what's the point

a finals week haiku

coffee sleep coffee

more coffee write read coffee 

waterfalls of tears

*snaps*

_____

The last few days I have received 5 different letters with Starbucks cards in them.

My friends and family know me well.

In the last week I have spent a total of 23 hours in various cafes preparing for my final exams.

At this point, I believe my blood has been replaced with coffee and my brain is riding a fine line between explosion and deterioration.

I have rewritten the first five pages of my final paper for my Senior Seminar course like seven times.

No joke.

_____

It's during times like these where personal health and relationships are often put on the back burner.

I do it.

You do it.

(Well maybe you don't, and if that's the case- kudos to you, my friend)

_____

This year in University Ministries at North Park we have been exploring the theme of

What's the point?

It has been a wonderful challenge as I pass through my final year of undergrad to be asking myself what the point is of my studies, my relationships, my work, my personal time, ect, not in a cynical way, but in an encouraging way.

What's the point behind my Spanish studies?

What's the point behind my area studies?

What's the point behind my work in the International Office?

What's the point in my relationships?

What's the point behind my job searches?

What's the point behind how I spend my "free time"?

What's the point behind my involvement in my church?

What's the point behind my work as a tutor?

What's the point behind my writing?

What's the point behind my Christmas gifts?

What is the point?

_____

2 Peter 1:1-7

"This letter is from Simon Peter, a slave and apostle of Jesus Christ.

I am writing to you who share the same precious faith we have. This faith was given to you because of the justice and fairness of Jesus Christ, our God and Savior.

By his divine power, God has given us everything we need for living a godly life. We have received all of this by coming to know him, the one who called us to himself by means of his marvelous glory and excellence.

And because of his glory and excellence, he has given us great and precious promises. These are the promises that enable you to share his divine nature and escape the world's corruption caused by human desires.

In view of all this, make every effort to respond to God's promises. Supplement your faith with a generous provision of moral excellence, and moral excellence with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with patient endurance, and patient endurance with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love for everyone."

_____

This is the point.

God has given us everything we need to live a godly life.

He has given us these great and precious promises that enable us to share his divine nature and escape the world's corruption.

It's in view of all this that we enter into this list of how to respond to God's promises.

Faith

Moral excellence

Knowledge

Self-control

Patient endurance

Godliness

Brotherly affection

Love for everyone

_____

I love how Peter writes this.

He starts with naming himself a slave and apostle, declaring his willful submission to God then proclaiming his calling.

He continues with encouragement.

We share an amazing faith to a just and fair Savior.

This incredible God has given us everything we need to follow the bar that he has set super high.

That list (Faith to Love for everyone) is no easy task.

I know, undoubtedly, that I can't do this.

Kayla can't do this.

But, Christ in Kayla can.

The bar is set so high, but God gives us the pole to fling ourselves up and over.

My favorite part is how this list builds and culminates with "love for everyone."

What is the point?

Love for everyone.

That's not a typo, that's the end goal.

Yesterday in church, Jeff Hunter said something that I really appreciated.

"It is becoming increasingly clear to me that being a Christian isn't complicated, it's just hard."

Following Christ is not rocket science, but that doesn't mean that it's easy.

It requires a willful submission to Jesus and trust in these precious promises.

He has given us everything we need,

it's up to us to live into that truth.

_____

So, what is the point?

How are my studies, work, relationships, activities, investments and spirit responding to these promises?

In view of all this how am I loving well?

In view of all this how are you loving well?

_____

Finals week, man.

Coffee.

Tears.

Migraines.

Sleep deprivation.

All the crazy.

What's the point?

she made me a home anyways

My mother and Molly Weasley have many resemblances.

They're both incredibly loving.

They adopt the role of "mother" for the motherless.

They humbly pour their wisdom into those around them.

They are often picked on, in a loving way of course, by their children.

They retaliate swiftly and surely, also in a loving way, of course.

They are encouraging beyond measure.

And they are undeniably fierce.

In Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which I saw recently rewritten jokingly for accuracy in title: Harry Potter and the Holy S**t  We Were Not Emotionally Prepared for This, Mrs. Weasley  ferociously defends her daughter, Ginny, from the unbelievably evil Bellatrix Lestrange.

In this iconic scene, Bellatrix is about to murder Ginny when Mrs.Weasley steps in between them and orders Bellatrix by saying, "Not my daughter, you b***h."

Don't mess.

Don't mess with Molly Weasley and definitely don't mess with Jennifer Stelle.

___

Scrolling through Instagram the other day I saw this funny post that said

"When people try to come back into my life after doing me wrong... Sorry I can't cause I already told my mom what you did."

So true.

One of my good friends, Chris, calls my mom "Mamma Bear".

Where did that come from? I don't know. But it's a thing, I promise.

___

My mother is strong.

She is strong in the way that she protects the family, but she is also strong in the way that she cares for the family.

She is so observant and thoughtful in the way she interacts.

She remembers the little things, the important and the not so important.

She remembers them and reminds you of them when needed.

