Losing Narnia

At the end of Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Aslan tells Lucy and Edmund that they will never return to Narnia. Lucy is devastated. But then she confesses it's not actually Narnia she wants, it's Aslan. Aslan says he's in the other world too only by a different name. In fact, Lucy and Edmund only spent time in Narnia so that they could better recognize Aslan in the other world.

I understand Lucy's disappointment in never being able to return to Narnia. I just graduated from a university I love very much, and God has asked me (at least for now) to give it up. If you've a regular visitor, you are familiar with my moping. If you're new, there have been lots of tears. I'm sure the feeling is similar to Lucy's leaving Narnia for the final time.

What I miss about my university is the people--their love, their transparency, and their friendships. Yet, I also miss being able to see the Lord everywhere, to not be afraid to vulnerably ask for prayer ... in the caf, to lock myself in the prayer room for an hour or four for some privacy with God.

Yet maybe God put me there so that I would better learn to identify Him here (wherever "here" is this week). I learned some awesome things, saw Him work in miraculous ways, and felt His presence like I never have before. But I now have a responsibility to take what I learned, what I saw, and what I experienced and apply it elsewhere. God is not only to be found in a one stoplight town that shuts down half of its sewer when students go home during the summer.

God can be, has been, and is found here, too.

But sometimes I'm too busy mourning the loss of Narnia that I forget that Aslan is on the move right here with me in this world.

<>< Katie

PS: Have you taken a minute to give me your opinion about my blog? I really appreciate your feedback-both good and bad! Thanks!

Home

Last week I made my first trip to Baptist Country as an alumna.  When we pulled into town, it didn't feel like I had been gone a month.  It felt like we had just gone to Elizabeth's for the weekend.

Very little has changed. 
A few trees have blown down, the construction projects have progressed, and there are not nearly as many cars in the parking lot. 

So much has changed.
My ID card no longer lets me into buildings, my mailbox is boarded up, and I am not returning in the fall.  Yet still it feels like home.

It was years ago when I first referred to that little town as "home."  If I flew to The Homeland, I said I was flying home.  If I flew to Baptist Country, I said I was flying home.  The lines between "home" and "school" were so blurry that I gave up on what to call each place and declared travel days "Airplane Day," no matter which direction I was going.

What is home?

Is home my parents' house?  Is home the college town where I went couch-surfing last week?  What exactly is home?

I wish I posted everything I've drafted because in February I wrote a post entitled "Redefining Family."  It claimed "family" was my five suitemates, my ten-person ministry team, and my lunch buddies.  Sometimes family has little to do with blood relation.

Home is where your family is.

I'm having a hard time deciding where "home" is because my family is in The Homeland, my family is in Baptist Country, my family is in Nicaragua, in Guatemala...  Does that make home all of those places as well?

In the same way that The Homeland will always be "home" because my family is here, Baptist Country will always be "home" because my family is there, too.

Beauty and the Beast taught me "home is where the heart is."  If that's true, then I'm heartbroken.  In Baptist Country, I want to be in The Homeland.  While in The Homeland, I yearn for Baptist Country.  I don't think this is necessarily a bad problem to have, but I am not a fan.  For four years my life has been split by 900 miles, a chasm that is not closing anytime soon.

Until God sends me somewhere else, home will have to be my parents' house.  No more trying to outsmart amazon.com to get packages delivered to my P.O. box.  No more loitering in the caf.  No more spontaneous trips to Wal-mart even though we don't need anything.  No more "Katie, party of twelve, your table is ready."

As I struggle to define such a basic four-letter word, I must also remember that in the grand scheme of things, none of these places are "home."  They are all temporary dwellings prior to an eternal home.  I honestly believe that someday there will be no sixteen-hour drives and no time change because there will be no time at all.  There will be a day when tears won't roll, hearts won't break, and pain won't hurt.  All of God's children will be home, constantly singing praises to Him, for He deserves it. 

That, my friends, will be Home.

<>< Katie

Life-Long Friendships

My dad's birthday was earlier this month, so while everyone else was out, I had the job of answering our home phone.  I don't usually pay any attention to the home phone because no one calls me there.  But this particular day I did and what I saw was an area code from Baptist Country.

Even though I knew the call wasn't for me, I got excited.  Talking on the phone to someone in that state made me feel closer to my college friends.  It was the wife of one of my dad's college buddies calling to wish Dad a happy birthday.

A few hours later we received another call from Baptist Country.  This time it was the husband of the woman who called earlier.  I answered the phone and passed it on to the Birthday Boy.

