Happy Father's Day

I have a fantastic Dad.  I would go as far as to say one of the best. In honor of him, and Father's Day I have put together a list of my favorite things about him.  For the record, this list could be a lot longer, he's just that great.

- My dad is hilarious.  He can make me laugh, and does so an a regular basis.
- He is an excellent story teller.  Granted I have heard most of his stories several times, but that doesn't make them any less wonderful.  I think he has a rolodex in his head that he can cross reference.  You could give him a subject, or two and he would have a story.  For example, bee pollen and Kermit the Frog.  There's a story about that, and it will make you laugh.
- I appreciate his musical taste.  He introduced me to Michael Buble and Blood, Sweat and Tears - two of my favorites.
- He makes the best PBJs.  They are excellent comfort food.
- He shared one of his favorite things with me, golf.  He started me in lessons in 5th grade and was my coach all three years of middle school.  The fact that he spent several years coaching the middle school girl's golf team says a lot about who he is, and his tolerance for squeaky girl talk.  I played from 6th grade through my junior year in high school.  He was at almost all of my matches.  He was never mad or angry when I missed a shot, but always supportive.  The only time I remember him being really upset was 6th grade.  Our team was undefeated and we lost our only match to Martinsville, by one stroke.  He asked all of us in the van on the way back to go over all the holes we played, and think of at least one shot we could have improved - and that would have made the difference.  That was probably the quietest the van had ever been.  When I decided to not play my senior year, he wasn't mad, but glad I was becoming more involved with other things I enjoyed.  He still says I have a "natural swing" and I know that I could have put a lot more effort into that sport and have become a much better player.  But I also know, if I ask him to go play tomorrow he will be thrilled.
- He went to countless concerts, marching band competitions, and musicals because my sister and I were performing.
- He is fantastic with kids.  My step-mom jokes that he is Santa Claus because kids will just come up and talk to him.  He can stop any baby from crying.  It is part of what made him a fantastic children's minister. That, and the fact he always had candy in his office, slept on the church roof, ate a goldfish and shaved his mustache a half at a time - those last few were VBS bets.  There was a mohawk in there too, but we don't really talk about that.
- He is great at his job, and I learn this more and more as I get older.  This past fall I watched him perform the funeral service of his younger brother.  I don't know how he made it through, but he did so with eloquence and his sweet sense of humor.  I was home a few weeks ago, and we were at the grocery store picking up things for dinner.  He ran into an older lady from the church and remembered her and what was happening in her life and was so kind and genuine in his care for her.  He loves people well.
- He is a great husband.  He lived the vow "in sickness and in health."  I am thankful for the marriage he had with my mom.  His relationship with my step-mom has brought joy and peace, for him and me as well.
- He is into bow ties now, and I think it's pretty great.
- I have never doubted that he loves me and is proud of me. I know this because he tells me often.
- He says he wants his daughters to be happy, healthy, love Jesus, and to live at home.  His response to me is, "three out of four isn't bad."

So Happy Father's Day Perry David. I love you, and promise one of these days to celebrate this holiday in person.

Pa and Bonhoeffer

April has been a crazy month.  Thankfully it is now May, and one week from today we will have an empty campus.  Don't get me wrong, I love my residents and students - but everyone is ready for a break.  In the midst of the madness of the end of school, Amber I are moving across campus into a house.  We aren't sure when we are moving, but it will most likely be in the next week.  The time crunch and unknowns are forcing me to go with the flow.

I am not great at going with the flow.  Those of you who know me won't find that in the least bit surprising.  Lately I have been trying to be better at that.  It's been working in some ways, but I can only take so much.  I like plans, and lists and knowing what's going on. So the fact that I need to oversee a campus move out, and move out myself has become a source of stress for me.  Stressed-out Kate has been the norm for the past few weeks, and I am over it.    

Today as I was cleaning/packing I found buried on my night stand, "I Want to Live These Days With You" by Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  I am sure the book on it's own is a great read, but I have a particularly nice copy.  My version is co-authored by Bud Anderson, my grandfather.  I used to refer to him as Grandpa, but when the great grandkids came he turned into Pa.  He used the book as a daily devotional and wrote notes to me everyday.  Wisdom from Bonfhoeffer and Anderson is a pretty great thing, and today it was especially timely.

