Between Two Worlds

How can I be full of excitement and brokenhearted at the same time? This is a roller-coaster life. I’m not used to roller-coasters.

The pain of impending goodbyes hovers ever nearer, like a knife creeping up to stab me. At the same time, at least once a day I think about returning to Tennessee and feel like jumping for joy. I want to leave, but I don’t. I want to go back to Tennessee, but I don’t. Sometimes I’m calm and other times anxiety hits me like a breaking wave.

I think this is normal. It’s “transition,” which is missionary speak for “a big change in your life.” There’s not much I can do about it; I’ve just got to hold onto God and what I know is true, and buckle down until the storm passes.

A more practical update for those wondering: I have possibilities on the job front. Thanks a million times to those who have prayed about that. I’m excited, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions because nothing is certain yet. I’m encouraged, though.

This morning Teri and I went grocery shopping in France. We almost always shop in Germany because, well, we’re in Germany. But there’s a giant French supermarket only about 10 min. away, so we decided to make a stop there this morning. They have a wider selection of goodies like snack stuff and cookies and coffee, so we stocked up on those types of items. It was fun. Oh, and the first person we saw when we entered the store approached us with a clipboard and pen. He said something in French and wanted to give us a public opinion survey. Neither of us speak any French beyond “au revoir” and “bonjour,” so we said, “Sorry, we’re English speakers.”

“Americans?” he asked. We nodded, and he was like, “Where from?” When we said Maryland and Tennessee, he pointed at himself and said, “Ohio.” He explained that he’s a missionary (church planter) and that he works for this survey company on the side to make money. We told him we work at Black Forest.

So we drive 20 km away, go into a French grocery store in a medium sized Alsatian town, and the first person we meet is an American guy from Ohio conducting public opinion surveys.

There are a thousand words in my head to describe how I am feeling these days. The roller coaster ride continues – and it’s strange for me because I’m not normally a roller coaster person. Multiple times a day, it seems, I alternate between euphoria about returning to Tennessee and extreme sadness about leaving the girls and my friends here. There’s also a fair amount of anxiety thrown into the mix, as I’m currently searching for a job in Knoxville while living in Germany (not a simple task). I want to teach English at a Christian school, but although I’ve had a few leads, nothing has materialized yet. So I don’t know whether to mentally prepare myself for a life of teaching or… a life of something else. Where will I work? Where will I live? What will my life look like in the fall? Right now, I don’t know. It’s a curious place to be, as it makes me feel – once again – as if I am standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump off into the abyss. Or staring down the road I’m walking on, squinting into the ever-thickening fog that clouds my view. I’m excited by the possibilities but also scared of leaving what has become the familiar.

This time of transition brings back a rushing stream of memories from two years ago. In April 2006 I had been accepted to come to Black Forest and I was in the process of preparing mentally, practically, spiritually, and financially to take the plunge. I was filled with excitement and scared out of my wits. Kind of like now. Except now I have that experience behind me, and realizing God’s faithfulness through that transition increases my faith about this one. He will lead me where He wants me to go. I know that, deep down. It’s just the surface issues that toss me about and leave my circumstantial stability in tatters.

But this is what I learned before, and need to be reminded of again: stability isn’t in my circumstances. Stability isn’t in my routine, my belongings, my surroundings, my family (real family or dorm family). It isn’t in Tennessee or Black Forest Academy. It’s in God. Only.

I like to think that I maintain a level of control over my own life. Perhaps, in a way, I do. But it’s only the measure that God gives to me. At any time, the stability I feel in my surroundings can be pulled away. People come and go. Buildings burn. Economies rise and fall. They’re all transient.

The only person or thing or element in all the universe that stays the same – it’s God. The solid Rock. The cornerstone of humanity and the universe.

In times like these, when the earth shakes beneath my feet, I want to find that Rock and hold on tight.