Even though he went into the other room, I could still hear their bantering, the inside jokes and stories that never get old, and the gut-busting laughter.  I couldn't help but smile.  Even though their relationship has been mostly limited to an annual dinner (thanks to having a daughter in the area... wait, that was me) and birthday phone calls, my dad and Mark still have a friendship.

That brought me an amazing amount of encouragement to know that even when we're not seeing each other every day, my college friends and I can still joke around, retell stories, and (yes, even) sass each other.  While the miles between us will change, our friendship will remain the same.

<>< Katie

PS: College friends who thought they were finally free of me and my sassy, sanitary self... so sorry!

Trust, Even in the Desert

Let's be honest for a minute: some days I don't want to read my Bible, don't want to pray, don't want to spend time with the Lord.

It was one of those days.  Even though I wasn't tired, I was ready to call it a night.  I just didn't feel like doing a devotion.

Grudgingly I threw my Bible on my bed and flipped to where I was reading in Nehemiah.  Chapter 9.  The same chapter the pastor used in his sermon on Sunday.  The same chapter we'd read in small group.  In two days I had gone from oblivious to practically an expert on Nehemiah 9; I didn't want to read it yet again.  I figured I'd skim it quickly and go to bed.  Wrong.

Here's what you need to know: my favorite Bible is held together by purple duct tape.  If you drop it, a tree of papers will fall out.  The margins notes are numerous.  It's in such rough shape that I rarely take it out of my room.  But it's in that Bible where all of my sermon notes have been transferred... since sixth grade.

I flipped to Nehemiah 9 and lo and behold sometime in the last ten years (excluding this past Sunday), I heard a sermon on Nehemiah 9.  It was at our student worship service a few years back.  It wasn't my favorite guest speaker and based on the date and when that would have fallen in the semester, I debated even going that night.  I'm glad I did.

In Nehemiah 9, the wall around Jerusalem has already been rebuilt.  The people have literally wept upon hearing (and understanding) the Law they have not kept.  Now they're confessing their sins and reminding God of how He's been faithful to them through the exodus, the desert, and into the promised land.

It's an exercise I have been encouraged to use myself.  Since we're being honest, post-college life is a bit (ok, a lot) like a desert.  My days are filled with job searching and rejections.  My support system in 900 miles away.  I have to constantly remind myself of God's faithfulness.  But, as He did not abandon the Israelites many thousand years ago, God has not abandoned me here.

Have I abandoned Him?  Not quite.  But some days I do my devotion grudgingly; I grit my teeth while praying.

The notes in my margins around Nehemiah 9 say:

How far ahead could they see?
1. Not very far due to the pillar
2. As far as they needed to see

"You're not ready for the Promised Land if you can't trust Him in the dessert."

Hum.

Nehemiah 9:21 says, "For forty years You sustained them in the desert; they lacked nothing, their clothes did not wear out nor did their feet become swollen."

I could make a list of things I lack here in the desert of unemployment.  But in Matthew 6, Jesus prays for daily bread not daily steak.  I have clothes sticking to on my back, I have a roof and ceiling fan over my head, and I have dinner on my plate.  It's definitely not ideal but it's satisfactory, at least for today.

And still, here I am annoyed that God said, "Not now" to graduate school, disappointed that my ideal job has not been dropped into my lap, and sad visiting my closest friends requires an airplane ticket.

How far ahead can I see?  Not very far.  But just far enough.  Not as far as I would like to see but just as far as God is willing to let me see... for now.  As difficult as it is to remember, He sees beyond the pillar.  He knows what comes next.  As I need to see it, He will reveal it to me.  Until then, will I trust Him in the desert?

God, I want to trust You in this desert.  But it's hard.  I am not ready for the Promised Land. Without Your grace and love, I will never be ready.  Prepare me for what lies ahead beyond my vision but not beyond Yours.  Let me focus on You and the pillar You have provided to lead me both by day and night.  I don't have to enjoy this desert, but I want to be found faithful through it.  Thank You for not abandoning me here.  I love You.  Amen.

<>< Katie

The Post in Which the Author Laments

It is the end of an era.  Saying goodbye to my parents in what we now affectionately call "The Crying Parking Lot" seems like forever ago.

"One Sunday afternoon in June" is very quickly becoming "a Monday morning in May."  That very expensive piece of paper is almost mine.  But I don't want it.

I'm not ready to leave.  I'm not ready to get a big girl job.  I'm not ready to start over.

I love it here.  It's why I prayerfully chose this place.  God has grown me and used me here.

I'm not the same woman I was four years ago when we cried in the parking lot.  All too soon I'll be crying in a different parking lot.  Pulling away from a place that has shaped me, formed me, and made me who I am.

