Doings

So every now and then,

and then again now,
and now then again, 

I feel restless.

Like I want to be DOING something.

Like learning how to snowboard, walking across Andorra, writing an epic song, purposefully getting lost in an unknown town that speaks an unknown language, and creating fantastic hair-brained ideas for my friends and I to try. 

And then a lot of the time I need to just recover from all the hectic frenzy that is my "boring" life as a student. And as I recover I think, "shoot, I want to be DOING something." It's an interesting cycle.

So as I sit here, recovering from the quarter that just hit me like a wave and went out with the tide, I'm deciding to take some time to reflect on some of the more exciting "doings" that I have done this last year. Because really, I got to do a lot of neat stuff. 

~I visited a continent I'd never been to before and was responsible for providing all the  morning and evening worships for a two-week mission trip for about 30 high school students. I had never done so much worship programming, nor been the main person in charge of any element of a mission trip--a big step outside my comfort zone. But wow, what a fantastic experience!

~I made a couple little movies with my friends. Yes, they are dorky. Yes, they are not super planned. Yes, they were a ton of fun to make.

~I lived completely by myself for the first time ever: turns out that living alone really isn't a lonely experience.

~Oh and while I lived alone, I was nocturnal. It might not sound like it, but it was actually a pretty cool experience once I got used to it. Instead of feeling like a splurging junky for staying up to all sorts of odd hours, I was a legit working adult, pulling the night shift an average of 5 days a week, and I can now add that to my list of life experiences.

~I wrote a 30 page research paper about 2 verses of scripture in the span of 10 weeks. And I absolutely LOVED it.

~I visited Palouse Falls for the first time and sat right at the edge of where the water meets gravity. Such a terrifying and absolutely exhilarating experience. So heart-pounding incredible!

~I started a band. We are awesome. Be jealous.

~I went camping in a quaint little clearing directly between a campground, the road, and someone's backyard.

~I wrote a booklet about the dying process for the local hospital to use. This sounds really morbid, and well, it is a bit morbid, but it's a gentle tool for people to use when their loved ones are fading and they don't know how to handle it. I was pretty proud of this accomplishment and glad to put my writing skills to good use.

~I was called Pastor Katelyn for the first time. Not as a joke.

~I had a lot of wonderful late night/early morning conversations about life with amazing people.

~I had a picnic in the snow in May. I was in shorts and flip flops.

~I was paid to speak at a little 5-person church, up north in the middle of nowhere.

~I had a front row seat to watch a number of people realize their value and potential and make incredible life changes. I'd like to think I was an aid in some of that, too.

~And I got to love a lot of people. That is always an incredible experience.

So yeah, I guess I did get to do a lot this year. A lot of really awesome things. And you know what? I know I'm going to do a lot of really awesome things this coming year, too. I may not know exactly what my fantastic doings will look like yet, but you can bet I'm going to do them.

Free-Fall

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart..." Proverbs 3:5


"Speaking of unknown variables..."

I was not in a good state. I had signed up for an interview with two leaders of an Adventist conference who were coming to Walla Walla, looking to fill two pastoral positions for the next year. I had signed my name in the final slot of the day so that they could meet me and determine whether or not I should be added to the team.

And quite honestly, I was the most nervous I have ever been in years. Panicked.

Why this panic? Because it was to be my first interview for a "real job?" Because questions on doctrine and theology were fair game? Because there were many seniors here and elsewhere competing for only two positions? None of these reasons brought this type of panic to my soul. No, the culprit was much deeper, rooted in a fear I've had brewing in my bones for a long time now.

The over-arching fear that I will not find a job, a life, in ministry.

When I write it and say it, a slough of responses jump to my mind: there is a huge spectrum of different ministry positions, you're bound to get something; even if you don't get a job in ministry, you can always get another job and volunteer for the things you want to do; and whether you get such a job or not, God won't waste your education and passions.

All excellent points, Katelyn. Thank you.

The fact remains that my heart simply breaks at the thought of not working a ministry position, where I can get paid to be with people and God all day everyday. And while the job with volunteer ministry on the side is a wonderful idea, I know myself: the more things I participate in and add into my schedule, the worse off I am. My soul, it seems, was made for simplicity.

The idea of not finding myself in such a position simply scares me. What else could I do? What else do I have the skill set and education to do? Most of the time it doesn't feel like much.

I'm doing what I believe in: pursuing a career that would be fulfilling, that wouldn't feel like work. Sometimes, though, it would be kind of nice to want to be something with a little more security, perhaps a nurse or an accountant or a waitress.

I did a trust fall a couple weeks ago. And while I trusted the group of wonderful people who caught me, my heart still sped up and I took a few seconds to commit to falling backwards. I trust God. I believe He gave me my passions and abilities for a reason, not to just have me fall and hit the cold, hard ground. It still took a long time to fully convince me to turn around, interlock my hands, and fall backwards. But now I've left the ledge, embraced the pursuit for which my heart feels crafted. And I'm just waiting to be caught, my stomach turning as I free-fall.

