The Smokey’s…

Up in the moutain-tops looking over the Gatlinburg lights in this amazing cabin, you would think I would be able to make some grand conclusion about something-or- other, but I have nothing to say.

I’ve had nothing to say for the last two or three weeks, which I know is a bad sign. I am a external processor and constant verbal expressor and when nothing is coming out of my finger-tips or mouth, I know I am confused or stuck or something. I have excused my lack of blogging to my inability to define my audience, but that is a lie. I’ve always known Whom my audience is before now.

Gatlinburg is usually the place things align for me. The last time I was up here was the summer after my junior year, a marked season in my life full of reading, writing, praying and overall joy & peace. I wrote and wrote, processed, articulated, praised and enjoyed every last moment.

Right now I am silent and I know there are 100 reasons why, but the sifting through the whens and the whys and the hows seem uninteresting.

Thunder is booming on top of our cliff and their is a perfect amount of breeze and my whole family is here on this porch playing cards or telling stories. I have a glass of champagne to the right and my sister is to the left of me. My nose is running, which I usually love, and I am wrapped in a warm blanket. All ingredients of a perfect instagrammed picture or poem or something, which It’s been way too long since I could find anything inside of me that wanted to write poetry, so instead I take cheap snapshots with my iPhone. Thank you, modernity.

Somewhere along the line, I think I must have made some “inner vow,” to not be happy because I know enough about God and His joy, peace and blessings that they aren’t restricted to circumstances. I am choosing to feel this low on my own.

Judge is a wise man, and right now, more than anything, I need his advice. In my blaise mood and flat-lined life-circumstance he is able to speak truth. I told Judge last weekend, I am heart-sick. Certainly for him and certainly for Athens but it’s much deeper than that. I am heartsick for being needed. I am heart-sick for being the “Mamma Bear” and meaning something in the kingdom. I feel cut-off. I feel I am in life’s terminal waiting and I hate waiting so much when I care, so I’ve turned the caring off as well.

I don’t think I’m strong enough to wait this long. It’s a new territory for me to fear deep down that I can’t handle what’s been dealt to me. I know the scripture,  “He won’t give us more than we can bare” but that truth certainly hasn’t sunk in. I feel I can’t handle the breaking & surrender which would result if I chose to care or feel during this time in Atlanta,  which may be two years long. A duration I fight like hell to avoid confronting through pintrest weddings, escapist life plans, absurd trips and disillusioned and unrealistic job ventures. Instead, I turn those feelings off and keep the tears under the surface.

This is where I am and where I will be for some quite sometime, the 9 to 5, the push and pull, the daily grind. Desire, or callings, or community or magic isn’t something I am granted in this stage of my life. This is the close your eyes, close your heart, close your hands day to day, and it’s inescapable for me apparently. I’ve turned the “Katie” I know I was created to be off, and am doing what is expected of me. Even this post seems whiny, very highschool xanga entry of me.

I don’t want to care while I wait. I try to pretend I am not waiting at all. Even this blog is dangerous.

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