What a day! Definitely not boring.

Well, if it's possible, today was more insane than normal. I got up late and found Daan, my host mother, and Sybren, the youngest child, baking a cake in the kitchen. I didn't want to disturb them, so I went without my coffee and breakfast. The mail came, bringing eight birthday cards, four for each twin we had. Today was their birthday, hence the mother is baking a cake. After awhile, Daan and Syb left to pick up the kids for lunch. After they left I made my much-desired coffee. I sat down to drink it while reading God’s Generals II, the book that I’m currently working on. I read about Martin Luther. When I reached the last two sips of my cup I looked at my coffee and saw that something was terribly wrong with the coffee. There was stuff floating in it, and it was a lot of stuff. I grossed out a bit, became disappointed (because there was no way I was drinking that unknown substance) and made myself a new cup of coffee. When I started to stir the new coffee I saw that the thick floating mass was there AGAIN!!! And then I knew what it was. The milk that I'd used in my coffee was bad, sour, gross...you name it. I dumped my second cup of coffee, smelled the milk, and dumped the milk. I came to the conclusion that it was worth trying for one more cup of coffee. However, before I did that I made a cup of hot water and poured a bit of milk from the new carton (dated the same as the old carton...25-11). The hot water was a pure milky white with no odd thickness to it, so I made a cup of coffee and it was heavenly. Then I set the lunch table and continued to read about Luther.

Suddenly, there were footsteps and little voices audible. The back door opened and in ran six, not four, but six children!! Two friends were over, and due to the slight insanity of it all we had a picnic instead of a normal lunch. Well, that didn't necessarily decrease the insanity, but everyone was able to eat at the same time without ordering the bread of their desire. When the kids finished they went off and played or fought, according to what suits their fancy. Finally it was time for them to go back to school. Daan and I managed to get them (individually) on the toilet, in their (individual) coats and shoes and out the (same) door. Peace reigned again in the house, though it looked like we'd just been through a war. I cleaned up the kitchen and table, sat down, and read about Luther. After Daan came home I went to the stores to pick up the important items of a Strippenkaart (which is a card with a lot of stripes on it that I’m required to use in order to ride on the Public Transportation), (non-sour) coffee creamer, and tissues.

While standing in line to pay for my coffee creamer at the C1000 (a grocery store) a very interesting scene occurred. There were three long lines at that particular time. I went in the one that looked like it had least products lined up, seeing as I only had to pay 44 cents in total. I didn't really want to stand forever. At one point I thought a lady was going to skip me in line, but as I stared unimpressed at her shopping cart she said, "Nee hoor, je bent als eerst! (Translation: No! You are first!)” So, I wedged myself in between her cart and the one of the lady in front of me. As I waited I noticed that the three cashiers were talking back and forth to each other, trying to help one of them because something wasn't working. She needed a number to punch in and they couldn't find the right number. Well, after a minute or so of this one of the customers waiting toward the back of the constipated line said, "Wat is so lastig? (Translation: What’s so difficult, anyway?)" She then proceeded to open her loud mouth and to tell the cashier how to do her job. She then walked to the front of the line, picked up the grocery item in question (a 24 pack of Amstel beer) and swiped it across the radar, causing the price to finally show up on the screen. She then walked back to her spot in line, complaining and rebutting the entire way. The lady next to me in line said something about it, to which my first thought was, "Oh no! Don't talk to me!! I am not Dutch!" I hadn't caught exactly what she said but I gave a one-word comment and summary of the situation in my opinion..."ongeduuld (Translation: Impatient…I’d been looking at the well-voiced item swiper)". The lady then proceeded to tell me that you either understand your job or you don't. I said back, "Weet ik veel. Ik heb het nooit gedaan. (Translation: Like I know! I’ve never done it before!)" I paid my 44 cents, and walked out as quickly as possible, wanting also add that the swiping customer had been rude, but I didn't know the words for it and so was spared the agony of giving my opinion to a stranger. Then I went to Kruidvat and bought the tissues that will assist me greatly for this last part of my currently tormenting cold.

