Jesus Worldwide: The Homefront

I have friends all over the world. Literally. People who I've hugged in the last week or two are now on four different continents. They promise to come back and report how the Lord is working.

Yet here I am, with my ever-strong desire to GO!, sitting at home scrambling for a Jesus Worldwide post for the third week in a row.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Last October Ted invited me to travel back to Nicaragua this week, one of my favorite places in the world. Saying no was one of the hardest and most peaceful things I've ever done.

As Ted and his team of mostly nursing students spent the afternoon flying to Central America, I spent Friday afternoon in the worship center (the gym) at my church getting drooled on.

Only five feet from where my pastor stands every Sunday, I sat with a biracial baby in my arms. His sister was in front of us trying to hula hoop sitting down. He's old enough to stand but spit up on me three times in an hour. She's 11.5 months older but I never heard her say a word. They're the same size and have been for awhile.

Their uncle, age 13, fed his nephew some banana that later got spit-up on my pants. He retrieved paper towel and held the baby while I tried to disinfect myself. He was a good uncle. I told him that. His face lit up.

He entertained himself playing basketball while I tried to keep track of which toys had been sucked on. He made some nice shots. I told him that. His eyes smiled. He missed some nice shots. His mother and sister told him that. Separately, they both said to him, "Wow, you suck."

I hope their words hurt me more than they hurt him. They smashed my heart to pieces for this teenager who lacks affirmation and encouragement. He could be out on the streets fighting, using drugs, and getting drunk. He could be an invisible child part of Kony's army.

Instead, this kid loves his niece and nephew. His favorite subject is math. On Friday afternoon, he was Jesus in the flesh in front of me.

This is my city. This is your city.

This happened in the same gym where I worship every Sunday. We were sitting where the kneeler goes. The same gym where I eat dinner every Wednesday. We were sitting where the kids' food is served.

Yes, I want to go. If you offered me a plane ticket, I'd apply for a visa this afternoon. But there is a need right here in my own backyard.

My local mission field includes baby drool and missed three-pointers. What does yours include?

Love you all,
<>< Katie

Have a story about how you've seen the Lord work? I'd love to hear it! KatieAxelson[at]gmail[dot]com. I can't do this without you.

For His Glory No Matter What

I saw the ambulance. I was sitting in the front window of the coffee shop when it whizzed by. I zoned out watching it, noticing it was EMS rather than the local rescue team. Didn't mean much.

From the front window of the coffee shop you can see everything that's happening in town. I could see the ambulance was not headed towards the nursing home. It could have been headed towards campus, but I couldn't tell. Didn't mean much.

It did prompt me to think about how we have not lost a student since I started. Sure, students have had seizures, passed out, dislocated shoulders in class but they've all been fine in a few hours or days. We've lost professors, staff members, and family members. But never a student.

I went back to my work.

Not long after that, I saw the same ambulance return in the direction from which it came, sirens still on. I thought about Tweeting about how it's not a good sign when an ambulance returns from a call with its lights and siren.

Despite the town only having one stoplight, despite my roommate working in campus ministries, despite seeing the ambulance, I learned from Twitter that one of my sisters in Christ had passed away.

The world stopped.

I didn't recognize her name, but I knew her face. I definitely knew her face. I've heard her testimony.

It was her birthday.

The night before she'd Tweeted that she was excited for the next day. I'm sure she had no idea how exciting it would be for her. She got to celebrate her earthly birthday with the Lord.

That morning, she'd Tweeted and thanked the Lord for another year of her life. That night, He took her home.

Sniffles and tears were overwhelming at our weekly worship service last night. My roommate had hugged her the morning she went Home. Others had been in her class. We were all grieving.

And it's ok to cry. It's ok to be sad. Jesus was. When His friend Lazarus died, the Bible says Jesus wept.

Yet still there was an element of joy in the air. We knew (and know) that she is with the Lord.

You see, this sister I never had the pleasure to hug, loved the Lord. A lot.

We know that her death is not in vain. We know that she's in the arms of our Father. We know that she would be overjoyed if everyone (if anyone) came to know the Lord through her death.

We celebrated. We praised the Lord. We know that He is good even when life is bad. His timing is perfect even when ours is a little off.

Yes, it's hard. Yes, we thought He was going to do a lot more with her on this earth. Yes, we know that her testimony will continue to inspire, to encourage, and to draw people to Him. It's all she wanted to do with her life and now in her death.