I believe God's got something great in store for me, that He has a reason for molding the longings of my heart just so. I believe He will catch me.

Falling just always feels longer than you'd expect.

Be. Here. Now.

"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself..." Matt. 6:34


Over the last few months, I've found myself whispering this phrase to myself. I'll stop my racing mind, breathe, and quietly remind myself, "be here now." You see, I have a nasty habit of getting ahead of myself, of examining all the steps and puzzle pieces that must be timed and turned just so in that vast expanse called the future.

Yes, planning and preparation can be good. It can help assure that you know from where you can procure next month's rent and the next day's food. It can help verify that, yes, Katelyn, you will graduate.

But there are so many unknown variables that can't be mapped out, so many pieces that I cannot put into the puzzle. And while I grasp at trying to figure out all that future, trying to secure myself in the time still ahead of me, I can oh so easily miss out on the absolute beauty of the present.

Almost a year ago, I started scouring the web to find any type of job or internship that could fill my summer, that would give me a leg up when it came time to get out into the "real world" and get that dream job (speaking of unknown variables...). And as time passed the whole process ended up bringing about a lot of panic and unnecessary stress. For example: this summer needs to contribute to my future career; but wait, what is my career going to be? What is my direction in life?! Am I going to end up in a joyless career? How am I going to have a fulfilling life?!

A dark and stressful winter spat me out the other side very weary. But after spending many months racking my brain and searching my soul to figure out my summer/life, suddenly the pieces fit--so quickly and so smoothly and so perfectly that it seemed unreal. And I wonder how much my anxiety contributed this. There definitely were some positive results from facing the experience, such as being reminded to listen to God's thoughts on my life's direction. But I think I could have saved myself a lot of stress by spending more time in the present than the future.

Yesterday I was hanging out at the high school where I now work, a puzzle piece that has proven to be just the right shape for me. I joked around with some students, hugged others, and cheered for the girl's volleyball team. As I watched one of my new friends deliver a fantastic serve, I smiled. The present was an incredible place to be.

And today, here and now, is beautiful.

The Power of Vulnerability

"That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:10

Sixteen days ago, I found myself sitting in the dining hall of a picturesque  hotel in Quito, Ecuador.  The following night, over 100 teenagers from Texas to Toronto to Trinidad would be flying into the city, ready and anxious to begin their mission trip experience. And there I was, a brand new staff member just learning the ropes of what it meant to be a part of this group called Ultimate Workout. Throughout our staff orientation, we were repeatedly told and asked to recite the three goals of ultimate workout: to create a spiritually transforming experience for the participants, to construct quality buildings, and to supplement the local outreach programs. "All are important, but the primary goal is first and foremost that the participants have a spiritually transforming experience." I sat and listened to this as the pastor of one of the five sites, Antigua. I was responsible for making sure the Antigua participants had a spiritually transforming experience on this trip? How on earth was this going to happen?

I felt vulnerable.

Then suddenly we were a group of 32, the Antigua family, making our home in a cramped school tucked in downtown Ambato, sharing tents with strangers who were destined to turn into lifelong friends. Then it was time for the first evening worship, my first major responsibility. I was excited for and felt capable in interacting with the participants on a one-on-one basis. I love teens and I love hearing their hearts! But as I stood up to lead out in our first ice-breaker game, all I could hear was spiritually transforming experience, and I knew that I couldn't deliver. 

I felt vulnerable.

My prayer journal throughout the entire trip goes something like this for each day: "Ok God, I have no idea what I'm doing here. I can't do this without You. There's no way this is going to work without You being the one in charge. Please, please show up. Show up in a way that only You can do. I need You. We need You."

Vulnerable. 

And He showed up. Incredible things started happening. Hearts started to open. Our family began to share with one another who we were and from where we had come, our joys and our pains. And we found solidarity, knowing we weren't alone in what we had experienced. We were united and we learned and healed and grew from one another.

Through being vulnerable.

It seems that it is rarely in our strengths that we experience the most transformation. Rather, it is when we are weak, when we allow our frailness to be revealed, to be touched--therein do we find the glory of God in big ways. Therein do we find restoration.  And so I do believe it was a spiritually transforming experience, not just for the participants, but for me as well.

Because God met us in our vulnerability. And it was powerful.

 

 

My Antigua Family

Where are All the Heretical Figs?

"Early in the morning, as Jesus was on His way back to the city, He was hungry. Seeing a fig tree by the road, He went up to it but found nothing on it except leaves. Then He said to it, 'May you never bear fruit again!' Immediately the tree withered." Matt. 21:18,19

 
I recently saw a list of people floating around the internet. It was written by a person on a rather extreme end of the Adventist spectrum. On this list were prominent Adventist leaders from around the world, all of whom, according to the author, were dangerous heretics. I scanned through the list, reading what heresy the individuals had been proclaiming, grinning and shaking my head in amused disbelief as I did so. There were teachers and pastors that I respect and personally know, am proud to know: people taking a stand for what they believe, teaching tremendous God-centered ideas, and helping grow this peculiar Adventist movement as they do so.

