A friend asked me for an update on life in these United States.  Instead of giving multiple updates to multiple friends, I'm using this forum to catch everyone up on where we are, how we are doing, and most importantly, pinpointing the best coffee we've found!

Thanks to mulitiple airlines, we landed in Oklahoma City June 28, 2018.  Thanks to the generosity of a local Norman church, we have been comfortably living in a temporary house in Norman.

Chris and I are expanding our nonprofit, Fahrenheit: Real.Life.Mentoring.  It actually doesn't look much different than what we were doing in Vienna.  God has given Chris some great connections with local men who have a heart for mentoring.  We are looking forward to seeing the open doors God has planned for future partnerships.  My role has expanded to encompass more administrative responsibilities but that doesn' keep me from meeting with women!

We've quickly found a church that shares the same vision for reaching others locally and globally, Antioch Norman.  Through our church, we've discovered a great group of friends in a small group.  It's nice to not really "know" people but because of your bond in Christ feel like you "know" people!

God has given Chris and I new relationships and new young men and women to pour into - a thing He does often!  When I look at the new faces He has allowed me to love I am amazed.  He has also kept those "old" relationships alive and well.  Having spent the last nine years apart from some of my closest friends, I forget I can just pick up the phone and actually talk with them.

Addison, our oldest, is graduating from the University of Central Oklahoma on December 14, 2018!!  Milestone among milestones!  We are so proud of the journey she has taken not only educationally but in life.  We haven't gotten much face time with her as she has been focused on finishing her college career well but ... who cares ... we live on the same continent!!

Parker continues her Gap year by working several jobs.  She has developed a great community around her through our church - people her age who share a similar vision for life.  She has embarked on a 10-month training class that meets weekly.  The end goal is to grow deeper in her life with Christ.  She hopes to make a trip overseas, to a not yet determined location, to close her Gap year.

Libby is attending an online school, Epic Charter School.  When she's not grinding away at her core subjects, she's involved in a private Musical Theatre school twice a week. In January, she makes her debut in the musical, Big Fish.  She's longing for a dog (which we can't have until we get our own place), and a driving permit (which makes me shudder at the mere thought).

Those are the facts.
Here are my heart messages.

The transition for me, personally, has been smooth.  I envisioned what living this side of the ocean would look like many times.  I'm happy to report that most of my imaginations have not come true.  I do miss my friends.  I do miss my coffee.  I do miss my city, my apartment, my work in Vienna.  But, there is such a peace, overall, that can only come from a good Father.

Peace, however, doesn't mean the absence of "off" days.  The "off days" come in the form of down days ... or hurting for your youngest child who has made the biggest transition of the family ... or wondering why there aren't more cafes in which a person can just sit and be and sip sweet nectar (truly, a real struggle!)

My biggest heart cry is a permanent place, the place I believe God has highlighted for our family, to become a reality and make our home.  As the holidays approach, I fight to keep my peace.  Fight I will.  I will not listen to any lies the enemy tries to whisper - or yell - to confuse me and rob me of my state of contentment.  He has no power.

I am reluctant to make our temporary place "homey" ... somehow believing making the best of my circumstances will somehow trump the joy that is to come.  Yet, I will find a balance while waiting.  It's a daily thing ... this waiting on God.  And yet He's given me such inner strength despite feeling like a weak vessel.  He's good.  He's really good.

Most of all, I feel emotions rise and fall at the drop of a hat.  This, too, is normal.  I don't like it.  But's it's normal.

And so there you have it.  My update.  A year from now, this will seem perhaps laughable.  The issues that are currently center stage will have been resolved.  So I keep perspective in its proper place and lean on a God that has walked so faithfully with me over many years.  I'm in His hands.

There you have it,
Christina

Coffee Ratings 1 (low) to 10 (high) of my Norman Hot Spots:
Starbucks (1); only suitable for the 1x a year Pumpkin Spice Latte
Stella Nova (7); great space, lots of energy, sunny, bitter coffee so one must order a Flat White
Panera Bread: (5) plenty of place to park your bumm, refillable, average coffee but it comes in a lovely mug
Grey Owl: (2) Hippie vibe, bitter coffee, not a fan
All About Cha: (8) Great Italian Cappucino, great space, comfy chairs

 This was an imperfect Christmas - and I'm perfectly glad!  The guilt I felt for reducing our gifts under the tree to virtually nothing mounted as Christmas Eve neared and my youngest kept glancing in hopes of a late arrival to be discovered under the tree.  As I stuffed the handful of tiny gifts into each girls stocking in preparation for Christmas morning, I flip flopped on my minimalistic ideals.  Come Christmas morning when one bag with three large papers sticking out the top which represented three days of memories as gifts was the only semblance of holiday cheer awaiting our girls, I second-guessed my desire to do something different.

