Katherine Wolf's Blog

31 DAYS OF WEARING ONLY ETHICALLY-MADE DRESSES, WHILE IN A WHEELCHAIR, NO LESS, HAS BEEN A CHALLENGE! WILL YOU SUPPORT THIS "DRESS-A-THON" BY DONATING TOWARD OUR GOAL OF SCHOLARSHIPING 5 FAMILIES WITH DISABILITIES TO HOPE HEALS CAMP?!

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GET ALL THE DETAILS ON THESE FAIR TRADE DRESSES AND CLOTHING BRANDS AT WWW.COMMUNELLE.COM!

In June 2017, nearly 450 people participated in 2 weeks of camp, coming from 19 states, representing 20 types of disabilities, ages 3 months to 73 years old. 

Hope Heals Camp was harder but better than we coud've imagined--a slice of heaven that changed our lives.

We can't wait for next year (details below), and we'd love for you to join us or help us bring families with disabilities to camp for FREE by making a tax-deductible donation...we can't do it without you. Thanks friends!

DONATE HERE

MORE INFO & APPLY TO JOIN US at www.hopehealscamp.org

MAKE A TAX-DEDUCTIBLE DONATION HERE
* HOPE HEALS IS A 501(C)(3) NON-PROFIT (FEIN: 46-2623503). ALL DONATIONS ARE TAX-DEDUCTIBLE.

- Donate via CREDIT CARD or BANK TRANSFER, HERE.

- Donate via CHECKS made to "Hope Heals" and mailed to P.O. Box 1183, Culver City, CA 90232.

- Donate STOCK or EQUITY GIFTS by emailing jodi_watson@ml.com with "Hope Heals" in subject line or calling 706-552-2090

<> STORIES OF MINISTRY IMPACT FROM AROUND THE WORLD..

"This was my dream come true."

- 7-year old Hope Heals camper Josie, who has CP, after singing "Jesus Loves Me" in the talent show and getting a standing ovation.

"A very dear friend gave me 'Hope Heals' at the lowest point in my life...At the time, I wasn't even sure I believed in God. Throughout that month I clung to you and Hope Heals as if you and it were a life preserver. You may have saved my life and I know you saved my soul by turning me back towards God!"

- C. B.

"Lately I had been struggling with why me and even experiencing suicidal thoughts and self harm but your story [at the Passion Conference] changed my life. You gave my life purpose again, gave me so much hope! You gave me material to combat the negativity of my peers. Since hearing you speak I have a whole new outlook on life!"

- J. W. 

"I'm a missionary in Cambodia. I have 3 children and have been battling illness, disappointment and feelings of failure, but lying in my bed in the heat I've read your book and been moved by our savior to trust him even when I can't understand what I see."

- Z.N.

" We were among those honored to be in attendance last evening as your presented God's incredible story of shaping, redeeming, restoring and healing the brokenness you have experienced the past several years...To say that we were deeply, profoundly moved is a gross understatement. We laughed, we cried, we prayed, we praised God who gives such gifts and such grace to men and women as has been given to you both...Thank you both for a truly unforgettable message of healing and hope; so many who are so weary so greatly need to hear what you have to share."

 - S. H.

* LOVINGLY DESIGNED BY Alex Wolf // The Delighted People

Friends, this past week we had a our 2 LARGEST SPEAKING OPPORTUNITIES yet at the Passion Conference (to 55,000 18-25 year olds) and on Focus on the Family Radio (to 5.5 million listeners)!

WOOHOO! What a sweet start to the year. More good things to come. Thanks for your support, always! You can watch/listen below...

CLICK PHOTO TO WATCH OUR SEGMENT...

* YOU CAN DOWNLOAD ALL 6 SESSIONS OF PASSION 2017, HERE. THE SPEAKERS, MUSICIANS AND SURPRISES ALL MADE IT AN UNFORGETTABLE EXPERIENCE!

CLICK PHOTO TO LISTEN TO ENTIRE INTERVIEW...

MAKE A TAX DEDUCTIBLE DONATION TO HOPE HEALS
* Hope Heals is a 501(c)(3) NON-PROFIT (FEIN: 46-2623503). All donations are tax-deductible.

