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About

I'm pouring myself into trying to build a life worth living, one that I will be proud of, one that will impact others. Right now that means I'm spending a season of my life in Thailand, learning how to be a teacher, growing through new experiences, and loving my students in Bangkok, my church, friends, and family back home, and my life.

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Correspondence from Camp.... Monday, May 28, 2007 |

Hmmm... well, it seems we can't outrun ourselves. I'm going to give it a shot later this evening, but given my current location, and the content of this post, it seems that I am stuck with me.

It's been an interesting turn of events that has led me to this post tonight. And, like all epic stories, this tale began... on Facebook.

Several weeks ago, shortly after relocating to the grounds of Dauphin Bible Camp, I received a message from a guy who was, as far as I can tell, a camp counsellor at DBC during my first summer there, a full 14 years ago. Let's see, divide my life by 3, and it was at the end of the first chunk, almost exactly. (Useless fact. But hey, sorta puts life into perspective, don't it?)

This guy wanted to know if I was THE Kelly Cochrane, the infamous poet who had apparently charmed him with her 7-year-old rhyming ways back in the day. Apparently some kid had submitted some pretty wacky poems to the camp newspaper in 1993. I said... "hmmm, from that description, I can't tell you, but it sure sounds like me!" (No, I'm not being vain, but I WAS one of those nerdy kids who took Journalism religiously at camp and would likely have done something like that). But, just to confirm (a.k.a. amuse myself), I asked the guy to send me these poems to refresh my memory.

Now, I re-read the poems and they did start to come back to me, but just to be clear here, I'm still not entirely certain if I wrote these poems or just submitted them to the paper, neglecting to name an author other than myself. So whether you are currently reliving with me "My First Publication" or "My First Plagiarism" is still unclear... but hey, either way, to do so at 7 is pretty prestigious!


The Monster
There used to be a monster,
His name was Dippy Doo,
He wasn't very friendly,
For his age was 62,
There were a lot of people,
in my crowded house,
but when he wasn't around,
it was as quiet as a mouse.

The Poem
I awoke one night,
when my brother had a fight.
I awoke one night,
when my sister had a blister.
I awoke one night,
when my dog had caught a frog.
I awoke one night,
when my cat killed a rat.
I awoke one night,
when Ted turned red.
I awoke one night,
when Scott got caught.
I awoke one night,
don't you see
something really scared me.

by Kelly Cochrane
Age 7 (going on 8)

(If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure I wrote these.)

As I told the counsellor in our e-mail exchange, the thing I remember most vividly is putting "7 going on 8" in the paper... now, I wasn't one of those kids who was always trying to act or sound older, but my concerns here were quite legitimate (I thought)... the youngest age you could come to camp back then was 8 (now we have Young Camper's week), but since I was always a year younger than everyone else in my grade, when everyone else was 8, I was still 7. So my mom called the camp and asked if I could come at 7 (they'd let Becca do the same 2 years earlier)... they let me come, but I was still quite concerned that everyone would find out I was 7 and immediately band together in unity, crying "You don't belong here- you're SEVEN!!!" and chasing me from the camp like a good old-fashioned exorcism - hence the apologetic "(going on 8)" tagged on to the end of every "Kelly" credit in the paper.

Ahhh, yes, there was more. The determined little under-age writer that I was, I actually somehow qualified for a personal interview- me and Fred Penner (who was apparently camp speaker or something that week... who knows?) Yup, I was in the big leagues.

Does anyone else get positively mortified when seeing pictures or hearing stories of themselves in younger years? I mean, supposedly it was cute at the time, but reading about it feels a bit like staring at a train wreck- a train wreck named ME.

Anyways, I'm just going to bite the bullet and hope you'll allow all the grace due to someone who wrote this only a third of the way into the life she now leads...

Interview

NAME: KELLY COCHRANE

Q: How old are you?

A: Seven going on eight.

Q: Why did you come to camp?

A: Because her best friend didn't want to be a Christian, so I came to be one.

Q: What's God doing in your life:

A: Making a difference. Making me a better person.

Q: What is your favorite food?

A: Maccaroni!

Q: Favorite Bible character?

A: Jesus

Q: What are your future plans?

A: To become a dancer.

Q: What is your favorite verse?

A: Ephesians something. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Q: What is your favorite saying?

A: Oh nuts!


