Our Adoption

Adoption is costly. Unfortunately, rescuing a child from poverty is not an easy task. It's costly financially and costly emotionally. But it's a price parents are willing to pay for their child(ren).

Likewise, our adoption was costly. In Ephesians Paul says, "God decided in advance to adopt us into His own family by bringing us to Himself through Jesus Christ. This is what He wanted to do, and it gave Him great pleasure." (Ephesians 1:6 NLT)

The price for our adoptions? Christ's death on the cross.  Yet our Heavenly Father (and His Son) were willing to pay that price. More than willing.

For us.

<>< Katie

(Journal entry dated 10-10-11. Posted in honor of National Adoption Month)

Communion

I was a little frazzled as I headed towards the front of church for communion. Our self-guided section turned into a mob rather than a line. By the time we half-organized ourselves, I was ready for body, blood, seat.  That fast.

I stepped to the front, held my hands out for the wafer, and looked up into the face of our senior pastor.  Pastor Mike stopped and looked back at me.

"They're letting everybody in today!"  He teased.

It's a joke I've heard many times over the last few years, but it still catches me off-guard every time.  I chuckle but my first thought is always, "This is a church; we should be letting everybody in."

To be confronted with this joke at the communion table helped me remember that I am not worthy to even be let in the door much less invited to approach the table of grace or enjoy the sweet taste of forgiveness.  This isn't a weekly ritual we do even when the lines turn into mobs... it's a beautiful gift purchased by the ultimate sacrifice.

Pastor Mike placed the wafer in my hand.  "Body of our Lord," he said.

In my hands I clutched the tangible reminder of that gift, that forgiveness, that perfect love that I am not worthy of.  The body of Christ given for me.  The body of our Lord--Pastor Mike's and mine.  We may not always agree yet share a common goal: to serve and honor Him.  Along with Christians worldwide, we share hope, faith, and forgiveness through Christ.  He's our Lord.

"It's good to see you," he said, smacking me playfully in the arm.

I was out of town for the entire month of October.  He noticed.  Thousands of members and he noticed my absence.  Billions of people on earth yet when we haven't spent quality time with the Lord, He notices.  Billions of people on earth and when we sit at His feet, He's glad to see us.

I ate the bread, drank the wine, and got lost on my way back to my seat.  Both literally among the sea of people and pews but also figuratively in the beauty of that moment I shared with the Lord.

Thankful for grace,
<>< Katie

Luch With Christ

My phone alarm rang: luch with Christ.

Yeah, that was really supposed to read "Lunch with Christa." Someone must have been in a hurry.

Yet that someone can't help but laugh at the irony. "Luchar" is a Spanish verb which means "to fight." While "Luch" isn't actually a word, it's similar enough.

Fight with Christ: 12:10.

As much as I hate to admit it, I fight with Christ.  And it's more than just at 12:10.

<>< Katie
In other news, Happy Reformation Day!

And Happy Deep-Breath Day... NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow and I'm participating for the first time. The idea is that you write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. So, I apologize if I'm more sparse on your dashboard, but "every word on your blog is one less word in your novel" (I forget who said that, but it wasn't me).

Also, I'm thinking about making some changes on my blog in the future, and I would love to hear your feedback.  What do you want to see more of?  Less of?  What haven't I done that you'd like to see?  What do you never want to see again?  You can post your feedback in the comments or email me at KatieAxelson[at]gmail[dot]com.  I promise, I won't hate you for being honest (at least not forever).

Glory in Tragedy

I don't think we could have fit anything else into this weekend had we tried.  A pasta dinner for 30 high school tennis girls, a baby shower (with two-week old baby), a graduation/ birthday party, a tennis quad, a family reunion, church, dinner out, and... the wake for a fourteen year old.

Her death was instant. There was no warning. There was nothing that could have been done.  It could not have been prevented.  Her life could not have been saved.  No one is at fault.

