Olson Family

Anniversary

2011-11-20T22:04:00.000-08:00

"What is it that holds you accountable when you're tempted to do the wrong thing and there's no one around who would really care if you did something that doesn't align with your values?" We're in the kitchen, snacking. Eli leans against the counter, crunches another bite of chips. Isaiah retrieves a container from the refrigerator, then turns to me.

"You know the letter Dad wrote me?" Zae pauses to open the lid and reaches in for a chicken strip. "Well, whenever I get tempted, I just take that letter out of my wallet and glance at it. Or, sometimes, I just remember it's in my pocket and that helps me."

A letter of affirmations. From his dad. To remind him who he is.

~~~

This man that I married 18 years ago *today...

Several years ago we attended the wedding of some friends. Pastor Joe addressed the bride first, admonishing her from Ephesians 5. Then, he turned to the groom, saying his name and stopping for a dramatic pause. He smiled at the groom, mischievously. The audience chuckled in anticipation.

"Your bride is going to follow your leadership. Now for your role. You're going to love her like Christ loved the Church... And that will mean that you're going to die to yourself in a thousand little ways every day." It was a lighthearted moment loaded with meaning.

And, LeRoy... Well, he does this dying to self "in a thousand little ways every day." And it really is in the little things, isn't it?

A look, a phone call, a word of encouragement and support, a listening ear. The cup of coffee he brings me first thing in the morning. The camaraderie and inside jokes. The knowing wink across a room.

Gratitude:
118. Message at the front desk of the resort, "Mrs. Olson, your husband called. He says 'Happy Anniversary.'"

119. That my sweet husband sent me off on a weekend women's retreat at a resort in Garmisch and then planned an all-out "party weekend" with some other dads and all the children.

120. For the father that LeRoy is to our boys-becoming-men and his growing-up-girl.

121. The way that LeRoy lives out his leadership.

122. Learning love.

123. Being loved.

124. Learning to follow and how LeRoy makes the journey a grand adventure.

125. 18 years.

126. The anticipation of being in LeRoy's arms by this afternoon.

*November 20th.

The Last 24 Hours

2011-11-16T14:14:00.000-08:00

"It's like you have traveler's guilt." I let my sweet friend's observation settle over me. Her assertion is warranted and I don't know how to reply. Inside, my spirit is grieved... Have I acted ungrateful? What about my sweet husband who always told me he wanted to make my dreams come true by taking me to see the world? Does he know how thankful I am? Ugh. And I wonder for the jillioneth time, what's wrong with me?

I've heard it said that God stirs up a holy discontent. An unsettling of the heart, heavy with the knowledge that there must be more to do than simply consume. I still want to see the world. But my heart is changed. I want more.

"Based upon what I believe, that doesn't make sense." ~ Francis Chan in reference to living a life full of comfort, security and entertainment

My long suffering family, they listen for the trillionth time as I pour out my heart, struggling to articulate this heaviness. It's LeRoy who announces where we'll begin. The first country we pray for is Spain. The next night, it's France. After that, we lift up Italy. And on it goes. Together, we begin to pray for the whole world. I am relieved. We are doing something powerful to change the world.

And this day. This present day that I have to fully live, fully redeem the time, to make my words the Gospel message in the smallest, (and largest), of encouragements. To make my deeds preach Salvation in small private victories. Easier said than done. It's the epic battle of the wills.

The children get squirrely, (I'm not the only one engaged in an epic battle of wills...), and someone mentions a bike ride. Fresh air + physical exertion = antidote to squirreliness.

Brilliance times four set out for a long ride in the forests and fields. To seize the last of the afternoon sunshine while I stay back in the kitchen to make corn bread to go with dinner: tender beef n' bean stew.

After dinner dishes are cleaned and food put away, we gather in the 'library' for pajama church: a study on angels; and prayer: for each other and the country of Switzerland. And what family time would be complete without a couple of rounds of Golf or a game of Risk?

This was my view of the sunrise this morning. I first noticed it when I went to rouse my children and the church bells rung their deep, echoing 6:55 wake up call. The window was cracked open in the boy's room causing me to shiver as I kissed their chilled foreheads.

To live this day. Complete and content. Fully satisfied in Him. To engage intensely and passionately with the people in my life. To take nothing for granted. To love deeply... right where I'm at and if we're blessed with more travel opportunities, then to embrace the wild grace of it all.

Through the LORD’s mercies we are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. 23. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. ~ Lamentations 3:22 - 23

Gratitude:
106. New favorite tea, given to me as a gift from a dear friend: Bengal Spice Herbal Tea, Celestial Seasonings.

107. Israel's declaration, "Mama! I'm becoming to fear over!" and her giggle when she realized how it came out in her excitement. Her beautiful radiance when she calmly reiterates, "I'm overcoming fear."

108. Brisk autumn walks along paths filled with the schwush, schwush of piles of leaves.

109. Family picnic at the fort in the forest, complete with homemade hot chocolate in a thermos!

110. New favorite candy bar with five layers (five!) of yumminess: Hershey's Take 5. And the way that it reminds me of favorite afternoons spent at Holly's house and how she'd make 7-layer desserts from the Costco-sized box!

111. That Take 5 candy bars aren't available here, except in October. (They have about 1,000 ingredients!)

112. Surprise love notes from LeRoy.

113. The extravagant grace from friends who call spontaneously asking if they can come over to visit and "bring dessert, too." And the love that filled all the spaces when she said, "I think there's someone here who likes chocolate and peanut butter," with a knowing smile because she's one of those people who pays particular attention to what people like and what blesses them.

114. Eli's smile as he holds up a cookie and tells her, "These are my favorite. Thank you!"

115. A crazy-fun family photo shoot during which our incredible friend, (& Co.), took advantage of the fact that we're a bunch of goofballs and caught the essence of who we are in the process.

116. God's grace.

117. Eli's enthusiasm for adventuring on mountain bikes in the forest and the way he watches out for and is patient with his younger siblings.

Marathon

2011-11-10T03:06:00.000-08:00

It was the billboards advertising the 24th Venice Marathon that caught my attention. While I had definitely glamorized the notion of women in my life who had trained for and "given themselves the gift of running a marathon for their 40th birthdays," I also definitely did not aspire to that myself.

But in Venice... Well, that's different.

And when we realized on my birthday this year that the 26th Venice Marathon was almost exactly six months away, well it just made sense to register and begin training right away.

Some of the most inspiring weeks of training came during my cousin's visit this summer as she stayed with us between two different music festivals. I love being around self-disciplined people. I want what they have. I crave that kind of single-mindedness. Especially when they're devoted to mastering an art, principles, character. My cousin, Kristen...

Ah! What I have learned about myself is that I must apply an inordinate amount of just-do-itevness in order to follow through on anything. Kristen... she persisted in making me commit. It went like this, "I have an idea!" (I'm a gifted, excessively talented dreamer. smile.) To which she would reply, "And when will this idea happen? What time should I be ready? When are we leaving?" And she would patiently, albeit determinedly, wait for my committed reply. Which freaked me out. But I learned that committing to something and following through is... wildly. fun! Wildly rewarding!

Thanks to her we went on a grand adventure on the Italian Riviera, explored a bit of Tuscany, did our part in attempting to right the Leaning Tower of Pisa! We attended Zumba classes, ran on the treadmills at the gym, picnicked on the grass at the foot of towering castle ruins, perused the grand hallways of Château de Pierrefonds (with friends from Spokane!), and took in Paris atop Montmartre.

Spending time with someone who lives with tremendous conviction... to witness the fruit of their labors... it is this living with conviction, determination, commitment that I do aspire to! And so, I "signed up" for a "class" on learning such a lifestyle. Hence, the Venice Marathon.

There's so much to share about the training and the actual race itself. The immense disappointment of not finishing the race taught me that it's just as important to know what I'm training for... (as in I trained to finish... not by six hours... just however long it took me... you know me, I'll get there eventually... right?)

I caused a huge spectacle when I arrived at 19.5 miles only to be greeted with fire trucks and police cars blocking the street. Confused, but deliriously happy to be jogging/walking my way through the outskirts of Venice, I approached two men holding up laminated signs, one in English, the other in Italian. The man holding the English sign was a bear of a man and his page read in bright red bold words, "This is the end of the course." I don't remember what the rest of it said -- something to the gist of requiring my removal from the course. All I remember is that my heartbeat quickened.

He wasn't patient. "I'm sorry, mam, but you didn't cross the 30 km line in the required four hours." Or did he say 32 km? I'm still not sure. All I know is that I looked down at my watch. I had been running four hours and ten minutes. I looked past them, trying to see evidence of the course still laid out. Just beyond the flashing lights I noticed the blue marker announcing the 32 km mark.

The next several moments live in my brain like a movie scene. Perhaps I have some Italian in me? I don't know but that I caused a ruckus, my arms motioned wildly, my voice elevating to talk over their elevated voices, "Um, no; This is definitely not the end of the course! I still have six more miles to go! I feel great! I'm strong! I'm going to the finish line... and this is definitely not the finish line!" All this with their thick Italian accents yelling over me and me trying to explain to them that I did not come this far to quit at the 32 km mark. Of course, they're Italian. So they are in my face, in my space, their eyes wide, stubborn, arms motioning wildly in tandem with mine.

And I will forever wonder why on earth I didn't just finally smile, wave friendly, and keep on running. Why I allowed myself to be coaxed into the ambulance, the woman's thick Italian every-syllable-enunciated-emphatically, "Mam, I'm sorry. But you have to get into the ambulance. right. now." My appalled, "The ambulance?! But there's nothing wrong with me! I'm fine! I need to finish this race!" And her, leaning toward me, eyes wild with a mix of sympathy and exasperation, "I'm sorry, mam, you are out. of. time." Then my one last effort, "But my family is waiting for me at the finish line," my mind flashed to where I envisioned my people smiling and cheering for me at the finish, "I have to run to the finish line..."

With that, I climbed into the ambulance. She directed me where to sit. She handed me a foil blanket to wrap around myself. She added insult to injury when she told me to give her my timing chip. She should have left it at that. Left me to process the fact that I was being kidnapped in an ambulance in Venice. But no. She offered me a water. Which sent me into the whole long tirade all over again, belligerently explaining that I didn't need a water -- I needed to finish running the race! That they stopped me short of the finish line and that I was able to finish this thing and... But the ambulance was already driving off to take me to a first aid station a half kilometer away where I would sit with seven other runners, (all injured!), until they could take us to the back side of the finish line. By boat.

And although I was thoroughly and completely engulfed in sadness and disappointment... I'd be lying if I didn't admit to you that I found romance and beauty and adventure and a great storyline in even this. It was just two weeks before that LeRoy and I worked out with Tony Horton and his crew, Tony's statement at the end, "Go out and try something you have to push yourself at; if it doesn't work out, well at least you have a story to tell." And my precious friend, Larry's advice, "Remember, failure isn't fatal." Even what feels like an epic fail.

I'm smiling now as I type the story. There's a lot more to write. Like how the grace and the hugs and the "I'm soooo PROUD of you, Mom!" embraced me and flowed over me when I found my family in the stands, their heads turned toward runners approaching the finish line, expectant, waiting for me to come into sight... while I approached them from behind. It was one of the most disappointing and simultaneously grace-filled moments of my life. To be loved this. much.

So I'm starting over; or should I say, I'm signing up for another "class" on self-discipline, commitment, determination. I want the freedom that is the fruit of a self-disciplined life. I'm beginning the training process over again. This time more slowly to avoid injury. More consistently -- as in, it's a really, really bad idea to take three weeks off to tour Europe during the peak training weeks. I'm implementing lessons I learned in "class" and applying them to this next season.

I'm not registered for another marathon. yet. Though I'm considering a couple of different ones. There's a half marathon in Paris in March. And there's a mini marathon in Luxembourg that Israel wants to run, (she's already started training), on her birthday in May, (which includes a night marathon on the same date).

Funny thing is, while standing at the Starting Line that brisk October morning, I thought to myself, this is great... this one time... I think I'll just soak up this experience and call it good... one marathon in a person's lifetime is plenty... But then... at about the 8 km mark, I reconsidered... actually, I think I'd like to do this again someday. Maybe it was the fact that everyone -- and I mean every one, (which is another blog post for another day) -- was passing me and I was falling woefully behind and thinking, well, shoot, I think I can do better next time... why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do believe I'll give this little marathon thing another shot! Of course, when I didn't get to finish... well, that sorta sealed the deal. But then I can see my cousin's face, that look, (her dogged determination to commitment and single mindedness that inspires me), as I "sorta" kinda, dreamily think about it... {sigh}

I'll keep you posted...

Piecing Together A Family

2011-10-18T10:55:00.000-07:00

We pass mile marker five, round the bend and start up another hill. "Who thought up how long a mile should be?" His strong 16-year old legs pause mid-peddle. "I mean, who thinks up words? You know, what things are called?"

I slow my pace, shorten my stride, catching long breaths on the incline. "Interesting how ideas, inventions... the thing someone has left behind -- that's given a name -- continues to influence the world long after a person is gone, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He stands on bicycle pedals, focuses on dirt path in front of him.

"What is the legacy you'll leave? The one you'll put a name to that will continue to bless people after you're gone?"

"My children." The profundity of his quick response energizes me, inspires me. My heart beats faster and I'm sure it's more than the forcing of forward steps.

Later, Zeke removes cellophane from puzzle box, lifts the lid and spills pieces of landscape across dining room table, place where the fragments of a day get pieced together over evening meals. They begin sorting out the edges and Eli comments on the picture on the box, "I want our lives to look like this everyday."

I pick up a puzzle piece, "It's more impressionistic than it appeared on the box, but altogether whimsical, don't you think?" Only sort of listening, they murmur agreement. It really does look like our lives, I think. In some ways. The attroupement of boys playing football while girl and golden retriever look on. The house in the background with light in the windows... I can practically smell the autumn soup simmering on stove top while mamas sip spicy, aromatic tea and converse.

How many days in these summer months did the children plead to "use up the last of the day's sunshine" so they could finish their game. How reckless to let children play into the moonlight -- past bedtime. And yet, these counter intuitive decisions... They're the reason I dawdle at bedtime, lingering long at bedsides, toggling between requests to "please come read on my bed this time." Wanting to use up the last of the day's moments... listening to hopes, praying together.

Gratitude for the Grace gifts:

88. A box of Bengal Spiced Tea given to me by my friend who "just knew I'd enjoy it" and how she was spot on about that -- so much so, that I rationed it so that it'd last me as long as possible.

89. Deutscher Rapshonig from the Imkerei in Wallenborn -- fresh honey from the bee farm just up the road.

90. Apple Cinnamon tea and I John 4 and 5 first thing in the morning.

91. Hot oatmeal on autumn's chilly morning

92. The kindness in Isaiah's voice when he says, "You seem anxious about something. Is there anything I can get you?"

93. The way Israel sets up her Polish Pottery tea set for a much younger playmate, then teaches her the definition of 'delicate.'

94. Israel's huge organization task she initiates all by herself and her proud declaration after all the home school cupboards are once again in order, "Now you'll be able to find things, Mama!" Adding for good measure -- and because she knows me just this well, "And you won't have to spend so much time looking for your stuff!" Ah! The blessedness of being known and subsequently showered with tangible, extravagant grace!

95. Chili Lemon flavored dried Mango pieces sent all the way from Arizona in a package filled with love from Aunt Nancy and Uncle Brian.

96. Re-discovering the art and romance of living and loving slowly.

97. The stark sadness in moments-too-many-to-count of all the blessings I'm going to miss when we move away from here.

98. How my mama-heart about bursts with gladness when 16-year old son announces that he sorta wishes we were driving to Venice, Italy this weekend instead of flying, "...because I actually really like going on road trips with our family." And here I was thinking that he felt he had outgrown such notions!

99. Anticipating our next road trip and the next audio book we'll "read" together: Kisses From Katie by Katie Davis.

100. Husband who calls before heading home from work, always the same question in varying forms, "How can I best honor you when I get home?" or "Do you need me to do anything for you before I get home?" or "How was your day? Where are you at? And if not at a 10, is there anything I can do to help bring your day up to a 10?"

101. All the ways my sons are walking in their dad's shoes.

102. How when Isaiah asked LeRoy if there was anything he could do to help with dinner and LeRoy said he had it all handled but thank you anyway, Isaiah took up folding all the laundry instead.

103. Tangible bouquet of grace in bright -- oh! so bright! -- splashes of color when a friend arrived with pink daisies and yellow roses. Handed them to me as she walked through my front door, the outside behind her all gray and blustery, the sky about to break loose with October rain.

104. Going through the Beth Moore study Loving Well with three other girlfriends and the way we feel safe to lay our hearts open wide during ensuing conversation. The trust that each will hold the other's hearts gently.

105. And how my boys tolerate listening to the study with us, trying their hardest to giggle inconspicuously when Beth Moore talks about the testy people in our lives, then suggests, "We all have testies in our lives." And the way they ignore all the girly stuff so that they can hear the meat of I John 4.

Gent, Brugge, Antwerp... Belgium!

2011-10-16T10:30:00.000-07:00

The only thing more fun than exploring Europe with family is exploring Europe with more family...

Not just any family. Family I've looked up to as heroes as far back as I can remember. I grew up the oldest grandchild on my father's side -- my father, the second oldest of seven. This meant that my earliest memories were made on my grandparent's farm in North Logan, Utah with aunts and uncles who were in high school and college. My sweetest childhood memories included Sunday afternoons spent around Grandma's dining room table, the piano bench brought in for more seating; the way Grandma got me to eat garden-fresh tomatoes -- the sprinkling of a little sugar from the emerald-green server, and snap beans -- two plump ones at first, then three, perhaps the next week four, until eventually I had a full serving. And endless conversation, everyone engrossed in living passionately. Fully alive. High school musicals, choir performances, motorcycle rides, hikes in the canyon. Palpable joy.

I learned to ride a bike in Grandma's driveway, circling round her Volkswagen Beetle, Aunt Ann cheering on the sidelines. Eventually, my heroes moved on from Cache Valley and my visits consisted of me gathering up yellowed comic books discovered in an old box in the barn and taking them up into the tree house where I'd lay on my back for hours, a cool breeze rustling my leafy loft.

Over time, my aunts and uncles, my heroes, married -- and one by one, I had not six heroes, but twelve. And then they had families of their own. And by then, I was old enough to watch them parent, take notes... covertly intern. I watched them love each other. Deeply. I witnessed them go through hard things. And persevere. I saw them demonstrate the importance of doing the right thing.

All those years I eagerly awaited the monthly installment of the Round Robin. To witness through handwritten letters job changes, moves across state or country or around the world, birth announcements, academic achievements. The struggles and victories shared with typical Whitworth Family humor and wit.

The rich legacy handed down.

Now I marvel at the wonder of sitting at an outdoor cafe in the early hours, us happening upon Gent's largest music festival... or, rather, the morning after an apparently wild night.

We chit chat over pastries and cappuccinos before a walk through the city, snapping photos of the castle, canals lined with quaint boats and narrow houses, enormous cathedrals. Our time is strewn together with smiles and easy dialogue.

