Tag Archives: life

A Big Stroke of Pride and a Little Touch of Grace

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Tonight Josh and I decided to try out the Midweek service at Willow Creek Community Church.  We were tardy so worship had already started.

Today I hadn’t managed to take a picture yet so I brought my camera and resolved to get that out of the way before we even sat down.  I paused at the back of the sanctuary, so as not to disrupt or distract anyone, and before I could even remove my lens cap I was reprimanded.  I think the woman came over to ask me a question but as soon as she saw my camera all she had to say was something like, “no pictures.”  Then she walked away.  Three things crossed my mind all at once:

  1. “In today’s age? I bet you someone is taking a picture with their iPhone right now.”
  2. “Ouch.”
  3. “I think I might just leave now.”

I was flabbergasted at her audacity to ask me not to take a pictures.  I honestly didn’t think cameras were forbidden anywhere but a few select places anymore, and I didn’t think Willow Creek (the land of escalators, a vast assortment of stage lights, electric guitars, and videographers) would be one of them.  It is the age of the smart phone.

Her words struck a big, “do not touch” Kaia button.  I don’t handle reprimanding very well.  I take it personally.

I was utterly crushed.  Now, you might be thinking, come on Kaia, grow some thick skin.  Well, I didn’t run out of the room crying and remain sobbing in the bathroom for hours and that is big for me.  Because, when I was a kid, if I EVER got reprimanded it was the end of the world.  I would stow myself away in my room, broken to bits, for hours.  Even when my parents repeatedly tried to coax me out of my crushing self-loathing I remained.  Am I sensitive?  I guess you could say that.

Now-a-days, I grit my teeth and let the parade of negative thoughts scream in my brain while remaining utterly silent on the exterior.

The rest of the service was tainted.  I tried to sing along with the worship songs but I couldn’t even open my mouth.  I tried to pray but I couldn’t focus.  I tried to listen to the message and, at best, I retained scraps.

I thought about leaving.  I had a somewhat sick, mild satisfaction when we did, indeed, exit the doors we had come through before “no pictures.”  An evil part of me was thinking, “good, I hope you think you deterred me from church.”  But, in fact, we just went upstairs to sit in the balcony because there was noticeably more space.

I literally spent THE REST of the service mulling over the whole situation.  I went through all sorts of waves of emotions ranging from self-degradation, self-loathing, bitterness, anger, alienation, and nothing.  I rehearsed several different versions of conversing with her over in my head, ranging from confrontation to blessing.  In the end, I just let it go.

This whole experience shed a lot of light into a lot of dark places in my heart though.  I was disgusted to find that, even though I grew up in the church and follow Christ faithfully, I was so quick to judge that woman and dismiss the church service.  And because of that I suddenly stepped into the shoes of a unbeliever stepping into the church for the first time.  I was horrified to think of that woman approaching a unbeliever that way.  She was the only person that uttered a word to me the whole hour and a half I was there and the best she had was “no pictures.”  Of course I know the church has problems and we are only people, but I know so many unbelievers who don’t know that and expect perfection of Christians. They, most likely, would not be forgiving or be willing to try a second time.  And I wouldn’t blame them.

As my range of thoughts and feelings rampaged around there were a few clear and good ones.

I contemplated what I might have done differently if I were that woman, knowing what I know now.  I would have either not bothered with the camera, I mean really, or I would have gone ahead and informed 24-year-old me, but I wouldn’t have kept my words so patronizing and curt; I would have explained why “no pictures” briefly and asked if I could help find some seating for the young couple.  My raging defenses would have been tamed if she’d shown a little love within the interaction.

I also contemplated myself and how irrationally my head was spinning.  It took some convincing and a little prodding from the Holy Spirit but I slowly realized that she was probably just trying to serve, to do her job, and if I were going to do mine and show the grace God so frequently gives me… well I would have to let the matter go, forgive and forget, and see if I can’t withstand crumbling underneath criticism so rapidly and thoroughly next time.  I became painfully aware of my own fault and I think its name is pride.

So, here’s to moving forward 🙂

Until next time,

Kaia Calhoun

P.S. And now I have to go take a picture 😉  And… if you haven’t already, check out my 100th blog post HERE!  There’s a little surprise waiting for you there (eh hem… a giveaway drawing).