I half expected to see Luther and Zwingli's names tucked into the mix.

Naturally this got me thinking in all sorts of hypothetical directions. If I were to find myself in some form of leadership down the line, if I was even a semi-prominent member of ministry, would I make this list of "heretics?" Or would I keep from rocking the boat, not giving anyone cause to stop valuing my opinion or finding me credible? Or would I simply not have anything to say except to repeat what has been un-controversially said before me?

So many thoughts have sprung from this. First, I in no way see myself as one to regurgitate--I find it absurd now, and I'm sure I will continue to find it a silly thing to do. When we start to simply repeat what has been told to us, our minds and spiritual lives suffer, wither, and die; and when individuals collectively do this, well, the whole movement suffers, withers, and dies. So, there is and will be much for me to say that no one has said before me in quite the same way.

A big part of me wants to be the kind of person that would end up on such a list: a boat-rocker. To have such conviction that something is true, and to be convinced that others ought to join me in believing its truth because life is simply better that way--wait, this is beginning to sound like the gospel. As Christians in today's society, have we lost our heretical roots?

Maybe a little heresy is good for the soul. If no one is pointing fingers, the odds are there's nothing new showing up. And if nothing new is showing up, are we still growing? Or do we just say we are growing? If Jesus had an issue with a plant for this reason, I wonder how He reacts to us.

So I guess we'll see what the future holds. Maybe I'll make headlines and maybe I'll just read them. Whatever happens, though, I want to keep growing by God's guidance. And if He guides me into some truth that must be said, well, I hope to say it. Who knows, I might just be God's next big heretic.

The Questions and the Aim

"Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart… Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him." Psalm 37:4,7

 

When I was a senior in high school, life opened up for me. I started realizing and discovering and devouring important information and experience about God and life and love and purpose.

One afternoon I was standing  on my back deck, watching the birds flying and feeling the wind whipping all about me. And I was praying and thinking with God, just feeling so caught up in the excitement of existing with Him, in that moment. And as I felt my heart welling up from the sheer magnitude of what it meant to live in Love and be in this unfathomable relationship that defied all understanding, I declared in the shock and awe of the realization: "This is the ultimate reality!"

As I was surprised to discover later, I did not in fact coin the phrase. I was a little disappointed.

Most days I trudge through school, not feeling or being what I want to feel or be. I attempt to work against what comes over me naturally, but it's very hard work and rarely pays off in the way I'd like it to. (I talk about this school burn out thing so much it annoys me to listen to it myself. Kudos to those who have continued to listen; you are strong souls).

And then I find myself sitting in a lecture, notes long forgotten, trying to remember what makes me happy, what brings me joy, what makes me feel alive. And discovering the answers so incredibly hard to find.

Aren't I at this institution so that I can get the tools necessary to do what brings me joy? That's the whole point of the degree, right? I mean, besides the whole money thing. But if the process causes me to forget what I'm aiming for...

(As I write this, the phrase Be-Do-Have comes to mind, reminding me I'm approaching the matter backwards. But right now I'm going to ignore it and take a break from working to change my perspective. I'll take the consequences.

Also as I write this, I am reminded of how supremely, almost unfairly blessed I am to be one of the few people in the world to attend a university. I acknowledge this, am grateful about this. And I'm going to allow myself to continue being honest with how I feel and where I am).

A while back while
traveling through Baguio

I preached at a small but warm church a couple weeks ago. I had preached there last year and had been requested to return; and since it was a pleasant experience the last time and I wasn't getting a clear "no" from God, I agreed. It was a struggle to prepare for, though. I felt overwhelmed, and the sermon felt like just another thing to cross off my list of responsibilities and things to do, which was far from the experience I'd hoped for and envisioned. But God patiently guided me through the preparation and brought me into the appointed Sabbath day, while my certainty and conviction on participating waned.

But wow. What a blessing. What a privilege, an honor, and a reawakening. There were no birds and there was no wind, but there were hugs and real songs and meaningful heartfelt conversation and tears and an honesty of who we were. And I got to experience it with God and with a loving community, a part of something so much bigger than myself.

There is one big answer to my questions. That's what makes me happy. That's what brings me joy. That's what makes me feel alive.

Yes, that is what I'm aiming for.

Neurons

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit..." John 15:5a

 

 

We stood quietly.

The hospital's social worker had stopped by the office to recommend a patient for me to visit. The story was convoluted, painful, and involved the whole family. The patient was apparently a very spiritually-minded man who would greatly appreciate a visit from a chaplain.

He was asleep when I got to his room, but his daughter welcomed me in anyway. In the low light of the ICU we conversed quietly: I explained who I was (she was very appreciative to hear my purpose for coming), she explained his condition at length, and then she continued to explain all the complicated twists and turns her family had been experiencing, relating all the ways she had been assisting those around her. There was a pause, and we stood quietly, watching him sleep.

