I wanted the path of fame and fortune, the one where all my wishes and plans came true in my timing, where my worth was measured by the envy and awe of others. But what life is that? One that seeks only its own, its fame, its way, its glory. And yet that hasn’t been the path my life took, oh there are glaring moments of that, but it hasn’t been my destination.

Instead my “small” life has been part of a greater whole. It’s the difference of rushing ahead with the sun at your back, out front for all to see, or in the shadow of it’s blinding light, following the path it illuminates.

I’ve spoken the truth of the gospel to hundreds of children. I’ve showed them love and grace. I’ve befriended, comforted, challenged, and walked alongside high school, college, and young adult women and men and spoken truth into their lives. I’ve been broken of ugly sin that made me ugly. I’ve forgiven hurts that have rooted so deeply in my heart that hatred bloomed and flourished. I’ve reconciled and love those who have hurt me. I’ve grown in grace and faith and truth.

So yes, my life might be smaller now than what a I planned it to be. Yet, I wonder just how large that life would have been. How big would I feel when my worth came from other’s praise; built upon the glory of me, my accomplishments, my success, me. When I am the foundation for the size of my life, it must be small.

No one is really “larger than life”, we just see them that way. They are what we all are: mortal, faulted, lacking for more. Yet, when we see our small lives as part of the larger, greater, truly larger than life (because He is the creator and giver of life), eternal God, we are part of the largest life possible.

Then we are both small and large. Our small life for His large life. A foundation of me traded for a foundation of Him. My life measured not by me, but by and in Him.

Maybe I didn’t miss the opportunities after all. Maybe I chose the right road I just didn’t know it then. Maybe my life is much bigger than I’ve ever thought, because it’s not my life anymore.

My thoughts then turned to how the church is called the bride of Christ. With a bride you think of a beautiful white dress, perfect hair and makeup, joy spread across her face as she enters a room filled with family and friends and journeys down the aisle to her true love, her partner, the man who will provide for her and protect her and stand beside her throughout life.

But what about the time leading up to the wedding day? For the church, for us, there is little beauty without Christ. It is in Him and because we are His bride that we are even beautiful. Without Him we are ensnared by sin, little more than a harlot of this world seeking after our own will and pleasures. We are dressed in filthy rags, skin marked by blemishes and sores. There is no beauty in us, in our sin.

And yet, God in his amazing grace, changes us. We become a bride. Beautiful, dressed in white, pure and holy. We enter the ceremony and we are changed. We become the bride of our dreams, even better. As we walk down the aisle focused solely on Him, we transform.  We haven’t become better on our own, but because He is our groom. We are changed because it is He who waits for us at the end of the aisle. We are beautiful because it is He is gives us this beauty by his sacrifice and love.

What a picture of love. What a God we have. He takes the filthy harlot and transforms her into the blushing bride.

We are who we are because He chooses us to be His.

My great great grandmother's wedding ring

My mom recently gave me my great great grandmother’s wedding band. It’s a simple wide band of rose gold, nothing fancy or extravagant. I’ve been wearing it on my right hand the last few days and every time I look at it, I’m struck by the thought that this ring has “lived” for over 100 years.

My great grandmother was born in 1905 so this ring could date back to the late 1800′s. A time before internet, computers, cell phones, even airplanes. Cars were just being sold when this ring was placed on my great great grandmother’s finger. It’s endured while time and the world has changed drastically around it.

I’ve been looking for a ring to wear consistently, something simple and pretty that would have meaning to me. Funny that this family heirloom found me instead. As for the meaning, it reminds me of the women in my family that have worn this ring, women that lived lives filled with everyday occurrences and also huge life affecting challenges. It signifies life, how it continues on generation by generation, as the world advances around it.

That got me to thinking about identity, a recurring topic in my mind and on this blog. Identity is such a funny topic, because it seems at once so individual, so personal, so intrinsic and yet where exactly does identity come from?

What is our identity? How do we come to have it? Thinking back on my mysterious quote, it seems to reason we have identity because it was given to us. We are because He said we would be. And we are all the things that make up our identity because God was first all that He is.

We are beautiful because he called us beautiful. Would we have been beautiful without him calling us so? No, I don’t think so. Our identity, that which we hold so close because it is so . . . .us, is actually a reflection of Him. We are because He gave us our identity.

