Showing posts with label God moments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God moments. Show all posts

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Life's Bad Music

As soon as I walked into the coffee shop, I regretted it. I had forgotten one vital detail: it was Wednesday.

Wednesday means open mic night. My coffee shop desk had turned into a stage.

I'm all for live music. I love going to concerts. I enjoy writing to live music.

Photo from a Needtobreathe concert
Sure, I have my favorite artists, but I'm not very particular about music (you can't be when your sign choir performs "Joyful Noise" by Flame and "Come Thou Fount" in the same semester). I'm also not a musician which means it takes a lot in order to get me to cringe.

The band on the stage in my coffee shop office on Wednesday made me cringe.

I picked the quietest corner (as if such a thing exists), sat down, and got to work. I figured if I was working, I wouldn't notice the band as much.

Wrong.

I couldn't leave because I had a lot of work to do, but after a few minutes, I couldn't stand it anymore. I pulled out my headphones and turned on my own music. At first, I couldn't even hear my song over the band. I cupped my hands over my ears as if that would drown them out more.

The band got louder. I turned up my music. I wanted nothing more than to block out the exterior noise and focus only on the delightful, familiar song penetrating my heart once again. Something changed.

The noise around me didn't go away. It was just as awful as it had always been, but the gentle voice in my ears was so sweet.

That's life.

Maybe not constantly, but life definitely has some bad bands playing from time to time.

We call them unemployment. Cancer. Debt. Miscarriage. Tornado. Broken relationships. Death. Illness. Car crashes.

We can't stand their music, but we've got a front-row seat. We didn't intend to go to their show, but we can't unplug the soundboard.

That doesn't mean they need our undivided attention.

What if, instead of focusing on the bad right in front of you, commanding your attention, you chose to focus on the sweet voice of God in your ears?

It's not easy, but once you get a taste of the Lord's voice, once you hear Him above the noise of life, you're not going to want to stop listening.

Lord, teach us to focus our attention on Your sweet voice of love and encouragement rather than the awful noise all around us.

Katie

Friday, January 20, 2012

What More Do You Want

"What more do you want from God?" Neal asked the congregation. We all came from very different backgrounds united only in the Lord.

"¿Qué más quiere de Dios?" Manolo translated.

I didn't need to wait for the translation before I began making a mental list of things I wanted from God. All selfish things, too. I was in Nicaragua and still had an out-standing balance on my trip. I had applied to five graduate schools and was still hoping for acceptances. I was hoping to head to China in the summer and was waiting for those pieces to fall into place.

"He's already give you Jesus." Neal's words slapped my list-making face. I needed to hear them again.

"Él ya te dio Jesús."

What more can I want from God when He's already give me the best He can: His Son. He's already given me all that I need, and it's called grace. He's engraved my name on the palm of His hand, and I'm asking for money.  He's given me purpose, hope, and a future and there I sat in an uncomfortable Nicaraguan folding chair asking for more.

I felt naked, like my selfish, dirty list had been broadcast by the broken LCD projector. In a way, they were. They were available for One to know.

I like to think God chuckled when He watched me frantically try to erase them, delete them, unthink them.

I gave up on my list that day. I took peace in Abba giving me His Son. What more could I ever need or dare to want?

Days like today it's easy to start making a list again. I want this job interview to go well. I want to see her joy and her smile on this earth once again. I want reassurance that God truly is good and in control.

I want everyone to know the hope we all have in Jesus. Jesús. 耶稣.

I want all of God's children to know how loved they are by their Father. I want them to know forgiveness as intimately as I do. To know they don't need any more than that.

Abba, use me to reach Your people. May my life show Your love today and every day. In the States and across the world. When things go well and when dreams aren't achieved. Lord, let my love for You be contagious. When people see me may they have no choice but to love You more. Draw them into Your loving arms, Lord. May they know that no matter what life brings, Jesus is enough. Our greatest need has been satisfied. Thank You for Jesus. Teach me to remember that He is enough, always more than enough.

This is my prayer. My hope. My desire.

<>< Katie

Monday, December 26, 2011

Journey Around the World

All too often people go on mission trips expecting to be taking Jesus to another country, another part of the world.

While there are areas of the world who have never been told the name of Jesus, short-term missionaries often arrive and realized He is already there.

The Lord is working worldwide, and we are oblivious.

I want to offer all of what I have and to tell His story.