That's what I want my life and death to be about: the glory of the Lord. Today. Tomorrow. Every day until I'm called home. And even then.

If you don't mind, can you take a few seconds right now and pray for us? Pray for her family. Pray for her friends, roommates, and colleagues. Pray for this campus, this town. Thank God that He took one of His children home rather than a student who didn't know Him. Thank Him for His goodness and journeying with us.

But don't pray for her. It's not necessary. She's ok because she's in the arms of the Father. And if she's not in heaven, then we're all in trouble. But I know she is.

And next time you see an ambulance, do me a favor and pray for the patient, the team, and the team meeting him/her. Pray for the family, the friends. Pray that God be glorified as He as been here.

This verse was very important to her. It is now very important to me.

"For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek." Romans 1:16

Today's a gift, friends. It's the most important day of your life. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow isn't promised.

You never know when you're going to be called home. It could be in the middle of class on your 21st birthday.

And I'm ok with that.

<>< Katie

Returning Home

I didn't do it intentionally. Honest!

Things like Christmas, family vacation, pre-planned blogposts, and a sore arm had gotten in the way. All of the sudden it had been... well, way too long.

It hadn't felt like it had been a long time otherwise I would have taken care of it long before I flopped down on a king size log bed with a purple pen and my Writer's Notebook.

Yup, I was rusty. It hurt. And I silently cursed myself for smacking my forearm on whatever I was clumsy enough to crash into.

But I loved it.

It felt so good to be back, to be doing something I loved. It was a deep breath of rich air. It was calming and refreshing.

I pushed through the pain of the pen's movement across the page. I slowly shook the dust from the dictionary stored in my corner of my brain. I smiled as I saw the influence of other writers and as the piece took a different direction than I anticipated.

It was good. It was home.

Home is watching my fingers bleed purple ink.

Home is the opening chords of a familiar song.

Home is digging into the Word when you've gotten busy, lazy, and unintentional.

Home is freedom and fresh air. Comfort, love, and uncontainable joy.

Home is sleeping between your own sheets after a long vacation. Home is hugs waiting for you at the door and milk in the fridge.

While the physical location of home is changing once again, the emotional feeling of home follows me wherever I go.

For this I am grateful.

I am also grateful for grace. For hobbies, no, for ways of life, that return after having been abandoned.

<>< Katie

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

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.

Home Sweet Home

It's times like this I love being home.

(before dinner)
Dad: Ok, Mom, we've got steaks and hot dogs for dinner.
Katie: I'm eating the steaks.  They're eating the hot dogs.

That was followed by a shockingly normal steak dinner.  We all like our steaks at varying cooking stages from still mooing (that's me) to shoe leather (that's Mom), and Dad never manages to get them onto the right plate.  Chunks of meat the size of the plate fly through our kitchen on steak night.

Dad's in the kitchen putting the uncooked steak in the freezer bag and vacuuming it shut.
Dad: Katie, you want to pump this?
Katie: No, thanks, I only like to pump the wine because it makes a great popping noise when you uncork it. 
(I feel like such a little kid but it seriously entertains me for ten minutes).
Christina: Ooh!  I should learn to say that in Dutch. 
(No one in our house speaks Dutch... nor are we Dutch)
Christina: Yeah!  Mom!  Let's learn Dutch together because that way we can speak in code and no one will understand.
Mom: Since everyone is going away to college and it's just the two of us, we could just speak in English.
Dad: Tina, how's Jake?
Christina: I GOTTA LETTER!
Dad: Laura, how's your Jake?
Laura: He's good.  He says it's hot.
Dad: Katie, how's your Jake?
Katie: I'm the only one in the family who DOESN'T have a Jake.
Dad: You do have a Jake but his name is Chris.
Mom: It's still a four-letter name.
Katie: Last time I counted "Chris" was five letters.

Oh, and there was another conversation that I can't re-type here, but it was inspired by the story I told on Tuesday...

