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

Freelance Writing

Being back in the small town where I graduated college, I get a lot of weird looks. A lot of, "I didn't see you at all last semester! When do you graduate?", "How long are you visiting?" I hear there are a lot of rumors flying around as to why I'm here and no one really knows how to answer the question.

So here's the deal: I'm a writer. That's the easy answer I tell people to give.

More accurately, I'm a freelance writer/editor. That means companies need something written (a press release, an article, an interview transcript, a business profile, whatever), so they call me and say, "Hey can you write this?" I say yes. They say they want it yesterday. So I do what needs to be done, go back in time, and send it to them. They send me a paycheck.

At least that's how it's supposed to work. How it really works is that I spent umpteen hours praying for jobs and reloading my email. As a freelance writer, you are always looking for work. It's not something I want to do forever but until a full time job lands on my plate, it will be a step closer to paying bills.

Here's the catch: I don't make enough to cover rent, food, coffee, et al. I've cut every superfluous expense that I can (ie cable, internet, etc.) without freezing to death and living on peanut butter and jelly. I've gotten really good at mooching. And praying for bread. God provides. I haven't gone hungry yet.

It means there are weeks when I sit around reading all day because I have no work and there are weeks when I run around like a chicken with my head cut off.

Since I don't have internet at home, the coffee shop has become my office. I spend about four to five hours here a day. I welcome distractions and conversations but some days I really am trying to get something done in a crunch. I share my office with three pastors, an evangelist, some other professionals, and a whole lot of students. Some days I also share my office with a jazz band. There was a mic check happening on my desk yesterday. Stage lights are bright when you're trying to type.

And, no, I don't work in my pajamas. Yes, I do dress up for phone interviews. No, I don't get paid just to hang out. I am always "on-call." I do work on the weekends, late at night, and whenever else jobs (paid and unpaid) appear.

Any questions?

<>< Katie

PS: If you're going to call me "Freelance Writer Katie" don't shorten it to "FWK" like one of the pastors I share my office with tried to do.

The Cup

Something crunches beneath my tires as I parallel park outside of a Christian bookstore. Coming around to pay the meter, I see the crunching came from what used to be a coffee cup that is now smashed to smithereens. Clearly, I was not the first one to run it over.

"You alone hold my broken cup."

I can't help but smile at the irony of the moment. Over coffee a few days before, I had a conversation about (among other things) parking meters, Christian books, and cracked cups.

"You alone hold my broken cup. My heart's so dusty and dry."

Two days earlier I stood in the audience and listened to singer/songwriter Peder Eide talk about cracked cups.

We all have cups. God pours out love, affirmation, encouragement intending to fill our cup until it overflows. Yet fear, abandonment, rejection, etc. have cracked our cups. Some cracks are bigger than others yet still the goodness of God leaks out and the cup never overflows. This is not what God intended.

"I'll ache 'til You make me whole."

As an audience, we extended our hand-cups into the air, handing them to our Abba Father like a small child hands a broken object to a parent. Individually we identified a specific crack and asked Him to fix it.

"Abba, this belongs to You."

I had just spent the last hour closely examining the multiple cracks in my cup. The cracks that are causing fast leaks and those that are slower. The causes of the cracks and the repercussions of them. The need for the Lord to repair the cracks and fill my cup.

"Abba, this belongs to You. This belongs to You, Abba Father."

Mending takes time, especially when your cup has been run over... twice.  Especially when the cause of the cracks lead to multiple, "Oh, Honey"s.  Yet when you, when I, lift our broken cups before the Lord, He graciously repairs them and pours into them until they are overflowing.  He fills them until it's not the former cracks or even the cup itself that can be seen but rather His love pouring over the edges.

"I thirst for You, Jesus, fill me up!"

<>< Katie

Lyrics from "Make Me Whole" and "Abba, I Belong to You" by Peder Eide.

