Ponderings and Fun!

In talking to my lovely cousin, Jessie, she said something about that if I become a nun she will laugh at me.  Then she added, "Or maybe I will be laughing with you."  My response was to look at the entirety of my life and see how ridiculously funny just about everything I have done and hope to do is.  So I said, "I think we are already laughing together!"  Now, this isn't about making fun of any particular way of life but that perhaps life really is a tragicomedy as we all seek wholeness, albeit in our own and sometimes crazy and ineffective ways. 

So my life goals began early with wanting to "blow up balloons at the flower shop when I grow up."   That changed to horse training and a dream of riding in the Olympics.   In college, horse training changed to pastoral ministry.   It seems that I've gone so far in different directions that things are beginning to come full circle.   Or perhaps it is just the humor of life that all things are so intertwined that no matter what path one goes on to find wholeness (or happiness, or whatever you want to call it) one always runs into the same stumbling block:  the brokenness of the self.  I stumble and crash on one path so I find another.  And another.  But when the problem is within me, finding something else or acquiring a new...whatever, doesn't fix it.  The irony is that ultimately there is much more pain in the running away than there is in being honest with oneself right from the start.  But really, who does that?

As I type this, I am watching two tomcats out the window.  One sat at the base of the tree taunting the other whom he had "treed".  Apparently the one in the tree was a much more skilled climber, as the other would attempt to climb but it wasn't working out so well and he'd end up back on the ground.  Eventually he did get quite a ways up the tree, quite awkwardly.  The higher he wiggled, the higher the other cat would scale.  When the clumsy one got bored or hungry or whatever changed his mind, it took him a good 10 minutes to get himself out of the tree, done mostly by letting go, falling, and then catching himself a little farther down the trunk.  A few minutes later, the "treed" cat simply hopped from branch to branch and gracefully landed himself back on the ground.  Did either really accomplish anything with this endeavor?  Who knows.  But it seems the same with so much of what we do to find whatever it is that we think we want or need.  We scramble around as best we can and never get anywhere until we face the fact that we must deal with ourselves--the parts we don't want to admit to or look at--before we are going to find the peace and wholeness that we yearn for.  The brilliance of life and the very silly things we do in that brilliance.  Tragic?  Yes. Comical?  I think so.  Who said tears and laughter cannot go together?

That reminds me of the week after I graduated from Wartburg College.  It had been a very stressful final semester.  I had internalized all the stress and emotions of finals, leaving the place I had come to call home, and most of all, saying good-bye to my dear friends on campus as I set off for...I had no idea.  At home that week, I said to my mom, "Let's watch 'Land Before Time'!"  I really didn't know what to do with myself without reading and writing and studying to do.  Well, when Littlefoot's mom died in the first few minutes of the movie, it pushed me over the edge and I sobbed.  Yup, through the ENTIRE movie.  As I sobbed, I had to laugh.  Is it not comical, of all the things we live through, the absurd things that finally force us to let our emotions out, to face our grief or--for better or for worse--lose control of our anger?

Enough of that.  Since returning to Augustana Hochschule after Christmas and New Year's, I've settled back into the routine of classes and studying.  To my great delight, I have also added back into the routine what has been missing for much too long--9 very long months:  I'm back in the saddle.  I had my first lesson during the second week of January and tonight I'm going back for another!  Now that things have settled down and I have the membership paperwork done for the Reitverein (riding club), I hope to ride weekly.  This is still a far cry from my usual 12-15 rides/week, but it's better than not at all!

Last Thursday I had a chance to visit Jutta in Tübingen.  She even took me to the place where Goethe puked, but I didn't have a card in my camera at the time, so no picture of the sign.  Next time.  Friday, we went together to Freiburg where we met up with one of Wartburg's J-term classes--they had just spent two weeks in France and Switzerland.  It was great to see the seniors, the middlers (who I will graduate with), and to meet the juniors who I will never be classmates with.

