It's ALL Total Depravity's Fault!!! Right?

"Because of that one sin of Adam we have reaped the appalling consequences. But because of this one act of the Son of God, [dying on the cross,] we are going to reap all the benefits of salvation."

-Martyn Lloyd-Jones

I don't really like to talk about my sin. Inherently, it's my heart's desire to keep my failures and shortcomings and selfish actions closely under wraps. But if you go to a healthy church, and live in a healthy Christian family, sin is talked about. It's not something we can do away with, and it really isn't something we can successfully hide.

So, I often find myself, and watch others around me, doing the next best thing.

We find a scapegoat.

And Adam, our first representative, is the perfect scapegoat. After all, it was because of his sin that we are all cursed with this totally depraved nature - which is the abhorrence of every true Christian.

I like to blame my sin on my totally depraved nature, pretending that I cannot help myself. "You know, just my old sin nature comin' through. It's a pity, but that's just the way it is." (Maybe you don't have this struggle. But I think if we're totally honest with ourselves, we'll see that type of conversation in our lives, whether it be spoken in an inward whisper, or whether we come right out and say it in conversation.)

But this quote by Dr. Lloyd-Jones reminded me that even though, yes, I suffer from Adam's fall, I also am given indescribable blessings and mercies and privileges because of Christ's work on the cross.

As a child of the King, I have been commanded to live as my Saviour lived. And how did he live?

Did he embrace sin? Did he blame his unkind or selfish actions on his evil sin nature-I-really-wish-I-didn't-have-but-since-I-do-I-guess-I'll-just-deal-with-it?

No! He knew no sin.

He lived a perfect life. And while I know I will never be perfect, or anywhere close to perfect, as the briefest of glances inside my heart would show, I have been given the tools not to sin.

"Wait a second, Katie. That sounds awfully like perfectionism to me!"

Well, it isn't.

Through the beautiful benefits of salvation, through Christ Himself, we have been given the means not to sin. We choose sin. I make that sinful choice, not some evil dictator inside my head using me like a robot. And Christ didn't say "Be ye holy as I am holy" for no reason.

The more I think about this, (and obviously this is a very weak and imperfect attempt to put into words some of my recent thoughts and meditations, and only covers a portion of the big picture,) the more I am ashamed at the way I have often sluffed off my sin, which I choose, on my nature.

I have been guilty of forgetting that Christ's life here on this earth, as the God-Man, cleared for me, a believer, the path of righteousness and holiness... and even sinlessness.

What cause for rejoicing is in that knowledge! And what responsibility and privilege is found therein. (By the by, I love the word therein. It's so King James Version-ish.)

This may all be just terribly confusing. If so, I apologize for my scrambled way of writing. If you want to read a MUCH better, fuller, clearer exposition on what I'm trying to communicate, read this book.

be still, my watering mouth.

Tonight, as I walked around our good smelling, earthy garden, (seriously, IS there a better smell than freshly hoed dirt?) I got an insatiable craving for fried green tomatoes. Now, for you sad little beings who have never tasted fried green tomatoes, don't knock 'em till you try 'em. Because, wow, they are a-maz-ing. So crisp, so greasy, (the good tasting kind of grease, not the stale, old tasting kind of grease,) with a perky flavor that will leave you on your knees, begging for more. And more.

The only thing that will stand between you and more and more and more fried green tomato happiness is that frying them is pure torture. It's hot, it's time consuming, it's greasy, it's dangerous. (If you're a klutz like I am, it's simply fraught with peril.)

Last summer, I went and visited a wonderful friend who has a large family, and in a moment of insanity, I offered to fry green tomatoes for the whole family. Like, as the main dish.

By the time I emptied that large basket of green tomatoes, I was coated with grease and cornmeal, (okay, maybe not coated, but it sure felt like it,) dripping with sweat, and honestly believing that if I never, ever saw a fried green tomato again, I would be perfectly content.

But thankfully the long winter has apparently coaxed my fried green tomato love back into existence, and now I'm eagerly counting the days until a few tomatoes get large enough for something besides a fairy's soccer ball.

Namely, large enough to be sliced, rolled in cornmeal, sprinkled with a little salt, plopped into a big ol' skillet full of oil, and eaten. By me.

big whoop.

I think we've fallen to an appalling low in our food and drink industry when it says "made with real limes!" on the limeade jug - like that's an awesome accomplishment.

I would hope it's made with real limes. It's LIMEade, for pete's sake!

