After spending a lovely, traditional Thanksgiving with our American friends that have become like family, we rode public transportation 45 minutes to our home.  I had a bag filled with a few leftovers and a heart filled with cozy, fresh memories of another holiday spent abroad.  For the rest of my countrymen, this was just another day.  They had little idea that my family was celebrating a historical moment in the history of our home country.  That, however, has been our normal for many years.

While we boarded the streetcar for the second leg of our trip home, two boys that looked to be around 20 years old were our traveling companions.  They occupied the area in the front of the car that was reserved for wheelchairs.  One was obviously the caretaker of his friend - and we speculated if he be the brother - of one who had wheels for legs.  They weren't drunk or high ... just dirty.

I normally do not use my phone when I'm with my family on public transportation but for some reason, I wanted to check my messages.  As I did, the boy in the wheelchair asked me if he could borrow my phone.  I had no hesitation in letting this boy use my phone.

A quick phone call to some unknown recipient to say he was on his way.  He then returned my phone with a gracious "Danke".

I, without thinking, asked him if he was hungry.  His sweet eyes softened and said yes.  I proceeded to tell him that I was Ameican and today we celebrated Thanksgiving.  In my bag, I had some food that I'd like to share with him:  a few slices of turkey and some fresh cucumbers and carrots.  He took my small offering wrapped in aluminum foil and stored in plastic bags as if they were being presented on fine china.  He graciously accepted and wanted to shake my hand ... and the hands of my dear girls ... and the hands of my Chris.  He then carried his bounty in his lap back to his buddy.  They unwrapped and unsealed the food immediately and ate as heartily as I had done a few hours earlier while sitting in a comfortable home surrounded by friends and family and having all I needed.

Humbling.

In between bites of food, they would glance our way and thank us, again.  As they approached their stop on the streetcar, they waved goodbye and thanked us, again.

And just like that, our encounter was over.

I was thankful for the things I have seen God do in my life while I was sitting at the white table-cloth draped table and surrounded by dear ones.  I was thankful that my friend had found real pecans when I bit into the real pecan pie.  I was thankful that I had a way home and could pay the price of the fare when I jumped on the bus to begin my journey.  I was thankful in theory.  But when those two boys began to eat ... thankfulness became real and tangible and something to grab with tight fists and believe in the deep parts of my heart.

Sometimes the good things in our lives are fluff.  We are thankful at a head level but thankfulness never quite drips down into the core ... the places where it matters.

God has been gently whispering songs of thanks in my heart.  I'm paying attention. I truly want to be a giver of thanks ... real thanks.  Psalm 26:6 - 7 made more sense to me this morning when I read it:  "I come to your altar, O Lord, singing a song of thanksgiving and telling of all your wonders."

Thursday night God provided a most unusual alter for me in which to bring my thankful heart ... a streetcar.  And this blog, as silly or insignificant as I may perceive it to be, is my attempt to "tell His wonders" to whoever may read.

Thankfulness realigns the condition of the heart.

Learning to be thankful ... really,
Christina

I've added a new App to my Ipad:  Webster's Dictionary.  Because I love words, I often need a new perspective on what a word actually means.  Thus, today's word:  EUCHARIST.  My App says the following:
from Greek, Eucharist, gratitude, fromeucharistos grateful,

I've been consistently posting on Facebook a picture a day.  It's become my Eucharist.  It's become those things that strike me as meaningful for that particular second on the clock on that particular day.  Because I now have a digital image of that moment, I am ever conscious of what my heart deams as a gratful, eucharistos, moment.

A few years ago, I was introduced to this concept of Eucharist by author Ann Voskamp.  Her book, One Thousand Gifts, came to me in a time in my life where gratitude was an effort.  To find the things that made me truly grateful while I was suffering of heart and soul was an act of sacrifice.  Some days, the only thing that got scribbled in my designated eucharist notebook was "hot water" or "coffee".  Being in a new place, with new perspective gained from heart scares during that difficult season, I can see deeper things.  No matter ... the gratitude has the same weight then as it does now.

