2020

Throwback Thursday, Flashback Friday, Memory Lane Monday... it is all about remembering and reminiscing, laughing and celebrating... These are pictures of "my kids". Kids I tutored every week my sophomore year in college. At El Barrio. An after school program for inner city kids whose teachers taught in English but many of whose parents didn't even speak English as a second language. So they couldn't help with homework. These kids taught me how to teach. How to live with compassion. How to tell jokes in Spanish. Pray in Arabic. And how to dance. In turn I taught them how to multiply. English slang. That they could be loved by a stranger. And how to bob for apples. They are in their early twenties by now. And I pray they stuck with reading and multiplying. I hope they are happy and embracing life. Loving and living and laughing. Dressing up for Halloween and perhaps even remembering the silly girl who taught them to bob for apples all those years ago. E

I like to do yoga in the mornings before I run. Typically my dog Jovi will do one of two things: sit on the couch and watch, or join me by showing off how much better she is at downward and upward dog than me. But this week she has decided that it would be fun to lick my face while I am in these inverted poses. And keep licking until I fall down laughing. At which point she licks me some more. Since this keeps happening I have noticed how beautiful it is to laugh out loud. To hear myself laugh out loud. And to feel that laughter deep in my belly.  (Give it a try. Even if you have to fake it at first. Take the time to listen to yourself, and yourself alone, laugh out loud!) Yesterday I spent several hours laughing with a friend from high school. Telling stories. Ones that involved the two of us as well as memories we've made in the years we lost touch. I appreciated the beauty of my laugh mingling with his. Inspiring one another to laughter. How nice it is to smile until you

I got an email from my boss yesterday. A forward really. From an author. A response to the manuscript critique I did recently (remember the one that was late because Robert and I were kickin it at Applebees?). The author was asking for a new deadline. So he could revise the manuscript. "I'd like to go through it again and take all of these critiques into account."  This is an editor's dream response! And a complete surprise. Typically writers (I am one, so I can say this) think they are perfect. They have reasons and justifications for everything an editor suggests might be changed. And you can't blame them. After all, I spent 15 hours editing something he spent his whole life writing (through experience, study, dreaming, writing and rewriting). So for him to receive the feedback so willingly was like being handed the winning lottery ticket of editing.  But more than that. I was simply shocked. That he could be helped. By me .  *** Short

For the children's sermon at church yesterday Linda brought a box full of "samples". Miniature bottles of shampoos and lotions. And explained to the kids that these samples are meant to entice you to buy the larger version. Similarly, she said, we are to be samples of God, enticing others to want to know Him, by living our lives like Jesus would. "How can we be like these samples?" she asked. "Babies!" Tessa shouted, perhaps conjuring a smaller version of herself, yet further convincing me that my niece has a direct line to God. Because in my eyes, it was the perfect example. Babies are far too perfect to be samples of humanity. They are surely samples of God and all His goodness, mercy, and love. Created in His image. Changing our hearts for the better when they come into our lives. Babies certainly make me want to know the Father more. EMBRACE SAMPLES . The Bible tells us to become like little children in order to enter the Kingdom of H

Today is  Make A Difference Day . The idea around Make A Difference Day is to unite millions of volunteers around the world in community service projects, proving that one day, one act of kindness, is all it takes to make a difference. Imagine if we lived to make a difference every day! There are a million different ways we can make a difference. Remember  Larry DePrimo , the NYPD officer who gave a barefoot homeless man a pair of boots last November? He made a difference! Do you know about  Angel Tree , a program that gives gifts to kids whose parents are in prison? They are making a difference! An article in the  Huffington Post  last month reminds us not to neglect our own families when we are looking to make a difference. The American Widow Project is an amazing organization that deserves my support, but what about my own grandma who is in the nursing home in need of visitors? What about my nephew who has a football game this morning and is encouraged by seeing fa