When Christ asked the disciples who the people said he was they gave answers of “John the Baptist, a prophet, Elijah.” Wrong answers. When he asked them they thought he was, Peter answered “the Christ”. I love how the book of Matthew chronicles that Jesus pretty much says “good job on getting the right answer but you didn’t figure that out on your own, you had some Holy Spirit inspiration on this one buddy”. It’s like Christ was telling them, none of you guys can understand who I am without me telling you, without God telling you my identity.

Doesn’t the same apply to us? Without God giving us identity we have none. Without him calling us man, woman, children, lost, redeemed, saints, etc. we are nothing. Without a creator there can be no creation. Without a Father there can be no children.

So when I think of who Katie is, I have to look not to myself or others for my identity but to the one who gives me identity. Who he says I am is who I will be. That isn’t found in the eyes of another, in the opinions of friends or co-workers, in how this world will write my eulogy, or even in who I think I am or want to be.

I am me, because He gave me identity . . . in Him.

So I have the kind of skin that guarantees you will be bright red if you spend any significant amount of time in the sun. It is also the type of skin that guarantees I will have a scar from any type of cut, burn, wound I happen to receive.

I wondered why people actually get scars, why the skin just doesn’t grow back as it was before. The cliff notes version is that when a burn, scrape, cut, wound is deep enough, the body works quickly to try and repair itself. In doing so it uses, maybe not the best materials, but the most efficient for the circumstances. Dense and thick, it is usually paler than the surrounding tissue because it is poorly supplied with blood, and although it structurally replaces destroyed tissue, it cannot perform the functions of the missing tissue. The human body amazes me in that it can repair horrible injuries, it can compensate when extreme things happen to it and while it may not be exactly the same as it was before it will survive and continue on.

In fact, I have quite a collection of scars. Many from a childhood of being the neighborhood tomboy who ran with all the boys. I have scars from climbing trees, playing war, all kinds of sports (kickball, football, tag, hide and seek, and any other game we considered sport). Then there were the scars from my chronic clumsiness. I fall down, I run into things, I accidentally cut myself, scrape myself, pretty much if it falls under the category of clumsy I have done it, and done it well and many times.

From all these adventures I have built up a timeline of sorts on my body. I have stories and memories that go with each scar. Like the one where I was trying to learn how to surf as a kid and ran into a wooden piling in the ocean and took a chunk out of my shin. Or the time when my sisters threw a stick at a woodpile directly behind where I was standing and I happened to turn my face into the stick. Stories from my past, some funny, some scary, some just a happy or painful memory.

We all have these scars; we all have stories for each one. They are a timeline of our lives, marking stories. They chronicle who we are, where we’ve been, and what we’ve done.

But then, there are other scars, scars that aren’t left by a cut or a scrape. These scars might not be visible to another person, at least not visible by sight alone. The scars are left from times when we have been hurt emotionally or when we have fallen into bondage to sin. Scars from when our heart has been pierced, or torn, or even ripped to shreds. Scars from where we wore chains of bondage to different things in our life: addiction, control, pride, self image. These scars aren’t visible as a line on our heart or rings on our wrists. But they are visible in our actions, our fears, our emotions, our relationships. There is a time line with these scars also. And some wounds are scarred over and over again.

These scars also tell a story. If we thought and remembered only what caused the scars then the stories would be painful, they would be a haunting memory we would carry with us our entire life. But each story has a common ending, an ending that makes the stories worthwhile, that makes the scars worthwhile and makes them a treasured part of who we are.

See, the story of each of these scars is one of victory. Victory that we came through the pain, the hurt, the bondage. Victory that those things were conquered in our life. Yes, there was pain, there was hurt. And the scars will always be there, they will never go away. And like a physical scar there are consequences, there was a price paid and something given up. Remember with a physical scar the scar structurally replaces destroyed tissue, but it cannot perform the functions of the missing tissue. Likewise in an emotional scar or one of bondage, there are areas of weakness, areas of temptation, but the pain is gone, the bondage is gone. Victory has come.

