I wear a torn place on my sleeve || John

Behold, I will do something new,
  Now it will spring forth;
  Will you not be aware of it?
  I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,
  Rivers in the desert.

Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...

I wear a torn place on my sleeve.
It isn't as simple as that.


John

I weep a lot these days. They'd laugh if they could hear me say that, the men who travelled with me in the desert. "Really now, John?" They'd say, pounding nails for the tents into ground. "You, a weeping man? Where's the repent and fire business?"

Or maybe not. They had been there too, the first time I really wept before men.

My mother, when she was alive, would look at me with those sad brown eyes, turned golden by sun and by age and say, "John what is wrong?" I can't even count how many times she'd said that while I was growing up, because I did not weep. My mother was special that way. She always knew things. She saw things that others shut their eyes to, like how I never wept.

I miss mother, I think, with tears in my eyes. My father too. I think of them often these days, now that I see.

I remember being a much younger man and my father telling me about the child I was born to herald. He said love a lot, with his cloudy voice. "Father, I'm a man." I'd say. "Not some simpering magician, a prophet, Father. A prophet's passion must leave no room for silly love."

He wept at that.

For a long time, while I fought Herod among the lions in the desert, I told myself the same thing. I'd pound in the nails for my tent and say, "God is just."

I met the child, you know. The one my father used to tell me about, the Christ. He came to me as I shouted and my heart grew full of fire as I stood in the river, wet with the  Jordan and with teh sweat of righteous anger.

Oh no, Lord. I am unworthy to even untie your sandals.

I all of a sudden understood my parents in that moment. All of a sudden, my eyes were full of tears and I knew what was wrong with me when my mother asked. It was the same thing that my father had tried to ask me.

What is love?

Look how far I've come. I'm not sure if it is blood or tears running down my face. Far cry from the voice crying in the wilderness, I'm reduced to counting nails in the prison door, counting time by the shadows of the sun and times my enemy has asked me who I am now. What I am now.

My insides are being eaten away and my enemy exults and what do I do? I weep.

I weep for Herod and for the hungry fire of my enemy eating with pain at his soul.

I weep for the girl who dances while she asks for my death as a game and the way that she will one day weep in bitterness because her childhood has been stolen in fear.

I weep for my disciples, who laugh and preach and sing the psalms, but who will fall to pieces like a jar when I am gone. They just don't know. Please God, they don't know what they're doing.

Mostly, I weep for the child. My father was right. Love isn't what I thought it was. What love is this? He is my friend.

And I tremble as I think this.

I know him.

I weep.

I am just a voice, Child. I am yours, save me.

Somewhere, I think he weeps too, and there is glory in his tears.

My enemy is trembling now. I can see the devouring fire in his belly and I choose to stand and laugh amidst my tears.

This is called love, my enemy.

A dove alights.

I hear my Savior say, Thy strength indeed is small.

My head, my head

Tears fail not.

A nail falls like a pin dropping

And

i

with

it



Love is a  new thing.
(to be continued)

(Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's Henry and June, and W.S. Merwin's The Nails provide the epigraph.)

I pour the questions down the drain [villanelle]

He says, never will I see the snow

He says, I fear not at all the rain

He says, I will not  hide my heart below

She, with burning eyes, will slow

The burdened virtuoso refrain

And says, In springtime, we will know

His scars, as bright as stars aglow,

Mourning, fall upon her face in pain

He says, I will not hide my heart below

The spring must come eternal slow

For she and him recall so plain 

And says, in springtime we will know

The blood is rain to make them grow

The blood runs off against the grain

He says, I will not hide my heart below

He says, I hope for the answers to be no

She says, I pour the questions down the drain

He says, I will not hide my heart below

And says, In springtime, we will know

To Remember How to See

In such a place, where the ghost queen kisses the ghost king as they dance in harmony, I suppose it's not so unusual, the love story that unfolded in harmful song. For this is a love story, and it is not mine, and yet, it is all mine.

Once there was a small green dragon with golden eyes. He loved a princess, long-haired, pointed-chin. She was not a ghost like her parents, but I suppose being raised by ghosts takes a toll on you. She was as young as the dragon boy, but she didn't seem it. Forgetting and remembering, over and over, had aged her. She smiled at him, and to her, that meant love.

She had a secret, and the secret was as large and terrible as the forbidden wood where he lived. She had read the stories handed down by faerie godmothers of centuries before, and knew that a dragon's heart is enough to stop age, to promote immortality, to restore to a prematurely old princess the youth she ought to have. And I think that was the reason she loved the dragon most - he could heal her, if she ate his heart.

He was silly over her. He loved her more than anything and he wanted nothing but her love. That's why he was sad, that day. It was foggy and grey and the hunting hounds were out.

"Whoever catches the small green dragon, the one with love in his eyes, will be rewarded." The princess proclaimed to the hunting party. "I will give them all that they ever desire. I will acknowledge them as the  mighty hunter, the dragon-slayer, that they most want to be. But the dragon must not know what you are doing, or it will consume you in its fiery wrath."

The hunters set out, and one, a sharp-faced skinny thing with overlarge eyes, drew her bow against herself.She was small, and a little scared, because she didn't have any concept of killing. She was a healer. She liked to make things feel better, by her hands, and she was good at it. Cuts and bruises, broken hearts and sadness, all fell to the forest floor with her, the huntress and healer. I don't know why she wanted to find the dragon. Maybe she could feel his sadness.

She shut her eyes and let the forest spin around her like the world in orbit. She knew she could find the dragon, because the huntress was named Pity, and Pity always finds those who are in love.

She felt hot breath against her and opened her eyes, and there he stood, the weepy-eyed green dragon. Somehow, she was not surprised. "Good evening."

"They're looking for me, aren't they?" said the small dragon. "The hunters?"

The thin huntress nodded.

"If they knew what it was to love, they'd know where to find me." he said mournfully. He turned his great sad eyes from the mountains to the girl. "I never wanted to run from the princess. You must understand love, to find me. What is your name?"

Love is a great thing to understand. She blushed. "I'm called Pity. I'm a huntress and a healer."

"Pity. That is a good name." The dragon says, infinite sadness and infinite wisdom coloring his voice. "Are you going to take me to see her at last? That's what you're here for."

Pity had not realized how hard this would be. He was a fool. The princess would kill him, and he couldn't even see it, because he loved her. One thing she knew - this poor fool was the sweetest of monster, and maybe she did understand love, because I think she loved the poor dragon. "I have to tell you something."

"I will listen."

Of course, she can't just say the princess means to kill him in her selfish want of love. She closed her eyes and listened again, hearing his heartbeat. "Why do you love her?" She puts her healing hands against his chest, feeling sadness seeping into her fingers.