Upon reaching Brugge and making our way toward the city center, we pass by a brightly lit, cheerful candy shop. We pause to breathe in the delicious scent of sugar and Aunt Nancy invites us to follow her inside where she tells each of the children to pick out one sweet. And isn't this the coveted prerogative of aunts and uncles, grandmas and grandpas? Moments of lavish grace? It was all just as I remembered growing up... except now this grace is being poured into the next generation, too... like a waterfall that gushes over a precipice only to gather before flowing over the next falls and the next and the next...

And I can't help but marvel as we walk through these ancient cities, at the way Aunt Nancy and Uncle Brian take an interest in my children, ask them questions, listen to their ideas, laugh at their silly antics... gushing grace over the precipice into the next generation, and the next, and the next...

We climbed 366 steps together to the top of the medieval Brugge Belfry where we took in gorgeous views...

...climbed stairs as steep as ladders to windmill doorways...

...operated a nine-person cart along the North Sea beach...

...laughed until our smile muscles ached...

...pedaled and steered wildly... losing shoes but making memories in the process...

...only to finish the day off with gelato... always gelato...

... with some of us sitting for a spell along benches to watch the others splash carefree...

...splashing moments all the way into twilight.

The next morning, Uncle Brian and Aunt Nancy and my cousin, Kristen, met us in the lobby of our hotel near downtown Antwerp. We walked past expensive jewelry stores, store names that included the word "Diamond" in nearly each one. The evening before on a long, long... stressful "didn't we just go down this street" and "seriously? Why does the GPS say our hotel is right there and we're stuck at this dead-end... again??" search for our lodging, we passed many people and individuals in traditional Jewish attire. We learned from reading our tour guide book that this was the Diamond District in the city known as the World Diamond Center... which is also where the Jewish District is located. So we lingered long over pastries in the heart of a place known for its earthly riches as well as a people with a rich cultural heritage. How appropriate! It is times like this that I feel like the richest girl... surrounded by family who pour out a wealth of grace... a generational waterfall of rich heritage.

We reluctantly said our goodbyes, grateful that we would meet up again in several days to spend time at our home before they returned to the States. While they drove North to their next destination, we spent the morning exploring this quaint, cobble-stoned city.

**In fact... I smell homemade pizza baking in the oven as I type... the best part of the pizza being the cheese we bought that morning at the outdoor market!

Grace Gifts:

**75. Cheese bought clear back in July, at the Antwerp, Belgium outdoor market, kept frozen, until this evening when husband grates it onto homemade pizza round.

76. Children who tumble in from spending all afternoon in the forest working on their tree fort... all enthusiasm, all at once, over the supremely successful construction and future architectural visions.

77. How I am simply, inexorably, exhausted and overwhelmed by this mission of parenthood and how it reminds me I'm called to something so much bigger than what I can accomplish by myself.

78. The mercy from eldest son, "Don't worry about it, Mom. I forgive you," when I apologize for a meltdown -- the one where I spoke through gritted teeth until I finally exploded and sent everyone running when I shouted.

79. Girlfriend who stops by "just to give me a hug" and stays for tea, ministering to my heart -- and my marriage -- during her visit.

80. Her words that remain at the forefront of my mind and the visual of Jesus saying, "Don't worry, I've got this!"

81. How God's grace is made tangible when daughter, all frustration and tears and selfishness, takes a deep breath and says quietly, "See? This is why I like to come talk to you," as all repentant she makes things right then skips off to finish the brownie recipe.

82. Israel's, "That's called being mature," when I tell her how much I'm scared and not in the mood to go on a long run in the predawn of the day.

83. Two dates with LeRoy -- in two consecutive days! One on Saturday morning and one on Sunday morning before chiclets stir. And how we laugh and laugh during the parts we relate to and "hmm" during the convicting parts when reading through The Marriage You've Always Wanted by Gary Chapman.

84. And how we have coffee and toast -- his with chunky peanut butter, mine with Speculoos Spread.

85. The way LeRoy constantly thinks of me; like when he mentioned that we'll have to go to Belgium and buy up "a case or two of Speculoos before we go back to the States so you can have it even after we leave."

86. Snuggling up in pajamas with blankets and pillows for pajama church and listening to a sermon on James 1:1-5.

87. Reading together as a family and the way that Tim Huff has a way of writing that makes Christianity raw and real in Dancing with Dynamite. (And how thankful I am that Belinda shared about the author and book on her blog!)

Road Trip Updates, Part III

2011-09-11T14:07:00.000-07:00

At a glance...

From Brugge, Belgium to Normandy, France where we stayed in a hotel on the shores of the English Channel in a tiny village called Coudeville. Omaha Beach. Sunset watching and seashell hunting.
Then we turned east and slightly south, taking in glimpses of the Eiffel Tower as we drove into Paris and to our Young and Happy Hostel in the Latin Quarter. (And this accompanies a story...) Our motley crew toured the Musee D'Orsay, Louvre, and two out of our group ascended the Eiffel Tower while the rest of us explored the Troubidor Area.

Home for 8 hours: unpack, wash all laundry at laundromat, re-pack, bedtime snack, sleep for about 5 hours.

Leave for Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany... an oasis at the foot of the Alps on the border of Austria in Bavaria. Here the children swam and swam at the lodge swimming pool. There was the Neuschwanstein Castle, spectacular views, sketches, and hikes. Linderhof Palace. And soaking in the hot tub back at the lodge. Well, some of us relaxed... At least 4 people played wild crazy in the pool nearby. smile. Of course, we shared huge portions of cream puffs and drank coffee... and soda pop for the children... at the Gorge. We took in views at Lake Eibsee, resting at lake's edge while the children played with the snake that Israel caught.

At last we loaded up and headed deep into Austria, arriving in Vienna in plenty of time to check into our hotel, freshen up, and find the loading dock for our Dinner and Dance Cruise on the Blue Danube. Dreamy. (I'll tell you more later...) And one day to explore this city full of Viennese music and food culture...

So now I finally have a few moments, albeit I'm dog-tired, to let you know where in the world we are. Today I, (we... I promise it wasn't just me this time...), experienced so many breathtaking, romantic moments in Prague in the Czech Republic. I didn't think we'd experience this charming city a second time... but here we are... and our time is filled with whimsy on all accounts... (well, almost...)

Blessings upon blessings keep showering this journey...

I trust your day's journey is blessed, (and full of romance and whimsy), too.

Road Trip Updates, Part II

2011-08-31T00:39:00.000-07:00

The last time I ran on the beach was 20 years ago -- in Pensacola, Florida, hot humidity saturating skin, the occasional dip into the water to cool off. So yesterday's run along the North Sea was magical -- chilly with gray skies as backdrop, whitecapped waves rushing determined onto shore. There was no running into the water; I shuddered in the occasional gust of wind. But I couldn't believe my fortune... to pray in such a gorgeous sanctuary, my legs and heartbeat keeping rhythm, shoe imprints left in wet sand. Magical.

And while I got in my run, LeRoy and the children explored the beach and Grandma & Grandpa and Kathy visited a nearby museum. A luxurious and relaxing way to spend a morning in Den Hague!

Last evening we arrived in Brugge, Belgium. After checking into De Krakele, we took in the windmills in Windmill Park just as the sun began to set. I am typing this now while sitting in the lobby, the children playing a game of pool just to my left. The occasional squabble quietly struggled through, children learning to yield -- to give preference... ahh, aren't we all?

We're in a city we enjoy, ready to explore with people we love...

Road Trip Updates, Part 1

2011-08-31T00:02:00.000-07:00

We're here in Den Hague, Netherlands! And while I sip the [very strong] cup of coffee Zae fixed up for me, ("You may want to add a little more sugar," he said when he handed it to me), Zeke is giving me a little tour of the place -- complete with a library/sitting room filled with shelves of books and a computer to update you all! Out back, just beyond the floor to ceiling windows, there's a canal, (of course, we're in Holland!!), with four swans.

You know... it never. gets. old. Never. Everyday I still have that fluttering in my heart... the flutter that says, Today you're traveling. Expect something new. Something beautiful. Things that are going to take your breath away and never leave you the same.

Alright, Grandma and Grandpa and Kathy, (Aunt Kathy and Uncle Jake and LeRoy's cousin, Kathy), just stepped into the dining room and are ready for breakfast... I'll try to blog from wherever I can duck in for a few minutes and struggle for words to describe this amazing life we're living...

Kisses from Holland!

21 Days

2011-06-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

I Googled "21 days" and came up with 2,810, 000 results. Apparently, one can develop or change any habit in a 21-day period. I wasn't aware of this when I sat across from LeRoy on a quiet morning about 25 days ago. Feeling a sense of urgency, a sense that there's "just gotta be more"... spiritually... physically... mentally... I got the idea that maybe it's time for our family to undertake the Daniel Fast together. But, I live in a family of carnivores... and lovers of all things dairy. And, oh! but those famous weekend breakfasts cooked up by LeRoy complete with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, pancakes! Not to mention the sweet-tooths in this family -- myself included. So, I prayerfully wondered how I could go about getting the family on board with such a project.

A couple of mornings later, as LeRoy and I sat sipping coffee together, the conversation sweet, unhurried, I said, "I was thinking..."

"Wait! Before you say anymore, can I tell you something that I've been thinking about?" I nodded. "I've been thinking that our family needs to do the Daniel Fast." I blinked.

"You do?"

"Yes. Now, what were you going to say?" I smiled. And so, we decided to begin on June 6th, (with one day that we'd take off on June 11th -- meaning we'd add a day onto the end -- in order to celebrate Isaiah's and Eli's birthdays with friends-who-have-become-family). To my amazement, the children didn't balk when LeRoy declared the fast to the whole family. In fact, they took it as a great challenge, (after some wisecracks, of course).

The Daniel Fast is basically a vegan / whole foods way of eating, except that it's limited to fruits, vegetables, whole grains, nuts, legumes, 100% fruit juices, and water. The first few days were a struggle as our bodies underwent detoxification, causing headaches, general sulkiness, and doubt. We prayed together, bolstered one another up and by the beginning of the second week, we mostly settled into the new way of eating.

Personally, I prayed and prayed for major breakthroughs as I've noticed that old nemesis of complacency creeping into the moments of our days. More than anything, I long for our family to love God most. To love Him completely. To follow Him into any adventure without a moment's hesitation. To learn to trust Him, call on Him, depend on Him, find our identity in Him, seek Him. I prayed that giving up normal, everyday things would make us more sensitive to His touch, His leading... all the ways He loves us and draws us to Himself.

Our family had many conversations throughout the fast with many discussions on what it means to "lose ourselves." About God's economy in which His math doesn't equal our math. About laying down our lives. About sacrifice. About giving preference to others. About unconditional Love that knows no bounds. About this calling to live our lives in such a way as to reveal God's glory.

As we entered week three, the boys, weary of yet another fruit smoothie, another vegan bean dinner, asked what in the world this project had to do with worshiping God. I looked at them, genuinely empathetic, "You know where Jesus said, 'Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, For they shall be filled.' [Matthew 5:6] Perhaps this will give us something tangible to relate that to after having given up our favorite foods for 21 days?" I poured orange pineapple smoothie into tall glasses as we mulled that over.

Yesterday we pondered all the blessings from the last 21 days. After some funny, very sarcastic comments, like references to this family being the stinkiest we've ever been, the most regular we've ever been, how thankful we'll be that we don't have to go to a friend's BBQ and eat fruit... the children said: "We have more grace on one another." "We've been more loving, listened better, and we're more understanding." "We're more considerate of one another." "I feel more determined to live for what really matters." (Getting my family to share in my love of all things curry!)

Isaiah summed up the comments by saying, "It's as if I had the coolest, newest, most high-tech video game sitting right in front of me and a few feet away my Bible was sitting there. I want to be the kind of person who pushes the video game aside and reaches for my Bible instead." Me, too.

Our family has joined a few other families to go through The Truth Project, a 12-week series to discuss what is truth. This, along with our nightly family Bible reading, the books we've been reading, the messages we're listening to, the ongoing dialogue with a diverse group of families we spend time with... We are being bathed in His grace; challenged, blessed, and transformed by His grace. And what good is it to be recipients of His grace if we hoard it all for ourselves?

"He has created each of us to take the gospel to the ends of the earth, and I propose that anything less than radical devotion to this purpose is unbiblical Christianity." ~Dr. David Platt, Radical

Over the years, I've come to accept, (oh, who am I kidding? I'm still learning to accept it...), that our family is a disaster. A total wreck. We live precariously, (though I'm convinced not nearly as precarious as we ought). But the purpose? If we're not loving people with Christlike Crazy Love... If we're not sacrificially, wholeheartedly laying it all down, putting everything on the line to love people... Then it's all frivolity. Self-centered indulgence. And I confess, my world is too small. I like my comfort zone. I'm great at initiating relationships and dialogue, but lousy in follow through. So my prayer throughout the fast was that God would transform me into a radical, wholehearted follower of Him who passionately pursues people for Him... to the ends of the earth. It's still my prayer. Every day.

2,810, 000 results. 21 days. This lifelong process of transformation... sanctification. Grateful for His grace throughout the moments. That His glory might be revealed.

Soli Deo gloria.

Thank you, God, for
55. early mornings
56. boy-becoming-man willing to go with me on early-morning runs
57. Your Crazy Love
58. worship choir of birds before dawn breaks!
59. the mission to live radically for Your glory
60. a whole summer of unhurried early-morning family breakfasts!
61. friends who come for tea and conversation every Wednesday
62. open doors and opportunities to live beyond myself
63. new, fun (vegan!) recipes
64. supernatural contentment
65. oldest child setting aside his own agenda to help his sister bandage her finger
66. third oldest pausing to help his sister tie her shoes
67. encouragement, grace, and mercy spoken in potentially provoking situations
68. e-mail from cousin to say her parents are coming with her to Europe (two of my favorite people!)
69. over 3700 e-mails deleted from inbox
70. community
71. faith that grows when I am obedient
72. warm, sunny days followed by chilly, rainy days
73. the request, "When we get home, Dad, will you spend time with me?" and the ensuing time spent with sticks and knives and homemade spears and how-to-carve conversation
74. the stately buck -- with a huge set of antlers -- that stepped out from the woods right in front of us while the boys and I were on our morning run

Just 2 Little Random Things

2011-06-24T01:28:00.000-07:00

1. One year from today, June 23rd, 2012, if all goes as planned, we will return to the States. There are so many thoughts and emotions wrapped into this that I hardly know how to sort it all out. So, I'm reveling in the moments we have in the here and now, meditating on the exhortation in Matthew 6:33-34, "But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. 34.Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." (Just writing that brings up thoughts that could probably easily fill the next 20 blog posts...)

2. My husband.

He's on a roll.

2009 ~ On my 37th birthday, I wandered the corridors of the Roman Coliseum, meandered through ruins on Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum, and got a drawing of my children done by an artist at the top of the Spanish Steps.

2010 ~ "How do you take your tea?" our safari guide asked, his Zambian accent rich and beautiful. He set the tin cup on the hood of the jeep, wisps of steam and aroma filling the space where tea gurgled from the Coleman Thermos. We stood in the shade of an enormous tree with a herd of zebras and impalas grazing nearby. I told the group that I thought it the perfect way to turn 38-years old. They wished me happy birthday... then turned to LeRoy with the question, "How will you top this?"

2011 ~ My 39th birthday was quietly spent at home. It was a relaxed day and we were all still reveling in the amazing holiday we returned from two days before in Croatia. All day I pondered the thought of this being my last year in my 30's... and what significance that had... if any. Right? By afternoon LeRoy and I were in deep conversation about all sorts of topics and the idea of me running a marathon for my 40th birthday came up. (Here is where I tell you that I have never been a runner, never aspired to run more than our cozy little hometown Bloomsday, and that the thought of a marathon always sounded, well, not exactly fun... That is, until we were in Venice, Italy a few years ago... and I saw billboards advertising the Venice Marathon... and, well, that's a different kind of marathon altogether!) That man. I tell you, he lassos the moon for me in a thousand different ways! A while later LeRoy presented me with a printout of the Venice Marathon registration. With my name at the top. Wahoo! Let the training begin!

Grateful for...

53. this moment, right now
54. children, each occupying his or her time in this moment: reading, playing with Legos, setting up a game for me to play with him... (time for me to hit the "Publish Post" button!)

Plitvitze National Park, Croatia -- Day 6

2011-06-23T00:32:00.000-07:00

Last day in Croatia. Breakfast consisted of fruit and the last of the Dalmatian version of Cocoa Puffs. As we drove northeast, higher into the mountains, we watched the car thermometer: 12*C... -1*C... until, finally, as we pulled into the parking lot of Plitvitze National Park, it read -4*C. A thin layer of ice covered the pavement... and stairs. We giggled quietly as we joined the spectacle of a large tour group gripping the stair railing, stepping left foot, followed by right foot, left foot, followed by right foot... a single file line, their huge cameras dangling precariously around necks, sailor-style and straw garden hats on heads, moving at snail's pace.

After patronizing the Visitor's Shop for still-warm baguettes and an extra sweatshirt we set off... not quite knowing what to expect...

Plitvitze is a series of 16 lakes interconnected by waterfalls and surrounded by woodland with deer, bears, boars, and wolves, plus rare birds. "Croatia's landscape is similar to New Zealand," our host told us... which planted a little seed in my brain that perhaps we should visit New Zealand when we get a chance...

This was our first view as we followed the narrow, steep switchback trail leading to the bottom of the ravine.

We walked across, behind, and sometimes right up the middle of waterfalls as we followed a boardwalk...

...seeing clear to the bottom of each lake... wondering about the occasional boat or anchor lying there...

...marveling at the icy aqua and emerald green colors...

...crossing the largest of the lakes on an electric boat...

...reading our brochure about the different carbonate minerals in the water, the minerals that make these lakes what are called travertine lakes... extremely rare...

...known as "Europe's most beautiful lakes."

It took us almost three hours to walk from the lowest lake to the highest lake... Three hours of wonder as we took in the paradise-like landscape. (And no one fell in!! ...Such wonder, indeed!)

On the first day that we had arrived in Zadar, our hosts told us to help ourselves to the outdoor barbeque... then must have had second thoughts when we asked them precisely how to operate the "grill" because they quickly offered instead, "Never mind. We'll cook it for you sometime during your visit."

Ryker explained -- his thick Australian accent as fun to listen to as his stories -- that every Croatian household still uses this ancient method of cooking. He pointed to the ovens in the nearby backyards. "The process is simple," he told us. "It just takes time and attention." We watched as he carefully stacked red hot coals on the lid covering the roasting pan.

He explained how he had built this oven himself, using bricks made the same way out of the same clay that had been used for centuries. "There is a unique method with which the bricks are made and a particular way they must be stacked to hold in the heat so that it cooks the food evenly." His mannerisms were nonchalant, though we could hear the passion in his tone.

After the food was completely surrounded with hot coals, he offered to give us a tour of the house he built -- the one we were staying in on the main level. But there were four more floors and he wanted to show us the top floor, the project he was currently working on.

So, as the sun took it's time setting, Ryker and his wife, Nives, gave us a tour, all the while fascinating us with stories of their lives, their hopes, and dreams. Their passion, contagious.

The children played, content, by the water, skipping rocks, looking for treasures... and crabs...

