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.

Christmas 2018 Silesian style

This is my friend Lucie. About a month ago we were together for coffee (or tea, in my case) and talking about Christmas plans, and she invited me to her family for Christmas. I already had another invitation for the 24th (Christmas day in the Czech), but knew I could also spend the 25th with them, and so decided it would be great to spend Christmas at Lucie's family. Lucie is from the other side of the Czech Republic, and her mom is currently living in a town called Český Těšin, which is in the Silesian region of the Czech Republic and borders Poland. I was informed that I might not understand the language - their dialect is a mix of Czech, Polish and German (and while the family does speak it together, Lucie's mom was so gracious - saying she rarely speaks Czech, but she'll try to remember to speak Czech for my sake. It was cute. 😊). So the 22nd I met Lucie and her husband and we drove the 4 hours across the country (and yes, the route looked kind of like this... there is no good direct route across the country).

The 6 of us spent the 23rd and 24th together - Lucie and her husband Marek, who are friends from my church, her sister Lenka, mother and brother Lukaš. And their bear, Miša :)

So, this may or may not be interesting, but these are some of the activities from Sunday and Monday:

An evening walk across the river to Poland (here, though it's hard to see, standing in 2 countries at once!)

To the square in Polish Cieszyn, where we hoped to find a Christmas market, but it was closed 😕

And back to the square in Český Těšin, which had one stand open...

...the one for mulled wine. But the cool thing about Christmas atmosphere and markets like this in Europe is that people stand in the square, chatting and hanging out and being community (also hard to see, but there are people standing around in the picture!).

and fun about the Czech Republic is that fish (the carp, in particular) are decorations and ornaments

The table throughout Sunday and Monday - full of peanuts, fruit, drinks...

...and a plate of cukrovi (sweets/cookies) that never that never runs empty. When it starts to look a little sparse, it magically refills. 😄 Czechs bake a lot of cookies and you eat them throughout Christmas break.

We watched several pohadky (Czech fairy tales) on TV, because that's about all that's on and it's tradition to watch them over Christmas. But also had some time to sit and listen to soothing guitar music...

The 24th evening is the Christmas celebration. This family is Christian, so it was beautiful to start the meal with some carols together (in Czech, Polish and English. And some with as many verses as 10 or 14... fortunately we didn't sing them all!), read the Christmas story, hear a reflection on Christmas and pray together. 

And who knew this song is originally Czech?!

One Czech tradition is to cut an apple in half. If it has a star, the year will be good. If is has a cross (or no star), you'll have a bad year. Or someone will die. Depending on who you listen to.

I don't have pictures of the meal itself. Or exchanging gifts. Though carp is traditional, we didn't have it this year. Instead, we had salmon, trout, a fried whitefish and řizek (schnitzel). Accompanied by potato salad and sauerkraut and broccoli. It was delicious. 

A midnight service on the 24th is also traditional, though often it's no longer at midnight. The one we went to was at 9, in this beautiful church. Though it was all in Czech (except a couple of Polish songs), it was meaningful to be part of it and reflect on the unbelievable way God chose to rescue his people - in complete humility and inauspiciousness the Messiah was born.

The end of the service and the birth of the Messiah was celebrated with the tolling of the bells.

Unfortunately, early on the 25th I had to head back to Prague for a second Christmas dinner (this time British style). But we woke up to snow, a lovely gift for the American Christmas day 😊

It was so lovely to spend Christmas with this family. I felt so welcomed. It was relaxing and restful. And I felt the Spirit's presence as we celebrated and rejoiced together - not just the excitement of the activities, but a deeper meaning and purpose in our celebration together. 

Merry Christmas, everyone! 

May you experience true hope and light into even the places that feel dark and hopeless.

The people walking in darkness
    have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
    a light has dawned.

Prepare

Prepare your heart - on the wall of the prayer room in our church, which inspired this reflection

Prepare.
Prepare your heart.
Prepare room.
Every heart prepare HIM room.

Open a corner.
Push aside enough of the clutter and chaos that he can enter.
Expect that he'll want to make the space his own. He's not content to stay squeezed into a corner.
Give access. Surrender the keys. Allow him to renovate completely.
He needs an entrance. And then slowly, gently, guides into clearing the room of the junk.
Till it's empty. cleaned out. decluttered. released.
these fleshly desires. those expectations.
this fear. that weakness. this pain. that avoidance.
what I grasp for. what I avoid.
where I shut down. shut out. where I cling. control.
Make open space.
Space he can fill.
Fill with light. Lightness.
Fill with joy. Gladness in mourning.
Fill with healing. Wholeness.
Fill with hope. He is hope. The Only Hope.

Advent.
Waiting.
Waiting in expectation.
Expectation of hope. of faith. of joy. of peace.
of Messiah.
Savior.
Redeemer.
The Promised One. Fulfillment.
Release from fear, shame, guilt. Release from everything that hinders.
Come. Come quickly.
The space is prepared, expecting Your presence. Ready to be filled.

