Normal days

Jet lag creeps in and out of my day. Since returning late Friday night, I’ve slept just enough to be functioning and yet somehow I can ride my bike everywhere. They say once you’ve lost sleep you can’t get it back. So I am simply trying to sleep a normal amount so I can do normal life again.

Define normal…

This morning I woke up more tired than expected or desired so my psyche was a little off. Little things were irking me. My focus was lost. And I felt like I had never been on vacation. Three weeks of rejuvenating were wasted. By 9am, after taking the car to the shop, riding my bike to work, checking in with some of my volunteers, and reading over an upcoming project, I was exhausted and discouraged, but I couldn’t blame sleep deprivation. Normal had hit me with a bat rather than patting me with encouragement.

So I stopped. Took a deep breath and prayed.

In talking to God, I realized that normal days and vacation are not opposites. Reality and responsibility aren’t antonyms to rest and relaxation. I can find all of these ideas interwoven if I look closely. Apostle Paul told people in Philippi that he really wanted to be with God forever. Talk about a sweet vacation. He also said that in leaving he would miss the important stuff he needed to do on earth. He was torn but resigned to live the normal days in preparing to love the eternal days.

I lived the rest of this Monday with the hope for this normal day and all that would come of it. As it turned out, the issues I had at work ironed out and the timer isn’t buzzing yet. The feelings of loneliness melted away with conversation after conversation, some planned and most spontaneous moments of grace. The uncertainty about commitments or future plans transformed into positive forward momentum.

I can’t take any credit for a change in the day. I didn’t go back to sleep and wake up on the other side. I let God in on my normal day. For him the day is not just normal. It’s a new creation.

Settle(d)

My blue and orange backpack lays piled in the trunk of the airplane, the final baggage fee paid. My shoes sit under my seat without any accompaniment for the next nine hours. And my soul rests securely. All is settled.

Before I left Spokane, a friend who knows me from school, athletics and along the journey to answer the question, “What do I want to be when I grow up?” asked me an interesting question. Perhaps his way and meaning of saying it gave me ponder. With genuine curiosity, perhaps concern, but with wisdom of age and experience, he asked, “Are you ever going to settle?”

At that time and for most of my life, the word settle came with a negative connotation. I only saw the advantage when playing soccer and settling the ball allowed me to be in control. Instead, definitions such as “resignation”, “calm and quiet”, “established with big responsibilities”, “accepting the lesser” crowded my understanding of this complex word.

So my answer might have eluded the question, but with complete sincerity and understanding as I had then, I responded, “I’m more a pioneer and explorer than a settler.”

Now, four weeks the wiser, his question gives me pause.

Pioneers also settled, but did they do that because they found what they wanted or just grew too tired to keep looking? I certainly don’t blame them for stopping and am quite grateful they didn’t all make it to California because the beauty and mysterious majesty of Wyoming might have gone unexplored. But perhaps they stopped in Wyoming not out of fear of the ominous Rocky Mountains or due to exhaustion or overwhelming loss, but simply because they found beauty. They stopped to enjoy the fullness of God’s creation, the big skies for good, healthy breathing, the families that had survived thus far, and the peace giving calm and quiet that only in Wyoming, when they stopped, had they known. These pioneers discovered newness and wholeness like any explorer before them. And these pioneers became settlers on their own positive terms.

Pioneering and settling both have great qualities that bring life and wellness. They both come with fear, uncertainty, disappointment, and require deep discernment.

Have I driven in my homestead stake, concluding that I have found the time and place for the settled life? Yes and no. Now I have a better grasp of what pioneering requires of and provides for my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health. And I am learning through the wisdom of others the pros and cons of settling. What I’ve determined above all is that one is not exclusive of the other. Just as a pioneer has to settle in the winter before proceeding over the unknown mountain range, one has to continue to discover new ways of survival and growth in the settled life.

Settle: to move or adjust to rest in a comfortable position.

This definition seems to embrace both ways of life.

Oslo, not just another big city

Perhaps the end of the trip dimmed my sense of excitement for this new city and country.

But God was not done with me. While this capital city didn’t show me anything too extraordinary except for the crazy hats of the Royal Palace guards and tractor shaped waffle makers, the city did show me people with whom I could connect.
First, a good friend from college is living in Oslo as she works with YWAM. I haven’t seen her since graduation five years ago, but we connected on that familiar level where friends reside when they share a history and faith. We caught up on the details of life: work, boys, living arrangements, joys and struggles, and what we were learning. For both of us, we encountered a slice of heaven. Here were two Rocky Mountain-born girls, educated away from family, now sharing a moment in another foreign place halfway around the world.

Second, I met two ladies who treated me with sweetness and hospitality and asked only that I share my faith with them. Had it been part of the housing agreement, I might have been flustered and artificial despite a real desire to help them understand the mysteries of being a follower of Jesus. Instead, they probed after I had barely opened the door. Sometimes when I tell people that I work for a church, the conversation is closed, but R and G couldn’t get enough. I sensed a longing for answers, something real, and purpose. They were lost and their ways couldn’t get them found. Over dinner, two hours after our first handshake, I talked with R about God and how my faith worked. We had a good conversation that only ended with a comma. We would be back to the subject.

