Orange

"Are you ok with the orange?"

Instead of selling it for profit, Ruth was giving me a three by three book I'm going to fill with Bible verses.  The book has an orange theme, and I'm a purple girl.  I assured her the orange was fine and thanked her for the gift.

While orange does not make it in my top three favorite colors, it holds a special significance.

Orange is the color of the World Vision pen on my desk because it is bright enough to not get lost in the heap of dead trees.

Orange makes me think of Nikki and her now, rightfully, retired phone...
Orange makes me think of Carrie.

Orange is construction cones and Taco Bell hot sauce.

Orange makes me think of Guatemala.
Orange helped me realize that just like white crevices in stucco take forever to fill so does sin take forever to be removed from our lives. Every time we think we’re getting close, we find yet another missing spot… and then some more.
Orange is a reminder to stop and listen. Sometimes we have to be quiet to hear what God is trying to say.

Orange mean authority.
Orange means funs, friendly, and flexible.
Orange proclaims, "We believe!"

More than anything, Orange reminds me of my trip to New Orleans where I got to be part of Orange Nation. A week of long days and short nights. A week sacrificing ourselves and serving one another. A week of almost being trampled every night as I tried to play crowd control for 25,000 excited youth. A week I learned where "challenging" and "cherished" can intertwine.

I won this game, by the way.

Happy Reformation Day.
Happy Halloween.
Let orange be more than the color of the "publish post" button.

<>< Katie

The War is Over

Thankful for the three layers under her red winter jacket, she sits in a rocking chair on the front porch. The cars cruise down the highway, most of them obliviously to her obscure location.

Wishing she'd opted for the hot chocolate instead, she attempts to maneuver her gloved hand around the spoon in her McFlurry. Her dinner, a Taco Bell Chulupa with chicken, sits in her lap forgotten. Not unlike she is.

"You want to let me in?" she calls on her cell phone.

"Oh... uh... shoot... well... see... uh... um... we're still at the grocery store," explains the voice on the other end. "We're on our way back," he lies.

The clock tower lets out a chime. It's 5:45. According to the invitation, the Superbowl party in the boys' dorm started fifteen minutes earlier. For the first time in her life, she's glad she didn't arrive on time.

The ice cream in her cup does not threaten to melt, but she's slowly losing feeling in her fingers as she touches the plastic spoon to her lips.

"He begged me to come," she said aloud to herself, remembering the pleading facebook messages asking her to ditch the Superbowl party in her apartment to attend his. Now he's failed to arrive at his own party and left her sitting in the cold.

Ten minutes later, the ice cream is gone; she is still waiting. Suddenly, the door behind her pops open revealing the morgue turned boy's dorm as her party host bursts out into the chilling winter night. She glances at her watch and starts up at him.

"We have chips," he says with a sly smile.

Of course, chips make her frost bite worthwhile because now instead of begging for mercy, he'll beg for grace, and he'll want it in the form of cheese chip dip. Yet she'll give it. If only in the name of forgiveness and familial love.
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Dear Mr. Kevin Kassakatis,
I was not going to update my blog twice today. However, your tasteless, rude behavior this evening left me no choice. I have considered this your forfeiting the war and will being my victory dance as soon as I thaw.
Kind regards,
<>< Katie Ax
PS: But I still love you.