lost my socks

I don't know where they are. I walked into Target with them on ... but when I left ... my socks were nowhere to be seen.

I was walking around getting a few "un"necessities when I sat down to try on a pair of shoes that I knew would probably be too small for me. Then ... out of nowhere he appeared ... the Sprite of Awkward Handwringing.

"Excuse me, miss. My buddies and I are on a scavenger hunt ... would you mind if I took your socks?"

"You want my socks?"

"Yes."

"For good?"

"um, Yes."

"I'm warning you ... they don't smell sweet and fresh anymore."

"That's alright."

I handed them over and *poof* he disappeared as quickly as he came.

So, there I sat ... sockless. "Well, I guess I'll go see what sort of cool, fun socks Target has to offer today."

And wouldn't you know it ... they had green/blue striped knee-high socks!

"Spiritual" Pickup Lines

I haven't been here long. But I've been here long enough to know that guys at Seminary have found a way to even make pickup lines sound spiritual. I haven't been subjected to any of them (but one); however, I've certainly witnessed a few. The easiest one is to lean over and ask the girl, "Hmm, what version are you using?" Or ... this one comes from a friend of mine: "So ... what church do you go to? Yeah, I'm still looking. Mind if I go with you sometime?" Thankfully, none but the first have been directed towards me ... but I have an idea that there are more out there.

The other nuns thought that I should take a blog survey on this. What are some of the cheesiest "spiritual" pickup lines that you've heard?

Here's a few to get you started.

"I just don't feel called to celibacy."

"Did I tell you that my great-uncle was a personal friend of Billy Graham?"

"What do you think Paul meant when he said, 'Greet everyone with a holy kiss'?"

"I'm pretty flexible--I don't think a woman should be submissive on the first date."

"Before tonight, I never believed in predestination..." (this guy probably wasn't a H.C.G.)

"I hear there's going to be a love offering tonight."

Just for the record, I'm only doing this because it brings a laugh. It's not intended make fun of anybody. I think they're funny ... so just be aware that if you use one on one of us ... I hope your purpose is to make us laugh.

festival of mullets, exploding frogs, and ugly dogs (horses?)

(Strictly Bluegrass Festival)

If your life had a theme song, what would it be? "Man of Constant Sorrows"? or "Oops, I Did It Again!" ha ha ... I'm sure at some point in your life you've heard a song and you realized that they were singing about you. The opening song to the movie of my life would be "You Alone" by Late Tuesday. The song begins like this:

"Well, I've been so independent
I've roamed the streets of Europe
And I have crossed the oceans on my own
And I've never felt the burning need
To chat with people endlessly
In fact, my favorite company was me."

--"You Alone" by Late Tuesday

I can only pray that one day the rest of my life will play out like the rest of the song, but up until now the first stanza has been very accurate. However, I have found much pleasure recently in the enjoyment of good company. Enjoy the pictures from this weekend's festivities.



Strictly
Bluegrass
Festival










Water on the Waterfront


All you L'villan couples, take note of the romantic possibilities of this place: sunset, bench swing, watching the boats pass under the bridges. You take out your Altoid box and pass it to your girlfriend. Gasp! What is that?! It's not an Altoid ... It's a diamond ring! .... ha ha ... no PLEASE, I was just joking! ... please don't get any ideas about using an Altoid box ... unless you're determined to harassed about it for the rest of your life.




Corn Island Storytelling Festival.
Braer Possom and
The Exploding Frog












Original Highlands Festival

Ha Ha ... "Keep Your Distance" is the name of a new movie that was filmed here in Louisville. It seems a bit ironic however ...


Makeup Doesn't Cure Ugly Dogs Either!


Derek Webb Concert

nuns can have fun, too

A recent visitor of my blog posted this comment: “your blog is funny. and you're cute. too bad you're a nun, or something.”

How charming ...

