God of THIS City

A few years ago, my university sent a mission team to San Diego, California.  In their post-trip sharing they said they sang and prayed the song, "God of This City" over San Diego.  Ever since then, that song has been reserved in my head for that city.

Then it was everywhere.

I heard it in the car, at home, and in concerts.  I couldn't escape it, and it always made me think of the San Diego mission team.

Then the pastor at my Baptist church announced that we would be beginning a sermon series focusing on reaching those in our immediate community.  For the next six weeks, we would sing and pray "God of This City" over our city every week in worship.

Beautiful in theory, but the song was becoming overplayed and meaningless.  To me.

Fast forward a few months.  I'm on my way home from a wonderful coffee talk during which we mulled over and discussed some quite serious problems in my Lutheran church.

As I pull into the garage, I tune in to the song on the radio.

"God of This City" by Chris Tomlin

You're the God of this City.
You're the King of these people.
You're the Lord of this nation.
You are.

You're the Light in this darkness.
You're the Hope to the hopeless.
You're the Peace to the restless.
You are.

There is no one like our God.
There is no one like our God.

For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city.
Greater thing have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city.

Greater things have yet to come,
and greater things are still to be done in this city
Greater things have yet to come,
And greater things are still to be done here

There is no one like our God.
There is no one like You, God.

Will you take a minute right now and pray this over my church? My city? Your church? Your city?

Thanks!

Greater things have yet to come and greater things are still to be done here. I believe that.

<>< Katie

A Saved Catholic?

"I don't know if you can be Catholic and be saved... I'm still figuring that out," cried one of my Catholic friends during our team worship night in Nicaragua.

When she first made the statement, my defenses went up.  I'm not Catholic, but I have a lot of friends and family who are Catholics.  Of course you can be Catholic and be saved.

Throughout the rest of the week, God let me see the plight that literally brought her to tears before us in a moment of transparency.

We walked into Central American cathedrals and my heart broke due to the distorted Jesus so many people have been taught.

The man huddled in the corner fervently praying to the painting of a deceased bishop.

The woman filling the offering box with Cordobas as if she could buy forgiveness.

The crowds ritually progressing through the streets holding a crucifix high in the air.

Jesus still on the cross.

As we walked through those decorated cathedrals, I found myself praying for the lost within the sanctuary.  I wanted to stay and minister there rather than be a tourist.

It wasn't the label "Catholic" that bothered me. It was the un-biblically based Jesus.  The Jesus represented is not the Jesus I know.  That's what broke my heart.  The desire to earn forgiveness and eternal life doesn't take into account for grace and mercy.  The lack of understanding that Jesus is accessible to each and everyone of us, made me sad.

I'm not bashing Catholicism, I promise.  I'm bashing the missing of Jesus that we are all guilty of.  We get caught up in talking about homosexuality, abortion, and divorce rather than showing and teaching the love Jesus was adamant about.

We can call ourselves Christians and not know Christ.  Worship can be a weekly event we attend out of habit not a lifestyle we lead.

Yes, you can be Catholic and be saved.  But going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than going to the race track makes you a race car driver... going to a ballet makes you a ballerina...

The Christ I know is more than a character in a big book.  He's more than a man who did some really nice things.

He's God and man.  He lived by example, practiced what He preached, and gave the ultimate sacrifice.  And He calls us to do the same.

Do you agree? 

Then show it.  Not in my comments section but today on the road, in the classroom, in the cafeteria, and at the store.  Let's redefine Christianity.

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Thriving in Exile

"Take off anything you're wearing that has any value, monetary or sentimental," my small group leader Natalie announced.

The faces of six freshmen girls expressed confusion as we obediently began to remove necklaces, belts, and ear rings.

"Take off your jackets.  Your sweatshirts," she continued.  I'm sure if she could have stripped us down to our underwear, she would have just to prove her point.  She did once come to small group in a bathrobe to demonstrate Isaiah's walking around naked for three years (see Isaiah 20).

"We're going into Babylonian exile," she explained.
"Should we bring our Bibles?"
"Your what?"

She then led us out in a January icy drizzle while she played the role of the Babylonians and we were the Israelites.  When we began to shiver, she let us back inside.  Ironically, she accidentally tripped on the sidewalk symbolizing the fall of Babylon.

Looking through the Bible, there are a lot of people who experience exile.  Personally, I've never spent a significant amount of time being oppressed and exiled.  Unless you count being a Lutheran in Baptist Country.  They're usually nice to me if I keep my mouth shut about alcohol and original sin, but let's use it as an example.

