Tricia and the Terrible, Horrible, Very Good Year

January 1, 2017 I normally love the beginning of anything; early morning and a new day, Monday and a new week, September and a new school year, and January and the New Year. I love a new calendar, new pens, and new pencils.

At the end of 2015 I thought, this has been a super tough really rough year. I hope I don’t have another one of those any time soon. Now at the end of 2016, I regard 2015 as easy peasy, lemon squeezy!

At Thanksgiving 2016 we asked one another what we were thankful for the past year. Many things I am thankful for, even though Thanksgiving day itself was an anniversary reminding me of the year’s losses. This New Year’s Day I face the follow up question, “What are you looking forward to this next year?”

At the end of 2016, I dread next year. Not so much something I know and wish wouldn’t happen, but last year got harder in areas I would never have suspected; the very areas that were the subject of thankfulness the year before.

So what am I thankful for in the year 2016?

I made friends with my daughter. We have always been a close family but this year we desperately needed each other. I watched my sweet girl get battered by numerous friends. She watched the same thing happen to me. And so we became friends that understood what it was like to be betrayed, abandoned, misunderstood, judged and hated. When we gave a pat answer the other was quick to point out the pain that caused. We learned to listen to each other without trying to explain the situation, or provide insight. We learned to forgive one another because we both were stumbling around and causing one another pain. We learned to stand together and support one another, even when we were not being nice to one another. We learned that we are not responsible to fix one another. We learned to be quiet with each other.

We learned that Facebook is fake; really fake, having been criticized for being honestly sad in that venue. In fact we learned that Snapchat, What’s App, texts, writing and even phone calls usually make matters worse and that communication is impossible without defending the other person in one’s own mind and believing in their basic honesty.

We learned the healing power of praying together, crying with each other, taking walks and eating ice cream- double scoops.

I do miss the other friends I lost; I won’t deny it. But this year I am thankful for gaining a new best friend, a real friend. And I am looking forward to learning how to be an even better friend, to my daughter and hopefully to others.

(A) BIG Christmas present(s)

It was my best Christmas present ever.

Our first Christmas loomed ahead where our son would not be home. Each time I heard “I’ll Have a Blue Christmas Without You,” I burst into tears- not a fun way to do Christmas shopping. I kept telling myself I would be fine. I would take it one day at a time, one prayer at a time. Ryan would be ok; he would be with family.

I can’t even remember how we got the news. Ryan had been with family at Thanksgiving and they couldn’t imagine him not being with us at Christmas, so they were sending us money for his plane ticket. In a matter of hours what I dreaded for years was averted and Ryan was coming home. No blue Christmas that year. Of all the presents I have received, that one I remember the most, the gift of my son.

I thought of that gift as I opened the gift bag. It was a lovely treat and thank you card. Tears blurred reading the thank you note for hosting a Bible study at our house, a group that wouldn’t meet at our house again for an unknown amount of time. I wanted to be grateful for the gift and the card. But I REALLY wanted my friends to come back to my house.

And that led me to think of the sacrifices in the Old Testament. (Because if you give Tricia an idea, she will be able to immediately come up three unrelated ideas for sure, and if lucky she will have one that IS related.) Over and over God says that what He really wants is peoples’ hearts. The sacrificial system had many intricate parts and significances, but the goal was a relationship with God.

He wants me, not my stuff. As I looked in the gift bag I realized again that what is most precious to the Lord is just being with Him and enjoying Him. And this Christmas I may not enjoy the friends from the Bible study, but I am going to enjoy each person that the Lord does give me. And this Christmas I want to to give all of myself to the God who enjoys my presence as well.

I Can’t Hear You Ch. 1 pt.6

I Can’t Hear You Ch. 1 pt.6

My mom was coming.  We all look forward to her visits.  Doug appreciates mom’s wise listening ear for issues he is facing.  Ryan has someone who will stay up late listening to his current interests with enthusiasm.  Meg has a fellow playmate and craft person and I have a companion to help me get big projects done, including the ironing.  She makes tasks twice as fun and go twice as fast.  That particular fall Mom came for Meg’s birthday and the big project was a making a dress for her dance recital and school ball. 

