Waiting

Let me tell you something you probably already know: waiting stinks.

Waiting for your oil to be changed, waiting in line at the grocery store, waiting for the bus.

Waiting for a company to post an opening, waiting for a manager to want you on her team, waiting for the phone to ring.

Waiting for someone on the other side of the world to say, "I've never met you but I love you."

As of when I'm writing this, there are 407 Compassion children who have been waiting, waiting, waiting for more than 180 days for a sponsor. That's six months or longer.

Where were you 180 days ago? That would have been September 2, 2011.

A forgettable day, perhaps? Too long ago to remember?

Not for Walson. One-hundred-and-eighty-three days ago Walson was at a Compassion Child Development Center in Haiti signing up to be a sponsored child. Walson has spent the last 183 days waiting for a sponsor.


Sponsor Walson here
His child ID number: HA8150328

On the Compassion website, the children that have been waiting for more than 180 days are marked with a heart.

It seems only appropriate.

When you're waiting, you need someone to love you and love on your. With every day of waiting, hope seems to dwindle.

Two-hundred-and-ninety-five days ago I walked across a stage and received the most important piece of paper of my life so far. Having spent almost 300 days unemployed/underemployed, I understand waiting. It's miserable.

There are things I can do (am doing) to bring my wait to an end. I can pray, pray, cry, and pray. I can network, I can apply for jobs, I can make cold-calls.

When you're waiting for a sponsor, there's not much you can do but wait and pray.

I've been waiting in hope.

These children are waiting for hope.

For fresh water. For medical care. For education. For someone to say, "I believe in you."

These 407 children waiting for sponsors want to be wanted. They need to be wanted. They deserve to be wanted, to be cared for, to be loved.

During my days of waiting, I've had so many great friends pray for me, offer suggestions, and pull me into their arms as I cry again. They've loved, encouraged, and held me. I appreciate every single one of them! (Yes, even the job suggestions that don't fit my skill set).

This is my plea: do the same for a child.

In turn, you're doing it for me.

The words "Thank you!" don't seem sufficient. If you decide to sponsor a longest waiting child (which I hope you do!) Compassion will give you a scrapbook for you to use to keep your letters, photos, et al.

What are you waiting for?
<>< Katie

Just a Minute

I was rummaging through my purse for a donation in exchange for my bowl of grapes and half bagel at my Baptist church's breakfast bar.  They let us (encourage us even) eat during the service.

I looked up and saw a little brown-haired boy on the other side of the table helping himself to the donut holes.

When I called his name, he looked up. He lit up.

Then he hesitated, embarrassed by the sparkle in his eye as he tried to restrain himself from leaping over the table and attaching himself to me.

Instead I invited him to come hug me. (I would have begged, but I knew it wasn't necessary). We both abandoned our breakfasts; I knelt as he rocketed around the table. He wrapped his arms around my neck, and I scooped him into my arms. Neither of us said a word. Neither of us wanted to let go. I was pretty sure I was going to have a seven-year-old-sized growth on my side for the rest of the service.

Life is made up of moments just like this. Compassion's president Wess Stafford wrote a book about how it takes just a minute to change the life of a child.

How often do we turn to children begging for our attention and say, "Just a minute" as we try to finish up whatever project is, in that moment, more important than the child?

What if you tried something different.  Instead of "just a minute"-ing, you took just a minute to invest in a child. It makes a difference in his or her life, and I'd be willing to bet it makes a difference in yours, too.

Just a minute. It matters.

I don't get to spend a lot of time with children. I cherish the minutes I get to be trampled by fifty children trying to hug me simultaneously, be the human jungle gym, or be a galloping horsey.

What a precious gift for both parties involved. (The bruises are definitely worth it).

As adults, we have so much to give children. At the same time, we have so much to learn. It takes just a minute. But it makes a difference that last long beyond a sixty-second hug.

Learning to embrace the little moments with little people,
<>< Katie

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

Child-Like Prayer

"What if we woke up today with only the things we thanked God for yesterday?"

I like quotes.  I read a lot of them throughout the day, especially on Twitter (@KatieAx3).  But this one struck me in a way few have.