Chris and I had gone on mission days ahead of time preparing the Memory Gifts.  The night before, we assembled 3 large papers to be unwrapped.  The first day was a surprise trip to Salzburg where, in my humble opinion, it's always Christmas.  In order for them to discover what MEMORY #1 entailed they had to put together a puzzle.  We had taken poster-sized paper and written "Salzburg Road Trip:  complete with a rental car" in which we cut up into giant puzzle pieces that needed to be assembled to reveal the gift.  MEMORY #2 was a trip to a nearby border town in Hungary for a Spa Day!  In order for these girls to discover their gift they had to play "Snowman Hangman" on another giant sized paper.  Each girl had been scheduled a full-body massage and a pedicure.  Then, finally, MEMORY #3 was a treasure hunt.  Chris and I wrote a 10 line "riddle".  At the end of each line came a clue that sent our girlies on a hunt to find an envelope.  Each envelope contained money in which they got to spend during a Family Shopping Day.

During the morning, as the excitement began to build over each "reveal", confirmation came that this was exactly the "perfect" kind of experience I wanted to create for our family.  I could go on and on about the specifics of each day:  the coffee, the meals, the weather, the things purchased, the things seen but all would pale in comparison to the simple things that were given as hidden gifts among the intended gift.  The being together ... all together.  The singing of childhood songs during our road trip that flooded all of our minds with memories of long ago when road trips were common and songs learned then had now lodged deep into memory banks that had collected interest too numerous to be counted.  The slipping of one hand into another during the day just to say "I love you".  The expression of a whispered thank you by a daughter to a parent as we walked together.  The exchange of a tearful and grateful glance between my Chris and I as we witnessed the beautiful sounds of girls giggling.

Truly the key to this season was the decision that "perfect" is simply taking in the moment as it comes ... and not trying to push a plan, work an ideal, or force a pretension.  Take it in.  Take it as it comes.  Take it with all it's imperfection.  Take it ... just take it ... and be grateful.  It proved to be a perfect gift in all simplicity and imperfection.

This Christmas has set me on a course that will be a guiding directive for this New Year.  As I said before Christmas:

I'm letting go.  I'm trusting the God of the Universe to be the same "perfect" God that He was to virgin Mary to be the same "perfect" God for me.  He set events into motion that were "perfect".  He made the circumstances "perfect" by His presence.  When I choose to invite His presence into every detail of my holiday, every moment becomes put into perspective by a loving God who desires all things for my good, to prosper me - not harm me, to give me hope.  When I set aside my fear of what could, should, might be ... "perfect" peace rushes in. 

I am not a fortune teller.  I have no idea what this year brings.  In the mystery of what comes next, I will choose to remain in a place of rest and a place of peace.  Things will not be perfect.  Things will, however, be in perfect perspective when I choose to invite God into every detail of every day.

Happy New Year ... with new lessons,
Christina

It was good.  Oh - my heart - it was good.

When my girls were little, they all were given an assignment.  It was actually a life lesson that I wanted them to know in their deepest little parts of their tiny little bodies that would form their identity:  "You are God's Masterpiece." Ephesians 2:10

Because God is a creative designer, each of their personalities could be seen at young ages especially noticed while learning their life identity.  Addison, my dear first-born, driven little leader, would say - usually to a watchful audience -  "I a nasty piece" with all the confidence of a two-year old.  Parker, our precious middle child, carefree and whimsical, would say with a sly grin on her face "I a piece" usually with a fist raised to wrestle you lovingly to the ground.  Then ... Libby.  My youngest and most - passionate - of my offspring would not let the words fully trip out of my mouth when asking her what God said about her.  She would reply - passionately - "I know, I know Mom.  I'm a masterpiece."  She would then proceed to do whatever it was that occupied her at the time without flinching at my request.  She already knew her identity.

I'm still rolling along with my "Pic of the Day" on Facebook.  It's allowing me the opportunity to be creative, capture the highlight of my day, and practice the art of writing ... be it ever so small.

Today's "Pic of the Day" came as we sat down to eat Sunday Brunch.  The weather has "Fall" written all over it.  Onion Quiche, sauted potatoes, and a fesh salad.  Food is OK ... it's the converstaon that's follows each bite that is the most delicious.

