HOPE

Hope - That is what Advent is about!

I have always loved this season. Ideally it is the quiet anticipation of the birth of Christ. Joey and I naturally shy away from things that can make this time hectic and stressful. We both avoid the mall, and we don't even go crazy with the gift giving.
However, the older I get, the more I see how Advent really is about hope. We lost our first child during Advent, and the only hope I had that year was the hope of the coming Christ and the destruction of  death. Hope is what healed.
Last year we were sick during a chunk of Advent, and some of my dear Austrian Advent traditions had to be skipped. In the midst of a sick Advent, I learned of my need and a loving God who came, who will come again, and is deeply involved and interested in the details of my life.
This year Advent is restoring my hope that God is active and moving. This year I have seen ministries struggle with various problems. Honestly, my heart has become a little bitter. I see a lot of stress. I have witnessed friends grieving various losses; including the loss of dreams and the loss of children. And this is also the first Advent I have actually listened to some of our Christmas music with women and children in mind who have been trafficked. I wonder of they scoff.
Last night, as I was driving home, God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen came on the radio. Here is the first verse:

God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Isn't this what Advent is about? We don't have to walk through life with our heads hung in dismay. Why? Because Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day. This does not negate the grief, the hurt and the evil that I have seen and felt. But it does mean that the story does not end in grief, hurt and evil. We have a Savior who came to save us ALL from Satan's power, even though we were the ones who left. That is indeed news of great comfort and joy. So as the preacher at church said on Sunday, "Lift up your heads! We start the church year by remembering the end of the story. Hope draws near!"

A Time of Need, A Time of Provision

 It has been way too long since I last posted, and I never did follow up with all that I learned in the DR. Hopefully, that post will come at some point.  As for now, Joey and I are excited to announce that K3 is in his or her way. Since it has been on Facebook for a while it will come at no great surprise to anybody (I think.) We are excited. The boys are beyond excited. They consistently suggest names, and all have to do with animals or food. To say this pregnancy has been bliss wouldn't be true. I have had all day sickness for the entire first trimester. I had certain food aversions with the boys, but nothing like this. I had a few weeks when opening the fridge was too much to handle. Church of the Apostles came to our rescue and provided meals 3 times a week for 3 weeks. I am so thankful for them because Chick-fil-A was getting way too much of my husband's hard earned money as a result of me not being able to cook or even go to the grocery store.

It is very hard not be be physically fit. I am not necessarily talking about being in shape. Rather, when you are just not functioning at 100%, life and responsibilities are a little more difficult.

Let me just pause here and say that I have an amazing husband. He has taken on so much. I have felt guilty at times for not being able to keep up with anything. He comes to my rescue time and time again, gladly and never complaining or giving me the feeling that I need to pull myself together. That is grace (and really hot.)

12 week "belly"

This Thanksgiving we decided not to travel, and I was excited to have a very low- key relaxing time as a family. I was especially looking forward to Joey having four whole days off. Tuesday night Will started coughing very badly, and when Max woke up the following morning, he looked terrible. He even said he felt awful. As the morning past and Will was hardly awake for any of it, I decided to call our nurse. Thankfully she set up an appointment for us with the doctor because it turned out that both boys had the flu. Will was so out of it, he fell asleep on the examination table. We then had to go to two different pharmacies to get their medicine. They were two sick little boys, and they are still recovering.

Wednesday evening I started to feel achy, and come Thanksgiving morning, I was a sick girl. My entire body hurt. My limbs were heavy. I was coughing and sneezing and constantly blowing my nose. So Joey spent Thanksgiving tracking down some flu medicine that our doctor friend called in for me. (Most pharmacies were closed, and most pharmacies were out of the medicine!) He also went to Walmart to get some food since we had nothing to cook at the house (because of morning sickness.)
We ate a frozen lasagna and garlic bread for Thanksgiving,  but we really did have a lot to be thankful for.
 