Last night, R and I talked about faith again over food. Jesus knew the power of the table. I questioned some of her assertions and tried to articulate the depth of God’s love, grace and forgiveness. Again, we ended with a comma. Our time together had come to a close, but the topic of faith is still important, and her commitment to God is within reach.

I don’t claim to be any great evangelist. In fact, I shy away from that word and way of life. I’d much rather build a house or tour with a gospel choir to share God’s good news than have personal conversations. Yet, I can talk about myself. And more and more each day, I pray that my self is more like Jesus. So I have conversations with people because through my stumbling words, God can speak clearly, no matter where.

P.S. Before Mac and I left for our trip, the people in a Bible Study we attend prayed for us. We received the typical blessings of safe travel and rest. Just as we were about to say “Amen!” the Pastor added his own postscript, “Let these two people be witnesses to people across the world.” Thanks Pastor for making a reservation for me in Oslo. ☺

Stumbling upon a time...

If I owned a cool smart phone with a European Sim card I could update my location elephant by elephant. Yes, there’s a parade of painted elephants placed all over this town as a way to raise money for conservation efforts in Asia. The creativity of the Danish artists astounds me so while I have found the traditional tourist sites, these little guys are the greatest attraction…and just one of the things I stumbled upon during my time in Copenhagen, Denmark.

Traveling by myself can be lonely especially as I come across sites or experiences that I know my people would appreciate. But it also has its perks, the greatest being getting lost and stumbling. With a flexible spirit I tour by foot, going in and out of streets sometimes with purpose and sometimes out of unknowing. That’s how I found a grocery store just before my low blood sugar knocked me out.

On my first day I discovered a wonderful garden area. As I would have said in my younger, speech-impaired days, “That’s a nice pawk." The sky had flooded the city two days before my arrival so the King’s Garden with floral arches and small ponds had overflowed into the grassy lawn. But the stillness of that moment in time gave me an opportunity to capture a new kind of photograph for me, a reflection. Today, after returning to eat my picnic, I walked along the outer path where there happened to be a puppet theatre. Children and grandmas had gathered to watch the performance scheduled just 10 minutes later. So I snagged a seat by a small child and reveled in the simple but beautiful story about a girl on a bike tour who has to deliver goods to multiple people. It was certainly a highlight.

As was the prayer services I attended at 3pm the last two days. The Helligaands Church hosts summer prayer services starting yesterday and thru August so I was one of a handful of guinea pigs on the first days. In the short 15 minutes we sang Taize songs, prayed and heard scripture, all of which spoke directly to me. Today the service included a special English piece sung by an opera singer and accompanied by their huge organ. Angelic.

I stumbled upon a very aesthetically pleasing café with walls lined with old books, delicious Chai tea and free Internet. Along with the Little Mermaid that attracts tourists like the Mona Lisa (with a similar overrating exhibit in my opinion), a mock mermaid stands just a little bit further down the path. While the famous one is Disney rated, the other one would be better for South Park. I found places with free toilets instead of paying $1 to pee. And if you want to make a quicker get around the city, one can rent a bike for $4. The best part is that once I insert the key to lock the bike up again, I get my money back. And the bike can be returned at any of the 30 locations in town.

I leave tomorrow for Oslo, but I will miss my stumbling moments in Copenhagen. With each moment, I feel like I’m opening a new children’s book, ready to finish the opening line, “Once upon a time…”

Pink, White and Blue

All the colors of hair one could find in Gothenburg.

When I disembarked in Gothenburg, Sweden from Stockholm, I sensed I had made a wrong turn. On the train platform were groups of folks ornamented with numerous piercings, colorful tattoos, and Mohawks in various styles and every shade of the rainbow. Come to find out I had arrived just in time for an Iron Maiden concert on Friday night and Metallica concert/rave on Sunday night. None of these choices and events is bad, and in fact, they actually add personality to the world. It’s just not my cup of tea? When I met my couch surfing host, I smiled with relief. “You’re hair is a natural and tame.” So despite a growing apprehension for this new experience of couch surfing, traveling with limited contact possibilities with the outside world, and two bags on my back, my nerves soon calmed down and enjoyed the “natural” though not quite “tame” weekend on Sweden’s “Westside.”

What do tourists see in America? I can guess at the obvious ones: no dominant public transit and thus a drive-thru establishment on every corner, big malls, XL people, wide open spaces and very few green statues of heroes dating back over 300 years. I wonder about guests’ experiences of American hospitality, diners, the Christian country, and a drive toward innovation and independence. Each of these representatives of America has their positives qualities as well as negative.

Does America come across as honorable Red, White and Blue?
Where are there shades of pink?

movement

Preface: Since I haven't updated this blog about Gothenburg, I should simply note that I came here to experience something a little bit new and out of the ordinary "tourist" visit. That entails couch surfing (aka staying with a total stranger and being at their whim as to the days' activities) and not bringing a guidebook. Therefore, I attended a party in the park, traversed the islands of the Western Archipelago system, slept in my hosts bed (she was kind enough to take the couch) and tried to stay in sink with my host, a fire ball of energy, and her poodle.