"Can the bee explain why it makes its honey sweet? Does the mountain know why it shadows the towns below? Can a huntress tell away her knowledge of the bow?" He shook his head. "You and I are alike, Pity. You know love too, and you don't understand it, same as me. That's why I trusted you, Pity. That's why I let you see me, why we found each other. Because we're both starving because we don't know what we know. We have both given everything, too, haven't we?"

No one had ever talked to Pity like this before. "Are you saying that my listening is giving?"

A great, steaming dragon tear fell to the ground. "It is also taking. You are pulled, little Pity. And you do not understand the things you know."

"Dragon!" She turns to him with concern in her forehead. "You are bleeding!"

"You have cut me, Pity. Your hands are the hands of a huntress." The dragon says weakly.

"No! No, I never meant to hurt you!" She presses her hands to the hole in his chest. The blood falls through her fingers, and the wound begins to close.

"Take your hand away. Your healing can not truly heal. You only want the pain to stop, I know your kind well, Pity, but it will only hurt it all more." He gasps and pushes her hand away. His heart falls free from his chest.

"No! No, I never meant to hurt you! All I wanted to do was make you feel better!" Tears are pouring from her, and join his blood.

"It's all right, Pity. I wanted this. And better to be killed by a small girl named Pity than a giant called Regret." He turned to her, weakly. "You do not understand the things you know, not at all. You are no healer."

Tears poured from all of her. "I know. I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He put his talon against her back. "No, don't feel bad, my dear little Pity. That's not why I told you that. Just know this - sometimes what a dragon needs is to be cut, and not to be made whole. You will learn, little one, how to do both, and how to know what you do is right." Tears leak from his eyes. "I trust you, Pity. Do you trust me?"

"Yes." she whispers. "Yes, I do, Dragon."

"My name is not Dragon; it is Love. My kind will teach you well one day. But now, little one, I am trusting you with this, my heart, my most precious gift. Would you give it to the princess for me?"

"Why do you love the Princess? She does not love you. She wanted you to be hunted."

"It doesn't matter. I would that she would have just asked me for my heart, for I would have willingly given it to her. But now, she will be healed." he sighed. "And you will be well-renowned as a dragon-slayer."

"No, I will not." Pity said resolutely. "I will be renowned as the small girl who found a dead dragon and cried at his body, and whose tears made the flowers grow."

The dragon regarded her and his talon fell away from her back. "Then you are wise, and you are learning already." He shut his eyes. "One favor, if I may, Pity?"

She leaned forward. "Anything."

"Heal my eyes. I have been blind a long time."

She pressed her hands to his eyes and her tears made him see. He sighed, and the flowers began to bloom. "So, that is what your eyes look like." And he breathed his last.

And little Pity, leaving her bow in the forest, took his heart to the princess and she was healed. I don't think she ever knew how Pity had slain a dragon called Love by accident to heal her, and I don't think she was ever thought of by that selfish princess again, but Pity knew. She never forgot him, the dragon Love,  and I think that she did learn how to heal and how to kill by her hands. But she mostly went every spring to the place where they had made the flowers grow, to remember how to see.

The Urchin

The travelling man came across an urchin in the street. She was dirty and her fingernails were clenched and bloodied against her breast. One hand was pressed to the pavement and the other was pressed against her breast. Hollow-eyed, she glanced up at the man and waved with one hand still against her. Her shawl falls away from her dirty eyes and she stares. He waves back and travels on. He is a travelling man, it's what he does. She's just a little urchin girl, and as he whisps on, an empty chewing-gum wrapper falls from his pocket. She picks it up and calls in a softly lisping voice, "Thank you, sir. I'll hold this piece of kindness in my pocket and one day when I have something to give, I'll be kind to you too." He doesn't turn around, but hopes that she'll grow up to be not such a dirty girl as she is now.

Decades later, when the moon is king and the sun is dark, the travelling man returns and as he walks, he sees the urchin girl - thinner, colder, and brittle as a snowflake. She is not an urchin anymore, but a seller of secrets, a lie-seller. 

"Are you a buyer of things I know?" she said softly in the street, her hand clenched against herself. 

The white-lipped man with the pocketwatch stops. "Are you a seller of good things?"

"I sell the things I know, sir. But we will barter in things we know: I will hold whatever secret you put into me and then I will tell you something happy. You may buy the things I know."

So he whispered a bitter secret into her ear, and she took her hand off of her breast, and pulled, to the travelling man's surprise, her hand away holding her heart, beating and hollow as a drinking gourd. She put the pale secret into the hollow vase of her heart, solemnly. Then she pressed it back into her chest. She shuddered and grew a little paler. "Thank you. I'll hold it unless you want it back." She said it sort of like a question.

"No. I do not miss it." 

"Then let me tell you a secret, in exchange for what you sold me." She looked up into the heavens, and whispered something in his ear. His face lifted and he smiled. His lips took some color and he put his pocketwatch away. Then he walked away.

She smiled thinly and sat back down. Whatever he said had made her sad, and whatever she had said had made him happy.  

The travelling man was curious. And so he walked to her. "Are you a buyer of things I know?" she said. 

His eyes shot from her dark hollow eyes to her hand clenched against her. "What do you sell? Lies or the truth?"

Her eyes flickered. "I don't know the difference. I sell the things in my heart. I have many things that my heart knows. And I sell the ones that make you happy. I'd make you happy, sir, if you'd exchange me something in your heart."

"Why?"

"My heart falls out a lot, and it has a hollow in it. It's shaped like a secret. So I thought I should do it that way. That part I know is true."

He stretched out his hand and dropped a beam of light, purer than any secret into her hands.

"I can't keep this, sir." she said, her lips quivering. "I've never had anything this beautiful. I'm not that kind of girl, sir."

"Keep it." he said softly. Curious, he said," Now, tell me one of the things you sell people."

After a moment's hesitation, she rose to her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. His eyes intuitively brightened. "But that is true." he said happily. "The things you say are true."

She looked relieved, and tired. "I'm learning now what true is, sir. But that's not what I say, sir. I'm saying things that are happy."

He looked her in the eye. "Now tell me one of the things still in your heart. One of the sad ones."

She shook her head. "No, they are mine to hold. I'm the one with the hole in my heart, and I'm the only one who has to do this. I wouldn't wish this on you."

"But they're lies." he said. 

She turned her head in a somewhat shamed way and walked.

The travelling man saw her again the next day, sitting on the ground. The first thing he noticed was that her hand was out in front of her face, outstretched, and not clenched against her.

In her hand, her heart was bleeding all over, and the smile he was accustomed to seeing on the lie-seller's face was gone. "It wouldn't go back in today." She said blankly. "I couldn't get it back once I put a secret in it." She winced.

"Does it hurt?"

She winced. "I can't tell if this is truth or a lie. And I know I'll die if I get it wrong." She glanced back to her heart in her hands.