Again, I have an incredible hubby, who really went out of his way to take care of his family on his vacation.
We have a wonderful friend who is a doctor, and cared enough to find an open pharmacy for us.
Michi was with us (although he might have wanted to be somewhere else...i wouldn't blame him.)
Doctors and medicine at our fingertips.
Hot showers to help ease aches and pains.
Soft clean beds.
Clean water.
Tissues and more tissues.
Food to eat.
Beautiful Fall days.
Rest.
Oh, my morning sickness is gone...almost. I can actually see food on TV and not get queasy.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Dominican Republic

 Bath time.

 The Tree of Fire

 We made it up the mountain!

 The little guy in the plaid is Elvis, and he has the most infectious laugh. Be on the lookout for him in pro baseball 20 years from now because that kid can throw!

 Teenage girls really are not that different regardless of what country you are in.

 Rainbow rocks for Max. All of them were at the riverbank where we went swimming. It still blows my mind, that all of these colors were in one place.

 Last morning in Boma. How I miss the sound of rain on a tin roof!

 This is the family with which we stayed.

 Our house in Jarabacoa, where we stayed two nights.

I intend on writing more in detail about my experience in the DR, but for now let me just say that I was very blessed by being in a place where I could take in the incredible beauty of nature, childhood, and culture without having to look after my little ones. It was such a luxury to be able to take pictures unhurriedly.

A Simple Grace

He was screaming uncontrollably. I was beyond exhausted and Joey was still working at the Olive Garden. Max was tiny, and would not nap. Nothing would soothe him, and I had no clue what else to do. I called Joey, and was probably crying myself. Once he arrived home, he was able to settle me down, and Max did eventually fall asleep.

Fast forward a month shy of five years, and I find myself exhausted once again. I didn’t sleep well last night. I had too much on my mind. This morning my brain was in a fog, so I told Max that I needed to take a nap. So I set the boys up with a movie, and my little man occasionally checked in on me, prevented his brother from waking me up completely, and graced me with some time just to sleep. Max is such a blessing. God has used him to stretch me and grow me, and shower me with his grace. I am humbled by what a wonderful child Max is turning out to be, and I am in awe of how God is shaping and molding the tender heart of my son.

Homesick

Last night it took me a while to get to sleep. Images kept marching through my mind:  powdered covered Alp peaks glistening in the sun; warming up in a tiny drift covered ski restaurant; waltzing at midnight; laughing until late into the night; running to catch the subway; and faces of friends, dear friends.

I was there. I really was. It isn’t just part of a good dream. I was there on the slopes the day the Schilling was replaced with the Euro. I went to school there. I knew God there. My life was there. Austria, how I miss you.

Sometimes the best way to get close to you from across the Atlantic, is to recreate your food. So today I am eating a cinnamon roll, the closest thing to a Zimtschnecke. I savor each bite. The clatter of customers is around me, and I miss hearing German. I even miss the smell of cigarette smoke. I am tired hearing people discuss American business, American problems, American births.

I miss just being with people. My memories are full of times when there was always room and opportunity for deep conversation; when the heaviness of life was shared over a beer or cup of coffee or on foot in the gardens of a palace.

I am starting to find such relationships here, and I am grateful. But Austria, dear Beheimgasse, you have taken over a part of my heart that cannot be conquered by anyone else. So thank you for your friendship, for being part of my life, for shaping me.

I long for the day to see you again.