- Donate via credit card or bank transfer.

- Donate via checks made to "Hope Heals" and mailed to P.O. Box 1183, Culver City, CA 90232.

STORIES OF MINISTRY IMPACT FROM AROUND THE WORLD...

“God placed your story and your words in my life at just the right time. My husband and I found out we were pregnant with our second child at the end of June. We [...] found out last week that there was no heartbeat. We are so sad, but [...] thankful for this life He gave us, if only for a little while. I read Hope Heals through the entire journey, and your encouragement, perspective, and dependence on God were pivotal to shaping how I would respond to our own circumstances.” - E.H.

“I am 27-year-old female living in the country of Georgia in Eastern Europe. I just wanted to tell you how you and your story touched my heart. I have witnessed a generational gap in the Christian community […] and a lack of young leaders like you and your husband who can touch hearts of the younger generation in such a profound way. Your amazing humor, openness, free spirit and intelligence with such a unique story of great faith will encourage many young people! Thank you and your husband for doing this great work.”  - N.T.

“I was fascinated by your recovery as some of it is so personal to what I want to dedicate my life to. More than your medical story, your story of faith and hope struck a cord with me. I grew up in a Christian household and when I began high school I started to move away from the church. My older brother has a significant communication impairment and as I became older I always questioned why God would allow that to happen. As you so clearly stated in your book ‘God doesn’t make mistakes.’ So much of what you said in your book resonated with me. It left me desiring a more personal relationship with Jesus and a community to help foster that.”  - S.B.

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Announcing HOPE HEALS CAMP! The NEWEST branch of HOPE HEALS ministry...coming SUMMER 2017. {ALL THE DETAILS BELOW...}  

CLICK IMAGE FOR MORE INFO...

Seasons Weekend has truly changed our lives. This intimate, spiritual retreat weekend is unlike anything we've ever experienced, and WE WANT TO SHARE IT WITH YOU! 

Thanks to a generous Seasons' donor, we're giving away 2 FREE TICKETS to the upcoming winter weekend (valued at $1,400!) over MLK weekend in Colorado Springs at the gorgeous Broadmoor Hotel!! I feel like Oprah -- WOOHOO!

ENTER BY FILLING OUT THE FORM BELOW...

The Broadmoor Hotel, Colorado Springs, CO

GIVEAWAY INCLUDES: event tickets for 2 people 2 nights at the Broadmoor (1 bedroom, 2 Queens or 1 King)  Friday night dessert, Saturday lunch, Sunday breakfast. TRAVEL NOT INCLUDED













































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Thank you!

I’m incredibly honored to be asked to share my story in a space where so many incredible people have been brave enough to open up about the immense and unjust suffering they have endured. I must preface up front that I am not one of those people. While I have experienced a fair amount of loss in my 35 years of life, I am not someone who is a victim of unjust suffering - I am the person who has caused it. 

 His name was Will and it was a seemingly ordinary Monday night in Los Angeles when our worlds and cars collided. I’ll never know if things would be different if I wasn’t paying attention to my phone. If I hadn’t had that wine with dinner. If they had only pulled their car out of the active lane of traffic when they ran out of gas…

I found out that night while in custody that he didn’t make it.  My whole world crumbled. He was the same age as me. He had a family that loved him immensely. From what I have learned about him, he was an incredibly talented and vibrant individual that people loved. And it was because of me that he was gone. 

I had taken a life. 

I didn’t think I could ever be capable of such a thing. I cared about people. I loved Jesus. I was a pastor’s daughter…

The years following my accident were unlike anything I ever thought I would be capable of enduring. As I dealt with grieving and processing the reality that I had taken a life, I was also out on bail facing a potential life sentence in prison. In addition, it was in those challenging months prior to my incarceration that my Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Ironically, the same deadly kind of brain tumor that had taken my mom when I was 17. It was Christmas Day at Chowchilla, my first Christmas in prison away from my family when I found out my Dadda had gone to be with Jesus.  