            The ball gown for a 12 year old, made without a pattern, with requirements by the dance instructor for suitability, and Megan for beauty were the least of our worries. Mom came to the house where the dreaded lurgy was alternately visiting each resident and mom took her turn.   She even managed to pack in enough illness for the months she missed.

            Mom’s reaction to her illness should have been no surprise.  When her mom was a little girl she got the mumps.  At that time people thought those with mumps shouldn’t eat pickles.  Just to prove them wrong my grandma ate an entire jar she heisted from the pantry.  It makes me ill just to think about eating a whole jar of pickles, but it showed her spunky character.  My mom had the same pluck; her motto, “Don’t stay in bed too long.”  She managed to keep up with the ironing, freeze applesauce made from a whole bushel of apples, and get the grapes into juice ready for jelly.  But with each bit of progress in finishing projects, she made twice as much progress toward being really sick.  Eventually our doctor had to make a house call. Doug and I slept on the couch in front of her room; things weren’t going well.  I needed a way to help mom recover and sit still.

            I met with my dear friend, Andrea and shared my dilemma. Normally we would read to one another but the lurgy was having a long-term affect on my voice. In a true act of generosity Andrea volunteered to let me borrow her new DVD’s before she watched them, just to help mom stay seated and give her something to take her mind off of her illness.  Neither mom nor I are big movie watchers.  Usually I iron, sew or do something while I am watching but I knew if I didn’t sit still, mom wouldn’t either. 

            The DVD’s were based on books I love.  Generally I prefer my own imagination.  Mom needed me to sit down, so even if the film was a documentary on bugs I would sit through it just to help her get well.  (I hate bugs; give me snake movies any day.)

            Happily the movies were much better than a bug documentary; making it much more pleasant to sit through an enjoyable series.  With several episodes in each show we spread out the satisfaction.  Mom hadn’t read the books so we had something else to discuss.  We talked about the dramatization, the author and the acting.  The film script was well written, for the most part following the book.  The main actor was an excellent choice with a golden voice and an ability to take the author’s characterization and make it come alive.

            While we sat I caught up on e-mail.  I don’t usually search the web unless we have some illness or symptom about which I need advice.  We must have been healthy for the moment because I decided to look up the leading actor on the web.  I recognized the main actress, amazing given my lack of movie knowledge, but the actor was so perfect for the part that I wanted to see if he had been in anything else and if he was still alive since the movies were older. Plus, I was not reading any books at this time.

            The lead was still acting and had been in quite a few things. He was English; one reason I didn’t recognize him and he did quite a bit of theater work. I looked up his website. It was biographical and I took a quick read through. He had a good turn of phrase and I love words.  It had a current amusing film clip and I love to laugh.  

His website presented him as someone totally different from the character in the movie, meaning he was a good actor. There was a variety of different art and different bits about his life.  When I finished reading, some of the things he said made me wonder if God was working in his life.  Perhaps the lesson from my Bible study was on my mind and I was asking about hearing God’s voice.  I prayed simply if God was working in his life, God would continue to draw him to Himself.

            By the time we finished the series my mom was getting better. Mom got well enough to celebrate Thanksgiving with our friends and us.  We finished our project, including Meg’s ball gown, just in time for Mom to get back on the plane and head home to Christmas with my brother.  The delightful rush toward Christmas, which stops for no man, not even a tired missionary soul, began.

 

I Can’t Hear You Ch1-pt5

Once a week our family tries to have a day to rest. In the winter we play family games, talk, eat, and go to church. Part of the time Doug and I enjoy reading to each other, a habit I learned from my parents and we continued.  When we finished the book we were reading I mentioned my idea to Doug.   Not reading anything but the Bible would be almost as hard as not eating.  I love to eat.  I love to read.  I wasn’t sure how long I would only read the Bible, I figured if I heard God’s voice I could ask Him.

