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I think…

I think too much.

Sometimes I think that my overthinking comes from living alone and having nearly twelve beautiful hours of silence to process my chaotic life between the times when I get home from work and the time that I walk out the door the next day.

Sometimes I think back to my childhood and realize that I’ve always been a deep thinker. While my social butterflies of sisters would be off gallivanting about the neighborhood, I would usually be doing something nerdy like looking at rocks in the backyard and thinking out loud about what minerals or fossils they might contain. (Let me tell you, talking to yourself out loud about rocks is not a great way to win friends at the age of 7…or 8…or 9.)

Then sometimes, I think about the way that I process arguments and conversations after they happen. I can’t help but think: What could have gone better? What would have happened if that one little thing had gone differently?

And at the end of all of my thinking about thinking, I realize that I am once again, indeed thinking.

My thinking is a problem, really. (Although, I would personally rather be an over-thinker than an under-thinker if I had to choose. But moving on before I make any more snarky remarks…)

My problem doesn’t necessarily come from the fact that I sometimes think out loud, leading me to talk to myself (or my dog), but from the fact that when I start rehashing my life, I’m usually not talking to God. In fact, I usually am taking my eyes completely off of God. I’m essentially saying,

God, I don’t like how that ended. If You could please put Your Sovereign Knowledge and the good that You’re trying to work here on hold for a minute so that we can tend to my selfish needs, that would be great.”

I will literally dissect and analyze a troubling conversation to death before I offer it up to God, and usually by that time, I have internalized the conversation on a deep level. I understand that sometimes internalizing conversations is beneficial to us as humans and as Christians, especially if the conversations were encouraging or full of wisdom that we need to hear.

However, mulling conversations over and over can easily become detrimental to our walks with God if we aren’t careful with what we are over thinking.

My most recent example of this?

My mother and I don’t have a great relationship, and unfortunately we haven’t for a rather long time. For the majority of the last three years, we haven’t spoken to each other, but just last month she got back in contact with me. For the first few days, I felt like I had a normal relationship with my mom. We caught up on what my siblings were up to, her recent divorce, the happenings of her sunflower farm and ranch, and the like, but unfortunately that quickly fell away and the patterns of verbal abuse that I had grown up with began to return.

Some days when she would call and drill into me, I would turn the other cheek, pretend that her stabbing words didn’t bother me, and give her an excuse as to why I had to hang up. Other days I would blow up at her, serving her insults right back. But no matter how the conversations ended, I always mentally replayed and analyzed them, yet very rarely did I pray for guidance or wisdom.

Last weekend, after absorbing several weeks of verbal assaults I finally blocked her number and tried to go back about my life.

But by then, the conversations and lies were already written on my heart.

Had I simply run to God after every conversation and confrontation and let Him heal my brokenness, I know that I wouldn’t have been so deeply wounded by my mother’s words or the words that came out of my own mouth. But instead, I had replayed them and let them take root in my heart. Slowly her words became my words:

“You’re never going to go anywhere.”

“You’re worthless.”

“You were a mistake.”

“You’re just like your father.”

And because I had started believing these lies, I couldn’t hear the truths that God was speaking into my life at that same time:

“You’ve been accepted into this graduate program because I’m taking you somewhere.”

“You are worth my Son’s life.”

“I created you for a reason.”

“You were created in My image to become more like your Father.”

I don’t think that over thinking is a disease that you can magically be cured of, and I’m honestly still not sure that I would want to be cured of it if this was a possibility. However, I do know that I need to remember where my healing and love comes from, and that is not from my own heart or mind, but from my God.

I am not doing anything productive by metaphorically beating my head against a wall, but God, the author of the Universe (and my own weird brain) would be able to do something with my situation, if only I would offer it up to Him instead.

What is God trying to tell you right now? Can you hear Him? Or are you thinking over your plans and actions instead of offering them up to Him?

6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

~Philippians 4:6-7

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Born to be an angel

grad party 045

Six years ago, I wandered into a youth group service and took a seat in the last row of chairs in a crowded high school gym. The transformation that happened in my life that night– the night I became a Christian– was more powerful than I could ever put into words. But something else changed in my life that night too.

As I sat back and scanned the gym full of rowdy teenagers, some of whom I had gone to school and grown up with, my eyes settled on the bright red hair of the girl sitting in the row in front of me. “Hey!” I said, as I kicked the back of her chair, causing her to turn around and look at me. “I like your hair. It’s pretty crazy, but it’s cool.” The girl’s face lit up and she smiled as she shyly said, “Thanks” and went back to the conversation that she had been having with the girl next to her.