Well folks, I think we have plenty of fodder for commentary, to say the least. Always eager to amuse you, I remain faithfully yours,

~Kelly Ann Cochrane, age 21 (going on 22!)


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On Matters of Membership, Part 1 Saturday, March 10, 2007 |

I'm going to open this post with an apology:
Sometimes, when I blog, I get scattered. I delve deep, and open so many threads that it will be pages and hours later before the thing is resolved. So I save a draft, which is the worst possible thing to do at that moment. I am a person of momentary perspective; if I leave it alone for a few hours I will come back to it with a plethora of new angles and thoughts-on-the-matter, and will have abandoned the former(s) with shallow disinterest. As a result, posts that are the product of multiple writing sessions are often hopelessly scattered, with thoughts running off to thousands of inaccessable corners, threads that will likely never be recovered or laid to rest respectably.

This, I admit, is one such post. And I'm far too lazy to attempt to right all the injustices I've done to it... I'm already turning it into a saga series, since I'm sure you didn't link here to read my first novel in one painful sitting. In this post, you're going to get a lot of background info, and very little of imminence. In Part 2, I plan on coming back to the current events that sparked this whole rant in the first place. If you see any glaring inconsistencies, let me know, and I'll muster up an edit, but otherwise, sit tight... and hang on for the exciting conclusion. Thanks for bearing with me!
~Kelly

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lord works in mysterious ways... so I've always been told. Either that or He really enjoys plot twists.

My life of late has become great fodder for this debate, as several conversations and random events have led me to the brink of something I never thought I'd ever be considering - church membership.

The story behind my membership misgivings is a long one; is, in fact, a legacy passed down to me by my parents. My dear parents, whom I love, who have convictions of their own, have shaped my life and my opinions by the way that they've acted out of these convictions; it's a story I barely remember but that has been retold to me enough times that I now regurgitate it myself as proof.

When I was in grade 3, my family moved. No, no, none of that "say goodbye to your friends" crap... we moved about 4 miles up the road, and officially into the hamlet of Silverton, which is so small that it's usually not even worth mentioning, for those of you who have at some point recieved the short answer to the question, "where are you from?".... "Russell."

Silverton is, however, of note in this story, as it was the location of the small United Church that my parents and I attended, along with our grandparents, aunt, uncles, and cousins, and maybe 2 dozen (if we're being generous) others from the area who have known my dad and the Cochrane clan since the beginning of time. When we moved 4 miles up the road (or down the road, as it was 4 miles south and I'm sure one of my stickler sisters will correct me on that if I don't clarify - nerdy farm kids...), we suddenly found ourselves within walking distance of the Silverton United Church, as well as our entire extended family, the Silverton Hall, and several other things that sound cooler than they really are.

Then, I remember that, for some inexplicable reason, we stopped attending Silverton United Church, and soon found ourselves attending Russell Alliance Church, a change which I at first resisted for childish, grade-3-like reasons. I remember accusing, whining at my mom that "why are we switching churches now, when we can finally walk to the United Church?" I think I whole-heartedly believed that proximity was equivalent to God-ordained destiny, or something ridiculous like that. I was an idealistic child.

(The move to Russell Alliance Church, ironically, may very well have been God-ordained destiny, as it would become the church where my spiritual life and faith would flourish, where I would make some of the best and closest friends of my school years and, dare I say, my life.)

The reasons for our United Church exodus were always a blank in my mind, filled in by others, usually my older sister. She's told me the story many times of the strong, conviction-filled sermon that Sarah Bezan's father preached, and how the Kaminskis, the Bezans, and we Cochranes all left the United Church at the same time in search of a new home (I think this all happened in the Russell branch of the United Church...) The issues? The United Church had started to falter out in terms of conviction and sticking to their guns and were making all sorts of convenient and wishy-washy concessions, such as approving and ordaining women and eventually even homosexual pastors.

(Hey ladies: no burn on you intended. I am a woman who loves my fellow womankind and ministry both. It is difficult, however, to make a solid case theologically for ordaining women as pastors, as many of us have discovered as we've perused our Bibles in bewilderment. Many churches share this bewilderment, and have come to a variety of conclusions about the matter. However, the type of church that can convince itself that there is no controversy or objection to be found in making a case for women pastors often becomes the type of church that will find it easy to make the Bible say whatever it wishes to read, as the United Church so aptly demonstrates.)