Yet a fourteen year old is dead.

In all honesty, I don't know how non-Christians cope with tragedies like this.  Even with hope and a loving God, it's hard to bury a fourteen year old who seemed healthy one minute and gone the next.

Is our God not a loving God who cares for His children? I don't just mean Emily. What about her family? Her parents? Her older sister? Her friends whose home she was walking home from? Fifty minutes worth of drivers who drove down that busy street without noticing her unconscious and not breathing on the sidewalk? Her classmates about to enter high school without her?

Tough questions.

But I believe Emily was not alone on that sidewalk. God was with her every step of her walk home; she just arrived at a different Home than would have been expected. Even though her body was kept breathing for two days, Emily was immediately delivered into the loving arms of her Creator.

The same God that cradles their precious daughter, holds tight to Emily's parents giving them the strength to host mourners in their home, the ability to make jokes and even laugh a little as the receiving line weaved through the funeral home and out into the parking lot. He holds their tears, their hands, and their hearts.

He will be glorified, even though this situation our human eyes see as tragic and incomprehensible. That is my prayer.

It’s the only thing I can pray.  And I was just a student, nine years ahead of her at the same school.

<>< Katie

Fear of Rejection

I've always struggled with fear of rejection.  Part of it comes from eight long years of middle and high school feeling like an outcast.

But overcoming the fear of rejection is more than having a place saved for you at the lunch table.  More than hearing the words, "Katie, we'd love for you to live in our apartment."  More than, "Will you go to the dance with me?"

It also involves a graduate school saying, "We see potential in her and want to grow her."  It's an employer saying, "We want her on our team!"  It's someone, anyone, saying "I believe in you."

Fear of rejection is still very real in my life, even if my name is shouted joyously when I enter the caf.  It still has a bigger hold than I'd care to admit, a bigger hold than I thought it did six months ago.

But in Christ I've found someone who says, "I believe in you."  I've found acceptance.  And it comes from the Creator of the Universe.  What more can one want?

Maybe I don't know what comes after China, but I am slowly learning to say, "It's going to be alright."  And do you know why?

Because God IS good.  ALL the time.

Even when it's hard to believe.  Even when you get seven rejections in five months.  Even when the world says, "She's not good enough."  Even when you're alone at the lunch table.

Freedom

Right now I'm reading The Heavenly Man, a nonfiction book recommended to me prior to my trip to China.  It tells the story of Brother Yun, a Chinese pastor who has faced heavy persecution for his faith and ministry.

I've lost track of how many times he's been arrested, and I'm only in chapter ten (of twenty-nine).  Every time he faces brutal torture, undying faith, and miraculous escapes.

In reading this testimony, I can't help but wonder what the church in the United States would look like if we had that kind of faith.  The faith where we'd be willing to face electric shock, starvation, and frigid temperatures all because we believe in God.  would we be found faithful or would we relent?  It's convicting.

But it also makes me thankful for what we, as Americans, have.  The persecution we may face is verbal slander and judgment not physical abuse and death.  We live in a country where we don't have to be afraid of our churches being attacked by the government and our members arrested for simply being on the premises.  We can play our Christian music in our cars, at festivals, and even in retail stores.  We can proclaim we believe with our t-shirts, bumper stickers, and blog posts.

For this I am grateful.  But I know the price for this freedom was very high.  Men and women have lost lives and limbs fighting for our independence.  For my right to write this blog post.  For your opportunity to read it.

Please take the time to thank a soldier.  Not just on Independence Day, Veterans' Day, and Memorial Day, but any day and every day that you are grateful for your comfortable life free from persecution.

Now, let's go out and proclaim God with more than just our music, bumper stickers, t-shirts, and blog posts. God can and does use Americans just as He uses Brother Yun and Chinese Christians.

Have you thanked Christ for the price He paid for that freedom, too?