I wish I could say it was a huge success.  I could write a book about how to hear God’s voice by giving up reading, which would be a bit of a paradox. Publishers may not be excited about a book encouraging people not to read.  Instead, reading the Bible alone was just hard.  My soul stayed tired.  Bible reading was daily but nothing especially relaxing and rest days became boring. Worst of all, my head still seemed filled with all the same stuff and no clear voice of God.

I wish I could say it was even a mild success but after about two months, I hadn’t had any grand revelation. I hadn’t heard God’s voice in any new way.  If the saying was true, “If you don’t know what to do, do what you know.” then I knew it was time to try something else.

When I finish a time of not eating I have learned the hard way not to immediately plow through a pizza.  The memory of a certain pizza changed the way I ended a fast forever.   To get back into reading I tried to pick out a book equivalent of healthy eating, a sort of salad for my soul.  I began reading a book Doug recommended, “The Pleasures of God.”

Ah, what a relief to read again.  I was disappointed my idea hadn’t produced an overwhelming feeling of God’s presence and the clear sound of His voice.  Nevertheless, life went on. I was tired to the bone from illness and nursing, and tired to the soul, for some still undiagnosed reason.  When I am exhausted and think I am at the end, things are going to get worse, (the optimist in me) but first they began to look up.

 

I Can’t Hear You, Ch.1 pt. 4

Several weeks into the Bible study we were supposed to learn a verse, “My sheep hear my voice.” (Obviously someone understood our memory capacity.)One lady stated honestly, “I don’t think I hear God’s voice.” The point of the chapter was we don’t hear God’s voice if we don’t know Him personally.  Walking to the car I thought how refreshing it was for someone to participate in a Bible study and openly admit she didn’t hear God’s voice.  I might have at least kept silent.

The question came to mind over and over the next week, “How long has it been since I have heard God’s voice?”  I couldn’t remember. “My sheep hear my voice.” I didn’t doubt I was one of His sheep but was there wool in my ears?  Was I not listening?  Was I ignoring His voice?  More questions led to more concern.  Throughout the week the thoughts in my head ran as if on an iPod.  What had I selected?  Was it God’s voice saying those things?

            I began to feel the panic of guilt. I am a missionary for pity’s sake.  Not only did it not seem right, experience taught me that if my relationship with God was suffering, soon every area was suffering.  Did my spiritual lethargy stem from the fact I wasn’t listening?  How many times did Jesus say, “Those who have ears, let him hear?”  Had I become deaf?  Did He only speak when there was something big going on, like salvation, or calling to missions? Did the mundane and ordinary we gut out in silence? The questions swirled in my head. Finally, I honestly admitted it had been awhile since I had heard God’s voice and as one of His children I was feeling desperate to hear.   

            A geometry professor of mine used to say, “When you don’t know what to do, do what you know.”  The saying frustrated the students to no end. We not only didn’t know how to solve the problem, we didn’t really understand her advice. After 6 months of repetition we realized, start somewhere where you know what to do.  Do what you know.  Later I began to realize it applied to many things in life, not just geometry.  In this case of not hearing God’s voice I didn’t know exactly what to do.  I wasn’t even sure I fully understood the problem.  But what I did know? 

            I knew a lady who often claimed God had told her to do things. And that she was nuttier than a fruitcake.  Her life and faith weren’t ones I wanted to emulate.  I worried about making up some crazy action and pinning it on God.

            I knew if I wanted to hear from God, the Bible had His words written down. I wish I could say I came to Slovakia believing this fully and completely, that is, actually reading the Bible regularly.  At one rock bottom drought in my soul I was perusing God’s word.  Finally it dawned on me.  Others might be refreshed and renewed through a Christian friend, or a Bible lesson at church or on the radio.  However, living in Slovakia, I only knew enough of the language for basic communication skills.  This kept friendships fairly shallow, and church more of a language and culture lesson than a time of meaningful worship and community.