Yet even in the midst of the darkest of moments, God’s light could not be contained. In the depths of despair, He brought radical hope and illogical joy. In my most undeserving of moments, God’s hand of faithfulness, grace and mercy covered me undeniably.

If I ever questioned that God has a sense of humor, I became a fire fighter while in the big house (which was a pretty major career diversion for a girl that has worked in fashion her whole life!). It was this incredible answer to prayer that allowed me to serve most of my time at a women’s fire camp in Malibu, close to my family and friends. 

Today I am free, something I do not take for granted. I’m free in body as I’m no longer a ward of the state. I’m free in spirit because of the power of the Cross. Yet my life is forever intertwined with a man that I do not know, but who I will always hold close to my heart. I wear a Giving Key with the inscription “I Will” as a reminder of His life. I Will seek to honor Will’s life. I Will live with purpose and intention. I Will surrender my hopes and dreams for my life to God’s greater plan. I Will share our story.

{READ MELISSA'S LESSONS LEARNED, "THE ANSWERS"}

What was something that others did that made you feel less alone as you were going through the season of suffering? 

 They showed up. At every court case, they were there. As soon as I was allowed visitors, they came. Both friends and family flew in from across the country to be present when I needed it the most. They drove for hours to Corona, San Diego, Malibu just to be there. My sister was super woman acting as my “social coordinator” amidst her full time job as mom and a career. The out-pouring of love and support was so endless that there was not a single visiting day that I did not have a line-up of friends and family coming from near and far to see me. They brought feasts from all my favorite places. They brought tacky sweater parties. Cheese fests. Birthday cakes. Thanksgiving feasts. Glimpses of the outside world - of “real” life. They brought encouragement on the darkest days. They brought glimpses of hope. And while He was for not one moment absent, they brought Jesus. 

 

What is one thing you will never take for granted again?

 The small things. Being stripped of everything forces a new perspective. It is in the mundane that I am most struck by overwhelming gratitude. The ability to freely walk down the street. Going to the grocery store. Starbucks. Morning phone calls with friends. A Tuesday night dinner with my brother. Watching the sunset. Toes in the sand. Riding my bike wherever it takes me. 

There were a number of years - in the months that followed my accident and after I returned home - in which I did not have a license and my bike was my primary mode of transportation. Getting places wasn’t always easy, but I was able. In the time leading up to my sentencing, that bike took me from lawyer meetings to therapy appointments. To yoga and the grocery store. It took me to many beach cliff sunsets. Many days on that bike were spent with tears streaming down my face as wildly as the wind blowing through my hair. 

While it was challenging to get around, that bike afforded me the opportunity to engage in the outside world. It became so much more than just a means of transportation, it became a symbol of my freedom. 

And that is the heart of what my gratitude for all of the “small things” is really about. That they all point to a gratitude tied to something much deeper, something that I will never again take for granted - my freedom. 

What still made (or makes) you laugh, even in the midst of the deepest part of your suffering?

 The moments of levity - when you feel like you can barely breath and suddenly you are laughing while tears are streaming down your face. The God moments where you feel so defeated and consumed and God delivers a moment of the straight up absurd to carry you thru. 

 Case in point: Riding through the streets of Los Angeles on the day of my surrender, handcuffed to a bench. I tried to keep my face to the window to hide the tears falling down my cheeks as I stared through barred windows at the streets and places I’d driven for the past 12 years in freedom. Just as I thought I may not be able to suppress my sobs, the song “I’m in love with a stripper” came blaring through the bus speakers, much to the delight of all my fellow bus mates. It is pretty hard to cry when you have a bus full of soulful sisters jamming out to that one. Thank God for moments of humor. 

Is there a mantra/prayer/scripture/symbol/art/song that has daily helped you make it through each moment?

 "Day at a time."  The day that my accident happened, my world was shattered. Life would never be the same. I was out on bail, facing the possibility of life in prison, dealing with my Dad dying, processing the reality that I had taken a life. For the first time in my life I didn’t know if I could keep on going. The weight of it all felt like it was going to crush me. I didn’t know what my life was going to look like. I didn’t know how to continue on with life when I was responsible for taking the life of another person. Why did I get to live? Why not Will? 

