Surrendered in the Valley

Normally sleep comes easy for me. But not this night. Tossing and turning until 2:15 a.m.  My tear ducts clogged, eye pain, body restless, feeling a spiritual torment.

The Holy Spirit prompted me, “Pray ‘release.’ Say ‘release in Jesus Name.’”

I didn’t know what I was saying “release” to but I felt it. Something deeply suppressed or suppressive. “Release,” I whispered aloud, eyes still closed. “Release, in Jesus’ Name,” I said louder. And something released. Something inside me unleashed.

And then, tears. Streaming from right to left, turning to one side to wipe them and then the other, because still my eyes were closed. Thoughts fluttered, and a recognition of a lie released. People won’t  love you when you’re broken. People will turn away from you when you’re angry. They’ll get annoyed with you when you’re sad. So, suppress the anger. Suppress the sadness. Suppress, suppress, suppress.

But the dam broke and I was rebaptized in my tears. Not only was something released, but I finally surrendered. I had been wrestling so much with God. “Why won’t you answer my petitions, my little specific prayers? I don’t want the valley. I don’t want the desert. Take me from it. Why aren’t you fixing it? Why aren’t you taking me out of it?” I just wanted to get out, out, out! And the answer came without words but an unmistakable message: You must conquer the battle in the valley, the one with yourself. Nothing will change until you surrender and decide to accept that you’re in the valley. Accept yourself.

So I surrendered, quite begrudgingly, as God knows. And I said, “Fine, but since You’re not going to take me out, please at least give me little consolations along the way. I just need Your affirmations. I know You love me, but I need Your attention now.”

And so He has been. One Sunday (I usually go to an English Mass when I’m in Swazi), I decided to go to the SiSwati Mass. Nothing is in English, even when you go up for communion, it’s SiSwati. But for some reason, this day, when I went up to receive the Eucharist, the Priest, raising the Host, looked into me (not at me) and switched smoothly to the only English he spoke that morning: “The Body of Christ.”  and it felt… like I was individually seen… out of hundreds.

And then, an occasion in the U.S., with cookie dough ice cream. Cookie Dough ice cream is my absolute favorite and so is Culvers. Combine the two and it’s a feast for this girl. Just ask my brother Justin about his attempt to steal my cookie dough one time when we were in high school. You see, my friend Heather had gifted me my own carton of cookie dough ice cream for my birthday. My brother Justin decided he would taunt me with it, by taking a spoonful of it from across the room. “Put that back, now!” I yelled. He smirked, and scooped a big chunk into his mouth. I leapt from my seat, and he tried to run. I caught him from behind, hooked one arm around his neck with my other hand snatching the carton from his and threw him to the ground, whilst saving the cookie dough. My parents, who saw the whole thing, started laughing. Anger dissipated and I giggled, triumphant, with my brother stunned.  

So, anyway, one day recently we were at Culvers but I hadn’t ordered any ice cream. A server comes around the bend, carrying an extra dish of Cookie Dough and says, “We accidentally made an extra, here you can have this one.” Free!  – like it was handmade, handpicked for me. O sweet Jesus, what a gift not for my tongue but my soul, too. His Love never tasted so good.

There a hundred little things God has done like this, and soon my “In the Valley” collection of dark, depressing, disappointing, angry, frustrated, and sad thoughts/expressions/writings will be glittered with incredible streaks of light, hope, soul smiles, and gratitude. Until recently, I had felt like God was punishing me. That’s why I’m in the valley. That’s why I’m on sabbatical. I asked Him one day in prayer, and He said, “Oh, my child. This is not punishment. This is provision. Why are you so bent on punishing yourself? 

"Come, My child, let Me fix your armor. Let Me tend to your wounds. Let Me fix your crown. I didn't leave you in the valley. I gave you the valley, My Hiding Place, where no weapon, no lie, no self-hatred can stand a chance against My Love."

 

Metaphorical Physical Therapy

 Dear Kate,

You've suffered a number of blows one closely after another. Expecting recovery so soon is like getting back into the knockout ring with a broken rib, dislocated shoulder, a bleeding nose, and a half-working lung. Healing takes time. You aren't just healing from one event, or one thought, or one battle. You're healing from ----, ----, ----, ----, ----, ----, hating yourself, dealing with --- and breaches of trust and betrayal , all the while still healing from ---- and ----, and ----, and ----, and ----. It's like expecting your bloody nose to stop bleeding without putting pressure on it, or expecting that since your nose now stopped bleeding everything else is healed. That's just not how it works. You still have a broken rib, a half-working lung, a dislocated shoulder. And you still need to heal those things ONE at a time.

They aren't all going to heal at the same time nor at the same speed. So getting back into the ring and expecting not to fail, not to lose the fight, is a little foolish if you ask me. You hate yourself because you keep losing, you keep getting hurt, your gifts and talents are suppressed. You feel trapped on the inside, wanting to scream because you KNOW you can do better. You KNOW how strong you actually are, how gifted you actually are, how much impact you can actually make, but you can't seem to perform in the ring. You go a few good rounds but it always ends the same. 

You feeling broken not victorious.

So, my dearest friend, with all the love I have for you, please stop the fruitless effort of getting back into the ring right now. Please stop expecting all your bones and muscles to heal the same way and speed as your bloody nose. Please wait. Train someone else to go in the ring and throw the punches. 

So my practical advice in this season is sabbatical. Six months of metaphorical physical therapy. Rebuild the muscles, recover the strength, and restore those broken bones. YOU are NOT broken. But you HAVE broken bones. 

Love,

The Great Advocate (Holy Spirit)

 

Splintered Glass

 Journal entry about trust: 

"I am not Eve, thought my tendencies of her are strong. I am the daughter of the Redeemed human race, daughter of Mary. Daughter of Faith. Daughter of the Yes. Daughter of obedience. Mother of Trust. I do not need “to know.” I rebuke the snake and repel the temptation to want to know. Abba, Father, I am Yours. Redeem my broken heart and splintered glass of trust."

