My Uncle Steve

I want to write about him. Steve was the easiest guy to get along with. It would have felt just weird to call him Uncle Steve because we saw each other all the time, and I think Erskine's are just too lazy for all those extra syllables. Or something. Maybe Ogden branch Erskine's. I mean, I wasn't called Katie, but Kate most of the time. Sometimes it still feels weird to hear "Katie", but it would feel too weird to introduce myself as Kate or to sign my name that way. So yeah, he was just Steve. I would go to Grandpa's house, and sit on the couch and talk to him about games and books and movies. I would admire his book collection. I would enjoy the hum of the house, Grandpa falling asleep with a cup of coffee in his hands, and Tim tinkering away on a car, or fixated on the sports game that happened to be on, or working on fascinating art projects with random mediums.
Grandpa's house. I still have to call it that, even though he's been gone for...wow, 6 years now. I have spent 7 of those years away from home, so it's always strange to come home, in my sporadic few week bursts.
I want to write about Steve, because I keep dreaming about him. I keep dreaming that I'm talking to him, like old times. And then I'm crying because I realize it's not real. I dream that he's proud of me, of what I'm doing. I can see in his eyes that he wants me to know that. I cry so hard in my sleep. I don't know if I actually did in real life. It's not hopeless, it's just such a long wait.
My family isn't all that touchy. The aunts pat the back, and hug. They pray and believe in miracles. And finding out that my uncle became a Christian before cancer seemed to cut his life short. I say seemed, because that's an earthly perspective of course. There is not cutting his life short. He's living forever right now. But I didn't really get to hug him. Maybe I did at Grandpa's funeral. That day was a blur, of course. It was the first day I was really presented with the glaring reality that this body is just a tent. A temporary means of travel and an instrument to make the most important choices with. A mouth to declare the truth and hands and feet to be ready to serve the Lord.
I may offend some people, but hey, they don't have to read this. (Or they can look past the offence if they see that it's not worth the effort and pain of unforgiveness that just causes pain and sickness in the long run.)
I was kind of annoyed with Steve's funeral paper thing. It made it seem like he was a firm, strong in the Lord Christian his whole life, like his whole life was being faithful and passionate about telling people about his faith. And no, that wasn't true. He wrote himself that he search for 50 years, not knowing the Lord was searching for him. He wrote about wasted time and being overwhelmed by the love of Jesus as he knew his life was swiftly coming to an end. But it occured to me, as I wrote that, that maybe he was written about like that, because the few weeks (or however long it was, I'm out of touch with America, remember?) were the most full, exciting, and powerful weeks of his life. And it fulfilled him and everyone around him so much, that everything before just seemed like a foggy memory. I heard about how he was excited to pray for people, whenever there was an opportunity. And I have shared his words with people all over Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and now France, and soon Belgium and Luxembourg will get to hear some of the prayers and thoughts that (my aunt) Ella  painstakingly typed up, because his handwriting was hard to read. I have another wonderful friend that will type it up in French. (because I can mostly translate it into German, almost memorized by now, but since I'm not there anymore, it's not so necessary)
He said he wouldn't want to go back, to be healed, and to go back to way life was before. He asked God to give him strength, to help him to use the time he had.
He loved his dogs, they were his children. He sometimes ate canned soup while he fed his dogs chicken! ha ha..that's my family. Priorities, all the way. He appreciated old books, and bad puns and science fiction. There were always piles of books around him. When I went into his room, which was mostly packed up, I started picking up books, because it was so natural. Books, being enthralled by a story, being sucked in, and exhaling out the excitement and resolution, sucking for air at the end sometimes. If I ever expressed the vaguest notion of wanting to borrow something, he would already have it in his hands. As soon as anyone had any kind of need, his eyebrows would go up in this, "Hmm, what can I do about it" kind of way. He seriously would give people the shirt off of his back, no problem. He loved his family so much, even though he didn't say it. And the last time I got to talk to him was either in December or early January of the year that he died in March. There was some problem with skype or the phone. I could hear him, but he couldn't hear me. Can you imagine how painful that was? He asked for me a few times, and I was shouting, "Yes, yes, I'm here!" And then he said, well, sorry, I can't hear you. But I'm glad you called. It's good to hear from you." And was gone. That wasn't the last contact. I did write him a letter. Telling him I loved him. It was read to him by one of the aunts. It's so good that I had the chance to say what I wanted to say. I do miss him. And if airfare wasn't so expensive, I could go into that strange empty house that (my uncle) Tim has made so nice. It doesn't have the comfortable clutter it used to, the coffee table filled with coffee cups and magazines and books and VHS's and glasses and mail. But there are still dogs, and he is still there, and the memories are still there. They breathe new life into us, and inspire us to love the way Grandpa and Steve loved, to give so cheerfully the way they did, and to be strong, and hold onto the promise, whether you have lived that promise for decades, or are in need for strong arms to catch you right now, because our tomorrows are not promised.

