Mood Ring

Here I am again, thinking you wouln’t look me in the eye if I came to you now
I walked in darkness, even though I knew, even though I knew what I was doing
I stopped and heard your voice, I felt your strength to stop, and still I pursued skin

Skin deep, I’m just skin deep  -  you woo me into your gardens, into your light
I celebrate this newness, the freshness of spring and promise that I will never
settle for nighttime again – that I will always keep the light on

Yet here I am, stagnate because my ring of moods isn’t green
I don’t feel you, I don’t see you, I can’t hear you, I can’t smell you, taste you, touch you.
I suppose that is the result of sin – that’s the wedge that obedience to flesh creates

When my senses don’t acknowledge you, when nothing points to your existence and your faithfulness or your love – When I think I’ve overused your grace and depleted your resources of mercy, I am still.

I am still and know that You are I am and that the Great I am loves me. I am still and I know that I’m yours. I will trust in You , Lord and your will for my life – I know sin brings consequences – but I know that your love cannot be undone, it never fails, and it never fades from me. Your heart pumps for me.

 You do not sit on a swivel chair and spin it away from me, avoiding eye contact, too ashamed or upset by my unholy act to look at me. I fall and you cry out for me, “come back – that way is not safe; it will only hurt you. I love you!” You cry.

 My skin gets me high and then I plummet into the bottom of a cave called shame. I am too ashamed to come to you. I run from one master to the Other. I cannot have both. So I sit by myself and wonder, “how many days until I can come into His presence again? How many days until he will  like me again?”

Instead, I should come running to you, hair stuck to my wet cheeks, stumbling because I can’t see where I’m running because tears are so many, laces coming untied – I don’t care- dirt stains on my knees and elbows, knots in my hair, ratted clothes, tattered heart and tatted body. 

And there you are- arms that stretch from the east to the west, tears of peace and joy knowing that your baby is back, and safe, sad that the lesson was learned the hard way, but happy that it was learned and that baby is okay and home again. You bend down, gently pick me up, nestle me in the space between your shoulder and ear and rock me to sleep. “it’s okay, it’s okay, shh – you’re home my child. You’re home my precious Daughter. I love you forever. I love you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

That’s His love – it’s that big. 

The Horses Never Stop

Racing water -
like raging horses
They gallop down the rocks
They hit the ground,
with lullaby sounds
and the horses never stop

Oh sing your sonnet, valiant stallion
Paint the ground below
Prance in peace, my palomino
and the horses never stop

They race and rage, the horses
in a strong and brave descent
Rocks scatter 'neath their loaping,
on history they shall imprint

No saddles for palomino,
Paint and stallion, too
Instead walk the planks of cement
and just enjoy the view

The horses never stop

Unless,

Unless you wander in the winter,
when Sun is tired and unable
You then will find no raging horses,
they've retreated to their stables

The shine that inspires the gallop
has retired to the east
taking with it the encouragement
that motivates the beast

Soon again she'll circle back
and mother earth will begin to thaw
and the once subdued and retired mares and stallions
will rage from their cages - unbridled, reckless and raw

For a season, only for a time
But never forever

The horses never stop


By Katie Walker
June 16th, 2012

Inspired by and written about
MULTNOMAH FALLS
In Oregon

Help my unbelief, break my chains.

I am in bondage. I have worn these chains for many years.
I know what it is to be a slave to my flesh, to both love it and feed it,
 yet despise it.

God longs to free me from my chains and to set me on higher ground.
He only asks that I pray in faith; in fact, some things can only be done by prayer and fasting.

He can do exceedingly and abundantly more than I could ever ask or think.
He has done the impossible numerous times. He can do it here, too.
He delights in specific requests prayed with faith.



James 4: 2-3
"You do not have, because you do not ask God. When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures."

James 1:12
"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him."

