Preparation

Steve and I finally got our Christmas tree up.  Christmas trees and I have a history that causes me to cringe every year as I approach the stand.  But the tree is part of the decorating that I would not give up.  I see it as “preparing” for the season.  However, the true preparation has to come from elsewhere.  

There is a wonderful book by Douglas Wilson called “God Rest Ye Merry:  Why Christmas Is the Foundation for Everything.”  I read it last year and, when I got to the last quarter of the book, it contained Advent thoughts and devotionals.  So I left it as a treat for myself for this year.  I’d like to share a part of one of those thoughts with you:

“The first man and woman were placed by God in a glorious garden, and given the earth as their inheritance. They were told to stay away from one tree— for the time being— and when the serpent worm entered the garden and lied to them, they gave way to the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life. They, and all of us with them, fell into darkness and confusion apart from the life of God, and were expelled from the garden. Since that time, in the darkness outside that garden, as we have told one another stories, they have all centered on some way or other of getting back into the garden— but it never seems to work. 

But the Lord Himself promised a way for us back into the garden. Since the serpent had deceived the woman, and brought condemnation into the world by means of that woman, God in His mercy determined that salvation would come through the woman. The seed of the woman would come to crush the serpent’s head, and deliver us all from our self-deceptions. Throughout all the Scriptures, God gave us various indications of what He was going to do— by raising up women to crush the heads of the foe and the avenger. 

And when the time was full, when the time was right, the Holy Spirit came to a young Jewish woman who was steeped in the sacred stories, and He told her that she was to be the one. And the Holy Spirit caused her to conceive, such that her son would be truly and completely human, born of a woman, and at the same time He would be the divine Son of God. She received the news of the enormous honor that had been bestowed on her in all humility, and she received the news as the handmaiden of the Lord. She bowed before Him, as we do now.”

Luke 1:46-55
And Mary said: "My soul magnifies the Lord,  And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior.  For He has regarded the lowly state of His maidservant; For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed.   For He who is mighty has done great things for me, And holy is His name. And His mercy is on those who fear Him From generation to generation.  He has shown strength with His arm; He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.  He has put down the mighty from their thrones, And exalted the lowly.  He has filled the hungry with good things, And the rich He has sent away empty.  He has helped His servant Israel, In remembrance of His mercy,  As He spoke to our fathers, To Abraham and to his seed forever." 

Wilson, Douglas (2012-11-16). God Rest Ye Merry: Why Christmas is the Foundation for Everything

General Observations

• Strap on enough gear – cameras, phones, belts, bags – and you begin to look less like a tourist and more like a professional (what I don’t know).  This may be a new look for me.

• Some places leave you as a particular sensory memory – a smell, a kind of music.  But I am becoming so much more aware of color on this trip.  Mykonos will always be white and primary colors; Santorini, white and blue; Malta, sand-colored; and Venice, (my favorite colors) turquoise, ochre, and ancient dark red brick.

• People are people no matter where you go.  Some will be grouchy no matter the circumstances.  And some will be joyful.  (And I think I know why!)

• European plumbing challenges the bravest heart.  In Greece, just because a bathroom says WC (water closet) and has a picture of a lady, does not mean a thing.  One lady went into one with two other friends.  There were three stalls.  They all opened the doors to a hole in the ground.  On the flip side, I went into one last trip in the Vatican and it was huge and modern.  Problem was, there were so many knobs, pullies and cranks, I couldn’t figure out how to flush!  I tried a few and nothing happened.  I finally just slunk (is that a word?) away.  I was afraid if I continued I would shut off the water to Vatican City.  Now I’m in Prague with a beautiful modern shower and a completely wet floor, wall, and door.  And a slightly panicked me.  Yesterday in Italy I got a face full of cold water.  Today I remembered to push the shower wand away from me.  But there were six additional shower heads, three to my left and three facing me.  Yes.  It happened.  I turned on the water; three shower heads greeted me up and down with cold water.  I fumbled the door closed (with the water running) and began to mop up water.  Then I jumped in the shower and started turning knobs.  I’m very clean.

• Steve does love to have change jingling in his pockets (not really; but it improves the story).  However, now if I ask him to buy me a coke, there’s a good chance he’ll pile out pennies, quarters, half euros, tenth euros and Czech koruna coins.  Actually what he does is hold out a handful of coins and let the shop owner just have a ball.  I’d rather be thirsty.

Close Your Eyes and Picture This…

We sat at our table on the eve of arrival into Naples without a plan.  Well, we had a fuzzy one.  We were going to catch the hydrofoil over to Sorrento.  Sorrento is a beautiful cliffside city that looks down on a tiny harbor.  You catch the ferry over and then a local bus up to the top.  The problem is that the ferry “breaks” if there is not enough interest in taking it back to Naples 

Our dining partners from Dallas had organized a tour with a local company, CMT (Can’t Miss Tours), and they were going to see the Amalfi coast, visit Sorrento and then come back to tour Pompeii.  Steve and I had not been particularly keen to see the ruins at Pompeii but had always wanted to see the Amalfi coast.  There are two ways to see it: by the ferry which is really too far away and sometimes the sea is foggy or by driving.  

Driving sounds like such a simple solution doesn’t it?  But as you look at the options, they begin to disappear.  Renting a car and driving it ourselves was a definite no – cars are tiny, curves are hairpin, traffic is crazy, parking is nonexistent.  Taking a cab and riding it was not an option for the above reasons in addition to a high price.  A local bus was, well, local and would take forever.

