Being Called

Our conversation was brief. Just long enough to drive from the coffee shop back to her dorm.

She spoke about how she was studying for a test in her missiology class. We spoke about Compassion. I mentioned that I'm a writer. She said she feels called by God to open an orphanage in a specific African country.

I wanted to practice asking questions. Why that specific country? What did her call look like? Why start an orphanage rather than work for an existing one? For once I had no shortage of questions.

We did have a shortage of time. So I packed my questions away to save for a future opportunity.

As I drove home I wondered what it would be like to have such a clear calling on my life. To know--at the start of my college career or earlier--what I wanted to do for God's kingdom. I figured it must be nice.

I'm just a writer with a degree and no idea where God's calling her to step next. I was jealous of her and admired her all at the same time. I wanted my own clear calling.

I saw her again two day later. Before I could pour out my question box, she mentioned that maybe she wasn't interested in that specific country. She'd heard some terrifying things that had happened there. Part of me wanted to tell her not to give up her dreams. The other part of me breathed a sigh of relief.

She's just like me: some clue of what to do but no idea what it will actually look like once she gets there. She didn't get a jet-stream message from the Lord. Her confidence was as thin as mine when I said I was a writer.

True, I am a writer. A freelance writer. A ghostwriter. A professional writer. An underpaid/underemployed writer. A blog-writer. I didn't say all of that. I just said, "Writer." It sounds better that way.

True, she's studying missiology (the study of missions) because she's got a heart for missions. True she wants to care for orphans. True she loves Compassion as much as I do. Maybe true she'll start her own orphanage and maybe true it'll be in that specific African country. But who knows.

God does.

And right now, He's not telling.

For either of us.

<>< Katie

Your Thoughts

Hey, friends, the year is drawing to a close. Obviously. It's with great excitement that I look forward to next year. Mostly because I hope it brings a job offer. But I also look forward to a top secret blog series starting in January!

Before I announce what that will be, I want to hear about what you guys want to see here next year. This is your chance to tell me that you hate my background and wish I used more scripture in my posts. Be honest. I can take it.

Some guiding questions:
1. What have you liked? What have you disliked?
2. What has worked? What hasn't worked?
3. What do you want to see more of? What would you like to never see again?
4. What do you think of the layout? The content? The frequency?
5. Anything else you'd like to add but I haven't offered?

You're welcome to post in the comments section (anonymous posting is enabled) or email me at KatieAxelson[at]gmail[dot]com.

Thanks!
<>< Katie

PS: In other news, I became a National Novel Writing Month winner yesterday by officially logging in 51,9523 words written in the month of November. My novel isn't quite done (is it ever?) and I've got a lot of revising to do but for the purpose of validation: completed!

A Run in the Park

My family and I used to go to Lifest for the bands.  Hours were spent circling artist names in the program and making a strategic plan of where we needed to be and when.  Unfortunately for me, long gone are the years when I spent five days running from stage to stage, from mosh pit to lawn chair, from merch table to meet and greet line.

This past opening night of Lifest we got caught in the madness where the one-lane road through the park became a parking lot.  The only show I wanted to see all evening was to start in four minutes.  So still in the holding pattern at the park's entrance, I abandoned my family and our minivan.  I began to walk with a purpose towards a party with a purpose.  It took me fifteen minutes to walk from the park entrance to the fairgrounds entrance (in case you ever need to know).

Fifteen minutes is long time to repeatedly glance at your watch and realize you're missing the only show you wanted to see that day.  It's also a long time to question if you're approaching with the right heart.

Even if I miss my show, will tonight still be worth it?  Am I willing to hear from the Lord through a speaker I've never heard of, a band whose CD I have never purchased?  Am I here for an artist, a speaker, or am I here for the Lord?

Valid questions to take my mind off of the ticking minutes.

A fifteen minute jog through the park, thirteen minutes in line to exchange my ticket for a wristband, and I finally made it to the Grandstand as Peder Eide was wrapping up "Yes, Lord" and beginning a new song, "We are Not Orphans."  A new, new song.  So new the CD it's on won't be released until July 15th.  Peder has personally told me about this song twice, but I've been waiting a year to hear it.

A year.  No embellishing.

I thought I was late.  Twenty-three minutes late, to be exact.  Twenty-three minutes late to a forty minute show.

I wasn't.  I was right on time.  Sure, I missed the first twenty-three minutes that I would have thoroughly enjoyed, but I was right on time to hear the song I had been anxiously awaiting.

It was a beautiful moment.

"I haven't forgotten.  Welcome to Lifest.  We've been waiting for you," the Lord whispered to me.