...playing with the scorpion they found.

We stood on a balcony facing south and Ryker said, "There, see that hill right there?" We looked east in the direction he pointed. "The enemy attacked our village from the top of that hill. They had cannons," he paused, smiling slightly, as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the water, "but they were too powerful and most of their cannons landed in the water."

"Not all of them," Nives said in her soft voice with the strong Australian accent like her husband's.

"No, not all..." he pointed to a few remaining shells of houses nearby. "The villagers didn't have the ammunition we needed to fend them off, but we kept fighting anyway and finally they turned back." We looked at him, wanting him to tell us more. He obliged. "Most of the people in this area fled to Australia for safety."

He told us about another war in his childhood and the memories of his parents fleeing to Australia with him and his brothers. Different wars. Different times. Ryker has memories from both of them.

He affectionately put his hand on his wife's shoulder, quietly mentioning that he had to check on the meal. Nives smiled as she took over the storytelling. She, too, had parents who fled from Croatia to the safety of Australia during the bombing that took place during WWII. And although she is a soft-spoken woman, her fierce love and loyalty for her husband and children is evident in her composure, in her stories.

Evening waned on. A good thing since we weren't ready for our visit to end. We longed to linger extra long in the moment and it seemed we were being indulged in our wish.

Did you notice there are five children in these photos? Ryker's and Nives' son, about Israel's age, played with our children. They were fast friends in no time and by the end of the night, there was an exchange of e-mail addresses and the comments, "Man, I wish we had more time!"

I know this is bad, but I honestly can't remember what kind of meat Ryker cooked for us! All I know is that it was some of the juiciest, tastiest meat I've had in a long, long time! I guess I was so caught up in the stories that I forgot to take note of some of those finer details. What I remember is that everything was delicious! The whole evening! These people who I so quickly came to love, respect, and admire.

Over dinner we talked about politics, culture, and family. We talked about Jesus and the significance of Easter. We talked about marriage and parenting and the values of our day and the cultural war. We talked late into the night exchanging stories and memories, laughing together... becoming friends.

Our entire time in Croatia was filled with wonderful memories. But this last night was definitely the highlight of our holiday. It always comes down to relationships, doesn't it?

Happy In Portugal

2011-05-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

Definitely. Visit. Portugal. the next opportunity you get. Specifically the Southern Coastline.

Slathered in sunblock, we played allllllll day in the sunshine. First on a boat that gave us quite a ride on some hearty waves as we made our way along "postcard fame" rock formations. Perhaps I captured postcard worthy photos? (When asked her favorite part of the boat trip, Israel answered, "The huge waves." I smiled ~ this daredevil daughter of mine.) Then, we made our way to the quiet village of Salema where it seemed we left real life and played within the pages of an exotic get-away holiday magazine.

Yesterday we... oh, hold on... it`ll be much better when I add a picture to go with a somewhat creepy experience... I`ll tell you when we get back home.

Tomorrow, bright and early, we have reservations for a Seafari to take a boat far out into the Atlantic Ocean to interact with dolphins. On our last evening here we hope to sit on the "edge of the world" to watch the sun set...

Working on our collection of memories...

Looking forward to sharing...

Ancient Croatian Castles and Lunch in Bosnia -- Day 5

2011-05-27T03:42:00.000-07:00

Croatia's landscape, a poetic mix of pulchritudinous discoveries. From her exquisite waters, across rugged grasslands, to the peaks of the Dinaric Alps, we marveled at the juxtaposition of such beauty in this war-torn land.

Our drive to the town of Knin consisted of conversation regarding this "former Yugoslavia." What did that mean? Driving past dilapidated homes, whole villages all but abandoned, we read and asked questions about this people with their sense of fortitude and bold determination. What was the fight about? Why the bloodshed?

I recalled a friend from back home in Washington state, her Bosnian accent thick and full of emotion, "It seemed that over night everything changed," she said. "One day we were all fine. And the next day you couldn't trust anyone. It was brother against brother, father against son," she gestured wide with her arms, "even your best friend who you grew up with... no one, no one could be trusted." Her eyes were wide, filled with longing, as she spoke about her mother and siblings who were still in a refugee camp waiting for visas to come to America.

Now, to meander through fields, past vineyards, wave to the woman herding sheep... two and a half decades ago feels a little surreal... perhaps even, in some small way, tangible...

We arrived in the town of Knin, nestled in a lovely valley, surrounded by the Dinaride Mountain Ranges, overlooked by an enormous castle fortress on the hillside.

More history. Ottomans. Kings and knights. Christians and Catholics. Dungeons, moats, and drawbridges.

Why walk across a drawbridge when we can storm the castle via the moat?

How is it that I can always hear the rhythmic clop-clopping of horse's hooves when entering through castle gates?

To be able to trace the lines of cobblestone walkways, touch the side of an arch, be able to hear the stories written here...

To explore ancient corridors, walk in the footsteps of those in the 13th century...

...Wonder what their daily battles were back then. Back then... when entire kingdoms were at stake. Back then... Entire kingdoms. Entire kingdoms... Same stories... Different century.

Taking in views through fortress wall windows...

Admiring the panorama...

Taking in a valley of stories... recreating history in our imaginations...

A short time later we crossed through the border patrol into Bosnia and Herzegovina. Entered through the Knin Gate, wound our Riviera-acclimated selves to frosty altitudes to have lunch in Bosnia.

With gorgeous scenery...

...framing crumbled cottages... homes that belonged to families who fled to safety when the war began.

Where do families run to safety when the infrastructure of their relationships crumble... lives framed by beautiful Western suburbia?

...to stand in spaces different than we prepared for...

...to get momentary glimpses into different ways of life...

...virtual world fading to real life... textbook knowledge and CNN, mere schema as reality stimulates senses. The town we drove into, we would have missed it had I not looked up just in time to see the hearty "Welcome to Bosansko Grahovo," bold and slightly bigger writing on an otherwise blank space on the map in my lap. I was expecting... something else.

Nearly deserted, with roofless buildings lining streets, a school building with broken out windows and peeling paint, we rolled to a stop along the street to ask for directions.

"Excuse me, sir... you speak English?" LeRoy and the man, his eyes engaging, his jawline strong, exchanged smiles.

"Yes," his tone invited LeRoy to go on.

"We're looking for a cafe... or restaurant?"

His smile, even more amiable, "Ah, yes! Just up the street. There..." he said pointing and then leaning in, "not that their food is any good, though." We chuckled and offered our thanks as we drove away.

"Well, I'll go in and check it out and then come back and let you know." LeRoy disappeared into the tiny cafe. We waited in the car for several minutes until a chocolate Labrador, large but puppy-like in his playful prance, walked by our car. One by one, children clambered out, running circles in a game of tag with their new-found friend. I watched for a bit until, impatient, I got out to join them on the sidewalk, the crisp air causing me to shiver as I wrapped my jacket tighter around me. We I waited there, glancing over at the cafe entrance, thinking LeRoy would come walking out any moment. The children played nearby, their laughter echoing off crumbling concrete walls across the street.

What was taking him so long anyway?

The glass door swung open easily, my arm catching it just before it hit the wall. Peering into the salmon-colored room, empty except for the two men drinking coffee at a sun-splashed table near the front, I stepped inside. That's when I heard LeRoy's laughter -- you know, that we've-been-friends-forever-and-we-were-just-catching-up kind of laugh. Looking toward the dim kitchen in the back, I saw LeRoy's outline along with two other figures.

"Hello?" I called softly.

"Oh! Hey Sharon! You want to get the children? We'll have lunch here." He strolled around the counter, still smiling, followed by a waitress and an elderly woman dressed in typical Serbian house dress and scarf tied on hair.

Apparently, because of the language barrier, the two women invited LeRoy back to the kitchen to show him what they had available. He related to me later, "They motioned for me to follow them around the counter and then, in Bosnian, told me what was cooking in each kettle, while pointing and nodding and smiling. It looked and smelled good. And they seemed to recommend it... so, I thought it would be a great place to eat!"

It was perfect. Everything. Shortly after sitting at our table, two Border Patrol workers strolled in. One of them was a woman who immediately walked over to our table and struck up a conversation with us. She spoke perfect English -- with a beautiful accent. Not only did she translate for us with the two women running the kitchen, but we had a fascinating conversation about the history, legacy, and modern culture of Bosnia. She was passionate and smart... and kind. And we marveled -- again -- at these beautiful moments in which we get to connect with people in the most unlikely places.

We were taken back when she told us that the school nearby -- the one with the broken out windows -- only held "school through the second class."

"You mean, they hold school in that building?" She nodded her head yes.

"But only through second class because the building is falling down. So they bus the older children to a larger village with a new school about an hour from here." Does that challenge any of your paradigms the way it does ours?

Balkan food...

The goulash-like dumpling and beef stew... (Well, we don't actually know if it was beef... But it was delicious! We would have asked our 'translator' but it was so delicious that we didn't even think about what kind of meat it was until we were on our way home. smile.)

The cevapi, (pronounced che-vah-pee), famous in Bosnia (as well as along the Croatian coast), with its soft fried bread filled in the middle with sausages. It came with a generous helping of bright red ajvar, (the Serbian version of mayonnaise, only made of mashed eggplant and red pepper... mmmm-delicious!), to spread on the inside.

On the way home we detoured, (always and forever detouring...), to the tiny village of Skradin where we wandered through narrow alleys as we climbed to castle ruins with great views.

Lesson learned: ancient castle ruins... are still crumbling. Seconds after taking this photo of Israel, Isaiah pulled a good-sized chunk of rock loose... on his head. Instantly, the gash in his head... gushed...

Ah, well. We used my wadded up jacket for compression then made our way down to the car, the scene becoming a sort of First Aid station, Nurse Mama praying for wisdom and cleansing the wound. A short time later, we stopped at a gas station / cafe where Eli asked for ice (typically a rare commodity anywhere in Europe). He emerged from the cafe chuckling and as he handed Zae a bag of ice for his head, he told us, "The man's accent was hard to understand but he was so nice. He handed me the ice and said, 'He got in a nasty brawl, did he? I hope the other guy is okay.'"

The drive home was quiet, peaceful. The children mostly slept while LeRoy and I dialogued about the events of the day. By the time we arrived home, Zae's head was already mending. Quick showers, fresh pj's, a bedtime snack... another day ended with covers tucked under chins, prayers of thankfulness for the plethora of blessings dousing our moments.

To fall asleep with visions of crumbling architecture, warm people rebuilding lives...

stories...

Split, Croatia -- Day 4

2011-05-03T01:58:00.000-07:00

It seems it takes me way too long to upload pictures... to document these family adventures. While thinking out loud the other day, I lamented about this to my family. Suggested that maybe I not do it at all? But they -- these people whom I journey with on a day to day basis -- reminded me that I'm documenting for them... and for their children. "Mom! I like reading back to old posts and looking at pictures from all the places we've visited!" oh goodness. and i considered not continuing on?... so with the sentiment that this is better late than not at all... {humble smile}

We don't usually patronize such "exotic" restaurants in our travels... But this lolling holiday -- literally rolling out of bed after the sun is positioned well into the day -- put us into that category of "spontaneously winging it." Still, ordering from the Golden Arches in Croatia is more fun than, oh, say... California...

Upon reading about the city of Split, we discovered that it is the smaller version of Dubrovnik -- which is said to be the "darling of Croatia." Since Dubrovnik was a good five to six-hour drive from our apartment in Zadar... well, we decided Split, only 2 hours south, would do nicely.

We arrived in the city -- using the last of our GPS power to find the Old Town -- parked, blogged, drank Coca-Colas, and people-watched.

Zeke looking at a picture of what Diocletian's Palace looked like when it was first built.

This is how it goes: I am one of those people. You know the ones. They read the tour guide, the museum brochure, the back of the city map, the informational plaques with detailed explanations... from cover to cover, first word to the last period. (Yes, I read the acknowledgements and introductions in books, too.)

So we started our visit of Split with me gathering my little tour group, opening up Rick Steves' Croatia and Slovenia, reading the beginnin... oh, wait... there's an ice cream stand... but I thought we used ice cream as an incentive to get through mom's miles of walking "tours"... during which she deliberates on every. single. aha. and date. and event. and.

Ah, well. LeRoy mixed it up for us, finding refreshment at the beginning of the journey this time!

As we made our way through the tunnels of Diocletian's Palace, leading through thick walls, we stepped out into the main court to the lovely sounds of accapella coming from the top of a staircase.

When we investigated, we found this group of singers, famous in the Dalmatia region for their music. The acoustics there in Diocletian's former foyer were incredible... Of course, after the group had moved on, we tried our voices in the same foyer... and though we didn't sound exactly as amazing as them, we think that with some practice...

As we walked away, the children looked at me wide-eyed, "Mom! Aren't you going to regret not getting a CD? Remember Rome?!" Ah, yes, I can still hear the deep refrains of the opera singer in Piazza della Rotonda in Rome! (Perhaps we'll return there?) I held up the CD I had just purchased. They smiled. This tradition... taking home the music we experience in our travels... The later dinner conversations, "Remember when..." and the impending scramble to put on the CD from that particular memory...

We toured the ancient Cathedral of St. Domnius...

...stood at the center of the transverse road, the Decumanus Maximus...

...posed for photos in the Peristyle...

...sang loudly in Diocletian's formal entryway where the oculus roof has since collapsed...

...meandered through tunnels...

...and narrow streets...

...exploring courtyards with residential apartments...

...a famous chocolatier, fancy clothes shops, quaint cafes...

...watched people sipping coffee, conversing leisurely...

...before stepping back out to the promenade... in search of a beach...

...where we got lost, came to a dead end, and had to backtrack, adding another thirty minutes or so to our walk... laughing in spite of ourselves... enjoying the togetherness of the adventure...

...until we finally found the beach we were looking for (in the opposite direction we initially walked! smile)...

...where the children played in the sand...

...and splashed in the Adriactic Sea... while LeRoy and I drank coffee and watched from the terrace of the seaside cafe... the warm salty breeze caressing skin, melodic Croatian language filling in all the spaces, the waitress's patient reply to my surprise when the large coffee I ordered was no more than a couple of ounces, the luxury of not being in a hurry.

At last, we made our way back to the promenade where we ate in a cozy restaurant... our waiter, sober and a little impatient... the children conspiring to lighten the mood and make him smile... the victorious expressions on their faces when they bantered politely, using all their best manners, causing the waiter to banter back, smile long... even comment on "such well-behaved children"...

...ending dinner with a "traditional Dalmatian dessert"... a sort of pudding with caramel sauce... which we all tried at least one bite of and unanimously agreed that it resembled what we imagined a soggy pancake with tasteless syrup on it would taste like.

The day ended with a stroll down the promenade where there were lots and lots of couples kissing, a hike up, up, up steep, narrow alleys that wound through a residential area, up many, many, many stairs to the top of Marjan Hill where we were rewarded with a beautiful view of the city and water below. There was also a quiet cafe with one solitary couple cuddled up on the terrace, occasionally stealing kisses, who graciously un-cuddled momentarily to take our picture.

After that, we made our way back down all those stairs in pitch-black dark, walked past all those kissing couples along the promenade (Eli said they should re-name the street, Kissing Lane), got to our car before they closed the parking lot, proceeded to get lost for almost 45 minutes trying to get home without the GPS -- during which LeRoy and I managed, miraculously, to hold our composure and not get in a fight! -- until, finally, the children drifted off to sleep and LeRoy and I indulged in conversation for the duration of the drive.

Thank You, God, for...
37. history,
38. story,
39. people,
40. sunshine,
41. family along for the adventure,
42. tasteless desserts,
43. bare feet,
44. smiles on faces,
45. children who genuinely enjoy one another (most of the time),
46. a patient family who goes along with Mom's long narratives,
47. children full of curiosity,
48. husband interested in historical significance,
49. sea gently lapping onto shore,
50. ice cream,
51. Rick Steves and the fact that he lives his passion,
52. foreign cities,
52. ancient cultures.

Paklenica National Park, Croatia -- Day 3

2011-04-24T06:00:00.000-07:00

"You really should visit Paklenica National Park," Mike, our car rental agent, says as he scribbles some numbers and a signature across rental agreement in triplicate, "they hold the international free climbing championships there every year. Every year," he pauses for effect, "someone falls." His hand glides off the page in a grand gesture, handing the clipboard to my husband for final authorization. "They love it."

Intrigued by a canyon that draws people to challenge themselves to conquer it's massive sheer faces simply for the thrill of the conquest, we set out late Sunday morning to explore. About an hour's drive northeast of Zadar, Paklenica is located in the southeastern part of the Velebit Mountain Range.

We drove up a road barely wide enough for one vehicle... in spite of the fact that it was a two-way road... thankful we had already parked on a narrow ledge off to the side when a commercial tour bus sped past us.

Water bottles. Check. Sunblock. Check. Spirit of adventure. Check.

The path was filled with an eclectic bunch of climbing enthusiasts. Hippies who belayed for shirtless, long-haired buddies with shaking calves, their metal anchors clink-clinking from belts around their waists. Whole families, with mamas pushing strollers that did double-duty carrying baby and climbing gear. Men, who looked to be in their 60's, serene and focused, as they stretched muscles on yoga mats.

A perfect, 22-degree Celsius day, the sunshine splashing warmth into the deep gorge, climbers whose feet search for a hold and those planted firmly on the ground, grateful for shade along the route.

While we mostly stayed to the path... the children constantly explored off the beaten path... upped the ante, created new paths...

...spilled some blood only to be bandaged by a soft-spoken samaritan named Melda from Dubrovnik.

Unlike any hike we've ever taken, we stopped every so often to look up at the gray stone walls towering above us, spotting climbers clutched precariously as they ascended.

Climbers that rested on thin ledges.

My own free-runners jumping boulders...

"Insurmountable" challenges. After hiking Paklenica, well, we have some new paradigms, some new ways to evaluate "impossibles." We arrived back at our cozy nook on the Sea worn out and totally inspired.

Zadar, Croatia -- Day 2

2011-04-16T15:57:00.000-07:00

It seems that sleeping in was the prescribed modus operandi for this particular holiday as every day except one this family slept well into the late morning hours. Eventually though...

...we made our way into the nearby village of Zadar -- a town over 3,000 years old, it is one of the oldest cities in Croatia. We peeked into the famous St. Donat Church, built in the 9th century, stepped over (and jumped off of) Roman ruins...

...(or climbed inside)...

...meandered our way down to the waterfront...

...where we watched with awe and fascination the goings on of the underwater world -- a world we could see to the bottom of in spite of the depth of the water. Our imaginations came up with entire stories for the numerous schools of fish down there.

Of course, there was an Olson Family school of fish -- at least the shadowy semblance of one.

And we were careful to mind all the rules...

Rule #341... If a large standing object exists which you can climb atop of, you are required to do so, with the intended goal of leaping off as far as you possibly can.

Rule #342... If a water levy exists, you must run out and explore to the end of it. No exceptions.

Eventually we ran out of waterfront to meander along, so we followed the ancient fortress wall into the small harbor, circling back through ancient city gates, looking for proper lunch food... or ice cream -- whichever came first.

