Hurry Up & Wait...

Hurry up and wait is a phrase heard in sports, business, family life, fishing, and many other areas. It's one of those cliches that's easy to tell someone, but it's hard to put into practice.

My high school basketball coach was the first person to say this to me, and it confused me. He would also tell us to "be quick, but don't hurry". It felt like conflicting messages. He would compound these messages by telling us to "let the game come to us". 

I wanted to get out on the floor, run the ball up and down the court, and play the game. I had a hard time learning to ease off the gas pedal during the game, but that's what the coach would tell us. "Let me call off the dogs." It was up to us to play as well as we could at the fastest pace that we could. His job was to temper the pace of the game, as he saw fit. I wanted to force the game, but he was trying to teach us to find our place in the game. Eventually, I would learn what he meant by all of these phrases.

I also heard similar words at work. However...believe it or not...the words were even more thinly veiled than my basketball coach's. Sometimes it seemed like my bosses didn't really know what was going on, or what the plan was...so, they would just give me something to do to keep me busy.

Throughout my professional career I would have to wait on things...other employees to complete their part of the project, the organization to get to a better point for me to help it, waiting on deadlines to arrive for me to do my part (procrastination...ahem), project submission then waiting to learn the fate of the submission. It was never easy, but it gets easier with practice.

Life would teach me the meaning of these words....Adam....just wait!

The lesson is patience, but I guess that there are better ways to say it. Although, sometimes I would prefer to be told to be patient, rather than being kept in the dark about plans or what's actually happening in vague terms.

Now, Katy and I are hurrying up and waiting for the next big moment in our lives. As I write this, there are 10 days between now and our baby's due date, June 5th.

I really want her to get here. I really want her to wait a little while for us to finish getting ready...Ha! Yeah right....ready! We've been waiting for 38+ weeks! What's a few more days?

It seems like forever, but I know that it's not. Once she gets here, I'll probably want time to slow down. I know, I know....I want my cake and to eat it too. Can you blame me? We've prepared the nursery, received many wonderful gifts from our loved ones, and we even received a certificate of completion from our childbirth education class. So we're ready...HA! Ready! Yeah right!

But it feels weird. We know that she's on the way. There's a clock on the wall that's counting down, but I can't see it. I don't know how many days, hours, minutes, and seconds are left to 0, but I feel it. It's getting closer, but at the same time, it feels so far away.

I guess we'll hurry up and wait.

When I Grow Up, I Will Eat Sweets Every Day...

Today is my thirtieth birthday eve-eve.  Just because being thirty-seven weeks pregnant isn't enough, I thought I'd throw in an arguably monumental birthday three weeks before the due date and one week before the end of this particular school year.  That's just how I roll right now.  Nostalgia, melancholia, excitement, nervousness, anticipation, growing up...all these things are vying for my attention and emotions right now.  The winner varies from moment to moment.

I can honestly say that "thirty" in all it's glory hasn't hit me yet; I haven't had much time to dwell on that approaching milestone since we've been all consumed with comparing our growing little girl to different fruits/vegetables to determine how "grown-up" she is already, before even experiencing her first breath.  Bless her heart, even in utero, she doesn't have much privacy.

Most of you that know me (and at this point, after all of my ramblings, I'm assuming that it's only you that know me who are my faithful readers) realize that I absolutely adore special occasions.  All of them; holidays, semi-"holidays" (Arbor Day, May the Fourth Be With You, Left Handers Day, etc. included), birthdays, anniversaries, everything, whether they're mine or anyone else's.  That's partly why I love sending cards to people to commemorate such occasions.  I love celebrating; I love letting people know that I remember their special days; I love marking each occasion.

One of the reasons that it all means so much to me is that these "special" days are how we mark our lives.  Yes, each day is just as valuable as any other in it's own way, as movies like "About Time" (don't be fooled by the time traveling semi-randomness; it's a great movie and also a bit of a tear-jerker) remind us.  It's the idea of marking the "days of our lives" by these occasions that's so important to me.