The other day I called her and we were talking about my unpreparedness for the winter. A few days later I received a package in the mail with a pair of pants in it, just because pants are something needed in the cold. 

She loves deeply.

I would confidently say that every one of my friends who have met my mother have wound up in incredibly deep conversation with her within minutes of talking without even realizing transition made from talking about the weather to the pain they're feeling regarding their parents' divorce, their struggles in school, their faith crisis or their overwhelming relationship with the future.

She notices you and she re-members you.

She helps pull you together and place you into a family, my family.

___

She is my advocate and she shows me the Kingdom.

This last Tuesday I sat down for my weekly coffee date with Pastor Judy where we're working through naming what I'm mourning. It's a painful, yet necessary, process.

Once it has been named it can be appropriately grieved.

Last week we talked about one of, if not my greatest loss:

the loss of a space that is known by me and equally knows me.

A space that when entered contains a wealth of memory that is all consuming; a space where you can experience the temperature of specific moments, smell the air that was breathed during significant conversation, feel the ground that held you while you cried, be surrounded by trees and walls that laughed with you during times of joy and be embraced by the environment that grew you.

By all accounts, that space is no more. Whether that space was the couch by the fireplace in my parents' house in the harbor, the lawn chair on the deck, the ski bench precariously hanging from the tree on the cliff or the sand dollar-filled beach at Bill and Joelene's; those spaces are no more.

There is nowhere that remembers me, and the places that I remember are no longer mine.

___

The transition for my family from Gig Harbor to Rocklin was anything but smooth.

My dad moved down in October to begin pastoring Community Covenant Church while my mom stayed in the Harbor for months trying to sell the house.

My family was spread across the continent with Christmas on the horizon, homeless.

We couch surfed together for a small while, it was not pleasant.

I remember one day the four of us driving, driving to nowhere. We had no place to go and no place to which we could return. We explored together, but the exploration was tainted by a deep seeded pain of knownlessness.

A few months later my parents home in the Harbor was sold and a house in Rocklin was purchased.

A wonderful house was purchased, but it was yet a home.

My mother made it a home.

My mother made it a home for me with great intentionality.

___

I remember getting a text shortly after they moved into the house with a picture of my empty room.
It said something along the lines of 

"Kayla, this is your room. It's white. I know you hate white. Can I paint it for you?"

Yeah mom, you can paint it for me.

A few weeks later I received another message

"Kayla, I found a comforter, it matches the walls. Can I buy it for you so you have something to curl up under when you get home?"

Yeah mom, you can buy it for me.

Later another message came

"Kayla, I found a great bed frame. It matches the walls and the comforter. It has space for you to put boxes under so you can hide what you don't want to show. Also, I bought boxes for you."

Thanks mom.

The messages kept coming

"Kayla, next to the closet there's a great space for shelves. Can I buy you shelves so that you can display the new you on them when you come back? Can I buy those for you and put them up?"

Yeah mom, you can buy them and put them up.

"Kayla, I have an extra bookshelf and when I was unpacking I noticed that you have a ton of books. Can I give you my bookshelf so that you can store your books well?"

Yeah mom, thanks for sharing.

___

When I came to that house, I had a room.

Truthfully, I didn't really want a room. This was not my home. I didn't want to put in the emotional effort to make another home. I was done.

She made me a home anyways.

She took me to this awesome home decorations warehouse type shop and let me pick out frames, lamps, art...

She walked along side of me and supported me as I added to the room.

She helped me move into the space.

She helped me create.

She showed me a tiny piece of the Kingdom.

___

Is that not a beautiful picture?

God making me a home?

"Kayla, I have a room for you. It's white. I know you don't like white. Can I paint it for you?"

"Kayla, I found a comforter. It matches the walls. Can I buy it for you so you have a cozy place to curl up and just be?"

"Kayla, I found a bed frame. It's perfect. It has space under it so that you can store the things your not ready to re-member. Oh, I also bought you boxes."

"Kayla, there's a wall that's perfect for shelves. Can I put shelves up for you so that you can display the things that make you distinctively Kayla?"

"Kayla, I was going through my own stuff and I found a bookshelf that would be perfect in your room. I know how much you love to read. Can I share this with you?"

How wonderful is that?

God is making me a room.

It's perfect because He knows me so well.

The color is the exact right burnt orange, the comforter has the ideal fluffiness, the frames have pictures in them that show the most beautiful moments that I have experienced and the ones that I have yet to experience but that are to come, the boxes under the bed and in the closet contain my pains that will maybe one day be in a frame once they have been properly grieved and claimed, the chair in the corner is the most comfortable chair in existence and will hug me intimately as I curl up to read, the air is clean and will contain the feeling of knowness and with every breath I will be increasingly embraced and homed. 

God is making me a room.

A real room.

A room that knows me and is known by me.

A room that contains all my loves, pains, laughs, cries, crazies and mellows...

A room in which I can be.

Be with myself.

Be with others,

Be with God.

Be.

It is real.

It will be home.

I'm moving there.

I'm actually super excited.

"On Earth as it is in Heaven"

But it is a process.

