a grove of little things

true confessions: I don't care about...

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 15:58:53 -0500

Here’s the thing. I have friends who would roast me alive for saying this…but the older I get the more I realize there are some things I just don’t care about. Like when everyone is talking about fracking and you’re embarassed because you’ve forgotten for the millionth time to “google fracking” from your office computer. Fracking sounds like something my middle school friends would try to use as an adjective. But there’s something else I don’t care about:

ORGANIZED SPORTS. There, I said it. And I realize what a big deal this is. I live in North Carolina, home to the Tar Heels, the Wolfpack, the Blue Devils, the Durham Bulls, the Hurricanes, the Mudcats!! And I’m from TEXAS, football Mecca, where I learned the Aggie War Hymn before I learned the Pledge of Allegiance. I took my first steps to the “Noble Men of Kyle.” I went to a high school where the weight rooms were larger than our cafeteria, and on Friday nights the town held its breath while our boys battled for athletic glory.

Before you give up on me, though, let me tell you what I DO care about:

PEOPLE. I care a whole heck of a lot about the many wonderful, talented, beautifully unique people that I’ve known in this life. Some are tall, some are short, some are shy, some exuberant. Some of them can dance or paint, some can tell funny jokes, and some can run fast, leap over things, and generally kick, throw, or hit round objects into some kind of goal in a way that makes you want to jump up and down and yell at the top of your lungs.

When I watch people do what they’re great at, watch them engaged in the thing that they love, that’s a reason for my heart and voice to cheer along. I don’t care so much about points or statistics or even brackets, but I care about players and I care about a group of kids or adults becoming a team and giving themselves to something BIG.

So that’s why you’ll find me in front of the television every year around Thanksgiving to watch the Aggies BTHO Texas, because my dad is my favorite Aggie of all, and its three hours of rooting and hollering and sharing laughs and life with him. When the Aggies win, I feel like Dad wins. I wouldn’t miss it.

It’s why you’ll find me in a middle school gymnasium on a Saturday morning watching a youth basketball game. Because it’s not just “the orange team”, it’s Luke and Jake and Connor and Beau and Tobey. It’s really terrific kids thanking God with each step, each pass, and each shot that they have legs to run on, arms to wave around, and teeth to break into a giant smile when they clinch the championship game. When the Orangemen win, I win too, somehow. I wouldn’t miss it.

In all of these moments, both in winning and losing, is the ever-present reminder that we are wonderfully made. No matter your sport, your craft, or your gift, you create glimpses of eternity each time you do the thing you know you were made for.

So Paint. Dance. Sing. Write. Run. Throw. Dive. Flip.

I’ll be here all the while, the friend wearing your colors, yelling loud from the sidelines, cushioning the blow of loss, and rushing the field when it’s time to celebrate victory.

Morning Has Broken

Wed, 08 Aug 2012 07:57:00 -0500

The air is thick with water, pregnant with moisture so dense, I slice right through it. Old, lazy clouds hang heavy and low, changing golden beams to steady grey. Surely if God moved just an inch, or breathed one of his deep sighs, the world would echo; this atmosphere that feels just like rain would become the thing itself.

I pine for the sun when it hides on slow mornings at home. I close my eyes and I’m gone…my bare feet remember grains of sand pushing back on skin, my wild hair is filled with the salt and life of a coastal breeze. The dishwasher chimes in from the kitchen, and maybe, just maybe, those gurgling waves are my ocean this morning. I read, type, work away while the waves keep the time, cleansing deep, carrying the week’s dirt far from my soul and my silverware.

Return To The Garden

Mon, 02 Jul 2012 11:24:53 -0500

I think I somehow made it through the whole nine months of life in the Fellows program and posted maybe…one entry. Yikes.

In one of my classes, we were asked to write a paper on our worldview. How do I see things? See my own role in it all? What do I really think about “God and stuff”? Here’s what I came up with…it’s a joy to share a piece of this past year with others. I have been radically changed!

