I've Moved!

Hey, there.

I've moved!  Check out the new site at www.katiebivens.com :)

xoxo

Katie

Life is Full, Exciting, and Confusing in the Land of 20-Somethings.

I am quite possibly the most emotional person many of my friends have ever encountered.  We've talked about this before, I'm sure.  I cry at the drop of a hat: when I'm happy, sad, frustrated, tired, freaking-so-excited-I-don't-know-what-else-to-do-but-cry.  You know, all the usual reasons.  But for someone who is so in tune with their emotions, I've been having a hard time grasping a particular concept.

That you can have more than one emotion at a time.

Every time I go into counseling, my sweet and precious counselor friend hands me this dreaded piece of paper covered in simply drawn emojis.  There are at least 30 of them all staring back at me with different facial expressions, such as, angry, frustrated, disappointed, hurt, vulnerable, excited, content, etc, etc. and I just want to make all those faces back at them as they mock me.  She makes me circle all of the faces that I am feeling at that time and I always sit and grumble and ask her if I have to.  I think I hate this activity for two reasons:

1) Because I am an overall positive and upbeat person, it is not always fun to admit when I'm frustrated, disappointed, sad, whatever.

2) Because I am an overall positive and upbeat person, I have a hard time understanding how I can be happy, plus all of the other negative emotions at the same time.

My complex personality apparently just wants things to be simple when it comes to how I feel.  I just want to be happy.  Or I just want to be sad.  Or I just want to be excited in each moment.  I don't want to be 17 different things, because this makes one feel cray-cray and no one likes a cray-cray.  But recently, my sweet counselor friend looked at me and said, "it's okay to be excited and sad at the same time, Katie."  Chances are she's said this to me a bajillion times before, but for whatever reason, it clicked this time.  Ah-ha.  Finally.

It seems that lately I've been in a constant state of excitement and sadness.  Ugh, and it's the worst.  Can't I just be constantly excited for everyone and everything around me?!  What's the deal, here?  Well, the deal is that it's hard to be 100% excited when you feel like you're being left behind.  It's hard to not be a titch sad when you feel like you're standing still, being left to inhale everyone else's dust as they take off running.

Now hear me clearly when I say that I live a very full, busy, and rewarding life.  I am constantly running around like a chicken with my head cut off (I have never known anything different) and I love keeping my plate full of activities and friends.  In a sense I, too, am definitely kicking up dust in folks' faces like my feet are on fire.  But guess what dust I'm not kicking around?  The dust of moving forward in a new stage of life.  You know the stage I'm talking about.  The stage that all of us 20-somethings desire at some point.  The stage of finding that person to do the full, busy, and rewarding life with.

All around me, my fabulous and great and beautiful friends are entering new relationships, getting engaged, making big life decisions with their significant others because that is the direction life is moving, and I'm all back here like, "hey guys, I'll just be here hanging out with George the Beagle!"  At least he's dang cute, right?  And while I squeal when they squeal about new and exciting plans and cry tears of happiness when they cry tears of happiness over their new fiance, there is still an underlying nagging of feeling like I'm standing still in the dust.

Thankfully, though, peace always sets in eventually.  Peace floods in and drowns out those nagging feelings of bitterness and frustration.  Prayer is my constant crutch to move forward through the muddy waters of emotions, knowing good and well that God makes no mistakes and His timing is greater than the timing my little, impatient heart conjures up.  And I remember that it is commanded that, if we hope for what we do not yet have, we are to do so patiently (Romans 8:25).  And I do not always do this gracefully, (just ask my parents), but I try my best to circle back around to God's promises.  Life is full, exciting
, and confusing in the land of 20-somethings.

So if you're reading this and you've related to it in any way, maybe not about relationships, but about a multitude of other life stages, know that you aren't alone.  Know that God hears your cries and knows your heart and He's got a better plan in mind.  Try to hope for what you do not yet have patiently and cling to His promises.  Stand in the dust with a joyful heart and know that yours is coming and when it arrives it will be beautiful.

Summertime Makes Me Miss You.

Summertime makes me miss you. 

It’s amazing how our minds and bodies work, how one smell, one sound can take us back to a place in time that we haven’t thought about in so long.  We started our journey together in the summer, spending the long nights sitting outside on benches around the city, attempting to soak up as much knowledge about one another as our brains would absorb.  Many of those bench moments were spent stealing kisses in the night as we sat closely together, limbs intertwined.  Those moments were my favorite, full of innocence and excitement of getting to know someone new.  Back before things got beautifully complicated.

