Amongst the poop springs poppies.

It's been a while, so with hands shaking and mind fumbling, here goes nothing.

I started this blog in the wake of my first breakup, and from that place of loss a beautiful thing sprouted forth. Like flowers that spring up through chicken poop. When you initially fertilize a garden it stinks, but give it time and you won't be smelling the poop anymore, but the roses. That's what I have found to be true.

I am starting again in another place of loss. Might as well take advantage of this full-circle moment, right? But if you look back to my first breakup post, and then to this one, I would hope it looks different. I'm older now. I have gray hairs. Swings make me dizzy, and life sure is too. But this time is different. The breakup was a mature one, I have no anger. No resentment. No teen-angsty spoken word. And although the crashing out of love was not nearly as loud and dramatic, I am more torn than before. The love was a more mature one, too.

This time I just have hope. And where is the source of my hope?

Over a year ago, well before any of this, I went on a retreat with some Carmelite Sisters. On this retreat were many talks regarding various topics in the Catholic faith. After one in particular, as I was reflecting on it I was very inspired. Like a strong wind had blown the words into my midst and it was all I could do to whip out my phone and type them down before they flitted away. Now I find these notes again today, in my place of loss, and I know without a doubt they were not for an inspiration for Katherine of a year ago, but intended for Katherine of today, who needs a reminder of why suffering and loss is okay.

And I feel convicted to share it, for anyone else who is experiencing loss. Who finds themselves broken, rejected, wondering what the heck is the point to all of this. For anyone else whose life stinks.

"I can't be scared of being wounded because if I look at my heart and see wounds, then look at His heart, what will I see? It is pierced. My wounds make me like Christ and we are united. Life will wound me. Regardless of what I believe in. With Christ, wounds have purpose. Without Him it's just scar tissue... I don't know what God wants me to look like. I don't know what a 'perfect me' is. Instead of trying to be a 'perfect me' I must keep my eyes on Him. Looking at Jesus, that is who I need to be. That is what I want to look like. Jesus on the cross, with all that He is, is my mission statement. I will be wounded, humbled, sacrificed. But I will also be love. I will be self-sacrificing, I will be obedient. I will be a teacher and a healer. I will be an encourager. A lover. Strong...

So I will not shy away from something that might wound me, rather I will rejoice. Because He is inviting me to become more like Him. To walk with Him on the road to Calvary. And to then be glorified with Him. I will praise Him in every hardship, every wound. Every stab through the heart. Because then my heart will be like His, pierced."

Right there is the source of my hope. In a God who inspired me over a year ago, so I would have the encouragement I needed today. In a God who knows hardship. Knows heartbreak. Who didn't deserve it, and got dealt the poor hand anyway. I have hope in a God who wanted to know our pain, and so came down and experienced the worst of it so that when I am heartbroken 2000 years later, I can have hope in a God who knows. Through this pain, just like He promised a year ago, I have felt like I know Him better and am closer. Amazingly, in the middle of all this stink, my faith is actually being made stronger.

Amongst the poop springs poppies.

Have hope, do not be discouraged for we are never alone. Know my prayers for you.

Kat

Activator

My writer has been stuck inside a biologist. She has been invaded by microbes, bacteria, viruses. Left stifling for breath by TB, HIV leaving her unable to recover. The biologist asks for her help sometimes, and she squeals with excitement at the chance to write seven pages. Even if it is on genetic linkages, it is still linking words.

It's interesting all the ways biology has shown me what I'm made of. While it is clear my writer is written into my genome, is part of every cell of my being, like genes she isn't always allowed to express herself. She is regulated by external repressors: studying, work, friends, events, by having a mere 24 hours in the day. And genes aren't constant either, transducing particles can come in and rewrite, recombine, and suddenly you aren't who you once were. Things are deleted sometimes. After not hearing anything from her for a while, I was scared maybe my writer was one of the lost genes.

However, we also learned that every repressor has an activator that will literally make it fall away. They come in many different forms. This one came in the form of good writing. The repressor fell away, the writer woke up, and although it seems to have recombined with the input of hours of studying microbiology, she was free to express herself.

Repressed she was, but not gone. Thank God.

~Kat

P.S. Many thanks to my activator, MB.

5 things I wish I knew

In the midst of all the Buzzfeed lists, I swore to myself I would never add to it. But per request (you got it MB), there was no better way to say this. Here are five things I wish I knew or wish I had taken more seriously before starting college:

1.Don’t buy supplies before going to class.

