Category: Blogroll

It’s awful being one of those, isn’t it? The longer I live and the more I read God’s Word, the more I see the ugliness of my heart and my thoughts and my deeds and my words. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to turn into a gut-spilling confessional – the wide world web isn’t the appropriate place and I’ve spoken to Someone about the particulars already. If you are a believer in that Someone, you, my fellow sinner, know how it is to suddenly or gradually recognize our unholiness before the pure and holy King of the Universe. To realize that:

A. I am not a good person. (Romans 3:10)

B. I deserve to be in hell at this very moment. (Romans 6:23a)

Not a pretty picture, eh? Yet these two points are absolutely true of every single person (i.e. sinner) walking this earth. That’s why it is so unbelievably miraculously wonderful that that Someone, that pure and holy King is also something else.

He is, as I heard recently a pastor say in a message, “the Friend of sinners without condoning their sin”. He is the Lover of the unlovely, of prostitutes, crooked judges, candy bar thieves, drunks, disobedient 5 year olds, serial rapists, and Katie Morrison. He, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, has provided his own righteousness and deliverance from hell to each believing sinner on the basis of his death for us and his resurrection. And that’s (you guessed it)
grace.

Psalm 23:6 “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.“

My sister sent me this little commentary on the word “follow”:

“The Hebrew word is ‘radaph,’ and can be translated as ‘to pursue, hound, or chase.’ I think it’s such a cool picture! God’s goodness and unfailing love does not meekly follow, trailing along behind us. It aggressively pursues us, hounds us, and chases us down.”

What a precious thought – he is active in his faithful pursuing of me, even when I’m so unfaithful in pursuing him.

From today’s Nation (a newspaper in Kenya):

“The government dropped its demands for a re-count and a new tally of the presidential votes, while the ODM leadership gave up pushing for the resignation of President Kibaki, a re-run of the elections, or a new election in a year’s time. It was agreed that the only option was a political settlement that would bring together the government and ODM sides in a regime whose task would be to enact far-reaching constitutional, legal and institutional reforms over a three-year period. The public breathed a sigh of relief as President Kibaki and ODM leader Raila Odinga shook hands — for the third time in two weeks — and members from both sides exchanged pleasantries.”

Thank you, Lord.

Please keep praying!

(I wrote this post over Christmas break, then kind of forgot to post it. . . better late than never, I suppose.) 

The other night I played Scrabble with my mom. The game amazes me. I think about all the connections my brain is making as it manipulates words and letters – it’s actually an extremely complex process that I have come to appreciate all the more as I have studied language.

Of course, the way I play, I often end up putting my mind through extra and unnecessary contortions trying to figure out how to use all seven tiles on one play, only to end up playing “N-U-T” on the triple word score for a whopping 9 points. Hey, you gotta play with what you got, right?

Last night, it was time for another type of competition as our family took a trip down to see the Flyers play hockey vs. the Maple Leafs (Leaves??). They won, 4-1. It was the first time we’d gone to a major sporting event as a family in 10 years. We picked up my older brother at his apartment and headed into Philly in our Mercury minivan, which “seats seven”.

Ha.

Ten years ago when most of us were a good deal smaller, that might’ve been true. It’s not anymore. My littlest brother is as tall as my dad, my little sister is taller than both my mom and me, so there’s pretty much zero wiggle room. As one of the smaller family members, I had the privilege of sitting in the 3rd row, middle seat. Ah, there’s nothing like a little family bonding time, eh?

And there’s nothing like sitting in the backseat of the family car to makes you feel like a kid again.

Psalm 147:16 “He gives snow like wool; He scatters the frost like ashes.”

We sure got given a whole lot of wooly snow today in southeast Wisconsin – over a foot right now, with more coming down. When I walked out the door on my way to work, I thought, This is about the whitest day I’ve ever seen. The unplowed, nearly impassable roads are white. The sky is white. The trees are white. The buildings, thanks to the howling winds, are white with the driven snow. Windows are frosted from top to bottom.

