conversation stopper

We got back from London on a Wednesday.
Thursday morning I dropped Malachai and Josu off at school, and raced to the pasteleria. I wanted to make sure to catch Sonia and Ana for a coffee

I wanted to see them because I knew they would ask me about our trip to London, and I was excited to tell them about our traveling adventures, and about my little sister Abi's sweet, cozy hospitality in her teeny-tiny home (see Selma licking up uncle Nathaniel's world famous hot coco from the hallway floor - - below).

I was excited (and a little bit nervous, but mostly just excited) to tell them about the four hour meeting that Joshua and I had had with Mike and Richard - - good men who are serving and leading the church in England, and who are looking for help to do this.
I was excited to tell Ana and Sonia about the church that these guys had described for us - - an established, commuter church on the edge of an estate (that's fancy, British talk for a housing project) that has slowly, over the years begun to see the neighborhood change - - fill with immigrants from Asia, India and Pakistan. The church is interested in reaching out to and loving their neighborhood;
but they don't really know how,
and they are kind of afraid,
and they need someone to equip them for ministry, and to give them a vision for action.

And I wanted to tell Ana and Sonia how very much this excites me and Joshua - - we love the church! We believe that the great purpose of the church in this world is to love the world around it; we love joining with the church to do this!
but.
That conversation hardly happened; my sweet friends seemed barely interested, and the topic of conversation was quickly changed.

This didn't necessarily surprise me, I guess, but I've been thinking a lot about it, and there are two things that I keep going back to:

1. My greatest passions are not their greatest passions. I talk about these things because God has changed my heart; it's as simple as that.

2. While my Spanish friends have years of experience conversing about where to find the best butcher in town (and countless other helpful, interesting topics),
they
don't
EVER
talk about God, or the church, or anyone's passion for the church loving the world. And I think that partly, they have a hard time talking about these things with me because they're just not used to it.
they don't know what to say,
they don't know what to ask,
so they don't.

I've come to realize that
I need to get used to talking true to my identity with my friends
and they need to get used to hearing about my true identity

how about you?

culture 101

when Jeremiah and Mercy visited this Christmas, we taught them how to sound cultured.
"when you get back to the States" we told them, "don't say 'when we were in Europe' . . . say 'last time we were in Europe . . .'
"and try to fit it into as many conversations as you can" we coached them.

like this:
last time we were in London, Joshua took me to see Wicked at the Apollo theater.

see?
cultured.

when we were in London:

Once, not too long ago (last week in fact)
Joshua took me to the British Royal Academy of Music (well, it was Abi and Nathaniel, really, that took the whole family; but Joshua was there)
where we sat on a bench and ate Nigerian goat stew and Brazilian beef sandwiches;
and kissed while an opera singer practiced her scales in the background.
It was spectacular.
Even if your setup can't quite match up (I know, Nigerian goat stew is hard to beat), I highly recommend that you kiss the one you love; every day; several times a day

(and teach your children to cheer for you every time you do)

to London, to London!

I was praying with Malachai in bed last night. Malachai's prayer went on a bit longer than normal;

because he loves talking to God? very possibly.

because he loves talking to God and I was scratching his back at the same time? even more possible.

"please, God" he begged "help tonight be long enough for us to rest really well, but short enough for tomorrow to come really fast"

this morning we're off to London to do some business and (most importantly) to visit Abi and Nathaniel.

(and we're all very excited!)

weekend in review: part three

Sunday night:
The church had come and gone. there were carrot cake crumbs from the Lord's table still on the floor; Brett had stayed for dinner and the dishes were still in the sink, the floor a sticky mess.
It was late, and I was tired.
but I didn't go to bed. Instead, I stayed up a little bit later
and just cleaned.

weekend in review: part two

Saturday morning:
our doorbell rang.
it was our mailman.
the one who we say hi to every day;
the one who pokes his head into the coffee shop to tell us we have (x number of) letters waiting for us in our mail box;
the one we gave Christmas cookies to - - and a beenie on that day when it was snowing and he had no hat.

well, he doesn't normally come up; he usually stays downstairs where the mailboxes are, but on this particular Saturday morning he did - - he came up to tell us that his rout was changing, and that he wanted to say goodbye,
and to assure us that he had briefed the new mailman about how we are an American family that gets all sorts of mail and packages from across the sea, and how we need special looking out for.
I invited him in; of course I invited him in! (and I tried to position him so that he was looking toward the cleanest corner of the kitchen - - kind of like I do with my camera, you know?)
"You are leaving?" we asked him
"We are leaving!" we announced
and then there was a flurry to find paper to exchange addresses and then wishing each other the best, and off he went.
he left and I wrinkled my nose and clenched my fists (it's what I do when I think of something I'm embarrassed about)
and reminded myself of my resolve to keep inviting people in.
every time.
even when it's messy.
every time.

weekend in review: part one

Friday night:
Our friend Brett - - architect extraordinaire - -possibly knows more about architect Richard Neutra's life and work than any other living being on the face of this large planet. seriously.

