Identity, it's thieves, and living free

{random side note, I LOVE these picture above...Kev, Izzy and I went mini golfing and found these glasses...oh the fun we had!}

A few weeks ago I was working a booth for ELI at Global Vision Week at Azusa Pacific University. I was in my element, connecting with students and telling and listening to stories. Don't you just LOVE stories:) But the most hilarious slash embarrassing part of the week, was the fact that after 27 years as a Katie, it was apparent that I have a speech impediment when it comes to saying my name, and only my name. It's true, for some reason "Katie" evidently comes out sounding like "Ketty" or "Casey" or "Callie". You might think i'm joking, but almost 80% of the time, people had to crane their ears my way, and ask me again what my name was, almost always insinuating it was something other than Katie. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or make an appointment with a speech therapist.

But as I was reflecting on my apparent lack of name pronunciation, I started to think about how our name is the doorway to our identity. I mean, the most basic form of Identification really just has your name on it, right? Identity is a strange beast. In childhood, we seem to just be completely free with who we are (for more on that, see my post on children here). We inherently move and think and breathe and laugh, oblivious to making a wrong move or saying the wrong thing.

And then the awkwardest stage alive hits us; our hormones start to party, and we finally realize that Payless Shoe source just doesn't cut it if we want to be cool. It's like the scene from Genesis when Adam and Eve realize they are naked for the first time, and cover up with fig branches (which I always thought was random). But for us, it's make-up and zit cream, and bad bangs, and airwalks (for my generation). But mostly it's the hard part of realizing that you are being judged and having no idea how to deal with it all. For me, seventh grade is when I began to lose that childlike confidence and wonder. I had a friend, who at times was a gem. And then at other times, was extremely sarcastic and hurtful. Whether or not she realized it, her cutting remarks and cold shoulders began to push me to live out of fear. I was fearful of saying the wrong thing, or worried that I wouldn't be funny if I tried. I began to think and re-think the things I wanted to say, timid that I would be shot down by her. My identity soon became marked by a crippling fear.

{see, now is this picture not awkward? what the heck am I even doing?}

And soon, like most insecurities and fears, we develop some way to compensate. For me, I replaced my personality with personal accomplishments. I thought that if somehow I was able to engage in enough applaudable endeavors, or travel to the most exotic destinations, people would pick out those treasures and consider me a person of value. But that gets tiring, when all we are is reduced to a resume or a superficial conversation that finds its foundation in one-uping the other person. Whew, tires me out just thinking about it. But to some degree, i'm sure you all can resonate with the futility of this exchange.

And then I moved to Garnet Lane, where people didn't give a darn about what the heck I had done with my life. No one dealt in resumes, or cared what University I went to. I don't think anyone even knew where UC Davis was. I was away from everything that I knew, and in the middle of the 'hood, where the tamale man was more common than the mailman, mariachi music was the disc of choice, and walking past the shrine to Mary became old hat. I was no one special, just a girl who began to "be" and not "do", to "observe and learn" and not "divide and conquer".

And then God began his business of undoing the skewed identity that had grown layers of peels around my fragile heart. He worked with hands so soft, bringing dear souls into my life to teach me what it looked like to just BE. In the past, my inner-multi-tasker would sound the alarm that I was invariably wasting time. But as God began to pump his likeness through me, he would gently whisper “Katie, as you look to ME for guidance, I enable you to do less, but accomplish more”. My eyes began to see the beauty in just sitting with a neighbor, or playing cards with a child– even if I felt like it was wasted time. I began to realize that God wants us to waste precious time WITH him, and with his people. No longer was identity in the doing, but in the being.

And then came a taste of freedom- of catching that vision that my identity was no longer rooted in fear, or driven by accomplishment. My identity blossomed when God taught me the beauty of obscurity that took eyes off ME, and on to HIM and his people. Freedom is when we live like Jesus, with a love so deep for Father and people that it burns with no competition in our hearts. I admit that I am only a student and that my great Rabbi is still teaching me daily. But I take steps, and my master guides my way.

And even if I can't pronounce my name, whatever! I don't care if you call me Ketty or Casey or Bertha....my identity is in Christ, it is no longer I who live but He!

Happy Tuesday!!

Love Katie

around the world in one county

Kevin and I would forgo fancy smanch furniture, new clothes, expensive accessories, movies, music....well, pretty much anything to tango with the world. Quintessential traveling defines itself best by the essence of discovery, wide-eyed curiosity, and flavors that make you wonder where you have been all your life. I mean, you REALLY begin to feel like you are living. The beauty of this dance is that sometimes you don't have to go far to find it.