When we came to the Alliance Church, we began to flourish, each in our own right, as followers of Christ. We were raised in Awana, which is where I first learned to absorb and regurgitate Scripture at an alarmingly adaptive rate (let's just say we weren't the type of family who learned our verses as a family, at home, over the week. We were the kids who showed up at Awana 10 minutes late, fresh from the Angusville Skating Rink and our figure-skating lessons, with toque-hair, no uniforms, no books, and no progress made in whatever "homework" our leaders may have, in vain, assigned us. Yeah, sorry, we were those kids. Explains a lot, doesn't it?)

In junior high, I joined a new program Russell Alliance was piloting, called Bible Quizzing, which turned out to be one of the best choices I've made so far in life. Besides the wealth of Scripture I now know by heart, word-for-word, and the rich biblical context my quizzing experience of 6 years gave me, quizzing truly allowed me to come alive in my faith. I think it's probably the first community where I ever was given permission to be a full participant in the body of Christ, and not "just a kid". For those of you who have never experienced the context of a CMD Quiz Meet, imagine driving hours to a city center in Saskatchewan to find yourself engulfed for a full, intensive weekend with a church body made up entirely of students, hundreds of them, who wield the Word as a weapon, who are full of that youthful passion and newness of faith that older Christians envy and long for, who come together, despite many differences, to compete and sharpen one another. "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." (Proverbs 27:17) This is the essence of Bible Quizzing.

In high school I was a faithful attendee of our youth group, and served on the youth executive. I sang with the youth worship team, I participated in the school's lunchtime prayer meeting, and our family was very much a part of the life of the Russell Alliance. Yet my parents were unwilling to give their names, their word, in membership. They told me that they did not want to give themselves in membership only revoke it again later, should necessity command it. They fully hoped and expected that Russell Alliance would acknowledge them for who they truly were and all that they gave, and for the most part, it was so. My dad camps out almost weekly in the sound booth, running the boards and such, and my mother's extensive cooking and catering knowledge has pulled off countless critical church functions, including, this very weekend, Russell's home quiz meet at which approximately 450 quizzers, coaches, and officials are attempting eat the good people of Russell out of house and home.

My parents are fantastic people. They love Jesus. They are on a journey. And they are growing. Their attitudes, however, towards church membership served to leave me with an inherited chip on my shoulder, and the sense that perhaps my church could not, should not, be pledged my allegiance, perhaps my church could not, would not, always and forever hold up the gospel, the unadulterated truth, and as such perhaps should not, could not be counted on.

It is a truth, which I have lately come to realize, that the church and I are inextricable. Attempts on my behalf to deny, to subvert that truth, become small rebellions within my soul, and wage war on my relationship with Christ, who loved the mess we call the Church, stood up for it the schoolyard, took a bullet (and a flogging, and a cross, and the excruciating weight of Eternity) for it, loved it so unreservedly, with all its warts, so much that He has married it, for all of eternity, in attempts to make an honest woman of it.

No. My church and the Church are not the same; one is part of the other. My arm and my body are not the same; one is part of the other. But, as Paul writes, if my quizzer's memory serves:

Now the body is not made up of one part but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body. - 1 Corinthians 12:14-20

If I say, "I am doubtful and mistrustful of the church," I do not for that reason cease to be a member (I am speaking as a Christian here.) We are members. We are members of Christ! When we shun and hold at an arms length the congregations in which we find ourselves, we do the body a disservice. We tell our own mouth, our voice that we do not need it, and the hand we find extended that we'd rather not. And it is such vain resistance; we're kicking our own can in the end.

This is not a command to church membership; church membership is a convention. It is little more than an admission of the incredibly obvious; that we as Christians and church-goers, are members of the body of Christ. This is, however, a wake-up call to the painfully obvious, for those of us who have not thrown our ears away.

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Doing a Bang-Up Job Of It Monday, January 30, 2006 |

For those of you who aren't up to date on my current situation, I am currently living just outside the city of Seattle, Washington, where I am a volunteer youth intern at a church called Living Hope Free Methodist. The experience so far has been very beneficial and I've been overwhelmed by the goodness and grace of God and many of His people, who have blessed me in so many ways since I've arrived.

So when Pastor Jim and his wife, Kathy, with whom I live, free of charge, asked me to drive them to the airport Friday morning, I was glad to do it. The fact that I needed to get up early, difficult as THAT would be, was no real problem. And knowing that I would have to miss my guitar lessons on Tuesday evening in order to pick them up when they returned was mostly just water under the bridge. I was actually very thankful to be able to do something to serve them as they serve me by making me feel so welcome in their home.