"And how are you doing?" I asked.

She shook her head. Stress. Anxiety. Exhaustion. She talked for a long time, seemingly grateful for someone to be concerned about her well-being. I asked if she would like prayer, and with a nod she took my hand. After praying for her I looked up to see weary tears and a soul in  need of a hug. So we embraced.

I get paid to pray and hug people when they need it. This is why I love my job.

Yes, I am a psychology major.

And now for neurons.

At birth, each person's nervous system contains well over 100 billion neurons. Throughout years of development and maturation, though, many of these neurons die off. The ones that stay are the ones well connected the right way: the neurons whose axons connect with other neurons, which eventually connect with muscle to receive neuron growth factor (NGF). Without receiving NGF a neuron cannot survive, and neither can the neurons connected to it. If a neuron is connected to as many other neurons as possible but is still not receiving NGF from any of them, it and all of its connecting neurons will die.

No matter how many people we are connected to, if we do not receive nurturing, strengthening, loving support, we cannot survive and neither can our relationships. We can try to give out to others; but having received nothing, we really have nothing to give. This applies as much to daughters of hospital patients as it does to hospital chaplains and blog readers.

As my job focus (and a good portion of my joy) centers around giving out, I am reminded of the utter importance for me to receive the best sort of NGF: Love, originating from the Vine and passed on through the branches. It's what keeps us all going strong. So if you see me sporting my badge and heading to work, I'd welcome a hug! And I'll be happy to do the same for you!

By the Evergreen

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke 2:14, KJV


Christmas.

I sit next to the lit tree, all silver and blue this year, guarding its assortment of gifts.

I never believed in Santa Clause. It wasn't even an idea I toyed with as a child. I didn't even think other kids my age believed in him; I apparently thought my generation had grown more savvy than our predecessors. It wasn't until I was in my late teenage years that I met people who had believed in him when they were younger. It was a remarkable discovery for me.

I have always liked staying up late on Christmas Eve. Of course, this has never had anything to do with a hope to see a red-suited man with a stomach like a bowl full of jelly somehow squeeze himself out of the fireplace. But there is a certain stillness to the night that seems characteristic to Christmas. The following morning always dawns with eagerness: wrapping paper torn, gifts tallied, thanks given, new toys taken out of their packages and properly played with, and wonderful food eaten. But on that night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature is stirring (not even a mouse), it's like all the joy and wonder of the season has been pent up and is ready, waiting anxiously to be unleashed at the grand finale that is December 25.

As I've gotten older, I think I've grown to enjoy Christmas Eve even more than Christmas Day. Just being awash in the peace and wonder that comes with a carefully decorated evergreen, a house full of family tradition, and the knowledge of a strange unity that stretches around the world every December. Another night and day will come and go, and another Christmas will be gone. But for now I will receive the peace of this moment as the gift that it is.

Stereotypes

"By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you love one another." John 13:35

 

 

"Can you stay a little longer today?"

 

I looked at the long list of names before glancing at the clock. "I really do have to study, but I can stay one more hour."

 

I'd been working as a student chaplain at the local hospital for a couple months, observing the other chaplains as they visited patients, then leading out in visits as the chaplains observed me. Now I was transitioning to do visits on my own. On this day, I had just come in for an education seminar at the hospital, but the census was high and so my boss asked me to cover ICU.

 

After a nice chat with an elderly patient and his wife, I checked the other rooms in ICU, only to discover everyone asleep. I headed over to MedSurg to see where my boss had and had not already visited. I passed by several rooms when--

 

"Katelyn?"

 

I stopped and popped my head into the nearest room. "Well, hello Ms. Daniels!"*

 

Ms. Daniels was one of the first patients I had met when I had begun taking the lead. Apparently she had only been home for a few weeks before having to return to our hospital. I'd loved talking with her last time, but  while I had remembered her, I was a little surprised that she had remembered me.

 

"How are you feeling, Ms. Daniels?"

 

"Ok, I guess, but I'm just not bouncing back as quick as I usually do. So I'm still here."

 

We chatted for a while about how she was coping, what support she was getting from friends and from her (non-SDA) church, and what she was anticipating for recovery. Towards the end of our conversation, she mentioned that she had seen the other two chaplains over the last few days she'd been in the hospital. "This is great! Now that I've seen you, I've got the complete set!" she said with a laugh and a smile. "Guess I'm ready to head home now." And she thanked me for the talk.

 

On another occasion, my boss and I were hosting a Tea for the Soul, an opportunity for employees to take a break, grab some tea, socialize, and ultimately experience some rest.  This day we had set up our table for an hour in a large department. Towards the end of our time there, after everyone else had come and gone, an older woman and a college-aged girl approached our table slowly, talking in low voices to one another.

 

"--religion crammed down my throat my whole life."

 

"It's just tea," the older woman replied.

 

I smiled and nodded. "And we won't even cram that down your throat."