I do love my birthday...but I'm claiming, whether you believe me or not, that it's because of the idea of using it as time to both look back and look forward.  People rolls their eyes and laugh at my birthday countdowns; it's been birthday month and now birthday week; but, it's just in fun.  It isn't about presents or attention.  My birthday is the only "holiday," albeit a self-centered one, that allows me to embrace nostalgia in relation to just my own life.  We measure family and friend growth, changes, everything by the holidays and special events in that collective life.  Our birthdays seem to me to be self-reflective.

These decade birthdays seem to bring on more of this than the years in between.  It's the end of an era...and also the beginning of one.  There are beautiful and poignant quotes that do seem truthful about this stage of life...

“It is in the twenties that the actual momentum of life begins to slacken, and it is a simple soul indeed to whom as many things are as significant and meaningful at thirty as at ten years before. At thirty an organ-grinder is a more or less a moth eaten man who grinds an organ - and once he was an organ-grinder! The unmistakable stigma of humanity touches all those impersonal and beautiful things that only youth ever grasps in their impersonal glory.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and the Damned

"Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others." - Virginia Woolf

Right now, I'll both acknowledge the truth of the above quotes, but fight against them.  I can't say that my outlook on life is the same as it was at twenty.  Twenty-year-old Katy was different than twenty-nine-and-363 day old Katy, but that is as it should be.

My twenties were awesome, by the way.  When I turned twenty, I had just returned from a semester abroad.  Over the course of the next ten years, I finished college, had a medical scare, traveled more, graduated from college, got my masters' degree, spent quite a few summers with Passport, lived in three apartments, moved to Nashville, met Adam, fell in love, found Scout, got married, have gotten through two and more than a half trimesters of my first pregnancy, and did/learned/experienced/lost/found many things and people along the way.  It's hard to believe.  The last ten years haven't been all rainbows and butterflies, but I am grateful for the experiences, the mountain-tops, the valleys, the friendships, the broken hearts, the joy, and the growth that have come from it all.  I can't resist, embrace the cheesiness with me, it's all been "something unpredictable, but in the end is right."

So, that was then and this is now.  At thirty, I can look back and use those experiences to say what I want out of the next decade.  Never fear, I won't break into a Tim McGraw song, but I will say that Ben Folds was right when he said "it hurts to grow up and we're still fighting it."  I'm still fighting it.  I will never be too old to play, to swing, to watch Disney movies, to laugh at nothing, to love being high up, to crave adventure, to be surprised, to surprise, to try new things, to take chances, to revel in moments, to see the best in people.

There is adventure left out there...and not just for the next "generation" of twenty-somethings...for me.  I am not giving up on it.  During my twenties, I spent a great deal of time dreaming; making plans or wishing for things I could do, things I can be.  I'm not giving up on those dreams.  Now is the time to make them happen.  I don't know exactly what that looks like.  I am confident though that thirty-nine-and-363-day-old Katy will be able to look back and say my thirties were awesome.

I haven't done everything that twenty, or fifteen, or ten, or even twenty five year old Katy hoped I would before I turned thirty; honestly, I haven't done anything close to what I hoped.  I'm not sure anyone ever truly does.  I haven't travelled nearly as much as I would have liked; I haven't written the great American novel, I haven't even written a terrible American novel; I haven't bought a house or found where I want to "settle down"; my "I haven'ts" could go on and on. However, that doesn't mean it's over.  I refuse to look at this birthday as an end instead of a beginning.  I love my birthday and will continue to do so.  I already had my twenty-ninth birthday and it will be my one and only "twenty-ninth" birthday.

Bring on everything that comes next; parenthood, new moves, new jobs, career changes, more school, other kids, travels, accomplishments, failures, who knows what?  Bring on 30!

"Just" A Dog

Peter Llewelyn Davies: This is absurd. It's just a dog.

J.M. Barrie: Just a dog? *Just*?

[to Porthos]

J.M. Barrie: Porthos, don't listen!

[to Peter]

J.M. Barrie: Porthos dreams of being a bear, and you want to shatter those dreams by saying he's *just* a dog? What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, "He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man", or "That's not a diamond, it's just a rock." Just.

         -Finding Neverland

Each time I watch the movie, "Finding Neverland," I am struck by this exchange between the characters of J.M. Barrie and Peter.  I love the way that he discounts the word "just," and because Porthos is the subject in question, it also reminds me of my Scout.