Later that night, as I sat crying on the floor of the gym during worship, pouring my heart out to God for the first time, I felt someone put their arm around me. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the strange red-haired girl was sitting by my side, hugging me and crying out to God too.

At the time I didn’t know it, but that strange, wordless interaction on the floor of the Aurora Christian Academy gym was the beginning of one of the most beautiful friendships I have ever known.

I found out later that night that the red-haired girl had a name– Danielle. Dani for short.

I found out in the days and weeks after that night that Dani and I were incredibly similar, and it wasn’t long until we were nearly inseparable.

Over the next several years, we celebrated the small victories in our new walks with Jesus together… and we cried together when we failed. We held each other accountable in late night conversations and we became more like sisters than friends.

But unfortunately, neither of us were perfect and over time, we began to drift away from God, and each other, and in new directions; none of which were particularly healthy.

Around this time, I began college and subsequently “more exciting” things began to attract my attention. As I pulled away, Dani stopped trying to hold me accountable for my stupidity and it was only a matter of time until she had fallen back into her old habits as well.

As time passed, we became a duo of a different kind– the Pharisaical kind.  We were insistent on tearing the other one down by pointing out all of the sin in the others’ life– all in a concerted effort to make ourselves feel better about the amount of sin and pain in our own lives.

This tit-for-tat pattern wore our friendship raw for months on end. It seemed like I had lost my best friend over night, but we both knew that that wasn’t the truth. We both made poor choices and it took nearly a year of us digging at the others’ soul to come to a place of truce. But even in this treaty, neither of us were ready to give up the horrible messes of lives that we had reconstructed for ourselves. So instead of asking each other the hard questions when we talked at night, we would talk about school and boys, friends and what was on tv.

It was during this period of truce that both of our lives completely dissolved around us and because we were living on a superficial level instead of the sisterly bond that we both knew existed, neither of us were willing to cry “Uncle!” and let the other know how desperately we needed to talk about the tough stuff; how desperately we needed God.

And it was during this period that I got the phone call; my first phone call of 2011; the phone call telling me that Dani had committed suicide.

I could easily write a blog entry today, on her birthday, about the depravity and injustice of suicide, how angry I was at myself for being so petty, and the how much I desperately miss her… and all of those things would be true. But I’m not going to.

Instead, I wanted to write today to let everyone who reads this know that Dani was the most beautiful, loving, gracious soul I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I want you to know that Dani could put a smile on anyone’s face and had no qualms about being incredibly goofy if it meant that she would make you giggle.

I want you to know that Dani had such a tender heart that she shaved her head when she heard that one of our friends had cancer and was losing her hair from radiation treatments.

I want you to know that Dani was fearless and sang in a regional worship competition, even though she knew that people were going to make fun of her behind her back.

I want you to know that Dani radiated the love of Christ in the midst of persecution and humiliation throughout high school, and after.

And I want you to know that while Dani struggled, hard and long with the scars of abuse and addiction, that she loved God and believed whole heartedly in the redemptive power of Jesus Christ.

Today, Dani wouldn’t want us to weep; Instead, she would want us to go out and be a light to the broken of the world, just like she was to me the night that we met on the rubber gym floor of ACA.

So if you’re reading this and struggling, please know that you’re not alone. Reach out to someone; reach out to God.

Humans are fallible– my friendship with Dani proved this– But God will not fail you, not even when you’re broken and at your worst. Not even when everyone else has.

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

~Psalm 73:26

[On your birthday, I honor you Babydoll. Not a day has gone by that you haven’t been on my mind or my heart since you moved away to Heaven. I love you & can’t wait for the day when we get to worship, side-by-side once again. Love, Kace]

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Blowing down doors

At first I thought that maybe I was running on that “first day of school” high that most teachers experience… But even now, five days in, I can’t help but feel like this year is going to be different.

In my five years at the Street School I’ve seen a lot happen. I’ve been around for the births of my students’ babies, the incarceration of students that I held close to my heart, and even have walked through the mourning processes with an entire campus after one of our students died in a car crash the week before his senior year was set to begin.

Yet throughout all of that, I’ve seen God work miracles and bring teenagers that I adore to their knees, so that they can kneel in front of Him and call Him Lord.

But usually that “spiritual warfare-esque” stuff happens after months of mentoring, talking, and loving on them… Not within the first five minutes of the school year.

