Life is full of contradictions and juxtapositions, if you think about it. And I did, on Monday, walking through The Grotto (The National Sanctuary of our Sorrowful Mother) in Portland, Oregon, with friends. As you walk through their gardens, all of the art there—the statues and carvings—all focus on themes of sorrow and joy. Christ was born = joy. Christ suffered = sorrow. Christ died = sorrow. Christ gives us new life = joy. Joy comes from pain.

This whole theme challenges me. I don’t like pain. I’m not a fan of it at all. I so hate pain that I practically carry a pharmacy in my purse, so that if I have any pain at any given time, I can take something to get rid of it. It grieves me that all of life isn’t so easily medicated. And sometimes, I have pains that Excedrin just won’t help.

In Chapter 2 of Kisses from Katie, Katie talks about how contradictory her experience in Uganda has been. Life isn’t comfortable there. There is intense heat, poverty, hunger. And though life on a daily basis is almost overwhelming in its difficulty, the blessings that come from the experience far outweigh the discomfort.

Monday night, I took a redeye flight back to NC from the West Coast. I was extremely sad to be leaving my family of friends there. All I wanted to do on the flight home was sleep. And to ensure that this would happen, as I stood in line to board, I reached into my purse and grabbed my trusty chewable herbal sleeping pill. I knew that by the time we took off, it would kick in and lull me into blissful sleep.

Our plane was only half full and the college-aged girl sitting on the aisle and I rejoiced that the seat between us was empty. But right as they began to close the door to the airplane, a lady stumbled onto the plane and showed her ticket to the flight attendant. I heard the flight attendant say, “Oh, there’s plenty of seats. Just pick one. Doesn’t matter.” And I saw the bumbling lady make a beeline for the empty seat next to me.

Sigh.

All I wanted to do was sleep, but by thirty minutes after takeoff, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, my seatmate nursed the four glasses of wine that she had ordered and talked. And talked. And talked.

I sat next to her, fighting sleep and listening. I thought about closing my eyes and just letting her talk. I’m pretty sure that she would have kept talking, even then. But something in me just poked my soul and said, “Look at her. Smile at her. Care about her.” So, I fought my eyes open and listened. No advice. I just listened, until about two hours into the flight, she wound down and laid her head on my shoulder and went to sleep.

When we woke up in Atlanta yesterday morning, she smiled at me and said, “Have you ever met somebody that you know you’ll never see again, but that you know you’ll never forget? I’ll never forget you.”

Not everything in life is going to be fun or comfortable or easy. But through pain and suffering and sorrow and inconvenience, come blessings. I didn’t want to stay up most of the night listening to a drunken stranger ramble on vaguely about her troubles. But she needed me to. And I needed me to. And through my discomfort and inconvenience, her life was made better, even if for only a moment.

Katie says, “Even though I realize I cannot always mend or meet, I can enter in. I can enter into someone’s pain and sit with them and know. This is Jesus. Not that He apologizes for the hard and the hurt, but that He enters in, He comes with us to the hard places. And so I continue to enter.”

This post is part of our regularly scheduled weekly book discussion on Kisses from Katie. Please feel free to stay and comment, even if you haven’t read the book. Your thoughts are valuable! Please also go by my co-facilitator’s site and see what Jason has to say on the matter. Also, you’ll find this week’s link widget at his place, if you’ve written a response to this week’s chapter. Thanks for joining us!

There were two themes that really pressed on me as I read Chapter 1 of Kisses from Katie. The first was how great the task is that faces me as I strive and desire to make a difference in the world. The second was how simple the task that faces me really is. And if you notice, those are two seemingly conflicting themes.

Katie refers to this task as “trying to empty the ocean with an eyedropper.”

Oh, how I know that feeling!

Many times, I’ve stood in medical clinics in Third World countries and stared a line of patients that I couldn’t see the end of. And even as we would call more patients in to be seen by doctors, the line would grow instead of shrink. Much like Katie, I thought, “We’re trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol!”