And that's the beauty of eucharist ... from hot water to inspirational insight ... the gratitude is the thing the heart is after ... and it's the gratitude ... the eucharistos of the heart that changes us.  It's in the seeing and the reording - be it scribbles in a designated notebook or snaps of a camera - that makes Eucharist so beautiful.

looking for moments in the lens of my camera,
christina

After reading a book by Ann Van Kamp, 1,000 Gifts, I started on a journey toward thankfulness.   My goal was to record with paper and pen 1,000 things that I recognized as coming from the hand of God.  It happened today.  I wrote my 1,000th  gift.  No fanfare.  Just a simple statement to proclaim the 1,000th gift I have received over the last 7 months.

#90.  The ring around the moon.
#235.  Waking up at Shirley's (my mother-in-law).
#302.  Wanting to get up and clean the house.
#406.  Wal-Mart being open late to fix a flat tire.
#524.  Knowing it's ok just to "be".
#679.  A bad dream about one of my children giving me empathy for parents who have suffered.
#788.  Time with a friend.
#830.  Time with Bettina and the boys.
#896.  Being home for Dad's surgery.
#1,000.  Deeper with YOU.

This list emerged out of transition, hardship, laughter, tears, uncertainty, gut-wrenching pain, and easy days of sitting in the sun.  The times I did not want to be thankful, I wrote thanks anyway.  When I was too tired to see any good in my life, I wrote thanks anyway.  When I was too hurt to find any good things, I wrote thanks anyway. 

The "good" things were easy to recognize and write:  laughter from my youngest, a telephone call from my oldest, the reaching for my hand by my middle.  Finding the thanks in the hard was ... hard.  It became a disciple to find those things that God has given me and record them as sacrifices of praise not only in my little notebook ... but in my brain.

The last entry is perhaps the most telling:  deeper.  I went deeper with every numbered Gratitude.  When ugliness crashed into my world, I gave thanks that ugliness contrasts the beauty of God.  When hurtful words settled on my ears, I gave thanks that words have power - and God's words of truth trump lies.  Every opportunity to see the bad was also shadowed by the greater opportunity to see the good.

I've developed a habit of gratitude.  Gratitude in itself is a gift to illuminate our souls.  Gratitude in the face of hardship is a tool to live abundantly above the norm.

Still counting.  I'm discovering this act of purposeful listing of gifts - gifts that I know come from the hand of God - has become more than an activity, a discipline, or a goal.  Now, it's become a filter in which I am seeing my life.

Yesterday.  Tired when I woke up, I knew there were some "things" that I needed to accomplished.  Not stressful things but rather fun things like getting my hair cut.  I knew my parents, D and J, were going out of town.  It was late morning and I had a nagging feeling that I should ring them up to wish them well ... and possibly meet for a coffee they would buy.  I'm selfish and I love coffee.

At 11:00 a.m. I pushed the buttons of the receiver and heard my Mom's voice excited on the other end.  Her news was shocking.  Old friends from my childhood - friends of my parents, D and S, - were in town on a whim.  They had just driven up in their driveway on their way home to the East coast.

After a few minutes over the speaker phone, I had a plan that now trumped my previous to do list.  Wearing no makeup, I spilled the news beans to My Chris and in minutes we were in the van with a destination and a goal:  he drives and I put on makeup!

When I saw their faces, they seemed altered ever so slightly to what I had trapped in my childhood memory place.  Then, the very next emotion that washed over me, seemingly on some sort of "cue" that I've come to recognize, was thankfulness!!

