katie rose writes

Today hasn’t been as bad as I expected. Thought I write that pretty tentatively; there’s a whole lot of day left. But I was expecting to wake up pretty emotional. Instead, I woke up with gratitude in my heart. Gratitude for a peaceful night’s rest. Gratitude for waking up later than usual. Gratitude that today is a marker, a stone of remembrance for me. But for the first time, that stone of remembrance isn’t in a place. It’s not sitting on soil where I thought it always would be. It’s not traveling light, looking for another place to land. It’s in someone’s hands. Not mine. One year ago, I sat in the Oslo airport and read psalm 68. I sat by a window near the plane, watching and waiting for us to leave. This plane would take me back to American soil. I think I felt pretty similar then, to how I feel today— “My heart is full of emotions, most that I cannot name or fully understand right now. All that I feel isolated by, totally unknown beneath them, beneath their avala...

Note: as I've been experiencing a lot of "one-year" anniversaries this month, I've been writing every morning about each day, re-reading old journal entries and just writing through the thoughts and feelings and experiences of each day. That's why this is "part 7." You can find a few over on my Instagram ( @katie.j.rose ). Thank you for reading along. Today , I’m wearing tights and a jacket outside at 5:29 AM, which is probably one of my favorite things to do, ever. Chill bumps break out over me even still—again, these are a few of my favorite things.  Last night, I laid in bed, pretty hyped up and unable to fall asleep, just praying and feeling the anxiety as I prayed; not attempting to make it go away before I approach the throne of grace. Isn’t that the whole point? To bring what needs grace to the feet of grace? Why, then, are we so concerned with fixing ourself out of these ways of needing grace?  Yes, last night, I was anxious. Tomorrow is...

Excerpts from meditations on psalm 130 Four months ago, after brunching with friends old and new and opening up, perhaps for the first time, about what I was going through physically (I had just been to the ER a few days before), I went to church. Church in this season has been a safe place. A sweet place to commune with God by exchanging words with him, as evidenced by journals filling up fast with the heading, page after page, “@ the anchor.” I sat down and journal a bit about the life I could feel bubbling up, the life God was (and still is) making room for, the life I could feel beginning even in that very moment. And then I switched thoughts to the psalm I was claiming over March: psalm 16. A psalm of revealing. Little did I know what all he was barely beginning to reveal that day—like this new, unexpected dream of discipling others interested in missions—but I was looking for a different revealing. As is always the case in medical situations, I was looking for the rev...