I am still here.

Well, a whole semester has gone by without so much as a little post to this blog! I have been longing to update it!

The first semester of seminary was rough. Honestly, I think the first season after coordinating NYC would have been rough anywhere. Coordinating NYC was likely one of the greatest things I'll do in my lifetime. I believe, God-willing, that I still have many adventures ahead, but that was a unique, grand blessing on my life. How do you follow that? I wasn't trying to follow it up, but transition in any season is hard. This one was particularly hard.

This season of moving, starting seminary, starting a part-time job, and learning how to survive (is that over-dramatic, I don't think so) was intense. I cried every week of the fall semester. Every. Week. It was an anomaly if I went 7 days straight without crying. Why was I crying all of the time? I was learning how to be just  Katie. I was learning how to be a good seminary student. I was navigating a new city. I was working a new emotionally demanding job. I was figuring out a new relationship. The rawness of the new grated against me month after month as leaf upon leaf fell from the trees outside my window. Seminary is where I am supposed to be, I reassured myself. I knew that much at least, even if I couldn't remember if I took 9th street or 11th street to get to Aldi. (Aldi: an exceptionally inexpensive, grocery store.)

Planning worship for the seminary community was one thing that kept me going this semester. It was the Patterns of Worship class that reassured me that this is where I am supposed to be, where my passion lies. It required the most from me, but it was also the class that made my heart dance listening to lectures about the liturgical calendar and hospitality in worship. It was in writing prayers for this class, that I found myself uplifting prayers for what I was struggling with (patience for trying children, a swift end to the violence in Nigeria.) It gave voice to what my heart couldn't speak eloquently to herself.

I am still here. If all goes according to plan, I am 1/6th of the way through seminary. A new season of seminary is starting: my second semester. With this semester, comes choosing my year-long placement, another history of Christianity class, securing a summer job, and hopefully a chapel service for which I'll worship lead. I am here. My purpose for being here is not yet completely clear to me. In a broad sense, intentional preparation for ministry, but what form will that take is not clear to me, yet. I can now easily find my way to Aldi: may the path before me become more familiar with each step I take.

Welcoming transition with open hands

On Friday, I am moving to Indiana to start seminary. My little white car is already packed with the remnants of my BVS time--way too many Brethren t-shirts, mugs I made in pottery class, used & loved books from mentors I've met here, my BVS frisbee, a pair of pink overalls, and an NYC conference booklet (or two!). I'm taking easy bread recipes, a deeper understanding of my personality and myself, the knowledge of what grace can do, the love found within the people of this suburb town, and an energetic spirit about what is yet to come. I'm kissing BVS a sweet, sincere, heartfelt goodbye (or maybe a "see you later!) and saying an excited, full of potential hello to Bethany Theological Seminary.

I blame the labyrinth for this next adventure in my life. Well, I thank the labyrinth. It was into the labyrinth that I wandered--barefoot, terrified, and uncertain. I walked with my hands open--ready to receive some glimpse of infinite wisdom, some affirmation of my next step. I walked in fearful. I was holding onto fear that would protect me from entering the uncertain waters of ministry. My financial stability would be uncertain, the future of pastoral ministry in the church is uncertain, and my own success at seminary or ministry is uncertain. I was afraid. As I took step after step on the cool grass in the labyrinth, I heard a voice asking me to let go of my fear and to trust as I had been taught. I just wept in the labyrinth--slowly understanding what God was asking me to do. It was out of the labyrinth that I walked--barefoot, hands open, terrified, but more certain. Not cocksure, but finally fully open to the nudges and the voices that had been speaking to me for years and years.

Backyard Labyrinth 

I have an apartment (and amazing housemates!), a work study job or two, first semester's tuition paid, and a calm certainty that this next step is right. I'm not fearful anymore. I am anxious to see the ways that Bethany will stretch me and hold me in times of growth. I approach Bethany with open hands ready to give and to receive.

The best way to honor the past and welcome the future is an NYC Coordinator selfie with the Most Reverend Doctor President Jeffrey W. Carter, right? 

This Moment // March

ANXIOUS for warm weather and the chance to run outside again. (Go away chest cold!) 

APPRECIATIVE of my so great a cloud of witnesses. I have felt SO BLESSED by all the people who have called me, sent me hilarious books, sent me cards, popped in, sent a text, hugged me, walked with me - especially the past two weeks. You people are incredible. I have never felt so loved. 