Today, after a hiking trip through a vineyard yesterday, we talk John 15 ... God being the Master Gardener ... Jesus being the Vine ... we being the Branches.  Insights from young girls become strong women is like salt on the already good morsels being chewed ... such great stuff!

eating and being blessed,
christina

Yesterday as I walked to my neighborhood grocery store, I kept hearing a loud bellow.  At first I thought it could have been an animal for it sounded so primal.  Then, as I noticed groups of students walking out of a near by business school, I thought that perhaps a few of them were acting silly - hence the sounds.  However they were looking in the same direction ... we were all strangely drawn toward the awful bellowing.

After I rounded the corner from my cozy little side street onto the main road, I caught a glimpse of the Sound Maker.  A young man, in his early twenties, visibly stricken with some sort of mental illness.  Immediately I began to pray.  What was my role?  What did God want me to do ... say ... be in this situation.

I began walking toward the Sound Maker.  He would be stirred by some sort of invisible irritation, begin to wildly shake his head, and then pound his fists into his mouth that had begun to bleed.  I felt a maternal need to protect this young man.

As I crossed the street in my effort to get closer to Sound Maker, I noticed a middle-aged man watching him, trailing him, following his every move.  In German, I asked him if he knew this young man.  He turned and looked at me with eyes that were hollow and tired.  He knew him.   I'm assuming the tired eyes belonged to Sound Maker's father.   I then asked him if the boy was OK.  He turned to look at me again, and said, "Yes.  He's OK.  It's not OK, but he's OK."  His weariness in those tired eyes spoke more than his three sentences.

I felt released by the Spirit to move on ... but this Sound Maker and middle-aged follower Father stayed in my heart long after their physical bodies left my presence.  All I could do was pray as the Sound Maker continued his bellows .. and the middle-aged follower Father kept a watchful eye on his companion.

I don't know what I'm supposed to "see" in this situation.  At first I see the horror of mental illness ... and continue to pray for the power of the living Christ to miraculously heal this Sound Maker.

Then, I keep seeing the eyes of the follower Father.  Eyes that were focused on the one in distress, following close enough to intervene but far enough to let him wander.  It's here I keep landing ... seeing myself as the Sound Maker.  Too often I have struggled and faced my invisible irritations alone ... letting out primal sounds of distress while my following Father kept His watchful eye on me.  How did I not see His watchful eye?

Thank God I know now the nearness and closeness of a loving Father who has turned my bellow from a primal scream for help to a joyful song of gratitude for what I now have with Him.  And yet, there is a haunting that lingers deep inside me this morning.  I can't keep from wondering about Sound Maker.  How many people are like Sound Maker?  They don't shake their heads wildly or let out primal screams or shove fists into bloody mouths.  They are well-dressed, put together, maintain jobs, attend conferences, study, mother, and most frightening ... perhaps attend church.  Yet, inside ... they are just like Sound Maker.  They cry out from hurts or lostness or faintness of soul.  Oh that they find the eyes ... no ... that they turn around and see the eyes of a following Father ... and run into His arms and find all they need.

hearing bellows,
christina

This morning as I sit with my cup of coffee, my Bible, and my view ...  overlooking the leaves that have lived their short days of Fall - dying on the vines  ... I'm struck by a few of the most profound things that has surfaced to the top of an experience I've had this week.

Parents know their children.  From the day these little human creatures make their way down the birth canal and wind up wrapped in clean blankets - laid upon Mamma's chests - they are somehow known by their parents.  The little way they stretch their tiny little appendages reminds a Momma of movement inside her miracle incubator tummy.  The way she makes a tiny little face when Daddy feeds her too much oatmeal ... known and etched in a Daddy's heart.  Those fleeting days of intimacy lay deep foundations when they leave the nest.  A feeling, a knowing, a catch in our Spirits ... we may not know the details but we can feel the outline of the specific activity that is occurring in our child.  Parents know.

God uses other people.  From the first moment I heard the story of Christmas, I longed to be a fly on the wall of the nativity.  As a little girl with a very vivid imagination, Christmas stories of Jesus' birth always included me, somehow in full costume, incorporate in the events.  In my mind, I wanted to so badly be there in that moment when eternity crashed real time.  My whole life I've wanted to touch God ... see His face ... be physically near Him.  One day that will be possible.  But now in the "Zwischen Ziet" - a great German phrase for "in the meantime" ... God sends people as His representatives that I can "touch" in some way ... and who inevitable "touch" my life.  God has profoundly given people to comfort, guide, expose, enlighten, encourage, and be givers of gifts.