            Given the lack of burning bush experiences there was no other opportunity to hear from God except directly from His word.  At that point I decided, tired or not, happy or not, healthy or not, I needed to read God’s word every day.  That one commitment has been more life changing than most others I have made, including marriage, exercise and flossing.

            I knew the Bible was God speaking to me, and that I didn’t want to be a kook. It was still difficult to discern in my thoughts which voice was God’s and which was mine. I knew there were plenty of thoughts running around in my head, many inspired by books.

            Reading is a major form of relaxation for me. In fact it was one of the few forms of fun remaining when we came to Slovakia.  I love dictionaries and classics, happy endings and children’s literature, humor and travel guides.  Getting any reading material in English used to be VERY hard and reading in Slovak for any length of time is not relaxing. 

            During our first January in Slovakia in desperation, having read every other book in the house, I read the entire Joy of Cooking Cookbook. I now know how to pick out a good wine, though I don’t drink it.  There is also a recipe for opossum in there. Whenever I feel sorry for myself in the kitchen, I thank the Lord I haven’t had to use the opossum recipe yet. Books are easier to come by now, especially with the development of Internet shopping and friends’ personal libraries.

            I love to read, but I am picky.  I think this started in college with the stuff I was forced to read, and developed fully with the completion of the cookbook. I wasn’t reading trash yet my head seemed filled with fluff.  Was a paperback louder than God’s voice? Other words seemed easier to contemplate than what I was reading in Scripture.  And my soul was getting wearier by the day.

            I do love living in Slovakia, most days. A nearby church plays a short piece of classical music in bells at 9am, 3pm and 5 pm daily. The building itself is a dreadful square functional block, but the music coming from its tower is breathtaking.  I strain to catch each note because we live about 5 blocks away. The noise of the trams going by on the hill, construction and the incessant barking of neighborhood dogs make listening difficult. I open a window, even in the winter to hear the refrain. The music is so sweet, my ears have a feast each time I stop to admire it. 

            Over the next month my soul started to crave the music of God’s voice.  I began to want it more than other things. Like listening to the bells from the church, I was willing to do something to catch the refrain.

              An idea came to me, a crazy, wild, I-can-never-do-this-but-it just-might-work idea. If I really wanted to hear God’s voice, and the Bible has God’s words, I could start putting those words in my head more and attempt to dim the other voices as much as possible.  It was a radical and difficult step but I would try not to read anything else except the Bible for a period of time.

             It was going to be such an extreme move I had to think about it for a while. I considered what I was giving up. I was relinquishing my primary form of relaxation. I didn’t have much to replace it.  With a rainy fall upon us, outdoor activities were curtailed.  My sewing machine was buried beneath a stack of other more pressing projects. Television wasn’t restful at all.  Would reading the Bible more really help me hear God’s voice better?

 

American Through and Through

I am an American living in Slovakia. I have lived here most of my adult life. I finally found out that there is nothing I can do to make me not look like an American. I have asked my Slovak friends to give me tips. Through all the cultural anthropology classes, gaining insights on the actions and mindsets of other cultures, through all the lessons on how to love your host culture, and even through countless haircuts and shopping trips, no matter how hard I try to blend, ultimately I cannot. 

I can prove it.  I was at the swimming pool for my regular swim.  I knew the routine. Pay at the small window downstairs for both your locker and your entrance.  Give the attendant upstairs in the ladies’ dressing room your receipt and your deposit for the locker and DON’T try to use a locker other than the one on the key, no matter how close it is the bank of windows that look out on the busy intersection.  Also don’t go beyond her bench with your shoes on.  Fair enough.

I had finished my swim and was back for a shower. I am pretty sure I have been modest since before I was born.  My mom loves to tell the story of our trip to the playground when I was three years old.  Being a particularly hot day, my friend removed his t-shirt.  Appalled I ran to my mother and told her what had happened.  I can almost see a sweet three year old with all the indignation of a 70-year-old spinster.  My mom, completely clueless as to my duress asked, “Would you like me to help you take your t-shirt off too?”