 

They both smiled, and we all continued with conversation, chai, and ginseng. It was nice, but it left me thinking.

 

Life in such a career would be so much more comfortable and restful if everyone was a Ms. Daniels: eager to converse and share despite a difference in beliefs. But the idea of being perceived or stereotyped as one who crams religion down throats, beats people with Bibles, and bulldozes for Jesus--I find it all rather off-putting, to say the least.

 

But that is exactly why pursuing such a path can be so critical. Facebook walls and bumper-stickers plastered on cars quote Gandhi's renown saying, "Be the change you want to see in the world." If no one brings the change, then nothing changes. If I don't act in a way to break the mold of the stereotypical chaplain (Bible worker, missionary, pastor, Christian, what-have-you), then the pre-conceived assumptions will persist. And years down the line, there will still be a girl afraid that she will get an unwanted complimentary baptism with her tea.

 

Jesus said His disciples would be identified by the love they demonstrated for one another. Wouldn't it be something if that was the first characteristic that came to mind about Christians? (I heard a recent survey result ranked "anti-gay" as the most common characteristic attributed to Christianity. This causes my soul to grieve.)  Can I say I am known by God's love? Can I say the way I love demonstrates a connection to God? I want the answers to be yes, and I want to live in a way that contributes to a different definition of the word "Christian." Or maybe not a different definition. Maybe just the original definition.

 

So I guess this is me reaffirming my choices and my desired choices in beliefs, in actions, in career decisions. Gradually, patiently, and repeatedly, God is showing me who I am to be and where I am to go. I may be a slow learner…But at least I'm learning.

 

 

*Name changed, of course

"Want Some Help?"

"Be at rest once more, oh my soul, for the Lord has been good to you." Psalm 116:7


I was stressed.

My days had been formed in advance, filled to the brim with classes, work, meetings, and all the little things that seem to line up in an endless list. And the thing is, if I spread out all of those activities over a significantly longer span of time, I would really enjoy them. Volunteering with Walla Walla's Interfaith Coalition on Poverty and then shopping for a student missionary's Christmas package? That sounds awesome! But it feels less awesome and more exhausting when everything happens at once, and I'm left scarffing a late lunch/early dinner in the 15 minutes I'm home before running off to my next appointment, finally finishing my day around 9pm when I can then begin homework.

And no, not every day has been like this: this describes 4/5 of last week, and maybe 1/2 of previous weeks. But I need to acknowledge what I have conquered, or at the very least endured.

Several times I was able to adjust my perspective as I rushed into the next appointment, reminding myself that everything is ultimately optional and I was choosing to attend because I tuly desired it. But no matter what view point I used, I was still left utterly spent at the end of each day, fully aware that a schedule adjustment was in order at some point. So far I've made a music playlist entitled "Rest;" otherwise, I still have a fair share to hash out.

So I was stressed. Finally, Thanksgiving break made its glorious entrance, and after packing up and gassing up, I was off for Auburn, glad to have a long drive to myself so I could think and destress.

And then I got a flat tire. It was just too much. I sat in my seat, closed my eyes, and let tears of frustration and exhaustion slip down my cheeks. Could I please just be done with this?!

I recollected myself, opened my trunk, and started getting my little spare out. "Want some help?" I jumped and looked up to see an unfamiliar face. He grabbed my tire and jack and knelt down by my flat. I thanked him and sat down on the ground. He was chatting away and glanced up with a smile, only to see my tear-stained face. "You crying? Don't cry!" I began to explain to him the build up to the tears. Towards the end of my explanation, he said he had better tools and a good tire at his house, if I still wanted his help.

So over the next hour and a half, William and I talked about all sorts of aspects of life. He listened to me vent out my pent up emotions and asked me how I cope with stress ("Personally, I just hit things," he explained with a laugh). He reminded me that we all need to be able to voice what we're experiencing, and we agreed on how important it is to have people who will listen and sit with you through the rough stuff. We talked about the importance of genuine friendships and love, about Christianity, about family, and about driving stick shifts. I was amazed by the entire conversation: I couldn't believe it was happening, and I couldn't believe how much better I was feeling. When my car was good to go again, I hugged and profusely thanked William for the kindness he had shown me in so many ways.

I'm pretty sure God knew I needed this unorthodox pause. I'd been going and going and going--something had to stop me if I was going to find any kind of rest for my soul. It turns out a flat tire and William from Pasco was just what I needed. Less than two hours after pulling onto the shoulder of Highway 12, I had a new tire, a new friend, a new light on people called "strangers," and a new attitude. Best car trouble I've had yet. Thank you God, and thank you William.

Transition

"I am sure that God who began the good work in you will keep on working in you until the day Jesus Christ comes again." Philippians 1:6 (New Life Version)


I've started and stopped a couple posts since school started 3 weeks ago. I feel like much and little has happened since last posting, and my thoughts have been many and scattered. They still are. Perhaps that is why now is a good time to write.