<>< Katie

Wrong Number

It's Friday morning (ok, early afternoon).  I'm sitting in the den blogging with my feet above the desktop keyboard to where I have to reach around my knees to type.  No one else understands how I do it but to me it's surprisingly comfortable.  My sister Laura's in the kitchen eating breakfast, something I should do any minute.  The house phone rings.  Yes, we have a landline.  I pick up the waterproof yellow phone in front of me to check the caller-id.  I don't recognize it, so I set the phone down.  Since I only live here part-time no one calls me on this number.  Even when I lived here full-time every single phone conversation went something like this:
Katie: Hello?
Caller: Hey, Sarah, it's Somebody Random who just keeps talking until I have to cut her off.
Katie: This isn't Sarah.  Hold on, let me find her for you.
Caller: Oh, sorry, Laura.
Katie: Not Laura either.
Caller: Wow!  Christina you sound so grown up.
Katie: Keep guessing.
Caller: Freddy?
Yeah.  I don't answer the phone anymore because apparently I sound like a man...  Besides, if it's not for me, why answer the phone?  To take a message?  We have this cool machine that does that for us.

I hear Laura in the kitchen also pick up the phone and check the caller-id.  She must recognize the name because she answers the phone.
Laura: Hello?
Woman: Who is this?!
Laura: Laura.
Woman: Oh. Sorry. Wrong number.  Bye.
Laura: Bye.

She hangs up and bursts out laughing.  "The woman spazzed when a female answers the phone!  It was so funny."

After chastising her for saying her name to a stranger (In my mind the appropriate answer is, "You called me; who is this?") we had a good laugh at this stranger's wrong number.  Maybe it's because I'm a writer that I want to know what her thoughts were when Laura answered the phone.  Was she calling home to check on a husband she suspects is cheating?  Was she expecting a young child to answer (or not answer) the phone?  Is she just a freak-out lady?

We laugh, and I return to my blogging.

<>< Katie

Thoughts from the Bathroom

After six exams, eight hours of packing, and a 13 hour drive I am home for the summer! This means time to re-establish home life with the family. One of our biggest places of contention is the bathroom. It makes sense: I have two sisters. It's also why my parents put two sinks in our bathroom when we built the house. When I'm at school it works well: two girls, two sinks. When I come home, the drama begins as we re-establish the pecking order, I mean bathroom organization.

When it comes to bathroom time, I'm pretty low maintenance: brush my tooth, pop in the contacts, lotion, comb the now-short hair, done. My sisters...not so much. I asked Dad to "handle the situation upstairs," and he didn't know what I was talking about until I showed him our bathroom. I then went to find a shovel to help him get his chin off of the floor. He went downstairs and told my sisters to get some of their "crap" off the counter.

"What crap?" my sisters responded innocently.

"Make-up, bottles, cords, I don't know... girl stuff."

It was their turn to use the shovel. I also think the stuff was levitating because there was no counter visible. The shower was just as bad. Between the two of them there were: fourteen bottles, four loofas, and three razors. I just don't understand.

After they moved their "crap" (and I evicted Mom's "overgrown toothbrush mold" of a decor) I was able to move-in. I opened my drawer and found four open bottles of contact solution. I practically drink the stuff, so I don't have any idea how I managed to get four open bottles (one from home, one from school, one from Dad, and one from some trip? I don't really know), but I do know I won't be needing to buy anymore this week. No promises on next week, though. As I was sorting through the surplus of hotel lotion, unused orthodontia rubber bands, and old contacts God got my attention.

Every August I get new contacts whether I need them or not. Most years it's a not. This means I have an ever-growing stack of out-dated, old prescription contacts that I don't know what to do with. Every August Mom tells me to keep wearing the old contacts to use them up and start the new ones in September. It's a great plan since "your eyes will never be closer to what they were than they are right now" (does that make sense?). Besides, normally I don't know how bad my prescription is until I get the new one. Flaw in the plan: when you go to the eye doctor they fit you for new contacts and you have to prove you know how to put them in. I've been wearing contacts everyday for the last six years, but sure you can teach me how to insert them into my eye... Yes, I'm a fast learner. Anyway. Once you put in the new contacts you instantly realize how much of the world you've been missing. There is no going back to the old prescription once you've tried the new.

You don't realize how messed up your life is until God starts fixing it. But, like with the contacts, once you've seen the new way there's no going back to how life used to be. Like the hymn says, "I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back; no turning back." Once you've allowed Him to work in your life there should be no holding back, no pulling away. No turning back.

<>< Katie

Finals Week

I'm kind of on a roll spilling secrets this week, so we're going to go with one more: I love exam week.

1. Boing, Boing, Boing
There is this unwritten rule against throwing bouncy balls inside the apartment.  I grew up in a house with a strictly-enforced "no throwing balls in the house" rule, but apparently Andy didn't.  It's not unusual to find bouncy balls whipped at you from across the room.  Well, over the last semester these bouncy balls have disappeared into dark crevices of life.  Since we're actively moving out, they've been reappearing and flipped into full action.  Boing, boing, boing.

2. Out to Dinner
I rode an hour with my adoptive family to have dinner with my parents.  It was weird to arrive with someone else, eat with those people and my parents, and leave with someone else.  Just to paint the picture for you: my dad is shy, naive, and quiet.  So is Ruth.  Dr. Z is a strange bird, and Mom is Sarah Palin.  Yes, I think we were the waitress's favorite table that day.  Well, we were her only table for awhile because we scared away the rest of the guests... Oops.  By the end of dinner she'd challenged my dad to go trout fishing in the lake and offered to play frisbee with Malachi in the parking lot.  On the ride back, we tried to use the words "indefatigable" and "perspicacity" in normal conversation.  Bonus points if you could get them both into a single sentence.

3. How did this happen?
Allyson and I use two separate bathrooms, so how we met outside one to do this I'm still not sure.  I had my "gooked" electric toothbrush in my right hand held high above my head.  In my left I held Allyson's left wrist.  In her right hand she had an open bottle of listerine.  Realizing how silly we looked we burst out laughing and couldn't figure out what we were doing.  Something about Allyson wanting to turn on my toothbrush and spray toothpaste all over the apartment...

4. Breakfast of Champions
The incentive to walk to the caf to eat breakfast before an exam is virtually non-existent.  Luckily, we also have to use up our points and eat all of the bizarre food we've accumulated throughout the semester.  Nikki ate a re-heated hot dog, chips, and old cheese dip.  Allyson ate some chocolate cake with her whipped cream.  Chris, an hour away and unaware of our creativity, had a peanut butter sandwich.  I feel lame for eating an apple and peanut butter (by clutching the jar of peanut butter between my knees); I really don't like apples.

5. EXPECTO PATRONUM!
Allyson's taking a conducting class right now, so her baton is waving as she prepares.  Carrie borrowed said baton and turned it into a Harry Potter wand.  My favorite part is when she speaks into the end of the wand so that it can hear her better.  :-)

6. (in the middle of a class discussion exam)
Dr. T: Alex Haley and Malcolm X co-write the Autobiography of Malcolm X, and they both have "X" in their name.  Isn't that weird?
Katie: What do you have against people that have "X"es in their names?
Dr. T: Nothing... it's just... Saxon has an "X," too, and you're sitting next to each other.
Katie: It was the "X" factor that drew us together on this side of the room.
Dr. T: My middle name is "X."
Katie: Are you lying to me?
Dr. T: It's Xavier.
Katie: You are lying to me.
The rest of the class kind of stared at us.

7. Redecorating?
Nikki: Remember that one time our phones used the same charger?
Katie: Remember that one time you asked to borrow my phone charger and I said no because you licked me?
I do remember that one time when Nikki stole my phone charger and replaced all of the photos on my bulletin board with Kleenexes... Thanks.

8. Why is Cornhole in our apartment?  (aka Bean Bag Toss)
I really don't know, but we played.  Who says Cornhole's an outdoor game?  We played in the living room with one person standing on the Platonic Love Seat and the other standing one of the arm chairs.  I'm better inside than out.

9. Four Hour Exams
It started innocently enough at 6pm.  By 6:30 our class of eight was seated around Dr. Paul's dining room table eating summer chili, chocolate-covered pretzels, and (get this!) fresh strawberries.  By 7:15 we were having a living room discussion of the Christology of William Paul Young as found in his book, The Shack.  By 8, we'd looked up the Wii Fit.  For the next two hours we pondered how "Grandaddy" was born in 1975, is 5'7", and weighs 107 pounds... Either way, he looks great while juggling, hula hooping, and flying in a chicken suit!

10. Moving
This is my least favorite part of spring exam week: studying and packing at the same time.  Some of my stuff goes to storage; some of my stuff goes home.  Friday means 14 hours of driving, three cars and two drivers.  Wait.  Switch that.  I guess I'm not indefatigable.  By the time you're reading this, we've probably gotten a little giggly in the car.  After retelling our favorite stories we'll start playing word games.  Dad's a "numbers guy" so he loves writing sentences like "Tiny Tim tinkled in the timbers" or "Blue birch-bark burn on Bob's bum."  Mom's a little bit better.  :-)

Bon voyage and bueno suerte,

<>< Katie

Baptist Easter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, my Easter was great!

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

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

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

Elizabeth: I feel like a limp noodle!

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

<>< Katie

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