In 2012 we're going to take a blog-series journey around the world. We're going to see God working worldwide through the eyes of our brothers and sisters abroad.

Every Monday for the next fifty-two weeks we're going to be headed to places like the Philippines, Zimbabwe, Guatemala, the Congo, India, Haiti, etc.

These worldwide journeys are coming in the form of guest posts, interviews, and photo diaries from people in a variety of stages of life. And I'm "sups excite" (that's "super excited") about it!

Are you willing to get on the plane with me?

Bon voyage y Dios le bendiga,
<>< Katie

PS: I can't do this without your help. I don't have fifty-two weeks worth of international contacts, so if you have ideas, I'd love to chat. Shoot me an email at KatieAxelson[at]gmail[dot]com. Thanks!

PPS: This blog series needs a title. Any suggestions?

Friday, December 23, 2011

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Sometime just prior to Halloween I heard my first Christmas carol of the season. It flipped a switch inside of me and I was ready for Christmas.

Of course, my gifts weren't purchased and I was pleasantly surprised to feel 40 degree days rather than the 4 below I was expecting, but all through November I waited anxiously for the snow and for the rest of the world to be ready to play Christmas songs.

Yet now it's the night before Christmas, the tree is decorated, the gifts are wrapped, the last of the cookies are in the oven, and the snow gently falling. But I am ready to put on the brakes.

Christmas isn't the most wonderful time of the year when you're unemployed. Rather, it's a brutal reminder of your lack of income, your need to pinch every penny, and your wreath decorating your parents' home rather than your apartment.

Giving up isn't an option, but hope is fleeting. Still I pray "Thy will be done" and "Send me." Still I have a nice collection of rejection letters.

I don't mean to be all doom and gloom, but, honestly, singing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" is lying through my two front teeth.

I try not to linger too long in this world of overwhelming pessimism. Life is hard right now, and I'm sick of repeating myself about my failing job search. I'm well beyond ready to talk about something else.

So let's talk about some other people whose world may have also seemed overwhelmingly pessimistic.

Mary. She's pregnant and engaged but her fiancé isn't the father. I bet she got sick of trying to explain that.

Joseph. Someone else impregnated his betrothed. Well, isn't that a sticky situation?

Herod. Some baby is lobbying for his throne (or so he thinks).

The inn keeper. The "No vacancy" sign is illuminated yet still there's a very, very pregnant woman and her man on the front porch.

The sheep, oxen, and other stable animals. Um, hello, there's a baby in their breakfast bowl.

Jesus. God Himself is being shoved into the skin of an infant. Ouch.

The Christmas story is not exactly what the Jews were expecting. Nope, rewind. Christmas was absolutely nothing like what the Jews have been anticipating, the hope-filled stories they've been passing down for generations.

A king was supposed to come to rescue them. Fallen cities would be restored, a temple would be rebuilt, death would be destroyed, and peace truly would exist on earth.

The long-awaited Messiah... a baby. It didn't make sense.
Emmanuel--God with us---is sleeping in a dirty cow trough.

Yup, definitely not the most wonderful time of the year.

I'm so glad Mary, Joseph, Jesus, the shepherds, et al. didn't call it quits, didn't tell God how to do His job. Even in these less than ideal conditions, hope shone brighter than the star illuminating the sky.

Like the shepherds, I am willing to drop everything and sing praises to the One who deserves them.

Like the inn keeper, I offer all of what I have, even if it doesn't seem like much.

Like Joseph, I desire to be obedient even when it looks very different than I expected.

Like Mary, I want to be faithful to what God has asked of me

Like Jesus, I seek to do what needs to be done no matter how uncomfortable, how agonizing it may be.

And, unlike Herod, I am not going to take matters into my own hands.

Maybe the most wonderful time of the year doesn't mean a walking in a winter wonderland.

Maybe it means hope and anticipation for something new. It means finding peace and comfort in God's promise never to abandon us. It means joy even in life's less than comfortable moments. It means resting in the loving arms of the Father.

The most wonderful time of the year is any moment when you remember that Christ truly is Emmanuel, God with us, both now and forevermore.

Amen.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

In the Arms of the Father

The plane was preparing to land and the man across the aisle from me frantically fastened his toddler back into the window seat. The little girl began to whimper.

"Shh, shhhh, shhhh," the man said.

The girl whimpered more. The shushing wasn't working. Eventually the man unbuckled the child and pulled her into his lap.