So as we listened to our new friends talk about their planned adventure the next day, I got enough courage to ask if there was room on their tour.  She said to meet them at the port entrance at 8:00 and we would just see.  If not, Steve and I could still take the ferry.

Bright and early the next morning Steve and I walked through the entrance and waded through many tour operators and taxi drivers offering us the greatest deal we could hope to find.  We listened as we walked and found a group of four people who were taking the same tour we were hoping to join.  The meeting time was 8:00-8:30; so we all got acquainted and looked forward to the day.  Our table friends still had not joined us by 8:30.  This was a little disconcerting.  More so was the absence of the tour driver.  Steve and I were just enjoying the scenery and watching the people; the others were gathering a bit of steam because they had prepaid for the tour.

Another tour operator who was hoping to abscond with our group kept coming over and saying, “He hasn’t shown up yet?  He’s not coming.”  This would set off one of the husbands who would steam off muttering.  It was highly entertaining.  Steve and I weren’t worried.  It was Italy and they have their own timeline.  Finally the other tour operator placed a couple of calls to our tour manager and after much Italian told us they were on the way.  A man in a plain white shirt came to tell us the bus was a couple of blocks away and to come follow him.  We all looked at each other and said, “No.  Bring the bus.”  In Naples it’s not wise to just follow someone with no credentials even if you are six in number.  

Finally a big CMT bus came rolling up with our friends from Dallas and about 14 other people on board.  They had all taken a shuttle to the main terminal.  Everyone had a great laugh and we started our adventure.  The bus was big enough to hold twice as many, so we all got a window seat.  

Our guide’s name was Salvio and he was charming, a very expressive and sweet older Italian man.  He obviously loved giving tours and the subject matter as well.  Our driver was skillful and patient…good thing because the turns truly were hairpin and there were cars zipping around and honking.

The Amalfi coast was breathtaking – awesome mountainous cliffs on which hung colorful Italian villages.  And always the churches.  In Europe the town is always dominated by its church, usually a large cathedral.  

The vegetation caught my interest.  Lush green olive and fruit trees (Sorrento is known for its lemons and oranges) and beautiful evergreens that I had not seen before.  There were palm trees and flowers and wonderful smells.

The highlight of our trip, though, turned out to be the ruins of Pompeii underneath the shadow of Vesuvius.  Salvio would say, “Close your eyes and picture this…”  It sounds silly; but it was very effective.  He had a sense of drama and he knew a great deal about the eruptions of the volcano and exactly what would have happened.  

The ruins had been carefully exposed and reconstructed and, along with Salvio’s narration, we were able to get a remarkable sense of community life then as well as what happened on that dreadful day.  A 9,000 foot volcano lost half its mass and covered the city in poisonous gas and ash faster than a bird flies.  Only ¼ of the city’s population of about 20,000 survived.  

There were dishes and jugs and houses still standing.  There were plaster casts of people that they had reconstructed from their bones – people caught in the instant of a surprise death.  It was a chilling but amazing visit.

We basically crawled back to the bus after climbing hill after hill and walking for miles on uneven cobblestone.  Aware that this was what awaited us for the next twelve days, we ordered dinner in the room and fell into a deep sleep.

Random Observations: On Board Ship

• When did it become fashionable for men to wear capris?   I’m not talking about long Bermuda shorts.  I’m talking capris!   And some of the men I’ve seen are perfectly hardy, manly men.  I’m not sure if it’s a European thing (Steve thinks it’s Aussie) or perhaps someone from the U.S. in a tour group found them in a bazaar and the rest of the men in the group jumped on board.  I am unsettled.

• My least favorite part of cruising is the evening meal when I have to sit down to a fairly formal dinner (even on casual nights) with a group of strangers.  It’s the same group every night; so as the week goes on, you become more familiar with each other.  Sometimes, however, familiarity breeds contempt.  This cruise I rejoice.  Our table is filled with fun-loving, friendly people.  (You know they are approachable when I got the courage on our first night at sea to ask if we could join their tour the next day.)  We have a pair of Brits from Cornwall – so funny – and we had a lively discussion about Rosamunde Pilcher the first night.  And that first meeting could’ve been a touchy one.  They joined our table on formal night and Steve didn’t get the memo and went down in a polo.  Mike was in a tuxedo.  One night it occurred to me that this was my big chance to scoop you all on Downton Abbey.  Wouldn’t you know I’d meet the only couple from Cornwall who have never seen an episode!  I disowned them on the spot.

• I understand that we are too attached to our various technical toys.  The flashlight app on my iPhone has been a life-saver with our menus.  However, we have gradually been weaned from the internet over the last two weeks.  We have been able to access only for a few minutes at a time when we find places in port that will give us “free wifi” for the price of a couple of cappuccinos.  We cannot get email at all.  Facebook has been simply a way to tell our family and friends that we are still alive and haven’t “missed the boat.”  (So good to know; I always wondered.)

• Modesty is not a watchword around swimming pools and hot tubs on sea days.  This unhappily applies to men and women who are old enough to know better.  I’m not being judgmental… honestly… just aware that there are some things you cannot unsee.

• If they can charge you for it, you will not get it for free.  The food is generous, spectacular and beautiful.  And there is more of it than I can ever sample.  But I balk at paying two euros for a coke.  So I had my first one yesterday in over two weeks.  I’m glad I waited!  I enjoyed it.