Today

Today has consisted of

- buying chicken scratch
- giving Dash a bath
- packing all that will be needed and some of what might be needed in a remote village in the D.R.
- making two lasagnas
- searching for a post office, and finding one
- being anxious
- cleaning the chicken coop
- phone calls and Skype calls with loved ones
- making a paper chain of messages for the boys to use to count down the days until Mama comes home
- lots of hugs and kisses
- "I'll miss you, mama!" - Will
- "I don't want you to go!" - Max
- an excited heart
- Candy Land and puzzles
- the house being a mess (since I have been packing all day)
- Spiderman and Underwear Man running like mad men through the house (since I have been packing all day)  

Drinks on Hot Days

I can’t say that our eyes met, but I can’t deny that I saw him long before he reached our table and asked for some money to get a soda. I saw him and thought, “Please don’t stop and ask for money!” But then he arrived at our table, pushing his walker, carrying his bags, and wanted money for soda.
     “Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me,” I replied feeling uncomfortable. It was the truth.
     “But that doesn’t mean you can’t buy a drink for this man,” said a soft voice inside.
     “He’s already gone past me; I don’t want to chase him down to offer him a drink,” was my reply. It was true he had gone past, but he was only yet a few feet behind my chair, where I sat listening to a live band and sipping icy cold Italian mineral water that had cost $3.25. In that response I knew that I had said no to an opportunity, and more so, to my Savior. The weight of denying a drink to my Savior came crashing down on me, and I felt guilt.
     “Forgive me, Lord!” I cried out as I drove home. “I love you. I really do! Please provide a drink for this man, even though I wasn’t willing to do so.” But the guilt kept coming back. It just wouldn’t let me go, or maybe I wouldn’t let go of it.

The next morning the boys and I were on our way to the grocery store when I saw another man walking down the sidewalk. It was hard not to see him because he was wearing something that can only be described as a white painter suit that also looked like an outfit you might see in an old movie of a British imperialist exploring the desert or jungle. He wore a hat with white cloth hanging down the back to shield his neck from the sun, a wide black belt and black boots. He was also carrying many bags. He was probably homeless.

An hour later we were on our way home, the car heavy with a week’s worth of groceries, when I saw this man again.
     “I can’t just drive by him, and not offer him something to drink!” I thought. So I pulled the car around, tried to explain to Max and Will what was going on. I was not going to miss another opportunity to give someone a drink in Jesus’ name. When I reached the man, I rolled down my window and said, “Would you like some water, sir?”
   “What?”
   “Would you like some water?” I repeated as I showed him a 2 liter bottle of water.
   “Naw,” he answered showing me a cooler he was carrying with him.
   “Ok,” I said a little confused and drove away. I hadn’t reached the end of the block when the tears started rolling down my face.
    “Child, there is nothing you can do to make this wrong right. I already took care of that.”
     “But I don’t deserve it.”
     “Yes, but I love you. Take hold of the forgiveness and grace you asked for. It’s here waiting for you.”
     “Thank you,” I whispered, overwhelmed by this expensive grace, and the guilt was suddenly

gone.

 

Surprise Trip

 

 I am leaving for the Dominican Republic in 11 days.

Surprised? Yes, I am too.

Four days ago, I had no idea I was going on this trip. All I can say is that God has me going for a reason I do not yet know.

I have been to the D.R. before, and it completely won me over. Maybe because it confronted me with the sights and smells and horrors and joys of poverty. I will never forget standing in a Haitian village in pouring down rain, covered by a poncho. The children hardly had any clothes on, and they were waiting for a meal. (It might have been their only warm meal that day, or week. I don't remember.) And they were singing praises to Jesus, soaking wet with rumbling bellies and the biggest smiles on their faces. I can't forget them.

I remember an elder in a remote village, one of the few Christians in a large radius, praising Jesus with his eyes closed. Jesus might have well been standing right there in front of him, so in awe was he of the Savior. His body language was gushing forth adoration along with childlike giddiness and joy.

I remember being completely surprised to be speaking German in the D.R. But one afternoon we stopped to play with some kids, and a German man was there. We spoke, and he bragged about all he was doing for this poor family. Yet he seemed so out of place, and I left that tiny house with a feeling of dread and that something was terribly wrong. A few years later, I learned about human trafficking, and this memory flooded back in full force. And though I cannot say for sure what was going on that day, I do believe that our group happened to drop in on an evil that cannot even be fully described. 