[Update: Last night my riding lesson was fabulous! Oh, how good such a fantastic ride makes me feel! However, during this lesson...rrrrip went my breeches. So the goal for today (Friday) is to find my way to the saddle shop in Nürnberg and find a new pair for my next lesson on Wednesday.]

All for now.
Pax.

Welcoming in 2012: Poland and Czech Republic

One more big post for the Christmas and New Year's craziness before returning to the ponderings of what is now my daily life in Germany.  Actually, and as usual, I am starting this because I'd really rather not do what I'm supposed to be doing:  my work for class next week.  It would be easy except it's supposed to be in German and I'm still too chicken to start such an intimidating ordeal.

So. I left Elly and the Strickerts and all my new friends early the morning of December 29, as the nesher took me back to the Tel Aviv airport.  Once again, I had no idea where I was going to stay that night or how I was going to get to Poland to meet Iga and her family.  Once in München I thought, "I want to get there early...maybe I can meet them earlier or explore a little."  I bought my train ticket and set off again.  By 11:30 PM I had only reached Nürnburg and the thought of training it through the night was horrifying. I got off and found myself a hostel.  The next morning I set off early to be sure and reach Poland by the time we had agreed to meet.  Train fail.  My train into Dresden was over an hour late in arriving, meaning I missed my train to Wroclaw.  Four and a half hours later, I had all my Christmas pictures sorted and labeled, had skyped with my momma, and luckily had reached Iga with the help of skype and her mom's cell phone to tell them not to look for me.  Thankful for the coffee shop in the Dresden Hauptbahnhof with free wireless.  When the train finally pulled into Wroclaw, I was at the door, impatient to get out...Iga and her mom were waiting for me on the platform.

Iga's family absolutely overwhelmed me with their hospitality...more food than I could ever dream of eating...and we ate just about every 5 minutes.  When they asked what I like to eat, Iga told them, "cereal."  So cereal it was...along with bread and 10,000 things to put on the bread.  Tea.  Coffee.  Beer.  Iga only had one line to translate:  "Eat more."  What a welcome!!  Iga and her mom gave me a tour around Wroclaw before we headed to the New Year's party.  As usual, I wimped out on New Year's Eve and went to bed at 10:30.  Just about when my brain doesn't have to work quite so hard in Germany, I find myself exhausted by Polish.  Not that that was really why I went to bed at 10:30.  I'm a party pooper.  I have no problem admitting that!



A very wet cathedral in Gorzow.

We made the 5-hour drive to Iga's hometown, Gorzow, where we visited more of her family and she took me around town in the pouring rain.  She even brought me to the very cute little bar she hung out in.  We just went in and took pictures and left...we had supper to pick up to take to her dad's.  Still no snow.  Only rain.  A lot of it.  A few days later we made the 5-hour drive back to Wroclaw where we gathered everyone together and headed for the mountains.  Yes.  There IS snow in the mountains.  And the roads are being closed because of it.  We made it to the cute little lodge, a barn made into a hotel-type thingy with no trouble.  There were a few piles of snow here and there, but still no snow to speak of.  Lots of water and very high rivers though.  Snow?  Perhaps tomorrow?  This was a ski trip after all.  The next morning we loaded up the few of us planning to ski (yes, me in my jeans because one can't fit Carhartts easily into a suitcase when moving to another country!) and went looking for snowy slopes, which we found very soon!  More snow than we ever could have dreamed of!



Our barn-lodge, Ponikwa

Driving...

Iga and me.

All this snow was amazing.  Never have I had real powder to ski on so I had to learn.  Well, I don't know if I learned.  I spent a lot of time eating snow and shaking it out from under my layers, yet never once did it hurt to crash, even at speed.  Amazing.  Of course it didn't help that I opted for snowblades, the short skis twin-tipped skis (yes, I know, "Snowblades" are a brand.  I'll stop calling them snowblades when you stop calling facial tissues Kleenex.).  Snowblades are much easier on the knees in a crash as there's not so much leverage to twist legs in directions they're not supposed to go.  However, it's also more difficult to balance longitudinally, so crashing is way easier to do.  SO MUCH FUN!  The following day we headed to the Czech Republic for a few hours of shopping for Czech chocolate and beer.  The chocolate was easy to find but the Kozel we wanted (my all-time favorite beer) was much more difficult to find.  By the time we got back into Poland, the energy for skiing was gone so we played pool at the lodge instead.  Day 3 was the best skiing of all.  Many, many runs down the long slopes of deep powder.  And it kept snowing.  And snowing.  And snowing.