As my peers discuss what dorm they're living in next year, I ponder what state (country?) I'll be in.  As they plan their schedule, I look at the classes I wish I could take.

When my parents, sisters, and I said goodbye, I walked back to my dorm while their van pull away.  I never looked back.

Will I be able to do the same in a month?

Based on how easily the tears filled my eyes tonight, no.

I refuse to count the days until I walk across the stage. Instead, I'm being pulled towards it kicking and screaming. Even my pullers are screaming.

"I'm going to have a hard time when you graduate."
"Are you sure you don't want to add an seventh major and stay a little while longer?"

But, unfortunately, it's time. 

The rites of passage passed and the mile stones crossed.  Those "one day in the future" events have become items to be crossed off the to-do list.

Yet still it hurts.

I'm comfortable here.  Four years will do that.

I cannot walk across campus without stopping to chat.  I know the chain of command for almost every problem and situation.  I'm not afraid to jump to the top of the chain, I know the loop holes, and I call people by their first names.  I keep emergency numbers in my phone, and I have used them.

This is my school.
This is my home.

I understand now why people linger long after graduation.  Part of me hopes I become one of them.

<>< Katie

And to think, this post was supposed to be about my final youth trip this weekend.

Sorry, friends. Thanks for letting me be nostalgic today.

Amber and I purchsed our flights to China on Friday! Now my life doesn't end until August. But I still don't have any idea what I'm doing when I get back.

The Wedding Invitation

I opened my mailbox today hoping the envelope inside contained mission trip money (halfway!). It didn't. It was a wedding invitation.

I started to get really nostalgic. Four years ago, I was making faces through my PO box to the bride-to-be in the box on the opposite side of the post office. We were mischievously planning to tie a fishing line or broom stick from her box to mine to trip the post office employees in the morning (we never did it).

We were a five-some. Three seniors fretting about life after graduation. Two freshmen far away from home but excited about the college experience. All five single.

Now, four years later, my how things have changed! The three have all found themselves in language classrooms, whether here in the United States or in Korea. The two are now fretting life after graduation. One is eventually headed to a classroom of her own. The other is still holding out for a way to avoid the classroom (yeah, that's me). Four single. One engaged. Four years!

Part of me wants to go back. Back to the time where Friday nights were spent flipping the atlas open at random, jabbing our fingers down on the pages, and walking across campus in our slippers until we declared ourselves to be in Prairiesburg, Iowa, or Heart Butte, Montana. Back to the days when we'd laugh so hard we'd choke... on a daily basis. Back to the days when the blog was brand new and rarely updated.

Part of me doesn't want to go back. Sure, I love the laughter and adventure. But I'm a radically different woman now than I was then.

I've become more comfortable in my faith (a journey I hope to continue... always). I've moved from a silly college freshman to a more mature college (almost) graduate who's not afraid to be silly. The Baptist church where we worshipped merely because that's where the ride was going, I now call my Baptist church home.

"I am who I am," a statement I declared freshman year. I still am who I am but I am not who I was.

That's natural, good. It's been a big adventure in this tiny town. Four years has changed me a lot. I hope to say the same thing four years from now. Maybe I'll be sending out my own wedding invitations then. Or at least be able to write "two attending." But maybe not.

<>< Katie

"Who let the dogs out?"

In my media writing class, we're doing a unit on journalism.  It bores me to tears because I need the freedom to embellish rather than being confined by the truth and bland format.  This is an exception.  <>< Katie

A college student was attacked by three dogs while walking through a campus apartment building.

Katie Ax, 21, was on her way to a meeting around dusk on Sunday night when three small dogs burst out of the apartment unchaperoned and began to viciously bark, jump, and bite.

"It's one of those things you imagine in dreams, but the marks on my legs tell me it was real life," Ax says.

The owner of the dogs, a mother visiting campus for the weekend, claims they are not prone to attacking and are up to date on their shots.  However, Ax still questions why they were on campus in the first place since the only pets permitted are fish.

Ax says when she returned to her apartment an hour later, her roommates and their respective boyfriends were concerned, especially when she showed them the gashes in her leg where the dogs bit through jeans and flesh.

Andy, the resident "medical person" and his girlfriend Elizabeth took Ax to report the situation, Allyson and Jennifer photographed the injury, and Amy sought an unscented bar of soap.

Ax is hopeful of her full recovery and steps are being taken to avoid infection.  A representative for the campus disability center, Laura, said if Ax were to lose her leg she could no longer live in her current apartment since it is not ADA approved; however, her disability would get her priority registration for classes and the ability to request a note-taker.

Clean Up on Aisle Twelve

I'm thinking about updating my blogger profile to read, "My name is Katie, and I single-handedly keep security camera men from falling asleep on the job."