Returning to the Garden: A Worldview

Shakespeare once famously described the world as “a stage…the men and women merely players, [where] one man in his time plays many parts.”

Certainly this is how we feel at times: performers on a grand global theatre, defined by our roles and functions, measured by how efficiently we advance the plot, how skillfully we recite our lines, how artfully we portray our characters. Shades of this metaphor ring true. For one, the world as stage is founded on the unspoken premise that we are all inside of a Story, a truth that we as believers in the Gospel of Christ readily accept. Not only do we observe the natural narrative of our individual lives, we behold story in the entirety of God’s Holy Scripture.

In Genesis, we are at once introduced to the great King and his beautiful Kingdom. “In the beginning, God…”

We learn how the beloved inhabitants of this Kingdom reject his reign and rule. The King seems to disappear, and with him, the prosperity and flourishing of his people. They toil, they ache, they wither, they die. Yet even before the final blow of the Fall’s axe, whispers of his return are woven into history as golden threads. The inhabitants prepare for the Messiah, the returning King who will wipe out the enemy, build an empire, establish his chosen people again. They look for one to come in power, one to wield his sword in the bold and violent fashion to which they are accustomed. Instead, we meet the Christ-child, Lord of Lords arriving into the physical world as an infant: bones, flesh, blood, and spirit. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

He is the High King stooping low, the great Ruler teaching, feeding, healing, and loving, becoming a servant to the very people who would kill him. But we cannot kill this Christ, can no longer reject this humble God who slays even the dragon of Death and rises to eternal life. “Behold,” says the risen King in Revelation, “I am making all things new.”

In a glorious account of the age to come, a new Kingdom becomes our reality, a place in which heaven and earth do not merely touch but unite as one. The King resumes his rightful place, the inhabitants usher him in, delighting, rejoicing, flourishing wildly under his throne of grace.

This story of the world does not just ignite our imaginations, it inflames our love. It does not just explain the way things are, it answers the deepest questions of who we are and why we are here, and of course, “how, then, can we live?”

Perhaps the Bard had caught a glimpse of this essential Truth when he penned his world-as-stage metaphor some centuries ago. But if we are “merely players,” as the lines suggest, we are reduced to masks, dialogue, and a worth reflected only in the eyes of an audience. If we are beings defined primarily not by what we think and believe but by what we love and worship, our world must be more than a stage. For an actor is not compelled by love and desire but by a script already written out for him. He works for applause and feels at all times that who he is essentially is a different being than the self he presents. At the end of the day, a stage returns to its same state of being: empty, bare, and silent.

This is not the world that you and I engage in! As followers of Jesus, as inhabitants of the Kingdom of God, we cannot be just performers. We must be cultivators, keepers, restorers of the earth. We do not occupy the world for a time to leave it empty and bare, as a dark theatre. Our bodies tether us to the ground for the hope and purpose that we might transform the place we live. The world is not a stage; it has always been a garden. Adam and Eve knew the garden. We have only heard it described. Yet it is in tending and working the soil, loving and worshipping the Maker, that we are most alive in the deepest fibers of being. In the garden, our actions may not elicit praise or applause, but they bring growth and new life. They change the landscape. Only in this context can we be the people we were made to be, heirs to the great King, actively participating in the glorious event of eternity breaking into the present. To live as we were designed inside this garden, we must engage intentionally with several components: soil, seed, water, and harvest.

A good farmer knows the soil as a man knows a friend. That is to say, he does not necessarily need to understand pH levels or organic chemistry to become acquainted with the ground under his feet. There are probably hundreds of scholars who, though could soliloquize about the scientific properties of soil and explain the laws of physics and microbiology at work in microscopic levels, could not for the life of them ever grow a turnip. We operate often as if our worldview was formed just the same way, by reading books and speaking in God-abstractions. All this kind of thinking does is allow us to avoid engaging with the present God, with the embodied reality around us, and to do anything of real consequence. I sometimes imagine God is present in our classrooms and Bible studies, whispering beneath the roar of our discussions, “You want to know the soil? Go walk in it! Dig your hands into it! Spend the night in the field.” Only a few of us ever stop talking long enough to hear such a quiet, life-changing command. Yet if we never learn to interact with the world on this level, we will be forever walking around in white coats, textbooks in hand, wildly uncomfortable and wishing for the bland safety of the laboratory.