"I will show you the truth." Said the travelling man. And he put his hand on her heart and held it for her as she coughed. Secrets and lies and sadness and blood poured out of it and she coughed and cried. "No, no!" she said. "I promised I would hold those."

But they continued to pour until one last thing was stuck in there as she gasped.

It was a chewing gum wrapper.

"I made a promise once," she said to the travelling man, all out of breath. "to be kind to you."

Then she crushed her heart into her hands and said, "I can not hurt you any more. Neither can I lie to anyone again." 

And the urchin exhaled.

I fall in love with a bird and live

Once upon a time, there was a little worm-girl. She lived in the quietest part of a garden, under hte shade of a wild-haired tulip.

There was not one thing special about this worm. She was not important, she was not talented, she was not (certainly not!) pretty. The easiest way to describe her is a Nobody among Nobodies.

The grown-up worms knew her to be a simple-hearted little thing with no big aspirations and no big exceptional traits, but a big heart - big for a worm, that is. The boy worms were blinded by her blindness and usually mistook her for a ladybug. Ladybugs are good at listening, but are usually too prim and proper to be friends.

Maybe they were right. She was a very blind worm, and not very important at all. Either way, she listened a lot, and she loved to listen. But she still couldn't see and maybe that was her biggest fault.

One day, she was squalling about in the shade of the garden. It was so bright and hot and her skin hurt. She, in her ungainly worm fashion, squinted her forehead where her eyes would  have been and squirmed uncomfortably away. She thought about the sun and the other worms and the tulips and suddenly wished she weren't blind even though she'd know how ugly she was.

"Hello, girl."

She froze. She knew that voice. It was a bird, one of the bright winged creatures who are as full of light as they are of air and beauty. They also eat worms. "Hello, bird." She said. She flails side to side, trying to face him as best as one can with no face.

"Don't trouble yourself," he said softly. He hopped around to face her. "Are you alright, girl?"

She can't remember the last time she was alright.And she knew birds. They tried to be kind, but they're so beautiful, so undeniably better, that they end up devouring poor worms like her. "What do you want from me?" She said.

He waits a long time to answer. When he does, his voice is soft as warm poppy petals. "Just... just to love you." he says quietly. "To be friends. You've always been kind."

Not to wild birds. "Thanks, but not really. I'm not kind." she says, worming her tail awkwardly backward.

"Yes, you are. You've always listened and cared and asked and been kind to me. I-" he hesitates. "Don't you remember how kind you are to me?"

"I do not know you." What a sorry thing to say. "I'm sorry, but I don't."

"That's okay." he says, and he's not quite disappointed. "I think we are friends."

"Okay."

"I think," he hesitates again. "I think I, maybe, love you." It sounds like a question.

She didn't answer, because birds can't really love worms, not really. They may care, they may be merciful or even kind, possibly sweet, but never ever can they really love worms. Where would they live?

She wishes she could have seen how he looked when he said it though.

He did keep coming back, the bird boy, every day. They did nothing together. She couldn't really fly with him, and there was nothing that she would like him to see about her home. So they lazed. They listened. They sat. They talked. They were together.

"Tell me about seeing," She said. They're sitting in the sunshine. Her tail is would around his talons.

"It's amazing." His breath and his wings are against her back. She sighs, because it's good to be together and alive together. "The world is very bright." he continues.

"Okay."

"I see things as they seem, I think. It's not like what you do, dear."

"Okay."

He stirs a little. "I love you."

Before she can talk herself out of the glimpse of light she just had, she says, "I love you too."

Oh no! She is blind. She is a blind ugly worm. She can not love him. He can not love her, but even less can she love him. "No! No, I can not love you." She gulps down a pocket of tears. "I am a worm and you are a bird."

"You don't understand. Love isn't like that."

"A bird can not love a worm, my dear. Where would they live?" She says, and the world is very very dark again.

A blink of light. "We are each other. Not a bird, nor a worm. We are who we are."

A blink of tears. "No, you can't do that. Don't become a worm for me."

His wings move. "I've always been a worm. It was you who first called me a bird."

All of a sudden, she remembers who he is and why he knew they were friends. But she knew him, once a long time ago, not as the bird that he is, but as one of the other wailing worms. She had listened to him.

"But I feel your wings." She says, stubbornly. "You are more than you think you are. How could you be a worm?"

He smiles. "Sometimes love goes by many names. Sometimes, its best name is blindness."

Love is neither sight nor blindness.

"No." She says. "Love's name is not blindness. Love is what is real, it is a realization. You are a bird. My blindness gave love realization."

"Do you not feel your wings?" he says softly. "My sight will realize your reality, too."

She is not a worm. He is not a bird. They are real and the in between of wings and worms is where they live.

College students, I would love you more.

They walk with heads up, eyes open.

I look at them (hoping to ignore how brown my salad is) and I can't help but believe that though they're looking around, their noses are still buried in books, or gleefully smelling the intoxicating perfume that is fantasy. Although time is passing (I still very much hear the endlessly pounding fountain) many are still brushing sleep off their eyes and into their slippers.

Is it just me, or do they all look the same? Same half-glazed eyes, lashes falling heavily against their cheeks, same yellowed smile. They're even looking in the same direction.

This place feels heavy with enchantment, as if the blue windows might cave in under the pressure of the jungle within. I can picture green ferns springing up around my rigid chair and my salad browning into moss. Here and there, a pair of flickering half-lidded yellow eyes

I recognize them, of course, because my eyes once looked the same way. And, everyone looks the same.

It's heartbreaking how sad these jungle animals are - and embarrassing, because I don't think I care about jungles enough.

See, it's sad that I'm more distressed over how disappointing my salad is than I am about how distraught they are. It's sad that I can notice they're looking at me but not want to see them.

And these zombies and sleepwalkers who populate my college campus, my town and my reality... they are more beautiful than the mountains in my backyard.

The jungle, a sprawling, self-conscious mass, is not a shelter because it is not solid. It keeps changing based on these stupid whims and I keep changing too.

I want to say that I'm full of music, but I fear I am an empty noise. And yet I show off my beauty, when I have just aroused from sleep, too. Ha. Sleeping Beauty I am not.

Or perhaps I am. Perhaps these yellow-eyed jungle creatures just zombies and sleepwalkers.

Violently, I'd shake one from his stupor. Perhaps he'd remark on the weather or offer me a stick of gum. But how can I guarantee he's even awake? Everything looks the same in here. And is it even right for me to pity the sleeping, when I lay upon my bed so often myself?
I must bid the doubt farewell. It must be enough to love and simply be. I watch the jungle break the sky.

The Lilies Bloom Beyond the Glad [for KK]

My cousin KK asked me to post this poem I wrote for her (it had to be about flowers... hmm!)