Splintered Trust

Like a pebble hitting glass,

The impact, not big enough

To shatter the whole

Window shield

But precise enough in position,

Size, and weight to hit its exact mark

Cracks the surface,

Sending ripples of splintered glass

Like a spider web of lies

Spreading across the center

Windshield

 

What is supposed to shield and protect,

Now distorted

My vision confused

 

Yes, he hit his mark

Once a friend, but it was only a mask

Now making me his enemy

Wanting to take me down with him

As he falls

 

He plants suspicion,

Deafening whispers

Behind closed doors

Hiding traps for me in dark corners

He attacks my character

Even as testimony after testimony

Is written against him

Court is knocking on his door

So he attempts to blow mine down

By persuading some of my own

To follow him

 

He laughs that he has

“access from within”

And taunts me with

Pointing out that I am

Running with those whom I can’t trust

His friend, my trusted Judas

 

And the splintered glass tempts me

To pull over and empty out my car.

If I can’t trust anyone,

I’ll do it alone.

But I look at those beside me,

And I don’t see Judas.

I see Jesus.

He is with me.

Emmanuel.

And He smiles at the ones

At my side

“I will deal with Judas,” He tells me

“Don’t stop the car.”

“Don’t look at the windshield, look beyond it.

Do you see? Do you see it, Kate?”

 

I look through the splintered glass

And see a waterfall ahead,

Dazzling rainbows and prisms of color

I have never seen before

The splintered glass no longer

A distortion of reality,

No longer a distraction,

But a vision of glory!

A gift I get to share

With all those

Sitting in the seats

He Came for Me

I always saw the Parable of the Good Samaritan through the lens of the good Samaritan, the good we should do for others. I never saw it through the eyes of the victim until now:

“A men fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.” (Luke 10:30)

My counselor earlier this year said to me, “This kind of betrayal is life-altering. Give yourself some time.” Especially for a painstakingly tender heart of mine. So many times I’ve mumbled in exasperation, God, you got the wrong girl. I am so not fit for this. Please, please pick someone stronger. My heart is weak, it’s too soft, it feels everything and feels for everyone. I forgive often because I understand, I feel what they battled with, where they came from, why they made the decisions they’ve made. I am deeply empathetic. Which makes it extremely difficult when I don’t receive the empathy or grace I often give. It makes it extremely difficult when people don’t understand me. I understand them, how can they not put themselves in my shoes and understand me?

And that’s the cry of the victim, too, right? To not just be seen, but understood. Trauma can isolate but the real issue is the validation beneath the surface. Sometimes we just need someone to want to carry the suffering with us. We feel understood, held, validated for our brokenness, and free to not pretend or not feel rushed to fix it. When someone understands and holds that moment with us, ah, it changes everything. Just like the Good Samaritan. The victim was left half-dead, and still the passerby’s “saw” but found reasons to not validate, not to understand, not to empathize, and therefore not to engage. They justified their own actions instead.

“A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise, a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.” (vs 31-32)

Some people that I expected to understand, expected to stop at my cries for help, people who perhaps “should” be the ones to stop and help, instead pass me by and pass me off. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” they say. “She’s done it before, she’ll do it again.” “She signed up for this.” 

“It’s not the worst that could happen.” “We all go through it.” “Why is she complaining so much, she’s not dead.” “Well, I’m burned out like her, too.” And off they go.  I am seen but not validated. Acknowledged but not understood. Noticed but not enough to engage.

People who should care, who should know what to do, who should provide and comfort and plan – pass me by on the opposite side, in a hurry to the real mission site, in a hurry to deliver the real provisions they have, to give their support to the real service that is needed. I am just collateral damage, taking care of me will cost far more than their normal acts of service.

And yet, I lay there still, waiting, dying

Flies and gnats buzzing in anticipation of what flesh they can soon feast on

And suddenly, He comes for me

Half-dead (hope, trust, compassion crushed) and half-alive (only faint senses)

And carries me, my broken body, Limbs hanging, 

half-unconscious, bruised and bleeding

My Good Samaritan, God Himself coming to rescue me, to carry me to safety when no one else would

Jesus

He came for me.

 

“But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight.

He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. The next day he took two silver coins and gave them to the inn keeper with the instruction, “Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.” “Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” The man answered Jesus, “The one who treated him with mercy.”  (Luke 10:33-37)

*As always with journals and emotions, especially anger which is often irrational, the feelings aren't necessarily the truth. For example, feeling abandoned doesn't mean I am. Sometimes victim mentality isolates us from the real truth, that there are many Good Samaritans, for example. And yet, emotions have a need to simply express themselves, like the Psalms, like Lamentations. So this series of blogs are insights into my own lamentations, and hopefully it encourages you to create space for yours. And meet Jesus along the way. 

The Problem with the Valley

To survive the valley, 

you have to be real comfortable in your own skin.

You’ll find many companions on the path to the mountaintop,

but very few will journey with you to the valley.

Those who do are unlikely to stay.

The closest companion you’re left with: you.

Your thoughts.

Your physical weakness.

Your limits.

Your sins.

Unmasked.

You become keenly aware of your scars, blemishes, incapabilities,

and if you’re not comfortable coming face to face with yourself,

you may not survive.

 

Self-hatred, self-loathing, self-condemnation

The valley is quiet; your thoughts, loud

The voice of the accuser in your own head, so close you can taste its poison.

 

In the mountaintops, your weaknesses don’t bother you

because you’re overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding you,

    the view from the top – breathtaking

    this moment – significant

    you – small

 

In the cities, your weakness don’t bother you because they are drown out by the noise

Or sometimes even the suffering of others

    Opportunities – everywhere

    This moment – insignificant

    You – the center

 

But in the valley?

Your weaknesses are on full display, weighing you down

Stuck in the marsh by your limits

Lost in the forest – your thoughts – going in circles

No noise, no distraction, no beauty

Just you and your ashes

 

To survive the valley

Is to have the fortitude to love yourself

Exposed, bare, raw, dirty

The Garden of Eden deep in the valley

The place to face your Maker as you are

Without even a fig leaf

To admit you took a bit of the poisoned apple

And to discover that the serpent’s lies

Are more about you

Than they are about Him.

Where Does It Hurt?