Drowning in a sea of regret, despair, and grief, God gave me a glimpse of hope in the reminder that I didn’t need to have everything figured out - I just needed to trust Him one day at a time. At times when the waves of sorrow would crash over me, it was often one breath at a time. But in each breath, each step, each day, God was faithful. He brought me through a season I never thought I could survive, day at a time. 

Was there a turning point moment when you moved from the tragedy into hope? What helped this shift occur or was it more of a daily rhythm of choosing?

God provided continual moments of grace and glimpses of hope on the darkest of days, in the midst of the most heart-wrenching agony. But the break through moment in shifting from despair to hope took place when I started to accept what it meant to truly surrender. Below is an excerpt from one of my prison “blogs”, written on my 32nd day as inmate WE5363 from cell 46 of LA County Jail, my first stop as I waited for intake to the State Prison system. It is the story of the day in which I surrendered to the court to begin serving my time, but of a much more meaningful surrender that was taking place. 

Sunday, Oct. 21st 2012 (day 32)  

My eyes open to 2 realities this morning:

Diane is yelling at me to get up.  It’s time for breakfast.

I’ve survived a whole month here.  And 2 days to be exact.  But who’s counting?

It’s strange how time passes here.  Days become indistinguishable, one to the next, as they blur together in fast-forward mode.  Yet, minutes will drag on FOREVER, as if Father Time is hitting the almighty pause button in hourly intervals between each tick of the second hand.  And in the lapse of time that exponentially prolongs seconds into eternities, I’m no longer a newbie here, as I’m reminded by the all too familiar morning exchange between my bunkeeand me (and thus reinforced by the fact that I just used the word “bunkee”).  But in the way that days are swallowed into time’s vacuum, it was only yesterday that I was standing in court the day of my surrender.

The details of the day are all so fresh.  I close my eyes and I hear the clink of the bailiff hand-cuffing me and the simultaneous sob that comes from my sister.  I blink and I’m hugging Steve, my lawyer, now friend.  I’m turning around and clinging to the last glimpse of my brother and sister’s tear-stained faces.  I’m walking towards the door which marks the division between myself and freedom.  I’m searching for and connecting with the eyes of Will’s sister, his only family member present, in a final attempt to soothe the incurable pain that is locked in our stare, praying she can read the remorse in my eyes that the words I’m mouthing to her will never be able to communicate.  I’m stepping through the dreaded doorway, over the threshold where I lose it all.  And I’ve surrendered.  

    As I think over the day I just experienced, yet seemingly transpired in another lifetime, I’m reminded of the intense and equally contrasting emotions that the word, even just the thought of, surrender has evoked in me.  It began as just the name of an unknown date on the calendar.  The day when I forfeited all that meant something to me, gave up everything and everyone I love and walked away from my life.  The words “surrender date” rendered me powerless to the crippling paralysis of fear that would overtake my mind.

    I remember sitting on my therapist’s couch—cliché but true—and as the subject of the unknown day came up, everything inside me tensed.  She paused , and in a manner both gentle and matter of fact, pointed out what a freeing and beautiful word “surrender” is in the midst of a very scary and disillusioning legal process.  Obvious though it might be, it hit me like a ton of bricks. How I had let the all-consuming anxiety surrounding that day define the word.  And as I stepped back from the despondency I had allowed to take root, gradually, the truth in the meaning of surrender began to resurface in my mind.

 To let go. To release control.  To give it all up.  ALL of it—the good and the bad.  NO more clinging, NO more grasping.  Palms up, to borrow the words of a wise man named Bob (we’ll call him a friend for practical purposes, I don’t think he’ll mind).

So, as I walked through the court doorway that marked my claiming and watched it close behind me, counter-intuitive as it may be, there was something freeing in the act.  Though it will forever be one of the hardest days I’ve made it through thus far, the fear of all the loss was replaced by a peace that doesn’t logically register.  I was there in physical submission, but the true surrender of heart, that no man can dictate, had already taken place.