I absolutely love the hostess at the spa I frequent . She recognizes me, takes good care of me, and makes up words to meet her needs. Words like comfortability. Which, according to Google, a host of other people have also made up and like to use. But so far it's only a valid word if you consider Wikipedia a valid source. This is my hostess's context, which she said to a new client yesterday: "Undress for your massage to your comfortability level." "Comfort" would fit just fine in this context. But "comfortability" adds an interesting dimension. Comfort is to feel at ease. But comfortability might be your ability to feel at ease. Regardless of the circumstances, some of us are simply more able to feel comfortable than others. After our massages the woman who was told to undress to her comfortability level shared with me that it was the best massage she had ever had. That she wished her mother could have joined her. But she died in July. Su

Anniversaries are all about celebrating what you love about and have learned from that special someone in your life. Four years ago today I had the honor of marrying the most wonderful, talented, loving, and giving man I have ever met. He had this amazing ability to know me intuitively, which allowed him to simultaneously love me for who I was and inspire me to be better. He is the reason my heart is as big as it is today. Even though we chose not to remain married, I still abide by my vow to love him and cherish all he taught me and continues to teach me until my last day. On this, our first anniversary apart, I refuse to dwell on what isn't and instead focus on what is: that I am better for having loved and been loved by him. EMBRACE ANNIVERSARIES . Even if today isn't your anniversary, take a moment to remember what you love about your special someone--be it your spouse, partner, ex, or friend.

After visiting a pumpkin farm yesterday with a bunch of 3-5 year-olds, I am convinced that no one deserves heaven more than preschool teachers. For the past 3 years I have been listening to my nieces rave about their teachers. So much so, Miss Jamie, Miss Erin, Miss Kristen, etc., may as well have honorary seats at family dinner night. They not only teach the kids about numbers and letters, but also planets and rain forests. (Did you know that Neptune is the windy planet?) They not only let the kids color and paint, but they also put on plays, complete with costumes and video recordings. They not only take them on field trips to pumpkin farms and the zoo, but they also ride the bus with the kids (which officially qualifies them for sainthood!). And yesterday I'm pretty sure it was one of the teachers who started the straw fight that left us all rolling with laughter as we picked the scratchy stuff out of our hair, shirts, and underwear. Because preschool teachers are fun! P

I have a new passport! This is the first valid passport I have had in 7 years. Which is crazy considering for 6 of those 7 years I worked for an international organization. And in the 7 years prior I had traveled to Ecuador, Japan, Cuba, India, and Honduras. It is hard to believe I have been land locked for so long. I'd say I'm due for a little overseas travel! There is so much world to discover, most of which we need a passport to do so. From now on, I'll keep mine up-to-date so I'm always ready! EMBRACE PASSPORTS . Watch out world, Katie is coming in 2014!

Grandparents are one of life's greatest blessings. I'm pretty sure I would be a different person today if I hadn't gotten to know my grandparents so well. One set of grandparents took me on a road trip to Wisconsin with them when I was about 6. Another set took me to Washington, D.C., as a teenager. They all encouraged me to be the best version of myself I could be, and to have fun while doing it. Whether that meant painting ceramics, hunting fossils, or reading books wasn't important to them. As long as I stayed true to me. I was so blessed to be able to spend a week with one of my grandmas recently. We did lots of ordinary things together, from changing the batteries in the carbon monoxide detector to shopping at Barnes and Noble, going to the movies and eating take out pizza. She reminisced a lot, about dancing with my grandpa, going to craft shows, and all the wonderful people she has met along the way. We talked about a few things still on her bucket list--goin

One of my friends is getting a card in the mail today (or maybe not till Monday, I'm still working on the timing of snail mail ). It says "Happy Sweetest Day to a sweet friend" and "thanks for eating pizza with me a couple weeks ago" and "isn't this miniature gift card to Starbucks I got you so cute!" We don't tell people often enough what they mean to us. Or that we are thinking about them. We can never do enough "sweet" things for others. So we should take every chance, every excuse, to show love to the people who have been placed in our lives. So what if it's a made up holiday that is only celebrated in a small part of the middle of the United States. Embrace it anyway. EMBRACE SWEETEST DAY . Be sweet today!