As I sat on Mom's comfy couch, close to Irene, the rhythm of her northern accent and speech pattern took me back to my childhood spent in Montana.  Camping trips.  Mosquito bites.  Mint chocolate chip ice cream.  Homemade wheat bread.  Easter egg hunts.  A swinging bed.  Christian books.  Downstairs basement.  Handle bar mustache.  Fall scene wall mural.  It all washed over me as familiar and cozy as a down comforter being drawn up under my chin on a cold Fall night.  I wanted to nestle myself there for a long time.

Of course reality sucked the life out of the memory time and schedules had to be kept and travels had to be resumed.  However, the hour that I spent near these dear ones - Dean and Irene - made my list.  Their visit is #191.  I could have written at least 50 more entries of thankfulness for what this one, impromptu, surprise visit has meant to me and what it has brought to me.  However, just by writing down:

#191. Dean and Irene

I am filled with such teary-eyed, heart exploding thankfulness that it almost takes my breath away!  Yes, Dean and Irene, they are the gift.  But, now I'm seeing more accurately the GIFT GIVER!  In a normal day, when I was tired, He interrupted the clock and gave me a trip down memory lane.  A trip that explored people and places that are so tender and sweet and so full of child-like giddiness I am undone!  He knew this gift was needed ... would be appreciated.  The magnitude of this simple gift, given by this indescribable Gift Giver, blows me away.

The list is changing me.
The list is changing how I see the world.
The list is changing how I see myself.
The list is changing how I see ... the One doing the giving!

giddy and counting,
christina

I'm still making my list of 1,000 gifts.  Gifts that largely go unnoticed to the outsider but find their way in black and white in my little book.  This book, this act of writing the gifts, has become one of the single most cathartic, emotional, difficult, joy bringing, transforming acts of quietness I have ever done ... in my life ... my whole 45 years of life.  I'm on #190.

One of the entries in my book was a name ... just a name.  This name brought me fresh air and it would have been criminal not to write it as gift #154.  This name is a stranger to me.  He's from Scotland.  I love the accent.

A few words spoken with this antique accent from an honest place made such a simple impact:

Don't look back.  Move forward.

Right now, I don't have a clue what that means.  I think I do a good job of not looking back ... on mistakes, on hurts, on what - ifs, on people.  I would also like to think that moving forward is what I do ... I always stay in a perpetual forwardness.  However, this Scottish stranger's words' are lingering in the air.

Don't look back.  Move forward.

If this works, I hope you can click on the below link.  I love American commercials.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQr8bkuPZDs

I love the background music, I'm Only Human, by the popular 80's band Human League.  Here are some of the phrases in this 30 second spot that speak to me:

"We are imperfect creatures living in a beautifully imperfect world."
"Sometimes the little things get us, other times the not so little."
"When one of us messes up, someone else comes along to help us out."

Isn't that what life looks life for those who follow Jesus, read and want to do what the the Book says out of love and not law, are in the process of becoming more and more like Him?  Let's face it ... we are imperfect!  Sometimes, things - no matter the size - get us.  When one of us messes up ... shouldn't another come along to help?  This should kinda be a commercial for "the church".

I look back.  I want to move forward ... but sometimes the things - no matter the size - get me.  And, when life is messy ... I need someone to help me out.  Go ahead ... call me human!

Being human and still counting,
Christina

I'm tired.  It comes and goes.  Sometimes the tired makes me jog.  Sometimes the tired makes me cry.  Sometimes it makes me just sit outside a really long time.  Sometimes it forces me to sleep late.  Sometimes it makes me want to run away.  Sometimes it makes me want to savor the moment.  Most times, it drives me to my knees.

I'm finding that tiredness forces things to the surface.  These surface things are complicated.  These surface things often take me off guard.  What I'm learning is I need  help to navigate the "tired".



I have felt alone.  However, one shift of thought is all it takes to see those that God has hand-picked to be in my life.  It's like "the three" that were given to David (2 Samuel 23).  I read this in my Book this morning.  It struck me.  David, according to the Hebrew verb, began to have an excessive desire for water.  I'll let you read the context in which he found himself.  His need was for water from a place that was familiar.  He was in hiding.  He was in danger.  These "three" broke through enemy lines ... for water ... for their friend.

