Stories

In the past two weeks since I last posted, I have been busy! Friday the 11th was my last day in my German class. Saturday I flew to visit Jeff and Melissa in the Netherlands for about 5 days, then went on to Stuttgart to visit my friend Melanie and her family for a week. I flew back to Berlin on Thursday, and Jeff and Melissa arrived by train that night to spend this weekend in Berlin. That is the Very Short Version, the framework from which the following memories and photos took place . . .

It is early evening in Amsterdam, approaching six o'clock. I was supposed to meet Jeff and Melissa at our hotel at 5, but I didn't make the train I had planned on and so I am running late. I step off the tram in Rembrandt's Plein, about three blocks from the hotel, and head up the street. It is narrow, and the traffic noise is the jangle of bicycles on cobblestones and the "cling, cling!" of passing cyclers. The air is thick with mist, but not too cold. I am glad that, just before I left my house this morning, I repacked out of my suitcase and into Mark's large backpack so it is easy for me to slip through the city streets. Maybe the next street will be Prinzengracht. Dusk is falling, and the bridges over the canals are lined with lights. Maybe the next street will be Prinzengracht. Or maybe the next one? I've gone too far. I turn to go back to Rembrandt's Plein to reorient myself. But now I've gone too far again, or gone the wrong way -- I should have come to Rembrandt's Plein by now. I look at my draft-quality printed snippet of a Google map; it's not zoomed in enough to give me all the street names, and I can't find myself on it. I know Jeff and Melissa are waiting for me at the hotel and I hope they aren't worried, but I am inexplicably charmed by the quiet rows of brick houses, the lights reflected on each canal. A tram station: I stop to look at the map posted here and compare it to my map, now beginning to wilt in the moist evening. I begin to have a general sense of my location, but it takes a few times of walking around the gangly intersection to read enough street names to figure out what direction I want to go from here. Suddenly the street names are matching what I have on my map, and the sense of vertigo, of fantasy diminishes. It is 6:45; I am turning onto Prinzengracht. There is the Prinzenhof Hotel, a narrow door at the top of a set of stairs so narrow they barely leave a footprint on the sidewalk. A sign says to please check in at the cafe on the corner. The cafe is full of bodies and noise, and I am about ready to barge in with my oversized backpack when I see Jeff coming around the corner. He lights up; we hug; he calls Melissa, who was on her way to a grocery store across the street to get some dinner. We buy a picnic dinner together, take the tram to Anne Frank's house, come back to our hotel where I sleep like a log.

In front of our hotel the next morning

On the tram in Amsterdam

Maastricht may not be much of a tourist destination, but did you know there is a visiting almost-professor teaching there right now? I visited two of his classes on British Lit; I arrived during "Paradise Lost" and was fascinated by the book and his lectures. I tried to keep up with the reading so I could be aware of what was going on in class, but it was hard when I was sharing a book with the professor and he kept snitching it to work on his lesson plans. The class hours were crammed full of insights, comparisons, opinions, discussions. I took notes and found much to feed not only my mind but my soul.

I also liked seeing Jeff and Melissa's open door towards the students; someone was always stopping by to print something, or get advice on what to do with a sick roommate, or say hi. Monday night was game night; the students were eager to get out their favorite, Ticket to Ride.

Tuesday day trip to Brussels 

(think waffles -- with a heap of real whipped cream and warm chocolate sauce

chocolates -- we bought some for friends and broke into a bit ourselves on the train on the way home

french fries -- which we ate with our dinner, in a little cafe where we were happy both to be eating and also to be out of the rain)

 

Thursday after Jeff's class we all headed for the train station; they got on the train to Paris and I went back to Düsseldorf to catch my flight to Stuttgart.

A friend from small group, Natascha, met me at the train station and drove me to the airport. She works in Düsseldorf, and although we didn't have a lot of time together, we shared a cup of coffee and a good chat and I was glad it worked out for us to meet.