So, I’m a nun, huh? I thought I had a good three more years to go before I officially entered the yet-to-be-founded order of Baptist Artist Nuns (BAN, for short). My girlfriends and I in college formulated this idea in the midst of seemingly hopeless lack of marital prospects. Some were willing to begin it right away, while others, like myself, had set a condition. For instance, I would enter the order upon the condition that when I turn twenty-seven and find myself to still be single, then I would willingly commit myself to the Lord through my art and service by entering the order of BAN.

We would design our own habits and encourage the wearing of hats rather than those wretched wimples. We would spend our days studying the Word, sitting in our studio painting and designing whatever the Spirit inspired us to create, and bringing cheer to those in distress with our helpful spirits and our ridiculous antics. You could be assured that much giggling and foolishness would season our days of mercy and service.

All of us are still single (does one having a boyfriend count?) ... but very few of us still give any thought to the possibility of establishing our order. I still have three years; and I intend to enjoy them to the fullest. And who knows, but God, that my condition may not be met and that I may find myself blissfully wedded within the set time.

However, if attending seminary makes me a nun ... let it be known that nuns can still have fun. Like having Biblical Hermeneutics outside while enjoying a picnic with new friends.

(Dr. Plummer being fooled into thinking that we have been very diligent about our work.)

Waffles and Spaghetti

What do you think about these lists? Do you think they're fair? Would you add to them?

"The Things Women Want"

by Cheryl Lavin

printed in The Chicago Tribune, May 7, 2000

1. Don't ever lie to us; we always find out.

2. If you're in a bad mood, we're going to assume it's our fault. So, tell us what's bothering you.

3. Quit complaining about your boss. Find another job.

4. Sunday is usually the only day we can relax. Be flexible about the all-day sports rule.

5. Buy yourself some decent clothes.

6. Pay attention. We like to give clues. "Susie and Bob tried a great new resteraunt" means "Why don't you ever take us anywhere nice?"

7. Yes, it's true. Sometimes we like to call up and talk about nothing. Get used to it.

8. We are self-conscious by nature; we can't help it.

9. The kissing must never stop.

10. If you ask us what's wrong and we say nothing, as us again. And this time, look sincere.

11. When we say something, it's necessary for you to respond. At the very minimum, nod your head.

12. Real men run dishwashers and dust funiture.

13. If you only knew how much a tender word, a thoughtful act, or an unexpected gift means to us, you would do it, and your life would improve expotentially.

14. When no one's home, stand in front of the mirror and practice this until you can say it in public: "I was wrong."

15. After you've mastered that, work on "I'm sorry."

"Rules Guys Wish Girls Played By"

by Cheryl Lavin

printed in the Chicago Tribune, April 23, 200

1. If you ask a question you don't really want an answer to, expect an answer you didn't want to hear.

2. Sometimes, we're not thinking about you. Live with it.

3. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss topics such as navel lint, the shotgun formation, and monster trucks.

4. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine. Really.

5. Crying is blackmail.

6. Ask for what you want. Let's be clear on this one: Subtle hints don't work. Strong hints don't work. Really obvious hints don't work. Just say it!

7. No, we don't know what day it is. We never will. Mark anniversaries on a calendar you know we check.

8. We're not mind readers and we never will be. Our lack of mind-reading ability is not proof of how little we care about you.

9. Yes and no are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

10. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

11. It's neither in your best interest nor ours to take any quiz together.

12. Anything we said six months ago is inadmissible in an argument. All comments become null and void after seven days.

13. If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

14. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done, not both.

15. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

16. Our relationship is never going to be like it was the first two months we were going out.

17. If we ask what's wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you're lying, but it's just not worth the hassle.

i don't want to be a princess anymore ... sniff sniff

I admit it. I'm a closet romantic cracking the door open to see if it's safe to come out. I'm not convinced yet. But movies like Roman Holiday don't help much.

I remember it was about three years ago that I saw Roman Holiday for the first time. It was just before Dolly and I would take our own "Roman Holiday."