So, this weekend it was Brett who was put together a public talk to share at our local community center (do you remember? Joshua has done this a couple of times , and so has Rachel) He explained some of Neutra's thoughts on spirituality and the modern man, and presented some of the religious architecture (church building) that was fruit of Neutra's perceptions.

And then after Brett's presentation, there was some round table discussion including two other architects and Rachel who is not an architect, but is a Christian who lives and loves church.
It was all fantastically fascinating and relevant; I wish you had all been there . . .Several of us went out afterward to the place across the street for a drink and a bite to eat. It was there, also, that our kids ran around yelling and chasing each other with wooden swords beneath the warm, humored gazes of all the other Spainish men and women out for something to drink and a bite to eat at 11:00 pm. (oh! Spanish night time culture, how I love you and your tolerance for wild children sometimes!)
At my end of the table we talked about travel plans and how sin, left unchecked can lead to greater sin.
I never did ask Joshua what they talked about at his end of the table.
it's now on my to-do list.
We got home late, and I was tired, so I ignored my crazy, messy house and dragged myself to bed promising myself I would clean it all on Saturday morning.
(sometimes it's just better that way)

Thurdays afternoons: at our place

Pablo comes over on Thursdays. I've told you that before, I think.
School finishes up at 4:30, and Pablo, who lives just one door down from us, walks home with us.
When we get home we snack together
(I hear out about what happened on the playground);
out comes the playmobile,
or the matchbox cars,
or the armory,
and then Joshua comes home and takes over; he's is a master with these boys
he pulls out the chessboard; sometimes he has them play only with a few select pieces, or sometimes he has them team up together to play against him; he has them fully engaged.
The loveliest thing happened not too long ago during one of Pablo's Thursday visits:
I was washing dishes, and Joshua was with Malachai and Pablo, playing chess at the table behind me.
I heard Joshua explain a move.
"look!" he said "the pawn attacked the bishop - - and won - - just like when David killed Goliath!"

Pablo had no idea what Joshua was talking about.
So in a heartbeat Joshua and Malachai were down from the table;
Malachai as David,
Joshua as Goliath
(and narrator),

and that is how Pablo heard about one of the greatest battles of all time

Barcelona, suddenly

The night before we drove Mercy and Miah to the Bilbao airport, we got an email from Barcelona - - inviting us to a conference centered on the topic of house churches in Spain; the conference was that approaching weekend.
(apparently, Victor thought that Miguel had invited us,
and Miguel thought that Victor had invited us,
so we never got the original invite).
I didn't really want to go; I had already penned my mental weekend to-do list; and it was long.

But we couldn't miss it - - we have so few opportunities to engage with Spaniards risking themselves to break away from Spanish Christian tradition as they have always known it;
we knew we had to be there;
we know we had to go.

I spent the next twenty four hours washing all the clothes I had stuffed in my hamper and ignored for the ten days that Mercy and Miah were here (I had more important things to do than wash clothes!)

and so 36 hours after we received that first email, we, and our clean clothes, were packed into the car - - driving down to Barcelona.

and Barcelona? well, we had a good time.
we listened,
we talked,
we questioned,
we tried to get other daring conference members to share meals with our crazy, lovely family.
we took our kids down to the Mediteranian sea one night; Joshua and Malachai ran down in the freezing dark to touch it; Josu prefered to stay back from the roaring, black water and opted for sifting through the sand; he found a baby sea turtle shell (although Joshua thinks it was an apricot pit, but, whatever).
we saw a running club run by and I payed my kids ten cents each to cheer them on (I'm totally into supporting local runners, you know?)
I'm glad we went,
(and now I'm glad to be home)

letters to a mother

dear mom,
we dropped Mercy and Jeremiah off at the airport this afternoon, and got news from the London family that they have arrived safely.
Also, I just thought you might like to know that Mercy was in my kitchen every day - - helping with the cooking before the meals and the clean up after;
I didn't even have to ask her to,
and she was always so cheerful about it!
and every time that Selma would call Miah (ven, ven, ven, she would say, and beckon with her whole hand - - just like the Spaniards do) to play ball in the hallway with her, he would go right away . . .
we like your kids!

welcome, 2010!

we stayed up late,
we ate 12 grapes - - one on each stroke of the clock,
we drank champagne, poured over lemon sorbet
(and felt very Spanish)

but I left the mess to clean up the morning after
(that's not Spanish at all!)

El Olentzero (the wintertime gift giver in the Basque country) paid his regards last week at Malachai's school. Now, Malachai knows the truth about all the Christmas gift-giving characters - - we tell it like it is from the beginning, but even so, this year's visit made an impression Malachai;He told us all about his encounter with El Olentzero later that afternoon when we picked him up from school.
he told us how he had gone with the rest of his class so that they could put in their gift requests;
he told us how Olentzero had asked him if he had been good this year,
and how he told Olentzero yes, he had been good.
then Malachai told us how he had started to cry, because he knew that he hadn't been only good all year long; so he admitted that he had also been bad, but that he had repented for the bad things that he had done.