The Lilies Bloom Beyond the Glade

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

My bean seeds on the Marvel stove

The lilies bloom beyond the glade

Curled around yourself, we wade

Through spider-blind paths we wove

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

You move, to where the azaelia laid

Dead - dead - you killed this grove -

The lilies bloom beyond the glade

Not a lily, I too was swayed

(I wish I could find my seedling trove)

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

I miss my petals, I was waylaid

You betrayed me and I drowned you in the cove;

[The lilies bloom beyond the glade]

I'm sorry that my kindness grayed

You and I, to my earth I dove

So, traitor, you will not be stayed:

The lilies bloom beyond the glade.

(I'm not sure that I have a point to this poem, but here it is, for you, KK!)

Good-Natured Monsters

While listening to some soundtracks a few afternoons ago...

Sam: JI-JI! It's Pretty and the Beast!

That made me smile. I love "Pretty" and the Beast. I spent some time reading the original translation the other day (for a speech. Shh!) and it's simply fantastic. I always thought it was about how Beast learns to overcome his selfishness... I've been looking at Beauty's perspective a little more now.

Have you ever loved a monster? I have. All I wanted was to return to my family, my trunkfuls of dresses from my days of splendor, my comfort zone, even to those who found me to be loathed. It's easier to find a familiar monster than try to determine the princes from the beasts.

But, by some author's idea of excitement, we too are captured by fate and we have to be around the Beasts of our life.

For me, I know that it's easy to slip into this idea of hiding up in the prison, mocking the bars and cursing my 'captor'. It's easy to suffer in this martyred stance of Why me? I didn't do anything wrong... and never even see the Beast.

"Tell me, Beauty, do you not find me very ugly?"

"I can not tell a lie... but I believe you are very good-natured."

I thought about this for a long time. I do believe that this compliment, stilted though it may be, was the first that the Beast had received in all the years since his transformation. And, like the human heart, the thing he most desired was to be lovely, or more appropriately, lovable.

Too often, I've passed over the ugliness, the pain, the imprisonment, without even stopping to mutter a brief, "But I believe you are very good-natured."

The fact is, we are surrounded by good-natured monsters who are waiting to hear that they are loved.

The fact is, we are not so beautiful ourselves.

The fact is, souls are lovely.

"But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, like so many, peddlers of God's word, but as men of sincerity, as commissioned by God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ." 2 Corinthians 2:14-17

Until the Dusk Is Here

Something I was thinking about this past week...

Until the Dusk Is Here

I am... alone here

I am... grieved

Where did you go?

When light and darkness wed

Here, their heroic bouquet

Tossed far away

Won't someone come take me away?

This is nothingness, there is no here

No lilies grow in the dark, our bouquet

Is scrap iron and disappointed, grieved

Glances toward the pain and joy, wed

Take me away! {where will I go?}

Isolation: my desire to flee and go

Thing I fear not to go away

Happy jitters true fear when I wed

Myself to the starless smog here

Captive by enthused and now grieved

Here I bury the bones of my bouquet

Falling away from my gentle bouquet

Longing to fly, to flee, to go

Hoping to remedy the grieved

Wishing I didn't need to run away

Grieving for a time I wasn't here

Singing toward the day we'll wed

Today, grace and truth are wed

The Bridegroom hands me the bouquet

-I realize now how dark it is here

How silent - we go

Out of the net, far and away

My heart is star, not grieved

In the distance, thou art grieved

For those you see to bones and darkness wed

But we are not so far away

We shall together resurrect our bouquet

In light, we shall skip and sing and go

Until the dusk is here

You and I shall go see the grieved

We shall wed so far away

Toss to the sunset our broken bouquet until the dusk is here

"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light."

Forever [Beautiful Belief]

This is my Flood the Five event poem. If you haven't noticed the pattern, I apparently have at least one poem per event that just sort of summarizes my thoughts. I'll have a more official Flood post up later.

I stand beside you, full
Unquestioning, I follow
So strong art thou
So full of passion, of belief
I feel your heartbeat
I love, I am, unquestioning

Together, now forever, unquestioning
You and I to understand, for full
You think, you feel, his heartbeat
Who shall you and I follow?
Your face is devoid of belief
For you and I art forever; I, thou

I am with you, art within thou
You are quiet. I'm unquestioning
I'm noisy in your frail belief
This joy is your strength in full
Maybe I will lead and you will follow
In this strength, your fragile heartbeat

Love! My hand, my heartbeat
Open, you are precious, art thou
Forever, I will quiet, I will follow
I shall help you unquestioning
For you, my heart is full
For you, I forsake my blind belief

So much hope, so much belief
I see thy joy - how I find a heartbeat
May I stand with you for full
You are, we are together: I, thou
To you, I will forever give me, unquestioning
We, together, will lead and follow

So many, so much, I follow
I am given toward belief
I shall wear white (I am unquestioning)
Can we share one heartbeat
One soul? How fully to desire thou
I will be filled to the full

Joy! So full, happy to follow
I and though, our heartbeat
To be unquestioning, here my beautiful belief

So... like it? This is a really abstract one. You'll have to let me know what you think it's about. Then I'll write about the actual conference experience. I'll tell you, I'm having HUGE extrovert withdrawal right now. I very much miss everyone.
Oh! And check out the pages at the top of the site! Are those cool or what?

Mascara (a.k.a My Masters Diary)

Day 0: Travel to NC
Lesson learned: We love airplanes!
We departed from Colorado Springs (my mom, me, Mrs. S, Madison, Levi and Maci) and took the long flight to Chicago O'Hare airport. Madison is my debate and duo partner, and her AOR for this particular Masters tournament was debate... well, she printed debate stuff at the last minute, so we spent the first flight getting the public forum stuff in order :)
We then went from the (icy cold) O'Hare airport to Charlotte. We arrived at night, in the pouring rain ("It's so romantic!" says Maci as she twirls around in it) and rented a van ("Please pick a red one!" says Madison. We got a red one.) and head to Hotel #1.
Wow! Tiring first day. Looking forward to conference tomorrow!

Day 1: Registration and drive to Hamlet
Lesson learned: Don't blink on the drive or you'll miss the town.
We made the 2 1/2 hour drive to Hamlet and checked in at our hotel. We then went to the town of Hamlet and registered at the church. Happiness! I got to see my favorite INTP and good friend Rebecca, as well as connect up with the interns and some of my other friends from camp and conference. Among them: Westin! A friend from Colorado. After our opening simulation (ZOMBIES!!! AAAAH!!! RUN AWAY!!!!) we watched the encore performance of Lead the Escape, hung out with friends, and then went home.

Day 2: Student Leadership, Ladies Luncheon and Model UN
Lesson Learned: Josh better have a good reason...
This day was jam-packed! I got to hang out with people again, which was enough for me to be very happy, but we also had a number of simulations and things. The Ladies Luncheon (with its awesome slumber party theme) was hosted by Kelsea and Robin and - triumph! - Mrs. Moon in her PAJAMAS! That was something I thought I'd never see! This followed our first class of the day (I attended the Student Leadership track) and after lunch, we continued to the very first Model UN simulation. I was representing Mexico with a single partner (I was on the Security Council). My partner was very different from me - we didn't agree on a single issue of our country's policy! That was a little difficult to get used to. But, I'm sure Josh has a good reason...