It was the summer after I graduated high school.  Mom and I had gone to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to pick up some stuff for my dorm room.  Among those items, plastic crates.  You know, the ones that serve almost no purpose in real life and shouldn't be found anywhere but in a dorm room.  I had three homemade wooden boxes (that leave purple and turquoise paint everywhere they sit) and opted to buy two plastic ones, too.  They were in a cute display in the breezeway between the two front doors of the store.  I grabbed two, and we kept shopping.

While we were checking out, Mom and I noticed the plastic crates we'd grabbed were less than perfect.  I took them out the door (no, the alarm didn't go off) and went to exchange them.  I set my two crates on the display and began searching for unbroken ones.  Since this was in the entryway, the automatic door opened and closed every time I moved.  Kind of annoying, but not really a big deal except for the fact that one of the crates had been displaced.  When the door opened, it caught the corner of the crate.  When it closed, it pushed the crate further out of place.  Of course, that one misbehaving crate hit the other crates in the display.  Since I kept moving, the door kept opening and closing, and the crates kept flying all over the entryway.  The entire display tumbled onto the floor creating a fire hazard and almost hitting me in the face. 

I wasn't really sure what to do.  I couldn't stop the display from toppling over just like I couldn't stop the door from opening.  I stood there with my arms in the air, triggering the motion sensor yet again.

I looked through the window to my mom and the cashier, both of whom had stopped what they were doing to search out the cause of this racket.  "And we're letting her go to school 900 miles away," I heard Mom say.

I lost a war with a plastic crate display.  A few war wounds, but I lived to tell the tale.  It has been three years and I have still not shown my face in that Bed, Bath, and Beyond again.
<>< Katie

Deep thoughts from Bejeweled Blitz

I am officially addicted to Bejeweled Blitz again.  It's a facebook game my mom introduced me to over Christmas break.  I intentionally never downloaded it onto my page because I knew I'd get addicted.  Instead, I was forced to play on hers meaning I needed her to log me in.  Yes, my mother was my enabler.  Over spring break, I discovered her password and no longer needed her assistance to Blitz.  However, I still had some self-control since it wasn't on my page.  As soon as the semester was over, I downloaded the stupid game to my page and have been playing daily since.

If you're not familiar with this addicting game, an 8 by 8 box fills with jewels.  You've got a minute to flip them around one at a time to make lines of three jewels that are the same color.  Once three of the same color are together, they disappear.  If you get four, three disappear and the fourth turns into a flaming jewel.  Line the flaming jewel up with two more and all of the surrounding jewels explode.  There are other features, too, but I want to focus on the flaming jewel.

Since you've only got a minute, I'm always planning a few moves ahead of where I'm flipping.  Sometimes that means a flaming jewel appears and my moves disappear before I get there.  Of course, you get points for this in the game, but sometimes it's annoying.  Sometimes there are so many explosions you kind of sit there staring at the screen like, "When is it my turn to play?"

As I'm wasting hours one minute at a time I'm thinking about life.  A year from now I'll graduate college and I have no idea what I'm doing next.  That terrifies me.  Three years of college down and I still don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life.  Ok, well, I want to write, but what's the career path for that?  I haven't figured that out yet.  Right now I don't even know if I'm going to grad school (where?  to study what?) or going right into the workforce (in this economy?  doing what?).  I'm not tied to any part of the country but there are two states I call home.  I don't have any idea what I'm doing after I graduate, but as this year progresses I'll make plans for my future.  I'm a planner; this is what I do.

Maybe, like the jewels, my plans will explode and something else will replace them.  A lot of times, when the jewels change, better moves appear.  As my plans explode and change, maybe better opportunities will surface. 

I hate all of these unknowns and unexpected changes.  However, I realize I am not alone.  There's a whole facebook support group for those of us facing Blitz addictions.  And there's countless college students pensive about their futures.

I think Nikki said it best a few weeks ago when she said, "I'd just love for God to send me my MASH in the mail and be done with it."  Unfortunately, that letter hasn't come yet, so here I am still pondering and wondering as I flip jewels around and waste my life one minute at a time.

More so than normal, this post was written for my own mulling more than it was for anyone else.  If you were able to follow it and learned something, wonderful!  If not, I'm sorry you wasted your time.  Oh, and please don't tell me I have a year to figure out what I'm doing with the rest of my life.  I might smack you.  Fair warning.

<>< Katie

The Spin Cycle

I have two plastic bracelets on my right wrist as reminders of my busy, fantastic weekend. One glows in the dark. It was my admission ticket to a school dance and it now represents how badly Chris and I* stunk up the dance floor on Saturday. We concluded school dances were invented just to make people uncomfortable. I thought maybe it was just me but, no, it's not, it's the whole thing. If you don’t have a date: what do you do? If you do have a date: where to you put your hands, where do you look? Either way: why are those people making babies in public?