There we sat ... two young woman with the worst reputations of extreme independence ever known to Pensacola Christian College. Guys knew that the only chance of making our acquaintance was if they had very good credentials and references. And only then were they allowed to be friends ... never more. We had a certain distrust for their gender, having been witnesses of too many examples of stupidity and blatant disregard for decency. She and I were self-sufficient, content in our little worlds in which there was no room for men (except, of course, our jolly art comrads).

Rarely would you see us stand by and wait for a guy to open a door for us ... as if we had the time! No date for the next cultural event ? ... who cared! Our girlfriends were good enough for us.

"No, that's okay. I don't need help carrying my bookbag, canvas, art box, and portfolio. I'm certainly capable of managing on my own."

We didn't hate men ... we just had very little patience for them.

So, there we sat, she and I, the spokeswomen for "anything he can do, I can do better," ... wide-eyed ... leaning forward ... lips quivering ... then *gasp*

"She didn't come back!" we sobbed.

Here, both of us had fallen in love with Gregory Peck and with the story of a princess who would leave it all behind for a man she'd only known for twenty-four hours. But when the press conference ended, and the princess, Audrey Hepburn, left the room ... there he stood ... waiting ... knowing that she would come back out just to see him. He waited ... then he turned and walked slowly away, but still with a slight smile, as if knowing ... she'll be out soon. But she didn't ... she didn't come ...

"I don't want to be a princess anymore ... whaaaa!" we wailed.

That's not the way it was supposed to end. Wasn't she supposed to forsake her duties to her country, leaving behind her parents, the king and queen, disregarding the good faith of her people, and run into the arms of this rugged, poor newspaper reporter ... all for the sake of LOVE?!! Well, of course she made the right decision. But Dolly and I realized that we never want to be in the place where we would have make such a choice ... which meant giving up our hopes of one day being restored to our true positions as royal highnesses in some obscure European nation.

ha ha. Now there's a glimpse of us that VERY FEW ever got to see. Christine Hnat ... a romantic? Please. You're joking, right?

I wonder how it all happened that I decided to let people think that I was beyond the need for love. When did I begin convincing others that i believed that logic was enough to sustain a healthy lifestyle, ignoring the need for vulnerability? But a life of logic is a very lonely one, indeed.

My attitude towards men still needs adjustment. I struggle with allowing men to open doors for me. A part of me still thinks that it's silly ... I can open it myself ... it would be just as easy for me to open it. But my inner romanitc screams for me to step aside, enjoy this expression of chivalry, let men be MEN.

This concepts shakes me to the core.

Let men be men. It's an interesting idea for an experiment. Oh, not on the men ... but for myself. Can I do it? And can I allow myself to be a woman who embraces her romantic, vulnerable side? Why do I fear this? Why does it shake me so?

the courtship of logic and vulnerability

I'm SUCH an idiot! Why do I let myself do this? Why do I persist in maintaining this facade?! Ugh! I'm such a freak! What will it take?!

You know what friends are for? ... pointing out that you're a MORON! (in the kindest way possible ... "um, by the way, did you know that you ...") oh, it's nothing that you don't already know yourself. It's just comforting that someone else knows. You know it sort of solidifies the fact ... just in case you were wondering!

It's going to take an entire revamping of my logic and an embracing of my vulnerability.

Oh God! Help Me! I am undone. Here I stand shaking before you, finally able to admit ... I cannot do it.

the bursting of my bubble

It's a habit I've had since college. I would wander around campus gazing intently at the pages of my book depending on my peripheral vision to not walk into a palm tree. You can blame my love of books on my father who once told me, "If you'll read, I'll buy the books." You can believe that I took advantage of such a promise.

"But isn't that rather unsociable to walk around with your nose in a book?" you ask.

Absolutely. But here's why I started doing it ...

1. It appeared a waste of time to just walk when I could both read AND walk at the same time.

and

2. I was shy about looking people in the eye.

You can blame that one on northern Germany. When walking down the street, it's just not done to look someone in the eye. It makes people wonder why your looking at them. And heaven forbid you should smile! Why, the other person might think that you were laughing at them. This is the culture I was coming from ... which fit nicely with my already shy demeanor.