Day 3: Public Forum, part one and Mystery Party
Lesson Learned: Mascara is really bat poop. Don't ask.
I should start by saying that I've never done any kind of debate before, and my partner is a seasoned four-year-er. This having been said, I practiced my debate a LOT. So... I forgot something important. My mascara. Ouch. I was wearing full makeup... but no mascara. My self-confidence plummeted. Apparently, when I told my partner I wouldn't debate without mascara, she believed me, because she bugged an alum intern for some mascara. AH! I felt remade. I debated four rounds and I didn't die in any of them!
We then changed into our mystery costumes for the mystery dinner. Madison, Maci and I went as clue characters (Ms. Peacock, Ms. Scarlet, and Ms. White, respectively). Our parents were Agents 1 and 2 and Levi went as the Scarlet Pimpernel (which I know nothing about). My favorite costumes of the evening: several interns dressed as Clue characters (Mrs. White, Ms. Peacock, Miss Scarlet, Colonel Mustard, Mr. Green, Mr. Body [teehee]). Westin was Zorro. He had this cute little mustache. Humorous story:
Madison: Is that eyeliner?
Westin: No. It's the thing that comes with the spiny brush.
Madison: Mascara?
Westin: Ouch! That thing hurts. It must be made of metal.
Madison: No... who's mascara was it?
Westin: A friend's.
Levi: I bet it was Catey's.
Madison and Catey laugh hysterically as Westin gets really confused.

Day 4: Tournament, take two and concert
Lesson learned: OUCH
To start the day off, Eric ran me over. Hard. He kicked my shins by accident so I fell over and it hurt. Great. Soon after, I was removed from the Phase 1 (easier, non-advancing competition) to judge it. That was really fun! Sadly, Josh was really concerned about whether Madison and I would be okay with it. I felt bad for him - he was harried. I felt so bad for him that I didn't begrudge him the fact that he also ran me over and smashed me into a wall. Oops. Poor guy. As I looked back, I realized I had been run over a grand total of six times. I then kept track of collisions, because it was awesome.
Anyway, I performed my Thematic Religious Reading, and was seriously worried about my time (I ran two and six seconds over, which can be grounds for disqualification). We then attended a concert and performance of The Great Divorce. I cried and cried and cried. I need to read that book.

Day 5: Model UN
Lesson learned: Never trust China
Today, we were able to actually able to attend whatever classes we wanted. In addition to that, we broke into our separate councils in Model UN. I was on the Security Council (which is the best). I wrote this fantastic resolution, and received three more than necessary signatories - including China, Russia, France, etc. My resolution was then vetoed by China. His reasoning?
China: "The world is a twisted place."
No kidding.
Today, we also heard postings. Three of my friends' teams qualified to National-level competition in debate, and Colorado swept up the only Informative slot (must be the mascara, Westin.) My friend Madison and I both took honors and slots in Thematic Religious Reading (guess those two- and six- second overtimes were okay). My friend Rebecca won the Oratorical Contest. Happiness.

Day 6: Model UN and closing ceremonies
Lesson learned: We are all broken pots.
After the closing session of Model United Nations (where our chapter performed very well: Laura taking third country, Levi taking 2nd country, Madison taking 1st speaker General Assembly and 1st country, and I taking 1st speaker Security Council), and my performance of my Thematic for the assembly, we attended classes until the closing ceremonies and formal banquet. All of us dressed up in formal gowns and tuxes, and it was a truly beautiful evening. It was tainted bittersweet though - this would be the last time I'd see many of these people for a long time, perhaps for several months or even years. After Mrs. Moon's address, we lit candles, and sang in the yellow pools of light underneath them. I stood by my dear friend, and sooner than I knew it, I was absolutely overcome by the compassion and beauty of God. I stood in the darkness, my face glowing in the candlelight and cried, Why me, God? I am no good. My words are broken. My love is fake. Why me? And back to me: You serve a good God. Everyone speaks in broken tones - just show mercy. No one loves like me - I will heal you. I chose you because I love you.
Wow. That changed my thinking. I then went around crying for the compassion of God, and saying goodbye. I know that I love these people and that they must care about me, because none of them were turned off by the fact that I had been sobbing into my hands. It was a rubbing of souls. I greatly miss everyone, but I am content to know that Masters was not the last time I'll see any of them. I look forward to seeing them again soon and I pray in the mean time.
And, ending on a more lighthearted note, my mascara did indeed cause more problems (it dripped down my face and I looked like the matchmaker from MuLan. Baaad.) Oh well. Next time I'll just ask Westin to borrow his.

I have been changed by Masters, so don't be surprised if any number of my posts quote people from Masters, or tell stories of Masters as examples. Currently, I have a piece of poetry floating around my brain from The Great Divorce. Eventually.

In Haiti

Dust
It stung my eyes cough cough
The sky is opened above me
Where is the house
I'm confused
Gasping clutching Mother- mother -
Scream
The pigs move past the women scream
We cry out
There is blood on my dress
There is bile on the stones

Fear
How could this be?
Where are you, God?
So far away, what can I do
What can I do
What can I do?
Hundred miles pass in blue
Between you and I
My arms are aching
Aching to hold you.

Cursing the sun cursing
The light handling what I can
No more house no more sky
No sky just dust
I can't breathe can't cry can't speak
I hate you where are you when I need you
Why aren't you here for me why didn't you stop this
Why weren't your hands there to cradle me
God o God o God I can't feel you
Then where are you

Praising the Son praising
The Light and truth
The Shepherd was there, he cradled the lambs
I can't feel him, and his staff pains me
I just want to cry, I have no praise in my heart
But in my soul, maybe, in my spirit
I can find a wailing voice
Even if I have no words, I praise you
You were there, when I couldn't be
Hold her
Rock her to sleep
Tousle her hair
Sing over her:
Blessed be your name when I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name.
I will sing, I will shout

Burning sun blistering water
Tears in my eyes
Blood in my hair
Over me
Blessed be your name when I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name.
Your name is a strong and might tower
It did not collapse when the earth shook
I run to the tower I ascend
The stairs cavernously
Nothing can shake you nothing
I am safe here
I feel your arms around me
I know your name
You are here
Blessed be your name.