But the point that Katie makes is that we will never empty the ocean—or put out the forest fire. We don’t have to. We just have to love people through it all. So today, I’m going to share a story that I’ve shared here once before that I think really embodies Katie’s point in a real, graphic, and hopefully moving way. I hope it makes you as angry as it made me. And I hope that the anger moves you to love someone.

A few years ago, Bill Wilson of Metro Ministries in New York, came to speak on the campus where I work. He told the story of a Hispanic lady, whose name I can’t recall. She was an older lady and she spoke almost no English, but she came to Bill and through an interpreter said, “Pastor Bill, I want to help with your Sidewalk Sunday School ministry.”

In all honesty, Bill couldn’t see how the little old woman who spoke almost no English could help the ministry. But he was so touched by her willingness that he asked if she would agree to ride one of the buses that picked up the children for Sunday School. She could be a sort of bus monitor to help keep an eye on the children while the driver was busy navigating traffic.

She readily agreed and the first day on the bus, a little boy boarded. She had no way of knowing that this particular little boy of maybe five years old had never spoken a word to anyone in Sunday School. The bus drivers and bus monitors and Sunday School teachers all tried to get him to talk, but he wouldn’t even tell them his name. But she had no way of knowing that and on her first day on the bus, she reached out and took him into her lap. From then on, each day, the little old Hispanic lady would pull the boy into her lap as he boarded the bus. And he would let her, but he never would speak. But the bus driver noticed that she was whispering into the boy’s ear.

After a number of weeks, the bus driver mentioned the curious scene to Pastor Bill and summoning a translator, he asked her what she was saying to the boy. It turns out she did know a bit of English. And she was saying to him one phrase that she knew quite well and she was saying it over and over again.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Some more weeks passed, each time was the same. The boy boarded the bus and climbed in her lap and she whispered to him the entire ride to Sunday School and the entire ride home. And one day, as he climbed off her lap at his stop, he turned and took her face into his five-year-old hands and whispered, “I love you, too!” And he hopped off the bus and ran into his apartment building.

That night, Pastor Bill got a phone call from a friend of his on the police force. The body of a small boy had been found by a dumpster at that apartment building. He had been beaten to death with a baseball bat and stuffed into a garbage bag and dumped like so much trash.

But some of the last words he ever heard were, “I love you.”

My heart aches and grieves and breaks over all of the people in the world that suffer unspeakable horrors on a daily basis and never know that they’re loved.

I think that a lot of us feel that we’re too small to make a difference. Our voices are too soft. Our means are too limited. We don’t have the right skills. We should just live our lives and let others make a difference. But what if this little Hispanic grandmother had felt that way? She had no money. No education. She couldn’t speak the language. The leaders weren’t even sure they wanted her there. But she had love and to that little boy, it made all the difference in the world.

I have always wondered how God could ever use me. I’m a short, overweight, blotchy-faced girl from one of the poorest counties in North Carolina. I don’t have money or an affluent background. I didn’t go to an Ivy League college – or even to a Bible college. I don’t have any really significant skills. I’m not a doctor or a nurse or a preacher. I’m a secretary who drives a car that’s broken more than its fixed, with paint peeling off its hood like it has leprosy. I live below poverty level in yet another poor county of my state. What do I really have to offer?

All I can offer is to sit in the gutters and ditches if that’s what it takes to show people the love of Christ. Because I know that’s what He did for me. And for you. He picks us up out of the gutters and the ditches and carries us home. And I won’t be afraid that I’m not enough. Because I know I’m not enough. But in the power of Christ, I’ll sit in the ditches and gutters, whispering, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” To anyone who needs to hear.

As Katie said: “That love is the reason I just keep filling up my little eyedropper, keeping filling it up and emptying my ocean one drop at a time. I’m not here to eliminate poverty, to eradicate disease, to put a stop to people abandoning babies. I’m just here to love.”

Me, too, Katie. Me, too.

