Sweeping Up the Shards

I knew the glass was going to hit the tile floor long before it did.
It moved almost as if in slow motion.

I had finally decided to do the dishes because, let's face it, I only decide to do them if things are growing. (Ok, ok. It's not that bad, but I really really hate doing the dishes.)
Because there were so many, I had to wash a few glasses and put them in the dish rack. Those things are made to hold glasses, right? They even have the little pokey things on the outside to put extra glasses to dry! Perfect.

I had almost lost this particular glass already on this day. Counter space was hard to come by in my little apartment kitchen, and the glass apparently did not enjoy being placed so precariously on top of other glasses, bowls, and pans right beside my fridge.

I caught it then before it hit the ground.
The second time I wasn't so quick.

I turned around from the pantry and watched it slide
off the dish rack handle ever so slowly.
That heavy glass was no match for the
flimsy plastic of my lovely red dish rack.
There was no use in reaching my hand out to even try to catch it. All I could do was jump back to protect myself from the shards of glass about to take over my tiny kitchen floor.

I sighed and reached for the broom.
At least I wasn't attached to this set of hand-me-down glasses.
I began to sweep up the bits of glass, light reflecting off each piece.

I was impatient, though. Ready to get back to the one chore I hate the most just so it could be over. As I bent down to grab my dust pan, I noticed a small twinkling of light. And then another.

Tiny little shards I had missed with my broom.

Sighing again, I did a more thorough sweep. I was barefoot, after all. I didn't want this to end in injury.

Far too often than not, the first sweep through is
exactly how I handle my relationships. 

A glass breaks. A harsh word is spoken.
A friend leaves. A request is ignored.

As I watch something fragile in my life break into many pieces, I grab the broom to sweep it all away. I have the one conversation. I reach out for a little while. I let them hear part of my heart.

But then I walk away, leaving tiny shards of glass all over the kitchen floor of my friendship.

When it comes right down to it, I don't care enough about myself, the friendship, or the other person to get down on the floor and make sure I get every last piece of glass. I get scared so I just leave it. Good enough, right?

Fast forward six months. Or a year. Or two years. Walking barefoot through the kitchen of my friendship, I step on a forgotten shard. Just because the big pieces were removed doesn't make the little pieces hurt any less. In fact, the surprise of those little, forgotten pieces possibly hurts more than those huge pieces I discarded immediately. After time and time again of stepping on the small pieces, I stop walking barefoot and start carrying a broom with me, lugging it around into every friendship as a constant reminder that no floor can be trusted.

But what would happen if I was thorough? What would happen if I swept everything away the first try? If I had those hard conversations letting my friends know they had hurt me or apologizing because I know I hurt them? If I consistently reached out to a distant friend, not letting distance litter my floor with bigger and bigger pieces of glass?

I think it's possible I could be barefoot again. I could feel comfortable without a broom in my hand for every relationship.

As I was thinking about writing this post this morning, I realized one of the most tragic things about this scenario: I do this with God. 

I hide my frustrations, my anxieties, my hurts from the Creator of my soul because I'm too lazy to get on my hands and knees to sweep up the shards that are piercing my heart and life. And for what gain? A few more minutes on Facebook? More time napping so I can ignore my problems?

Two days ago I cautiously entered the kitchen created for my God and I, broom in hand. I wearily looked around because it had been too long since I'd been gone. Who knew how many pieces of glass were waiting to cut my tender feet? 

But I decided it has been long enough. So for now I'm carrying my broom and sweeping up each tiny shard so that in the future I can put my broom down and enjoy a nice dance party in my kitchen with my God.

What shards of glass have you left unnoticed in your friendships? 
With God?

Finding My Place

My name is Karissa and I don't have a place.

This has been my identity for so long. When my friends graduate before me, I don't have a place. And when I move to a new town, I don't have a place. When I'm not the best choir director, I don't have a place. And when I sit by myself in church, I don't have a place.