A gardener must also be thoughtful of the seed that he spreads. For we live in the kind of environment in which anything that we plant will yield a return, whether we like it or not. The seeds of malice, jealousy, and rebellion are seeds of our own making, the result of a wrong theology of God or a lack of faith in his provision. If we sow these, we will find ourselves in a tangle of brambles, weeds, and thorns. There is a different way through the Holy Spirit, God’s supreme help to us, who graciously gives us all kind of good gifts. Through the generosity of God we have seeds that bear fruit and seeds that bear flowers, tools to bring both sustenance and beauty to the gardens we keep. When the grace we are given becomes seed to plant, we dispel the myth of scarcity that rules our earthly governments and economies. We can live instead in the truth of abundance, that every good thing is a blessing to us and ten thousand times over when we give to our neighbor as freely as we have received.

A thirsty ground will punish the garden and the one who cultivates. We cannot live at all without water, nor can we ever make the rain come. We are, as keepers of the garden and subjects of heaven’s kingdom, forever in the hands of the God in whom we “live and move and have our being.”

While we are good to recognize that God is the source, we seek out this water in starkly different ways. We may dig our own wells and cisterns, traveling miles in oppressive heat to collect enough each day to keep us and our fragile plants alive. Maybe we get a bit more clever, and discover how to build a system of aqueducts that will deliver the water to us. This has surely made our work easier, but like any invention of man, is subject to faulty construction, corrosion, and poisoning of the water itself. What we need instead is the water that Jesus offers to us, like the Samaritan woman, “the water that will become in him a spring…welling up to eternal life.”

Spring water is pure, fresh, and allows the soil around it to teem with life and growth. It flows because unlike a well, it cannot be contained. The Spirit of God that dwells within us is deep enough to fill the thirstiest of the seeds we have planted; it is wide enough to sustain the entire garden He has given us to tend.

There are times when, under God’s grace and our care, our gardens will be lush and bright. There are other times when, despite our deepest hopes, we will find fig trees that refuse to bloom. We still live on this side of eternity, we are still hit by the shadows of pain, suffering, famine, and plague. But they are only shadows; they obscure the light, yet never extinguish it. We can be confident that the grace of God is working all around and underneath us, transforming our humble seeds of love, service, generosity, faith, mercy, kindness into plants that will nourish and feed the towns and cities in which we live. It is working in the talents and skills that we have planted in the ground as well, which will sprout up into ideas, art, and culture that will adorn the new Kingdom of God. We must sow everywhere so that we can reap God’s goodness everywhere, in every square inch of our existence. Politics, media, commerce, education, domestic life: it all belongs to Christ; He is making all things new.

Perhaps the most wonderful part of all in the world as a garden is that we are never alone. We are always in the presence of the coming King; at times we even feel him at our backs as the warm heat of sunlight or see his face in the beauty of creation around us. As he gave Eve to Adam in the first garden, so he gives his sons and daughters to one another, as helpers in the field, as companions through the days. When we share the garden, gathering in song or in silence, joy or in sorrow, our work becomes worship. Our calling, our faith - our embodied life here, is a public one. In this way, the people of God truly become the Church, and the Church wholly becomes the bride of Christ, transforming and restoring the place where her Beloved will return.

This is the thing we knew we were made for; this is the eternity he has “set in our hearts”. The Bible is not merely a collection of tales, or words of wisdom for life’s woes and wonders. We are like children who have been read bedtime stories and dream of becoming the heroes within the pages. We were never meant to only hear the true story of the world, we were meant to enter in. The work is at hand. The kingdom of God is near. The garden is waiting.

love vs. luggage

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 21:52:01 -0600

Living far away from home means long-awaited reunions. And if there’s anywhere worth causing an emotional scene, it’s definitely the airport. Saying goodbye or saying hello, I wear my heart on my sleeve.