The smell of the gym in the summer makes me think of you constantly, daydreaming back to when we first met and to where we spent much of our time together in the beginning of our relationship.  Back to when I would casually stride into your office, arriving earlier than I needed to, just for a chance to chat with you.  Back to when you would randomly pop your head into my class like an absolute creeper, but I found it hilarious anyway.  Back to when we were keeping our newly found attraction to each other under wraps for at first and we would linger around the gym, waiting for all of our friends to go home so we could get in the car together and make a late dinner run to Waffle House.  The smell of summer, the feel of summer, the sounds of summer – they all take me back to you.  My thoughts completely skip every other summer that I’ve had in my 27 years and circle back to you. 

Today I pulled out the “Richard” box for the first time since January.  I pulled out the stack of pictures, bypassing the letters from you and the cards from so many people after you died, though had I had more energy I would have sifted through those as well.  I looked at you in all of those pictures and became overwhelmed by emotion.  It is still so hard to grasp the concept of you being gone.  It is still so hard to understand why God chose me to spend your final days with.  It is still so hard to fathom that you chose me to spend your final days with, though of course you didn’t even know they were your last.  God tethered our hearts together as soon as we met and I am forever grateful that I had the chance to know, love, and share so much with such an incredibly intricate person.  I look at those pictures and everything comes flooding back – the conversations, the struggles, the jokes, the happiness, the pain of each moment.  There is a, and I suppose always will be though maybe not as prominent, a hole in my heart that is reserved for you.  You, sweet Richard, saw me for everything I was and for everything I wanted to be.  You loved me with an unconditional love that I did not deserve.  You taught me so much about strength, determination and grace.  So much about grace.  I often wonder when these feelings of nostalgia will go away.  Will they ever go away?    

Summertime makes me miss you.

The Next Day She Ran Away.

I'd sat across the Starbucks table from her, looking into her eyes trying to channel my thoughts about her to her brain.  My thoughts about how loved she was, how cherished she was by God, and how I believed in her so much, that she would be able to break the cycle.  We talked about boys (we always talked about boys), and her GED classes and why she should respect her house mom.  It was one of our best one-on-ones we'd had.

The next day she ran away.

What?

This is the brutal and honest reality of working with foster kids.  Just like they have had many people pop in and out of their lives, they, too, pop in and out of yours as well.  They either run away, get sent to another group home, (hopefully) get fostered by a family, etc.  And you're left standing here in the dust, scratching your head, wondering what just happened.

When she ran away I cried and cried and cried.  First I cried for her safety, worried she was in harm.  Then I cried because I was angry at her for running when I knew the potential she had and the things she could have done had she just sat still longer.  And then I cried because I was heartbroken for her that she felt like that was her only other option.  Now I don't know who she's with, what she's doing or where she is.  It's the worst.

Selfishly I thought - did I even have a chance to make a difference in her life?  Did she hear anything I said to her?  Doesn't she know how much I loved her?  But of course, this story is not about me.  Of course no matter how much love I showed her, if she had the chance to run away because she caught even the smallest glimpse of being back with her family, she was going to take it.  No matter what these kids have been through or how horrible their home lives are, they still want to be home.  And that, my friends, makes my heart throb.  But it is a part of our sad, broken world.  Something we cannot avoid, something we really cannot blame these kids for, and we cannot understand.

After my pity party, I slowly began to feel peace about her whereabouts.  She finally sent me a text and relief set in when I knew she was okay.  God began to whisper sweet nothings of protection, calmness, and sovereignty to me.  I pray and hope and desire and wish that I did, indeed, make a difference in her life, even if just a small one.  Obviously, I was not meant to be her mentor forever, but I hope that the short time we had together was real and raw and she felt the sincerity.  God is sovereign over all things, including that little girl's life.  I pray for protection over her and that she will continue to see her worth in His eyes, instead of in the eyes of another.  And in the meantime, I will continue to love those kids with every fiber of my being, attempting to channel my thoughts about them to their brains.  That they are loved, they are cherished and they are believed in.  It's all any of us can really do.

And merely days after she ran away this article I had written for Shattered Magazine was posted.  Life certainly is ironic.  ;)

http://shatteredmagazine.net/harris-home-for-children-one-is-all-it-takes/

The Fault in Our Stars/How Many Tears Can One Shed in Approximately Two Hours.

Listen.  If your boyfriend, that you had a fleeting romance with, is suddenly diagnosed with leukemia and dies in the ER, it is probably not wise to go see a movie where the main character's boyfriend also tragically dies in the ER due to cancer.  This is pretty basic stuff, folks.  But I'm not a pretty basic girl.

Instead, this not so basic girl threw herself into the theater, forcing a few friends to go with her after several other friends told her that they would absolutely not go and see this movie with her and sh freaked out and panicked because SHE HAD TO SEE THIS MOVIE, so she drove to Birmingham and watched it with two friends that she knew would appreciate it as much as her insane self also would. (shout out to C. Graham and Yates, whaddup!).