Already-Not Yet.

But there I will find rest in the arms of the Almighty who also happens to be a lot like my mom.

Or rather, my mom is a lot like Him.

___

Mom, you show me the motherlyness of the Father,
the warm embrace only matched by its fierceness and might.

"As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem."

Isaiah 66:13 

when no praise can find your lips

___

Another day

Filtered thru tears

Cause the broken hope

Has become the fear

Shoulders low

From sorrowed days

You cry an empty prayer

From a borrowed faith

Autumn's gone

& Winter's here

Just know my love

That spring is near

___

Do you have a song that you consistently return to?

Your "favorite song"?

The one you're sure speaks to you on a far greater level than to anyone else who happens to hear it?

Anyone else who claims it as their "favorite song" surely is mistaken, misunderstanding the song's true depth and significance...

Maybe you go as far as to call it "your song" (not Your Song by Elton, though that one is as well, magical)?

For the last few years, the song "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart has been that song for me. 

Lyrics such as 

"A year from now we'll all be gone

All our friends will move away"

or

"Nothing is as it has been

And I'll miss your face like hell"

or how about this one,

"If you don't know what to make of this

Then we will not relate"

cash money.

"Rivers and roads 'till I reach you."

___

A few days ago TJ Stafford released three new albums with his newish band, The Rigs:

White

Gray

and

Black.

Go listen to them. All of them. So much heart.

___

I was talkin' through my stresses with PJP the other day when I realized that I'm all talk and no joy.

I believe in joy, I really do. But, at the moment, my faith is pretty dang joyless.

What does it take to get back to a passionate faith?

Have I fallen out of it? Is that possible?

We talked about how Western theology has developed a faith that sort of reflects a mattress.

We have it, but we don't find true rest in it because we are afraid of rolling out and off during our sleep.

Like that's even possible... becoming cozy in your faith and rolling out of it while sleeping.

Would God really let that happen? Is that what's happening to me? Did I roll off the mattress onto the hard, cold floor without realizing it?

We contrasted that with a faith that reflects hammock rest.

You get it, you curl up in it and you find true rest because you can't fall out.

I'm not talkin' those lame Home Depot hammocks that have a pole contraption so you can stick 'em in your lawn; I'm talkin gnarly, cocooning hammocks you tie up between trees.

You can get such solid rest in those because they hold you,

they beg you to come over and rest, restore your spirit and then wake ready to take on life in a full and overflowingly Jesusy manner.

They hold you so tightly that while you rest, you can thrash around, cry, scream, curl up in a little ball, question and freak out while still being wrapped up, surrounded by the comfort and consistency of the hammock's embracing fabric. You are held.

Recently my prayer has been a meditation on Psalm 51:12,

"Restore to me the joy of your salvation"

Remind me. Show me. Hold me. Warm me. Winter frickin' sucks.

___

When the night

Has swallowed hope

Rest assured the sun

Is soon to show

Someday soon

The pain will cease

And the sun will rise

On the darkness seen

Take my hand

& walk with me

Cause I met this man

From Galilee

The burden's hard

& the pain is deep

But the blood is strong enough

To set you free

When the cold 

Chills the bone

Know that heaven's near

To hold you close

("Autumn" by The Rigs on their album, Gray)

___

"Restore to me the joy of your salvation"

As I'm working through the grieving process, I often throw my hands in the air and say "I'm done!", I'm over it, grief will no longer define me, I am fine.

I remember when I came back to the States from Botswana having a conversation with my Uncle Eric regarding reverse culture shock.

I left Bots and 45 minutes later was in JoBerg, SA.

After a brief layover there, I flew 18 hours and stepped off of the plane into the heart of New York City.

I then took the subway to Manhattan to hang out with a friend for a few hours, exploring the city and all of its "wonders". 

I remember her showing me this beautiful hotel. The outside was stunning and the inside was so bright! It was lined with golds, silvers, shiny light fixtures, marble staircases, elegant piano music...

I couldn't handle it.

New York City was too much.

My uncle asked me, "Sometimes don't you wish we still traveled by boat?"

Could you imagine, that 18 hour transition time being spread over a few months; all that time to process change and enter into a new life with a new you?

Wonderful.

But then, given the opportunity, don't you think that all of those people who crossed the Atlantic on boat would have given anything to be able to do it by plane?

Those months of staring at the sea, seeing nothing but blue ocean and blue sky? Facing storms that surely seemed like they would be the end, and for many, were? Living in filth and sickness? Rationing food and water? Arrival to your destination not being certain?

I'm sure just about every one of them, at one point or another, wanted to jump ship.

I'm making a conscious choice to take the boat through my grief.

Every time I say that I'm done, I'm fine, I'm over it... I'm not really. I'm just sick of rationing my water and facing storms.

I'm choosing the boat because the boat is healthy. 

PJP and I have talked substantially about defining the bottom of grief. 

Ya know, when you jumped in the pool as the kid and started to sink to the bottom... your ears would begin to pop and you thought that surely you couldn't handle it anymore, but at that moment your feet touched the bottom and you pushed back up to the surface?