I heard a speaker the other day talk about exile.

"The question is not 'Why are we in exile?' or 'How do we get out of exile?'" he explained.  "The question is, 'What is God up to in exile?'"

What is God up to in exile?

What is God up to in your life, wherever you may be?  Sometimes there are things God needs to do in your life that He can only do while you're in exile.

Some Biblical examples of exile show the strengthening of faith while being removed from that which is comfortable.  Here in Baptist Country I've been forced to contemplate and question why I believe in infant baptism, why I don't have a problem drinking wine, and that whole in-with-and-under thing (that I'm still working on).  Things I probably would have simply accepted forever had I not been sent here.

When Daniel experienced his exile (see Daniel 1), his name and the names of all of his friends were changed.   Daniel became Belteshazzar (please name your son that).  Hanniniah, Mishael, and Azariah became Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  Their Hebrew names celebrating God's faithfulness were replaced with pagan names.

My name too was changed.  My often mutilated three syllable last name has been axed to two letters.  A pagan name; a murder weapon.  Rack, Shack, and Benny let that one go.  As have I.  To some, I will forever be only Katie Ax.  I think I'm ok with that.  Like Rack, Shack, and Benny, I have to pick my battles.  I'd much rather people realize I'm still a Christian than know I have a whole last name.

God has done (and is doing) some cool things here in my exile.  He even pulled me through a near-hypodermic small group experience.

What's He doing in your exile?  What's He doing in your life right now?

<>< Katie

PS: If you know my whole last name... do NOT post it in the comments section or I will delete your comment.

A Trip to the Police Station

I've never really cared for the administrative assistant at the police station.  She's not as friendly as the officers.  Maybe it was the smirk she gave me when I went in to report a missing hub cab a few years back.  I don't know.  I do know she did not earn herself any more points today.

I needed another key made for my roommate.  They did not provide us with enough when we moved in, so we've had to get more made.  'Round these parts you do that at the police station.  I walked in yesterday and was told the key-maker had left for the day.  He would be back between 6 and noon today.  I went back today a little before noon, and he was out on the grounds.

At first she began to take down my name (not even daring to repeat my last name to me but requesting I spell it), request, and a phone number.  I did not get past the area code when she looked out the window and almost stood.  She picked her Blackberry up off of the desk and radio-ed the officer.

Officer: Go ahead.
Secretary: Can you come in and help this little girl?

Woah.  I glanced around to make sure she and I were the only ones in the room.  Nope, no little girl had snuck in on my watch.  I politely waited, but her words rang through my head.

"Help this little girl... help this little girl... help this little girl..."

Suddenly instead of a renter asking for a new key to be made, I felt like a child separated from her mother.  That's where separated children are told to do, right?  Seek help from police officers.  I contemplated producing some tears just to accurately play the part.

Officer Larry came through the front door and stood in front of me, so close that if there had not been a wall and fake ficus behind me I would have stepped backwards to remove him from my large personal bubble.  His eyes were the same level as mine, not bad for a little girl.

Officer Larry: What can I do for you?

I held up the key between our faces.  I told him my request and gave my apartment number.

Officer: You already have a key.
Katie: My roommate needs one.
Officer: This for the front door?
Katie: Yes, sir.
When it doubt, throw in the "sir."  It used to be so unnatural it sounded corny but after three years down South I have to remember to turn it off when I go home (and not say it to women...)

He took the key and walked away.  I was not sure if I should follow or not, but I did since he was still talking to me.

Officer: I've already made a bucket full of keys for that front door.
Katie: You've made one, and we need one more.
I didn't blabber my spiel about the apartment housing six students and the school only providing four keys because I was interrupted by the Chief of Police.

Chief: You made a bucket full-a them?  Now whatcha gonna do?  Can your bucket hold one more?
Officer Larry: I guess so.
Katie: Thank you.

Officer Larry disappeared I stood in Chief's doorway waiting.

Chief: What are you up to today?
Katie: Causin' trouble.
Chief: Would you stop that?
Katie: What are you up to?
He looked down at his desk, knowing my eyes would follow and see his Subway sandwich and chips.
Katie: Eatin' lunch?
Chief:  Yup. 
Katie: All day?
Chief:  Yup.  You're like my wife.  I'm sitting on the tractor and she says, "Are you going to cut the grass?"  I want to say, "No, I'm just sitting here because I feel like it."