The anticipation is killer as my plane lands. Of course, I have to wait at least 15 minutes for people to clear the aisle and make their way ahead. Why are first class passengers usually lollygaggers (thought: maybe their pockets are full of solid gold bars? or feeling lethargic from slinging back complimentary plastic bottles of chardonnay?)

As I ride one of those autopilot trains to baggage claim (that always make me feel like its 2047) I can feel the excite growing in my chest. It is something strong and beautiful to know that people who love you are waiting close-by.

And then I see them; first from far away but each step on the moving sidewalk brings me closer to my family. Mom. Dad. Brother. All I want to do is throw my arms around their necks! But I’ve been traveling. I have my carry-ons in tow, my phone in one hand, SkyMall magazine in the other (I’m a sucker for the crosswords…airline magazines have some great puzzles.)

So I THREW IT ON THE GROUND. (Yes, just now I started singing the Lonely Island song in my head) But seriously. It’s a beautiful question of priority. Do I hold on to all my stuff? Do I reach my burdened hands outward for a nice handshake to Mom? No way. I drop my bag/purse/soda/dignity in a moment of drama. I love to remember (LOUDLY) that I can never be ready to embrace what’s in front of me when I’m too busy holding on to junk. I need free and open arms to cling to people instead of possessions.

In the battle of love versus luggage, love always wins.

Tired. Sunburned. A little smelly. Mosquito-bitten. Happy.

Wed, 29 Jun 2011 22:35:33 -0500

Tired. Sunburned. A little smelly. Mosquito-bitten.

Happy.

love that kid

Mon, 27 Jun 2011 09:41:00 -0500

Last night I realized how much I like my little brother. I mean, I know I love him and everything, for all the reasons you’re supposed to love your family. But whenever we spend a little time together, I’m reminded how much I just really like the kid. He is 19 and has been taller than me for years now. We weren’t really close growing up, but since he’s been in college I’ve won his heart through feeding him meals that don’t involve a microwave. We are different. He prefers solitude where I relish company. He stays inside while I’m itching to go out in the sunshine. He doesn’t show a lot of emotion - I wear my heart on my sleeve. He wears tee-shirts to nice restaurants, and listens to the weirdest music I’ve ever heard, but I don’t even care. He is kind, patient, and unique. He’s smart as a whip, and never concerned with what anyone thinks about him. He never raises his voice, to anyone. I used to wish for a brother that I had more in common with…someone like me. But I’m glad I don’t always get what I wish for, because the gift I got instead was a brother who listens, a brother who loves. Somewhere along the line, the pesky little kid who used to torment me endlessly turned into this really interesting young man that I am glad to call my friend. Someone out there must be looking out for me, I think, because the brother I got turns out to be just the one I needed.

MOVING ON a new song by Taylor Leonhardt Bird in a...

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 12:18:00 -0500

MOVING ON
a new song by Taylor Leonhardt

Bird in a cage
Catching light through the holes in the gates
Heard the news from reading the old page
Below

A love in the war
And your children never call you anymore
You got wings, but you don’t know what they’re for
At all

Chorus:
Sing, little bird
Yours is the loneliest tune that I have heard
Now leave, little bird
You must fly, or you must die,
But either way you’re moving on
You’re moving on

Bird in my hand
How I wish you’d pull your head out of the sand
Feel your freedom sweeping love across the land
Beyond

Bridge:
You gave your flight up to the fates
Surrendered to your circumstance
The truth is life is what we make
So turn your dirge into a dance

Thank you, Lifetime Movies, for having titles that fully explain your entire plot. It’s nice...

