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.

Marathon Christmas

I grew up thinking this was normal.  I grew up thinking a lot of things were normal, myths my roommates have quickly dispelled.  You mean everyone doesn't have four Christmas trees and a 30-hour Christmas?  I supposed now you're going to tell me everyone has more than three cousins, too, right?

Christmas Eve
3:00pm- "Get in the car now!"

4:00pm- We start Christmas where all Christmases should begin: in church.  We pass the bulletin from one end of the pew to the other, share notes, and split a half a piece of gum thirteen ways.  You think I'm kidding.

6:00pm- "And WHY are you snow blowing in your Christmas suit?"
All thirteen of my maternal side of the family is gathered in my aunt and uncle's kitchen.  We're munching on meatballs, shrimp, and the world famous cheese dip.  We need something in the stomachs as we begin a long night of alcohol consumption.

7:00pm- "Maybe we should open presents." 
"Yes, that bow is beautiful on your head." 
"What kind of tape did you use?  It's impossible to rip!"

8:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma get a fifteen minute head start (we even use the microwave timer) to light candles and turn on lights before the entire party mobilizes to Grandpa and Grandma's house.  We open presents first from my grandparents and second from my aunt and uncle from out of town.

9:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma serve us pizza subs on paper plates just to have some substance during our night of grazing.  "Sure, I'd love some blackberry wine."

10:00pm- My family's turn for the fifteen minute head start.  There are advantages and disadvantages to being the last house in the round-robin.  The biggest disadvantage is that the hair and makeup need remedial help before the photograph in front of the tree.

11:00pm- "Who wants to be Santa?"

12:00am- Grandpa and Grandma decide it's time to go home.

1:00am- "Someone has to eat my food!"

2:00am- We karate chop the remaining family out of here, clean up the kitchen, and set up for the morning.  Time for bed!

For the next four to six hours visions of sugar plums dance in our heads while Santa flies over head.

Christmas Day
8am- "Santa's been here!"

9am-  The family gift exchange and Santa presents are opened on Christmas morning.  Dad gets coal.  And the grille to go with it.  Mom cries when she opens the puzzle photo collage of my sisters and me growing up.  My flannel jeans from Cabela's miraculously fit!  "Dad, I got you a six pack of beer just because I can.  No, I don't want one." 

10am- "Get in the car!  We're late!"

11am- "Are we there yet?"

12pm- Growing up, my family was always the last to arrive at my paternal grandparents' house.  Some traditions die hard.  Christmas dinner will be served at two.  I regret not eating more than a banana for breakfast and dive into the chips, fudge, and pie on the kitchen table.

1pm- I'm in a photo war with Travel Buddy, my uncle who's a professional photographer.  I take literally 178 photos.

2pm- The Charlie Brown Tree. 
Every year my grandparents go to the tree farm and find the most ridiculous tree in the $5 bin.  It's too thick to put ornaments on it.  It's so thin you can see through it.  It has two tops.  They then barter until the owner lets them buy the tree for $3.  They give him a $2 tip.  This year the tree branches needed to be transplanted, so they got it for $2 with a $1 tip.  Remember, the camera adds ten pounds.

3:00pm- "This restaurant is only open twice a year, so you'd better dig in!"
Thanksgiving dinner is remarkably similar to Christmas dinner.  The main difference is that the men are actually allowed to sit in the dining room with the women rather than being banished to the kitchen.  We pass rolls by overhand tossing, make the misbehaving adults sit at the children's table, and, heaven forbid, we forget the olives.

5:00pm- Photo shoot! 
Each family.  "At least pretend like you like each other."  All the girls.  All the boys.  "Stop that!"  Three generations.  "Where'd Grandpa go now?"  All the granddaughters.  All eleven of us.  The stray people we picked up on the street.  All dogs.  "Ok, my camera's memory card is full."

6:00pm- "Yes, I'd like a brandy old fashion, please.  We're going to be here for awhile."
Commence the longest present opening extravaganza in the history of present openings.  Grandma hands the first present to Tina.  Tina opens it, throws the wrapping paper on the floor, and examines it for fifteen and a half seconds before she must stand to pick and hand out the next present.  If she surpasses her allotted fifteen and a half seconds, the entire crowd shouts, "PICK A PRESENT!"

7:00pm- Fifteen minute intermission to fill the glasses and empty the bladder.

7:15pm- "Pick a present!"

8:00pm- "PICK A PRESENT!"
Every year Grandma and Grandpa give each of their four grandkids a gold ornament engraved with our names, the year, and "Love, Gma & Gpa."  After twenty-some years, Wal-mart stopped making the ornaments, so Grandma had to get creative.  This year she bought some silver ones from Target and engraved them herself.

9:00pm- "Pick a present" brouhaha is finally over after three hours of present opening!  Grandma and the four granddaughters sit in the heaps of wrapping paper for the annual photo.  Grandma boasts that she is 71 and can still get down on the floor.  We help her up.

