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.