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

Snow pants and iced coffee

Sometimes so many cool things happen in life that I just want to write about every minute of every day.  Except I can't.  Let me give you snapshots of my yesterday.  <>< Katie

Snapshot One
Five of the six girls in my apartment had somewhere to be by 8am.  Remember, we're college students, so that is unheard-of early!  A little before seven I rolled over and noticed Jennifer was missing.  Honestly, I wondered if she ever came to bed.  I fell asleep before she came in and she apparently got up before I did.  She could sleep while doing a headstand, so I wasn't too worried.  I was worried about our frantic, groggy noise as the other five of us tried to get ready.  When I found her in the living room, she said she went to bed just after I fell asleep and got up not five minutes before my alarm went off.  I asked why she was up and she said she got up to make Allyson coffee.  I figure that's the epitome of selflessness, to get up at 7am to make coffee for your roommate.  It got better.  She then went out and scraped all of the ice off of Elizabeth's car.  At seven am, my amazing roommate woke up just to serve us.

Snapshot Two
Around nine, Dr. Z and J-M walked into the coffee shop.  I asked J-M why he was wearing snow pants.  He said it was eleven degrees outside and they had walked.  He then proceeded to order an iced coffee.  At which point I reminded him it was eleven degrees out.  His response?  "That's why I'm wearing snow pants."

Snapshot Three
I arrived at the Wal-mart crosswalk two steps behind an elderly couple with matching hand-carved wooden canes.  There was enough time of me to cross in front of the oncoming car but there wasn't enough time for them.  The man cleared his throat to find his voice.  "Let's go," he said to his wife.  One foot at a time they moved forward and I subconsciously slowed my naturally fast pace to half time.  When we reached the halfway point, I was sure the car had stopped and there were other people in the cross walk, so I sped up again, but for some reason that cute old couple has stuck in my head for the last few days.

Snapshot Four
Around eight pm, my roommates announced it was wintery mixing outside.  I left my study perch on the couch and got up to look out the window.  Honestly, I was excited to see big white snowflakes for the first time this season.  As soon as I pulled open the blinds, I remembered I live in Baptist Country.  If I closed one eye, tilted my head sideways, and stared at the street light, I could kind of see something that resembled a rain drop.

Snapshot Five
Remember those nice things I said about my roommate in Snapshot One?  I take them all back.  That morning she also washed our sheets.  She said it took forever to put the sheets on my bed.  Apparently she had finished when she realized she missed a layer and had to start all over again.  Honestly, I appreciated it.  What I did not appreciate was the fact that she intentionally made the bed backwards.  I think next time I do the sheets I'll make Jen's bed inside out with the sheet on top and comforter on the bottom.

Silly String and Stonings

For my birthday, Melissa gave me the same thing she has given me every year for the past plethora of years: purple silly string. This year, it got opened in "God's front yard" aka the church coffee shop. Naturally, it was mere seconds before we were all covered with purple silly string. Christian was out of the room.

We saw him returning, and I hid around the corner, but he saw my shadow.  Suspicious but unaware of my dangerous weapon, he refused to enter.  After a short impasse, I ran out at him.

"Don't you--"

It was too late.  I, Katie Ax, have showered a pastor with purple silly string in the church atrium.  Of course, Christian wasn't going to let me get away that easily.  He nearly tackled me to usurp the silly string.  I've been in enough "fights" at church to know the woman's bathroom is no sanctuary (pun intended).  Besides, there was no way I was going to outrun him.  And this is still church even if it is Monday night.

Flight wasn't an option.  How do you fight silly string?  I went for the third, less famous option: fetal position.  I fell to the ground in hopes of taking the "tornado position," but I klunked my head on the floor (carpet-covered concrete, in case anyone was ever wondering).  I flailed around for a minute before resolving myself to the fetal position.  We were both laughing.

All of the sudden, Christian's face turned serious.  "And neither do I condemn you.  Go and sin no more."  And he walked away.

I know the relief I felt that minute was absolutely nothing compared to the relief the adulterous woman felt when Jesus told her the same words some two-thousand years ago.  You see, she faced something far worse than silly string.  She faced death by stoning.

We don't know a lot about her.  We know she was caught in adultery.  We don't know where the man is.  We know the Pharisees cared more about trapping Jesus than they did about this woman.  We know Jesus gave her life.

According to the law given by Moses, the punishment for unfaithfulness was death.

We know Jesus showed her mercy.

Mercy: God not giving you what you deserve.

We know know Jesus showed her forgiveness.

Forgiveness: Saying "Yes, what you did was wrong, but I'm going to put it behind us.  I wish you well."