10:00pm- Grandma asks who brought the iPod for the traditional Christmas Day dancing in the kitchen.  No one has music; no one has the energy to dance.  The men are Wii bowling in the kitchen.  Grandpa's winning.  "That's an awful nice purple dress you've got there, Jim," Greg says, and the crowd rolls.  Grandpa's using my Mii.

11:00pm- The food comes back out for those who are hungry.  I eat some cherry pie, little smokies, sweet potatoes, and fudge.  In that order.  "Shhhhh!  Someone may be sleeping."

12:00am- That someone should be me.  But we're having too much fun retelling old stories, hacking up lungs, and laughing hysterically.

1:00am- That someone is me.  It's the only night of the year when I can sleep with socks on because of the heat problems in the old farmhouse.  Yet I sleep with a smile on my face.  Another great Christmas!

I love hearing about Christmas traditions.  What are yours?

<>< Katie

Single-Handedly Entertaining the World

At some point when I was in middle or high school, my sisters and/or I needed physical(s) for school and into the doctor's office piled our crew.  I can only imagine the dread that poor doctor felt walking into our loud room. Well, it quickly disappeared into a genuine smile. Without being obtrusive and preventing what needed to be done from getting done, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. A joke here and there, a fit of laughter now and again, and the room was full of smiles.

“He wishes he could be a fly on the wall in our house,” Mom said about the doctor as we walked out to the car. Of course, we asked how she could tell. She explained the authentic smile and the twinkle in his amused eyes.

Since Mom mentioned that, I’ve seen the same smile and shimmer in the eyes of other people. A store clerk here; a passer-by there. Last week I saw it on the neighbors sitting on their pier.

The five of us had gone for an hour and a half boat ride where we chased bald eagles, spied on turtles, and stirred up wake with our pontoon boat. The ride had to come to a close as our stomachs growled in hunger, so we brought the boat in for lunch. A light breeze glided across the lake and we came in too far away from our pier to dock on the first try. Mom leapt off but couldn’t grab the boat and pull it in manually.

Dad backed up and we tried again. We’d been teasing him that for four days he brought the boat in perfectly on the first try but on days five and six he started to lose his touch.

On the second try, Mom grabbed the bow and almost fell into the water between the boat the pier. I might add that by now we were all rolling in laughter. Laura leapt onto pier but failed to grab the stern. The bow was all but tied down while the stern tried to sail of to sea again. Which, of course, was amusing because normally the stern, the part of the boat that steers, is easy to control while it’s the bow that misbehaves. Well, we decided coming in stern towards the lake wasn’t going to work, so (with the bow still tied down) we swung the boat around and successfully parked bow-out. Problem: the propeller was digging in the sand. They untied the bow and Dad, Christina, and I went back out in the lake and spun the boat around.

On try three, we crashed into the pier head-on. Oops. Try four we couldn’t grab hands with Mom and Laura. Dad offered up a fishing pole for extra length but we decided that wasn’t the best idea. Try five and all of our energy stretching between the boat and the pier as we held onto each other for dear life, we finally successfully docked the boat without throwing anyone into “the drink."

That’s when we realized our problem: this was an alcohol-free boating experience. Every other time when Dad docked, he had already downed a beer or two. No one fell into the drink, but Dad needed a drink. From their pier and in between uncontrolled burst of laughter the neighbors offered Dad a beer.

It’s no wonder we have a tendency to be the loudest people everywhere we go: we enjoy ourselves. We’re not going to let a little breeze stop of us from an amusing boat ride!

<>< Katie

Manuel Antonio

Guys, let me just confess for a second that I am the host to a parasite.  She bums off me, uses my stuff, and just kinda hangs around.  It's icky.  :-)  She also told me I'm not allowed to blog this weekend since I have a twenty page paper to write on the Christology of Jack Kerouac (puke!).  Well, I'm going to be a disobedient enabler and post something I wrote a few days ago.  It also seems appropriate given the fact that I'm up to my eyeballs in Kerouac.
<>< Katie

Heidi peered over her book and gazed out at the Pacific Ocean in front of her.  It should have been a picture-perfect scene.  And it was, except the book in her hands was an English copy of the Sun Also Rises rather than On the Road or anything else by Jack Kerouac and his fellow Beat writers.  Not that she particularly enjoyed Kerouac; in fact, she much preferred Hemingway, but Kerouac would have been more appropriate for a Costa Rican hostel.

She glanced at Isaac asleep in the next hammock.  While she was glad for him, she wished she could sleep, too.  After all, it was his fault she hadn't slept well the night before.  He'd spent the whole night hurling.  Alcohol?  Food poisoning?  It was hard telling but it was still unpleasant to listen to for hours.  But, she supposed that's what she got for spending $10 on a place to stay for the night.  At least the bunk bed didn't collapse on her from the two girls sharing the top.

As she listened to the chicken-like sounds of the people speaking Spanish while playing cards on the other side of the patio, she glanced down at her book.  Again she was disappointed with the language and setting.  The Costa Rican pura vida atmosphere combined with the pot-smell of the hostel would have been perfect for Kerouac, and she was reading high-class, European Hemingway.  Oh well, there was not much she could do about it but try to enjoy the salty ocean breeze as it blew the pages closed.