Crossing over a large pedestrian bridge led us to this Fast Food stand around the corner where the children and LeRoy ordered Sprites, pommes frites (french fries in German and, apparently, Croatian too?) and regular American cheeseburgers. I ordered some funky orange drink with "9 vitamina" in it and a Mali Cevapi -- the Balkan specialty (to which LeRoy said that I actually ordered better than him this time. It's usually him that orders better and it's me eating half his order!).

We arrived home to this scene! So LeRoy took a late afternoon nap. The children played in the water, skipped rocks... and entertained a dog that adopted them. I took advantage of the peace, seizing the opportunity to soak up some Vitamin D, (just in case Vit. D wasn't part of the 9 vitamina in my drink earlier), and read a book.

Such peaceful, lazy, sunshiny days! I had to keep reminding myself it was okay to simply BE! It was wonderful being called every few seconds, "Mom! Watch this one!" as the rock skipping competition revved up another notch. To laugh with the children over the silly dog that refused to chase sticks but loved to retrieve and then chew on the rocks the children threw. The dog they lovingly named "Jerry." To admire cool rocks, sticks, and creatures found by my four treasure-hunters.

By the time LeRoy awoke from his nap and announced we were going to take a family walk to the Marina, we were ready.

The children tested each pier along the way.

I love this sign, "I AM HERE." As if boldly stating, "I am here. In this moment. Right now. Fully present. Fully alive. PROFOUNDLY GRATEFUL!"

Perhaps next time I make a toast I will clink my glass with yours and say, "TU SAM!" (Croatian for "I am here!")

The sun was setting as we set out for home -- a different way than we traveled the first time, making for an adventure with only a bit of misdirection.

Still, we made it home in time to take in the evening's sunset and relish the cool evening breeze. To lean into one another and be eternally grateful.

Bibinje, Croatia -- Day 1

2011-04-16T12:28:00.000-07:00

We didn't research this one. Sometimes we do. This time we took each moment as it came, beginning with the traditional two-hour wait at Frankfurt-Hahn Airport where we checked in and then relaxed.

The children immediately started a round of Golf. (Thank you, Brian and Cindy!)

Our 2-hour flight was uneventful, landing in Zadar where we were greeted with a cloudless sky, palm trees, 72-degree weather and... a problem with our rental car reservation... which gave our budding herpetologists time to hunt...

This little diversion for the kiddos was perfect while us grownups reassured the rental agent repeatedly that "it was no problem." It turns out that the website advertised wrong and apparently we reserved a car that doesn't exist in their company. It was a beautiful, grace-filled moment in which we told the agent, "We're not worried. Will you help us figure out our options?" At this, he was incredibly helpful, bending over backward to get a hold of another company with a car that could seat six. It felt like we had been practicing love and now, here... Love is patient.

Though, I'm not sure the local reptiles shared our sentiments...

Another American family stood in line with us to get their rental car. The dad watched my children and then gave me a bit of encouragement I grabbed at just a little too eagerly, "Wow. Your kids catch creatures." I smiled and nodded, asking if his children were the same. He continued, "My kids are interested but they wouldn't even think of touching anything that crawls! They're more apt to say, 'Oh look! A DS! Catch it!'"

Ah! Those hand-held digital gaming systems! I proceeded to tell him that I could relate... That I had declared no digital entertainment while on holiday and that my children, well, what could they do... shrug their shoulders and... catch lizards instead, I guess.

After a while, Mike brought us a rental car and wrote a list of the top places in the area to visit. We drove the 15 minutes to the little resort town of Bibinje, (pronounced Bib-in-yay), proceeded to get lost, asked directions from a handful of men sitting in the shade outside a cafe, and then waited while one of the men called our hostess for us on his cell phone affirming she'd "be right down to meet us." A few minutes later and sweet Nives, (pronounced Neev-us), led us to the apartment.

We could hardly believe the view. Hadn't Eli told me earlier that very morning that his dream was to someday stay in a place that had the sea out the back door? I turned to look at him and, well, his smile said it all.

Our apartment was on the main level... the one with the stairs leading down to the water.

After a quick adventure to the nearby Interspar Grocery Market, we made dinner and ate out on the balcony.

Croatia is full of wonderful people... but our favorites were definitely our hosts, Nives and Ryker.

The children waded in the water and skipped rocks as the sun set.

LeRoy and I sipped wine and listened to waves lap gently against the shore. A short time later, Zae and Israel sat down on the couch in the living room and were asleep within a couple of minutes. It wasn't long before we all followed suit.

Croatia... Zadar & Split...

2011-04-11T06:01:00.000-07:00

Greetings from the Backpacker C@fe in Split, CROATIA! According to Google maps, we're a 12-hour drive from our home in Germany to our holiday apartment in Zadar (the same distance from our home in Spokane, Washington to my sister's house in Ogden, Utah). Another several hours and we could tour Macedonia and then, a little further south, Athens, Greece. We are constantly amazed at the short distances between us and a whole world of history and culture.

And this Croatian world! Beautiful. Simple.

This morning we followed the coastline almost fours hours south of our village, Bibinje (pronounced Bib-in-yay), just outside of Zadar to tour Roman Ruins in the "atmospheric Old Town" in Split. As soon as I finish writing this we're going on Rick Steve's Self-Guided Tour of Dioklecijanova Palača.

So far... well, we're enjoying an abundance of sunshine, making a plethora of memories... and we can't wait to share pictures and stories. Back at our apartment, the children are spending nearly every second playing in the Adriatic Sea.

Yesterday, we hiked in Paklenica National Park, wowed by extreme rock climbers scaling sheer cliffs. Immensely inspiring!

Inspiring. Inspired. Loving it here... loving our time together as a family. Enjoying deep conversations. Reevaluating a few things. Relaxing. Laughing much.

Can't wait to share more...

One Day Without Shoes

2011-04-06T00:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, April 5th... {long, weary sigh... what do they say, "A day late and a dollar short"?} Ah, well, never mind. I'm passionate enough about this whole YOU WERE BORN TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE... WHAT'S YOUR IDEA TO CHANGE THE WORLD thing that I don't mind how late I am... I've jumped in as soon as I realized.

Realized what, you ask. Well, many (most?) of you probably went without shoes yesterday in honor of "One day without shoes," a day that Blake Mycoskie put in motion to bring about awareness for children who don't have shoes in third world countries. So. Today. I'm going without shoes.

Today. I'm going about my day with bare feet and whenever anyone asks me why I don't have shoes on I'm going to ask them what their idea is that could change the world -- another person's life. I'll tell them about one person's vision and the impact it is having on the world -- how it's changing lives... one life at a time.

And I'm going to think about my little corner of the world... and do some mental/heart inventory... and ask myself these same questions.

How about you? What is your idea to change the world?

Photo: my children at the North Sea just outside of Amsterdam, Netherlands. July 2009.

Planting Season

2011-03-18T09:53:00.000-07:00

Every few weeks we meet at Sarah's house. The house on the top, top floor... at the top of a typical German house with a winding marble staircase, the landing outside her doorway decorated to greet visitors with a five-star candlelit flourish. I feel as though I'm visiting someone famous, the fact that I push her doorbell and she must "buzz" me through the main entry on the ground floor. I'm giddy at the thought. Sarah is famous. She is a daughter of the King. She's royalty! So is Jeri and Lisa. These women who form a creative community, gathered to share raw art, to draw feedback, critique... pour courage in to press on.

There are always yummy treats on the menu: the last time an incredible Italian feast cooked up by Sarah who had just returned from a weekend with her husband in Pisa; this time fruit and pastries... and tomatoes and mushrooms!... Jeri's scrumptious offering. And always, French Pressed coffee, a Coca Cola for Jeri. Each visit, we celebrate, breathe, and eat! art. Inspiration.

We chat over manuscripts, story ideas; seeds of prose and photographs. This journey and the thrill of our daily anthologies as part of the bigger story. His story.

Jeri handed me two plants as I was leaving, "There," she said matter-of-fact, "so that you can plant something with Israel." I am giddy -- yes, that word again -- with anticipation. To plant something. To run reckless in this season of breakthroughs.

I ask her, "What if I kill them?" I give her my don't-you-know-I-kill-all-my-plants-and-I-need-to-know-if-you're-okay-with-that look. I resolve in my "heart of hearts" that I'm going to tend well to these plants, keep them alive.

She says cheerfully, "If you kill them," pausing before gushing her famous enthusiasm, "we can always get more!"

The children were playing basketball in the driveway when I pulled up. I walked over to Israel, her dribbling and then holding the ball to peer into the bag as I held it open for her. "These plants are gifts from Miss Jeri... so that you and I can plant them in the garden together."

She responded with a fist pump and, "Yes! Finally! It's the season to plant!" I smile.

We churned the earth, dug deep, sifted layers of soil and fertilizer, placed the plant and covered it all round the roots.

It all felt reckless. This planting... hoping.

Israel's determination. Her confident decision-making. "We'll plant them here." And she digs deep, never hesitating... while I stand there watching, humming and hawing over inches and aesthetics, strategies, and managing to keep it all to myself even when I think that maybe we're doing it all wrong and I am tempted to put the whole thing on hold until we can go check out an armload of books from the library on how to garden. On how to grow things.

Like my propensity to sign up for one more conference, one more workshop, one more class. To fill my brain and master avoidance techniques. To analyze and scrutinize the project until I've talked myself out of the jump. Instead, I breathe deep, allow my daughter to be my guru of hope. To put plants into soil with bold determination.

Our small writer's group exists to spur one another on. To make progress on projects. To plant seeds and water them. To go for breakthroughs.

And I continue to learn to be messy. To overcome my addiction to self. To splash in vulnerability. In... imperfection? To live and breathe in Spirit's grace. Oh Lord! May it be so!

And when the project dies?

"Failure isn't fatal." Larry T., precious spiritual father, who repeats this over and over, pours courage in, willing us to keep going, stay strong, cling to Grace, never stop hoping, dreaming, pursuing.

Several days after all our tender loving care and an ever-wilting flower, I opened this book, What I Learned From God While Gardening by best-selling author, Niki Anderson, in hopes of gleaning some gardening wisdom.

She writes, "Seeds are marvels of nature. Tiny depositories of nature. Miniature storehouses entrusted with a plan.

...Could it be that tucked inside all humankind is a blueprint for the impossible, similar to that which resides in a seed?... Faith is the latent power abiding within, smaller than a mustard seed, but powerful enough to fulfill God's purposes."

So I look on my sad flowers, smile sympathetically, pour water around its roots, hope it will revive. Perhaps I'll have to get new ones. Try again.

But I'm ecstatic. It's planting season. I am filled with awe and wonder over the mystery of the seed. I want to fill my garden with seeds of love, patience, forbearance. And words. Might it be a season to plant words, string them together on heart's lattice, offer my messy endeavors in vases of hope, tied with ribbons of grace, to fellow gardeners, artists? My fellow sojourners who are living out their own "blueprint for the impossible"?

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." ~ Hebrews 11:1

Seeds of Gratitude:
24. husband who lifts weights with me at the gym
25. friend who offers me coffee, a slice of "very nutritious bread," and conversation in the midst of mop buckets and Windex and Lysol
26. seeds
27. 5 AM workouts with husband who laughs with me and challenges me at the same time
28. words... all the ones filled with so much honor... the ones that make souls stronger
29. woman at checkout who saves an airman's dignity by purchasing his groceries when his debit card won't work and then tells me with a smile that "God sees"
30. my son, Isaiah, who exclaims, "Talk about making grace tangible!" when I tell him the story of the airman and the woman who paid for his groceries
31. second tries... and third... and fourth... and...
32. the dare to practice love that is not irritable,
33. love that believes the best,
34. love that is not jealous but that roots for another's success,
35. love that makes good impressions... that greets another so as to demonstrate genuine joy in getting to share life with them
36. love that's unconditional! oh! the grace!

The Dare

2011-03-13T04:54:00.000-07:00

"What if," I look into their eyes, pause to make sure I have their attention, "for Lent, we did the 40 Day Love Dare as a family?" I explain the premise of the book, that it's written for married couples to learn to love one another better, but that we could tweak it for a family. We dialogue about God's passion for us... how that Love Himself would live among us as a man and then give His life for us. And the children, all enthusiasm, ask me why we have to wait a week until Ash Wednesday, "Can't we start now?"

So for the next six days the conversations, anticipation, questions... meanings... discussions. We consider love -- as a verb. We practice loving attitudes. We pray. I quietly smile, expectant of God-size revelations, when oldest child says with relief, "At least we won't have to give up anything."

One conversation -- two days before Day 1 -- gets heated and I blurt out the challenge borne from my own recent convictions, "I double. dog. dare you... to fast from any sense of self-preservation... all defensiveness... for the duration of Lent." My boy looks at me, incredulous. I go on, more in admonishment of self than to him, "To love selflessly. Completely... selflessly."

He looks at me wide-eyed. Wild-eyed? Ponders long. "That's not... possible!" I smile gentle, empathetic to this challenge, give his steely resolve time to slowly set in.

This resolve to "...do small things with great love." ~ Mother Teresa

Day 1 ~ Love is patient. "Patience brings an internal calm during an external storm."

"For the next day, resolve to demonstrate patience and to say nothing negative to your [family] at all."

Day 2 ~ Love is kind. "Patience avoids a problem; kindness creates a blessing. One is preventive, the other proactive."

"...do at least one unexpected gesture as an act of kindness."

At the end of day 2 my friend asks me how our love dare is going. I report reflectively, then ask her how their love dare is going. She reflects, too, and I relate to her account. Oh, how I relate. This giving up of self. Laying it all down to demonstrate... to live... Love.

Day 3 ~ Love is not selfish. "Love does not seek its own." (I Corinthians 13:5)

"It's hard not to care for something you are not investing in. ...[invest] something [of yourself for your family members] that says, 'I was thinking of you today.'"

Day 4 ~ Love is thoughtful. "How precious also are Your thoughts to me... How vast is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand." (Psalm 139:17-18)

Ask your family members during the course of the day how they are doing and if there is anything you can do for them.

Day 5 ~ Love is not rude. "Will you dare to be delightful?"

"Ask your [family members] to tell you three things that cause him or her to be uncomfortable or irritated with you."

...And this fast from self-justification. To dare to move from self preservation to brave determination. To overcome my narcissistic tendencies and behaviors. To love recklessly. To pray and pray and pray as I boldly engage my family, longing to bring them on this journey of discovering we have all that we need, abundance overflowing, and that we can freely live to give it all away.

"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." ~ Jim Elliot

"Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you'll have it forever, real and eternal." (John 12:24-25, The Message)

This laying down of our selfishness, this yielding of our rights. This journey of joy as we follow Love all the way to the Cross. To make grace tangible.

What if... I am intentional about the habit of dying to self in order to live "reckless in my love"? Do I dare? Do you?

How To Jump

2011-03-02T03:32:00.000-08:00

In my experience, there are two kinds of jumps. (I'm positive there are more; but so far, I know two.)

The first one is the free-fall from some great height in which cables, buckles, straps, and chutes are checked pre-airborne. Like the time I stood on the ledge of a cage that hung precariously from a crane.

The operators almost revoked my 'opportunity' to ~~fall~~ jump because I took so long, standing there, a perfect summer breeze on my face, the peaceful nighttime view overlooking the city of Spokane, Washington, my life literally flashing before me -- scenes that depicted I had lived a great life thus far... positive it was only going to get better... more beautiful, more romantic, more adventurous... that it would really stink if the bungee cord didn't do it's job for some reason.

I hesitated longer, almost changed my mind, remembered that I wouldn't get my lousy thirty dollars back... then leaned forward and let myself plunge into nothingness. Headfirst. And while watching the concrete rush up at my face I thought, bungee jumping is one of the more stupid things I've done in my life! I can't believe I paid thirty dollars to do something this stupid!

Lesson learned: motivation is powerful. And I am powerfully motivated by the investment I have in a particular endeavor.

Fast forward 13 years, marriage, four children, and (some) growth in maturity.

I prefer the second kind of jump. Like the time our family loaded bicycles and drove north of Spokane. It was Father's Day and though the sun shone brightly in a near-cloudless sky, a cool breeze promised for a refreshing ride around one of the lakes.

After cycling for awhile we came to a quaint beach with a small dock where we stopped for a snack break. We only meant to rest, drink some water, eat a little bite... after all, we were dressed for the slight cool in the air -- blue jeans, long-sleeved shirts. But the children looked longingly at the water. They always do. I looked down at my Capris and got an idea.

The children noticed me taking my shoes and socks off. "I didn't know we were going to go in the water, Mom! I would've wore my swimming shorts!" They had wandered several paces out on the dock.

"Sometimes," I smiled mischievously, jogging past them on the dock, "you don't have to be ready! You just have to jump!" I leaped off the end of the dock, pulling my knees up in an attempt to make a splash. By the time I surfaced, all four children and husband were throwing off shoes, the boys removing t-shirts. Jumping off a dock and playing in water is a perfect way to while away moments.

Eventually, we sat out in the sunshine to dry... and have that snack we'd anticipated.

To soak in Grace. Knowing the moment would be recounted for years to come.

And that's how I'm learning to live. To invest myself in ways that stretch me out of my comfort zone, call me to the edge, motivate me to plunge into the ever-unfolding story. To seize opportunities with enthusiasm, throwing my heart and soul into the project, wanting to make a splash.

I'm three days into this "detox." Remember I said I don't really have a clear picture of what that looks like yet. But I'm so excited! So far, I'm pursuing my lifelong dream to be a morning person. And, so far, it's fantastic!

There's other pursuits. I'll keep sharing what I'm learning on this journey. Our family finished reading Culture of Honor by Danny Silk last night. We discussed upcoming Lent and fasting. I made a suggestion and everyone loved it so much that they wanted to start right away...

Grateful. So grateful! For...
15. early morning workouts
16. husband who exercises with me
17. Holy Spirit's revelations filled with grace and love that knows no bounds
18. victory in Jesus, my Savior forever
19. coffee with a friend who spontaneously joins me when I realize I'm running late for the first day of nutrition class
20. sunshine splashed generously across table with math and spelling books laid wide
21. encouraging e-mails in inbox, waiting in bold to be read and re-read, tucked in heart's file for those moments when the race is uphill
22. boy who folds laundry "just so" and lays piles at the bottom of each person's bed
23. the wherewithal to hold my tongue when son squirmed, did gymnastics from dining room table bench, crawled underneath said table, stalled forever long on his math... only to emerge suddenly with, "Oh! I got it!" as he quickly and intently scrawled the answer to the next problem (perhaps next time I'm facing a perplexing problem I might try this approach?)

90 Days in Detox

2011-02-27T10:00:00.000-08:00

My daughter is utterly exasperated with me. "Mom! All you ever want to do is pull the weeds out of the garden! Why don't we ever plant anything?"

And this, my friend, is telling. It's been this way for as long as I can remember. Try as I might, I seem to be stuck in the 'preparation' phase of most everything.

Sometimes, there's just not a nice way to go about a situation. Sometimes, a desperate battle calls for desperate measures.

So I've mulled over this concept of 90 days... 90 Days With a Heart Like His by Beth Moore; P90X; 90 days in Detox.