First thing Monday morning (well, after we accidentally set off the fire alarm & I had the “privilege” of chatting with the fire chief. Oops!) I was greeted by a puffy eyed student, asking me if we could talk. This sweet girl had one of the roughest summers I’ve ever heard of, and yet showed up, ready to learn on the first day of her senior year.

But within minutes of being back in school, her tough exterior crumbled and I found myself hugging a 17 year old girl as she sobbed on my freshly pressed blazer. But instead of rattling off all of the things that were wrong in her life like I probably would’ve done in her situation, she dried her eyes and said, “Miss, will you please pray for me? I can’t do school by myself. I need God, but He doesn’t seem close anymore. I messed up bad and it feels like He left… I can’t do anything right without Him… I’m not happy anymore.”

With little streams of salt water running down her cheeks, we sat in my room and prayed for healing and strength for her. When I finished praying, she dried her tears, gave me a giant bear hug, and ran out the door so she wouldn’t be late to her first class.

As I was cleaning up my classroom that afternoon, she came back in and gave me another hug. “Thanks Miss. My joy is coming back. Look, I can smile again.” She said, as she flashed me the little smile that she is famous for around school.

Many of my students had rough summers; some went to jail, some suffered unspeakable abuse, and some went days without meals and the care that so many of us take for granted. But this week, when returning students walked into the school, they knew that they were “home” and that they are loved.

Please continue to pray for the healing that many of my students now have to walk through after such a rough few months. The paths that lie ahead of many of them are rocky and terrifying, but not impossible if they have God. Unfortunately not many of them have relationships with Christ, so I ask that you please pray that my students come to know God in new, more intimate ways.

And please continue to pray for my co-teachers and I. This job is a beautiful blessing, but it is also incredibly exhausting. Pray that we don’t rely on our own strength, but on the strength that God provides, and please pray for wisdom for us as we handle situations that far exceed our own intellectual capacity.

I’m so honored to be a vessel for Christ’s love this year and know that if God has already begun breaking down walls in the hearts of my students in the first week that it is going to be a wild, exciting school year.

Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

~Matthew 11:28

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I can’t do this alone…

Sabrena Morgan & I Praying

Coming from a family of small-town high school quarterbacks and cheerleaders, high school was always built up to be a magical time of pep rallies, football games, and the rigorous academics that would inevitably prepare me for the world of college.

When I began high school, my educational trajectory seemed to match this, or at least mirror this as closely as it can when you attend a small Christian school in the city.

Freshman year, I was a volleyball player, a cheerleader, and a straight A student, dating the co-captain of the varsity basketball team. Everything seemed to be going well for me. I had big plans to graduate as valedictorian of my class and go on to Berkeley or Standford for pre-med, and to eventually become a neuro-surgeon.

But God had different plans for me.

In the middle of my sophomore year, the “excrement hit the ventilation system” within my family and my life took a sharp left turn.

Within the span of six months, my family fell apart for the second time in my life as my step-dad and siblings packed a U-Haul and left my mom and I alone. My step-dad had always been the stabilizing force in our family and without him there, my mom and I drifted apart– only acknowledging each other when we were slamming doors or screaming in each others direction. Eventually, the arguments escalated and I was kicked out of my mom’s house, left to couch surf for most of the summer between my sophomore and junior years.

That summer, I spent nearly my whole vacation crying, drinking cheap alcohol, and engaging in activities that to this day, I am too ashamed of to mention here.

As my life shattered around me, my big dreams and my passion for knowledge faded away. I became depressed and began putting myself in dangerous situations, in hopes that someone would “just put me out of my misery”.

The only thing that seemed worth living for was my goofy two year old god-daughter, and luckily when I was kicked out of my house, her mom, one of my closest friends, let me sleep in their living room. But even then, there was a problem…

My friend, like myself, was not in the best emotional state; Living in an abusive relationship, with the ghosts of her past haunting her, she resorted to drugs and alcohol to bandage her wounds, and together we nearly became a lethal combination.

But through all of the chaos, her sweet little girl kept me semi-grounded.

Eventually my friend’s substance abuse became such a problem that she was incapable of taking care of her daughter. So when she would get plastered, I would stay up and take care of her little one; reading stories, tucking her into bed, and often cleaning the house so she would have a safe place to live. Slowly, that little girl gave me a purpose in life and pulled me out of the wretched depression I had been living in.

As summer began to draw to a close and the beginning of the school year approached, I found out that the school I had been attending had closed unexpectedly, leaving me without anywhere to go for my junior year of high school.