School shopping is one of my favorite things, I love going to Target and getting all my new notebooks and pens and pencils and a cute little pencil bag and folders and binders, stuffing them all in my backpack and heading off to school the first day full of freshly sharpened pencils and erasers with no signs of ever having made a mistake. In college, that was my first mistake. I wasted a lot of money. I showed up the first day, the professor gives out their syllabus and starts their first lecture and suddenly it is abundantly clear that I won’t need a notebook at all, or my lab wants a specific composition book, or that I really just needed an iPad with his power points downloaded and ready to go. So waiting until your first class to buy all those supplies is a good idea. This can go for textbooks too. Some professors don’t use the book, and either they let you know the first day or rate my professor will let you know (that website is a God send). This could end up saving you hundreds of dollars if you ended up not needing a textbook.

2.A good professor makes a huge difference.

I had to take two semesters of organic chemistry. The first semester was hard but I had an adorable little Canadian professor who was young and spritely, had regular office hours, was very patient and always ready to help. I managed to get an A. Second semester I had an older Swedish professor with an attitude even stronger than his accent, had inconvenient office hours times, was impatient, and was always ready for you to go ahead and figure it out yourself. Leave him alone. I somehow got a B, but I also had many panic attacks and trouble eating from the stress. Professors matter big time, and it doesn’t take long on rate my professor for it to be abundantly clear who is a bad egg. If he is the only professor teaching it and you have to take that class, try your hardest to find someone who has taken it already and can tell you their pet-peeves and the best ways to study, etc. Anything would help, don’t be so proud or lazy as to not seek it out.

3.Don’t ditch flashcards.

There are some cool apps out there that can help you study, can make quizzes for you, or you can type yourself up a study guide or what-not, but when it comes down to it, you can’t beat flashcards. They are the best when you need to memorize something hands down. First, the action of writing them gets it in your head once. Second, having a flashcard makes sure that part of the answer is hidden and it does require some recognition on your part (rather than just reading a study guide) which gives your brain more practice recalling a certain fact. Third, when you have some concepts down, you can put those flashcards aside and just drill the ones you don’t have yet. Fourth, they are portable and you’ll look like the coolest kid in school. Don’t redesign the wheel. The wheel already works. Use flashcards.

4.Talk to a professional.

Whatever your idea is for what you want to do after college, talk to someone who is already doing that. I wanted to be a doctor until I talked to a medical school resident, realized I need much more sleep then that, and then followed around a physician assistant in a hospital and realized I really want to spend more time with the patients than doctors do. It took one shift of actually being there and talking with someone for me to see where I would clearly fit. Classes can’t show you what the job will actually be like, and there is no better way for you prepare for that and figure out what you want to do, than being with someone actually doing it. Simple as that. Make the phone call, send the email, talk to that person who knows that guy. Shadow someone, volunteer somewhere, or just have a conversation. It is so worth it, gives you experience with reaching out to people in a professional manner, and if you end up wanting to go into that field, it gives you a reference and starts you out with a little networking.

5.Schedule in what matters.

In high school I can recall times when I would be studying or doing homework, then getting to the bottom of the study guide or whatever, closing the book, and knowing I was done. There was no more schoolwork to be had, I was free. I have never experienced that since entering college, don’t be scared of that, just acknowledge it as fact. If you are the kind of person that has a hard time with that, know that it is more than okay and perfectly sane for you to leave some things undone and is a huge advantage to be able to acknowledge that even though your work is not done, you are done, and any work that you would produce after this point would be gobbledygook anyway. Close the laptop and walk away, it’s okay.

That being said, because college does tend to be busier, you need to figure out what are the things in this world that keep you sane (for me it is time with friends, playing music, writing, reading, etc.) and when it gets busy, schedule that time in. It is so important, and this comes from someone who had an extremely stressful last semester and did not schedule in enough of this time and suffered because of it. Learn from my mistakes.

6.Make good friends.

You need people around you who will hold you accountable to the things in number five. Friends who will help take care of you when you aren't taking care of yourselves, who will build you up and be your cheerleader, but also know when you need to be taken down a step and remind that you aren't the Queen of Sheeba. You need people who you can call for anything. Besides the cutesy stuff, good friends can be strategic too. A good friend to have in college would be an upper classman who is in your major, or someone older than you who can give you a little bit better advice than your friend who is just as young and naive as you. Also having a friend that is younger than you to keep you down to earth will help a lot too. Friends are what get you through, so make sure you aren't wasting your time with bad ones. Be with people who love you.

