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.