Thirty-Three Years Connected

Several weeks ago, I indulged in a piece of deliciously moist chocolate cake while sipping decaf coffee. A savory cherry topping melted into each bite, making me very glad my brother requests the homemade cake for his birthday every year.

After initially requesting only a small piece, the guest at the table asked for seconds. No one blamed him. Especially when he explained that American desserts trump those he's savored in his homeland of Germany.

However, while Florian claims the US has an edge on decadent sugar displays, his mother grew up with a view of the Alps that once stirred my soul more than chocolate cake ever will.

Thirty-three years ago, my family traveled through Europe. Toward the end of our second week, we happened upon the Eitzenberger's Bed & Breakfast in Garmisch Partenkirchen. 

The charming lodge offered a spectacular view of the Alps. And as we got to know the family during our hearty bread and cheese breakfasts, Dad insisted we sing a few barbershop tunes. In return, Mrs. Eitzenberger and her daughter yodeled for us. Connected by a love of family and music, my dad and the proprietors exchanged Christmas cards for many, many years.

Fast forward thirty-three summers, and before Florian left to spend a semester abroad at Georgia Tech this fall, his grandmother (the elder Mrs. Eitzenberger) encouraged him to look up my dad. The two connected and Florian even shared a traditional Thanksgiving meal with us last week. 

As our small world's collided, I valued the unusual sense of unity.

Florian made visiting easy. Almost too easy. My sister even referred to him as "Nathan's German twin" because he looked and acted a lot like my oldest son.

Nathan and Florian

As turkey and stuffing led to apple and pumpkin pie, we discussed everything from Toledo, Ohio to the recent political climate. Florian absorbed our use of colloquialisms with ease, and then occasionally used them against us. 

It was great fun.

Nathan, brother Mark, Florian, me, Dad, Mom

Resurrecting thirty-three year old memories added a flavor to our Thanksgiving that felt similar to the cherry topping that covered that moist chocolate cake. The cake would've sufficed. But the cherry topping enhanced the memorable experience even more. 

Bottom line, you just never know when a connection will fire, then sizzle for years, and eventually ignite into something new.

Call it destiny, fate, or a keen sense of déjà vu, visiting with Florian felt surreal and reminded me that crossing cultural divides is meant to enhance our lives. Not to mention that sending yearly Christmas cards may in fact have a purpose and lead to sweet moments far down the road.

It's easy to curl up and stay safe on our side of the street. Oh so very easy. But the world is calling. So let's do this thing. 

You may be surprised in just thirty-three years.



All photos (except for the family photos) courtesy of pixabay.com

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Sweetening the Melancholy

I thought about grabbing a Starbucks coffee on the way. Definitely should've swallowed some Advil. Because without pain relief or a little pick-me-up, my stitch removal turned into a dicey encounter with a surgeon, a small knife, and about 18 stitches a little too embedded in my skin.

The ensuing pain surprised me because I've been relatively pain free since about 10 days after the surgery. That was not the case last spring. So I was hoping the doctor was going to release me from my no-weight bearing status, allowing me ditch the knee-scooter during my midnight potty runs. On the contrary, he replied with a resounding, "No!"

"We broke that bone," he explained. "We sawed through your first metatarsal and then put it back together. You need more rest."

These photos are from my right foot surgery. 

But the left foot x-rays look exactly the same.

The bruising in my arch, combined with the reality of three procedures and incisions (of which I only shared one), forced me to face the need for more healing. 

Still, I left a little disappointed. Melancholy even.

I want to decorate for Christmas. Make an apple pie for Thanksgiving. I want to be out and about, but too much movement causes severe pain in my hips and right arm.

So I sit. Nap. And thank God for family that provides entertainment and car rides to sweeten the melancholy.

Just Sunday night, a small group of us gathered for a painting class in honor of Courtney's birthday. I helped arrange the event and made sure we had kettle corn to share. But once there, Courtney took over, ensuring I had whatever I needed.

The end result was worth the added effort.

A few hours ago I spent thirty minutes teaching an eight-year-old how to play Jingle Bells. The arrangement is in G position instead of C position, demanding she process all new notes. It's a challenging choice for her but she made good progress today. 

The simple feat felt solid.

