but a vapor.

(from: http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/)

"We are but a vapor. I think we know that we could die tomorrow, or worse that our children could, but do we really KNOW it? You know, LIVE as if we know in our hearts that we are just a breath, that we will wither and fade like the grass and the flowers... I know there are days when I don't. I am not meaning to be morbid, simply realistic. Because I know that if I lived like I really KNEW this truth, if I treated everyone as if they were David and might be taken tomorrow, I would love better. I would hug my children tighter and hold them longer. I would tell people thank you more often and I would tell God thank you more often. I am thankful that as I care for sick children often, this is something I am reminded of often, and I pray that it would change the way I life my life.

Francis Chan wrote, "How we live our days, is how we live our lives." I had to read it several times as I let it soak in. Because it is true. So often we find ourselves waiting for a specific moment, a specific call, something special. For what? How we spend our days... that will be our LIFE. Because today could be it. If Jesus came back today and said, "Let's go!" would we be ready? Would we be doing what we want to be doing when we meet Jesus? People say to me often, "You are so lucky that you found your calling, that you know your purpose in life." This statement boggles my mind. I AM so blessed to live the life that I do. But it isn't rocket science. God did NOT part the sky and shout out to me, "Katie! Serve my people." I read it in His word. You can too. We can all see as plain as day that Jesus says the number one commandment is to love the Lord and love your neighbor. I happened to move to Uganda and love those neighbors, but that is not the point. As believers, we should already KNOW our calling; it is to love the Lord and love our neighbors by caring for them in whatever broken state they are in. When He said that "the poor will always beamong us" I don't think he meant that as an excuse not to worry about it but as a reminder that there is ALWAYS a neighbor, no matter where we are, in a worse condition than we are. I can only believe that God created us to make this world a little better. That he designed us in love to show that love to others. I just don't know what everyone is waiting for."

dear 2010,

please be a year when people (and animals) stay alive.

thank you & it's much appreciated.

yours very truly,

ashley allyson

"i love relationships with grace in them. people who are different enough from each other have more of a space, more of a need for grace to fill in the gaps"

uncut.

This is definitely going to be Ashley-organic. No editing, and little re-reading, and probably too much rambling (because when is there not?)... because I have to run to take a shower and pack before I get going, but I also want to write because I haven't taken a moment to think in the past 18 hours at least, so here it is: a recalibration moment. I'll try my best not to make you the recipient off too many outpourings though, don't worry.

Last night my Dad left me a message asking me to call him "sooner rather than later." Which is fairly typical for his structured, always-on-exact-schedule life, but I put it off until after Trevor left (he came to visit for the weekend)... to maintain my lazy Sunday world for as long as I could until I had to re-enter the papers and ominous-father-phone-call reality. In short, he let me know that he and my aunt and a couple doctors had decided, after extensive discussion, to discontinue my grandmother's medication, excluding pain meds, and to "let things run their course."

I mean, okay, she's old. And she's miserable, truly (her mind is well but her body called it quits years ago). And this isn't at all an atypical life event. But why is stopping medication the best course of action? Plus, it's Christmas. Plus, my other grandmother just passed away earlier this semester. We already took the hospice adventure not too long ago--do we really have to go down that path again? And why are half of the belongings in my apartment all formerly owned by my grandmother? I knew I had inherited a lot when she moved into her nursing home .. but I hadn't realized quite how much until last night, when, in every room, I found myself sitting in her chair, using her dishes, curling up in the blanket her arthritic hands had made on my bed.

I told Trevor these things soon after he returned to Lewisburg. I went to a Christmas party, but ended up texting him in the middle of it saddened by its insufficient ability to be a distraction. At that, he decided (despite my resistance) that he would drive back to State College at 11:30pm, even though he had a work retreat to leave for this morning. And in the meantime, Bonnie insisted on keeping me company. So, on the phone, we sat, and we talked, and we prayed. Book of Common Prayer, Evening Prayer: Rite Two. Really--how do I have such incredible friends?

My grandmother taught me the Lord's Prayer. She taught me to pray; when I was little, I used to make myself not fall asleep so I could listen to her praying in Polish from the adjacent room. And, there was a passage near the end that said this: "Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen." ....shield the joyous. What an interesting way of putting it. Does it mean to protect them? Guard them? Keep their innocence? Prevent their pride? Hold them in safety? How can a simple phrase be so all-encompassing?

Alright, well, it's probably time I get on with my day. But it's such a gift in itself to have a direction to send my rambling, flawed though they may be. Plus, isn't that the modus operandi these days? It seems like everyone is putting out "EP albums" ... raw, uncut studio recordings. Neither the writer nor the listener feel the need to answer their flaws. Why do we find them so great, mistakes included? Perhaps even more profound than their freshly polished albums? Maybe for the same reason some of the greatest 'novels' ever were taken directly from writers' diaries. It rehumanizes the abstract writer on the other end. We want the emotive, scuffed up, candid version; maybe we want the person, not the product.