I contemplated telling him about how my dad and his neighbor-friends gather their matching orange tractors in the middle of the yard, rest their feet on the steering wheels, sit back, and enjoy a good beer and great company.  But I remembered I'm in the South... and talking to a police chief.  Crazy Northern Lutheran stories were probably unwelcome.

Instead, I should have asked to ride the segway.  Chief might have actually said yes.  Either that or he would have said, "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."  I'm not really sure.

I didn't get to find out because Officer Larry came back with two keys and sent this "little girl" on her way to find her own lunch to eat all day. 

<>< Katie

The Savior, The Seat Belt, The Superdome

A snapshot from my time at the LCMS National Youth Gathering.  See the first post here.

The Savior
On my way to New Orleans, I flew alone.  I am no stranger to being a party of one, but I have rarely felt as lonely as I did on that airplane.  I was frantically searching for someone else headed in my direction.  Every time I passed someone about my age, I looked at them with expectant eyes as if to say, "Are you my savior?  Will you share a taxi with me?  Will you help me figure out where to go?"  Ultimately, I got on a shuttle for $20 and made it to the hotel fine and by myself.  It was as if God was saying, "No, I AM your Savior."

The Seat Belt

My plane had a layover but I did not switch planes.  On the first leg of my journey, the woman seated in front of me noticed she was missing half of her seat belt.  Since she didn't want to be reseated, she didn't say anything to the flight attendant.  On the continuing flight into New Orleans, a little boy had that seat.  Of course, his mother was not thrilled about her son flying without a seat belt.  She called the flight attendant who quickly came over and put the new seat belt together.  A simple fix.

That's life.  We try and hide things from God and solve it on our own.  We literally try to fly by the seat of our pants as we attempt to take our lives into our own hands.  We can't.  As soon as we admit that and say, "Help!"  He does.  Maybe it's not a simple fix, but it's no longer our problem.*

The Superdome

Five years ago, it served as a shelter during Hurricane Katrina.  People died here.

Five hours ago, it was so empty you could converse across it and be heard.

Now, it is the home of the Superbowl Champions.

Now, it is filled with 25,000 youth praising God!

The saints are marching into the home of the Saints.

<>< Katie

*When I shared this (what I considered to be a mediocre) metaphor with my group, they loved it.  It kind of became a challenge to see who could come up with the best metaphor for the day.  Everyone always compared their metaphors to it in terms of, "this one isn't as good as the seat belt metaphor."  They ultimately said I should write a book of them... Wouldn't that be cool?

Trinity Sunday

"I have a favor to task of you," I said, looking up and backwards, searching to find Pastor Mike's face.  As with most conversations we've had, PM had me in a headlock.

"You do?"  he asked, spinning me around again.  I was glad today's greeting didn't involve his binder pounding on my head.  That's apparently reserved for the days when I already have a headache.

"Can I borrow your keys?"

"For?"

Dang it.  Had I really hoped the senior pastor of a megachurch would willingly surrender his keys to some mischievous members?

"Pastor Russ's office."  I quickly began to explain the situation in the briefest of terms.  I also regretted not chasing down Pastor Jim (PT) instead.  To PT, all I would have needed to say was, "It's Trinity Sunday" and the keys would have been mine.

"Well--" PM started.  I knew what was coming: no.  It's understandable.  You can't have three girls unchaperoned in a pastor's office, even if it is Trinity Sunday.

"We won't touch anything," I added, holding my hands in the air.  PM's face softened to a smile.

"I already saw the balloons," he said, reaching through his robe and into his pocket to pull out his keys.  "And touch anything you'd like," he added with a laugh.

Yes!  Pastor Mike has always liked me.  Something to do with his being the father of four girls and my being the oldest of three.  Either that or the fact that we were pranking Pastor Russ.

Drums and I tried not to run as we headed down the office hallway and back to our heap of balloons outside PR's office door.  The hard work had been done.  The Athanasian Creed had been cut apart line by line.  Each line had been shoved into a balloon.  The balloons had been blown up and the key obtained.  Now the fun stuff: the decorating.

We didn't have enough hot air, I mean, balloons to fill the office.  Unfortunate!  Instead we filled every nook and cranny we could fine.  A few under his desk, another behind the guitar, some on the bookshelf, one in the Easter basket, one next to the Jesus doll... more or less, everywhere.  We even taped one to his desk that read "Trinity Sunday" and one to his door that read "Athanasian Creed."  Now everyone that walks by will be curious as to why PR's office door became a bulletin board... today.