This morning, I lay in bed at 5:45 and listened to the nostalgic drone of school closings, remembering when I was young and I sat next to the radio on winter mornings, rooting for them to say the name of my school. Snow days, as any kid knows, are a wonderful unexpected gift.

So, thanks, Lord, for giving us this gift of snow. It’s beautiful.

Last night my sister, Emily, and I bonded over a song, one you’ve probably heard if you’ve watched TV at all lately. I know, it’s a corny way to come across new music, but it’s the tune that plays during the latest Mac laptop commercial – “New Soul” by Yael Naim. (The song’s on YouTube, if you want to take a listen.)

The first time I heard it, I liked it’s whimsical jauntiness, playful trombone, and stick-in-your-head-all-day quality. But there was something else that resonated with me, something which I didn’t recognize ’til I was listening to again it as I got ready for bed. The lyrics start out like this:

“I’m a new soul, I came to this strange world hoping I could learn a bit ’bout how to give and take /But since I came here, felt the joy and the fear, finding myself making every possible mistake.”

Hey, wait a sec! That pretty much describes me the first couple years after I came back to the States for college. New? Check. Strange world? Check. Wanting to learn? Check. Joy and fear? Check. Making Every Possible Mistake? Well, it sure felt like it.

Even 8.5 years into my adult life in the US of A, there are times when I still feel strangely out of place here, not unlike most MKs. We may look American, sound American, and (mostly) act American, but inside, we aren’t really American. We have too much of “Other Place” in us. Someone has called us “hidden immigrants”.

I suppose for all it’s discomfort, this “belonginglessness” isn’t a bad thing. We kind of get a head start on understanding the concept of being “aliens and strangers” on earth (1 Peter 2:11). And as much as I ache for people and places in other parts of the world, I never ache so much as when I ache for heaven. Heaven is home. It’s belonging. It’s with, not without. On that day that the Lord has chosen, I’ll end my sojourn and I’ll be with Christ. Home. Forever.

That’s what I was made for.

A friend gave me a Bible promise book for Christmas and I find myself turning through its pages frequently as I face different trying situations. Some situations are difficult due to the day-to-day stress of life, others are hard because there are no easy answers, no quick fixes, no instant healing balm for the deeper pains in my heart. But what better place to turn in any trial than to “the God of all comfort” and his Word?

Today was a “deeper pain” day. The news out of Kenya breaks my heart. I see my country with its cities, villages, and families being torn apart literally and figuratively. People – children – are being burned alive. I cried as I read the newspaper account, saw the picture of a little boy cowering with wide, terrified eyes.

When I got home tonight, I opened up my promises book to the segment with verses about “peace”, and there was John 14:27: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”

Now I’ve read this verse so many times before. I’ve been comforted by it before. But this time I realized I didn’t really get what “troubled” means, so I grabbed my trusty Strong’s Concordance off the shelf and looked up the word.

5015 tarasso (in the passive)”to be disturbed, terrified, confused, to be stirred up”

That Greek word seems to, in a tragic way, describe Kenya fittingly at the moment. It also perfectly describes, in the opposite, the attitude of heart God wants me to have. He’s telling me, “Katie, do not let your heart be disturbed. Do not let your heart be terrified. Do not let your heart be confused. Do not let your heart be stirred up.”

Psalm 37:1 “Do not fret because of evildoers . . . . trust in the LORD and do good . . .”

And as I trust in the universe’s King in the midst of my grief, my heart is at rest.

Please join me in praying for peace in Kenya, as well as for comfort for those who have lost loved ones and those who are displaced. Pray that many would get saved as a result of the turmoil – that the unrest may bring them to see their need for peace with God through the work of Jesus Christ.

 

From the Flying McCoys comic strip:

Yeah, I got a kick out of that creativity.

I’m reading a book called 10 Questions Science Can’t Answer (Yet) by Michael Hanlon. It’s quirky and fascinating, and the questions (which are the chapter titles) are stated in an offbeat way that are meant to catch your attention. For instance, the query, “Do animals have cognitive abilities?” is stated, “Is Fido a zombie?”