I met a woman today with heartbreak blue eyes

She captivated me despite the sadness I felt in her presence

 

I stared, holding her eyes, holding her pain

As if she knew I felt her sadness too and wanted to explain why,

she asked me, “If you had a daughter and she ran away on your birthday,

where would it hurt?”

I touched my heart.

 

“If your own daughter turned on you, deceived into believing she had to earn satan’s favor by cursing you and planning harm for you, where would it hurt?”

I arched my back, as if feeling the arrow between the shoulder blades.

 

“If your daughter was raped and you were called to the crime scene,

And you held a body that was alive but dead inside, eyes of a robot, a heart you love, murdered

And you, holding her – skin hot to the touch but heart cold as ice – helpless,

Where would it hurt?”

I touched my stomach as if I might vomit.

 

“If you had a daughter who believed the lies spoken about you by the betrayal of a friend, and she betrayed you, too, where would it hurt in your body?”

I felt my forehead, skin getting hot like a fever.

 

“If you had another daughter who ran away in the dark cover of night, and you waited for her, but she did not return, where would it hurt in your body?”

My lungs constricted and my shoulders drooped with invisible weight.

 

“If some of your children were out on the street, even by their own choices of running away and refusing to come home, would you be able to eat without thinking of them?

Sleep without wondering if they are safe?

Look at family photos and not feel your stomach sink?

Ask God why over and over again?

If your own children rejected you like this, where would it hurt in your body?”

Everywhere. I ached everywhere.

 

And suddenly, I understood her pain, fully, wholly, and I ached for the woman I saw behind the heartbreak eyes, a light that seemed smothered, tattered, losing hope

I reached to touch her

But my fingers touched glass

and I wept for her

The woman in the mirror

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lord, it hurts all over. My lungs hurt. My heart hurts. My shoulders hurt. My upper arms hurt. My head hurts. My knees hurt. My stomach hurts.

 

Daughter,

My Hands hurt

My Feet hurt

My Side hurts

My Head hurts

My Back hurts

My Wrists hurt

 

But nothing hurts more than the love that’s in my Sacred Heart for you. By My wounds, yours are healed.

It’s Time to Talk about the Valleys

“You led me to the mountain top just to watch me get knocked off – bumps and bruises, paralyzing, numbing.

I hit rock bottom. No transition. No journey down from the valley. Why am I here in this pit? Hurting, numb, in a haze? I know You’ll come for me. But why. Why am I here? Why the drastic drop from consolation to desolation?

 Anger rising, darkness pressing…” (6-15-25)

Our spiritual journeys are a combination of seasons, of ups and downs, periods of consolation and desolation, the mountains and the valleys. Usually, my seasons can be marked by external events that launch me into joyous peaks or depleting troughs. This trough has been the hardest one yet. Mostly because the external events have passed, but my interior life is still shaken. I’ve been rereading my journal entries for this year and wow…yikes…hallelujah…and ouch. So many cool pieces of writing that have come out of my valleys and so much wisdom God has shared in sealing me in His hope. (I’ll be sharing these for my next written series about God in the valleys.) Sometimes, because I “know” all the right answers when it comes to our spiritual life, like, I know I am never alone, I know He will come for me, I know without a shadow of a doubt that He is a Good, Good Father. I know Love wins. But I also feel. I feel deeply, and because I feel deeply, I’ve been learning to allow my feelings to speak, too, because only then can Truth truly cover it.

 So, it’s time. It’s time to talk about the valleys. That it’s okay to trust God but also feel abandonment. It’s okay to love Him and also be angry at Him. It’s okay to break, to fail, and to need a Savior. If my valleys had a voice, this is what they’d say…

 “Good morning, Jesus, my heart is really hurting. I’m constantly put in this position of questioning the intentions of those closest to me or those surrounding me. Lord, please expose my enemies. My chest hurts. All the love and hope and trust I’ve poured into the staff and girls. Last year it was betrayals from the girls, this year it’s the staff. The fear of allowing others to get too close to me is resurfacing. I want to crawl back into my wall. I want to push them away. “I can do it myself, then. I’ll just do it myself.” Comes flooding in.” -3-18-25

 “O rock of Ages, I need you. I feel so defeated and overwhelmed by his nastiness and lies, even to the police officer about me and the police seemed to believe him! Lord, speak! Pierce through the dark. I am hurt and sad at his relentless bullying.” -3-20-25

 “Wow, God, fasting has transformed me into your vessel, allowing Heaven to use me and not the other way around. Today was hard but beautiful. My body was physically battling, shaking with anger and hurt, feelings of disappointment and confusion, yet knowing with a deep clarity what I had to do – Trust you.” -3-19-25

 “Another one left. The girls are surprised at how calm I’ve been through this. That’s all You, not me. I feel a bit lost, though. Like I’m floating, not grounded. Please anchor me, and help me sleep in Jesus’ Name.” -5-30-25

 “It’s been over a week after she ran away, my body yet to shed a tear. The color of this moment – ocean-floor blue – dark and dangerous.”  -6-1-25

 “I don’t know what you expect me to do? How can I keep showing up in a place where it feels like people don’t show up for me? You expect me to come with a smile, to show up even when I’m crushed because that’s what I do – I show up even when it’s hard. The moment I fail, the moment I show weakness, the moment I make a mistake, I’m written off… Am I expected to be perfect? To not flinch? To not break?

-6-8-15   To be fake?

“I am a porcelain doll

Chosen for hope of perfection

But at first sign of blemish

...rejection

...they tire of me

...Still, I bleed”

 

“What is this madness, this storm, this chaos, this Judas?” -6-15-25

 

“Jesus, come and get me. The darkness is closing in. Mocking, beckoning, sardonic. Hitting the mark.”