But I fear I've nurtured this habit for too long.

Today I was walking from the cafeteria to the Founders Cafe with my nose in an exciting new book (The Oxford Book of Story Poems)! Class must have just gotten out because there were a lot of people on their way to lunch. Then all of a sudden, someone touched me.

Remember the woman in the crowd that touched the hem of Jesus' garment? Remember how Jesus reacted? I whipped around to see who had touched me.

What's the big deal?! Ha! This reflex also hails from my college days. Remember that certain Christian college in Pensacola, Florida, that I mentioned earlier? Well, all the stories you've heard are true ... and worse. One of the rules I discovered by breaking was that it is not permitted for male and female students to touch each other ... even indirect contact is punishable by demerits. Four years of this rigid lifestyle takes it's toll on an individual, and it has left me paranoid when I am touched, especially in a crowd.

Anyway ... I was whipping around, wasn't I ...

"Hey, Chrisssstiiiiiiinnnnnnnnne ...."

Everything had gone into slow motion. Bruce's voice became deep and slow as I first felt something behind my legs. The world around me began to rotate till I could only see the ceiling in front of me as my body became lodged in the janitor's trash can that had just been rolled out of the bathroom behind me when I turned to see Bruce. So there I was ... lunchtime rush-hour in the hallway with my legs sticking up out of the garbage.

Well, not really. But it could have happened! It almost did. Just ask Bruce and J. Ro. How cool would it have been if it actually had! Oh man! What a good laugh that would have been! Ha ha! But that's me ... I'm always on the look for a good laugh ... especially if it makes a good story.

sensory override that makes you go limp

I remember when I first experienced it. It was at the World's Fair in 2000 in Hannover, Germany (my home). Whoa! The memory just sends shivers down my spine ...

It had been a long day for Jeanna (the youth intern at Faith Baptist in Kaiserslautern) and I supervising a handful of the American teenagers who had come up from southern Germany to our fair town of nearby Celle. They were there to help us conduct a week long Bible Club for the British military children. I had heard stories of the wonders to be experienced at World Fairs of years gone by. But so far I had been thoroughly unimpressed and disappointed. That's Hungary's pavilion?! It looks like a giant wooden bowl! Why is there nothing but rocks in Ireland's pavilion? What is this line for again?

Finally when we had seen all that a human individual could possibly stand in one day, we made the mistake of sitting down. Exhaustion that I had suppressed for hours overtook my being. Meeting up with the rest of our group in fifteen minutes to leave the park was very low on my priority list ... I was preparing myself to inform them that I know the way home. I'll just take a train. I need to just lay here for an hour or two.

"Turn around," said Jeanna.

"Huh? Why?"

"Just do it!"

Doubtful, I turned my back to her.

Then the sensations began. After it was all over, I felt like I had no skeletal system anymore, nor did I care. The world was at peace and all was good. I was a new person.

Her secret remains with me, but occasionally I'll share the skill passed onto me to some weary, worn, frustrated soul. There's very little that a session of digging my "spiderfingers" into one's back can't heal. Okay, maybe not heal. But you'll definitely forget about everything else in the world. Who cares about the rising price of gas?!

The Worshipping Church

Imagine sitting in a filled auditorium with a six thousand person capacity. Now imagine the sound of the flipping pages of hymnals mingled with groans as thousands of college students and faculty prepare to sing “There’s Honey in the Rock My Brother;” or the snickers that flicker here and there as you recognize the prelude to the ensemble’s special music number, “One More Night With the Stinkin’ Frogs.” And then there was the unforgettable three page hymn with notes ranging from the highest to the lowest that you were sure to sing at least two times a semester. I actually had it down to a science and could predict which Sunday we would sing it. Is it possible for a church to hold such high standards of musical talent that they much prefer hearing themselves sing than worship? That is what I wondered as I neared the end of my time at a certain Christian college in Pensacola, Florida.

