There are other FISH in the sea...

"You can't tell God how, and you can't tell Him, 'Now!'" Words I've heard Margo, a mentor, say several times, but honestly, I'm having a hard time right now. For the past two years, I've enjoyed working a wonderful job in the promotions department for two Christian radio stations, with coworkers who truly felt "like family," and having the opportunity to build my faith everyday, while making a positive impact on others at the same time. Then, in a week's time, the rug was ripped out from under us. Our stations were sold and we are now suddenly left to find a way to move on while we are all still in shock.

I do not know how I will be able to enjoy another job as much as this one. Granted, it was challenging, and there were plenty of times I complained, but it was always worth it in the end... especially when we'd hear from listeners whose eternal lives were changed because of our stations. I just can't imagine not coming into the office and working with the same 20 people every day... it's heartbreaking, but the most heartbreaking, is to think of the listeners who will be without their favorite station.

Our listeners are so loyal... just like the employees (I honestly don't know what I'm going to listen to now)... and some of them will be fine. The ones who were already strong in their faith will still be Christians, and probably still listen to Christian music one way or the other... But the listeners that are right on the edge, and need us to give them that little nudge to cross the line... what will they do? I once heard a quote on evangelism and witnessing, "You may be the only Bible someone ever reads." Well, for some listeners, we are their church!

I am just so astounded that a company that prides itself on being a Christian-based company would be so "UGH!" Maybe the problem is that it does pride itself... and it is Christian-based. Because I have now come to be of the opinion that it is impossible for a company to be both "Christian-based" and "publicly traded."

When we're working extra hours, graciously agreeing to log "comp time" instead of charging the company overtime. We tell ourselves, "It's not about the money... It's about the ministry." But try quantifying that to the stockholders who are more interested in sums than souls... more concerned with building their portfolios than building the Kingdom... Don't make budget and you're considered dead weight they need to sell off... Make budget and you are now a profitable frequency that will bring in a good sale... Heads, they win. Tails, you lose... Sorry :(

I know that God has a plan, and will find a way to use this for good... but I've never been well-stocked in the patience department, and right now I'm pretty miffed... Looks like I'm in for another lesson in perseverance...

A New Normal...

It's been a rough week, but I always get emotional around this time of year. Seven years ago this past Tuesday, January 8, I lost my best friend. Not to an argument that ended our friendship... Not to growing pains that caused us to grow apart... We were kindred spirits in the truest sense of the word... Born only a week apart, and best friends before we were even old enough to know what a best friend was.

When I was seven, and my parents' separation caused us to have to move in with family six hours away, both our moms expected us to drift apart. After all... there is only so long that a boy and girl can be best friends before one or the other magically contracts "cooties." But, we stayed close. Partly because our mom's remained best friends and made sure we saw each other often, talked on the phone, and wrote letters. We even went on an annual vacation together every summer to one of the state bike trails.

The summer of 2000 was our last vacation together, and Matthew was going through a lot of struggles with depression and substance abuse. So much so, that his mom decided to move him to a different school, in hopes the change of scenery would help him get back on track... it didn't. The evening of January 8th, 2001, in typical Matthew impulsiveness, he decided the easiest way to end his pain, was to end his life, and he hung himself.

I cannot even describe the devastation. Matthew was the only friend I had who had known me from birth, and I never imagined that the boy I played with in the sandbox would not always be there. We were only 17... far too young to have to face such a harsh blow to my idealist world view.

At his visitation and funeral, his parents made a point of taking me aside, along with some close family friends from our moms' old Bible study group, and just praying over me for a good half an hour. I do not know if I would have been able to get through the pain without that incredible spiritual experience... it changed my life forever, thought it took some time for the changes to be recognizable.

For months I did nothing but sit around in my pajamas, pouring over old photo albums and watching old home videos over and over again. I couldn't bring myself to socialize with my other friends, because I felt guilty having fun. But a few months later, his mom was on the phone with mine, and she shared how hard it was for her to be going through his things. Then she shared that she had found a large envelope in one of his dresser drawers, and in it he had saved every one of the encouraging letters and cards that I had sent him. That was a major turning point for me... as was this past Tuesday.

For the past seven years, Matthew has been growing up along with me, in my mind... and let me elaborate before you start thinking I'm crazy... When I graduated high school, I was thinking, 'Matthew should be graduating.' When I moved into my room at college I was thinking, 'Matthew would be moving into his dorm right now,' and wondering where he would have chosen to go. When I turned 21, when I graduated college, I was always thinking about how, if Matthew were still alive, he would be going through the same things, but this year was different.