And you're wondering: What does it look like for 3 grown women to struggle to not be the loudest criers in a theater full of teenagers?  Horrible.  Like the most horrible thing on the planet.  Like as horrible as sitting down in a public bathroom stall to realize, too late, that there is no toilet paper times infinity.

But the truth of the matter is that I was exposed to this story in the summer of 2012 (coincidentally the summer I met Richard, but this is beside the point).  The story I am referring to, in case you have been under a protective/unemotional/want-to-deny-yourself-beautiful-things rock lately, is The Fault in Our Stars.  I read the book that summer and freaking fell madly, deeply, widely in love with the characters and the author.  This author, John Green, has a way with words that I strive to emulate and channel when I write.  He is witty and has a way of laying out exactly what you're thinking without even knowing that you were thinking it until you read his words and OH MY GOSH YOU WERE THINKING THE SAME THING.  But he says your words way better than you could ever dream of.  The depth that he is able to portray in a young adult book about two teenagers with cancer that fall in love is a thing of the cosmos.  I can't even.

So, you see my friends, I HAD to see this movie.  It wasn't even a question.  NO, it did not matter that I would spend the entire movie tearing up, to only have the flood gates OPEN and to start SOBBING thirty minutes before the movie ended and to think it would NEVER END I SWEAR I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN IT WOULD END.

Because I was invested.

But truth be told, this movie-going experience would have been different if Richard had never happened.  I still would have lost my composure in front of a multitude of teenagers, but the deeper heartache would not have been there.  The deeper understanding, longing, and empathy would not have been there.  But this is no surprise.  Everything would be different if Richard had never happened.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

Sundays Are for Cleaning. And Apparently Crying.

Sundays and I have been in a fight lately.  But I think we're about to make up.

I have been finding myself crying every Sunday, lately.  At least over the past several weeks.  This is not incredibly surprising since I'm, like, the most emotional person you've ever encountered, but it's really been throwing a wrench in my days.  WHY AM I CRYING SO MUCH, I've found myself wondering.  I LOVE SUNDAYS, WHAT'S THE DEAL!?!  But I think I've figured it out.

See for me, Sundays are for cleaning.  I enjoy throwing on (loud) music and starting the process of cleaning up the crumbs of the week before.  Sweeping, dusting, vacuuming, etc.  I am, by no means, a "clean freak," but I love how fresh the house looks/smells/feels after a solid wipe down, shaking off all of the remainders of the days prior, setting it up for a new week.

I also find myself cleaning out my mind, heart and soul on Sundays.  It typically starts with a church service, where I am fed spiritually and emotionally.  Hoping to carry on the feeling I get after hearing God's word, I usually find myself reading, writing or studying later in the day, with a tendency to focus on things that will satisfy my heart and mind (don't worry - I gorge myself on junk TV and such on Saturdays.)  I prepare myself for the week ahead, while reflecting on the days I've just left behind.

Because of this routine, Sundays tend to be full of reflection, contemplation, and grace-filled insights. Thinking of what my life looks like now, remembering what it looked like before, daydreaming of what my life may look like in the future.  Shaking off the worries and the burdens and sitting in utter awe of God's unconditional love and grace.  And because, remember, I'm, like, the most emotional person you've ever encountered, I typically find myself with tears streaming down my face.

But it's okay because crying is my reaction to most emotions - happiness, sadness, frustration, anger, elation, boredom - and I believe it is my soul's way of cleansing itself.

So even though Sundays make me cry...I adore them.  What other day of the week can you wake up slow, drink obscene amounts of coffee, be fed spiritually while visiting with friends and family, enjoy nap time, and reorganize your life for the days ahead?

I hope your Sundays are just as lovely.  But maybe a bit less emotional.

White, Blank Page.

I'm sitting here, on my bed, staring at this white, blank page in front of me, trying to figure out the words to type out.  I know that in order to be a successful writer, one must...write.  Sometimes writing is just the easiest part of my day, words flowing out of my fingers like nobody's business, like my fingers were created to type.  But sometimes the words run away and hide from me, deep down in the crevices of my brain.  I know they are there but bringing them to the surface can be difficult.

So I guess I'll just write about writing.  I am trying to blog more, again.  Knowing that I need to practice this skill and actually practicing are two different acts.  I am attempting to encourage (read: force) myself to write at least two blogs a week.  At least two blogs a week just on my personal blog alone; not including writing I'll be doing for Shattered's blog among other things.  Oh and this doesn't include, you know, trying to write a book.  So basically there's going to be a lot of typing going on up in here.