Ephesians 3: 14-21
¹⁴ For this reason I kneel before the Father, ¹⁵ from whom every family^[a] in heaven and on earth derives its name. ¹⁶ I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, ¹⁷ so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, ¹⁸ may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, ¹⁹ and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
 ²⁰ Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, ²¹ to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Mark 9: 22-29
 “From childhood,” he answered. ²² “It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
   ²³ “‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.”
 ²⁴ Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
 ²⁵ When Jesus saw that a crowd was running to the scene, he rebuked the impure spirit. “You deaf and mute spirit,” he said, “I command you, come out of him and never enter him again.”
 ²⁶ The spirit shrieked, convulsed him violently and came out. The boy looked so much like a corpse that many said, “He’s dead.” ²⁷ But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him to his feet, and he stood up.
 ²⁸ After Jesus had gone indoors, his disciples asked him privately, “Why couldn’t we drive it out?”
 ²⁹ He replied, “This kind can come out only by prayer and fasting.”

Maturity, is that you?

I was none too excited last April,sitting in my adviser's office, scheduling the soon-to-be classes of the next semester. You see, I was told I had to take Personal Finance this semester. It sounds monotonous and like a headache, right? I was expecting it to be a total drag. Instead, it has taught me more real-world knowledge than many of my other classes. The classroom interaction along with the material we've covered has rocked my world. All of this to say, I have created a budget for myself and today I set up a savings account with the plan to monthly deposit a specific amount of money into it. Mom, your youngest child might finally be growing up.

On top of that, I gave blood today! Giving blood always makes me feel like a badass. The nurses administering the needles into my vein always start the procedure with, "if you need to look away, go ahead." Instead, I look that needle dead in the eye and say to it, with the telepathic powers that I possess, "you don't scare me." However, I always disprove my badass-ness when, after they've gathered the blood and removed the needle from my arm, I have to lie down for 20 minutes with ice packs and juice to keep from passing out. Oh well.

My favorite part of the experience was at the beginning when a small, cute, older Asian man was asking me for information. I was asked if I had been outside the country in the past 12 months, and answered "yes, Moldova in December of 2010." He spent ten minutes trying to find Moldova on the map while asking me at intervals if I was sure that was the name of the country.

Last but not least, it's the weekend! You KNOW you are maturing when you are excited for the weekend because it means you get to do your homework peacefully. God bless America.

Kiss Me, I'm Scottish

Seriously!  I don't kiss and tell about many things, but I'll make the exception here.
I'm Scottish!
I mean, I already knew I was; I've heard it through the grapevine.
However, there's something about figuring things out for myself that have always proved valuable and precious to me. Independent from the very beginning, I love discovering things all on my own. In fact, it's the only way I really learn anything. Since this past semester I have been fascinated with the idea of investigating my family history, my genealogy. Although I hope and pray that most of who I am comes from my mother's blood line and not my father's, ((God bless him)), I had this intense desire to research the Walkers first. Before this summer ever started I wrote it on my summer bucket list to, by the time the summer was over, have some research under my belt. Well, that hardly happened. My father, not the most talkative man to begin with, really didn't want to spend the extra few minutes on the phone to answer a few family questions. Upon asking for some history, all I got was a "mmmirdunnoughhhbyeeeughmm."
Anyways.. 

Here I am, in Freedom, Oklahoma visiting my old man. It's something that, if I'm completely honest, I haven't found any joy or peace in .. in a very long time. Somewhere along the line it became a duty as his daughter, a task as the recipient of his " I'm sending-you-to-college $$$."

May I mention that although I did not grow up here, except for four tiny years, I am "Oklahoma country" at heart. From my very soul, I love everything raw, free, natural and anything an original Creation of God. Call me crazy, but it speaks to me. It is beauty at it's finest, it's best. There is nothing, in my opinion, that shows the freedom and free spirit of Christ like a horse, loping, mane blowing in the wind; a look of fiery spirit, freedom and yet serene, gentle beauty in his face. Nothing quite as adorable as a furry little calf, beautifully shy, hiding behind his mommas legs. No sunset like a sunset in NW Oklahoma. No land, no matter what the drought has done to us, like the land my father, and his father, and his father, and his father have walked, watered, plowed, bled for, bled on, sweat for, sweat on and ran cattle on for years, for generations. So how I've been so wrapped in turmoil or whatever to miss the beauty around me or to neglect EXPLORING it on my OWN, I have no @#$%&*% idea. I'm so bewildered that I want to type the F word in all caps right here and right now... at least 12 times.