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 23:04:46 -0500

Thank you, Lifetime Movies, for having titles that fully explain your entire plot. It’s nice to know there are semi-decent films out there that don’t play games. When I see “Crimes of Passion: She Woke Pregnant” or “My Stepson, My Lover”, I know exactly what I’m getting.

gratitude

Tue, 14 Jun 2011 14:52:00 -0500

Okay so I do think that sometimes Facebook and social media can be a total detriment to celebrating real life and face-to-face, functional relationships. But not today.

With an upcoming big move on the way, I’ve sorta been in “nostalgia mode”. So I started looking back through old pictures and was literally moved to tears by the reminder of the BLESSED days I’ve been given. No matter where I seem to go, I have been surrounded by love.

And, I’ve had one hell of a good time.

Dear McDonalds Ice Cream Cone,

Sun, 05 Jun 2011 21:40:49 -0500

Why are you so perfect?

Warm regards,
Taylor

"Three-year-old: Taylor, do you know what a ninja looks like? Me: Nope, I’ve never seen one..."

Thu, 02 Jun 2011 13:42:00 -0500

“Three-year-old: Taylor, do you know what a ninja looks like?
Me: Nope, I’ve never seen one before.
Three-year-old: (Points both hands to his own face). It looks like this.”

if you are young (at heart)

Mon, 30 May 2011 09:13:11 -0500

A family that I’m close to left for their lakehouse this weekend, and since their oldest daughter, Emry, was starting week-long summer camp on Sunday, I volunteered to take her and help her set up her bunk, etc. So, yesterday afternoon we braved the throng of minivans, moms and dads, and giant suitcases. At camp, they have a big opening ceremony on the soccer field where all the coaches run out and do a big dance to introduce themselves. Then they hold up signs with their cabin names, and all the kids rush to meet their counselors for the first time. Pretty fun stuff.

On the soccer field, Emry and I see her cabin name and head over with the other bajillion kids. The other girls are already there, and Emry’s counselors are hugging each one as they introduce themselves. ”Hi! I’m Sarah! What’s your name? What sport are you playing this week?” After meeting Emry, the counselor turns to me. ”Hi!” I look at her arms, and see their outstretched. Wait a second. This girl is trying to hug me. Hold on.

She. Thinks. I. Am. In. Her. Cabin.

The very oldest kids at this camp are like, eleven. I am 23. Holy moly! I stop her, mid-hug, and protest. ”Oh, no, I’m not…Did you think…wait…no I’m just here to….”

Realizing her error, this sweet camp counselor immediately begins apologizing. It’s a big day, it’s crowded, I’m wearing sunglasses. Yeah, I get it. No harm done.

Then we get to Emry’s cabin, where each bunk is already labeled with a girl’s name, sport, etc. We get her all settled in, sheets on the bed and suitcase safely stowed away. The tiny cabin is packed with like, twenty bustling parents, and I’m standing in the back resting against one of the bunkbeds. A dad makes his way through the cramped room trying to find his daughter’s spot, and as he goes he’s reading the namecards on each bed….”Emry…Katie…Carly…” He stops at the bunk I’m leaning against and pokes his head around my shoulder to read the name behind my head. ”Bridgette.” He looks at me and asks, “Are you Bridgette?”

Nope. I most certainly am not.

Photo

Sun, 29 May 2011 09:34:28 -0500

Today’s soundtrack: Green River Ordinance - “Dancing...

Sat, 28 May 2011 08:43:00 -0500

Today’s soundtrack: Green River Ordinance - “Dancing Shoes”

a few loves on a lazy day

Fri, 27 May 2011 11:03:00 -0500

1. Cinnamon Cheerios

2. Romantic movies

3. Artisan coffee

4. Down comforters

http://colormekatie.blogspot.com/2011/05/lalalala-love.html

Thu, 26 May 2011 11:40:28 -0500

http://colormekatie.blogspot.com/2011/05/lalalala-love.html:

the heart-warming-est thing i’ve seen in ages.

here comes the sun

Thu, 26 May 2011 11:26:10 -0500

The other day I was running on the treadmill, which I hate, but it had been a few days since I’d given my legs a workout. It was about the time the sun was setting, and the cardio machines are lined up by the windows. Because of the way the shades were drawn, the intense sun was bouncing into my eyes with every other footfall. A natural strobe light, if you will. As the sun sank lower, the violent flashes lessened and my eyes became naturally accustomed to the brilliance. I let my face bask in that soft evening glow that clothes summer nights in magic.