Powerful.

I'm visual so I have to think of news footage in Syria ... and imagine me in that setting.  These "three" risked their lives to get something they knew would comfort their friend, David.  Their desire was to bring something of value to their friend in a time of great and lofty need.

Through my tiredness, I've been given the gift of "three" who have done this for me.  It's a powerful thing, to be loved so well.

Here's the kicker.  When the "three" brought this precious commodity back to David ... he could not drink it.  In fact he says, "the Lord forbid that I should drink this!  This water is as precious as the blood of these men who risked their lives to bring it to me."

What my ... our (me and my Chris) ... "three" have given to us in our tiredness is ... as ... precious ... as ... blood.  How do you say thank you for that?

And, just so you'll know ... I'm still counting my gifts ... in my tiredness.

#127.  Watching a movie on a weeknight.


tired but counting,
christina

This comes as no shock to those who know me:  I take a pill for anxiety.  I have for years.  I've come out of the closet long before it was cool ... perhaps it still isn't cool.  Because of the pill, I've been able to sit across women, over cups of coffee and feel the pain as they express their shame, their sense of brokenness, their hurt over the concept of taking a pill and trying to balance their faith in a powerful, healing God.

Still reading the book one thousand gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right where You Are by Ann Voskamp.  I want to write the words of paragraph that I found to be ... nothing short of profound.

True, certainly, there are organic, biological causes to anxiety, and there may certainly be underlying chemical issues that warrant medication.  I have filled prescriptions.  This has been right.  All anxiety is not spiritual.  And yet I know and haltingly confess:  Much of the worry in my own life has been a failure to believe ... a wariness to thank and trust the love hand of God. (p. 148-149)

Go Ann.  Much of the worry in my life has been partly chemical ... but more worry that God is not good and can not be trusted.  If the bottom falls, the foot drops, the last straw laid ... will He be good?  I know with my intellect the answer.  My intellect says: yes.  My inner heart that has more power and is prone to anxiety says:  I don't know.

Knowing He is good ... has been good ... will always be good is a discipline of my heart, will, and the lassoing of anxiety.  "Jesus replied, 'This is the work (service) that God asks of you:  that you believe in the One Whom He has sent [that you cleave to, trust, rely on, and have faith in His Messenger]'" (John 6:29 AMP).

God has given me daily opportunities to make a choice.  Believe Him ... and His goodness ... in the middle of complicated ... OR ... not to.  When I don't ... when I choose the "not to" ... stress raises it's ugly head to the point another pill is popped for all the wrong reasons and my foundation is shaky.

I make my lists of gifts.  I'm on #102.  Being grateful.  That's what keeps this discipline of trust alive in my heart, real for me,  transforming.  I can't be grateful and stressed at the same time.

counting ...
me

My girls are as different from one another as three, distinct, unique snowflakes.  Each a masterpiece.  Each a mix of x and y chromosomes that fashion little women that are ... amazing.  Leader.  Toucher.  Teller.  Put them together and they are a force to be reckoned with ... truly.


This morning I had an encounter with my Toucher.  I know she likes it when I just am ... there.  Usually preferring for me not to talk but just "be" with her.  She was putting the final touches to a flawless face.  Looking eye to eye in the mirror when did this awkward toddler become a ... woman?

I picked at a long, blond hair that was clinging to her t-shirt.  That's what triggered my Toucher to talk.  When this happens ears perk and I listen.

"Do you remember when I was little, I used to take one piece of your hair when you would tuck me in at night?  I took your hair so I could have a piece of you while I slept."

World rocks.

It rocks because of the tenderness.  It also rocks because I don't remember this!  Typical Toucher.  She probably did this without any words and obviously without any recognition on my part of the DNA transaction.