CONTEMPLATING the weirdness of World Vision and conservatives last week. 

DRINKING tea with honey - I'm trying to get over a cold. Also, coffee makes my heart feel like it's 

going to explode.

EATING all the cheese and bread I can get my hands on. Also Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies.

LAUGHING over the impeccable books my college roommate mailed me this week: Hot Guys and Baby Animals and Feminist Ryan Gosling. 

Feminist Ryan Gosling Tumblr

LISTENING to Joshua Radin, Brett Dennen, The Weepies, and Matt Nathanson. Thank you, "Brett Dennen" Pandora Station for speaking to my soul right now.

PUMPED that I have almost two normal work weeks back to back. It's been too long. Bring on the mundane routine!

READING Evolving in Monkey Town by Rachel Held Evans. I just finished Pastrix by Nadia Bolz-Weber.

REALIZING that NYC is in four months! OH. EM. GEE. There's so much to do and I'm so excited!

WISHING that all the people I loved were near me all the time. Why is the world so big? 

March is Madness

In January, when I was looking ahead at my upcoming calendar, March was a month for which I was both anxious and excited. March has an odd way of filling itself up in the blink of an eye. On my March horizon lay a girl's weekend with my bestfriend, a week with NYC Leadership (youth and those planning worship), board meetings, a weekend with a dear friend, BVS retreat, and Roundtable in Virginia. Now with the best, hardest, and most full parts of March behind me - I hope to slip out of the madness that has gripped me for several weeks.

This isn't the only year that March has been maddening. Last year, I was in the office for five days in March, workcamp travel added up fast! For a couple years in College, what made March so maddening was the pivotal weekend of Roundtable. The weeks leading up to Roundtable were nothing short of prolonged chaos, since I was an integral member of running the conference. Those weeks were full of hour long meetings, some studying, meetings that started at midnight, and final details, final details, final details. Even in the midst of the enduring craziness, it was my favorite weekend every March. Fellowship, worship, games, talent, joy, people, #brethrenthings - I love all of it.

Despite all the swirling madness before, after, and during, Roundtable there are moments where God comes down and touches my heart. I feel God most tenderly in the midst of the blessing on the Sunday morning of Roundtable. I've come to anticipate and cherish this anointed blessing for my journey each spring. My heart becomes warm as the slick oil touches my forehead - marking me, reminding me to whom I belong, that I am enough. March is mad, this reminder is needed.

March is a month that's sometimes spring, sometimes winter. Teasing our sandles out of the closet for a day, before switching back to snow boots with a surprise storm the next day. The inconsistency of the weather is maddening. Our bodies have been bundled up for months enduring the harshness of winter temperatures and dangerous snow or ice. My body anxious for light jackets or even sandles, doesn't know how to feel as I wrap a scarf around my head. Weather whiplash slaps me so strongly my body doesn't know what to think. March is mad.

In the vitriol climate of March, where my body doesn't know what the weather is doing and my head is exhausted from the season of planning, travel, and little sleep - my heart starts feeling "some type of way". Oh, March, you bittersweet month of change. This Roundtable the speaker, Eric, talked about Seasonal Affective Disorder, which I would say after living in Chiberia for a full, long, awful season, has chipped away at my positive demeanor this winter. He talked about "winter blues", "summertime sadness", and he mentioned one less common seasonal ailment "spring sadness".

I thought it was a little ridiculous at first, the world is waking up again - what is there to fear about spring?! Yet, I thought about it. Spring is another season of change, like fall, but instead of the world falling asleep, it's waking back up again. Baby animals, flower buds, and all that. For me, it's been a season of unknowns from year to year...what will my life be like after I'm not on IYC, after graduation, after track, after BVS, after NYC, after relationships end...

Lent is a hard season. I find that the intentional things I add or take away to my daily routine during Lent slowly and surely point me on a closer walk with God, that I had been missing before. This routine that forms helps me when the ground changes beneath my feet during the maddening spring. What were Jesus' disciples thinking as the ground trembled beneath their feet as Jesus spent his final moments on the cross? What will life be like after this? What will happen to me? Why is this happening? Will life ever be normal again? 

Spring is the end of things. Spring is the beginning of things. The long darkness slowly rumbles into the light. We awake. The ground stirs beneath our feet. In the midst of chaos, anxiety, and disbelief, we meet God on a dusty road and we touch.

March has been madness. Who knows what life will be like after this?