In contrast, imagine how refreshed I felt returning to my home in Germany as I worshipped with my international brothers and sisters in Christ during Winter and Summer breaks. What a joy it is standing in the midst of representatives of all corners of the earth together worshipping our Holy Father. Were they examples of musical excellence like the Campus Church required? No. But as Buyong from Indonesia pounded on his drum, as Sarah from Kenya plucked away at the bass, as Sholah from Ethiopia sang praise to God, as Phillip and Sarah, both from Germany, worshipped on the guitar and piano, and as Mag from Malaysia raised her sweet voice leading the congregation in glorifying God, one had a true sense of being in the midst of the throne room of the Holy One. As one, the body of Christ would kneel, presenting themselves before the King of kings; their hearts eager to embrace the message God had for them that day. As Scripture was read, the reader would begin by proclaiming, “Hear the Word of the King!” and the congregation would respond to the Word by saying, “Thanks be to the King!” The fellowship among these brothers and sisters is like none other. While so many of their family members are oceans away, this small church understood what it meant to be a member of the family of God. The study of the Scriptures was a vital aspect of church life. It was there that my father expounded on the meat of God’s Word to these believers, revealing truths that they had never been taught before. Many have come to Hannover International Bible Church as mere babes in Christ, but they return to their home countries as leaders of the faith.

free green tea frap and no "hairy eyeball"

Even though I had three quarters of my tank filled with gas, I rushed over to the Circle K and filled up. Supposedly the latest hurricane in the Gulf is going to shoot the price of gas to a whopping $5 a gallon. Can America possibly handle a reality that Germany has lived with for years?! But anyway, I thought it would be wise to save a few bucks.

On my way back to the seminary I stopped by Starbucks to visit a friend who works there. It wasn't exceptionally busy so I talked to her and some of the other employees there about the "gas scare." But as business picked up I stood to the side. Hmm, while I was there how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to get my new favorite green treat? So I waited ... and waited as everyone went about making drinks for the on-the-way-home-from-work-crowd.

"Oh, Did you want something?"

"Actually, yeah, I'll take a Tall Green Tea Frapaccino." I held my card out but the cashier waved it away. He wouldn't take it!

"Nah, don't worry about it. Sorry you had to wait. It's on the house."

Wow, and I didn't even have to throw the "hairy eyeball" around. (Not that I ever would!)

"What's the 'hairy eyeball'?" you ask.

Well, this has become part of my vocabulary since my dear friend Ginger used it to describe how her friend Susan used it to get her current boyfriend.

What?!

You know ... when you flutter your eyelashes!

Ha Ha! I love it!

So Chris and I have been using it to describe flirtatious girls. Once we used the phrase in front of a couple of friends at lunch.

"What's a hairy eyeball?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain ..." Somehow it seemed that it needed to be demonstrated. Ha! I knew Chris wouldn't demonstrate it. So I let my eyelashes fly.

Ugh! I felt so dirty afterwards. Bleh! Next time I'll let him demonstrate.

I used to think that I didn't have the ability to flirt. But once I was dared to by a friend who had never seen me dabble in the subtle art of womanly manipulation. I thought back to all the girls I had seen partake in the ritual. I raised one eyebrow, tilted my head, lowered my voice and asked, "How's this?"

By his reaction, I believe I passed the test. But I determined that I would never behave in that way again ... unless it was in EXTREME jest! Which I have been known to do.

"After Ever Happily"

Like the title suggests this isn't your ordinary Fairy Tale. See if you can figure out the story correctly. Were they laughing at the squashed chamberlain or the woodcutters 'ands? Who splashed in the puddles? The King, Queen, and Chamberlain?