There's no place like home.  The Elledge's have been the most grateful recipients of the gift of a plane ticket ... that brings the one that has lived so far away from us ... home.  Home.  I am already envisioning my blond-haired beauty walking through the arrival gates at the Vienna airport.  I already know what I am going to wear.  I am counting down the days.  I've been planning meals that I know will warm her tiny little belly and fill her with a sense of "home".  I've been creating long periods of "blank space" on my calendar while she is "home".  I can already picture her in her bed, with her blanket.  I can't wait for this girl to get "home".    "Home" where she can sleep late, let down, cry, laugh, gripe, be made fun of (nothing mean) and joke around, get on the nerves of her siblings one moment and encourage them the next.  To hear her laugh at something I do and see her smooch on her sisters cheeks.  Wherever we all are ...  is ... home.

At the risk of making this way too long of a blog, the biggest thing I've learned is how to grieve alongside another.  I've been in a season where I know the Spirit has been teaching me things.  It's not always been fun.  It's not always been visible.  I've felt myself in the classroom, taking notes, being prepared.  When the unexpected happened this week, my response took me by surprise.  Instead of saying the proverbial "I told you so" ... instead of some personal satisfaction in being "right" ... came an overwhelming ability to grieve.  As they hurt, I hurt.  The details didn't matter.  The heart mattered.

That's when I heard and felt the Spirit smile.  That's what He had been teaching me.  When I lean into Him, I'm going to respond out of instinct like He does.  When we hurt, He hurts.  He's not an accusing Father with pointer finger shaking in our face.  His arms are open ready for us to fall into them.  He doesn't care what we did before, He only cares we are there and falling into His arms.

This week was a first.  In our family nucleus, we experienced a life event that none of us has traversed through.  The waters have been strong with emotional undercurrents.  The distance of being on two different continents has escalated the pain.  We are still walking through the ordeal ... but walking through we are!

walking and learning,
christina

Life, it seems, is always a road with two parallel paths going the same direction.  One path:  the less desirable (pain, surprise, the unexpected, the heart-breaking).  One path:  the more desirable (joy in the simplest of things, new discovery, little moments that take your breath away).


This week, news of Chris' brother and his life-threatening health crisis resided on the less desirable path.  Updates from home, phone calls to sisters, lots of blanks to be filled in with details scattered the path.  And yet ... the other path held the more desirable.  Libby was so moved by the news of her Uncle, she felt she needed to give up her allowance (10 euro a  month) to give to her Daddy over the next 5 months in order to, in her 11-year-old mind, buy him a plane ticket home.

Two paths.

What I'm discovering, that as a child of God, both paths help me - draw me - move me - usher me into an understanding of more.  More of Him!

As an estranged brother lays in a hospital bed, suffering, I am moved to compassion and desire for him to know a Father who lays next to him ... desiring him to come to him ... and allow him to make everything all right.  The human tendency is to think too much wrong can't be "righted", too much water has been allowed to run under the bridge, too much bad has been committed ... it's just all too much.  From what I read about God and from what 46 years on planet earth has allowed me to experience, it's just the opposite.  The more the wrong, the water, the bad ... the more the love, the forgiveness, the opportunity for new.

"Satisfy us each morning with your unfailing love, so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.  Give us gladness in proportion to our former misery!  Replace the evil years with good."  Psalm 90:14-15

There are bags to unpack, furniture to rearrange, shelves to dust, papers to file, feet to drain, phones to buy, internet to hook up, girls to prepare for school … but this morning I just sit.  I’m home.
 

I love how this picture symbolizes our family right now:  steps.  Steps can be surefooted.  Steps can be made with a pit in our stomach.  But, one thing for sure ... steps take us from one place and lead us to another.

Our family is stepping out ... again.  This time, four sets of steps will lead us back to Vienna while another set of steps stay here.

Surefooted steps lead my Chris to lead the rest of us back to a new thing with a new sending agency in Vienna:  Fahrenheit!  Fahrenheit is a mentoring agency, allowing us to use our gifts and talents to do what we love to do.  It is birthed out of a dream, I believe in God's heart, to see university students and business people connected with mentors that will live life- intentionally - alongside them.  Partners have come alongside Fahrenheit both financially and as mentors.  As we step out in the beginning phases of this venture ... we are surefooted.

At the same time, I have discovered that surefooted steps can also bring a pit in the stomach.  The pit is not lack of desire to follow the dream.  The pit is the willful knowing of what is being given up to follow that dream.  Pits have no bottoms.  Yet, the pit drives me to cling to God.  God brings peace in the pit.  The pit is not bigger than the one who carries me through it.