Kevin and I gave ourselves the challenge to see if we could discover the best little ethnic food restaurants in and around our hometown. Leaving behind just the idea of simply "eating", we wanted to experience the heck out of each venue, like we were occupying space in that country. So we pulled out our 5 senses, and with the help of our keen intuition (err, I mean google), we randomly stumbled across each place in a different way!

The Jagerhaus

Kevin and I were gifted with season passes to D-land (thanks Mama Cook), and every time we exited Ball Rd en-route to the happiest place on earth, we drove past this janky strip mall and a huge sign that read Jagerhaus, Authentic German Cooking. We were intrigued, for depite it's delapidated appearance, the place looked legit. From the minute we walked in, something about the wood paneling, the vintage chairs, and the walls adorned with shelves upon shelves of beer steins and family crests, we knew it was safe to pretend we were yodeling with the best of them in Germany. We were greeted by the owner herself, a Mrs. Sandra Shweiger, a plump German grandma head to toe in purple, and a smile as wide as the Rhine. Eyes twinkling, she confessed multiple times that she was "nosy", but in this day and age, we'd take nosy over a cold or indifferent waiter any day! "Bratwurst, cabbage rolls, shnitzel, sauerbraten, you will not go wrong with any of them" she mused excitedly!




And she was right, Kevin and I left completely satisfied and surprised how much we enjoyed this place. Amidst Polka in the background, abundant mustard and Hofbrau House Beer, and Sandra's stories of life in Germany, magic wafted in the air. Walking away, we both bid Grandma Shweiger Auf Wiedersehen, and agreed that we'd be back again:)

Kenyan Cafe and Cuisine, Anaheim Ca

Two years ago, I was embarking on spending a month in Kenya with the organization I work for called Empowering Lives International. Admist packing and preparations, I was hopelessly trying to study and learn as much Swahili as I could. Kevin and I were dating at the time, and his current way to impress me included learning Swahili in tandem. So to test out our newly acquired skills, we found this hole-in-the-wall place and said, "twende" (let's go!). Walls painted like the Masai Mara game reserve, we dined next to zebras




and giraffe's, and after a few minutes had quite a few Swahili teachers. Julius, the Kenyan owner sat down at the table with us, and gave us some new phrases. Two Kenyan ladies overheard us practicing while we waited for food, and laughing, offered to give us a hand. Even the cook from the back came out and taught us a song in Swahili. And what would a Kenyan restaurant be without a tv blasting Kenyan gospel music in the background? Kenya isn't know for having the most rich and delicious dishes, but as Kenyan food goes, this place was great. I wouldn't go here necessarily for the food (however it's fun to try dishes i've never heard of), but the familial ambiance and relationships we made at this place rocked! We've actually been back a few times to hang out with Julius!

Supatra's Thai Bistro

After spending a chunk of my life teaching English in Thailand, I had sworn off Thai food for a good year and a half. It's not that I didn't like Thai food, it's just the opposite. I loved it so much I ate it incessantly in Thailand, and overconsumption of anything can have negative effects! Which is why I was so pleasantly surprised when Kev took me to Supatra's for Valentines day last year, and I gobbeled down everything we ordered. This place is amazing, and the ambiance great. The curries and any dish with their peanut sauce is to die for! Plus, the waiters and waitresses humored me as I practiced my Thai, and soon a whole group of them were gathering around asking questions about where I lived and what I did. They even gave us a rose on departure, in which Kevin "the bachelor" gave me his rose at our impromptu "rose ceremony" in the parking lot. Yum-O! If you love good, authentic Thai, you will LOVE this place:)


Tana Ethiopian Restaurant

Tana is right next to the Kenyan Cafe, making it like a whole strip mall filled with African restaurants:) I had eaten Ethiopian once with childlike instincts....anything different tasted icky. But thankfully as I grew, my taste buds grew up too, so I was ready to venture onward and upwards to Tana! And I can't say enough about this place. The food was fabulous, and the culture seemed to seep from the tables and walls and kitchen. Tunes of Amharic bantering in the background, our waiter shared stories of Ethiopia, and it's flavored cuisine. Typical of Ethiopian food, all of our dishes were served on one huge platter made out of Injera (which is a spongy breadish pancake). I haven't the slightest idea what we ordered, but it was all insanely delish, like fireworks in the mouth. Just ask the waiter what he recommends and get that!