"Something wet just hit me in the face."
"It was either sweat or spit, take your pick. Ohh! Or urine. Can you see what color it was? Maybe it was blood."
Yuck!

My other plastic bracelet is hot pink, a much better dancing experience. Matthew, Hillary, Chris, and I went to a music festival on Sunday and spent a couple hours in the afternoon contra dancing, square dancing, and waltzing. Let me just put out there that I have never been so sticky and sweaty in my life, and I didn't know it could get this hot, much less in May.

I was very nervous about this since I'd never been contra dancing before. A lot of my friends talk about wearing flowing skirts and taking Dramamine before they go. Well, I was in jeans and there was no Dramamine in my personal pharmacy. I also had no idea what I was doing but I knew my hand was going to have to go onto the shoulders of sweaty strangers. Yuck!

Lucky for me, the first couple we were partnered with knew what they were doing. In contra dancing, there are two people important to you: your partner (Chris) and your neighbor (changes). My first neighbor showed me how to swing correctly. His last instruction was, "and look me in the eye." Excuse me, sir, but you are forty years my elder and six inches from my face. Looking you in the eye is not very high on my priority list today, sorry. I did it and it was awkward.

When I started writing this blog, I was going to muse aloud about the awkwardness of eye contact, when it's socially acceptable, when it's done poorly, etc. I was also going to ponder why it's acceptable to make eye contact while contra dancing but not ok while slow dancing.

Well, I figured out that one. On the plywood make-shift dance floor I quickly learned why I must face the awkwardness and look my neighbor in the eye: if you don't, you are going to get dizzy, but when your eyes are locked with the other person the world around you is spinning but you are focused on one place. I began to loathe the people who refused to make eye contact with me. Staring at his ear is not quite as effective.

The hardest part is coming out of the swing because, well, the room's still spinning and you are not. In one the dances we did you swing your neighbor then swing your partner. Finding my partner and swinging again without falling over was quite a challenge sometimes. That cannot be healthy, and, boy, am I out of shape.

On the last swing of the day, an elderly gentleman swung me, we locked eyes, and I felt like I was flying. Somehow, we even found the breath to exchange hellos. Like all good things that, too, came to an end and it was time to find Chris. Lucky for me, his arm was around my waist and I was flying again before I felt drunk. When the song was over, I stood there with my arms out trying to regain balance but I'd do it again. Every sweaty man I had to touch was worth those two swings.

When we locked eyes and began to move, nothing else mattered. The barn spun behind us but our eyes remained stable (no pun intended). The music continued but we were stopped in a single moment of time.
That's how God wants to dance with you: lock eyes and push out the spinning world. Maybe that's not possible in a literal fashion but can't you focus on Him amidst the brouhaha of everyday life? Let Him lead and never take your eyes off of Him.

Oh, and please don't contra dance on a cruise ship. You really might fall.

<>< Katie

*Nope, still not facebook official so shhh or I’m not blogging about him again.

Spring Break-ing

You know you're an out-of-state college student when you're hardly off the plane before being handed a list of appointments and interviews that fill your spring break. That's ok because once you wrestle with your two sisters for the one car you know these roads and can get to your destination without the GPS (named Goopus... it's "GPS" and "Doofus" combined). In fact, you know where the lanes end, the speed limit changes, and where the police officers hide.

One thing my family does together is watch House, MD. Dad and I started it, but my sisters have jumped on the bandwagon. I don't have time to watch during the semester, so I hadn't seen any episodes since I was home at Christmastime. One of the episodes we watched this week involved a woman who blogged literally everything. Even I'm not that bad! See, look. This is me sparing you every intricate detail of my spring break and summarizing it in ten highlights. (I'd also like to note that I don't actually post my blogs at 6:48am or whatever. I schedule their publication, so don't tell me my sleeping habits have changed so I can blog at 6am or something crazy like that...)

1. First and foremost, the term "spring break" is not at all what I have experienced. It's not a "break" when the first day you get to sleep in is the day before you go back.  It's not "spring" when you wake up that day to find three inches of snow on the ground. Don't get me wrong, we had some nice warm days, but silly me, I thought in spring the warm days were supposed to follow the snow not precede it.

2. Seeing my sister's college and eating the only pancakes and pasta for four days. The only person brave enough to venture from this strict diet found herself at urgent care with food poisoning. Oops.