More information on Fahrenheit and this journey to follow.  I simply wanted to express this leg of our journey ... the steps ... the pit ... the surefooted.  On my own and in my flesh ... this journey would be impossible.  The fear of the unknown is so ... unknown I would turn back and settle for normal.  However, because the Spirit of God is active, adventurous, calling me to deeper places ... and deeper pits ... I have to step ... into the unknown ... and in the stepping I discover more of God.  It's a sacred holiness ... this stepping into the unknown.  These steps are taking me ... and my family ... from one place (spiritually) to another.  I can't go back ...

Stepping,
christina

During a recent visit of dear friends, they repaid our hospitality by leaving a gift card to Panera Bread as a token of their thanks.  Feeling tired after nearing the end of our Spring Break, we decided to use our gift card last night.

An elderly man followed me in and took his spot behind us in the line to place his order.  Not knowing what we wanted, I told him that he could go in front of us since we were still deciding.  He casually said that he comes every night for dinner, ordering the same thing.  I made a mental note of it.

We order.  He is on my heart.  My family grabs seats for us as I finish paying.  As I'm making my way through the restaurant, I see the old man, sitting at a table by himself.  I feel compelled to ask him if he would like to join our family at our table.

He looks at me - pauses - and then asks me if I had overheard his conversation with the girl behind the counter.  I answered that I had not but just felt as if I was supposed to ask him if he'd like company.  He proceeds to tell me that he lost his wife of 64 years just 10 days before.  In his grief, he was afraid he would not be good company.  Acknowledging his loss and my sympathy for his circumstances, I asked him once more to join us.  As he politely declined, I noticed the faintest hint of a accent.  I ask him where he was from.  His answer - Germany.

As I share what transpired with my family, my Chris wanted to get some contact information from him just as we notice the old man heading toward the exit.  Minutes later, we find ourselves in conversation.  He is a Jewish German who, at 15 years of age, was sent to American by his mother to escape the fate of her fellow Jewish citizens.  He says he would love to meet for coffee and share his story.

Why share all this?  The universe rotates on it's axises and life events do not happen willy nilly.  God, the author of all things and coordinator of all events, allowed us to be blessed by an 88 year old Jewish German right smack in the middle of Oklahoma.  Modern day miracles still happen.  We happened to receive one at Panera Bread last night.  Amazing.

Still shaking my head in wonder,
christina

Yesterday we attended the funeral of our nephew, Stuart.  Today we wake up feeling weird.  I guess if we woke up feeling "normal" there would be cause for worry.

So many thoughts roam this vast wilderness that is called my mind.  I keep coming back to one word that surfaces:  through.  This loss, any loss, must be walked ... through.

Yesterday the words of one called a pastor comforted the family with a visual of grief, this grief, being like carrying a backpack.  Right now, the backpack feels like it's too heavy to carry.  Yet, carry it she must, this Momma who lost her son.  Carry it he must, this Daddy who found the body.  Carry it they must, grandparents who felt they could have done more.  Carry it he must, this brother who now steps into the role of first-born.  Carry it she must, this Aunt who heard her name mispronounced by her departed nephew as a toddler.  This grief must be carried ... it must be gone ... through.

Stuart's death was an accidental death due to an overdose.  His parents made this statement clear to the mostly young audience that gathered yesterday to say goodbye to their friend.  He made a poor decision.  If their warning is headed, they feel Stuarts death counted for something.  Noble and heart-breaking all at the same time.

Now, as "weird" hits all of those involved, the going "through" has begun.  Some may get stuck. Unforgiveness, questions, anger, denial may keep them in deep waters, allowing them to feel the weight of this invisible backpack of grief.  Some may want to run.  Running may feel good, but in the end it only makes you tired.  Going through is slow and necessary each step by painful step.

Being a follower of Jesus doesn't make one immune from pain.  Loss is loss to any human.  However, it gives me tools to walk - through.  This morning with a headache from tears and a heavy heart from thoughts of my step-sister, Tiffany, I open  my book, the book that keeps me grounded and I read the following:

When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.  When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown.  When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.

God's desire for me, in great loss, is to feel the weight of that backpack and ... walk ... through.  Not to get stuck.  Not running to ignore the pain.  Not alone.  I - walk - through - with - God.  I walk through, honestly, and I walk with someone who knows me and the pain and will guide me to the other side.  He's big enough to handle my fear, my doubt, my anger, my questions, all of it as I step-by-step walk through.  He's even big enough to carry me ... through ... when I can't find the energy to walk on my own.  He is there.