Just thinking about giving up my sacred cows motivated me to eat Ben & Jerry's Phish Food. This while reading the book selection for this month's book club chosen by one of the sweet, sweet gals in our group, Every Woman's Battle by Shannon Ethridge. I started the book last night. Book club is tomorrow.

I need some serious intervention, Folks. I think I'm having a ~~mid-life~~ crisis.

The most alarming part of this scenario is that after I finished off the entire carton of ice cream I promptly buried it within the contents of the recycle bag so that no one would discover what I had done. Yes, I was immediately convicted about this matter of deceit. (I will confess this to my family tonight... after they get home from church... where they went while I stayed at home to veg. Isn't there a story like this about a king who stayed at home while he was supposed to be on the battlefront and then he, too, gives into a temptation that leads to adultery, deceit, and eventually, murder? Lord, have mercy! This destructive path is not the path I want to be on!)

I'm checking myself into my own self-prescribed metaphorical detox tomorrow. I've never been in detox, so I really don't know what to expect. Since it's "outpatient" detox I think the challenges will be slightly more difficult than they would, say, if I were I able to actually check into an institution. But, again, I'm speaking from inexperience.

Somewhere along the way I became lackadaisical about my identity and my authority. Now I want it back. And I'm willing to go to battle for it.

"And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force." Matthew 11:12

Crazy passage, if you ask me. Brutal. Brutally honest. And yet, this is exactly what touches me to the core of my being. I hear this message loud and clear: Listen, the temptations and hollow indulgences you seek to numb the agonizing fears that paralyze you and keep you from daring to live the destiny that God has planned for you... you're going to have to be more forceful... stronger. The kingdom of heaven isn't going to be handed to you. You'll have to take it by force.

Darn. I was kind of hoping for a pleasant stroll through the park -- with another carton of ice cream, please.

**At the end of 90 days, I want to see fruit from seeds planted! My daughter is right... it's time to plant.

Naked

2011-02-27T05:24:00.000-08:00

What are your dreams?

Funny. I'm writing this even as my children and husband are watching the movie Gifted Hands. But here's the brutal truth... I'm in a slump. Some kind of weird funk. That strange space between final safety checks and the actual jump. That exhilarating, heart-thumping, toes-hanging-over-the-edge moment... the one where fear shows up and tries to talk some kind of complacent sense into my illogical, radical idea... the moment when I'm just. about. to jump.

To take that vulnerable leap.

A couple of weeks ago, after I finished tucking blankets under chins, saying prayers of blessing, relishing seconds of silence, a switch flipped inside me. THAT switch. The one where... oh, goodness... you know the one. It's that switch where the red light flashes brilliantly on my emotional dashboard. The one that comes on after I've mulled over some nagging question all day or analyzed some topic until steam begins to pour from my emotional radiator.

LeRoy was already in bed. I paused for a nanosecond, considering how rude it'd be to wake my already-showered, soundly-sleeping, have-to-get-up-in-the-morning-to-work husband. But my rudeness won out. And, bless this man with supernatural forbearance! He threw back the covers, his command, loving, gentle, "You talk. I'll listen."

I stood there in the shower. Emotion, heavy with frustration -- indignation, really -- poured from my heart, soul's soliloquy with husband, my soul mate, listening intently to every word.

Angst, passion, hopes, disappointments, hurts, and dreams tumbled out. I traveled down the road of comparing myself to others, crumbled under the weight of not measuring up, entertained defeat.

"I am so, so glad, LeRoy," the champagne-setting on the shower head nozzle washed over me, "that you and the children love me just because I'm me and not for any kind of success or accomplishment... not for my performance." The last words sputtered through broken sobs. He embraced me long, the strength of him protecting me from utter despair, my tears falling on his already shower-wet shoulder.

To be naked. Vulnerable. And... loved.

All this mental box-checking causes me to dwell in a place of shame and self-condemnation... self-pity. A place where I'm tempted to succumb to self-loathing over unchecked boxes. Complacency has appeal, however depressing. I click on the computer game Luxor and fritter away almost three hours, stare off into space, eat three-fourths of an extra large bag of peanut M&M's in one sitting.

Passion is a tricky thing. It fires me up, helps me see goals with renewed clarity, fuels motivation. But just as quickly, I am my own worst critic. I begin to edit myself, second-guess, doubt the wisdom of not going along with convention. Dreams get muddled and I am embarrassed at the vulnerability and nakedness of being wrong. The possibility of all that risk entails.

"Maybe this is a year of breakthroughs." LeRoy said it casually in a conversation about goals and direction for the coming months. I didn't volley hope back, but instead grasped desperate at the encouragement-laden words.

Maybe. What if. To be vulnerable enough to dream. To be okay with outcomes I can't possibly anticipate... or with {gasp} dreaded outcomes. Would it be the end of me? And what if it were? And what if all sense of self-preservation, this survivor mentality, was stripped away, leaving my heart exposed? And what if all that I've held onto were left at the door, leaving nothing to hold onto but God and finding out that He's all I've ever needed. To find out that all my successes and failures, performances and painful lack thereof were always superficial coverings after all.

What if I lived a naked existence... with the full on realization that I have everything I need. It's more a statement than a question.

What if I show up in the moments of the day already full. Filled with the abundance of Grace. Grace tangible in the breaths I take, in each heartbeat. Grace in the challenge and pursuit of dreams. To let the moments stack up until Grace -- not performance -- is revealed.

Does this mean no more box-checking? Could my day unfold naturally, holistically, without my manipulating and controlling... void of cancerous comparisons? To live confidently on the offensive? In complete freedom?

What if.

"Encountering the living God and receiving a fresh revelation of His heart both give us a greater hunger for freedom in our own lives and require us to 'set the captives free.' This appetite drives us past the cultural norms and fuels us with supernatural courage... Revival ignites life in people to press against the limitations and boundaries of society. It calls to the deepest parts of mankind and screams 'Freedom!' so loudly that the same cry comes out of our mouths.

This is where we stand as a movement in our generation. We are in the throes of a reformation. No longer will we tolerate the status quo of an externally governed existence. No longer will we accept training in powerlessness." ~ Danny Silk, Culture of Honor

To dream big dreams just feels vulnerable. Naked. It's not really, though. Right?

"Sometimes that which ignites us with indignation burns a hole through the wall to a revelation." ~ Beth Moore, Esther

These are the questions I'm asking myself, (so I thought I'd ask you, too): What fuels your dreams? What dreams feel so immense that they cause you to feel exposed? What indignation has given you a revelation? What are you doing about it?

T.O.M.

2011-02-15T01:30:00.000-08:00

T.O.M. (Third Option Men) I found this blog, showed it to my boys, who engaged immediately, read all the pages in the "Boot Camp" section of the site, and by the time they got to the "Foxholes" section... they told me, "Mom. That's me. I want to be a Third Option Man. And I want to write a blog to share it with other men."

And so... let me introduce you to two more Third Option Men who have the heart to impact this world for the sake of God's Kingdom:

(Don't know what a third option man is? Read on!)

Third Option Man, Isaiah... Click HERE.

Third Option Man, Ezekiel... Click HERE.

They are meeting this Saturday with their dad and any other men and their sons who desire to grow in their passion for God. They'll be at Kuhl Beanz at 8:00 AM to meet for "boot camp"... and "make battle plans" from Proverbs and the book Wild At Heart by John Eldredge. They have a vision... but I'll let them tell about that.

Why I Go to Church But I'd Rather Be the Church

2011-02-12T06:47:00.000-08:00

My sweet friend asked me the other day, "Sharon, where do you go to church?" Ah, good question! I replied that I don't really go to church anywhere. At least I don't consider myself a "church attender" by my definition of what I think a church attender looks like. Anyway, she e-mailed me a week later and asked me why I don't go to church. Her note caused me to smile... and ponder for the duration of the day. By evening, I decided to ask my friends the question that kept running through my mind. I asked it via Facebook:

Why do you go to church?

Ah! And so inspired am I by the passionate responses that I thought I'd share my subsequent thoughts here. (I wouldn't ask you to go read the conversation on Facebook as I don't spend much time there myself... albeit I'm thankful for the connections with people I love... and feel especially appreciative of this most recent "conversation.")

"I believe the local Church is the hope of the world." ~Bill Hybels

I believe that with all of my being and I shout a loud "Amen and amen!"

We pulled into Spokane, Washington on a typical Sunday afternoon this last August. I dialed my in-love's phone number to get directions to their new house. Aunt Kathy and Uncle Jake, the ones who raised my husband; the mother and father-in-laws I prayed for since I was twelve-years old. "Do you think we'd have time to pick up our vehicle and still make it to the six o'clock service at Life Center?" I asked. Our friends were special guests, sharing their passion and vision for Malawi, Africa, and we were hoping to get to hear them. Besides... the whole Church... all our family... butterflies alighted in our stomachs, the way it happens when you're about to see someone who you haven't seen in what feels like forever, someone loved and treasured.

Aunt Kathy's voice, soothing, perpetually solution-oriented, "No, I'm sorry. Our house is too far away. Is this something pretty important to you?" I sighed quietly, letting go. The butterflies didn't cease... in just minutes I'd throw my arms around this woman who occupies such a large portion of my heart. And Uncle Jake, dear, precious Uncle Jake. She finished giving directions as my sweet sister-in-law exited the freeway onto Maple Street.

A moment later the phone rang. "We've figured out a way for you to be able to make it in time for the six o'clock service." She told us where to meet them. Told me they were bringing the vehicle to us. I am overwhelmed by this tangible grace. And so, minutes later we shared hugs all around, a couple of the children opting to go with Grandma and Grandpa while the rest of us went on to Life Center.

We pulled up just in time. Holding hands, LeRoy and I and our two oldest children entered the enormous foyer, more like a great-room or family room, with its cafe table sets, sofas and armchairs. Deliriously happy, we made our way toward the auditorium, where we could hear Pastor Joe introducing our friends.

But we never made it into the auditorium. We met up with a friend coming out and stopped to talk. And by the time we finished talking, our friends had finished their few minutes of sharing. Though we know it was great... laughter bubbled all the way out into all the spaces. That's the way they are. Our friends. Funny. Courageous. Faithful. Fully alive... contagiously so. They pushed open the double doors, entering the lobby all smiles and hugs and Amy's famous kiss on each cheek, the men doing the man-hug with slaps on the back.

Then it was another couple of hours of sitting on couches, putting our feet up on the ottoman, drinking coffee, catching up with so many friends passing through the commons area or coming there to loiter, to pass the time conversing, connecting, getting filled up, and pouring out... these people who have become family over the last eighteen years, dear loved ones who we've done life with together.

After a while I looked over to see a friend of ours talking to our boys at a nearby cafe table. Their conversation appeared conspiratorial, them leaning in, our friend apparently asking questions as I watched my boy's expressions, thoughtful, somewhat serious, and then smiling broadly. Some time later I looked over to see the same friend, his hands on their shoulders as he prayed for them. Later I would ask them about the conversation and they would tell me he asked about their dreams, about their passions, that he prayed they would become mighty men for God.

And my heart... the seams pulled and stretched, me wondering how I'd keep from bursting with love... for this family... the local Church.

That week we got to spend more time with these people who mean so much to us... people we'll get to spend e t e r n i t y with -- such extravagant Grace! -- at the Global Summit Leadership Conference. A conference with the vision "to transform Christian leaders around the world with an injection of vision, skill development, and inspiration for the sake of the local church."

Because we're passionate about the Church.

To say that I don't "go to church" isn't completely accurate, I suppose. We went to church (buildings) three times in January.

One Sunday we went to Kingdom Hall with our friends who are Jehovah's Witnesses. They came to our door sometime back in late August, asked if they could study the Bible with me. They hardly finished speaking before I invited them in, made us all a cup of tea, began to get acquainted... to build relationships. They've been coming to Church every Wednesday afternoon since. (Since their religion doesn't permit them to go to any other other religion's church but their own, they won't attend a service in a building that we'd typically visit. And this is that abundant Grace that lives in me, this Spirit of Love that loves through me, this lifelong adventure of being the Church... so that whoever I come in contact with... is visiting Church. That makes my heart beat fast! Lord, have mercy!) So maybe Kingdom Hall didn't exactly count as church since our belief system isn't in accordance with theirs. The important thing is that we were with people we genuinely love and care about.

Another Sunday we went to Trinity Baptist Church in the morning. Got to be there to show our support for A. as she got to be baptized by her daddy. Since she's only five-years old, he shared on her behalf a little about her spiritual journey... It was the best part of my day! The pastor spoke from Nehemiah and I was reminded about God's vision for our lives and His power to see that vision carried out.

But now I have to tell you... this is where my passion runs deep for the Church. After the service was over, and we all stood there chit-chatting, (which, Lord help me, is constantly a source of anxiety for me), and my mind started to race, This can't be it! This isn't Church! A few praise songs, a Scripture reading, a sermon... though blessed by all these, Church isn't Church with me staring at the backs of the heads in front of me, (what? no eye contact?), wondering about the person's week next to me, wanting to know how God is moving, transforming, rocking these people's worlds, wanting to share my own experiences with my Lord and King over the past few days! And so... "What are your plans for lunch?" I asked two families standing there. When they said they didn't have plans, "Great! Then will you join us for lunch at our house? We'll have, um, uh, chicken salad sandwiches annnnnd, uhh, tomato soup. LeRoy will run to the grocery store and we'll see you shortly. Oh. And here's our address. ...And phone number in case you get lost." You see, it seemed the only sensible thing to do. Because God's heart is to enjoy intimacy with us... that must mean He wants us to share in-to-me-you-see with one another. Right?

(By the way, my house was a big mess... which translated into more and more and more grace.)

While going to church certainly has the potential to draw me closer to God's heart, it doesn't necessarily cause me to feel more "worshipful" or "closer to God." Intimacy with Kingdom family who are Church draws me closer to God's heart. Showing up in all my sloppy weaknesses and failures and knowing I'm loved for the mess that I am... receiving the gifts of grace and patience... receiving encouragement to press in to my Savior... knowing we're sojourners on this adventure together... This is the Hope of the world. It's this Kingdom culture, this culture of honor that draws me to go to church to be with the Church.

I appreciate how my friend, Amy, said in our FB conversation, "I love when the Word of God is passionately changing me -- and without the body (the Church) -- it is a lonely journey." Exactly. The only thing I love more than a grand adventure... is experiencing a grand adventure with people I love. Fellow sojourners. The beautiful privilege of being together with other saints -- to be vulnerable, real -- to do life together. Yes, an immense privilege!

And what about the sermon aspect of church? Oh! I love this part, too! I feel like the pastor is talking just to me -- same as a concert, conference or a class -- but the person up front can share the message more efficiently than meeting with us individually over coffee to share the same thing he or she can share with 40, 150, or 5,000 at a time. I just like it better when we can discuss it over lunch later. That's all.

The enduring weekly reminder to be the Church. To meet once a week to get centered -- always, always with the focus to draw closer to God's heart. Or, sometimes to draw my wandering heart back to God. To challenge us to a higher standard. To remind us to fill up on His Love daily so that we can pour out that which strengthens souls.

Later that same day we went to the four o'clock service at the Chapel on Base where Chaplain Costin preached with both passion and compassion from Psalm 139 on the sanctity of life. Again, what blessing and encouragement poured into my heart!

God, you know me! You knit me together in the womb! You know my comings and my goings! You see. You know. You know my insatiable appetite for depth and intimacy. With You. With people. Savior, Jesus, help me dream bigger dreams. Help me live a faith that is reckless, knowing You know all the details... knowing my messes don't scare You or overwhelm You.

So why do I go to church? Because I'm drawn there by the overwhelming desire to spend time with really cool people who are as messy as me in this crazy world we live in. People who are mutually passionate about living God-sized adventures. People who get scared, lose faith, stumble, have foolishly arrogant moments, and walk in, grasping for Hope, (much like when Hope pulled Christian out of the Slough of Despondency in Pilgrim's Progress?). My friend, Diana R. said, "...you realize how much your church family and attendance and being in his presence to worship with others who love him means to you and God." What a privilege to be His Church. What a responsibility we have to each other and to the world to be the Hope that pulls people out of a state of despondency!

I think the best example of why I go to church is the story of the time I saw my friend Marilyn R. in the Commissary (grocery store on Base). We had only been here in Germany a few months and were just starting to get to know people. A new couple who also recently arrived had visited our church the week before. Since I didn't really know her as we had only briefly met, I glanced over and then quickly continued up the grocery aisle. I stopped momentarily to find an item on the shelf and that's when I found myself in a holy moment. The next thing I knew, Marilyn was there beside me, her beautiful Puerto Rican accent praising Jesus, me caught up in her motherly embrace. She planted a kiss on my cheek and said, "Praise Jesus, I just had to come over here and give you a big hug! I love you, Sister! God loves you! Praise Him!" And then she walked away. And I thought, I'll go to church where she goes. Oh, wait! How cool, she's goes to the same church as me! I want to journey with the same Jesus she knows. I want what she's having! Praise Jesus! And you know what, that wasn't just some weird moment for her... her and her husband and their teenage daughter live that all-out crazy-in-love-with-Jesus adventure faithfully, consistently. They are the Church.

It's people like that that draw me into the presence of God, whether it's in a church building with a group of Christians, or it's just our family gathered for "pajama church," listening to Pastor Groeschel on LifeChurch.tv and praying for one another in the "hot seat." Or on a hike with another family, admiring God's creation, discussing marriage, parenting, friendship, and how it all fits into the grand scheme of eternity. Or sharing a meal with folks after the basketball game, the one where I worried over blowing our grocery budget for the week until Spirit reminded me that we are the Church meeting in J.R. Rockers for church and how during our time together we even made plans to visit Hamburg, (and possibly Denmark?), together.

Like one of my most favorite people on the planet said in our FB discussion, I go to church for "A million one reasons and counting..." (Thank you, Uncle Brian.) Another reason is for those hymns I am so passionate about! Those hymns that I hum or sing all day long. The ones I play on the piano during my personal worship times with Jesus. How I'd love to hear the tenors, bass, and sopranos sing all three rousing verses of Wonderful Grace of Jesus! If I close my eyes, I can still hear the harmony in our congregation when I was a child -- I'm sure it's a small sampling of what it will be like in heaven!

And do you remember this one?

Blest Be the Tie

Blest be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love;

The fellowship of kindred minds Is like to that above.

Before our Father's throne We pour our ardent prayers;

Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, Our comforts and our cares.

We share our mutual woes, Our mutual burdens bear;

And often for each other flows The sympathizing tear.

When we asunder part, It gives us inward pain;

But we shall still be joined in heart, And hope to meet again.

~John Fawcett, 1740-1817

I am so grateful for the privilege and freedom to meet with Christians to read and study God's Word together. What a joy to be able to live boldly, with conviction, without worry of persecution. I hope that my life draws people to Jesus. I pray that my testimony causes people to want to know Him and go deeper with Him. Oh! How I long to step courageously, counter intuitively, passionately, full-on into living scandalous, tangible grace! That my life might reflect gratitude. To be the hope of the world. That I would let Christ love His Church through me.

I suppose sometimes that might be in a church building. I'm okay with that.