One night as I laid on my friend’s bed, sobbing, trying to figure out whether to drop out of school and get a job, or to find a new school, my little “saving grace” clambered up on the mattress, laid across my stomach, and smiled.

“I love you”, she cooed in her goofy baby voice. In that moment as she snuggled up on my stomach, it hit me– I knew that if I didn’t change my path, I was going to die. Maybe not that day or even that year, but I was actively ruining my life. And with those sweet little brown eyes looking up into my mine, I knew that if I didn’t work to give myself, and her, a better life, that she would inevitably grow up in this hell hole, with no way out, and no one to look up to as a role model.

Over the next few days, I packed my belongings and convinced my mom to let me move home. The next few weeks were rocky and we fought more than ever. One day an argument between us exploded and ended with me screaming “I’M LEAVING!” right as she screamed “GET OUT!”

That rainy July afternoon as I hopped on my bike and peddled away from my home, aimlessly toward Colfax, God changed the entire course of my life.

Bawling my eyes out, silently screaming at everyone and no one, I missed my turn and was lost, but I didn’t care. I continued peddling up and down the side streets, replaying what had just happened and trying to calm myself down.

Finally I got my bearings and began heading back toward Colfax. One block from my destination, I glanced over my shoulder and saw a square white sign in the window of a building that read “Denver Street School — East Campus” in giant purple letters. At the time, school was the last thing on my mind, but knowing that I still had a choice to make about my future, I memorized the cross-streets before going on to borrow a phone from a lady at a bus stop.

A few days went by, things calmed down, and I went back to living with my mom. By then, I had researched this “Street School” and found out that they had a nursery– which was perfect, as I was still taking care of my friend’s daughter the majority of the time. I was sold on the idea of trying out this new school and by the end of July, I was enrolled at the Denver Street School.

The first day of school came and within a month of beginning school at DSS, things began to change drastically in my life.

On September 12th, 2007 I came to accept Jesus Christ as the Lord of my life, mostly due to the tender, loving mentoring and Godly influence of my teachers.

In the seven months that followed, I went on to complete two full years of high school in one, allowing me to graduate a year early in May of 2008.

Throughout all of that academic chaos, my peers and teachers became the family that I had been missing and supported me through the death of my grandfather and the healing process that I had to walk through due to other traumatic events that had occurred the previous summer.

The Street School taught me your standard “school stuff” like Biology and Trigonometry, but most importantly, they taught me that I mattered– both in their eyes and in the eyes of God– and that I could make something of myself and become the positive role model to my god-daughter that I so desired to be.

~

Since that first day of school 6 years ago, my former teachers and peers have walked along side me and empowered me when I needed strength to make it through college, loved me when I made stupid mistakes, and showed me the light of Christ when I was lost in the darkness of death and depression that has come in waves over the last several years.

And this year, I been given a new position within my “second family” as a full-time English teacher. Having experienced the darkness that many of these students have, I am elated to have the opportunity to pour love and hope back into their lives.

But you see, the Denver Street School runs on a very small budget, and because I am in the “internship” phase of my teaching licensure, and therefore am an “additional teacher”, there is no money in the budget to pay me a full salary. So I am taking a huge step out in faith and will be raising my own wage this school year, as many missionaries do.

Looking back, I can see each and every moment that God was at work, bringing me to this place.

I can see His patient, loving kindness in my god-daughter; His magnetic personality in the moment that He made me look over my shoulder and see the sign for the Street School in the window; His redemptive power at work in my journey to become the opposite of the angry, broken young woman I once was; and because of all of these beautiful moments, I know that I am exactly where He wants me to be this year.

But I also know that I can’t do this alone.

I am setting aside all of the things in life that tell me that this is an illogical move and am stepping out in faith, knowing that God is going to supply, just as He promises to do in Matthew 6.

So if you are reading this, I am asking you to please pray for me. Raising your own salary is unnerving, but I know that just like God brought me to the Street School six years ago, that He is going to provide in ways that I can’t even fathom. Ways that will glorify Him and allow my students to know that I am 100% in this journey for them, and not the money (or lack there of…)

Or if you’re interested in supporting me financially, you can make a small one-time, or monthly donation, through the “Donate Now” tab on the Denver Street School’s website by clicking here. Simply designate your donation as “Faculty support for Kacy” in the comment section. [The school is a government certified 501(c)3 non-profit and all donations are 100% tax deductible & secure, I promise!]