In my mind, there should be a small place carved out specifically for me everywhere I go. So what happens when there's not? Meltdowns in the form of shutting down and becoming defensive.

I didn't even realize I felt this way. Not until recently. But once I did realize it, my whole world was flipped upside down.

When I don't have a place - I don't matter.
When I don't matter - I panic.
When I panic - My world falls apart.

Dramatic much? Funny you should mention it. That's been the name of my game for so long.

Just stick with me.

I am a strong, beautiful, confident woman. I know this. Strong, beautiful, confident women don't need a specific place everywhere because they make their own place, right? So now that I know who I am, I won't ever feel like I don't have a place, right?

Oh, if it were that easy.

But it's not. Which brings me to this story.

I've also recently decided (thanks to a strange chain of events involving Arkansas, Patrick Mead, and some really fantastic people in my life) that I want to know Jesus.

But Karissa, you've been a Christian for so long? You mean you don't know Jesus?

Correct. More on that in the future. Just roll with it for now.

In wanting to know Jesus, I have started reading the Gospels more than I ever have before. They're fascinating. So yesterday in class at church, when my good friend Dave starts asking questions about Jesus' life, I was answering every single one. I've been immersed in the Gospels for a week. (And I'm a fast reader.) I knew the answers for which he was looking.

Except one.

Dave - "Jesus told his disciples he was going to do what?"
Karissa - "Prepare a room for them."
Dave - "Right. Prepare a place for them."

And class went on. That would have been it, because I didn't even really catch what Dave had said. He agreed with me! But God has placed an amazing man in my life who opens my eyes to truths I can't even see.

So while Dave was going on with class, this wonderful man sitting beside me acted on God's behalf.

He nudged me.
I turned to him.

Me - "I know I'm answering all of them because I've been reading the Gospels."
Him - "Did you hear that?"
Me - "Huh?"
Him - "He went to prepare a place for them."

Oh. My. Word.

A place. Jesus is preparing a place. I don't have appropriate words to express what happened to my heart in this moment. We both found the verse. (He on his iPhone, I in my old-fashioned concordance.)

I flipped to John 14:2

"In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you."

 My heart was overwhelmed, as were my tear-filled eyes. I quickly dug for a pen in my over-crowded purse and began to underline words that were soothing a wound I didn't think could ever be healed.

He's preparing a place for me.

I have a place.
I have a place. 

It's only been a day. And I still hear the words that I don't have a place. But now they're echoed by something else.

Me - "I don't have a place."
Jesus - "You are wrong, sweet girl. I'm preparing one for you."

How comforting that while I'm getting to know Jesus, He already knows me. And knows the words I so desperately need to hear.

Did I mention that John 14 was already
prepared for my reading last night?

My name is Karissa and I have a place. 

Jam-Packed Summer

It is July 23. Which means school starts exactly one month from today.

One month!!

My summer has flown by and I think I've pretty much forgotten what it means to be a teacher. At least I have a month to figure that out. 

In the meantime, a quick, 17-picture recap on my busy summer. 

I went camping with some lovely ladies.

 Watched this guy eat a 3 lb burrito. 

We do some exciting things in Tulsa, lemme tell ya.

 Made new friends.

 Went to some weddings with 

my best friend and my super hot boyfriend.

 See?

 Dominated some karaoke. (Let's just say, Usher was involved.)

 Started Pathways Core Training. A brief explanation. Pathways is a life-training program that gives you the tools to create the life you've always wanted. It allows and encourages you to look at internal barriers that have been holding you back. It then helps you break down those barriers while giving you the tools to create a great life. 

It's been the hardest, best thing I've ever done. 

More to come on it in later posts I'm sure.

 Hung out with some beautiful ladies from the boyfriend's family.

 Saw some fireworks with my man.

 Reunited with one of my best friends!

 Celebrated Fourth of July with my family. 

(Check out the cake. My mom's pretty cool, huh?)

 Celebrated this guy's birthday.