The whimpering stopped. The child was no longer afraid. She was in her daddy's arms.

That's who I want to be: the little girl perfectly content my Heavenly Daddy's arms.

Even when I don't know where my next paycheck is coming from. Even when I don't know when I'll get to see my friends (read: family) again.

Are you willing to curl up in the lap of your Abba Father?

Even when finals are hard. Even when your kids are disobedient. Even when you're not sure if you'll be able to pay for the avocados to make the guacamole you promised. Even when life is hard.

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" 1 John 3:1a NIV

I pray in marker.

Putting prayers on paper prevents me from getting distracted (raise your hand if you have the attention span of a butterfly when praying). It's childish and messy to use a thin-line Crayola on college-ruled paper. It is good.

Prayer is messy. Life is messy.

Like a child whose hands are more colorful than the paper, I stretch them up to my Daddy and let Him shush me with His perfect love.

"The LORD your God is with you,
He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with his love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 NIV

Just as the daddy on the airplane cared for his little girl, all the more will my Heavenly Daddy care for me (and you).

Even through our childish fits about things not going our way. Even through our crying and panicking when there is nothing to fear.

Take a seat in His lap, stretch your marker-hands to the sky, let Him hold you, His child. Take peace and comfort in His love.

I do.

Love,
<>< Katie

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Pray for China

I'm so discouraged as I look back on my time in China and remember the HUGE need for the Lord that still exists in that country.

Sure, we saw some amazing things: hundreds of believers gathered freely to worship, a local church being gifted land and money to replace that which was usurped from them 30 years ago, the opportunity to give away Chinese-English New Testaments.

Yet there is so much work left to be done. So many people who have never even heard the name of Jesus.

When we went to China, they told us we would (in all likelihood) not see the fruits of our labor. We were not even planting seeds. Rather, we were plowing ground, removing rocks, and preparing for future seed planters.

We did not see many fruits of our labor. Yet He will. He will use our efforts, our energies, and our work. That's what we've prayed. We've seen it in small ways but the Lord is not done in China.

Can you do me a favor right now and pray for China? Pray that the Lord used and continues to use what we gave (all that we had). That He, not we, made a difference. Pray for our friends. Pray for the students. Pray for the Chinese believers and foreign believers. Pray for the unbelievers. Pray for the government. Pray for the Lord to be honored and praised in new ways.

He's God of that city, too.

Thank you!
<>< Katie

PS: If you want to be part of the ground plowing, send me an email and I'll hook you up with the organization we went through as volunteer English teachers.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Why Not Today?

"You need a new phone."

I've been told that regularly for the last two years. They're right: I do need a new phone. When I started college the question was always, "Is that the new model?" Now that I've graduated, same phone in pocket, the question has become "When do you get an upgrade?"

They want me to make the leap into the twenty-first century and go from a dumb phone that only texts and calls to a smart phone that does everything except brush your teeth for you.

"With as much time as you spend on Facebook and Twitter, you're going to love it!"

That's what they all say. And they're probably right. I wish I could Tweet on the go, always had my email at my fingertips, and my text message inbox didn't remain at 98 percent full. The upgrade won't break my budget and the thirty dollars a month data plan is feasible.

Weeks of second-guessing and questioning led up to the moment when I signed the check. Knowing full well what I was doing, I handed it to Brent. He handed me a receipt.

Smile* was mine.

My check was not for thirty dollars. It was for thirty-eight. If I could feasibly pay thirty dollars a month just to have the internet with me wherever I went, how could I not spend thirty-eight dollars a month making sure a child had food?

For years I have been the primary letter writer for Maria, our family's sponsored child in Columbia. That means the misunderstanding about us having fourteen grandchildren... yeah, I'm culpable.

I knew someday I'd sponsor a child through Compassion. The question that ragged on my heart was: Why is that someday not today? I was out of excuses.

For a dollar and twenty-five cents a day, I can provide Smile with food. That's not even the cost of one cup of coffee. That's one small fries from McDonald's.

Let's be real: I don't have a lot of money. But I have enough. I'm not worrying about going hungry. Smile is.

Katie: God, why are you providing for me but not for Your children in third world countries? Is food not a necessity?
God: I am providing. Katie, I am providing you.

It's going to be a sacrifice. I want (borderline need) a new phone, but it's going to have to wait.

