“Nothing. What did you have in mind?”

That night a brother and sister shared life. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

My blog didn’t get written that evening, comments weren’t responded to, tweets weren’t sent, and the online conference on my [...]]]> He asked if I had anything planned for that night. I consulted my calendar and lied.

“Nothing. What did you have in mind?”

Unblogger by Darrell Vesterfelt

That night a brother and sister shared life. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

My blog didn’t get written that evening, comments weren’t responded to, tweets weren’t sent, and the online conference on my calendar wasn’t attended. And it was good.

Even though Darrell Vesterfelt was a mastermind behind the conference, I think he’d approve. At least that’s what I got from his new eBook Unblogger: Discovering the Power of Story in a How-To World.

In the eBook, Darrell invites those with blogs to make sure storytelling does not solely happen on their blogs. He talks about how we’re supposed to be people first, storytellers second rather than manipulating life for the sake of a good story.

I can’t say that I manipulate life for the sake of a good story but I will admit I often put my blog above my friends, my family, and my other responsibilities.

After reading Unblogger a few weeks ago, I rearranged priorities. Yup, I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve missed some posts. Sometimes even two consecutive days of posting. Yup, I’ve missed it too. Yup, my stats sometimes look miserable.

But that’s not what life is about. And that’s not what this blog is about.

Three years ago I heard Pastor Seth Moorman tell a group of young adults, “We are all storytellers. The question is, are we living stories worth telling?”

He was challenging us to be Christ’s hands and feet. He was asking us to make sure we were making the LCMS NYG a positive memory, a good story for the youth and their leaders.

But I heard him also ask us to be good storytellers with our lives beyond a week in New Orleans. That’s where the tagline of this blog comes from.

Living a Story Worth Telling

In different words, Darrell set the same challenge. He invited me to make sure I’m living a story wroth telling rather than writing a blog worth living.

My friends tell me crazy things only happen to me. Ending up in the forth row of a sold-out concert. Cooking dinner for one but eating it in a group of four. Dancing in a Baptist Church.

Apparently I attract weird events. But only when I’m not at home on my couch typing feverishly. And sometimes I need reminders to step away from the keyboard.

So if you’re a writer, or a blogger — great. Those are vehicles you use to express the story you are already living. But please, don’t let us miss your real story. And don’t miss it yourself. Don’t let the words become more important to you than living a life of meaning. - Darrell Vesterfelt

Unblogger is free on Amazon this week. Whether you’re a blogger or not, I highly recommend reading it. It’s a quick, easy read but it’ll get you thinking. And living.

What prevents you from living a story worth telling?

PS: I was given an Advance Reader Copy (ARC) of Unblogger for the sake of an honest review. Some details mentioned here may have changed from my reading until today’s publication. All opinions are entirely my own.

I agreed and asked him what’s changed.

He motioned towards the house that’s been part of his family for 75 years. With that one arm motion I was supposed to understand the obvious change that’s taken place.

He’s five.

This is the kid who taught me [...]]]> “It’s crazy how much things have changed.”

This is the kid who taught me how to play iPhone games. The kid who tells me I’m bad at frisbee (this fact is debatable). The kid who constitutes a good tire swing ride as “The best day ever!”

I asked if he thought change was good or bad.

He said good.

“Look at how much better they are now!”

I didn’t point out that since he’s five a major change has been his coming into existence and of course we’re all better for that.

In general, I’m not a big fan of change.

It’s hard. It’s uncomfortable.

But it’s good.

He’s right: look at how much better things are after they’ve changed.

With my roommate Jennifer at her graduation.

Two years ago this week I graduated undergrad with no idea how I’d use that hard-earned degree. Armed with Starbucks gift cards and an open calendar, I’d meet with anyone who would give me the time of day. Though it wasn’t enjoyable, I am better for it.

I could not have imaged the treasures these last two years have held. There are few things I would have done differently. Some days I pause as if this is really my life. I’m living the dream.

And now I sit on the brink of another major life change.

I’m leaving the fruit of those awkward coffee talks and cold calls and heading around the world for 11 months. No doubt things have changed.

No doubt things will continue to change.

No doubt those 11 months will include changes for the better.

