Communion

I was a little frazzled as I headed towards the front of church for communion. Our self-guided section turned into a mob rather than a line. By the time we half-organized ourselves, I was ready for body, blood, seat.  That fast.

I stepped to the front, held my hands out for the wafer, and looked up into the face of our senior pastor.  Pastor Mike stopped and looked back at me.

"They're letting everybody in today!"  He teased.

It's a joke I've heard many times over the last few years, but it still catches me off-guard every time.  I chuckle but my first thought is always, "This is a church; we should be letting everybody in."

To be confronted with this joke at the communion table helped me remember that I am not worthy to even be let in the door much less invited to approach the table of grace or enjoy the sweet taste of forgiveness.  This isn't a weekly ritual we do even when the lines turn into mobs... it's a beautiful gift purchased by the ultimate sacrifice.

Pastor Mike placed the wafer in my hand.  "Body of our Lord," he said.

In my hands I clutched the tangible reminder of that gift, that forgiveness, that perfect love that I am not worthy of.  The body of Christ given for me.  The body of our Lord--Pastor Mike's and mine.  We may not always agree yet share a common goal: to serve and honor Him.  Along with Christians worldwide, we share hope, faith, and forgiveness through Christ.  He's our Lord.

"It's good to see you," he said, smacking me playfully in the arm.

I was out of town for the entire month of October.  He noticed.  Thousands of members and he noticed my absence.  Billions of people on earth yet when we haven't spent quality time with the Lord, He notices.  Billions of people on earth and when we sit at His feet, He's glad to see us.

I ate the bread, drank the wine, and got lost on my way back to my seat.  Both literally among the sea of people and pews but also figuratively in the beauty of that moment I shared with the Lord.

Thankful for grace,
<>< Katie

Life Box

One of my friend's art expressions class had to fill a box with items to represent them.  Any kind of box/container was accepted.  One student used a guitar case; my friend used a shoe box.  The then had to present the items in their box, explaining its representation, and talking about themselves for ten minutes.

In telling us about this project, I asked my friend what she put in her box.

"A guitar pick because I'm learning guitar.  A flip flop because I'm from the beach.  Pictures of my family and my best friends.  A puzzle piece because I love puzzles.  My favorite scarf because fashion is really important to me..."

She went on for a long time trying to remember all of the items in her box.

"Oh, and I put in a Book of Common Prayer because I couldn't put in a Bible," she said.

"Why couldn't you put in a Bible?"  I figured maybe it was a class rule.

"It didn't fit."

I continued to listen patiently but inside my heart was breaking.  We all pack our life box and realize God doesn't "fit" into the plan we've created.  We take everything out, rearrange a little bit, and realize everything's not going to fit.  Some thing's going to have to go.  But what?  We're attached to everything.  Letting go of anything is a painful part of life.  But, unfortunately, it's necessary.  Sometimes God asks us to say good bye to hobbies, relationships, locations, traditions...

The question is: are you building your life box around Him or are you trying to fit Him in at the last second?

<>< Katie
PS: What would you put in your life box?
Mine: my Bible, my iPod (we'll pretend I have a working one), my Writer's Notebook, my purple Nalgene, my phone, some hand sanitizer (of course), lotion, the ring and cross necklace I wear daily, a glassblown cup, a scrapbook, and my passport (for journeys past and present), and a book to read all in a Louis M. Martini wine box to represent my cultural heritage.

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.

Peppermint Mocha, Please

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

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

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

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

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

<>< Katie

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

Never Underestimate the Power of a Good Book

On the way to the airport to come home for Christmas, my friend Kevin (who sometimes reads this blog) told me he rarely reads books anymore and never books that are more than 200 pages. I asked him if he'd read a 201 page book if I wrote it, and he said no. He's pretty serious about this 200 page rule.

The other day I jokingly asked him if he's read anything good over break and he said yes! Just from the tone in his... er... text message, I could tell he was excited about this book. Yes, a quick google search revealed it is less than 200 pages but that isn't the point.