Remember that work I was in such a hurry to get to St. Louis for, just a couple of days ago (read  EMBRACE WARMTH  for a recap)? Well, I didn't do any of it that night. Instead, I sat in the hotel's hot tub, ate another bowl of soup, and watched cable TV. The work really did have to be done, though, so I got up the next morning and worked from 6 a.m. until 11 when I had to check out of my room (these are my "peak" working hours anyway, so I made way more progress than I would have if I'd skipped the hot tub the night before). I pulled into Starbucks at precisely the moment my boss's secretary was emailing me asking if the work was going to show up in her inbox anytime soon. "Getting online at Starbucks. One minute." I replied. Normally I would feel guilty that she had to send this reminder/request. But here is why I didn't this time... The work I was doing was a manuscript critique for a book set to be published next year. About how to

"Do you want a cold bottle of water?" he asked, holding it out to me like a carrot. He was standing next to a pickup with Kentucky plates. I took the bait. "What do you do?" I asked after taking a sip. "Hang out at rest stops and pass out bottles of water?" "No," he said, smiling, grabbing another bottle out of the cooler in the back of his truck. I waited for him to tell me about Jesus, thinking this was a brilliant evangelistic technique. After all, Jesus did tell us to give a drink to the thirsty. And that when we come to Him and drink of the Living Waters we'll thirst no more. "I saw a pretty girl and I offered her a drink," he said instead. "Oh!" I said, too surprised to be embarrassed by my naivete. He told me about the 30-year-old dragon tattoo on his meaty forearm and then invited me to dinner. (Apparently he wasn't concerned that I was 3 when that dragon first appeared.) I politely declined.

I had just pulled off the highway in Springfield, Missouri, when I saw him. Still, I turned into Applebees where I planned on getting a quick bite. I wanted to eat and run, to get across Missouri quickly, because I had editing to do once I got to my hotel in St. Louis. But I had seen him. I couldn't un-see him. And his sign beckoned to me: "Cold. Wet. Hungry." So I parked my car at Applebees and walked to the nearest crosswalk. He was on the other side of the street, sitting on the ground, head ducked into his coat with the sign in front of him. It was a dreary day. Overcast skies, 55 degrees and drizzling rain that looked like it would soon turn into something more. As I neared the man with the sign he looked up. He was young--in his 20s--and handsome, with deep brown eyes. But unlike the man I met last week (read EMBRACE CHARITY for his story), this kid looked--and smelled-- homeless. "Do you want to have lunch with me?" I asked. "Yes,"

Last week I was surrounded by people with a passion for writing. At least, they were once passionate about writing. Many, it seemed, had become jaded by the "business" side of what they once loved. What started out as writing for the love of writing had turned into: do I need an agent? how many more rejections can I take? why did that book get published but not mine? when will I get my chance? can someone decipher this contract for me? should I make the changes the editor suggested? Why, why, why? When, when, when? This is true not just for writers. A coach with a passion for football can lose sight of that passion when he has a losing season, angry parents and board members, kids with no leadership or work ethic. A passion for teaching can be jaded by having to teach based on a standardized test, students with no respect for their elders, or a student who--no matter how hard you try--just doesn't get it. A musician may lose her passion if she keeps facing clo

On Saturday I received a first place award for a travel essay I'd written, as well as a second place award for a short-short story (99 words). Everyone loves recognition. It doesn't matter how clear you are that what you are doing is what you are called to do. It's reassuring, encouraging, and heartening when others also recognize that. But this recognition had another affect on me. It served as a reminder that I'm not just writing for me. That others can be encouraged and challenged by the words I put on a page. That I'm called to care for others. To live in community. To encourage people to seek and embrace and learn and grow. And writing is how I do that. At least one very important way. I believe the reason I was able to learn this is because I decided in advance of the award ceremony that I wasn't going to let a piece of paper (or lack thereof) determine how I felt about myself as a writer. Yes, I was excited when they called my name. But I was jus

