Hygge peace

*written last Sunday but just now able to edit and post. Still applicable. Every day.

I reflect on the last Sunday of Advent on these symbols... the flickering flames of each candle casting a warm glow on my dimly lit room. Hope. Joy. Love. Peace. In this space and moment – quiet, restful – I am safe. I am cocooned in the peace of the atmosphere. You know hygge? (Danish and Norwegian word for a mood of coziness and comfortable conviviality with feelings of wellness and contentment.Thanks, Wikipedia). That's me. So with my blanket and candles and tea and a puppy curling up next to me, I'm content. I'm at peace. Peace enjoying the four candles, the final just lit before the celebration of the Arrival. 

But my heart is not always so peaceful. There has been heartache this year. There have been changes and transitions out of my control. I'm more alone, not physically, but lacking in others who relate to my situation and position in life. There are unmet longings and anticipation of even more transition. FYI: I don't do great with transition.

And what feels most unsettling at the moment is what is coming. A winter/spring semester that has to potential to be rather demanding with balancing a lot of travel and trainings, alongside teaching and all my other normal work. And then this space - this flat which I've loved and decorated and has become my own and a safe space – this place I have to leave. Not of my choice. And so my heart also breaks. It's a loss. It means transition. New schedules, new routine, further commute, a new space to get used to and make my own. And as this new space will only be temporary, probably at the most 8 months, it will never truly be my own. And that affects my mindset in being there. I mourn the unsettledness that is coming. Routines that actually won't become permanent. Packing up half my life to go to storage while the other half of my life accompanies me.

And yet, peace. What is a heart at peace in the turmoil? The heartaches don't necessarily disappear. Peace is not a lack of problems. But where is my heart in the midst of the waves around me, seen and unseen? It's not in my possessions. It's not necessarily even in the relationships around me – though they do help. Some constant is a good thing. Maggie will be one of those, though she'll struggle with the transition as well. But can I trust that God holds the aches with me, and then walk out of my door each morning knowing that He is the true constant that keeps me safe and secure? That in the midst of much unsettledness - and usettledness probably for the upcoming 18+ months (I won't get into that here...) - I will find rest from what the Prince of Peace places within? I long to stay in that place, my hygge place with the Father, no matter where I rest my head each night.

 I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.

John 14:27 NLT 

The foreigner visits the doctor

Going to the doctor is an exercise in trust, flexibility and surrender.
(And just to clarify, this is not a judgement on Czech systems... they are just different from American systems).

I know, none of us really like to go to the doctor. You're never quite sure what to expect and what new treatment you'll have to undergo or pills you'll have to take. You'll most likely be told to lose weight, or lower your cholesterol or something else unpleasant that you really don't want to do. That's normal.

But as a foreigner the complications increase when you have to figure out WHAT to do. Check-in is not the same. Insurance is not the same. Language is not the same, and words that you use when visiting the doctor are definitely not the same vocabulary as everyday life.

So every time I need to go to the doctor (and for me, it's every 3 months) there's a little bit - or a lot - of nervousness. By this time, one would think it would be simple. Every 3 months I go for blood-work and to pick up the medication I take. It should be the same process. And, in fact, the nurses have started to recognize me, know that I'm not a native Czech speaker, and have been a bit kinder in trying to help me. But inevitably, something is different and also inevitably, I won't understand what is needed or where I should go or what I should ask for.

Sometimes it's the girls at reception. It seems there is a high turnover in this position, so the girls who previously recognized you are no longer sitting there and you have to explain again that you came for medication and to have blood-work done. No, I don't have insurance (at least, not Czech insurance that you will understand). Yes, I will pay for it. Yes, I know it's expensive. No, my credit card is not contact-less (when will the US catch up on this??).

Then you proceed to the door at the end of the hall with the receipt indicating you've paid. (I've learned that I have to knock on the door and wait for a nurse to come to find out what I need.) But as you stand there for what sometimes feels like eternity, you begin to wonder if they've heard, if you should know again, if you're at the wrong door, if you've misunderstood and you're supposed to go elsewhere (as was the case once or twice).

Sometimes it's that the girl at reception sends you to the head nurse's door. For what you don't know. Only that you're supposed to go there and knock and then try to explain confusedly that you were sent there. Oh, only to take your file from the head nurse to the other nurses where the blood-work is done.

Sometimes it's that you knock on the door where you usually go, they have your file, but tell you to go sit at the doctor's door. What door (there are about 5 possibilities)? And why? There is no explanation (every Czech knows the system, so there is no reason to explain), and so you sit, feeling helpless and lost and confused. Until a nurse comes by and shows a different place to sit. And  you wait, hoping that someone, somewhere, knows what needs to happen next and will fetch you. Because you're clueless. Eventually the doctor opens the door and calls your name. And apparently you just needed the doctor's confirmation to continue the same treatment. You guess. But how often this needs to happen, you have no idea.

