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

I recently went into a dressing room.  I wasn't trying on clothes, just waiting for my daughter.  As I was standing there, I couldn't help but overhear another Mother/Daughter combo.  It was apparent that the daughter was graduating from high school.  Mom was looking for a dress.  Mom didn't want to look like a "Mom" but wanted something new to commemorate the day. 

It was just last year that this duo could have been me and my Addie.  Oh the emotions that sat at the surface of our throats as we approached graduation.  Now, it's just a sweet memory.  We passed that milestone.  We are on to different things.

This process of feeling the hit of a blow (good or bad) before the actual event is normal, natural and felt by all mankind.  We have an image, perception, intuition about how the scene is going to play out.  We anticipate it.  We dread/look forward to it ... and maybe both!  We rehearse our part.  And ... big long pause ... wait for it ... wait for it ... it's over.

Done.

Then it's on to the next thing.

Sounds so simplistic on this end of it.  Not so much of a big deal.  However, when you are the one living it ... it's a BIG DEAL!

Perspective is everything.  Learning to walk through the big deal kinds of stuff is a life-long process.  Learning to take the emotion as it comes, talk about it if you need to and be in the moment takes practice.

Even as I type, graduation seems like no big deal ... now.  Now, I have other big deals to anticipate.

learning,
christina

I am a "Sound of Music" Groupie.  I'm not ashamed.  I once owned the VHS tape.  I watch it several times a year.  I've been on the tour in Salzburg, Austria where the Epic was filmed. 

As I sat on a tour bus filled with 42 other Groupies, all singing along to the tunes that are forever etched in our minds and artfully sung off tune, there was a camaraderie - a bond of sorts - an invisible thread of kindred love that held us together through the Austrian Alpine.  We were part of the Von Trapps.  We were Maria's children.

Last night, our family watched a live performance of "The Sound of Music" on NBC.  Featuring native Oklahoman, Carrie Underwood as Maria, a cast performed to millions through the magic of television.  It was an event, however ... as much as I love the tale ... I couldn't get passed what I had come to know as "THE Sound of Music".  Sorry Carrie and cast ... it just wasn't the same.

Isn't that ... my dilemma with embracing a new "Sound of Music" ... a modern day fable of sorts?  Now that I find myself in a certain age bracket, I just don't think most "new" things measure up to how they used to be:  movies, music, department stores, cars, fashion.  The list could go on and on.

During this season of festive Joy ... I find myself with that same melancholy mood.  When my girls were little, there was a lot more sneaking around to hide gifts, hushed tones concealing a surprise to come, and good-natured fighting over who would get to open the Advent Calendar door to eat the chocolate encased inside.

I'm not moping about.  I'm embracing this "new".  Each phase of life is about letting go to the old and accepting ... with grace if you want to live well ... the new.  That's where I find myself.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Embracing through clenched fingers,
christina

I recently had coffee with a young woman in the "decision" years.  You know, when you go to college, decide what you want to do with the rest of your life.  We meet regularly to talk ... over coffee.  We meet every week and every week we resume the conversation.  "How did this work?"  "What new thing did you discover?"  "What did you learn?"

My 20-year-old friend made a comment that keeps ping-ponging itself around in my head.  "I hate it when people say once you know Jesus your life will be great.  It's not great."  Truth spoken over coffee.  Life is not always great ... even with Jesus.

Sinks clog.  Parents gripe.  Cars crash.  Friends hurt.  Jobs get lost.  Feelings get stuffed.  Expectations go unmet.

I validated her point.  "The Church" often makes a blank statement that Jesus will make everything ... great.  In their enthusiasm to promote an inexplicable relationship, they exaggerate the truth.  Take one look at any real human that words have described in the pages of a book called the Bible and my point is made.  Old women were asked to bear children.  Old men were asked to confront kings.  Young men were told to fight.  Harlots asked to trust.  Thieves asked to give back.  Those are not great circumstances.

One look back in my 45 years on planet earth and I come short of truly "great" life experiences.  Instead, there is loosing a parent, a child, a job, a friend.  There is broken cars, limbs and dreams.  There are plenty of unpaid bills, unclaimed laundry and undone days.  The "great" is scattered sparsely among the mundane.

However ... and I love the word however ... especially when it's followed by lots of dot, dot, dots ... HOWEVER ... in the middle of "ungreat" there is something even greater!  My circumstances don't limit Jesus' presence in my life.  Right smack in the middle of ungreat there is One greater than great who shatters my reality with His unseen greatness!  Now that, my friend, is a lot of GREAT!

In my seasons of normal, mundane, hurt, pain, and ordinary ... I have the advantage of knowing that through my choice to surrender my life to One greater than myself ... my life is infused with hope, love, and peace.

Right now, I have no answers for my life.  I know that the One who plans my life has given me the agenda to simply rest, in the middle of unrest, unplanned and the unknown.  If I try to figure out things on my own I am strangely undone and wildly frantic.  Jesus, however, has given me peace.  This does not come from me.  This comes from the One who has earnestly taken what I've given Him ... my heart.  Because I know I can trust Him with my heart ... I am at peace.