It’s hard. It’s uncomfortable.

But it’s good.

I’d love for you to be part of this new change with me.

Consider making a tax-deductible donation by credit card or check (email me at KatieAxelson[at]gmail[dot]com for check instructions).

Check out KatieAxelson.theworldrace.org. I know there’s not a lot on there right now but it’s going to be my primary outlet for sharing stories from the field. Just subscribe by email to make sure you don’t miss anything. If you decide later to unsubscribe, I won’t be offended.

It’s crazy to see how much things have changed.

But change is good.

And I appreciate you being part of it in whatever capacity you’ve chosen. I am grateful for you. Yes, you reading these words.

Blessings, my friend,

<>< Katie

Except that I was doing something: I was browning more taco meat than I could possibly eat that night.

She suggested pizza, and I [...]]]> I’d already talked to her twice that day. She knew I was having a do nothing day and invited me to do nothing with her family who was also doing nothing.

Except that I was doing something: I was browning more taco meat than I could possibly eat that night.

She suggested pizza, and I suggested tacos. She said they were dirty, and I said I’d wait.

A half hour later a dinner cooked for one was shared by four.

In Kisses from Katie, Katie Davis explains that she does a head count nightly before she cooks dinner so she knows how much to  make.

I love that idea and want to be the home where the dinner crew varies nightly. The home where people drop in unexpectedly.

My planner-personality often prohibits this. I know the World Race is going to break me of that habit so I might as well start embracing it now.

I could have thanked her for the invite to dinner but told her I’d already made some and we’d have to do nothing together some other time.

But instead I put a lid on the meat to keep it warm, pulled out the extra chairs, and made sure I had four clean forks. Turns out the ingredient I was skimping on, they had in their fridge.

When people ask me how to best love on people in the college and career stage of life, I encourage them to invite young adults into the things they’re already doing. Invite them to join the family on movie night, dinner, ice cream night, etc. Even if you’re doing nothing, do it together sometimes.

It seems only fair that young adults be willing to do the same the opposite direction. It’s a whole lot of fun too.

After all, that’s living a story worth telling.

Have you ever had a spontaneous dinner?

To say I was mad would be an understatement.

I’d been looking forward to the All Things Possible Tour (Mark Schultz, Aaron Shust, Jonny [...]]]> iTickets said the concert was sold out. So I called the church. The receptionist told me the concert was completely sold out and hung up on me.

I’d been looking forward to the All Things Possible Tour (Mark Schultz, Aaron Shust, Jonny Diaz) for months. My family saw the same tour in a different state and said it was great. They’d even told the artists to look for me.

I was disappointed and I felt like I was disappointing them too.

I moped for a few days before I prayed for whoever had “my” ticket. All I needed was one.

With the encouragement from my family, I did something gutsy.

(Well, then I tweeted I was about to do something gutsy… THEN I did it).

I drove over an hour to a concert venue for a sold out show that I didn’t have a ticket for.

I hid in the bathroom until I found my confident face and then waltzed up to Will Call.

In my head the conversation went something like this:

Katie: I need to buy a ticket.
Lady: The show’s sold out.
Katie: I know… but someone won’t show up. When we figure out who that someone is, I’ll buy their ticket and you win because you sold the same ticket twice.

She’d decide she likes me and forty-five minutes later, I’d get a ticket and a back row seat.

The conversation actually went something like this:

Katie: I need to buy a ticket.
Lady: You’re in luck. I have three.
Katie: I only need one. It’s $15 (day-of price), right?
Lady: No, only $10 (advance rate).

Phew! I could stay! And I got a cheaper ticket than I was expecting.

At the entry way to the sanctuary, I asked the ticket-taker where the best seats are. She said there really aren’t any bad ones but directed me to her favorites.

Down the aisle I walked. And walked. And walked.

There’s always that one empty seat near the front that no one claims because they need a group of seats together.

This time, it was in the fourth row.

I asked the guy sitting beside the open seat if I could have it. He nodded yes. (Normally at this point in concerts I warn my new seat buddy that I’m a screamer but I decided not to push my luck).

Turns out, I was in a VIP row. And no one cared.

Katie, Mark Schultz, Aaron Shust, Jonny Diaz

Needless to say, the concert was great.