"After Ever Happily"
or The Princess and the Woodcutter


And they both lived happily ever after...
The wedding was held in the palace. Laughter
rang to the roof as a loosened rafter
Crashed down and squashed the chamberlain flat--
And how the wedding guests laughed at that!
"You with your horny indelicate hands,
Who drop your haitches and call them 'ands,
Who cannot afford to buy her a dress,
How dare you presume to pinch our princess--
Miserable woodcutter, uncombed, unwashed!"
Were the chamberlains last words (before he was squashed).
"Take her", said the Queen, who had a soft spot
For wood cutters. "He's strong and he's handsome. Why not?"
"What rot", said the King, but he dare not object;
The Queen wore the trousers -- that's as you'd expect.
Said the chamberlain, usually meek and inscrutable,
"A princess and a woodcutter? The match is unsuitable."
Her dog barked its welcome again and again,
As they splashed to the palace through puddles of rain.
And the princess sighed, "Till the end of my life!"
"Darling", said the woodcutter, "Will you be my wife?"
He knew all his days he could love no other
So he nursed her to health with some help from his mother,
And lifted her horribly hurt, from her tumble.
A woodcutter, watching saw the horse stumble.
As she rode through the woods, a princess in her prime
On a dapple-grey horse...Now, to finish my rhyme,
I'll start it properly: Once upon a time--

by Ian Serraillier
From the Oxford Book Of Story Poems

a feeble attempt

Annie

Bruce and I hung back watching as Chris approached the merchandise table. Bruce had jokingly dared Chris to go up and tell Annie, "If I buy one of these CDs, will you go on a date with me?"

Neither Bruce or Chris had been to an Annie Moses Band concert before. They soon found out that I wasn't lying ... about the good music or about the beautiful Annie.

I never believed he would actually do it. He really did just want one of the CDs.

But Bruce and I had nothing better to do, so we couldn't help making commentary on Chris' "attempt" to woo this lovely, accomplished musician. We watched as he started to talk to the father.

"Good technique. Get in good with Dad before going for his daughter," I whispered to Bruce.

"Oh look, now he's joking with the brother who played the cello. Nice," commented Bruce.

The crowd had died down, and I noticed Annie was keeping one ear on their conversation. Then he said the magic word, "Bosson."

"Did you say your last name was 'Bosson'? Are you from Savannah?!" She seemed so excited to meet the son of the Pastor from New Zealand. She and her family had performed at Southside Baptist Church in Savannah last year.

"Bruce, look! She's talking to him but she's NOT looking him in the eye. She likes him. She's trying to pull herself together till she can get up the courage to talk to him AND look at him at the same time."

Finally, she lifted up her head and was ready to meet his eyes. She had herself under control now. But he wasn't looking at her anymore or even really listening to what she was saying. He was filling out a form to get their Christmas CD later this year. He finished filling it out, handed it to the brother, and waved goodbye.

Bruce and I had our jaws dropped open.

When Chris reached us, we gave him an earfull! "What were you thinking?! You had her. You were in. You were part of the family. You even used the magic word 'Bosson'! Why did you do it?! Was that form really so important?!"

Poor Chris was so confused. While Chris was merely purchasing a new CD, Bruce and I were practically marrying him off.

disclaimer: Before publishing the above post I sought Chris' permission. C.B. says "Ok, just for the record, I did acknowledge her (albeit through the corner of my eye) and yes, I believe words actually came out of my mouth that were directed in her direction. Anyway, I suppose I have nothing to lose. Go ahead. Send it. Maybe some lonesome seminary scavenger can use it as a manual on how NOT to impress a girl. In all seriousness, I got a laugh out of it. As long as this isn't the beginning of an endless line of people querying whether or not i'm the clueless idiot who 'blew his chance.' I mean, come on, if it had been ... "the hottest guy at Seminary" ..., he would have known what to do. But then again, his last name isn't 'Bosson.'"

I don't know. Maybe that's up for debate.

christine with a "ch" like Phantom of the Opera?