As I am making my list, counting to 1,000 (see Sept. 14th Post) my Toucher reminded me this morning that I am holding onto pieces of hair ... in the form of simple gifts ... as a reminder ... that the One who loves me more than I can wrap a human mind around ... gives of Himself ... everyday ... parts of Himself to me.  One day a warm muffin.  One day a call at just the right moment.  One day a moment of words from my Toucher.  All gifts.  All in the midst of normal life ... be it smooth or rough.

Counting on ...

Small acts.  Random.  Perhaps odd.  Simple.  Yet, without consciously looking for them ... looking for ways to express joy in the midst of real, normal life ... they go unnoticed.  I'm discovering a power in the speaking of normal things as gifts that seem ... holy.

I've become accustomed to sitting outside at an ordinary metal garden table.  It sits stable on a slab of concrete overlooking green yard.  To me, it's become my sanctuary (#12).  While I sit, sip my coffee, and read my Book ... and underline principles ... this One I am pursuing gave me a most precious gift.

It's not the prayers of removing the pain and hurt ... and me doing so ... that are the miracles.  The miracles are me not removing the pain and hurt ... and you being able to see the beauty right smack dab in the middle of it.  That, my sweet girl, is the miracle.

God can.  He can remove, shatter, destroy, raise up, tear down, rearrange, explode, shift, transform.  That is a miracle.  But, because He is wise, and removing, shattering, destroying, raising up, tearing down, rearranging, exploding, shifting, or transforming may not be the answer ... yet ... a bigger miracle takes place when I can utter, with honest lips and breaking heart, thanks ... right smack dab in the middle of it.  That's when God rumbles my heart ... reminding me that He is right there ... right in the middle of the hurt and yuck ... and transforming me to see the beautiful.  Breathtaking.

Still counting,
Christina

This particular Sunday afternoon finds me in a Fraulein Maria sort of frame of mind ... so let me share some of my favorite things in my corner of the world!


This pic of me was taken one day while Chris, Parker and I took a little day date and we stopped into my my new favorite place, Campus Suites Cafe, a quaint cafe near the U.N. that serves very cheap coffee and gives me huge dose of the outdoors during winter. The entire back of the cafe is glass ... makes my heart so happy!


Yep. My Chris. No words needed here. He's just one of my favorite humans on this planet!


This is my favorite nook in my flat. Often I read a new recipe here or find Parker listening to music here or see Libby putting on her shoes to go outside here.


OK ... these are several of my favorite things in one picture. First, my espresso maker. It has become a "need" in my life. One can not make a proper coffee without an espresso maker! Second, pink lady apples ... yummo! Third, nothing says I live in europe like a fresh kornspitz banquette! Finally, my coffee cup that my Chris bought for me as a just because gift!


This little gadget is my milk stirer thingy ... another favorite! I don't know the technical name, but this is what I use to make my milk foamy and yummy and just right to pour into my espresso. It's battery operated and if one drinks coffee with a little milk foam ... one NEEDS this little gadget!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4AX-2dzgTUE



This link is one of my new favorite artists, Audrey Assad. And, this quirky song is just a toe-tapping happy dance kind of song. I like to think of my Chris ... and God ... and it makes me smile.


And ... this is my favorite view that I gaze out while being inspired to write. It is here that I've spent many long hours reading, writing, dreaming, crying ... just veggin' and getting filled up and poured out!

Today was the first “down” day we’ve had in a long time. While the older girls had a full schedule this fair Saturday, Chris and I took Libby (against her will) out for the day. We decided to explore the Kleider Bauer outlet and find a second-hand store I passed the other day in a new part of town that to us was unfamiliar.

The sun was out (Hallelujah) and you could feel spring in the air! I was giddy (it could be the fact that I have a vitamin D deficiency and any amount of sun sets me all a tingle!). Needless to say, we found some great bargains for Chris ( I can’t believe he won’t let me post pictures of him modeling his new 10 euro shirts we found for him!) and then found a quaint café where I got a cheap and fabulous coffee.