Saturday at the Haussers we set out on a small expedition. Bernhard drove us over a narrow winding mountain road to a little village tucked into the Schwabian Alps; from there we walked along quiet country roads overlooking villages Zillhausen and Streichen and piercing through tidy German forests. 

Afterward we warmed up in the tiniest French cafe, Le Cottage, while enjoying hot drinks and large slices of cake.

Melanie and I were given tickets to go see the Messiah in Balingen on Sunday afternoon; she had never heard of it but thought the idea of singing the Scriptures was a great one. The text had been translated into German, but from what I know of the original and of German I was able to piece it together. We sat on the wooden pew in the old stone church and the familiar music, the incredible, sorrowful, triumphant message washed over us. We left delighted, blessed.

Our main activity during the week (other than enjoying Joshua and keeping him occupied) was cavorting in the kitchen. Lentils and sausages with spätzle and kale, Thai coconut chicken curry, sesame salmon salad, apple waffles, grilled fish with roasted potatoes and ginger carrots. To supplement, we also visited a couple of local bakeries and brought home a sampling for Kaffeetrinken (that great German mid-afternoon tradition). When we found out that Jeff and Melissa were coming to visit me in Berlin, Melanie suggested that we revive one of our old traditions and make cinnamon rolls together -- some for her to take to a gathering on Thursday afternoon and some for me to take back to Berlin to share with the Mortons and Jeff and Melissa.

I heard enough German to realize that even with the great sense of progress I have been enjoying, there is still much I do not understand. I found that I know quite a few friends from the Hausser's church after all my visits there, and I enjoyed being able to exchange a few simple sentences with many. But it is also frustrating to be bound to such a low level of communication. I suddenly appreciate very much fluency with the English language, the ability to understand nuances of meaning when others are speaking and to be an artist with the language myself. I also appreciate God's ability to understand what I mean even when I myself do not fully know my heart. It is good to be understood. Bernhard and Melanie were gracious to start many conversations with me in slow, easy German and then switch to English when the German became too difficult.

Snowy walk on Tuesday (the snow had all melted weeks ago, but it returned on Sunday morning)

A sweet little friend

Yesterday, in cold and sunny Berlin with Jeff and Melissa, I started the free walking tour for the fourth time. Halfway through I broke off and sat in a cozy cafe with a hot chocolate and my book while Jeff and Melissa finished the tour -- it was too cold, and I was tired after my busy travels, and it was, after all, my fourth time on the tour. (Why am I not giving these tours now?) We met again and after some deliberation (and the discovery that the Reichstag dome is closed to walk-in visitors since the terrorist threats this winter), we took the S-Bahn to Charlottenburg and went to the top of the Funkturm (radio tower). A hazy horizon blurred the view, but the sweet light of the setting sun charmed the sprawling city. 

 The Funkturm

This morning I sat at the kitchen table in my pjs and fleece, sunshine blazing in through the tall windows and striking the tulips in their square glass vase. Lilah sat behind me making a "pink tail" with my hair (derived from "pig tail"). "Oh, you are going to be so beautiful!" she told me. Claire sat on my lap, wanting me to do "This little piggy" just one more time and then squirreling away to join Lilah at her hair dressing task. I missed this family, and after seeing many new things, walking many miles, riding on planes and trains and buses and more, I was exactly in the mood to sit in the sunshine in the kitchen with nothing to do and dear ones who wanted nothing but just to be with me. Jeff and Melissa are seeing my old friend the Pergamon Museum this morning; plans for the afternoon are TBD. The Morton family went out to a Kindercafe for lunch and a morning frolic; I am glad for the chance to have a quiet moment and tell a little of my story.

Lingering

I kept finding myself lingering today.

I was trying to look at the Deutsche Bahn (train) website for my upcoming travels, and Cole was playing all sorts of games with me -- variations on tag and hide and seek that involved lots of belly laughing and diving into my lap. How could I resist putting the old Deutsche Bahn aside and taking every moment that Cole wanted to give me?

