Thus Saith the Lord

So this week we are in Revival; can I hear an "Amen"?
This revival is with none other than Steve Bohman. Oh! that man is a riot, he has me and Septembre falling over onto one another and has the rest of the church turning heads towards our little foxhole seats in the corner. This man...he is so filled with God that you can't but feel the Holy dripping like water from his prayers. I stand during song service, clapping hands, swaying back and forth, and just watch him praise God up on the platform. He smiles as he sings, hums when he dosen't know the words, and I can see his lips tremble ferociously as he worships in tongues. His sermons send us running to the altar with conviction and revelation. His words stick to my ears, whispering themselves back to me even days later. He's shorter than he looks and as skinny as post. He sooty hair is balding on top and his eyes are dark and rooted. When he makes eye contact, you feel like holding your hands over your soul because you're positive that he's reading right through it. At the end of service the room gets tense as he walks slowly down the aisles passing out Words like parking tickets. It's only after he walks past and begins to talk to the person behind me that I finally exhale a breath; but then he's off again, scanning rows for familiar faces, and again I clench my hands over the maroon felt in front of me. Then finally he walks onto the platform and asks for Pastor to come as we praise God, and believe you me I do- for the fact that I didn't get a Word.
Jaime, my dearest Jaime Joe, tells me every revival, "I'm praying that you get a Word".
"Oh thats funny," I say, "cause I've been praying not to get one", smirking.
"Don't do that! You're completley counteracting my prayers!", she rants and all I can do is laugh.
Oh the idea of words just frightens me. I know they're not scary (maybe nerve racking), but not harmful. That they're only meant for the positive and not to embarress. That they can really help someone, giving direction or understanding, guidance and even just simple support. But I also know that a Word...is directly from God...and that scares me. The idea that the Almighty God, the Risen King, the one who Reigns over Heaven and the Earth, the Redeemer, the King of all Kings and the Lord of all Lords, would look at me, this lowly human, and speak to me personally, is enough to send me falling to my knees.
And then I think about all the people who have recieved words and have back sliden...oh the numbers are many. I don't understand it. God spoke to them! Directly to them! And they turned away...That breaks me heart. Just thinking about their conviction, their condemnation, their pain and suffering and lonliness and it all, makes me only hold tighter to the robes trailing the Lord. He's loving, so loving...loving enough to not give me a word (insert grin).

-Toby K.

(Oh and I'm thinking about having themed days for my blogs seeing as I actually have a schedule now but I'm still in the processing of theme-ing them up. Thanks for being patient).

My Best Friend

I know I just posted a blog...like two seconds ago, but I wanted to share this with you guys without leaving my other blog with a run-on affect. Anyways, I've gotten into the habbit of laying down to bed and falling asleep to my ipod playing, and the other night a song came on that had my heart aching with saddness for the absence of my best friend. She's a thousand miles away and it kills to not have her with me. So ofcourse, being the Toby K. that I am, I set out to write her something, and I did. I layed in the dark with my phone and dictionary under my covers and typed her up an infamous Toby K. piece of work. The next day, after reading my email she called me in tears, all because of my little two paragraph shpeel. I love that. Not that she was crying...well kind of...but because I am able to impact her so much with just the words I say. I love that, I really do.

So I've copy and pasted the email below, and I hope that you too have a best friend you can feel this way about.

To Tate-
I've layed down in bed. Wrapped myself tightly in colored covers and tangled my feet between my matress and my sheets. I lay here quiet. Quiet and still. The stars lay with me, playing at my fingertips; they stay quiet too. And I begin to remember. Remember this person I once knew and now love. This person who also lays quiet with stars slumbered close to her. This person who has made a home in the middle of my heart. This person who makes friends with the darkest oceans and farthest moons. This person who kicks up her feet in the sweet cream of the milky way. This person who recieves warmly the kisses from the thorns of roses and leaves unscratched. This person I once knew and now love.
This person will always and forever be you, my darling. Be you my confidant. Be you my support. Be you my most sought companion. I love and miss you more than the world; the moon, the stars, and the galaxy's them all, for you are more valuable my love, more valuable then you know.
-Your Best Friend.

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Heres some pictures of Me and Tate during her last visit here when she came for Spring Break

-Toby K.

Scatter Brained, Can You Tell?

So I often visit blogger. Read blogs, search blogs, admire blog designs, read more blogs that were referenced in other blogs, looks at blogs with pictures, look at blogs with cakes, look at blogs with crafts, and drawings and funny stories about their dog named Pete, ect. And it came to my attention that I haven't written in a blog in an almost 3 weeks...wow. Really...wow. So while thinking of that and reading some more blogs I've decided that I am going to write a blog three times a week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. You are all welcome to hold me to that, all wonderful four of you (insert smiley face here).