Couldn't see much on the slopes!  Schnee!  Snieg!  Schnow!

Iga, her mom, and I left that evening so I could catch my 7:09AM train back to Germany the next morning.  Iga's mom and grandparents sent me on the way with more food than I could carry...sandwiches, apples, coffee, 3 bags of cereal (after all, that's all I eat!), 4 bottles of Kozel Cerny, a box of Czech chocolate and 6 Polish chocolate candy bars.  Oh and can't forget the LIME GREEN French press so I can make the coffee they gave me!  What a sad good-bye it was.  Sniff.

Last evening with Iga's grandparents in Wroclaw.
Family, Czech chocolate and Kozel.

By the way, the paper I was avoiding at the beginning of this post did get done.

Pax.

Christmas in Bethlehem

December 23.  After a 3:30 am wake-up call (though I hadn't slept much anyway being in a 14-bed hostel room) I set off for the München airport for my flight to Tel Aviv, by way of Istanbul.  When I arrived in Tel Aviv, Elly's directions found me a shuttle, called a nesher, that dropped me off at the gate of Augusta Victoria hospital on the Mount of Olives.  I found the guest house and then Elly's apartment where I found Elly and Anna who were preparing some very special--and yummy hot chocolate. (by "very special" I mean it wasn't only hot chocolate...)

 

December 24.  Christmas Eve.  After a slow start in the morning due to putzy internet connections preventing Elly from getting her work done, we headed off toward Bethlehem.  Bethlehem on Christmas Eve.  I'm still not sure that was real.  The bus dropped us off at the Israeli West Bank barrier, a concrete wall with barbed wire across the top, not unlike what I have seen in my visits to concentration camps.

We entered "O Little Town of Bethlehem" by walking through a checkpoint consisting of a number of gated and barred pathways.  Welcome.
The four of us, Elly, Anna, Aaron, and I, wandered along the wall, reading the graffiti-art pleading for peace.

 

"Hand in Hand We Stand"    "COEXIST"   "Inshallah"

"Over walls can one fly, when one forgives one's enemy"



"Blessed are the peacemakers..."  "I see through this"   "Stop Now"

After visiting a couple shops owned by friends of Elly's (where as friends of friends, prices drop immediately and bargaining is no longer necessary), Elly and Anna headed toward the church to prepare for the Christmas Eve service.  Aaron and I continued down the hill to Manger Square and the Church of the Nativity.

Church of the Nativity, constructed on the site which
tradition claims as the birthplace of Jesus

The entrance is called the "Door of Humility" and is quite small.  Tall people nearly have to crawl through.  My pictures on the inside did not turn out, but there are plenty on the internet if you are interested.

Thankfully, Elly and Anna had saved us a corner to sit in...Christmas Lutheran Church was packed, people sitting in the aisle and standing in the back.  I heard mumblings from the locals about the tourists coming and taking over on Christmas Eve, but nobody said, "That's my spot!"  Fred (one of my college professors, now pastor at Redeemer in Jerusalem) preached a fabulous sermon as people from around the world gathered to worship, singing in Arabic, German, and English, praying in Arabic, Burmese, English, German, Finnish, Swedish, and Spanish.

Yarabba ssalami amter alayna ssalam,

Yarabba ssalami im la' qulubana ssalam.

Yarabba ssalami amter alayna ssalam,

Yarabba ssalami im'nah biladana ssalam.

(God of peace, rain peace upon us, fill our hearts with peace.

God of peace, rain peace upon us, give our land peace.)

Again on Christmas Day at the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem, we sang

Yarabba ssalami amter alayna ssalam,

Yarabba ssalami im la' qulubana ssalam.