That breath, that life above water, that's waiting at the shore.

This trip across the Atlantic will end, and when it does I will have pushed myself towards the surface, I will have had my joy restored and it will be rooted in His salvation. 

___

Jeremiah 31 has been a great comfort to me,

It speaks of restoring Israel to it's intended glory, reclaiming it, re-membering it.

Jeremiah 31:2 says

"Those who survive the sword will find favor in the wilderness."

This promise, this word of encouragement is wrapped up in all kinds of ick.

Yeah Israel, you're going to survive the sword. Hell yeah, you'll survive!

Then, guess what, you'll find favor!

...in the wilderness.

This is a process.

I'm surviving the sword and I will find favor; may I find joy in that favor.

This life, may it be more than survived, may it be lived.

___

When no praise 

Can find your lips

Let the One who knows

Lend you His

When you wake 

& the silence breaks

Hear the melody 

Of the angels sing

___

Autumn's gone

& Winter's here

Just know my love

That spring is near

father time, john the baptist, double helixes, and my dear gram anne

Time is interesting

and often confusing.

Feeling is beautiful

and often painful.

.

A date passes, an anniversary of a new beginning, a marker of a blissful memory.

This is a beautiful thing.

A date passes, an anniversary of an ending, a marker of a tragedy, an aching memory.

This is a painful thing.

I am incredibly blessed to be in relationship with Pastor Judy Peterson.

We kick it usually three times a week and have the opportunity to pour into each others lives and walk together through the good, the bad, the ugly...

the dark and twisty, the bouncy and giggly, the honest and difficult, the simple and joyful.

Life, as it is. 

Lately we have spoken a great deal regarding loss.

What does it mean to lose?

What does it mean to mourn?

How do we mourn? Alone? Together?

How can we identify what we're truly mourning and then care for it appropriately?

What does it look like to live amidst tragedy rather than to merely survive it?

She often refers to time as a double helix, much like DNA.



Along the edges of the helix passes your life, and the view you possess of your life.
This is time.
Or rather, this is our understanding, our perception of time.

As you twist and turn, twirl and spiral onward and upward you meet people, you build relationships, you trust, you love, you succeed, you inspire, you are inspired, you laugh, you smile, you do silly shenanigans and you create beautiful memories filled with joy, peace and warm, fuzzy feelings.

As you twist and turn, twirl and spiral onward and upward you meet people, you loose people, you break relationships, your heart is ripped to shreds, you lose life, you fail, you lose inspiration and motivation, you mourn, you cry, you leave comfort, you loose comfort and you create painful memories filled with hurt, ache, and cold, bitter feelings.

Thankfully, due to the design of the helix, we are not in view of all of this all of the time.
But as we pass certain points, we can look down and see perfectly the connections.
The feelings, we've felt them before, but when?

When I smell jasmine flowers an incredible thing happens.
As the sweet, calm fragrance is inhaled it fills every corner of my body and my soul.
I feel the stems spreading through my veins, the branches shooting out along my skin, the leaves springing to life, bursting into color and finally the tiny white flowers bursting into full bloom as they shine light throughout my body and fill me with a reminiscent joy that relates me to my childhood home in Ventura, my mother's perfume, the walk to my grandparent's home and the unique and fanciful vision that only a child understands.

The smell of jasmine flowers aligns all of these memories,
and I smile.

At this season in my life, this corner of the helix, events of death and loss are heavily present.

Moments of despair, pain and great hurt are in full view.

This week was a week of throbbing remembrance. 

This pain that once was acute, now lingers as a constant, a thud.
thud.
thud.

October 14, 2014 marks the death of my wonderful grandmother, Anne.
That day pierced my soul and sent shocking pain through every particle of my being.
It rocked me thoroughly and continues to linger as a pain without felt remedy.

This date passes and in full view is the loss of a brother, the loss of love and relationship, the loss of homes and comfort, the loss of friends and community, the loss of being known, the loss of reliance on what thought to be true, the loss of childlike trust and optimism, the loss of motivation, the loss of family who I thought would be forever, the loss of loved ones to the world beyond and the loss of any certainty or solid ground.



One of my wonderful mentors, Jessica, asked me a pensive question the other day.
She said, "If you could pick one character, metaphor, story, verse, theme, etc. from the Bible that you think mirrors your personal faith story, who or what do you think it would be?"

I had to take that one home with me.
So many options to review!

After a few days of scatterbrained thinking I decided that James' story is a close reflection to my own.
(We can unpack that more at a later time.)

A few days later, I was walking home a sweaty mess from the gym when I realized how miserable I was. I was tired, disgusting, had heaps of homework waiting for me at the apartment, was ticked off at God, catching a cold, bogged down with work stuff, mourning the loss of the above mentioned list, and generally super unhappy with where I was and what I was doing when I heard the voice of God.

This voice, though not audible, convicted me profoundly.
With the question Jessica has posed to me still lingering, I said out loud (like a semi-crazy person) as I was walking "I wish my faith story mirrored that of John the Baptist."