As I was perusing the table of contents, I was struck by the question, “Can I live forever please?” The chapter is a treatment of a series of some of the most troubling scientific questions, questions like “Why do we age? Why do our bodies break down? Why do we die?”

Scientifically speaking, we know how we die and we know everyone eventually succumbs to something. If you ignore the Bible, you’ll believe the ratio of person born: person dead is 1:1. Of course, if you ignore the Bible, you also won’t find the answer to the why of dying.

It’s sin. Romans 5:12 puts it out there pretty clearly: “Therefore, just as through one man sin entered the world, and death through sin, and thus death spread to all men, because all sinned . . .”

I’m pretty sure you won’t find that explanation in any medical textbook. Scientists have gone down some pretty strange trails trying to figure this whole death thing out, and they’ve come up empty (which is what normally happens when you ignore the clear teaching of God’s Word).

But I do have an answer to Mr. Hanlon’s somewhat facetious question, “Can I live forever please?”, an answer he probably would never expect to hear.

Yes, sir, of course you can.

Just as the Bible holds the answer to the why of death, it also speaks wonderfully to the how of eternal life – it’s “the free gift of God . . . in Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Rom 6:23b).

See, for those of us who have accepted this gift by simply trusting in God the Son who died in our place and rose again, death ( the separation of our soul and spirit from our body) is merely the door that we walk through from life on this planet to life forever in the glorious presence of God.

And the promise of life on the other side makes the whole inevitability of death a whole lot easier to swallow.

Taxes, on the other hand . . . . J

 

“If the empty space in atoms were removed, the entire human race would fit in the volume of a sugar cube.” – Marcus Chown, The Quantum Zoo.

In other words, we are overwhelmingly made up of, well . . . emptiness. It’s hard to fathom that, considering how solid everything looks and feels. I love statements like this one because it stretches my mind to it’s limit and then leaves my ability to understand far behind. This is a good thing, because then I see my smallness, and as I have written before, I need to be reminded of my smallness again and again. I get far too big-headed far too often.

My mom recently went to California and while there, saw and touched one of the largest trees in the world. She remarked on what a worship experience it was, as she praised the Creator of this magnificent plant. (It is that, though it sounds strange to call a redwood a plant, as if it were a wildflower or some sort of classroom foilage.)

It’s never a bad thing to be reminded of our tininess in light of our God – the One who “determines the number of the stars; he gives them to all of them their names”(Psalm 147:4 ESV). So much for those star name registries – my Father has already named each one.

Wow.

Well, I should be back to a more regular blogging schedule now that the craziness of traveling and the craziness of studying for/taking the national speech-language pathology exam and the craziness of getting settled into my medical practicum are all behind me.

I think “a more regular blogging schedule” hopefully means a few posts a week . . . we shall see. I have a lot of thoughts going through my head as I embark on my last semester in school.

Right now, I’m enjoying the thought of Jesus Christ as the bright morning star (Rev 22:16). As my pastor described last night, that star is the one that shines the brightest just before darkness turns to dawn – the herald that night is ending and glorious day is about to break.

It’s a beautiful and fitting picture of our Savior.

I used to struggle with the concept of contentment. I thought it meant I could never want anything. Of course by that definition, I was not content. Ever.

But then I realized that the Bible speaks of desires, and not in a disparaging way. The Psalmist writes about God granting us “the desires of [our] heart” (Psalm 37:4). The apostle Paul wished he could be with the beloved believers in the different churches he wrote to. He also “desired to depart and be with Christ”(Phil 1:23). Yearnings are part of being human. They are part of the way God made us. If we never wanted anything, we’d be sticks in the mud, going nowhere, doing nothing. That’s rather problematic. Also problematic is the other end of the desire spectrum, where our wants control and devour us.

This middle ground is where contentment comes into play.