That's all it takes, one good book. Earlier this break I was feeling lazy and apathetic. All I did all day was blog, participate in "family somethings," and play Bejeweled Blitz. That is until a spontaneous trip to Barnes & Noble changed (and charged) by break.

I'm now deep in to two books. Whether I love them or not is beside the point because once again the words are flowing. While I haven't written a substantial amount, maybe five pages, there has been a lot of plotting and some major changes. In this case, change is good. And I owe it all to the 300 pages I've read this week. (Ok, and my Almighty God who has given me the words to speak).

Excuse me now why I go disappear into a comfortable recliner with a blanket, a good book, and a glass of wine on this beautiful blizzarding day. (Ok, just kidding about the wine... maybe).

Be verbose!
<>< Katie

Broken Glass

"You cannot say you've never had the urge to throw a glass against a fireplace," my family said, almost in unison, as all eyes fell on my aunt.

I thought for a second about the question.

Honestly, no. I haven't ever had the urge to throw a glass against a fireplace much less the lack of self control to act on such an impulse. Sure, I've wanted to throw people against walls and sometimes I've thrown other things but never a glass. It'll break.

"You're never so frustrated you just need to break something?" The family continued.

Sure but not glass. Perhaps it's because my mother spent most of my childhood walking behind me, "Don't touch broken glass. Don't walk in the street barefoot just in case there's broken glass. Leave the broken glass alone. You don't want to cut yourself." Grandma has the scar to prove broken glass isn't something I want to be playing with.

"Yes," my aunt confessed. She once threw a glass against the wall out of frustration, "But then I was even more mad because I had a big mess to clean up!" Broken glass is pretty common at her house. When she and my uncle buy wine glasses they always buy two and without fail one is broken on the first use. We tease at her house no one needs individual charms to identify wine glasses everyone just gets an unique glass because no two glasses are the same.

Everyone else concluded the mess isn't a problem for them. Cleaning it up helps relieve the frustration (until they cut themselves and then they're re-living the frustration, I'm sure).

"Dad throws glasses against the fireplace all of the time," Grandma said.

"Once... MAYBE twice," Grandpa defended himself. This made everyone laugh remembering a similar conversation a few years ago. When my mom and her siblings were growing up my grandpa sneezed egg all over the wall. According to my aunt, this was a weekly occurrence. My mom realizes not quite weekly but quite often. Grandpa, on the other hand, swears it only happened once. Just like he only threw the glass against the wall once.

<>< Katie

Swiming Cat

She had eight dollars in her wallet as she boarded the plane that would take her back to the farm for the first time in eleven months.

Sounds like a very cliche opening line to a novel, right? Nope. Just my life. It wasn't really intentional that I hadn't been to the farm in ten months; it just kind of happened that way. When someone brought it to my attention that I hadn't been out here in almost a year I didn't believe her, but it's true. As for the eight dollars... I am a college student.

Even though it's been almost a year since I've been out to my grandparents' "farm" some things just don't change.

This was a story Grandma shared with us for the first time today; it happened about two years ago.

Grandma and Grandpa discovered some abandoned kittens in their barn, so my grandparents adopted them and raised these kittens in the house. Apparently they were so small they were bottle fed and needed help pooping (insert countless dirty jokes here). I would like to add that having kittens in the kitchen is not bizarre at my grandparents' house... pigs, chickens, dogs, cats, people, are all welcome around this table. One of the black and white kittens escaped from the box on the kitchen table, jumped onto the chair, and then on to a towel before Grandma could grab him. Well, the towel was covering a huge bucket of Grandpa's fermenting home-made wine. This poor little kitten was swimming in home-made wine. Eventually he escaped and began running across the kitchen. Grandma grabbed the now-pink kitten, rinsed him off in the sink, and hoped Grandpa wouldn't come in before she got the mess cleaned up. Luckily, Grandpa stayed outside and no one witnessed this hilarious event.

Now the home-made wine is gone and no one died from it, so Grandma had to get this off of her chest. She carried this hilarious story inside herself for two years without telling a soul. Haha!

<>< Katie