40th reflection

Birthdays tend to be a time of reflection for me. Maybe because turning 30 was really difficult and I've tried to figure out why... life looking different than I expected it should, not feeling like I'd accomplished much, feeling like I had been a victim of circumstances and that God seemed to be holding out on me... honestly, these things have been something that I've wrestled with every year since 30. Where am I headed? What does God have for me? Am I being used? I've struggled with seeing evidence of purpose and design and goodness in my life.

This year the reflection is also taking place. Maybe even at a deeper level, because this is 40. Yes, 40. I didn't want to admit it for the longest time. It feels like such an old number. I don't feel 40. Most people tell me I don't look 40. But I've had 40 years of life and experiences, of relationships and growth. And I've come to accept what is and not be ashamed of it.

Life still doesn't look like I ever imagined it would (not sure what I did imagine, but definitely never imagined living in Prague, among many other things!). But this year I do have a new perspective. As I've looked back, I've seen God's faithfulness and how much I have been given. I'm focusing on the "haves" and not the "have nots". And God has placed in me a fresh vision and joy. He has transformed my identity from victim to beloved. Beauty instead of ashes, praise in place of heaviness. He's shifted my need to control and fix to trust and surrender, my expectations (of him and others) to release and grace and thanksgiving, all in ways I never could have imagined. Not by easy roads, but necessary ones. I'm overwhelmed by the goodness and richness that has come through a thoroughly open heart and willingness to walk through pain, surrender and dying to self in the past couple years. By no means am I at a perfect place, but I've experienced God's pleasure and delight in my pursuit and know a grace in my imperfection that swells my heart with gratitude.

So now, as I reflect on another year, instead of regret and feelings of being held out on, I carry an anticipation: for an even deeper and intimate walk with Jesus. For experiencing more of the true Body of Christ in vulnerability and sacrifice. For what God is doing in loved ones. For a hope of healing in lives that he will bring through pastoral and healing training I'm pursuing. For how his love and grace is being reflected through me. For how my life and journey and transformation brings hope and inspiration to others. I no longer question that he IS using me. I hear his voice of affirmation speak in my soul and voices of his people speak to my heart.  I may still question HOW he will use me, but it's less in doubt than in expectation. And I'm deeply humbled and grateful.

And as I have reflected and experienced profound gratitude, I also realized that as much as I want to be celebrated on my birthday, I also want to be able to give and bless others. There is joy in being able to bless, knowing how much I have been blessed with. So moving forward, my choice for the next 40 days (which, incidentally, takes me up to Christmas), is to find a way to intentionally bless/give to someone each day - something out of the ordinary or that I wouldn't automatically do. It's not a "rule" - that I'll feel I've failed if I don't do it (because that's occasionally how I've operated in the past) - but an opportunity to experience the joy of giving. The joy of sharing and sacrificially giving. So if I choose to bless you, don't steal my joy by denying me the opportunity. :)  Here's to the next 40 years of God's graciousness. 

P.S. And for those who are interested and read my reflection last year, I had made it a goal to do something intentional each month - an experience I wanted to have, to learn something new, to challenge myself in something... some months were harder than others, but it did help me to make an effort to find new opportunities and have the accomplishment of completing something worthwhile and life-giving. I'm also really grateful for these experiences and the motivation and intentionality God gave in order for me to live life more fully.  A few examples from the year:

Ples: you were supposed to throw money in the parachutes

• attending a ples (graduation ball) of one of the youth girls
• composing a couple of songs - one thus far without words and one with words (that still needs to be edited)
• traveling to 3 new countries
• sharing an announcement/invitation with the youth group in Czech (speaking with a small group is one thing, sharing in front of 50 people, something completely different!)
• making a surprise visit home to meet my nephew

Seder meal

• visiting a new castle in the Czech
• going bobsledding in Prague (without snow! 😄)
• inviting a Czech friend from choir for lunch
• experiencing Easter and Seder meal with Czech friends

• painting a picture
• teaching myself script lettering
• engaging with family members in more open and vulnerable ways
• running a 10k in less than an hour

Chasing walnuts and juicing apples

One of the things I miss living in Prague is fall. Not that fall doesn't happen, but that I feel the lack of typical fall activities: campfires, barn parties, autumn camping, pumpkins and pumpkin desserts (pumpkin here is more a soup than sweet, though there are lots of apples and apple strudel!)... So I was really happy to be invited to the cottage of my friends Jason and Anna where they have their fall harvest - walnuts, apples, a few remaining vegetables in the garden... and more walnuts and more apples. Most of all, they make mošt (fresh apple juice/apple cider) fresh from their apples. It felt like a fall day to be able to help with the process. And I learned that Czechs have a verb for "to make apple cider": mošt'ovat.

Lovely cottage and garden in a tiny Czech village.

First, the apples need a bath

And then chopped to bits (we had a clever little machine that did this)

Juicing

And straining

Fruit of our labor!

And Anna's mom made us a delicious Plzen gulaš (apparently the
 egg, onion and cheese make this a specific regional specialty). Yum!!!