Beautiful worship, powerful testimony of what the Lord’s doing, laughter, and fellowship.

When’s the last time you got to be part of the Lord taking a nearly-hopeless situation and turning it around into something better than you could have imagined?

Katie: Did you bring me Wisconsin cheese?
Mom: No, but we did bring you Wisconsin kitties.

Katie: He only speaks Swahili.
Greg: I don’t speak Swahili.
Katie: I know, you speak Swati but that’s not what the quote is.
Matt: What [...]]]>

Note: The following is real conversations collected during April 2013.

Katie: Did you bring me Wisconsin cheese?
Mom: No, but we did bring you Wisconsin kitties.

Katie: He only speaks Swahili.
Greg: I don’t speak Swahili.
Katie: I know, you speak Swati but that’s not what the quote is.
Matt: What quote?
Katie: It’s from George of the Jungle. Yet another pop culture reference I made that no one got.
Matt: I think we need to revise your definition of “pop culture.” It’s supposed to be popular. That’s what the “pop” is for.

Jonathan Martin: Sometimes, the sacred thing, the wise thing, the compassionate thing, the best thing, the anointed thing, is simply to shut up. [Prototype, 102]

Allyson: I’m going to put you in my shoes.

Jennifer: Are you going to eat those strawberries?
Matthew: Not that I can see.

Coworker: You know Katie. She’s 7 feet tall, as thin as a pencil, and just cut off all her hair.

Heather: Did you go to prom?
Laura: I went to my seventh grade sock hop. Does that count?

Sarah Francis Martin: God planned your career to be a spoke in the wheel of your life with Him alone as the hub of that wheel. [Stress Point, 13]

Adam: I haven’t said that to you in a long time.
Matthew: You did about ten minutes ago but you didn’t use words.

[Via text]
Katie: What’s a more polite way to say, “YES!!”?
Dad: YES!!!!!

Vikings fan: My self-esteem issues come from the football team I pull for.

Jonathan Martin: The message embedded in our scars, the code encrypted implicitly beneath ruptured skin or emotions, is not just about our pain, but about God’s faithfulness. [Prototype, 88]

Jeff: How is everybody?
Christine: Over-caffeinated.
Jeff: Oh boy. Let’s hear from somebody else.

Kyle: Hey, Katie, John and I are playing all the music for Youth Winter Retreat.
John: Katie will become a Vikings fan before we play at Winter Retreat.

Sarah Francis Martin: With a heart full of admiration of our King, our Creator, we must not worship the creation–obsess about our bodies–but rather worship at the glorious throne of the Creator. For when my energy is spent picking and prodding at my self-perceived flaws, I distract my worship from the One who painted my eyes hazel, who tinted my skin a perfect shade of olive, who sculpted my hips with beautiful curves. [Stress Point, 60]

Brett: The trip leaves Friday and comes back the next Saturday.
Nick: The next day Saturday.
Brett: That’s what I said: the next Saturday.

Katie: I just opened this bag of Fritos but I need to go get some M&Ms because Fritos always require M&Ms unless M&Ms cost more than a dollar because then they totally don’t.

Pastor Rob: Funerals kill me.

Jonathan Martin: Obscurity is where God sends all of His favorite sons and daughters. Our society tell us that if and when we get “there”–the job or position or degree we’ve always wanted, the notoriety we’ve always dreamed of–that’s when all the important stuff will start happening. Not so. All the good stuff is happening in obscurity. [Prototype, 65]

Katie: Purple is my favorite color except when it comes to football.
Anna: It’s not a very manly color.
Katie: That must be why the Vikings always lose.

Christine: I love vomit.

[He collapses in his chair]
Katie: Someone’s having a rough day.
Office Buddy: [Perks up] Who? [Beat] Me?!

Jeff Goins: Being “Wrecked” is not when your heart breaks; it’s when you decide to do something with your heart break.

Jim Bob: Katie, don’t pay attention to anything I say.
Katie: I haven’t.
Jim Bob: Good! You’re a smart girl–lady.

Jonathan Martin: It’s jarring to realize that no other identity besides son or daughter of the King gives our lives ultimate meaning and significance. [Prototype, 59]

Dad: This is Jack Wolfskin, and I’m here to do your music.