Instantly, I began thanking God for everything within my gaze.

Thanks for the glass of water, the coaster, and the table.
Thanks for that still-life picture on the wall.
Thanks for the dog pooping on the hairy floor and the paper towels to clean it up.  Thanks for the floor.  And the hair, too.

It seemed a little ridiculous.  But it was good.  I felt like a kid again.

Have you ever had the opportunity to hear small children pray?

When asked to bless the food, they sometimes remember it among their thanking God for freckles, gum, and the sand box. While sometimes I get impatient (I remember the now-cold food on the table), I think God appreciates it.

No, more than appreciates it. 

I think God loves it.

He loves hearing His children (even His big children) talk to Him throughout the day.  He loves being appreciated for His work, being called on in times of need, and being praised through the storms of life.  He loves hearing what's on our hearts and minds.  No matter how life-changing.  No matter how mundane.

He doesn't think prayers about freckles are silly.  After all, He put the freckles there.

He put the bird on the satellite dish that's blurring my show.  He put those skin cells on my body just to fall off and become the dust on that piano.  He put the water in the sky to rain to the earth to be filtered and come out my faucet to fill my cup to quench my thirst (and drench my shirt). 

Just because we take things for granted doesn't mean He didn't put them there.

"What if you woke up today with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?"

Today, try talking to your Abba Father like a child.  After all, "The kingdom of God belongs to such as these" (Luke 18:16)

<>< Katie

Love like a Child

Author's Note: the following is a revised repost from the days before I had faithful readers.  It was Summer 2008 when I worked part time at a day camp.

 This afternoon I was playing "kickball" with some kids.  We just kicked the soccer ball to each other, and the group changed every few minutes.  A few five year olds, a six year old, a seven year old, and an eight year old.  Eventually the bigger kids left and the five year olds had grown bored with "kickball."  They moved on to "Let's make the teacher into a jungle gym."

When will that new playground be completed?  The word "headache" means nothing to some five year olds.

An eight year old and I sat in the grass while the two five year olds ran back and forth between us leaping into our arms with the goal of knocking us over.

Ultimately, I was lying flat on my back with both of them in my lap giggling hysterically.

"I love you, Miss Katie," one of them said to me.

"I love you more!" the other countered.

"I love you both the most!" I responded.

Why do they love me? Five minutes ago they had to ask my name. They love me because I stick up for them (ten year olds tend to wreak havoc on "kickball" games), I get the ball when it rolls in the street (when will that new playground be done?), and I let them climb all over me (does it have monkey bars?).

God does a whole lot more for us than that, yet we still hesitate to tell Him we love Him. I might step out in front of a car to protect these girls, but I probably wouldn't willingly died a painful death for them.  Yet Christ did, but sometimes I'm more willing to tell the girls of my love than I am Christ.

Tell Someone you love Him. Tell Him thanks.

Then spread the love tell someone else you love them. (And don't let it be me). Then tell them He loves them. (I already know that, so you still can't tell me).

Love,
<>< Katie

"Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'" Matthew 19:14

A Rapid Turn of Events

Last Friday when we got in the van on our way to Philadelphia, Lori was a bit groggy from her midnight shopping trip.  She talked about seeing a man from her church, Mark.  His pregnant wife Beth was two days overdue at the time.  Obviously she couldn't go shopping, so she sent him out with a huge list of items to get Black Friday shopping.

"Wouldn't it be funny if he went home ready to take a nice long nap and she went into labor?" Lori said.

God thought it would be funny, too.  By the time we were in the Wells Fargo Center enjoying our intense hockey experience, Beth had gone into labor.

After the game, we got back in the van and Mr. Steve said, "God said we can come to Him in the good and in the bad.  Today we need to go before Him in the bad."

I thought he was referring to the recent devastating Flyers' loss in the third round of the shoot out.

No, Beth had delivered the baby and there were complications.  We didn't have a lot of information.  Neither did Beth.  But the baby had been transferred to a different hospital, and the prayer chain notified.

