"All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is..."

Aleksandar Hemon//The Lazarus Project 

[junior high diary] important updates

**address and phone numbers blocked out for safety reasons

"Kathleen moved. Her new address is 2140 Kingsbridge Way. Her phone # is 805-38x-xxxx and her pager is 805-38x-xxxx. I miss her so much! I can't wait until tomorrow! I am so excited about snowboarding. Justin Jones is so cute! and smart and nice. I love frozen waffles! They are so good. Today I got Winnie the Pooh Valentines and glued 2 chocolate <3s 2 each 1. It's so cute! (& tasty)."

For the sake of those anxiously awaiting this blog (Joe...), I will comment only on the necessities.

1. Kathleen was my best friend. Lest you think that I wrote her entire address, phone number and pager (A pager?! Why she had a pager, I have no idea...) simply for my own records, let me give you some insight into me. Twelve-year-old Kara had this weird obsession with people knowing how smart she was, even if it was simply my ability to memorize my best friend's contact information. 
2. Kathleen moved to Southern California right before sixth grade. I was devastated. I lost my best friend, my walk-to-school buddy, and the only person who didn't mock my frozen waffle habit. I missed her so much that I even underlined it in a different color and kept my ADD at bay for a whole 6 lines!
3. Of course, the rest of this entry is dedicated to very important updates. Yes, I loved frozen waffles. Not just Eggos that we heated up, but literally, frozen waffles. I'd take them straight from the freezer and eat 2 or 3 while watching my daily dose of Boy Meets World. I stand by twelve-year-old me's assessment: they are so good. 
4. Lastly, Winnie the Pooh Valentines. Further evidence of my Winnie the Pooh Problem, which will resurface regularly over the next two years. So cute. So tasty. 

[junior high diary] why justin jones is great

**Disclaimer: 

Dear Justin Jones, If you are reading this, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I hope you are flattered, not scared. Really, this was 11.5 years ago. Please know that I've moved on. Or have I? Love always, Kara

"I still like Justin, he's so cute!!!! He's also very smart. He got on Gold Honor Roll, just like me. I have an open book test in Social Studies tomorrow. I didn't study. I also have a science test on Wednesday. I hope I do good. Yesterday I went to Nicoles house and worked on a science project. In art I am drawing a puppy. He is so cute! On Saturday, I am going snowboarding for the first time! I'm so excited! I hope I don't hurt myself or fall (to many times). I skipped my piano lesson today because I hadn't practiced at all. Justin Jones is so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hate the group corn (I know thats not how you spell it) and I love Blink 182. I want the C.D.!"

My junior high diary epitomized life as an 11 year old girl and affirmed every stereotype you can think of. Nearly every single entry follows an easy-to-use format.

1.  Begin with important updates: Don't worry, world: Justin is still cute.
2. Clarify to avoid confusion; add self-affirmations if necessary: I'm not only interested in his good looks. He's smart. As smart as me, and we all know how smart I am. Things could definitely work with him. Plus, the presence of Mr. Popular on the Gold Honor Roll lends credibility to my 4.0 GPA.
3. Discuss highlights (and concerns) of next few days: My brother always told me that I had book smarts, not street smarts. It was important for me to maintain this reputation. If I was going to stay on the Gold Honor Roll, I needed to excel in everything, from Social Studies to Science (twice), to art. Somehow, snowboarding got thrown in, too. And piano lessons.
4. Use incorrect grammar, change pens frequently, practice penmanship: Forget apostrophes or the proper uses of "good" and well." English wasn't my thing. I was a science girl (yes, I competed annually in the science fair. See below.) Handwriting didn't much matter, either (though, I must admit, I thought mine was the best.) Pen changes indicate an editing process. Typically, I would read my wise words at a later date and realize that my writing was incomplete, which, conveniently, allowed me to give myself grace.
• Ex: I had an open book test in Social Studies. The addition of "I didn't study" indicates that I probably didn't "do good," but it's okay, because I've given myself an excuse. 
5. Follow up on important points. Use exclamation points for emphasis: "Justin Jones is so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" It was worth noting again.
6.  Disclose dorky information about self: This entire journal entry speaks for itself.
7. Leave the audience with something thought provoking. Make a statement: If there was one thing that I hated in junior high, it was the band Korn. Mostly they scared me. I protested their music in the only way I knew how: misspelling their name (a powerful and effective tool). But, to end on a good note, I loved Blink 182. The evidence? My first screen name: wtpoohntiggertoo182 (Yes, Winnie the Pooh and Tigger Too, 182).
8. Use pencil as a protective measure: I had this habit of writing about the boys I liked in pencil. Just in case somebody gained entry into my house, found my journal in its hiding space and broke open the lock, I needed to be ready, at any moment, to erase the evidence of my crushes. Despite being completely illogical, pencil gave me that security.