I am 24 now, which is a long way away from 17. I have two younger sisters who are 21 and 18. My younger brother is 17... he's just a kid! We were just kids! And my pain is completely different looking back as an adult, than it was as a devastated teenager.

It is by no means gone. I still miss him, and think about him almost everyday, but it is a different kind of pain. I have learned to cope with it... I've gotten used to it. And the best way I can explain it is the way a doctor explained things to a cousin of mine who was undergoing surgery for chronic pain. He told her that she would probably improve, but not to expect to feel the same as she did before the pain started. It would be a new normal for her. And that is how is has been with Matthew...

The pain hasn't gone away... I will never be the Kate I was before he died... It's a new normal. And it's the same with Christ... Once you come to faith, and decide to live your life as a Christian, out of love for His sacrifice, you will never be the same... It won't erase the memories of previous mistakes, but you will be able to live a new kind of life in spite of them... You'll be a NEW NORMAL!

Don't Make Me Count to Three...

Last night, our family got together with some other families from church to celebrate the New Year. One couple in attendance used to be youth group leaders when I was in high school, and the wife even accompanied our youth group to a large youth gathering when I was 17, and I just learned that she was my age when she took our youth group on that trip. Their enthusiasm for youth ministry played a big role in my desire to volunteer with a church youth group once I conclude my graduate degree.

The couple now has two young, feisty daughters, and my mother took it upon herself to swap some stories of her own feisty daughter's (me) in-church antics. While discussing the challenges of raising strong-willed daughters, I shared a bit of the logic behind why I was disciplined far more than my younger sister...

When my mother would give us "to the count of three" to stop whatever we were doing, Kara would stop immediately, but I always pushed. Think about it... If you're going to give me to the count of three, why would I want to stop on one, when I can continue to have fun misbehaving until two or two and a half?

The problem with this juvenile logic, is that you never know when she's going to get to three. Sometimes, in trying to push as far as I could, I would sometimes misjudge, and "three" would just sneak up on me, and before I knew it, I was banished to a chair in the corner of the dining room, or biting down on a bar of soap.

As I've continued to think about this, along with my usual goals for the new year, like becoming a better person, etc... I started to think about my human sinful nature, and, while it has been quite some time since I have heard my mom count to three, my childish strong will has not changed.

Sinning comes so easy for us humans, no doubt aided by the fact that the devil sugar coats evil to make sin seem like so much fun, but we have been warned that Jesus will return to earth and we will face judgement for our sins. It's tempting to believe we will always have tomorrow to turn our acts around, but we have been told that no one knows when Judgement Day will come. It could be hundreds of years from now, or before tonight is over. Don't let God get to "three" before you're ready...

Getting Older...

I was born on November 27. That makes today my birthday and I am feeling a little old and unaccomplished. I can remember so vividly daydreaming while I waited for the bus in first grade, thinking about how very many years I had left before I would be done with high school. The idea of going to school for so many years, and then going to school even longer for college, unfathomable. Twenty-one seemed so old that I could not even imagine living that long, and now my younger sister is about to celebrate her own 21st birthday.

It can be pretty intense thinking back to what you wanted to be when you grew up, then looking at where you are, and how you got there. As a seven year old, I thought I would be a married doctor and mother of nine by the time I was 25. By those standards, I am already an old maid... fun game, but scary thought. Some dreams we may have had as younguns may be unrealistic, and it does not mean we are total failures if we do not carry out an elementary school fantasy, but I hope I never lose that zeal.

As a lowly first grader, I had no reason to believe I couldn't grow up to be a married doctor and mother of nine, but too often the normal bumps and bruises of growing up in a sinful world leave us jaded and willing to settle for complacency. While I do believe it is necessary to understand the reality that sin has cost us perfection here on earth, I never want to get to the point that I accept this reality as "okay." I believe we should always maintain a degree of discomfort over the sinful state of our earth, so we are even more inspired to persue a perfect life with God in Heaven.

Part of the reason that I am having such a hard time believing I am already 24, is that I thought I would have surely grown more "mature" by now, but now I hope I never "grow up."