So pray we did.  Right there in the middle of a traffic jam in Philadelphia.  We said we wanted healing for Mark and Beth's youngster.  We didn't even know if it was a girl or a boy.  We didn't know what was wrong.  But we knew God knew.  We knew God cared. We knew God could heal the baby, if it was His will.

It was His will.  But He healed the baby in the way we weren't hoping for.  By the time we made it home after a cheese steak, Mark and Beth's son was being held safely in the arms of his Heavenly Father.

Do me a favor and take a minute to pray for Mark and Beth and other families that have lost children.  I cannot fathom such a joyous occasion turning so devastating so quickly.

Do me another favor and let me know how I can best pray for you.

Thanks, friends.

<>< Katie

Interdigiting

"Let a child take you for a week every week." - Max Lucado

My Baptist Church had a (dry) tailgate before my college's Homecoming football game. Amber wanted to take little Abby to the parade. I figured my six year old boyfriend would enjoy it, too.

Several weeks ago it came out that this busy six year old has three girlfriends. I asked if I could be number four. His father applauded him for working the college girls. He was too embarrassed to look at me all day. I think that means yes.

I knew getting him to go to the parade with me was a long shot but it was worth a try. At his father's insistence, he came. The four of us walked (ok, Amber carried Abby) to what we thought was the parade route only to discover we were on the wrong side of the soccer field. Even at their slowest speed my long legs move twice as fast as this six year old's little legs. I didn't want him to get lost in the crowd. I also realized he'd still a bit uncomfortable with me. I kept a close eye on him and my hand at a level where he could grab it if he so desired.

The closer we got to the parade, the closer he got to me. When we stopped, he reached up and took my hand. He then reached up with his other hand and grabbed hold. We watched the parade together, my right hand held captive in both of his.

I was no longer jealous of Amber with the toddler. I had a six year old comfortable enough to grab my hand with both hands. Maybe he was afraid the animals on the floats were going to jump off. Maybe he was afraid I was going to wander off and leave him. Maybe he was lost but he knew I wasn't; I knew where his parents were. All the way back, he held me hand with one hand and stuck so close I had to step around him to move. I didn't mind.

Is that how we should be with God? Our inclination, especially at first, is to wander nearby God. As we walk, we realize He knows where we're going. And we don't. We step closer and closer to Him. We link hands and let Him show us the way. He leads; we follow closely and (sometimes) obediently.

When my "boyfriend" had my hand, my face had a smile. I loved walking hand in hand with him. I wanted to introduce him to everyone we passed, I steered him clear of hot grilles, I returned him safely to his parents. If I can feel that much joy from walking with a six year old who may or may not claim to be my boyfriend (my vote is on not), how much more joy does God feel when we walk with Him? God takes pride in calling us His children. He does not steer us clear of all trials and turbulence but He does walk with us all of the way. With His shield of protect, nothing happens to us without His knowledge. That's more than I could promise my "boyfriend."

<>< Katie

"Are there any prayer praises?"

It seems all of the long-term prayer requests in our Sunday school group had changes for the worse this week.  The eleven year old fighting adult cancer lost her battle.  The two year old they thought was finally on the uphill slope was given less than a year to live.  A discouraged soldier.  Continued pain for several younger women with chronic illnesses.  More relationship problems from a daughter.

"Feel free to share praises, guys," Matt said.

On cue, the door opened and in walked a young family.  Husband and wife with their newborn.  She was still pregnant when I came back to school a month ago.  We pulled out extra chairs for them and they got to sit front row center.  The father reached over, grabbed the leg of his wife's chair, pulled it closer to himself, and put his arm around her.  I had this sudden overwhelming urge to be that woman.  Someday.

We added this family to our list of praises.  The general energy of the room lifted upon seeing their tired faces.  We began to thank God.  We had to do some searching, but we found reasons to be thankful.

What are you thankful for today?  Don't be upset if you have to search.  Were you healthy enough to get out of bed?  Do you have internet access to read this?  A roof over your head?  Food to eat?  Clothes on your back?

Even if you say "no" to all of those things, you can say "yes" to this: you have a God who loves you.  Let that be what you are thankful for today.  It is enough because His grace is enough.