I don't really.
I mean, his life...
He wore camel skins, ate locus and wandered around in the desert.
Granite, he got to baptize Jesus, which is cool.
But still.
He wandered around wearing what I can only imagine would be super itchy clothing, ate frickin' bugs and lived in the ridiculously hot with sand surely in nasty places.
He spent his whole life serving God and in the end got beheaded in a dungeon with no recognition.

But really, I do want my faith story to mirror his.
I mean, his life...
He wore camel skins, ate locus and wandered around in the desert and was beheaded in a dungeon all the while proclaiming boldly the name of Christ.

His life was anything but ideal and yet he lived it so incredibly committed to the Lord that none of the terrible mattered.
He confidently sang of the coming of Christ while living in conditions that nobody in their right mind finds joy in.

I guess this is the "peace that passes all understanding" of which Paul writes to the Philippians.
It just doesn't make sense.
But it's God.

"peace that passes all understanding"
the peace that allowed John the Baptist to proclaim the goodness and the coming of Christ while eating bugs, wearing itchy terribleness and sleeping in the sand.

I wish that my faith mirrored that of John the Baptist, "restore to me the joy of your salvation."

This week I have spent remembering.
Gram Anne was the most incredible story teller. She actually recorded herself reading fairy tales for my sister and I when we were smaller so that we could snuggle up and dream together. She made me a beautiful quilt that keeps me warm every night. We exchanged letters consistently until she became too tired to write; she would always sign them "MMM", Mad Madam Mim. We would imagine together, reality had no need to be reality.



In all of these ways, she is still with me.
Dreaming, creating, imagining and inspiring are not only of this world.
For every point of sadness on the helix of my life, for every corner I turn which begs the mourning of Gram Anne, there is a point right around the bend, a memory of great beauty and power that brings me to a point of imagination and with every dream,
every creation,
every wonder,
she is there, and she creates with me.

Father time has his ways.
His twisty, turny, curvy, helixy ways...

But God has his ways too.
Time does not take form with God, He is present in it all.
He breaths life into every memory, every moment, every minute to come.
He walks among the joy, the pain, the beauty, the misery and he gives life.

"In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."
J.R.R. Tolkien

choose one

The wise mad built his house upon the rock,

and the rains came tumbling down.

The rain came down

and the floods came up,

but the house on the rock stood firm.

___

Today, I am splish-splashing around Albany Park in my oh-so-colorful rain boots enjoying, and melting into, the rainy day that has become. 

Days like this provoke an equally excited and melancholy response in the deepest corners of my soul.

I'm thoroughly enthused by the sound of rain hitting my window, cars driving through puddles and the absence of voices due to everyone being tucked away in their homes, probably snuggling, or so I would like to assume.

I wish there were "rain days" in real life such as were "snow days" in elementary, middle and high school life.

In the Harb we would have "snow days" all of the time due to our total lack of preparation when it came to winter. It's so incredibly hilly there that if we had even 1/4 inch of snow, the buses could not run and we would get to stay home, cozied up by the fire, livin' the dream.

Even better than that was when we would get a "two hour delay" because they knew that the 1/4 inch of snow would shortly melt. On those days we were allotted a lazy morning but did not have to make up the lack of days come the end of the semester. 

How wonderful would life be if on these stormy days the world said, "Let's take a two hour delay. Enjoy your coffee, wool socks, fluffy blankets, and mental health."? 

___

Mental health.

What even is that?

Does it exist in the real world?

Or is mental health just as fanciful as receiving textbooks on time, having Beyonce as president, liking spinach, or being able to run a 6 minute mile?

The rains came down.

I recently saw this diagram and it made me laugh,

then frown because...

accurate.

Being the perfectionist that I am, an even more accurate statement would be

"choose one."

A snarky commentary posted this image to describe the actual college life.

"Choose two" to succeed but really "choose one" to excel when the reality is that you have 1,639 categories from which none can flourish as a result of the ever constricting element of time.

The floods come up.

___

What am I building my house upon?

I ask myself this question often.

But I rarely do anything about about the reality of my response.

___

The foolish man built his house upon the sand,

and the rains came tumbling down.

The rain came down

and the floods came up.

,and the house on the sand fell flat. 

___

I would love to say, undoubtedly, that I build my house on the Rock.

"Rock" being Jesus, not Dwayne Johnson, in case you were confused.

Yeah, totally, Jesus is my foundation.

Everything I do in life is rooted in Him.

I give Him glory through my studies.

I center Him in my work.

My relationships revolve around Him.

The way I use my "free time" stems from what is holy and good.

I walk humbly, love mercy, and am active in pursuing justice.

I mean... it would be super cool if that was true.

But it's not.

___

Recently I was totally convicted regarding my priorities.

Pastor Judy has challenged me to memorize 2 Peter 1-13.

So, I have a laminated, bookmark shaped, copy of the verses in my Bible.

The other day I grabbed my Bible to work on the verses when I caught myself thinking.

"Man, I should put this in my planner so that I look at it more often throughout the day."

