3 AM

My face was pressed deep into my pillow, and my hands that had been tucked under it were clutching a vibrating phone. I blinked once, then twice into the darkness, inhaled deeply. My body was in the same position it had fallen asleep in, and I felt warm. I was still in the midst of  realizing I was awake when I heard crickets outside my open window singing to the moon, eclipsing the faint, dying life of my dreams.

Oh, a phone. My phone.

At that time of night, my brain couldn’t reason that it was an indecent hour, and that I wasn’t obligated to answer. So I did.

I groaned when the light from the screen hit my eyes. Charlie.


I brought the phone to my ear.


“Kat, you awake?”


“Sorry it’s so late.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I murmured.

There was patch of silence. Then a quiet, “Kat?”


“I . . . need to see you.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, I mean, could you?”

I rolled onto my back and gathered my thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“Nothing, it’s just this girl.”

“Oh. Who?”

“I think I love her.”

“. . .”


“Yeah. I’ll meet you underneath the tree.”

“Alright, see you in a bit.”


“Thanks, Kat.”

And I turned my head back into my pillow, this time to suffocate the tears.

I miss chocolate

I posted for 30 days. I finished what I started, just like I said I would, and it feels so good.

I think I’ll join an ultimate frisbee club, start rock climbing, and go to Utah and hike some mountain. Maybe then I’ll convince some people to hop on a plane with me and backpack Europe, but only after I dread my hair.

I’m seriously considering it. The hair part. Well, all of it really, but the hair would be the natural first step. But I kinda like my hair long and soft. Decisions, decisions…

I will make a list of things I can do that are impressive:

  • I know how to spin on a spinning wheel
  • I play piano and read music
  • I’ve done some beekeeping
  • I can garden
  • I have an impressive speaking vocabulary, and a decent reading comprehension.
  • I really like cats. A lot.
  • I can eat a lot of bread
  • I never get motion sickness
  • I have impeccable taste in movies and flowers

There, I think I got it all. Now for a list of foundwantings:

  • I can’t swim
  • I don’t ever get up early unless I have to for work
  • My spelling is abysmal
  • I’m not very good at making pancakes
  • I always feel like I’m doing everything wrong
  • I procrastinate
  • I don’t like the TV show The Big Bang Theory
  • I use too many commas
  • I forget everything, and I don’t forget anything.
  • I don’t have any friends in Seattle

Tonight has been quiet. I’m a nanny, now. I’m going to buy a camera so I can take soooo many pictures of my exciting life. Or be ready when it gets exciting, which will be soon. I have been so lonely of late. Not much has changed, but I’m starting to remember how it was like when I was going to college and friends were everywhere. Heck, I had to take off hiking 2 or 3 times a week to recover from all the people time I was indulging in, like too much chocolate. But lately my life has been full of sucking on carrots, and I miss it. Chocolate, that is.

This blows.

This blows.


So here’s to being nice to people and making new friends by actually doing things like ultimate frisbee and rock climbing. Where the heck do you even meet people, anyway? My job isn’t a good start, and I’m new at my church, not to mention I don’t even know if they have people my age there. But, Hey! God is the God of small and large things. I’ll keep you all posted on my friendship status. Because all I really want is to meet people who love and serve Jesus, so maybe I’ll start there.

I’ll just love and serve Jesus, and then look up to see who’s around when that happens.












Those were the days

I was listening to This American Life the other night. The topic of the week was middle school, and they interviewed an 11 year old boy who had just begun attending. Middle school sucks. I know that, and I’ve never been; that’s how bad it is:

Boy: “It’s harder to make friends now. It’s easier when your younger, but it’s harder now.”

Host: “Why do you say that?”

Boy: “When you’re older you judge people more, what they look like, stuff like that, and it’s harder. But when you’re younger you don’t think about that, you just meet someone and you’re friends.”

And I experienced the most poignant of moments where the crevices of some of life’s mysteries are suddenly illuminated, and you remember.

I say remember because I was young once. There was a time when I was knee high to a grasshopper, and I understood the world better. The world and I are better acquainted now, but that’s the catch; I can’t forget the things I’ve learned to judge. Nobody my age comes up to me in a public place, does something funny and ends up being my pal for the day. What I would do to have one day back as a kid and to remember how it was to boldly enter a sea of other faces, being confident that someone would be my friend no matter what. We would do everything together, because that’s what friends do. We would ignore the fact that the other chews loudly, or seems to suffer some sort of colorblindness that is revealed in their fashion choices, or if they’re ugly, or if their parent’s are poor. Because, heck, they don’t take a moment to notice those things about you, because you’re both mutually oblivious to the tiers of social standards that will soon eclipse your adult years. I remember having the nerve to walk up to people and be friends with them.

I think I was a lot wiser when I was small. . . not in the sense of the wisdom you gain from experience, or pain, but that wisdom that allows you to believe good things without exception. That people are fun. That they would never intend to hurt you, or do bad things. Believing someone else enjoys you just as much as you enjoy them.