About an hour ago I walked into my "The Worshipping Church" class and someone whispered, "That's her" as I walked by to my seat. A fellow from my class was pointing out the only female in his class to a student from the previous class. Such is to be expected though, I suppose, when one decides to go to seminary. There's not going to be an overabundance of women in most of the classes. Although I hear if a guy really wants to meet girls here, he takes a counselling course. Lots of girls to be found there!

The first thing Bruce said when he heard that I was in a class with all guys was, "Christine, you're going to get married!"

Please ... a man falls in love with a girl a few states over and he thinks everyone else should be in love. Isn't that right, Bruce?

As I was leaving the building, John David, the accomplished pianist in the class, walked beside me.

"Is this your first year?"

"mhmm. First semester."

"What's your name again?"

"Christine."

"Is that with a "ch" like Christine in Phantom of the Opera?"

leave it to a church musician to associate my name with a musical ...

Then on the way to my dorm I saw Jennifer from Accounting.

"Christine, Hi! You know every time I see you I want to call you Michelle. I don't know why?"

I don't either. Maybe it's the same reason my softball coach in college called me "Michelle" all season. "Okay, and Michelle, go out to left field!"

I never corrected him. It didn't seem important at the time.

to market, to market, to see a fat pig

I first saw the father. He turned around and scolded his daughter for not keeping up. I followed his disapproving glare down to the blond little munchkin carrying a plastic bag heavy with produce, struggling to keep it from dragging on the cobblestone street, as well as two other large brown paper wrapped packages. I looked back up at the father. I was incensed. How could a father expect his little girl to carry so much when he wasn’t carrying a single thing?!

As I moved through the crowd I got closer to the wee little thing. She was as blond as blond could be. Behind her little spectacles were eyelashes as light as her hair. Poor sweet darling.

And then I heard something. She was singing. As her father trudged ahead of her, leaving her to carry all the market produce, she was singing.

la, la, I’m shopping, la, la, I’m at the market, la, la, la, I’m shopping with Daddy.

vietnamese spring rolls

There we all sat together with a feast of condiments waiting to be made into Vietnamese spring rolls before us. While little 5 year old Esther sat beside me instructing me in the fine art of Vietnamese spring roll preparation, I took the opportunity to capture on film these ladies I enjoy so thoroughly from my mother’s Bible study here in Hannover.

To my left were Winnie and Catherine, both lovely African ladies who had followed their African husbands to Germany for business or study. They were commenting on their disappointment in German sweet potatoes. They are entirely too watery. When you cut a good sweet potato, you should be able to tell that it has a rich, thick sap.

On my mother’s right were Mag and Nora. Our instructors in authentic Oriental cuisine. Both Mag and Nora are of Chinese origin having been raised in Malaysia. I actually met Mag before everyone else. I was coming home for my Christmas break during my freshman year in college. As I boarded the plane from Paris to Hannover I noticed a little Asian woman as pregnant as could be with a little boy and tons of bags and a stroller to worry about. When we landed I helped her carry her stroller down the plane’s steps and helped her set it up. I had no idea that the next morning I would see this same woman at church. A month or two later my special little friend, Esther, was born.

And then there’s wee little Sarah. When I arrived back in Hannover last Sunday I sought her out. “Sarah, I saw your twin when I went to Prague International Baptist Church. She was sitting directly in front of me. I would have said hello for you but she left before I could talk to her after the service.”

“It couldn’t have been my twin.”

“No, no, I’m certain that it was. She looked just like you, well, from behind anyway. Tiny, African, as cute as anything.”

“I’m certain that it wasn’t. I don’t have a twin ... But she could have been my triplet.”

I love her sharp wit. She proceeded to tell me that she recently met a man, who when they were shaking hands he said that he thought that he had met her before. “Really? Where?” she asked. “In Egypt,” he responded. It seems that the world is blessed with three Sarahs.


And then there were the newcomers, Kate and her 12 year-old daughter Sarah. Kate’s family has recently been assigned here in Germany with the British military. I think they have 7, 10, or was it 19 children?