As we made our way to sniff out more bargains at my second-hand store, something unexpected happened. Let me chase a rabbit here. Despite living in a beautiful city, where socialism takes care of the unlovely and dejected ... where they are not cast out of mainstream society as in poorer countries, we have our share of heartbreaking casualties of life. And, when you come face to face with one of them, it makes it impact upon the soul. That’s what happened to us today.

As I was thinking about what bargains I might uncover, a young man entered the U-Bahn (subway). He carried himself with no grace and no distinction. His movements were slow and he held his head low. After a difficult entry into the U-Bahn car, he found a seat closest to the exit where he labored to set his frame down. His face was badly scared apparently from burning. One of his eyelids dropped to the point of sagging to expose the bright red underneath side. He bore the signs of a tracheotomy. He had to physically pick up his right leg to move it into place. His right hand was partially paralyzed as well. He strained to see the map, apparently trying to find the U-Bahn stop that would take him to his destination.

I was stopped in my tracks. Today, as I battle with hormones and feeling ugly and fat … the power of this young man’s presence shattered my self-pity. I could do nothing but indiscreetly keep my eyes fixated on every move this young man made. As I did, I saw Chris dancing this same awkward inner dance as I was. And, to my joy ... or horror, saw Libby wrestling with the same emotions.

As I sat, spellbound, I prayed. I prayed that this young man would know the love of Jesus. I prayed that he would have some encounter with the creator of the universe. I prayed that he would have a dream in which God would give him a personal dose of unconditional love and grace. I just prayed.

As we approached our U-Bahn stop and exited, no one in our trio said a word. As we came above ground, my Chris broke the silence with a remark about how thankful we should be for the simple things. I could hold it no longer. I began to cry.

I told Chris that I no longer felt ugly and fat, but thankful … so very thankful. I told him all I could do was sit there and pray for that young man. He said he was doing the same. Then, as he asked sweet Libby if she noticed the man, she shook her head yes. As she looked up at us with her expressive blue eyes, it was apparent she had been touched as well.

Then, perhaps the most profound moment of the day came when my Chris said how apparent it was that God was working in that young man’s life today. I was puzzled. My Chris went on to explain that for whatever reason, God allowed us to cross paths with that young man today … to see his struggle … to see his pain … and stir our hearts toward him. Our prayers meant something. Our experience with this man had meaning.

It was so brief. This young man shared a few stops on the U-Bahn. Yet somehow this was a holy moment.

After processing this with my Chris, I am encouraged ... and somehow enlightened. In my western mentality of Christianity, I think I have to do things, be things, produce things for God to use it. It's my effort, my ability, my strategy, me ... me ... me. Agh!

Why wouldn't God show us the unlovely to move our hearts toward love? Why wouldn't God use our inability to do a thing ... except pray ... to show us the power He alone holds?

The older I get, the weaker I really see what I am capable of. Who's to say that my prayers on the U-Bahn today will not produce greater fruit than a year of "doing" things for God.

Please hear me ... we must do things. God tells us that our works show our faith. However, when we put our confidence in what we do ... feeling somehow the results of our work is what counts ... we are sorely mistaken.

I have a vivid imagination. As a child, I used to pretend there was a video camera in my room ... capturing my moves as I stared in my own sitcom. Of course, I was the star, my teddy bears and dolls the supporting characters. It was all about ... me!

However, today my imagination cast a much better picture. For whatever reason, God chose my Chris, sweet Libby, and me to involve in this young man's life today. What if the next time we meet this young man ... it's in heaven. What if he comes up to us ... and introduces us to himself as the unlovely on the U-Bahn. I can just imagine me looking over to Jesus ... with him giving a quick blink of an eye ... and me feeling that in my heart it was just about me knowing the power of a big and awesome God ... and how He choose to move on behalf of an unlovely young man ... to produce a whole lot of fruit ... and it wasn't about me!