I came back with a different view of money and the world. And I have loved the Dominican ever since. Maybe because I feel a profound sense of gratitude toward this island. Because of my experience there, our Compassion child is from the D.R. Unfortunately, I will not be able to visit her this time around, but that is a dream of mine.

So here I am 11 days away from being there again.

Someone from our church who was planning on going, had to drop out. The trip has been paid for entirely. A different person had priority before me to take advantage of a free ticket to the D.R., but that person couldn't do it. That meant that when I was offered this chance, I had 2 days to find childcare for 6 days. Not only did I have to find childcare, but the person was also going to have to be willing to swap services instead of being paid with money. I went to bed the night before the deadline without having found or heard back from anyone. By 8:30 the next morning, I had found 2 wonderful people to watch the boys while Joey is at work, and I was given $100 to help with costs.

I am sure that life will get crazy in the next week because of needing to get supplies for the trip and possibly some vaccinations.

I don't know what this trip holds, but I am thankful for the opportunity. Because it is such a surprise, my hands and heart can't help but to be open to what God might be up to. If you think about it, would you pray for me and the group with which I am traveling? This is not vacation, but a chance to join God where he is at work on a small island, and a chance to see where God is already at work in this small mother of two who happens to live in Columbia, South Carolina.

Counting to 1000 in a Year

I am taking part in a dare. It is a dare to count 1000 things you are thankful for in one year. I have previously posted some of my list, but am now planning on doing that again every Monday.
Well is is June, the sixth month of the year, and the joy dare is going very well. I found it very fitting that I reached #500 on our anniversary.

The list for today:

528) Humidifiers
529) Will sleepily coming into our room shortly before six this morning, wanting to play with play dough
530) Will going back to bed
531) Will spending almost the entire morning playing with play dough
532) Kisses from Katie
533) Clubhouse Jr. in the mail
534) A book in the mail
535) Joey cleaning the kitchen for me this morning before I even got up
536) Hugs from Max
537) The anticipation of getting to see Jules

Play Dough Recipe

 This is certainly not something unique, but I thought I would post the play dough recipe my mom used when I was little. I have some cleaning I need to do today, and I don't want the boys losing anymore brain cells  to another episode of the 1981 Spiderman cartoon. So thankfully, the ingredients to this recipe are usually on hand.

1 cup of flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons cream of tartar
1 cup of water mixed with 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil
(several drops of food coloring if you want to make different colors)

Mix the dry ingredients in a sauce pan.
Add the wet ingredients and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until elastic. (Btw, this is a great arm and shoulder workout!!)
Remove from pan and allow to cool before play.
Store in a tupperware or a zip-lock. 

So there you go. The boys are still playing with the play dough, so maybe I'll get some cleaning done even though I used some time to post this.

Thanks for the recipe, Mom!

(taken in 1983 when the Spiderman cartoon was probably still going strong, and I was old enough to sink my fingers into some homemade play dough)

On Being Vulnerable

Vulnerability is a problem for me. Sometimes I call it being reserved. Sometimes I call it being “quick to listen and slow to speak,” and pat myself on the back for it. Sometimes I call it “Augen zu und durch,” which translated means something to effect of, “close your eyes and get through it."

But what is it really? It is fear. Fear of not being heard. Fear of being looked down upon. Fear of hurting too bad when it comes time to say goodbye to someone you trust.
I would have said up until a few days ago that I can be vulnerable in certain small groups that I go to. But what really happens is this:
We talk. Sometimes I hurt so deep within about something, that I know if I open up, it will all come flooding out of my eyes (and yes, my nose, too!). So I don’t open up.
Other times, I open up and just spew all over the other ladies. Hurt and frustration come pouring out all over them because I have not talked in so long.
In the first case, I am not vulnerable because I am not sharing struggles or joys with them. Silence is my guard, but I miss out on meaningful and even healing conversation. In the second case, I am not really being vulnerable in a way that will help grow a relationship, because all I needed at the time was to get something off of my chest.