Wednesday Words: Walking through a Desert

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Today my world suddenly crumbled beneath me.  I can’t specifically pin what started it but all I know is I suddenly, involuntarily succumbed to messy tears.  To say the least, nothing was going right and I was feeling significantly lack luster in my line of work.

I stumble outside, hop in my car, turn the ignition .. some whiny noises then the clicking sound of death.  She was not going to start.  I marched to our other vehicle and she hesitantly gave way to life.

I headed on my way to meet some girl friends at Starbucks while popping in at various establishments to accomplish some errands while in transit.  At none of these places did I get helped by anyone I’ve made friends with, nor anyone that was particularly kind; I realized later that was for the best because with my dam threatening to break a kind word would have meant my overflow.  So, I made it to the post office, the bank and Starbucks intact; however, I was slowly breaking and my last shred of will power almost crumpled while waiting for the barista to finish my hot chocolate.  The girls didn’t pay notice to me except for Erin who simply said she’d meet me back at their place because there were too many of us to fit at Starbucks.  Again, thankful nothing else was said because it surely would have meant my end.

I trudged to my car again and felt my face shattering along the way.  I hurried my fanny onto my driver’s seat, shut the door, and sobbed.  My phone rang and I proceeded to hastily blubber to Josh that I didn’t want to talk and I would talk to him later or something.

“But I kind of need to talk.”

“Fine, you can talk but I don’t want to so I’ll just listen.”

Of course, after he opened up about his trying day I was able to calm my inner storm enough to share my trouble with him.

I had to pop into UPS to drop a package off so we had a brief conversational interval and I’m fairly certain the other customer in the store and the clerk could tell I had been crying but I was all too aware there was nothing I could do about it.

When I got back in the car I spilled over again and was starting to reach hyperventilation.

I finally reached the bottom line of it all in our conversation, I was so lonely I felt sick and I was struck by the realization that with my husband out saving souls with their ministry my job of photography felt utterly meaningless.

It amazes me how, so often in our marriage, he knows just what to say.  This time he simply told me he understood and that he knows what it’s like to be walking through a desert.  He also said that it is always right after the dry seasons that God pours out the biggest blessings.

Since I had reached the hyperventilation level of blubbering I continued to sob until my emotions ran out.  A short walk and two long hugs later I could breathe easy again and sorrow gave way to an unmistakable rise in hope and thankfulness.

Now I am excited to see what lies at the end of this desert.  And, even though I live an out-of-the-ordinary marriage with my man on the road, I’m so thankful that the love we share is forever deep and that I have a husband who adores me, misses me, calls me often, and encourages me.  Today I count myself so blessed.

Musings of a Musician’s Wife: reflections on averting disaster.

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Those of your committed readers know I faces intense breast exams in the past few weeks.  By the end of the slew of them I was starting to ponder what such tests could lead to and what that problem would lead to.  All day Friday I awaited the call for my partial biopsy to come back.  It was 2pm and I had no word.  I momentarily slipped and my mind wandered into the abyss of disaster…

They’ll chop my boobs off and I won’t be able to nurse any children.  I am simply doomed to die.  I will have to sickly endure radiation until I die.  I am going to cry at work.  I am going to have to leave work early when they tell me this so I can go home and cry.  I don’t have Josh to go home to and cry with about this.  I don’t have anyone to go home to and cry with.

I called the office and was put through to the voicemail of the Wendy who was apparently responsible for divulging such information.  I got calls from most of my family to comfort me and pray with me.  And I got one evil unknown call from a client, stupid me for thinking it was the doctor. It was  three more dreadful hours later before I got the call.  Everything is fine.