There is someone else who knows the pain of scars, both physical and emotional. Christ’s body was subjected to tremendous torture. His back was whipped, His head gouged, His hands and feet penetrated by spikes, His side pierced. His physical body was horribly scarred from all of these traumatic punishments. Each a reminder of the anger and unfairness aimed at Him. He also suffered emotional scars: denied by His disciples, hated by His people, falsely accused, separated from God. Christ carries scars from all of these. But his scars symbolize a victory also. The victory of His life, the victory of conquering death, but most important the victory of our lives. Christ’s scars represent His victory of overcoming our sin, our separation, our death. Christ’s scars are our victory.

So when I look at scars, both visible and not, I don’t see failures, pain, or bad memories, I see victory. Not of my own doing, but of God and his freedom, his grace, the price he paid so long ago that allows us to claim victory in Him. To see past the pain, the wound, the scar, to see the life that comes afterward and continues.

There is a hymn that I love and one verse in particular that seems to touch me every time I hear or sing it. When I think of scars, when I think of bondage, when I think of the victory of our freedom these words haunt me.

Long my imprisoned spirit lay,

Fast-bound in sin and nature’s night;

Thine eye diffused a quickening ray;

I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;

My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

Amazing love! How can it be

that Thou, my God, would die for me?

1 Corinthinans 6:9-11 gives a great picture of the depth of our scars and yet the victory that they represent.

“Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.”

What if this statement ended after the list of who doesn’t get into the kingdom of God? Gosh I would be on a one way trip to the pits of hell. Really we all would. I’m not sure I know of one person who hasn’t been greedy at one time, or slandered another person, or other stuff there on that list. We all fall into one of those categories and therefore none of us would inherit the kingdom of God. That verse is so depressing if you left it right there.

The next two verses are the best.

“Some of you were” – ahhh past tense. That means we aren’t that anymore. Then what are we?

BUT – what a great word right here, I love this word because it gives me hope. But we were (again past tense – already done, finished, completed) WASHED, SANCTIFIED, JUSTIFIED. In what? The name of Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of OUR God.

What the world sees as damaged, what the law condemns, what we may not be able to forgive in ourselves, God has already washed away, He has sanctified (fancy word for changing to be more like Him), He has justified (made us right before Him).

First off, let’s admit that’s a kinda creepy picture above. The idea of an arm with no body gives me the heebie jeebies. But after you get over that, there’s a pretty big idea behind the two hands connected to one arm.

One hand rests open, giving whatever it possesses, the other is clenched closed taking and keeping whatever it receives. Even the muscles in the forearm show the differences. The open handed side looks so relaxed, at rest, without tension; while the clenched side of the arm just looks tight, almost as if the muscles are angry and filled with frustration.

In life there’s a constant battle between give and take. Be it relationships, finances, time, the battle rages between the give and the take. Most often we try to achieve balance, for every take their is a give, as if life was on huge scale where we add weight to each side hoping for that perfect spot of balance. Too bad that’s not possible.

Then there’s the idea that if you’re all take, you must be selfish and if you’re all give then you’re a saint. I’d agree with the all take being selfish but I’d surmise that  the all give is equally unhealthy and wrong. Extremes, while more common than we’d like to assume, are usually never good. All give with no take, means you’re going to run out of what you have to give pretty quickly. All take with no give, means you’re squirreling away whatever it is you have (or worse letting it lay unused somewhere).

I guess what I’m trying to say is that each of us are in a constant state of having that freaky arm up there. We’re both giving and taking at the same time. Sure, there are seasons in life where our hand looks more like one than the other. There’s even truth that we need to take before we can give. But we also need to make sure we’re giving as we take.

Not sure I have a nice little thought to land this all on. Mostly it’s something my mind has been struggling with. The giving and taking in my own life, with my time, with my friendships, with my job, with my faith. When can I stop and say “Look I just need to take right now to make it through this” or maybe it’s me knowing that I’m in a position to give more than I have, or maybe even giving when I don’t feel like it.

Well, there you go. After months of perpetual silence on my blog, I’m back with a rambling post with no end. Oh well, so goes my mind. I’d love your thoughts if you’d care to comment.

So what has been going on in the life of Katie over the last two months? Change, change, and more change. I’ve started a new job at a new church. Well same job but new church. I’ve moved a bit closer to my home town of Denton, but still in the center of DFW. I’ve packed and unpacked about a million boxes (ok maybe just a hundred and there are still some left to be unpacked). I’ve met new kids and families and started to build relationships that make my job so worthwhile. I’ve laughed and cried and even questioned decisions and actions.