Grey hair, unity, and more faith basics

What I've learned about myself-

1. I am currently finding more grey hairs. (Thanks premature graying genes.) I think I am up to about 3 now.

2.I'm not as vain as I used to be, especially about the length of my hair and how pretty that makes me feel. I found this out after feeling pretty emotionless after getting my hair cut short the other day.

3. I would rather not do things at all sometimes than do them half as well as I think I could.

I, Mrs. “Good-enough-mantra-kid-since-the-concept-of-school,-grades-and-passing-and-failing” Katie, do have perfectionistic tendancies. Because of that, I have let multiple important relationships fall, have avoided creativity, and have neglected this blog. I haven't felt so inspired, not with my stories, not with to-do lists, not with all that much. It's a time of mission, I suppose. In my world, the world of 2 missions a year, this is the Exodus 2012 mid mission hump. (Soon it will be Christmas, though it sure doesn't feel like that, because it has been so wonderfully warm. France is wonderful, I tell you what. We went swimming a few weeks ago. In the ocean. The ocean that is outside.)

4.I am afraid to get inspired and passionate about things sometimes, because it can make me feel like I'm not even a drop in the bucket. I got emotional and angry and bothered about politics a few weeks ago. I'm not even going to turn this into a political blog, because then it's just a “my side and your side” thing, and I think Christians should go for the solidarity of Jesus, his absolute love and forgiveness for all of us, Republicans and Democrats and Green and Tea Party and Brony and Nerdfighter alike. I don't know how to find the line between opinion and emotion, and I don't want to alienate people because of either of them. It's hard.

5.If I don't understand something, I avoid it with a ten foot pole. I didn't just learn that. I mean, that's how I was in school, from the point where things didn't come naturally. Somewhere around the beginning of third grade. Around the time I threw that hammer at Britta. (Sorry Britta.) (And all my former Unit Leaders that had to deal with me....)

6.I don't want to be guilty of hiding behind a Bible. I was recently talking to a host who was talking about how Jesus didn't condemn the woman at the well, who was caught in adultry. He didn't point out how bad she was and make sure everyone else knew that he was against that kind of behavior. He loved her and said, “Don't go back. Don't do it anymore. Be forgiven.” I don't want to read the bible looking for what God hates, but I want to discover how to love the way he does. I know that I need grace as much as the people who use children as human shields. It's a human perspective to think that the “good family man” is a lot closer to the Lord than the “person putting razor blades and heroin in kids halloween candy.” The smallest sin separates us from God. Jesus brings us close, because he chose to pay the price of our sin's against him. This may seem like a basic thing, but especially at times like this, coming into an intense election, and feeling all the things that separate us, we have to stick to what unites us. We had a wonderful time of ministry at an English speaking church last Sunday, and there was an especially moving responsive reading. The Pastor wrote it with a lot of passion, I could feel that. I want to share a bit of it.

“Gracious God, we thank you for being here amongst us this morning and we come to you with different needs.”

Some of us here need to say “Help me” And some of us need to say “Save me” and some of us need to say “Hold me” And some of us need to say “Forgive me” So we will wait together, forgive one another as you forgave us, and we will praise you together. Amen.

Blessed are you Lord for you hear our prayers and our hearts dance for joy as we worship you. Amen.

I especially love that part about needing to say, “Hold me” to the Lord.

It was an incredibly encouraging time, to talk to him and his wife, to see how the Lord has provided for him, and to see how we were brought together to do ministry in apart of France where there haven't been a lot of doors open in along time! I could write a whole blog about that, but I will save it for another time. I do have more to say, wow! That's cool!

Be blessed, friends. I hope these ramblings have been worth the time.

Katie