Today I rode my bike 20 minutes to run for 45 minutes to swim for 15 minutes to ride my bike back home. Then after a quick bite to eat, I went rock climbing. While I didn't do all that much, I did go up once, didn't die, and still felt sore. Once I returned to the apartment, I jumped in the shower and off to dinner. My host does not believe in public transit since we walked an hour to find food and another hour in another direction to get home. Needless to say I saw the city and I'll sleep well tonight.

I learned a great deal about myself today and the way that God works. As I ran, I realized that sometimes low points in life are the places where God wants us to rest. That's certainly true of the valleys of a hilly trail along the beach. Hurting due to physical strain in the midst of "fun" is not something I'm too excited about anymore. With wise encouragement, however, I'm willing to bear anything. I have the capability of falling asleep while I'm walking especially when my blood sugar is low. Perhaps that's called fainting. Evangelizing through words is not one of my strengths, but I can see how God works through my character anyway if I let him.

I board a train first thing July 4. No fireworks or BBQs are necessary to celebrate independence. Just a long nap on the way to next stop.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Every travel blog needs a quick note about the transportation of the area. In some cases the ways of getting around are not that new or exciting, but each journey has its unique moments, even on the “regular” commute.

Yesterday I rode the SJ train from Stockholm to Gothenburg. The 4.5-hour commute took us through many farming areas and wide open fields. Apart from the Chunnel that crosses the English Channel, I haven’t been on a train since I was 6 and asleep. Thus this trip was special…and smelly. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but multiple dogs climbed on board. Some were big huskies but most were little lap dogs, or as the ones in my car looked, mops. Somehow they survived holding in any waste that could have escaped due to nature’s call or total terror of this moving box. But dogs smell like dogs and so do their breath. On top of that, the brakes smell awful the half dozen times the train screeched to a halt to pick up more passengers. Really, I don’t have any complaints. I arrived safe and sound, had a very pleasant ride as I wrote postcards, read and slept, and had plenty of room to put my feet up and relax.

Scandinavia ought to be called the bike capital of the world. No matter what the weather, people commute via bicycle. Rarely does one see a mountain bike. Instead people ride simple bikes with a basket on the front and a bell to warn pedestrians. Only bike parking lots exist unless of course one discovers a tiny underground lot, so small one has to hold his breath in order to make the car fit. Cars of course are quite small, they all look the same and they zoom in and out of traffic with owners playing James Bond with the manual transmission. The only car of color I saw was behind windows in a Ferrari dealership.

Ferries are also quite popular in this area. Sweden is surround by little islands on the east and west coasts so ferries help locals and tourists visit the little spots of paradise. Ferries run as frequently as the metro that makes commuting across the water so feasible. Of course, many sailors and paddle-boaters alike have found other means, but such activities distract me from taking pictures.

Finally: the feet. Mine are up as I write because no matter how much public transport I use, I still end up walking miles. If I could do anything again, it would be to wear a pedometer while I was here. I love visiting a city by foot and there’s no better way to rationalize an extra piece of strawberry cake than another journey to the metro station. While tourists can have the weirdest choice in footwear, I’m happy to report no outlandish styles required ridiculous footwear. I rarely saw stilettos and the weather is too warm for tall boots. Canvas shoes are all the rage, so while they don’t provide a great deal of support, they do allow one’s feet to get a massage on the cobblestone.

What comes to mine.

The last full day with the Downeys was filled to the brim. An early rising at 6:43am (odd that this is early since a few days ago I happily or habitually woke up at 4:22am) had us dressed, fed and in the car for a day trip to Dalarna. This northern area of Sweden is about 300 km away or 3 hours and contains a lovely assortment of hills and large valleys full of lupines. As we drove, I felt transported back to Wyoming where Indian Paint Brush flowers line the roads with similar vibrancy and beauty that these purple and pink plants offered us. Dark red homes and barns also dotted the green landscape in typical Swedish fashion. Madeleine, Valerie and I soaked in the natural colors, unaware that such vibrancy would meet us in our destination of Sundborn, the home of the artists Carl and Karin Larsson.

Carl and Karin lived as artists with their seven children in a small farming community. Carl is like the Norman Rockwell of Sweden, painting and sketching everyday scenes of his children and life in the town. Karin was an expert at sewing and weaving. The entire house glowed in their work as color cushions and chairs, portraits and painted ceilings touched every room. The house still belongs to the family and Carl’s grandchildren play in the rooms, inviting friends for tea and sleep-overs. If it were me I’d play a massive game of sardines; there are so many cubby holes that the game could go for hours. We enjoyed the rest of Sundborn by visiting the church where Carl painted the walls and ceilings and a few other exhibits that featured his art and other Dalarna artists.