Facebook still won’t let me upload all my photos, so for now, here’s a sampling from my trip to Prague with my family. We had a fantastic time despite the cold (it snowed every day we were there). I don’t know if it’s always been like this or if I just notice it more now that I live on my own, but when I’m with my family I laugh more often and much harder than I normally do. We crack each other up. It’s probably really good for my abs.

Michael with his African espresso and banana. What a combo.

Vendors on the Charles Bridge.

It’s a beautiful city.

The Old Jewish Cemetery. I thought it was really cool and took a lot more pictures of it, but I’ll spare you.

That’s all for now. I’ll post a link to the full album when I am able to upload it. Now, watch for a post about Greece… soon.

At the beginning of spring break, my friend Nicole was visiting and my family, too. The five of us decided to take a day trip to France in search of a World War I memorial site called Hartzmannwillerkopf. The problem: that is the German name, and we didn’t know what it was called in French. So we spent some time wandering the countryside by car and foot in search of the elusive place.

After stopping in a lovely French town for lunch, we stopped at a bakery and who should walk in but a troop of four BFA students, one of them from my dorm? After we hugged and simultaneously exclaimed, “What are you doing here?” Rachel replied, “I live here! Right around the corner!” So it was her dad who graciously gave us directions to Hartzmannwillerkopf and informed us of its French name. After that we found the place without further confusion.

It was a beautiful, sobering place. The views are amazing. It’s hard to imagine people killing each other in such a breathtaking locale.

Michael, Nicole, and I explored the woods at the bottom of the hill and found one of the trenches.

After that, we drove up to Colmar, an idyllic spot in the Alsace region. There we walked around and tried to have dinner. The first restaurant we went to, though, was only serving drinks (despite having a food menu prominently displayed outside). So we paid for our water and went to another restaurant.

“Little Venice” in Colmar.

A real French poodle.

And that was our day in France. Photos of other travels to come soon… if Facebook ever decides to let me upload them.

Sometimes I feel like I am living someone else’s life. The experiences I’m having don’t seem like they can be real. How can I casually say, “Last night I got back from five days in Greece”? And the week before that, Prague? Yet it’s true. This wandering life is a strange one. The places I’ve dreamed of seeing for myself are glorious, yes, as I imagined they would be – but they all have harsh, real undersides. This trip to Greece especially brought that to my attention. The islands, the Mediterranean, the mountains, and the ancient sites are idyllic; full of beauty. But the city is dirty, the government unstable, and many people live in poverty. When we were there, overflowing dumpsters lined the streets because of a recent strike. Whenever we asked about a bus departure time or when stores would be open, we got a tentative answer followed by, “but this is Greece.” The implication was that in Greece, one never knows what to expect.

It’s a stark contrast: the filth of the city and the beauty of nature. Now that I am back in Germany, I find myself contemplating the city and the people more than the gorgeous scenery. It’s a lot different here. Germany seems sterile by comparison. It presents a near-perfect image to the world: spotless sidewalks, storybook houses, excellent train and bus systems. It makes me wonder how it’s possible. I know Germany has poverty, too, but here I am not confronted daily with it in the form of cracking sidewalks, homeless people begging for a Euro or a bite to eat, and buildings on the verge of crumbling. It’s easy to forget about the poor when you live in a clean, pristine world. And in many ways, Germany is even cleaner and more pristine than the States.

Prague had visible poverty, too, and another element – it was a under a communist regime from the end of World War II until the “Velvet Revolution” in 1989. My family and I went to the Museum of Communism, which is located in the same building as a casino (irony? I don’t know, but I thought it was funny). It was a well done explanation of life under communism. The aspect that surprised me most (though I suppose it shouldn’t have) was the exhibit of cartoons and other propaganda about the United States and western Europe. They demonized capitalism just as much (or more) than America demonized communism in the ’50s and ’60s. Some of the accusations were so outlandish that they were funny – like a report blaming America for a potato famine. It claimed that U.S. planes dropped something on Czech crops that caused their potato plants to die that year. Apparently most people believed this, which is incredible, but then, under communism they had only one source of “news,” so it must have been difficult to tell truth from untruth.