We know Jesus gives us the same.

"And neither do I condemn you," He says.  "Go and sin no more."

And unlike Christian with my silly string, Christ will never seek retaliation.

<>< Katie

PS: Thanks for all of the birthday wishes.  Tuesday's post had a record number of comments: five.  :-)

Peppermint Mocha, Please

Well, I did it.  I found the perfect place to sit and write.  I could sit there for hours undisturbed.  It was quiet and there weren't a lot of people to watch.  It seemed pretty much perfect.  Except it's three hours from my house.  Dang it!

I don't care.  Let me tell you about it.  It's Radio Shack.  Well, sort of.  Buried deep inside this Radio Shack was a little cafe that had three very important things: coffee, wifi, and wine.  Ok, so I'm not quite 21 yet and I don't really care for wine, but I would be willing to take up wine-drinking just to sit there with a glass as I mulled over words.  They can't serve it by the glass, but you can buy a bottle and drink your wine... in Radio Shack.

Well, the Radio Shack Cafe was a fail since it's so far away.  Instead I tried the library.  My suitemates think I loathe libraries.  I don't.  Just our campus library because it's outdated and feels like a dungeon.  The public library was a great suggestion!  I was impressed.  It had almost everything I wanted in a writing spot:
Quiet- check
Minimal distractions- check
View of the lake- check
Desk/workspace- check
Comfy chair- semi-check... better than the spindle one at home
Coffee- negative
Outlet for my computer- negative
However, I'm not a big coffee drinker and caffeine gives me a headache, so I can sacrifice that.  As for the plug, well, if I go with my computer fully charged it lasts two hours and that's how long I have on the parking meter, too.  It passes the test of day one.  I'll just pray the old man who was reading over my shoulder sits somewhere else next time.

Later that same day, I had a meeting with my boss for my writing internship.  We met at Starbucks, thus I was able to have my tall caffeine-free peppermint mocha.  We then sat on the patio and worked.  More accurately: I sat on the patio; Matt paced.  This was our second "pacing session" where he discusses, draws, demonstrates, dreams while I throw out ideas and write feverishly.  Since we met in a coffee shop, this officially fulfills aspects of my "Coffee-Shop Dwelling Writer" dream.  I can only hope that Matt has a dream to be the "Weirdo pacing and talking outside of a busy Starbucks."

 “Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish.” ~ John Jakes

<>< Katie

An Afternoon at Starbucks

A few weeks ago I confided in you all that I have this secret goal to one day become a coffee shop-dwelling writer.  I talked about how my first shot at that goal didn't go so well since I chose a small, local coffee shop where professors hold office hours and my friends dwell.  I didn't give up, and on Wednesday I took a second stab at that goal.

"Hey, do you guys know of any good coffee shops in the area?" I asked after an enlightening, entertaining lunch discussing world politics and the best way to remove snot from one's nose (yes, really).

"Come over to church and use our coffee shop; that's why we have it," Bob suggested.  Then he laughed, "No, you wouldn't get any work done; you'd just talk."  I pretended to be mad at him, but we both knew it was the truth.

"Barnes and Noble has a coffee shop.  As does Borders," Jessica provided.  No good.  I'd spend more than the $3 I had in my wallet.

"Or there's a Starbucks across the street," Emily offered.

I was looking for a small, local coffee shop, but Starbucks would have to do.  I ventured across the street, walked into Starbucks with my purple purse, purple computer bag, and purple tumbler, and took a seat at the first table I saw with an outlet.  There I sat.  My water warm (it sat in the car during lunch).  My coffee cold (I only bought it so I didn't feel like I was loitering).  My battery dead (it was fine Monday, but by Tuesday it wouldn't hold a charge).  My pen sticky, my notebook out, and my inspiration missing.  I had been afraid of that.  I wasn't too worried.  I had plenty of stories to write.  Since the novel's hit a stand-still I've explored short stories.  As I've sure you've all noticed, I don't do "short" but, boy, do I love "stories."  If none of those would suffice, I had plenty of old material to play with.  I've never written "Major Parking Lot Incident" or I could tell the stories behind some of the weird items I'm finding as I clean my bedroom.  That wasn't necessary.  I did several hours of "picking" and POV focusing before finally calling it a day.