To date I have written approximately (read: exactly) 5,817 words for my book.  That's enough right?  It's coming along slowly, but sweetly and surely.  Maybe by 2050 I'll have them all written out.  It's such a delicate balance writing a book that you would actually like people to read.  Figuring out a way to delicately interlace straight forward facts and all the emotions and thoughts and feels in a way that shows grace, love and sincerity is kind of a ridiculous idea if you really think about it.  But I'm determined (read: stubborn) and I'm going to make it happen.  I recently found out that I FINALLY got into graduate school...for next year.  I will start Summer 2015.  I am choosing to see the silver linings in having to wait another entire year and one of them is to finish this dang book.  I work well with due dates and deadlines.

I shall now leave you with a gift.  A gift of a picture of my dog contemplating the world's problems.  Like maybe why there are not enough tennis balls on this planet.  Or why he can't seem to physically catch the reflection from his collar tags.  Or why our cat hates him so much. 

You're welcome.

Waiting.

(photo credit: http://piccsy.com/2011/12/friend-9aw5ypauv/)

Waiting.  We're always waiting for something.  Some of us are waiting for new job opportunities or promotions.  Some of us are waiting for our favorite artist to release a new album.  Some of us are simply waiting for our dinner to be ready.

But some of us are waiting for something much deeper; something we may never really receive in this lifetime.

Answers.

There is the girl waiting for answers as to why her husband of 6 months was taken from her due to illness.  Why him?  Why her?  Why them?

There is the girl waiting for answers to her questions about her boyfriend's sudden death.  A sudden death that she walked in on, finding the love of her life with a gun in his hand.  She knows it was an accident but there are still answers she wants.  Answers she needs.

The daughters, sisters and brothers of the man that was violently gunned down by the police.  What was going through his head when he died?  Why did he not abide the police peacefully?  Why did it have to happen that way?

The children in foster care longing for answers from their parents.  Why can't they take care of them?  Why won't they fight to keep them?  Why do they have to be in the care of people that are not blood relatives?

The couple that desires nothing more than to be parents, to have a child of their own.  Why do they have to wait?  Why are so many others around them able to conceive so easily?  Why not them, too?

The family that has just laid their 5 year old son to rest.  Why them?  Why him?  Why would God let this happen?

The girl that longs to be loved as much as she once was by her boyfriend that suddenly lost his life from leukemia; she keeps getting so close to love before it is snatched away.  When will it be her turn?

We're all waiting for something.  We're all waiting for the answers we may never get.  I constantly wonder why we all have to wait.  Sometimes life makes no sense, and we're grasping at the walls searching for answers.  I'm tired of waiting and I know you are, too.

Tonight I pray for all of you that are waiting for answers.  Take heart and remember that God is sovereign over all things.  Including the waiting rooms in our hearts.

God grant me the serenity 

to accept the things I cannot change; 

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; 

Enjoying one moment at a time; 

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; 

Taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it; 

Trusting that He will make all things right

if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life 

and supremely happy with Him

Forever in the next.

Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

Let's Stop Mucking It Up.

Obedience.  Most of us probably cringe just a tiny bit when we hear/read/think that word.  We think of all the negative connotations it has, all the times we had to obey without wanting to.  But obedience has been in our lives from the day we were born and will be there until the day we die, forever and ever, amen.  Shouldn't we stop fighting with it, just make up and accept it for what it is?  Yea, right, we aren't that smart.

This word/act/idea has been hammered into me lately, basically nonstop.  It was looming in the air when I found out I was wait listed for graduate school recently.  It has flowed in and out of my heart as I have had to sit patiently waiting for love.  It's a constant mantra I chant to myself when I am not happy with my surroundings, knowing that I am exactly where I am supposed to be according to God's will but actually hating my surroundings wishing I could stab them with a knife.  Dang, why is it so hard to adhere to, sometimes?

This week I had some beautiful one-on-one time with the girl I mentor at Harris Home, the group foster care home here in town.  I'd found out she'd been skipping class some and lying to the staff about where she'd been.  I picked her up from class and took her to get coffee so we could sift through these actions.  I did not really know what I was going to say as I was driving to pick her up.  It's obvious she is acting out for reasons that I can't even begin to understand.  I have no idea what it is like to have been bounced around between my own home, various group homes, and detention centers my entire existence.  I never had to witness my mother with more men in my lifetime than the number of years I've been alive. To have siblings from multiple fathers.  I can't even begin to fathom that lifestyle.

But as I was driving to get her, I was praying, asking God to give me the words to speak to her and it occurred to me (read: The Spirit interceded here and planted thoughts in my head) that because her mother never really disciplined her, regulations and rules look like hatred to her.  To her, because staff members are asking her to be obedient and are holding her accountable for her actions, they must not care about her at all. Because they are withholding things from her that she feels she deserves and needs, they must be out to make her life miserable.  She doesn't know what discipline from a loving place looks like.

