Recap of 2017 and An Idea

If you had to put a title on 2017, what might it be called? For me, I believe I'd call it Transition.

Germany rang in 2017 with the usual conviviality and merriment, fireworks on nearly every street and in the cobbled town squares. The carousing begins at midnight and carries into the wee hours of the morning.

Across Europe, the first day of the year begins with a day of rest. Businesses are closed, including grocery markets, making the next twenty-four hours conducive to contemplation and scheduling of the 364 days ahead.

For us, plans included a short visit back to the States sometime in the late summer or autumn. But that was eight or nine months away.

In the short-term, the coming months meant finishing the book I was writing, seeing many friends pack household goods and attending their "until later" parties as they moved to the next assignment, and preparing a two-week holiday with friends arriving in the springtime.

We did what we've always done. Settled into the new year, we carried on with work, education,  church activities and time with friends. Nothing happened too out of the ordinary except for the occasional cause for celebration like a friend's promotion at work. Or Ezekiel's 18th birthday on January 13th, celebrated on a men's ski trip in the Swiss Alps.

Yet, the environment at LeRoy's job grew increasingly difficult. Bureaucratic minutiae and poor management wore on him. And while his love for the actual work never waned, the thought of being surrounded by less than ideal attitudes and perspectives took their toll. Toward the end of January, he suggested we cancel our two-year extension and return to Spokane, Washington in six months.

So, maybe I'd title the year, Pivot. Over the next several weeks, the subject of moving filled the bulk of our dialogues. To be honest, I tried everything I could think of to try to change the situation. (Ha! In my book, Living Your Legacy, I talk about change. About the ability to accept what is while moving the story forward through skillful improvisation.) I didn't want to leave Germany and (selfishly) I thought there might be a solution that would allow us to stay for two more years. (I also wrote about how life is too short to stay stuck in a rut with no vision and little impact.)

Then one evening in February, LeRoy made a phone call to his friend, mentor, and previous boss at Fairchild Air Force Base in Spokane. And when he hung up, he turned to me and said, "We're canceling our extension and returning to Spokane this summer." And all the frustration and angst of the previous weeks and months dissolved into perfect peace.

The extension was canceled the next day. We'd fly out on August 20th.

Over the next four months, I finished my book, Living Your Legacy, we enjoyed exploring Europe with our friends, Larry and Sherry Templeton, and we said, "Until later," to many families. The movers arrived on a Monday morning in mid-July and we transitioned into temporary housing. (Over the course of the next three months, we'd live in six different places.)

A highlight in the middle of our move was our holiday to the Belgium countryside with our friends, the Johnson Family. Over a weekend that went way too fast, we stayed in a rustic French Gite just south of Dinant.

Exploration highlights comprised of a tour of the Citadel, beer tasting at the Maison Leffe, and kayaking on the River Meuse. Of course, there was the elegant and delicious Charcuterie Platter prepared by our friends, Warren and Jasmine, who paired our cuisine with a perfect French wine.

Then, a few weeks later, on Saturday afternoon, August 19th, we visited with friends-who-had-become-family one last time at Trattoria da Salvatore in Landstuhl. And at 3 o'clock the next morning, we left for the Frankfurt International Airport, arriving in Spokane, Washington that same afternoon.

That evening we had dinner with the Stone Family, and enjoyed a surprise visit from the Eva's. We spent the week "in-processing" which is military-speak for a small mountain of paperwork and checklists. LeRoy started work the following week. We searched for a place to live. Ezekiel searched for a job. Israel and I attended Women's Bible Study at Life Center.

Over the next few months, things fell into place. LeRoy thoroughly enjoys not only his work but the camaraderie and teamwork at Fairchild. We rented a townhouse on the outskirts of Spokane toward the airport and Airway Heights. Ezekiel got hired at the Starbucks only a seven-minute walk from our home.

Outwardly, it looks as though, for the most part, we've picked up where we left off. But things are different.

*~*~*~*~*

The last three years brimmed with the richness of relationships. (That's not the part that's different. We've experienced that everywhere we've lived.) :)  But the friends we met while living in Ramstein, Germany, are dreamers. They're action-takers who chase after audacious goals with purpose and unwavering faith and hope. Their lifestyles demonstrate anything is possible. 

They dream outside the lines, intimately connected to the One Who plants the seeds of what's possible in their hearts. For three years, we lived alongside people who live large... in faith, love, hope... adventure. People who poured encouragement and optimism over everyone they encountered because they were always up to something. (So much so, that I'll have to save that for another post.) 

This isn't to say everything always went well. We held one another up and prayed each other through difficult marriage, health, and parenting seasons. But it was a steadfast and intense community. One couldn't be in their presence without having Christ's love and joy splashed onto them.

Which brings me to my flash of insight. 