In summary:

Number of Exclamations Used: 31

Number of Exclamations Used in Reference to Justin Jones: 28

Science Fair, 2000. 

Important Updates (A Preview of the Next Entry): "Justin Jones is so cute! and smart and nice. I love frozen waffles! They are so good."

snails (my experience with running)

Let me start by saying this:

I AM NOT A RUNNER.

Far from it, in fact. Ask anybody, really. I used to laugh (scoff, even) when people would ask me to join them on a run. Me? Run? I'll pass. And that's the way it's always been. You can imagine my surprise when I found myself, with no external pressure or prompting, clicking "submit" on the registration form for a HALF-MARATHON. Yes, that's 13.1 miles. Of running.

There are moments when I realize just how amazing the human body is. How resilient, how strong. My legs were designed for movement; my heart was designed for rhythmic beating, even-paced and purposeful.  When my anxiety began, everything was out of whack. My heart beat was inconsistent, beating too fast, too hard--shaking my entire body, even in the stillness of my seat.

I was given a piece of advice: run. 

Run for your mental endurance. Run for endorphins. Run to get out of your head. 

Run to remind your body of its purpose.

Your body should not respond so aggressively to irrational fears. 

That physical response, that elevated heart rate, that shortness of breathe, that intense exhaustion:

it should only come from feet on pavement, from movement, from pushing your physical body to its physical limits. 

So run.

It's taken me too long to understand the beauty of a healthy body, working as it was intended.  My body hardly feels resilient or strong. But I know it is working. My crooked knees still ache, my feet overextend. I'm slow and I'm always thirsty. I complain too much and have a billion excuses as to why I couldn't run 7.2 miles today. But my body is responding to its physical purpose. My heart knows why it beats so hard, my muscles know the meaning of movement. 

So I run. At a snail's pace, I run. 

And my body and soul thank me for it. 

Even as a snail, I'm going to kick that half-marathon's butt.

[junior high diary] elliott brown and frankenstein

This is the first entry of the new section of my blog "Kara Goes to Junior High." It documents my junior high years with actual pages from my junior high diary. Welcome and enjoy.

"A lot has happened. I stopped liking Elliott Brown because he looks like frankinstein. I liked Sean McFaul but My Friend Brooke Kirby fell for him at they've been acting like there going to get married, so now I like Elliott again.

I passed fourth grade. I'm going in to 5th. I hope I Get Mrs. Harrison. she seems nice. there are only 48 more days untill my birthday. I even made a chain. "

This is how I start the update on my life. Ridiculous. Somehow, not surprising at all.
I don't quite know where to begin. My priorities? My handwriting? The fluid movement of my thoughts? My embarrassing grasp (or lack thereof) of the English language? Spelling? Capitalization? Granted, I knew enough to pass the fourth grade. We should definitely celebrate that great feat. And I was learning all sorts of heart-lessons. Lessons on popularity and love, the theme of almost every entry of this journal.

Sean McFaul was pretty popular. He was kind of a bad boy. The quintessential would-be party guy. You'll soon find out that I was not. Thankfully, fourth grade was before the popularity hierarchy was fully established and before I realized just how dorky I was. Unfortunately, I'd already started dreaming about my prince charming. He wore Stussi t-shirts and had bleach blond tips. Elliott Brown didn't quite make the cut. (Or did he? When things don't work out with Mr. Popular, I guess the average 10 year old girl is more than okay with settling for Frankenstein? Yes, these are my first ideas about the dating world. I started with unhealthy ideas to deconstruct. Lucky me.) Elliott Brown was the first in a long line of crushes and unrequited love. You'll soon see--there will be much more on that later.

Personally, my favorite part is the birthday chain. Apparently there aren't too many differences between 1998-Kara and 2011-Kara: thirteen years later, I still love birthdays. Convenient because there are only 3 more days untill my birthday. No chain necessary.




Why Justin Jones is So Great (A Preview of the Next Entry): "I skipped my piano lesson today because I hadn't practiced at all. Justin Jones is so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

anam cara, my soul friend

I told myself that tonight was reserved for one episode of Arrested Development, writing one little letter, and sleeping early to get myself back to being rested and happy. But then I got to thinkin' about souls and friends and this crazy little concept of anam cara, a soul friend.

"In the Celtic tradition, there is a beautiful understanding of love and friendship...the old Gaelic term for this is anam cara. Anam is the Gaelic word for soul and cara is the word for friend: "soul friend." With the anam cara you could share your inner-most self, your mind and your heart. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging, a joining in an ancient and eternal way with the "friend of your soul." In this love, you are understood as you are without mask or pretension. The superficial and functional lies and half-truths of social acquaintance fall away, you can be as you really are. The anam cara is God's gift."