• There are photographers everywhere.  They snap us when we’re watching the sunset, when we’re disembarking, when we’re returning, when we’re eating, when we’re just being.  It’s not an irritation to me; I just let them snap away.  However, even when I was young and should have craved the attention, I did not like having my picture taken.  And I especially do not like that, when we turn the TV on, there I am:  watching the sunset, disembarking, returning, eating and being.  It drives me back into my Kindle.

• We’re eating dinner at QSine tomorrow night.  It’s a specialty restaurant here on the ship and the interactive menu is on iPads.  I’m so excited about ordering that I just hope I’ll be able to eat all the food.

 

Random Observations: Italy

• A legging is not necessarily a legging.  Mode of dress for women here from teen to too old is skinny.  Don’t get me wrong.  They all have the bodies for it.  Two variations cover it, in a manner of speaking.  Tall beautiful boots go with tights and skirts.  I should just say sk… because that’s as much as there is.  Very short, very tight.  Leggings with a tee shirt and a short leather jacket.  No long tunics in Italy.  Leggings.  Geometric, animal, swirly, paisley, wild prints with short leather boots or extremely high platforms. 

• Young children are not taught not to stare.  How do I know?  Because they become adults who stare…openly and without apology.  As a dedicated introvert, may I just say how very uncomfortable this makes me?  I try to wait them out…I see that it isn’t going to happen.  So I become bold on the face of it and stare back.  But the southern in me breaks through and I can’t help myself.  I smile.  They stare.  And the eyes go back to the floor.  Where on earth did I leave my sunglasses?

• The moon is the same no matter where you go.  And it always figures in for me.  My first outstanding memory of Europe is from that wild original trip Steve and I took when we were way too many hours on military planes.  At about 2:00 AM in Rota, Spain, I was strung out, tired, and needing exercise.  I walked up and down the street outside the air terminal under palm trees and a beautiful full moon listening to “Cornflake Girl” in my earphones.  Vivid.  When we arrived in Aviano, there we stood at the base of the Dolomites under another full moon.  Then last night I looked out our stateroom door and there stood a beautiful full moon lighting a path straight across the ocean and onto our balcony.  La bella luna.  (No, I don’t speak Italian.  I learned that from the old grandfather on “Moonstruck.”)

• The bells.  They chime the hours, quarters and halves.  They sing.  They war with the protest chanters.  They overwhelm and linger.  

• I have finally figured out the process.  There is some sort of hidden laser that, as we go through customs, labels us “American” on the forehead.  But there is an additional one that they save for a very few of us.  That one says “Gullible American.”  Can I tell you how many times I was approached by panhandlers, people with causes, people selling any little thing?  I stood on the Popolo Piazza in Rome with a young man who thrust a bundle of roses in my hand on behalf of a cathedral there.  I assured him I had no money with me (I didn’t!).  I tried to hand them back.  I gave them to Steve who handed them over quite easily while the young man tied a bracelet around my wrist for some saint.  I’ve tried the “no eye contact” rule; but the laser tattoo speaks for itself.  By the way, if I’m arrested by Interpol, I haven’t really done anything wrong.  It may be because of the petition I signed.  I told them I had no money (I didn’t!).  I didn’t understand how my signature would help because I’m not even Italian!

• Pizza in Italy is a work of art.  So is the division of labor between spouses worked out over the years.  It is understood that I will pack for us, wash out clothes on long trips, take care of details and organization.  I will unpack and nest.  Steve is the hunter/gatherer.  That means pastry and coffee in the mornings and foraging for food when I reach a point where my legs refuse to work anymore (see the footnote on hauling heavy luggage between trains).    So Steve fetched us a pizza in Rome, a pizza margharita with only fresh basil, fresh whole-milk mozzarella and light fresh tomato sauce.  Thick, pillowy, slightly chewy along the edges, crispy and paper-thin on the inside.  A minimum char on the bottom from the brick oven.  

• Women in Italy are casual, beautiful and impeccably dressed.  Young men in Italy wear scarves.  Old men in Italy wear hats.  The young men are handsome and appear quite arrogant (with good reason, I admit).  The old men appear rakish.

• I love Italy.

Firenze

Our trip to Florence did not begin well.  Mountain View Inn.  Aviano.  No taxis.  We were told it was about a mile to the gate where our taxi would meet us.  So we set out, pushing bags over stone sidewalks.  Charming to look at – not so luggage-friendly.  We struggled our way to the gate, grateful for the sun.  As I have said, God has blessed us in so many ways on this trip.  I don’t know what we would have done with rain.  

Just outside the gate our cab pulled up seconds after we arrived.  The drive was exciting as always.  But we enjoyed it because we were not driving, nor were we hauling bags along the street.  The train station in Portenone was charming and filled with helpful, English-speaking agents.  We made our way into the small coffee shop to wait.  Steve got us cappuccinos and cornetti.  (A cornetto is the most beautiful, edible thing in Italy.  It’s large, much larger than a croissant, but shaped like one.  It consists of many flaky layers and is lighter than hot Krispy Kreme donuts.)  

Did I just call the train station charming?  It was, until we had to haul the luggage down a long flight of steps and under the tracks to the other platform.  I cease to be amazed at how fit Europeans are after I’ve shared living areas with them for a time.  Six months over here and I’m sure I’d be much more wiry.  After a beautiful ride through the Tuscan countryside, we arrived in the Venice station and more stairs but only a short wait until the next train.

