I close my eyes and seize away. I am in some convulsion when my eyes open and I cannot find Pam. I do a slow twirl, maybe she is behind me. Near the end of my 360o search I spot her back, as she and her friends are giggling and almost out the door. There is no graceful way to leave the dance floor alone, especially when everyone is staring and pointing. For just a moment I think I must be some dance prodigy. After a closer look, I do not.
Why does everything look so much easier when others are doing it?Marriage? Piece of cake, look at all the happy faces of the married people, a certain sign.Parenting? Why, it has been done for x number of years (Insert your own number please, I have been sitting too long and my facts receptacle is sore. Fundamentalist, a quick reminder that anything over 6,000 gets you kicked out of the club)Christian? Ok, when I signed on it was pretty clearly stated that this was a piece of cake. I was sure I had found something I could be good at. It was supposed to be like dancing or blogging. However, I feel like while everyone else is gently swaying to the heavenly rhythms my spiritual walk looks like some guy with leg cramps.
Following Christ is hard for me. I want things He tells me are bad for me, and I sometimes have no interest in the stuff He is recommending. I sit in church and I see people nodding their heads, raising their hands, it looks so easy.
Why does it seem so simple for others and not for me?If like me you feel like you are on the short bus heading to heaven, maybe we can stumble and gyrate together. You don’t have to be the spiritual equivalent to Pam S. I just don’t want to be on the dance floor alone.
Karl
p.s. this blogging thing is a snap, I just finished about a thousand words (I took a walk, facts are ready to pour out of me)And my ten minute brain dump only took 4 hours. I am a natural.
posted by karl @ 4:08 PM 0 comments
So here goes, I am now a blogger. I do not think it can be all that difficult, lots of my friends do it, and there are now 3,000,000,000 bloggers in the world. (I am not sure of the exact number, I just pulled that number out of the place my brother says I get most of my facts.) I am in a cool coffee shop with free wireless and surrounded by 7 people under 30, and I think they are also blogging. This is so cool; I am actually about to blog. I have heard so much about it, how famous people have thousands of people read their blogs. I am about to think/write something so profound that people will wish they could know God like I do, and of course I will give God all the glory for this because I am just a tool. I have a hunch that I am probably going to be a pretty good blogger.
I am just going to start typing and see where the wisdom wants to go….
Aljoaiub qoe;ljas;pui p[aljfwq;l bjpojetqj ljou wpou jpoqaitHmmm, can you type in tongues?
I remember this feeling. I have had it since Junior High.
I went to my first dance in 8th grade. I was not a popular kid, so I was not with a posse, I went alone. I heard dances are lots of fun and everyone goes.I stood with my back pressed against the wall, watching all the cool kids; they seemed so natural and smooth. It looked so easy. I have hunch that I am probably a pretty good dancer. I think all you have to do is have some type of seizure and nature takes its course. The dj announces that it is time for the final song, I ask Pam S. who sits next to me in history and whose mom has shrunk all her clothes in the dryer. She is hot.We walk out onto the floor, I close my eyes and seize away. I am in some convulsion when my eyes open and I cannot find Pam. I do a slow twirl, maybe she is behind me. Near the end of my 360o search I spot her back, as she and her friends are giggling and almost out the door. There is no graceful way to leave the dance floor alone, especially when everyone is staring and pointing. For just a moment I think I must be some dance prodigy. After a closer look, I do not.
Why does everything look so much easier when others are doing it?Marriage? Piece of cake, look at all the happy faces of the married people, a certain sign.Parenting? Why, it has been done for x number of years (Insert your own number please, I have been sitting too long and my facts receptacle is sore. Fundamentalist, a quick reminder that anything over 6,000 gets you kicked out of the club)Christian? Ok, when I signed on it was pretty clearly stated that this was a piece of cake. I was sure I had found something I could be good at. It was supposed to be like dancing or blogging. However, I feel like while everyone else is gently swaying to the heavenly rhythms my spiritual walk looks like some guy with leg cramps.
Following Christ is hard for me. I want things He tells me are bad for me, and I sometimes have no interest in the stuff He is recommending. I sit in church and I see people nodding their heads, raising their hands, it looks so easy.
Why does it seem so simple for others and not for me?If like me you feel like you are on the short bus heading to heaven, maybe we can stumble and gyrate together. You don’t have to be the spiritual equivalent to Pam S. I just don’t want to be on the dance floor alone.
Karl
p.s. this blogging thing is a snap, I just finished about a thousand words (I took a walk, facts are ready to pour out of me)And my ten minute brain dump only took 4 hours. I am a natural.
posted by karl @ 4:08 PM 0 comments
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