You see, this is a four-year tradition.  The first year Melissa and I were caught red-handed.  We had the Creed in a plethora of different languages taped to his door.  He thought it was hate mail from the "Sex Sermon" he'd done on the 6th Commandment the week before.  We learned PT felt left out so the following year we used 12-inch white letters to write "Athanasian" down PR's door and "Creed" up PT's.  I was in Costa Rica for the third year, but Dawn and Melissa decorated the door with the Creed... on Post-It notes.

A few weeks ago, Trinity Sunday talk began on facebook.
Melissa: This week is Pentecost.  You know what that means next week is?
Pastor Russ: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooo... just kidding.
Katie: Pastor Russ is just kidding.  He likes Trinity Sunday.
PR: I like Trinity Sunday.  I just don't like "Let's celebrate Trinity Sunday on Pastor Russ's office door."
Katie: We could celebrate Trinity Sunday in Pastor Russ's office, if that would be better.
Dawn: OOOHH!  I want in!
Somewhere in here a secret leaked that PR would be out of town this weekend.  We started an email conversation.
Katie: Let me get this straight, you're fleeing on Trinity Sunday, leaving your office open for whatever cockamamie scheme we develop?
PR: My office may be boobie trapped.  Enter at you own risk.
Katie: For the Trinity, we're willing to risk it.

And we did.  PR congratulated us on another clever and successful Trinity Sunday.  (Even though he'd popped half of the balloons before discovering the Creed was inside of them).  Rumor has it PT felt left out again.  We'll have to fix that next year.  Any ideas?

<>< Katie

PS: Happy birthday, Drums!

Volunteers

Sunday morning Pastor Russ spoke about the "communion of saints" line in the Apostle's Creed.  (Baptist readers: please don't condemn me because I go to a creedal church...).  One of the things he mentioned was that Christian life is like breathing.  Going to church (physically) is breathing in.  Going out into the world and being the church is breathing out.  You need both.  You can't just breathe in and you can't just breathe out.  There needs to be a balance between the two.  I completely agree.

Later he said something else I'd never really thought about before.  He called parents volunteers.  He supported that idea by saying they've volunteered their time and gas money to get their children to and from activities.  They coordinate carpool, snacks, and game schedules... They're the volunteers that get the least amount of credit.  Sunday night I got to see that idea in action.

There's a group of middle school girls currently a part of our confirmation class.  As a class they sponsor me through an adopt a college kid ministry.  Basically this means they send me packages periodically, I send them cards, and I visit them when I'm in town.  I'm in town, so Sunday night I paid them a visit.

In case you've never spent time with eight 7th grade girls: they are crazy.  To top it off, this was their end of the year party, so we had a chocolate fountain in class.  BIG MESS, BIG MESS!

Yes, there was chocolate everywhere.  As we were cleaning it up, I asked the leader how she was going to go about cleaning it.  She explained she'd used the same fountain with her son's Sunday School class that morning, and she just let it sit in the sink all afternoon.  Here I was thinking about how I never wanted to clean a chocolate fountain and she did it twice... today.

After the girls left, she was telling me some of their stories.  Mind you, this is a middle class, primarily-white, suburban church.  Well, a lot of the students in her group came from single parent/ divorced homes.  Most of them weren't just a "it is what it is" situation but rather there was baggage.  A "Mom died six days after she was told she had two months to live" story.  A "Dad's got a girlfriend abroad and spends most of his time there but also has primary custody of the kids."  The ones that have two parents have heart-breaking stories, too.  "Her brother died in the military."  "Mom had the primary income, but then she lost her job, so they're living on Dad's part-time salary."

On the surface, these are average middle school girls who enjoy chocolate a bit too much, spend all summer in the swimming pool, and can't wait to go to camp.  When you look a little deeper, they've all got stories that will break your heart.

"I'm just trying to make a difference," the leader said.  She explained most of them are not in church other than confirmation class, so she struggles to find the balance between fun and teaching about God.  "This may be their only opportunity to hear His word; that's a big responsibility on me," she explained, maybe not orally, but I heard it.  "I've been trying so hard to reach this one girl, and I just can't seem to get through."

I told her I'd pray for her.  And I did.  All the way home.  Those girls' stories tug on my heart-strings, and that woman's obedience to God's call and willingness to do what's right.  She's an everyday, unsung hero.  She's the kind of woman I want to be when I grow up, even if it means I have to clean a chocolate fountain twice in one day.  As soon as I wrote that sentence, a little voice in my head said, "Why wait?"  Why wait to be obedient and willing to volunteer your time, energy, and gas?  So I ask you, why wait?