Over coffee this week, I will continue to validate my friend.  No, dear girl, Jesus doesn't make things great.  Jesus does do great things in the middle of ordinary life.  In fact, He does better than great!

Sipping coffee,
christina

Nope.  I am not Siskel or Ebert (and if you are too young to know who they are don't tell me!).  There will be no giving of thumbs up or down.  Just a simple commentary on my life ... at this moment.  This movie title kinda just sums up my thoughts:  Eat.  Pray.  Love.

Living in this place seems rather normal.  It didn't take long for the adaptation to take hold and make me one with my mother land.  Now, the things that stand out to me are the people ... my people.  As I look back on this period of time that has now become the past ... it's pretty much marked by times of eating ... praying ... and loving.

Eating certain things that bring you back to another time and place.  Eating things that used to not give you heartburn.  Eating things in a certain place for the sake of reliving the past.  Eating new things with old friends.  Eating alongside others that remind you of who you are and where you come from.  This coming Friday, we Elledge's will eat nachos on the floor and watch a movie to commemorate our last "Friday Night in the Big Town" before Addison migrates.  Eating marks time and space.

Praying looks different the older I get.  Now it's more like an exercise of breathing.  Sometimes they are long, deep breaths that relax and sooth.  Sometimes they are fast-paced and highly rhythmic responses to a crisis.  Most times, it's a steady in and out throughout the day.  In and out.  Constant.  Needing it more than needing to eat.

Love.  That's an ever complicated action.  Love makes me hurt, cry, laugh, hope, hunger for more of it.  Love compels me to say more ... or less.  Love begs me to hug longer, listen more, talk less.  Loves drives me to often eat ... or not eat ... to pray ... harder and longer.

Until next time ...

It seems that I spend most of my time these days telling stories.  As I continue to write my parting letters to my beloved Addison, I find myself wanting to tell her things that she may not know:  my high school graduation of one, my job as a tour guide, the time I almost got frostbite, how I felt when her Daddy (my Chris) asked me to marry him.  Stories.

I also have the privilege of being connected at heart level to some amazing young Austrian women.  One has found the love of her life and will marry next May.  One is a young Mom with a friend who needs help.  I don't have great wisdom to impart to my Austrian lovelies.  All I have is my ... stories.

Our stories are varied, aren't they?  I think that's why I love Facebook.  I can connect with those from my past, those who live far away, those who live down the street.  But the reason I want to connect is to hear their ... stories!

As I've shared my stories, I've shared things that aren't pretty.  That's what makes a story good. We can send our annual Christmas cards out with the highlights of what seems to be a perfect year but let's get real ... real life stories aren't always happy endings!  People get hurt, children rebel, cancer crashes into our lives, and depression stops us in our tracks.

Last night as we told our story ... (the love story that continues between one Christina Poe and one Chris Elledge ... to this young couple who plan on marrying next May) ... it described seasons of great joy followed by periods of unspeakable pain.  However, standing firmly on the premise that we were meant to be together, that our commitment to one another was one unshakable variable ... we moved forward.  We moved forward carrying these truths in our hands:  God loves us.  He is faithful and can be trusted.  It may have been hard.  It may have been so good we had to pinch ourselves.  Either way ... we've clung to these truths.

Stories.
What are your stories?
Who are you sharing them with?

I love the sun.  I love it most when I am in it.  Living in a grey city most of the time, the sun has become something I long for ... really!

I never was an advocate of the sun.  I mean I liked it and all ... I just never really put any value in or on it ... until I began to live without it.  That's when I realized the importance, the worth, the benefit and the need I have of this ball of fire packed with vitamin D!

Just like the sun, I think I pretty much long for anything I don't have.  I long for short hair now that my hair is long.  I long for bread now that I am gluten intolerant.  I long for long conversations with my mom now that she lives in heaven.  I long for short trips through the drive-through ... any drive-through ... now that I don't have one (OK, there is McDonald's but they are pretty few and far between.)  I long for the days that my girlie's were babies now that they are grown up.  I long for a route 44 Diet Coke from Sonic with lots of ice now that Diet Coke makes me sick and I live in a land of no ice in soda's.  I long for time to stand still since I have one of my fledglings getting ready to fly the coop.  I long for nights to be longer now that hormones interfere with good sleep.  I long for a size 8 jeans now that I ... wear a different size. 

Yep.  Longing.  As I get older, I find myself longing for a place to call home.  I love my home but am reminded all too often that it isn't the place I was made for ... and I feel the effects of that alienation all to plainly.  When I don't feel like I fit in, look cute, know enough, am competent enough ... I can feel that longing creep in.  It's not escapism.  It's hope in a reality that will one day take place.

In the meantime ... I look through pictures of short hair cuts, drool over bread, and complain about no ice ... while trying to be mature enough to remember that longing needn't be bad when I long for the right thing.

Becoming an "older woman" is still weird for me.  I forget that when I chat cheerfully with students, in their 20's, they are not relating to me as their peer.   They are looking at me as an aunt, a mother, someone  ... older.  Ouch.