With love,
<>< Katie

A Letter to You

Class prompt: Spend one hour right now responding to a letter you received from a friend who is struggling with the Christian faith. For the next hour, I cried, I prayed, I scribbled, and I erased. Ultimately, I didn't write this; God did. I am the pen; He is the writer. I tried to edit the grammar mistakes without recrafting sentences I don't like.
Feel free to put your name in when it says, "Friend."
In Christ,
<>< Katie

Dear Friend,
It saddens me to hear about your struggles regarding faith. First of all, I would like you to understand that I am praying for you as you go through this challenging time.

God adores you, Friend. Psalm 139 talks about how He knit you together before you were born. He's chosen you to be His creation, formed to be exactly who He wants you to be. Here's the kicker: He's not done yet. He's still working on you because you're a work in progress. He hasn't given up on you, so I'd encourage you not to give up on Him.

In your letter you talked about how to know God is real. You're right, it's hard when you can't run in to Him at Wal-mart. Not in a physical way, at least. However, just because you can't see and touch Him doesn't mean He isn't there. Personally, I find that to be the cool part: He's always there, even when I can't hear and feel Him. Sometimes He likes to be silent. I like to imagine He's watching and observing and just enjoying being with you. He's not gone. He hasn't moved at all, actually.

You mentioned one of the hardest parts about God is the whole prayer thing. You're right, sometimes it is like you're talking to wall. You talk and pray and pour over your words unsure what to say. Don't give up before you say anything at all. It's just like talking. Nothing special. No fancy words needed. In fact, you can completely eliminate all of the "thees," "thous," and "shalls," if you want. I mean, if you really love those kinds of words go ahead and keep going with them. My suggestion is a simple prayer Bob Lenz taught us back in 2004. Remember? "God, help. Amen." Simple. Yet profound. I also love the Lord's Prayer and it can be found in Matthew 6.

On Friday I was reminded of something cool. Christianity is potentially the only religion that offers forgiveness. Sure, you messed up. So have I. God knows our mess-ups. That's terrifying, right? I know. But it's also cool. Cool because He knows everything we've done but He still loves us. He's still forgiven us, still accepted us, still died for us. That's the beauty of grace and mercy. Mercy is God not giving us what we deserve (death because we've messed up). Grace is God giving us what we don't deserve (life, namely eternal life). My friend Ron explained it to me once like this: say you're outside playing and you get all muddy before running through the house and making a huge mess. Mercy is your mom not getting mad and punishing you. Grace is when she hands you a plate of cookies even though you made a big mess. She still loves you. God loves you through your skrew-ups and your questions.

Questions are good, my friend. Questions help us know people are thinking. Never be afraid to ask questions. The challenge is that sometimes we ask questions and don't get answers we want or worse don't get any answers at all.

Silence stings.

I've been there. Sitting in the silence waiting, wondering. However, I am learning to enjoy the silence. Learning to realize I don't need answers to all of my questions. If I knew everything about God then there would no longer be the need for faith. "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1). We all memorized that verse in confirmation class way back in the day.

Back when we studied baptism, communion, the ten commandments, confirmation, etc. All of the things that you find challenging now. I suppose 8th grade as a long time ago. Have you been asking unanswered questions since then?

I will confess, I have. They're not all unanswered, of course, but a lot of them are still unanswered. Especially the "why" questions I don't anticipate those answers on this side of heaven. In fact, many of them I've written down and set aside as if to say, "I'm not dwelling on this anymore."

I've got to head to class and I want to get this in the mail before the post office closes. Can we get together to chat in person? I've love to hear more of your thoughts, questions, and uncertainties.

Until then, realize God loves you so much that He sent His Son to die for you. Have you ever had anyone die for you? What about Someone who died for you but didn't stay dead? Someone who knows your anxious thoughts and desires to soothe your fears? Someone who cares a lot about you.

Have you ever watched an engaged father play with his young child? Whether they play baseball or ride bikes or paint the house or just plain be together. The joy you see between the two of them sharing life together. That's the joy God wants in sharing life with you.

He loves you, Friend. With an immeasurable love that is beyond what we can fathom.