 Worked at a summer camp all summer long.

 Went to Arkansas.

 More specifically, Harding.

 And took a photography class.

I'm sure there is so much I'm leaving out. It's been a tremendous, busy summer filled to the brim with friends, family, and love. It's been a summer of learning so much about myself and the people around me. It's been a summer of change. 

But I don't think I'd have it any other way. 

Saying Goodbye

I am writing this so some of you may be reminded of the sweet goodness of the Lord. I am writing this so some, including myself, may be comforted. I am writing this to say goodbye to one of the most truly amazing women I have ever, and probably will ever, known. 

Nannie,
Today you went to be with our sweet Jesus. I don't know if this is the case, but I picture you running into His arms and then immediately holding Jonas, the precious grandson you never got to hold on this earth. Today you are no longer afraid of falling. You are no longer in constant pain, like you have been for at least 21 years. Today you are with our Lord, and I am so happy for you.

But today you also left a hole in my heart. I know I told you this a few weeks ago, but I want you to know you gave me some of the most precious gifts I could have fathomed. You gave me an imagination. As a little girl, I don't think it would have been possible to invent more imaginary friends. And you kept up with all of them! Orson, Peevee, Dottie, Lottie, and Cottie (the triplets, of course), and the infamous Sinny, to name a few. You communicated with me for hours when the only sounds I would make were barking. No one else could quite understand how intricate playing the role of Spot truly was. As I grew a little older, you watched politely (and clapped at the appropriate times!) when I would perform full one-woman shows of Oklahoma, Hello, Dolly, and Music Man. And I don't know if I could possibly count how many times you were the officiant at my various weddings, with the couch's arm cover as my veil and you holding the Reader's Digest (because of course it wasn't appropriate to use the Bible for a fake wedding). Nannie, how I wish you could be present at my real wedding one day. I bet I'll even get to wear a real veil!

You let me read to you for hours on end, cultivating a love of reading in me I still carry to this day. You let me talk your ear off about whatever was happening in my life, even though you knew none of the references I was making. You made jokes with me about Culp's hearing ("I think your butler's a little hard of hearing!"), when, in reality the last few years, it was you who needed the hearing aids. You always wanted to know what was happening in school, and never once forgot to tell me you were proud of me.

Nannie, you loved everyone around you with a deep, unquestioning love. You gave of yourself when there was seemingly nothing left to give. You and Culp taught me so much about marriage and living a life together devoted to our God.

In the past month or so, God has used the end of your life to speak tenderly over me, and I can't imagine a better person He could have used to do that. Some of the last intelligible words I heard you speak were, "Karissa. I love you." Nannie, I love you, too. And always will. The Lord has given me such peace in your passing. This morning I woke up and knew this was the day. I've been praying for it for a month, because I didn't want you to be in pain anymore. Last night, however, God sent me a dream about you. It was so vivid. You were sitting on a bed in a room similar to the office at your house. I came to you and we were talking like we would on any given day at your house. You were much more active, much more you than you have been recently. The conversation ended when you hugged me and told me how much you loved me. You were crying, which made me start to cry as well. You told me this was goodbye, and I said goodbye with my whole being. When I awoke, I prayed all morning the Lord would finally take you home. So when my mom called me this afternoon, I already knew what it was.

Nannie, you will be so missed. Your wit. Your jokes. Just your voice. Everything. Nothing will be the same. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, all of it will have a little piece missing. But I'm writing this in confidence that death has no victory or sting. Because of our wonderful Jesus, death has been swallowed up in victory! Praise the Lord! And praise the Lord that He saw fit to finally take you home.

I love you. I miss you.

Your granddaughter,
Karissa

On Teaching and Inadequacy

I've decided I want to blog more because exciting things are happening in my life I want to remember. First year of teaching (it'll be funny eventually, right?), first time living on my own, making a life for myself. It's all great. 

 This post may start off as a bit of a downer. Stick with me, though! It'll get there.