It might have taken twenty-three minutes of anxiety, but once again I could honestly proclaim, "God, I'm all in.  I'm here for You.  Not the artists, not the speakers, not the expo center, not the camaraderie.  I'm here for YOU!" 

What a wonderful feeling that is!

When's the last time you spent fifteen minutes running through a (figurative) park adjusting the focus of your heart?  When's the last time you let your Abba Father sing over you and remind you of His goodness?  He's waiting.

"For the Lord your God is living among you.
He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
With his love, he will calm all your fears.
He will rejoice over you with joyful songs."
Zephaniah 3:17 NLT

Stump the Pastor

During Confirmation class we used to play this game called Stump the Pastor.  The object of the game was for a confirmand to ask the pastor a question he was incapable of answering.

Among other things, we learned that our pastors know their stuff!  We also learned they're good at being put on the spot.

During games of Stump the Pastor I don't remember ever seeing a pastor be truly stumped.  On a related question, of course.  No fair asking how many ridges are on the side of a quarter.

However, since that instance, I have seen two pastors stumped.

I thought it was a simple question.  Nothing about eschatology or an Old Testament prophet.  Nothing that requires an M. Div. or a D. Min.  It's a question I'm asked regularly and usually I come up with a suitable answer.  The same question has stumpt two different ministers.

The question, you ask?

How can I pray for you?

Pastors spend so much time being the prayer warriors and encouragers, that sometimes they don't know how to respond when asked how how others can pray for them.

Take a minute today and pray for your pastor, divinity school student, or spiritual leader.  Ask them how you can best pray for them.  Encourage them; tell them you appreciate them.  It's such a simple task that's all too often forgotten.

Friends, how can I pray for you?

<>< Katie

PS: Blogger killed this post, so I re-wrote it to the best of my ability... Sorry if it reads differently then it once did.

Thriving in Exile

"Take off anything you're wearing that has any value, monetary or sentimental," my small group leader Natalie announced.

The faces of six freshmen girls expressed confusion as we obediently began to remove necklaces, belts, and ear rings.

"Take off your jackets.  Your sweatshirts," she continued.  I'm sure if she could have stripped us down to our underwear, she would have just to prove her point.  She did once come to small group in a bathrobe to demonstrate Isaiah's walking around naked for three years (see Isaiah 20).

"We're going into Babylonian exile," she explained.
"Should we bring our Bibles?"
"Your what?"

She then led us out in a January icy drizzle while she played the role of the Babylonians and we were the Israelites.  When we began to shiver, she let us back inside.  Ironically, she accidentally tripped on the sidewalk symbolizing the fall of Babylon.

Looking through the Bible, there are a lot of people who experience exile.  Personally, I've never spent a significant amount of time being oppressed and exiled.  Unless you count being a Lutheran in Baptist Country.  They're usually nice to me if I keep my mouth shut about alcohol and original sin, but let's use it as an example.

I heard a speaker the other day talk about exile.

"The question is not 'Why are we in exile?' or 'How do we get out of exile?'" he explained.  "The question is, 'What is God up to in exile?'"

What is God up to in exile?

What is God up to in your life, wherever you may be?  Sometimes there are things God needs to do in your life that He can only do while you're in exile.

Some Biblical examples of exile show the strengthening of faith while being removed from that which is comfortable.  Here in Baptist Country I've been forced to contemplate and question why I believe in infant baptism, why I don't have a problem drinking wine, and that whole in-with-and-under thing (that I'm still working on).  Things I probably would have simply accepted forever had I not been sent here.

When Daniel experienced his exile (see Daniel 1), his name and the names of all of his friends were changed.   Daniel became Belteshazzar (please name your son that).  Hanniniah, Mishael, and Azariah became Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  Their Hebrew names celebrating God's faithfulness were replaced with pagan names.

My name too was changed.  My often mutilated three syllable last name has been axed to two letters.  A pagan name; a murder weapon.  Rack, Shack, and Benny let that one go.  As have I.  To some, I will forever be only Katie Ax.  I think I'm ok with that.  Like Rack, Shack, and Benny, I have to pick my battles.  I'd much rather people realize I'm still a Christian than know I have a whole last name.

God has done (and is doing) some cool things here in my exile.  He even pulled me through a near-hypodermic small group experience.

What's He doing in your exile?  What's He doing in your life right now?

<>< Katie

PS: If you know my whole last name... do NOT post it in the comments section or I will delete your comment.