Sometimes I wish my internal season of temporary darkness was external. Because I feel like those are more easily solved. Like, if I were on crutches and had to see a physical therapist to recover, I wouldn’t have to explain why I can’t walk – people would just see the cast and the crutches and know. Maybe they would see and help. Maybe they’d send Get Well Soon cards and recovery gestures. Not that anyone wants sympathy in a season of valley, but at least when it’s physical, there are measured goals of growth and recovery. There is somewhat of a timeline and a context. Not so with the interior life. How do you explain to someone two months later, you’re still not okay? How do you explain it to yourself? How do you measure growth in the valleys? The ebbs and flows are so inconsistent in these places and often times it is dark and lonely even though you’re not alone. What God has been showing me in this season is to stop trying to manipulate my external circumstances, aka my healing, and just allow Him to work even in the haze. After all, my Best Friend glows in the dark. Darkness is not dark to Him. And that’s what I cling to in the valleys. And I hope this encourages you if you’re in a season of valleys, too.

 What better companion to have in the valley than the One who can see through it all. He may not tell you everything, but He sees, He knows the way out, so just keep holding His hand.  

Even When

I love you, not only because You're Good

I love You when you're distant

and when it feels like You've abandoned me.

I love You when you're silent

and when you're hard to understand.

I love You when dreams break 

and healing seems hard to reach.

I love You when I'm angry and empty

and darkness settles in, and I'm still alone.

I love You when You bless those arounds me

even if I am without.

I love You when I see miracles performed for others

even if my prayers are left unanswered. 

I will love You anyway.

You see, I love You not for what you do,

but for Who You Are.

I love You because you are my Savior, 

You left the 99 for me.

I love You because you are my Good, Good Father,

and You have set me free. 

I love You because You are my Best Friend

and You have never forsaken me. 

---------------------------------------------------------------

I love you, child, not only because you're good

I love you when you're distant

and when it feels like you don't want Me.

I love You when you're silent

or when you demand "to know" instead of understand.

I love You when My Heart breaks 

because you become hard to reach.

I love You when you're angry and dark

and you forget I am your Light.

I love You when you praise others around you

even if you've forgotten to thank Me.

I love You when you are loyal and faithful to others

even if my calls to you are unanswered. 

I will love you anyway.

You see, I love you not for what you do,

but for Who You Are.

You are my beloved, 

I will leave the 99 for you.

You are my child,

and I delight in you. 

You are my Trusted Friend

and I will never leave you.

-Love, Papa

A couple months ago, a reading from the "Imitation of Christ" really pierced me, especially in this season of particular internal valleys. "Jesus has many loves of His heavenly kingdom, but few cross-bearers. Many desire consolation, but few tribulation. Many will sit down with Him at table, but few will suffer for Him."

"Many will follow Him to the breaking of the bread, but few will drink the bitter cup of His Passion. Many revere His miracles, but few follow the shame of His cross. Many love Jesus when all goes well with them, and praise him when he does them a favor; but if Jesus conceals Himself and leaves them for a little while, they fall to complaining and become depressed."

Ugh. Right to the heart on that one. I've been complaining and depressed. Wanting Him to take me out of this inner turmoil and into a different season. A better season. Consolation, comfort. I say I love Him, but I didn't want the cross. I've been going to an adoration chapel almost every morning, trying to shake myself from this darker place I'm not used to. And it has been SO healing. There is no match for joy than the actual presence of Jesus Himself. And finally, my complaining has turned to whispers of adoration and praise and promises. This very morning, poetry started coming back again. I grabbed the small devotion book, the only paper I had handy, and the bright orange pen in my pocket, and scribbled my promises onto this book. (The picture above) Then I started writing a reply from the Savior. Oh how powerful is His love for me and us! And I revisited this passage from the book I couldn't keep reading a couple months ago. I opened to the very page I left, because two months ago, I didn't want the sufferings or the cross. I wanted His banquet not his poverty. I wanted a return for my labor and a return for my love. Oh how I found myself a lover of majesty and despiser of the manager. Lord, forgive me.  

If I'm Being Honest

If I’m being honest

I’m seeking to be seen

Because You’ve forgotten

about meeting all my needs.

I know You once parted the Red Sea

But where’s the manna for me?

I struck the rock once to take care of Your sheep

So why do I find myself alone in the dark valley

Aren’t you supposed to lead?

If I’m being honest

It feels like You lied to me

 

You said “Harvest”

But all I see is desert

You said “Joy”

But what I got is jaded.

You said “Rest”

But what You gave was chaos

You promised Healing

But all I feel is broken.

 ---------------------------------

You brought me to the mountain top, and the view was worth the climb. 

Springtime Blossoms in their fullest.

After chest pain and lung issues, I got to rest on top of the world with stars as companions.

I could breathe the freshest air, my lungs filled with untainted satisfaction

My burdens below my feet, my baggage lifted

Peace

I fell asleep that night on top of the mountain, on top of the world, thinking You led me through the miserable climb to show me greater things.

I closed my eyes with my lips curling into a smile, knowing I could finally rest and wake up with joy in the morning.

But I woke up dazed and confused

I couldn’t see properly, everything was hazy, I felt dizzy and heavy, labored and sore

So sore, something was broken

Like I had been hit by a bus

When I looked up, I realized my fate was worse

I had fallen off the mountaintop

No, not fallen

I had been pushed.

No, not pushed.

Shoved, launched, dumped off the mountaintop

And woke up in the valley – dark, blinding, and cold

False springtime

With my Savior nowhere in sight

 

I know my enemy pushed me off, cruel and evil, attacking me at my moment of rest

But what about You, God? I know my enemy is evil, but You? You’re supposed to be good.

How could you allow the thief to come and steal this joy, this rest from me?

 

Yet, I pressed on.

Trudging through the valley of the shadow of death

Knowing You were somewhere close

I reached a clearing and my heart leaped for joy

But it sank quickly to my toes when I realized it was just a break in the trees

We were still in the valley

I trudged on

And reached another clearing, again my heart leapt for joy

To get smashed down to my feet

Upon realizing it was the same disillusioned clearing

I had simply walked in circles

A third time, a clearing appeared and joy danced around me

Quickly muted by the devastation of realizing I had walked in circles – again

I’m never going to get it right.

It’s not going to change.