Warung Pojok
I tell people that if my husband hadn't been engaged to me while he was in Indonesia, he would have never come home! He's obsessed! Loved the people, loved the food, loved the language. He spent 7 months in Indonesia, coaching a University basketball game, and loving people well.

 needless to say, when he returned to the US, he was hankering for some nasi goreng and ayam. Mission accomplished, we found Warung Pojok. Settled between the classy venues of Chuck-E-Cheese and the 99 cent store, the placed lacked all curb appeal imaginable, and I was afraid that if Kevin and I BOTH went in we'd be breaking some fire code. But enter we did, and in a matter of minutes, the entire family running the place had mobbed Kev learning that not only had he lived in Indo, but spoke Bahasa as well. For the next hour my husband and his new Indo fan-club laughed and talked, while I sat on the side-lines and observed and ate, cracking up inside. Too funny. However, let me give this disclaimer that while Kevin ate to his hearts content, I was not a huge fan. But, it definitely has the authentic Indo vibe, so it's worth checking out.

Bottom line: eating hole-in-the-wall ethnic is about much more than the food. Much like life, it's all about the relationships. Bar none, at every single one of these eateries, we not only met, but walked away feeling like we knew the owners and families. We LOVE that! I want my life to be like that. To let people in, to make them feel welcome and loved. Food has a way of bringing people together, and love has a way of bringing people back! And even though we didn't leave the county, we feel like we entered numerous worlds through the medium of food and relationships! 

Happy weekend, and happy eating. Let me know if you have any don't-miss places to add to the list! Buon Appetito!
love Katie

intended unity

Last night I experienced the kingdom of God. It felt warm and inviting, a sense of togetherness was palpable. It tasted like spaghetti and pumpkin pie and coffee with cream. It sounded like laughter, and delight. Like English. Like Spanish. No bright heavenly lights. No booming voices from above. Just an apartment with people and food and God and Catch Phrase. Holy.

And so it was that we rewind to a place of inspiration. Francis Chan spoke at our church a few weeks ago. He said a great deal of wonderful things, and as most sermons go I retained an earful of 10%. But within that small margin, great thoughts of God began to stir. Stories of Jesus engaging with people, stories that pointed to purpose and community, a story that far outreached individuality. A match was lit and two excited pilgrims began to dream about what it would look like to go deeper with our neighbors- to know them, and allow them access into the deepest reaches within our soul.

Enemy tactics charged against us planting thoughts such as "You don't speak Spanish" or "what if they think you are those weird white people" or "what if we invite them and they say no". And since God isn't safe, we could not count on him to relieve our sissy spirits that all would be well and perfect. However, more important than our insecurities, we knew relationships and community are important to our Abba, so take the risk we must.

On Sunday night the beautiful family that lives below us rang our doorbell. Until this moment, they'd been a voice we had seen from the window, an exchange of "hello" in the courtyard, or a quick wave in the alley. And now we faced them eye to eye sitting in our dining room about to break bread together. Their open hearts and spirits ministered to us as we ate. We shared of our wedding day, pictures of white dresses and suits and flower. We savored their stories of geography and culture. They complimented my unrefined cooking skills. High fives passed liberally to Miguel who scored a goal in his game that day. Shared food, laughter abundant, conversation flowing.

But games...oh how games have a way of bonding the soul, and so it was that catch phrase made it's appearance. Split teams- a cacophony of English and Spanish. Competition raged, acting and charades at an all time high. Back and forth we battled, words overshadowed by rising octaves of laughter. Age, nationality and gender were obsolete.

I closed my eyes and took a still frame. Bubbling souls spoke one language of love. And isn't that the kingdom? No longer are we known by color or language or age or occupation. We are known as children of God, coming together to praise him in the form of relationship. And so it was that God showed me a glimpse of what he intended. Demolished in our home that night were social constructions of race and gender. Down were the lines of geo-political boundaries, of "us" vs. "them", and no importance was put on passports or papers that make no difference in heaven. And from the dross, what mattered to God arose so perfectly in the shape of friendship and love and glory to Him.

Heaven came to Topaz lane that night. And while my appetite and longing for heaven has increased, the realization that the here and now is important to our Father remains etched in my mind. To be loving here, to be peacemakers now- to call out friendship, to fill chaos with encouragement and dark places with kindness. But mostly to be armed with courage and a humble spirit that continue to hold hands out raw, and say "here I am Lord, send me".