The Florence station was busy and exciting and, being a hub, was all on one level.  We found a cab and rode to the Hotel Arizona.  Honestly.  This is a small hotel in the center of Florence that is run by three brothers.  We met the youngest one who was fun and delightful.  The only thing he liked better than talking about his city was learning about the United States.  

Our room was on the fifth floor, sloping roof, sky-light – no window.  We were staying in the attic!  But it was roomy, modern and thoroughly charming.  And it had a bed!  After a few minutes to catch our breaths, we set out to explore.  Beautiful and friendly.  And sculptures everywhere.  There is one area where an outdoor sculpture museum subjects the most beautiful works of art to the elements.  

Someday if I can figure out how to get my folding beach chair onto the airplane, I’m going back just to sit on a street corner and watch the traffic.  Tiny narrow streets converge sometimes four or five at sharp angles into a main thoroughfare.  And there are no stop signs!  So the bravest driver wins.  And there is no way for them to see if someone else is coming.  Very exciting.

We somehow found the Duomo Piazza.  It was, well you just run out of superlatives after a while.  Overwhelming, majestic, unphotographable because of its size.  This piazza was not a big open space like most; so we could not get far enough back to include all of the Duomo in the frame.  After we stood around with our mouths hanging open for a bit, we realized that it was getting dark and we were getting hungry.  

Did I mention that the streets converge at strange angles and run in no rhyme nor reason?  I’m still not sure how we made our way back to the hotel.  We had a map and we worked at it.  That’s all I have to offer.

We went to dinner at a restaurant recommended by the hotel, Accadi Trattoria.  We had heard that we should be prepared to invest a couple of hours in our meal.  Dinner is a relaxed social occasion.  The man who seated us was friendly and obviously had a vested interest in the place.  Neither he, nor the young woman who served us, ever seemed to stop.  As soon as an order would appear in the window, they would be there to serve it.  There was a big table with platters of the various ingredients for antipasta that she would organize into beautiful plates.  Our food was amazing and obviously native Florentine.
  

Our server was sweet and friendly and the couple at the next table were as well.  They were Finnish.  Suddenly the kitchen door swung open and a little, old, grizzled Italian man came out with two platters that he delivered out the front door of the restaurant.  Steve and our table neighbor both said at the same time, “Sushi?”  

We all looked a bit confused and continued to eat.  We were chatting with our server and asked her if she was the owner and was this a family business?  She said, “No, he’s the owner.”  She pointed into the kitchen at a Japanese man and his two Asian cooks just as the little old man brushed by with more sushi.  They delivered over a dozen plates out the front door over the course of our meal.  We still don’t know where they were taking it. 

 

Next morning we didn’t have much time.  We needed to be at the train station to get a train to Rome by noon.  I so wanted to go to the Academie Museum to see Michelangelo’s David; but my hopes were not high.  I had read about the great crowds and long lines.  We decided to try anyway.  By this time we knew our way around well enough to make our way straight there.  As we walked up, there were no lines but there were no people there either.  With a sinking heart, I found a man in uniform and explained that we did not have a reservation.  He pointed to an area marked off with closed tape and told us to stand there.  Less than five minutes later, we found ourselves standing in front of a ten-foot-tall David on an eight-foot pedestal.  Again, a blessing I would not have believed.  No crowds, no lines, no waiting, and not enough superlatives to explain what we saw.  We could see the veins in his arms and legs and the muscles in his neck.  There was seating – so we sat quietly and just stared, amazed.  When we finally left the building, the line waiting to go in was a block long!

 

 

Italian Chicken

Serene confidence makes for good waiting.  Steve and I ate yet more pastry and enjoyed another cappuccino before crossing the street through that beautiful fall weather.  We checked in for a flight to Aviano that would hold over one hundred and for which only about thirty people were waiting.  This not only gave us the secure feeling that we would go, but also that we would go in comfort because we could choose our seats once on board.

Always in search of a strong internet signal, we found the elevator and headed up to the USO.    We had grabbed a couple of those lovely European sandwiches, cold cuts and tomatoes and mozzarella on two different kinds of crusty bread.   We left messages and caught up with Facebook while we munched and waited.

Back downstairs at roll call time we were called in the second group of ten and started the check-in process.  Being the friendly, teasing sweetheart that he is sometimes works for Steve, sometimes not.  This time our agent was just as teasing and there was much laughing as we went through the process.  Steve asked for first-class seats; she replied something to the effect that all the seats were first-class.  We were just glad to be on the plane!

We moved upstairs again, happy to be free of those heavy bags.  After a short wait, we were allowed to board and found our seats.  We looked and each other and said, “There must be a mistake.”  We were in first class seats!  We sat down and began to play with buttons.  Our seats reclined; we stretched out our legs and still could not touch the seats in front of us.  It was a regular carnival!

The flight was short, only a little over an hour, and we were almost sorry.  We were flying above heavy clouds and at one point Steve remarked that he thought he saw snow-covered peaks poking up through them.  I smiled and thought, “Sweet man.  Wishful thinking.”  Suddenly just as we broke through the clouds, our plane tipped to the right on our side.  Displayed before us were the majestic and awe-inspiring snowy peaks of the Alps as far as we could see.

Flying Space A is convenient and the price is certainly right.  But we are never far from the fact that it is a privilege and that there are those who are still serving and working for our good.  We shared this plane with a large group of airmen dressed in desert camouflage and bound for Qatar.