However, with age comes great freedom.  When I was in my 20's, I found it often hard to feel comfortable in my own skin.  I was still trying to figure out who I was and what my place in the world looked like.  I was seeking ... someone older ... to come alongside me and help guide me along life's highway.  I needed, I wanted, a mentor.

As God in His plan would have it, I am now that person ... that older someone who has been given a fine opportunity to come alongside younger women ... to help them along life's highway.  I'm a mentor.

What I love is that mentoring looks different everyday and with every girl.  I formally "mentor" two young women.  Then, I "informally" mentor several.  All come from different backgrounds, different economic status', different religious viewpoints.  My job is not to convince them that I have all the answers ... I don't (despite me wanting my children to think I do!).  My job is to help guide, to share life, to infuse my bits of experience from another standpoint, and to be a good mirror of what a loving Father God desires for these young women to know, to learn ... to be.  Some know this God of mine.  Some do not.  I've been given a wonderful purpose:  to increase their knowledge on a head and heart level of who they are and how much they are loved by their Creator.

This week, I hosted a cookie making class.  As we beat eggs, measured sugar, and burned the last batch ... I was able to share my love, my heart, my baking ability (or lack thereof since we burnt the last batch).  I was also able to share with them how the beauty of baking fits into the beauty of life.  Each ingredient we added to our dough, by itself, is just an individual component.  Yet, when added together, when beaten, chopped, and blended together with the other bits, mesh together to make a yummy result:  a cookie.

Let the beating begin!

Peanut butter Cookies in the oven

Chopping chocolate for chocolate chips

More chopping for more chocolate chips

A good friend always cleans up the dishes!

Without sounding all Forrest Gump ... life is like a cookie.  Life has ingredients that when added to the whole of our experience makes beautiful results.  When I look at the times in my life when there was beating or chopping (unpleasant things or circumstances) I tend to want to forget or dismiss those elements.  Yet, when lived side by side with the good times (the sugar, the vanilla) ... it all blends together into an experience that works ... if I let it ... together for my good.  The bitter, the sweet, the needed, the important ... they all work together to make a life that is planned for my good ... and to be shared.

We shared our cookies over tea and great conversation.  The baking soda no longer was bitter ... the sugar was not overwhelming.  All parts blended into one delicious cookie.  And when eaten together with a friend ... beautiful.

Writing a good ol' fashioned letter is a lost art form, one that I secretly experiment with when time, a cold morning and a hot cup of coffee win the battle to create.  Recently, on one of my aforementioned experiments, I wrote to a friend about my struggle to enjoy the snow.  Despite knowing Who holds all the snow in warehouses and empties them upon His demand ... I'm a bit tired of the white stuff.

Yesterday ... it snowed ... all ... day.  I've quit expecting it to be a nice, warm, sunny day.  I know those are coming.  Every day that it snows, I don't accept it as a permanent reality.  It's just for now.  Spring is coming.  Warm days are in the future.  Snow will stop ... eventually.

I've rearranged our living room (another creative outlet that sometimes hits me without warning) and have created a "cozy spot".  My friend, Marti, has a "cozy spot" in her house.  She's nestled a chair next to a window, complimented it by a table for resting a cup of something hot upon and topped it off with a warm lamp.  This was the inspiration for my "cozy spot".

When the sun does make an appearance, I sit in my "cozy spot" often longer than I should and enjoy.  I read.  I think.  I write.  I pray.  I cry.  I laugh.  It's my spot.  It's the place I can hear from the Creator ... and where I know He hears me.

As I sat in my spot yesterday, the snow served as a great life example.  I know Spring is coming.  The snow isn't going to damper my enthusiasm for what's to come.  The Snow is not gonna ruin my day.  The Snow is not gonna take the power of my day ... making me a grumpy middle-aged complainer.  No way.  I'm gonna rise above the snow, put on my boots ... again ... and make the most of it ... all the while ... knowing ... Spring ... IS ... coming!

In Life, I can let circumstances, people, projects ... get in the way of a greater purpose.  OK.  So my purpose for a day may only mean cleaning the toilet, running errands and cooking a meal ... but way too often than I'd like to admit, circumstances, people, projects get in my way.  They get into my head and occupy so much time and space and energy that it robs me of any joy, any sense of the present, any good thing that might come along.  Just like the snow, I know a better day is coming.  I know all of life is temporal.  I can't control one tiny thing in my life ... just like I can't control ... the snow.  I'm not gonna let circumstances, people, projects take the power of my day ...

Spring is coming!

This week I purchased plane tickets.  This will be the first time we Elledge's will have stepped foot on American soil in over 4 years.  (OK, Chris had to go back for his Father's funeral for 8 days after we had been here only 9 months and 6 months later I went back to say final goodbye's to my Uncle.  Other than that, we've been camped out on European territory.)

I'm not sure how I feel about all of this.  Not just the going back but ... the being here ... the leaving here ... the returning "home" ... the coming back to here.  We live a certain lifestyle that is often odd.  In fact, so odd most people don't "get us".  Home can't be defined by the amount of time you've planted roots in a certain place.  The 4 years we've lived here we've lived in 2 different places.  I've learned that "home" isn't determined by the way others around you look, speak, act or think.