Over the years women have come and gone. International ministry is known for people coming and going. I thank God for each family God has brought our way. And I pray that when they go back to their homelands they carry the light they have received here back home with them.

cover letter and resume

After a breakfast of horse-food, plain yoghurt, and tea in a quaint, antique-filled cafe downtown, it was off to work. I had much research to do on the internet, a cover letter and resume to write, and a future to plan. After I graduated from the course in Prague, I felt God calling me to prepare myself for His long-term plan for my life.

This past year I have devoted myself to preparing for the Foreign Service Officer Exam by picking up the occasional Economist or U.S. News and World Report magazines at Barnes and Noble, writing graduate papers based on U.S. foreign relations, reviewing my old history books, and studying up on the unknown world of management. All this climaxed in April when I finally took the exam I had heard so many had failed. I left the testing facilities incredibly confident.


“When will you know the results?”

“Late July.”

Instead of waiting, twiddling my thumbs in Savannah, for the results, I hopped aboard a plane to Europe to study in Prague and visit my parents in Germany. As I neared the completion date of the Teaching English as a Foreign Language course, a question began to surface in my mind.

Where did my deepest desire lay? ... in serving my country ... or serving my God? Representing the United States ... or representing Christ? I knew the answer immediately.

Serve God ... that was the ultimate desire of my heart.

Why such emphasis on the Foreign Service then? Was God testing me ... even before I knew whether or not I had passed? Was the Foreign Service to be my Isaac? Isn’t it possible to do both ... serve God and country? Oh, absolutely, dear Reader. But I began to reevaluate my motives for entering the Foreign Service. I realized that this was not the career I desired. It was not what I wanted to do the rest of my life. I discovered that all along I was only thinking of the Foreign Service as something to do before the ultimate plan.

The desire God has placed on my heart is different. I LONG for women all over the world to know and love God with all their souls, hearts, minds, and strength. I desire to enable them to lead their children in the ways of Christ. I want to teach them to love and respect their husbands, to become his helpmeet, enabling him to be all he can be for the Lord.


So, what was I doing sitting around working towards something so temporary when I have the ability to prepare myself now for God’s purpose for my life? So I have committed myself to partner with my parents in prayer and action to see this come to pass. Every night we meet together and I share with them what the Lord is teaching me and what has been accomplished during that day towards that end. Before we retire for the night, I lay any documents or notes I have made throughout the day on the table and we kneel and pray over them. I am confident that when I return to the United States I will have a clear path laid out before me.

i need a holiday

“I need a holiday,” I said under my breath.

“What?!! You need a holiday?!!”

My father and I stared at each other, eyes wide in shock. We hung our heads, slumped our shoulders and kept walking.

My mother still stood, incredulous, in the middle of the pedestrian path where she had made this interjection.

“What do you mean you need a holiday?!”

Almost to the corner now, my father and I could barely hold it in much longer. We motioned for my mother to come to us and get away from the bike path. Laughter started to spill from the corner of our mouths. Tears welled up in our eyes. Soon the guffaws burst out.

Realizing by our reaction that a joke had just occurred, she began to laugh too. “What is it? What just happened? Why are we laughing? I want to know!”

It was difficult to laugh and talk at the same time. “Did you see the woman with the stroller that we passed a few minutes ago?”

“No.”

“So you didn’t see the shirt she was wearing?”

“No.”

“It said, ‘I need a holiday.’”

My mother’s eyes widened as she realized what had happened. “Where was this woman when I said ... what I said?”

“She was walking right by us at that very moment.”

Her fears began to crystalize in her mind as she pieced together what had happened. She ran behind a bush and collapsed into one of the benches in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Through our own tears, we tried to console her. “Maybe she was German and didn’t even understand what her own shirt said.”

“But what if she was one of the British mothers?!”

“No way she’s British! Did you see her? She actually looked in the mirror this morning!”

In the end we felt a little sorry for this young mother taking her baby out for a walk. Raising a baby is hard work. Why shouldn’t she have a holiday?!