Because the flight was delayed to begin with and then we had waited for over an hour on the tarmac in Ramstein, our flight into Aviano did not arrive until after 6:00 PM.  It is a small air base in Italy and there is only one hotel, the Mountain View Inn, named for the fact that it is nestled in the base of the Dolomites, beautiful Italian mountains.  Those of us who were staying the night found our way to a small, creaky blue bus and somehow managed to stuff all our bodies, bags and luggage into every last square inch of space.  

Checked in and refreshed, we realized that we were hungry.  The only restaurant on the base was closed and our only hope was a food court in the base exchange.  We found out that there are no taxis allowed on base (this did not bode well for the next morning, but we refused to worry tonight), so we started walking at a quick pace because we did not know when the food court would close.

We huffed and puffed through doors to the exchange and sighed relief that the restaurants were still open.  All but the pizza place.  So we had our choice between Taco Bell, Burger King and Popeye’s Chicken.  We were hungry.  Finally we sat down, grinning at each other, and toasted our arrival in Italy with a diet coke and a chicken leg.

 

 

Chasing the Sun

Traveling with Steve Horn makes me brave, delights me with unexpected surprises and tries my patience.  Please note that I did not say Steve tries my patience.  Our method of travel sometimes definitely does.  
 
However, we are determined to continue this way of getting around.  It keeps getting better!  Our first Space-A trip was too much of an adventure – from my going so long without sleep that I hit a wall and stretched out on the seats to sleep; to Steve’s inflating an air mattress and bedding down in the terminal.  

 

He has studied the Facebook pages of the travel hubs that we use and discovered the patterns of the chartered Patriot flights.  So for $36 total for both of us, we flew from Baltimore to Ramstein, Germany and from Ramstein to Aviano, Italy on a 767 for free.  We figure the $36 was because they served us both two meals on the flight!
 
Cory and Erika drove us to Union Station on a Monday and we sat and watched public service announcements about what to do in case of a terrorist attack while waiting for our train to Baltimore.  (What has happened to this world in which we live?  You can keep the soap box under the bed; that was rhetorical.)  
 
The train ride was short and we caught a shuttle to the airport.  We were high on the list and settled in to wait without a lot of anxiety.  There were many seats and not that many on the list.

After we grabbed a bite to eat, I went to check the waiting roster.  I heard cheering and applause; I had only eaten a chicken sandwich, so I knew it wasn’t for me.  I leaned over the railing to watch home-bound soldiers pushing their gear on carts through the customs doors to be greeted with signs, balloons, and hearty handshakes.  Boy and girl scouts in uniform at the end of the line handed them candy and held out plastic candy-filled pumpkins to little ones traveling with families. 
 

Our trip over was long; it always is.  The flight itself is eight hours and we lose six more crossing time zones.  We leave late afternoon and arrive in the morning with our bodies screaming, “It’s one AM!  Will somebody please put me to bed?”   We spend the last hour or so peering out the windows looking for signs of a sun rising.  Another hour in lines and going through customs (German customs officers can be a bit intimidating) and we finally walked out into a beautiful, crisp autumn day with bright red and gold trees.
 
I’ll pretty much always choose nature over anything manmade.  But between the trees and the new many-storied Ramstein Inn, it was no contest.  There were beds in there!  We were mentally ready to hunker down and sit, comatose, for hours in the lobby waiting for a room.  Steve walked up to the reservation desk, talked for a minute and turned around and grinned at me.  We were asleep by 10:00 AM!  We slept for a couple of hours and then got up so I could start planning when I could sleep again.  
 
Next morning Steve woke me with hot cappuccino and chocolate croissant.  Twelve hours of solid sleep and I was ready to fly again.  Next, on to Aviano and Popeye’s Fried Chicken!

Creatures of Habit

We ran out of butter this week.  (Please don’t tell anyone.  I’m afraid we’ll be evicted from the state.)  We have run out of milk, bread, flour, sugar – all the basics – over the last several weeks.  Oh, we’ve made our usual lists and planned menus.  Steve and I are grocery shopping machines!  We have this process down to a precise science.

For about three years now, we have had a ritual.  Every other Monday night I would sit at the dining table with the laptop and Steve would alternate between the pantry and the refrigerator telling me what we needed.  Then we would plan meals and make our grocery list.  Tuesday morning we would get up, go by and get a sausage biscuit, drive to Sumter and do our grocery shopping, and have lunch in the big city.  We’d be home by 1:30 or 2:00 and unload the car and put away groceries.  Steve would head for the golf course and I would cram like crazy for the Precepts class on Tuesday night.  Tradition.  Habit.

Several weeks ago due to budget constraints, the Shaw commissary which is always closed on Mondays began closing on Tuesdays as well.  Steve plays golf on Wednesday and Friday; but our Thursdays were still open for our bi-monthly supply run.  We tried making our list.  We tried planning our meals.  But our grocery world had been throw off-balance and we discovered that old habits really do die hard!

As much as we like to complain about it, structure, schedules are valuable in our lives.  School children begin to get cranky toward the end of the summer.  We depend on the habits that are the familiar.