The first page I thumbed to was June 1.  Pa's note reads, "Are you ready for some good news? Today's underlying theme is why worry.  All that's needed to trust the outcome of life is believe in only one thing. Why worry?"

The second page was January 3, "My underlined thought yesterday, about the future, was not written because I'm nearly 79.  I never had a thought as a young man to "live your dream."  After 21 years of age and nearly 3/4 of that time in school, I was more than ready for a different track.  Uncle Sam took over the next four years and into places unknown, there I went. You were in my future Kate, how could I ever have dreamed that - or Mary, Korea, American Airlines, twins and three sons, and especially Northside Christian Church for these last 49 years.  So hang on to your hat Kate, the ride and road ahead  is God's path for you. If you surrender."

I know that move out and packing/moving is not a huge ordeal - and everything will get done.  I just have to hold on and power through, and in the meantime think of Pa.

Be My Everything

Last week was Justice Week at Milligan.  Everyday there was something different, speakers and events shedding light on injustices throughout the world, and how students could help.  On Tuesday, Invisible Children showed one of their documentaries, "Tony" watch the trailer here.  Invisible Children visited campus in the fall, and that was really first time I heard anything about them.  Check out the link above to find out more information on this great group.  In the Fall they spoke about Joseph Kony and the LRA.  Last week the told the story of Tony, and in that story told how IC was born.

Three college friends decided to make a movie about the Sudan and what was happening in Darfur.  Instead, they were unable to get to Darfur and heard the story of Joseph Kony, the LRA and night commuters.  What started with three guys and a camera is now a major non profit organization rebuilding schools in Uganda, providing education and mentorships for hundreds of Africans and fighting Africa's longest running war.  Three guys with a camera have inspired high school and college students across the United States to stand up and do something, be a part of something bigger and make a difference.  Watching the documentary on Tuesday I couldn't help but shed a few tears (true, my heart is not completely ice).  Tony is one of the first night commuters that Jason, Bobby and Laren met in Uganda.  They kept in touch with him, went back and visited him and in 2010 Tony made it to the US to go on tour with IC.

I think there are tiny glimpses of heaven here on Earth.  Things that are good and perfect that are just a flash of what is to come.  In the documentary there is video of everyone waiting at the airport for Tony and other the partners  to arrive from Uganda.  There was a mass of them huddled around the base of the escalator.  There were people with signs and giant banners waiting for his arrival.  I know that some of those waiting on him had met Tony and were his friends.  But I am sure there were others who had never met Tony, but knew he represented something bigger that they were a part of.  I can't help but believe that is what heaven will be like.  People I loved, and people I didn't know but are still brothers and sisters excited to see me and welcome me home.

Today hasn't been the greatest day.  It's days like today that I have to remember Tony and IC and remember that I am just one person in a world of billions.  I am thankful to serve a God that knows me individually and created me individually, but is also such a big God.  He is not just here in East Tennessee but the same God In Uganda and Japan and everywhere else.  Days like today it is even more important to remember it is not about me.

"And He has told you O man what is good;

And what does the Lord require of you

But to do justice, to love kindness

and to walk humbly with your God"

Micah 6:8

We've sang this song at church for a few weeks, it has become something of an anthem for me.

God in my living, there in my breathing

God in my waking, God in my sleeping

God in my resting, there in my working

God in my thinking, God in my speaking

God in my hoping, there in my dreaming

God in my watching, God in my waiting

God in my laughing, there in my weeping

God in my hurting, God in my healing

Be my everything, Be my everything

Be my everything, Be my everything

Christ in me, Christ in me

Christ in me, the hope of glory

You are everything

Happy Birthday

For the record, I write this post as a declaration of something good.  This is not a plea for pity, or a time for sadness - but a celebration of a great person.

Yesterday was my mom's birthday.  She would have been 57.  This was the 10th birthday that has come and gone since my mom passed away in 2001 from ALS.