Later, two high school students ate pizza and hung out as we practiced Christmas music for our December recital. While that may seem sacrilegious to some (since we haven't eaten turkey and mashed potatoes yet this week), a certain calm overtakes me when we dive into holiday tunes that proclaim peace on earth and joy for all.

It's a bit serendipitous. Unrealistic even. Cause this world serves up more hard than we can process.

But it's worth the time out. A holiday time out. Even if they stir up some melancholy that needs a little sweetening. 

You may be thrilled by upcoming events or you may be a little underwhelmed like me. But no matter what this week or the next month holds, seek the sweetness. And I don't mean the sugar hidden in the pumpkin or pecan pie.

Look for the moments that have meaning. Even the painfully ordinary or just simply boring ones you might have formerly ignored. 

Value your family even if they annoy you. Hug the relative that cancelled your vote. Savor the taste of flavorful food, even if it isn't gluten free. And live in the body you've been given... no matter how slow or fast you move.

That's my plan. We were made for a purpose. To make whatever big or small difference we can make. So don't skip out.

Sweeten someone's melancholy and then have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Photos courtesy of pixabay.com

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Chasing the Moon

I just returned from an adventure. Makayla, Olivia, Makenzie and I chased the moon. When we caught it rather close to a Starbucks, I considered indulging in a late night decaf coffee binge. But we were too wound up. Yogli Mogli with toppings sufficed instead.

It all started last night when I saw the moon as we drove to a service downtown. The sighting reminded me that I'd read something about a super moon appearing this week. A Google search confirmed my suspicion and the desire to watch a much larger-than-normal-moon-rise churned inside.

But church distracted me.

However, after the evening service, Don and I chatted with Makayla and Olivia. And right before we left, Makayla blurted, "We need to get together."

Since their mom and I were good friends, and I felt their loss when she died two years ago, my answer came swift.

"I know," I started, "Let's watch the moon rise tomorrow night. Are you free?"

"Yeah!" they both agreed.

"Do you know that neighborhood, The Summit, near Publix?" Makayla asked.

Unsure, I listened close as she explained the directions. Familiar with the place, we agreed to touch base this morning. And before noon, we had a plan.

When I got a text that they were running late, I headed up the summit alone. The ritzy neighborhood road led me up a small mountain I didn't even know existed. Half-way up, I looked to the west, enthralled by the wide-open view. 

At the highest point, I discovered an unfinished home with an unfinished lookout. A couple stood where I longed to go but couldn't dare on a knee-scooter. Soon however, a black SUV drove up and the driver informed us she was about to lock a gate further down. 

Disappointment seeped in. But after pulling out my iphone compass and realizing that the panoramic view looked south rather than east, we devised another plan.

Makayla, Olivia, and Olivia's friend, Makenzie, drove back down the steep incline in search of a view of the eastern sky, to no avail. 

So when I caught up with them, I led the charge, "Follow me," I commanded. "We'll head to The Avenue."

And they did.

They followed me in traffic as I watched minutes tick by on my car clock. They stayed close after I turned onto the four-lane highway and later headed into an unfinished strip mall. 

When we still could't find the moon, they followed me back onto the main drag, through an elevated Kroger parking lot that leads to a small strip mall and beside a Mexican restaurant. From there we turned right and then left back onto the main highway again. 

It was then that I began to wonder if my timing was off. Or if the moon was lost. Or if all had been for naught.

But just a few minutes later, it finally happened. I caught my first glimpse of the reddish moon and pulled over into a bank parking lot not far from a Target.

It was far from the picturesque scene I'd envisioned. Street lights and tail lights permeated the dark. But we'd chased the moon and finally found it.

Three giggling girls piled out of their car, unloaded my scooter, and then joined me as we made our way toward the moon for a few photos. 

A few weeks ago, a Facebook friend with a very rare autoimmune disease (that both of her young children also battle) wrote about how she felt convicted to try something new every day for thirty days. 

Limitations often suffocate those of us whose fragile bodies demand rest. So making plans and sticking to them feels unrealistic. 

In Linda's case, she made plans to have lunch with a friend one day, only to wake up with a very sick child. Her "something new" for that day was to simply to stick with her lunch plans instead of waiting for the doctor's call, and to leave her child with her husband even though her worried heart wanted to stay close. 