On the way home, Madeleine decided to take an alternate route to catch a few sights along the way. On such spontaneous stop landed us in the bottom of a hole. The Falun Copper mine, now a World Heritage site, provided employment, pride and great wealth for this region and all of Sweden for over 1400 years. With the sun beating down on us, we decided to find reprieve in the middle of the mountain and thus took a tour through the mine. Never have I experienced a tour so sensory embracing. From the moment we stepped out of the elevator, the chill and dampness crawled up my skin and into my nose. The darkness cannot be described in any other way but utter black. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face and my eyes tried constantly to readjust. The sounds of stillness and abandonment seemed to ring in my ears as it echoed throughout the drifts of the mine. Fantastic statistics met us at every corner:

* The rope used in a 280 m shaft required 500 oxen hides.
* A Christmas tree can survive 5 years in the mine.
* Workers wore wooden clogs in the mine, and children played in the tunnels.

Upon arrival to the surface, I thanked God for sunlight and people who do really dirty and dangerous jobs. We hopped in the car to make home before the sun goes down…wait there’s no rush in that. Anyway, another stop to see the biggest painted horse took all of five minutes to gawked over and home we came to relate all our tales to Steven, our very own water miner.

Ducks laugh.

And rain cries. But in it all somehow there is balance and harmony. Over the last 24 hours, God has broadened my perspective, allowed me to dig deeper in my heart and open the shutters of my mind, and embraced me in such a way that I felt safe. I cried today and laughed not three minutes later. I longed for far away people and things and I reveled in the joy of moments and friends around me. I can’t quite articulate the peace that has and is washing over me.

In church this morning, the pastor relayed the message from the prophet Joel about God’s call for his people to rend their hearts and come back to him for he is a God of grace, compassion and abundant love. Love that stretches as far as the east is from the west.

Perhaps this is the extreme I have encountered today, an east to west experience. The simple little squawks of a duck or the beautiful drops of rain on the calm sea call me to know the mysterious power that fashioned this world. In the mere act of recognizing these simple moments I know more deeply the spirit that permeates my life and its surroundings.

I cannot deny a love that gives such depth of perspective, such serenity, such understanding mentally, physically and emotionally, such natural phenomenon and quirks. And I hope and pray that I can receive such love in the next 24 hours when the geese begin to gargle.

Midsommer Celebration

With enough strawberries in my belly for a whole pie and more fun than one can handle in a single party, I just returned home from an afternoon of partying the old Swedish style. In Sweden, Midsommer is as big as Christmas, if not more so, and they make the most of it (18 hours of daylight during this time of the year). It's a national holiday so people get the last Friday of June off from work so they can visit their lake cabins and participate in the festivities of the day.

The Downey family took my to Sigtuna, one of the oldest towns in Sweden, where we participated in the local and folk traditions. A short parade of people dressed in folk dancing costumes carried a Maypole through the main street, the same street that the Vikings trekked over 1500 years ago. In the Center Square and park, they erected the Maypole and began the many silly dances. Children abounded, some in traditional dress and many with a halo of flowers on their heads. The colors were as bright as a Christmas tree.

The meal followed with an assortment of sil (a specially prepared herring dish), other fish dishes, Swedish meatballs, potatoes and salad. We ate to our heart content only to realize that the Swedish cakes were on their way. The youth of our group prepared layered cakes of whipped cream, cake and strawberries. A Swedish man who had joined our party made pecan pie so the Americans also enjoyed a taste of home.

The evening continued with games such as Kubb and dancing on Wii. Kubb is a Swedish game similar to horseshoes, but involves teams and is much more fun and harder than it looks. Wii Dance made us all laugh as all of us, youth and adults, swung our hips and tried to stay in step with the rhythms.

I give thanks for the collection of countries represented (Australia, America, Sweden, England, Switzerland, and Canada) that can fellowship in celebration for a new season, delicious food, universal interactive game, and life. This in my mind is as good of a national holiday as I can imagine.

Uppsala and down

A few plans fell through here in there with plans to ferry to Finland or ride the train to Gothenburg, Sweden, but in hindsight our flexibility offered us the best plan we could make. Tuesday morning, early for some ☺ but right on time for others, Mac and I jumped on a regional train to Uppsala. This quaint but lively city 40 minutes north of Stockholm is the home to a university from the 15th century and citizens from times as early as 600 A.D. The streets are bustling with fruit stands, mothers pushing their kids in heavy duty strollers (these strollers are made for commuting through blizzards), shops of every bit of fabric, book, second hand nik-naks or pastry you could want.

We climbed off the train in search of our guesthouse and went the wrong way. (My fault.) And then we came upon Wayne’s Coffee. It’s the closest thing to an American coffee shop around so my companion was thrilled. (Also my fault.) Armed with a cool, caffeinated drink we turned around and found Eva at the Samaritan Guesthouse.

Formerly used to house and train deacons from the Church of Sweden, it now hosts guests and conferences all year round. We had a simple but accommodating room with shared kitchen and bathroom facilities down the hall. Couldn’t have asked for anything better especially since we could check in at 9:30am, drop our extra stuff and head out. After a leisurely morning reading and resting, we went to the park along the river to eat our homemade pizza packed for lunch. We promenaded through the park where we found a small amphitheater (though, Daniel, it looked like a baseball diamond on the map) where an ABBA sing-along would take place at the end of June. Bummer- just missed it. Walking through the seats, however, I’m a little concerned for anyone coming in go-go boots; the aisles are big or smooth enough to dance. We found a track in the park, and, yes, they’re the same everywhere…they all make me smile.

