Watching my Words

James 3:9-10
With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God's likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be.

In James 3 JAMES talks about having control of the tongue. He illustrates how one small spark can start a whole fire, and how one small word can do the same. But how often do we go to church on Sunday morning and then slander our brothers that night? How often do we promise to pray for someone and turn around and use this as an opportunity to gossip about them? And by we, know that I mean I. God used this passage to convict me and remind me that my mouth is His and His alone. It should be used for His purpose and His glory. When we curse men, talking about them in a negative manner, we are in turn talking negatively about God's creation. May we learn to speak in a way that praises our Creator both directly and indirectly. Lord, help me to control my tongue, and may I do it for your glory. Amen.

Someday

Since when are am I old enough? When did I cross that invisible line from child to adult? My friends are graduating from college and beginning their careers, others are getting married and starting families. I mean, even now I am sitting in a coffee shop halfway across the world. I just left my pension (by myself,) followed the map (by myself,) found this place with free wi-fi (by myself,) struggled to order a plain cup of coffee (by myself,) paid 25 ck (by myself,) and took a few minutes to just take in the scene, the suddenly familiar atmosphere of conversation that I don't understand in a world that I am growing to love. But when did I become ready to set out alone? I am fine with it, happy to be growing and learning and experiencing. I am just confused as to when it happened.
I remember being a kid and riding my bike to the store. That, for me, was being old enough. I remember taking off down the street alone, Miss Independent, sure of what I was doing. I remember forgetting to make a turn, getting to the end of the street, and panicking. I also remember turning around and seeing my dad in the car behind me. He had followed me to make sure I got there ok. I thought I was going alone, but really he was there all along, checking just to make sure I was going to be ok. Of course I was angry and embarassed. Why did he follow me? Why didn't he just let me do it alone? But something inside of me was grateful for his never ending support. And here, though he and my family aren't sitting outside of this coffee shop in the Czech Republic, I am thankful for their never ending support.
This doesn't, however, answer my initial question, since when am I old enough? The above situations I can handle. Being old enough to be on my own, old enough to make my own decisions, old enough to be me. I am not ready, however, to be me with someone else. A very close friend of mine got married while I was flying to Prague, and I just want to know, when did we become old enough to unite with another for the rest of our lives? When did we become ready to make every decision with another person in mind? Are we really ready to give selflessly in every action? Do we really know what love is? He didn't then. He acted like he did. He said he did. He certainly wrote about how he did. Only a few years separate that boy and this man.He didn't know how to love then, does he now? My mind just searches every corner for some sign, some telling fact that would show me that I am at that level in my life. Am I, too, old enough for such commitment? Then those corners of my mind whisper back the answer I knew all along. I know it is not about age. Age does not make you ready. What is it then? Will I know? Sometimes I feel like such a failure in this area. I feel like I can handle every area of my life, but my heart, no not my heart. That is the area that I keep trying to mend and repair. The area that I won't let anyone have.
This brings me back to the question I asked before, since when am I old enough? Well, I am and I am not. I don't know that one is ever old enough. That is the excitment of it all. You just step out, not knowing what you are doing or where you are going. In the process of doing, that is how you grow. That is how you become ready. So while I am not by any means ready now, I will be. Someday.

Words by Stephen Speaks that describe my heart in a way that I can't.

Letters:
I can take it. I can move on.
But I still care for your letters.
I will make it. I can be strong.
But I still care for your letters.
Maybe someday. Maybe someday. Just not today.
Maybe someday. Just not today.
I could fake it. Maybe I should.
Because I still care for your pictures.
And I will make it. You knew I would.
But I still care for your pictures.
Maybe someday. Maybe someday. Just not today.
I said maybe someday. I said maybe someday.
Maybe someday I will be free from these memories that are haunting me.
Maybe someday I can take that box and put it outside my door.
I have accepted. This is how it should be. But I still can’t throw away your letters.
And I’m as happy as I could be. But I still can’t throw away your letters.
Maybe someday. Maybe someday. Just not today.

This is home

There is something to say for home. I don't think you can truly appreciate it until you are away from that place that feels like home. Being at school has taught me to really appreciate the place where I spent all of my life. When I reach 52 North and see the Rural Hall exit, I can't help but smile. Not because it is a particularly spectacular place, because it is not. Not because there is never a dull moment, because those sneak up on you from time to time.I smile because I am home. When I pull into my driveway and am met not just with a hello, but with the screams and laughter of two little sisters, I know. When I calm them down and walk to hug my mom, I know. When I look up and see my dad standing there, waiting patiently for the last hug, I know. I know I am home. I know I am in a place where I can let my guard down. A place where I can be myself. A place where love surrounds me and judgement fades. It is here that I can express the greatest fears of my heart, and those fears will be comforted. It is here that I share the lofty dreams that tumble through my head, and those dreams, no matter how seemingly unattainable, are supported and encouraged. It is here that I am challenged and humbled. It is here that I am inspired and motivated. It is here that I am home.

I have often wondered when that place of home will change for me. When it will no longer be Rural Hall, but when it will be Raleigh, Africa, Central America, Chicago, or wherever God leads me in the future. The truth is, I don't think that place of home will ever change. Sure, the building may change. The city may change. The country may change. That place of home, however, that will never change. It will always be that place where I am surrounded by my family. This, this is home.