Finally, I was home and complained to Daan about the above scene and about how Dutch people are not only opinionated but that they seem to think that because they have an opinion that they have to give them, too. I must have complained very well and with much passion because she agreed with me whole-heartedly. Then I went and read about Luther. At that time Daan went to pick up the kids from school.

The kids arrived home. When they got home it was a bit of deja-vous. In walked six, not four, but six kids...the only difference being that two of them were different kids. Jack came home and we threw a birthday party for the twins. Then things proceeded to build in volume. I took pictures, made a video, and then sat down to read about Luther. I amazed myself at my ability to ignore the excessive noise of 2 girls, K3 (popular group of three female singers that are all above the age of thirty but dress like their about the age of thirteen then dance about while singing very fast-tempo songs about being in love), and 4 boys. I even managed to comprehend and enjoy the words on the page before me, which is quite amazing considering the loudness of everything at that point in time.

I then ran upstairs to write an email and do some homework. I went back downstairs and all was quiet, finally. Things were back to normal. There were only four kids, the television was on, and we watched the Children’s News Program about Sinter Klaas, which keeps them updated on all the important details of what’s happening with the Sint and his Piets. I sat down and read about Luther. Then we ate, I went to Dutch classes, got beat up by a bunch of past tense verbs, and now I’m back, eager to crawl into bed and finish reading about Luther. Then again, maybe I’ll just go to sleep.

Dangerous Dutch staircases

A few weeks ago my host family’s washing machine started to break down. They ordered a new one in preparation for the day that the old would definitely not work. A week ago the day came. Laundry was no longer doable. We went to the appliance store and made arrangements for the new washer to be delivered. Friday was the day.

Friday morning the truck arrived, carrying the new washing machine and two able bodied guys to lift it. They carried the old out and the new in. Being the curious person I am I, of course, snuck a peak, but I waited until the two guys were carrying the new machine upstairs. As I watched them carry this thing up I remembered my first encounter with Dutch stairs and realized that I haven’t yet taken the time to describe them to you, oh reader. They were the scariest things that I encountered when I was on my two-week visit to Holland, just over a year ago.

At this point of reading all of my Dutch peoples are thinking, “what’s wrong with our stairs?” And all of the Americans (except for Laurel) are thinking, “they can’t be that bad!” They are, after all, just stairs. Let me explain.

A normal Dutch house has at least three floors (or if you’re Dutch, then it’s only two floors, the bottom being the ground floor…much like the French…no offense meant by the last comparison). So, of course, to get up you must have stairs. But Dutch houses are more tall than wide. They aren’t half as wide as American houses, which is why they are so tall. They have to fit more people on less land area, which means instead of building out they build up. That also means that the stairs have to take up as little room as possible, which they do.

Dutch stairs are steep. No, even steeper than what you just imagined. They are also narrow. And they turn endlessly, never going just up but also going around…and around, and around, and around. There is a railing on one side of the stairs, on the side where the stairs are broader. This is also the side that you are less likely to need a railing on, but it doesn’t fit on the narrow side, so the other side is better than none. On the narrow side of the stairs is where they all meet to a single pole or wooden beam, which helps to support them the whole way up. Actually, that center point is the most important support. (I’ve been in a house that had a staircase that was only supported with the center pole, which the stairs were curving around. I remarked to an inhabitant of the house that I was grateful that I didn’t have to go upstairs because they weren’t secured on the other side…but that is another story.)

(going up)

Now, these stairs are scary for a girl that is used to being on broad staircases. The steep was scary, but the narrow was scarier because then it’s easier to miss the next step, something that I’ve always been prone to do. I was certain my first weeks here that I’d die due to a misstep, and if I didn’t die I would have quite the sore bottom from bumping down the stairs, which are so steep that it is virtually impossible to stop mid-fall. But thankfully, the Lord has spared me so brutal a death, up to this point. I’ve even become sort of a “stair master” (can anyone guess from which movie that quote is?). God has given me the grace to abound…or rather, bound up the stairs two at a time, making up two floors and back down in a matter of 30 seconds. Amazing!