Peggy Vining is the poet laureate of the state of Arkansas. As soon as she received notification of this honor, she immediately called the governor. "Why me?" she asked, knowing she wasn't the best poet in Arkansas by any means. She didn't even start writing until she was a 30-year-old mother of 5, looking for something to do that didn't cost any money because "we were poor then." The governor told her that there were 100 nominations for poet laureate. "But your nomination application was the only one that talked about what you do for others." The other 99 all focused on the person's credentials--awards, publications, honors, degrees. "I didn't feel like I deserved it," Peggy said. "I was just doing what I love. I love poetry and I want others to love it, too." Hearing Peggy's story while surrounded by 100 other writers who all want to publish and receive recognition for their novels, short stories,

My grandma and I hosted a dozen women on Wednesday for Bunco. Bunco is a very simple dice game. Three tables are set up for four women at each table. The person across the table from you is on your team. The goal is for your team to roll the most of a designated number. So during the first round everyone tries to roll ones. Eventually someone rings a bell and everyone gets up and moves around, to a different table or a different seat, so that you are with a different partner and have different "opponents". Then you try to roll twos. Eventually someone rings the bell and everyone gets up... And so it continues for two hours. I haven't figured out how to make the dice land on the number you want it to. So this game of "chance" is a low pressure game where everyone cheers and teases everyone else. And because it is so simple you can easily carry on a conversation while playing. Which is definitely the best part. Several of the ladies are going to Ireland in

When was the last time you drove 700 miles without once looking at a map, using a GPS, or consulting your phone? I can't even find the post office in my own town without Google. So it was awesome to trust myself--my knowledge and insight and sense of direction--to get me from Ohio to Arkansas this week. Without once doubting or questioning that I knew where I was going. This positive assurance that we are on the right track seemingly doesn't happen very often. So when it does we should embrace it, rest in it, thank God for it, and follow it for as long as we can. EMBRACE KNOWING WHERE YOU ARE GOING . Whether you are navigating the streets or navigating life, appreciate those moments when you are 100 percent (or at least 95) sure you are on the path meant for you.

I have absolutely no problem giving money to people who ask for it. I don't even care what they do with it. I figure if they do have wrong motives, God can convict them and change their hearts if I'm a good witness to His generosity, freely willing to give when they ask. Which is why my reaction to a guy asking me for money in St. Louis this week was so weird. "Hey! How's your day going?" he asked as we were crossing each other's paths on the street. "Great! How about yours?" I replied. "Not so good. I'm homeless and trying to get dinner. Do you have any money to spare?" (This is where it gets weird.) "You don't look homeless," I said. (I've definitely never said anything like this before. Perhaps what I should have said was 'You don't look any more homeless than I do' since we were wearing matching outfits... dress pants and hoodies. Though his hoodie did have a few more stains on it than min

I love St. Louis! St. Louis is good food, friendly people, and of course the Arch. My earliest memory of St. Louis is going up in the Arch on a family vacation. Packed into the egg-like elevators and swaying gently at the top while we looked out over the city.  I also remember getting stranded in St. Louis during an ice storm when all the flights were downed and we were trying to get to Iowa for Christmas (remember when flying as a family of 5 was affordable??). This was back when the economy was good and the airlines could afford to put us up in a nice hotel for a couple nights, with food vouchers to the hotel's steakhouse, plus incidentals (I got a Howard the Duck t-shirt in the hotel gift shop since our luggage wasn't getting off the plane with us). In high school my mom and I visited the Washington University campus and shopped at The Loop. It would have been an amazing place to go to college, but I would have ended up with a ton of shopping debt! On

My dad is the most patient person I have ever met. Take the last week for example. While all the other farmers in our area have their combines out and beans already in, my dad is still waiting patiently to begin. He had planned to start on the first of October. But the beans were too wet. So he pushed it back to the second. But they were still too wet. And on the third it rained. "Can't you put them in the bins and turn on the dryer?" we asked. "Sure, but I don't need to if I wait until they are dry enough," he replied. When I talked to him on the fourth, after he'd put the combine away for the weekend and the rain to come, he said he realized this week that the reason the beans weren't drying quicker was because they still needed to mature. Another week and cooler temperatures and then they'll be ready. It dawned on me that this is precisely why we need to exercise patience--because it allows us time to mature. To prepare for the thing