Sunday was not a day of sadness or depression.  Sunday was part of a great weekend getaway to Atlanta with my roommate Amber.  On Sunday we went to a great church service, ate delicious food, and hung out with some wonderful friends.  In the midst of a great weekend, was March 6th - and I feel like it should be noted.

Thankfully, the vast majority of my memories of my mom are great ones, when she was healthy and happy - and even a lot of the memories when she was sick are not bad.  I remember a lot of wonderful things, and it is amazing where the memories spark from.  For example, as we were driving in Atlanta a friend had a sheriff's badge in his cup holder.  The badge was from the restaurant Casa Bonita, in Denver, CO.  One of the two favorite pictures I have of my mom was taken at Casa Bonita - good memory.

I heard someone say that after you lose someone you think about them everyday.  I thought this was impossible, turns out it isn't.  I am confident that I have thought of my mom everyday since November 23, 2001.  Bob Knight, Dr. Quinn, Tom Selleck, blueberries, Clinique, cappuccino, pianos, skibos, Kenny G, the color beige, nurses, inside buttons in elevators, new born babies, and scrambled eggs are just a few things on a long list of reminders of my mom.

It is strange to think I am in a place in my life where my mom has no distinct connection.  I didn't know about Milligan ten years ago.  My college, major, and now job were all things I never talked to my mom about, or knew existed at the time.  Sometimes I wonder if she would have been okay with me going to college 450 miles away.  If she had protested, I think I would have reminded her that Ozark was even farther away from Bloomington, and look how well that turned out for her.

10 years ago and the preceding years, March 6th was filled with birthday cake from E&L Bakery and presents and cards.  Now it is a day, a lot like all of the other days.  Even though there are no presents or cards, it is still an important day and one that I am thankful for.  I am thankful for my mom and who she taught me to be, and how she taught me to act.  I am thankful that I look like her, and act like her (most of the time that is a good thing).  I am thankful for the moments and things, be they little, big, insignificant, or monumental that remind me of her.    

Back Home Again in Indiana

I am currently sitting in a hotel in Upland, Indiana.  I drove a group of students north for a conference at Taylor University.  While the students are staying in the residence halls making new friends and enjoying a concert, I get to sit in my sweatpants and watch NBC comedies.  It's awesome.  Also awesome, I am less than 90 miles from my home.

I love home.  The word itself is a great thing.  It means comfort, familiarity, family, friends, and all kinds of other wonderful goodness.  90 miles might sound like a lot, but compared to 450 - it's not too bad.  Weather permitting, my dad is driving up to have lunch with me tomorrow.  I could write a series of books on how wonderful my dad is, this is just another example.  90 miles to have lunch with me is like driving down the street for him.  I am so excited to see him.

I won't actually get to be at home during this trip, but just being in the vicinity is good for me.  It's not like I am from this magical place.  It's Indiana - no mountains, beach, major metropolitan city (although I learned last week Indianapolis is the largest city without a major water way), but it's my home.  I finally got a Tennessee driver's license this week, and it just made me sad.  I have lived in Tennessee officially for a year and a half, and the previous four years as an undergrad.  Tennessee has it's perks - sweet tea, Pal's, Milligan College and the mountains aren't half bad.  But it's not home.

Maybe that's the beauty of home.  It will always be there, a place to go back to, and to be from.  Or maybe that's what I get for living in the same house since I was in 1st grade and growing up surrounded by wonderful people.  Either way, I'll take it.  In the meantime, I will proudly wear my IU sweatshirt and enjoy the Indiana references on Parks and Recreation.

Toy Story 3 And How It Melted My Heart of Ice

I am not a crier. That is not stay I don't ever cry, but it takes a lot for me to get there.  Sad movies - I can watch them all day long.  Titanic, The Notebook, P.S. I Love You - didn't shed a tear.  There have been  a few movies that have gotten to me Forrest Gump ("He's so smart Jenny." used to get me every time), Up, and against my will but I shed some tears in Marley and Me.  But really I'm not a crier.  And even more so, not a sad crier but a stressed and angry crier.