(going down)

There is one good thing about the steepness of the stairs. On days that you’re just feeling way too tired to be walking up one or two flights of stairs you can assist your feet with your hands. That’s right, walking up on hands and feet is a snap, gives you two times the balance and support, increases speed of ascent and decreases the amount of leg muscle usage (very nice if you’ve just ridden too far and too fast on your bicycle).

So, yes, Dutch staircases are very dangerous and interesting. They also serve as entertainment when there are two people trying to drag a washing machine up them. Definitely unforgettable.

Of course, it is wise for me to put a sort of disclaimer at the end of this post. Not all of the Dutch staircases are this scary and crazy, just most of them. Last week I was at a house that had a staircase that went straight up, no curves at all. That was an abnormal experience.

Sarcasm, Zechariah 11, and the deity of Christ

When I was a Freshman in Bible school I was often reprimanded for being sarcastic. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for me to remember. It was one of the more difficult things to try to overcome in my character because I can be an extremely sarcastic person. Sarcasm isn’t always bad, but to use it always is bad. It’s also very bad to use it to against another person, in a hurtful way. But sarcasm isn’t always bad. Sometimes it’s really good. It can be quite the stress reliever, actually. My mom is a professional sarcastic. She works with some people that are consistently doing things wrong and in order to keep from getting angry she throws in a sarcastic comment, also known as a smart remark, and then she laughs and goes on fixing what must be fixed. I could be a professional sarcastic, but I am trying to not be because I don’t want to take mom’s job. But I know I run in a close second.

Anyway, I was reading in Zechariah 11 this morning and saw a few things that I found quite interesting. First, I saw that God can be sarcastic. In this chapter, Zechariah was told by God to go and get a job as a shepherd, one of those great symbolical acts common of prophets during that era. I’ll not discuss the majority of the meaning behind this act, simply because I haven’t studied it out and thus do not know the meaning. But there area few things I’ll mention.

In one month of working as a shepherd Zechariah fired three other shepherds because they were evil and the four of them weren’t really working well together. Not long after that Zechariah ended up quitting. He had been shepherding a flock of sheep that were intentionally being fattened just so that they could be killed. In the process of quitting he cut up a staff, which he’d called Favor, showing that the Favor of God was no longer on the flock of sheep or on those shepherding it. The other shepherds understood the symbolism of Zechariah’s actions and weren’t in a hurry to stop him from quitting. When Zechariah quit he told them that they could either give him his wages or not, that it didn’t matter to him, and that they had to do what they thought was best. They paid him 30 shekels of silver (sound like a familiar price). This payment was meant as an insult, not as a payment. It would have been less insulting to receive nothing, I believe, because this amount of money was the amount that was paid in the purchase of a slave.

After all of that happened, God spoke to Zechariah. “Then the LORD said to me, ‘Throw it to the potter, that magnificent price at which I was valued by them.’ So I took the thirty shekels of silver and threw them to the potter in the house of the LORD.” (Zech. 11:13, NASB). Everything that I have to say has to do with this verse alone. So, we’ll start with the first part of the verse, where God says, “that magnificent price”. This is sarcasm! God was sarcastic!! I love it. I just felt like pointing out to the world (of Sarah’s blog) that God was sarcastic.

The second thing that I found interesting is a bit more serious. In the same verse you see a foreshadowing or prophecy of Christ. Judas, Jesus’ disciple, was paid to betray Jesus. He was paid thirty shekels of silver. When Judas realized what he’d done, after Jesus was arrested, he felt sorry and brought the silver back to the Pharisees. They used that money to buy a potter’s field. So, it is extremely obvious that this Zechariah passage is one of those Messianic prophecies. But not only is it a Messianic Prophecy, but it’s also a clear statement that Jesus is God. God said, “…that magnificent price at which I was valued by them.” “They” are the Pharisees, the evil shepherds. The price paid was actually paid for Jesus, whom God refers to as himself.