There's so much talk in our world these days about how we can 3X, 10X, or 100X our focus and efforts. Sure, I track with what they're saying. I mean, we spent the last three years with folks who live 10X and 100X lives. But somewhere along the way, I grew weary and being all in has started to feel... intangible. Until now.

My business coach and mentor, Steve Roller, wrote something recently that stirred inspiration and restored my vision for what's possible. He wrote about how he doesn't set an alarm to wake up. He allows himself to awaken to ideas. 

It's the second time within the last five days that I've heard one of my mentors talk about this. Earlier in the week, I heard John Maxwell relate a similar story from his own life. 

How often I've woken in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours with ideas that could have produced fruit. However, I didn't so much as write them down and then when I finally woke up "for real"... they were gone. 

So, I'm excited to test this theory that we can multiply our efforts -- that we can 100X our lives? (That wasn't the way Steve Roller or John Maxwell put it. That's just my own mashing of two ideas together.) :)  That taking action on ideas -- or at least writing them down -- as they present themselves, might be an organic, rhythmic way to multiply the fruit in our lives. 

I'll keep you posted. 

*I'm curious, did you think of what you would title 2017? Hit reply to this email and let me know. I'd love to hear your title. 

How To Create Your Own German Spa Experience

Sometimes, you just need to take the day off.

That's what I did today.

I woke up at 4 o'clock this morning, my head and face throbbing from sinus pressure. You ever been there?

Then I checked email, drank water, took Alka Seltzer, looked through my Facebook newsfeed with Israel, (the video of our friend, Macee's, post-op drug-induced delirium from the removal of her wisdom teeth had us rolling), took a little nap thinking I could sleep off the pain . . .

At 2 o'clock this afternoon, Israel ran me a hot, hot, (as in, I had to add cold water before I could get in), eucalyptus aromatherapy bath. After about 20 minutes, with my face drenched with sweat, and my heart rate accelerated by a lot, I got out and dressed in a fresh pair of pajamas.

Now, at this point, I realized I had the perfect makings of a German Spa experience. All I had to do was stand under an ice cold shower for several seconds. Or, the other option is to go outside in the freezing air for about 10 minutes.

At real German spas, you sit in a sauna with the heat so high, you're sure you're being cooked from the inside out. (Actually, I kinda felt like that in the tub of water Israel filled for me.)

Then . . . (and this is where the medicinal effect takes place), you exit the sauna and immediately dip down into an "ice bath," which is literally a cylinder tub with steps down into it where you submerge up to your neck. Do this for a few seconds and then step out.

At this point, you either go back into the sauna you were in before or you choose the one across the hall which is much hotter, (I stepped in there and found it was so hot I couldn't catch my breath), sit there for about 10 minutes, and repeat the ice bath. Or . . .go walk outside for 10 to 15 minutes.

Oh. And the dress code in a German spa is naked. So, there's that. Fortunately, they give you a big, fluffy bathrobe to wear around the spa and thankfully you're allowed to wear your bath towel in the sauna. Of course, if you're going to dip down into the ice bath, you can't wear either.

So, if you're not comfortable with the concept of al naturel, (which I'm not), you can wrap the cozy bathrobe around you and go sit outside in one of their oversize Adirondack lounge chairs.

Repeat the process three or four times to increase blood circulation, which promotes health and well being. :)

Which is what brought me to the realization that I had all the makings of a German Spa today. Because after my soak in extremely hot water, I went and sat outside where the temperature was 37 degrees Fahrenheit. I took my water bottle and the book I'm currently reading, but then found the fresh air to be so rejuvenating and relaxing, that I ended up just sitting there. Grateful. So. Extremely. Grateful.

My girl, who was downstairs working on making gingerbread for the house she plans to build, came up and checked on me and took a photo.

My head feels tons better. And I'm excited to get back to work.

How about you? How are you feeling today? Be extra kind to yourself. Maybe take the day off? What is your version of a German Spa experience?

About That

There are some places in the world that make their way into my heart and take up residence, filling the space with the sense that, I belong here... I need to live here someday... there are stories here... I was made for this.  Places that resonate so deeply inside of me that I find myself searching for the house where I'll live, making note of the street name of a quaint cafe where I'll get my coffee, studying faces -- you know, in case they end up being my neighbor and our stories intertwine.  Venice, Italy is one of those places.

Hence, it seemed perfectly natural that if I decided I'd ever run a marathon, Venice made the perfect backdrop.

So I'll be honest and tell you that the vision that kept me running toward the finish line during all those long, (yes, tedious), miles of pretty much nothing magnificent, (in spite of all the propaganda that claimed this was one of the race route's most scenic and historical), was the idea of running in the actual city of Venice.  The last few miles of the race.  Hm.  About that.