This post is part of a weekly discussion that several of my friends and I are having about the book Kisses from Katie. If you have written a reaction to this post, please feel free to link it up at the link widget below. I will be out of town. In the event of any issues with the widget, please put your links in the comments. And please, be sure to go read the other posts in this week’s discussion—especially my co-facilitator, Jason Stasyszen! 

Recently, while doing some research for my boss, I came across a quote by Rob Wegner, in Outreach Magazine, that really struck a chord in me.

“Every believer carries within them the potential for world transformation.”

I agree with this and would take it a step further to say, “every person.” Honestly, some of the people who have transformed me the most haven’t been believers at all. Also, I believe that God isn’t limited or inhibited about who He can use to change the world. He can and does use anyone and everyone. And that’s meant to include you and me.

But the main point I took away from Wegner is that each of us can be used to change the world. It’s really a question of “want to.” Do I want to be used to change the world? Or am I content to let the world change around me and possibly, without me?

I had this whole conversation already rolling around in my head when I opened our new book, “Kisses from Katie.” And from page one, I found that I wasn’t the only one thinking about this. In the Foreword, Beth Clark makes two statements about Katie that I wish could be said about me—that I hope can someday be said about me:

• “People who really want to make a difference in the world usually do it, in one way or another. And I’ve noticed something about people who make a difference in the world: They hold the unshakable conviction that individuals are extremely important, that every life matters.”
• “I realized that there are no statistics in Katie’s world. There are only people, and every life matters.”

This morning, I was talking to a friend about how to raise your children to respect other people—especially ones who are different from them. I have no children, myself. But I remember growing up with a schoolteacher for my Mom. I remember how she respected every one of her students in our tri-racial (black, white, Native American) school. I remember how nothing made her angrier than students disrespecting one another. And I remember how she went out of her way to make each student feel special and unique instead of foreign and awkward. She celebrated their differences and taught us how to embrace others for how they are different, instead of judging them and condemning them for it. To my mother, every student mattered. They knew it. And because of that, they treated her with more respect than they did most other teachers. I think they probably respected themselves more, too.

I haven’t always been able to say this—because I used to be wrong—but I want to be like my Mama. I want to make every person in my life feel like they matter.

In the Introduction to “Kisses from Katie,” Katie says, “If one person sees the love of Christ in me, it is worth every minute. In fact, it is worth spending my life for.” That expresses so beautifully how I feel. If there is one utmost goal in my life, it is that the people that experience me would be experiencing love—and more so, the love of Christ that has the power to heal and make a person whole. I have rarely felt more joy than when a friend called me after a particularly difficult time in her life and said, “Sarah, I know that God loves me because YOU love me.” For as many times as I fail, there was one graceful moment that I did something right—I loved my friend and she felt God in it.

Katie says, “Each and every one of us was ultimately created to do the same thing. It will not look the same. It may take place in a foreign land or it may take place in your backyard, but I believe that we were each created to change the world for someone. To serve someone. To love someone the way Christ first loved us, to spread His light.”

As I recently told my friend, Nick, we need to “stop being idiots and love somebody.” That includes me. It is my hope that every day, I would wake up and remember that this world is not about me. It’s not about building the Kingdom of Sarah and making Sarah feel good and happy and comfortable. It’s not about me always being right and getting my way. It’s about someone else. It’s about putting Sarah out of the way long enough to love and serve someone and make their day, their world better. Because every life matters.

Today’s post is part of a weekly book discussions that I am having with my co-facilitator, Jason Stasyszen and a group of our friends. Feel free to stick around for the discussion, even if you aren’t reading along in the book. At Jason’s site, you’ll find a widget where you can link up if you’re taking part in the discussion.

The picture above is one of the pictures of love in my life – my Mom and her sweet little friend, Ruby, who we have adopted as a surrogate grandmother. I just love how they love each other!

As a young child, there was nothing like going to Grandma’s house.

I can remember coming home from school on Friday, packing my bags, and making the 20-minute trip.  Once I got there, she always had a smile that could change a room, something sweet to eat, and her Skip-Bo cards on the table.  The evening would consist of watching the Dukes of Hazzard on CBS and playing several games of Skip-Bo.  When the last cards were played and the game was over, we usually had ice cream before bed.  Ice cream was something Grandma only had with us grandkids.