So my doctor visits are an exercise in leaning on Jesus. In releasing all control, because I have none. It's absolute helplessness and surrender. Because as much as I think I know and am confident in, there's always something new. I've been reduced to tears in the anxiety of helplessness and lost-ness often enough that I need to approach these days full of God's truth and confidence, knowing that even if I'm completely in the dark, in the end it really will be ok. And in that, I can sit and wait and trust, and much less often find myself in tears.

SWF looking for community

Don't leave us behind.

(Side note: This is a somewhat vulnerable topic to share about, but it's reality, and I think sometimes we're too afraid to talk about those sensitive areas because of the fear of coming across as insensitive. But isn't ignoring it just as bad?)

 Here's the thing about now being an "older" single woman: though singleness has its advantages, it can also be an incredibly isolating place (compounded as a single female expat). I don't deny that those in marriages also experience loneliness and isolation, and I grieve with those of you in that. As a younger single woman, I had more friends who also shared this single stage of life with me, and I have often reflected that when I was surrounded by good friends who were also single, who could relate, who had the freedom to be spontaneous on a Friday night or the availability to go on vacation with me, I was fairly content. I felt understood and like I had a place. As I get older and have fewer and fewer friends (especially close friends) in this stage of life, it becomes increasingly harder to find that place, especially in a culture that, in some ways similar to the US, is fairly independent and not as open to sharing life with others. I could live in a place of self-pity, or I can find myself begrudging those who have someone to help them: carry bags of groceries home (especially when you are carrying it all by hand... no auto transportation here!). Or putting together furniture. Or having help figuring out all the legalities of visa and managing appointments. Of not having the company and social life I'd like. I don't want to live in that place of dwelling on what I don't have. But I DO still need community.

Yes, I'm reflecting on this after the wedding of a dear friend, but it's highlighting a piece for me that I've often thought about in the past. Couples, families... don't leave out the single people in your life because you're married, because you share the same stage of life with other couples and families. Yes, those relationships are important. But you need more than couple relationships. You also need me as a single people in your life - to remind you of how to interact with those who aren't going through the same things. To find ways to relate outside of house or babies or couple issues. To be vulnerable in some of these things even if I can't completely relate. But I'm honored by you bringing me in and yes, I care about those things with you. Neither is it the whole of who you are. You are not your husband (or wife) or kids or home. That's not your identity. You need me to bring another perspective into your life. I have a place at your table as well. I have something to offer - important pieces to offer without a spouse, and as a woman, without a husband. A man does not suddenly validate me or validate my ministry, it does not make me more worthwhile or usable or acceptable.  

And we singles need you. I need you. I need community, and community outside of other singles (and this peer group is less and less the older I get). I need places where I am welcomed in and given space and treated as equal and worthwhile IN my singleness - where I feel like I have a place and am not less than without a partner. I need the company and friendship of both of the partners in a marriage, even (and sometimes especially, since more of my life is relating to the same gender) of the opposite sex. I need to learn to relate to families as a whole and celebrate with you in stages of life that I'm not experiencing. 

Some more practical pieces that I've experienced or heard:

Please don't assume that I'm too busy; sometimes I create busyness BECAUSE I don't have other places to spend it.

Please don't assume that I don't want to spend time with your crazy family. Yes, sometimes that's true and I need my space and peace. But I am honored to be thought of and invited in. Please don't assume that a refusal means I'm not interested. Hopefully I communicate that.

Please don't assume that it will be awkward. It will be awkward if you think it will be awkward (3rd or 5th wheel, anyone?). I want to be secure enough to enjoy you and your family and company no matter my state. If I'm not secure (and it definitely happens at times!), that's mine to work through in my identity with God.

Please don't hold back because it might cause pain. Granted, sometimes it is hard for me. But the tension and feelings of isolation increase when communication becomes guarded for fear of hurt. Let's be authentic and support each other in the rawness of all of it. I learn to honor and serve others well when I take the pain to God and receive the strength to truly be with you in your joy and pain. I honor you by sharing my heart and the place I'm at without placing expectation or guilt on you. And we both feel seen and understood when we can be in it together without giving or taking offense. (side note: not every single or disappointed person is in a place to handle this. I get that. Be sensitive to your friend.)

At the same time, please don't flaunt your "success" by demanding I celebrate or be offended with you... this occasionally happens by gushing about your joys and pride or lamenting how demanding your life is because of it the children or responsibilities. You can help me by not letting me do the same about my singleness. We've all got our stuff. Let's find a balance together.

Please DO invite me to join you. Make space for me – sometimes into your family time or time with other families. A dinner. A walk. A playground trip. I'm happy to be thought of.

Please DO ask or initiate conversation about life and stages of life. I want to know I'm seen and heard in that area, even if you can't specifically relate. I want to do the same with you. Don't let it be an awkward or shameful thing.

Please DO notice the single people around you: keep your eyes open and notice where they may or may not have community.

Please DO let us make community together. The young, the old. The single, the married. The childless, the overflowing family. The hurting, the healthy. The giver, the receiver. We all need each other; different ways in different seasons. We all have seasons to give and to receive. But let's find community and do it well.

What's your experience - as a single person or as a married individual or couple relating to someone who is single? I'd love to hear your thoughts and how we can do/be the Body of Christ better.