Please be in prayer for the victims of the 7.0 earthquake that struck Haiti. Already the poorest country in the western hemisphere, they've consistently had natural, social and political adoptions. More people in Haiti are chronically malnourished than anywhere else in this half of the world, and with the earthquake, less food and water is available. The streets are littered with dead, and many are still trapped under rubble. Haitian adoptions are slow, unsteady and strewn with deceit and corruption. This earthquake could make things more difficult. Dozens of countries have rushed to Haiti's aid, but their support will not be enough. We need to be in prayer that the spiritual elements of the Haiti disaster will be covered, not just the physical. The country is dedicated to Voodoo, and God feels far off to these precious children of his today. When we are inadequate, Christ shows strongest. Please lift these little ones up in prayer in the coming days, weeks and months.

"Alone"

"Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were - I have not seen
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring -
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow - I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone -
And all I lov'd - I lov'd alone -
Then - in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still -
From the torrent, or the fountain -
From the red cliff of the mountain -
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold -
From the lightning of the sky
As it pass'd me flying by -
From the thunder, and the storm-
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view -

I am sometimes moved to tears by this poem. I am analyzing poetry for my college and writers guild studies and though I have only just read this poem for this assignment, I am continually touched by the loneliness Mr. Poe felt. How sad to perish alone without ever feeling the love he desperately wanted.

This is exactly why I want to be a great communicator. Because I don't want to be alone, but draw my passions from a common spring. But more than that, because I don't want others to call into an abyss and hear only the echo of their own voice. I want to be a part of that still small voice that whispers, "I know you. I made you." It makes me sad to think that some of the most brilliant and wanting minds died out loving alone and only loving what would bring them loneliness, when there was a God who was willing to fill them with love waiting the whole time.

The sad thing is that there are Poes all around us, disguised as ordinary people. I think about how many people I've brushed off, saying they're not worth my time. But the truth of the matter is that the ordinary people are the ones we're called to reach. We often read about Jesus among the lepers or healing the blind, those exotic conditions that capture our imagination, but Jesus was most often among the ordinary, forgotten people who are just as lonely and oppressed as the traditional missionary audiences we think of.

Can you learn to reach out and love like Jesus loved? The answer is, simply, no. But can you learn to surrender to God's calling and love as much as you can, with his help? Absolutely.

2 Peter 1:5a,7-8: But also for this very reason, giving all diligence, add to your... godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness, love. If these things are yours and abound, you will be neither barren, nor unfruitful, in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Lead the Escape

I watched the evening program for the CFC conference a few days ago. My mind is still caught up in the many short moments of it, my heart still frantically attached to the words I heard. I watched the speakers, heard the message, and thought, I will never reach that place.

And, at the same time, it's the only place I want to be.

Someone once told me, Why not aim for the moon, because if we fail, won't we hit a star?

I want to hit a star in my communication. I want to be one who, whether or not I lead the perfect escape, manages to somehow touch someone in the process.

And though I may miss the moon, at least I will hit the stars.

I see that it is impossible to be all that I need to be. But, somehow, it's all right, because while I may never reach that place, it is the only place I want to go. And when I only aim for places I know I can go, how will I ever know if I could have gone to a place that I actually wanted to?

If I attempt the impossible, maybe I'll be surprised.

I hope that a few days or a hundred years down this road, I will look up and see that I am at that place I thought I'd never attain. I know that I won't see the road along the way, because where's the faith and adventure in that? When one leaps for the stars, all that they can see is the darkness all around them.

But whether I look up and my feet are on the moon, or I fall onto a star, I know that I will have found the place I want to be. And who dares tell me it is impossible?

The Princess

Once upon a time, there was a princess. She lived in a castle far away by the sea, where dragons used to dwell. One day, the princess threw a pebble from her castle window down into the green-blue sea below. "Oh dear!" cried the princess, as ripples deeper than the waves spread in perfect rings from her pebble. "My treasure is lost forever." You see, quite by accident, the princess had cast this pebble which contained the greatest of her treasures into a sea which she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt would tear it apart and leave it empty and hollow. So the princess dove into the sea, and felt in the waters around her the whisper and shout of a thousand hurtful words, all screaming:
"My heart is torn! There is a hole in my heart!"
The princess cried out and held out her hands, and there was darkness in the palm of her hand. She covered her ears, but there was still much screaming rushing in her ears. She shut her eyes, and yet there was still the sight of tears falling from a drooping seaweed. She was afraid, so she rushed up to the surface, screaming:
"My treasure is not worth the pain!"
Just as she reached the sunlight of the world above, she heard the sound of wings on water, of poetry, of an angel's kiss. "Thank you."
Again, "Thank you."
"Thank you.... thank... you....."
"For what?" The princess said. "Who are you?"
"We are the crying ones beneath the water. You left us a gift. We thank you... thank you..."
"What gift? I left you no gift!""The pebble. You gave us a pebble which encased a grain of truth. The truth has melted away the mud which bound us to the sea floor. Do you see what happened to us now?"
The princess looked around. "I do not see you."
"We are no longer the waves of the ocean, tossed by the foul wind. We are creatures of the air now. Your gift is freeing us. We thank you... thank..."
Their voices faded off into the sound of the wind over the water.
The princess looked into the sea. Her treasure meant so much to her... to give it up would spell doom, wouldn't it?
She had let her treasure go, but had it really left her?

That's what I'm thinking about : )

Experiences

My thoughts about Flood the Five conference, which I taught with two of my favorite speakers and an intern from the organization I speak with (in no particular order... kind of like the conference itself)...

- Nylons are evil. I had to wear them all three days of the conference, and I ran them the very first day, and then had to cleverly hide the runs the rest of the week.

- My gift is in the UNDER TWELVE YEARS OLD category. Which is a good thing, because, I was the only one who preferred the Beginning Public Speaking kids.
(Story:
I was running a group of 12-15 twelve & up kids and they all HATED ME. Two of them ran as soon as they realized I was their instructor. Another two spent the entire time trying to tell me that they were older and therefore way cooler than me. I had one defense, though... my twelve-year-old sister Joss with her high-heeled shoe.)

-It is so much fun to do something out of your comfort zone with a bunch of people who are also pushed out of their comfort zones. Seriously. Cowardice loves company, but courage requires it. It was a blast to work with all but one person who had never done anything like this before.

-Giggling is for late at night. Quick story here:
A
friend and I were really, really, really tired after the second day of the conference. We hadn't seen our other friend all day or much in the past three weeks and we'd been running things together all day. We were a disaster waiting to happen. We decided we missed our other friend. We decided we should find something to tease him about.... but we couldn't think of anything. So we wandered around the sanctuary talking about how much we'd missed our friend and how we needed coffee (or tea, in my case.) As we wandered, we noticed that our friend was trying to fold down a table. And struggling. A lot. He was getting very frustrated with it, getting to the point where he was holding it upside down and kicking it.

(Editor's comment: Just to clarify, this friend is absolutely great. He is a genius. Truly. It's scary to talk to him because he's too smart for his own good. He WON Impromptu speaking for our forensics league for the whole country, and placed in Extemp and debate. REALLY smart. Just table-challenged.)