There's a little girl in El Salvador who needs an education. She needs medical care. She needs hope, esperanza. She needs to know someone cares. That someone is an unemployed hispanohablante in the US. That Someone is her Heavenly Father.

Why not today?
<>< Katie

*not her real name

PS: This is my story of how God led me to child sponsorship through Compassion. It might be reckless to commit to $38/month with no income. But I know the Lord and saw His hand in this decision long before I signed the check. I trust He will provide, and I've seen Him do so already. If that means I have to eat peanut butter and jelly for a week (I hate pbj) so Smile can eat rice and beans, so be it.

Monday, November 21, 2011

What Would You Write?

Write what you know.

That's what writers are always told. I'm not good at following that advice. I always seem to start writing stories that I have no authority to write, horrors I can barely imagine.

What do I know? I know what it's like to go to a college prep school. I know what it's like to live with seven other girls in a four-bedroom apartment. I know what it's like to attend fifteen concerts by the same artist.

What I know is boring, at least to me.

Who wants to read a fictional work based on the reality of being an unemployed recent grad? Not me, that's for sure.

But it got me thinking: if I were the author who got my fictional character into this mess, how would I get her out?

Would I turn one of her cold-calling strangers turn into a job offer? (In this economy?)

Would I send a knight in shining armor to whisk her away to marital bliss? (That sounds pleasant, cheesy, and unrealistic)

Would I have her blog discovered and novel picked up by Huge Name Publishing House and it become a best seller? (I'm just dreaming all possibilities here)

Would I send her to graduate school, the international mission field, or a homeless shelter?

Would I make her sulk and wait? Wonder and hope? Would I teach her about trust and obedience?

I am not the Author of this life. And I guess that's a good thing since none of these options seem good and viable at the moment.

I am the protagonist in this lifestory, trusting the Author's plan. Unlike me, He doesn't change His mind, He doesn't kill characters for plot excitement, and He definitely doesn't abandon half-finished stories. 

And that, my friends, brings me hope.

<>< Katie

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Quality Time

As my week back home in Baptist Country was drawing to a close, I pondered who I had gotten to see for a substantial amount of time and who I wanted to spend more time with.

The friends I am closest to, naturally, fit into the "I want more time!" category. But I began to wonder, how much more time did I want? If life and other obligations were no object, how much time would be sufficient with them?

Forever.

I wanted to stay in their apartment forever.  I wanted to sit in their offices and chat days away.  I wanted to never ever leave again.

Of course, an infinite amount of time with my friends would be fun.

But I decided that's what kind of relationship I want with the Lord. I want to lock myself in the prayer room and never come out. I want to sit at His feet and never move. I want to rest on the chest of my Abba Father.

Forever.

<>< Katie

Monday, November 7, 2011

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

Friday, November 4, 2011

Who are the Poor?

For the last week I have been dog-sitting in a very nice neighborhood.  Day after day, I walk the dog down the freshy-swept street looking at the fancy homes, the manicured lawns, and expensive cars.  Part of me wonders if I could ever afford to live here.

Financially, it's a lofty goal for this unemployed recent grad. That's not what I meant.

I mean, could I afford to live here


when some live here?


Can I live here

having been here?

The Bible doesn't say "Don't live in a nice house"... but it does say "give everything you have to the poor."

But who are the poor?

Are the poor the children in a hogar in Guatemala who play with one-armed Barbies but have the joy of the Lord in their hearts and it shows on their faces?


Are the poor the people paying taxes on their 4,000 square-foot homes who are on the brink of divorce, have disrespectful children, and hire someone else to pick up their dog poop?

Part of me says, no way, I will never live in a classy neighborhood. (Especially based on those stereotypes). I've seen too much poverty to be comfortable in a large, neat home.

Perhaps that is true. For just me and the dog, this four-bedroom, three-bath home is way too big. But what if I had a husband and children?

Through trial and error, I have learned some aspects of third-world ministry. I have been to places where hand sanitizer and toilet paper are luxuries. The girls in the photo above aren't just children worlds away with stories that would break your heart. We know each others' names, they are my sisters, and they almost knocked me fifteen feet off that ledge ten seconds after that photo was taken when they tried to all see it simultaneously.

Yet, as I walk through this nice neighborhood and wonder about the people inside of the homes, I wonder about them and their lives. Do they know their neighbors? Do they realize there's more to life than fnancial success? Most importantly, do they know that God loves them?

How can I walk my dog down this street


knowing stray dogs roam down this street?