The great mystery is not the absence of being in the middle of deep waters, rivers of difficulty or in fires of oppression.  That's a given in this life. However, in the middle of the junk ... He goes through with me.  He is big enough to erase the obstacle.  Yet, if all were erased, I may never experience the nearness of One so great, so loving, so near that walks with me through when the pain feels too deep, too hard, too permanent.

My hope ... for Tiffany, for all who grieve for Stuart, is that in the walking through, we feel the nearness of God.  He is there.  He's walking us all ... through.

My Mom died in 1996.  Two years later, my Dad married my other "Mom", JoAnn.  My family grew to include two sisters, Tiffany and Whitney and has since expanded to many nephews and one niece.  

One of those dear nephews, Stuart, passed away this past Thursday.  He was 21 years old.  He had just celebrated his birthday October 17th.

Stuart with his Aunt Whitney.  He's the one who "named" her Aunt Wee Wee.

Stuart doing what he did well, wrestling!

One of the great treasures of living far, far from home is the strange way God connects you with others who live... far, far from home.  It's something I've seen as a military kid and now as an expat living abroad.  There is nothing quite like the "family" that seems to emerge.

One of the extra special treasures occurs when those who become like brothers, sisters, strange uncles ... is when one of them adds a baby to their family.  This is where I find myself this morning.  I am sitting in a flat in Budapest, Hungary, listening to my dear friend (a girl of 42 ... and a horrible inside joke) cooing in a high pitched voice to a strange little person she now calls her precious baby girl.  Living ... far, far from home ... and not having a sister that emerged from her mother's womb ... and having a Mamma who can't jump on a plane because of caring for an ailing husband ... I am the second, third, or fourth best thing.  I am the "Aunt"  who has come to change diapers, coo, hold, wipe drool, cuddle, sooth, coddle, and basically love on sweet baby.

My dear friends have become non-sleeping, crazy loving, diaper changing, snot wiping, stroller pushing, weird sound making, constant photo snapping ... parents!  They've joined the ranks of the thousands, millions, billions of other normal people who crossed that line to bear offspring and be forever changed.  But for just a few days ... I get to bring, hopefully, time for an unexpected nap ... or a quick date to the local coffee shop ... or just another pair of hands to help stuff baby into her jacket.  What a wonderful life!

April 5th is my Mom's birthday.  Despite my Mom being gone for 17 years, her birthday always causes me to stop ... to pause ... to be grateful ... to smile ... to be thankful ... to wonder ... to reflect.

Not living in America, I'm not up on all the latest trends, fashions, rages, songs, TV shows, political hot topics or any other phenomena that has made big news in the last 4 years.  Thanks to Facebook however, one would have to live in an igloo (no slam to any native peoples) to not notice the craze that has become Duck Dynasty!

Reality TV has pushed the limits.  I choose not to participate.  When I started seeing people I love and respect posting things about Duck Dynasty, I thought they had slipped to the other side.  I made my opinions.  I made my vows  not to watch.  I had no idea what the show was about only that I was against it.

Then ... prompted by my daughter, Parker ... I gave in ... and ... have ... become ... a ... FAN!!  I've watched enough episodes to take back all the mean things I said and thought about my loved ones who tuned into Duck Dynasty.  I'm now president of the Si fan club.

What makes this Duck show so popular?  Rednecks blowing things up, shooting things, talking with horrible accents, facial hair, too much hair, tea, squirrels, weirdly enunciated words, odd neighbors, the "other" brother, Miss Kay, and way too much mention of Nam ... I don't get it ... but ... I love it.  And so does America apparently.

At the end of the day, Willy's summation of life lessons in Louisiana, a family gathering around a dinner table and a Dad leading a prayer all capture the lost sense of togetherness, community, purpose and for my Austrian friends, "gemeinde"  we all long for ... and want.   At the end of the day, everyone, no matter who they are, are all seeking a place to belong.  That's what makes our beloved Duck Commanders so endearing.  That's what we all are seeking at our core.

To whom or what do you belong.  Answer that ... and you've answered the greatest question in life.  And you've answered the question ... what makes you happy, happy, happy?!

My parents left yesterday ... and another goodbye at the train station was said.  I cried.

As we made our way away from the platform, the tears came freely.  My Libby held my hand and kept looking up at me ... making sure I was OK.  She's 8 and wise beyond her years.  A conversation followed that proved to hold a fingerprint of God right in the middle of it.