Contentment is not the absence of longings; it is being unconsumed by one’s longings. It is the peaceful acceptance of what God has for me in the present, trusting him that his provision is adequate (and so often, far far better than simply “adequate”).

And, like Paul, we can learn the “secret” to being content: reliance on the strength of Christ. (Phil 4:12-13)

My other homeland, Kenya, is in turmoil. This country, which since its independence in 1963 has been an oasis of peace and stability in an often volatile region of the world, is being torn apart by post-election violence. It hurts to see the images, to read the horrifying accounts of “ethnic cleansing”, to have no answers. I’m concerned for my friends and for the future. I wonder how and if it can all be resolved.

And I turn to the One who has the answers, to the One who knew this was going to happen and is completely sovereign. I turn to the God of all peace. I pray for peace in Kenya. I pray for peace between the Luo tribe and the Kikuyu tribe, between supporters of Odinga and supporters of Kibaki.

I pray for ultimate peace for the people of Kenya – the peace that comes as a result of simply believing in Jesus Christ’s death for our sins and his resurrection. That is only way to gain eternal life, and the only way to a right relationship with God and a right relationship with those around us.

This morning I remembered that Kenya’s national anthem is actually a prayer, and a very appropriate one at that. In closing, here’s the first verse of the English version:

O God of all creation,
Bless this our land and nation.
Justice be our shield and defender,
May we dwell in unity,
Peace and liberty,
Plenty be found within our borders.

Amen and amen.

I am home for Christmas, and it’s not just in my dreams . . .

John 1:14 “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

This is a poem I wrote a while back when I was in the middle of a very difficult situation, but had to keep going about my daily routine. It’s an example of my own Lamentations, my acknowledgment that the life we lead here on earth can be so very hard at times.

Life doesn’t stop for a broken heart.

It doesn’t slow down just because

It hurts to breathe, think, talk, eat, write.

And it doesn’t let us off so we can

Cease living for a while

‘Til the pain ceases stabbing every thought

And we can once again laugh without

Wanting to cry.

No, life speeds on,

Careless and carefree,

And there are dishes to wash,

Papers to write,

Meetings to sit through,

Clocks to be punched,

And the broken heart is

Left crumpled and torn

In a corner of our life

Like an old sweater

That there’s no time to mend.
 

I’ve been reading in Jeremiah of late. It’s a tough book to wade through. It’s full of righteous judgment upon judgment upon judgment against rebellious Israel; each one sad and painful. But then, I come to passages like this one in chapter 32:37-41 (ESV):

“Behold, I will gather them from all the countries to which I drove them in my anger and my wrath and in great indignation. I will bring them back to this place, and I will make them dwell in safety. And they shall be my people, and I will be their God.  I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me. I will rejoice in doing them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.”

My heart rejoices greatly in that.

Why should I so delight in promises made thousands of years ago to this tiny chosen nation? After all, I am not an Israelite. These promises are not for me, a Gentile member of the Church.

I love these truths because they reveal the God I serve as a compassionate, covenant-keeping God. He loves Israel with an everlasting love. And despite their past and present rejection of him and of his Messiah, these promises will come true. I will see them come true.

And I will marvel at such a wonderful Savior, such a faithful King.

I don’t dread my own death, only others’. It’s selfish of me, I know, but I don’t want to have to be the one to deal with the pain, the mind and heart-breaking loss. I dread the phone call, the burn of tears on my eyelashes, the crazy disbelief, like the time when I was little and Dad and Mom told me a friend had died in a car accident and I just kept thinking they could put her body back together again and she’d be OK. But life, once broken into a billion pieces by the mallet we call death, can’t be fixed.

Not yet anyway.

And the dread I feel sometimes overwhelms the hope – the settled assurance – that the lives of those I love are in the most capable, caring hands in the universe. Their times, as well as mine, are His to determine. He knows when, or if, we will die. I need to rest in that fact that when tragedy strikes my fragile heart, His grace will be all sufficient. Still, I long for, ache for, live for, the “if”. I desire with all my heart to be of the generation of believers who never died, but were instead raptured to live forever with our Savior, to be free from dread, to be free of sin, to be free of decay, to be free eternally from death.