But this blog isn't about you and me.  It's about this the volunteering that often goes unnoticed.

Parents, thank you for volunteering your time and making a difference, not just in the lives of your youngsters but also in the lives of their friends.  With your kids, you can see your impact.  With their friends, it's hard to see the fruits of your labor, but they're ripening.  Somewhere.

<>< Katie

Baptist Easter

I was nervous about my first Easter in Baptist Country.  Come to find out, it was just me being a pessimist.  Big surprise.  I was wrong.  My Easter was very good!  Even if no one responded when I called, "He is risen!"

Sometimes when you live in a dorm room you forget what it's like to live in a house.  You forget what it's like to not be able to swipe your card and get a (maybe) hot meal but instead have a fully stocked pantry.
Lunch on Friday was a challenge.  I can't really call it "lunch."  A more accurate term may be: the massive amounts of bizarre food consumed around mid-day.  It was Good Friday, so I couldn't eat meat and I don't eat Ramen (so many college students live on Ramen noodles that it's my goal to graduate without eating them), Elizabeth can't cook anything except mac & cheese and there wasn't any, Jennifer only wanted cereal, and Emily only likes food that begins with the letter "c" and won't eat food that begins with "p."  Thus our lunch dilemma.  We ate: Ramen (not me), rice and cinnamon, cereal, cantaloupe, applesauce, pudding, and string cheese.  Don't tell Mrs. Mary.  :-)

When you live in a house you have to remember that the blurry red lights across the bedroom aren't just there to be annoying but to someone they reveal the time in the middle of the night...
Something you may not know about me: I am a bad bed partner.  I talk, I kick, I really hate sleeping on the top bunk without a safety bar because, well, I use the whole bed and sometimes more.  When I learned Elizabeth and I were going to be sharing a double bed for five nights I was scared... for her sake.  Even if I only kicked her once every night that would still leave five painful bruises on her legs.  As it turns out, I never kicked her but instead I took an elbow to the face in the middle of the night.  Thanks, friend.  She said it's because I stole the covers.  I told her if she would have asked nicely I would have given them back but nooooo she had to get violent on me.  :-)

In a home, everything has a place and the only thing out of place is Bananagrams, the most frequently played game in the house.
When I close my eyes to go to sleep at night, I see Bananagrams letters.  I'm kind of experiencing withdrawals being back on campus.  It's a word game kind of like Scrabble but better; we played for hours every day.  This is marvelous for word-lovers like me.  Not so great for the weird math-lovers like my future roommate Jennifer or friend Chris.  No one is still quite sure how Andy was able to play Bananagrams with one hand and look up spellings in the dictionary with the other.  Either way his "n comes after m" got really annoying... If you can't use a word in a sentence, define it, or spell it then you can't use it!

When you live on campus sometimes you forget driving can actually be faster than walking...
Since I wasn't home for Easter, some traditions had to be broken... like sitting in a dark closet for three hours on Friday afternoon to commemorate Jesus' time on the cross.  One tradition I refused to sacrifice was the Good Friday Service of Darkness.  It's an incredibly powerful service for Jesus reflecting on the seven things He said from the cross.  I forced Chris, Andy, and Elizabeth into funeral clothes and to the Lutheran church down the road (not to be confused with the funeral home).  We were teasing about the five cars outside and all of us leaving wearing black; people were going to start calling asking who died.  Jesus did.  Well, we walked into church and the first person we saw was wearing bright green scrubs.  Another person was wearing an Easter bonnet.  And there we were all dressed in black... So maybe this Lutheran church is a bit different than mine.  My three Baptist friends were good sports about it, though.

When you live in a house you forget that in some places of the world there are commitments before 8am.
Including Elizabeth and her two sisters, Andy, and me there were five of us fighting for one bathroom.  We were really expecting this to be a huge problem Easter morning, but it actually wasn't too bad!  For the first time in years we made it to the Sonrise service on time!  I'd never been to a Sonrise service, so it was a cool experience to stand in the parking lot and put flowers on the cross.  It a beautiful tradition and it works in Baptist Country, but it wouldn't work in place where a white Easter is feasible.

