Story

I recently listened to a lecture on the life-shaping power of story and since have been pondering again the medium God chose to make truth known to us: words, and essentially, a story. "In the beginning" -- sounds like the start of a story. The big story of creation, fall, and redemption, and all the smaller stories that fit into that bigger one, are what shape my worldview (and lecturer Daniel Taylor argues that everyone's worldview is shaped by a Master Story). And it is our privilege, Taylor points out, to be both characters in God's story and also storytellers.

Then Heather and I were discussing on our run this morning ideas of conflict (how can you have a good story without conflict? and what will our story format be in Heaven, where there is no sin?) and resolution (how can you resolve in a way that leaves the reader/listener satisfied and hopeful, yet is realistic for this side of heaven?).

Reading Psalm 111 this morning, I realized that the writer was encouraging us to tell God's story: the works of the Lord are great, glorious, majestic, powerful, faithful, and just, and we should ponder and remember them. The kernel of this story is that "he provided redemption for his people; he ordained his covenant forever."

What does it look like to be a faithful storyteller?

I like . . .

. . . lying on my tummy on the trampoline after cavorting wildly with Claire and Lilah. They both climb aboard my back and begin to fix my hair. I enter fully into the moment: dove coos and church bells fill my ears; pink flowers growing alongside the trampoline press their faces into the net, and yellow ones smile from across the yard; the girls' hands are gentle, their voices happy and eager; the sun is warm and mild on my back and my bare feet. "It's your wedding," says Lilah as she spreads my hair across my back. "No, she already had a wedding," says Claire, and then adds, "Oh, yes, but this is her next wedding."

. . . getting caught in the rain on my run. I leave in the mist, deciding to go on a new route which I think will be a bit longer. I follow familiar streets to the canal, then turn left instead of right to run along the canal path. I emerge back onto the streets, away from the cover of the trees lining the canal, and the rain starts to come down hard. It is not very cold, and soon I am drenched and happy. Even though I miss my turn so my new route is even longer than I expected, I come home delighted and refreshed.

. . . making Cole grin. Sometimes I just catch his eye as he rides along in the stroller, and then toss him a big smile; sometimes I let him sit on my lap and spread my arms wide, then listen to him giggle as he waits for them to come dashing in and lock him in an embrace.

. . . looking down into Lilah's trusting, blue eyes, flanked by blond curly pigtails, while she says, "I want to carry you." I scoop her up or squat down so she can scramble onto my back, and all her sweet and silly confidences pour right into my ear as we travel on together.

We've had many adventures since I last posted, including many trips to lovely parks with Heather's dad. 

Heather & me in Potsdam:

Claire riding her bike at Britzer Garten:

The three kids scrambling together:

Grandpa & his granddaughters:

And then yesterday we had a birthday celebration. Besides cards, gifts, and phone calls from home (starting at 6:00AM!), Heather also worked hard to make it a special day for me. She asked me earlier about my favorite foods and e-mailed Heidi to ask for a recipe for Dutch Babies, which we had for breakfast with powdered sugar, maple syrup, and blueberries. The pan was licked clean! Heather's dad sweetly volunteered to watch the kids so Heather and I could have a day downtown. We rode the S-Bahn and went to church at the Berliner Dom (beautiful church building, not such an inspirational service). Then we walked to a nearby flea market and examined the wares: jewelry, art, handmade things, touristy trinkets. It reminded me a little of the stalls at Pike Place. Then we had lunch at a little cafe off of Gendarmenmarkt, a beautiful square in the city.

We rode the train home, and had a couple of quiet afternoon hours. Heather made Asian grilled chicken with peanut sauce, served with orzo salad and veggies.

Then Heather brought out the cake (which the girls had been long awaiting), and after singing and blowing out candles, we all enjoyed a slice or two. I opened gifts I'd been storing up in my room as they came in the mail.

Heather gave me an orchid for my room and a ticket to a concert next Sunday evening. She and I are going with a friend of hers and another girl; her dad will still be here to watch the kids. I felt exceedingly blessed by all those who went out of their way to make it a special day!

And, to close, two stories from my friends Claire and Lilah:
Claire and I were counting the candles on my birthday cake. There were seven, and I said, "Do you know how many people are in my family?" She started pointing around the table at her sister, brother, and mommy and counting. She also told me recently, "You didn't use to have kids, but you have kids now!" 

"What are we having for dinner?" asked Lilah this afternoon. "Proby mac 'n' cheese, I fink so." Of course, Lilah, just like whenever you ask what time it is, you always correct us and say, "It's firty-eight-nine-o'clock."