I thought of the other rays periodically flooding my vision these days. There are shining suns on the horizon that will soon arrive. A month of camp in Colorado. And in the fall, a move to a brand new city. When I think of the beauty I have yet to see, the friends I have yet to make, and the new life I have yet to live, I can only be grateful. Bring on the light!

ckck: Bob Dylan and Suze Rotolo walking along Jones Street, New...

Wed, 25 May 2011 08:23:28 -0500

ckck:

Bob Dylan and Suze Rotolo walking along Jones Street, New York City in February, 1963. A few months later this photo would be used as the album cover for The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan.

Photograph by Don Hunstein.

wonder unwrapped

Tue, 24 May 2011 10:49:00 -0500

I have a dear friend, Susan, who makes greeting cards, combining pictures of small treasures and simple phrases to capture the beauty in the everyday. I received such a card when we recently celebrated my birthday, and it rests now on my bookshelf. On the front is a picture of an empty birdcage, inscribed with the words “wonder unwrapped.” I love that. Unwrapped wonder…wonder like a present covered in ribbons and shiny paper. My mom does NOT buy gift bags. From books to bicycles, she wraps every present she ever gives to anyone. People like to unwrap things, she says, they like to tear into the paper, they like to make a big mess of it! And though my brother and I are 19 and 23, respectively, Christmas day is still a big deal for our family. There is not even the hint of a present under the tree the night before, so that the sight of them all there, all beautifully and brightly covered the next morning, makes you believe in Santa again, even if just for a moment. And the rule is — only one gift can be opened at a time. We take turns tearing into our treasures and watching others discover theirs. I love watching people in that process of uncovering, untying bows, peeling back strips of paper. I love to watch the changes in a face as surprise sparkles in eyes and joy sneaks into smiles. Even the most humble of presents can illicit the grandest of reactions. When its all over we linger around the tree, nursing cups of coffee, bellies full of french toast, surrounded on all sides by the aftermath of our gift-giving. Goodness! Here I am, sitting here and reflecting on Christmas when on this May day the thermostat in Texas will reach a stifling 97 degrees. But when I think about presents I can’t help but be reminded of all the gifts in my life, the ones laid out before me on a daily basis. The tangibles easily come to mind- I think of my car, of my beautiful Martin guitar, of the treasures collected here in my room. But the greatest gifts in my life are the relationships that season it. Humans, of course, are not covered in paper and ribbons; the layers to peel back are made of a different stuff. But there is ever so much wonder to be unwrapped in the people I love, in discovering their beauty, their strengths, their characters. A present is, essentially, a thing of value to bestow, and I can think of nothing greater than the gift of a story told, a heart given, a life shared. I like to linger here, in remembering these, and find that my heart is as happy as Christmas morning. Because today, like each day, there is evidence all around me of simple joys, deep blessings, and wonder unwrapped.

"I want you to get out there and walk—better yet, run!—on the road God called you to travel. I..."

Mon, 23 May 2011 09:36:28 -0500

“I want you to get out there and walk—better yet, run!—on the road God called you to travel. I don’t want any of you sitting around on your hands. I don’t want anyone strolling off, down some path that goes nowhere. And mark that you do this with humility and discipline—not in fits and starts, but steadily, pouring yourselves out for each other in acts of love, alert at noticing differences and quick at mending fences.
You were all called to travel on the same road and in the same direction, so stay together, both outwardly and inwardly. You have one Master, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who rules over all, works through all, and is present in all. Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness.”

- ephesians (the MSG)