In the words of Max Lucado, "God thinks you're great."

And I do, too.

Love,
Katie

Hello, Tokyo?

There's a banana sitting on my desk that I was supposed to eat for breakfast and didn't. I am strongly resisting the urge to pick it up and the conversation would follow something like this,

"Hello? Uh huh. Uh huh. Oh, you want Laura? Ok, here she is."

Even though I am a firm believer that Laura is a four year old somedays, her reaction would probably be, "What the crap?"
Although it would go perfectly both with what the speaker was discussing tonight and an "argument" Laura and I were having.

Laura and I were trying to decide who loves the other more. She said she loves me more and wins the argument because she's older (this is my friend Laura). I came back with the fact that I love her more because I am younger and come with the love of a child. I won even if I did have to call myself a child. Sometimes being a child is a good thing, sometimes it's not. Natalie would love to discuss how breast milk is perfect for babies but not so good for adults...

The speaker tonight was discussing Matthew 16:13-16 and how we need to go deeper with our relationship with Christ than just what we learned in VBS and Sunday School. VeggieTales only teach one so much. If you're still thinking the Babylonians prevented their wall from being knocked down by throwing slurpies, you need to think again. Great story for kids, not so good for college students. Dig deeper, respond to God. It's not just find "A", "B", and "C" plug them in and get "X" (Thank goodness because I hate math!), it's a lot harder than that and we need to search and answer who Jesus is for ourselves.

Good news: God doesn't need a banana "phone" to talk to you. That way it doesn't get all mushy in your hair! He's calling, go pick up!

In Christ,
<>< Katie
"'But what about you?' He asked. 'Who do you say I am?" Matthew 16:15 (emphasis mine).

Abba, I Belong to You

In Aramaic, the word Abba is an intimate word that means Papa or Daddy. When I saw Peder Eide in concert last summer, I heard his song "Abba, I Belong to You" for the first time. He made the energetic audience sit down and take a pause while we sang to our Daddy.

Since I hear them on my iPod, on the radio, at church, and everywhere I go, worship songs so quickly become just another song. It's refreshing to know I'm singing to Jesus all of the time and cusses aren't slipping out if I'm not playing attention while I sing, but that's not enough. All too often I'm singing to God without paying any attention to the lyrics. I promised myself I'd not do that with "Abba, I Belong to You." Now, whenever I hear it, I stop what I'm doing and give those three minutes to God. If I'm driving, sometimes I even pull over. It's a pretty simple song but touching none the less. Read the lyrics.

"Abba, I Belong to You" by Peder Eide

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You,
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

I kneel now,
and feel how I felt You before.
This pausing is causing my heart to explore
Why when I'm weary so often you seem far away
Still I will say:

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You,
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

What I feel is less real than all that You say.
You told me, You'd hold me through all of my days.
So though my spirit is tossing and turning about
Still there's no doubt:

Abba, I belong to You
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You,
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You,
Yes, I belong to You.
My Abba, Father, God.

You're my Abba, Father, God."

Peder asked us to raise our hands to our Abba, Father. I'm not one to pull the "fork lift" or the "Statue of Liberty" very often, so outstretching my hands to the sky was a little out of my comfort zone, but I did it. I closed my eyes and half expected my Papa, Daddy to swoop down and scoop me up into His loving arms. I kind of felt like a four year old.

Last night, we sang it again. I put my arms up again, and I still felt like a four year old. Except this time, instead of closing my eyes, I looked up to the dusky sky. I looked at the pen mark on my left hand, like a four year old who is first learning to color with markers. I looked at the band aid on my right hand and thought of my trip to the First Aid tent, like the four year old who cries for the littlest scratch. (I scraped my hand on an old nail in a barn, ok, you would have gone to the First Aid tent, too). I looked up to the deep blue sky between my hands waiting for His smiling face to appear. Waiting to be held close and all of my tears wiped away.

Maybe I wasn't literally scooped up, but God was there. He was indeed holding me in His loving arms. I will forever be a four year old, and that's ok. God calls us to come like a child, and come like a child I shall!

Abba, I belong to You.
<>< Katie

"Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'" Matthew 19:14