~Kat

Daily Journal #1

Everyone gets scared a little bit the first time they do something. Trying to climb higher than you ever have, sing louder than ever before, or walk tall into a room of faces you've never seen is scary. But what about a first time in a long time but its actually your bajillionth time and you should be good at this fear? Because that is a very real fear, and its definitely scarier than the first time.

The first time I ever wrote a blog post was almost three years ago now. And that was scary. But then I wrote 46 more that year and it wasn't so bad anymore. Now it's been three months since I've written and much longer since I've written anything I'm truly proud of and trying to sit down here and write for fifteen minutes is daunting. There's an expectation looming over me. This isn't my first rodeo, I should be able to write, and write well.

That expectation sucks, because the first time you do something you can expect to be bad at it. But after you've been considered a pro, and you try to come back, you have the expectation to be a pro, but with the skill of a rookie.

I'm picking up a pen thats ink has gone dry. I'm hoping that if I scribble around and shake it up enough, maybe it will be able to write again.

Fingers crossed
~Kat

We Got Time

I started this blog in a place of loss. Some of you may still remember that one of my very first posts, entitled Raw and Retching, was about the poor timing of a series of unfortunate events. I got dumped on my six month-aversary. I got stomach flu on New Year’s Eve. And to tie it all together, I had bought my then boyfriend a watch for Christmas, and proceeded to give it to him after the break up along with a strongly worded poem expressing my frustrations and hoping that this watch will help him with his timing.

The break-up and stomach flu itself was not that bad. We hadn’t been clicking for months, I saw it coming, had even thought about it myself, and the stomach flu probably kept me from doing some pretty irresponsible things on my first New Year’s outside of my own home. No, the experiences themselves were not awful.

What got me so upset, and so inspired, was the poor timing. At the time, my motivation, my number one priority, and my identity was all lodged into that relationship. Once that was gone, so was the rest, and I did not want to deal with it. Not on what would have been our six month, right before Christmas, and in the middle of my junior year of high school. It was not the right time.

Or was it?

After this break-up I had nowhere to sit at lunch anymore, so I wandered into my English class and befriended my teacher. She saw a lot of potential and goodness in me, and inspired me to start this blog. So I did and part of my identity and motivation, that was lost, returned. I was a writer and I had readers.

A few months later I found myself at a youth group where Jason Evert, a national speaker, inspired me to start a six month dating fast. This meant I would not even think about entering into another relationship for at least six months and focus on repairing my self-worth, my identity, and my motivation by making God and spirituality a priority. During this time my faith grew exponentially. I became self-assured. I went on a week long retreat in July that completely changed how I live my life and set my priorities in stone, with God as number one. My identity, my worth, the love and kindness I tried to give, my motivation, and my purpose all came from Him and I could take a deep breath knowing that I had nothing to worry about.

I entered my senior year a transformed person. I was satisfied and filled. The fact that I was single was not in the front of my mind, nor was it a worry or strain. Two months into the school year, I was given Austyn. It all happened fast, and before I knew it I was deeply committed with no looking back. And this time it was different. This time, he isn’t my motivation. Instead he reminds me of what I should be motivated about. He isn’t my sole priority, but instead he wakes me up when he sees my priorities skew. He isn’t my identity, but loves me and supports in what I indentify with.

And whenever I would voice any doubts, his response from the very beginning was always “We got time.”

So yes. Timing is everything, and everything happened according to plan. It just didn’t happen according to mine.

I gave a watch, and was given time.

~Kat

P.S. Thank you, Austyn, for reminding me it had been a while since I had written, and making sure this stays a priority. You're the best.

An Experience

“So how was your first year?”

Whenever I was asked this question I would respond, “It was great!” Then I would proceed to list off my evidence as to why my freshman year of college was great. I met some really nice people, people with very different perspectives than mine that opened my eyes. I learned a ton, and was challenged, but didn’t die. Being a commuter was actually really awesome because I didn’t have to deal with dorming and could sleep whenever I wanted and eat home-cooked meals. I also got to stay in touch with a lot of my friends that stayed in town.

I think most people’s response when asked about their first year is pretty similar to mine. All of our first years were great! At this point, it’s like a conditioned response. It had to be great, because no one wants to hear otherwise, right? And if it wasn’t great, why would I tell you that? I don’t want a pity-party. I want to be able to tell you that it was great, that I did awesome things, and got that internship, and yea, I did go to that party. Aren’t you so happy for me?