Waking each new morning, I’m reminded that surrender is not just a singular action, it is a life-long process.  Daily there are new fears and worries:  When do I go to Chowchilla?  Will I be housed with the same people there?  Will these arms comply with fire camp training and even be able to do ONE pull-up?  What news will be waiting on the other end of the line when I call home TODAY??  Will I ever again see my Poppa in this lifetime???

Conversely, there are new hopes and dreams to release to the heavens as well:  For the appendages I’ve carried with me throughout life, otherwise known as arms, to do the unthinkable and sprout functioning muscles. For the pneumonia to be gone from my Dad’s body so he can continue to fight the brain tumor.  To be able to sit at Malibu fire camp holding my Poppa’s hands as we visit and eat REAL food.  For MIRACLES.  

As I’m reminded by day 32 of the mile-markers that 24 hour intervals serve, I pray for the continued ability to daily let go.  To surrender all, day at a time, because I know how senseless it is to grasp and cling in the illusion of control.  And so I open my hands, palms up, and release all I’ve got that isn’t mine to hold into Greater Hands.  Hands that receive it all and hold everything securely.  My hopes.  My fear.  My Poppa.  Our futures.

All to Jesus I surrender, all to him I freely give, 

I will ever love and trust Him, in His presence daily live.

I surrender all.  I surrender all.  All to thee,

My blessed Savior, I surrender all.

What was one of the greatest miracles that you kept you going in the midst of your deepest suffering? 

It was Christmas day. My first Christmas as an inmate when I got the news. I was sitting on the linoleum floor of my prison dormitory common area having a Christmas party with some new friends. We ate nachos with top ramen on them and “prison cheesecake” made of powdered coffee creamer and sprite (where there is a will, there is a way). I remember being so grateful for the sweet moment with new friends in the midst of such a scary time, but being so crushed to be away from my family - especially my dad, who was so rapidly declining. Shockingly enough, it was not the brain tumor that was the main concern, but the pneumonia that had overtaken his frail body. 

I remember the guard walking up to our small circle and calling my name. I didn’t want to admit it was real, but I knew it was. Shaking and sobbing in the cold office of the kind, empathetic lieutenant, I called home to confirm the news from my brother - he was gone…. My poppa had gone to be with Jesus. 

In this life, I was never going to see him again…. I could not imagine any greater devastation. 

Then I was told I would not be allowed to attend his funeral. I was shattered. 

At first I was resigned to my powerless state. I was an inmate, afterall. Although it went against every fiber of my being as my fighter-of-a-momma’s daughter, I tried my best to accept my reality. Thankfully that did not last for long. 

As part of my “welcome to prison warming package”, they had given me a handbook called the “Title 13”. My counselor assured me that although I was a prisoner, I had rights - my Title 13 outlined them all. So I started reading. 

It was 2 days before my Dad’s funeral that I marched into my counselor’s office with that prison bible and showed her the exact clause that challenged her reason for denying my right to go to my father’s funeral. 

While I fought my hardest from the inside, my amazing brother and sister had the prison warden and everyone on her staff on speed dial. They were relentless in advocating for me. 

On the morning of my Dad’s memorial service at Bible Fellowship Church in Ventura, CA, the church he pastored faithfully for 16 years, I was there. With my hair curled in toilet paper prison curlers, I was able to stand in front of the multitude of people whose lives had been so impacted by the amazing man that was Roland Niednagel.  

I was there to share my love for the man who had given everything he had to be the most amazing father to me that he could possibly be. A man whose wisdom, kindness, love for Jesus and laughter could not be matched. One of my closest friends. I was able to be there to honor the life of the greatest man I’ve ever known. 

Talking to the officer that was my escort, in the 20+ years he had been working at the prison, I was only the second person he had every escorted to a funeral. In that time, he had only seen a handful of people ever be released to go. It had been over a decade since it had happened. For the duration of my time at Chowchilla, I was referred to by the guards as “the celebrity”.

While all logic and precedent said I should not be at my Dad’s funeral, God made a way. In a place and at a time when there appeared to be no hope, God’s goodness and mercy proved uncontainable. He gave me my miracle. 

I got to be there. 

{READ MELISSA'S STORY}