I was trying to explain my tears.  I was trying to communicate that when you say goodbye, it's not really the parting that brings the tears, it's the parting that will follow, the time that will pass until you see each other again.  She comforted my heart by saying that it wouldn't be too long until we saw them again.  She's right; it won't.  But then I tried to explain that when your parents are older, you never know what can happen in the "in between time":  sickness, aging, even death.  I explained that when you live close to someone, you don't notice the aging process so much ... it's gradual.  However, by living so far away, and having visits so far apart, when you see your parent, the aging process happens right before your eyes ... all at once.  The things a parent used to be able to do with little to no effort that now requires time and patience is ... well ... hard.  It's a reminder that life goes on and waits for nothing or no one.

In the middle of my words to Libby, I had unwritten messages I was hearing in my heart at the same time.  I was thinking about my own aging process.  I just celebrated my 44th birthday.  Are you kidding me?  Where did 17 go ... when I was planning a life that was yet unlived?  Where did 23 go ... when I was a young bride and worried about how big I could make my bangs?  Where did  30 go ... when I was dressing my first-born daughter up in frilly dresses?  Or 34 ... or 40?  I was projecting way into the future ... a future that had me visiting my girls and them worrying about weather or not I can make a train connection ... or an overseas flight.  My tears were for those moments that haven't happened, but most likely will ... someday.

My 8 year old looks up at me and says plainly, "Momma, you know that to God,  your parents are just like little kids ... His kids ... and then someday we will all be heaven.  Don't worry."

Of course hearing such wisdom out of the mouth of a dark-haired look alike of myself made me cry ... again.  And then, made my heart light ... and I carried a beautiful picture in  my head and heart the rest of the day.  She's right.  My parents ... me ... all are God's kids.

When train station goodbyes feel too hard to bear, heaven finds a home in my heart ... and makes me feel like skipping like a little kid.

Goodbye's are always difficult, at least for me.  Since my Dad was in the Air Force, my life as a child was always sprinkled with goodbyes.  When we would visit my Grandmother, I always wondered why my Mom would cry when she said goodbye.  I knew she would miss her Mom, the daily life kinds of stuff, but I didn't understand the weight of a goodbye ... until now.  Now I know that when my Mom hugged my Grandmother, she wasn't shedding tears for the moment.  The tears that trickled down her face where full of emotion.  These tears contained message like ...

... when will be the next time we see each other?
... you've changed and I wasn't here to notice.
... this hurts and I can't do anything to change it.
... I don't want to forget how you smell.
... I loved eating your home made friend chicken.
... I've changed and you don't understand me.
... is this our last goodbye.

I know, because I've been in her shoes.

Today comes another goodbye.  Today, my family will gather in Texas to say goodbye to my cousin, Casey, who died this week.  The details aren't important; the goodbye is.

I remember Casey as my punky kid cousin who imitated Steve Irkle and took seriously the call to chop anything and anyone in an effort to call himself a Karate expert.  He had a round face and a smile that made his eyes invisible when he flashed those pearly whites.  He gave good foot rubs, until he became a teenager and that became too "uncool" for him.  He wanted to be a chef.

One memory that sticks out is a car ride from Arkansas City, Kansas back to our home in Oklahoma City.  My Grandmother had passed away.  Chris and I were newly married.  Casey rode home with us (we were probably the "cool" older cousins then) and we listened to an oldies rock -n- roll station and sang every song we knew at the top of our lungs.  A song called, "Momma said there'd be Days like this" came on and Casey took over the role of lead singer.  We laughed and laughed and laughed until we thought we would pee our pants.

I don't know how I feel about this goodbye.  This is an unexpected one - it's taken me by surprise. I know this goodbye brings a lot of pain for my Aunt and Uncle, two people that mean a great deal to me ... two people that have helped shape my view of God, life, and family.  Alongside this journey walk my two cousins, Cory and Cameron.  These guys have been like brothers.  They've seen me during my "ugly" years and still love me.  They still think they can tease me like a 7th grader ... and I like that.  Cameron conducted the ceremony for Casey's wedding.  Shannon, Casey's wife has 3 kiddo's to raise alone.  I can only imagine the pain she's carrying around right now ... real or imagined.  I know they are all hurting and it feels like there is nothing I can do about it.

These are the moments when I think God is surprised ... or kept something from me ... or dare I say is off in the distance?  I think these things ... if we are honest, who doesn't?  However, I know (even if it doesn't "feel" like it) these things aren't true.  God is not surprised.  God knew what this day would bring.  God is near.  It doesn't have to "feel" good, but I can believe it.

Today, in my own way, I say goodbye to Casey.  My tears hold messages, too.  My tears carry questions and bear pain and hold memories and bring laughter and desire closeness to my family.  It's funny how physical death can make you feel alive ... and brings every experience into HD.