Carl: Do you have your questions ready for tonight?
Katie: Actually, I’ve been editing all day so I’m in a snarky mood. There’s no telling what will come out of my mouth tonight.
Pastor: Oh boy. Take me back to my days of teaching night classes to adults. They were always cranky.
Katie: I’m not cranky. Just snarky.
Carl: I’m going to have to go get my dictionary to look up the difference between those two.

Jack: If the door’s closed, that’s an open invitation.

It had been a hard conversation. We’d talked about shortcomings and how to fix them but in that moment he didn’t need my critique. He needed my affirmation.

I hope both my words and my face said, “No, you’re not [...]]]> “I’m pathetic,” he said before glancing up at me to confirm or deny this proclamation.

It had been a hard conversation. We’d talked about shortcomings and how to fix them but in that moment he didn’t need my critique. He needed my affirmation.

I hope both my words and my face said, “No, you’re not pathetic!”

While he was brave enough to share how he felt about himself, all too many of us use the same word–or harsher ones–privately.

I’m pathetic.

I can’t do anything right.

I’m a failure.

I’ll never get better.

You may have seen on Twitter over the weekend that I was team-leading a girls’ small group about body image and beauty. These 8th-10th grade girls and I are doing a series on self-confidence and self-acceptance. Some days I feel like I’m teaching to myself because I definitely don’t have this self-confidence thing down.

My inner-monologue sounds something like this,

“You are not at all qualified to teach this study. Who are you that the girls should listen to you? You can’t even control your own hair. You’re like the girl who burned off her own hair with the curling iron: trying to teach something you don’t know how to do.”

This past Sunday we ended our time together with an idea borrowed from Annie Downs’ Perfectly Unique. We asked the girls to write down the lies they tell themselves.

Every. Single. One of them.

We promised they wouldn’t have to share these.

One girl asked for more paper.

After a fair amount of time, then we told them to flip the piece of paper over.

On the other side, they had to write a truth that corresponds with each lie they’d already identified.

That part was hard.

We asked how they’d respond if a friend spoke badly about herself.

That helped.

Over at The Write Practice we end each post with a practice section allowing writers to put into practice what they’ve just learned (hence the name… duh).

Well, since I’m teaching at The Write Practice tomorrow, let’s practice here today.

For the next five minutes, list out the lies you tell yourself. Every single one of them.

Then write a truth that corresponds with each lie. Every single one of them.

What lies cut you the most deeply?

My sinuses. My head. My arm. My leg. My innards. My brain.

I felt like death. It was exhaustion like I’ve only experienced by driving across the country alone. It was the kind of burnout where the tears just start coming and you can’t explain [...]]]> I was beat. Absolutely beat. Every part of my body hurt.

My sinuses. My head. My arm. My leg. My innards. My brain.

I felt like death. It was exhaustion like I’ve only experienced by driving across the country alone. It was the kind of burnout where the tears just start coming and you can’t explain why. It wasn’t even 7 pm yet and bedtime could not be moved any earlier than 11. The evening was filled with teaching sessions I was required to attend and all I wanted was a week-long nap.

Instead, I ate some dinner, popped a nice cocktail of meds, and reclaimed my seat in a the folding chair I’d been occupying all weekend.

The speaker asked if anyone was dealing with a headache. Yes. He asked about stomach issues. Yes. He asked about pain in the right leg. Yes.

Fifteen of us stood under the stage lights in front of a hundred brothers and sisters as the speaker told those who were eager to pray for healing to simmer down a bit. He wanted us to stop asking God to do stuff, to prove Himself.

I didn’t hear the rest of his point. I was trying to listen but instead I was realizing what I’d done.

He finally released the crowd and I watched a woman from the front row walk straight up to a stomach issue, forcefully put both of her hands on his abdomen, and pray in some incomprehensible language over him.

He stumbled backwards a little but rolled with it.

Two people away I began a prayer of my own.

“God, please don’t let anybody pray in tongues over me. I know it’s Biblical but I just don’t think I can handle that right now. I’d rather keep my headache than tongues. Not today.”

Someone grabbed the hands I had open in front of me and I jumped.