I recently finished reading “Humility:  True Greatness.”  C.J. Mahaney addresses an issue that I have had for some time in his chapter, “As Each Day Begins.”  I have already confessed my need for early morning caffeine and my reluctance to wake up other than in a slow, undisturbed manner.  I have the habit of beginning my day in an irritable mood.  I can stand at the open back door listening to the birds all I like, can even say out loud “This is the day the Lord as made; I will rejoice and be glad in it”; and then turn around and continue my grouchiness.  It goes like this, according to Mahaney:  “As we stumble through our morning routine, we’re not directing the thoughts in our mind – we’re simply at their mercy.  We entertain complaints about what happened yesterday or worries about what’s coming today.  We look in the bathroom mirror and assess the damage, then brood over how we feel.  We’re not in charge of our thinking.  We’re just there.”

Listen to what was for me a life-changing, habit-changing passage from Humility: “Purpose by grace that your first thought of the day will be an expression of your dependence on God, your need for God, and your confidence in God.  Sin – including especially the sin of pride – is active, not passive.  Sin doesn’t wake up tired, because it hasn’t been sleeping.  When you wake up in the morning, sin is right there, fully awake, ready to attack.  So rather than be attacked by sin in the morning, I’ve chosen to go on the offensive.  I’ve chosen to announce to sin, ‘I’m at war with you.  I know you’re there, and I’m after you.’  From the moment I awake I’ve learned to make statements to God about my dependence upon God, and in this way I’m humbling myself before God.”

Basically I’m at war every morning until I’m speaking truth to myself.  I’ve heard that it takes 28 days to change a habit and I’m well on my way.  If you walk by my house on an early morning and look in at the back porch, you’re likely to see me with a cup of coffee in hand and a smile on my face.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Nope.  Check the date.  This is a fresh one, not an old one about Christmas.  Though I do want to linger on Christmas for an instant because that is where the title came from.  Because someone always says it every year.  “I wish every day could be like this.”  Why?  We are closer to the ones we love, a little more giving, a little more patient (at least early in the season), a little more faith-filled.  And it just feels good, doesn’t it?

 

The same thing happened just after 911.  We came together.  We loved our neighbors and supported one another.  We flew flags and talked about God and country.

 

And now Vacation Bible School.  Before you laugh this off, stop and think.  We are loving each other more, reaching out to the community, more giving of ourselves, a little more patient (at least early in the week), a little more faith-filled.  And it does feel good, doesn’t it?

 

We hug in the hallways (although we’re pretty good about doing that all the time), we love on each other on Facebook, we celebrate new people in our midst, we have a heart for getting God’s Word out to the community.  I wish every day could be like this.  No, I’m not ready to add another week on to Bible School.  Doing one wore me out.  But we have been so blessed as a body of believers.  Let’s keep rolling!

 

Ephesians 4:15-16; 2 Corinthians 3:3-6

…but, speaking the truth in love, may grow up in all things into Him who is the head--Christ--from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by what every joint supplies, according to the effective working by which every part does its share, causes growth of the body for the edifying of itself in love…clearly you are an epistle of Christ, ministered by us, written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart.  And we have such trust through Christ toward God.  Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think of anything as being from ourselves, but our sufficiency is from God, who also made us sufficient as ministers of the new covenant, not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.

Talking to God

Just before I closed my eyes last night, I realized I hadn’t prayed all day!  Don’t get me wrong – I say little thank you’s to God throughout my hours as He provides all those unexpected blessings…a cardinal across my path, a sweet sign from my husband that he loves me, eye contact and a smile from a stranger at the Walmart.  But I mean really talking to Him!

Then I had to smile.  Because I had spent several hours preparing my Precept lesson from Colossians and so many cross references.  I had been in His Word for hours; I had been listening to Him pretty much all day!

Why is it that I always think of praying as talking to God?  I’m not the wise and all-knowing one in the relationship.  And I think of listening as sitting still until He tells me something in my spirit.  And my thoughts drift and I find myself making grocery lists in my head and concentrating on my dogs.  Of course there are times when speaking to Him is appropriate.  I have praising, confessing and thanking to do and people to pray for. 

But doesn’t He primarily speak through His Word after all?  I wouldn’t be surprised when I am finally able to hear His voice to hear Him say, “Why did you make it so hard?  It was all right there in front of you all along.  All you had to do was stop talking!”

Psalm 85:7-9; 42:8
Show us your unfailing love, O LORD, and grant us your salvation. I will listen to what God the LORD will say; he promises peace to his people, his saints— but let them not return to folly. Surely his salvation is near those who fear him, that his glory may dwell in our land…By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life.

Ever Hopeful

When I boot up my laptop, my iGoogle page pops up.  I have one gadget called Google news that has “world,” “U.S.” and “Entertainment” tabs.  (I got rid of the animal gadgets.  I kept forgetting to feed them.)  I keep it open to the U.S. tab.  

It’s been a rough couple of weeks newswise.  And we could go back to the never-settled argument about whether things really are worse or whether we just know more because of technology and social media.  

But I’m still feeling hopeful this morning.  Here’s why:

Psalm 33:8-22
Let all the earth fear the Lord; Let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of Him. For He spoke, and it was done; He commanded, and it stood fast. The Lord brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; He makes the plans of the peoples of no effect. The counsel of the Lord stands forever, the plans of His heart to all generations.  Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord, The people He has chosen as His own inheritance. The Lord looks from heaven; He sees all the sons of men. From the place of His dwelling He looks on all the inhabitants of the earth;  He fashions their hearts individually; He considers all their works. No king is saved by the multitude of an army; a mighty man is not delivered by great strength.  A horse is a vain hope for safety; neither shall it deliver any by its great strength.  Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear Him, on those who hope in His mercy, to deliver their soul from death, And to keep them alive in famine. Our soul waits for the Lord; He is our help and our shield. For our heart shall rejoice in Him, Because we have trusted in His holy name.  Let Your mercy, O Lord, be upon us, Just as we hope in You.