One Handed Mermaids

At school I'm a part of a ministry team that works with local churches to lead youth nights, retreats, lock-ins, et al.  Our job is to basically be silly, bond with the youth, and teach them about Jesus.  I like the ministry, but I always feel like there's an element missing.  We work with the youth all weekend and then on Sunday night we go home.  The might be-friend us on facebook or something but the relationship's pretty much over.  That makes me sad.

Which is why I love going home.  Even though I'm only there every few months, I get to spend time with middle and high schoolers.  Sure, I have to go back to school eventually but I get to go back and forth between the two.

On Sunday, I spent the morning getting powered sugar all over the ancient, blue church pew with my middle schoolers.  They're almost done with Confirmation class, looking towards high school, and have built a great friendship among them.

Their leader asked the best present they received for Christmas.  One of them responded, "Jesus's forgiveness."

That was the end of that discussion question.  She blew us out of the water!  So powerful.  So profound.  So perfect.  So simple.

When I got home from church, I looked at a national weather map and noticed this itty bitty snowstorm hitting half of our country... including Baptist Country.  I wanted to just sit around and mope about how I probably wasn't getting back to school in the near future.

I'm so glad I didn't cancel my plans for Sunday night.  Instead I went to what my church calls Home Group.  Basically it's like small group where high schoolers get together in a family's house to hang out, learn about Jesus, and eat, eat, eat.

I wanted to get home and mope about my potentially cancelled flight.  Instead I got lost in the most intense conversation ever.  Or at least in the week.

Trevor (Who's been begging me all week to blog about this just so he can see his own name in print) asked the question: Why did God give us two of everything? 

Two arms, two legs, two halves of the brain...

One stomach so we don't overindulge.
One tongue to control.
One appendix to have removed.

But two lungs, two kidneys, two eyes...

The best answer we could devise is that God likes symmetry.

Dawn, Jake, Trevor, and I continued our conversation to pondering if there are any warm-blooded animals that do not have four appendages.  Mermaids.

Maybe it was a weird conversation.  A "Peanut Butter Bagel" blog post.  But still something to ponder.

I love being able to spend time with the same youth.  I knew most of these guys from the Gathering in July.  Wonder about weird things that have never crossed my mind before.  Spend some time with youth and see what you come away wondering...

<>< Katie

PS: Happy now, Trevor?

Las Chicas

I went out to dinner with Las Chicas the other day. These four girls left South America and Europe to come to Small Town, USA for a year to teach Spanish and French. They all speak English very well, but it is their second language. They are also new to the United States and not well-acquainted with the area, so some of my friends and I offered to go out to dinner with them. I was their chauffeur.

When I lived in Costa Rica, I remembered always being so annoyed with the Spanish radio. I didn't understand a word of it; it was just noise making it harder to hear. I didn't want Las Chicas to have the same problem in my car. I regretted leaving my Juanes CD at home and put in my Spanish worship CD instead.

While we were driving and talking, Las Chicas asked me all sort of questions. Is what I'm wearing ok for where we’re going? What kind of rag do I need to buy to use with my mop? I'm getting five hours of sleep a night; why am I so tired? Do they sell textbooks at Wal-mart? What do you call the little white thing you use to clean your ear? Do I have to be a United States citizen to get a driver's license here?

In a break between conversations, the music was heard through the silence.
Cynthia: Is this a Christian CD?
Katie: It is.
Cynthia: Oh. I am a Christian in Argentina.
Katie: You can be a Christian in the United States, too.
I was glad she laughed because it came out so fast that I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want her to think I was mocking her, but they all enjoyed it. This added a whole new dimension to the questions they asked me.

What is the name of the guy who, you know, how do you say? And you know the thing that he does, what is that part called? What is the difference between Baptist and Methodist? Most of the people here are Baptist, yes?

Let me be transparent for just a second. I can write, blog, and read about God all day without a problem. To talk about Him is more of a challenge. Even sometimes among my Christian friends I feel silly for saying, "God showed me this today." I rarely tell people I'll pray for them (but if I say it, I try to really do it). When Christ came up with Las Chicas, I knew I had a witnessing opportunity. I also knew my tendency to be turned down when I offer a ride to church.

That's why I was shocked when they accepted the invitation! Even after I told them we'd have to leave at 8:30am. Las Chicas began to talk about their home churches. One did mission work every Saturday where she worked in local neighborhoods helping people. Another's pastor and his wife sent her with all sorts of photos and wanted her return with photos of American churches. It was humbling to hear about what God is doing in other countries.

On Sunday morning, they were ready early. One of them even made a joke about it. I have since realized why. This was their first opportunity to hear God's Word proclaimed since they've been in our country.