Needless to say, gang showers anywhere still make me nervous (and fast). But as I said, Cultural anthropology classes made their mark and although I didn’t want to blend enough to swim in a two-piece, I did go ahead and shower in the regular way.

As my Slovak haircut was being shampooed by my Slovak shampoo, I heard a voice behind me.  “Oh, your an American?”  (No, I have no tattoos, yet.) I turned my head to see two ladies addressing me in English.  They introduced themselves. (My first naked handshake-hopefully my last.) We talked a bit about living in Slovakia then I made my get away to the locker room. 

Deep in my heart though I was relieved. As much I as I try to blend and fail it is no one’s fault. There is something about me that is as culturally bound to being an American as my birthday suit, and I can’t get out of that.

 

I Can’t Hear You, Ch.1 part 3

I Can’t Hear You                           Chapter 1-part 3

 

This particular fall the light box was on and Meg’s birthday party, a sleepover for three pre-teen girls from three different cultures was over. (Note to self: Do not to try that again). The trees were showing their varied end of season color and something different was happening as well.  For the first time in my personal written history, I found myself with some unscheduled periods during the day.  I had been meeting individually with 4 friends.  Then in answer to our prayers, two of them got jobs.  We were thankful for the work, but it meant our weekly morning meetings became sporadic afternoon meetings.   This combined with more schoolwork for the kids left me with a bit more free time.

Theoretically, I had more free time.  In reality there was more time at home with sick family.  We usually enjoy very good health, but Ryan had ended summer vacation with a slight cough.  This evolved into some unknown illness that after months of suffering was dubbed the dreaded lurgy. In selfless acts of solidarity, everyone took his or her turn being the one in bed.  Our family seemed to sniffle and snort from one symptom to another through the rest of the summer and the entire fall.  We were ill so often I considered hanging our family picture at the doctor’s office.  Any spare time was spent nursing or cleaning.  Because it was so unusual for all of us to be sickly we kept thinking it would end.  It was hard to say which happened first, my tired body or my tired soul.

Either way, the gray dismal symptoms of Tired Soul Syndrome were back like a plague but my normal form of relief, hanging in there until we got to the US, wasn’t going to work.  The abbreviated time in the States was now more stressful than life here.  I began to worry about how my soul would recover.  A chronic case of Tired Soul can turn into Apathetic Soul and is harder to treat.

On the other hand, enough life experience had taught me that God could do something different.  I actually prayed that God would care for my tired soul.  The more worried I got, the more I prayed and the more I prayed about recovery, the more excited I got about seeing God do something new and different. The more excited I got, the more encouraged I got because it meant I wasn’t worrying for a change.  With a fragile tentative expectation I began to wonder what God would do.

A bright spot appeared in an unusual form. For the first time in 20 years, I was invited to attend a Bible study with other English speakers. After finishing seminary I was always the teacher and for the past 10 years all studies were in Slovak.  A friend was leading this study with several ladies she didn’t know. I think she recruited me to be a warm body that would do the homework and answer the questions. The Bible study book focused on learning to walk with God, especially hearing Him and following His leading.  I needed time to make new friends without expending much energy.

We were a mixed bunch: some Protestant from various denominations, some Catholic, some native English speakers, and some using English as a second language, some married, and some with kids. We all shared a desire to get together with other ladies and the Bible study was a nice addition-so were the muffins and tea.  Since my motives were the same, I couldn’t fault anyone for being as excited about banana bread as the lesson.

 

I Can’t Hear You Chapter 1-part 2

            With a bit of shock I found myself down again in the same old rut.  And I was worried. Anxiety courses through my DNA, a blue blood descendant from a long gene pool of professional worriers. This time I was fretting because I knew we were not going back to the States for a year of recovery.  With the kids in Slovak Junior and Senior High school, our family agreed we could not take them out of the educational system for a year.  We changed our routine. Instead of four years in Slovakia and one in the US, we decided to return to the States every other summer.