Easy. On both streets there are people that have never heard the name of Jesus.

How can I limit ministry to the without-money poor without including the without-Jesus poor?

Third world ministry may be teaching people how to brush their teeth, handing out bracelets, and fitting them with eye glasses. It can be loving them, making a fool of yourself, and living the gospel.

Is that not also what is the first world also needs? Love, humor, and (most importantly) Jesus.

First world ministry is greeting neighbors as you pass them on the street, hand-delivering a warm breakfast to the neighbor's housesitter and inviting her over for dinner, or cutting someone else's grass because they're having a busy week. It can be releasing a child from poverty through child sponsorship and telling others about your Fridge Kid. It's loving the way Christ commands us and living the gospel.

He is the God of this city

just as He is of this one.


Can I afford it?

How can I NOT?

The Great Commission commands us to GO and make disciples of ALL nations (Matthew 28:19, emphasis mine). I like to GO to another nation; it has become comfortable to me. But GO can also mean GO to the other side of the shurbery.

No matter where you live, GO and be the missionary you were called to be (Acts 1:8).

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Flowers

Right now I'm participating in an online bookclub through Bloom (in)courage and we're reading What Women Fear by Angie Smith.

I've been reading the chapter in the book, watching the corresponding video, and participating in discussion. Yesterday was Chapter 7: Fear of Not Being Significant.

In the video, co-host Jessica Turner told a story she heard from a woman named Roseann.

Roseann's mentor, Miss Helen, had passed away and in visiting the gravesite, Roseann noticed her grave stone had cracked and there wasn't even a place to put flowers. Of course, she demanded the gravestone be fixed. As for the flowers, she realized that Miss Helen loved the Lord and she now has flowers all over the world.

I have recently started collecting/ taking photos of flowers around the world and sticking scripture on them with the intent to hang them in my bathroom (when I have a bathroom). I thought it was a cool idea to be reminded of God's truths but also of His people around the world.

But now it has become more than that. I want to love the Lord to the point where it shows no matter where I go. I want to leave a glimpse of the Father in myself as flowers around the world. As I collect international flowers, I also want to leave flowers for the Lord.

Blooming,
<>< Katie

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Anyone Can Cook

I had everything for a sandwich out on the counter when I decided I wasn't in the mood for salami. I decided to prove to myself (and the world) that I can cook!

"Anyone can cook," as Gusteau in Ratatouille says.

I have never met Gusteau, as evidenced by his statement that anyone can cook. I think I fall in the category Remy argues, "Anyone can cook but that doesn't mean anyone should!"

I decided on a very basic meal and assembled my ingredients. I was in luck! We had everything.

So I began, step by step to assemble my--never mind, I'm not telling you what I didn't actually make.

It's not that I didn't want lunch. It's not that I didn't how to make lunch. It's not that I couldn't make lunch. No, it was the thoughts and questions rolling around in the back of my head.

How do I know when it's done? When it looks like you'll eat it. But what if it isn't done all of the way? What if I get food poisoning and die? It's not working. This isn't what it's supposed to look like. I did something wrong. This isn't safe.

So I changed what I was making. Bonus points for thinking on my feet, right? Yet the questions and doubts continued.

This doesn't look right. Will I smell it if it starts burning? What if I burn the house down? Where is the fire extinguisher? Is it supposed to do that? I don't think this is right. I'm not eating this.

I gave up. I turned off the stove, poured my epic fail into a garbage bag, and took it out to the street. Salami sandwich it would be.

You better learn to like P, B, and J because that's what you'll be eating for the rest of your life. Your kids will be the one with the mom who can't cook. You better make a lot of money so you can afford to eat out regularly because PBJ and frozen lasagnas are going to get old fast. Gusteau lied.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to smack something in frustration or cry in embarrassment. Maybe both.

The kitchen was littered with the dishes from my lunch fail and I sat at the table pouting, salami sandwich on my plate.

Katie.
Not in the mood, God.
Why are you listening to the enemies lies?
You mean the truths?
They're lies. You can cook.
Do you not smell that? Were you not watching me make a mess?
You are a mess. But a beautiful mess. Do you want to know what you did wrong?
I know what I did wrong: I tried to cook.
You didn't wait. Everything you did--except switching "recipes" in the middle--was correct. But you didn't wait. Cooking takes time. Learning to cook takes time.
If You're going to tell me it's like fishing, I don't want to hear it. Not a fisherman, fisherwoman nor a fisher-of-women. Sorry.
Why are you swallowing the lies? Toss them out like you did that half-cooked meal. Be done with them. All of them.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Stable

I've been living out of my suitcase for two weeks as I job search. It's been two weeks of ups and downs. Of awkwardly cold-calling strangers and laughing until I can't breathe. Awful and great. Uncomfortable and easy. Yin and yang.