Inflamed lungs would've slow my step. But she maintained her stride that day and broke a little free.

Her determination has stirred something in me as I heal. Instead of focusing on my limits, I keep trying to do something different. Just a little different. Like chasing the moon with Makayla, Olivia, and Makenzie.

As we savored our yogurt in a slight outdoor chill, hearts opened and stories were shared. Chasing the moon had been fun. But communicating heart to heart added a richness to the evening even the biggest moon couldn't touch. 

We held hands and prayed before going our separate ways and I looked Makenzie in the eye and said, "You are the one Jesus loves."

It's a thing at our church these days. A statement our pastor recently made from the pulpit before asking us how comfortable we were with the idea. (If you don't believe me, listen to the sermon posted at the very end.)

Way back in September he asked if we could say it. Believe it. And even live it.

Try it. Say, "I am the one Jesus loves."

Does it make you nervous? Doubtful? Afraid of becoming self- centered?

Don't be.

When our awareness of His love is rooted in the reality of our brokenness, it grabs hold in a way that makes it easy to then say, "You are the one Jesus loves."

Our church is currently partnering with another downtown, so I'm trying out a new t-shirt design and all the proceeds will go to Hope Chapel.

So check them out below. Think Christmas. And go chase the moon.

Because you are the one Jesus loves.

Both designs are available at this link: Susan's Teespring Store

Romans: Part 4 from Sanctuary on Vimeo.

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The Throne Is Established

On Wednesday morning, we will sip coffee and ponder the reality of a new president... unless chads cause a stir again.

Assuming we will not repeat the Bush/Gore prolonged election count, some will celebrate. Others will reach for antacids.

But not God.

This election doesn't scare The Almighty one bit.

All through the Old Testament and New (meaning all through the history of the world) people like you and me have faced political turmoil, the rise and fall of nations, and the fear that accompanies both.

What we're going through is nothing new. It's not fun. But it's nothing new.

"He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and it's people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in. He brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing" (Isaiah 40: 22-24 NIV).

We are called to live by faith, yet wake in a world of uncertainty. We are called to stand against all odds, yet our legs grow weak.

At least mine do.

So I've made a decision. No matter who wins tomorrow night, I will hold my hands high and yell with proper abandon:

"The Lord has established his throne in heaven and his kingdom rules over all" (Psalm 103: 19 NIV).

 Image purchased from Ted Larson

Will you join me?

You see, when my boys were very little, their dad taught them big words. After they could pronounce "diplodocus" to some degree, he then moved on to larger portions of scripture. The result? Sam was a few months shy of three and Nathan just over four when our little family could quote all of Psalm 91 by heart.

The whole thing.

No joke.

As my boys grew, I continued the tradition. We tackled new portions of scripture about once a year. And somewhere along the line, we memorized Psalm 103.

"Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits - who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases" (Psalm 103: 1-3 NIV).

I won't quote the entire passage. But I'll link to it again in case you're curious... Psalm 103.

The sacred words unfold as a detailed reminder of who our God is: Healer. Forgiver. Redeemer. Satisfier. Compassionate. Gracious. Slow to anger. Abounding in love.

Thus, half way through declaring the passage, my soul would ignite, melting layers of fear. And I often needed cleansing at day's end when we quoted the words at bedtime.

We would start off in a normal tone of voice, but two thirds of the way through, mine intensified.

"As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children. With those who keep his covenant and remember to obey his precepts" (Psalm 103: 15-18 NIV).

And then came this declaration. The one that summed it all up and brought it home...

"The Lord has established his throne in heaven and his kingdom rules over all" (Psalm 103: 19 NIV).

Purchased from Ted Larson

The Psalmist closed his thoughts with three more verses of sheer praise. And tomorrow, no matter who wins, I want to dwell in that place with King David. I want to remember his life. The highs and lows. The victories and failures. The rise and fall. And then shout the words aloud:

"The Lord has established his throne in heaven and his kingdom rules over all" (Psalm 103: 19 NIV).

Then, I plan to smile, lay my head on a pillow, and thank God for His goodness and mercy and grace. All of which are undeserved.

Seriously, will you join me? Can we choose peace over fear? Confidence over distress? Victory over defeat?

It's a constant, daily choice.

Top photo courtesy pixabay.com

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