Would you like to come over for lunch after? {humble wink}

Books I recommend on the topic of living the passionate, adventurous life of a Christian, on Being the Church and leading others to passionately Be the Church:

It, How Churches and Leaders Can Get It and Keep It by Craig Groeschel

The Christian Athiest: Believing in God but Living As If He Doesn't Exist by Craig Groeschel

Change Your Church for Good by Brad Powell

The Tangible Kingdom, Creating Incarnational Community by Hugh Halter and Matt Smay

Real Church: Does It Exist? Can I Find It? by Larry Crabb

One Million Arrows, Raising Your Children to Change the World by Julie Ferwerda

Do Hard Things, A Teenage Rebellion Against Low Expectations by Alex and Brett Harris

True Religion, Taking Pieces of Heaven to Places of Hell on Earth by Palmer Chinchen

The Hole In Our Gospel: What Does God Expect of Us? The Answer That Changed My Life and Might Just Change the World by Richard Stearns

Radical: Taking Back Your Faith From the American Dream by David Platt

Mission Statement

2011-01-30T04:07:00.000-08:00

LeRoy hands me a hot mug, the aroma of the coffee and thin wisp of steam invoking tangible grace. A tow-headed child peeks around the corner, his smile and boy-man "Good morning" whispering tangible grace.

The lavish breakfast cooked up by husband and son working side by side. The plate of eggs, sausage, and hash browns handed to me by my oldest boy after he asks me, "Can I serve you, Mom?" Tangible grace. All our family's values condensed into tangible, concrete motions.

Our original mission statement sits on a shelf near our dining room table... rarely noticed in spite of its visibility. Wordy. Somewhat abstract. The bull's eye too obscure.

Perhaps we'll improve our aim with a clearer target? This crazy grace. And it's all grace, isn't it?

When I set it back up on the shelf, I realize the old mission statement ink shows through the paper. I consider removing the old one from the frame completely and then decide that it's perfect how it is. What better way to be reminded of this ongoing transformation than to see Grace placed boldly over the top of all my well-intentioned, grandiose "statements."

It's a gorgeous, (and rare) clear day today. We're headed over to a friend's house... to take a long hike through the woods. They called a while ago to ask if we would stay on to have dinner with them.

The grace of it all just makes me smile and smile.

Crazy

2011-01-15T23:54:00.000-08:00

I'm re-writing our family mission statement. Although I've mulled this over for about a year or so, it came to me in amazing clarity yesterday.

"Mom, you're going to make the coffee cake, too, right?" The birthday boy stood next to me while I pored over the morning's menu.

"And what about the peanut butter bars for later? Are you still making those?" Eli asked as he entered the kitchen on the last strains of his brother's question.

I looked at the clock and took a deep breathe. "Unless I get some help with these recipes, I'm going to have to prioritize and some things may not get made." And that's when the kitchen turned into a flurry of activity. We split the duties and everyone got to work. Even Israel got into the action. Every mixing bowl got used. Stirring spoons, spatulas, and whisks whirred in the hands of young culinary artists.

The four of us tried diligently to mind our space, focus on our own recipe, not accidentally use the other person's utensils or bowls. We said 'excuse me' when squeezing by to deliver dripping measuring cups to the sink. We asked politely if anyone was using the red spatula and 'can I use it when you're through?'

All this politeness and teamwork lasted all of about six minutes. It wasn't long before the children started snipping at one another. Shouting, "Hey! I was using that!" while grabbing for the sugar canister. My blood pressure rose. I tried to patiently remind them to speak kindly. Then I yelled that they needed to speak kindly. And just when I was about to kick them all out of the kitchen... out of the house...

"Alright! Let's make a deal." Everyone slowed down. I stopped stirring momentarily, looking at each person, hoping to make my point clear. "From here on out, anyone in this family who has never made a mistake has a right and full permission to criticize others. But... if you've ever made a mistake... even a little one, then you don't get to criticize anyone else." I went back to stirring.

Eli said, "Sounds good." The room went quiet. "I guess we won't be criticizing anymore."

After a few moments, Israel said, "But, Mom, everyone has made a mistake before!" I reached over to help Zeke break up the cinnamon mix. She stood next to me leaning against the counter, her egg-cracking momentarily interrupted by thought-processing. "The only one who is perfect and has never made a mistake is Jesus."

A metal spoon clunked against the side of metal bowl as we let that thought settle around our mind and deep in our soul. I tried to wrap my mind around this thought, to verbalize grace, "And to think that while He's the only One Who has ever had the right to criticize or condemn us, He's the One Who chose to take our punishment and die for us."

She watched as Eli measured peanut butter into a measuring cup, pausing to process grace. Finally, "That's crazy!"

If you've ever seen our family mission statement, you know it's looooong. And while filled with all sorts of bar-raising expectations and lofty ideals, there's so many words that, well, we can't possibly remember the list! Like I mentioned, I've scrutinized our mission statement for well over a year, not quite satisfied with it, but not really able to visualize how it'd read better. How it'd RESONATE better. Until yesterday.

Now I'm typing up a revised mission statement. I'll post a picture of it in the next post...

May your day be full to the brim and splashing over with Crazy Grace!

On Becoming a Heroic Tender Warrior

2011-01-12T19:34:00.000-08:00

*Just a heads up: this is a very long post... but I have lots to say...

**The pictures in this post are in no particular order and they don't necessarily go with the script... but they're all expressive of the man Zeke is and is becoming.

Dear Ezekiel,

Twelve years isn't that long. I still remember the dimmed lighting and hushed voices in that sanctuary of a delivery room. The nurse who whispered to "remain calm," to, "remember to breathe," as she leaned in so close she could have kissed my cheek.

The surprise and delight that washed over me when they announced, "A boy! Another boy!" I remember how excited I felt as I thought, How fun! Three sons! Another brother for my other two boys!

Ogden, Utah

Now, twelve years later, my heart is being stretched and pulled as you are growing into manhood.


Swimming with the Stone Family, Spokane, Washington

I was thinking about you yesterday and you know who came to my mind? Gideon. And as I thought about this man, Gideon, I realized how you are so much like him! Remember the part where the Lord shows up and addresses Gideon with, "The Lord is with you, mighty man of valor!" and Gideon responds, "O my lord, [can't you just hear the incredulous tone?] if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us?" Now maybe that doesn't seem like a very respectful way to greet the Lord, but I'm thinking that Gideon must have been a pretty logical, let's-put-two-and-two-together sorta guy. He kind of wants to know where God has been all this time. No pretenses... says what's on his mind... he's himself.

And don't you love how after Gideon tells the Lord that um, hello, You are the one Who has forsaken us and given us over to the enemy, that God gives him responsibility, "Go in this might of yours, and you shall save Israel from the hand of the Midianites. Have I not sent you?" He didn't let Gideon get stuck in past thinking. Instead, He urges him into a God-sized dream... and future.

Then Gideon brings up his position -- his status -- in the family. "Oh my Lord, how can I save Israel? Indeed my clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father's house." Hm. Do you ever feel like that? That maybe your the "least" with two older brothers and a younger sister?

Yet, listen to God's response. "Surely I will be with you, and you shall defeat the Midianites as one man." You see, one man and God are a majority.

And God isn't limited to the assignments He gives us based on where we fall in a line of siblings or family status! Hallelujah for that! Right?

The rest of the story is an adrenalin-pumping, action-thriller that leads to the nation of Israel's most lopsided victory in its history. Seriously.

The one-liners. Gideon's boldness, (Judges 6:39, he asks God for a second sign... but God meets him there, doesn't get angry or impatient, but simply reassures him... Don't you love how we can keep asking God questions... how He makes Himself approachable!).


Decoding a message written by Grandma Kathy

The unconventional strategies.

Heidelberg, Germany

The courage.

The growing of faith!

It's one of those ~~movies~~ stories I could ~~watch~~ read over and over again! (Judges 6-8 plays the whole ~~movie~~, I mean, story.) And I'm so excited to realize we've got our very own 'Gideon' living in our midst!

Telling stories during Story Time at the Library

God saw Gideon as a mighty warrior not because of status or experience, but because He saw his potential. Speaking of potential, I thought of someone else you remind me of...

Ogden, Utah

I can't think of anyone else in this family who would be so impetuous as to jump out of a boat in order to walk on the water to Jesus! I mean, really, who does that! Someone fiercely loyal, decidedly devoted, that's what I think. I can totally picture the scene... me grabbing at the hem of your shirt, my protective instincts kicking in, "What are you think. ing?! Just because Jesus says, 'Come,' you jump out of the boat? Without thinking about it first? Sure, you took a few steps on water... {me breathing a loooong breath, trying to reign in my fear}... did you not stop to think that you could have drowned?!"

But no, your "heart-brain" is still intact.

Oh! How I praise the Lord for that! May it always be intact, Son!

Onstage at the Pickleville Playhouse in Bear Lake, Garden City, Utah

Sure, your impulsiveness drives people crazy at times, (okay, maybe lots of the time), but couple that Lord-if-it's-you-tell-me-to-come-to-you-on-the-water, follow-your-heart-reaction with maturity... with love... with integrity and humility... (which, by the way, God is forming ever-stronger in you)...

Favorite uncles who invested in and supported me... still investing in generations

...God is going to give you a plethora of opportunities to strengthen your faith...

Limerick, Ireland

...and who knows what Kingdom-sized assignments He has destined you for? (Matthew 14:22-33) And you know what else? You are a great example to me and so many others of what it means to live with a heart that's fully alive!

A village out in the Bush, Malawi, Africa

Ezekiel, thank you for the times that you've come alongside me, Dad, your siblings, a friend... and given us encouragement, support, and grace.

Loving Shadreck at the orphanage in Malawi, Africa

You remind me of Peter in the sense that here's this extremely passionate man, heart wide open, willing to go on a big adventure...

"Thank you, Mr. Owen, for believing in me and entrusting me with Kingdom-sized responsibilities"

...longing to be loyal... to live a faith that doesn't waver... (occasionally sticks his foot in his mouth)... recklessly jumping out of boats to walk on water [really, do you know anyone else besides Simon Peter and Jesus who ever walked on water? Yeah, me either. Perhaps we could all use some of that reckless kind of faith!].

So Peter has an open mind and a willing heart but it's not like he has a really stellar track record when a short time later, Jesus demonstrates His famous upside-down logic of grace when Peter confesses Jesus as Christ, Son of the living God, (Matthew 16:13-19), and Jesus plants a seed of Kingdom-sized proportion inside his heart. He says, "Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah... you are Peter, ['Peter' means rock in Greek]." Rock solid. Bold. A leader who leads with conviction. Able to shatter the frangible quasi-structure of religiosity. I love how God sees who we are... but He also knows our potential and He calls us to live out God-sized dreams.

Strasbourg, France

Oh that you might keep imagining and dreaming! That you might keep sharing your heart and asking questions. That your heart and your sense of wonder and what-if may remain alive. That you might seek to know God's heart, "getting out of the boat" again and again, calling out for His help, (Matthew 14:30), when you get overwhelmed and your faith wavers, when you fear what is beyond your control.

Strasbourg, France

As you step into your twelfth year of life, my prayer for you is that your heart would be ever more alive -- surrendered to Christ as you "increase in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men." (Luke 2:52)

Garmisch, Germany

I am proud of you, Ezekiel, as I watch the process of you becoming a man of integrity...

Like that last day in Malawi, Africa, when Mr. Owen assigned you classes to help teach at the elementary school at the African Bible College Campus. How your countenance radiated joy! Sheer, unadulterated passion! What bliss when you said, "Mom, it was the best day ever! If I could do that everyday for the rest of my life, I'd be so happy!"

And how natural you were with the children while staying with Mr. Ronald out in the African Bush! The way you simply loved them, cared for them.

Really, I don't know what I would do without your commitment, energy and enthusiasm each month as you volunteer in MOPPETS, loving little ones.

The way you threw caution to the wind when the Pickleville Playhouse actors asked for volunteers to come help with a song on stage. And the way you wholeheartedly played the role they gave you!

Besides all the thousand ways you tune in to those around you every day, looking for ways to serve, to love, to laugh, to invest in people. How you pay attention to all the details. Smart. Funny.

Garmisch, Germany

The altar you built at the edge of the river, "each stone a monument in remembrance of the ways God has won victories for you, given you grace and strength, rescued you, blessed you." Your humility as you dedicated your altar "To God."

"So Gideon built an altar there to the LORD, and called it The-LORD-Is-Peace."
~Judges 6:24

Hiking the 4.5 miles around Lake Eibsee, Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany

I love you.

I am well pleased with you, Ezekiel. I am PROUD of you. I respect you. I believe in you.

Zurich, Switzerland

But Jesus is more pleased with you. He's proud of you. He believes in you. He loves you more.

Happy Birthday, Son!

Be the Hero

2011-01-08T22:25:00.000-08:00

"But that's just the thing, Mom," passion rolls down one cheek, his lip quivers, "I'm not sure who my heroes are." This being one of those conversations that churns a slow churn in my mind for the next few months. Who were my heroes at his age? My aunts and uncles on the Whitworth side. My grandparents. My piano teacher. I had outgrown Wonder Woman and Cinderella. I remember looking for the real thing, too.

I remember thinking that maybe I wasn't created just to be happy or have stuff. That maybe I could actually be of some use to the world. The adults in my life kept telling me that I was "created for a purpose." And so, I set out on a quest to discover how I might make a dent for justice in the world's craziness.

But the spirit is a tender thing, isn't it? And dreams get boxed, framed in the "truth of reality." And what can make the heart beat fast for right, for justice, one moment, can be numbed by the "get real" and you've-got-your-head-in-the-clouds distractions all round.

And so, after much thinking and prayer, I share the conversation from weeks before with the whole family. I tell them, "I think you need to trust that God will put heroes in your life along the way but that you're supposed to focus on being the hero." The dialogue turns lively as I attempt to stoke the spirit, pour fuel on dreams, praying that purpose and passion keep complacency from boxing what can be.

Hope rises as we speak courage into one another, affirming, "You are my hero!" and, "Well, let me tell you why you're my hero, too!" Reminders of who we are in Christ, that nothing is impossible with God, restores vision. Replenishes a sense of wonder.

Yet, even with my passion for all things words, splashed generously across pages in books, in beloved letters received joyously in mailbox, spoken over one's mind to set deep in the soul, I am exasperated by words. Because without actually going out onto the field to face into the struggle, locker room pep talks fall flat. I'm tired of the hype. I want to change. Really change. Not just talk about dreams placed in the heart, but actually live them. Powerfully. Purposely.

My friend, Kenna, always challenged my verbalizing of lofty goals with, "How are you going to measure that?" Indeed. And isn't this the way to make the moments count all the way into eternity?

"So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." ~Psalm 90:12

I start to break it down, to make it measurable, realizing -- this painstakingly slow realization -- that taking one measurable step after another leads one to heroically live beyond oneself, to be in that place where a dream becomes humanly impossible, but completely possible through His Spirit.

To live in that place where faith produces courage to step into the God-gap, that place where a full surrender is, like my sweet friend, Jeri, told me the other day, that moment where the launch into the atmosphere takes our breath away.

Oh! How I long to live with complete abandon! To be the kind of mama who demonstrates by example -- instead of lengthy monologues -- what it means to be the hero! I long to change this year, to grow in areas where I've previously stayed grounded because it was safer, calmer, more manageable. I want to take back the territories I gave to fear.

"Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." ~Matthew 19:26

In a series of sprints with a marathon or two thrown in along the way, (metaphorically speaking, of course), I'm learning to dream far bigger than what I can "realistically" manage, taking one measurable step at a time, longing to leave a wake of integrity and faith. Perhaps a wake in which one following behind might find courage?

"I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." ~Philippians 3:14

*Photos of oldest son, Eli, whose courage, kindness, patience, sense of humor, vision, faith, sense of justice and inner strength makes him one of my greatest heroes. Not just me, but to siblings with trembling passion, too! First photo: at the Heidelberg Castle in Heidelberg, Germany; Second photo: roasting marshmallows in G'ma Kathy's backyard in Spokane; Third photo: running with the iron statues in Riverfront Park in Spokane, Washington.

Ring of Kerry

2010-12-31T07:44:00.000-08:00

"It's the worst snow storm we've had in 52 years." LeRoy went in to pay for the fuel, asked if they had coffee for sale. "Oh sure!" The man proceeded to make him Sanka instant coffee in a styrofoam cup. "Cream? Sugar?" All while chattering on about the weather, where we were from, how it's so nice to have us, be careful on those roads, there's black ice, you know!

Several minutes later, LeRoy returned to a car full of spirited children in foul moods. I smiled sympathetically, "Peaceful, pleasant conversation? The Irish... they're so engaging. Makes your coffee taste like a five-star blend?"

He grinned. "Yep." Handed his coffee to me to hold, no cup holders in this particular model.

Looking across the bay from the Ring of Kerry side over to Dingle Peninsula.

The north side of Iveragh Peninsula -- The Ring of Kerry.

Palm trees in Ireland? They're transplanted here, able to grow because of the North Atlantic Current, (the powerful, warm Gulf Stream), that blows from the Gulf of Mexico. No need to be native to the land... Spirit's powerful wind enables growth no matter where we're "transplanted." Yes?

We visited old Stone Forts, or Ring Forts... Cahergal...

...and Leacanabuile... where we read about these homes built in the 9th or 10th century...

The information board said it would have taken 100 men about 1 year to build these forts. No mortar... just expert engineering... and patience, focus, and hard work.

The children climbed down into the chamber, the "creep," used for storage and escape. How many other children just her age crawled in the same spot... over 1,000 years ago? What were their lives like? What were their stories?

Potato & leek soup, chips, meat & cheese (from the nearby dairy farms) sandwiches with homemade apple pie and cheesecake to top it off!

When I ducked inside to see if they were open for lunch, the proprietor had just finished stoking the fire and was standing in front of it warming her hands. As her and her husband -- such a darling couple -- made lunch they told us they returned the day before from a long holiday in Florida. "85 degrees... fahrenheit," they said with emphasis.

So these are the Stone Circles (also called Druid's Circles). So much speculation about these. A calendar? Clock? A place for important meetings? Or rituals? Perhaps it is a burial site?

If stones could speak, what stories would they tell?

We drove home via Moll's Gap where I discovered my new favorite store, Avoca. In fact, LeRoy bought me my new favorite cookbook -- this! The road home was snow and black ice on an excruciatingly narrow, winding road -- which made it quite an adventure. When we arrived home in Milltown, LeRoy and I walked down to the Bistro where the two employees -- sisters -- were just closing up but were more than glad to get a Guinness for LeRoy and a large piece of chocolate cake for me to take back to the cottage.

We finished our last evening lounging in pj's and watching an old James Bond movie.

And, yes, we long to go back. Actually, Eli has told us numerous times that he hopes to live in Ireland one day. {sigh} Me, too.

Limerick

2010-12-30T14:19:00.000-08:00

A stop at the bakery for rolls and a still-hot loaf of soda bread.

Stories.

"...can be traced back to 3000 BC..." We've enjoyed many family discussions about ancient civilizations... people. It's strange to stand on a rock formation that used to be someone's home 5000 years ago. 5000! To think! To stand on an important archeological site, reading about the tools... various homemaking devices and such... unearthed by scientists... to tell a story...