Scout has been a part of our family for nearly four years now.  She was a part of the family before Adam and I were even engaged.  She loves her bed, loves to cuddle, loves going on walks especially when both of us take her, knows a few tricks, and is always there to welcome us home.  Here are ten random fun facts about Scout.

1. Scout is named after the character of Scout in Harper Lee's book, "To Kill a Mockingbird."  That's why she is a girl named Scout...even in spite of the fact that all people who meet her assume she is a boy.

2. Scout is a "Tennessee Brown Dog."  She's a rescue dog and we aren't quite sure what kind of dog/dogs make up her heritage.  Therefore, she is a brown dog and is from Tennessee, a.k.a. Tennessee brown dog.

3. Scout howls.  Mostly, on the command "Smokey."  That shows that she is also, in fact, a UT fan.  The very first day I had her she howled at an ambulance.  She didn't bark for nearly a year, but she howled almost immediately.

4. Scout is a recovering separation anxiety rescue dog.  When I first got her, I couldn't leave the room without her panicking.  We've come incredibly far with it and now, most of the time, you'd never know.

5. Scout loves monkey grass.  Seriously, she will seek it out to do her business.  It's hard to keep her from exploring every single bit of it we come in contact with in our apartment complex.  If you've seen our complex, you know how much monkey grass we pass during each walk.

6. Scout has a dog nemesis.  She's fairly hypocritical in her choice; it's a brown dog that's our neighbor.  I don't know why or how they became nemeses, but it happened.  If we see that dog coming, we go the other way.  She gets extremely upset, complete with barking and "raptor fur"...which brings me to #7...

7. Scout gets what we lovingly refer to as "Raptor fur" whenever she feels any emotion strongly; excitement, happiness, anger, protectiveness.  It's a bit of a turn off for people who don't know her, but it doesn't mean she's upset or going to be mean.  Raptor fur is when the fur just along her spine stands on edge.  

8. When Scout is very happy, she gets circle tail.  She wags her tail in a complete circle until she calms down. It's her third stage of excitement, but doesn't take all that much because Scout loves all people and wants to be their best friend, preferably with no personal space.

9.  Scout can make some interesting choices.  When we go in a new place, she needs to be shown where she can go.  Sometimes, when she eats, she eats all of one color kibble before starting on the other color.  She lays by her bowl with her head touching it for at least a few minutes before she starts to eat, every time.  She has licked the wall...for no reason.  She attempts to roll in deer business, and anything else that has a less than desirable smell.  She barks at inanimate objects, but only when they're outside, like a snowman or frisbee.  She doesn't love interruptions to her routine.  After eating, she always, always rubs her face in the carpet, no matter what she ate and in spite of the fact that she doesn't get anything on her face.

10. Scout has become protective during my pregnancy.  The dog who rarely ever barked, especially not at people, has decided that she likes to let me know whenever people are near our door and stays right by my side.  Scout may be a dog, but she knows exactly what's going on and is doing her best to keep me safe while I do my best to keep the baby safe.

So, there you go, 10 things about Scout, in the style of "Because of Winn-Dixie."  I know that she is a dog.  I won't shame J.M. Barrie and use the word "just" in that sentence, but I do know that she is a dog.  However, she is a dog to whom I am very attached.  Life is about to change for me, for Adam, for Scout, and for everyone else in our lives, what with our new addition's arrival in the coming weeks.  Scout may or may not have a rough time with accepting the baby; either way, she'll have to adjust her routine and that isn't easy for her (see #9).  I'm going in to this situation with my eyes open.  It's not going to be easy to bring a baby home to a one-bedroom apartment, especially one with a dog.  

Near the beginning of my pregnancy, lots of people told me we'd have to get rid of Scout.  At this point, I disagree.  If things change, they change, but right now I have faith in her and we continue to love her.  I was once told something that has stuck with me throughout the pregnancy; I have enough love to go around.  That's the amazing thing about new people, things, and experiences that we bring into our lives; they don't take away from what's already there.  There is more than enough love to go around.  