When you live in a house you have real dishes and nice china, too.
This Easter was the first holiday without my family.  I handled it a lot better than I anticipated... until Mrs. Mary asked me to set the table and handed me a set of plates.  The china pattern was the exact same as my mom's.  Our also rarely-used good china was being placed around a rarely used dining room table 900 miles away where, according to an earlier text from my sister, a place had been set for me.  I think I'm going to be late...

All in all, my Easter was great!

Care for some quotes for good measure?
Emily: What's the lowest note you can sing?
Andy: Um... I think a seven.
Emily: Will you do it?

Andy walks in carrying a heap of blankets
Elizabeth: What's that?
Andy: My gardening utensils.

Jennifer: Will you hold my Nerds? And don't tell me I am what I eat!

Elizabeth: I feel like a limp noodle!

Andy: Emily, can I put this pig in your speed bump?

<>< Katie

Holy Saturday

Holy Saturday.
Quite possibly the darkest day of the year. Jesus is dead.  Imagine the hopelessness the disciples felt today.  Can we relate?

For the disciples, today was even more depressing than a Lutheran being stuck in Baptist Country over Easter.  It was even more desperate than being rejected after seeking a job for two years.  Darker than abandoning high school graduation party preparations to plan the funeral of a five year old.  Can imagine what the disciples felt today?

A large group gathered together in a dark upper room.  The door locked out of fear.  No one had bothered to light the lamp.  No one wanted to speak.  Complete darkness.  It was not only a physical surrounding but also an emotional feeling.  Their best friend, their leader... was dead.  Not even a week earlier He'd been celebrated.  He was welcomed as a king.  Not even forty-eight hours previous they'd enjoyed a meal together.  Now He was gone.  Everything happened so quickly.

The room was filled with a myriad of emotions: hurt, regret, failure, longing, desperation, depression, darkness, confusion, loneliness, loss... the list goes on.  Yet the most prevalent had to be hopelessness.

"Where do we go from here?"  They must have asked.  If not aloud, then in their minds and in their hearts.
"How could this have happened?"
"I really didn't see this coming.  Did He?"
"Now what?"
The incessant number of unanswerable questions plagued them as they sat, paced, and cried.

Silence in a crowd.  Darkness in the middle of the day.  Loneliness among great friends.

Maybe we've been there.  Unlike the disciples, we know the rest of the story.  Unlike the disciples, we have hope.

"Peace be with you."  A voice rudely interrupts their ponderings.  Who would offer peace on such a dreary day?

Every head lifted.  Every eye turned.  They saw Jesus.  Their sins collided with their Savior and their Savior won.  Think about the first time you ever saw Him.  Think about your first encounter with the Christ.  Rope yourself in that moment.  Resurrect the relief.  Recall the purity.  Summon forth the passion.  Can you remember?  Do yourself a favor and place yourself in the upper room with the disciples.  Kneel before Jesus.

Run your fingers over His feet.  Place your hand in His pierced side.  When His nail-scarred hand slides under your chin and lifts gently, don't flee.  When your teary eyes meet His compassionate ones, don't look away.  Look in to those eyes, those same eyes that melted the gates of hell, sent the demons scurrying, and Satan running.  Look at them as they look at you.  Accept the warm embrace from the living Savior and never, ever let go.

Note: the final to paragraphs are modified from Max Lucado's Six Hours On Friday.

2016

When I renewed my driver's license the other day, it now does not expire until 2016. That's eight years from now! I realized I may not have to renew my license again until I'm living in a different state! My mom commented that none of my family may be living here by 2016. What by 2016 I'm living in a different state and have a different name? Now that's creepy! BUT sometimes change can be good (ok, Lutherans, one, two, three GROAN!)...

My family and I were having a conversation the other day and it was quite humorous. My sister and I realized that I'm going to have little girl kids and she's going to have little boy kids. Why? Because she loves to run around like a crazed maniac and wrestle, etc. While I love to sit and cuddle and have tea parties, etc. After dinner the other day, Christina looked at me and said,
"Katie, if you have little girls, they can have my American Girl doll clothes." I thanked her and reminded her the clothes were mostly mine to begin with. ;-)
Laura then added with a laugh, "Katie, if you have little boys and I have little girls, you can have my little girls and I'll have your little boys."
"And Grandma will take them all to the zoo, right?" I added.
It was around this point that my dad returned from outer spaced and wondered what the heck we were talking about and quickly commented he wanted no more kids.
Last night between our two games of Life, I had no boy kids but three girl kids. Foreshadowing???

Sorry, no deep Biblical connection today. Tomorrow perhaps.

In Christ,
<>< Katie