3. Drinking ancient champagne with Christian in the church copy room. Don't worry, April was there, too.*

4. Some of our windows need to be replaced, so we're restaining the hardwood floor first... "if you give a mouse a cookie" style.

5. My first trip to the dentist in five years. It's really not that I have dentist-phobia but rather my mother has phone-call-making-phobia. I think it's a genetic condition.

6.Driving through the morning rush hour traffic for an internship interview at a downtown coffee shop.  However, it was an incredibly interesting, informative interview. The first of three that day.

7.My first pedicure ever. Enough said.

8. Translating at the food pantry and soup kitchen. A hard of hearing Hispanic woman told me (in English) that the first time she heard her family speaking Spanish she told them they sounded like a bunch of chickens. Love it!

9. Remembering that I live in a house where refrigerated black olives are guarded by rotten tomatoes and sometimes the toilet paper pukes cat food. Don't ask unless you really want to know!

10. Last but definitely not least was having the opportunity to read for fun! Gasp! What's that? Book review coming soon.

How was your break?
<>< Katie

* Christian's the pastor of an ancient inner-city church; April is his wife. No one knows where this champagne came from nor how old it is, so, no, we didn't actually drink it.

Idiot Box

Apparently in Australian slang they call the television the Idiot Box. I might embrace this idea because I almost never watch tv. It was Thanksgiving before my roommate learned the tv in our room even worked. The only show I care about is House, and I haven't seen an episode since I was home a month ago. Ask me if I've seen a certain movie and the answer is almost always no. I don't watch TV and movies.

This afternoon, the tv was on and instead of retreating to my bedroom, I sat down on the futon, computer in hand, and began to blog. Like always, the television stole my attention and it was not long before I was enthralled by the Wife Swap episode where a strict Irish woman living in Pennsylvania exchanged lives with a more laid-back biker woman from Washington.

As with most episodes, these two families were polar opposites. The Irish family spent all day running from activity to activity while the biker family spent their days riding bikes and jumping on bed. Swap the women and there's a problem.

The women want to convert their new families to be identical to the home they left behind while the fathers felt there was no problem with the original lifestyle and refused to change. While I enjoy seeing the way different families operate, this lack of open-mindedness and constant fighting was making me crabby. I don't need any more help getting crabby this week. The only thing stopping me from changing the channel was not knowing which remote goes to the TV and which is for the VCR--ok, DVD player--and the desire not to get up.

Ultimately, I'm glad I watched all the way through because both families were (eventually) able to admit their lifestyle was flawed. Face it, all lifestyles are flawed. Their willingness to see these flaws embrace change is was impressed me.

I don't like change. I don't do it well. Sometimes it's necessary. Since most of us are college students, the changes we need to make in our lives may not be the same as the families (eating dinner as a family at a table, fathers spending more time with the children, having more of a variety of activities in the kids' lives, less controlling mothers...)

That doesn't mean every thing's perfect. Do me a favor, try and find one flaw in your life and work on it. It won't be an instantaneous transformation, but work at it.

I'll try, too. Maybe I'll learn to embrace the idea that everyone else keeps telling me: I can be a poet. Or maybe not.

<>< Katie

Chris: We're going to get two subs and not eat them right away, but the two drinks we're going to drink right away because we don't want it to turn to ice.
Katie: Of course, drinks that turn to ice are never good.
Adam: You CAN make a science joke!

Blue

I don't know if it is like this on all college campuses, but here you cannot spend time on campus without having at least one story about our housekeeping staff. The housekeepers LOVE to talk. Perhaps that's an understatement. They will start up conversation with anyone and everyone. Last year, a trip to the bathroom that should have taken eight steps took forty-five minutes because Miss Jessie caught me and I was without a good exit excuse.

Now that I no longer live in the dorms, I am no longer forced to interact with them as frequently as I once did. However, I still see them around campus. Just yesterday, Miss Anna had no problem interpreting my prayer to tell me about how she working double shift in order to attend the funeral of former housekeeper the next day. I figure God wouldn't mind if I spent five minutes talking to her while she changed the garbage bag in the prayer room.

Except that they're long winded, Miss Jessie and Miss Patty never have bothered me because I can understand them. It's the older women like Miss Rose and Miss Joy that make me nervous because they have the thickest accents I have ever heard. With Miss Rose, my motto has always been smile and nod politely as she tells me all of the gossip for the week.

With Miss Joy, smile and nod doesn't work. In the words of one of my professors, "Miss Joy was a housekeeper for almost a million years, so when she retired they invited her to audit any classes she wants. As I'm sure you've noticed, that means she sleeps through them all."

When she'd speak up in class, all eight of us (including the professor) would listen intently trying to hack through her deep drawl and old age to formulate some comprehensible statement and interpret it for the rest of the class. I could understand maybe three words every fifteen.