Channeling an Inner Ted Mosby

Again, those of you who have children may shake your head at me or laugh thinking about how much I have to learn in the next six and a half weeks before baby girl makes her arrival, but right now, it sometimes feels like everything Adam and I do has to do with the baby.  When we're home we're working on things to prepare for her and when we're out, we're usually doing something that's somehow related to her arrival.  No worries; we are loving it!  However, this is a story of something that actually doesn't have to do with baby...well, not completely.

Yesterday, Adam and I had the opportunity to take maternity photos.  This was not an activity that I picked out or honestly, to which I was even looking forward.  However, we got the sitting and the digital prints as a baby shower gift and it was undeniably too good to pass up.  So, I pretended that I wasn't like other pregnant women; I'm not too self-conscious, I said, it doesn't matter to me exactly what I look like at 33 weeks pregnant.  Sure, we'll take some photos!  It's a new time in our lives and one that should be commemorated!

You can ask Adam how well and how long that mindset lasted...it was about until I started picking out clothes for our photos.  Thankfully for me, that isn't the point of this post, and so, we'll skip over my whining during that whole process and go right to the photo shoot.

Yesterday was an overwhelmingly beautiful day here.  It was the perfect weather for an Easter weekend.  As an aside, let me throw in that I absolutely adore it when the weather is beautiful for Easter.  Easter is always beautiful in and of itself, but when the outdoors match our joy inside, it's even better.  Ok, forgive yet another tangent and I'll get back to the story.  So, we made the trek out to a rustic and gorgeous farm on the edge of Mt. Juliet.  This is a well run operation; there were quite a few other customers participating in various photo shoots and several photographers working with different clients all at once.  We met our photographer and got right down to the pictures.  She was wonderful about putting us at ease and giving us enough direction for the awkwardness to fade.  I even found myself enjoying it.  We took pictures in a couple different outfits and settings around the farm.

The first "round" went uneventfully.  We took pictures, smiled, and channeled out inner Derek Zoolander.  Then, we changed our outfits (I may not have been able to pick just one for the photo shoot) and started on round two.  At one point, during this set, the photographer set us up as though we were going on a picnic.  We sat on a blanket amidst candles and a wicker picnic basket, as the camera clicked.  The next direction came.  "Ok, now look in the basket and pretend you're getting out sandwiches or something."  I didn't think a thing about it.  Aware of the camera, I continued to smile.  I reached out to open the basket, with Adam at my elbow.  I opened the basket and discovered that instead on an empty prop, it contained something for me.

It was an envelope, that was labelled "My Katy" in Adam's handwriting.  My first thought was to assume that it was something the photographer used as a ploy to get real emotion.  Maybe she had him write a note to me or a joke or something to earn a true smile, one not just pasted on for the camera.  I opened the envelope, still out of the loop.  Inside was a very cute, simple greeting card.  As I opened the card, I realized that this gift was anything but simple.

I began reading and immediately noticed that the words were all lyrics...all from songs by the same band...my favorite band...Nickel Creek.  It was then that I allowed my eyes to drift to the other side of the card.  There were two tickets there, to a sold-out Nickel Creek show at the Ryman Auditorium...for last night.  All I could say was, "how did you do this?"  I may have continued saying that a few times....but I was floored and overwhelmed.  We had originally tried our very best to get tickets the day that they went on sale, but were thwarted by scalpers.  I had eventually pretended to get over my disappointment and tried to forget about the concert.  During the entirety of my tongue-tied wonderment, Adam had a huge smile on his face and the camera continued to click away.

He was absolutely thrilled that he had surprised me.  For some reason, I felt myself fighting back tears (we'll blame it on the hormones) and then was able to hear the rest of the story.  Adam had been able to find tickets a few days before and hatched this plan in coercion with our photographer in order to make it a huge surprise.  It definitely worked.  He had given me no hint and I was shocked.  It was wonderful!  I absolutely love surprises.

The rest of our photo shoot flew by and soon enough, we were on our way to the album tour that I, like many other Nickel Creek fans, had been waiting for for years.  They were amazing; exactly the same as they were eight or so years ago when I last saw them perform.  This particular concert may have jumped up to my top spot of all time.  The discomforts of being hugely pregnant weren't even able to distract me during the two hours while they played.  It was a romantic, beautiful, heartfelt surprise from a husband who was definitely channeling his inner Ted Mosby.  I couldn't be more thankful!  I know he'll appreciate that it was the perfect beginning to "birthday month" (I was told I have permission to call it that just this year since it's a big birthday).