Musings of a Musician’s Wife: encouragement

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This morning was marked with repeated alarm snoozing and peering at Sam’s excited dog eyes waiting only inches from my face.  I was stuck in one of those unbreakable sleepy stupors, the kind that is unbreakable because you mind is yet unwilling and not wanting to greet the day.  On those mornings I can often will myself enough to roll over and open my email and Facebook on my phone.  I’ve found that the sudden use of mental faculties wakes me up and awakens excitement.  In my inbox this morning I read over a comment on one of my earlier blogs that was not just unexpected, but extremely encouraging.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I started this blog as a way to process this new life.  What I’ve already found is so much more!  So many encouraging words have shot my way and I am so grateful.  Friends, you give me hope and have delivered beaming smiles to my face even earlier than my face was prepared to receive them. Today it comes on an especially needed day as I am getting some important test results from my doctor.

A couple weeks ago I was conducting the exhilarating task of shelving paint at Sherwin-Williams when I noticed a moderately sharp pain somewhere under my right arm pit.  The next morning it was still there so I hunted around for the source of the pain, which I assumed to be a knot.  Instead I found this yucky feeling mass on top of my breast. That same day I awoke with the most terrible allergies that I haven’t had before and I haven’t had since.  I went hunting for any medication to tame them so I could work in peace and I found Benedril.  That fast acting drug swept over me like a snuggly, fuzzy baby blanket and knocked me right out for a couple hours, fortunately not before my manager told me to take the day off to rest up.  I definitely don’t consider the pain in my breast and the debilitating allergies to be a coincidence because that day I was able to get into the doctor.  He told me to see a specialist.  I saw the specialist on Tuesday.  She did the general feel up then concentrated her fingers where both Dr. Fojtik and I had.  One unrevealing ultrasound later she said “partial biopsy” and the next think I know she’s poking me with an unremarkable needle saying “local anesthesia.” My mind screams and then my body starts quivering and my eyes shoot wide open at the site of her next object for operation.  It’s a massive needle, several inches long and the widest I’ve ever seen, and there is some sort of plunging device on the other end.  She says, “you shouldn’t feel a think, maybe just some slight pressure.”  She inserts the sadistic device into my unfeeling boob and starts plunging the device around inside.  Then another time.  By the end she’s saying I can change into my clothes and head to the front and that I should get a call with results on Friday.  I shakily sit up and head for my bra and shirt but have to grip the bed to maintain sure footing.  I reach my belongings and look down the once sexy piece of anatomy and verbally apologize to my inanimate and numb pice of fatty flesh, “I’m sorry little boob.”

I have bungee jumped over the NIle in Africa and been mugged but that was the scariest thing I have ever been through.  Not to mention, the word sexy will never escape my lips on behalf of my right breast ever again.

Musings of a Musician’s Wife: where things are broken

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In a land where things are broken I cannot help but want a future where things are not.  The pull switch for the pantry gets jammed just about every time I try to use it now.  So I stand there pulling until it gives or just walk away hoping it will solve itself.  The refrigerator makes an epic grinding sound every time it’s relaunching the process of refrigeration and bow out with an almost musical succession of clanks and thunks.  The internet, although actually new, phases in and out consciousness as though its trying to keep up with the general mode of dysfunction in this home.  There is no airconditioning and only three of our seventeen windows open.

I just finished taking the dogs for a walk.  They managed to poop three times each, that is a lot of doggie bags.   I like to walk in the mornings between 7 and 10 because I only see a couple people.  If I go in the afternoon or evening there are a whole slew of eyes saying lustful things about me.  I do not even go at night for fear I will not come home the same, or at all.

Despite this though, I do admire the charming older houses I pass.  My favorites are a quaint, yellow box one and a brick cottage on the corner.

This brings me back to wanting unbroken things.  I dream of a house of my own where if things are broken I can fix them and reap the benefits of that.  I dream of a house where I can have a vegetable garden in the summer and a greenhouse and chickens and fruit trees.  I want to live sustainably.  I dream of a house that I can have my design on every inch.  And I dream of a house with an acre sized plot that is fenced or in a quiet enough place for the dogs to run free without my envisioning them being plastered to the pavement out the front window.

But I have to wonder, are such dream only worldly desires?  Are they desires of my heart that are worthy of being granted or am I being selfish.  After all, I am a musician’s wife and a photographer.  Perhaps our finances will never spell out “house.”  But after getting all of this our into the cool, fresh air after the rain I feel I am most thankful that my life has managed to spell out “dogs” and “husband” and “employment.”