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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

this just in...

Developments in a friend’s life can leave a person searching for the right sentiments. Am I supposed to be happy or sad, excited or nervous, honest or just superficial? If I know the person well, I’m as truthful as I can be which often matches his or her sentiments. When my friends hurt, I hurt and when they bounce off the walls, I’m a pinball with them.

Today I shared some exciting news with my friend Rosette from the Congo. I told her I was planning a trip to Africa next summer. She cried out with great joy and delight, but just as suddenly, her cries brought tears. I’ve only ever seen this transformation in the movies, and I think the actors were holding onions. Rosette held nothing back; she didn’t fake a countenance of pure elation. Instead, she internalized the news and what it meant to her. It meant that her home seemed even further away, only to be visited by those who could afford in every way with time, money, and the liberties of US citizenship to go across the ocean. Well, that put me in another frame of mind, praying a pipe-dream of a prayer that she could go see her home and family someday soon. With God anything is possible, but in that small apartment with laundry to fold and lunch to make, that dream didn’t seem all that realistic.

I’m grateful the Bible tells us to mourn with those who mourn and dance with those who dance. Sometimes, when I’m not in the mood I need to just act in obedience to what God asked me to do. Go alongside a person in whatever state he or she might be in at present. I seek to be genuine and honest with my emotions and responses to news, and hopefully where my sentiments fall short God will fill in the gap with his own comfort or confirmation of exaltation.

Beyond just comfort or a God-sized smile, though, I think the greatest gift is Jesus’ promise to be our peace. Both moments of sadness and joy can be coupled with fear and anxiety for what the future holds. Only through the peace of God can I faithfully step forward into the reality of new developments. His peace assures me that I have security and love in him; it’s not a peace from the world that might show happy faces but gossips behind the back. His peace assures me of my worth in his eyes and the value he holds in my friends, especially those who shout with cheer and cry all in one moment.

do tell...

Ever hear a story that went beyond your comprehension? A story that was so opposite or implausible compared to your own that it seemed fiction despite the personal testimony?

I love those stories. I love telling those stories of my own outrageous experiences. But admittedly they are difficult to swallow. As a listener, it’s hard to put myself in the other person’s shoes completely. Depending on location and culture, I have a fairly good picture of the physical surroundings and the ways various circumstances such as rudimentary housing, abject poverty, and a palpable desire to survive, could affect a person’s thoughts and feelings. But in the end, there's just enough disconnect to be frustrating.

As the story teller, the vividness of the scenes, the intensity of all five senses and the burning smell of the synapses firing, trying to connect the dots of a new world, are all too much to articulate. It’s like a scientist doing hundreds of hours of research and having to sum it up in a ten-page article. While the results of the research or the successes and experiences of a trip or life circumstance seek the limelight, it’s all the rest that continues to marinate inside.

This thought comes to me tonight as I pray for a team from our church that will return tomorrow from a ten-day mission and cultural immersion in El Salvador. Our pastor has been good enough to blog throughout the trip. However, he repeatedly apologizes for being both too tired and unable to find all the words to articulate how and why the trip has impacted him and the team in a unique way.

Likewise, I had dinner tonight with a friend who lived in a refugee camp for most of her life. She recalled memories from her original home in Burundi and then relayed some images concerning the camp in Tanzania. I desperately desired to know with all five senses and in a heart and soul way what life was like, but my head barely clung to her tale.

From my own experience, it’s a gift to share about times and situations in our lives that profoundly shape us. And each time I return from other trip, look at pictures from an experience, or replay a scene in my head, I realize even more how important that sharing is. I look forward to the return of the El Salvador team, but I am even more excited to help them share, process and grasp the richness of their experience.

As a traveler, always longing to go again, and also a seeker of great moments, I encourage my readers to seek out friends, family and strangers and hear their stories. Most will deny they have such awesome tales to tell, but if honesty comes forth, profound experiences will bubble forth and bless both the listener and narrator.