Treasure

I dropped my ring today.  No, it didn’t go down a drain or into the toilet.  It hit my tile floor in the closet.  I didn’t lose it; but it did something that surprised me.

I got this ring about 9 years ago.  Steve replaced my gold wedding band with a diamond wedding band.  It’s precious to me because of the years of commitment it represents; it’s valuable monetarily as well as sentimentally.  

I’m a practical, reasonable person.  But somehow when I dropped my beautiful ring, in the back of my mind I expected a little tinkling sound, maybe even a little tune!  It simply sounded like a piece of tin, metal hitting the floor.  Just stuff.

How many times have I absolutely had to have something?  Maybe I was able to just go out and buy it or, more likely, order it off the internet.  Maybe I had to save for months for it.  But, without fail, unless some precious family memories were associated with it, that item found its way to the storage shed, the back of the closet or the thrift shop.  Just stuff.

We’ve all heard the sermon about laying up treasure on earth where moth and rust corrupts.  Some lessons we’ve heard so much that we begin to tune them out.  But twice Jesus says, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  What is my treasure?  

I know what it is supposed to be.  But at times, it’s been my husband or my kids.  Once it was my house.  It’s been my job, my new car, my books.  And while it is anything other than Jesus, my heart is in the wrong place.

If Jesus is my treasure, He has my heart.  And if He has my heart, I’m building up treasure that will last forever.  No more stuff that will wear out!

Luke 12:33-34; Matthew 6:19-21
Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Control ... less

I stood in the checkout line and my eyes fell on the headline in People Magazine:  “Kate’s Baby Plan – A Princess Guide to Pregnancy.”  And I had to smile because we all want to feel like we have some sort of control, right?  I’m guessing she is already pregnant.  But if anyone could control this sort of thing, it would be royalty, wouldn’t it?

 

I was reminded of Genesis when Abraham declared Sarah to be his sister (Genesis 20:1-21:1).  No, not the first time when they went down into Egypt.  This was a second time!  Think of this – at this point Sarah was about ninety years old.  And still so beautiful that Abraham feared for his life if he went into Gerar, between Kadesh and Shur, and claimed to be married to her.  And sure enough Abimelech, king of Gerar, sent and took her.  But God came to him in a dream and called him a dead man, said that she was a man’s wife.  Abimelech had not come near her and declared his innocence to God, saying that he had been lied to.

 

God told him this was why He had not allowed Abimelech to touch her.  He told him that, if he would restore her to Abraham and Abraham prayed for him, he would live.  But that was not all that was going on.  Verses 17 and 18 tell us that, after Abraham prayed for Abimelech and his wife and servants, the women bore children again.  God had closed their wombs because of Sarah.  That in itself is pretty amazing.  But here’s the stop-you-in-your-tracks detail.  The very next verse, 18:1, tells us that then Sarah, 90-year-old Sarah, conceived Isaac!

 

Control?  I don’t have it; I don’t want it.  As believers, we know that we have a sovereign God who controls every detail of our lives.  We know that He works all things for good because we love Him and have been called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).   There is an old book called “God Is My Co-Pilot” that was made into a movie.  I don’t want God as a co-pilot; I want Him to be flying the plane!

 

He knows me better than I know myself and He sees the big picture.  And I make a mess of things, every time.  His love is higher than the heavens and everything that touches me has been ordained or allowed by Him.  So the bottom line is do I trust His love and faithfulness?

 

Psalms 103:15-19 and 108:3-5

As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But from everlasting to everlasting the LORD'S love is with those who fear Him, and His righteousness with their children’s children—with those who keep His covenant and remember to obey His precepts.  The LORD has established His throne in heaven, and His kingdom rules over all…I will praise you, O LORD, among the nations; I will sing of you among the peoples. For great is your love, higher than the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies. Be exalted, O God, above the heavens, and let your glory be over all the earth.

The Morning After

Holiday eves excite me.  So much preparation, anticipation, even frustration.  It’s all part of the package of getting ready for the big day tomorrow.  My biggest eve was always Christmas Eve.  That strange mixture of excitement and stress that finally moved out of the house around 2:00 or 3:00 in the afternoon.  At that point, everything was done – except when the kids were small and I was usually still “doing” the next morning as they came into the room where the tree was.  On that particular eve, mid-afternoon brings a sense of great peace and anticipation mixed with love.

 

Now that we are older, the eves are less of everything they were.  Not necessarily a bad thing as long as I mix the memories of perfection with the very real work that was a part.  But there is still some preparation and always the looking forward.

 

This Easter has been, I believe, the most “spiritual” one that I have experienced.  My eve experience actually started on Thursday night.  I carried a real weight that night and all day Friday.  Having the benefit of hindsight and the gospels, I know the outcome!  But God’s grace gave me a very real sense this year of the heaviness of those days.  And Saturday I spent a great deal of time thinking of the hopelessness, the frustration, even the anger of Christ’s disciples and followers.  They probably thought it was wrong to lose hope; but they couldn’t even express their misgivings aloud because it would no doubt cause a serious argument!  Added to that the tears of death and grief, and Saturday was a very dark day.