"that is very valiant of you to admit" said Olentzero, "you will be getting lots of gifts this year"
apparently Malachai gained confidence from the kind words of praise from Olentzero, because then, it seems that he caved, and he told Olentzero that,
well,
all the other kids that had said that they had been good all year long . . . had actually been lying.
So after Malachai finished telling his story, we had some good dialogue with him,
including encouragement for his honesty,
and reproof for his attitude towards the other kids;

and we turned our heads and plugged our noses and snorted as we appreciated the humor in the account; and I wondered if Malachai would come up in Olentzero's dinner conversation that night.

on December five and twenty

Dear Mercy,
please come soon; I know how much you love a pretty Christmas tree, but our pine needles are all falling off already;

p.s. did you know that super mario brothers has an invisible player? that's the one that Selma plays; she's awesome

morning errands

Brett was over last night for pizza and a movie; while he was here, we finished wrapping up the (imperfect) Christmas packs and sent a couple home with him to pass out to his local coffee shop and fish shop.
We spent this morning out in our neighborhood going to our hangouts:
to the paper shop (where we were sent on our way with three chocolate kings),
to the pharmacy (where the pharmacist pulled out three suckers for the kids to put in their pockets to save for later),
to the coffee shop across the park - - one of Joshua's study points,
and to the government building to the ladies that always process our paperwork,
and then finally to our own coffee shop, where we got kisses and more kisses from Adrianna
Selma always gets kisses from Adrianna; but she's the only one;
all it took was a packet of homemade sugar love.
nice.

Sunday afternoon

Sunday afternoon:
our church family came over a little earlier than normal this week so that the kids could help decorate the cookies that had somehow made it off the baking sheet with all six snowflake arms intact. (seriously, though, is there no way to control a child with sugar sprinkles?)
After the cookies were frosted and (generously) sprinkled, we spent some time singing together. Joshua had asked last week that we all come prepared this Sunday with a song to share with the church; most of us brought a favorite Christmas carol or hymn - - some in English, some in Spanish (I think we even got one it Basque somewhere in there);

little Raquel recited a poem about a tiny ant that made it through a series of obstacles to arrive at Jesus' birth . . .

9 y/o Jhoel, brought his guitar and sang some carols that he has been learning in music class - - the songs he chose had just the right amount of repetition and clapping for us all to jump in and sing with him even though we didn't know the songs.

Malachai chose to sing a carol that he learned this year at school;
and because of a stimulating conversation he had had with Joshua the day before about his carol-of-choice, he gave the sweetest, clearest little explanation about how
even though the carol said that Mary was a baker, that the bible doesn't really tell us that,
and
even though the carol describes Jesus and "fair and blond", that, well . . . he probably wasn't.

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. Colossians 3:16

Sunday morning

Sunday morning:
I slept later than I should have, went for a coffee, and then joined Rachel in the kitchen to make Christmas treats to pass out this week to our neighbors and local businesses.
I ruined my second batch of toffee (so I felt discouraged)
then the arms on the snowflake sugar cookies kept falling off (and I felt angry)
then I discovered that the brownies were baking at 500 degrees instead of 350 (and I just wanted to cry)

so I had to stop for a bit in my sticky, messy kitchen, and remind myself that having perfect brownies or snowflakes should not drive my emotional state

and I had to remind myself that the true delight of Christmas is not a perfect cookie package (um, you knew that, right?), but rather, the gift of God becoming flesh in order to carry out the greatest rescue plan in the history of mankind.

the neighbors will get toasty brownies, crumbly toffee and broken snowflakes; that's ok

the bible speaks to me

it's getting colder; my clothesline is a permanent fixture in my kitchen; we find ourselves drinking more tea; we dress in multiple layers with scarves draped around our necks all day long; afternoon trips to the park have been replaced with snuggling reading time on the couch - - or in the kitchen if bread is baking in the oven

(here comes my transition sentence)
Today I didn't bake bread, I did, however, have a coffee with Miriam and Rachel. Have I told you about Friday coffees with Miriam and Rachel? I think I've told some of you. This is how it goes:
We commit to reading 30 chapters of the bible every week;
sometimes it's one book, read through once,
or maybe it's a couple of books, read through several times each;
If one of us is unable to complete the reading, we all read the 30 chapters again.
When we get together, we talk about what we learned from our reading, and we go through a series of accountability questions.
It's all as daunting and wonderful as I thought it would be . . .

this week's reading was I & II Timothy, and I noticed this:

As for the rich in this present age . . .They are to do good , to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life. - - I Tim. 6: 17a & 18

So today, there I sat - - my cold hands wrapped around my hot coffee;
right next to my sister Miriam
who works all day and rushes home in the evening so she can spend time with her kids,
and who can't pay her mortgage,
and who has worn the same three pairs of jeans the four years that I have known her,
and whose 9 year old son asked her this week why she couldn't bake with him like Naomi bakes with her kids?

and I felt so rich.