I also had a spiritual reminder from the day for those of you who appreciate more depth :) ... as we gathered walnuts in the morning, Jason had a leaf blower he was using to blow away all the leaves so we could actually FIND the walnuts. And as he did so, he was pointing out those laying around for me to pick up. But I found myself getting a little offended by his direction. My thoughts went something like, "Do you not think I'm capable of seeing them? Am I not good enough for this, or so inexperienced that you think I need help?"  I found myself trying harder to find them quickly so I could "prove" that I'm a capable and sufficient walnut-picker-upper. And then I stopped myself and refocused: in all reality, I think Jason was trying to helpful. It had nothing to do with my ability or anything he thought. And even if it did, what's the point of being the best walnut-picker-upper??? How ridiculous to let a silly, unimportant (in the grand scheme of things) activity define me. More importantly, how ridiculous to let ANY event, ability or lack of, or other person's thoughts define me. I am so much more than that. And so are you. Period.

the things I've missed: Czech version

In June I posted some of the things I've missed from the US. Now I'm trying to pay attention to the things here in Prague that are special.

• warm summer days with NO HUMIDITY
• electric hot water pot
• being able to walk so many places

• street food: langoš (fried dough brushed with garlic, topped with cheese and ketchup)

• brown eggs (it was a surprise to open the carton and realize they were brown!)
• late night visits with friends
• ability to read while traveling (benefit of public transportation)
• beautiful architecture

• Kofola (Czech soda - especially the apricot version. It's less sweet, less caffeine and less carbonated than other sodas)

• good, fresh bread and rolls in the supermarket (also not so good for me, since I shouldn't be eating it...)
• simpler, less consumeristic culture
• park nearby to run in, and seeing so many people out on nice days

and a few things I haven't missed as much as I transition back ...

• silence in my flat (I did get used to being around people during the 3 months in PA!)
• having to cook all my own meals again
• people everywhere but no one to talk to (feeling more moments of isolation)
• trying to communicate in depth in a foreign language
• having to rely on public transportation schedules and plan in extra travel time
• smokers everywhere
• having to entirely set up my schedule (the vision and motivation this takes are not a strength of mine)
• views of other buildings from my apartment
• not understanding conversation in group settings and thus not feeling like I can be a part

The Evening Primrose

I've been fascinated by the evening primrose in our backyard this week. These blossoms open every evening at dusk, and they burst open suddenly, in a matter of seconds. I thought it might be interesting to video it or try to watch a time lapse of it, not remembering what the transformation process of the bud looked like. So I turned on the video and stood there, bent over to capture the process, and I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

My hamstrings started to burn from the position I was standing in.

My hands started to shake from holding my phone in one position (watching the time lapse afterward made me feel quite dizzy).

More seconds and then minutes dragged by and all I saw were the slits in the outer green shell becoming a bit longer, making more visible the bright yellow petals underneath, and a very slight thickening of the bud and as it stretched its shell until its petals were prepared to burst forth. But overall very little indication of progress.

And yet I waited longer, because I knew at any moment the shell would burst open, the yellow petals would escape and the beauty of the blossom would be revealed. Knew it could happen in the blink of an eye and I could miss it.

Waited in anticipation. As the seconds dragged into minutes, waited with impatience. Every moment was a battle of, "Give up, it's still going to be forever. Find a new bud with better hopes of a quick blossoming" vs. "You've persevered so long, you can't give up on the eternity (minutes) you've spent because the miracle is going to happen at any moment. Your energy will have been wasted."

Any moment, any moment... and yet not yet...

And as I waited I pondered how long and how patiently I wait for the blooming in my own life. When I know God is stirring something, sometimes aware of what it is and sometimes not. In the process of waiting, wrestling with "that thing" I don't want to lay down, "that lie" to overcome, "that truth" to sink deep, "that habit" to die, "that transformation" to take place... waiting for God to bring forth something new and freeing and glorious.

 It's an active waiting; realizing that at points I've done what I can, fought what I know, surrendered to the point that I am able. And in the current waiting with God have the active expectation that he is doing a transformation internally that I can't do on my own. But I'm often impatient in the waiting, the seeming lack of progress. My body grows weary, my perseverance and hope runs thin, my mind struggles to remain steadfast. But I have to press on, stand steadfast in the midst of weary physical and mental muscles, realizing that in the "being" he changes me. And at some point, whether it's a transformational moment like the evening primrose or a more gradual process, there is going to be a blossoming. In the meantime there's a preparation happening - an expanding and solidifying of a base that will allow this flower to blossom fully into its glory, made beautiful in its time.

What do I do in the waiting? I listen. I commune. I worship. I wait longing for the glorious transformation to happen. I wait with the hope of something beautiful. I wait in trust, knowing I can't force it prematurely. I wait with anticipation of the joy in the moment when the blossom will burst forth. I'm persistent in the waiting, in the faith that it will happen, in not giving up.

I wait longer, and longer still...

And in a moment it happens. And it's beautiful.