Anam Cara, A Book of Celtic Wisdom//John O'Donohue

[Before continuing, I feel the need to share my joy that cara is pronounced Kara, which, yes, is my name. How sweet is that??]

The theory says that everybody has an anam cara, but not everybody knows it. My thought is that, regardless of haves or have nots, everybody needs a friend to their soul.

We throw around the term soulmate too easily--this is more than that. It's more, even, than a best friend. This is more than a list of things in common or shared music taste and it goes far beyond girl talk. This is a person who knows you at the deepest levels, who challenges you, disagrees with you, forces you to see a new and better perspective. She can debate you in politics or talk theology for hours. She can predict what you'll say, how you'll respond and she knows the meaning behind every facial expression. She knows the challenges you face, your moments of selfishness, your short-sightedness. She knows the fears that keep you from action, the things that keep you from loving freely. She can sense your anxiety and she can speak truth into it, only because she is trusted with your story. And she knows more stories than most: she knows the responsibility of holding your joys and your heartaches. She prays with you and for you; there is a humility, a deep gratitude and a mutuality to this relationship.
You attempt the same for her.

And there is so much laughter. So many moments that would be embarrassing if there was a fly on the wall. So much quirkiness, so much ridiculousness. So many sleepovers. This friend, this anam cara, is a treasure.

I am so lucky to have found mine.





I'm reminded on nights like tonight...
after detailed accounts of our days and descriptions of every person and place
after encouraging text messages and calming phone conversations
after reminiscing through pictures and talking in circles about the fears in my heart
after sharing wisdom and reflecting on the parallels of our lives
after cursing the 1,615 miles between San Diego and Omaha
...what a gift it is to have a soul friend.

A soul friend and an internet connection. I'm forever grateful.

*I'm no expert on this whole soul friend thing, but I'm reserving the right to add one more soul friend into my life at some point. Not just anybody--he'll have to come with a ring and some pretty serious vows. I'll choose wisely.

the thing about malawi...

Malawi is beautiful.

The landscape was quieter than expected--everything seemed so still and peaceful. The image that you have of villagers in colorful skirts walking with buckets of water on their heads? It's reality. People walk out of the woodworks, down every street, at all hours of the day and night. The majority of the population are unemployed (86%...yikes!) and spend their days playing soccer, setting up makeshift food stands or simply sitting, enjoying each other's company.

We spent our first day at Flood Malawi, Flood San Diego's sister church. Flood Malawi is alive--it's vibrant and diverse and such an awesome source of fellowship in Lilongwe. I've been so spoiled by Flood San Diego and having people around me who are truly committed to the challenging and abundant life of the gospel. To see other faith communities flourishing too is an encouragement. To hear the story of how Flood Malawi came to be, the investment that our pastor made in significant places--it makes me proud to call Flood my church and excited to be able to partner with Flood Malawi, even if just for a short term trip. Plus, singing songs in Chichewa was awesome!

I was most excited to go into Kudoko Village. After plenty of meetings and preparation days, I needed to meet the people who this conference was for; I needed to know their names and see their smiles (knowing their stories was much more difficult because of the language barrier), to know that this work was meaningful. It should come as no surprise that I was completely taken by the village children. Even with dirt covering their faces and too-big clothes falling off their shoulders, there was so much hope in their eyes. I fumbled through Chichewa phrases attempting to learn about these beautiful kids:

Muli bwanji? Hello, how are you?
Dzina lanu ndani? What is your name?

Most of the time, I ended up repeating what they had asked me. I would smile and wonder why they used so many consonants and envy the way that words rolled off their tongues, while getting jumbled on mine. I quickly turned to the next person to try again; they'd giggle when we tried new sentences or tried to teach them something in English. To Chimwemwe and Victoria, I'd try to communicate how pretty their eyes were. I'd have them repeat after me: "I have pretty eyes. I have pretty eyes. I have pretty eyes." I'm not 100% sure that they understood, but it was still true--their eyes were so kind and full of the hope of the future. Somebody needed to tell them how beautiful they are, no matter how often they heard it! I was glad that even for one day, it could be me. By the end of the day, we resorted to simply making the silliest noises we could--turns out we don't need a universal language, just sound in general.

It was heartbreaking, though, touring the village, seeing the place where the school should be, where the government promised classrooms but then misused the money, leaving the village with just a foundation. Thousands of kids are missing out on an education, the one thing that promises them a future and allows them to dream. The challenge was knowing the reality of the systems surrounding Kudoko Village. There are so many systems in place to keep change from happening. The conference got the community energized around issues of poverty, education and gender violence, but despite the energy, there is a lack of resources that creates real barriers. They want education, but there's still no classrooms and no teachers. Their kids have a right to food, but there is no food to share. Sometimes it is an issue of individuals needing to change themselves; sometimes it is far more complex--systems larger than this community making certain forms of justice an impossibility. The conference was effective in opening the door to justice, but there is still a long way to go, with many tangible needs still yet to be met.

