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.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



becoming ready



And just like that, I'm back in the good ol' US of A.

Rockin, CA.

wooh.
 

A good friend sent me a few pictures from my unofficial "going away party"

(unofficial because it wasn't actually a party for me but we totally made it so)

and I was flooded with so many feels.


 

In a way, I'm grieving.

Actually, not "in a way",

I'm thoroughly grieving.

I'm grieving the loss of big love;
the death of an era.

 

Friends that became family,

a language by which my heart was won,

star-filled nights guided by rhythm,

a culture that lives fully and relationally,

and an adventure that is always developing into something truly great.

Experts in psychology say that there are five steps of grief that lead to final acceptance:
 

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance 

I have moved passed the denial stage.
I was completely and utterly in denial for a few days.
"I'm just on vacation.. to the US.. from Mexico. I'll be home soon."
I now realize now that unfortunately, this is not the case.

At the moment, I'm knee deep in the anger phase.
Actually, I'm way more than knee deep,
I'm drowning.
I hung up from a Skype conversation with a friend named Daniel down in Guadalajara yesterday and instead of feeling sadness, I was overcome with a rage-like sensation.
I physically felt my muscles tighten up and as I leaned back and ran my fingers through my hair, I could feel blood pulsing through my brain as the pressure built and built to a mental explosion of exasperation.

vnfuiqegnrivenuvneiuvnoiffff.

I am mad that he is there,
and I am here.

I am mad that I am not there and that he is not here,
that none of my absolutely incredible friends are here,
and that I am not with them.

I'm in Rocklin.
Pinche Rocklkin.

Anger is not healthy, and I would like to move past it.
In a way, I think I have.
I have, at least in a small manner, began to bargain.

I find myself scouting plane tickets and planning trips with friends that will never happen.
I'm wishfully spitballing ideas by people
"what if....."
when I know that there is little chance of any of these dreams becoming a reality.
But that's often how it is with dreams.
I guess that's what makes a dream a dream.
I will continue to hope.

Part of me wants to power through these steps and be fine.
My brain keeps telling me
"Come on Kayla, just rub some dirt in it and move on."

But I don't want to move on.
As soon as I've moved on, that will mean that I have forgotten, in small part, how my heart feels right now.
Ya know what, I don't want to forget.
I'm okay with living into this sadness, this anger, and whatever else is to come because that means that I am living into something.

I'm letting my heart feel,
hurt,
greive,
and be chipped away at bitby bit.

I'm letting myself be remolded, once again, into a fuller person.
I'm taking all of my love and all of the ache that accompanies it and letting it wreck me because that's what this chica needs right now.

I am emotionally beat,
but I really think that's a good thing.
It's a process.
A painful, brutal, knowing and all together shitty process.

My heart is still in Mexico, but it's working on finding a home.
I doubt that Rocklin will ever be that place, but I'll find it someday.
Or rather, my heart will find it and the rest of me will follow.

Te seguiré, mi pequeño corazón roto.
I'm becoming ready.



 

wizardly wisdom

Yesterday I was casually reading The Order of the Phoenix because I have an infinite amount of work to do so consequently I will do anything to not be doing what I'm supposed to be doing, when something that Harry said gave me pause to think.

Dumbledore had seemingly finished an epic duel with the Dark Lord when Voldemort possessed Harry and began to show him all of his worst memories in attempt to over take him.

Just before Voldemort had completely consumed Harry's thoughts, Harry became strong and overcame him by remembering of all the beautiful things he has in his life.

Harry responded to Voldemort

"You're the one who is weak. You will never know love or friendship. And I feel sorry for you."

Voldemort is independently strong because of his power,

but Harry has love and friendship 

and that overpowers all.

I leave Mexico two weeks from tomorrow.

It's weird

and terrible

and I'm super bummed.

I've been here for almost a year, and that's a significant amount of time to love and to make incredible friends. 

I am so thankful for everyone I have met here.

I'm beginning the slow and painful process of emotionally separating myself.

I know that I'm leaving and I am uncertain of when I will return.

Leaving here will be easier than Bots in regards to distance, 

thankfully Mexico is not on the other side of the world.

But still.

One can never be certain of where they will go and with whom they will be.

In regards to relationships, this separation will be much more difficult.

A year is a long time.

Okay maybe, not a longgg time, but long enough to build solid relationships.

Every coffee date or drink I get with a friend causes me great pain but also gives me joy.

It makes me strong.

I am stronger with them than I am on my own and even though I have to leave this beautiful country soon, the friendships and crazy memories will not be dimmed.

I am learning the significance of difference between

"adios"

and 

"hasta luego".

"Adios" is no longer in my vocabulary.

It's never really goodbye.

When Peter came to Wendy's window after taking her home from Neverland she told him goodbye, 

but peter responded

"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."

I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not going away.

And I'm definitely not forgetting.

But I am separating,

and my heart hearts.

I have 15 more days.

May they pass slowly

and may it never be goodbye.