It makes me miss my favorite roller coasters: mission trips. If you've ever been on an international mission trip before, you probably know what I'm talking about. The ups and downs. The high highs and low lows. Encouraged, discouraged. Peaks and valleys. One minute of tears of joy; the next tears of sadness. You switch back and forth so many times in one day that you forget what it's like to be stable.

What is stable? Stable is somewhere in the middle. Somewhere I don't often find on mission trips. Stable is what we cling to in everyday life. Stable is comfort, contentment, conformity. Stable is lukewarm.

In Revelation 3, John transcribes what the Lord commands him to write to the church in Laodicea:

“To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:

'These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.'" Rev. 3:14-16 (italics mine)
It's like God is saying, "When you're on fire for Me, I can use that. When you're cold, I can use that, too. But when you're apathetic, when you're stable, I don't want you."

This passage isn't really talking about emotional roller coasters. But I think it applies here, too. When our hearts break for and with others, we connect as God's children. When we rejoice and celebrate, we exalt God and His goodness. It's when we're in the middle, stable, and comfortable that we're in the most dangerous position of all.

We don't want to change. We overlook the needs of others. We're too caught in our own ways to see matters worthy of praise. While I would love for the tears to stop coming so easily, I don't want to be stable. Not now, not ever.

I don't want to be comfortable and content. I want my heart to break for what breaks God's heart. I want to love the way Jesus loved--the least of these, the broken people, the forgotten. I want to live a life worthy of the calling I have received!

I do not ever want to be lukewarm!

<>< Katie

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Sarchi, Land of Broken People

Sarchi, Costa Rica, will forever be ingrained in my brain as the "Land of Broken People."

In the one afternoon we spent their, we saw more physically disabled people than I have seen in my entire life. He's wearing an eye patch, she's missing a leg, and that is not what a bandaged arm is supposed to look like.

I really wish I could say I did something noble like praying over the ailing or dispensing Advil or something.

I didn't.

I gawked and laughed at jokes about what must be in the water. It ashames me now. But to this day, anytime I see people with physical handicaps or disabilities, I remember Sarchi, land of broken people.

Could we not all be considered to be from Sarchi? Are we not all broken people?

Wounded physically, maybe but more likely wounded emotionally. Broken hearted.

Ironically, one of the two friends who visited Sarchi with me, the one who made the joke about the water, is responsible for breaking my heart. Intentionally or unintentionally doesn't matter. It happened.

Broken people.

I am growing to love broken people. It's in their vulnerability, when they share their brokenness, that God's glory shines most brightly. We can't all be perfect people. Let me rephrase that, none of us are perfect people.

Just admit it: you are broken. It's hard to say, but I am broken. I don't have it all together. I don't spend time with the Lord like I should. I snap when I should be courteous. I miss blog days when I have committed to blogging every other day. I try to exalt myself sometimes even at the expense of someone else. I even, gasp, cry.

I hate being broken. I want my body to do what I tell it to do. I want my emotions in check all the time. I want my heart guarded and unbroken. But trying to heal myself only turns into a more-contorted broken arm. More damage than good.

Yet I choose to sit at the feet of the Great Physician and let Him, in His time, bind up my wounds, replace my broken heart, and mend my soul. It is only then that I begin to heal. Maybe more slowly than I would like; maybe not perfect in the world's sense but perfect in God's sense.

And it gives me a story to tell. A story that boasts my weakness and His greatness.

I understand now, the older song that says, "Brokenness, it's what I long for. Brokenness, it's what I need."

I am broken.
I am Sarchian.

<>< Katie

Monday, October 10, 2011

Katie V. GPS

Usually battles of Katie Vs. GPS are victorious. Common sense trumps machine, right?

Yesterday I tried to outsmart my five year old GPS yet again. I lost. Something about having never been to that town before should have clued me in to the fact that it was not a good idea. The "seven hours to destination" didn't turn off my creative mind either. Since I needed to go east (seven hours east), I decided to turn on the east-bound side of the highway rather than the west-bound like Eunice (my GPS) was telling me.