The dinner table is not usually a relaxed, lingering place when you are eating with three children under the age of five, but tonight after Lilah finished she sat snuggling in my lap, and then Claire finished and brought a book to the table to look at. Lilah began talking about Emilius, some imaginary friend whose world became steadily more defined and colorful with each question I asked Lilah.

Claire found the page she was looking for; she had asked me during dinner if God sometimes punished people by sending them to the desert, and I said I didn't think so. I asked her where she had heard that, and she told me I had read her a story about it. I could not remember the story. I had also forgotten about our dinnertime conversation when suddenly, she was on the page in her Bible picture book where the Israelites are in the desert, unable to enter Canaan because of -- guess what? -- their disobedience. "And are they in the desert now?" asked Claire. "Why did they have to stay in the desert?" It wasn't till the answer was coming out of my mouth that I realized this was the story she had been talking about, and she had brought the book to the table so she could find this story and get the answer to her question! Her next question: "Then why doesn't God send us to the desert when we disobey?"

Sara Groves says it well:

I am long in staying
I am slow to leave
Especially when it comes to you, my friend.
You have taught me to slow down and to prop up my feet
It's the fine art of being who I am.
. . .
And at the risk of wearing out my welcome
At the risk of self discovery
I'll take every moment and every minute that you give me.

Every Minute

In Need of the Light

A friend will be in need of a new housemate to share her two-bedroom apartment when her current one moves out at the end of March. She knows of a boy through her church who is looking for an apartment; she asked me if I thought it was a good idea for her to invite him to move in with her. "I always thought I didn't want to live with a boy until I was married," she said. "But if there isn't any other option . . . "

In German class today, an American classmate shared a little of what her life is like here in Berlin. She's working as a nanny for a family here and supposedly also doing a music internship through their in-house recording studio. The label "Christian" is bandied about, and apparently there is also a church that meets in their home, but they demand a lot of this girl and don't give her much in return. Not that making money is the most important thing, but respect, gratitude, and honesty would go a long way towards helping her to flourish instead of just survive. "It's making me a better, stronger person, I guess," she said.

Lilah said last night, when I said it was time to pray before bed, "Oh, I don't want to pray!" I said, "But Lilah, it is so good for us to open our hearts before God, and to tell Him everything we are thinking and listen to what He might have to say to us." Then Claire chimed in: "But why doesn't He just speak to us so we can hear?"

Last week Melanie was here, and we had many conversations about child training supplemented by plenty of real-life situations to deal with and discuss, courtesy of the four children sharing a roof with us. As she was leaving, she asked me, "Is there anything you would do differently with Joshua if he was your son?"

Someone asks me to pray for a new living situation or success in a difficult exam; I notice a marriage in distress or a completely misguided worldview; there is loneliness, weariness, confusion, and sorrow on every side.  Need and darkness are prevalent in this world.

I pray I would be like John the Baptist: "He himself was not the light, he came only as a witness to testify concerning it."

Like Paul: "Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me that I may fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains; pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should."

Like Jesus: "When he looked at the multitude, he had compassion on them."

All together again

Saturday morning the girls were awake at 2:30; Claire first explained herself as needing a hot water bottle, but I think Lilah's excuse was the real reason both girls were awake. She danced around my room in her purple footie pajamas saying, "I'm so excited that Mommy and Daddy are coming home today!"

A few hours later, after pulling a few more laborious hours of sleep from the unwilling night, we were gathered on my bed. I was reading my Bible, and instead of playing in their room they wanted to bring in books and join me. They chose Bible story books so we could all have Bibles, and snuggled under the covers, and we read. It was supposed to be a quiet reading time for all of us, but both girls had a comment to make or a question to ask about nearly every picture in their books. Since they both had books that went through the whole Bible, at least we all had a sort of comprehensive Bible review.