Right now it's raining: the first time it's really rained since I came back to Walla Walla. I'm really excited by the thought of falling asleep to the sound of rain. But one thing has kept me from dozing off on this peaceful Sabbath evening, something little but significant. You see, I'm giving a talk tomorrow during Walla Walla's Student Missionary Re-Entry Retreat. I'm just supposed to speak for ten or fifteen minutes about the transition process, speaking as the supposedly successfully transitioned missionary that I am.

So what am I telling these newly returned missionaries? Be present. Let yourself feel and think what you need to feel and think when you need to feel and think it. Not what others seem to be feeling and thinking. Not when others seem to be feeling and thinking it: your SM experience was unique, and so your transition experience will also be unique. Engage in your story and let yourself be changed by what you experienced. You are still the teacher, still the Bible worker, still the orphanage attendant. You don't lose your gifts and passions and stories when you change environment. There ARE people who want to hear your story, want to support you, want to help you navigate the rough stuff whenever you need to navigate it.

I think these thoughts are just as much for me as they are for my audience. So have I successfully transitioned back into America? I think so. But I also think I'm continuously transitioning, in a way, in perhaps a multitude of areas, as I learn and grow and experience the new. And I think I'll hold onto these pieces of advice as I ever continue the process.

Yes, I think that's exactly what I want to do.

Crutch

"And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To Him be the power forever and ever. Amen." 1 Peter 5:10,11

Ok, now for the ironic side of the last entry.

There is one lesson that I have been taught repeatedly over the last few years. It's quite simple, but evidently I have a difficult time letting it stick. The lesson is this: I am not God.

"You know, you're kinda like God to me," she'd said. Oh goodness, child, please phrase that sentence differently! Let me explain my severe discomfort.

A week after hearing this phrase, I found myself surrounded by girls in sorrow and pain. Naturally, I loved on them. I hugged and listened and questioned and prayed and cried. The floodgates of hurt flew open in a fashion that I know began by God's leading: that was the only time this summer that I felt that I needed to have this particular worship. And there was a healthy space for it. There were words that needed to be said and heard. There were hugs that needed to be received.

But somehow it became unhealthy very quickly. I became an emotional crutch for a number of children. Very subtly, my focus became problem-solving: how can I help/fix/restore? Yet whose mind should be on these matters, mine or God's? How embarrassing it is to examine this in retrospect. But in the midst of it all, I was a blinded wreck--emotionally, physically (late night conversations were taking a toll on all of us), and spiritually. Thankfully, I have people in my life willing to continue sentences that start with, "I know you won't want to hear this…" Camp isn't therapy was the gist of that conversation. Also, Katelyn has limits.

God doesn't have limits. Katelyn has limits. And sometimes, most of the time, God will bring healing to someone without using Katelyn as a primary conduit. I wrote a while back about the concept of serving a limitless God. I think limits and inabilities and problems crop up when the emphasis on serving God and following His lead is disregarded. The more the focus is on me and what I can do, the more problematic the situation becomes.

Codependency. I don't like that word. I like even less that I participate in it. I'm working on that. I'm realizing that I have been given gifts and abilities that can be of great benefit to others in their walks. But if I am making a significant appearance on a stage set for God and His child, I think I can often be of more harm to all of us than the help I may intend. Restoration is something that God alone can provide for people. When I try to provide it, I become less of a friend and more of a crutch. And really, I don't want people to hobble through life with me supporting their weight; I want people to be healed.



God's working on restoring me. Ultimately, I want to see Him restore and heal those around me. And for that to happen, I just might have to take a step back and let that happen. Because I'm not God.





I'm Katelyn.

Mission

"No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us." 1 John 4:12

 

 

"Miss Shasta?"

 

She was my girl who could never remember my name. She'd started calling me Mrs. Shasta after the name of my cabin, a name I constantly cheered throughout the day. I'd happily agreed to the name, requesting a slight modification to the title.

 

"Miss Shasta?"

 

I had come back from my weekly day off just before cabin worship and bedtime. Now I had just turned the lights out, an indication that all talking should cease. But one of my kids was calling me. I crouched down next to her bunk. "Yeah?"

 

"I'm glad you're back."

 

"I'm glad to be back with you, sweetie."

 

"No, I mean, I'm really glad you're back. I didn't go all the way up the giant swing today, and if you'd been here I think I would've."

 

"It's ok. You went as far up as you felt safe going. And you did it! That's what counts. That's awesome!"

 

She shifted in her sleeping bag. "I almost didn't do it. I was too scared. But then I remembered your face and how you helped me at BMX, and I did it."

 

I smiled. "Way to go, girly. I'm excited to do the activities with you tomorrow. But for now we need to get some slee--"

 

"You know, you're kinda like God to me." I gave a small chuckle as she continued. "I just thought of you, and I felt better."

 

"Sometimes God is easiest to see and feel when we experience Him in others. His love and His strength and His courage become more real to us when we see them reflected in other people."

 

"Uh huh. I missed you. Thank you for coming back."

 

"Glad to be back, sweetie. Now let's go to sleep."