Well, Eunice is persistent and after a few miles of "Make a U-turn" and "Turn around when possible," I decided to pull over in the parking lot of a country Baptist church and check the rest of her directions.

Going west to get east made no sense. Going west one mile to pick up a straight-shot east-bound freeway did make more sense. Eunice was right. Although the logic seemed backwards, the directions were correct. Going west was a short jog out of the way that would lead directly to my destination... in seven hours. I made a U-turn when possible.

Sometimes God and I argue like I do with my GPS. For some reason I have this tendency to think I'm smarter, my common sense more sound, and my ideas better. So I turn east to get east. Surely God's directions to go west were a detour but the road isn't closed anymore.

Except, unlike me, God sees the full set of instructions. He knows about the freeway one mile west and the direct shot, 70mph, it'll take me to my destination.

Sorry, Lord. I did it again. I deliberately ignored Your directions and followed my own. I thought I knew a better way. I was wrong and lost. Thank You for being persistent and not giving up on me.

<>< Katie

Sunday, October 2, 2011

The Wash Cloth

It had been a good but long 15 hour day.  I left at 8am and returned home at 11pm with only a few hours before I had to get up and do it all over again.

But there were things separating me from that extra soft twin bed with two king size pillows. Namely: a shower.

I showered as fast as I could, sinus headache growing in intensity with every passing minute, but I kept my eyes on the promised land.

I reached absentmindedly for my facial lotion. Welcome cold weather, the phase of the year when my face is at risk of falling off because it's so dry. Lotion would bring me one step closer to dreamland.

But then I stopped.

I had an idea that would at worst be one step further from dreamland (and one step closer to a missing face) and at best relief to my painful head. Idea: to drape a warm wash cloth over my face.

So I did. As hot as I could stand it. It was heavenly!

In that moment, nothing but the warm wash cloth mattered. The rest of me was getting hypothermia as my wet hair dripped down my back.

But I didn't care. That simple hot cloth was the best thing that happened to me in all fifteen hours of my day (sixteen if you count the getting ready hour). I wanted to stay there forever, wash cloth over my face, cold hair dripping onto the floor.

Except I couldn't. So eventually, I bore the separation and continued my bedtime routine.

"Hey, Katie," God spoke but not in an audible voice.

Of course, He would start speaking as I was rushing to bed. Sometimes He's like my family, starting a conversation with me as I'm on my way out the door.

"Yes, Lord," I answered. Something like that.

"Remember how that wash cloth felt?"

"How could I forget?" Ooh! Jesus-like. I answered a question with a question.

"Remember how nothing else mattered and you wanted to stay there forever even thought your toes were cold and those hairs I numbered were matting together as they dripped water molecules down your back and onto the slippery floor?"

"Yes, Lord, and if You say to stay like that forever I totally will! After all, You're God and I'm not, so if you tell me, I'll do it obediently."

"Katie, stay that way forever. But let Me be the warm wash cloth. Bury your face in Me so nothing else matters. Not this world, not the job hunt, not even the fact that your pants don't fit. Let Me be your wash cloth."

"Yes, Lord."

"Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'" Psalm 91:1-2 NIV

Friday, September 30, 2011

Listen

I woke up with a sore throat.  I had hoped it would get better as the day progressed.  It didn't.  By the middle of the afternoon I sounded like Kermit the frog.

Wonderful.

I thought about not going to small group.  It was a 45 minute drive there at the end of rush hour and a 45 minute drive back at 11pm.  I was already exhausted from making that same trek once that morning.  And I was sick.

Do I go and risk infecting other people with this sudden illness?  Do I stay home and try to fight it?

I'm not a "stay home because I have a cold" person.  I get colds a lot, so I'd miss out on a lot of life if I stayed home every time.

So over to the mansion I drove.  When I got there, I learned half of the other people had colds, too.  Last week we were all healthy; this week we had a germ-sharing party.

A sniffler.  A sneezer.  Kermit.  What a choir!

Out came the guitar to sing some praise and worship songs.

Sometimes my speaking voice "frogs" before my singing voice or vice versa.  It's rare they're both nasty at the same time.  But, then again, I don't usually go from fine to Kermit in one day.

I apologized to the girl sitting next to me and tried to sing.  Yup, nothing.

Time to move my lips and life a joyful noise from my heart...

