"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." Romans 12:15

   I regularly take "breaks" from blogging. Usually the time between posts is consumed with living: momming three of my favorite humans, exploring our temporary home in Budapest, grocery shopping in Hungarian, and drinking more coffee than ever before. I try to balance being with the ones who are here and sharing our experiences with friends and family, but if I'm going to fall behind on one of those tasks, I think it should be the latter.
    This time, the break from blogging was different. I literally had dozens of posts swirling in my brain, just waiting to be shared, but this time, I couldn't. The "new post" button at the top of my page could not be pushed. Or would not.
    Because I had Hurricane Harvey survivor guilt, and I refused to go on sharing joyful living while my friends and family were in the midst of a mess.
 
    Can you even be called a survivor if you are not present to survive a storm? I'm not sure. Though we were not physically there, I know of few other times that my heart has been so far away from my present location. Clark and I truly felt we had a better understanding of the idea of "mourning with those who mourn", but mourn was all it felt like we could do. I could not open up my home to make guest beds and pallets for those whose homes were not dry. I could not cook warm meals for the masses. I could not even send needed supplies due to inaccessible roads. I could watch, hear stories, and hurt deeply.

    Hurricane Harvey hit shortly after we returned from a vacation to Norway. I had a million pictures to post and planned captions to share, blogs planned about vacationing to Bergen with children, but my Grandma Jane's birthday party got cancelled. And school start dates got pushed back. And then my friends had water in their houses.

   My children began school, and routine life went on for us, which all felt very wrong. Emma would hear her classmates discussing the storm, and she would listen as they discussed the devastation to our home. I told her often that though our friends and family were effected by the storm, they were safe, and they were working to get things back to normal. A few weeks into school, I passed by Emma's class to say hi before she headed to Girl Scouts. She was having an argument of sorts with her teacher, and she was actually being, in my opinion, rather disrespectful. The teacher saw me, and, looking as confused as I felt, he asked if I could please talk to Emma about the project they were working on. She had basically refused to do it. The assignment was to interview a family member about their culture. I couldn't understand why she was being obstinate about something like that.  I looked into her eyes and saw she was about to cry, so she and I headed to the parking lot to chat in private. When we got in the car, she fell apart. When she could calm down enough to verbalize her feelings, she said, "But Momma, interviewing over the phone is not the same. I miss them so much."
    Harvey hit us in a different way than it hit Southeast Texas. Harvey hit with a gust of  homesickness and grief that neither Emma nor I had felt in our 14 months abroad. Hurricane Harvey brought me to the realization that I need to share my hurts with my daughter so that she doesn't think she has to be tough all the time. It also reminded me to bloom where God has planted me. For whatever reason, God thought it best that Clark and I were here, a million miles away, during hurricane season 2017. Who here needs a hot meal? Who here  needs a helping hand? Who here just needs a friend? Because I have been prepared and trained, and I am here.

    After my cry with Emma, I also realized I need to be thankful for the joys that we are getting to experience here. I never want to belittle my friends' hurt or struggles, and I don't want to pretend that we are unaffected by the goings on where you are, but I need to see our blessings as blessings, not curses. Though I may never go back and post pictures from our trip to Norway, I think I need to press the "New Post" button more often.

   If you know of people who are still in need of help in their Hurricane Harvey recovery efforts, please let me know. There are a bunch of expats over here who have not forgotten them and who want to help.

You are loved.

Sewing Perfection

   For the past few months I have begun thinking about blogging again (especially around 3:00 AM when it seems a good outlet for a busy brain), and since my sweet man is out at a Ranger's game, and I'm already a week behind with The Voice, tonight seems as good a night as any to restart.

  

   About 5 years ago, I received my grandmother's sewing box and some quilting squares which my grandmother had hand-stitched. They were brightly colored flowers, with happy yellow centers. I don't know anything about quilting, but I thought surely I could figure out something to do with these. They have sat untouched for 5 years in the metal tin in which they came. I've often opened the tin, looked at the squares, thought about piecing them together, and then closed the tin.
 
   I think I was afraid of messing up her work. She had already measured and cut every square (my absolute least favorite part of any sewing craft), cut, and stitched every petal, and lovingly stored them until she was ready to begin her quilt. I think I feared taking her quality work and turning it into an unacceptable attempt at being crafty.

   My grandmother went to be with Jesus this past Thanksgiving. I'm not sure why I decided today was the day to brave the task of working with her quilting squares, but I did. I placed the squares all neatly on the floor, and I began assembling a quilt for Emma Jane. As I set them out, I quickly realized something incredibly liberating: my grandmother's squares were not perfect squares. In fact, some of them were hardly squares at all... more like curvy rectangles. Okay, they weren't that bad, but when it came to pinning them together, there were obvious differences in the lengths of the sides, and for some reason, this helped me feel like I could start a quilt. Through the slight imperfections I found in my grandmother's work, I felt like perhaps I had something to bring to the table. Her imperfect work was beautiful; perhaps my attempts could be as well.

   I find relief remembering my grandmother was not perfect, but she now is. I don't know why I let perfection intimidate me when I have clearly seen how the Lord has worked through my weaknesses. "But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Therefore, I will most gladly boast all the more about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may reside in me. So I take pleasure in weaknesses, insults, catastrophes, persecutions, and in pressures, because of Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-11
Here's to embracing my weaknesses one stitch at a time!

Hugs and Blessings!
Katelyn