I love how God makes that stuff so clear. I’d have to say, He knew what He was doing…but then, that should be obvious simply because He is God and knows everything anyway.

A tribute to mothers...

Ok, now that I’m online, was able to chat to my sister, and am no longer annoyed I can actually write a decent post that might be interesting and funny. I actually haven’t chosen a topic yet, which I usually do before I even start typing. So, folks, what shall the topic be? Let’s see…

I’ve been wanting to write a post in honor of mothers for awhile (just so my siblings and parents know, this isn’t an effort to suck up to mom…it’s quite sincere actually). For eleven months I’ve been living in the Netherlands as an au pair. It’s one of the most interesting jobs I’ve ever held, that’s for sure. And because of this job, or cultural experience, as I’m supposed to call it, I’ve learned a lot about motherhood. I’ve learned so much that more often than not my friends hear me say, “I’m never having children.” Unfortunately, none of us believe me (I am included in that statement). Don’t get me wrong…children are wonderful. An old time Christian singer said that “children are a treasure from the Lord”, and I do believe that…just sometimes it’s nice to think about buried treasure (just kidding! Way just kidding!!!!). But seriously, this is a tribute to mothers, one of the most amazing creatures in existence. Let’s start with the beginning, the pregnancy process.

A mother is a walking incubation tank that grows as it goes. She has to eat for two people, carry on with everyday life, and still plan ahead for her incubation tank to burst. Then she bursts and has to give birth. The baby gets to come out through a hole that it’s not supposed to fit through (hence the screaming of a birthing mother). That hurts!! And then that’s finally over and you have a beautiful little baby to love and cherish…and feed, and burp, and change. I recently heard that after giving birth the mother is supposed to stay in bed for a whole week (granted, you can leave to use the bathroom and such, but eating and everything else is in bed). I don’t know if I can handle being bed ridden for a week. That’s boring. Finally, mother is up and about and things are NOT back to normal. But I don’t know very much about all of that, and I don’t believe I’ll experience that for many years still.

A mother is everything that is necessary. A mother is a doctor, fixing bloody knees and elbows…her most effective cure being a kiss and a song. A mother is a dentist, pulling pieces of apple skin out from between tiny teeth. A mother is a chef, preparing highly criticized meals with very little thanks. A mother is a maid, cleaning up after kids (and husbands, often times) just so that she can watch them pull all their junk out again. A mother is a referee, making sure all the kids play fairly with each other. A mother is a diplomat, keeping the peace in the household. A mother is a “handy-man”, fixing broken toys, papers, and pencils. A mother is a dictionary, defining all the words that a child doesn’t know. A mother is a resource, directing the student towards the right answers.

Later on, once the little ones are big, the functions of the mother change greatly. In place of a doctor she is a psychiatrist (even as she needs one herself), trying to explain those irrationalities that a teen will never understand. She is also comforter, being the listening ear when her “baby’s” heart has been broken. She is fashion advisor (except in the cases where the kid is more capable than she…but still). She is a normal advisor, suggesting that her big boy or girl follow a certain path, or just encouraging them when they feel at a loss. But most of all, if you are as blessed as I am, she is a best friend, always there, always loving, and never giving up on you, even when you deserve to be given up on.

That’s a mother. That was my mother, and still is.

The annoyance of a blessing

I’m sitting here typing this, offline, and feeling very annoyed at the fact that I’m offline. I’m not intentionally offline, mind you. The internet isn’t working when it ought to be. As I sat here annoyed I started thinking about why I was annoyed. I came to realize that the fact that I even have the internet is really a wonderful thing. I can keep in touch with my family much more quickly than people could ten years ago. In fact, I don’t even write letters or emails to my family (shame on me) because I can chat with them on an instant messenger. And now, I’m sitting here, unable to chat with Laurel, whom I was supposed to meet online two minutes ago, and I’m extremely annoyed by the entire situation. And realizing that it’s a stupid reason to be annoyed isn’t making me less annoyed because four minutes ago I was supposed to be chatting with my sister and I’m still not nor will I be able to. That’s annoying enough to make me want to cry. Grr…

So, yes God, the internet is a blessing because it gives me the chance to stay in contact with my family and friends with very little effort. But God, I’m annoyed with the blessing right now.