Highlights of the afternoon:
Gustavo Museum: Anatomical theatre where surgeries occurred towered up into the top of the dome.

Uppsala Cathedral: Gothic church with amazing stain glass windows. It was the first time Mac had experienced a church like that so seeing an old church with new eyes was particularly special.

Lemon Creperie: We needed a little snack late in the afternoon but when one stumbles on a place that lists over 20 different types of delicious crepes made to order, dinner becomes the name of the meal. We had a crepe with tomato, ham and cheese and another with Nutella, coconut and ice cream on top. Heaven seemed a little bit closer with the tastes in my mouth and sun warming my back.

Ergonomic benches: Rather than an upright backed seat, we found a row of lounge benches along the river.

Movie Theater: Though we decided not to pay $30 to see an old movie such as True Grit, it was interesting to experience the atmosphere. All movies are shown in the original language with Swedish subtitles added.

Wednesday morning, after a great night’s sleep despite it being the longest day, we went to the complimentary breakfast. True to the European form, we had our choice to a lot of bread, meats, cheeses, hard-boiled eggs and yogurt, plus tea or coffee of course. Completely full we hopped on a bus toward Gamla Uppsala (Old Uppsala) where large hills/mounds cover the remains of buried royalty/chiefs from back in 600A.D. Some of the mounds have been excavated, but archeologists are still uncovering entire houses and burial sites along the ridges of Gamla Uppsala. While it looks like a serene area of rolling hills, there is much history and legends buried within the landscape.

We finished our trip as we started, with sweets treats and a train ride. On our Wednesday wanderings we discovered Landings, a bakery with yummy pastries and cute marzipan figures. Promising to stop before leaving Uppsala, we descended upon the store with wide eyes and great indecision. Or at least that’s how I felt. Couldn’t I have a little taste of each one? Finally, we (I) decided and with three tantalizing treats, went outside in the sun to enjoy them. Oh the crème. Oh the richness. Oh the surprises. Oh how I wish could indulge all the time. Satisfied beyond belief we boarded the train back home where I now sit with a cup of tea, smiling on the many upps of our trip.

European Yogurt

I prefer this Swedish yogurt “Yoggi” that I’m eating right now. It’s thicker, less sweet but still as flavorful as that in America. I know the many reasons why yogurt is different in various countries; I’ve read a book or two about it. But I’m here to champion Swedish yogurt.

Traveling offers countless opportunities to compare, contrast, and sometimes criticize the new or home worlds. Of course, most of the differences are just that and don’t really engender superior value. Just because I enjoy Swedish yogurt better than what I find in Safeway doesn’t mean Sweden is a far more excellent country. It just means my breakfast is a bit more enjoyable. Comparing and contrasting is impossible not to do as humans. Not only is it necessary for survival (i.e. on public transport I have to keep my things close in order to avoid pickpockets even if at home I leave things in my car overnight.) but it’s also an enjoyable exercise that opens one’s eyes to the world as it has never been before (i.e. I rarely see men in bright colored pants and blazers conducting business in America.)

On Saturday evening, the Downeys hosted a dinner party of 3 couples from their international church. The table included a Polish couple, a Chicago-native and her Swedish husband, and a Danish woman and her American husband. Conversations flowed beautifully with unique turns and clops of accents. We shared stories of travel, pondered the differing characteristics of churches in Europe and America, and ate a wonderful meal of BBQ hamburgers. I learned that getting a driver’s license in Sweden is extra difficult because the culture is based around public transport. I recognized that tithing is more an American practice while Europeans give offerings at church. I discovered that despite knowing several languages, a skill most Americans only dream of having, obtaining a job in a global market is just as taxing and trying as it is in America.

The variety of this world is remarkable and to think that God has a plan and purpose for each of us in our own little pocket of this planet continues to strike me with awe. But I think God in all his wisdom realized that the differences were necessary for us to be interested in each other. Yes, this is a very Western idea since the Japanese tend to focus on similarities more than differences. But the point remains: in our sweet or tangy or thicker or runnier ways, each person and place can enhance human life and make both guests and hosts more of who they’re meant to be by sharing perspectives.

Tricking Your Body

I thought I might have found the best method for sleeping. A few blogs this morning testifies otherwise.

Sweden is blessed with light most hours of the day this time of year. Regardless of whether it’s sunny or cloudy, the illuminated sky resumes its bright dance at odd hours of the “night.” Yesterday, in efforts to sleep past 5am, I did everything imaginable to trick myself, a bit unknowingly too. See, it’s not the jetlag that wakes me but instead my body’s insistence that light is the cue for activity no mater what time of day. So Friday night before bed I put on an eye mask, I kept a blanket close and turned my back on the window (all of which are very large and numerous in this and most Swedish homes). I woke up early as I suspected and looking at my watch that read 5:37, I proceeded to wrap the extra blanket around my head and fall back into dream world. Somehow I did this exercise again and seeing the same time on the watch, forced myself back to sleep. It wasn’t until the next wakeful moment was accompanied with several voices and movement that I looked at my watch. 5:37pm *alarm. The real time was just past 10am on Saturday! I shot up like a bunny, a little frazzled, well rested, and hoping I hadn’t wasted the day away.