 

There's a lot of irony as to when this exchange took place this summer. But I'll get to that on another occasion.

 

I didn't have any grand, teary, Friday night conversion experience with my girls this summer, a little different than the last two years. And I'm ok with that. Instead I had conversations about predestination while getting ready for bed. I had girls requesting me to intensely pray about dismal situations at home. I had "I love you more" wars with my cabin on the way to activities. And as I research and ponder and imagine what mission work looks like to me, whether in a primitive land or at a summer camp, I keep boiling it down to just two simple things.

 

First, I'm going to enjoy what I believe. I'm going to enjoy God. I'm going to enjoy what His salvation story looks like in my life. Because it really is quite fantastic.

 

Then, I'm going to love people. I'm going to love all kinds of people in all sorts of ways. And I'm going to enjoy it, because it's something I believe in.

 

Really, God can take it from there. I'll just follow His lead. I mean, if I'm asked to give Bible studies or a sermon or what have you, I'll very gladly do it. I by no means intend to be silent about the one I call Lord. But honestly, I don't want to be called a Soul Winner. That title makes me cringe, and I think it makes the "Winnees" cringe, too.

 

I think people today would much rather be invited to a party than be sought out as quarry. If I'm finding true life to the full within what I have chosen to believe, and if someone finds that appealing, then there is a beautiful, open avenue for good news to be shared. Telling people repeatedly that the Christian lifestyle is the way to go is nothing close to physical evidence of what such a lifestyle is like.

 

Some people call it friendship evangelism. I think I'd like to just call it friendship. No hidden agendas. If you like what you see, feel free to join the movement. If you don't, let's just enjoy the friendship. I'll cheer for you as you go up the giant swing. And if you see God in that, well, it makes sense. He can be kind of hard to dim at times. That's one of the things I enjoy about Him.

Pink Markers, Prayer, and Lights

"Then you will be the pure and innocent children of God. You live among people who are crooked and evil, but you must not do anything that they can say is wrong. Try to shine as lights among the people of this world, as you hold firmly to the message that gives life..." Philippians 2:15,16a, CEV.


It's been nearly two weeks since my fourth summer of camp came to its close. It was a good summer, a different summer, as they always tend to be. After having spent some time resting and recovering from exhaustion, I must say that I do miss it and am glad for having gotten to counsel for a third season.

I was just sorting through my cabin's art supplies, seeing how many markers, colored pencils, and clean pieces of paper managed to survive the five groups of girls that used them. As I was flipping through one of the notebooks--pausing to scan a scribbled note of greeting here, a sketch of a happy looking horse there--I stopped on one unexpected page. Written in pink marker with a very precise hand were the words "naimbag toy puso." Below this phrase had been written its translation: "it is well with my soul."

At the summer's start, I'd made a name tag picture and placed it above my bunk. I instructed all my kids to make their own as well, and so we all had these works of art displayed, conveying not only our names but also our interests, hobbies, passions, and personalities. Mine had a tree, a waterfall, a cross, a space-filling sheep, and other various images, as well as several phrases, one of which being "naimbag toy puso." So naturally throughout the summer I was questioned on the meaning of the phrase. Evidently one of my girls jotted this down at one of these junctures.

I mention this discovery because it reminded me of another girl. Let's call her Anne. Anne was in my cabin last summer. A little 8-year-old with spunk who tried (half-heartedly and unsuccessfully) to get away with a lot, which typically resulted in a lot of good-natured laughter from all involved. We got along great. Last summer, at the conclusion of a prayer during Sabbath's church service, Anne stared up at me and asked me why I prayed with my hands open. I explained the symbolism with which I view it and the reminder it gives me to come before God with an open heart to give and receive. "Everyone has their own personal way for connecting with God," I told her. "Some people fold their hands, some people kneel, some people stand and look up. They're just different positions for getting your heart and mind ready to talk with God." She furrowed her brow, nodded, and thought hard about this.

Anne came back this summer and requested to join me again in cabin Shasta, much to my delight. The first night, I went to each bunk to talk and pray with each girl. When I prayed with Anne, I noticed that she mirrored my open hands. She saw that I'd noticed, so I smiled at her and asked if she remembered why I prayed that way. She nodded and quoted back to me what I'd said a year ago. "I like to pray this way, too," Anne added, her eyes wide and her face serious.

As I lay in bed that night, an anxious thought filtered through my mind. A reminder of something I'd first noted my senior year in high school and which hit me full force in Pagudpud and at Sunset Lake: people are watching and listening. So much can be taught in simply how a life is lived. Being aware of who we are and what we stand for is not significant for our own sakes alone, but also for the sakes of those whom we encounter. I remember many people who were of great influence on me, not for any great speech that they worked on or any fantastic feat accomplished, but simply for living as they lived. And now I'm honored to be in the other position as well.