Midnight Leaks

This morning I woke up a little before 7:00, and as I was stretching and thinking I should pop out of my bed, I realized I was hearing crying in the room next to me. So I swung my legs out of bed and padded down the hall to Lilah's room. I opened the door and heard what she was saying: "Mommy, I leaked! Mommy, I leaked!" I went over to her crib and found the front of her nightgown was soaked with urine, as was her sheet. The tears stopped right away when I lifted her out of her crib, and she was quite sunny and chatty as I took off her nightgown and led her into the bathroom to stand in the tub while I showered her off. Everyone else was still sleeping, so we went out to the kitchen to eat breakfast together -- scrambled eggs and toast with raspberry jam. She was snuggly and happy, and I enjoyed our time alone together.

A few nights ago, Claire stumbled into my room at some wee hour of the morning. "I have a bloody nose!" she exclaimed. I don't think I fully woke up, but I realized that I needed to get out of bed, walk with her to the bathroom, and help her hold something to her nose until the bleeding stopped, which thankfully it did very soon. She ran happily back to bed, and I fell into mine and was asleep again before I knew it.

I guess this means I'm becoming a true member of the family. Tomorrow, I get to meet Grandpa, whose arrival is greatly anticipated around here: at dinner, Claire told us, "My heart is filled with excitedness, because Grandpa is coming tomorrow!"

Two Deaths

Yesterday was a sunny, summery day; we went to a nearby petting zoo and spent the morning there with the animals, the playground, and our lunch. And, I found out about the deaths of two people.

Melanie e-mailed me and told me a friend of hers committed suicide by jumping in front of a train. We talked last night for a while; Melanie cried and told me the story of this Christian young woman, who left behind a husband and a nine-month-old baby, and who had struggled with depression. I listened and thought of a quote of St. Augustine's I just read in a Thomas Hardy novel: "Thou has counseled a better course than thou hast permitted." Melanie wondered if she could have made a difference by reaching out; surely our actions do bear fruit, and just as surely God carries out His sovereign will regardless of our feeble pursuits after righteousness or self-glory. 

Mom sent a text to my e-mail from Sacred Road, where she is on a mission trip this week: "Kathleen Parker called to say Jim died. Service 3:00 Wed. She loves us & appreciates our prayers." Dear Jim Parker, who was somewhere around 90 years old and had for many years been living with increasing pain and immobility. Yet how faithful he was to encourage others, to pull out a smile and a hug and a word of kindness.

It is good to be reminded to act Today, while there is yet life in this blade of grass -- to reach out to a friend who might be struggling or in need, and to overlook my own discomfort or desires and focus on how I can be a blessing to others.

Our Home

Well, it's not exactly Hollywood quality, but it will give you an idea of what our home is like here!

Quiet Time

Quiet time is a hard concept for a four-year-old. Claire usually goes to her room while the younger two are napping and has an hour to play quietly in the confines of those four walls. She usually surfaces at least once, and her surefire ticket out of the room without getting into trouble is, "I have to go sit on the toilet!"

However, yesterday she got more creative. She came running out saying she needed a broom. "A broom?" I asked.

"Yes, to sweep up my horse's hair. I want my room to be clean as a whistle!"

I will admit to a strong dose of suspicion that all was not well if the horse's hair was on the floor, so I got up and returned with Claire to her room. Sure enough, there were black tufts on her rug from her rocking horse's mane. I picked up the tufts, noting the hair-filled brush she has been using and also the scissors lying on the floor beside the horse. I strongly recommended a course of no more hair treatments for the horse and left the room.

Today, Claire came out of her room for a drink. Shortly, she appeared again in the hall, cup in hand, and disappeared to the kitchen. I didn't say anything, and she returned to her room. However, when she came out a third time about 5 seconds later, I stopped her in the hall. "I'm REALLY thirsty, because I'm so hot," she explained.

"What happened to the water you got 5 seconds ago?" I asked.

"I drank it," she said, running down to the kitchen before I could say anything else. When she didn't return, I followed her. She lurched guiltily from the sink when I entered, then recovered and walked towards me with two cups of water in her hands. "My horse needs water," she said.

"No, the horse doesn't need water," I answered. "If you want a drink, you can drink right here and then go back to your room." I guess she knew her story was wearing thin, because she obediently turned to the sink and dumped out her cups; then she turned on the faucet to rinse them out.

"I have to get the soap out," she explained. "And, I'm not thirsty anymore."