But that’s impossible…when it says day way past night.

Walking, lunching, singing Star Wars theme music…it’s all universal.

The first full day in Stockholm found us still without a bag in the morning, but much more alive after sleep, a shower, and toast with Nutella. If you haven’t experienced the wonders of this spread (good for anything including celery which we combo-ed for lunch) don’t fret about buying a ticket to Sweden. Just run to the nearest grocery store and treat yourself to a little bit of heaven- it’s a universal heavenly experience. Armed with water bottles, a picnic lunch and the camera, Helen, Valerie, Mac and I took the train/metro to downtown.

Stockholm is made of several islands that are connected with bridges and ferries. The Downeys live north of town on a separate island so we commuted over the water inlet and arrived on the Rodeo Drive of Stockholm. Too bad I had exchanged any money yet, though I’m sure Armani or Guess in Sweden could melt my plastic as quickly as American stores- it’s universal. Passing through this chic part of town, the four of us found ourselves walking along the water and the famous street Strandvägen (strand=beach, vägen=beach). Boathouses, ferries, sailboats both large and small lined the harbor. We gawked at the Swedes relaxing and lounging in couches provided at open-air cafes. Maybe I’ll go back to soak up the tan skin and bleached-colored hair like the rest of the natives. Blondes have more fun- it’s a universal truth.

Djurgården welcomed us with green grass, luscious trees and more geese than we knew what was good for us. Hissing from a bird is a frightening sound so even though the goslings were super cute and fluffy, taking one home as a pet was out of the question. Instead we trekked up and down the paths through this protected natural land until we reached a large garden with benches and a fountain at Rosendal. The fountain was that of a boy riding a goose, which deemed appropriate as we were but half way done with our picnic and a flock came waddling over for a drink of the stale water. Their in-take didn’t distract us as much as their out-put habits, but we were able to manage especially when the Reese’s Pieces came out- it’s a universal truth.

After another hour jaunting through the trees and past the carnival grounds, we ferried our way to Gamla Stan (Old Town). The narrow streets, uniquely colored buildings, numerous cafes, and cobbled streets gave the small island in the middle of this vast city a fun personality. The many tourists also added personality as they walked around as groups from Japan, made a fashion statement in patchwork and rainbow, and rejected all propriety when they insisted on their way. An outdoor concert played by the Swedish Wind Orchestra brightened our day with various pieces by Sondheim, George Gershwin and from the Harry Potter soundtrack. Accompanied by a little rest, nice coffee and children blowing bubbles for unknown new-age song, I found bliss. Bubbles make people smile no matter what age or place- it’s a universal joy.

Train rides home after a long day are the perfect place to nap so I immediately fell asleep on Mac’s shoulder, able to carry myself off the train just far enough to my bed for a longer snooze. Familial voices and smells of Swedish meatballs woke me up for an evening of chatting, sharing pictures, and listening to an informal piano concert by my travel companion, an experience which will only keep repeating itself while he’s here. His tremendous skill brings so much energy and awe- it’s a universal gift.

It's only 4:22am.

Jetlag is to be expected, but I hope this post wards off any wavering longings to go back to bed. Really, it would be quite impossible with a sunrise of 3:31am and the beautiful Swedish day ahead of me. I have no complaints and once my luggage arrives, I can apply a bit of make-up on my black circles and seize the day.
Flying as always is a mixed bag. Planes are faster than ocean liners and I don’t envy the pilgrims on the Mayflower at all. Yet, the cramped quarters and unique airline food is always something to be endured. Thankfully my eye-mask and earplugs did me wonders. Poor Mac was not as lucky; he had to endure three bad movies and restlessness while I caught all the Zs.

We arrived in Amsterdam from Seattle do discover our layover did not offer us enough time to use the “toalett” much less catch our breath. We ran from one end of the airport to the other, finagling our way through customs in the middle. EU passport holders have a special line, as do first class passengers. Upon my insistence, a well-practice art that Mac is calling “Sweet Diplomacy,” we jumped in the shorter, by 20 minutes, first class passenger line, quicker, by 6 people, EU line, and proceeded to the nearest security conveyor belt. A few American women followed my every move, each time asking if it was ok if they joined or if what they were doing was necessary such as taking out their liquids and gels. As the resident expert, we all moved through security with brevity, and Mac and I rushed away to gate C12.

A traveling rule: don’t be surprised when you don’t have your baggage. Since we barely made it to the connecting flight, our bags had no chance. (And yes we checked them for running purposes only.) After a quick 1.5 hour flight to Stockholm, when we both fell dead asleep, we arrived with just enough to get through the night. A toothbrush! And all the hugs we needed to cover up for the rest of what we’re missing. We did go put in a claim for our bags. A traveler who uses English as a distant second language asked the claim officers, “Is this where you chase luggage?” What a great translation though I think the process is a bit more passive than that, at least from my experience.