An answer to prayer...

I hate being angry. It is funny, though, how the smallest things can change my mood from smiles to glares. I wish I knew what set it off, but I can't even figure myself out. Little things add up until I just explode, but not really. I just get very quiet. I don't talk to anyone. I crank the Frank. The signs of an angry Kayla are obvious. Then when I look back at exactly what added up the this anger I see myself as ridiculous. A car going slow. No parking space. Plans not working out exactly as expected. Waiting in line. All things that are no big deal, things that can easily teach one patience. Oh, and speaking of, here is a line from my prayer journal written on Friday morning.

"I see myself struggling with patience. Patience with those around me. Patience with life. Patience with You and the plan You have for my life. Lord, teach me this patience I long for."

And He answers, exactly one day later. But I can't see my circumstances as an answer to prayer, I see them as reason to get frustrated. I act like a two year old. I fail yet again. I am so thankful that I serve a God who is patient with me, a girl who is the ultimate source of frustration. A God who accepts the cries of a sinner. A God who sees me on my knees begging for forgiveness more times than can be counted, and a God who picks me up time and time again.

Thoughts of the Sleepless

Well, 5:00 in the morning finds me sleepless and nursing a nagging cough. I finally decided to get up a few minutes ago, and since the busy day gives me very little opportunity to write, I concluded that this is the perfect time. A lot has happened since I last blogged. I went to Washington D.C. with the Park Scholars class of 2011. It was an AMAZING trip. I really miss being with those guys. It is so hard to get all of us together. When you have 50 overachieving young adults you can't even get five minutes for coffee! It is ridiculous. Anyways, we learned about the economy and what is happening to our nations money. We heard speakers about the national debt and the problems that the candidates are refusing to address in a manner with any backbone: social security and medicare. They refuse to address it because no matter what they say voters will be lost. Americans are NOT willing to sacrifice for the greater good of anyone else, and any candidate asking them to do so would immediately become extremely unpopular. It is kind of frustrating. Actually, I am really frustrated with Washington in general. Politicians are extremely "me" centered. The foundation of our United States is one of corruption. The more I learn the more frustration I feel. But don't get me started on this, I still don't know enough to have intelligent conversation about it nor to propose a solution, so until then my political opinions are confined to my head and my blog. Anyways, back to the trip. It was really good bonding. I had some great conversation with the Assistant (hopefully soon official) director, Eva. I really like her. She comes across as intimidating at first, but once you spend time with her you see her for who she is, and who she is is great. I also had some great bonding with the Parks on the train ride home. We had a few technical difficulties and what should have taken 5 hours took 7. About 25 of us ended up piling into one small section and singing random 90's songs for about an hour. It was incredibly fun, the kind of fun where you say anything because you are so tired. We laughed until we cried. We had arms and legs everywhere. It was crazy, and I will never forget it.

Enjoy Each Moment

I am beginning to get a little homesick, something that I do not want to admit. I have not been home in a few months, and it is beginning to take its toll. I have always been extremely close with my sisters, and every time I talk to them I find out new (and life changing) things that are going on in their lives. My youngest sister is running for class president. I am so proud of the woman she is becoming. She is her own person. She doesn't follow the crowd, she stands up for her beliefs, she is brilliant, she is beautiful. I hate that I am missing the key growing points in her life. In a year she will transition from middle to highschool, and I won't be there. I am afraid I am not going to know when she makes National Honor Society, or when a boy asks her out, or when she picks out the perfect prom dress. It started with the small details. I didn't know what shirt she was wearing or who she was talking to on the phone. From there it grew. I didn't know that she made an "A" in math. The details of her life keep getting more and more fuzzy. And what is worse is that this is not only true for one sister, but for two. Taylor is walking through her sophomore year of highschool. She is experiencing the struggles of a teenage girl, and I am not just across the hall anymore. And the scary thing is that she doesn't call. I miss both of them so much that it hurts. I don't want to blink for fear of missing something. But I can't live life like that. And so I just have to enjoy each moment I get to spend with them, each time I get to hear their voices on the phone, each surprise text and letter in the mail. I just have to be there to love them no matter what. We share a bond that time and distance can't break. Those two beautiful ladies will ALWAYS be my sisters, and for that I will always be thankful.

Undeserved Friendship

I have been blessed in my life with an incredible group of friends. The kind of friends who you can really be yourself around. The kind that shares in your joy, hurts with your pain, cries with your heartbreak, and laughs with you after an embarrassing moment. The thing is, most people wait their entire lives for just one friend like this. They look and look, changing their personalities to fit in with different groups, seeking the approval of those who they wish they could be. This is something I don't have to worry about. I can sing in that off-pitch voice and dance that rhythm less dance and still, somehow, they love me. I can share with them the deepest struggles of my life. You know, those things that you hide away so no one sees just how imperfect you are. I can bring those things to light, be completely open and vulnerable, and know that I will not be judged, but I will be lifted up in prayer. I am so thankful I can feel the love of Christ pouring out of those around me. It is something I do not deserve.