I am in a season of life, in which all of my closest friends do not live close to me. The only one that remains in Columbia is moving away. So I am left in Columbia, the city I have lived in for 11 years, and feel like a stranger. I have not cultivated friendships here as well as I could have because I have not put in the effort, and have not wanted to be vulnerable.

So, here I am saying that I will no longer be isolated in my house or in my head. I will take the calculated risk of being vulnerable with people I believe I can trust. In the end, I hope to be a trustworthy friend. A friend who is vulnerable and who gives and receives freely.

I'm Learning...

... to focus less on my personal sacrifices and more on the Savior, the perfect sacrifice.

Why?

Because he knows the tears, the exhaustion, the wanting to be alone, and the deepest form of sacrifice- the giving of his life.

Because I can afford to. When who I am rests in the sacrifice of Christ, I am free to live a life not measured by applause, blog comments or perfection.

Because I am then free to look past myself.

Because I am then free to love deeply and purely.

Happy Father's Day

I'm not sure who had more fun.

The God of Peace

Tonight the boys were hyper and utterly exhausted. There were tears in the tub on multiple occasions that would be shortly followed by laughter. Max hit his back pretty hard on the faucet as he was getting out of the tub, so even after an ice pack, a band-aid (even though he wasn’t bleeding) and some pain reliever, he is still groaning in his bed. I am not quite sure if it is still hurting him, or if he is just milking the injury so he doesn’t have to sleep.

William has been weepy this evening, and he hurt himself as well. After songs, prayers, another run to the potty, and getting water for both, I finally made it out of their room. A few minutes later, Will started crying uncontrollably.
     “What do you need, Will?” I asked.
     “I need you!” was his reply.
So I knelt beside his bed, rubbed his legs and started praying in a whisper over him. For the first time, I then started whispering scripture to him. God’s words washed over him, and soothed his weary little spirit. Is he sleeping yet? No. Actually he is trying to start a conversation with his brother, who is getting very annoyed. But I did see a change in him, a peace that came over him while I spoke God’s love letter to him.

In Philippians 4:8-9, Paul says,

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy- think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me - put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

Maybe part of my job as a mother is to intentionally direct the thoughts of my children to things that are true, noble, right, etc. What result can I expect? The God of peace will be with me and with my children. Seeing Will calm and relax tonight was seeing God soothe my boy with the lullaby of his love.

He was there.

Evening Sun on a Winter Day

This was taken in December (as the sun was setting), but I decided to post it cause it is just too cute to be stored away on the hard drive.

Tick Tock

I hate saying “hello” because it means a “good-bye” is looming.

When you grow up saying many goodbyes, you come to see how saying hello winds up the clock. As much as you enjoy the time spent, there is always the tick-tock of the clock in the background, bringing the goodbye a second, an hour, a day closer.

I have dealt with the hands of time in many different ways. Sometimes I have pretended they are not there. I just act like time will keep going and will never reach its final tock. Sometimes I have not fully engaged after the hello, thinking that if I don’t say hello the goodbye will not hurt as deeply. So time passes and opportunities are wasted. Words that needed to be said were muted, and the hurt sears deeper than the goodbye because I chose the fog when clear skies were mine for a time.
Sometimes all I hear is the tick and the tock, and I don’t hear the belly laughter, the apologies, the cries for help, the “I love you’s.” Blessings are drowned out by the have-not’s, and memories from this time are a blur because I did not acknowledge.