I think I’m still in the state of settling in and finding my new normal. Easy things to do in the midst of the holiday season (known as GAME DAY in the church world) of course. I know that normal will come eventually and without some grand fanfare.

So that’s me.

About a month ago I accepted a position as Director of Children’s Ministry at First Baptist Church of Coppell and I’m once again in the process of packing and moving to a new town where I know no one but my co-workers.

Ever feel like life is on a repeating loop? Ha, I do, but it’s a good loop that starts over frequently, but with different players and a new place to live.

I’m excited, a little bit scared (hey it’s something new and that always has a twinge of fear attached), sad to leave being at least geographically close to great friends here in Fort Worth, and generally overwhelmed that my life is changing again but in a good way.

So over the next few weeks I’ll pack all those empty boxes that are sitting in my apartment, say goodbye to kids and families that I’ve watched grow (literally!!!) over the last few years, say goodbye to the random people I see everyday at my gym and Starbucks (sad, I love my Starbucks, they know me, my car, and my drink!), and finish off at my current church home where I blazed my path in kids ministry as full-time paid work.

I’ll admit, I don’t like change. It freaks me out and yet secretly excites me at the same time. I think it’s because you’re dealing with two huge and battling feelings of excitement and sadness. You’re excited for the new, the uncharted, the unknown, but at the same time you mourn and miss the constant, the known, the what has been. And in those few weeks of the in between you’re feeling both sides fully and completely and that can be very overwhelming.

So changes are on the horizon again. It’s another chapter in the book of the life of Kpinion. Maybe this chapter will allow for a bit more blogging, thinking, reflecting, or general useless rambling (a jewel of a talent that I possess).

So that’s what’s up in my life right now. How about you?

I’m also clumsy, as anyone who knows me will attest. I’ve perfected the art of falling, tripping, running into things, all topped with an overall lack of balance.

With these great foundations, my journey of physical fitness has been comedic to say the least. Over the last four weeks I’ve discovered the following:

• I can’t stand on one leg without falling over.
• I have no core, or at least a very small core.
• If an exercise requires me to be coordinated it is very entertaining to watch me attempt it.
• I laugh at myself a lot.
• I don’t get sore but I do get tired.

(Note I started this a month ago and am picking it back up now – yikes, but oh well here are the rest of my thoughts)

But with 8 weeks of training sessions down, I find that I’m the bitter gym rat. I’m there 6 days a week, enough in fact that a few of the people at the front desk greet me by name as soon as I walk through the doors, many of the trainers recognize me and stop to say hello, and I’m beginning to notice the people that are “regulars” during my normal work out times. Also, I’m stronger and fitter than I have been in a long while. I found my core, though it’s still pretty small and only semi-functional. My balance has improved immensely although my clumsiness hasn’t. And best of all I surprise my trainer weekly with my progress. There’s something about the praise of a professional that makes you feel a bit better about yourself.

Now for more things I’ve  discovered about myself:

• I can run but I don’t like it, nor do I ever anticipate myself liking it.
• I don’t think I have endorphins (at least the ones that are supposed to fill you with joy after a tough workout).
• I make faces when I lift weights – as I found out when a complete stranger complimented me on them. AUGH!
• I competitive with myself when it comes to trying things I don’t think I can actually do. This was a nice discovery because I knew it applied to0 other areas of my life, but I’d pretty much given up on the athletic competitive area.
• And lastly, I think I’ve created a habit for working out. 

So that’s the update on my journey. I have about 3 or 4 weeks left with the trainer and then I’m on my own. Honestly, that freaks me out a bit, because without accountability I am really good at making excuses and justifying not working out. So I guess that’s the main test of whether this is a habit or a fad. Here’s to four more weeks of pain (or fun as my trainer calls it).

Well let’s just put it out there, I’ve been busy and preoccupied and probably a bit uninspired. And that seems to be a trend with my blogging for the last, oh year or so. BUT I hope to change that and wade back into the blogging pool slowly but with the intent to swim in the deep end again.

Yes, this is one of those posts that seems to hold promise but is really just a primer for the future “real” post, but that’s what you get today.

So come back soon, if you haven’t written me off for good, and I’ll have some updates on things going on in the world of Kpinion.