Since then, she's gotten older and her health has deteriorated taking some of her verbal skills with it. This means if I could understand one word before I can't understand anything now. That's a problem because like all of our other housekeepers, Miss Joy loves to talk. I knew I was in trouble when I spotted her sitting outside the cafeteria after dinner tonight.

"Good evening, Miss Joy," I said. There was no way around it; I had to acknowledge her presence.

"Hello. Slkjadansdmasd," she responded.

"Excuse me?"

"I like your blue coat."

"Thank you," I said. It's purple, I thought to myself. Everything I own is purple; Wonder Jacket is no exception. Poor Wonder Jacket is often confused to be blue and now she's feeling blue because of it (I just decided that if my coat has a name it should have feelings, too). Instead of correcting Miss Joy, I let it go.

"Yes, I think blue is your color."

"Thank you very much," I said trying to appear flattered as I walked away insulted.

BLUE?! My color? No you didn't! Purple is my color! A quick glance around my room confirms this. From my desk I see the following purple items: two backpacks, two Nalgenes, two blankets, four pens, my watch, post-it notes, tennis shoes, slippers, a purse, a hammock... Today even my sweater and socks are purple! My world is purple.

Blue is not my color.

See the blue? There's not much of it: blue books, blue pen (professors prefer blue to purple; why is that?), blue jump drive, blue tissue box (only because Wal-mart was out of purple), blue jeans, blue hand... No, not mine. Well, yes mine. It's made from paper and hanging on the wall above my desk. It's my reminder to see the blue.

In 2008, Peder Eide released a CD entitled See the Blue. The whole idea is that blue is everywhere around us but if we're not looking for it we don't see it. Likewise, God is everywhere around us but if we're not looking for Him we don't see Him.

Even though she insulted my jacket and me, Miss Joy reminded me to see the blue, to open my eyes and see God. Thank you! Maybe I will hold the door for you again.

View the Blue,
<>< Katie

Life as a Double Major

It's crunch time. Two 5-page papers due this week. One isn't in English. Newsletter to be released... today... wait, where's Jack's article? Oh, yeah, he hasn't written it yet.... I did laundry two days ago, why is it still all over my room? The socks aren't folded and the shirts don't fit in the drawer. Half-finished Mountain Dew sits by the sink calling my name. The sink! The sink desperately needs to be cleaned. What's the noise? Oh, my stomach. Ooops, forgot dinner. That chocolate looks yummy. St. Nick brought it a day early and just in time. Just like that paper I finished last night. Turned it in at 11:59 and went straight to bed. Hence the heap of papers spewed all over my floor. Somewhere in the heap of junk on my desk is my study abroad form, mission trip form, and... crap... work forms? That's ok, I'm not officially hired yet. My future boss tells me I'm the slave who does everything and doesn't get paid. There's Jack's article! Plug and chug then to bed.

Morning comes all too soon. Do I really need a shower? Um... YES! Time for class. I still didn't finish the book we were supposed to have finished two days ago. It's going to be a loooong day. Where's that Mountain Dew? I knew I didn't finish it on purpose! Oooo... flat... my favorite.

Have a great day!
<>< Katie

(written around midnight one day this past week when I should have been sleeping...)

Fully Restored

Fully Restored. That sounds like the title of a book. Nope, it's not; just googled it. Maybe someday it will be the title of a book. Can't you hear the big announcer dude going, "And now I present to you Fully Restored by Katie Ax?" Shhhhh, just let me dream big and don't remind me the big announcer dude does movies and sports... not so much books. :-)

Like many other college students, I live in a closet with a roommate. We have three outlets. One in the middle of the room that we share. It's fully with our clocks, bed lamps, fridge, microwave, etc. One on her side of the room that also has my stereo plugged in. At least for today. I'm thinking about moving it to my side of the room because it's kind of inconvenient. Even more inconvenient is the fact that my outlet up and fell off the wall. Just boom. Done. Dangling by two cords.

Fire hazard much? Yeah. We put in a work order for it twenty-four hours ago, and nothing has been done about it. I'm really quite frustrated because I have no tv, dvd player, printer, light, etc. Those things I can really live with out. But when my computer battery dies... or my cell phone? (Both of which died today, imagine that). I kind of feel like I'm living in ancient times over here without any power.

Did you fall off God's wall? Are you dangling by a few random strings? Guess what, He wants you to be fully restored. He's reaching out to you, calling for you, can you hear Him? Will you answer Him? Get plugged back in! (And be faster about it than maintenance is about our fire hazard).