Crashing their car on the freeway wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Let me explain. I was driving home after dropping Jim and Kathy off, paying attention, staying awake, watching the road, not speeding, and all that good stuff, when the car in front of me put the brakes on. I tried to brake accordingly but somehow my efforts were lost in translation- their brakes are much less sensitive than the ones in my car. The few seconds it took me to adjust for that difference resulted in me rear-ending the aforementioned car.

The next few minutes involved pulling over and just sitting in my car in shock, trying to grasp the fact that I'd just been in an accident in Pastor's car, asking "WHY ON EARTH didn't I stop faster?", and searching frantically for Pastor Jim's insurance information.

Finally the driver of the other car came back, (probably annoyed that I hadn't had the courtesy to come up to her car instead), and we began to exchange information. We took stock of the damage, which appeared to be minimal, all things considered... I'm hoping that it extends no further than the bumper of both cars, but only time will tell.

Eventually a police officer arrived and wrote me up a ticket (gee, thanks!), basically said something to the effect of- you caused an accident, so you owe us money. Which is fair, but I'm sure I'll be owing enough people money in the near future as a consequence, without the aid of this ticket.

I drove home and got on with the fun part- calling Pastor Jim to break the news. They were in the air at the time, so I enjoyed several hours of suspenseful stomach-gnawing while waiting for them to respond to my voice-mail messages.

When they returned my call, they were gracious, as always, which always makes me feel much worse. Occurences like these make me fear and yet somehow long for someone to just angrily ream me out, tear me apart, like I know I deserve. Hearing Kathy tell me that she's glad I'm alright, and that's the important thing, and that cars can be fixed, does nothing to ease my feelings of guilt. It's times like these where my love-hate relationship with grace comes out- It's a wonderful concept, but it doesn't seem to be appropriate for people like me.

So it's times like these where my faith looks its grimmest. Somehow, I believe I am capable of accepting God's grace- it's been drilled into me from my earliest days of church-going, and I've come to expect no less from God, because I accept that He's perfect, and forgiving, and that He's going to stay that way. So I blame Him for letting me remain so imperfect, after all these years. I would much rather be flawless, perfect in all things, whether they involve actual sin, or just life and poor judgment.

And in the meantime, while I am shamelessly attacking God for my humanity, I'm making a hypocrite of myself by shunning the grace of others. I can accept it from God, I think because I've just given up on trying to convince Him of giving up on me. But no way will I accept it from His people. It doesn't matter that I can extend it to others and expect them to accept it. I am completely unwilling to accept forgiveness and grace when it is offered to me.

This is where God finds me frustrating, I think.

And I think he's trying to tell me that if I won't accept the grace of others, but chose to wallow in my own feelings of failure or disappointment, then I can't really have accepted or responded to His grace. Because it's supposed to transform us. And because it's supposed to override the judgement of others.

Think about it. If I believe that God forgives me, but I refuse to be forgiven by others, or even to forgive myself, I'm selling God's opinion of me a bit short- more than that, I'm disrespecting his Lordship in the worst way.

If His opinion comes in third on my list of people to believe, if His judgement of me is a "nice thought, but a bit impractical", then I am not truly His child.

So walk with me in this thought. I am trying to learn to forgive myself. God knows, and Jim and Kathy know, as well as I do that there was no ill-intent or offensive way in me on Friday morning when I was driving their car home. We also all know that God was there, and because of His blessing and favour in my life I was not harmed but instead I am fine, and so is the driver of the other car, and the damage appears to be minimal. And on top of all that I have spoken to God, Jim and Kathy, and the police, and no one is burdening me with any great blame other than myself.

If I don't forgive myself, I run the risk of blowing off God and rejecting His grace- and that's the last thing I want to do. 'Cause between He and I, so far he's the only one on my side. Without Him, I would have no hope for myself. And I sure know I don't want to live that way. This way is hard enough.