One thing I started in March was what I think I'm going to call the "inspiration box"  (Unless someone else has a more clever title). Anytime I read a good prompt, quote, exercise, or idea it goes in a gold box I saved from this past Christmas.  Most of these come from a writer's blog but some come from class and others from others.  I'd love to hear, how do you find inspiration?  What do you write when words don't come?  Also, can you work in a coffee shop or do you spend too much time people watching?  I've had that problem, too.

Oh, and how about a quick quote from Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.

"And as I worked on the novel, as my character did what he wanted and ruined my story, it reminded me of life in certain ways.  I mean, as I sat there in my office feeling like God making my worlds, and as my characters fought to have their way, their senseless, selfish ways of nonstory, I could identify with them... I was also that character, fighting God and I could see God sitting at His computer, staring blankly at His screen as I asked Him to write in some money and some sex and some comfort." (Pg 85-86)

<>< Katie

Be intentional

This semester, the theme on campus has kind of been "Be Intentional."  Be intentional in spending time with God.  Be intentional in your friendship.  Be intentional in sharing Christ.  Be intentional in loving others... It took on a whole new meaning for me tonight.

As part of the college ministry at my Baptist church, John, Keith, David, and I went out on Friday evening.  It was a little weird because I was the only female among three guys.  Before coming to college, my only brother was the tractor.  I didn't have a lot of male friends.  I was pretty much clueless as to how guys work.  Well, ok, I still am but I'm learning.  Last night was a nice challenge for me. 

Putt putt was fun.  I won!  I had the highest score!  Unlike in soccer (which I still call futbol), you can use anything and everything including my proper end of my golf club, the handle end of the club (like a pool cue), my feet, my hands, and even my mouth (I blew the fall into the hole).  Yes, I rock at mini golf!  However, I did have one advantage: the guys kept complaining about the nasty water/fish stench.  I grew up on the shore of a great lake... I smelt it but it didn't bother me.  :-) 

After mini golf, we went to the coffee shop and shared life.  All four of us are bloggers, students, and Christians, but that's about where the similarities end. Sure, we're less than ten years apart in age, but we're all at different stages in life.  The first time I ever worked with each of these guys individual, it was in various ministry settings.  I see them as wonderful men of God and in their presence I don't feel the need to constantly be concerned with my appearance (or anything else girls fret about in a co-ed environment).  Last night, we were each open with how we were doing academically and (more importantly) spiritually.  It was great to hear what God is doing in the lives of these gentlemen.  I know He's got great things in mind for them.

David, Keith, and I had each shared, and we were about ready to wrap up.  Keith looked at John, "And how are you doing?"  Keith and I are a lot alike--same double major, same germ-phobia, same thesis topic, same short attention span, etc.--but his conversation-starting ability is much better than mine.  Sometimes it's a simple, "How is Katie today?"  Other times, "What have you read lately?"  Or, my personal favorite yet the most intimidating, "How are you and God doing lately?"

I was not surprised when he turned John's question around back on John himself.  John, on the other than, was a little taken aback by it.

"You know, it's been a long time since someone has asked me that.  My pastor does periodically, but no one else.  Be aware of that if you go into ministry, no one asks how you're doing spiritually."

Eventually he gave us an answer, and we closed in prayer.  His words, however, stayed with me: no one ever asks you that once you become a minister.

Do me a favor, be intentional about making a moment to ask your pastor how he or she is doing.  If you're not comfortable with that, ask how you can pray for him/her most accurately.  Be sure you follow through with that prayer, too!  And follow up. 

Even if you don't have the opportunity to ask your pastor, be intentional about asking someone.

Let me ask you: how are you and God doing?  How can I most accurately pray for you?  If you don't want to comment publically, pull me aside in the caf, send me an email, do something.  I'd love to hear about what God is doing in your life and where you need some extra prayer.

Learning to be intentional and how to play mini golf,
<>< Katie

Coffee Shop

I have a secret. One I've never shared before.

Some day I want to be a coffee shop dwelling writer. I haven't decided yet if I want to be the sketchy person perched in the corner silently observing or the social butterfly who hops tables from the time the coffee shop opens until it closes. I don't know but I'm willing to set aside my dislike for coffee and hatred for the lingering coffee shop smell to achieve this goal.