“Please, please, please, no tongues.”

The woman in front of me said she was going to put some oil on my forehead. She said it’s just symbolic of what we know the Lord is doing. She asked if I was ok with that.

I nodded.

“You’re funny. I said no tongues and You choose to anoint with oil.”

Her hands on my head, she prayed–in English–for the Lord to take away my headache.

It wasn’t a BOOM moment. I didn’t feel instantly healed.

She left and I stood there facing the worshiping audience, unsure of what to do next.

The speaker, a friend who didn’t recognize me without my glasses because last time we were together it was in a very dusty country, came over and put his arms around me.

He too prayed in English. Not as much for my head as for me as a daughter of God.

When he was done he asked about my headache.

I said it was better.

He looked me in the eye, barely a foot from my face, and said, “Is it gone?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not just better. It’s gone.”

He was right. I went back to my seat feeling better from the eyebrows up. The rest of my body still felt like death but my head was better.

Without tongues.

We continued singing praises to our God and listening to testimonies for two and a half hours. By the end, the pep was back in my step and I wasn’t ready to call it a night.

My headache was gone and lifting up my holy hand makes tendonitis in my elbow less painful but the rest of my body still ached. My nose was still draining everything inside of my head. I was still walking with a limp. The tears were still coming all too easily. Yet my spirit was renewed.

I had seen the Lord.

He had moved me from death to life.

I offered myself to the Lord and let Him push the limits of my comfort zone.

He showed up. And showed off. And it was good.

When’s the last time you get God do something a little different in your life?

Very few topics were off-limits in our conversation. The questions were pointed enough to go beyond the surface. Yet still I found myself unwilling to fully share.

Enough came out of my mouth to sound transparent but deep down there was more. More [...]]]> We laughed but we didn’t cry. And it was my fault.

Very few topics were off-limits in our conversation. The questions were pointed enough to go beyond the surface. Yet still I found myself unwilling to fully share.

Enough came out of my mouth to sound transparent but deep down there was more. More that didn’t even have words. Worries and fears I wasn’t even willing to admit to myself.

This happened twice. In one week.

The first time I kicked myself for not taking full advantage of the rare opportunity to share my heart–raw and all. The second time I realized something was wrong.

I had not yet admitted to the Lord my worst fears and worries. If I only talked about the easier stuff with Him how could I go deep with anyone else?

So I did.

I sat down with a marker and a piece of paper and told God everything. I told Him exactly what I was scared of in each situation. I told Him the less scary fears too. I told Him I’m afraid even though He’s with me.

I told Him that in a way, that scares me too. I told Him I know He’s up to something and that scares me.

But I know to run to what I’m afraid of and today I’m afraid of the God who is in control. And I’m choosing to run towards Him.

What do you do when you find yourself having a hard time sharing your heart? What are you most afraid of?

I still said no.

I was not interested in the World Race. It sounded like fun but I did not want to [...]]]> Joe Bunting was the first one to suggest it. Then Angela Aston, Stephanie May, Christine Niles, and others. Then Jeff Goins joined the choir.

I still said no.

I was not interested in the World Race. It sounded like fun but I did not want to serve in 11 different countries in 11 months.

So I told God I was only interested under two conditions:

1. It had to be a January-start race. I wasn’t willing to give up Christmas.

2. It had to be a predominately Spanish route. I speak Spanish. That’s not so useful in Asia. (Learned that the hard way).

Well…

In January 2014 Adventures in Missions is launching an all Latin America race.

Puerto Rico
Dominican Republic
Ecuador
Peru
Bolivia
Panama
Costa Rica
Nicaragua
Guatemala
El Salvador
Honduras

This is the first all-Spanish race in Adventures history.

It took God ten minutes to take me from “NO WAY!” to “I’M ALL IN!”

“The next time God calls you to do something completely inexplicable, be open to it and say yes.” – Jim Mellado

In my choice to say “yes,” I fluctuate between excited and terrified.

I need your help.

If you’re willing, I need:

1. Prayer warriors
2. Encouragers
3. Supporters

That’s pretty much everything I know right now. I’m meeting with my mobilizer today to get more information. Stay tuned.

What’s the fastest God has ever changed your mind on something?