My friend and I glance at each other, and that momentary glance illuminated our thoughts all too clearly. We were thinking:

(insert echoey thought sounds)

He is a genius, but he can't fold tables.

And in a moment of sheer insanity and utter exhaustion, we simultaneously began to shriek. Hysterically. Couldn't stop laughing.

AND IT WASN'T EVEN FUNNY. We were just tired.

This lasted until the table folded and we saw that our friend was glaring at us viciously, which, despite his usually calm and gentlemanly demeanor, was a sure sign that we had three seconds to shut up or he would hit us both. Hard.

We stopped.

-Some kids are hilarious! One of the speech games we did was a group interpretation - where a group of kids act out a story together. My group did Jack and the Beanstalk. But we had really, really random things happen, like:
We double-cast Jack and Jill. Jack was played by Jack and Jack Be Nimble. Jill had her very own stunt double. It was amazing.
Our narrator was Rappin' Red Riding Hood.

Go figure.

- I have the sweetest friends ever.

-One of the cutest things I've ever seen is to watch two generally private people completely brag their little sisters. It was so sweet.

-Stretching yourself is a good thing. It was so neat to be trained by Mrs. Moon, who founded the organization sponsoring the conference, but the real learning and the real experiences took place when I was actually out there, figuring out what works with shy kids or how to focus 13-year-olds. It was in growing past the fact that I either used to or still do have (I can't decide which ) an irrational fear of teenagers. It was in the experience.

Loved it! Hopefully I'll have a brain and then I can write something deep and profound...

Maybe.

I Believe in You

I believe in you.

No doubt you've heard those words as often as I have. People find this belief very important. They assume it will accomplish something.

Often, it is paired with a similar set of words:

Believe in yourself.

Once again, people find this significant and expect it to make a difference.

I've always found both sets of words somewhat annoying. The believe in yourself mantra is overrated. I could believe in myself all I want that I will become a famous scientist and cure HIV, but all the believing in the world can't accomplish that.

By the same token, I could believe that some acquaintances that I'll leave unnamed could become opera singers. But all the believing I can do won't make that happen.

I found both phrases not only annoying but also vain. As if my belief could make such a truly marked difference. It's not my belief that matters. Like I said, I can believe, and believe, but that doesn't mean anything.

Ideas without action are dead ideas. Ideas should inspire people to do something about the way the world is now. They should make them think of society in a different way, and force them to leave it better than they found it.

We see this in the early church. The disciples took the ideas of Christ and carried them out in life. They combined the idealism of the doctrines they believed with the pragmatic end of spreading and living them in their everyday lives. We see that those who believe in Christ will be doers, not simply hearers of his word, (James 1:22) but we also see how good works without the faith behind them are also dead (Galatians 3:11)

I suppose that's where my issue with both quotes arose from. Believing is of the world of ideas, but, we've seen that ideas cannot be independent of the action they inspire (if they can, they're not worth being thought up) Action is required in belief, belief in yourself or your belief in others.

Looking at those quotes in this light, I recently came by the realization that they are not without their value. Viewed through the lens of God's word, both can actually be quiet beneficial.

The Believe in Yourself one is simply a call to have faith in what can't be seen. It's a call to take a risk and step outside of what's familiar and comfortable. If you go out of your safe little haven with the idea that you will absolutely, beyond the shadow of a doubt, fail, you probably will. But if you are willing to believe there might be hope, that you could potentially make a difference, better things are yet to come. God doesn't really care how amazing you are. You are. He is. You are His workmanship. That makes you good enough. Be an optimist. Be realistic, but still believe that God can do mighty things through you.

The I Believe in You quote is my favorite. It encompasses my spiritual gift (showing mercy - which essentially means liking people even if I don't actually like them) perfectly. It's important to view people through the light of eternity. People don't usually believe me when I say it, but I don't see people as they are, but rather, as they could be, and in a very rosy light, too. People aren't just who they are now. They're not their limitations. People are souls traveling toward destinations, souls who are so much beyond what they truly are. I like the way C.S. Lewis puts it:

"It is a serious thing," says Lewis, "to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no 'ordinary' people. You have never talked to a mere mortal."

That radicalized my thinking about people. I am never talking to just a mere mortal. The most annoying, most ditzy, most conniving, most hurtful, most divisive, most unintelligent slobs I know could be the people I see as an angel of light. And my cutting words or vicious glances will be recounted one day.

That's why believing in someone is so significant. It makes all the difference in someone's life to know that someone had the faith to know there were better things for them out there.

It's impacted me. And my faith in others has made an impact, both on them and me.

Here's my challenge for you: View yourself and others in the light of eternity. You'll see change.

With Jesus in Their Eyes

(I am braindead with a million bazillion assignments and guests, but I figured I was long overdue on a blog update. Here's a poem I recently wrote. It's kind of narrative, but it was a break from my relentless usual style).

With Jesus in Their Eyes

I'm the girl
With eyes so deep and hollow
You could drown in them.
My dark floss cloud a
Remembering ember
Of another life, another
Love.

I'm the boy
With sunshine hidden behind
Pale, gold-tipped glass
My brow like a ship's
Course across storm-laden
Green, furrowed
Like waves. Behind it
The longing, starving words
Who do not know
'Enough'.

I'm the girl
In the forbidding
Denim jumper
With hair like yellow tears
Or pretty leaves on crying willow
With innocent questions
And laughing ferocity.

I'm the boy
Everyone loves with
My teasing grin and two-faced
Eyes that love to
Make them dance
But hold some void
Some abyss and darkness
Of an unusual kind.

I'm the girl
Whose arms cradle
Such sweet cries
That earn me the shunning
The hiss, hush
That mars my existence

I'm the boy
So young, so true
And dead
My hands bleeding
My feet full of darkness
My head shining forth light
Crushed like a
Wilted brown leaf
Before the deepness of the
Night
Criminal
Sinister

You are the one
I died for
The one I bled for
The one I swallowed Darkness
forevermore for
I was crushed for you.

He is the one
With the immense brilliance
He's the one
Who shines through their
Eyes.

I'm the girl
I'm the boy
Who needs your
Love, with
Jesus in my eyes.

An Interview with Emily Weber

A few days ago, I shared an interview with Kate Weber about her unique calling to boldness in Christ. I’d like to share an interview with Kate’s older sister, Emily Weber, for her perspective on this.

When Emily Weber came back from her short term mission trip to Uganda, she told me that Africa felt oddly like home. Now, two years later, Uganda will be her home- at least for the next year or so, before Emily returns to the States for College. That’s really not a surprise to people who know her. Emily can tell you countless stories of how she would witness to Muslim kids at McDonald’s playgrounds or pray over people at her fast-food job.

Here’s what Emily has to say.

Catey: Have you always known you would want to be a missionary?