Yarabba ssalami amter alayna ssalam,

Yarabba ssalami im'nah biladana ssalam,

celebrating the birth of Jesus in a much smaller crowd.  Christmas brunch at the Strickert's followed Christmas Day worship.

December 26.  The day that Elly was determined not to leave the apartment, except for possibly ONE thing that could get her out...and it happened.  We were in the right place at the right time with the right *important* people and we got a phone call, "We're going to try and get into the Dome of the Rock, would you like to come?"  The Temple Mount (where the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa mosque currently stand) is the site of the Jewish Temple (2 Chronicles 3.1-2), the first Temple was built by Solomon and destroyed during what??? (Hint: Babylonian Exile, 587BCE)  The second temple was destroyed in the fall of Jerusalem...in what year?  Remember?  (Hint: 70CE)  The Dome of the Rock houses the Foundation Stone--the rock which it is claimed the world was created out of...and that the Arc of the Covenant sat on...and the rock from which Muhammad ascended to heaven...and look it up on Wikipedia to see all the other things that happened on this rock.  This is the much-desired (or faught-over) site where according to Jewish tradition, the third temple will be built. Currently the Temple Mount is under Muslim control.  So, we scarved ourselves, took off our shoes and with not too much trouble, we got in.  Now this isn't an opportunity that comes up every day.  The Temple Mound is open to non-Muslims only a couple hours each day, and the two mosques are not open to the public at all.  The chance to get in and see the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque ourselves was incredible. 

December 27.  I took off on my own early when Elly turned around at the edge of the Old City of Jerusalem to go home to bed.  I walked the Via Dolorosa, the "way of suffering" that is thought to be the path Jesus carried his cross, ending in his crucifixion where the Church of the Holy Sepulchre now stands.  The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is also claimed to be the site of Jesus' tomb (hence, "sepulchre").

The Western Wall, also known as the Wailing Wall, was next on my list.  The Western Wall was once (and still by some) considered by Jews to be the only remains of the Temple, and the place where God's presence remains after the Temple's destruction.  The wall is also believed to be the closest point one can get to the Foundation Stone, the Holy of Holies without setting foot on the Temple Mount.  The wall became the "Place of Wailing" as Jews stood before the wall to mourn the destruction of the Temple.  It is also a common practice to stuff prayer notes into the cracks of the wall.  If you'd like, you can even email notes to have stuffed in a crevice.

It was sitting outside Damascus gate waiting to meet up with Aaron that I had a half-full (or empty?) bottle of Coke whipped at me from behind.  I never saw who it was and will never know what the intention was, though the way it was thrown and hit me square in the back of the shoulder, it wasn't an accident.  Interessant.

When Aaron arrived, we wandered around the Old City a bit, then decided to do the Ramparts walk.

December 28.  My last day in the Holy Land.  Elly and Anna went back to work so Aaron and I (with much help and directions from Elly and Anna!) took off on a bus to Masada.  Masada, a plateau in the Judaean desert became Herod the Great's fortress incase of a rebellion by the Jews.  It is also known for the mass suicide that theoretically took place in 73CE when the Romans scaled the wall to find some 960 Sicarii (Jewish extremists who tried to kill all the Romans with daggers, according to Wikipedia) dead by suicide.  Someone in a tourist group while we were there asked the tour guide, "Why didn't they just jump?"  We understood this question after our hike up the Snake Path to the top--a steep climb of 700-some steps over 2K of switchbacks.  A jump would have done it.  We figured that between the climb up, down, and the stairs in the fortress itself, we probably covered over 1500 stairs within those few hours.  After our descent down the Snake Path, Aaron and I stood laughing at the violent shaking of our knees.



Water break part way up.

Overlooking the Dead Sea from Masada.

Fortress ruins.

The next stop was a "refreshing" dip in the Dead Sea.  Yes, you float.  You can't not float.  And, Dr. Bouzard was right.  Don't shave before going in.  Don't get it in your mouth.  Don't splash water in your eyes.  I can handle prickly legs, but prickly armpits kinda freak me out.  Sorry, too much information.