I fell asleep that night with dark shadows as companions

No miracles left for me

But as sunlight came, so did my resolve

But there was no more anticipation, no more excitement

The joy had been jaded, misled, misused

Only myself to blame, anger burned

Finally, the trees of the valley thinned

And the dark forest ended

The real clearing lies up ahead

Joy surged, but I caught it in my fist, keeping it on a leash this time lest it disappoint me again

Good thing

Because my feet reached the clearing and all I saw from horizon to horizon

Was desert.

Devasting.

But I walked on. Now numb. Why should I care when You don’t?

A well full of water.

I’m unmoved.

A sandstorm.

I’m unmoved.

A basket of bread.

I’m unmoved.

A thief in the night.

I’m unmoved.

Good, bad, pretty, or ugly.

It all looks the same to me now.

 

Sand in my eyes, blurred vision

Parched heart, Torched hope,

What exactly do You expect from me?

 ------------------------------------------------

They expect me to hold the weight without breaking

Walk through fire without burning

Take the punches without bruising

Still, I bleed.

Where are Your promises for me?

 

Becoming Unwintered: The Beauty of Springtime Blossoms

How did I forget that Spring had blossoms? 

The sound of mowers in the background, the smell of freshly cut grass, the feeling of wind rippling through your shirt on a bike ride, the neighborhood garage sales. This is spring.

I snuck home for a friend’s wedding and some family functions which just so happened to all be in one month! And I have been captivated by the trees here (ironic because I wrote a blog about the beauty of death [Fall]) But oh! What blossoms! What beauty there is in new life!

How did I forget that spring had blossoms?

The purple with a tint of pink, the white with a hint of purple. Royal, pure delight. How did I forget?

This spring, how timely, how wonderful, how symbolic. My winter season (2024) had numbed me to my bones. A previous spiritual director had told me that I seemed “bone-tired.”

A frost-bitten heart.

They say, “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.” I must be the fool of them all, because over and over, I think the best and see the best in others, only to be betrayed, blamed, rejected, lied to, manipulated. Lies. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. A sudden turn of character from someone I’ve known for over a decade. Confusion, aggression, threats. Case opened. Other disappointments by colleagues or peers, trust challenged. And then of course the heartbreak of losing my own to poor decisions or just plain rebellion, but being a constant revolving door – people coming into my heart, and people going out.

A frost-bitten heart.

Bitten by betrayal, frosted by the repetition of it. For the first time in my ministry life, last year my heart went cold. “I don’t want to be someone’s leftovers, their fallback plan. I don’t want to be the bandaid or the rotating door, people coming in and out,” I wrote in my journal.

Painted on smiles and pretend hugs, when behind my back, my heart is spit on, my work mocked, like a beautiful painting I spent years mastering, just to get a blob of paint thrown on it. That’s the feeling of failure. Beauty turned to trash. Once a visionary, now a stained vision. I didn’t know who to trust. Not even myself.

At the end of last year, I was home for three months, but I didn’t call and check on the girls or anyone back home. I didn’t want to. I was numb, cold. Like my toes after having fallen through the ice when I was younger. I don’t remember how old I was, maybe 10, but we were ice skating and there was a tiny patch of thin ice. The crackle was too quick to be an alarm, and the ice broke beneath my skates. I only fell through to my chest, catching myself on the strong edge of ice with my arms. My family had to pull me up, and while my mom roasted my toes over the fire for the next hour, to this day, they still freeze up at early signs of cold. I never thought my heart would ever feel like my stone-cold toes.

Journal Entries:

Dec 3^rd: I’m worried I won’t be ready to leave. I’m not ready now. What is this unsettling feeling? It terrifies me. I’ve never felt it before. What if it doesn’t go away? What if things don’t change? Why am I not aching to get back and see everyone like I used to do? What’s wrong with my heart?”

Dec 14: “I feel like I’m stuck in this darkness, waiting to be taken to the light. But it’s like You’re waiting for me instead. Me, sitting in my anger and pity because I’m afraid even in the light, I won’t be happy. I’m afraid nothing will change.”

I was on the plane flying back to Swazi on Dec 30th and writing in my journal; I begged God to change something – anything, because I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t excited to return for the first time in all my 16 years of traveling (since 2008). I was simply numb. Like a stubborn layer of snow, the fear refused to melt even when the sun came out. I felt like a failure – I couldn’t heal the way I planned to.

I wrote: “I am so deeply wounded. I wanted to be healed before I returned. I wanted to be fixed, strong, whole…I am none of it. I am broken, weak, fractured. Sad. Bracing myself for impact.”

Fear. So much fear.

In God’s goodness, amid my innumerable what-ifs and fear, the Holy Spirit stopped me in my tracks with, “What if it’s better than you’ve ever had before?”

That alone restored some hope. Not because I was good, whole, strong, or happy. But because I knew God was all I couldn’t be. I wanted to go home strong and healed and whole, so I didn’t have to feel like a failure. He wanted me just as I am. So He could remind me, He is the hero in this story, and His love never fails.

Dec 30^th: "I’m sitting in Dubai and feeling a sudden rush of uncertainty and fear. But I declare I am because You Are. You are strong enough, wise enough, trustworthy enough. You are a miracle-working God, a Transformer, a Deliverer, a Redeemer. Come and redeem my heart to be on fire like Yours again. Jesus, transform my fear and anxiety into courage and peace.  I want to love well even when I’m wounded and weak.

Even if my stomach doesn’t settle, even if my mind still races, my heart is secure in You.”

Nothing extraordinary happened when I arrived. Nothing notable. I didn’t feel strong but I knew His love for me. Peace. And I knew He wanted to heal me His way, on the very grounds in which my deepest wounds had been afflicted.

Jan 3^rd: "I feel like a twist cone, or twizler candies wrapped together as one…a side of joy, energy, contentment but mixed with blood red color tinged with layers of sadness, heaviness, apathy, avoidance. But I am here. I came back. Not to run or hide or avoid it. I came back to do something extraordinary. To love anyway.”

Looking back, no big moments marked my healing, but winter indeed had ended.

I simply showed up each day, took each day as it was, one day at a time. And soon, I was laughing like I couldn’t stop. Giggling at things that I couldn’t remember laughing at before. Enjoying and playing like a kid again. There was a deep, unspeakable joy. A forgiveness that seeped from under the once snow-covered branch, now a sprout of new life.