I would like to wrap up my meandering by sharing the words from the beautiful birthday card I received from my dad. Over the years, our relationship has definitely had moments of severe strain, hurt, anger, abandonment, resentment, disappointment, forgiveness, awkwardness, and love. This year, Dad planned an evening for he, Kara, Grandma, and I to go out to a fancy dinner and attend A Christmas Carol at The Pabst a week before Christmas. I cannot even begin to describe what a huge step this is, because he thought of this all on his own, and I am so proud of that fact! The words from his card do a better job of expressing some of the emotion behind our relationship:

"For a wonderful daughter. You mean so much to me. I'm not sure why I wait for special occaions to tell you how much I love you, because that feeling is always with me. From the minute I first held you in my arms, you've had a special place in my heart, and even thought we've had our share of differences, I've never stopped loving you. Not for a moment. You're a wonderful daughter, and you deserve to hear that more than I tell you, because you're more special than words could ever say. Happy Birthday. Love, Dad"

It was a happy birthday!

Changes...

So I came home, to Stevens Point, for a couple of days because Kara has fall break, and I just need a break. Unfortunately, Mom is planning to make me do some serious heavy lifting, and emotional laboring, by cleaning out my room, and all my shelves in the basement. Now that might not seem like such a big deal, but I just happen to be one of the most sentimental people I know, and I'm not exaggerating... I actually started to cry because she and Steve got all new glasses for the kitchen, and are throwing out the old ones. Yes, the new ones are nice, but what was wrong with the old ones?!

Besides that, she put up new mini-blinds in my room, AND she replaced my mattress with a new one... which I do not like because it is not the old one. The old one was the original mattress Mom and Dad got for me after Dad finished crafting the bed by hand... I understand that mattresses eventually get worn out, and that mattress is probably about 22 years old, but I LIKED it... it was the perfect balance of fluffy, soft, hard, and supportive... and it was familiar. I do not like change, and I know it sounds rediculous, but I feel a sadness that I was not warned the last time I was home that my mattress would be replaced. I didn't even get to relish my one last sleep on that mattress!

Like my mattress, sometimes things, or people, you think will always be present in your life, are taken from you without any warning. I wish it weren't so, but that's part of living in a sinful world. Sometimes you don't even notice the change, and sometimes it overwhelms you... like when I was 17, and my life-long best friend, Matthew, died.

Matthew was a kindred spirit, if ever there was one. We got in to so much mischief, and so many arguments, but we were always back to being best friends before the play date was over. Even after my family moved away when Matthew and I were seven. Kids make friends fast, and most people would have predicted we grow apart, but we didn't. We both grew up, and yes, we changed, but we remained close. We'd write letters back and forth, even when we were older and it wasn't considered so cool, and talk on the phone for hours on weekends. Though three hours apart, we listened to the same radio station, and every once in awhile, when a song that reminded me of Matthew came on, I'd remember that he might be listening and think it was pretty cool.

Aside from that, we went on an annual bike trip with our mothers (not the ride around the block kind either.) and had a quirky traditional of sending each other birthday cards themed around bodily functions (we were born a week apart.) I've often wondered how I might have acted differently if I knew, that summer between our sophomore and junior years of high school, when we said good-bye to each other at the end of our annual vacation, that the next time I would see him would be at his funeral.

I cannot even begin to explain all the ways Matthew's death has changed my life. Everytime I come to a milestone moment, I cannot help thinking he never got to experience high school graduation, college graduation... Where would he have chosen to go to school? What would he have chosen for a major? Would he be married? You just never expect that the little boy you played with in the sandbox will not always be there, all young and innocent.

I remember getting a call from Matthew's mom, several months after he had past away. She had been cleaning up some things in his room, and found a large envelope in one of his dresser drawers. When she opened it up, it was full of letters and cards that I had sent him over the years. He'd saved them all.

I'm reminded of memories like these whenever my Mom decides it's time for me to weed out some of my sentimental treasures. So many things hold meaning for me that it takes so long to decide which ones are the most important to keep. Most of my Matthew items have been safely stowed away in a box... except for the stuffed cat he bought for me with his own money when we were eight. It cost him $.25 at a rummage sale, but to me it will always be priceless.

I started cleaning out my room again yesterday evening, and found several cards I'd been saving. As I flipped through them, reminiscing, I came across one with a bodily function theme. I opened it, with a lump in my throat, and read the words: "Hope your birthday's a gas! Happy birthday, Kate! -Matt". It put a temporary lull in my cleaning until I showed my find to my mom. She got tears in her eyes when she read it, then turned to me and said softly, with a senitmental smile, "You know, Kate. He's probably have a good laugh over this up in heaven."

I'm sure he was, because that's Matthew. Even after so many things have changed in my life, I know one thing will never change... God's everlasting love and forgiveness. He gave His Son for me, and for Matthew, and because of that I know that, while our life-long friendship may have been interrupted here on earth, it is sure to continue in Heaven.