So now that we've covered that, I'm going to actually blog....so a while ago I mentioned two tales. I've told one and have forgotten most of the major details of the other...oops. The major jist of it all was that I made yummy apple cider at the Rust farm. I helped cut the apples, leaving my hands cut and bruised and sore, and then helped strain and seperate the juice. The rest was left to the wonderful Melissa who cooked up a pot or two of the deliciously infectious nector of absolute bliss. The boys did most of the hard work though crushing and juicing the apples. Non the less, it was fun. Afterwards we all gathered in the living room and I played with Little Miss Cora and chatted simultaneously with the darling Sydney who talked of school and Wyatt who mumbled about halloween costumes (incase your wondering he wants to be either: Bugs Bunny or a pirate...my suggestion be Bugs Bunny dressed up as a pirate- problem solved). It was a very enjoyable night.

A lot, a lot, a lot, has happened since. Working, going to Thursday Night Football games, breakfast with the gang and a much delusional Illy, coffee with the woman every Tuesday, good skits, funny skits, embarressing skits, outreaches and revivals; so so so much, I don't know how I could put it all down on screen...(I hope you guys caught the joke).
Anyways, I hope to share more of them with you, especially with my new blog regimen.
-Toby K.

My Second Home, My Second Family.

In my last post I made mention of fun tales about adventure and excitement that took place this last weekend. I am proud to announce that I am now going to share those very tales.

The first tale of mine takes us all the way back to Saturday afternoon where I recieved invitation to a barbeque. After leaving work at 4pm I drove the thirty minutes out to Rickreall. I may have been 2 and a 1/2 hours late but as far as I was concerned the party had just begun.
I walked through the doors of the Rust house and met Melissa sitting in a deserted living room with the sounds of gun fire coming from the field in the back. I could hardly contain myself with news of the cause- a shoot-out! Melissa quickly escorted me through the knee high tall grass to a mowed out section of the field where we found fifteen or so men scattered around a make-shift tent surrounded by guns, bullets the size of one of my fingers, and orange plastic disks.
As I walked into the group I could hear my name being called every which way, followed by the question, "So are you gonna shoot?".
I smiled and greeted, but was strong in my stand against complete and utter humiliation that would come if I took hold of one of those guns; I was absolutley adamant...But with Robby's firm tug on my sleeve I was off (still in protest) towards the field.
"Here", Robby said, reaching back to hand me his baseball cap, "it'll keep the sun out of your eyes".
"Robby, I really don't wanna do this" I said slidding my ponytail through the opening in the back of the hat, adjusting it straight.
Robby continued to ignore my protest and instead lead me in introduction with a very large slick black strapping piece of machinery.
"Robby, why are you giving me the biggest gun in the world?" I said, trying to muster up enough strength to keep the gun from wobbling out of my arms.
"Because this is my gun" he said.
"Oh, okay...", I said, because what he said sure did make a whole lot of sense- not.
Non the less I followed his directions, and took my place on the square wooden cut-out that he brought me to.
"Pull!" I yelled, fired, and missed. But the rush, the pulsing surge of energy that gets sent through every muscle of your body and the immediate retraction as if it was being sucked back out! Oh, the feeling if anything is worth the missed shot. So again I reestalished my position and yelled out the order, "Pull!"; and again I missed. I continued like this till about my fourth shot. I repositioned my footing, leveled the gun, and waited as the first shooter yelled, "pull". Finally I heard the wooshing sound of the birdie whip into motion and after the first shooters failed attempt I aimed my gun, fired, and devestated the disk into a dozen flying pieces. A roar went up behind me as I turned to Robby with curious eyes, "Was that me? Did I hit it Robby?!", but before Robby even had time to answer, the crowd behind him began yelling congragulations and excitment.
The thrill of it all was breathtaking, phenominal, stunning, overwhelming, boggling, simply undescribable.
The rest of the night went more serenly to say the least. I spent the last few hours of the evening and the first few of the morning lounging in a cushioned rocking chair watching old movies from the 60's and 70's with the Dixon girls, as the Dixon men occupied the master-bedroom with three large televisons all of which displaying the gruesome, grotesque, and unquestionably stunning effects of the phenoman better known as HALO. Reguardless to say, the night was spent, not intune with the dialogue that came from our television, but rather the dialogue that came bursting from the back room. "No! Don't do that!" "Wait! What are you getting out of the car for?!" "Dang it! I just died."

The night ended with the velvety hum of my car's engine as I followed close behind the tail lights of more experienced drivers, and with the welcoming call of my unmade bed.

My evening, less to say, was unparalleled.
-Toby K.

(P.S. the second tale will be arriving shortly)

In the Valley of the Shadow of Death

I'm a child of many colors, a lady of many faults, and a woman of many convictions.

