About Katie V

Katie is a lover of life and all the things that come with it. She's the proud mother of an overweight calico cat, a hyperactive dog and the world's angriest guinea pig. She revels in her role as "The Cool Aunt", and believes that you can know the joy of God and still be a rock star. She's lived through disaster, desperation, depression and divorce, and serves as living proof that all things are possible if you keep the faith.

When the Creek Still Rises

Pray for waders,  and maybe a boat.

Seriously though, sometimes life can really suck.  For instance, the past year of my life has been full of the most rewarding and simultaneously difficult moments of my life.

God gave me a boyfriend who has helped me find my light again, despite the fact that I seemed determined to drown it in despair.  God also gave me my boyfriend’s teenage daughter.

I’m sure there are some step-parents out there, but for those of you that haven’t had the pleasure, suddenly becoming a maternal figure for a 15 year old girl (who also happens to be much taller than me) can feel a lot like diving into a rushing river before realizing you don’t know how to swim.

For the sake of privacy, I’ll refer to her as “Miss M”.  She’s beautiful, funny, smart and a complete mystery to me.  As the product of a broken home and a lifetime of conflicting disciplinary tactics, Miss M manages to combine the inherent attitude of a hormonal teenager with the self-righteous enthusiasm of someone who feels they’ve suffered more at the hands of the “cruel universe” than anyone else alive.

Before I go further, let me add that I’ve grown to love this young lady unconditionally.  I feel a little weird admitting some of the less-than-friendly feelings I’ve experienced, but my hope is that someone living through a similar situation will see that there is land on the other side of that river.

This past fall, she moved in with her father when her mother moved to another county.  I expected there to be challenges, but I was woefully unprepared for what followed.  Between the slipping grades, the boy drama and never-ending power struggles between parent and child, the tension in the house was palpable, and the slightest off-hand remark could turn the kitchen table into a war zone.  I have a natural aversion to conflict – a physical reaction that usually leaves me feeling shaky and ill – so these encounters often left me questioning my decision to be involved at all.

Outside of the war zone, I was dealing with ongoing unemployment and the unhappy legal proceedings associated with a divorce.  I was an adult living with my parents after a decade of living on my own.  At every turn it seemed that I was faced with yet another challenge: the economy was terrible, my depression was deepening, my car was falling apart, and guess what…the cat barfed on the carpet.

So I prayed.  So much of my life felt outside of my control that it felt like prayer was the only step I could take.  I’d tuck myself under the covers at night and repeat the Lord’s Prayer over and over and over.  I didn’t pray for God to fix things; I prayed for God to give me the strength to see His will.  The rains were falling, and the creek was rising, and I really needed Him to teach me to swim.

And He did.

He showed me sides of myself I didn’t know I had – I found the strength to be one of the few people Miss M trusts completely.  He gave me the courage to assert myself during confrontations in order to return peace to dinnertime.  He blessed me with a big sister that listened to hours of whining on the phone to patiently remind me that God had a plan for me, and that He never gives us more than we can handle.

The waters still rise, and occasionally the floods return, but when they do, I stop and I pray until the rain is done.

Breaking Bread with Father Dominic

When I was a child, I used to watch a show on PBS called “Breaking Bread with Father Dominic,” featuring a jovial, chuck-taylor-wearing monk straight out of St. Bede Abbey.  Father Dominic taught a wide variety of delicious recipes, but more importantly, he shared the wisdom and holy teachings of his extensive history within the church.

One lesson in particular has stayed with me throughout the course of my life, and it’s a lesson that I still hold dear.  It has influenced many of the choices I’ve made in my life, and remains an aspect of my personality that I strive to teach to those around me.

During an episode in which the good Father was explaining a complex bread recipe, he shared the story of a dinner he enjoyed with a friend several years before:

During the course of this dinner, he noticed that the lady of the house had an exquisite set of china stored in the cupboard in the dining room.  He inquired about the origins of the dishes and the lady replied that they had been a wedding gift and that she was saving them for an extra special occasion.  Father Dominic asked if these dishes had ever been used, to which she answered that no occasion had seemed quite special enough to risk damaging the delicate plates and saucers.  After giving this some consideration, the monk  countered with another question. What if that perfect special occasion never comes, or what if a disaster occurs and the dishes are destroyed anyway?  Simply put, the potential and all the good intentions imparted in those beautiful china dishes will have gone to waste.

Something bright and strong welled up in me upon hearing this story.  I was only in middle school, but the truth in those words hit a deep chord, and I’ve never forgotten the lesson.

Gifts are given with the intention that they be used and cherished.

God has given us so many gifts, and it can be so easy to sit back and take those gifts for granted.  When things in your life begin to look dark, simply sit back and think about the blessings you have.  Above all, God has given us the ultimate gift – salvation and forgiveness.  One cannot sit back in fear of living through difficult times.

Stand up, face forward and step boldly, knowing that the Godly gifts you’ve been given will not crack or chip.

 

 

My Glorious Revolution

Historically, the Revolution of 1688 (in which James II of England was overthrown) is referred to as the Glorious Revolution because it was accomplished without the spilling of a single drop of blood.  The English Parliament worked in beautiful accord to remove an unsatisfactory leader and promote the growth and stability of the kingdom.  

History is riddled with tales of revolution and uprising. The glory and desolation of civilizations are the hallmarks of our species.

But, how much is at stake when one individual is faced with the inevitability of revolting against one’s own nature?

This confrontation was one that I couldn’t avoid.  The circumstances of my life changed so drastically in such a short amount of time that any semblance of control I might have possessed was torn from my grasp, and I was left standing in my own fog of misery and fear with no idea of what to do next.

The end of my marriage meant more than a just a broken relationship.  I had to relocate – returning home after 10 years of living on my own.  I had to give up my job, leaving me unemployed during one of the worst periods of economic downturn since the Great Depression.  The fragile world I’d built for myself fell to pieces, and I was left only a pale shadow of myself.

Over the months that followed I tried and failed (repeatedly) to rebuild myself.  My confidence was broken, and one failure after another only served to leave me feeling more hollow and unnecessary than before.

Yet something still stirred within.  Some crystalline voice that rose up out of the fog and told me that I knew better.  Before I’d lost myself in an unhappy marriage, I’d been a force of nature.  I was full of love and light and the capacity to find joy in the tiniest moments of living.  Where had I gone that my true self couldn’t follow?

All the fancy motivational sayings and well-meant advice didn’t help.  As a general rule, they only made me feel like the anti-positive – something falling squarely between negative and total worthlessness.  But still, that voice rose up.

Slowly (oh, how slowly), that voice became louder.  It came from the comfort I took in my faith that God still had a plan for me.  It came from the vocalizations of the treasured few who saw my real suffering and not just the symptoms.  It even came from those whose words I’d read but whose voices I’ve still yet to ever hear.

It came from me.  The “Me” I’d shoved so deep down that I’d forgotten about her.

Then I stopped being sad – it was time to get angry.  I’m not talking about ex-bashing, railing-railing-against-the-unfairness-of-the-universe angry.  I’m talking about how-dare-I-let-myself-think-this-way angry.

The devil may be in the details, but he had most certainly taken up residence in my self-esteem.