capture my heart again

Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies. -Philippians 4:8-9

why do you live?
why do you breathe?
why do you wake up in the morning?
why do you speak your words?
why do you act in your ways?
why do you think your thoughts?

what inspires you?
what moves you?
what makes you want to write?
what makes you want to dance?
what makes you smile?
what brings you to tears?
what scares the heck out of you?
what reminds you to think?
what allows you to wander, yet guides you perfectly?

who knows you?
who is always there?
who listens even when you don't speak?
who gives when all you do is take?
who believes when you doubt?
who forgives when you can't forgive yourself?
who is everything you long to be?
who loves you?
who died for you?

icing

one day i'll have it. and i will lick it off my fork, or eat it off my first finger after i run it along the bottom edge if i so choose.. who knows, i might even have my cake, too. and it will be everything i have hoped for and more after 20 odd years of waiting for the ideal consistency and sweetness. so don't tell me i don't deserve it, and don't keep me from tasting it. because i will get my icing eventually. the Baker has promised me.

paddycake, paddycake, baker's man
bake me a cake as fast as you can
roll it and pat it and mark it with a 'B'
throw it in the oven for Baby and me

Dad Loves On

Dad wakes up to a new day. He drinks his coffee and he reads his devotion. Dad prays. He smiles at his daughter and says, "Good morning, Kate!" She mumbles something back as she drags into the laundry room then to the toaster to pop a bagel in for breakfast. Dad gazes out over the golf course to watch the newly risen sun gleam just above the treeline, and allows himself to be reminded of the Promise that it resembles. Today will be a good day. Dad always decides that the day will be good no matter how heavy the remnants of yesterday or the worries for tomorrow may weigh. The sun rose again, and so does God's mercy and compassion.

Dad has a heart centered on God; he sees clearly at times when others let vision be clouded by the world. Dad always forgives and always loves. His children tend to take him for granted, but Dad forgives and loves on. His daughter says hurtful words and gives annoyed looks, but Dad forgives and loves on. His son has tested his patience and faith, but Dad forgives and loves on. His siblings try to manipulate, but Dad forgives and loves on. His co-workers push him to the limit, but Dad forgives and loves on. Some refuse to hear the honest truth he speaks, but Dad forgives and loves on. Some turn their backs and walk away, but Dad forgives and loves on. Some bring trials with them to his doorstep, but Dad forgives and loves on. Some do not forgive and do not love... still Dad forgives and loves on.

"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed by Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven..."

How blessed I am to be able to call my dad a true man of God. How grateful am I to be raised by a father who walks with my heavenly Father so His will may be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. For as sure as the sun comes up, God forgives and loves on.


I love you, Dad. Thanks for being you.
Father's Day 2010

roots

"If life stayed the way it was,
and lovers never fell out of love,
if memories didn't last so long,
and nobody did nobody wrong,
if we knew what we had before it was gone,
if every road led back home,
this would be the very last country song."
-Sugarland

"I'm gonna live where the green grass grows,
watch my corn pop up in rows,
every night be tucked in close to you,
raise our kids where the good Lord's blessed,
point our rocking chairs towards the west,
plant our dreams where the peaceful river flows...
oh, where the green grass grows."
-Tim McGraw

"Back where I come from,
it's where I'll be when it's said and done,
Well, I'm proud as anyone,
That's where I come from."
-Kenny Chesney

"Growing up Southern is a privilege, really. It's more than where you're born, it's an idea and state of mind that seems imparted at birth. It's more than loving fried chicken, sweet tea, college football, beer, and country music. It's being hospitable, charming, and respectful while having strength, grace, and a genuine love for our family and our land. We don't become Southern, we're born that way."

"Being country isn't all about the accent, pig pickin's, or music, Katy. Being country is an attitude; it's the mindset. It's simple. It's about being honest and sincere. It's about giving people the benefit of the doubt no matter what." -Dad

It's June 11th, 2010, and it's hot outside. The kind of hot that makes you thirst for an ice cold coke and a dip in the pool. The sun isn't just shining- it's blaring like Jason Aldean is through that Silverado's speakers. I have my bare feet up on the dashboard, my cut off jean shorts on, and shades to relieve squinting. As we cruise down the highway with the windows down, I master the fine art of eating a mouthful of sunflower seeds at one time in my left cheek and spitting the shells from the other. Look Ma, no hands! My very best friend, Breanne, who is surely falling in love with the power of driving a pickup truck turns to me and laughs out loud. We spent about an hour loading her life into the back where it was now Northbound to Raleigh. And then it hits me. Maybe it's the wind that smells so sweetly of grilling out, heat, and grass that's blowing in my face, playing with my hair, or maybe it's the urge I have to turn the music up a little louder upon the first sound of, "she had a shiney little beamer with the ragtop down..." Whatever it is, for the first time in my 20 years of being raised in Sanford, NC, I understand exactly what it means to have roots.