The transition from winter to spring is not sudden. It’s painfully long. Day after day, it seems like nothing changes, and then one day everyone is out in their shorts and tank tops, as if winter never happened. That’s how healing came for me. Not suddenly, not in an extraordinary moment, but in the simple graces of every day life, warming up my heart just one degree at a time. One degree. Small changes that don’t seem to matter until the “one degree” changes everything. One degree difference and a water droplet freezes. One degree difference and water boils. Oh, the power of one.

One little hand holding mine. 

One kiss on the cheek. 

One prayer from a friend. 

One hand-written Valentine’s Day card. 

One hour of cleaning my house. 

One apology. 

One night of cooking dinner for me. 

One by one by one. Love came daily. 

Only this time, I was unwintered enough to see it.

Fall used to be my favorite season for as long as I can remember. But oh, the Springtime! How did I ever forget about Springtime blossoms? They have captivated me this year. The delicacy of their scent, the delicacy of their colors, the delicacy of their petals but the power it represents! Behold it. Breathe it in. Spring, the season of hope! It changes everything.

Oh, how my cup runneth over with springtime blossoms.

Spiritual Fatigue and the Prodigal’s Brother

 “Bone-tired,” she said. “I sense a deep, deep tiredness.” The spiritual director told me during a four-day retreat.

Although I had been sick this year more than ever, it wasn’t just physical tiredness. Although my mental health was nose-diving, it wasn’t just emotional strain. It was deeper. That place beyond, a spiritual fatigue I didn’t want to admit. But I was in grave need of that soul-deep rest. My bone-tired body needed restoration of the Gospel. What IS the good news? Had I forgotten? I didn’t think so. But to have good news, we first need to acknowledge the bad news. What was my bad news I had been trying to avoid? That I can’t save them. I can’t prevent them from pain, suffering, or making choices that will lead to slavery. That I can be good, but never “good enough.” That I can’t fill that hole or fix that space in people’s lives or even my own heart. That no matter how hard I work, there will still always be work to do. And I cannot do it on my own.

I don’t doubt the Lord’s love, power, sovereignty; I trust Him completely. I’ve seen Him do miracles and I know He’ll do them again. I watch as He welcomes back the prodigals and celebrates them and I rejoice, too! After all, they are also my children, too. I cry and weep for joy, I thank God. But at the end of the day, when the lights are out and darkness settles in, and the house is quiet except for the hum of solar batteries or my noisy fridge, and I go into my bedroom and find a scorpion on the floor, or a cockroach, or I leave my bathroom light on because even though I’m a grown woman, sometimes I’m still scared…My tears turn inward, from sorrow and a deep yearning, not from joy. From a deep cry of wanting the fattened calf slaughtered for me, too. I start to tailspin. God, when will you do something for me personally? Who will you send to take care of me? When I am weary, scared, weak, sick? Who will carry this burden with me? Why do you send me out among the wolves, to do battle for you while I’m just as important as the prodigals, too?

(And He says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” -2 Cor 12:9)

My spiritual fatigue had twisted the Gospel. I saw God not as a loving Father or best friend, but as an army commander, giving me instructions that I obey because I love Him. (You see that shift? The hidden pride and misinterpreted Gospel? I love God, not that He loves me.)  Someone asked me, “Are you sure that’s God you’re hearing/obeying? Are you sure it’s God giving you those commands?” Or is it my own demands masked as God, or worst yet Satan, the wolf in lamb’s clothing, making God look like a sheep in wolf’s clothing?  

And then the Prodigal Son story hit me all at once. I am still the brother, asking the Lord, “In all my faithfulness to you…all I’ve done for you…the good, the obedience, my loyalty and my love…. And you kill the fattened calf for the one who betrayed you? I’m fine celebrating those people, but what about me?” And just as the father had to remind the son, God reminded me, “I don’t have to kill the fattened calf for you, because all that I have – is yours. Kate, all that I have, is yours. You have access to ANYTHING and everything you will ever need. Because you’ve been faithful and loyal, I have put in you charge of my household and land, not just to work it but to ENJOY it! It is YOURS.”

This ministry is not just to work but to enjoy. In my fear of not being cared for, I got swept away by anxiety. But when has God ever failed me yet? Has there ever been a time I was sick and not cared for? Sad and not comforted by a hug or even a kind comment from a stranger? Struggling and not prayed for? Frustrated and not encouraged, by random donations or words of encouragement? I mean, honestly, there has never been a time in my entire life where I was left unaided. [A recent story: A woman I don’t know donated on our website and left a note saying she was praying for us and my name came specifically. As she prayed for me, she felt God tell her He wants to give me a book. She thought maybe there was a book I really wanted but wasn’t able to buy, so she then donated money but sent, “God wants to give you a book!” What she didn’t know is that I’d been so discouraged in finishing my second book, that I was giving up. I was worried about what people are gonna think, it’s not perfect yet, maybe it’s just for me and I don’t need to publish it, etc. And then here God is, across an ocean, encouraging me through a complete stranger to finish my book, that it’s HIS desire to give it to me.]

No, we are not given escapes from pain and suffering – no matter how “good” you are, no one can earn their way out of pain. But we are given graces for EVERY SINGLE MOMENT we face, that we may not only endure it, but that we may be transformed through it or aid others in their own transformation journeys, too.

Sometimes, it feels easier being the prodigal, wandering off but coming back home, knowing the Father will never reject you – rather than the one that stayed. Maybe the Gospel seems easier to comprehend that way. Maybe the prodigal’s brother didn’t understand the gospel like his lost-and-found brother. Sometimes it’s easier to forget the Father’s love when you’re the one who stayed. Because sometimes staying is boring or monotonous. And then we forget…the entire Gospel. We forget not just who we are or what we already have, but we forget Whose we are, and we forget the immeasurable gifts of our inheritance as sons and daughters of the King of Kings. We don’t have to lose it all to find it again, like the Prodigal Son. We can rejoice that we never have to trade it in. Because Jesus already traded His own life for our inheritance. The prodigal son learned the hard way, but so did the prodigal’s brother.