For Eleanor.

I saw Peter Pan, and here's how our conversation went:

Me: "You hoo! Peter Pan!" ::waving frantically::

Peter Pan: ....

Me: "Hellooooooo!!!!"

Peter Pan: ....

Me: "Ummm.... I have a message from a friend. She said to wink at you. So, could you, ya' know, look this way for just a sec so I could fulfill that mission?"

Peter Pan: ::doesn't move in the least::

Me: "Young man, look over here at me this instant! Did no one ever teach you a little respect for your elders?"

Peter Pan: ...



So, I gave up. Someone that impolite wasn't worth a wink anyway. Or I guess it could have been the fact that he was a trifle occupied with a ferocious lunatic with a long sword. Didn't he realize the crocodile was coming to his rescue?

Sorry, Ellie.

my feet still aren't speaking to me.

Well, we're home.

We had fun.

We sweated. Lots.

We walked until my feet and legs claimed they were dying. And then sent me an impolite memo informing me that if they could, they would leave me sitting by the road footless and legless, but as they were so firmly attached as to render that impossible, they were suspending all further amiable communication for an undetermined length of time.

We rode awesome rides that made me scream like a sick banshee.

We fell in love with our hotel.



We stood in looong lines. Lots.

We saw breathtaking fireworks. And yes, I wished on a shooting star.

Isaiah ate.


And ate...


and ate some more.


Phoebe got her face painted, and since if Phoebe jumped off a cliff, Isaiah would be about two feet behind her, yelling "DO! DO!", he was also magically transformed with the help of some brushes and paint.


We rode the spinning teacups, which will make you sincerely wish you hadn't had that third waffle at breakfast.


We met Mary Poppins, who is one of my very favorite movie characters. Anna sang her songs to me when I was a wee creature, and in my Very Humble opinion, she sang them quite as well as Julie Andrews.


And here we are, in all our glory - stroller, backpack, sunglasses, and battery operated fans, (which squirted water and were consequently the delight of Phoebe and Isaiah's souls.)



p.s. I meant to post pictures of my previous trips to Disney World, some as far back as the days when I wore hats and dresses that matched, but all those trips were taken in the obsolete days when people only had film cameras, so I don't have them easily accessible on the computer. Oh well.

p.p.s. What is more disturbing and unattractive than old men in speedos? Uh, ummm, hmmmm... nope, I can't think of anything.

p.p.p.s. (Is that even how you do a third p.s.?) I ate sushi. Like, the raw kind. Not that mamby-pamby cooked stuff or the vegetable imitation. And yes, I did it just to be able to say I ate raw sushi.

I'll say hello to Mickey Mouse for you.

Well, tomorrow I'm off to the land where dreams really do come true. No, I'm not going to the world's largest Dr. Pepper factory or to an Anthropologie give-away. (But hey, a girl can dream, right?)

Lowell, Anna, Phoebe, Isaiah and I are going to Disney World, and it would be hard to say who's more excited - Lowell or I. (Phoebe is pretty enthusiastic about it too, just not quite on the same level. And Anna... well, she's a mama with two precocious children, one of which would rather be on her hip than anywhere else, except somewhere he isn't supposed to be. So you can't blame her for not doing handstands over the prospect of a week of late nights and short naps in a strange place.)


Why am I so very excited? Let's think about this for a minute. Disney World is where everyone is encouraged to believe in fairies and happily ever afters, and shooting stars, (albeit man-made ones,) are pretty much filling the sky every night, just begging for someone to wish on them. And we all know that I'm a sucker for shooting stars. And fairies. And happily ever afters. Throw in some totally awesome roller coasters, unique restaurants, and Cinderella's castle, and you've got yourself my perfect vacation.

I would say that I might post something during the week, but there are three problems which will hinder posts from happening.

1. I would have to use Lowell's iPhone.
2. Lowell breaks out in hives if anyone touches his iPhone.
3. Even if Lowell was delighted for me to use it, I probably couldn't work the complicated thing anyway. Because technologically advanced I'm not.

So, goodbye for now, and may all your [happy] dreams come true this week!

Today, I was offered a full scholarship.

Too bad I have to join the National Guard to get it.

We are letters from Christ.

"You show that you are a letter from Christ
-written not with ink but with the Spirit of the Living God." -2 Corinthians 3:3

"So much of the world does not read the Bible, nor come to church to hear the gospel. All it learns about Christ and the Christian life it must learn from those who bear Christ's name and represent Him. If all church members lived truly consecrated lives -
holy,
beautiful,
separate from the world;

loyal to Christ
in business,
in pleasure,
in all things -

it is impossible to estimate what the powerful influence of the Church would be, in example alone. We are all responsible for the influence of our example.