Shame on you, America. We're sending mission teams all over the world to spread the gospel. Yes, I went to Guatemala last year for that very purpose. But do you want to know what I found? Jesus is already there. He's in Guatemala. He's in Argentina. Yes, going and showing His love is important, but we also need to realize there are people in this country yearning to hear His name and they are not being filled. These girls are living on a Christian campus and no one had invited them to church. No one has stopped to ask if they need prayer. No one.

Shame on me. The thought never even crossed my mind until they said they had been looking for a church to attend. This is my twelfth year of Spanish, and I don’t even know the word for “prayer.” I feel ashamed to admit that, but it’s the truth.

When I took three of Las Chicas to church with me, I wondered how much they were getting out of the service. The sermon was less than engaging, the power-points with lyrics weren’t working, and the southern drawl was more pronounced than normal. Afterwards, Cynthia waved her notes in front of me.

“This is exactly what I needed! Thank you!”

Don’t thank me. Thank God. He coordinated it all.

If you could do me a favor, pray for these four girls and they are in a foreign country teaching their native languages. Pray that they can see God's love shown through those of us they encounter here. And, if you don't mind, pray that the Lord gives me the desire to speak boldly about Him. How can I pray for you?

Thanks,
<>< Katie

Holy Saturday

Holy Saturday.
Quite possibly the darkest day of the year. Jesus is dead.  Imagine the hopelessness the disciples felt today.  Can we relate?

For the disciples, today was even more depressing than a Lutheran being stuck in Baptist Country over Easter.  It was even more desperate than being rejected after seeking a job for two years.  Darker than abandoning high school graduation party preparations to plan the funeral of a five year old.  Can imagine what the disciples felt today?

A large group gathered together in a dark upper room.  The door locked out of fear.  No one had bothered to light the lamp.  No one wanted to speak.  Complete darkness.  It was not only a physical surrounding but also an emotional feeling.  Their best friend, their leader... was dead.  Not even a week earlier He'd been celebrated.  He was welcomed as a king.  Not even forty-eight hours previous they'd enjoyed a meal together.  Now He was gone.  Everything happened so quickly.

The room was filled with a myriad of emotions: hurt, regret, failure, longing, desperation, depression, darkness, confusion, loneliness, loss... the list goes on.  Yet the most prevalent had to be hopelessness.

"Where do we go from here?"  They must have asked.  If not aloud, then in their minds and in their hearts.
"How could this have happened?"
"I really didn't see this coming.  Did He?"
"Now what?"
The incessant number of unanswerable questions plagued them as they sat, paced, and cried.

Silence in a crowd.  Darkness in the middle of the day.  Loneliness among great friends.

Maybe we've been there.  Unlike the disciples, we know the rest of the story.  Unlike the disciples, we have hope.

"Peace be with you."  A voice rudely interrupts their ponderings.  Who would offer peace on such a dreary day?

Every head lifted.  Every eye turned.  They saw Jesus.  Their sins collided with their Savior and their Savior won.  Think about the first time you ever saw Him.  Think about your first encounter with the Christ.  Rope yourself in that moment.  Resurrect the relief.  Recall the purity.  Summon forth the passion.  Can you remember?  Do yourself a favor and place yourself in the upper room with the disciples.  Kneel before Jesus.

Run your fingers over His feet.  Place your hand in His pierced side.  When His nail-scarred hand slides under your chin and lifts gently, don't flee.  When your teary eyes meet His compassionate ones, don't look away.  Look in to those eyes, those same eyes that melted the gates of hell, sent the demons scurrying, and Satan running.  Look at them as they look at you.  Accept the warm embrace from the living Savior and never, ever let go.

Note: the final to paragraphs are modified from Max Lucado's Six Hours On Friday.

Catch Phrase

For being an English major, I'm shockingly bad at Catch Phrase. The words pop up on the screen and those words I want to say are ones I'm not allowed to use. It helps me to know Keith, who speaks almost as many languages and I do, isn't good at it either. He just sits there and screams, "OOHH!, OKAY! UHHH!!!"

I, on the other hand, stare blankly, "I don't know who this is."

"It's a person," someone guesses.

"Yes, a man."
"Describe him."

Okay, if I don't know who a person is, how on earth am I going to describe him? Lucky for me, Allyson started shouting out mens' first names and hits the right one, Jack. My entire team began listing famous people with the first name Jack. When I heard, "Jack Nicholson" I threw the controller at Nikki, sitting behind me on the couch.

"That's not what it says!" Nikki exclaimed. She'd been peering over my shoulder, enjoying my struggle. "It says Jack Nicklaus."