This week I also trimmed a plant.  NO big deal in the grand scheme of life, but this plant is very much like how I see my life.  This plant grows very fast.  If I don't trim it often, it grows out of control.  So, I snip little pieces of the newest growth, put my little "sniplings" into little vases of water giving them time to grow new roots and then transplant them into other pots.

And so I draw the following conclusion.  We've chosen a life that grows and changes very fast just like my above mentioned plant.  If live by my own reasoning, it will grow out of control.  God uses little "snips" now and then to teach me about me ... but more importantly about Him.  The gracious thing is ... these parts that he trims ... get used ... and the lessons keep giving to others ... and to myself.  From one life, comes many lessons.

Here's to growing more and deeper roots ...

Last week I sat in one of my favorite cafes, sipping on a 2.60 euro vanilla latte, and listening to a young friend I mentor - who - by the way - has become more like a daughter - share from her heart.  I love this girl.  She and I share the loss of a mother to illness at young ages.  She and I share a similar world view. I'm young enough to "get" her generation and old enough to speak into it.  As she shared her highs and lows, I considered myself first a German grammar killer and then second a privileged soul for being given the opportunity of walking this journey with my young friend.

Just a few days ago I sat on my leaf printed IKEA clearance chair that sits in my entry way.  (I love this chair.)  As I sat, I listened to my dear sister.  She talked enough that the battery on my phone went dead.  For those of you who know this child, this is not surprising.  However, as she shared exurbs from her life, I knew I was being allowed a secret place in her heart.  The things she shared with me were not for the masses, just a privileged few, and I was one of those who was given entry.

This afternoon, I cried like a baby in my Addison's bedroom.  OK, I will say that I have been under the weather the last few days with some virus.  If you are a girl, you know how you get when you don't feel good.  Emotions kinda sit at the base of your gut waiting to come out ... in tears.  This is the first day I am feeling human and as I sat in Addie's room, I just found myself crying.  My heart is breaking if you must know.  I am already grieving this first great parting among us.  She's still part little girl but mostly part grown-up adult.  I love who she has become.  I see a bright and prosperous future for her.  Yet, I cry.  The ending of a season is fast approaching and all I can see is what I'm loosing.

Heartache is just part of life.  My young friend, my sister, me ... we all experienced some heartache.  The question then becomes ... what do you do with heartache?   It really doesn't matter the size of the heartache ... it hurts the same.  It drives us someplace.  It makes us aware of our frailty ... our humanness.  It keeps us honest with ourselves.  It makes bad hair days seem trivial and real life important.

Now, let me digress a bit and share the following.  This week I sat in a cozy living room on a cold and snowy day telling part of my story to a dear friend.  As I shared my life, the ups the downs, she listened.  After awhile, the clock reminded us that time had not stood still.  Feeling guilty for taking so much of her time with my words, I said, "I'm sorry I shared so much.  Poor you for having to hear it all!".  Then, she said the most profound words I've heard in a long time.  She said ... "Don't apologize.  I am the richer for having heard your story!" Isn't that precious?

This brings me back to the question:  what do you do with heartache?  You have to take it somewhere.  Where you take it determines your outcome.  For over 25 years, I've learned that food, shopping, good friends, writing, and even counselors are not the answer.  Do they help?  You betcha!  However, I've learned that the One who created me ... desires me to share my heartache with Him.  That's still a hard one to swallow!  I still can't believe that the Creator of the Universe is so in love with me that He treasures my words.  I still want to apologize to Him like I did my friend ... for taking up too much time ... for sharing too much.  Yet, I hear Him saying to me ... precious girl ... cast everything my way ... I care for you.

What do YOU do with heartache?

Addison, Libby and Parker ... in a former Season of life!

This morning I have time ... I'm making time to write.  Because words find their way into my head, lodge in my heart, and rattle around my brain most days ... I construct written pieces of material in the imaginary world that is my brain all the time.  However, it's only when I sit down at the computer do they find their way out in black and white.

Here are things that have taken place in real life since the last time I wrote:  a good friend had a baby, two friends are suffering from unknown illnesses, a 7th grade slumber party, coffee with friends, a birthday celebration, a prayer time with students, valentines day breakfast with my girls, laundry, death of an old friend, snow, and scatter a few lunches being packed and made, worries being smoothed by motherly wisdom, kisses and hugs, and the occational arguement over things that really don't matter ... that about sums it up.

As is my usual custom, I started my morning with really strong coffee and some time to sit and be quiet.  I read the following.  The words jumped right off the page and created an "Ah Ha" moment for me.