And although I am privileged enough to know a savior that has my best interest in His hands and to come from a loving family that taught me the reasoning behind obedience and to understand that God may be withholding things from me right now because it's not time yet, or because these things aren't in His will for me (big deep breath in), I still get frustrated.  I still get upset.  I still want to skip class and lie. Why is that? Why do we get mad when we know that The Lord's got this and His idea is WAY BETTER than anything we can even dream up?  We should be rejoicing in His plan always, but instead we get caught up in our own thoughts and timelines and rebel.  So even though I know better, I am no different than my sweet foster child, and I bet you aren't either.  We're all rebelling against something.

So what do we do?

Prayer through these situations is key.  Praying for God to open our hearts, cleanse them of our own stupid pride and to teach us to obey Him.  In church today, it was said that it is impossible to joyfully obey something that we hate.  But we are called to do that.  And the only way to do that is with the help of the One that knows what is best for our lives.  It's such an easy concept but we always go and muck it up in our complicated human ways (I'm pointing my fingers are you Adam and Eve.)

So let's try our best to be patient and obey (note: I'm saying this more to myself than to anyone else.)  God's got this.  Why question the intentions of the One who created our intentions?  Let's stop mucking it up.

I Had His Handwriting Made Into a Ring.

I had Richard's handwriting made into a ring.  Before you head over here to have an intervention with me about moving on, or ask me multiple questions about where my heart is, let me explain.

This is something I recently decided to do for myself.  Something intimate and sincere and lovely.  It was also something I was going to keep quiet, only telling a few friends, and those that may ask me what the ring means if they notice it.  But, I love it, and the meaning behind it, so much that I am choosing to share.  (Is anyone really surprised here, since I share just about everything with you people?)  It's likely that 97.3% of you will think I am a little loco, and the other 2.7% of you will think it's awesome, and that's only because the 2.7 represents my friends that have to like it no matter what their real thoughts are.

Richard used to address me as "darling."  I would be straight lying to you if I said I loved it from the beginning.  At first I kind of resisted the nickname and scrunched up my nose at it.  I think it was because it is not a word we hear very often anymore, unless it's said by a creepy older man in the gas station or something, you know what I mean?  But it grew on me the more he said.  It grew on me because when he said it he was sincere.  I have many memories of answering the phone to a, "hey darling," and a few letters that began with this word.  It is now become a word that I adore.  I believe it to be romantic and old-fashioned and embodying true emotion.

This word has officially become a reminder, a symbol and token of the transformation that happened in my heart when God placed sweet Richard in my life.  It was a time of struggle, beauty, hope and redemption.  It was a time that has shaped me into who I am now and will forever be a part of my story.  It is a poetic, one-word summary of it all.

A synonym for the word "darling" is beloved.  When I hear that word I think of the Lord and how He is constantly calling out to us, Beloved, look to me when you're troubled.  I'm the only one you need.

I was Richard's darling and he was placed before me by God.  He was placed here to show me a glimpse of what a genuine Christ-like love looked like.   I was his darling and he was the Lord's darling and we are all His darlings.  It's really quite romantic isn't it?

I am fortunate to have many handwritten letters from this darling of mine.  I am fortunate to have found someone on Etsy (dear Etsy, I love you forever and ever amen) that can take a loved one's handwriting and turn it into a piece of jewelry.  I hit the jackpot with this one.

Now I not only carry my story in my heart but on one of my fingers as well.  When people ask about it I can tell them how God worked in my life through a beautiful mess.  Through a boy that called me darling and reminded me that I am a darling daughter of Christ.  It's perfect.

Friends, I'm in Love. With a Bunch of Teenagers.

When I moved to Huntsville I was excited to begin a new chapter of my life.  I was ready to get reacquainted with a city that I grew up near and ready to carve out my own identity.  I spent time seeking out various volunteer opportunities, searching high and low, near and far for the right ones.  Nothing seemed to stick. 

After Richard died, at the height of my sadness, I was grasping at straws trying to find something to pour myself into, something to participate in that had nothing to do with me and my sadness.  A selfish route to charity, I suppose, but this is where I was in life.

One day I was sitting at my kitchen table mulling over a website of a ministry in Nashville that I adore.  I looked at their job opportunities out of curiosity and saw one that caught interest.  "Director of Adoptions."  Whoa.  What do I have to do to be that?  Among things like, you know, have a lot of job experience working with adoption, there was also the requirement of having a Masters of Social Work.  I can do that.  To my excitement, a MSW was one of the degrees that was offered online through my employer.  PERFECT, I thought.  I got started on my application, chomping at the bit to get everything in.  I chomped at the bit so hard that I realized after I applied that I had missed the deadline by a month and the program was already full.  I'd have to wait another year to apply again.

Fine.  I took this as God's calming hand, instructing me to pump the brakes and really pray about whether or not this was something I should do.  I decided to spend the year seeking out social service organizations to volunteer with to make sure it was something I really wanted to do.

Enter Harris Home for Children. 

