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.

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…”

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.

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.

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.

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.

child muse

Five-year old approval goes a long way especially when it comes to stories. Who better than to nix an idea or give a short though all the same standing ovation for some literary genius? While I wish I could claim either of those titles, a literary or a genius, I do have some clever stories every once in awhile. And this afternoon proved to be a magical moment.

I’m an artist that needs a muse, a muse with a suggestion, however small or off the wall. Were you ever asked to draw something and sit stumped at what profound picture might grace the single page with which you have to create a masterpiece? Somehow a flower always comes to mind. (Tangent: If ever I tried to fall asleep as a kid, the image of the Wicked Witch of the West, rainbows and elephants came to my head. Once the witch flew over these latter pieces of my imagination, I would be out. So flowers seem somehow docile and obvious.) When it comes to stories, a similar block comes to my head. That was until I read a book that suggested inserting 2 things: human, mineral or otherwise. Pink and teacups or grass and telescope can start a myriad of great stories. (This suggestion to get suggestions is key to improv if ever you have to MC without a script…)

This afternoon my listener offered princess and dragon. While almost too easy I decided to put the dragon in the closet and take the princess to 3rd grade. Only my hero, Oliver, could make all things right, all the while sporting green converse sneakers.

I finished not to applause but to a smile. I guess that was a good enough prize; I wasn’t interrupted or booed off the stage, and the audience participated in key ways, even naming the auxiliary characters. What this five-year old doesn’t know is that she gave me a boost, actually a running start at one of my bucket list items: write a children’s book.

Now I just have to find an enamoring title and equally clever way to present the child’s tale to adults. Talk about a tough crowd! Maybe I should hand out beanies with spinners when I present my idea. Weee…

Old Wisdom, New Ears

Today began the first of four mornings committed to “making athletes out of you.” We’re hosting the 2nd annual track camp at Whitworth. The high school students and coaches alike are relatively new to the Whitworth program and staff, and they’re in for a treat. Toby is funny- at least to the newbies (I was one of them once)- Travis is organized, the throws coaches are huge, and I’m just cute. I mean completely able and competent.
So we started the session with a few house keeping rules (ie “The bathrooms are to your right.”). Then Toby sought initial commitment by telling the athletes to close their eyes and asking them why they came. “Why did you show up and what do you want to take away?” These questions aren’t trick ones and they can be answered fairly simply. But these questions require the athletes to do more than show up. These questions require intentional investment.

Hold that thought…

Following the pep talk, I led the group of over 30 kids through a warm-up. For some, the warm-up might have been a good enough workout for the day but we carried on. I told them to keep their knees up, stay tall and encouraged them with the fact that anything they could do backwards they could do forwards. (Try it sometime.) We even did a set of Happy Jacks so round out the warm-up. Perhaps they weren’t the most applicable, but smiles are just as important to good performance as loose muscles.
Throughout my 30 minutes with the athletes and the following hour with my hurdle crew of 4, there were athletes who just took for granted that they could stand up straight and run much less “play track and field.” And yet, I cheered and critiqued them both in my head and verbally. First days set the stage.

We ended the morning with lots of abs. Lots = 8 minutes. Try it, 8 minutes is a long time. And then Toby gathered us all again to ask, “What did you learn? What will you take away? Now go write it down.”

It dawned on me that the attitudes we bring to life each day we wake up breathing another blessed breath should be checked by this question: What do you want to learn? What are you going to be intentional about? What are you going to take away? It’s easy to go through the motions, bring your knees up only so high, say your prayers only until you fall asleep, love your kids enough to keep them from crying. But we’re told to strive for perfection and commit. We’re told to love God with ALL our heart, strength and mind. We’re offered a choice to go big everyday. However, this choice does not come with an autopilot. Making a choice to love or pray or eat right or do great work requires an intentional investment. Some things we need to do with some automation such as breathing, but we can be intentional about deep breathing for relaxation or breathing hard during a work out.

So why did you show up today? What did you learn? How have you been intentional in your relationships, work, mind and soul?

his enduring way

Ernest Shackleton gave his life to the exploration, to the craft and most significantly to his men. This Antarctic explorer from the early 20th century led various adventures to the frozen continent, only to be faced with seemingly insurmountable obstacles. And yet throughout it all, his responsibility to his crew drove him to every extreme that earned him great respect, loyalty and deep devotion.
I finished a book about his leadership called Shackleton’s Way. It’s an incredible collection of stories summarized the key elements of his leadership style and skills. I highly recommend it.

As I read the tale and reflected on many of my own actions as a leader or follower but certainly as one who could learn a few life lessons from this great man. One of his qualities that I admire and can relate to is his dedication to his people. From the first to the last moments of a treacherous expedition, his devotion to his people and sincere desire to see them safe and happy at all times gave him the motivation to stay alive and push forward. Those tasks may seem simple, it meant not sleeping for days on end, trekking up and down cliffs for 36 hours straight, and sacrificing and replacing any complaint to an optimistic and encouraging word. In order to keep this countenance he relied a great deal on his faith and on the words of poets and great writers such as Dickens, Shakespeare and Robert Browning. The authors commented that rather than focus on the annoying/aggravating/debilitating issues facing him, he would instead focus his attention on big ideas such as life, love, camaraderie and choice.

This notion both convicted me and inspired me. How often I seek consolation from a willing ear to hear a silly grievance or internally brood over something I deem as a slight or worse? And yet, I have so much to be thankful for. I have been blessed so much. And with most of these simple aggravations of mine, they will pass and be forgotten.

Shackleton sought companionship, honesty, and laughter. He gave out these qualities from his natural personality, his sense of responsibility and joy. May we continue to grow in our ability to give abundantly, request with fairness, and leave the past mistakes behind.