We at last made our way to the kitchen, and adding Cole to our group, and ate oatmeal and smoothies. Then I decided I should check and see if Mark and Heather's flight was on time. It was supposed to land at 10; I checked at 9 and it had already landed! The girls were dressed, but I was not, so I hurried to dress and do a little cleaning up in the kitchen. The dishes were mostly done, the beans were cooking for the soup, and the cherry cake was in the oven when the buzzer rang. Claire shot out the door into the hallway; Cole followed, clapping and saying, "Yay, yay!" The sound of Mark and Claire reuniting after almost eight months apart nearly brought me to tears, and I sort of forgot I was holding a camera to document the occasion until Heather came and hugged me and said, "Oh, I'm so glad you have your camera!" (So, Claire was definitely here and taking part -- perhaps more enthusiastically than anyone else -- but she somehow never managed to make it to a photo.)

 

I WISH I could be a mommy, Hallelulia!

My friend Emily was over for tea and scones yesterday afternoon, and Claire was restless and contrary. She helped me with the scones before Emily arrived, and she wanted to eat them -- now! Emily finally arrived, and tea was brewed, and we gathered around the table. We each enjoyed a hot orange-chocolate scone, and then Claire wanted more scones. And I said no. She really wanted to play in the garden with the girl next door, but no one answered the door bell, no matter how many times she ran across the hall to check. She fussed in the kitchen; I told her she could sit quietly with us or go and play. I gave many activity suggestions, but soon realized that as soon as I suggested something, it went on her black list just by virtue of being my idea. She wished Lilah would go to the garden with her, but Lilah didn't want to. She was in and out of the kitchen, coming in to fuss and demand attention and things I couldn't or wouldn't give, going out to pester her sister. Melanie and Emily had the opportunity to get acquainted while I was in and out of the room and the conversation.

Eventually, Lilah decided to go out to the garden with Claire; Emily, Melanie, and I moved to the living room with our mugs of tea and snuggly smiley Cole, just up from his nap. With only a few other minor incidents (tickling and laughing fests that had to be moved to another room, lost gloves and coats that needed to be zipped, and a technical difficulty with using the toilet resulting in a puddle and a wet pair of underwear and tights), Emily's time with us went by and we were able to have a bit of connection and conversation. It was almost six when she left, and dinner still needed to be started. Claire was hungry and didn't want to wait. I hoped she would be able to avoid disintegrating into a puddle of fuss. She came to watch me cut up potatoes and dredge the fish in flour, salt, and pepper. "Julie, I wish I could be a mommy!"

I looked at her. I wondered what she would have done with herself that afternoon had she been the mommy. Then I smiled and said, "Me too, Claire. I think it's an important job."

Melanie sliced the carrots and then Joshua needed attention, so she took him to the playroom. Claire and I were alone in the kitchen; there was nothing to do until the potatoes were closer to being done, so I suggested that she bring some books into the kitchen for me to read to her. She thought that was a good idea (apparently my brainstorming powers were improving), and we sat on the bench at the kitchen table together. The potatoes gave us two books' worth of time until the rest of dinner needed to be prepared. It was just what we needed: positive interaction, physical touch, no one else clamoring for our attention.

That night at bedtime, I was tired but Lilah was in a high-flying mood. As she picked up a puzzle in her room, she sang a little song she'd made up: "Hallelulia, hallelulia, hallelulia." "We're in church," she explained to me. "And our pajamas can be our church clothes. And we can sing 'Hallelulia." After the room was clean and she was in her jamies, she skipped up and down the long hall, singing and singing her song. Claire joined her and added to the song: "Hallelulia, God and Jesus Christ!"

At last they were in bed, and I felt like I could have gone there, too. Melanie and I flopped into comfy chairs in the living room and relished the quiet moments. We had just been talking that morning about how child training requires you to see each minute as a fresh start. If you hang on to this morning's grievances, mistakes, and rebellions, or even the disobedience of the previous minute, you cripple your relationship with the child and rob your day of delight. Still, I think it's also okay to appreciate the rest that night brings, the long quiet stretch with no grievances, nothing to mar your relationship.