It went something like this: I googled "foster homes in Huntsville;" Harris Home for Children came up; I checked out their website; I liked their Facebook page; literally 3 minutes later my friend Kristin (that knows my heart and what makes me tick) sent me a text, "Hey girl, I saw you liked Harris Home on FB.  I was in leadership class with the executive director.  Want me to introduce you guys via e-mail?"; I kissed Kristin on the face (not really, but had she been in the same room as me it would have happened); she e-mailed Tony (Executive Director) and introduced us virtually; Tony e-mailed back and we set up a time for me to come in and tour; I met him, asked him how I could help out; he told me I could be as involved as little or as much as I wanted and that there were board member opportunities available.  A little time and lots of paperwork later and here we are.

I have the opportunity to serve an organization that houses up to 32 foster kids at once.  A group home in the middle of my city, covering the heads of children ages 12-20, that strives to provide a stable, healthy environment for them.

And friends, I'm in love.  I am in love with these beautiful kids that were created in the image of God.  These kids that are in a less than ideal situation due to no fault of their own.  I wish I could give them everything I own, all of my money and resources.  Unfortunately those are not the things they really want (which is good since I'm not made of money).  They don't want things.  They want their families.  They want the same things we all want.  To be loved.

Sadly I cannot give them their families, but I can love them.  And oh do I try to love them all.  I step on campus with as full of a heart as I can muster, hoping that a simple hug will go a long way for them.  Hoping that an intentional ear to hear what they have to say will make them feel special.  I pray for them, cry for them, rejoice for them and just freaking love them. 

Looking back to my first few months in this city, struggling to find the right place to pour myself into seems so long ago.  I was trying so hard to find my perfect fit, focusing more on myself than those that needed to be served.  After all that it just took a little research and a lot of prayer for the perfect fit to be placed in my lap. 

Also, a great piece of irony to add to this story would be that after a year of hoping to get into an MSW program I ended up getting wait listed.  The most shocking part is that I was not all that upset about it.  Disappointed? Yes.  Still praying to be accepted so I can begin pursuing that degree? Yes.  Crying and wallowing on my sofa?  No.  Why?

Because if I had never been too late applying in the first place, I would not have taken time to seek out Harris Home and I would not be as in love as I am today.  God's plan is always better than my plan.  Interested to see where He throws me next.

Why Writing A Book is Hard.

Because it just is.

When you blog, you have the freedom to cut out quite a few details due to the fact that you don't want to bore your readers to tears.  However, when you are attempting to write a story in its entirety, details you must include.  I've always been really good at giving way too many details when telling a story, but for some reason THIS IS HARDER.

It may also have to do with the fact that some of the details in this story are hard and messy and muddy and fuzzy and scary to tell.  Navigating through the way to delicately lay them out in an organized line can be tricky.

Progress is being made though.  I have a working title (Sweet Richard) and at least the draft of a first chapter written, with the shell of a second chapter in place.

How cute was I to think this would be just a piece of cake.

Chugging along and questioning myself daily.

I'm Tired of Your Stupid Lists. No Offense.

Trying to figure out your identity as a blogger, in a heavy blogging society, can be a little bit of a challenge.  For a year, my blogger personality was to write about grief.  Now that I've been focusing on moving forward, I've been trying to figure out what exactly it is I want to be to the blog world.

One type of blogger I've been avoiding becoming is the "list" blogger.  Don't get me wrong, I have written out a list or two in the past and they can be easy to read and understand, while also being helpful.  However, I feel like every time you log on to Facebook or twitter or even a news site, there is some list staring back at you.  (Please note this excludes lists from Buzzfeed.  Buzzfeed is perfect in every way.)

"6 ways to show your husband you respect him."  "10 ways to keep your marriage in tact." "25,000 ways to find the perfect mate."  Our fast-paced culture has gotten so fast-paced that we think everything can just be squelched down into 10 (or 25,000) easy steps.  Since when did life get easy enough to condense down into a bunch of numbered pieces of advice to live successfully?

About a month ago there was one post in particular that was circulating around my Facebook newsfeed.  "10 Men Christian Women Should Never Marry" (10 Men Christian Women Should Never Marry).  I avoided clicking on it for several days because I had a feeling I was not going to particularly enjoy it.  I also felt that I did not need some random man telling me who I should or should not marry.  Eventually I gave in and read the blasted thing.

I hated it.

My favorite type of man  listed was titled "The Addict."

5. The addict. Churchgoing men who have addictions to alcohol or drugs have learned to hide their problems—but you don’t want to wait until your honeymoon to find out that he’s a boozer. Never marry a man who refuses to get help for his addiction. Insist that he get professional help and walk away. And don’t get into a codependent relationship in which he claims he needs you to stay sober. You can’t fix him.

 To find out he's a boozer.  Woof.  Insert rage.