Our team (Americans and Malawians) with the Village Chiefs

This is where our prayers for Kudoko Village become, in some ways, the best thing that we can offer.

There is little that we can do from our American homes, though we are committed to trying. Our team now feels the burdens of this village and is invested in its future. Our trip became sustainable when the Malawian volunteers stepped in. They are now invested in Kudoko and are prepared to go every Friday to help with tutoring and mentoring and encouraging the community to take positive steps toward change. And we are holding onto the truth that God's extension of justice, the wholeness and restoration that He has in mind, reaches even to a village in the warm heart of Africa.

While the conference was in session, small groups of us would sneak out to pray. We'd walk around the village, stopping at fields to pray for agriculture, stopping in front of homes to pray for families--for parents to dream for their kids, for the resources to build up the village, for peace and security in the homes. As we'd walk, kids were curious, surrounding us, holding our hands, sitting on our laps, singing songs in Chichewa. I was in heaven. I scooped the smallest girl onto my lap as we sang "Mwambamo;" she was covered in dust, wearing nothing more than a little blue slip. Her face had sores on it and there was snot running out of her nose. Her belly was distended in hunger. I just sat there with my hand on her stomach, my fingers held so tightly by hers, wanting to weep. Poverty so close to me, literally in my lap, and there is so little that I can do.

Again, prayer was the best thing that I could offer;
I have to trust that God is good--that He has a deep love for this little girl and that He is fighting on her behalf.

That was the reality of village life. So much joy, so much singing, so much vibrancy, so much energy for change, all in the face of so little. I wish I could say that I was horribly surprised by this reality, but I've seen it before. It's never any easier to see, but at least it's easier to process; less paralyzing and more motivating to action. It became my goal, beyond helping with the conference, to affirm their worth, despite what their poverty says. That goal, with only two weeks in the country and a language barrier and a lack of foundational relationship, was a bit difficult to reach, but it was my goal nonetheless. It was probably the most important thing that we could attempt as a team and will be one of the most important things that the Malawian students will continue to do. Affirming their worth, their dignity, their value in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the law, as men, women and children, as leaders and mothers and students with potential and dreams worth fighting for--that will be what brings transformation. That will inspire action and we will be able to see the change that we are hoping for.

So what now?

I'm excited to say that my trip to Malawi was really encouraging in terms of the work that I'll be doing now. Because I've put off my move to Boston (yes, I've put off my move to Boston) and will be staying in San Diego indefinitely, I'm excited to get to work. I'll be working with AmeriCorps at a local junior high, coordinating a mentoring/intervention program for at-risk youth. I'll have about 30 students as my own and will be responsible for a whole host of activities and lessons as part of the program. I'm most excited to build relationships with the kids, to dream with and for them, and to encourage education as the force that will allow them to fulfill those dreams. I start in August and will carry the lessons from Kudoko Village into my classroom and beyond!

And yes, I got my giraffe :)

a dream, a purpose

it's far too easy to pass through days unaware of the potential of 24 hours
or critical of all the things left unachieved:
the i shoulds and i coulds, the giant mountains ahead of us
i should've solved world hunger today
or
i could've built a school to transform a nation today


we are rarely satisfied with what we've done
very rarely (okay, never) do we save the world
but we have big dreams of big change
so we wonder if anything less, even the seeds of change, are enough


we are Christ's image bearers with His breath in our lungs and His resurrection in our bodies
we have endless potential (the developer in me is celebrating!)
and yet, we are not asked to save the world
we are simply asked to live intentionally in that identity: to bear His image
to make His image our purpose
even in the face of coulds and shoulds and lists of things to accomplish
our best efforts--living out His truth in our hearts, our intellect, our strengths and our passions--should be our dream and our purpose



[via]

so here it is, my purpose, uniquely mine
a draft, of course, scribbled into the pages of my journal
it's the woman i want to be, the love that i want to show,
the things that i want my life to be about
it's my dream for myself
a reminder that if i can live each day to this end,
if i can accomplish this,
no more, no less
then i should be satisfied, knowing that greater things will follow

to empty myself in surrender to God's love; to reflect God's love and in it find my strength; to care for people outside of myself; to affirm God's truths over the people around me (and to know His truths for myself); to dream with and for others; to see God's purposes and movement in my own life; to love with God's love; to watch and expect Him to transform people and things; to give generously of every resource; to let myself experience love in transformational ways; to live in the challenge of the gospel; to laugh; to know the fullness of God; to always learn from the lives and stories of others; to be transformed by Jesus

...may it be so*

*Did you know that amen translates to "may it be so?" i love that. it's not just a closing statement, but a genuine request, too. may this dream, this purpose for my life, become a reality. it's my genuine plea.

what is your purpose?