When I woke up on Saturday mornings, it was a given that Grandpa had been to the local bakery and gotten enough doughnuts to feed a football team.  Some Saturdays we’d never leave our pajamas. But if the weather was nice, the swing in the front yard was the destination.  We’d spend hours talking or doing yard work until suppertime.  After supper, we would follow the same routine as the night before with the exception that now the Bible was on the table with the Skip-Bo cards.

Staying with Grandma on the weekend meant you would be in church on Sunday morning.  There were no options about going to church. Unless you were sick, you were going to be there.  I’ll be the first to admit the only time I went to church was with Grandma and sometimes church would seem a little intimidating.  Intimidating or not, I would always follow along in my Bible and when it came time to sing, I would stand up and sing beside Grandma.  Being disabled, standing wasn’t always easy, but if my footing seemed unsure, Grandma would reach over and hold my hand.  I was always willing to put in that extra effort because I could see the joy it brought to her face.

I didn’t always understand the lesson being taught that day, but on the way home, Grandma was always ready with an explanation.  Anytime she talked about God, she would hold my hand, it was a given.  As I got older, I noticed we didn’t hold hands as much, but when we did, it was much more meaningful.  I’ve had to face a lot of hurdles in life, but no matter what, it was that hand that was always there with an encouraging word.

I have a picture hanging on my wall that’s about 4 years old. Grandma had broken her leg and there we sat, side by side in our wheelchairs, holding hands.  I didn’t think that would be one of the very last times we’d hold hands.

Six months later, she began to suffer the symptoms of Alzheimer’s. I watched the person I knew slowly being taken away from me and nothing could be done about it.  She gave all she had right up until her last breath.

She always talked about going to be with God, she was ready for the journey, and she was looking forward to it.  At her visitation I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t do it, instead we held hands for the last time.  I thanked her for everything she had taught me, and for all she had done for me.  I knew she had made the trip to be with God and was looking down on me, proud of me.

As I finish this post, I think back on the tough times and I realize what I’ve overcome.  I know that my challenges aren’t done and just like Grandma there’s a plan for me too. I don’t know where the plan will take me, and I don’t know when it ends.  I do know at times it won’t be easy, but I won’t do it alone. Whether I can see it or not, there will be a hand for me to hold.

As I write, I have an episode of Murder, She Wrote whispering on the television across the room. Later this evening, while I make dinner, it will be replaced by either a Bonanza or M*A*S*H rerun. And though I know my friends laugh, chuckle, and snicker about my tendency towards “old peoples’ TV” I have to admit that I just really prefer these shows to most of the new shows that are on these days.

Why?

I think the long and the short of it is that I watched these shows with my loved ones, in a time of my life that was much simpler than today. Watching JB Fletcher on Murder, She Wrote takes me back to Grandmama’s porch, where we would sit at a card table, putting together a jigsaw puzzle while trying to figure out the mystery on TV.

Some days, I just need to escape back to that porch. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

How do you escape to simpler times?

This post is part of a blog carnival at my friend Sarah Bee’s place. Hop on over there and see “WHY” she does what she does. And see a bunch of other people and their “why” as well.

Guess what?! I have a winner for the free copy of Kisses for Katie!

I’ll rewind, in case you don’t know what I’m talking about.

Today, my friend, Jason Stasyszen and I are each giving away a copy of the book Kisses for Katie. We talked about it on our blogs last week and if you want more details, you can find my post here and Jason’s post here.

Today—in just a minute—I’m going to announce the winner. Later today, Jason will be posting his winner at his website. And next week, we’re going to begin a book discussion about Kisses for Katie. And even if you don’t win the book, you’re definitely invited back for the discussion!

No more stalling!

The winner is my friend, Mary Gay!

Yes, Mary! You won! DM, text, or email me your address and I will get your copy in the mail posthaste!