Salt. Is not squishy under feetsies.

Pax.

Christmas and New Year's: First Leg of the Journey

I really don't know where to start.  The last weeks have been so full of new experiences, new people, new places, going, going, going.  With the exception of my time training and planing to and from my recent adventures, I have not had a whole lot of time to process all that I have seen.  I arrived home late this afternoon and have since unpacked and sorted through everything, with the exception of a stack of brochures, business cards, and receipts that I accumulated.  Feels good to be "home" in my dorm room after sleeping in 8 different beds, encountering 6 different languages and adventuring through 4 countries--all in the past 17 days.

The beginning is as good a place to start as any.  I snuck out of class during break on Thursday, December 22.  With all the excitement (and lack of planning) of the next weeks, I was not paying an ounce of attention in class anyway.  I grabbed my backpack and small suitcase, inadequately packed, and took off in the rain to the station.  A few hours later, I arrived in München.  Hmmm...where will I sleep tonight?  I had researched hotels and hostels and found only one option anywhere near the airport where I was to check in between 4:30 and 5:00 the following morning.  It cost two arms and a leg.  Not an option.  Luggage, borrowed winter coat, rain hat and I started wandering the already dark streets of München in search of a hostel.  As luck would have it, one showed up a couple blocks from the train station.  After checking in, I headed back out into the pouring rain to find the München Weihnactsmarkt (Christmas Market).  Rain and all, it was beautiful, though I can only imagine how majestic a blanket of snow would have been.  So, I wandered the Weihnactsmarkt for a couple hours, taking in the lights, the smells of food and Glühwein, and getting clobbered by people's umbrellas.

By the time I'd covered the market, I was soaked all the way through and cold.  As I made my way back toward the hostel, I had a vision of a steaming hot cordon bleu and a dark beer.  Ended the night with those very things in a little restaurant near the hostel--plus a good conversation with an Australian man who rather awkwardly passed me a note while we were eating that said, "Would you like to meet for a drink after dinner?"  This was quite funny, especially when the waiter found the note that I'd left stuck under the side of my plate.  He read it and proceeded to bring us free shots.  Anyway, I learned a lot from this man, I think his name was Patrick. 

Two things struck me.  The first has to do with people I meet.  Not the people or conversations themselves, but the fact that we have such conversations upon meeting and then we bid farewell and go our separate ways.  A lesson in letting go.  Normally, my tendency is to make an attempt at keeping in touch with people I meet, you know, trading emails...or even names enough to find on facebook.  Yet, this is not the first time I have engaged in conversation for an hour or two and then leave, most likely never to see  or hear of the other person again.  In my reflecting on meeting people and then letting go, I first saw this as a dismissal of a relationship.  However, going a little deeper, I realized that this is indeed not dismissing a relationship.  It is not dismissing anything at all, but a freedom in allowing others to walk into my life, and I into theirs, that brings a whole new appreciation for the short time that two people can spend together.  There won't be a next time.  The conversation will not continue, yet there is such potential to enter deeply into each other's lives for that short time.  This is a gift.  Two complete strangers come together for a brief time and both leave changed by the other.  There is no holding on, grasping for more, but an awareness of the other and a letting go with a farewell blessing, if I might call it that.

The other thing that I learned from Patrick comes from his asking questions about my faith and what kind of God my God is.  We had a fun and respectful conversation, thorough enough to find the very point where our views split.  As an athiest, Patrick has complete hope in the world's goodness on its own.  In my very Lutheran socks, I stand in a dark and broken world that finds hope only in the God who enters the world in the person of Jesus Christ.  Glimmers of hope in the "breaking in" of God's kingdom.  As I lay in my 14-bed hostel room not sleeping that night, it occurred to me that it is in acknowledging hopelessness that God comes to us.  My questions don't end here, of course, but as I ask and doubt and wrestle, the more I believe that one does not fully encounter God outside of suffering, despair, and death.  Theology of the cross.

Pax.