"Thank me for the conditions that are requiring you to be still.  Do not spoil these quiet hours by wishing them away, waiting impatiently to be active again.  Some of the greatest works in My kingdom have been done from sick beds and prison cells.  Instead of resenting the limitations of a weakened body, search for My way in the midst of these very circumstances.  Limitations can be liberating when your strongest desire is living close to Me." (Jesus Calling by Sarah Young, pg. 49)

As I have struggled these last moths with serotonin that lives well below the average, I've fought it.  I've not been thankful.  I've wished it away.  I've waited ... impatiently ... to be active again.  But, I'm on a learning curve.  Somewhere in the middle of this health stuff I got it.  I got that I am not the ruler of my world.  Shock.  I learned that when I fight what is not in hopes that the fighting will produce what I want ... I get so frustrated I could explode.  I've learned to cope.  I'm learning that success doesn't mean what I do.

So here's the kicker ... my serotonin is on the rise!  I don't have medical proof as I don't get blood drawn until March, however, I know.  I know because I can do more!  That's ironic, isn't it?

I love the part about getting older when you realize you've learned a great life lesson and you actually apply it.  That's what I'm learning now.  With new energy, I'm not jumping right back into the saddle.  I have to be a little more strategic in planning my days.  If I know something "big" is taking place I have to plan to rest.  Overall, "normal" is within reaching distance.  But, I don't want old habbits to erase the lessons learned.  Lessons like realizing that life is really more about the journey.  I'm seeing seasons emerge in my life as I watch the lives of those around me.

My friend who had the baby ... oh the memories that brings back!  The joy of seeing a baby human in your arms that lived in your womb ... wow!  And yet, that season of my life is gone.  My baby is slowly packing to leave my nest.


 My two friends that are suffering from unknown illnesses.  The heartache of living in weakness ... wow.  And yet that season in my life, too, is gone.  When Anxiety reared its head for the first time all those years ago, it stopped me in it's tracks.  Little did I know what a comrade it would become.

A 7th grade slumber party reminds me of how long ago this body was in 7th grade!  The hormones and hairdo's of this season in life ... wow.  And, thankfully, that season in my own life is gone ... long gone.  It has come full circle as I watch my own 7th grade daughter step into this phase of life following my footsteps.

Each season of life is so full, so rich, so sprinkled with "hard" and "easy" at the same time.  When we are smack dab in the middle of them they seem so eternal.  However, a little experience and perspective reminds me that seasons are just that ... seasons.  They go.  They don't last as long as we anticipate.  Instead of grasping too tightly or longing for them to last a little longer ... we've got to hold them with loose fingers.  That's really the hard part, isn't it?

My sweet friends baby is gonna grow up way too fast ... my friends will get well ... my 7th grader will one day be a college graduate.  Seasons.  Living in the moment, aware of the One who holds it ... and controls it ... that's the key in living them.

Yesterday Chris spoke at a Heilsarmee (Salvation Army) center.  This is not random.  Chris has been helping a German friend of ours (Martin ... pronounced Marteen) every week at the Heilsarmee.  Our friend has a breakfast and Bible study for men who find themselves in need of the services that the Heilsarmee provides.  Chris has been chief bottle washer and bread gatherer.

However, after some time, it was evident that God was doing something with this little band of wounded men.  Martin and Chris approached the director of the center about doing something ... more.  This week, "Brezeln und Bibel" (Preztels and Bible) begins.  Its goal is to gather men for just "hang out time" and approach life and the questions that follow with real answers from the Bible.

Let me backtrack a little and tell you more about the center.  This is a new facility, open only three years, which contains 60 one-room apartments for men.  These men have varied backgrounds:  drugs, alcohol, and mental illness.  However the one common thread that ties these men together is need.  They have lost jobs, families, self-respect and are in need of a place to stay.  The slogan for the Heilsarmee sums up where these men are in life:  "A man may be down, but not out."  Beautiful.

Despite the modern facility and clean floors, dirty men that smelled of tobacco came to the service yesterday as Chris and Martin shared their vision for the program.  The director, a middle-aged woman with a contagious smile and sturdy hands led us in songs.  I was a bit unnerved.  The men sang loud, off-tune, and some spoke under their breath about things that made no sense.  At one point, a man knelt down and wept silent tears as we sang the words of a German hymn I had never sung before.  One man would randomly ask nonsensical questions of the director as she spoke.  She didn't let his rhetoric faze her as she moved the service forward.

Libby was with us. (The older girls were away for the weekend serving a local missions organization as childcare workers.)  As I watched Libby, she was uncomfortable and nerves.  Before the service began, she and I made our way to the bathroom.  Never one to mince words or hide behind her emotions, she let me know she did not want to stay.  "Why do we have to be here?" I wasn't shocked by her expressions of discomfort.  I was feeling them, too.

I was trying to put on a brave face ... a spiritual face ... but in my heart I had elevated myself above these men, their circumstances, and their plights.  Their dirty fingernails and worn faces only added to my hypocrisy.

As I bent down to my Libby in the bathroom, looked her in the eye, the words that exploded from my mouth were words not so much intended for my 9 year-old recipient ... but for me.  I began to explain to her what Jesus did with "these kind of people" ... he loved them.  I began to tell her what Jesus says about the poor and the needy.  If you have a party and invite only those who can invite you back ... what kind of love does that show?  But what if you have a party, and invited the poor ... knowing they can never repay you for your kindness ... that ... that is true ministry ... true love.  I told her that today was an opportunity for us to show Jesus we love him ... by giving of ourselves to those who aren't shown kindness very often.