<>< Katie

Telling by Living

Sometimes it baffles me what people don't know about me.  They don't know I have a whole last name.  That I have two sisters.  That I love to blow glass.

People don't know what you don't tell them.  I graduated from a college where last names only matter for a select few (and "Ax" was satisfactory).  The "my sister" stories are not always the same sister.  Apparently I don't talk about glass blowing.

Have you told people you're a Christian?

I don't just mean telling them with your words, I mean telling and showing them with your actions.  More than inviting them to church on Sunday.  Bring a helpful hand, walking through life with them, and praying for (and with) them.  Loving them even when it's hard.  Letting them see a glimpse of Jesus by seeing you.

If you've been in my room, you've seen my hand-blown pen holder, the vase, and the paperweight.  My love of glassblowing can be evidenced by my knickknacks.  Can my love of Christ be evidenced by my thoughts, my words, and my actions?

Have I told people with my life that I am a follower of Christ? 

Have you?

<>< Katie (Axelson)

Being Christ-Like

What does it mean to be Christ-like?

To be born of a virgin, get lost in the temple, answer questions with questions, cast out demons, and be perfect.

Well, yes.  But also no.

Being Christ-like also mean being rejected by even your family, choosing close friends from unlikely places, doing the dirty jobs, and being obedient to death.

To say you want to be Christ-like doesn't mean you want to be perfect.  It means you're willing to suffer.

Ouch.

A Lot Can Change

"A lot can change in four weeks."  Using that often-forgotten fact, I was encouraged about post-graduation life.

Of all weeks to be reminded of that small fact, Holy Week.  The time of the year when we remember Christ's warm welcome, final meal, prayerful agony, betrayal, sacrifice, lonely death, and wonderful resurrection.

A lot can change in a week.

On the day now commemorated as Palm Sunday, Christ was warmly welcomed as He entered Jerusalem.

The next day the great crowd that had come for the festival heard that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem. They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting,
“Hosanna!"
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Blessed is the king of Israel!”
Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, as it is written:
“Do not be afraid, Daughter Zion; see, your king is coming, seated on a donkey’s colt.”
At first his disciples did not understand all this. Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that these things had been done to him.
Now the crowd that was with him when he called Lazarus from the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to spread the word. Many people, because they had heard that he had performed this sign, went out to meet him. So the Pharisees said to one another, “See, this is getting us nowhere. Look how the whole world has gone after him!”
John 12:12-19

Of course, the next week the same crowd shouted for the death of the same Christ.

As soon as the chief priests and their officials saw [Jesus], they shouted, “Crucify! Crucify!”
John 19:6

A lot can change in a week.  A lot can change in four weeks.  The challenges that seem overwhelming this week may seem petty next week.  Things you rejoice in this week could be devestating next week.  And neither is too big for our God to handle.

Take peace in that this week as you remember when God defeated the biggest problem (sin) in the most humiliating, agonizing way (a criminal's death).

<>< Katie

Touch

Sometimes Elizabeth is struck with this uncontrollable urge to touch someone's hair.  It's really bad when she walks up to a stranger and starts running her finger's through this person's hair.

I had an "Elizabeth Moment" the other day.  Sarah was sitting beside me in class with a stack of blank paper in her notebook.  During the entire 50-minute class I had this barely controllable urge to run my hand along her beautiful paper.  I'm a writer; I can't help it.  Don't judge; it's the little things in life.  As soon as the professor dismissed the class, my left hand shot across the aisle and onto Sarah's notebook.  It happened at the exact moment that she was closing her notebook, sandwiching my hand between the new and the used paper.  She gave me a weird look, I explained, and the weird look continued.  But she let me touch her paper.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, what if had the same urge to touch lives in His name?

Christian told me this story about his first trip to Guatemala.  They were serving food outside the garbage dump in Guatemala City.  As the dump inhabitants came for food, Christian and some of the other members of his team sanitized their hands.

