katie rose writes

At first, I laughed. I hurt and I winced, eyes watering with pain—but mostly, I laughed. I laughed because this is the third time in one month that I’ve woken up with pink eye. It seems every time I come back from a group visit—every time I come back like the psalmist seeing the restoration promised, wrapped up in abundant harvest bundles—I come back and wake up with pink eye. It just seems to be the case that the enemy is unhappy with what I’m doing, with the joy I feel in doing it, with the work that the Spirit is accomplishing in slow days and small obedience to teach and to lead and to love on these ladies.  A few hours later though, I’m on the floor, on my eyes, crying. The eye doctor isn’t in today (or for three weeks). I’ve scheduled to see a general physician, but I’ve still sunk low into sadness because I’m tired and I’m hurting and I’m really, really tired of red, watery, painful eyes. I turn on songs of praise on my phone. I turn on songs that lift my head, and t...

I found myself in tears a few nights ago; fresh off a FaceTime date,  I open my emails to two reminders of things I’m longing for, things I’m desperate for—to go and to write. My heart wavers in belief towards them both. Yes, I’m in the middle of going—the exact middle of my term, in fact.  And I’m also in the middle of writing—I’ve written more in the past 10 months than in the past 10 years, combined. I’m beech mai in these twin callings, these twin pillars that I cannot for the life of me decide if I’m standing in between as a judge—Samson, enchained and destined to die in the defeat of the enemy… or as a priest—Zechariah, holding incense and entering the holy places where God steps in to speak an absurd promise of abundance in the long years of barrenness… If the first, I’m going to destroy not just the gifts, but myself also. Not just the enemy, but myself. If the second, I’m asking questions that were never meant to be asked. I’ll be as silent as my wa...

I woke up early & she woke up with me, pulling herself up in the darkened room to softly sing “Happy Birthday” over me. We both, smiling, went back to sleep for awhile. I got up again, got sick, got dressed, got knee deep in words I’m trying to memorize. Then, as I curled back up across the bed, my sweet friend threw the covers back and said, Ok, now we will pray little bit, because it is your birthday! She bent down onto her knees, laid her Bible open, and asked, What is your favorite song? It is such an easy answer—the first Hindi song I ever learned, in a basement with twenty other students 6 years ago, will remain forever the dearest in my heart. And so we sang. She read some verses and gave me her heart’s words for me—to never be lonely or afraid, because God is with me. And she said she hopes that the year ahead will be full of new vision, joy, and peace. Her prayer over me echoed all these words and more, as my mind raced to understand them all behind their syllables....