Calling someone with an addiction problem a boozer is offensive.  Saying that because someone made poor physical choices in college that they will likely sleep around on you when you're married is offensive.  Being a Christian and making accusations about people that may have truly turned their lives around, or are working on it (as we're all works in progress), is offensive.  Imagine how an alcoholic, that has been sober for 10 years, will feel when he reads that description above.  An alcoholic and an addict are always alcoholics and addicts even if they're clean and sober.  

I realize I am taking this article extremely literal and that it was probably meant to be more lighthearted.  But guess what - lists are literal...and the issues listed are not lighthearted.  We have to stop trying to condense life down into simplistic lists, living by them and worshiping them.  We have to remember that life, love and relationships are complicated.  It's not as easy as just "walk away."  We have to stop pointing fingers and make hurtful and unfair judgments.  

Show more grace; spread less hatred.

If Only We Had Known What This Would Turn Into.

I'm really good at staying busy.  Possibly too good at it.  Lately, I've been busy.  Busy moving forward, busy making plans, busy living life to the absolute fullest that I can manage.  It doesn't mean I don't think about him anymore.  It doesn't mean that I don't miss him or bring his name up in weekly conversations.  It doesn't mean that I don't check out his facebook page often.

The truth is that I will never stop talking about him.  He's so embedded in my life, my soul that it is impossible to leave him out.  Not just because we dated.  Not just because I loved him more than I knew how to.  Not just because he adored me.  But because it was through trials with him that I realized, more than any other time in my life, how much I need God.  If this beautiful mess of a boy had not been brought into my life I would still be wandering around thinking that I could continue to live life like I was in complete control, like I had everything figured out.  It is because of him and the struggles we faced together that I understood what it was to need Jesus and nothing else.  We had the most beautifully orchestrated disaster of a relationship.  Always waiting for things to get better, to catch a break, to just have the opportunity to be in one another's presence with no stress involved.

If only I had known what the Lord had in store for us.  If only we had known what this would turn into.

Often we hear Romans 5 quoted when people are going through trials and sufferings, smiling and nodding and acknowledging that, yes, those are good verses to lean on when you're sad.  But after you've been through the actual trial, the suffering and have come out on the other side, that's when you truly understand and appreciate what scripture tells us.  It has never felt truer to me than it does now.

Praying for those that are grieving the loss of a loved one.  It is not an easy battle to fight.

Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

Romans 5:2-5

What Am I Doing?

On October 10th, 2013 I so cutely wrote, " But I need you to know that I have full intentions of writing our entire story out, in the format of a book," like this would be an easy feat.  Now I'm scoffing at myself, and trying to insert my foot in my mouth.  Why? you ask.

Because writing this "book" is turning out to be harder than I want it to be.  It's now 4 months later and I've got exactly 1,565 words  written with not a ton of motivation to keep trudging forward.  I keep finding myself getting caught up in all the tiniest of tiny details, trying to decipher what's important and what's not.  Then I change my mind and just start typing EVERYTHING out but that causes me to lose focus in developing the actual story.

Having to take a step back and realize that this is going to be a process for me, not something that I can crank out over a few hours.  And truthfully, hashing out some of these details can cause me to lose focus because, naturally, my mind drifts back to those times.  Some of times Richard and I shared were very heavy; others were perfect.  A lot of little things (and big) happened over our short time together and, currently, I'm finding it draining to try to get them all out.

As much as I'd like to stick my foot in my mouth right about now I am grateful I had the inclination to publicly declare that I was taking on such a challenge as writing a book.  I suppose I subconsciously knew that I would need to announce it to a bunch of people so that I would stick with it.  Public declaration is a great form of accountability.  Don't let me slip, guys.  I'm counting on you.

Sincerely,

Writing hard and clear about what hurts.

"Stay. Stay by His Side. Not Forever, but for Now."

Sweet friends:

Next weekend the Spring edition of Shattered Magazine will be hitting the shelves of Barnes and Noble and Books-A-Million, as well as people's doorsteps.  I had the opportunity to write an article for them this quarter and I am so honored I was given the chance...and let's be honest, I am p-u-m-p-e-d to see my very own writing in print.  It's a dream coming true! 

If you have not already subscribed to this gorgeous magazine, please consider doing so soon!  You can do so at the link above.

A small snippet of the article is below.  Thank you all for your support throughout this journey!



The next four months were spent constantly praying, constantly trying to understand what he was going through, encouraging him to a fault and being as supportive as I could while still processing that my boyfriend was an alcoholic.  It was as ugly as it was beautiful at times.  I wish I could say I handled the entire situation gracefully and lady like, but the truth is that there were a lot of tears and a lot of questioning.  Questioning where he was, what he was doing; questioning what the Lord wanted me to do with all of this.  

And God always answered with, “stay.”  “Stay by his side.  Not forever, but for now.”