 

But Sunday!  Oh, the joy that Sunday brings.  Christ is risen!  Our pastor pointed out from Matthew 28:10 that the Savior, the risen King, who had been deserted by his followers and had every right to be angry-to distrust them-sent the message by the women for his “brothers” to meet Him in Galilee.  He reached out to them in love.  His followers met Sunday with the same joy that we do.

 

So now it is Monday, the morning after.  I always dealt with more serious dejection the morning after Christmas.  That week between the 25^th and New Year’s is still a celebrating time.  But for me, the excitement, the fun is over.  It’s like having cold weather only in January and February, but none in November and December.  I spend the morning wondering if I have the energy to face a house that looks shot out of a cannon, musing over whether the neighbors truly will talk if I leave the tree up until April.

 

I felt a little tinge of sadness this morning.  So much celebration and so many good times yesterday.  But almost immediately my spirit lifted.  Because I will spend eternity with my Lord, with King Jesus!  And He reigns today, this minute.  So much to be excited about.  And we will never have any more mornings after!

 

Revelation 21:1-5a

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.  I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.  And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Now the dwelling of God is with men, and He will live with them.  They will be His people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.   He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!”

Making Sense

Two small pots sit on my kitchen window sill.  One of them is a basil plant that keeps us supplied for our favorite appetizer, caprese salad, or as Steve and I call it, tomatoes and mozz.   As I put it up in the window this morning, I noticed that one of the leaves was getting brown; so I pulled it from the stem.  And the air was instantly filled with that beautiful basil smell.

I was hit with the fact that the Father provided so many small treasures for us to enjoy through our senses.  So today’s blog is an ode to my favorite sense-satisfiers.

Sight:  My sweet man snoozing in his leather recliner way too early in the evening after a hard day battling wind on the golf course.  The Spanish moss in my live oak whipping back and forth from that same wind.  My Claire bent over a jigsaw puzzle.  Jake’s eyes lighting up when we surprise him with a visit.  Snowflakes floating.  The easy glide of an egret across the lake.  An owl sharing a long, intimate stare with me.  Sunset streaks of pink and purple.

Sound:  The soft snuffle of Chloe’s snore.  The delight of one of Maggie’s songs coming on Pandora.  Waves rolling in.  The precision of a Bach invention.  The soft patter of rain on the patio.  Laughter.  The lonesome sound of a single Canadian goose.  The mockingbird that wakes me up and somehow I don’t mind.

Touch:  The softness of my down comforter as I pull it up under my chin.  The feel of puzzle pieces that fit just so.  The breeze that floats in through the open window.  The slight sting of a hot shower on a cold day.  The soft down on a newborn baby’s head.  The feel of a brisk, cold wind on my cheeks when the rest of me is wrapped in warmth.

Smell:  Homey goodness seeping from Steve’s breadmaker.  My gardenia bush outside the front door.  Citrus housecleaning supplies.  Fresh-mown grass.  Rain coming and the freshness after.  Roses, lilac, wisteria.  Cinnamon cider simmering on the stove on a fall day.  Freshly laundered sheets.

Taste:  The first juicy peach of the season.  Chocolate – milk, dark, with nuts, with nuts and fruit, without nuts, I could go on and on.  Warm cookies straight from the oven.  A tall glass of cold milk with those cookies.  Fried chicken.  Red velvet cake.  Lemonade, slightly tart.  Cheese and grapes.  Steve’s fresh-baked bread.  Sweet peach tea.

Open your eyes!  Taste and touch.  Go out and listen for the details of this amazing world and have a blessed, a truly blessed day.

1Chronicles 16:32, 33; Psalm 13:61; 66:5
Let the sea resound, and all that is in it; let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them!  Then the trees of the forest will sing, they will sing for joy before the LORD, for he comes to judge the earth…I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me…Come and see what God has done, how awesome his works in man’s behalf!

On Looking Up

This blog finds me where I would prefer it not, doing what only a great love for my dogs keeps from being a dreaded chore.  I was picking my way across the side yard and entered the back, methodically walking in wide lanes picking up my dogs’ “surprises.”  My mind was in neutral – no thoughts one way or the other – when I looked up just in time for a great blue heron to go sweeping by a few feet away at eye level.  I turned and watched as he flew across the lake and disappeared behind a house.

I was able to enjoy his flight for a few sweet seconds and he was gone.  I immediately realized that if I had been looking up the whole time, I would have seen him approaching and how exciting that would have been!  (Understanding that “eyes up” in this instance would have been a risky way to go and that my shoes might not have appreciated the lesson.)

But the example stands.  How many times I have advised a friend, “Keep your eyes up!  Don’t look at your circumstances.”  And how many more times have I ignored that same advice myself and gotten mired down in the details of my life.  Sometimes I’m walking through by rote, one foot in front of the other, doing chores, running errands, not thinking – just doing.  Occasionally I remember to carry on my day-to-day without arguing or complaining (Phil. 2:14), but mulling over some little details that nag at my mind and bring me down.  In short, letting my normal circumstances or life’s trials rob me of the joy that waits whenever I encounter Jesus.  

Whenever I imagine Him standing there, smiling and eager to visit just because He loves me so, my spirit lifts, the circumstances fade away, and somehow He has once again taken my burdens up to carry Himself.  Eyes up!  Don’t miss the blue herons that God sends your way.

Psalm 34:8-10
Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him. Fear the LORD, you his saints, for those who fear him lack nothing.  The lions may grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the LORD lack no good thing.