But here’s the part where we run into trouble. It’s the summer after our first year, we are seeing people that we hadn’t seen in months, and you ask them, “How was your first year?” And what do they tell you?

“It was great!”

Then they list all the great things they did their first year of college, and your thinking, well crap. Their year sounds awesome. I didn’t go to Mexico for Spring Break. I didn’t slip and slide down the hallway of my dorm. I didn’t go to my homecoming football game or meet 30 of my best friends in my awesome new sorority.

I can count the number of friends I made my freshman year on one hand. I didn’t go to any parties. I was actually pretty reclusive, being a commuter. I didn’t want to have to drive out there more than I had to, so I didn’t join any clubs. My best friend moved across the country and keeping in touch with her was really hard, and I missed her a lot. Classes would become difficult, I would be tired, have a pain in the butt teacher that doesn’t know how to use Blackboard, be overloaded with work, and come weekend I was ready for a girl’s night and my girl was in a different time zone. I would forget to eat. My piano didn’t get its fair share of action, and it wasn’t the only keyboard that was getting dusty. I didn’t write not only because of a lack of time but a lack of inspiration. My second semester was an emotional roller coaster, with Organic Chemistry almost gutting me of all my carbon-based energy sources and I think I might have actually been a little depressed for a little while there.

But we don’t say all that, do we? Our freshman years were awesome. Mine was great. And yours was just as “great” as mine.

“So what is the college experience? What is it like?”

To all those heading off in a few weeks for their freshman year, don’t let this discourage you. This wasn’t meant to be a discouragement, but an encouragement. You’re freshman year will be a change, and most likely a good one with lots of firsts and beautiful memories made. Mine definitely was that. But your freshman year will not be perfect, it will be about as perfect as anyone’s freshman year is. You will come home for winter break and people will ask you how your first semester went. And you will answer them that it was great. And sometimes it will be difficult to come up with your evidence of why it was great.

But take courage, because everyone’s freshman year was just as “great” as yours. You’re not alone in that. People hype up the college experience, and I think that’s not really fair to do. College is an experience. And that is all.

The best that we can do is enjoy what we can enjoy, and accept what we can't as just a part of it.

~Kat

I Don't Do Sadness

I work as a waitress at a dive bar; literally, there is an old diving suit in the entryway. Our uniforms have the slogan “get your ship together” printed across the back, and about five months ago, I was sitting in my car before my shift sobbing. I walked in with puffy eyes and a big how-do-you-do smile. A few months later I was crying yet again in my car, driving home from the airport. I went in to work that afternoon with my ship together and swore I would never cry at work again. I broke that promise when I had to ask for a day off to go to a funeral. After that I gave up.

I feel like sometimes I treat sadness like a disease. It’s something to be contained and controlled. I definitely don't want to go out if I know I have it, should it to spread to anyone else. I have many remedies to make it go away, and I take precautions to keep it away.

It took a children’s movie to show me that I was wrong. Sadness in Pixar’s Inside Out was a very troubled little character. She was constantly outshined by Joy. As things were heading into turmoil, it was even more important that Sadness stayed contained.

When my boyfriend went across the country for a summer job, I tried to fill my days with as much Joy as I could. I surrounded myself with friends, tried to plan every second of every day with fun activities, made sure that I was plenty busy with work and school. I did have fun, I was busy, but at the end of the day I would come home and all I would want to do was tell him about it. I just wanted to sit with him. I would be on a hike or watching the sunset and would be thinking about how much he would enjoy being here right now. I would say a stupid joke and could see his eyes rolling. I would be craving Thai food, which I didn’t even like before he made me try it, and suddenly I would just be hungry for him. Joy could try her hardest, could use every trick in the book, and it wouldn’t make me miss him any less.

And this makes me sad. But what this new kid’s movie taught me was that Sadness was okay. Sadness is not a disease to be contained or protected against. Sometimes there are things that Joy cannot reach and overcome, and the only thing left is Sadness. Sometimes Sadness just needs to do her thing, and after an hour of crying, you actually somehow feel better.

It doesn’t mean that I am weak or broken. Even Jesus cried. When He had heard that one of His close friends Lazarus had died, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). Some things are worth admitting that you are not strong enough, some things are worth breaking for. It means we are alive and human. Missing someone isn’t so bad, because it means you have someone worth missing.

In the end, it wasn’t Joy that brought her home. It was Sadness.

~Kat