Exactly four months from the day that he went to rehab he was taken from our world.

The Dating Game.

"It is exactly how it sounds.  A game.
…

Hi, my name is Katie and I am no good at the “dating game.”

It’s not because I’m a rebel at heart or a habitual rule breaker; I just think the games are ridiculous.

I get caught up in the excitement of meeting someone that I connect with; someone that I have a lot in common with.  I’ve been known to ask a boy to get coffee first, often being too bold for my own good.  Why can’t I ask a boy to coffee?  What do I have to lose?  It’s just coffee.

This is my consistent thought process.

Oh and playing hard to get…ha!  I don’t even know what that means.  Why would I want to be “hard to get” for a guy I like, that in return likes me?"

Read the rest of this post at the link below...


The Dating Game continued...

The Beginning of a Story.

"This is a true story.  Not a story based on facts or stories, but one dripping with sincerity, truth and clarity.  Our story starts on Wednesday, April 23rd, 2012 and ends abruptly on Friday, January 11th, 2013.  Our story involves a boy and a girl, as most stories do.  It involves girl meeting boy, getting to know boy, falling in love with boy, being surprised by boy and with boy eventually dying and crushing girl’s heart.  While our story has heavy romance intertwined in the pages, it also has heaps of sadness, confusion and tragedy.  It is not a story to be taken lightly, hence the reason behind writing it down.  This story has touched many lives through its process and has completely changed my life for the better.  I’d like to share it in its entirety; the good and the bad, the hard and the easy, the beautiful and the ugly.  Here goes."

New Year, New Look; Same Place

I've decided to keep the same blog address and blog altogether.  I've decided to keep the place that my words unfolded for the last 12 months, the same.  Some things need to remain constant, I think.  But I've also decided to at least change the background...still need a little freshening up.

Now the challenge:
Figuring out what in the world to write about.  Stay tuned as I fight this battle. :)

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)
 

i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

 

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-ee Cummings

70 blog posts and 365 days later and I am not sure there are many words left to write.  I believe {hope} that I have squeezed and wrung out every ounce of Richard's soul that I possibly could.  Today I have spent time sitting, reflecting and re-reading every piece of encouragement I have received over this year.  I have read, re-read and practically memorized the words that Rich wrote me, hoping to truly soak up the genuine way he loved and cared about me so that it will not be forgotten.  

I began writing this blog, back in January, for several reasons:

To cope.
To openly talk about my grieving process in hopes that people will realize that maybe what they are personally going through isn't so crazy after all.
To share what God has taught me as He has worked through my heart during this traumatic season.
To spread hope.
To give a place to list out all of the lessons I have learned, all of the lessons God has unfolded before me.
To let the world know about a great man that captured my heart and soul; to show people who he had become at the end of his short life.
For God to use me as a device to show the world that it is okay to be broken and it is okay to talk about it and it is okay to admit it and work through it.
For others to understand that it is okay to be sad, to grieve, to not understand what God is doing; but it is important to try your best to continue to trust.

I hope, with my entire heart, that I was able to express these things.  I hope I shared enough about His grace in my life that others could locate the grace in their own lives if they had not already.  I hope that the world (this small world of blog readers) understood what can happen when God turns an incredibly difficult situation into something beautiful and that it is only by HIS doing that this can be achieved. 

So, in true dramatic and deadline-oriented fashion, I've decided that this blog post will be an ending of sorts.  This year will be something that I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life.  The year of firsts has been incredibly difficult, but incredibly rewarding.  And as much as I would love to write about Richard every day for the rest of my life, I know it's time to move forward, to let go (with the exception of continuing to write our story down.)  I am unsure if I will continue writing at this blog address or if I will create a new one.  I love times of newness.  Times to create a fresh space, a clean place to continue life.  Regardless, I will continue to write as it has now become a part of my character, something I do not want to see go.  And I have sweet Richard to thank for that.  Among the many other things he did for me, he continued to provide for me after his death; providing a way to heal and survive, from the inspiration of his own written word.

Thank you to you that have continued to read these ramblings month after month, no matter how sad they were - how sappy, depressing, confusing and repetitive the words may have been.  It's been the encouragement and support of friends, and strangers alike, that have helped get me to this place today.  Had you lovely people not sent me e-mails, letters, notes, facebook messages, tweets, left comments, read these words, etc - I would have stopped writing a long time ago.  So if I have, at all, helped one person, know that you all took part in that as well.  You have made an impact on more people than you can imagine.  Please know how appreciated you all are.

It is time to move forward to a new chapter, never forgetting the lessons picked up along the way, carrying sweet Richard's love in my heart as life continues on.  Life will never be the same again and I am eternally grateful. 

Love you sweet Rich.  Forever grateful for the impact you made on my life and for the legacy you left behind.  Missing you always.