Regardless, here I am. And this time, I have stopped. Taken a few breaths. I feel at peace. I've participated in my own ways, ways that matter to me, around the ranch.. although I'm yet to wake up early. Shiz. (We'll try that tomorrow.) I've explored. I have dedicated time to running just to sweat in the Oklahoma heat, to walking around just to get a better feel of this Walker ranch, I've sat on the porch and just listened to the sounds of the LIFE all around me. Beautiful, beautiful life. Yesterday, I drove around in my favorite, and I do mean favorite, truck ever. Old Blue. I have no idea how old he is. He's dirty. And definitely out dated. AND I LOVE HIM.
Sooo.. Old Blue and I took a drive, hunting rattlesnakes of course. With none other than my Red Ryder (which will shoot your eye out, if you hadn't heard). We saw none. Which is proof God has a sense of humor; I never see rattlesnakes when I'm loaded but can't keep them away when I'm gun-free.

I found an old suitcase FULL of pictures, letters, memorobilia of my father from years and years ago. Precious, pure, beautiful. It's wonderful to see him in what may have still been his vulnerable years; years of his life before he was molded into the hard, crude, sometimes pain in the ass man he is today. Sometimes... ha ha. Who am I kidding.
I read countless letters he had written to his parents while in boot camp. Much to my surprise he does know how to write more than a one-liner. He wrote enough to fill up each card and sometimes filled up the back as well. I saw his vulnerability and longing for communication, human relationship, connection in his letters. I've never seen any of that in my dad before. I've never known him to long for or desire a relationship with anyone. It brought tears to my eyes. My father was not born an asshole. His father was an asshole. And probably my great grandfather. 

Psalms 112.
Generational curses and blessings are real; they exist.

"Blessed is the man who fears the Lord,
who greatly delights in his commandments!
His offspring will be mighty in the land;
the generation of the upright will be blessed."


 My father put up walls. Closed off his heart. Shut down emotion. Denied all  before they could reject him. I don't know when it started but I know it didn't start with him and I know it still goes on today.  

This makes my heart break for men; men whose papas were supposed to "answer their question" as John Eldredge states it in Wild at Heart.
Inside my dad is a little boy whose father didn't like him, didn't know what it was to love him unconditionally, pointed out the failures instead of the successes, hit instead of hugged, ignored instead of adored, stuffed him down instead of lifting him up.

I totally got sidetracked and off the point.
Before I get back on point, can I just say that, although I admit to stubbornly being too hard on the male species, I feel for them. I hate what fathers teach, and don't teach, their sons. It's heartbreaking. There is something about seeing a hurt little boy in a grown man's eyes that makes me want to hit the floor praying for all men... while simultaneously locating all the bad fathers out there and giving them an "Oklahoma how ya doin" from my rattlesnake hunting Red Ryder. "Say hello to my little friend!"

BACK ON TRACK:

(now that I'm tired of typing and what seemed super important earlier doesn't seem as important anymore....)