I took a deep breath before we headed back to the service ... hoping the words I had just spoken inspired not only my precious daughter that was learning a great life lesson today ... but her Momma, too!

As I began to see these men through different eyes, my heart was overwhelmed with gratitude for what I had been given.  I approached a young man with long curly hair and a jacket that was too many sizes too large for his small body.  He was new to the facility.  When I asked him where he was from ... he paused and had to think of his answer.  Later, I found out that this man who looked more like a lost boy had only been there two days.  The director said this was the first time in a very long time that he had his own place to live ... among people.  It would take some time for him to get used to having running water, his own bed, a door that locked, and regular meals.  I prayed that that he would be the poster child for the motto:  A man may be down ... but not out.

Just when I think I am giving God all of my heart, He so graciously allows me to be in a new situation that opens my eyes ... and heart ... to the true condition of my inner self.

Chris and my foot in Scotland ... still moving forward!

In January 2009, our family went through "training" as part of our preparation for living overseas.  The goal was to equip us for culture shock, team dynamics, adaptation to language ... an introduction to a new worldview.  I'll be honest.  I skipped out on some sessions, heading to Wal-mart with other gals in an attempt to fit one more "good deal" into our already overstuffed suitcases ... or camped out by myself at a coffee shop just to collect my thoughts.  Most times I was present in those sessions ... pysically ... but mentally spent the hours making lists of things I needed to do before packing up my life and heading out for my new adventure.

Now, four years later, I see the value in that time. It was beneficial. It was preparatory. However ... no amount of training could have prepared me, my little heart, nor my mind for the things I was about to encounter. That's kind of where I am today ... in a reflecting kind of mood. 

In June, we will leave our beloved home for 6 months of stateside living. Up until now, we've not let ourselves live with our hearts or heads back "home".  We've made every effort to make where we are our "home" ... and it is.  However, as our time gets closer, every now and then, I find myself floating forward ... wondering what it will be like to live in a place that is my homeland. The fear, wonder, excitement, and feelings of the unknown lurk in my future ... in my going "home" ... just as they formerly did prior to setting foot here ... weird.

In the looking forward, I always spend a little time looking back.  During those 8 weeks of training, no one could have prepared me for the way my heart would hurt when I dropped off my little Libby, then 5 years old, at her Kindergarten.  I knew only enough German to find a toilet and yet I was leaving my baby in the care of strangers who spoke no English.  As she tore at my jacket, begging me not to leave, I would keep my brave, Mommy face on, reassuring her it was all gonna be OK until I got out of her sight.  Then, like clockwork, the tears would pour down my face.  Each step I took to catch my strassenbahn (streetcar) to school was a silent step of faith in a God who I knew would take care of me ... and my baby.

Our weeks of training could not have prepared my pride for the way I would feel in a government office, trying to respond to basic questions while dropping off my Visa application to live in my new country with all of the other "foreigners".  Being seen as ignorant became a way of life as I fought hard to learn German grammar and accent. 

Certainly no training session covered the way my soul would ache for friends for my older girls.  I will never forget the moments at my sweet Parker's bedside, as we prayed and asked Jesus to give her a friend ... just one friend who could be her kindred spirit.  Or ... the time my Addison announced that it was OK for her not to have any friends ... because she thought this would be a good time for her to learn what is like to have only Jesus as a friend.  Insert immediate pain into this Momma's heart.

After living here only 8 months, Chris' Dad died.  As we scrambled to find a plane ticket back home, the night before Christmas Eve, no one could have prepared me for the way my heart would feel spending Christmas ... alone ... in a strange country ... with my girls ... while My Chris was thousands of miles away, stuck in an airport, trying to get to his father's funeral.  Knowing his grief was to be experienced alone made my heart all the more heavy.

As I type these paragraphs of memories, they don't make me break down in tears.  They serve as reminders of how BIG God is ... how strong humans are when they trust Him ... and how we are capable of more than we think or imagine when we lay our agenda's, preferences and defaults aside ... putting one foot in front of the other ... to follow a capable and mysterious God.

The months ahead bring a lot of "stuff" we have to do.  If I think about each little component individually, I won't lie ... I get kind of freaked out.  I have a life to wrap up here, with relationships and ends that need to be tied up ... school for younger girls to be arranged ... an adult child to introduce to college ... and all things "on her own" ... as she prepares for flight out of this Momma's nest ... and other things that I don't even know about ... just lurking behind the corner.

However, just as life seems to be like a good book ... new chapters are lived through the knowledge of what you've just experienced.  Whatever lies ahead, I won't be prepared for  ... my heart will learn new things ... and be injured in new ways ... and it has to be that way.  Faith is lived out through the unknown of what's to come.  However, faith is grown and made beautiful when we walk, step by step, forward ... into that great unknown ... trusting in One that knows the coming chapters.