"The biggest thing we could do for them was to touch them.  These people were considered untouchable and when we touched them to sanitize their hands we accepted them," he explained.

Jesus did the same thing in touching the man with leprosy in Matthew 8. He could have said, "You are healed," and it would have been done. He's God. He has the power to do that. But He didn't. He made a point to touch someone that society had seemed untouchable.

Now, I'm not saying run up to everybody and touch them.  There are ways to touch people without ever making physical contact.

Jennifer and Amy just sent letters to their Compassion children in the Philippines and Ecuador. Lives touched. The executive chef served some weakling from the self-serve ice cream cooler. Life touched. We packed seven Operation Christmas Child boxes last week. Lives touched. A grad student spent her birthday doing homework and grading papers, alone, until some friends invited her over to hang out. Life touched.

It doesn't always take much. A small act can have a huge impact.

May the Lord give us all uncontrollable urges to touch the lives of His children and those who do not yet know Him. Let's do it all in His name.

<>< Katie

PS: I was inspired to write this during church this morning. As I was revising tonight, I was thinking about how it was similar to this post I wrote for Kaitlyn's birthday. I just found out an hour ago that after two and a half years of medical treatment 800 miles from home, Kaitlyn finally will be able to go home this December! What a wonderful Christmas present!

Putting on the Towel

I went to a small seminar where Stephanie the leader began to call names for volunteers. 

"Keith, Elizabeth, and..."

I knew my name was coming and sure enough it came.  The three of us went to the front of the room, and Stephanie began her analogy.

We were a family.  Keith was the father and there was no mother.  Elizabeth and I were Keith's daughters; we both dropped to our knees and walked towards him.  Stephanie narrated that Keith loved us both very much, so he put his arms around our shoulders and held us close.  We smiled.  Stephanie continued by saying that Keith gave Elizabeth all of the food, the clothes, and everything and told her to take care of her sister (that's me).  Then Keith went away but continued to watch on his brand new Nanny Cam.

With Keith no longer between us, there was a gap between Elizabeth and me.  Stephanie said Elizabeth ate a big dinner, and I went hungry.  Since I truly was hungry at the time it was not difficult to act out: I frowned and rubbed my stomach.  While Elizabeth slept in her warm bed, I was left out in the cold without a bed at all.

While aspects of this drama are not Biblically accurate, it does hold some fraction of the truth.

The first chapter of James calls us to care for the widows and orphans.  In the time when this was written, widows held no role in society.  The least of these.

Plain and simple: He calls us to put the towel on and serve.

Just before Passover, Jesus and His disciples gathered for a meal.  The disciples argued over who would wash the feet.  This is a dirty job; a job for the lowest one on the totem pole.  The job of a servant.  Think about it, would you like to wash someone else's feet?  Keep in mind the disciples were wearing sandals not nice sneakers.  Think of the worst Chaco dirt-tan you've ever seen and then multiple it by twelve.  Yucky, right?  No wonder they're arguing.

Jesus stands up, leaves the room, and returns wearing a towel around his waist.  He gets down on one knee and one by one takes the feet of the disciples and washes them clean.  The Lord above all got on His knees and served His friends.  The Creator of the feet (and the dirt) caressed the callouses clean of crud.  Jesus, the Most High, took the role of the lowest of the low.  He served His brothers, and He calls us to do the same.

In today's society, serving is the cool thing to do.  People love to stand up and fight for a cause.  Look at the fund raisers for New Orleans.  For Darfur.  For Haiti.  For AIDs.  For malaria.  How many of those projects are Christ-based?  Sure, some, but many are not.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, non-Christians are doing our job.  They are taking care of one another which is what Christ calls US to do.  We serve for a different reason than they do.  We serve for God's glory, not our own.

Right?

Or do we sit on our couches for Christ's glory and not our own?

Honestly, when is the last time you served someone in Christ's name?  I'm not talking about your Christian roommate or your church.  Sure, those things are important, too, absolutely, but that's not what we're discussing today.