Today I said goodbye to my kids. The last thing I heard as I walked out the classroom door was their laughter. It was a fitting end to the few special months I was privileged to spend with these little guys. I laughed with them every day.

A lot.

This morning was no exception. When my supervisor announced that this was my last day, she told them I was leaving and that I was going to be working at a hospital (my medical practicum starts in January). The kids were quite impressed, based on the chorus of wows. Tommy, apparently, was especially impressed. As he walked out the door, bundled up in his heavy winter jacket and Packers hat, he threw his arms around me, buried his head in my stomach, and said, “Bye, Miss Morrison. Have a good time at the doctor’s!”

And I laughed.

I wasn’t really thinking about it yesterday when I walked into class, but I was thinking a lot about it when I walked out. It was my last class session of the semester. On Friday, I have my last day at my practicum. By this time next week, my semester will be over. I have just one final on Monday. Then in January, I begin my last semester in school. Quite possibly the last one ever.

Wow. That snuck on me. I think I get so used to routine, just getting through the day or the week or the month. And then, wham! what I’ve been doing is over and it feels extremely sudden. I hit that last date hard and get mental whiplash. The end of something is sneaky in a very subtle way. I never expect to be surprised at how quickly it comes, but I always am.

I’m looking out the window now where it’s snowing in the deepening dusk. I’ll be going out a walkin’ in it soon, which will be a nice end to the day.

And for the end of this post, here’s a great statement of trust in the LORD by King Jehoshaphat when “a great horde” was coming against Judah:

2 Chronicles 20:12b “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”

In Kenya when you haven’t seen someone for a while, you might say upon encountering them again, “You have been so lost.”

And I have been.

But I’m back to wish my faithful (???) readers a Happy December. Last year here in Milwaukee we had a blizzard on the 1st of December. This year the new month has brought with it a lovely wintry mix, i.e. snow and stinging ice pellets driven by 25 mph winds into one’s face. It was a perfect day to play football. Truly it was a fun time, because of the following  combination of factors:

December. Snow. A Saturday afternoon. A pick-up football game with good friends.

What more could you ask for?

(Perhaps me, actually blogging more than 5 times a month, ala November? I’ll be working on it.)

His real name’s not Harold, but due to privacy issues, I probably shouldn’t broadcast it over cyberspace. Calling him Harold gives you the gist, because I’m not talking about a 73 year-old man here. Harold is 5. He’s one of my kids. One of my favorites, actually, which is kind of surprising considering what a distraction he is in the classroom. He rambles on incoherently about everything and nothing, he rarely raises his hand, he is a whirl of constant motion, he has little concept of classroom etiquette and social norms. Sadly, the other kids have noticed he’s a little odd.

But I love the rascal. Everything Harold does is done with a sweetness and sincerity and abandon I’ve rarely seen. His wide eyes take in life enthusiastically (if a tad cluelessly) and he usually sports a charming huge gap-toothed grin. His hair is usually matted down in places and sticking straight up in others, adding a bit of Norman Rockwellian whimsy to his persona. He laughs easily and hands out hugs just as freely. Everyone – teachers, classmates, the substitute – is “my friend” (even if they don’t necessarily think so).

Last Monday as the children were coming into the room, I saw that some looked a little draggy. I began asking them one by one if they were sad or happy. When I got to Harold, sitting in the center of the room Indian style, his back straight, eyes wide, I asked, “Harold are you sad today?”

“No, I’m HAPPY!” He leapt to his feet.

“Harold, why are you happy?”

He flung his arms wide. “I took a shower today!”

“You took a shower?”

He was nearly jumping up and down with barely corralled energy. “Yeah! And then I came to school!”

I sat there and laughed. A shower and school. Two very good reasons to be happy.

Harold is going to be leaving us soon for another classroom where he can get the kind of special education he needs. I’m going to miss that sweet little boy with the old man’s name.

I’m going to miss my friend.