Day 30 (Giving thanks)

My brother, John, wrote this shopping list for my mom.

At first I tried to figure out why olives are at the very top because who needs olives for Thanksgiving? People kept talking about it all day, and I couldn’t figure out why, and they told me it was just because people like…olives. People that are not me. But I’m glad they’ll make somebody happy.

And I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what MS meant. MS? The disease. What?

“Maple Syrup,” John said matter-of-factly.

Maple Syrup will forever in my heart be called MS. Forever.

And as I admired the interesting doodles that accompanied ‘the list,’ and I listened to the Christmas music my dad holds off from playing until November (Oh, Nate King Cole. I will be yours truly, always), and made pie, and found myself in the middle of a mini LaBrasseur Family Reunion, losing to my 8 year old brother at chess, winning against my 18 year old brother at Peggle, laughing hard with my sister (who’s one of the only people that gets me), and welcoming said sister’s fiance into the huddle as I challenged him to eat three mandarins simultaneously, which he accomplished with aplomb (not), and at fudge and ice cream, and played backgammon with my old man, prayed with my mom…

What is there to be said when words cannot suffice? How do I articulate such intangible things as receiving a hug from your big brother, or pressing out pie crusts with your dad, and being happy? Life hasn’t been easy this past year. I could fill tomes with my words, but they need not be said. No one needs to read those; they need to know that God is good, and that he loves us– that I’m waiting to go home. To enter the gates of Glory where God will catch all my tears in palms that could contain all the oceans, call me by name with a voice that birthed the stars in the heavens, and come home.

But, for today, I can wait.

We will shop for olives and Maple Syrup, play endless games of Apples to Apples, and we will wait. And today I will find joy in the gift of a thankful heart.

Day 29 (An incomplete list of small pleasures)


  1. Being the first in line at the stop light
  2. That time I used the bathroom at a restaurant, and they had 20 different kinds of soap at the sink
  3. The moment you wake up to a bed that’s the perfect temperature
  4. Finding recognizing a star constellation
  5. The action of my fingers sinking into the keys of a grand piano.
  6. Letting balloons go
  7. Old school licking a stamp and sticking it to your letter
  8. Little baby rabbits with ears that drag, and fly up into the air when they hop.
  9. Laughing about the sound straws make in their lids with your little brothers in McDonalds. We totally lost it.
  10. Meeting little girls named Lucy.
  11. Grilled cheese sandwiches
  12. Taking a nap. A long one.
  13. Surprise company.
  14. 12 oz. Chai tea latte with 2 pumps hazelnut
  15. Buttoning buttons
  16. Dealing the perfect amount of cards during a game
  17. Cherry hardwood floors
  18. A man in a good suit
  19. Finishing a book
  20. Reading words in another language
  21. Reading music
  22. Shooting a rifle.
  23. Picking berries in the hottest weather
  24. Hiking for miles and being greeted by the ocean at the end
  25. When a strange dog is happy to see you
  26. Facebook notifications
  27. When your driving is complimented
  28. Keeping a plant alive
  29. Tiny spiders
  30. Winning at Monopoly



Day 28 (Flash Fiction)

What secrets they whisper behind closed doors, drawing the curtains to check the pathways of light;  they think darkness inspires health, but I feel my spirit repining in these shadows. My breaths come at a dearer price every time. The clock strikes 11 in the mourning. I notice the rooster has finally stopped crowing, and I wait. And he comes.

He stands at the foot of my bed. His cloak is black, and inside is blacker. I cannot discern his face. I sigh as he sits by my bedside, kneeling over me as I feel smooth, gloved fingers grasp my own, the weight of the fabric from his sleeve resting on my waist. All other noises die away, all the hushed worries and pitying eyes. Only him.

“She will die.”

I shiver. His voice is older than the stones that fill the hills. A strangled sound escapes my throat. I compose myself, murmuring, “No.”

“Yes,” He says, unflinchingly. “What can you think to argue? You cannot deny me, so I will take her.”

My heart runs cold, for I know He never leaves empty handed. I clutch my little on in my arms, press her closer to me.

“Me. Take me.”

He grows very still. His thumb runs absently inside my palm, following the lines, as his hooded face gazes at the child I have barely known.


“Yes,” I breath. “Yes.”

Very carefully he bends over, pulls back the hood and kisses me. For a moment, half a moment, I am captivated by death.

And then I am gone, and there is nothing.

Day 27 (Tribute to Shell Silverstein)

I wonder what happened

To the boy in the hat

After he sprouted those wings

And flew up in the sky

And flashed a bright smile

As he waved a goodbye

And his mother shrieked loudly

It sure hurt my ears

And she ran down the street

In those heels

Drenched in tears

As her dear baby boy

Decided to fly

And just left



What is there to say

When she pinches your cheeks

And corrects your bad grammar

Dresses you up

And forbids you to play?

So Mikey took off

Never did see him again

And us other kids wondered

and pondered

And dreamed

Of growing some wings of our own

And fly, freed.