It's definitely a responsibility; that couldn't have been clearer that night in cabin Shasta. Much damage can be done, much confusion wrought. But so much guidance and love can be shared, too. It's a responsibility that I find a privilege to possess. So I will remember my audience and choose my words with precision. But more than this, I will care for my heart, for it is out of the heart that all else flows. And in doing this, I will care for myself and others.

It's an honor to be counted as a light, and I desire to do the role justice.


Let's just tack on a little Shasta chaos

The Importance of Story

"Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations." Jeremiah 1:5

When I was a young girl, I used to narrate my life. I have distinct memories of riding my bicycle around the neighborhood with phrases of narration running through my head, such as "little did she know that this bike ride would change her life forever," and "Katelyn would often look back on this day with fond memories, longing to again jump the curbs on her old street." Everything was big. Even the most mundane of things turned into a great adventure ("Katelyn quickly scrambled up the stairs, determined to beat her brother to the gameboy").

This was a memorable scene

Over time this narration faded out (or perhaps just changed form), but I tended to hold on to this idea of grandness. Moments were always more than they would seem. Watching a deer, laying under the moon at midnight, battling in silly string fights, holding kitchen conversations, playing hopscotch with 4-year-olds, listening to birds as they slowly realize day has dawned... There was always a certain sacredness to everything, to each moment, all crafting an incredible story. Along the way there would be particularly memorable scenes, turning points in the plot, and in these moments I would especially feel the weight of existence and the unbelievable beauty of life.

 And then I thought my story ended.

I remember talking about this feeling with my friend Megan last summer. We'd both just come back into our lives in America, and we had no idea what was to happen or to be done next. "There was all this build up to go…I never really thought passed the SM experience." "Me neither. Getting on that plane kind of felt like the conclusion, and I didn't ever think about what would come in the weeks and months after landing."

What would come was a life without story, which meant a lack of direction, a lack of meaning, a lack of grandness. Just events occurring without a plot, without a feeling of more to come. Much happened, many scenes that could have been claimed as part of an incredible story, as part of my story. But I didn't claim them. Maybe I didn't want them.

But all I did was finish an act, one act in a set of many.

My story's been known for a long time, set apart, appointed. I'm choosing to claim what is mine. Because in all honesty, my story is absolutely fantastic. And if I think about it, I do know where I'm going, and I can see how certain events do or do not fit into my God-given epic. So I'll talk to the Author and live in the divine pages of life. I will experience the holiness and the weight of my scenes. Because each one is beautiful, instructive, and big.

And I will claim the scenes that are a part of my story, no matter how they may appear at first glance. Because they are mine. They've been planned for me. And I want them.


[When my lot of returning SMs went through our re-entry retreat, we were told that reverse culture shock and processing would happen at different times for different people: maybe we'd already gone through the bulk of it, maybe it would take several months. It kind of annoys me that I'm still writing about my Philippines experience, that I'm still processing. But…this is where I am. And I'll let myself be here. I always was a mosey-er anyway.]

Beautiful Chaos

"So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." 1 Corinthians 10:31

Ah, feels good to be back in Shasta!

As I begin this post, I'm not really sure where it is going to go or what thoughts I'm going to string together. Night is now morning, and I'm still tired from the little sleep from the previous evening, but I feel like there's a great chance I won't be writing on here for a while. And as I transition into summer, I feel like a post is warranted.

It's been a bizarre week. Seven days ago from this moment, I was having a last hurrah sort of evening with a couple friends of mine. Since then, I've had to say "see you later" (I don't believe goodbyes exist) to a number of good friends--some heading to distant countries, some off to grad school in far-off states, and some just away for the summer; I've sat and cried with a deeply heart-broken friend, listening to her pain and processing wounds with her; I've unpacked, repacked, slightly reunpacked, and then left the whole mess to live out of a backpack for a few days; I was joyfully surprised to be visited by a dear friend of mine, with whom I shared an exceedingly lengthy and refreshing conversation far into the wee hours of yesterday morning; I helped to train and give input for newly appointed camp counselors; I got the pleasure to experience a Korean spa, which turned out to be quite an unexpectedly spiritual experience (lots of interesting things to say on this one, but...somehow this doesn't seem like the time or place); and I met a slew of marvelous people.

And through it all, I'm reminded how much I prefer such beautiful chaos to routine. What luck that I get to spend eight weeks with youngsters who can offer me such pleasant pandemonium!

Yes, camp is starting up again. This marks my fourth summer at Sunset Lake. Since counselor training began yesterday evening, memory after memory has started popping into my head: all the highs and lows, the prayers of weary desperation, the hands lifted in awe and praise, the rowdy mobs of energetic children, and the Friday nights spent in tearful vulnerability, connection, and love. Names and faces are resurfacing, each one bringing a smile to my face and the hope that I'll see them again in the next few weeks.

As I was discussing with my friend yesterday, there's just something so incredible about this place. Each year God teaches me something new, grows me in a different direction. It leaves me curious as to what will take place this summer. But above all, right now I am simply relieved and at ease to be back at


The Place Where You Belong.

Typical cabin portrait for Shasta...