That all changed this afternoon.  It actually started last night when I stated watching Toy Story 3.  I fell asleep about an hour into it.  This has no reflection on the movie, just the fact that whenever I lay down on my couch I tend to fall asleep.  I decided to watch the rest of the movie during lunch.  Now I had warning - but I didn't heed it.  Everyone I talked to who saw this movie said they cried - everyone.  I didn't believe them - I'm the same way with winter weather reports for some reason.  Oh how I was wrong.

I don't want to spoil the ending for anyone, so if you haven't seen it skip to the next paragraph.  Let's say I teared up when the toys started holding hands in the incinerator and didn't stop crying until the credits. That's 20 minutes of crying.  I had to pause the movie to go get kleenex and blow my nose.  It was out of control. Don't even get me started about Andy introducing all of the toys to Bonnie.

There was not a specific toy in my life that I treasured more than anything else.  I did really love the karaoke machine I got for my birthday one year.  My childhood loyalty was with a blanket - Raggedy Ann.  The story goes that my grandmother made it for my older sister so she could lay on the blanket and play with me.  The front was a red and white squares, and the back was hand embroidered scenes that wore off a long time ago. Sara never took a liking to Raggedy, but I did.  I sleep, I mean slept with Raggedy every night, lounged with her around the house and stood in front of the washer and dryer when my parents took her away from me to be cleaned.  I don't think my attachment to Raggedy was unhealthy, I left her at home during the day and wasn't weird about it (or so I choose to believe).  

When I was in elementary school my mom snuck a book into our monthly book order.  The book is titled Owen by Kevin Henkes.  Don't let the Caldecott Honor fool you - this is a horrible book.  It is about a mouse who has a blanket and is headed off to school.  So his parents cut up his blanket into squares so he could use one as a kleenex, a wash cloth, keep one at home and take one to school.  After I read the book once I told my mom I was onto her and she wasn't touching Raggedy.  She always joked she would sew her into my wedding gown.

I understand there being something almost magical about those favorite childhood things.  No matter what laundry detergent Raggedy was washed in she always smelled the same.  She always made me feel better.  There was many an evening when one of my parents would say, "go get Raggedy and I'll hold you."  That still sounds like a great offer to me.

I looked through several pictures to find a good one of Raggedy - she can be seen in the background of many.  This one captured one of those lounging moments, and no I don't always cringe when my sister hugs me.

Mrs. Irons

Doris Irons was my first grade teacher.  She was fantastic, and sadly this weekend she passed away from cancer.

I had the pleasure of having several wonderful teachers, but Mrs. Irons set the bar pretty high.  I still remember the first day of first grade, and walking down the hallway in Southwest Elementary.  Mrs. Irons room was one of the first rooms on the left.  I remember ISTEP testing and the snack fairy, her reading to us Clifford The Big Red Dog books after lunch, Columbus Day when we made boats out of straws and milk cartons, and our own Whoville that stretched over the majority of the floor.

I remember having to write my name on the board, and being terribly upset about it.  I had forgotten to bring something in for Show and Tell, and that was my consequence.  I am pretty sure I cried,  I am positive that she was kind and compassionate about it.  I remember her in jewel tones, always wearing purples, teals and pinks.

My dad enjoys telling stories, especially about his kids.  One of his favorites includes me and Mrs. Irons.  I don't remember what we were talking about, but my response was, "You're killing me Irons, you're killing me." This was a take off of a line from The Sandlot.  Mrs. Irons told my parents the story the next Sunday at church.  That happened 18 years ago, and I have still yet to live it down.

In the spring of first grade my grandmother passed away.  Mrs. Irons called me up to the side of her desk and handed me a card.  My mom helped me read it after school.  The card said she loved me, was sorry that I was sad, but that I would see my grandmother some day again in heaven.  I saved that card for a very long time.

I never saw Mrs. Irons after she got sick.  But whenever I came home from Tennessee I would usually see her at church when she was leaving first service and I was walking into second service.  She would always stop me, give me a hug, ask how I was and tell me she was proud of me.    I know that I am only one of hundreds of lives that she touched, but I am so thankful to be included among them.

My prayers are with her wonderful husband, kids and grandchildren.  I hope they can take comfort in the same message she gave to me.  I am so sorry they are sad, but take hope in that they will see her again.