The long process towards reaching this goal began on Wednesday. I had a nice chunk of free time in the afternoon. My plan was to do go right after lunch, do homework until my meeting at 3:30, finish the meeting quickly, and then write for fun until dinner.

Around 1:45 I walked in to the coffee shop and ordered my favorite drink: a decaf peppermint mocha. Lucky for me, my punch card was full so I got a free venti! Normally I order a tall, so I figured the venti would last me until dinner. It didn't but that's ok. See! I'm on my way to being a coffee drinker!

I found an open table and for the next hour or so I worked relatively diligently. Of course, I did take a break from preparing for my poetry workshop to enjoy some people watching or have a short chat but nothing too substantial.

That is until Jessica found me. I knew I was in trouble when she pulled out the chair and sat down across the table from me. By this point it was about 2:30 and my homework wasn't done yet. She had a coffee date at 3, so I didn't panic. I could still use that last half hour to finish my work and then write for fun (not blog) afterwards.

At exactly 3:00 the bell on the door to the coffee shop rang and in walked Dr. Zirci. It was actually ironic because Jessica and I had just been talking about his wonderful family.

"You're in my office," he teased me.

"Actually, I'm in the coffee shop," I teased back.

"That's my table," he argued.

"I don't see your name on it," I countered.

"This exact table is my office from 3-5 on Wednesday afternoons," he said pulling out a syllabus to show me he does indeed have coffee shop office hours at that time. What a fun professor!

Before he could kick me out of his office I invited him to join me. The three of us engaged in conversation until Jessica's coffee date arrived and I changed tables for my meeting. We left Dr. Zirci alone in his office.

At 4:15ish I returned to my seat next to Dr. Zirci ready to write.

"What are Katie and Dr. Zirci doing?" I heard a voice behind us.

"I don't know. Maybe she needs remedial help," a second voice answered.

"She's definitely not in Anatomy and Physiology; she's an English major. Plus, they're laughing. I'm pretty sure A&P isn't that funny."

"You're just jealous," I wanted to say but I didn't. Instead, I stole a glance at the time on his computer: 5:00. We'd been talking for a solid forty-five minutes; forty-five minutes of my precious writing time had dwindled away. Have you ever tried to write for fun in a coffee shop sitting side by side with a professor who's also your adoptive father? Let me tell you, it doesn't work very well. However, I don't regret it. Instead of writing, I spent forty-five minutes watching YouTube videos, looking at photos, and sharing life.

Sure, my story's not any further along but the time was well-spent.

Be real-life social today. Don't wait for people to join you in the caf because sooner or later dinner will be over and your conversation will wrap up (unless you're David). Don't wait to see wh appears in your apartment because it's only a matter of time before you'll disappear into your bedroom to do homework. Intentionally place yourself somewhere where you will interact with others and do nothing but fellowship. Put aside your plans to share life. Oh, and facebook/ blogger doesn't count, sorry. :-)

<>< Katie

Brian's Big Mess

Neither Amber nor I wanted to go to church this morning. It's really hard to get up early to go to a church you don't love. We were both dragging our feet because we were exhausted, but we went anyway.

We got there and managed to find ourselves in the first row (AHH!!! Cardinal sin in the Lutheran church). Across the aisle was worship leader Brian and his wife Emily (who we know from school). Well, halfway through the sermon, Amber and I hear a huge SPLASH and our eyes dart to Brian and Emily. Brian spilled his glass of water on the floor. Not just any glass of water. A HUGE glass of water and it went all over himself, his Bible, the floor, and almost all over me, too!

We laughed histerically as this huge puddle spanned the aisle. I'm really glad no one came down for the altar call because I am quite sure they would have tripped. (And it would have been my responsibility save them... wouldn't that be a great, "How'd you break your arm?" story?). The usher during the offering came by and had to step very carefully as he looked down disapprovingly at the mess. He quickly came back and mopped it up... in the middle of the service... as he sang praises to God. :-)

After church Brian teased that he was cleansed for the sin of wrinkles. Don't know you the 11th Commandment? Thou shall not have wrinkled pants on Sunday. What does this mean? We should fear and love God that we eliminate ourselves from wrinkles or face the dreaded water cup. :-)

In Christ,
<>< Katie