The thing about home is, no matter how far you go or how much you think you change because of the people you meet and the things you learn elsewhere, nothing is ever as true and close to your heart as where and how you've been raised. That's roots. You can't escape them and you can't deny them. You always find yourself back where you started eventually. And if you're lucky, they'll creep up on you when you least expect them to...a friendly reminder that the rest of the world can play you for a fool if it wants to, but it can't touch how you were brought up: the importance of Sunday morning church and Mama's cookin' after, the excitement of running around barefoot down in the woods trying to keep up with your older brother and eating strawberries at the patch until your shirt was stained red when you were only supposed to be picking.. more family vacations spent in a pop up camper in the mountains than you can count, lessons learned from grandparents' stories while helping to hang out laundry and shuck corn, having parents that give everything of themselves to see you do well but always straighten you out when you need it, and being able to respect anyone and everyone you meet just because you ought to...because that's what your closest friends do, what your parents do, what your grandparents do, and what your great grandparents and Jesus did.
Roots. Southern. Country. Simple. Honest. Sincere. True. Holding in my heart, sneaking out in my accent, and I hope to God showing in all my actions.

We get to the new apartment and lug furniture, clothes, and pictures of good memories inside. Sweat drips down our backs, but we keep going until the job's done. Tim McGraw's greatest hits play from the truck outside as we look around her new room. Sunflower seeds are still stashed in my left cheek. Life might be different living in apartment style, this year might bring change; a new roommate, a new boy, old promises rediscovered, new regrets, old success found in new classes, old skills practiced in a new atmosphere- on a new level, old ways merging with new paths, old and new mistakes met by an even newer grace...

Thank God for roots.

3 up 3 down

I miss softball. Spending the past 3 days watching the Women's College World Series and watching Addie's little league game tonight make spring and summer memories of 6 years of my life come flooding back. 6 sweet seasons.

I remember walking onto the field for my first practice at 8 years old with a ball 2 sizes too big for my league, cleats from the thrift store, an old glove, and a tee ball bat. I remember late nights at practices, missing everything that came to me in left field, working hard to hit perfect pitches from the machine, and drinking lots of purple gatorade and eating little debbie snacks with the team. I remember chanting, "My name is Katy and I know what I got!" as my teammates responded, "What do you got?" -- "I got a team that's hotter than hot!" -- "How hot is hot?" -- "Grandslams and homeruns too-- "Uh huh, uh huh!" --" Now let's see what Katlynn can do!" and so it continued until everyone in the dugout had yelled. I remember wanting to redeem myself for all those pop flies I missed in the outfield, and I remember the night I did. I remember getting older and moving to a bigger field and learning how to battle a good pitcher at the plate. I remember learning how to bunt and slide..sliding practice was the best! I remember practices got better when they got dirtier, whether because of making great stops in the dirt or getting down on a steal scrimmaging- there was nothing like dirt in my hair from the helmet or a slightly brown left hand from a sweaty glove. I remember Sonic runs with Dad after games to get extra long cheese coneys and strawberry limeades as we talked over the game. I remember the hitting slump I stumbled into in sixth grade, and how I broke out of it. I remember the adrenaline rush of rounding the bag and seeing nothing but the third base coach waying me on, yelling, "down, down, down!"- there is no feeling like sliding in and being safe. I remember the season I got moved from center field to second base. I remember being nervous, but learning how to 'turn two'. I also remember the beginning of the next season when coach looked at me and said, "We're starting you at third, you've got an arm." I remember throwing my arm out by about day three of camp one year, and how bad that hurt. I remember making allstars and how excited I was...I bunted a lot on the allstar team. I remember the biggest, most painful strawberry that was easily the size of two half-dollars I got trying to steal second with 2 outs in a tournament. I remember refusing to tell coach before heading out to the field, then the timeout to get me off the field because I was bleeding through my uniform, and the lecture I got for trying to play when I was hurt. I remember how badly I wanted to play. I remember how I felt being up to bat, full count, 2 outs, championship game, being signaled to bunt then swing away, this is it, having a split second to judge the pitch... and wrongly choosing not to swing. I remember the heavy regret I felt as soon as the ball smacked into the catcher's glove- I had sealed the loss. I remember how playing a team sport instills the concept of winning and losing together- it's all part of the game. I remember how I loved that game.

I loved everything about it. Over the seasons errors decreased but were never eliminated; errors kept me humble and striving. I loved how the innings always changed and brought new chances to crack the bat or play good defense no matter what kind of performance had come before or showed in the score. There are things I learned on the ballfield that come back to me in random situations; I sometimes find myself in circumstances much like being in the box with a full count, 2 outs, a runner on third, down by two- circumstances that demand mental collection and execution of skill in seconds. Or more simply, how to think ahead and always be on my toes..down and ready. How many hard times can seem bearable, how many burdens can be lifted by refusing to be overwhelmed by the score to instead levelly ask, "Where's the next play?" But beyond that, I learned how to work. I was never the best. I made lots of mistakes, but I grew..not only in ability as a player, but in heart for the game. It's not about what exactly you do, as it is how much of yourself you give to what you do..the reward is in the effort.

I remember what it was like having to say farewell to my days on the softball field and how torn I was..how I couldn't bare to think about my memories or watch my friends play without me. In fact, this is the first time I've actually thought about it since then..since 8th grade. I remember my reasoning for quitting, and I don't regret one bit deciding to focus on dance during my highschool years, but I sure did love that game. I remember telling my mom, "It's going to be okay..I played for a reason even though it has to be over..this just means that my little girl can be a softball player or a dancer and I will be proud." Of course Mom said I would be proud of my child no matter what...but I remember that thought comforting me at the time, and it still does.

"3 up, 3 down
3 up, 3 down, don't mess around
3 up, 3 down
ALL D, NO E!"