When was the last time you stepped out of your comfort zone, put the towel on, and cared for the least of these?  Hugged the man dying of AIDs?  Watched the single mother's children for free?  Gave food to the homeless man?  Reached out to the woman in the abusive situation?  The least of these.

"Katie, I don't know anyone with AIDs, dying of hunger, and living on the street."

You're right.  Neither do I.  Because I haven't taken the time to find them.  They exist in my city.  I bet they exist in your city, too.  They're in line at the soup kitchen every Wednesday begging for something to eat.  They're in the nursing homes yearning to be visited.  They're in the schools in needing someone to help them with their homework and teach them that they are important.  They are all around you waiting to hear the name of Christ.  Will you tell them?

Look around you.  The world's isn't all hunky dory.  It's a matter of opening our eyes and seeing the needs.  It's only after physical and emotional needs are met that we can be God's mouthpiece to reach the spiritual needs.  Do you truly believe that there are "greater things still to be done in this city"?  Why aren't you out there doing them?

Otherwise it's like Stephanie's sketch where Keith told me he loved me, but I didn't see it because Elizabeth had all of the food and I had none.  I saw that Keith loved Elizabeth, but I could not see how he loved me.  If she would take the time to show me rather than tell me Dad loved me, I might have believed her.

<>< Katie

Note: I am preaching to myself here just as much as I am preaching to anyone else.

Story

Have I ever told you that I love to tell stories?  I really love to tell stories.  A lot.  Find me a good story, and I'll retell it a million times.  It's safe to say they play an important role in my life.  I find it hard to believe I'm the only one like this.  Let's face it, stories play important roles in our lives. 

My professor Brandon once said, "Stories are the webs that entangle all of us."  Stories are so important, even Jesus used them to teach.  The world communicates through stories.

Pastor Seth asked us a phenomenal question the other day when he said, "We are all storytellers.  Are we living and making stories that are worth telling?"

Donald Miller has an entire book on this entitled A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.  Max Lucado addresses this when he talks about how God not only knows your story but He wrote it.

And here's a secret: even though you are the main character in your story, it is not about you.  Look it up; check the Bible.  All stories, even your own life story, is about Jesus Christ.

Jeffrey Meinz does a great job of telling Jesus' lifestory in six minutes.  The video quality isn't great, especially for the first 25 seconds, but it gets better.  The very end gives you a nice shot of how many people where there.  You should play Where's Waldo, and see if you can find me.

But seriously, friends, is the story you're living worth telling?

<>< Katie

Who am I?

Sometimes I fluctuate like a pendulum between "God is awesome and everyone needs to know!" and "who am I to expect people to listen when I proclaim His name?"  Sometimes I hit both in a matter of minutes.  What's great is that He can use both ends of the spectrum.

I was having a "Who am I" moment the other day.  Who am I to share the Gospel?  Why should people listen to me?  What story has God given me?  The only times I've gone to bed hungry where the days when I didn't like what was served for dinner. I've never lost my job.  I've never been ripped from the jaws of death.  I've never overcome a serious addiction.  I've never...

Then like He always does, God smacked me in the face as He began to remind me of all of the things He has done in my life.  I've had a seven year old Guatemalan boy fall in love with me.  I've been in a car-totalling accident and walked away without a scratch.  I've been able to make a difference in the lives of teens at home and at school.  I've personally handed a bag of food to someone who will live off of it for the next month.  I've (been told I) energized someone who didn't know if he could muster up the energy to do the job correctly himself.

You think I did any of that on my own?

Maybe I don't remember a specific day when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior.  Maybe I didn't overcome a life-changing obstacle to obtain the faith I now proclaim.  That doesn't mean I don't have a testimony.  Testimony is God's people speaking out about what He has done.  He has given me a story to tell.  Who am I not to tell it?