MLB Opening Week

"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time."

- "Field of Dreams": Adapted from Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella

The 2014 Major League Baseball season began this week, and a season of hope sprung for 30 franchises chasing the dream of playing a summer game on a cold October night for the World Series Championship.

This is the one sporting time of year that our house is divided...me being a St. Louis Cardinals fan and Katy being an Atlanta Braves fan. It helps our relationship that our teams play in different divisions, but it can make for a tricky week or 2 at points during the season, especially if our teams make the playoffs. Soon, we will have another member of our family...will she choose the Braves, the Cardinals, another team or no team at all?

As I write this, there are 156 games to go in this regular season.

I love baseball for many reasons: memories of St. Louis, keeping a scorecard, ice cream in mini-helmets, the smell of a grass field, the anticipation of action before a pitch, hot dogs, playing catch, the crack of a bat, statistics, family; but mainly I love it because perfection in baseball is borne out of struggle.

Consider this...the 20 best hitters in the history of a game that pre-dates the Civil War succeeded only in 1/3 of their plate appearances. In any other sport an average success rate near 30% passing, shooting or scoring would be unacceptable, at least, and cause for never playing the game again. However, hitting in baseball is arguably the most difficult feat in sport.

The history of the game is littered with stories of trial, error and ultimately success. Imagine playing your entire life as a pitcher, earning a roster sport on a major league team, earning an 11-7 record in your first full season, and following that up with one of the worst performances ever in baseball. This is the story of Rick Ankiel, but it doesn't end there. He would reform his career in baseball as an outfielder, and play for 6 more seasons in the big leagues.

The seasons come and go. Seasons have begun to leave indelible marks on my life as the seasons roll on. Fans fill ballparks and witness all of the outs until 1 champion is crowned.

Who knows what the 2014 season holds? Not me...but I know that I will watch it.

Rise and Shine

This is a devotion I wrote for a Lenten Devotional Series for church, Immanuel Baptist Church.

Rise & Shine & Give God the Glory, Glory

Today’s passage, Psalm 128, is subtitled “A Song of Ascents”.

The word, ascend, invokes happy thoughts of walking, rising, raising, and elevating.  However, we must remember; in order to ascend, we must rise up over something.

Jesus ascended several times in His final days on Earth. He ascended on the journey to the cross up the Via Dolorosa to Calvary. He ascended on the cross for our sins. Ultimately, He ascended into Heaven.

His ascensions would not have happened without descending. First He descended from Heaven to be with the people He loved on Earth to show them God’s love and the way to live. After His crucifixion, he descended into Hell to conquer death.

These two important factors show us the way to follow Jesus. We must labor with our hands and walk in the way. We must lift up others and allow our egos to descend. Jesus’ way was not easy, and the way in which we follow Him should not be easy. In order for us to be fruitful, wonderfully, and fearfully made creations, we must labor with our hands, feet and voices for the glory of God, not our own glory.  Then, and only then, will we raise up God’s will in our lives and our community.

It will not be easy, but it is most assuredly a happy way.  We know how this ends. We have the assurance of God’s everlasting love…”in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

We do not live in fear of God. We are simultaneously happy and fearful of our Lord who is Creator, Sustainer, Lover, Ruler, Healer and Conqueror.

The Easter story is a story of happiness borne out of selfless sacrifice.  Easter and Tony Compolo remind us that, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.”

Three Men and a Baby

          Obviously, as you most likely already know and may be tired of hearing about at this point, we are gearing up for some major changes in the King household.  As you are all probably aware of at this point, we are doing our best to prepare for baby-to-be, in all the ways that are possible to prepare.  No, we aren’t naïve enough to think we’re actually prepared, so don’t roll your eyes at me quite yet.  Our pregnancy, the last twenty-seven weeks, have been a roller coaster.  I’m also not quite naïve enough to believe that we are different from other expectant parents in that, especially other first time parents.  We have, however, had our own set of ups and downs that does at least feel unique.