Old and New: the Dutch New Year

Last Sunday, I was visiting some friends that live in a nearby city and we were discussing the fact that I’ll be going home for Christmas and then coming back to Holland sometime in early January. Because of that little go home vacation/trip I’ll be missing the New Year celebration. Benjamin (part of the family of friends) exclaimed, “Oh no! You won’t experience Old-New!” Old-New is what the Dutch call the New Year. I think it’s pretty cool that they call it Old-New. Anyway, I was then able to inform Ben that I’d already experienced Old-New because when I came to Holland last year I arrived on December 31st, which meant that my first night in Holland was my last night of the year. What a way to start a New Year! I mean, if you think about it, New Year’s Resolutions were made easy for me… “My New Year’s resolution is to survive living with a strange family, in a strange culture, and learn a very strange language.” I’ve never been more successful in my resolutions than this year (except I should have made a part of my resolution to not lose my own language…but that’s another story for another time).

After having that conversation with the Pluym family I realized that I’d never written about the Dutch New Year, which was very silly of me because it was my first IJsselstein experience and one that I’ll likely always remember. So, now, I’m going to express, to the best of my ability, the Dutch New Year.

I remember that on my first day here I wanted to stay up until midnight to bring in the New Year, but at the same time I was so exhausted from traveling that I had to take a nap. See, that’s because of the time difference. When I left Boston, Massachusetts it was noon on December 30th. When I arrived in Amsterdam it was 7:00 a.m. on December 31st. That means that I’d been up for a very long time (couldn’t sleep on the plane because there were too many people, not to mention that I was too scared and nervous about the year I was facing to get much sleep). So, the night of the day that I arrived I went to bed at about 9:00 and got up at around 11:30. I went downstairs to sit with the host family that I wasn’t yet acquainted with. Everyone was waiting. I think I drank a glass of wine with them as we waited. The kids slowly drifted to sleep, not surviving the late hour, with the exception of our brave and stubborn six year old, who was then still five years old.

Finally, it was midnight. The Old Year was gone and the New Year had come. And the instant that it was midnight the country erupted into a marvelous and impressive display of sound and light and colors. I went out into the cold night to take a look. What I saw was something entirely strange and stunning to me, due to my firework illegalized culture. In every direction I looked I saw fireworks displaying varieties of colors, shapes, and sounds. When I say every direction, I am absolutely serious. I looked to my right and saw all of my neighbors down the street lighting off fireworks. I looked beyond the soccer field that is across the street from us and saw fireworks being lit off up and down another row of houses. Literally every direction I looked it was alit with man-made beauty and genius. After a little while of standing in the cold air I came back in. The fireworks had quieted down quite a bit and I decided to call my parents, who were still living in last year. I thought it'd be fun to call them from the future. I remember telling them what I saw and that they were amazed. Being allowed to light off fireworks like that is unheard of where I come from. And I remember that I had also called my sister’s boyfriend, knowing that she’d be with him. I remember that they were at a New Year’s party and that a lot of my friends were there. I remember also telling them what I saw, and I remember them saying that they wished they could’ve been here for it also because their government lit fireworks weren’t so great (plus we live a great distance from New York City, so that’s also not much of an option). I remember that I learned later that my mom called and talked to my brother, who lives in a time-zone three hours earlier than her and that they made sure that he was still in the Old Year and they in the New Year. I think that it was one of the most memorable, or at least interesting, New Years I’ve ever had. And the only good thing about missing this upcoming Dutch Old-New is that I’ll be home with my family, not missing them.