 

Let it Fall: A Beautiful Death

How can a season of "dying" be so beautiful?

I was walking while Benji was biking. The sidewalk paved perfectly under a canopy of trees, colors so bright and beautiful, not even the best camera could truly capture its perfection. I had a sudden urge to pick up a leaf beneath my feet. I second guessed the urge, thinking it childish. I’m a grown adult, I don’t need to be bending over and picking up leaves like a little kid, I thought. But the urge didn’t go away at my chiding. I sighed and hoped no one watched me crouch down to search through a pile of leaves for one I wanted. Not one was perfect, but each was absolutely unique. I picked two, smiled, twirled the stem in my fingers and walked on. Benji, who had stopped a couple times on his bike for me to catch up stopped again. He put out the kickstand and parked his bike on the corner, not to wait for me, but to pick up his own leaves. A huge smile swept across my heart. I guess someone did see me after all. When I approached him, I expected him to show me the leaves he wanted to keep. Instead, he extended his little arm to me as if presenting me a rose, and said, “Here, I got this one for you.”

He turned away without a second thought and rode on ahead of me not knowing the impact of this gesture to me.

What are you telling me, Lord? I whispered with tears glistening, knowing very well where He was taking me with this. I had sensed it was the Holy Spirit urging me to pick up the leaf to begin with.

I had been feeling defeated. So deeply defeated this year. Like anything I tried to do whether to help my girls or help myself didn’t work. Because creative writing is my best expression of human experience and emotion, I wrote a poem in my journal earlier this year, and here's an excerpt from it:

The amount of “life pearls” I’ve offered this year that have been traded in for lies instead - is gutting actually. I mean like, life-saving, keeping-you-out-of-destruction and hope-securing advice, but it fell on deaf ears. I felt frustrated with God, too, like, why give me all this wisdom and love to not be able to use it and instead watch them hurt, fall, break, devastate. I asked God on the plane ride home, “Can I just not care so much anymore? It hurts to care this much.” And He said, “What if you could still care as much as you do but not worry instead?” 

Thanks, God, but easier said than done.

So He showed me instead. With a leaf. An image I used earlier in the year when writing in my journal. 

God spoke to me now through Benji, redeeming this image of a leaf. With a dying leaf that was nothing but extraordinary. Colors so vibrant a grown woman had to bend over and admire a pile before choosing one, unique in its imperfection. Just like God’s children. All of His children. Every single one of us. Dying can be beautiful. Death of control-seeking, self-protecting, letting go. Caring just as much, but worrying less by letting the leaf fall, because it’s beautiful that way. God is in control of not just the leaf but the seasons, and the tree, and me. So I can release myself from the pressure of being perfect, from saying the “right” words… If only she would have listened! If only I would have said it this way instead…

And then God steps in to remind me: “You see, Kate? He picked up the leaves because he watched you do it. Not because you told him to. You are so frustrated about the words of life, the warnings, the advice and protection you offer your daughters and they reject or ignore it. But keep living. Keep picking up the leaves like a little kid. You are MY daughter. And it is My pleasure that they model after you. They will hear you speak and the enemy will twist your words; they will hear you speak and throw it back at you; they will hear you speak and ignore it. But they will see you forgive and they will, too; they will see you admit when you’re weak, and they will ask for help, too; they will see you pick up a dying leaf and call it beautiful, and they will see beauty from ashes, too. They watch you, my child, and they see Me. That’s ALL I have ever asked you to do.”

A leaf. Free. Free of worry and control. Free to fall, free to die to self to provide something beautiful. Oh yes, death can be beautiful when it gives true life.

“Truly, truly I say to you unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” -John 12:24

“But I have come that you may have life, and have it in the full!” – John 10:10

You're Gonna Get Wet

 The expectation that we can be immersed in suffering and loss daily and not be touched by it is as unrealistic as expecting to be able to walk through water and not get wet. ~ Naomi Rachel Remen

It’s the middle of the week, and I’m nearly drowning. Taki agrees to take the kids for me for a few days – my first answered prayer. I return to my house, alone, and love the stillness of it, the quiet that I’ve been starving. I go to my bathroom and through the window I hear someone crying really loud. Well, what I thought was crying. The sound continues and my heart starts pounding as thoughts race, Who’s hurt? Is someone being beaten? What’s the emergency this time?

I rush to check and there is none. Come to find out, two girls were laughing. Somehow, my brain registered it as crying.

I start cooking dinner, looking up a new recipe, thoroughly enjoying my time alone. I check back on the recipe on my phone and find 3 missed calls from the house mom. (The girls have all gone to a Wednesday church service.) My heart thuds again and I go into panic mode, immediately assuming something happened at church, someone manifested demons, or someone else ran away. Come to find out it was the house mom just asking for advice.

And then, while waiting for dinner to finish, I’m listening to a prayer on my phone. My phone starts buzzing repeatedly as if someone keeps trying to call and call. I try to ignore it and keep praying but my mind racing won’t let me focus. What if it’s Taki? What if something happened to the kids! Did Lucia run away!?

I check my phone in physical panic and find it wasn’t Taki at all but a friend on deployment who had sent me a ton of pictures of his base, most of which were beautiful sunsets!

And then it all hits. No wonder why I can’t get rest. I sink down on the kitchen chair and weep. Pent up tears unleashed from a year that I tried so hard to compartmentalize the negatives and stay strong and “be happy” for all the others. I weep because I know what this means. My brain and body in such a hyperalert state and trying to self-protect means I’m not okay and I finally have to admit it. I’m broken and there is going to be no quick fix for this one.

Thankfully, I have been trained in vicarious trauma and recognized the symptoms, and I contacted my counselor immediately and talked about ptsd symptoms. I also sent an SOS prayer message to my prayer team and Mom and was covered quickly with prayer, Scripture, things that made me laugh and smile while still giving myself permission to be what I felt: sad.