Emily: Absolutely . . . not! As a matter of fact, being a missionary who left America was something that I did not wanted to do at all . . . ever. It's amazing how God changes your heart . . . and even your desires, if you let Him!

Catey: That’s a surprise to me! How has God revealed his plan for you in your life?

Emily: God's primary plan for my life is this: for me is to love Him with all that I am. Beyond this, God shows me His plan for me one step at a time . . . it can get frustrating at times, but then I remember that if I love God and continually push into Him with everything within me, I'm going to end up right where He wants me.

Catey: What's the spiritual climate like in Uganda?

Emily: In Uganda, and in most of Africa I'd assume, the spiritual realm is so much easier to see. The darkness there is so dark, but the light shines so brightly. Because of the stark contrast between Jesus' followers and those who've fallen into the traps of Satan through witchcraft (mixed with "Christian" or Muslim beliefs), miracles and works of God are so visible there. The spiritual climate is intense: either you are going to be all-out for Jesus, boldly standing up for him even in the face witchdoctors, demons, and evil - or you are going to go home scared and defeated.

Catey: What are some fears that you have about becoming a missionary family?

Emily: Personally, I get scared sometimes when I think about coming back to the States for College. Since I'm the oldest, the rest of my family will be in Africa, and my friends will be in a state that I can't attend college in, I'm going to be alone by the world's standards. I have to continually remind myself of God's promise: that he will never leave or forsake me.

Catey: What are you most looking forward to?

Emily: The people, for one! It's difficult to explain with words the way the people there love. I hope to learn from the American staff there as well . . . who knows what lessons I can take from this new experience that God will use for the future!

Catey: How can we get involved in supporting God's people in Uganda?

Emily: There are many different ways you can get involved with different organizations. If you would like to know more about New Hope, you can go to http://www.newhopeuganda.org/. For information about our family, you can go to http://www.urmyhope.blogspot.com/. There are many other good organizations out there as well. No matter where you get your sources though, a couple of things you can do are . . .
PRAY. Please pray for the children of Uganda, as 50% of the population there is under the age of 14. Pray for open hearts. And please pray for those that are working there for God's kingdom, that they will be protected and that they will bring God's light to the darkness of this world.

Catey: Any advice for teens who are looking for ways to be more bold in their faith?

Emily: Make sure you have your priorities straight. You will be boldest about what is most important to you. If you don't feel like Jesus Christ is the most important thing in your life, tell Him so. Ask Him to help you fall in love with Him and make Him the "one thing" that's worth living for in your life. It's a hard way to live . . . but it's the full, abundant life Jesus talks about in the Bible. And trust me . . . it's worth it.

An Interview with Kate Weber

Kate Weber is a normal American teenager. She’s a homeschooled high school student who likes to write but doesn’t like speech, who loves her dog and watches TV on the weekends. She lives with her mom, dad and three siblings and goes to church every weekend. But despite her average lifestyle, she’s an absolutely extraordinary young woman. In fact, all that ordinary stuff she’s used to is about to change in the blink of an eye.

Kate is moving with her family to Uganda.
Her dad and older sister Emily have been to Uganda once before on a short-term mission trip, but God worked out an incredible way for their whole family to leave behind the world of comfortable and safe to be bold and radical by leaving everything they’ve ever known. They plan on staying indefinitely.
But that’s enough from me. Here’s what Kate has to say.
Catey: Have you always known you would want to be a missionary?
Kate: Actually, I never wanted to be a missionary, and considered it to be God’s call to other people. Like when Mr. Gary Wood told dad that they needed an accountant, I was like “Good luck finding one, because we sure aren’t going!”
But God did a work in my heart, and I now know that it is what I have always wanted to do. I always wanted to help the orphans, I always wanted to live in the jungle, and I always had a heart for Africa. I just now realized that I will work for God this way.
Catey: How has God revealed his plan for you in this area of your life?
Kate: We started out in Indiana, in a comfortable environment, as in, a neighborhood with a pool, ice cream place, a four bedroom, and three bath houses. We also grew up in a church where we were all spiritually dying, until we left that church, and became a part of a home church.
When my dad told us we were moving to Colorado, I flipped out. Leave our family, friends, comforts of home, to go help out a friend start a company? Give me a break! But we still moved, and I loved our house that we moved into. Three story house, on three acres of trees. It was heaven. My dad and sister went on a mission trip to Uganda. A couple of months after the trip, our renter kicked us out. As soon as that happened, my dad lost his job at the company he worked for, so we had to downsize, majorly. . . He was without a job for a couple of weeks, but it felt like forever! Finally, Dad got a good job. That was when God decided to say, “Okay, they are comfortable now, let’s see what they would do if. . .” and that’s how the Uganda started.
Catey: Wow! What a neat way to start out an adventure! What’s the spiritual climate like in Uganda?
Kate: I haven’t been there myself, but from the stories that I have heard it is very black and white. As in wherever you see darkness, there was always light battling it. I really can’t explain it because I have never been there.
Catey: What are some fears that you have about becoming a missionary family?
Kate: Well, it might be obvious, but I am going to be a missionary to a place that I have never been. The farthest I have been from the USA is Mexico, right across the boarder. So I guess that I am a little afraid of the unknown. Also, I had my life all planned out, but now with the whole Uganda thing thrown into the picture, it is hard.
Catey: What are you most looking forward to?
Kate: Definitely the adventure. I am a person who LOVES adventure! I dream it, I write it, and now I have the chance to live it! To not do it would be like a guy offering you a million dollar check, and you slam a door in his face. Not knowing is on of my greatest fears, but it is also the very thing that pushes me forward.
Catey: How can we get involved?
Kate: New Hope Uganda is a non-denominational ministry that cares for orphaned children in Uganda, East Africa. NHU (New Hope Uganda) strives to bring glory to God through caring for orphans, showing them love, pointing them to His Kingdom through Christ, and bringing them to a life-changing understanding of the fatherhood of God.
Their staff of almost 80 Ugandans and foreign missionaries care for New Hope’s children through the Kasana children’s center (where they run a primary school, secondary school, vocational school, clinic, agriculture program, etc.) Kobwin children’s center, the New Hope Institute of Childcare and Family, and their new youth camp and training center.
Please pray for God’s blessings on New Hope Uganda, and please, be in prayer for the Weber family. We have much to do before we are prepared for this next chapter in our lives.
There are many types and sizes of needs. For information, you can visit the fallowing website: http://newhopeuganda.org/
Catey: Any advice for teens who are looking for ways to be more bold in their faith?
Kate: I don’t consider myself any bolder than anyone else can be. Actually, I still have growing to do in my faith, a lot of growing. But my advice would be to just get in your bible every day, and pray for God to speak to you during that time. I pray for God to speak to me, sisten to worship songs, read three chapters, and pray one more time for God to help me through out the day.
For more information on the Weber family’s mission and supporting them, visit their blog at: http://urmyhope.blogspot.com