what mama's do

Last summer I had the AMAZING privilege of traveling to Aneby, Sweden for a family reunion. 75 Swedes, and 75 Americans gathered at the heart of the birthplace of our ancestors to celebrate the family bonds that are still held together today.

Ya, ya, I know... we Rystrom's and our heritage!! (and...fyi- even though I am no longer a Rystrom in name, the Swede in me will never die!)

I'm not kidding, there was so much love and laughter that week. We stayed at an old campground, ate loads of ostakaka, sang (err...tried to sing) Swedish songs, saw the church and home where gg grandma grew up, and just lived life together in Swedish and English!

The story, which ends up being My story, started in the 1800’s with two sister, Maria and Hedwig. Times were hard in Sweden. Famine, religious persecution, illness and poverty gripped Europe tightly. Maria chose to stay and raise her family in Sweden. Hedwig on the other hand chose against all odds to leave with her husband and travel to America. Food and jobs were scarce in Sweden, and with a famine in the land, Hedwig chose to make the horrendous voyage across the sea to a country where she did not know the customs, the language, or the people.

But she did it for love.

Love of God to worship freely.

Love of her children, wanting to give them a better life and more opportunities.

And she suffered.

At the end of her life, Hedwig told a relative that had she known how hard it was, she would not have gone. Life as an immigrant was not easy, but she chose love- to go and give her family a better opportunity. She chose the road of sacrifice.

So here I am, over a hundred years later, a descendent of an incredible woman that made the hard choice to leave her home and everything she knew to make a better life for her family. The prejudice, the struggles, and language barriers Hedwig faced were not in vain. God has blessed her heart and her faithfulness to her family, and I am a living testimony to that.

Her story reminds me of the countless Latina women in my neighborhood who have braved the hardship, in order provide for their precious children.

These are the women who looked around the poverty in their own country and dreamt bigger dreams for their children.

Women who could not look at their starving children anymore and take the heart-wrenching faces of hunger.

Women who saw the lack of education and aspired to something more for their beloved children.

Is that not the heartbeat of every mother, regardless of time in history, language, ethnicity, or origin?

These last few years living on Garnet, I have been encountering epic stories of immigrants that have transformed the way I think and the way I live. No longer does immigration conjure pictures of Ellis Island, or stories of a nameless immigrant in the newspaper.

They are my neighbors. They are my friends.

They are my brothers and sisters in Christ.

and they are brave.

So before we are ever quick to pass judgement on someone who may be different than us, remember that we really are not that different after all. And that we have a lot to learn from one another. and a lot of love to give.

and that mama's

yes, sweet mama's

are the same regardless of origin, history, economics, culture

Happy Tuesday friends!

love Katie

girls group- the prayer, the treasure, the community

{ The girls and I after an intense Dance sesh....}

{ LOVE this girl }

{ My hero Vane }

I love my neighborhood, and as i've mentioned before, I feel like I started really living once I moved here. I mean, i've been alive for 27 years- blood pumping, senses alert. But hearts beat for community, and so in moving I began to live and breathe relationship in a new way.

Last year, I participated in a program called Our Children. For a few months, I became part of a special group of 4 women- two of us from an English speaking church and two from a Spanish speaking church. Coming together every other week, we worked through a bible study called Strangers in the Land, learning what the Bible has to teach us about immigration. Stories were shared, hearts were open, tears were shed, understanding illuminated, and bonds of deep friendship were formed. All of a sudden immigration wasn't this foreign issue spread in the newspaper, dripping with fear and often times animosity. No, immigration became personal, I heard my dear friends share their stories of God's hope and mercy.

I learned that more important than our label as "American", comes our allegiance to the one who paid it all for us- "Christian". And as a Christian, we are called to love our brothers and sisters in Christ. We love others because Christ first loved us. We open our homes because Jesus would have done the same. When we turn away or reject someone because of man-made regulations, we hurt the heart of the Lord. Our citizenship is ultimately in heaven, not in geo-political boundaries.

As a group, the 4 of us would lead workshops for precious girls in an immigration shelter. Young girls who were caught crossing the border. My heart ached for these little women- each with a story that pulled strings I didn't even know I had in me. However lost and confused, these were Abba's special ones. I longed to hug them and play with their hair, but rules denied us such expressions of love. One night, I accidentally bent the rules and hugged a sweet girl from El Salvador. She looked at me and said "I haven't felt loved like this in a long time". I went home that night and bawled like a baby, those rapid uncontrollable stuttering sobs. And in the midst of salty tears, the Lord spoke to me in gentle whispers..."Katie, there are girls in your neighborhood that need love too."

And so "girls-group" began as a prayer. A small seed soaked in faith that God would somehow provide a space to reach out to college aged girls in my neighborhood. Odds were against me...I knew almost no girls that fit that age group, I speak no spanish, and had few connections. But with God,the odds are always good. I made a lame flyer, a dear soul passed it out in the neighborhood, and I showed up on the first Thursday and seriously wondered if even one girl would come.

And seven girls came. I beamed. That was a year ago...and in the past year I have fell in love with these seven faithful chicas that show up week in and week out. They make me laugh, they are beautiful, and I am ALWAYS inspired by the way God challenges me through them. Some of them face incredible odds, but do not allow circumstances to dictate their future.

And so we still meet on Thursdays. We study God's word- we bake- we craft- we laugh (a lot)-we play games- we dance- we sing. And most importantly we breath life into each other. We encourage, and speak truth, and infuse God's deep love. Because ultimately, that is what community is about- calling out the good of God and the good in one another. We are a story of transformation.

So whenever I speak of my "girls group", this is the story that precedes. A story of God's handiwork in drawing us deeper into who he created us to be, by allowing situations to change us and inspire us towards something grander.

And this week, the girls and I had so much fun making Christmas banners. Having Christmas wrapping paper, scissors, glue and glitter in my closet, we someone managed to each make some unique holiday cheer to hang in our homes!! Seriously, they make my heart happy (and so do their banners!)

{Craft TIME!!! }

{We were all cracking up b/c by the end of the night Gabs was covered in glitter head to toe- our little fairy dust girl }

{ Feliz Navidad banner...sooooo cute and festive!! }

{ Small but adorable...loved this HOPE banner! }

{ Peace on Earth Goodwill to Men...I didn't have the patience or the time, so I chopped the phrase and just wrote peace, haha }

{ Tam's adorable snowflake banner...she even left me a few to hang in our house!}

Love Katie