To my family, Aunt Kelly, Uncle David, Cory and Cameron ... and Shannon ... you are loved.  In this pain I pray you see God, see yourself, and see Casey in the light of truth.

... the Elledge Clan.

This, by far, has been one of the busiest weeks we've had since arriving. Addison's volleyball season is coming to an end. Monday she had a game in Bratislava (that's in Slovakia). Wednesday through Friday she had practice. This morning she had a game in Vienna. The opposing team was from Salzburg (home of the Von Traps - we didn't see any trace of Maria. Guess she's not into volleyball.) The Eagles won the best of 5! Addison, being a mere Freshman, is a starter on the High School varsity team. If I do say so myself, she is a great player! She has a winning serve! She must take after her Aunt Lori!!

This week we were introduced to unseasonably cold weather. We nearly froze our hinnies off! It was 4 degrees Celsius, so that makes it around 38 degrees in Fahrenheit. This makes for fun traveling since we take public transportation. We got to experience waiting in the cold, wet, dismal weather for Strassenbahns to come. One day the U-Bahn broke down on my way to language school. Instead of waiting an undetermined amount of time on the subway, I opted for walking. I walked from Stephens Platz City (where the famous Stephens Dome Cathedral resides) to our school (about 15 minutes) in snowy, windy, and cold conditions (uphill, both ways, barefoot ... sound familiar?). To treat myself to braving the Arctic elements, I popped into McDonald's for a cheap Cappuccino, only to spill half of it on my way to school.

Besides Chris being sick one day, Libby being sick one day, Parker getting new shoes, us keeping a dog for a friend, one family from our Board returning from their state side assignment, and other normal life stuff, that's our week.

Just a reminder of the spiritual climate we live in ... this week in language school I was asked what my astrological sign was. Everyone could tell me theirs. When I told them I didn't know, they told me from my birthdate what my sign was ... but when I later refered to Ester in the Bible they had no clue what I was talking about.

Pray and watch ...

PICTURES: Addison serving on Saturday's game. Parker and Libby have shrunk! Not really, this is their idea of fun family entertainment! They are hilarious!

This week I watched my oldest go off to high school, my middle child say she loves school, and told my youngest she was too heavy for Mommy to carry. To the silent observer these are no big things. To the author of this blog, a huge monumental moment.

Since being displaced from our home in Oklahoma the end of November '08 and being in transition until the end of March '09, this week has been the first "normal" we've experienced in a very long time! Somehow getting back into the groove of school starting is a natural routine setter. This was our first repeat experience in Austria that we could hold on to as establishing a routine. For these Elledge's this has been a huge monumental moment.

Yesterday, Chris, Libby and I went to IKEA to finish purchasing what we needed for the last curtain hanging projects around our flat. We had a rather short list, found our goods, didn't even get a free coffee, and made it home is less than 2 hours ... and that's including travel time. Now, this may be no small feat for IKEA shoppers in the U.S., but for we Austrian IKEA shoppers, still wrestling with our new language, this was a huge monumental moment.

Chris, all by himself, tackled an administrative duty related to our driver's license. Did I mention he did this all by himself? He traversed the underground system, using a new line never traveled by his feet, waiting in line in the burro for all things auto, and managed to tell the clerks of his need to make progress with the application process of our auto licenses. Again, did I mention he did this all by himself? All I can say is this, my friends, was another monumental moment.

Speaking of Chris, God has used high blood pressure to transform this go getting, high energy, let's move it, kind a guy to a more, relaxed go getting, high energy, let's move it kind of guy who listens to God more intently and less to his natural ambitions. God made Chris Elledge (may I just personally say I think this is a monumental moment, Chris' creation, blush, blush). God uses Chris' go getting, high energy, let's move it, kind of guy for Him. However, I believe Chris is letting God direct all his qualities in a way he's never let Him before. Again, all I can say is this is another monumental moment.

For those of you who know us well, Friday night in the Elledge Home is sacred:" Friday Night in the Big Town" to be exact. For years Friday nights have been characterized by making homemade nachos, drinking soda, watching a good movie, and falling asleep on the living room floor. We've tried to maintain this tradition during our transition with hit-and-miss success. However, last night we officially reinstated our family ritual. Menu: nachos made with Cheddar cheese (a hard to find commodity in Vienna, ended up paying 6 Euro for enough to make one pan) homemade guacamole, homemade salsa, and American Ginger Ale (at 1.79 Euro for a 1 Liter). Entertainment: the travel channel on our new found satellite system. Bedtime: undetermined! We are back, baby!! Yet again, another monumental moment!