Looking forward ... putting one foot in front of the other,
Me

I love books.  Not as much as my friend, Kellye, but ... I do love a good book.  In an effort to divert my mind of German grammar at present, I picked up The Chronicles of Narnia.  I've read the series, years ago, have watched, multiple times, the 3 major motion pictures ... but I longed to refresh my mind with some of the simple, Aslan reminders of a love so deep and passionate between Creator and created.  So, I read The Boy and His Horse.

I love ... love the part when the boy, who has only heard of Aslan, not knowing him to be real or myth, has his first encounter with this illusive character.  It's not thunder and lightning or fireworks and bright flashes ... it just a whisper, a knowing presence.

Then, after the first initial "Oh my goodness you are real" kind of moment the boy, Shasta, has with Aslan ... they just talk.  Actually, Shasta talks ... and talks ... and talks.  He tells Aslan about every hurt in his life ... asks him why certain events happened ... and where was Aslan during all of this.  I love Aslan's answer.  He, the creator of strength and mystery, was there all the time.  He was fear that pushed forward, tenderness that offered a companion during a dark night, director that divinely shifted circumstances toward protection.  Beautiful.  He was right there all along.  Only in looking back could Shasta see this ever-present, ever-working intervention of a tender, strong, fierce and all-knowing ... Aslan.

Too often, I admit ... when I'm not reading a book and I am doing real life, I feel just like Shasta.  I don't take the time to look around me ... to look for the fingerprints of Aslan. ( Now, not to confuse you ... or better yet myself, Aslan is a lion symbol of God.)  They are there ... these fingerprints ... you just need to look for them.

I live in a city where few know, like Shasta before his encounter, there is a Creator who is ever-present and desires to walk alongside them ... listening, whispering their names ... in hopes they stop long enough to notice His presence.  Just as Shasta could do nothing else but jump off his horse and fall to the ground ... as if the ground had a magnetic connection to his heart that forced him to lower himself at the feet of this Aslan ... encounters with God change us.

I am somewhat dramatic.  I want  to have encounters with God that are ... big.  Really big.  I want to have thunder, lightning, fireworks and bright flashes.  I want to be able to see God do big ... really big ... things through me.  I want others to see something so uniquely wild in me that could only be explained by the indescribable presence of God Almighty.

Mostly, I get whispers.  I get whispers that tell me I am loved ... even when my hair looks stupid.  I get whispers that remind me to pray for precious Parker and her math test.  I get whispers that tell me to stay a little longer in my big blue chair with Libby because time slips through fingers and 9 year old girls grow up ... fast.  I hear whispers that beg me to hug my Addison tighter ... because she isn't 9 years old any longer ... and her time has come.  I hear whispers that tell me to call my Chris ... and tell him I love him ... just because.  I get whispers that ask me to offer prayers for a woman on the streetcar that looks like her affluence has outlived her happiness.  I get whispers for a little baby that may never hear the words to the song "Jesus loves Me".  I get whispers that tell me what I am doing ... in this city ... has eternal consequences.  I get whispers that affirm that He is always near ... always working ... always strength in weakness.

I would probably not know what to do with the thunder and lightning.  It would probably scare me.  Being a simple girl ... God ... knows that whispers are enough.  Whispers are majestic signs that a holy Father loves me.  He is there.  He is guiding.  In the whisper, I hear loudly the voice of the One who has always been walking alongside me.  I've learned to not only hear, but to obey the whispers.  It's in the obeying that keeps me alert ... and on track ... and pleased ... because in the obeying ... I feel the breath of my God ... knowing in His presence is where I am meant to be ...

Hoping you, too, hear whispers ...

The beginning of a new year always brings a natural transition.  This is an especially "transitionally" year for us Elledge's.

Chris and Parker enjoying a cheap coffee break @ McCafe!

• Our oldest graduates from High School
• We take a 6 month furlough away from "home" to go to a place our girls don't really remember as "home".
• We will return home minus one family member.

Other than that ... life is forecasted to be quite "normal".  However, we all know, "normal" is always changing.  The only "normal" thing about life is the changing.

Libby, Addison and me ... making faces @ Chris and Parker @ McCafe!

I have a friend, Rachel.  She's "mature" in years.  She's beautiful.  She has piercing blue eyes and even more piercing questions.  I've learned to listen to her.  I listen because she has learned what it means to walk a journey well.  And, she's learned who to walk her journey with ... well.

I got the following email from her.  You have to read it:

My World continues to shrink and I note how fast it turns. I've long since given up trying to keep up with the latest trades, terrorists, trends, trips and technicality. God in His unique economy allows my limited and feeble investment to grow and multiply. Seeds I planted and young sprouts, I nourished have matured and flourished. My meager investment in the kingdom has brought me much joy and satisfaction.
    This Holy Season I'll focus and concentrate on the reality of my relationship with my Redeemer, Jesus Christ realizing that this relationship monitors and dictates all other relationships. With the new additions this month of my two latest great grand daughters our family has grown to 40.
    This year I sent no cards so my dear friends 
                                       I wish you Love beyond measure, Joy overflowing,
                                       Peace within as we celebrate the birth of Christ.