Congratulations, Mary!

Okay, you guys! I hope to see you back here next week to start talking about the incredible young lady that is changing the world, starting in Uganda, and what her life can teach us.

So simple.

It revolutionized the way I view relationships. While I had grown up being taught that I should label people as “Christian” or “NonChristian” and stick them into neat little boxes in my life, once I got this advice, I was set free from that. I no longer spend all of my time judging people and trying to figure out their religious beliefs or lack thereof. I spend my time getting to know them and love them, instead.

This week, a friend and I were reading Luke 10 together. In the latter part of that chapter, a religious scholar asks Jesus, “Teacher, what do I need to do to get eternal life?” And Jesus responds that he should love God with everything in him and that he should love his neighbor as much as he does himself. Jesus goes on to define “neighbor” by telling the story that many of us know as the story of the Good Samaritan…

One day, a man is traveling on a lonesome road when he’s accosted by robbers. He’s beaten and left to die. As he lies there, bleeding and dying, two religious men come upon him, but each chooses to ignore him and keep walking. Finally, a man of a different religion sees him and even knowing that they espouse different religious beliefs, he picks him up, cares for him, and takes him to get help.

This is the heart of God.

I’ve been in the church my entire life. I love God and I believe in the necessity of the church. And I see the church doing so much good and sharing so much love with the world. But sometimes it doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, there are people who call themselves God’s people, who attend His church, who are more interested in judging the wounded man than in caring for him. Before they help him, they want to make sure that he’s not an alcoholic, that he doesn’t have a criminal record, that he isn’t gay, that he doesn’t come from the wrong family or the wrong side of the tracks and that he’s going to be able to pay his tithes in full and on time. And by the time they finish judging him, he’s already died of his wounds.

In this world, we are always going to be surrounded by people who are different than we are. We fear these differences—especially the ones we don’t understand or haven’t experienced before. Instead of judging people and holding them at arm’s length, we have the great opportunity to not judge them. We can choose to see the good in them and to learn about the differences that we so fear. This is where trust is built and love is shared. And this is where lives are changed… sometimes, mine.

When I started blogging, I was something akin to terrified. My magazine editor made me do it and I thought I would just tell lovely little stories that nobody would notice. I had one friend – Joell – that I knew would read my posts and so I wrote most of my posts from the viewpoint that she was my audience. I told stories that made her smile or that made her think, but I took no risks. I had almost no readers, but I didn’t really care (because I was hiding out). But the bad part was that I wasn’t challenging myself or growing. I was in a rut and I really didn’t care as long as I felt safe.

Then, one day, when I thought nobody was paying attention, I took a risk. Hopeless was the first time I had ever publicly (outside of people I know at church) admitted my battle with depression, shame, and suicide. I was a nervous wreck when I posted it. I remember my hands shaking as I proofread it for the millionth time and then clicked “Publish.” It didn’t feel like it at the time, but I think a battle was won that day.

At first, I thought that to blog, I had to have all of the answers. I knew I didn’t have them. And I still don’t. In fact, I find myself wrestling with the same questions, fighting the same battles, over and over again. The difference is that now, I’m learning that if I come out of hiding, I don’t have to battle alone. And there are others, like me, who need someone to battle with, too. We’re better together.

When I started to figure that out, I started to find my voice. And what I found out is that this girl that doesn’t like to voice dissenting opinions or rock the boat, is actually a pretty passionate advocate. I have a backbone and when I see injustice or cruelty, I’m not afraid to use it!

Sometimes I feel like a broken record. Like I just say the same things over and over again here. Maybe that’s okay. I know that I need to hear the same lessons over and over again to learn them. Maybe I need to tell the same stories over and over again to be heard. So, I guess that’s what I’ll do while I continue to find my way out of hiding… I’ll keep fighting, keep learning, keep growing. And if you find me raising my voice every now and again, just smile and know that the simple fact that I’m doing it means that God’s worked a miracle in my life.