"Are they two different people? I don't know who either one of those people are," I admitted. A year ago I would have struggled and continued the game, lying, if necessary, that I'd heard someone say "Jack Nick-claus."

David leapt to my rescue explaining who each person was, and they gave my team a point anyway.

This same thing happens in Apples to Apples all of the time. I'll throw people-cards cluelessly if I don't have anything better to put in. Sometimes the other players find the choice hilarious and I win; other times they find the card offensive. Oops.

Learning to ask questions and admit when I don't know something,
<>< Katie

PS: I do know that text messages reading, "WHAT NO BLOG YET??? Are you alive? Are you conscious? Did you get eaten by a walrus? You do realize it's almost 4 and thus you have 8 hours left to blog" really mean "My day is not complete until Katie updates her brilliant blog. Perhaps she has forgotten about my dependency on reading it and therefore I shall remind her."

A Letter to You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence stings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I do, too.

Love,
Katie

Used Books

My suitemates and I were discussing buying books online verses in the bookstore. Everyone was sharing how much money they save buying used books online. I've used that avenue to purchase my share of books, but the hassle almost isn't worth the money I save. I mean, who wants to spend their time worrying about when the book will arrive? Will it come in at a time when the post office is open? What if I have homework before I have the book? After shipping and handling costs are added, did I still save money?

The questions don't stop when the book arrives. Is this the right book? Is the cover/spine destroyed? Did the former owner spill coffee (or anything else gross) on it? Did the former owner make useless marks all over the pages like a loser? Are there missing pages/ corners? Was the book well cared for?

Most of these things I am learning to overlook, but there is one question I cannot bypass: How many times was this book used to block a sneeze?

I guess I'm just too particular about my stuff to truly enjoy the treasures hidden in used bookstores. Enjoy the troves and allow me to savor the crisp spine and pristine pages of my more expensive bookstore books.

<>< Katie

Daily Mullings

I don't know what to write about today. I wrote a blog about smashing glass against the fire place, and I'm proud it as a writer but it doesn't have a point. I might post it anyway. I've toyed with the idea of explaining why my sister has two fish named Earwax but I think that's a "you had to be there" story and no quality of writing will do it justice. I could blog about Lyme disease since that's something that's become close to my heart and my aunt and uncle's dog was just diagnosed with it (missed by the first vet, big surprise there...). Or I could make reading this blog worth your time unlike the book I'm reading right now.

As of yesterday when I went to the bookstore, I am currently reading The Condition by Jennifer Haigh. Supposedly it's about a woman with Turner's Syndrome, a disease I did a case study on in 9th grade. Well, I'm 126 pages into it and I'm not quite sure what it's about. Way too many details about too many people. I understand explaining the lives of the five people in the family since they are all adults, but the lives of every person each individual has ever met is a little bit of overkill. Why am I reading this? I don't want you to ask the same about my blog. That is, assuming you're still reading. Is there anyone but Melissa here?

Oh! Storytime!
Since the story involves Bob you have to hear me like Bob hears everything I say: supersonic speed in a pitch so high only dogs can understand (I've been frequently told I'm "Telemundo in English").

A few weeks ago, I was the only attendee of HIGH SCHOOL Bible study. This isn't the first time this has happened, but in all previous instances I was still, well, the target audience. This particular week Bob had been prepared to teach on messianic prophesies as found in Zechariah (that's means everything in Zechariah the predicted Christ's coming). It was time to start and Bob looked around the room, "There's no one here," he announced.

"Am I no one?" I retorted.

"You know what meant," he said with a smile. Of course I did. I've only known Bob for seven years; that's enough time to know anyone's quirks (trust me, we both have plenty).

The two of us took a big step in our relationship and sat at the same bar table to investigate these passages. Even with both of our brains put together we could not wrap our minds around some of these passages. "But how does this predict Christ's coming?" "Are they talking about Christ here or not?" "Why do we insist this is Christ? This part came to fruition but not the rest of this." "What does this mean?" "The study Bible said THAT?"

Yeah, not a very educational but incredibly challenging. It was relaxing to wrestle with these ideas without a facade. Without either one of us needing the answers. Both of us were willing to admit we didn't understand.

"Maybe it's a good thing no one came today," he said at the end of our time.
"I came."
"That's what I mean. You're probably the only one who's ok leaving with more questions than answers," he said and paused. "I feel like a failure."
"You're not," I assured him. He was right: I was ok leaving with more questions than answers.
"I'm a failure. You're a failure," he said with a laugh. Thanks for the support, Bob. :-)

Learn to be ok with questions. They don't all need to be answered but that should not stop you from asking them.

What does this mean?
<>< Katie