Her words seemed exceptionally "piercing" this year as I continue to emerge from my "weak" season with poor health.  I've heard the voice of the one that loves me most continue to tell me to be weak ... in my new found and ever increasing strength.  Weird.  Yet, it fits the advice of this one I have built my life on ... my future on.

As I ease into 2013, with a baggy sweatshirt on, no make-up, a quiche and baked apples in the oven and nothing planned but an afternoon nap ... transition will come and go.  Normal will come and go.  Right now ... I'm just gonna focus on the wisdom of my dear Rachel ... and focus and concentrate on the reality of the relationship with my Redeemer.  Good advice from a woman who has lived it ... well.

I’m hanging out at the mall this morning - specifically Starbucks. And I feel I need to make this little disclaimer. I love ... LOVE the Austrian coffee culture. There is nothing that gives my heart more rapture than to sit in a typical cafe and slowly sip on my black, yummy goodness. However, most that I have discovered do not have internet. Thus, I am forced to sit at Starbucks and sip my tripple grande vanilla latte I've saved all week to purchase!

Although I’d say I’m a self-proclaimed home body, I do enjoy a good morning to myself, with a cup of coffee by my side, drinking in the flavor of the beverage and the day. I have no real plan … other than go to the post office, go to the health food store, pick up girls, throw in a load of laundry while waiting for the older girls to come home and then I’ll start making dinner. It’s just so nice (what a lame word) to sit, feel comfortable in my skin and surroundings and chalk it all up to a normal day!

So, what’s the big deal about a “normal” day? Nothing. Only when it seems your normal was a long way away … and you wake up one day realizing normal has been a state of mind for awhile – it’s noteworthy!

So, this is what my normal looks like this week:

* Addison has play practice (she’s in “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown”) M, W, and Thursday after school.
* Parker empty’s the dishwasher before heading off to school (my favorite child! and is riding public transportation by herself since Addison has practice.
* Libby get’s picked up from school most days at 1:00. Then we “hang out” until the older girls come home.
* This week Chris was out of town all day on Monday and then left Wednesday to go to Johann and Romana’s house (the parents of our friend, Hans-Georg) and will return tonight.
* Tomorrow Addison has practice and we have Austrian friends coming over for American hamburgers.
* This week we are also host to two wonderful young ladies, Mia and Alana, while their missionary parents are at a conference. So, while Chris is drinking coffee and being served Martha Steward equivalent meals (I’m not bitter!) I get to play Mom to not my normal 3 girls … but to 5 … and loving every minute of it! (Last night we finished our day off by playing foot tag and Go Fish.)

Something that has also become normal is Austrian holidays. Yesterday was Fasching. According to the urban dictionary (a website I goggled) here is a definition of Fasching:
1. n: German; a week of partying leading up to Mardi Gras. Anything goes this week. During Fasching I went to 18 parties, was hung over six days, and had 248 alcoholic drinks.

That pretty much describes the holiday.

Wikipedia says: Carnival is a festive season which occurs immediately before Lent.

The day gets celebrated by school children by dressing up and having no schoolwork and a big party.

Funny how it’s become normal to see more enthusiasm put into this “party season” than any other time of the year. More participate in dressing up and party making than attend any type of evangelical experience.

… and that’s why we are here. To make a ripple in the lake of Austrian life … to make an eternal difference. And if we have to party a little to make it happen (like in good partying … you do know what I mean!) … let the festivities begin!

While Chris was enjoying a conference with other like-minded leaders in Germany, the girls and I celebrated our week off by cleaning, cleaning out and cleaning up. Don’t be jealous!

While Addison has the deluxe pleasure of having her own room, the “little girls” (my Parker and Libby) get … (notice how diplomatically I worded that?) … get to share a room. In an effort to help Parker have some much needed pre-teen privacy, we have been in the process of redoing their room. Parker has traded her twin for a full-sized bed. We also spruced up old bedding with new and an old room divider with new paint. They (the “little girls”) actually painted the room divider themselves!

Now, before you start feeling super sorry for us little Cinderella’s we did get to celebrate at the end of the week by hosting a dear friend, Sheri, from Tucson, Arizona.

Sheri became my friend when we moved to Tucson, Arizona in 1998. She had two sons that became then 3 year-old Addison’s, playmates. Although our time together was short-lived, less than 2 years, God knitted us together. The strength of those stitches were seen and experienced during our weekend together. As we sat over coffee and pastries, and I rattled on and on about my deepest struggles and she sat there … ever so earnestly listening and offering pearls of wisdom … I praised God for the value of true, heart friendships! We did some sightseeing, drank some good coffee, ate a few pastries, but perhaps the most watering to my soul was the conversations around our dining room table just sharing life, laughing and reminiscing. I’ve often heard others declare that God uses His people to communicate aspects of Himself. God used my Sheri to communicate deep love and affection through the bonds of friendship. I feel so loved on by her … and my Father!

And, speaking of love … the girls have a Valentine’s Dinner planned for their Dad. Shhhh … it’s a surprise! It will happen tonight so don’t spill the beans! I’ll be sure to post pictures later!