So I am endeavoring to change the way I look at my flaws and mistakes, and even my sins, because I am harder on myself than God is. Here is a nice bit of biblical poetry about God for us to dwell on...
" For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
As far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children,
so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;" Psalm 103:11-13

And though I am that way, as often as I can be, with others, I am not that way towards myself. And God is tired of it. So he says to me,

"I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.
Review the past for me, let us argue the matter together;
state the case for your innocence." Isaiah 43:25-26

And I get the feeling that, for MY own sake, he wants this finished. He said it was finished, 2000 years ago, yet I am haggling over my sins. For His sake, He's put them behind Him, put them far from Him, at the bottom of the ocean floor, because He knows exactly how painful they are to us- He's felt each one of them. And because they are dealt with, we must leave them behind and journey onward.

He knows I'm hung up over it, it's only been a few days, and the dust hasn't even settled it. So even though it's painful to both of us, he is willing to rehash it with me, if I must. He says, "Go for it! State your case, let us argue the past. But it doesn't change the outcome, and there can be no more favourable verdict than the forgiveness you've already received. There are better things waiting for you once you move on from here. I'll stay here till you're ready, but know that everything better will come when you journey a little further, a little closer to Me."

And, Lord knows, I'm trying to do just that. And I hope to have your prayers supporting me.

So you can pray for me, that when I am guilty, that I would accept my guilt. That when I am innocent, I would stand on God's side and defend my innocence, instead of selling out on myself (I really am my own worst enemy. Or rather, the sin that lives within me). And that when I am forgiven, I would accept God's pronouncement on the matter as final, as I would a judge or jury, and would get the guts and strength to truly live as one forgiven.

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Kelly Fails Humility 101: The Birthday Edition Monday, November 28, 2005 |

So I have been fighting heartily for a month against the sacrilege that America has commited against me, trying in vain to stop this insubordinate holiday known as "American Thanksgiving" from overshadowing a much more important event... namely, my 20th birthday.

It's ridiculous really.

But for the past month or so, every time any well-meaning American in the state of Washington (or, to be sure, any unfortunate Canadians I may or may not know) has mentioned their upcoming national holiday, the conversation has inevitably be rerouted to include my own personal take on the meaning of November 24th. Which was probably, a little obnoxious of me...

But, you know how it is. We as people, tend to be VERY self-concerned. And for me, being miles and miles away from home and all the people that I could count on to actually care about the fact that I have now been wandering aimlessly for TWO WHOLE DECADES, I, like most other self-involved humanoids out there, felt the instincts of self-preservation sneak up on me as my big day ran the risk of being overshadowed by a turkey.

I eventually got sick of it, or at least had the social graces to sense that if not yet then pretty soon everyone else would become so, and decided to "be a martyr" and let it go. I mean, I know I'm special. I know God loves me, and I know other people do too. And I can't wrangle them into caring about my birthday, and I was going to wind up looking like a fool doing so. So I gave up on it.

By then it was much too late.

My darling friends henceforth known as "the interns" spoiled me rotten, lavished me with attention and thoughtfulness, as did many other important people in my life, for the entire week leading up to my birthday, and in the end, self-promotion got trumped by sheer thankfulness.

Here's how it looked.

Saturday, November 19th- Ben Jensen (wonderful guy, and fellow intern, from Snohomish, WA) took me out to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for my birthday. It was great- we were a little close to the screen, though- and then afterwards we went over to his house where **surprise!** all the interns were waiting in the basement to throw me a birthday party! The interns had even picked up on the name of my favorite board game, Balderdash, which they then gave me for my birthday, and we then played, with great times resulting.

Monday, November 21st- At our intern meeting, the entire group blesses me immensely with words of encouragement and affirmation. More kind things were said than are even true about me, and I was so encouraged and felt so loved and blessed.

Wednesday, November 23rd- Doorbell rings. My darling best friend Sarah has sent me flowers all the way from Winnipeg, MB!

Right about at this point I surrendered. I mean, honestly, how can someone this blatantly and richly blessed continue her well-intended vendetta against a holiday of thankfulness? So there and then I told Jesus that I didn't need or want anything else for my birthday, I just wanted it to be over, and that I was very excited to spend a whole day feeling thankful, as I had been feeling so all week already.

So I opened all my cards that night and resolutely told my (host) family that my birthday was OVER.

Thursday, November 24th- American Thanksgiving. I celebrated with my (host) family, had a great day of card-playing and pie-eating, and finally acted at least a little bit more selfless and mature.

At the end of the day we met the Outtatown South Africa people. I accidentally let it slip out that I had turned 20 that day (I was provoked! Blayne told everyone we were all only 18-19) and before I could stop myself the entire Site was singing me Happy Birthday. So I almost made it the whole day... oh well.