Time to listen.  Losing your normal voice is like being put in time out.  Sometimes it's just not physically possible to speak.  Other times it hurts.  Or you just don't want to hear yourself.

"I'm worshipping YOU, God," I said in my traditional frog-voice campaign.

Listen, God spoke to my heart.

Is this like Guatemala but without the orange paint? I want to sing.

Listen.  You sang on Sunday.

Thank You that I had a voice to participate in such a wonderful, Spirit-filled praise and worship service on Sunday.  I'm sorry it took losing my voice today to be grateful for something I took for granted yesterday.  Lesson learned.  [pause] Can I have it back now?

<>< Kermit

Monday, September 26, 2011

Listening Everywhere

Sorry this is late.  Some days unemployment means I sit around bored out of my mind.  Other days it means I run around like a chicken with my head cut off helping everyone and thinking I can do everything because I don't have a job.  Well, it's been a headless chicken weekend.

I love Mondays.

"Sure you do, Katie, you're unemployed and you had a busy weekend."

I heard that.

My busy weekend lasts until tomorrow, thank you.  And I got up earlier today than I did all weekend.

But no, I love Mondays because all of my once-a-week devotions come out on Mondays.  I think weekly devotion writers sit around and think, "Hum, Mondays would be a good day."  I see the logic, but Mondays are a busy reading, inhaling day for me. ;-)

Do you ever have those days (or weeks) where God seems to speak through everything you read, every conversation you have?  Those are my favorite.  When I can sing, "This is My Father's World" and the line, "He speaks to me everywhere" rings true.

But, more often, that line feels like I lie on my lips.  Devotions aren't inspiring, conversations are surface-level, and the world seems dry.

Whose fault is that?  Mine?  God's?  The devotion writer?  All of the above?

Just because what I'm reading doesn't jump off the page/screen and instantly into our hearts doesn't mean it's a waste.  It doesn't mean God isn't using what we read.  Sometimes they just take a little more thought.

I'm learning to ask myself: Why did God put this devotion in my path today?  What does He want me to get from this scripture?  Why is that song stuck in my head even though I haven't heard it in two weeks?

He uses those things we consider worthless or unrelated.  How cool is that?

Learning to listen everywhere,
<>< Katie

Friday, September 23, 2011

Habit

I have this bizarre habit that resulted in incessant mocking from my suitemates.  Actually, I have many bizarre habits and sometimes even breathing results in mockery.

However, this one happened every time I entered the apartment.  It didn't matter if I came from class, the caf, or the coffee shop.

The first thing I would do was put my keys on the hook.  We each had hooks by the door with our names on them, hypothetically, so we'd never lose our keys.

Then I'd go in my room, put down my heavy backpack, take off my shoes (and coat), and hit the power button on my computer.

It's what happened next that got me mocked relentlessly.

If someone had started a conversation with me in those first twenty seconds home, I put it on pause until this next step was complete.

I would go into the bathroom and wash my hands.

I knew I did it regularly, but I didn't realize I did it every time I came home until they pointed it out.

The habit is rooted deeply back to elementary school.  My sisters and I would get off the bus and almost immediately were ushered into the bathroom to wash off our school germs.

I have no doubt that this healthy though bizarre habit was why chicken pox started going around my kindergarten class in October but I didn't get it until May.  I'm sure it helped my six year no-puking record, too.

Just from being taught to wash off my school germs as soon as I got home.  And it has become a subconscious habit.

I've got some of the habits Mom and Dad taught us growing up, but I've also got to build my own habits.

I need to be intentional about spending time in God's word.  I need to be conscious of my prayer life.  I really wish I could say they were habits, but they aren't.  They're hard.

The alarm clock says, "Get up! Go! Go! Go!"  The lunch break is short; the boss demanding.  The course load difficult; the homework plenty.  The after school activities are many; the free time is rare.  The days is long, the body exhausted.

I've confessed to you all before that some days I grudgingly read my Bible.  Yet still God works through it.

Soap doesn't only wash off my school germs when I tell it to.  It kills 99.9% of them every time I wash (or so the commercial says).

God doesn't just speak to my heart when I want Him to, when I'm willing to hear what He has to say, or when I have the right attitude.  Of course, those things are beneficial, but they're not necessary.  Sometimes God still speaks when I'm crabby, tired, distracted, or just don't want to be there.

And that makes it worth building the habit.

<>< Katie