This phrase alone could describe, not only my entire life, but just the last 100 or so hours. It's phenominal how much has taken place in such a short time. I had my first breakdown with Pastor Foley this last Sunday evening.
Through out the entire service I struggled with condemnation. I kept looking down at my service journal (Reagan) fore everytime I'd lift my head and look into Pastors scanning eyes my stomach would churn with mounding conviction. Oh Lord, I thought, what do I do?
Even during the very intense altar call, (upon which I refused to go to the altar), my body felt limp beneath my lifted hands. I sang aloud praying inside mouthing words of worship. Oh Lord, I beg of you...help. And yet I still refused to approach the altar as we began a second round of singing. Fear of a let down much like that mornings altar call, inwhich I practically ran to the platform with conviction and then left with even more condemnation, kept me paralyzed at my seat.
Then through the silence, wringing my hands tightly under my chin, a voice spoke the words of the Lord..."-and I will help you in every situation your in"...at that very moment I knew: it was time to talk to Pastor.
After service I watched as Pastor spoke with various church members and I slowly made my way to the platform waiting for my turn. My palms sweat, my heart raced, my mind seemed blurred.
"Pastor, do you think we could talk?" I finally choked out.
"Yes, ofcourse." he said looking around, "Can it wait it minute though? I have few people I need to talk to".
"Oh yeah, take your time, really, I'm in no rush," and I stepped to the side waiting down the minutes. I tried distracting myself with light conversation slowly stepping into the circle of girls. I followed their words with a smile and even managed to fake a laugh at appropriate times; then he came.
Sitting on stage, starring out my knees, I poured out my soul. It didn't take long for the tears to come flooding out and for my voice to begin cracking between breaths. After I layed out what appeared more like a confession rather that a query, I looked up to see Pastor struggling to suppress a smile.
"Don't feel condemned" he said.
"Just don't?" I asked.
"Just don't. You know what you did, you know it was wrong; you've repented and taken care of it. You won't do it again, so don't worry about it. Just don't." he said, this time sporting a no longer concealed smile.
"Thank you Pastor." I said and walked off the platform with new alleviation. My first target was ofcourse the strategically placed box of tissues, and my second, the bathroom where I splashed cool water on my flushed cheeks. All I could do was sigh with closed eyes as the cold water trickled down to my collarbones...Oh Lord, thank you. Thank you a million times backwards. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Almight God, thank you.

Rather than dealing with my condemnation head on I decided to stash it under my mattress where it built and built, soon becoming the size of a small elephant. There's no shame in talking to my Pastor, even if it was infront of half the congregation miggling between aisles.


There's much more to my eventful weekend, joyful things that I want to tell you about so bad, but my fingers are a tad tired so I will have to save the fun stories for another time.
But for now, too-da-loo.
-Toby K.

Favorable Sunday Afternoon

Today I spent the day at the park. After church I came home, changed into something more comfortable, and wandered over to the park a few blocks away from my house. Tthere were no more than 10 people there (a mom and her children, a few resting basketball players, and a couple stray teenagers) but they didn't stay long so before I knew it I had the park all to myself. I took the time to do some writting and then b-lined it to the swings. I spent 20 minutes swinging back and forth starring up at the planes floating by overhead. I'd close my eyes and arch my back flying towards the sky and then bounce into the seat as gravity sent me hurdling backward, my hair rushing past my face. After coming to a slow stop I found a nice shaded spot in the grass, put on some tunes and fell asleep right there in the park. Even after I was awake I still layed there watching the clouds move in and out of motion. Eventually I stood up from the grass, grabbed my stuff, and set on the adventure back home, it was a short adventure but an adventure at that.
Today the hours were slow and I still have two more to fill, but those few hours alone at the park were pure bliss. They made my Sunday worth something nice.

Here's one of the pieces I wrote at the park:

Natalies Dance
She patterns herself with reds and blues and oranges and violets and maroons.
Her blonde curls bouncing with the summers breeze.
Dangling limbs gait across weeds and dandelions.
Her arms stretch out far beside her as she runs,
head hanging down watching her bobbying shoes.
Radiance finds home in her laughter,
and she favors us with it often.
Carefree, beautified, and contentful, all show themselves in her,
coming out in every fluid breath and moment.
The world waits on her shoulders,
shyly she whispers to it- "knock-knock",
and she giggles.

-Toby K.

The Bones We Were

When the dead hear the bones begin to rumble beside,
They will arise, arise.

When the dead see their armor fashioned and polished,
They will arise, arise.

When the dead begin to be called away by name,
They will arise, arise.

When the dead stand before their Creator, the King,
They will arise, arise.

When the dead become the redeeemed,
We will arise, arise.

-Toby K.