Never before in the history of Hosea’s Heart have we had so many run aways in one year. We had five in less than nine months. And these are some who’ve been with us for nearly a decade! Glory be to God, all have returned except the one. Not only that but my personal plans, goals for the year were frustrated and seemed like nothing worked. I’m supposed to have already published my second book, for example, but I got so frustrated with it, I nearly quit (and it’s in the last small stage of final comb through edits). I felt like the more I tried something, even personal habits or professional growth, the more it eluded me. And then when I sat at the at kitchen table and I wept, I gave up trying so hard. God’s funny like that – I asked for joy, that I wanted people to be able to describe me as a joyful and happy being and then it was like a hundred sad things happened, too. (Granted, I'm not discounted the incredible positive, that was in the previous blog.) But it was also about personal attacks on my worth and identity. The more I “tried” the worse it got. Same thing with patience. The week after my meltdown I said Screw patience! I’m tired of it. I don’t have time for patience in this season! So what happened? 

I was at a lunch date (at my favorite place, thinking it was going to be joyful) with Aya right before my U.S. departure, and it was jam-packed with groups from tourist buses and the waitress and service was the worst ever. We waited forever to order and forever and a half to get the food and then forever plus another for the check. I finally went up to the desk and demanded to pay there because I wasn’t gonna wait one more second. I even told myself, Well they’re not getting ANY tip! And then God did what He does… He whispered right at the end when I was grabbing my cash to pay, “Give them the 200.” It’s a 200 rand bill ($12) and I was like, “You’ve GOT to be kidding me right now. You choose NOW for the time to ask me to be generous?! I will NOT give them anything.” And it was like I could almost FEEL Him smile at me while throwing my tantrum about patience and generous-shmenerous! And without even knowing I was doing it, I gave them my 200 bill and the look on the two waitresses faces – I’ll never forget it. They knew they didn’t earn it. They expected me to be mad. The shock on both their faces and mine was like God playing a joke I didn’t know I needed. I left feeling the lightest and best I’d felt for the entire week!

I realized later (much later) God was actually doing it for me, not to take something away from me. He wasn’t asking me to give away something to make me feel loss or to suffer (since it was the last of my cash at the time). He was doing it to remind me how good it feels to show love (kindness, generosity) expecting nothing in return. And He did it to remind me that He does this to me so often, a gentle reminder that I don’t need to earn His love. He was giving me love by asking me to give something away.

And that’s it isn’t it? I’ve been mad at God all year because giving didn't feel good. It feels like loss, it feels like defeat, it feels like failure, it feels like my heart gets ripped to shreds and He does nothing. It feels like He asks me to keep giving instead, but I’m tired. I’m tired of giving and getting nothing in return. I’m tired of being the one who initiates humility and compassion and grace when in return I get blame and rebellion and rejection. I’m tired of hearing over and over how I will never measure up because I am simply not biological mom. I’m tired of having their own hurt and hatred from their parents projected onto me and me becoming the bad guy. I am SO tired of being the bad guy over and over by pouring my heart and soul out for them. I’m tired of having my words being twisted around and thrown back at me, tired of being “wanted” when they want to cry on my shoulder but “rejected” with attitude when they receive my discipline. It’s like they want to cut me into pieces and keep certain parts that suit them and throw away others. Oh my gosh, it’s exhausting. Their expectations of me are impossible. The expectations of myself are impossible. The crazy thing is, He expected none of it. He was simply waiting to give me the 200. 

There is no way I can ever earn “acceptance” and yet I got caught in the enemy’s hamster wheel of trying to. I am not loving in order to be loved back, but it IS my human need to be loved. I am not giving in order to be given to, but it IS my womanly nature to want provision and protection. It is said that pain can make one temporarily selfish. Indeed, because when all you see is your pain, you forget to see purpose, vision. I was looking at the wrong things. I wanted to hold back, give up, protect what was left. So how ironic that in my weakest (and trust me, you do NOT want to hear what was going through my head about people I actually love) God asked me to give. And I still gave.

In that very moment, He was restoring me in His own way. Showing me how lovable I still am even when I’m angry and bitter and smoke is coming out of my ears. Showing me that HE who is in me is GREATER…than any other emotion, thought, lie, behavior, belief, etc. (1 John 4:4)

I can almost feel Him say, “Have you seen my daughter Kate? Even in the dark, she is still My light.”

When I arrived in the U.S., my friend Michelle paid for me to go on a women’s retreat. Best gift ever. At the retreat, a trio of women prayed for me. They only knew my name because of an introduction. They know nothing about Hosea’s Heart, nothing about me personally, or my journey this year. But as they prayed for me, they prophesied and spoke incredible words and prayers over me. One looked me in the eye and said, “You are a light in the midst of darkness.” She spoke about seeing a physical heavy and dark cloud over me but after praying said, “God wants you to know this cloud is not there by your doing. [releasing me from this fear/lie that I’m doing something wrong, not enough – my soul needed that!] It is planted there by the enemy. Satan is trying so hard to cover that light. But he cannot!” and they continued praying. Another one said, “I sense God saying, ‘You don’t need to make your light any brighter; you are already LIGHT!” [releasing me from the lie that I have to strive harder to prevent failure].

And finally, like a grand finale, one read to me a prayer from her journal that she felt the Lord asking her to share. That morning she had watched the ducks on the lake, and there were three stubborn ones that stayed on the bank and wouldn’t get in the water with the rest. Then in flew a flock of geese landing gallantly on the water, sending ripples and a beautiful entourage. The Lord said, “If you are so fixated on the ones that left, that stayed behind, that refused to get in the water with you, you’ll miss the amazing things still coming!”

And that released me from the pressure and lie that it is my job to keep the flock together, that yes it’s okay to feel loss and sadness for the ones that run away, or leave, or won’t get in, the ones that will refuse to truly join the family or take the journey with me, but to keep moving forward, fixing my eyes ahead so as to not miss the BEAUTY and JOY that surrounds the small piece of SAD. You can be both sad and happy, and it's okay.

The fact that I was putting so much pressure on myself made me realize the weight of this quote: “The expectation that we can be immersed in suffering and loss daily and not be touched by it is as unrealistic as expecting to be able to walk through water and not get wet.”

Well, I guess it’s time to jump in and watch the gallant geese that are coming. The season of harvest is here. It’s time to embrace the wet.