            The preceding summer in America, we managed to squeeze into eight weeks most of what we normally did in fifty-two. We left Colorado feeling like we aged seven years.  I almost checked the children for gray hair. It took us six months just to recover from the whirlwind of activity.

            Now a year later, we had just finished a wonderful summer at home in Slovakia, complete with a dream family vacation, extra time with friends and some exciting ministry opportunities.  The school break was crowned with a once in a lifetime visit from my brother and his family.  I was rested, content and happy.

            Then the fall came. Being from Colorado I am used to sunshine. We say in Colorado,  “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”  You do not have to wait for the sun to come out tomorrow, it will come out today. Fall was different here, very different. Here in Slovakia I say, “If you don’t like the weather, tough.” Being so far north we have a lot less sun in the winter, some days or weeks, which seem like months and years, we don’t have any blue sky at all.  To say the gray weather was difficult for me would be a huge understatement of the obvious.  I read a book on Seasonal Affective Disorder and asked others how they coped.  Personal adjustments helped, like ensuring I had enough light in my workspace.  A friend gave me a light box to compensate for the lower amount of light in the winter.  My daughter, Megan, was born in October, so I had the perfect excuse to learn to like the fall. I began to search for things to appreciate; the beautiful large trees providing a plethora of color, the hills outside my windows glowed and there was a birthday party; autumns were becoming enjoyable.

I Can’t Hear You Ch.1, part 1

The 17,000th consecutive day of rain arrived without any celebration on my part. I didn’t worry about staying hydrated; all I had to do was inhale. Welcome to Fall in Europe. I diagnosed myself with Tired Soul Syndrome, or I was molding.

After two previous episodes of Tired Soul Syndrome I knew the symptoms. My excitement and passion for EVERYTHING ground to an all-time low. I survived before knowing I was returning to the States for a year. Normally, our family worked in Slovakia four years then returned to America for one year; the final year of each term proved to be the toughest. After 14 years, we were now in the last year of our third term.

Recovery from the lethargy usually took place in the US. There, understanding a good portion of the culture and language refreshed my soul.  With a grand selection of Mexican food, no cabbage and, above all, time with family and friends, I gradually regained my enthusiasm for life along with all the weight I lost in Slovakia chasing buses and eating my own cooking. In the United States, where I worshipped in English and spent time talking about Slovakia, all the symptoms of a Tired Soul slowly disappeared and were eventually replaced with a willingness and anticipation to return.

I felt numb.  Everything seemed to take more energy than I had.  This time, however, the feelings surprised me.  Numbness and shock are a bad combination.  This term had been different from the others; we truly enjoyed our church and ministry. We understood most of the language.

As my son said, “Our first term we learned enough Slovak to get into trouble.  In our second term we knew enough to not only get into trouble but out again.”  But this term we were staying out of trouble!  We had been granted long-term visas, which meant an end to a yearly paper trail.  The kids were happily established in a school that was providing them with an education and growing experience, which being translated means it wasn’t simple but they were managing.

Life in our country was getting easier. Groceries were more available with the arrival of supermarkets and shopping carts.  I was a much better cook and even whipped up some pretty good Mexican food.  Perhaps the greatest part was having long-term friends; friends we loved dearly and who returned our love. Slovakia was now home; we liked it here. So what was happening?

 

Here’s my blog and welcome to it.

Here is my blog and welcome to it.

I decided to blog based on several experiences:

*I enjoy encouraging others and telling stories, my goal is to have both of those fulfilled here.

* Many friends who have heard me speak or read my newsletters enjoy my writing and have encouraged me to write more.

*I enjoy writing and this will give me an opportunity to get some feedback. Please be gentle.

 

I am reading about how to do a good blog as well as asking others what they have learned. 

Here is what I learned; web readers spend an average of 96 seconds reading a blog. I am putting my book on the web. I am going to have to break it up into smaller bits than the normal chapters.

Readers of blogs also scan, which is why my paragraphs may look strange to you, they do to me too, but it is so they can be scanned easily.

Friends, I hope we both enjoy this experience, Tricia