Being used and telling my story,
<>< Katie

Bloody Hell

Disclaimer One: Sometimes these God moments are great when God and I are talking about them... but they don't seem as great when I write them down.
Disclaimer Two: The title of this post may only be read aloud in a British accent, particularly one that belongs to Rupert Grint, aka Ron Weasley.

The other day I got brown Sharpie on my finger where the fingernail meets finger. I apparently haven't washed my hands enough (no peanut gallery comments, please) because it hasn't come off yet. Every time it catches my eye, I think I'm bleeding.  Naturally, I stop what I'm doing to further investigate.  It's not normal to be bleeding.

A few years ago, my aunt and I were putting something into a Ziploc bag (shells? rocks? wild flowers? I don't know) when I noticed some blood on the bag.

"Are you bleeding?" I asked.
"No, you are," she told me.

I'd say most people are pretty quick to tell each other when they're bleeding. If you have something stuck in your teeth or a booger hanging from your nose, they're not as quick to let you know but your real friends will still do it. What about if you're messed up spiritually?

I'll be honest: you're bleeding, I'll tell you. You've got food in your teeth, no big deal. Your zipper's down, chances are I'll let you know. If you're messing up spiritually, I'm not so quick to jump in.

First of all, I'm far from perfect: who am I to correct someone else? I've got more than my share of battles of my own, thank you. Frankly, I think that's an excellent excuse. Until something inside of me remembers I am quick to exhibit physical common courtesy but a little more slow to offer spiritual common courtesy.

But where do you draw the line between spiritual common courtesy and bashing someone upside the head with a Bible? (Side note: my mom physically did that to my sister once... it was an accident). Does it matter? An open zipper, a stray piece of food, and a little bit of blood is hardly life and death. Spiritually, it's eternal life or not. The stakes are bigger and the risk less willing to be taken. Why is that?  The only answer I have is fear. 

Most people consider faith to be a matter of opinion.  Hey, guys, Jesus didn't say, "Follow whomever you like."  He said, "Follow Me."

Does that mean I'm going to stand on a street corner with a megaphone?  No.  Does it mean I'm going to reconsider before I let another witnessing opportunity pass?  Does it mean I'm going to try to be more obedient to that nudge from the Holy Spirit?  Does that mean when people ask what I'm doing next year instead of saying, "I don't know" I'm going to say, "I'll be wherever the Lord leads"?  You betcha.

Will you join me in doing the same?  Consider this my telling you that there is a piece of broccoli hanging from your spiritual braces.

<>< Katie

War Wounds

Today was more of a winter day than a construction day... The banging has stopped temporarily, but I am wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt. What the crap?

I cut the grass today for the third time since Saturday. I've come to a conclusion: cutting the grass shouldn't be this painful. It is literally painful for all aspects of personal health. Ok, maybe not relational, but then again, I've never tried to have a deep conversation on the tractor. Emotionally it's hard especially when the neighbors are those kinds of people who measure their grass with a rule and use a scissors to cut the grass (just kidding, but only a little). Spiritually it's a challenge because I listen to sermons on my iPod. Mentally it's a strategic battle because I have to make sure I'm going the right direction at the right time in order to avoid grass shavings in the trees... (Whatever you say, Dad.)

Cutting the grass causes physical pain. Our trees, bushes, etc. are taking over and desperately need trimming! Cutting the grass next to them involves scratching, pricking, and (since it just rained) wetness. It's not pleasant. Especially compiled with the fact that my "Lay on the steering wheel, close your eyes, hit the gas, and pray for the best" no longer saves me from scars.

Cutting the grass leaves me with war wounds in the same way being a witness for Christ leaves me with war wounds. Wounds from the trees are a lot more visible on the outside, but wounds for Christ hurt just as much on the inside. God's changing out lives and sometimes we have to get a little dirty in order for Him to do it. To quote Audio Adrenaline, 'Let's get dirty, let's get used..."

<>< Katie