Where is home?

Last week I was asked how I feel living in Prague - if it feels like home. It's something I've been reflecting on a bit recently. Because, yes, it feels like home, in the sense that it's my daily life, where my flat is, my bed is, my work and friends who honestly probably know me better than most of my friends in PA do now. At the same time, PA is home because it's where my family is, the place I grew up. The place where everything is familiar, I understand the customs and know where to buy random items like ribbon or how the post office system works.

So I have two homes.

Or do I have no home?

Because I experience a tension (as do probably most foreigners in a culture not their own) between what was and what is and where I feel established and at peace.

PA is beginning to feel less and less like home. Where my parents live, yes. It's my childhood home and the comfort there won't change. But going to the States this past summer, I found myself wandering around stores no longer knowing where to find things. New stores pop up. I have no concept of what current movies are or how in the world to pay someone through an app. I feel out of touch with people and what's happening in their lives, other than an occasional glimpse on facebook (and that's real life, as we all know 😄) and many have no concept of what my life is really like. 

And on this side of the ocean, this culture is different. It's still a foreign culture and a foreign language and will always carry some heightened tension because it's not what I've known my whole life. New situations carry some stress because I don't know how it will function (every time I visit a doctor, for example), and even some routines are stressful because I can easily get flustered if I don't understand well. So I often feel a little bit out of place and not competent in what should be routine. 

Sometimes I even feel completely helpless... and yes, this could also happen in the States, but it's a whole different level when you can't make yourself understood well. Let me give you an example:

 Last week I was able to spend a day in the mountains to ski. Generous friends loaned me their car and I went alone, because I desperately needed some time out of the city and time not thinking about everything that piles on when I'm at home. I found a place to stay for one night and took off - looking forward to time away in nature, time to clear my mind in the limited time I had. And it was nice - a peaceful drive, an hour testing whether I could actually manage on skis without seriously hurting myself before the sun set (I've only done this once before), quiet time in a room with only my journal and a book ... until the next morning when (and I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this, but it's part of the story) I got the car stuck in snow. Not a big deal, right? Except that I tried everything I could think of to dig out and get some traction under the tires. I tried knocking at a nearby house with no answer. Several people were walking by on their way to rent skis and I asked them all for help and got turned away each time, with a cheerful "Hezky den" (Have a nice day) from one woman as they walked past my obviously stuck car (and having just told them 10 minutes before that I couldn't get out and could they help?) I went back to the shop where I had rented skis from a rather unfriendly man, and tried to explain the situation... could he please help me? No, no. He wasn't dressed for going out and had to go out to the ski trails. Sorry.  And so I walked away in tears, at a complete loss, feeling utterly helpless and alone.  Because what do you do in a foreign culture, foreign language, less ability to communicate well what you need, and no concept of how this works? Who would I even call to pull me out, if needed? I had in general thought that Czechs were somewhat helpful (even if reserved and cautious) people. In the moment I was no longer believing it (and no offense to my Czech friends... I do believe that Czechs do help others in need). I called the friend who loaned me the car, but of course she's an hour and a half away with no means of doing anything. I wasn't expecting anything other than for at least someone to hear me and be with me emotionally, if not physically, which she could thankfully provide. And said if there's no other way, maybe call the police. 

I do have to say, in all of this, I wasn't despairing about getting the car out - I knew one way or another something would work. It was more the aloneness and helplessness that felt overpowering. And the fact that I wanted to spend a day enjoying the snow and nature and instead I was trying to figure out how to dislodge a vehicle. But it was a very apparent reminder that this country is not my home. In the US, I could have at least communicated better. Found a phone number. Maybe been able to recruit help if I could explain exactly what I needed. 

This is an extreme example, but this "this is not my home" feeling happens more often than I would like, in various circumstances. Sometimes by surprise. When you get yelled at for taking pictures in a store when you didn't realize it was prohibited. When employees in public service roles are unfriendly and unhelpful because they don't like dealing with foreigners who don't understand. When you go to the hairdresser and come out with something different than what you anticipated because while you thought you explained well, apparently you didn't (and weren't aware of what the stylist was doing, so you couldn't stop him. Yes, this also happens when language is common, but the fact that language contributed to miscommunication is frustrating).  Do I laugh or cry? Depends on the day. I want to be the kind of woman who can laugh every time. Shake my head and admit that it's part of life and it doesn't say anything about who I am. But I confess that sometimes the helplessness and vulnerability overtakes me. 

I don't mean for this to sound all negative. While having 2 homes and yet no place that truly feels like home can be challenging, I do appreciate my life. I have friends on various continents. Friends here who teach me another way of thinking. The wonder of being able to live in another culture and communicate to a decent extent. Knowing the accomplishment of managing phone conversations in Czech (phone conversations are the worst) or where I can buy kernel popcorn (surprisingly not so common). I am often in awe that I have the privilege of living in this beautiful city. Amidst the challenges, God is overwhelmingly gracious and generous.

And ultimately, my home is not of this world. I have a fantastically better home to look forward to - and it will truly be home.