I had coffee and brownies for breakfast this morning. (Okay, so I had eggs and kale first. I didn't want to completely destroy my blood sugar for the day. But then I had coffee and brownies!) Why? you ask. (Or maybe you don't. Maybe you think this is awesome!) Because my friend Beth sent them to me in the mail. I was Beth's sidekick our senior year in college. She was everything I wanted to be: tall, blonde, thin, beautiful, and with a radiant smile that proved how sweet she really was. (Sometimes I would borrow and wear her gray corduroys just so I could feel like her for a day!) We did everything together. We got jobs together. Took a road trip to the Grand Canyon for spring break together. Were happy together and depressed together. Beth taught me how to add white chocolate chips to brownies so that they would stay moist forever (not that they ever lasted long!). She took me home with her for Christmas ("Winterfest") and her family taught me how to play

Next week I'm driving to Arkansas to visit my grandmother. The last time I drove out she baked a pie and invited the neighbors over. People I love, and who love me, and who I don't see often enough. And pie. What could be better than that! I was thinking about this last night after having pie with my friend Terri, who I also don't see often enough. Our conversation was full and rich--dreams, frustrations, growth, discernment--because it is easy to eat delicious pie and talk deeply at the same time. This simple act of communion was a reminder to me of the sweetness of our friendship. One that is definitely worth taking time out of our busy schedules to savor. EMBRACE PIE WITH FRIENDS . Do you have a friend you need to (re)connect with? Why not meet for pie!

When I walked into the post office yesterday my first instinct was to turn right back around and leave. Buying postcard stamps wasn't really worth the line of irritable people waiting, all angry at the woman at the head of the line who wanted something that the one poor guy working clearly hadn't been able to find for awhile now. But I had just blogged EMBRACE WAITING , so I couldn't justify to myself refusing to wait. I wasn't in a hurry. I didn't have anywhere I had to be. There was no reason I couldn't wait. And to do so cheerfully. Or at least not irritably. Unlike the woman in line directly ahead of me. Who was so frustrated by the wait that she had begun mumbling to herself. Pacing. Holding up the one letter she had, that simply needed a stamp. One stamp. And since there were no stamp machines at the post office she had no choice but to wait. "I like your shirt," I told her when she came to a break in her mumbling. "It looks really

Tysen entertains herself with a pair of earmuffs while waiting for fireworks on the 4th of July. Yesterday I ended up at Walgreens, waiting for a flu shot. (Read EMBRACE HIATUS and  EMBRACE GOOD SAMARITANS if you need to know why I wanted a flu shot this year.) Shortly after I sat down to wait, a woman who reminded me of my grandma sat beside me to also wait for a flu shot. Our seats were extremely close together. We were practically huddling for warmth. So it seemed a bit awkward not to have a conversation. "I'm traveling next week," I offered. "I thought it would be good to get a flu shot before I go." "I'm flying in three weeks," she quickly responded. "I made the mistake of not getting a flu shot before I went to Paris and I spent more days in bed than I did enjoying the city. An expensive way to have the flu." "Where are you going this time?" I asked. "Just to Hilton Head," she said. "But we&#

Even though I've only competed in two triathlons so far, I've already learned that you have to expect the unexpected. Like when the transition and finish line arches deflated mid-race on Sunday due to the generator running out of gas. But just like you see in the picture above, where volunteers are willing to manually hold up an arch for a woman on the last leg of her race, no matter what happens someone will always be there to support you. My brother was there to pat me on the back and wish me luck as I ran down the hill to the beach for my race to start. My friend Mike was there to cheer me on 6 minutes later when my swim was over and I was running back up the hill. A 9-year-old boy flew past me while we were on bikes (yep, that happened), but paused long enough to tell me I was doing great and to "Keep up the good work!" One woman gave me a high-five on the run course. I was having a "Praise God we're almost there" chat with another woma