I hope to post pictures later today, so stay tuned.

As humans, we like to categorize. Compartmentalize. As Christians, we like to talk about “learning a lesson” and imagine filing it away in our cabinet of spiritual accomplishments. We say, “God taught me a lesson about patience.” Wouldn’t it be nice if we could check off that box, sign the paper, and file it away – finished forever? “Yep, I’ve learned that one. I’ll never be impatient again.”

It gives me a sense of control to think of my walk with Jesus as a college course with a syllabus. God lectures me and I complete the assignments. Once I turn them in, they’re done. Never to be revisited. I might get a good grade or a lousy one, but either way I’m moving forward and can lazily forget what I’ve just learned. I only learned it so I could do well on that test or paper, right?

The Christian life is too complicated – too mysterious – to comprehend in this way. It’s not a series of papers to be completed, or a hallway full of magical doorways to walk through. I have no tangible way of measuring my progress.

There’s a paradox here that I don’t understand. On the one hand, God tells us that we have everything we need for life and godliness. He tells us to be perfect as He is perfect. In some sense, every believer already possesses perfection of character. God chooses to see us through the lens of Christ, omitting our flaws because He paid for them on the cross. On the other hand, we’re living in an imperfect world surrounded by imperfect people. We mess up. We fall down. We get up. We say we’ve learned our lesson, but we often make the same mistake again. This is the frustration of life on earth.

So I can’t say how I’m doing or how far I’ve come. I dare to suggest that those questions don’t matter. I can’t improve my character. God has to do it. I am “improving” only as much as I am surrendering to His work in me.

I can already feel the pain when I think about saying goodbye to everyone here. Part of me wants to do something like this again; go teach at a school in some adventurous place for a year or two. But another part of me craves stability and living in a community that doesn’t change so much, so often, as the one here. Wanderlust…stability. Adventure…long-term friendships and relationships. Where’s the balance? I haven’t figured it out yet. But I know that after this experience I will have a new understanding of both military and missionary kids.

I’ve been thinking some other thoughts. They’ll come later.

I am surfacing momentarily to say that I am alive and – at last – well. I recovered from the flu just in time to spend a weekend off in London with Rachel. She fell in love with the city and I realized afresh that part of my heart abides in Great Britain.

We got to see “Wicked,” which was incredibly good. It was my first Broadway-scale play, and I am hooked.

We saw many beautiful and famous sites and enjoyed good weather throughout the weekend. And what London trip is complete without fish and chips? It was a near perfect weekend off.

A week later, on February 4, my friend Jana flew in from the States for a two week visit. As soon as she arrived, I got sick again with chills, aches, and another chest cold. It wasn’t as bad as before, but I was partially incapacitated for the first few days she was here. Antibiotics came to the rescue, though, and started kicking out the infection within a few days. I took another weekend off so we could travel to Interlaken and up into the Swiss Alps for a few days. I never tire of those mountains. We also took a day trip to a couple of German castles (or rather, castle ruins, but beautiful nonetheless). Otherwise she’s gotten a taste of my life in the dorm, and we’ve had fun doing the regular tasks like laundry and mega-grocery shopping. I’ll be sad to see her go on Monday. Perhaps next week I’ll get a chance to post pictures from our time together and the trip to Switzerland. For now, I just wanted you all to know that I am alive, and I am tremendously thankful not to be sick anymore.

The past few days have been a blur of incessant napping, interrupted only to take two caplets of tylenol every six hours. There’s a terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad flu bug circulating here at BFA, and I’ve been down with it since Monday night. Today there were over 60 students home from school, 5 from our dorm alone.

I won’t whine about my symptoms (my mom has heard enough of that via the telephone – I love you, Mom!), but suffice to say, this is a bad bug and I hope to recover from its miseries one day soon. Meanwhile I will retreat once more into my room of quarantine, lest I spread my germs. (I suggest washing your hands thoroughly after you’re done reading this post, just in case.)