After talking to some family, a book was compiled with some family history in it many years ago. It takes us back quite a few generations.
(I found it yesterday. I've been hacking at the internet all day searching for information and records, as long as they're free. Screw you ancestry.com ... )

My father, Gary  Lane Walker, is the son of Leland Andrew Walker whose father was Jerry Simpson Walker. Simpson was the son of Andrew Nixon Walker who was the son of Jabez Walker. Jabez, according to my distant relative that compiled the book, is the farthest back the Walkers can be traced except for his father and grandfather, both named Samuel Walker, from Ireland.
However, the book does go on to dig deeper into the ancestry of Jabez's wife, Keziah Balfour Walker. Keziah's parents were Elizabeth Dayton and Andrew Balfour IV.
Andrew Balfour's father was Colonel Andrew Balfour V who came to the colonies with his brother James; upon hearing of the American Revolution stirring up, James made his way back to Scotland with a purpose if you know what I'm saying. However, my great great great great great grandfather stayed and fought and, as you can tell by his title, was a colonel in the American Revolution. They have made a whole website just for him... and by "they" I do mean some of my distant family out there that I didn't know existed and is even more obsessed with genealogy than I am. Colonel Andrew Balfour apparently had a few illegitimate children...from a few different women... and, I really got a kick out of this, they even had child-support back then. Andrew was made to pay ten pounds to a lady that was having his little chillun.
Later, Andrew was shot and killed.
The end.
You can't blame me when I say I wasn't excited to stop there with my family history.
I wanted to know more about these Walkers... after all,
"I am very proud of my daddy's name."  Right, Hank Williams Jr.?

Well, unless I am completely wrong and there are some Walkers out there with the perfect names and corresponding family members and birth/death dates... I have found FIVE MORE generations of WALKERS!
It does, however, mean that my cousin Della was wrong about some of our genealogy.

Jabez's father was Samuel. But Samuel's father was William H....
Actually, to make it faster/easier to type and read, here we go:

Jabez Walker
Samuel Walker
William H. Walker
Samuel Walker
James Walker
Robert Walker

There you go! Five names added to the list!
Robert was born anywhere from 1610-1630. Not very indicative, I know.
Native of Scotland, he was arrested for selling something illegally, hahahaha, and
somehow got to Ireland, where he started breeding like rabbits.
His son, James, was born about 1660 in Ireland is what I have read.
In 1718 he petitioned Governor Schute of Massachusets for permission to immigrate to the colonies. He and his six sons were granted permission and made their way here sometime in the 1730's. James son Samuel was born about 1694 and his son, William H.'s birthday could not be found (but I'm going to take the liberty of saying somewhere in the 1730's or 1740's.
His son Samuel was born in 1781 who begot Jabez, birthday unknown also, but married Keziah in March of 1834.

So, here we are, back to where the book left off.
I could be completely wrong on all accounts or I could be a genealogical genius and just uncovered my Scottish ancestors back another 200 years!
I'll go with option B.

Well, thank you for reading and being patient with my ever-distracted mind.
This genealogical genius is signing off.
I hope I spelled that right.
Good night.

"Perhaps those who are best suited for power are those who never sought it."

My childhood ended tonight. I have been able to journey through the beautiful stories of J. K. Rowling since the 3rd grade. Tonight, the last movie was released. There are no more books to await. No more movies to attend. Although I can always pick the books back up, which I am tonight, the story is still finished. Complete. Done. The End.

Severus, it's been awhile since I read the last book. I forgot how absolutly in love with you I was at the very end. You. Are. Wonderful. A part of me wishes James never caught Lily.

Neville, boy you grew up good. I love your heart and the hero you turned out to be. And the prophecy, which everyone always assumed was solely about Harry, did include you. You destroyed Voldemorts last horcrux.

Ron and Hermione, I can't imagine these books without you. I consider you friends.

Dumbledore, no words will do you justice. If there were any real Dumbledores in this world, it would be a better place.

The Weasleys, please adopt me. I love your family.

Luna, keep doin what ya do girlfriend.

Draco, you made me proud in the very end. Good job, buddy!

Voldemort, I'm sad you still never figured it out. Love. It never fails. Which is why you did fail.

Aaaand Harry,
"you wonderful boy, you brave, brave man!" Again, no words. Thank you for giving my generation someone to look up to.

For all you non Potterheads,
go ahead and make fun.
I would too.

Matthew 6:21

My sinful soul is counted free!