Good job, Kayla.

Maybe you should just look at your Bible more.

Maybe you should build your house there, not in your own plans.

Get your house out of the sand, and steady on that rock, or you'll be washed away. 

___

This semester is uncomfortably hectic.

My mental, and spiritual, health are too often put on the back burner.

I am so quick to justify studying till three in the morning but not at all down to take 20 minutes to go on a walk with God.

Saying is one thing, 

but doing is another.

Calling out issues does nothing if not acted upon in a manner of change.

___

So build your life on the Lord Jesus Christ

and the blessings will come down.

The blessings will come down

as your prayers go up,

so build your life on the Lord. 

Let's take a two hour mental health break.

World, would you like to join me?

There will be nutella, veggie straws, Christmas lights, Hilary Duff's "Come Clean", and most importantly, the Lord of Lords, King of Kings, personal, loving God, that is Jesus Christ our Savior.

This is how a house begins to be built 

on the Rock.

ke bua setswana... go le gonnye

So a strange thing happened to me the other day.

I found myself furiously defending the entire continent of Africa,

and when I say furiously... I mean ferociously, fiercely and full of righteous indignation-ly defending this vastly diverse continent.
___

I'm in a super neat class here at NPU which is doing in depth study regarding how language develops a culture and in turn how a culture develops a language.

The participants in the class were asked to devote their time to this project based on their prior knowledge of languages foreign to English.

We have understanders of Biblical Greek, Czech, Norwegian, Spanish, French, Arabic, Italian and then myself, our resident Setswana speaker.

After one class in which I dissected some element of the Setswana language in comparison to others, a student approached me while I was walking to work to ask me a question that fueled my holy rage fire and boiled every ounce of blood in my body.

"So you went to school in Africa... They have universities there?"

He then continued to badger me with questions like,

"North Park allowed you to transfer credits from a university in Africa?
They actually accepted those credits?

Did you have professors who completed their degrees?
Like, did they even have a Master's?

Did they go to schools in Europe or America?

Were they African?
Did your university have only Africans?

Did you even have text books?

Were the text books published in Africa or the US?

Did you have computers to do research on?

Were there libraries?

Did you actually learn anything,
Or did you just teach people things?"

Umm.
Intshwarele.
Excuse me.
No words.
I have no words.

But at the same time, I have so many words.
So many choice words.
Alllllll the choice words.
My goodness.

This institutionalized racism needs to end.
This deeply implanted myth preaching that skin color effects your intelligence needs to be destroyed.
These falsehoods regarding Africa as a country rather than a continent need to be corrected.
The stigma placed upon any education system other than the American way needs to be reassessed for its fiction.
Our Western perspectives need to be reevaluated and redacted before rereleased, if they are even worthy of being heard by this world.

I recently heard of an African American student stating in class that s/he will never be as smart as her/his white peers.

How can this be perceived, for even a millisecond, as a truth?

This horrifying lie should no longer be allowed to survive.
Cut it down.
Cut it down, now.
___

As I was defending the continent of Africa I was made fully aware of my unique and difficult position within this argument.

I cannot speak on behalf of the continent of Africa.
Really, nobody can.
Africa is frickin' huge.
We're talkin 54 countries, 9 territories and 2 facto independent states,
1.11 billion people,
1,250 - 2,100 (with some counts of over 3,000) languages spoken,
and at least 3,000 ethnic groups...

I can't even speak for the country of Botswana.
(it's 2 million people/Tswana, Kalanga, Basarwa, Kgalagadi and other ethnic groups/Setswana, Kalanga and Sekgalagadi languages)
Ke bua Setswana... go le gonnye.
I speak Setswana, well, a small bit.

I can shine light regarding my experiences gained within my six months there,
I can ask questions and seek answers,
but that's really it.
___

Where does this leave me?
I'm a young, blonde haired, blue eyed, extremely pale, middle class, semi-educated, woman...
What platform do I have to speak power into the entire continent of Africa?
Who will listen?
Who will condemn?

"He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God."
Micah 6:8
___

I am a young, blonde haired, blue eyed, extremely pale, middle class, semi-educated woman.
This is fact.
But I am also a truth-seeking, justice-advocating, mercy-loving, Christ follower.
This is identity.
___

Last weekend I went on a retreat with the University Ministries department here at NPU as a member of the Chapel Serving Team.
 Our team got together to discuss the year, our dreams for Chapel, encouragements, prayer requests, ya know... Good Jesus stuff, when the question of discernment arose.

How do you know when God is speaking to you?
How do you know when an action is Christ inspired?
How can you be sure that you are acting justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with God?

One of our fantastic team members, Taylor Volk, responded,
"Am I loving God? Am I loving people?
That's what Jesus said the two greatest commandments are."

How simple and true is that?

Am I loving God?
Am I loving people?
___

As I struggle with what my platform is from which I can speak truth against the lies regarding Africa as lesser, skin color as a defining factor influencing intelligence, and racism as an accepted reality,
I must ask myself

"Am I loving God?"
"Am I loving people?"
"Am I acting justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with my God?"

