Stumble. Read. Repeat.

Apparently, on October 5th, 2014 I posted a post on this here blog. I forget pretty much everything I write (that’s why I write it down…), so when I came across this I was pleasantly surprised. I just like it and am appreciative of my past self for writing it. So, since I haven’t been writing anything of interest recently, I decided to revisit this. It could use some editing… but I’m not gonna do anything of the sort right now.

When the world…

Has forgotten you
Has turned you upside down
Has spat you out and spit on you
Has abused and used you
bated and switched you
hated and cursed you
Maimed you in the attempt to tame you
Given you rocks in place of food
And salt in place of water
When they have forsaken you
When they’ve crushed your hands
Your voice no longer sings
They stole your voice
And sang curses in place of your beauty
Your metamorphosis feels incomplete
You ask…
Was God really there?
Is He even here?
Does He even care?

Know that I am always alone
A perfect picture of a well known meme
Yet I sense Him still
Know that I have been maimed
I was tame for a time
Know that I have been cursed
I cursed those around me
Yet now He stills my heart

All I know now is love
If you cannot believe in my God above,
At least believe this

I love you, and I always will
The love I love you with is from God alone
For without His love in me
I am as cruel as they come
Cynical until my previous life’s final breath
Broken and rusted and black with sin
Until I drowned in His red blood
I asked for Him to take all of me and do with me as He willed
And In the midst of giving my life to Him
I found my strength diminish
My human soul failed
My heart ceased to feel
I was in a ditch
I was alone with only a Bible and my emptiness
I only wanted to curl up and die
In this moment He gave me hope
He filled my heart with His love
Rebuilt me from scratch
Gathered the broken pieces
glued them together with His own words
All that remains is His love
I would have it no other way

So, if you cannot believe in my God
At least know this
I love you
I love you with His love and thanks to Him


So, I have a few expletives/curses/stuff that I want to make part of my vocabulary, but, unfortunately, I’m pretty laid back and don’t use expletives very often. (For example, yesterday I drove around a curve way too fast and hit a patch of ice and did a 180, my car getting stuck in a giant pile of snow on the side of the road. My reaction: “Oops, my bad.”) So, I’m posting the expletives online in the hopes that SOMEONE will start using them.

  • Turd (I have a whole poem about this one)
    • What the turd
    • Son of a turd
    • Turdhole
    • Holy Turd!
  • Poo
    • Poophead
    • Poohole
    • Poophole
    • Poopity-poop!
  • Oh my heaven and God above
  • For the love of everything holy
  • Oh my good green earth
    • Shortened: Good earth!
  • What the scorching inferno?
  • For the hate of Satan

Feel free to add to this list. This is only the beginning.

-Katherine Z

The Love Asked For

For the past week or so, I have been considering something that God has really been laying on my heart and I just cannot seem to ignore it. In summary, it is a change of heart and perspective.

When I think about the various conversations that I have had with people about growing up with a schizophrenic mother, there are two very common responses: that must have been hard on you and I hope she gets better (whether through medication or a miracle, basically everyone hopes for this).

These two statements instill upon me that I am the victim and that the person in need of change is the mentally ill, not me. I’m fine. I’m stable. There is nothing wrong with me; only her. Only them.

But this is not right. The more I ask God to let His will be done in this situation, the more I realize that this isn’t about asking God to fix her: to balance the chemicals in her head or make it so she wants to leave the house or be willing to take medication or be a little less stubborn and actually listen and believe those around her who “love” her. This is about asking God to enable me to love her and be with her through her every mental and emotional state without asking her to be someone else. It’s not about an illness. It’s not about forced hospital visits, jail time or anti-psychotics. It’s about the time I choose to spend with her. It’s about the love I choose to have and give.

Sometimes I can’t get out of bed. Sometimes I’m stubborn and illogical, and I often make ridiculous statements or let my confident tone get ahead of itself. Sometimes I’m suicidal. Sometimes I’m decently happy. Most of the times I’m emotionally stable. I’m always a bit strange. For someone to love me, they have to take all of this. I may grow up some and become a little more stable and probably less wise, but these things ingrained in my DNA will not change about me. Just as they won’t change with her. She has her ups and downs, they’re just a little different than mine. Her illness has yet to debilitate her and any dangers associated with it have been ruled out, so, when it comes down to it, she is mostly eccentric or withdrawn, and that is all. I know that she is not changing.

What will I do with all this information?

Will I choose to love all of her?

Or will I pretend to love her while I disregard pieces of her?

John 21:22:  Jesus said to him, “If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you? You follow Me.”

What is it to me what He wills for her? What is it to me if He wills for her to deny medication? What is it to me if He chooses to not change her very core: what He already created in His infinite wisdom? Why would I even ask that He change her? I am 50% her. Will I deny both myself and His creation?

I have been commissioned to follow Him. Not wonder about others or play victim or hope that someone else changes. Will I choose to be more Christ-like? Or will I continue to wait for the world to change?

-Katherine Z


Tired: Synonyms from

“enervated. Tired, exhausted, fatigued, wearied, weary suggest a condition in which a large part of one’s energy and vitality has been consumed. One who is tired has used up considerable part of his or her bodily or mental resources: to feel tired at the end of the day. One who is exhausted is completely drained of energy and vitality, usually because of arduous or long-sustained effort: exhausted after a hard run. One who is fatigued has consumed energy to a point where rest and sleep are demanded: feeling rather pleasantly fatigued. One who is wearied has been under protracted exertion or strain that has gradually worn out his or her strength: wearied by a long vigil. Weary suggests a more permanent condition than wearied: weary of struggling against misfortunes.

After much consideration, I have decided that I am weary of mornings and nights, above freezing days and car exhaust, scratches in walls, avoiding sugar, planning, and lifting shovels. It is not that I have had a downfall, that I could rant, or that I could even complain; it is that the more I accomplish over a few days, the more the realization that I am so far away haunts me.

Once I get a few more papers and essays done, I plan on being back here with regularity again! … But, until then

-Katherine Zellmer