Butterfly Kisses and why I don't keep up with my bl

You deserve a cookie. Yes, you. Why? Well, because you keep coming back here to read about my life even though I am officially a terrible blogger. It's been almost a month since I last wrote. I could try to make up some elaborate, crazy narrative about why I have been "offline" for a month, but honestly my life isn't that intense. I have no excuses. I guess you love me anyway though (that's why you're here, right?) so that's wonderful! 

Despite my lack of good reasons for my mini-sabbatical, I do have one thing which might help you understand this particular aspect of my innate nature as Katie Elizabeth. You see, prominent psychiatrist Carl G. Jung proposed a "psychological typology" which systematically sorts people into one of sixteen personality types. My type is INFP. Studies show that INFP is one of the rarer personality types, accounting for only 4-5% of the global population. Basically, I'm an endangered species. Read more about my species here. 

Now how does all this relate to my apparent incapability of keeping a regular schedule of posts going? A funny Christian therapist in Colorado came up with a series of prayers which apply to the various personalities. 

My prayer is: "God, help me to finish everything I sta". 

It fits, right? Granted, this blog isn't exactly something that needs to be finished, but I think the idea applies to my delayed writing habits too. 

Before I go on, I want to take a moment to add a word specifically to my Facebook friends:

Dear friends,

First, thank you for reading my blog and my Facebook posts. I am tickled pink. Second, please know that there are some people who come here but don't have Facebook. It is for them and for my own personal satisfaction that I, on occasion, will be repeating things I already mentioned on Facebook. I hope you understand and don't mind the slight flashbacks. Thank you for being beautiful and lovely. Carry on kindly.

Onward! Just in case there are some curious kittens out there who desperately want to discover their personality type, the link is here. And once you find out, see below the appropriate prayer for you.

Click to enlarge.

Now the title of this post should make more sense. (This should be one of those: "I see what you did there" moments.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Remember how I have been in training to become a full-fledged crisis pregnancy counselor? Well.....

If that's too blurry to read, it basically says that my boss is pleased with my work and I have "graduated" from training status and am now a 100% whole grain crisis pregnancy counselor! 

I feel like maybe I should rename my blog to be something like "Diary of a Crisis Pregnancy Counselor," because basically that's all I care about sharing with y'all. You probably don't care about my school woes, or my work dilemmas, or even my precious dog memoirs. But that will have to wait till next time. 

If you would have told me 5 years ago that I would be volunteering at a crisis pregnancy center, counseling young women in their most vulnerable state, and sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ with them.....I would have laughed in your face. But God works in wondrous ways. And thanks be to Him that I have been given this amazing opportunity to show these frightened women His endless love for them. 

Recently, a friend of mine asked me, "When they are pregnant out of wedlock, do y'all judge them?" It brings great sorrow to my heart that she even had to ask that question, as a result of our failures as a society to show compassion and mercy to these mothers. No. We never judge them for what happened. We're all sinners. Judging people helps nobody. We need to love them.

Not to mention, Jesus sort of commands it: "Do not judge, and you will not be judged; because the judgments you give are the judgments you will get, and the standard you use will be the standard used for you." -Matthew 7: 1-2

All I constantly think about is:
"Who am I, that the girls that feel despair

would look on me with trust
and let me counsel them?
Who am I, that the God that calmed the sea
would use me as His voice
and calm the storm in her?"

"Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lastly, two quick tales which you may have heard before if you're on Facebook. (Cheer up, you get to re-live the magic!)

On October 14th I was sitting in the Student Computing Center working on a project, when out of nowhere a girl comes, plops down in the chair next to me and promptly exclaims, "You look like you're heading for RenFest!" And I'm totally confused, so I say "Uh...what?" And she says, "Your outfit. It's perfect for the Renaissance Festival!" And I say, "Oh...well, this is just how I dress every day....I guess I was born in the wrong era..." And she looks at me like I'm a weirdo. 

I'm actually 100% sure that I looked nothing like what they wear at the RenFest. Exhibit A:

Nope. Not even close.

My skirts tend to cause me problems like that. Or like today, as I was merrily peddling my new bike down the sidewalk on my way to class, when suddenly my bike slows to a halt, not of my choice. I had not pressed the brakes. Rather, my long, flowing skirt decided to do a secret handshake with my bike, get ruefully tangled, and lock up the gears. I was immobilized. The gears had snagged just enough fabric to make it impossible for me to walk alongside my bike without my skirt being pulled down. I literally had no option but to stand there and tug relentlessly at the knot, hoping against hope that it would magically come undone. It wasn't budging. Despair began to sink in. I had class in five minutes, and there was absolutely no way for me to get there. I was paralyzed, unable to move, trapped like a fish in a bowl. The only way to keep my dignity and modesty was to remain there, with my skirt fully ensnared in my gears. Movement in any direction spelled out the immodest and most un-lady-like tugging down of my skirt. 

The only option I had was to pester strangers who walked by and see if they had any solution. And so I did proceed to embarrassingly ask passerby if they happened to have a pair of scissors on them, to cut my skirt out of the gears of my bike. 

After several "Nope, sorry" replies and a handful of "Man...must stink to be you..." stares, I was blessed to find two kindhearted people to help me saw my skirt free with a pocket-knife. 

Just then, I had the great pleasure of noticing my sweet roommates crossing the street to marvel at what I call "Katie's daily conundrum." They giggle at (and/or with) me and take a picture of the quandary. Finally, the pocket-knife cuts through the fabric and I'm free, free at last!! 

Lita and Josh. Heroes of the day!

Until next time, I leave you with this nugget of insight and truth:

Be a Saint!