If the answer is yes,
in that truth I have a platform.
___

I don't have it all figured out.
I actually have nothing figured out.
Like really, nothing.
Thankfully, my God has everything figured out.
In that I find strength,
peace,
grace,
encouragement,
and a constant nudge to act.

"Speak Lord, your servant is listening."

my god divides the seas

I am not overwhelmed, my God divides the seas.

_____

Last night I had the privilege of listening to Pastor Judy Peterson lay it down here at North Park University.

There are few faces that I recognize in this neighborhood. For the year and a half that I was a student physically at NPU, I dipped out of all the lower lever classes and jumped right into the meaty stuff. This resulted in my community being comprised of upper classmen who, surprise, have graduated.

Being a senior I am the oldest, which is strange in its own way, and today I was asked by four students already, "Are you new?"

No, I'm not new.

But yeah, I'm totally new.

At this point in my small life, two years of separation is quite a chunk of time.

This being said, Pastor Judy's warm smile and wise words were a kind reminder that yes, I do go here and though I am new, I am also old. This, I remember.

 _____

PJP spoke last night about the definition of "whelm."

As a noun the word means "an act or instance of flowing or heaping up abundantly; a serge."

As a verb it means "to engulf, submerge, burry (someone or something)."

In many ways, I am overwhelmed.

That surge, often caused by heaping deep waters flowing fiercely into shallow water, is engulfing me completely and causing me to lose my footing and control.

I'm back in Chicago walking through places filled with memories that almost seem to be of someone else. I have changed abundantly since that last time my feet walked these streets and alleys.

I am being forced to reconcile my issues with peppy Christianity and the pressures that come along with attending an overtly Christian university.

The diversity of Chicago, particularly my neighborhood, is forcing me to dive right into my current identity crisis of what it means to be a white woman who genuinely loves foreign as well as local cultures and traditions.

The seemingly awesome "Kayla plan" that I have been living into for the last three years has been totally rocked by God who continues to show me that His plan is way greater than mine and that I need to suck it up and live into His incredibleness instead of trying to create my own.

I have just finished moving into my apartment, which is my tenth home in the last four years. As I unpacked my things I was overcome by so many nostalgic and sentimental feelings and thoughts that served dually to create the desire to throw everything I own away because to forget is easier than to remember but also to hold everything so close because my memories are all that I have. I know now that the next 9 months I spend within these walls will create their own sentiments that will later be unpacked and fought over and for during my next stages of my life.

I am overwhelmed.

PJP continued to speak strait to my heart as she called out the fact that though we may feel like we're desperately treading water without any support, we're totally wrong.

She spoke out of Exodus where the Israelites were delivered from Egypt just to be pinned between the Red Sea and a super pissed off Egyptian army.

They were stuck with no weapons and no floaties.

Just like the Israelites, I need not fear for my God divides the seas.

My God has no business with shallow waters.

"God is into deep water because it is when we come to the end of ourselves that we find the beginning of God." PJP 

Word after word Pastor Judy wrecked me with the reality that this deep water that I'm currently in is exactly where God wants me. It's in these times that I am truly forced to rely on God and his goodness, mercy and grace to guide me in the direction that He knows is best.

"God is simply not interested in us staying in the shallows where we can always touch. The point is that you cannot do this on your own and you don't have to." PJP

_____

I am not overwhelmed, my God divides the seas.

Do not be afraid.

Stand firm.

The Lord will fight for you,

you need only be still.

_____

Thank you, God, for the whelms in my life.

these moments

Do you ever have those moments where for just a second the world stands still, but at the same time rushes faster than it ever has before?

 

You hear that one song lyric which perfectly captures your current sentiment and in that instance you are still in its eloquence while simultaneously being rapidly flooded with every memory linked to those perfectly placed words.

 

You are surrounded by a breeze laced with the smell of a perfume you wore in middle school and just that one small sniff gives you pause to remember and once the wheels start spinning, you know they will go on forever replaying scenes from your awkward, yet incredibly formative, years.

 

A stranger smiles at you in the grocery store and in that instance, they resemble someone you have lost. You stop, smile back, and continue shopping with the thought of that person and their laugh echoing in the background of your day.

 

These moments.

 

 

 

A few days ago I drove up to the booming metropolis of Merlin, Oregon to meet up with my family for some time adventuring together around the Rogue River.

 

As I drove up I-5 I kept passing these landmarks that froze time while blowing up my mind with all the feels and memories.

___

 

When I was 4 years old, my family moved from Ventura, California up to Gig Harbor, Washington. Since the majority of our family resides in the Bay Area and we had tons of friends still down in So Cal, every summer we would make the drive. We would usually go from the Harb to Shasta to stay with friends up there for a small while, then trek through the rest of California one couch at a time.

 

Onto I-5... off of I-5... onto I-5... off of I-5...

 

One might say that I know that particular highway unnaturally well.

 

So, as I made my way up to the river alone, my head and heart were given the space to be paused and reminded.