When I trudged past the 18-mile marker and a race official called out something in Italian, him all twinkly-eyed and smiles, and I responded in English, he repeated himself... in English, "You're an hour late!"  He gestured to his watch. 

I smiled back, a bit confused, late for what?, I thought.  I didn't know about the blockade a mile and a half ahead.  The one where they'd tell me I  was done and I'd argue that I wasn't finished.  And about that prayer I prayed as I crossed the starting line, "Lord, I want to be broken.  Whatever it takes...  Less of me and more of You.  Take me to a place where I'm consumed with living for You."  And, really, who prays a dumb prayer like that?  Especially at the beginning of a 26.2 mile race.

And maybe part of the story is about Francesca.  The gal who made me smile with curiosity as racers gathered at the starting gates, her skipping and dancing around like a giddy five-year old.  Her audible giggle as she stretched clumsily, her arms flailing wildly as she nearly toppled over.  A tall man dressed in slacks, pressed button-up shirt, and Oxfords watching her, his stoic expression filled with devoted concern.  Her husband?  A guardian?

She passed me on the right somewhere between three and four miles.  Her steady pace punctuated with an occasional stumble and quick skip accompanied by a gleeful chuckle and snort.  Later, well after the 5-mile mark, she was up ahead when the 6-hour pace group caught up with me and I fell in with them... them calling cadences in Italian, whooping and partying it up.  It was their pacer, the one carrying the baby-blue balloon with a bright white six painted on it, who asked me my name and welcomed me to the group.

"Alright, everyone!" she yelled.  "This is Sharon and she's going to finish the race with us!"  The whole group cheered, yelled welcome's and encouragements.  Pretty soon, our group came up alongside Francesca.  That's how I learned her name.

For a while, I kept company with this spirited group.  But then there was that little decision I  made when walking to the starting gate, the one to forgo standing in line to use the porta-potty.  The decision that brought about catastrophic consequences at about the 6-mile mark.  Lesson learned: never, never pass on the opportunity to visit the porta-powder room one last time before setting out on an epic journey.  Suffice it to say that there was no way I was going to keep up with the pace group.  The last one.  My last chance to jog this gig with the camaraderie of fellow racers.

Eventually, the pace group's whoops and hollers faded into the distance and I realized I'd have to sprint to catch up.  Better to settle into a resolute rhythm, dreamy thoughts, visions of running through Piazza San Marco and seeing my family at the finish line motivating me onward.

Francesca fell behind the pace group, too.  When I caught up to her, I noticed she was struggling.  I asked her if she was alright and she rattled something in Italian.  Her voice was high-pitched and squeaky.  But her eyes sparkled and she smiled and smiled, her words melodic, the syllables bouncing along trifling glissando giggles.

I slowed my pace -- more -- matching my stride to hers.  Occasionally, she'd pause, her breathing short, almost gasping, before stepping into a steady forward stride again.  And that's how it went, in fits and starts, me offering small exhortations here and there, waiting while she stopped to remove her shoes and shake pebbles out, her enthusiastic expression never wavering.  I smiled in spite of myself.


The two of us plodded along together.  As we approached the 13.1-mile marker, she tried telling me something urgent.  Although I smiled and shrugged, I didn't understand until she approached the lone race official busy winding electrical cords and letting the air out of the inflated banner over the road that announced the half-way mark.  Francesca waved me on with a high-pitched, enthusiastic "Grazie!  Grazie!" 
 

Later, upon reflection, I came to two conclusions about that part of the story.  First, it was a great test... I now know for a certainty that I'd get my teammate and I kicked off the reality show's Amazing Race right away.  Second, running the race in a relational context is a place that fills my heart with that sense of I belong here... this is what I was made for.  I didn't mind running alone -- very alone... as in, most of the race I couldn't see another soul ahead or behind me.  But running alongside Francesca... well, the race took on an eternal dimension.

There is something about that place of engaging in the divine, of traveling the journey with others... that place where we enter into another's brokenness... the challenge of letting go of a little more of my own agenda and selfishness and fear to risk love.

Francesca's enthusiasm was contagious.  I can still see her in my mind and I smile all over again.  There was something about that place of going the distance together that said this is where I live... take note.  That epic place filled with stories.     

My family was at the finish line exactly where I knew they would be, watching the racers approach the finish, waiting for me.  "Mom!  Did we miss you?  We never saw you coming toward the finish line!"  Uh, about that.

Gratitude:
162.  Gelato on the walkplatz with family.

163.  A whole week full of breakthroughs!

164.  The whole family, sore left arms, and the blessing of immunizations.

165.  Six prescriptions for malaria medicine as we prepare for an epic adventure.

166.  Reading Kingdom Journeys together as a family.

167.  Praying together.

168.  Going the distance together.

Gent, Brugge, Antwerp... Belgium!

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

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

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

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!

Plitvitze National Park, Croatia -- Day 6

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?