Don't get me wrong here... this is NOT a complaint. I was and I am completely grateful, and I truly feel just cherished beyond what I deserved, expected, or even imagine. But I am painfully aware of the fact that I have a long way to go to be like Jesus. I mean, I've been going about this all wrong.

Here, this is what I'm getting at:

When [Jesus] noticed how the guests picked the places of honor at the table, he told them this parable: "When someone invites you to a wedding feast, do not take the place of honor, for a person more distinguished than you may have been invited. If so, the host who invited both of you will come and say to you, 'Give this man your seat.' Then, humiliated, you will have to take the least important place. But when you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, 'Friend, move up to a better place.' Then you will be honored in the presence of all your fellow guests. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted." Luke 14:7-11

This is exactly what I did not do.

The moral of the story is that I am EXTREMELY blessed, and so VERY thankful, and that if I would just shut my mouth for once, I would maybe learn to handle both people's praise AND people's disregard with grace and dignity.

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I Know What You Learned Last Summer Thursday, November 17, 2005 |

While I was writing my re-cap of the past year and some, I started to write a more up-close reflection on my summer working with people with things like autism, down's syndrome, FAS, etc. Then I realized that people would be tired of reading a that point, so I took it all out of the recap and am recycling it into this post. One way or another, people, you're GOING to hear it!

Alright. So what did I learn? Well, I was stretched. I wanted to do this because I wasn't comfortable being uncomfortable around people with disabilities. I wanted to do this because I wanted to be challenged to love more, more deeply, more widely, more comfortably, and more unconditionally. And every client I worked with demanded something different, some different form of love. Love is patience. Love always protects the other. Love is persistent, persevering, refuses to quit on someone. Love shows kindness when kindness is the farthest thing from us. If you knew the clients I met this summer, you would understand. These people will teach you love, and they will challenge you in it. And they are blessings from God in your life, if you will embrace them.

I learned about people. I was blessed to work with some great people, Twila Ross- she is a true diamond in the rough, for real; and also Vanessa Jeske, whose blog contains some very honest and beautiful reflections on her experiences this summer working with special needs adults, check it out at: www.lostcanadianinamerica.blogspot.com/2005/08/smile.html - I strongly encourage you to read it- it is very thought-provoking and true.
At the same time, though, Vanessa, Twila, and I spent the summer watching in horror and disbelief as every member of the staff jostled for position, for favor, for self-gain. I am completely unable to understand how anyone can work at a job like that and still think that it's all about THEM. It doesn't make any sense to me.

I am humbled by these clients, and rightly so. People love to lord it over others, to make themselves look good by being "sensitive" to special needs people. But honestly, this summer, I did not work for the government of MB, I worked for these people. I served them. And rightly so. Jesus NEVER tells us to serve ourselves. He never says "Go, make money. Go gain. Take for yourselves." He never gives us the impression that we deserve any of the good that we recieve. In truth, we deserve much less, much worse. We are no better than anyone else.

What Jesus would say, and Paul did say was this: Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.
A far cry from my experience among the staff this summer. And clearly the most excellent way.

So we consider others better than ourselves. And we serve the poor, and the needy. And we do it in a way that reflects a belief that we are not reaching down to them, that we have no right to do so. But that we are reaching out, simply because we have been reached down to by Grace Himself. And this is the essence of our lives in Christ.

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Oops... Did I Forget to Blog? Wednesday, November 02, 2005 |

Alright, so "Little Miss Blogger" didn't really materialize... I started this blog after Outtatown, which is now a year and a half ago, and I then moved to Winnipeg, where I had crappy internet access, homework (yuck!), and not a lot of drive to blog. Sorry!

Alright... so highlights from the past 15+ months!

Summer- work with special needs kids or kids with learning disabilities... love it....

September- move to Winnipeg with the crazy and awesome Sarah Froese, a fellow Site 2 girl... hilarity ensues... most of it involves me getting things thrown at me... and folk guitar.

October- Kelly gets employed. First day at Radioshack goes down in "Worst Day Ever History"... long story short... Kelly falls of bike, scrapes open leg, hobbles in late, bleeding. There are tears. Not exactly employee of the month material.

November- Sarah and I finally get around to having our housewarming party! It is the party to end all parties. Good friend Trent Snyder even comes in from Russell/Foxwarren for the occasion! Keith Tang was there.... were you?