Since this past November, Adam and I have reluctantly become re-acquainted with the reality of loss.  Over the course of less than four months, we have lost three grandfathers between us.  In barely over three months, we’ve participated in three funerals in three different states.  In mid November, my paternal grandfather passed away; in late February, my maternal grandfather passed away; thirdly, only a week later, at the beginning of March, Adam’s maternal grandfather passed away.  

Each of these men individually made an impact on our lives, both separately and as a couple.  We, of course, had a different relationship with each one and the void that was left after each passing is still fresh in each place that they once filled.  I could go on for more words than you would care to read about how much my grandfathers meant to me, how much I learned from them, what I will miss, and how different each side of my family looks and feels knowing they are no longer with us.  I will do my best to keep it short and sweet, so bear with me.  

Throughout our tears and our grief, we’ve constantly reminded ourselves how lucky we are to know that each of these three men lived lives that were long and fulfilling.  While none of these passings were exactly expected, each of these men was prepared.  They were proud of what they had accomplished, had left legacies, and were confident about their next adventures.  Each had a strong and sure faith that reminded and taught those around them about the beliefs that they built their lives around.   I have no doubt that I will see my grandfathers again, that they are reunited with those that went before them, and that they are no longer enduring any pain or suffering.   I am more than thankful for that reassurance, for the knowledge that none of them suffered long near the end, and for the mark that was left in my life and in the world at large because of them.

My Granddad, my paternal grandfather, had a passion for learning and a thirst for knowledge that I have been lucky enough to emulate through my education and career.  He emphasized the importance of education with all of his family.  Granddad loved food, travel, sports, and people.  I have memories of looking at possibly thousands of pictures snapped by “Granddaddy Flashcubes,” of college banquets in his honor, of family vacations in so many places, of Christmas after Christmas morning celebrated at his house, of football games, and of laugh lines around his eyes.  He taught us about how valuable it is to be present and to find a happy medium.

My Papa, my maternal grandfather, left a legacy built on hard work, pride, and loyalty.  He never missed an opportunity to remind his family about his faith and about what he wished for us.  Papa loved the Braves, his family, and was so proud of his accomplishments in the military.  Through a long battle with ALS, Papa stood beside his wife and cared for her through that sickness, after long years of health.  My memories of him are dominated by things like making “stone soup,” an old Fisher-Price schoolhouse, playing with Dan, Christmas homilies delivered to a large and noisy family, reading books in a worn recliner, and naps taken in front of sports on TV.  Papa taught us the value of words and to never waste an opportunity.

If this were the time and place for it, know that I could go on and on about my Granddad and my Papa.  They are not the only two people to have such an impact on my life or even the only two family members to do so, but right now and for quite some time, their loss is sharply felt.

I only had the pleasure of knowing Adam’s Papa for about five years.  In that short time, I did get to know the man that had so much to do with who Adam has become.  His Papa was a man of strength and patience.  He was always glad to see us and never tired of talking to Adam.  His love for the Cardinals, his devotion to his wife, and his unwavering certainty about the future made an impact on me and have been unquestionably inherited by his youngest grandson.

All three of these men had many things in common; more than you would think by looking at their lives on paper.  All put family at the top of their priority lists, all had long and happy marriages that are an inspiring example to a couple going on their third year of marriage and all had a faith that cast out fear.

I can celebrate these three lives with an easy heart.  My mind wants to fight off that celebration and replace it with grief, but my heart knows that they have moved on to a forever home that dwarfs the pleasure I feel in my home on this earth.

At this point in our lives, Adam and I are struggling with grief.  We have fought wave after wave after wave of loss in a shorter time than we ever expected and at a time in our lives when we also have so much joy.  Somehow, our greatest source of grief is tied in with our greatest source of joy.  We are simply broken-hearted that our daughter will not be able to know our grandfathers.  We are more than grateful for the men that they were and what we learned from them; those small parts of them will be passed down to our daughter and she will know, as best she can, these men, but it will always be second hand.  That has been harder to accept than I anticipated.  Each one is deeply missed as an individual, but as a trio, the loss is nearly overwhelming.

In short, we are grateful for the lives that were lived, how lucky we are to have such families, and the profound impact made on our lives, but we do miss our grandfathers.  

“Preserve your memories, keep them well, for what you forget, you can never retell.”  -Louisa May Alcott