___

 

99 bottles of milk on the wall

slap-jack in the back with Mads

unhealthily competitive Disney 20 questions

cherry tomato fights

that one time Mads and I were driving alone and an entire nest of red, jumpy spiders hatched in the car above our heads

the Wicked soundtrack for 16 hours strait

unwanted snuggle seshes with whoever is in the back because, surprise, my family is tall

mom's boss gansta driving skilz

mobbing

___

 

Castle Crags

Shasta

the bridges in Portland

the Matterhorn

the ivy covered walls in Olympia

winding through the passes

welcome to Oregon

welcome to California

welcome to Washington

Fort Lewis

Fort Lewis's traffic

the endless fields

Mr. Rainier

Lake Siskiyou

the Jelly Belly Factory

___

 

I'd been driving for about 5 hours when I turned a corner and to my right was Shasta and my left were the Castle Crags.

I turned off my music and let the memories consume me.

My right eye released a single tear.

Then

in that place

at that time

the last 21 years were one second

and I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by God's glory

power

love

and his hand that has so obviously been holding mine.

___

 

I love my family.
Mom
you're so wise and have been the most amazing role model for me and my friends.
Dad
you show me what it looks like to have fun but to constantly learn through it.
Mads
you bruise my hand every summer while we play slap-jack in the back seat. (but I'm crying on the inside because I'M A WINNER.)

 

Through it all

they are there.

Through it all

You are here.

 

Thank you.

___

 

Yesterday I went over to the house of some family friends in the Rocklin area to hang with the fam, friends and a diet coke while watching the soccer game.

When we were deciding what to do with our afternoon earlier in the day and this watching soccer idea emerged, Mads looked at me and said

"What are the possessions in soccer, again?"

so as I began to say

"Defenders and..."

she energetically interrupted

"OFFENDERS"

 

Yes, Madison. Defenders and offenders.

One side is rude and the other side counters it.

This is soccer.

 

"Those cleats make you look like you have Sasquatch feet."

"Quick, defend! Defend!"

___

 

Family is cool.

Here's to many more memories

and the willingness to live into moments of reflection.

 

 

 

am i there yet?

 

As I sit in this lonely coffee shop in San Rafael pondering how to describe my current state through writing, Ingrid Michaelson has been my rescue.

 

She has a beautifully scripted song, titled "Are We There Yet" that has been a bit of an anthem for me during the last few years.

 

"They say that home is where the heart is

I guess I haven't found my home

And we keep driving round in circles

Afraid to call this place our own

 

Are we there yet?"
 

Three years ago my mother would call me to ask when I would be "home" to the house in the harb for dinner.

I would text Alex to tell her that I would be "home" to our dorm for a movie night.

My coworkers would ask when I would be coming "home" to Yelm and the crazy that came from my cabin, B11.

Tracy and Diem always wanted to know when we would all be "home" to work on our puzzles together.

Abang would text me "O tswa kae?", where are you coming from? When will you be "home?"

My sister would pester me to come "home" asap from my internship to watch the Bachelor and bond.

Kerry would whatsapp me relentlessly to sprint "home" and save her from our host parents (that message would usually be accompanied by an incredibly desperate Kerry selfie. A+ work siempre.)

Just a few weeks ago my housemates and I would miraculously find our way "home" together at 5am after sharing in some gloriously salsaed street tacos.

Last week my father texted me to remember to feed the dogs when I got "home."

Last night, I reassured my grandparents that I would lock up after I came "home" from coffee with a friend.

 

Am I there yet?

Am I afraid to make home?

Location wise as well as intimately wise with other humans?

 

I don't think so.

I'm just searching,

waiting,

trusting.

 

 

Ingrid continues...

 

"They say there's linings made of silver

Folded inside each raining cloud

Well, we need someone to deliver

Our silver linings now

 

Are we there yet?"

 

I'm gathering fabulous experience,

I'm sharing my heart with the world and allowing it to shape me into a more complete and aware "me."

I'm meeting people with incredible stories, minds and passions.

This is a silver lining,

until I leave.

Then, it is nothing but another hole brutally carved from my already damaged, overly pulled and ripping a the seams heart. 

 

It's a cycle, really.

It's grown, stretched, full, shanked, shriveled, empty, mourned, revived, grown, stretched, full, shanked, shriveled, empty, mourned, revived, grown, stretched, full, shanked, shriveled, empty, mourned, revived....

 

"They say you're really not somebody

Until somebody else loves you

Well, I am waiting to make somebody

Somebody soon

 

Are we there yet?"

 

It's so true.

Home... though it is a location at times, I'm not there yet.

I don't have that space that is solely mine where I can go an be surrounded by the familiar,

the comfortable,

the understood.

 

But I have home.

It's not external, it is all within.

 

I have home where I have love.

And that, my friends, is an endless fount of possibility and joy eternal.

 

I crave a Kayla space,

but maybe that's not so important after all.

 

___

 

 

Last night on my way home from coffee, I ran across a homeless woman sitting on a street corner.

I took her to dinner.

For that moment she had a home.

I had a home.

Her home with me, and mine with her.

 

Home.