Almost two years ago, I tweeted my good friend, Jason Stasyszen one day to tell him what a phenomenal book I was reading – “Mad Church Disease.” And the next thing I knew, we were having a once-a-week book discussion on our blogs.

I have to say that it’s been one of the most challenging, but amazing discussions I’ve ever taken part in. I’ve been inspired and changed throughout each and every discussion.

Today, I get to announce the 5^th book.

Yes, the FIFTH book!

Can you believe it?!

After a lot of discussion and prayer, Jason and some of our other regular book discussion friends have decided that we will be reading a new book—a memoir—called “Kisses for Katie.” It’s the story of a young girl who visited Uganda on a short-term mission trip as a high school student and now, within a few short years has moved to Uganda and begun to change the world. You may or may not have heard of it. Because I’m a bookstore-fanatic and I spend many nerdy moments surfing online bookstores, too, I had heard of it. In fact, when Jason posed it as a possibility, my heart jumped because I recalled having seen it in the store and wanting to buy it. When Jason mentioned it, I just knew that it was “the one.”

You can read about it here: “Kisses for Katie.”

So, it’s time for the fifth book and that means that it’s time for the fifth GIVEAWAY!

Everybody loves a giveaway!

And for the giveaway, we have ground rules. They go like this:

1. Although we’re doing a book discussion with this book, you do not have to participate to win. If you just want the book, that’s cool with us. But we would love for you to consider joining us for at least some of the discussion. We believe you have a lot to add!
2. If you want to purchase a copy, you can click the link and purchase it. (No, I don’t get a commission. I’m just sharing the info and hoping you enjoy the book as much as I plan to.)
3. Jason and I are each giving away one copy of the book. That gives you two chances to win. This week, you enter. Next week, we will each select and announce a winner! The following week, we will begin discussion.

And now I’ll bet you want to know how to win. This is how:

1. Each time you comment on this post, you earn one entry.
2. Each time you tweet or retweet about this giveaway, you earn one entry. (Just make sure you mention me — @sarahmsalter – when you tweet or retweet so that I can track your entries.)
3. Each time you mention the giveaway on your website, blog, or Facebook, you’ll earn three entries. (You’re going to want to leave me a comment here, with a link, to let me know what you’ve done so that you can get credit for your entries.)

The winner will be chosen next Tuesday night by a random number generator. It’s that simple.

When you leave here today, make sure to go by Jason’s site to enter there. It doubles your chances of winning and you might just meet some pretty cool people over there if you haven’t been there before.

Remember! You have 7 days and next Wednesday, we announce winners! And two weeks from today, the discussion begins.

Ready… Set… GO!

Froggy sat three or four inches away from a flock of porcelain sheep, presided over by a weary-looking porcelain shepherd, and facing the smiling porcelain Christ-child. He obvious didn’t belong with this crowd and chuckling, I scooped Froggy up to pass him along to the little guy that I’m pretty sure is his owner. The pianist, her assistant and I had a good laugh about it and then the scene was put out of our minds.

I’ve always had trouble staying still and focused during church services—no matter how moving, poignant, funny, or fabulous the speaker. But Christmas Eve communion is a little different. The lights are low, the candles glowing, and the piano playing gently in the background. I look into the lights on the Chrismon tree and the advent candles, and I can’t help but get pulled into the peace and rest of the moment. And in the quiet, I think. And I believe that God speaks in those quiet moments.

And tonight, He told me that I’m like that little black and blue plastic frog…

The frog sat just on the outside of the scene. He knew he was different. The sheep, the shepherd and the angels all knew he was different. And this is how I have always felt. I have always felt like the dull, plastic frog in a world full of beautiful porcelain creatures. I’ve always stood back a little bit, hoping to see the excitement, but not ever feeling like I’m part of it.

The difference between me and that little black and blue plastic frog is that the Christ-child doesn’t see me as being different. To Him, I’m not an outsider. I’m not a dull, fake object. I’m not excluded. I’m part of the family.

And so are you.

Merry Christmas from me—a little black and blue plastic frog who is very loved and who loves you very much.