This week I am really battling thoughts of inadequacy and feel led to share those thoughts. If you ever think you are really good at something and want to longer think that, become a public school teacher who teaches that something. Works like a charm.

There are only 15 school days left in this year. 15. And the closer it gets, the more inadequate I feel. Questions constantly race through my mind: Did I teach them enough? Did I make a difference at all? Why didn't I take them there? How could I have forgotten to do that? How will I find enough chaperones? What if it doesn't get approved? This is the soundtrack of my day. The underlying thought to all these questions is like the bass line keeping the beat going: "I'm not good enough. I'm not good enough." Over and over and over again until I'm as weary of that bass line as I am the often repeated, poorly played Justin Bieber songs continuously heard in my classroom.

The funny thing about a song getting stuck in your head is that you start singing it without realizing. When I'm warming up my choirs (I'm not good enough), when I'm teaching 12-bar blues (I'm not good enough), when I'm cooking dinner (I'm not good enough), and when I'm going to bed (I'm not good enough). Over and over and over again.

I'm sick of hearing it. I want someone to smash the stereo in my head so it won't play on repeat anymore. And that's when I turn to my Lord. In Him I find this crazy paradox that makes the cd skip just long enough to make me realize I can change the disc.

You see, my Jesus died for me because I wasn't good enough. But my Jesus makes me good enough. With that one statement, I'm able to put a new song on repeat.

When that parent calls to chew me out (You make me good enough), when I'm told how awful my decisions are (You make me good enough), when I go on an after-dinner walk (You make me good enough), and when I drift off to sleep (You make me good enough).

He makes me more than good enough. He makes me His.

So please proceed with the Bieber, excited student, I have my own new song to listen to.

Things Change

I once made a very strict personal rule that I would not include boys on my blog. In the past few weeks, however, I have discovered that if I continue to hold to that rule, I will no longer blog as there is one specific boy who is included in most aspects of my life, 

mainly because I am dating him. 

So I hereby lift my own rule. 

Please meet Adam:

 

I could probably commit an entire post to how wonderful this man is, but I can only lift my rule so far and still have a clear conscience. 

So, for now, suffice it to say he's really great. 

And now on to the real reason for blogging today:
 Easter. 


I love dy(e)ing Easter eggs. (Let's clear up the whole dy(e)ing thing. I've read it both ways. I'm gonna go ahead and choose to say dying since it includes one less letter. Moving on now.)

Adam and I dyed eggs with some of his
family last night and it was wonderful.

I think everyone was slightly shocked by how enthusiastic I was over coloring eggs. It only happens once a year, people! You have to be excited!!

This year, more than any I can remember, I have been so overwhelmed by the Easter season. As I sit blogging this Saturday night I am thinking on how devastated Jesus' followers must have been that first Saturday before Easter. He was dead. Everything He had proclaimed for 3 years went into that tomb with Him. He was a liar. How could the Son of God be killed by mere humans?!?

But Sunday was coming.
And I've never been more thankful for a Sunday.

This is going to sound beyond cliche. Just know I'm aware of that before I say it.

I love my life. I love everything about my life right now. That's why I'm not blogging. For the first time in a very long time, I am way too busy living my life to spend time on the internet posting about it. During student teaching I wasn't posting because I was emotionally and physically exhausted from too many things to list. Now I'm not posting because the thought of pausing for a few minutes to do an update on the past almost 3 months makes me cringe because it would mean pausing from any number of wonderful things I could be doing.

But today I want to just say this:

God knows what He's doing.

To be honest, three months ago I had my doubts about this. I couldn't imagine why in the world God would want to bring me here of all places. I couldn't imagine leaving my best friend. I couldn't imagine starting over again.

But God knows what He's doing.

Far more than I ever do. And I am so thankful for that. I am so thankful for Him.

Since I'm sure it will be awhile until I actually get around to a real update, here's some pictures spanning from New Year's Eve to this past weekend. Enjoy: