Waiting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Sponsor Walson here
His child ID number: HA8150328

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

It seems only appropriate.

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

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

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

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

I've been waiting in hope.

These children are waiting for hope.

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

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

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

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

In turn, you're doing it for me.

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

What are you waiting for?
<>< Katie

Life Without Music

Earlier this week I had coffee with a delightful woman whose family does not listen to much music. My understanding is that it's a sound issue where they can't handle the volume level. They went to a concert and had to leave because the sound stimulation was too much.

I tried to envision what my life would be like without music. I almost always have music playing. If it's not on, there's probably a song running through my head. Concerts are my family's bonding activity.

We've gone to the same multi-day Christian music festival for nine years. Our record is six Mark Schultz concerts in one calendar year. We sit around quoting "As Is" by Peder Eide as if "Samson was a long-haired, arrogant womanizer" is a perfectly logical thing to say in conversation.

If it weren't for music, we'd probably have to watch movies or take up karate like normal people.

When I talk about Lifest, I tell the silly stories: the standing ovation earned by a water bottle, the mud so bad our van had to be pushed into the parking lot, using my lawn chair as an umbrella, etc.

But I think about it, I think about worshipping with Phillips, Craig, and Dean as the rain gently fell on my face. I think about kneeling on fist-sized gravel to stretch my arms up to my Abba Father like a child wanting to be held. I remember Peter Furler (when he was in Newsboys) talking about God's perfect timing only to have a nearby train interrupt his sentence.

Can I worship without music?

I love how the Lord gets my attention through songs I've heard a million times. I get a taste of heaven when strangers unite as a family to sing praises to our Father. I didn't perform "My Savior, My God" in ASL in front of a crowded room of Nicaraguan believers; I worshipped my Savior, my God with my hands.

Through music may be one of my favorite ways to worship, but it's certainly not the only way.

To affirm or encourage someone, that's worship. To serve and love on someone, that's worship. To hug someone, to squeeze a shoulder as you pass, to look someone in the eye. Worship. To genuinely ask how someone's doing, to sit down and share life over a cup of coffee, to bring lunch to an under-employed freelance writer. Worship. To dance, to play ping pong, to sign, to make copies, etc. they can all be worship. (My thoughts on this have been heavily influenced by TASTE Worship--check it out).

In Guatemala, there was a day I was "forbidden" to sing and sign. I worshipped that day. I removed flecks of orange paint from a brush and bucket, and it was worshipful.

Can I worship with music?

Last summer, I remember running through the park arguing with God about being twenty minutes late to a forty-minute show. He brought to my attention that I was not approaching the concert with the right heart.

It wasn't the first time.

How often do I attend a concert just to add another artist to my repertoire? How often do I absent-mindedly sing along without realizing what I'm saying?

These questions hurt because I am ashamed of their answers.

Even at Christian concerts, my heart is not always in the right place. I've sung along, I've waved my arms, I've screamed at the top of my lungs, and I hate to confess it has not always been for the Lord.

It happens under a rain-free sky. It happens in a crowded, dark auditorium. It happens in my church on Sunday mornings. It happens to me more often than I care to admit.

I voluntarily took a day this week and turned the music off. I washed dishes in silence. I drove across town in the quiet. I worked without any accompaniment.

It was weird and awkward at first but then it became peaceful.

That's worship.

Weird and awkward at first. Uncomfortable and strange. But then peaceful, wonderful, and necessary.

Whether you're a person who loves to literally feel the beat of the drums or just prefers white noise in the background, take some time this week to worship with the radio off.

Let me know how it works for you.

<>< Katie

Dear 2012

Dear 2012,

This year we welcome your arrival with New York. No waiting in the past to see how your first hour turns out before we take the leap.

But it's ok. I'm ready to welcome you, 2012. I think.

Your sister 2011's report card reads, "Not living up to potential."

She brought the change she promised but not the good kind.

Throughout 2011, the word I kept returning to was: faithful. Would I be faithful to the Lord even when life was less kind? Would God be true to the promise of His faithfulness?

Faithful.

Crossing into your realms, 2012, is an action of fear. An action of trust. A myriad of feelings. A juxtaposition of emotion. I am concerned about what you will bring.

Yet still I dare to hope. You bring with you new opportunities, renewed passions, and uncontainable excitement. While you may not look exactly like I would hope or anticipate, I step into you with confidence.

Hope.

That's what I feel when I look to you, 2012. I hope for many of the same things as last year: a job, a boy, a future. But, above all, I hope for the Lord. I hope to seek and to see Him in the good, the bad, and the ugly. Through tears of joy and tears of pain, I want to gaze into the eyes of my Abba Father.

I hope to dwell in the shelter of the Most High, to rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I hope to be calmed with His love and be delighted with His songs.

I hope. In Him.

And that is enough.

"Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness; His mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in Him!'" Lamentations 3:21-24 NLT

With hope,
<>< Katie

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Sometime just prior to Halloween I heard my first Christmas carol of the season. It flipped a switch inside of me and I was ready for Christmas.

Of course, my gifts weren't purchased and I was pleasantly surprised to feel 40 degree days rather than the 4 below I was expecting, but all through November I waited anxiously for the snow and for the rest of the world to be ready to play Christmas songs.

Yet now it's the night before Christmas, the tree is decorated, the gifts are wrapped, the last of the cookies are in the oven, and the snow gently falling. But I am ready to put on the brakes.

Christmas isn't the most wonderful time of the year when you're unemployed. Rather, it's a brutal reminder of your lack of income, your need to pinch every penny, and your wreath decorating your parents' home rather than your apartment.

Giving up isn't an option, but hope is fleeting. Still I pray "Thy will be done" and "Send me." Still I have a nice collection of rejection letters.

I don't mean to be all doom and gloom, but, honestly, singing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" is lying through my two front teeth.

I try not to linger too long in this world of overwhelming pessimism. Life is hard right now, and I'm sick of repeating myself about my failing job search. I'm well beyond ready to talk about something else.

So let's talk about some other people whose world may have also seemed overwhelmingly pessimistic.

Mary. She's pregnant and engaged but her fiancé isn't the father. I bet she got sick of trying to explain that.

Joseph. Someone else impregnated his betrothed. Well, isn't that a sticky situation?

Herod. Some baby is lobbying for his throne (or so he thinks).

The inn keeper. The "No vacancy" sign is illuminated yet still there's a very, very pregnant woman and her man on the front porch.

The sheep, oxen, and other stable animals. Um, hello, there's a baby in their breakfast bowl.

Jesus. God Himself is being shoved into the skin of an infant. Ouch.

The Christmas story is not exactly what the Jews were expecting. Nope, rewind. Christmas was absolutely nothing like what the Jews have been anticipating, the hope-filled stories they've been passing down for generations.

A king was supposed to come to rescue them. Fallen cities would be restored, a temple would be rebuilt, death would be destroyed, and peace truly would exist on earth.

The long-awaited Messiah... a baby. It didn't make sense.
Emmanuel--God with us---is sleeping in a dirty cow trough.

Yup, definitely not the most wonderful time of the year.

I'm so glad Mary, Joseph, Jesus, the shepherds, et al. didn't call it quits, didn't tell God how to do His job. Even in these less than ideal conditions, hope shone brighter than the star illuminating the sky.

Like the shepherds, I am willing to drop everything and sing praises to the One who deserves them.

Like the inn keeper, I offer all of what I have, even if it doesn't seem like much.

Like Joseph, I desire to be obedient even when it looks very different than I expected.

Like Mary, I want to be faithful to what God has asked of me

Like Jesus, I seek to do what needs to be done no matter how uncomfortable, how agonizing it may be.

And, unlike Herod, I am not going to take matters into my own hands.

Maybe the most wonderful time of the year doesn't mean a walking in a winter wonderland.

Maybe it means hope and anticipation for something new. It means finding peace and comfort in God's promise never to abandon us. It means joy even in life's less than comfortable moments. It means resting in the loving arms of the Father.

The most wonderful time of the year is any moment when you remember that Christ truly is Emmanuel, God with us, both now and forevermore.

Amen.

In the Arms of the Father

The plane was preparing to land and the man across the aisle from me frantically fastened his toddler back into the window seat. The little girl began to whimper.

"Shh, shhhh, shhhh," the man said.

The girl whimpered more. The shushing wasn't working. Eventually the man unbuckled the child and pulled her into his lap.

The whimpering stopped. The child was no longer afraid. She was in her daddy's arms.

That's who I want to be: the little girl perfectly content my Heavenly Daddy's arms.

Even when I don't know where my next paycheck is coming from. Even when I don't know when I'll get to see my friends (read: family) again.

Are you willing to curl up in the lap of your Abba Father?

Even when finals are hard. Even when your kids are disobedient. Even when you're not sure if you'll be able to pay for the avocados to make the guacamole you promised. Even when life is hard.

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" 1 John 3:1a NIV

I pray in marker.

Putting prayers on paper prevents me from getting distracted (raise your hand if you have the attention span of a butterfly when praying). It's childish and messy to use a thin-line Crayola on college-ruled paper. It is good.

Prayer is messy. Life is messy.

Like a child whose hands are more colorful than the paper, I stretch them up to my Daddy and let Him shush me with His perfect love.

"The LORD your God is with you,
He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with his love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 NIV

Just as the daddy on the airplane cared for his little girl, all the more will my Heavenly Daddy care for me (and you).

Even through our childish fits about things not going our way. Even through our crying and panicking when there is nothing to fear.

Take a seat in His lap, stretch your marker-hands to the sky, let Him hold you, His child. Take peace and comfort in His love.

I do.

Love,
<>< Katie

Thankful

It's hard.

It's hard to be thankful when you don't know when your next paycheck is coming (or from where). It's hard to be thankful when your best friends are 900 miles away. It's hard to be thankful when your office is the most central location of your parents' home, when your internal clock has no idea what time of the year it is, or when you don't have any idea what your calendar will look like even a month from now. It's hard to be thankful; it's easy to host a pity party.

Every once in awhile, I let the tears roll. They're good. They're healthy. But once they come, they're hard to stop.

Like Job, I speak bluntly and harshly to the Lord. While it's nice to get those feelings out on paper, it doesn't usually solve much. (Did I just say that out loud?) I still don't know what's next. I'm still playing pin the tail on the donkey.

And still even here, I have a lot to be thankful for. Did I not wake up this morning breathing and refreshed? When I rolled over and put my feet on the floor, did they not stay there and hold my weight? (No peanut gallery comments, please). Was there not toothpaste in the tube, toilet paper on the roll, and soap in the dispenser? Is there food in the pantry and hot water in the shower? Do I have a jacket, shoes, and gasoline?

Have I not people who love and care about me? People who encourage me and pour into me? Scripture tucked away in my heart? Is the Lord not in this limbo, this barren desert, this hideous time in between?

Life is hard. Yet still there is so much to be thankful for even if they're the small, simple things we tend to take for granted. Even if it's the tears and the angry words. Even if it's the promise, "I will be with you always to the very end of the age" (See Matthew 28).

Even if nothing else goes correctly, that one reason alone is enough to bring thanksgiving to my lips again and again.

<>< Katie

Who are the Poor?

For the last week I have been dog-sitting in a very nice neighborhood.  Day after day, I walk the dog down the freshy-swept street looking at the fancy homes, the manicured lawns, and expensive cars.  Part of me wonders if I could ever afford to live here.

Financially, it's a lofty goal for this unemployed recent grad. That's not what I meant.

I mean, could I afford to live here

when some live here?

Can I live here

having been here?

The Bible doesn't say "Don't live in a nice house"... but it does say "give everything you have to the poor."

But who are the poor?

Are the poor the children in a hogar in Guatemala who play with one-armed Barbies but have the joy of the Lord in their hearts and it shows on their faces?

Are the poor the people paying taxes on their 4,000 square-foot homes who are on the brink of divorce, have disrespectful children, and hire someone else to pick up their dog poop?

Part of me says, no way, I will never live in a classy neighborhood. (Especially based on those stereotypes). I've seen too much poverty to be comfortable in a large, neat home.

Perhaps that is true. For just me and the dog, this four-bedroom, three-bath home is way too big. But what if I had a husband and children?

Through trial and error, I have learned some aspects of third-world ministry. I have been to places where hand sanitizer and toilet paper are luxuries. The girls in the photo above aren't just children worlds away with stories that would break your heart. We know each others' names, they are my sisters, and they almost knocked me fifteen feet off that ledge ten seconds after that photo was taken when they tried to all see it simultaneously.

Yet, as I walk through this nice neighborhood and wonder about the people inside of the homes, I wonder about them and their lives. Do they know their neighbors? Do they realize there's more to life than fnancial success? Most importantly, do they know that God loves them?

How can I walk my dog down this street

knowing stray dogs roam down this street?

Easy. On both streets there are people that have never heard the name of Jesus.

How can I limit ministry to the without-money poor without including the without-Jesus poor?

Third world ministry may be teaching people how to brush their teeth, handing out bracelets, and fitting them with eye glasses. It can be loving them, making a fool of yourself, and living the gospel.

Is that not also what is the first world also needs? Love, humor, and (most importantly) Jesus.

First world ministry is greeting neighbors as you pass them on the street, hand-delivering a warm breakfast to the neighbor's housesitter and inviting her over for dinner, or cutting someone else's grass because they're having a busy week. It can be releasing a child from poverty through child sponsorship and telling others about your Fridge Kid. It's loving the way Christ commands us and living the gospel.

He is the God of this city

just as He is of this one.

Can I afford it?

How can I NOT?

The Great Commission commands us to GO and make disciples of ALL nations (Matthew 28:19, emphasis mine). I like to GO to another nation; it has become comfortable to me. But GO can also mean GO to the other side of the shurbery.

No matter where you live, GO and be the missionary you were called to be (Acts 1:8).

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Listening Everywhere

Sorry this is late.  Some days unemployment means I sit around bored out of my mind.  Other days it means I run around like a chicken with my head cut off helping everyone and thinking I can do everything because I don't have a job.  Well, it's been a headless chicken weekend.

I love Mondays.

"Sure you do, Katie, you're unemployed and you had a busy weekend."

I heard that.

My busy weekend lasts until tomorrow, thank you.  And I got up earlier today than I did all weekend.

But no, I love Mondays because all of my once-a-week devotions come out on Mondays.  I think weekly devotion writers sit around and think, "Hum, Mondays would be a good day."  I see the logic, but Mondays are a busy reading, inhaling day for me. ;-)

Do you ever have those days (or weeks) where God seems to speak through everything you read, every conversation you have?  Those are my favorite.  When I can sing, "This is My Father's World" and the line, "He speaks to me everywhere" rings true.

But, more often, that line feels like I lie on my lips.  Devotions aren't inspiring, conversations are surface-level, and the world seems dry.

Whose fault is that?  Mine?  God's?  The devotion writer?  All of the above?

Just because what I'm reading doesn't jump off the page/screen and instantly into our hearts doesn't mean it's a waste.  It doesn't mean God isn't using what we read.  Sometimes they just take a little more thought.

I'm learning to ask myself: Why did God put this devotion in my path today?  What does He want me to get from this scripture?  Why is that song stuck in my head even though I haven't heard it in two weeks?

He uses those things we consider worthless or unrelated.  How cool is that?

Learning to listen everywhere,
<>< Katie

Child-Like Prayer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, more than appreciates it. 

I think God loves it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

<>< Katie

That's What Family Does

I was talking through some of my feelings and challenges on the phone with my friend Stacy.  Basically, I melted on her.  I don't understand why God has asked (forced) me to leave home to move across the country home.  Among other things, she reminded me that my friends, though 900 miles away, are still here for me. 

Next time I was bored and lonely, I picked up the phone.

It has been so good to hear the voices of the people I love so much.  Sometimes we talk about our days, sometimes about superfluous things, and sometimes our conversations go deeper.  Sometimes there is silence on the phone, just like there is in face to face conversation.  But neither of us hang up.

Over the phone you can't have a sleepover with two twenty-somethings in a twin bed, you can't have children fall out of the laundry shoot, and you can't have a spontaneous dance party in the living room... but you can remember and laugh about them.

Over Skype, there are still quotes for Wacky Wednesday, still crazy facial expressions, and still people falling off the bed.

As I sat down to dinner alone, I plugged in my new Peder Eide Rescue CD.  The first time I heard "That's What Family Does," I figured it would need some time to grow on me.  It only took one more listening and it had grown!  It had me almost in tears.  (Though, I will admit: that's pretty easy these days).

"That's What Family Does" by Peder Eide

There are times when life is tough
and a yes to God is not enough.
When the hill is steep,
the summit high.
You wonder why.
You've lost your spark, your fight, your song
now wrong seems right
and right seems wrong.

Look around and see
the face of family
and lean into the love.
Lift each other up,
cheer each other on.
We do it all because
that's what family does.

The table's set
and the food is hot
reminding you what you've forgot
the warmth of home,
and a fragrant grace,
a holy place.
And all of us
can hardly wait
to hold you close
and celebrate.

Look around and see
the face of family
and lean into the love.
Lift each other up,
cheer each other on.
We do it all because
that's what family does.

They say out there that no one cares and you are all alone.
Seems they may be alone, well, we claim you as our own.

My spark, fight, and song are missing in action...

I can't physically look around and see... but I can see the face of family in my phone bill and my Skype's "Recent" log.  I can lean into the love even if that means no hugs.

Though it's not ideal, I'm lovin' it!

<>< Katie

Looks Like

Amber and I were dragging a little as we walked through yet another airport.  This was our sixth airport and sixth flight involved in our journey to and from China.

We got fifteen hours of sleep between Friday morning and Monday-Round Two.  Then sixteen hours between Monday-Round Two and Tuesday.  There was a lot still to make up for.

A man shouted at us, "Would you care to hear about the Lord Jesus Christ?"

Normally I would have ignored him.  I'm not a fan of street-corner preachers.  And I just got back from China where you are constantly heckled to buy this product, hire this taxi, etc.  But in a burst of energy, I turned to him, pumped my first in the air, and proudly proclaimed, "We know the Lord!"

"Doesn't look like it," he said.

We kept walking.  Amber laughed.  But I was annoyed.

What does it look like to love the Lord?

Does it look like this Christian t-shirt I'm wearing?

Does it look like the cross around my neck?

Does it look like kapris rather than short-shorts?

Does it look like a pep in my step even though I'm exhausted?

Does it look like the bags under my eyes from a three-week mission trip?

Maybe it's not physical.

Maybe it looks like loving, even those people who are hard to love.

Maybe it looks like serving others, even when you'd rather fall into bed.

Maybe it looks like being patient and understanding, even as you explain something for the hundredth time.
Maybe it looks like being kind to everyone, even the man in the airport using tracts.

Maybe it doesn't look like I love the Lord.

Maybe that's something I need to work on.  Now and always.

<>< Katie

Telling by Living

Sometimes it baffles me what people don't know about me.  They don't know I have a whole last name.  That I have two sisters.  That I love to blow glass.

People don't know what you don't tell them.  I graduated from a college where last names only matter for a select few (and "Ax" was satisfactory).  The "my sister" stories are not always the same sister.  Apparently I don't talk about glass blowing.

Have you told people you're a Christian?

I don't just mean telling them with your words, I mean telling and showing them with your actions.  More than inviting them to church on Sunday.  Bring a helpful hand, walking through life with them, and praying for (and with) them.  Loving them even when it's hard.  Letting them see a glimpse of Jesus by seeing you.

If you've been in my room, you've seen my hand-blown pen holder, the vase, and the paperweight.  My love of glassblowing can be evidenced by my knickknacks.  Can my love of Christ be evidenced by my thoughts, my words, and my actions?

Have I told people with my life that I am a follower of Christ? 

Have you?

<>< Katie (Axelson)

Show Don't Tell

Writers hear it all the time.

"Show don't tell."

Show your character is mad with his words and actions, don't just tell the readers he's mad.

But this advice does not only apply to writers.

"Show don't tell."

Show someone you love her with your actions, don't just tell her with your words.
Show someone you're praying for him by praying over him right there, don't just say you'll do it.

"Show don't tell."

Try it.

<>< Katie

Love like a Child

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you more!" the other countered.

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

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

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

Tell Someone you love Him. Tell Him thanks.

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

Love,
<>< Katie

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

A Saved Catholic?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus still on the cross.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you agree? 

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

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Anaconda Squeeze

It's very overwhelming for Nicaraguan places to be invaded by 26 Americans.  The first day, half of our team was going to the special needs school and the other half to an orphanage.  We had planned VBS-like activities.  My group was going to teach the story of Daniel and the lion's den with audience participation and a corresponding craft.

Flaw in the plan: a miscommunication with the orphanage meant we wouldn't be able to work there.  After some quick re-figuring, we found ourselves working with 5 and 6 year olds at a school.

Flaw in the plan: this was a public school.  That meant no talking about Jesus.  There were two sets of 80 kids each and we had no plan.

Yay for being flexible and thinking on our feet.

We got the first group to sit under the shade of a tree while we introduced ourselves, did some silly skits, and told them why we were in Nicaragua.  (We did slide Jesus in there briefly).

After that we let them play.  We tried to teach them Duck, Duck, Goose (Renamed Gato, Gato, Perro).  It didn't fly.  The soccer balls did.

Eventually recess was over, so "Neo" collected the balls and became a human jungle gym.

No matter how many times he said, "No," those two little boys wouldn't stop reaching for the balls.  I had the perfect distraction: a camera.

One kid became two, became four or five, became thirty... There are about 50 more photos that I want to post just to show you the cuteness of the crowd we drew.

I ran out of funny face ideas before they lost interest.  Instead, I started asking them questions in Spanish.

Katie: Are you having a good day?
Adorable Children: SI!
Katie: Do you like recess?
Adorable Children: SI!
Katie: Is it better than math?
Adorable Children: SI!

They loved every minute of it!  Every "Sí" was more energetic than the previous.

Eventually my other team members came up and introduced themselves, talked about why we were there, and did some skits.  I did all of our interpreting for that group which meant I had no idea what the next plan was and I didn't get thirty second water break during the switching of groups.  When we told them to stand up, they did.

I think it probably started with one child's desire to give me a hug.  As had happened previously, one child turned into two, turned into three or four, turned into fifty.

My very first Anaconda Squeeze!

I deserved to be trampled because I was the one who riled them up... but I loved every minute of it!

I relished that moment.  I tried to touch every child around me and told them all that I love them.  I wish I could have told them about Jesus and how much He loves them.

I also wish I would not have forgotten how to conjugate.  When there are fifty kids latched to your waist, it is almost impossible to stay upright.  But I couldn't find the words, "I'm falling."  I got "to fall," "I dropped it," and "he fell" but not "I'm falling."  I finally realized I was going down and there was nothing I could do about it but try not to crush kids in the process.

When I started to shrink, the rest of my team stopped taking pictures and realized I needed help.

Eventually, we got the 50 kids off of me and divided into groups.  Naturally, my group was the largest, and I still had no idea what we were doing.

As per Erin's suggestion, we started the Hokey Pokey.  In English.  Meaning what?  Katie's solo.

Right arm.
Left arm.
Right leg.
Left leg.
Head.
Stomach.
The kids were starting to get it, so I asked for body parts from them.
Hair.
Chin.
Right knee.
Left knee.
Eyebrows.
Forehead.
Teeth.

Three days of Hokey Pokey later and I was out of breath and thinking about what we were teaching these kids: the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about. 

We could tell these kids we were there because of Jesus but we couldn't tell them who Jesus is.  We couldn't tell them Jesus loves them.  We couldn't tell them about how great Jesus is.

It broke my heart to imagine these kids going home and having this conversation.
Mom: How was school today?
Child: Great!  We tackled some Americans at recess!
Mom: Why were there Americans at you school?
Child: I don't know.

We couldn't tell them about Jesus's love, but I can only hope and pray that we were able to show them the love of Christ through our actions and play time.  They definitely showed us what it mean to love like a child.

It also made me think about how often we have the opportunity to tell people about Jesus and we don't.  When we have the opportunity, we fail to seize it.  When we don't have the opportunity, we desire it.

What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it's all about?
But what if it's not? 
And what if we're missing opportunities to speak the Truth?
What if we were better about speaking love?

<>< Katie

The Climb

"It's not very, how do you say?  Es-steep," said our host-pastor, Manolo.

Famous last words.

From my first step off the bus I knew the hike up the mountain would be challenging for my out-of-shape self.  Manolo said it would take 45 minutes, but I didn't dare time it.

I followed in line behind some mountain runners... I don't run on flat ground much less up a mountain.  It was not long before, I was incredibly out of breath and I could feel my heart pound in about 87 different places.  It was so bad someone asked me if I have asthma.

Those in front of me kept going but I could not keep up no matter how hard I tried.  I gave everything and it wasn't enough.  Finally, I paused to rest.

Neal: Hey, Katie.
I didn't even have the breath to respond; I turned my head towards him.
Neal: That's where we're going.
He pointed above our heads to the rock.
 

Neal: Does that encourage you or discourage you?
Katie: I know it's supposed to encourage me, but, honestly, it's really discouraging.

I had no idea how far I'd come but it seemed shorter than I had left to go.  That was discouraging!

As the runners disappeared from my view, I found the strength to continue.  I'm not a quitter.  I knew it would eventually be worth the pain.  And I had been promised communion at the top of the mountain.

A Nicaraguan youth with our group offered to carry my bag.  I let him (that bilingual Word of the Lord is heavy!), and he disappeared up the mountain.

Katie: There goes my water.
Neal: I have some.
Katey: We can share mine.

I felt so cared for and loved.  I was getting up that mountain, my friends were going to make sure of it!

Neal would pop back down and again, but Katey and I walked together the rest of the way up the mountain. She accepted my pace, and we stopped frequently to enjoy the views (ok, and catch my breath). It was no longer a race to the top but about enjoying the journey. Slowly I began to enjoy my trek rather than only continuing for the communion at the end.

Tortoise-style Katey and I continued towards the top... Slow and steady. Eventually we heard laughter and shouts from nearby.  Even though we'd lost the rest of our group, they had to be nearby.  We rounded the corner and there they were.

We'd made it!  We had reached our destination!  The handiwork of our Creator was ours to enjoy!

From the top, we could see for miles, kilometers, actually.  It was breath-taking!  When everyone made it to the top (believe me or not, Katey and I weren't last) we took a group photo.  Best team photo ever!  Then we took a seat and listened to Manolo teach while we watched the Master Painter paint us a beautiful sunset!

Afterwards, we were given the assurance of the forgiveness of sins through the body and blood of Jesus Christ.  We then sang "Revelation Song" a capella.  Breath-taking!

The wind was blowing and the sun going down, taking the temperature with it.  Even with the goose bumps on my arms, I didn't care much. 

Now in the dark, we began our journey down the mountain, under the barbed wire, and around the rocks.  Except we hadn't planned to be hiking in the dark, so we didn't have enough flashlights for everyone.  New version of walk by faith and not by sight!

We walked slowly, getting split up as we went.  We prayed for safety.  Cold rain began to fall.

Hiking down a mountain in the dark, shivering, and it's raining.  Sounds awful, right? 

"Well, it'll be a story to tell when we get back," I said.  Honestly, I thought it was wonderful.  Maybe I'm biased because I was one of the lucky ones with a flashlight.

Sherry began a rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus."  That turned into "The Hokey Pokey" which became "I'm in the Lord's Army" and "Father Abraham."  (Those are Baptist songs... I don't really know them either).  We were having so much fun singing and slipping.

Eventually our group got separated, and I walked alone with my flashlight.  Under my breath I continued to sing.

I love You, Lord,
and I lift my voice
to worship You.
Oh my soul, rejoice.
Take joy, my King,
in what You hear.
May it be a
sweet, sweet sound
in Your ear.

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

Worthy is the
Lamb who was slain
Holy, Holy is He.
Sing a new song
to Him to sits on
heaven's mercy seat.
Holy, Holy, Holy
is the Lord God Almighty
who was and is and is to come.
With all creation I sing
praise to the King of Kings.
You are my everything,
and I will adore You.

Just me and Jesus time.  Somehow amidst the literally rocky ground, the cold breeze of night, the gentle rainfall, and the tiredness of my body, I found the strength to praise Him.

The climb down was considerably better than the trek up because I had a goal.  It wasn't the top of the mountain.  It wasn't even the bus at the bottom.  It was to spend time in the presence of the One who formed every mountain, placed every rock, and grew every leaf.

The same One who put me there was worthy of all of my praise.

When we made it to the bus, those who were already there cheered for the newcomers.  I smiled.  We did it.  Not by our own strength or power. God's hand of protection guided us up and down.

Take a minute to praise Him today.  Amidst the barbed wire, the rocky ground, and the wind.  As you share the heavy load and water with friends, thank Him for the friendship.  As you see flowers, sunsets, and raindrops realized He formed you, too. Enjoy the hike up; it's not a race.  Enjoy the stumble down; it's ok to fall.

<>< Katie

PS: No one was hurt in the making of this blog.  (Except maybe a spider).

Broken Hearted

I had never before seen The Heart Skit when our campus minister Neal gave us the thirty second plotline.  Three or four of us volunteered to be the protagonist, but Jessica chose me.  I kept quiet while they discussed who would be the man to break my heart.  They unanimously decided on Neal.  After making sure no one else wanted the part, Neal agreed.  Due to time constraints, the final cast was not able to practice together.

That night, the magnitude of the skit hit me.
1. I was going to have my heart broken on stage in a silent skit.  Can you say: FACIAL EXPRESSIONS?
2. I was going to have to flirt with my married campus minister.

I prayed for emotional strength and thought about boundaries.

During church the following morning, Neal and I took opposite sides of the stage.  In my hands I held a paper heart.  Neal's object was to romance me until I gave him my heart.  We made eye contact and showed embarrassment.  He waved; I giggled.  He took a deep breath and stepped closer to me.  I looked away and made the same move.  He put his arm around me; I leaned into him.  He reached out for my heart, and I pulled away.  He hugged me, I hesitated before surrendering the heart.  We both smiled from ear to ear.  He took my hand and paraded me around.  He pointed into the distance, I looked, and he planted a kiss on my cheek.  I blushed.

Was NOT expecting that.

From the side of the stage came another girl.  His attention shifted.  I tried to pull him back but he pulled away.  From behind, I wrapped both of my arms around his waist; he dragged me across the stage.  Using his foot, he pushed me off.  I stumbled backwards, regained my balance, and ran at him, jumping for my heart.  He pointed to the heart, pointed to me, pointed back to the heart, and got a devious look.

He took his hand off the other girl long enough to rip my heart to pieces and throw them on the ground.

I fell to the ground with my broken heart.

A friend walked by, picked up a piece of my heart, looked at it, dropped it, stomped on it, and walked away.

Two friends came and tried to help me piece it together.  When they let go, my heart fell apart again.

I sat on my knees trying to put my heart back together like a puzzle.  It didn't work.

Brett knelt at my side.  He put one hand on my back and a Bible in my lap.  His eyes dripping compassion, he pointed up, crossed his arms over his chest, and pointed to me.  I turned away.  He tapped me and pointed to the Bible.  I pushed him away.

Alone I sat, cupping the pieces of my heart to my chest.  It wasn't working.  I sat them down and turned my interest to the Bible Brett gave me.  I hesitated, closed the broken heart into the Bible, sat back, and prayed.  I waited until the camera flashes stopped.  I opened the Bible and tucked in the Psalms was a brand new heart!

Praise the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting...He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:1, 3

I love the image of being healed in Christ represented in this skit.  But I think it's oversimplified. 

Heart breaks are very real; being healed is a long, slow, painful process.  I've been there.  Five times last week and my share of times in weeks and months previous.

Our hearts are not the only ones that get broken.  We are often cast in Neal's role doing the heart breaking every time something we find more attractive or interesting comes along.  God's heart breaks every time we turn away from Him.

Every time, ladies, we're infatuated with a guy rather than with Him.
Every time we put our focus in something else.
Every time we doubt, fail to trust, are too hard on ourselves.
Every time we cry, God's tears outnumber ours.

Take a moment right now and tell Him how much you love Him.  Let Him love you back.  Let Him heal your heart.

With love,
<>< Katie

Hypocrite

Nikki asked me to write a very transparent short piece about on campus interactions with non-Christians.  She wanted me to write those things that I'd never say out loud to anyone.  A bunch of us had similar assignments that would be recorded as sound clips over videos of campus.

As I pondered this assignment, I was immediately drawn to the Great Divide that is the cafeteria salad bar.  Our school has a long-standing joke that the salad bar divides the campus: Christian, non-athletes on one side; non-Christian, athletes on the other.  Of course, there are exceptions, but this is the stereotype.

Sometimes I forget there are non-Christians here, too.  But then I walk on the wrong side of the salad bar to get some yogurt. Instantly I feel judged and unwelcome.  Like I'm supposed to be perfect because I love Jesus.  I'm supposed to always love, always care, and always be willing to help. 

"I'm not perfect," I want to shout.  Like that's an excuse.  An excuse to exhibit un-Christ-like behavior.  An excuse to be inconsiderate.  An excuse to judge.

It's not them, it's me who's doing the judging.  I shoot evil glares when I see someone struggling in class.  I avoid non-Christians like they have some kind of contagious disease I'm going to catch just from looking them in the eye.

Some of my close family members aren't Christians; they're not poisonous.  I hug, love, and serve them.  Why can't I do the same for my peers?

The night the video played and my northern accent ran through the full auditorium I realized that we divide ourselves even there at worship.  I had accidentally chosen a seat behind four boys who... well, aren't from my side of the salad bar.

They sat an empty seat between each of them so that their legs in athletic shorts or sweatpants could be spread apart.  They were so buff they could have swallowed me whole if they had wanted to. 

The head of the man right in front of me blocked my view of the speaker.  The speaker who looks like the stereotypical Jesus and has my same haircut.  Instead of marveling at these things, I was stuck staring at this guy's backwards baseball cap with our mascot on it.  Our mascot that looks like he's sharting.

He wasn't the only one.  Someone near me, potentially one of the four athletes who could swallow me whole, let one rip.  I didn't hear it.  I just smelled it.  Check your shorts, dude!

My dad's the king of SBDs.  I grew up surrounded by rancid rear-end smells.  If I have to breathe in through my mouth, it's bad!  It was bad!

"Some of my family members are not Christians.  I hug, love, and serve them.  Why can't I do the same for my peers?"

You hypocrite!

For the next hour I watched Mr. Swallow Me Whole.  He had his Bible with him.  After flipping to the scripture passage for the night, he handed it to his friend two seats over.  Then he pulled out his "assorted electronic device" and read along with the Jesus-twin speaker.  He removed his hat when we prayed.  He pulled the "Statue of Liberty" and sang along.  He even gave an "Amen!"

You hypocrite!

You talk about destroying the salad bar divide and you build a brick wall between you and the seat in front of you!  All because you're scared.  Scared that such a large man might have a heart for Christ.  Scared that your brother might swallow you whole.  Scared that God hears both of your prayers.  Katie, that's ridiculous.

Mr. Swallow Me Whole, it was a joy to worship behind you last week.  Thank you for not biting off my head when I realized I was a hypocrite.  Let's do it again sometime.  But maybe I'll bring some air freshener.

<>< Katie

Relational Obsession

Allyson, Amy, and I were sitting in the food court zoning when Allyson turned to me.

"The world is so obsessed with relationships!"

Her comment caught me off guard.

"You know," she continued, "like if you're single you're told you're not worth anything.  And if you're in a relationship it's the best thing that has ever happened to you.  I bet that's a way satan uses to distract us from God's love!"

Woah!  That was way too deep for my hazy brain.  As I regained full consciousness and began to process her words, I decided she is absolutely right!

I'm single.  But a disgusting amount of time is spent wondering and day dreaming about my future husband and family.  I spend a lot more time yearning for what I can't have rather than embracing the unfailing love that was graciously given to me.

Allyson wasn't done.  "And if that one relationship is the best thing that ever happened to you, what about all of your other relationships?  Don't they matter?"

Recently the loss of a close friendship has left me mourning and dejected.  But what about all of the other flourishing relationships in my life?  Don't they count for anything?

Sure they do.  But they aren't the one completing relationship.  The one we girls think a man can fill.  The one, truthfully, only God can fill.

Allyson's thoughts were spurred by a music video I wasn't watching.  I looked up at the end to see a mother and father playing with their two sons by splashing each other in the ocean and jumping on the bed.  It was really sweet.

I hope to one day have that.  But until then, can I embrace the love of God given to me?  When I do have my own family, will I still put my joy and hope in Christ?

Right now, I honestly don't know if I can answer yes to both of those questions.  Maybe that's why I'm single.  There are still a lot of things for me to learn before someone else can walk into my life.

<>< Katie