The Downeys greeted us with such love. Already I feel back at home, as I knew I would, and Mac, once less sleep-deprived, will surely join in the familial sentiments. We shared stories, laughed, ate a wonderful meal and dessert with Helen-made moose, and rode bikes to the dock, but 2 minutes away, and around the beautiful neighborhood. We ended the evening with tea (oh how I missed such moments with this family) and a game of cards with the girls. Valerie, being just finished with school, had every intention of staying up with me to watch a movie. Thankfully I could say, “Let’s save it for another night,” and we went off to bed…for a bit.

Off with the Eye-Mask

On June 14th I left for Sweden to visit friends, extended family really, and experience their beautiful new home. Traveling is such a unique way to grow and open my eyes that every time I get in a plane or hop in the car for an extended drive, I expect the extraordinary. It’s a time when the ordinary moments are experienced, lived out and found to be AWEsome.

I’m currently reading two books which is necessary for a 9.5 hour plane ride. The Nomad tells the story of a woman trekking around the world to experience cultures and create deep connections with the locals. In the current chapter the narrator joins the Indonesian government at a very special ceremony where the grandmother of a high-ranking official is properly buried deep within the jungle. Despite being solitary women traveling with the entourage, she throws off the outcast label to be included in each unique custom from exhuming the bones to drinking a local alcoholic drink from a skull. Her ordinary black mourning clothes danced in an AWEsome event.

The other book sets my thoughts on the revelations of God. Ordinary people make ordinary churches only to have God transform them through the Holy Spirit. Buildings and faulty people are made to live out this AWEsome transformation.

So now I find myself with Mac, two ordinary kids, traveling around the world, encountering every ordinary moment of the TSA, well-designed bathrooms, cloud shadows on the fields far below, Jesus rays and small airline meals. And these moments of discovering and living are miracles. We have the ability and opportunity to know deeply the ways of the world. I’m sure one has never been so esoteric about the TSA, but I insist that even those systems help me see the AWEsome.

CARDBOARD & capital letters

Driving down the street this morning, I read a man’s cardboard sign, “VIETNAM VET. ANY HELP GOOD.” Yesterday I remember seeing a man slinging this backpack and holding a sign stating, “HOMELESS. PLEASE HELP. GOD BLESS.” More and more of these signs are popping up on street corners throughout this town. Both men and women seek a dollar or work or anything because “LAID OFF WITH TWO KIDS. ANYTHING HELPS.”

The abundance of these people with their cardboard signs of capital letters breaks my heart for their circumstance. I can’t imagine what it feels like to endure the loss of dignity not to mention means to survive in this country. But I also wonder if these people have lost their identity and if my friends and I would hold up signs to identify our present realities and allegiance.

The VIETNAM VET took provide in this name and yet seeks compassion because of it. As I passed him, I thought about what he’s done since he served in that war. Was being a soldier his crowning moment? Was serving the USA in armed forces the only accreditation that people would acknowledge? His positions both in the military services and veterans rank are honorable, and yet are they a cop-out or consequence for his current reality? That man has found his name in this one position for what seems to have been a significant portion of his life. How does his spirit feel to have a same associated with power now associated with humility and loss?

HOMELESS. Lack of place often results in lack of identity. Where better to be than the corner if not in a home? The hardships of homelessness are great and not easy overcome. Time, energy, resources, and an enormous amount of perseverance are required. And the same is needed to find identity. More than just he homeless are at a loss for people in a dead end job, graduates, retired folk, and many others enduring change in life sense a listless wandering of where one is to be grounded and safe at home. It’s not a lack of desire to be settled, but what? The best cardboard sign?

The LAID OFF DAD cries out the most to me as he’s pleading for help in his cause. He’s fighting to protect and provide for his kids no matter what the loss to him. He’s identified what’s most important to him and seeking to hold fast to that identity. Who will come alongside him? What will he sacrifice to win?

Do other signs exist that we ignore? STRUGGLING ARTIST. DESPERATE IGNORED WIFE. DOUBTING CHRIST FOLLOWER. FRIGHTENED LEADER. APATHETIC WITH SCHOOL LOANS.

These signs offer up undisclosed identities. People cry to drop and destroy this cardboard sign. But how? Just like a dollar on the corner has little power to change a person forever, solutions seem untenable for this list. Yet, just like naming a child demonstrates a newborn’s existence in the world, life through transformed and restored identities can be had.
Restore dignity.
Affirm great and honorable qualities.
Give companionship.
Maybe these should be on cardboard.

Story #9

That’s really my final story. At least that’s what my sister says. I tend to tell the same tales over and over again so each one of them is numbered. It’s hereditary because my Dad has the same unique talent.

Tonight I retold my tales of a trip to New Orleans with my family for a half-marathon event. My new audience loved the depictions of the area, race, and the people especially my wonderfully colorful mom and aunt. If anybody could make a trip/story it would these two. As I reflected on my story-telling moment, I realized that my life as 1 of 2 kids in Wyoming is so different and maybe a little dryer than that of 5 kids in the South with the marvelous personalities of my relatives. Or maybe it’s just that the grass is an unknown green down south compared to my yellow, crispy grass of Casper, America.

Really, no one could claim special moments like sledding down the stairs in a purple silk “magic” blanket or going to the rodeo with my little brother with matching red boots. No doubt there were few people with popcorn wallpaper or parents in theatre and therefore easy access to the costume room and scene shop.