...about family, children, farmers, hunters... and my children's favorite, Vikings!

I'm looking around me as I type. What stories does my life tell? What story would the archeologists tell based on their findings in my home?

What romantic tales would they script about my marriage? What childhood entertainments would they chronicle?

Would they know our family's favorite recipes? Our traditions? Who we worship? I reach for another handful of the Kettle Corn my 15-year old son delivered a few minutes ago, bringing two bowls up to the library, "I love you, Mom. Love you, Dad," he said as he handed us bowls of love.

Just south of Limerick, at the Lough Gur, we learned about the lime kiln, the Grange Stone Circle, the Stone forts of Carraig Aille. About the tribes that made their home here in the valley, protected by the surrounding hills.

We walked the path around the lake, wondered about the Tower House, (closed to visitors and looking as if it might be a barn on the backside of someone's farm), and imagined ancient life.

At last we drove to Limerick, parked near King John's Castle, crossed the River Shannon, and found the meeting point for the Angela's Ashes Historical Walking Tour.

More stories. Never tiring of the stories.

There's many churches throughout the city of Limerick... and a deep and controversial church history. It was heartrending to hear about the rule of Protestant England and Ireland's fight for independence.

Our guide was adept at sharing about the history of Limerick from McCourt's perspective while giving us the-other-side perspectives. Tenderhearted, witty, and a phenomenal story-teller, our guide led us through the streets of Limerick pointing out important sites, telling us how-it-was-then and how it is now, his anecdotes both insightful and entertaining. We marveled at his energy when he informed us that he was headed south the following week... to be tour guide for a 750-km (approx. 466 miles), trek across Northern Spain. Said he'd led that particular walk for several years.

Frank McCourt, in his memoir, Angela's Ashes, tells about his alcoholic father... about finding his father at W.J. South, bent over a drink, a child's casket next to him... Frank's younger brother having died earlier that day.

In the playful Irish accent and fairytale-like way that Irish have, our guide told stories of hardship but also of love, perseverance, hard work, and undying devotion during a difficult time in history. He talked about family and survival and the importance of never quitting.

(See how attentive the children are in the photo above? Well, at least half the crowd anyway... sigh)

The sun set. The city lit up. We searched for the warmth of a fireplace to dine by. ...With the added bonus of an American football game on the wide-screen. {wide smile}

When I proceeded to take a picture of the hearth, a man leaned over and tapped me on the arm...

"Why take pictures of a fireplace when you can take a picture of two handsome sons taking their mother out for the evening?"

I smiled. "Alright. I agree!" And I took a picture. Of course, we made introductions all round, bantered for a bit, while I took the opportunity to point out to my sons the brilliance of grown sons taking their mother out on the town.

Ah, stories. How grateful we are for the opportunities to make these memories! The stories we'll refer back to... the treasures we'll unearth in our own family archeological digs...

Cobh (Queenstown)

2010-12-28T04:26:00.000-08:00

Early the next morning, (our 3rd day in Ireland), we ate a little breakfast then drove south to County Cork. On the way we drove through the town of Macroom where we stopped to look at the castle and buy some treats for later on. The aromas of fresh-from-the-oven bread that drew us through the red-painted door resulted in two bags of pastries and yummies -- a few with still-hot apple filling and others covered in confectioner's sugar -- and lattes for myself and LeRoy.

We only spent a short few minutes at the Macroom Castle because it is more or less ruins now than a whole complete castle. Yet, we found the history interesting as it was the home of Admiral Sir William Penn, the father of William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania! It is said that William Penn spent much of his boyhood days in the castle.

We drove through the city of Cork and arrived in Cobh, (pronounced Cove, also known as Queenstown), just in time for the 11 o'clock Trail of the Titanic Tour only to find that the famed Michael Martin was in the States doing a series of talks about the history of the Titanic. Somewhat disappointed, we sat down to discuss our options when a hotel receptionist stepped out to tell us that Mr. Martin's associate was on his way and would we be willing to wait five minutes. Of course, we thought this was "grand" and it gave us a few minutes to meet the other couple on the tour with us. They were from Israel, on a holiday "just the two of them" while children were at home with grandparents.

The tour began with our guide asking us where we were from. After hearing our answer and the other couple's, he said, "Huh. So no one is from England. Very well. We'll have a good tour then!"

We had never heard of the Lusitania -- a ship that was sunk by a torpedo shot from a German submarine. The ship sunk in only 18 minutes resulting in the deaths of 1198 people. The Lusitania Peace Memorial "commemorates those lost and pays tribute to those people locally who made repeated journeys out and back to the site of the sinking ship in an effort to save as many as possible. Over 700 people were rescued." The two men standing on the front of the statue depicts the weariness and sorrow of the rescuers. Our tour guide told us that this incident, May 7, 1915, was one of the events that led up to the United States getting involved in WWI.

We learned there is a whole maritime culture in which there is great honor and esteem. One of the memorials we visited was from the tragedy on December 12, 1942 during which five seamen died. One crew member was saved by swimming to a buoy lantern in Cobh Harbor -- the 100-year old lantern erected at the memorial along with a plaque that reads in Gaelic, "...to give without counting the cost."

We stood in front of the White Star Line, listening to our tour guide and looking out at the original pier where thousands of hope-filled passengers boarded ferries that took them to the waiting ship out in the harbor. Not just the Titanic, but so many more before and since. But it gave us a new reverence to stand where so many hopeful immigrants stood while listening to the stories that make history tangible.

The Titanic Memorial in Pearse Square commemorates the victims of the RMS Titanic that sunk on April 14, 1912. It was erected in July 1998 with Millvina Dean, the youngest passenger on board the ship, present for the ceremony. But the part that caused us to raise our eyebrows -- the moment my children actually stopped wiggling, elbowing one another, hopping on and off the nearby curb -- was when our guide told us about the picture of the woman and her children on the plaque.

The woman is Margaret Rice, surrounded by her five sons. They were the single largest Irish family to be lost on the Titanic -- and they were returning to their home they had immigrated to earlier in Spokane, Washington. With my children's curiosity piqued, they asked more questions and we got to hear the "whole story of the Rice Family" and the Titanic's connection with our hometown.

The Titanic set sail from Southampton, England to Cherbourg, France and then on to Queenstown (Cobh), Ireland to pick up more passengers. She pulled up her anchor for the last time in this harbor on April 11, 1912.

All the way back to our cottage later that day Israel talked about diving to the ocean's bottom and bringing the Titanic to the surface. The story captivated her, intrigued her. She wants to know more about it now. I believe, it is this that makes a "historical walking tour" a success.

Spike Island used to be "Ireland's Alcatraz." It's history holds stories of strategic military installations as well as a prison and a place to hold prisoners until they could be transported to Australia. Our guide informed us that it is now considered an honor to be an Australian as a descent of an Irish prisoner.

We continued our walk past the "Preaching House Steps" which led up to the house where Rev. John Wesley originally led his ministry in the 1760's.

Our guide led us up the hill, sharing the history of the enormous cathedral on our right, charming us with story after story of the people of Cobh, and finally telling us about the legendary boxer, Jack Doyle. Our tour then concluded at Jack Doyle's where our guide bought a glass of Beamish, (the famous local beer), for the adults and Irish lemonade (not like any lemonade we've ever tasted anywhere!) for the children.

We thanked our tour guide, received a signed copy of Michael Martin's Titanic Trail book, and exchanged e-mail addresses with our new friends who told us, "When you come to Israel, please look us up! We would be glad to show you around our city!"

?? Saw this sign on the way back to our car. Hm. Got me wondering...

Although it was a bit of a detour, we drove the 30 minutes south to the tiny harbor village of Kinsale where we arrived too late in the evening to really see the sights or take a long walk, but did arrive in time for dinner. We strolled through narrow, winding, cobblestone streets and along the waterfront where the tide was so low that boats sat embedded in the ground.

Upon finding a pub with a fireplace, we settled in for dinner and relaxation and conversation about the day's events.

After dinner we walked in the dark for a bit, shopped at the nearby market for groceries, then found another cozy establishment to warm ourselves on the outside by the fireplace, on the inside with Irish Coffee, cappuccino, and hot chocolate.

By the time we walked back to our car, the tide had come all the way in so that every boat bobbed up and down to the light splish-splish against the rocky embankment. We drove home with our hearts at full tide, too.

O my God, teach me to be generous:
to serve you as you deserve to be served;
to give without counting the cost;
to fight without fear of being wounded;
to work without seeking rest;
and to spend myself without expecting any reward,
but the knowledge that I am doing your holy will.

Saint Ignatius of Loyola

Killarney National Park

2010-12-26T04:45:00.000-08:00

I asked my sweet husband how I could bless him and he answered, "Finish blogging our holiday in Ireland." To document our family's adventures. To put together our family's memory albums.

And so...

...on Thanksgiving Day, we drove the 25 minutes from our cottage in Milltown to Killarney, the town on the doorstep of Killarney National Park. Mr. O'Sullivan rented bicycles to our family, "at a discounted rate... you came at a good time, you know, it's the off-season." He smiled a lot, reassured me of the futility -- how really "ridiculous" it is to try to see the park on foot, all while rummaging under piles of papers and behind racks of raincoats on clearance. "My wife," he peered deeply into a shelf, "she cleaned the shop. Now I can't find anything. 500 maps... and I can't find one." Finally, he walked out the front door, telling me over his shoulder, "I'll be back... you watch the shop for me, won't you?" And he disappeared.

When we were finally set up with bicycles, gloves (remedied by a quick visit down the street to his other outdoor shop, a tiny mom-and-pop version of REI), helmets, and directions (we settled on a map from the tourist shop across the street and classic Irish, "...you just go down this way a bit until you see a gate on your left... turn right, follow the path... after about two miles you'll come to Ross Castle... then you..."), we set out.

We must not have followed the path very well because we got lost a couple of times... which led to some great "extreme" mountain biking with narrow paths, large obstructions to navigate, jumps, and even a mud pit! I love how these adventures bring out our family's competitive sides, ("I'll bet you I can ride through that mud pit without getting stuck!"), as well as our I've-got-your-back sides... such as coming upon a felled tree: "Don't worry, Princess! I'll lift your bike over!" says a brother as he runs back to help Israel. "Hold on, Mom! I'll help you, too!" he says over his shoulder as he hands her bike to her on the other side.

Whether we were on the right path or not, we were surrounded by beautiful scenery at all times. Something I love about Europe is that most every ordinary adventure includes a plethora of extraordinary moments...

...like riding on a simple path... with a medieval castle in the background.

O'Donoghue Mór built this castle -- the last stronghold to hold out against Cromwell -- in the 15th century. Ross Castle sits on the lower banks of Killarney Lake...

...and is perfect for boys-becoming-men to scale its walls.

We rode beneath an ever-changing sky, the light and shadows playing hide-and-seek on the tapestry of MacGillycuddy's Reeks, the highest mountain range in Ireland.

At last the path led to Muckross House, a home built in 1843. We stopped at the entrance... the entrance to two paths... to decide if we should satisfy some serious hunger pangs at the cafe or follow the signs pointing to a scenic waterfall. The decision was unanimous. We decided to peddle through the hunger pangs in favor of more adventure.

And while Torc Waterfall wasn't quite as magnificent as we imagined, we were impressed with the gorgeous -- and mysterious -- scenery along the way. And although we didn't regret adding another hour to the ride -- we rarely ever do, regret, that is -- we were grateful for the warm chicken, potatoes, and bread back at the cafe.

As the afternoon faded, we rode back into town.

How is it... that the return trip always seems to take a fraction of the time it took to arrive at a particular destination?

After returning our bicycles, we explored the town of Killarney on foot, looking for a warm, cozy place to have our Thanksgiving Dinner later. Several guidebooks suggested The Laurels. The guidebooks were "spot on."

We located The Laurels Pub and then strolled the streets, taking in the storefronts, ducking into the old cathedral, and stopping in a tiny bakery for hot chocolate, cappuccinos, and eclairs to pass the time. (The dinner menu isn't available until 6:00 PM...) A stray dog ended up following us... for so long that we named him Killarney... which is a very, very bad idea when your 9-year old's greatest longing is to own a dog. When we lingered in the cathedral long enough that Killarney gave up on us and had vanished by the time we emerged from the enormous wooden doors, Israel burst into sobs which took the consolation and sympathy of all five of us to comfort her enough that the tears finally subsided. For the rest of the evening Rae asked questions like, "What if Killarney gets hungry? Who will feed him?" And, "Where will he sleep?" And, "What if God brought him to our family because we're supposed to take him home and care for him?" To which we surmised all manner of comforting scenarios to help ease her concerns.

Moral of the story: Don't name a stray animal. (And maybe rather than allow said animal to follow you for blocks upon city blocks, duck into the nearest shop and stay there until it gives up and follows someone else.)

It's hard to imagine a more romantic, more dreamy Thanksgiving Dinner than the one we enjoyed at The Laurels. Not only was the cuisine delicious, the Guinness pleasant, the ambiance with the fireplace, just-right lighting, and old-world charm perfect, but then the man sitting at the bar -- the one with an Irish accent so lilting that we had to lean in and listen with concentrated effort -- turned the large flat-screen television to the game playing live, the Detroit Lions against the New England Patriots.

When my boys smiled wide with exponential gratitude I shrugged and said, "God really does care about all the details, doesn't He?"

Our long repose was rewarded with the proprietor, Connor O'Leary, sitting at the table with us, engaging in unhurried, inquisitive, and charming dialogue about family, parenting, history, us listening to his endearing stories. He reminded me of my Grandpa Whitworth. It felt like we were in the dining room of family than in a pub surrounded by strangers. We tarried long, finally leaving with heavy reluctance.

And don't you think that's how Thanksgiving Dinner should be spent? With long, unhurried relationships? Engaged in animated conversation? Ah, we think so.

Race For The Base

2010-12-16T11:53:00.000-08:00

A long sigh. Cozy kitchen. And a heated, passionate discussion ensues. "I think it's a state of emergency."

"You mean, like a crisis?" We exchange looks in the pause.

"I think it's time to go on a crusade." Another pause. Questioning expressions. "You men," I make sure I have their attention, "you are wired for battle. To bring justice where there's injustice."

After that, it's a whole lot of brainstorming. It's heated, like I mentioned. These Olson men. I'm proud to be the lady who lives among them. Grateful they are my daughter's heroes.

But our conversation is heavy. Tuesday was declared a day of prayer for our military warriors. Depression and grief and trauma are all too real and our soldiers are taking their own lives.

And another crisis on our base... the rumor I heard was a 73% divorce rate (don't quote me on that one... at least not yet). And we agree that we're not okay with these issues. We agree that we're not okay with knowing there are people who are hurting within our sphere of influence and that we have the ability to look away... or do something.

My two older sons are revved and ready to go on The World Race... albeit disappointed that the minimum age is 21... but unwilling to shrug their shoulders and give up the idea altogether.

And so, during the conversation, Isaiah says, "You know, like The World Race... only our mission is to the Base!" He's excited... animated, "Like we did in Utah this past summer!"

Ah, yes, one of the biggest highlights of our summer in the States! The community my brother and his family worships and disciples with, The Genesis Project, in Ogden, Utah... The mission? To love on the area-wide community... each Friday... rocking the neighborhood. Serving people, greeting them with a smile, handing them a card, "You Have Just Been Rocked (Random Outbreaks of Community Kindness)." The children and I reveled in the brilliance of the mission!

"God lovse evrebudy"

And so, the rest of the day fills up with snippets of ideas as each person contemplates this Race for the Base. We all agree it begins in our home. But we're itching to take Grace to...

...You know how great it is when you feel alive? Passionate? And how you long for the people around you to know Grace? To feel their heart beat crazy with purpose? Zae told me this song describes the mission perfectly:

**Artwork by nephew, Nehemiah...

The Romance of the Emerald Isle

2010-12-06T12:34:00.000-08:00

Romance is watching The Quiet Man with John Wayne while writing and reminiscing about our time in Ireland only eleven days ago. Have you seen the movie? Have you experienced the Irish people? Their culture? Their heritage?

We arrived on a blustery cold and rainy day. Checked in to our cute little cottage in Milltown and headed off to the quaint little town of Dingle on the Dingle Peninsula.

Enchanted, we drove past postcard perfect scenes of sheep grazing in green pastures, the bay and the Ring of Kerry in the background.

Enchanted... and hungry, we ducked into Murphy's Pub in search of a warm fire and hot food. Our waiter with his dark hair, charming smile and even more charming accent brought us lunch fare which we ate while listening to the handful of women nearby speak Gaelic.

Dingle is every bit the dreamy little harbor town we had heard it was.

Something I love about the Irish is that they're full of delightful little surprises... out-of-the-blue-nuances that make a person smile.

After admiring sharks and an abundance of peculiar and beautiful smaller sea life and petting stingrays we strolled past village shops. One of the shops was a tiny jewelery store where LeRoy bought me a new wedding ring. While the ring was being sized we waited at the library down the street... When I asked the man if I needed anything special like a code or password to use the computer he smiled, held up his hands, and said, "You'll be needing your fingers, Miss."

At Murphy's ice cream shop we ordered ice cream for the children...

...and coffee for us grown-ups.

Claddagh Ring: Love, Friendship, Loyalty

embraced by the Celtic knot symbolizing eternal love.

Thankful. Abundantly thankful... for

1. Relationship...

2. with Jesus: Eternal Love, my Redeemer, Friend, Lover of my soul;

3. with my husband, my hero, lover, confidant;

4. with my children: my teachers, Arrows, blessings... in abundance.

5. tradition

6. laughter, smiles, and more laughter

7. the curiosity of the tides

8. creamy ice cream in a shop with oh-so-blue walls

9. big, heavy raindrops that splash when they land

10. cheerful, witty librarians

11. the lilt of the Irish accent

12. toasty fires and welcoming ambience

13. Irish tea

14. grocery shopping in a tiny market for breakfast food

Supreme Bliss

2010-11-24T07:55:00.000-08:00

Top o'the day to ya!

Two weeks ago we hiked in a majestic gorge, the ice-blue water with it's deafening roar rushing down the mountain. We sipped hot chocolate, shared a ginormous cream puff, and rode back down through the foothills of the Alps in a horse-drawn carriage. We descended deep into the middle of a mountain on a train of sorts to experience the Berchtesgaden Salt Mines. And pored over family letters and stories in Mozart's house in Salzburg, Austria.

Last weekend LeRoy and I celebrated 17 years of marriage. We bought our very first bedroom set, complete with our very first brand new mattress.

Today we ate lunch at Murphy's, a quaint pub along the waterfront on the Dingle Peninsula here in Kerry, Ireland. We arrived hungry and chilled, sauntered in and found a table next to the fireplace, the heat not only warming us on the outside, but the flames warming our spirits, too. The four women sitting nearby chatted in Gaelic, their merriment contagious. I had a large bowl of seafood chowder, (something I haven't had since mine and LeRoy's trip to Santa Cruz, California some many, many years ago), while the children had chicken and chips and LeRoy ate chicken and pasta. And the tea. The hot tea was perfection! Just your ordinary tea, mind you. But I thought I was going to burst into tears. How is it possible to experience such supreme bliss!?