December- Christmas season is hectic. I work like a madwoman at Radioshack. I make it home briefly for Christmas... a couple days home, and then I'm back to the madness. Gotta pay the rent! Outtatowners have a New Years' Party in the city... Derek, Trevor, Lauren, Emily.. who else... well, those guys for sure all flew in from out of province just becuase they love us! My good friend Eric Dick gets himself into a life-threatening bike accident out in Niagara, ON, and we all pray our hearts out.

January- God is good! And Eric Dick is a miracle. He defeats odds in favor of paralysis, brain damage, blindness, and especially death, and blows us all away with his recovery...
"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"
Sarah and I can't take it anymore. We fly out to Ontario to visit Eric, encourage him, and for some good times. Highlights... taking Eric sledding, despite our best efforts to deter him, and Sarah mistaking Eric's raised arm for an invitation to throw an orange at him... which he is at this point unable to see well enough to catch, and it smacks him in the hand. Hilarity ensues.

February-My most awkward Valentine's Day EVER! I host Dan and Teagin's Valentine's Day date at my apartment... it wasn't that bad, it was pretty cute actually... but you probably have to be in a couple to appreciate cheesy, over-the-top gestures of love. Which, I was not. So, I did not. Oh and somewhere in here that "Marchin" guy started asking me out, which Sarah was nice enough to turn into a public spectacle for all our friends... love you too, Sarah!

March- We get some snowboarding done! I bring people out to Russell to board and highlights include free lift tickets and winning a giant, wall-mountable Kokanee beer bottle in a karaoke contest (kudos go out to Jeannette and Johanna). It now graces the sacred walls of the CMU women's rez.

April- hmmm... I know SOMETHING happened in April... what happened?

May- packed up, had our FAMOUS "House-cooling Party," featuring dj.exe, also known as my dear friend Skyler Jones. This party was frequented by such well-knowns as Keith Tang (he's my groupie), some very gifted RadioShack sales associates, my homegirl Sarah Bezan, many many SODers, Russellites, Dancin' Dee, and more. After that, we almost considered not leaving!
But, leave we did. Next day, I flew to Ontario, where I met up with my DARLING sister Rebecca for a week-long road-trip home. Highlights include such people as Darren Janzen, Krista Bender, Mark and Johanna (sorry, no last names for you!), another visit with Eric, whose improvement is AMAZING!, my adorable twin cousins (and Ben too), and my childhood best friend forever Tatiana Kaminski, out in Illinois. The Kaminskis were very sweet to let us stay with them in Iowa- we had a blast! Fun was had, and we even visited the stray grandmother out in Carman, MB!

June- monotony sets in. I am home for the summer. Summer 2005 goes a little something like this: I work 2 jobs- good ones though, I was blessed, squirrel away money for next year, work some more, then take on running the church's VBS with my lovely partner-in-crime Vanessa Jeske (you rock, girl!), since of course 2 jobs is not enough. But I was blessed richly by it.
This was my second summer working with kids with special needs, or developmental delays. I love it SO much. These kids are awesome and have SO much potential. They are beautiful children and they brighten my life.
This summer I took on for the first time working with special needs adults in an assisted living environment. These people live independent, adult lives, made possible by 24/7 staff. This allows their families to breathe and to live again, this allows them to grow and to adjust. It is not always a perfect scenerio, but I love the concept. But more about that later.
Then I packed myself up (again), and headed out cross-country to the west coast, and not just the west coast, but the land of the red, white and blue! That's right, I am now in Washington. I live and breathe in the communities and suburbs surrounding Seattle (which is a sweet city), and I am a youth ministry intern through Youth Unlimited. I work at Living Hope Christian Fellowship in Bothell, and spend time with kids, and it is awesome. And I am blessed.
You will hear much more on this later. But for now, be ye updated.

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What It Means To Be "Coming Up Short"...

I find that frequently, in life, in relationships, at work, and especially when it comes to God, I ride through temporary lows, highs, and in-the-middles, and just when life is getting good, or I feel like I've got it figured out (even in the slightest), then comes the drop. The screw-up. The let-down. Where I realize that I am, indeed, human, so far from perfect and so susceptible to mistakes. It seems that in life, with friends, and with God, I am forever "coming up short." This blog is where I archive my "Kelly-moments" for others to read, and where I hash them out in an attempt to extract meaning. Feel free to see the world through my bespectacled eyes!