As I babysit kids or work with them at church, I wonder what stories they’re creating. While my friend tries to navigate finding a new apartment and take the bus and go to school, her kids are going to have special stories of America and Africa. My two buddies at church see the world from 3 feet above ground right now- there’s a perspective. And as they grow up with their adoptive parents, they will have special stories of abundant love and grace.

I’m grateful for my stories, numbered as they may be. And each day I realize more and more how important each person’s story is to them and for the good of the community. So even if it’s for the 5th time, I want to hear your Story #9.

being misguided by my own goodness

“Sometimes our greatest gifts can be the quickest way to sin.”

Walking with my dear college roommate brings me great pleasure (not to mention a cute figure) but also challenges my thoughts and actions. She once reminded me that Satan can use what we’re most good at to lead us astray, even if that simply means forgetting about God. I hate to admit it, but I had a taste of that today.

A family from Congo relocated here last July after leaving several years of “captivity” as refugees in camp. Life was hard with two meals a day of rice and beans all year long and no scenery or familiar landscape a part from the red dirt that surrounded the dwelling. So a new life in America seemed like a wonderful new life. Now the mom and kids are but a week away from being homeless.

These realities come with several long stories complicated by government systems, mistranslation, a hard winter, little understanding of the USA, and just life. I have no desire to go into these situations for the wrongs and rights, blessings and disappointments, joys and heartaches are too numerous to explain. The fact remains that this family’s life is broken and most tragically by not knowing where they will lay their head come June.

But don’t worry- here I come to save the day. SPLAT!

As a pro-active, driven, solution oriented person all I want to do is fix this circumstance. The family needs a new apartment? Here’s an application. Oh, she needs a reference? Let me send that to her work. A co-signer is necessary? With the ability to back her financially? With a mortgage? Um…I. I. Let me think.
And HERE is where I remain, thinking. I cannot afford to be her co-signer. I cannot move her into my place. I cannot even guarantee another place for her to live in six days. I cannot.

So even though my skills of networking, problem solving, and providing remedies seemed so necessary and sufficient, I know now what my roommate was saying. These talents distracted me from seeking out and relying on God. Instead I began to worship an idol of power and call on the name of organizational crisis management to rule over this issue.

God has to be in control. I can do what I can, but I cannot be God. He will fix or mold or handle this situation. I can be obedient, but I cannot decide for God. He will not grow weary of details or negate his promises. I can be bold, but I cannot be the strength of God.

God created the earth in six days and he didn’t call me for floor plans, operations management, and strategy consulting or even to fill up his coffee cup. Thus I’m letting God’s talents, untouched or obstructed by Satan, bring about utter goodness.

And I’ll use my talents to follow his lead.

The importance of seeing the Sunrise

I wasn’t under any obligation and received no other incentive beyond spending 30 minutes of a very early morning with a friend on the way to the airport.
But then the sun rose.

Seeing the sunrise post-daylight savings time in Spokane is a unique experience. At 5:03am the sherbet colors of pink and orange hues from morning light crept up on the horizon as I drove east on I-90. The few clouds floated with their blue cotton candy fluff. I felt like I arrived at a wonderful birthday party and my sweet-tooth found satisfaction.

The rest of Monday was marvelous: productive, fulfilling and thought provoking. Thus I am left to muse:
1) Is a 4:03 wake up time the answer?
2) How crucial is it to experience the sunrise?
3) What can I do to make everyday start out with a selfless act?
4) Can I remember that God offers is smile and sweetness all the daylong?

Just like the morning sun, I am realizing gradually that my growth and beauty and deep love for the world, which can shine as bright as the rays, comes day after day.

prepositions are in.

Tonight at church I became fixated on prepositions. These tiny words hold so much meaning and can offer an encouraging embrace or dismissing declaration. But the prepositions used in the Bible, especially concerning Jesus, brought great power and insight to me this evening.

In Christ Jesus: The place I can rest, find peace, experience direction and assurance, and know salvation. To be in him makes all the difference because outside of him, I’m lost. In the world is scary, difficult, and simply purposeless.
With Christ: My friend, guide, and partner in life. While I follow Jesus’ example and move physically on my own, Christ still gives me the power and breath to bring his hopes of heaven to earth. We’re co-workers.

For Christ: Thanksgiving. Service. My life. They’re all for him. I don’t need it for my own good, but he wants it all to use for my good and the good he wants on earth.
Beneath God: My authority. When I seek control and independence, I realize that I’m still beneath my Lord’s sovereignty. I’ve never seen this position as a dominating one, but instead a liberating one. I can do what is in my human ability to do, knowing God will take care of the rest.

Near God: Where I want to be. I often hear prayers that say, “Be with me, God.” I understand those sentiments and pleas, but I want to lean on God’s promise that he repeated over and over to his people. “Do not fear. I am with you.” So as God stands by me, I desire to know his nearness and remain there with courage and boldness.

I haven’t posted anything for several months. I’m not sure if it was because I fell IN love, came UP short WITH stories, found other priorities TO occupy my time, or just forgot the joy OF writing, but I’m back. Little words to begin but certainly not to end with.