Whether you are able to support me in prayer or financially, I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know I am standing on the edge of beautiful things and know the Lord is about to blow down walls in my life, and the lives of my students this year.

I will be logging my journey on this very blog and via newsletters throughout the year, so be sure to subscribe to my blog or send me your e-mail so I can keep you updated on the amazing things that God is doing here in Denver at the Street School.

Thank you for your generosity and for allowing me to pour into the lives of my wonderful students.

~Kacy Lou

25 “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?

~Matthew 6:25-26

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Fresh

Typically, I’m not a big “foodie”. Don’t get me wrong– I appreciate eating things that are delicious. But having survived off of my own (rather dismal) cooking for years, food has just become something that keeps me alive– not necessarily something that I go to for enjoyment.

Or at least that was the case until I had a vast array of fresh, California produce at my finger tips this month. Everywhere you turn around out there, there are gigantic, juicy fruits and vegetables and I must say, I was in heaven! (I mean, when our family had a huge block party for the 4th of July, I bar-be-qued corn, mangoes, and pineapples– not because I’m a super healthy person (although I wish I was), but because the produce there is fresh from the source and unlike any food that you can find in Colorado.) And knowing that I was about to return home, I crammed my backpack full of fresh produce and looked like a complete nutjob on the airplane.

But in a weird way, I’m glad I rebelled against TSA’s “suggested items not to pack in your carry-on” list, as I received more joy out of my smuggled treats than I had anticipated.

You see, last week while munching on a smuggled California kiwi and doing some work for my summer job, I had a sermon podcast from my home church, Scum of the Earth, running in my headphones.

The topic of the sermon? Living closer with God

The verses that Mike (Scum’s pastor) felt the Holy Spirit leading him to? John 15:4-5

4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.

At first, I just giggled at the coincidence between my snack and the fact that I was listening to my pastor speak about fruit before continuing on to plug information about some software company into its respective email. But as the sermon went on, I began making more and more connections between what Mike was saying and where I currently was in relationship to God.

The first connection: The relationship between fresh fruit and its source. The fruit in California tastes better because it is brought to me shortly after being removed from its vine/tree/root. The farmer harvests (is that the proper term for something that’s not chili? I don’t know… #Mexicanproblems) the crop right at its peak ripeness and because it has a shorter distance to travel before it lands in my hands, it is sweeter. My snack gets to remain attached to its source and be nourished longer, and therefore continues to grow and become better and better.

The second connection: The relationship between my life and my Source.

I don’t know about you, but I can feel a difference in myself when I spend time with God and when I don’t. If God and I aren’t in communication either overtly or subconsciously, suddenly, “old, ghetto me” peeks out of hiding. I get easily annoyed by the little things, short-tempered, overly snarky, and if enough time goes by, just down-right mean. And while I’m not proud to admit it, toward the end of my last stay in California, I was beginning to get revert-igo and was sliding right back into those old characteristics.

Galatians 5:22-23 tells us that the “fruit” that John 15 is referring to “is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control”…and as I grumpily sat working on a coffee shop patio, listening to Mike speak, I was lacking almost all of these.

Why? It’s simple: I wasn’t actively in communication with God.

As Mike says in the aforementioned sermon, “Not to advance is to retreat. When does a plant stop growing? When you stop watering it and it starts dying. There is no middle ground here.”

I was grumpy, impatient, and lacking in joy because I wasn’t watering my spiritual plant. I was allowing myself to die, day by day, choice by choice.

As someone who tried to plant a garden in her classroom and accidentally killed it by not watering it over spring break, you would think I would have this elementary principle of gardening down pat.

But, I guess I don’t…

My last few days in California, and even for my first few days back home, I wasn’t intentional about tending to my relationship with God. Sometimes I would wake up late and forget to have quiet time in the midst of a chaotic morning. Other times, I was too apathetic to pick up my Bible instead of my iPad on my break or late at night.

We’ve all been there.

But unlike my classroom garden that I didn’t exactly mourn after I killed it, my relationship with God is important to me. Who I am in Him and whether I am doing His work or not, is important to me.

Too important for me to simply stop watering it and allow myself to shrivel away.

So yes, I’m a sucky gardener, but I’m making an effort to, well… make an effort.

Where are you with God today? Are you picking up something that is going to draw you closer to Him? Or are you allowing yourself to shrivel up and die one decision at a time?

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”

Philippians 4: 6-7 (The Message)

(If you’re interested in hearing the wonderful sermon I’ve mentioned, the podcast can be found in the Scum archives here. It’s worth a listen, I promise.)