After satisfying our ravishing appetites we visited the aquarium down the street where we stared wide-eyed in awe at God's extraordinary creations. We stood forever in front of the shark and stingray tank, laughing and chit chatting about how it seemed they were showing off for us. Eventually we sauntered over to the tank where we got to pet the stingrays. Pet! the. stingray! Imagine! There was one in particular that was like a frisky puppy, following our hands and acting as though he couldn't get enough of the petting.

Over three years ago, LeRoy asked me if I ever wanted a new wedding ring someday. (There's a story behind the wedding ring set we presently own.) I remember I smiled and said, "Yes. If we ever get the chance to visit Ireland, I would like to pick out a new ring while we're there." So, I'm sitting here typing at the Dingle Village Library while we wait for them to size the ring I just picked out.

My husband. He's like this. He treats me like a queen. Nothing blesses him more than when he gets a chance to bless me and his children.

"I love you." I say to him hoping he'll know how my heart is offered to him fully, completely in those three little words.

"I love you more," he says back. I stop what I'm doing, let him hold me, look deep into his water-blue eyes. This game of who can love the other one better.

"I think you do," I finally say. "You seem to be so good at it." He smiles ever so slightly, more question than amusement. "Really. You just love me so well," I tell him.

Supreme bliss. These moments that blend into one worshipful moment after another of a God Who loves lavishly. Who loves relationship. Who creates. For depth with one another. With Him. I'm overwhelmed. Overwhelmingly grateful.

What's On My Mind Lately

2010-11-03T03:38:00.000-07:00

The first day, we arrived in time for the midday meal. Sanitized our hands and left our shoes at the front door, cautiously slipped in and were handed a bowl of split-pea-colored mush that wafted a thick smell of dusty cupboards. We fixed babies in the crooks of arms, met their eyes, smiled long as they eagerly accepted each spoonful of sustenance.

So many babies. So few workers. Once one baby was finished, we fed another. All the while, the radio played on a shelf nearby... Focus on the Family with Dr. Dobson... interviewing a woman... someone knowledgeable in the area of foster parenting. I looked over at LeRoy to see if he heard the program, too. He did. Our mutual expression -- unified thoughts -- as we wondered at the moment.

In Africa every moment is all encompassing.

Later music played on the radio and the women who care for the babies... oh! Can they sing! And dance! And pretty soon the babies rocked back and forth, bobbed their heads, clapped, and everyone laughed.

Other visits simply entailed lots of cuddling and playing...

...Our children were naturals at the loving and cuddling. (Ezekiel is holding one of the twins we still pray for by name... after inquiring about adoption of the twins and being told no, we adopted them "anyway" in our hearts...)

Other visits were more exasperating... arriving with babies in tears, "mamas" (caregivers) with only so many hands, messy bottoms, cloth diapers, babies bathed in dirty brown water flowing from the faucet, and our eyes watering from the stench of a full bucket of dirty laundry. Our family of a dozen hands formed an assembly line of sorts. Diaper duty, a sponge bath, finding an outfit and dressing, and finally the cuddling of those sweet, sweet babies.

We loved and cuddled those babies as if they were ours. We spoke amongst ourselves and then gazed into their eyes, "You are loved. You are priceless. God has a plan -- a destiny -- for your life. Maybe you'll be a doctor or nurse or president or a scientist. Maybe an artist, musician, or athlete." We brushed our lips across their foreheads and the tips of their noses. We prayed over them.

Even now, we look at these photos as a family and my children laugh with memories, "Oh, she was a fireball!" Or, "Remember how little he was?" And, "Didn't he have the sweetest laugh?" They remember them -- and pray for them -- by name.

"Let the little children come to me... for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 19:14

Tribute to Friendship

2010-10-19T17:41:00.000-07:00

"To 20 years." Our glasses chinked.

I've thought about this post for way too long. A couple of years actually. And even now I falter as I sit here trying to think of words to describe friendship that runs so deep. A girlfriend and I discussed friendship over lunch today. She said, "You know, those friends who you know you could call in the middle of the night." And I smiled.

I do know. I know exactly.

I met Amy during my 7th grade year. She lived next door and she and I and Amber from across the street would meet up each morning to walk to school together.

After 8th grade our family moved to the other side of town and our paths went different ways. But then our Junior year in high school we reconnected. Picked up where we left off. And isn't that how it goes? Those friendships that don't know time or space.

Amy and Devita invited me into their grandiose plans of moving out of our parent's houses and renting an apartment together. And while those plans never came to fruition, our friendship did.

More than 20 years later would find us reminiscing about the past, dreaming together of our futures... this time, instead of math class, we sat on a balcony in Park City, taking in views of the surrounding Rocky Mountains.

We visited shops along Park City's Main Street, meandered over to the Olympic Park where we watched people acrobat off the end of the ski jumps, stayed up late looking at pictures and yearbooks, remembering, pondering, looking at past events through the lens of 20 years of experience and insight.

Our times together are magical. I don't know how else to put it. We're three unlikely friends, so different in our perspectives, so different in how we come at life... and yet, there's something enduring about our friendship that not only transcends time, space, and differences, but weaves together a work of art.

On one of the evenings we met at Amy's house she fixed Devita and I a salad that was pure culinary art. She served us Italian Wedding Soup with it. And the part I found so endearing -- romantic, really -- is that Amy's two daughters joined us with their fish sticks, green beans, and grapes. They conversed with us, sharing their stories and funny antics. When dinner was over Amy cut and colored mine and Devita's hair. After the little girlies were tucked in bed, the three of us watched the "Ya-Ya" movie, sipped wine, stayed up until 2 AM talking, crying some, and laughing.

Our friendship... it's the stuff great movies are made of.

Amy, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! You've taught me so much about what really matters in life. Truly, I am a rich woman to have you as my friend. Your deep love for life and family and friends never ceases to inspire and challenge me. It is because of you that I see the world as a place to explore and learn and grow and try new things... all those long conversations during which you would tell me about history, art, music, people... I can trace my interest in visiting the world back to those times with you, where we'd each have a steaming mug of chocolate, you curled up in the armchair, me on the couch. It is because of your influence in my life -- you consistently, constantly, knowing all the perfect ways to touch me to the core of my soul -- that I've learned to value the sacredness of moments... especially with those I love in my life.

I love how you always seem to know the perfect food, place, music, gift, drink, event, people, conversation... for every moment. I love the way you love your husband and your girls. The way you live your moments deeply and profoundly. Transparent. Thank you for always believing in me. For seeing more in me than I see in myself. For showing me what it looks like to be brave. For challenging me to look deeper, ask more questions, and be true to who God made me to be. For teaching me not to wait for "special occasions"... to always kiss my husband hello and goodbye... that each day is a special occasion. I treasure every conversation, every laugh, every tear that you and I have shared in our friendship.

Again, happy birthday, my dear girl.

May you always be blessed;
with walls for the wind,
a roof for the rain,
a warm cup of tea by the fire,
laughter to cheer you,
those you love near you
and all that your heart might desire.

"Please Wait..."

2010-10-07T23:39:00.000-07:00

"...System Processing."

I wonder what it means when one finds herself responding -- audibly, no less -- to the automated female voice at the self-checkout, "Oh! I know what you mean! Take your time... I sooo relate!"

*****

"Start where you are," they say.

And I smile. And sigh. Because I'm in a season of bliss. And there's so much I want to share. And I hardly know where to begin.

LeRoy -- ever my biggest fan, unwavering encourager -- tells me, "Share ALL of it. Don't leave anything out." I smile, begin making a mental list: the precious babies we pray for... the ones we loved and cuddled, fed and changed, while in Africa; day trips... such as the one to Strasbourg, France; my new friends who came to my door a couple of months ago and asked if they could do a Bible Study with me (...as if I would say no!); endlessly fascinating (albeit, somewhat brain-frying) studies in kinesiology and biomechanics (who knew!); besides more...

Lots more.

Two words I'm processing these days... autonomy and corporate. What comes to your mind when you hear those words? As in, "Type I [Intrinsic motivation] behavior emerges when people have autonomy over the four T's: their task, their time, their technique, and their team." (Daniel H. Pink, Drive, The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us, pg. 94) And corporate as in, "Christianity is intensely corporate. Christianity is a life lived out among a body of believers who know Christ together as Lord and Savior." (Frank Viola & George Barna, Pagan Christianity, pg.191)

And I'm mulling over how no matter what, His faithful presence sustains me, pursues me, inspires me. Revives me. No matter how distracted I am or how long it takes for me to process moments and information throughout the day... He is faithful! No. matter. what. Patient. Never changing. Always reliable. And how He fills in all the gaps with His grace and mercy. Faithfully. "But you, O Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness." Psalms 86:15 (NIV)

How about you? What are you mulling over... processing... these days?

I Want to Be FAT!

2010-09-17T07:09:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, it's weird," she says it contemplative, mulling, while I glob peanut butter on a plate, stack apple slices next to it, "how we're kinder to our friends than to our family." I hand her the plate and sit down across from her.

"Hm. Why do you think that is?" I watch her scoop peanut butter with an apple slice. Eli walks in, glances around the room and resigns himself to a breakfast of banana. The coffee maker gurgles, sighs a poof of steam signaling the coffee's ready.

"I don't know." She picks up another apple slice. "It seems like we should be MORE loving to our own family... and we should be loving to our friends, too."

I'm tired and not quite awake. And I've been praying, praying, praying. That we will be a tender-hearted family. That we'll not take one another for granted. That we'll cultivate a deep appreciation -- a genuine enjoyment -- for one another, idiosyncrasies and all. And I let out my own sigh, signaling relief in small breakthroughs.

Jerry Sittser writes in his book A Grace Disguised,

"This [sacredness] of the present makes us aware of the wonder of life itself, gives us a keen awareness of the world around us, and deepens our appreciation for each moment as it comes to us. Even in loss and grief, we can choose to embrace the miracle of each moment and receive the gifts of grace that come to us all the time."

I hug my oldest and youngest, walk them out to the porch, stand there in the misty morning waving to them and exhorting, "Remember who you are. Have a great day. I love you!"

They wave back, "I know. We will. Love you, too!"

I turn to go back inside, to embrace the miracle of each moment... my husband sitting at the kitchen table ready to enjoy a cup of coffee with me before he heads out for another day of slaying dragons; my middle-school age boys with their sleepy thud-thud as they plod down the stairs. I catch them on the way into the kitchen, offer a hug, and a slightly-more-alert-than-a-few-minutes-ago Good Morning!

The moments ebb then flow headlong into the day and I pray, "Lord, please help me be FAT* today... I want to embrace the moments that teach me to be Faithful, Available, Teachable."

Photo: an ancient wall on the path leading up to the castle in Heidelberg, Germany.
*From Dr. Howard Hendricks in Teaching to Change Lives.

Home...

2010-08-24T04:38:00.000-07:00

Today we went to Eli's orthodontist appointment in Speicher. Afterwards, we drove down the street intent on eating an early lunch at City Grill. When we found it wasn't open for another half hour, we meandered over to the Eis Cafe -- Dolomiti -- for some gelato, (Italian ice cream) where we indulged in dessert first.

When we finished our dessert, we returned to City Grill and ordered (in German because Eli challenged us all to do so... Danke, Eli!), Jamaican Pizza, a Döner Kebap, Türkische Pizza, and Pömmes Frites. The children and I sat and visited, (they were in an especially enjoyable conversational mood), reminisced, giggled together, and when the server brought out our order I said, "Danke..." and wanted to add, "very much." But all that came to mind was, "Zikomo kwam biri." (Chichewa language in Malawi, Africa. Isaiah laughed at me, "Where do you think you are?")

As we sat eating our fare, we chatted about the climate, landscape and culture in Wyoming, USA. About Eli's dream to someday own a ranch with unlimited prairie to roam. And we all imagined with him the dreaminess of his idea.

And I had to smile. I am at home -- in Deutchland, Malawi, and Wyoming.

Loving and Living Here and Now

2010-07-02T07:38:00.000-07:00

I am well aware that I live the sweet life. I am reminded in a thousand different ways everyday. This morning, God whispered His love in the breeze that blew fresh across my face as I sat on my sister's front porch gazing up at the mountain. I watched as sunlight slowly slid it's way over the peak, it's fluorescent glow greeting the day. The Rocky Mountain Range is no less than majestic -- and total therapy for my soul. Their grandeur is amazing to behold. Like a beautiful piece of art... especially when you get to meet the artist, like at an art festival, the artist sitting there working on a piece or chatting with patrons, their very presence igniting respect and awe. I smiled as I sat in awe of the Creator, His presence inspiring me, wooing me.

My days are filled with extraordinary moments. Moments that fill me to overflowing with awe and gratitude. A highlight of my time here in the States so far is the Ogden Raptors Baseball Game last Friday. The view of the mountains took my breath away -- while I blinked back tears off and on throughout the evening. We watched as pitchers threw fast balls, batters hit home runs, and the sun set in the west bidding it's breathtaking adieu against the rocky crags in a glorious orange fade. The crowd sang it's rousing rendition of Take Me Out to the Ball Game, standing and swaying, all heart as, "...Buy me some peanuts and Crack-er Jacks..." echoed against the landscape and a digital red, white, and blue flag waved on the reader board. And I couldn't help but get teary as I thought, this is my America. How beautiful is this place that I love so much!

The relationships here are extraordinary. It's good to spend time with my siblings again. And the cousins, well, they've picked up right where they left off three years ago... best friends... only now they're old enough to go play on the mountain every morning before it gets too hot. And don't you just love how people grow up in the same house, with the same parents, and the same basic set of experiences, and yet... well, we come at life so differently! I love it! It mixes it all up and we have to be more intentional, more gracious and forgiving, in our communication and actions. My sisters and brother help me become a better person.

Time spent with my two best girlfriends from high school, Amy and Devita... well, it's every inspiring scene from every movie and every book about friendship. The other night we started with conversation over beignets and coffee next to the river then took it to Amy's house where we put feet up on couches, sipped California wine, and talked until 2 AM. We reminisced about the past, talked present politics, (laughed -- and bemoaned -- over graduation night), and envisioned our futures. What is it about the people you've loved since high school? It runs deep and profound. It's beautiful and inspiring. I'm loving this story that's unfolding for well over 20 years.

Speaking of unfolding stories, inspiring moments, and finding the extraordinary all around, I was delighted to read the post on one of my favorite blogs this morning... My friend, Belinda, posted this. Thank you, Belinda, for giving me the inspiration to post this blog. (It's worth it to watch the clip in full screen.) People. They're beautiful! I cried while watching this clip.

This life... how I love it!

May your eyes be opened as you experience the extraordinary. May you revel in the Creator's love and passion for you. May you celebrate the here and now.

Coming to America

2010-06-21T02:47:00.000-07:00

We're here at the USO office in Frankfurt, Germany. Hanging out. Waiting. It's been three years since our kiddos have visited family and friends. Three years. We are excited. Full of anticipation. Wondering what it will be like to experience American culture again. Isn't life fun like that? We change. Everyone does. We're not the same people as we were three years ago. Neither are you. We are looking forward to catching up. Hearing your stories. Engaging in your journey. Being in your presence.

We are coming to be with you.

Plane leaves in less than two hours.

We arrive in Salt Lake City around 7 o'clock tonight. Can't wait to embrace my siblings, their spouses, and my nieces and nephews! The children can't wait to see their cousins and aunts and uncles. (I look forward to long, stimulating conversations with my girlfriends from high school!) It's going to be great.

I miss LeRoy already. The children do, too. Isaiah said, "Mom, not to be rude, but you're kind of lost without Dad." So true. I told him he and his siblings have the big job of keeping me organized until he meets up with us in five weeks. He completes me. And without him... well, I guess Zae summed it up.

Grateful beyond measure for the depth of grace and blessings we have moment by moment.

See you soon!

i n s p i r e d

2010-06-13T09:29:00.000-07:00

Isaiah draws... often. Says, "I'm just practicing."

He wakes me early on a Saturday Sleep-in morning. "Mama, it's foggy out! This is the perfect kind of morning to go for a walk!"

I roll all groggy from cozy bed covers, husband pulls feather comforter under chin, and I sigh as I pull on layers of resolve over pajamas. It's cold and I'm struggling to put on the same kind of enthusiasm as my boy.

We walk through the center of the village, past the dairy cows, and up the hill toward the road that heads northeast into the forest. Isaiah talks and talks. "What if..." and whole schools of thought ending in, "What do you think about that, Mama?" I try to offer up perspectives, volley questions back to him.

We stop to watch an earthworm cross the road, its length sliding between road's rocky asphalt. We talk philosophy and the virtue of stick-to-iteveness. Finding the path and making a go of it.

We discuss how when faced with an uphill climb, it's best to take a deep breath, pray for help for a good attitude, then ascend one step at a time.

"Because you never know what you'll find at the top!" He flashes contagious smile at me.

As we approach the top, my breath catches, "Zae! Look!" We stop and I point ahead of us. A lonely deer out for his morning stroll, too, stands watching our ascent. Earlier Zae told me how much it would mean to him to see some deer while on our walk.

The road levels out and we watch thick wet air close in. Sprinkles turn to heavy drops. I try not to be grumpy because I'm cold... and now I'll be wet. I press my lips together. I don't want him to think I'm anything but enthusiastic about this walk.

"Mama, hurry! This way! Trust me! I'll show you where we can go!" I follow him as we duck our faces away from rain, eyes squinting through soggy air. He's all confidence and chivalry.

"Quick! Up here! I'll go first to dry the steps so they won't be slippery for you!" I climb the ladder, his blue wellies glistening just above me. It is dry inside the hunter's perch. We sit, silent, waiting for wildlife to cross the field, listening to rain. Everything is fresh like when a bucket of clean water swishes across concrete patio. And there inside the perch we talk about life, what God is showing us. We dream.

I thank him for rescuing me from becoming drenched and miserable. And I discover that all my grumpies have disappeared. That I am overwhelmed with the sweetness of this boy so full of passion and enthusiasm and creativity and spunk. This boy on the brink of manhood.

And we watch two deer walk along the fence-line below us.

At last the rain subsides to sparse sprinkles. We climb down the ladder and head back to the house. On the way he shares more ideas -- there is no shortage with him -- and he takes my hand as we walk.

It is a perfect way to begin a Saturday in March.

Then he turned 13 on Friday. June 11th.

"Mama, come watch me! I can land some new tricks!"

This boy whose passion lends itself to sharp criticism of self when he doesn't meet his own high expectations.

This boy who nails his jumps over and over. But sighs, smiles, and shakes his head when board and feet betray intentions. I am so proud of this boy growing up from the inside out. I can see the concerted effort not to allow himself to be overcome by frustration. His efforts are a success.

Last Sunday he fell from the top of the skate ramp. Apparently, in spite of his wearing a helmet, the impact on his cheek and chin were enough for him to sustain a minor concussion. Yet, he was back at practicing as soon as I'd relent... this after a mandated 48-hour rest from high-energy activity.

Adventuresome. Intense. Passionate. Enthusiastic. Helpful. Kind. Encouraging. Courageous.

Inspires me to stay with it. To practice.