katie rose writes

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

“what you spoke is now unfolding” —elevation worship, Fullness  Will you believe that of this season? That was his question to me, driving to work this morning, singing and eyes flooding with tears, yet somehow (miraculously) not streaming and blinding me. Will you believe it? I Voxered a friend later in the day and almost started crying again as I relayed that story to her. I’m having trouble believing that, I said. That this is what he meant.  We’ve walked through hard things. Not knowing what our dreams were, then knowing what they were and not know what to do with them…  I’m on the other side of it, but I’m having trouble believing that this is what God meant.  Like believing that, that this is what he meant. Especially when it doesn’t feel like it to me sometimes and I have lived in a constant state of stress and have struggled to really just trust that that’s what this is.  This is what he meant.  All those months of day-dreaming and journaling. This is what he