It is the end of May. Graduations are the celebration of what was and the doorway into the new. Teaching my refugees was a delight, but quite a stress at home. Lesson planning really created a lot of stress. I have knots in my back and gnawed fingernails to prove it. I counted down the days to the final day of class almost from the start. This past Saturday was the last day, and left me wondering what else I could have done. 15 weeks is too short of a time to waste any lessons when survival is on the line. I did waste some lessons. A few times my heart was not in them. At our celebration of accomplishment, I was given many gifts, and it made me sad to then be feeling the profound sense of responsibility I had.
It was a good reminder of other tasks and relationships in life. When I think about my marriage, am I constantly just looking into the future to a time when we can go on our dream vacation, that I waste time now and don’t truly listen? College seems so far away for my boys, but am I so desperate and set on making it to the end of the day that I miss those opportunities to love on them, to play with them, to acknowledge their fears and hurts, to give them time to learn? Sometimes, many times, I would have to say yes. The mundane has a way of silencing the clock, making me believe that tomorrow is guaranteed. But God calls me to give of myself today, not tomorrow, not when I feel inspired, not only when I am motivated, and even when it might hurt. If today means nasty do-it-all-over-again kind of work, or reviewing the past tense for the 20th time, or saying hello, and even saying goodbye, then I can be sure that God will meet me there. When the tick tocks of Christ’s life were becoming dangerously low, he took off his clothes, knelt down and washed the grime of dusty, dung spotted roads off the feet of his friends.

So I am learning that the tick-tock is a blessing. It can remind me of what truly matters. Now I am doing my best to allow my heart to open fully to hello, even though I know that the goodbye is coming. There is still a stab of pain there, but I refuse to let it blind me to what is being given to me here and now, namely God himself.

Super Moon

Due to cloud cover, we were not able to see the super moon at its biggest. However, once the clouds cleared out, we were able to spot it. My favorite part was getting Max out of bed and walking up our dark street to a spot where the tress were not in the way of the view.
The pictures are not 100% focused, but I did have to zoom it a lot to get these pics. I was actually pretty amazed I was able to zoom in as far as I did. I used to gaze at the moon as a teenager with my brother's Russian military binoculars while sitting our the balcony in Vienna. Last night became a special memory for me to be looking at the moon with Maxi. (He liked it, but he was a little scared being outside in the dark, sitting in the middle of the road.) I hope we have some more chances to look up at the sky and see how awesome, majestic and creative God is.

When Gigi and PopPop Come for a Visit

 Turning PopPop's hair red with their headlamps.

 Time with Gigi.

Here comes trouble.

FREEDOM

Ok, more to follow later when I have time to reflect and gather my thoughts, but for now:

 I just paid off my student loan! 

Oh freedom, how sweet you are!!!

Oh, To Be Faithful

Oh, to be faithful
when I awake and greet his mercies fresh with dew.

Oh, to be faithful
when they awake and need so much.

Oh, to be faithful
when I would rather curl up and read.

Oh, to be faithful
and be present instead of escape.

Oh, to be faithful
and do the same work again and again.

Oh, to be faithful
when I am tired.

Oh, to be faithful
when I am spent.

Oh, to be faithful
and receive his mercies.

Oh, to be faithful
day in and day out
in the small and in the big
with energy and without
when sad and when happy,

Lord, that is my prayer.

The Blessing of Childhood

Keeping house has been a struggle as of late. A busy schedule and a two-year-old, who likes to dump things out (including a brand new bottle of baby soap), have made my house a perfect candidate for a dramatic before and after shot. Luckily, my tw0-year-old is beyond cute, and baptized me in a wonderfully slobbery kiss tonight. As I squatted there in the kitchen, letting the softness of his kiss linger on my lips, I couldn't help but notice the toys of childhood left on the dining room floor: a dump truck, a ball, a top. And for a second I envisioned them gone, and a beautifully tidy dining room without all of the crumbs. And though I know that I will never miss the crumbs, I do know that one day I will miss the toys, for they will not always be there. Over the years they will probably morph into ipods (or whatever we will then be using to listen to music), skateboards and car keys And then one day they will be gone. So on those days when I am stressed because my house seems to be crashing down on me, I'm going to try to stop and thank God for the incredible blessing of childhood under my roof, and hope that it lingers longer than the soft kiss now gone.

The Morning that Changed History

OPEN.

EMPTY.

NEW. ALIVE.

KING.