After all, life without Christ is a fire hazard. Sure-fire way to the fire pits of hell. :-) (Ok, it's getting late. I really shouldn't blog late at night... instead I should sleep).

There's a church down the road that had written on their marquee: Eternal Fire Insurance. Available Free Inside". Or something like that.

Have a great night. Thanks for reading my ramblings... More deep thoughts coming soon... (Jesus is also coming soon... we'll see what happens first!)
<>< Katie

"They will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Matthew 13:42

To Be Loved

I'm back on campus after being gone for the summer. It's kind of weird because most people aren't back yet. My roommate won't be here until Sunday (which is really good because now I have until Sunday to find a place for all of my stuff!). I've seen a few of my friends and we've picked up as if we never left. It's been really great!

But it's weird. This year I'm living in a new building and all that goes along with it. New hall. New room. New roommate. New hallmates. New RA. New ResTech (that reminds me: need to call her... haha). New air conditioner that keeps blowing on me. New just about everything.

I've only seen a handful of my friends because most people aren't back yet. Then there are the friends who aren't coming back. Some graduated. Some transferred. They're still not going to be here, and it's weird. I'm glad there are still people coming because right now I feel like there's a huge hole that needs to be filled! (Get your rear ends here, ladies!)

My parents have been stalling in leaving. I mistakenly allowed them to wander campus unchaperoned while I was in a training session. Luckily, most of the faculty are on a retreat right now so they aren't here to be interrogated. However, my parents went to talk to some people with a real purpose and they ran into the director of my sign choir. They talked to her for about ten minutes before she connected them with me. They said it was like a light bulb went on and she said,
"Oh, Katie! She's one of my girls!" I'm not one of the girls in her choir. I'm one of HER girls. :-) I've heard her refer to some other members in such a fashion, but never me. After all, there are thirty of us, can she really know us all? I figured I can be quiet, I probably slipped through the cracks. Nope, she knows us all. We're her girls. It's a pretty fun feeling.

Imagine what God says about us.
"Oh, Katie! She's one of my girls! I'm especially fond of her. I love her so much." It makes me smile just to think about it. :-)

One of His girls,
<>< Katie

"Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God." John 1:12

God Believes In You

You how when something's bothering you and there's only one thing, person, answer that can make it better? Sometimes you don't even know what the one thing is until it appears. Something like that happened to me today. I was grumpy (no peanut gallery comments), and I nonchalantly excused myself from the kitchen to avoid getting crabbier. Like any normal college student who's been at work all day, I came to the computer and checked my email, facebook, grades, etc.

There it was. Right there inside my inbox.
Subject: God Believes in You
From: Max Lucado

Of course, I read the devotion that went along with it, but really the subject line hit to the heart a whole lot better. I'm keeping it in my inbox. Not because I haven't read it (in fact, I first read same devotion in a book recently) but because sometimes you need that subtle reminder that God believes in you.

In the words of Point of Grace, "When I think I'm all alone and the phone starts to ring: It's just the voice I needed to hear on the other end. You do it again, You do it again. You speak to me just like a friend. You always seem to show up right on time. You do it again, I guess You know when my heart needs to hear Your voice... I could be driving in my car, I turn the radio on. Trying to figure out my thoughts, then I hear the perfect song. I can open up Your Word and not be sure where to turn, but I start to read and it's like You know just what I need."

Hey, God believes in you, too!

In Christ,
<>< Katie

"And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work." 2 Corinthians 9:8

I think we're gonna die!

I know, two blogs in one day WHAT? Well, you see, today is a very monumental day in our house, and I was not aware of it until five minutes ago.

In early July, my mom started a new diet that involves controlling what she's eating, how much she's eating, and when she's eating it. It's caused some major changes in our house. For example, it's 7:30pm, and we haven't eaten dinner yet because she can't eat for another 30 minutes. We're also had some pretty interesting food around here lately. The muffins aren't too bad once you get over the burnt-brown coloring, the crunchiness from carrot chunks, and fresh pineapple mush in them. We affectionately call her bread "Wood Chip Bread" because it seriously looks like mulch. Needless to say, I'm pretty excited to return to my college-diet of daily pizza.

My dad is taking another stand and attempting to save the environment. That's not to say he won't blow four cans of Raid in five minutes. Rather he's avoiding watering the grass and turning on the air conditioning. As a result, it's almost August and we haven't turned our air conditioner on all summer. It's ok because all of us (except Dad... how ironic is that?) like the breeze from having the windows open. I leave for school in two weeks and today, for the first day all summer, we turned on our sprinklers.

Mom's going organic.
Dad's going green.
We're going to die!

In Christ,
<><>

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." Genesis 1:1