Melanie and I took our own advice and relished each minute of our last evening together, sharing our hearts and then praying together. When we bowed to pray, for a long time there was silence. A rich, refreshing quiet during which God poured into our hearts. Sometimes it takes a rowdy day to make you appreciate stillness. 

And, not that these have anything to do with this post (other than being taken on the same day that all of this took place), but just as a special bonus to make your day brighter:

Bunte Welt

The ground is frozen, and the sky also seems to be stuck on Grey. No snow, no sun, no rain, no change. But the week has been colorful, funny and sweet and busy.

Lilah said to me as we walked up the sidewalk to the kindergarten yesterday morning, "I almost had a hiccup!" "And then what happened?" I asked her. "It flied out of my mouth."

This morning I sat in my room with Bible and journal and kept an ear out for the girls who were playing in their room. Footsteps racing down the hall, then back again. "I'm tired! I need to rest on this leaf here." "Yeah, I'm going to curl up in this flower." "I'm ready to go again!" "No, I'm too tired; I don't want to go back to that country." "Yes, let's go!" "I know -- let's go to Italy!!!!" "YEAH!!!" (More flying footsteps.)

Cole was ecstatic over our trip on the S-Bahn this morning. I got him out of the stroller and sat him on the seat beside me, where he pointed out the window with a frenzy of enthusiasm at every train, made calls on the toy phone he'd brought along, and held my hand in case of sudden lurches.

I woke Lilah up from a nap yesterday because it was getting late, but apparently she was still tired; she sat on my lap in the kitchen for perhaps 45 minutes, not speaking a single word, only moving to settle herself into a deeper snuggle. Melanie was happy to start making dinner, but then Joshua got a little fussy and as I watched her slapping the chicken into the pan one-handed while holding a large and squirmy one-year-old under the other arm, I decided maybe I should get up and help her. Lilah sat on the bench staring into space for a while, then suddenly she was standing beside me, her face a grimace and giant tears on her cheeks. "What is it, Lilah? Would you like to say something?" I asked in a cheerful voice. Struggling to pull her face into a normal expression, she said over a sob, "I -- want to sit on your lap!" So, when I finished putting the rice on, we had a little more snuggling time :-).

At the end of dinner tonight, Melanie had left the table to put Joshua to bed and the kids were all finishing their chocolate yogurt. Mendelssohn was playing in the background, and suddenly the craziness of feeding and entertaining and mediating between and pacifying and answering four children faded away and I was able to sit back and linger for a moment with three of my friends. Lilah pulled out one of several favorite repeat conversations. "Do you live with us, Julie? Do you live at Berlin? I wish we could go to your house, Julie." Cole gave coy looks and meticulously fed himself his yogurt. Claire made up a story about the reflection of the kitchen door we could see in the dark window. It is a magic door. When you go through it, you are in the garden, but you don't just fall to the ground; you can fly! We were together and happy and for one moment, no one needed anything and we could just be.

We read about Job last night in our Bible story book; there was a sentence that read something like, "I hope you keep loving God even when He doesn't give you presents." Claire said, "Is God going to give us presents??" I named a few that He has already given her. Then she was curious about why God would let Satan take so much away from Job. "I think He wanted to see if Job loved God or just the things God had given to Job."

And for Melanie and I, a nightly highlight is the child-free fellowship we enjoy after all the wee ones are tucked in and still. The fellowship with the children is also hilarious and rewarding and thought-provoking, but in the "after eight" hours the conversation shifts to deeper things, and there are more connections made and ideas followed through to their conclusion. Perhaps we break into a bar of chocolate or dish up some ice cream or brew a pot of tea, and then we share and pray and laugh, and go to bed satisfied and grateful.

And now I need to go to sleep, for soon the fairies will be flying to Italy, and it will be time for the next meal, and I might not find that magic transforming door that will change me from a sleepy grump into a flying wonder-woman!