Our lives should be New Testament pages, which all can read."

-J.R. Miller

it was their "use this in a sentence" word for the day.

I got an email confirmation of a purchase I made today, and it made me laugh out loud.

"We are delighted to inform you that your purchase is being processed..."

(A little over-enthusiastic maybe, but hey, I'm all about happy customer service people.)

"...as you read this, your item is being plucked off the shelf."

Plucked? Seriously? They just said "Plucked"?

Wow.

as Anne of Green Gables would say,

yesterday was an epoch in my life.

Every Mother's Day for the past ten years, we have had to scarf down our yummy mother's day lunch at Anna's, open gifts and cards at the speed of light, and hurry out the door to get to Oxford in time for my afternoon violin recital.

But yesterday was the very last time for all that.

For ten years, the week leading up to Mother's Day is a never ceasing continuation of sick feelings in my stomach and nervous tremors in my heart. By the time I get to the church itself, I'm barely able to walk in a straight line because my legs are be shaking so. (Oh, wait. I can barely walk in a straight line when my legs aren't shaking. It's called being a klutz.) And sitting on the hard folding chair, watching my doom draw nearer and nearer every second is pure torture. 'Cause you never, ever play your best with trembling legs and sweaty hands in front of a ton of people. In fact, you often just mess up big time. Which is loverly.

For some reason, maybe because joy was so strong within me, I wasn't nervous yesterday. Nor was Ellie, my superb accompanist, who has for these many years put up with foul notes, faster-than-supposed-to-be tempos at the last minute, etc. We weren't sure whether it was maturity or just plain stupidity causing us not to have swarms, herds, schools, droves, and flocks of butterflies killing each other in our stomachs, but we decided maturity sounded better, so we went with that one.


And now I'm done. Mother's Day can be a relaxing day where we sit around drinking iced coffee until we either explode or the world's supply of iced coffee tragically runs out. My stomach can be killer butterfly-free.

But, you know, I'll miss some of it. Like doing my Very Attractive face for the camera when group photos have been going on for waaay too long and I really just want to go get some punch.



Or being with Ellie and Julia, who make it all a lot more fun and a lot less stressful. (Because they tell me it won't really matter in the scheme of things if I faint while walking up to the music stand, or if I terribly embarrass myself by my shoulder pad popping off the violin as I bow. Oh, wait. That already happened. Yesterday.)



It's weird to be finished with Mother's Day recitals. It's a little sad, yet exciting at the same time. So, there you have it.

Hello, Change. How are you today?

maybe if i marry a millionaire who's really good with kids.

Phoebe: "KK, when you get married, you're going to take me, Isaiah, Lee, Ben, Jackson, Ethan, and Charlie and her little sister to Disney World."

Today is my brother-in-law Lowell's birthday.

Let me just say this about Lowell: Nobody could ask for a better big brother. He and Anna started dating when I was practically a baby, so I really don't remember life without Lowell. He's taken me to ball games, bought me fried shrimp when we went out to eat, (because it was my favorite thing to order when I was little,) made me laugh, made me cry, made me mad, and been generally great. (Except when he's not. But that's a true brother for you.)

What's Lowell like? Oh, well, he loves holding hands at the table, hugs are his favorite things ever, he loves someone taking pictures of him, and he could watch "Anne of Green Gables" for hours and hours on end, as long as it's followed by a long session of "Pride and Prejudice." (The six hour version, of course.)

Just kidding. He's the opposite of all that.

But he loves Disney World, which means he goes whenever he can convince Anna, and they take me along. So I'm not complaining that he would rather watch "Iron Man" than "Anne of Green Gables."

Basically, I love him bushels.

And I'm going to give you a birthday hug the next time I see you, Lowell. Okay? Get prepared.



p.s. Oh, look! It's Lowell experiencing two of his favorite things - hugs and pictures! If he wasn't so difficult about having his picture taken, I'd have a decent picture to post of him, but he is, so I don't.

well, I almost died.

I'll spare you the thrilling details, but let's just say it involved me, in the van, driving, and a spider crawling on my arm.

Yes, he's dead.

No, I'm not dead.

But it was a toss-up as to who was actually going to be the alive one for a few perilous seconds.