‘Tis the season…to be confused by the Dutch!

It’s nearing Christmas and I’m starting to learn a bit about the Dutch and what they believe and teach. They have a very different kind of Christmas. In fact, everything’s different and I’m not sure that I’ll be able to explain all of it because I’m not quite finished figuring it all out. But if I wait any longer to tell about it then it’s likely I’ll forget, because that’s what Sarah’s do best. Of course, part of telling about the Dutch is telling about the American version so that I can do a comparison.

In America we have Christmas. The Dutch have it also, but they don’t give out presents on Christmas. On Christmas they just eat together and have a wonderful family time, much like the American Thanksgiving. On December 5th the Dutch have what they call Sinter Klaas, which we would translate as Santa Claus, but in Holland Santa Claus is called the Christmas Man, so Sinter Klaas is NOT Santa Claus. (Confused yet?) Sinter Klaas is basically Saint Nicolas (and even though Santa Claus derives from the story of Saint Nic, he’s still not Sinter Klaas). So, Sinter Klaas always comes to Holland and on December 5th everybody gets presents from Sinter Klaas.

Sinter Klaas (hereafter referred to as S.K.) arrived in Holland today. He came on a big steamboat. The kids are all excited because S.K. is here. S.K. comes from and lives in Spain. He sailed here from Spain. He rides a white horse (haven’t figured out the big significance of that yet). With S.K. come his helpers. This is where it begins to get confusing. S.K. has little black people that are his helpers. They are all named Black Pete. Each Black Pete has a specific job. There is the Black Pete that takes care of the gifts and there is the Black Pete that takes care of sailing directions…and there are a lot of other Black Petes that do a lot of other things. Black Pete (choose whichever you will) seems to be the hero of S.K. (the day, not the person). They also seem to be the comic relief.

I also wonder at the Black Petes’ ability to not be confused by S.K. (the person, not the day). For example, I was watching the kids’ news on TV last night and S.K. was talking to a Black Pete. After discussing his book with all of the names in it with the Black Pete of the book, S.K. called out over his shoulder, “Pete!” The Black Pete that was there looked. Now how on earth did that Black Pete know that it was actually HIM that S.K. was calling for? I don’t know and my brain is having a hard time understanding the concepts of Black Petes’, Sinter Klaases and all that other stuff.

Good grief (yes, Ben, grief can be good!)!

A silent joke between strangers

I’ve been taking Dutch Conversational courses for the last four or five weeks. I’m not sure how long anymore. Anyway, I take the tram to the next town over and after class I take it back. Now that I’ve made the trip a few times I’m coming to the place where I recognize people. I’m also to the place where I will have a preferred car to sit in, I think (not sure about that one yet). Last night I stepped into the first car of the tram and took a seat, facing the opposite direction that we were traveling. My back was to only one set of doors (this gave me a nice view of all the other people, whom I enjoy watching).

I recognized already one guy that I saw last week. He always comes from the direction of Utrecht, but has to switch trams at the stop that I wait at for my trip home. He then transfers onto my tram and rides until the stop before I get off. I haven’t spoken to the guy, but I’ve noticed it’s nice to see a familiar face at the tram station, especially if there are a few sketchy characters slinking around.

When I got onto the tram and sat down I recognized another girl. She reminds me of somebody from back home. I noticed her for the first time last week and decided I liked her and trusted her, though there isn’t really anything that I have to trust her with. Two stops after I got on (or was it three stops?) I heard somebody walk on the tram and start talking very loudly behind me. Automatically, before the man walked into my vision, the girl I recognized started laughing. Curious, I waited to see why. The person walked by and sat two seats in front of me. I recognized him. He was also speaking very loudly last week. He sat with the same woman as last week, also. He started to talk to her (very loudly). The girl continued chuckling quietly and managed to catch my eyes with hers, at which time we chuckled together. This fellow is quite amusing. He doesn’t care at all what people think. But because of that I learned a lot about him last night. His name is Richard and he has a friend named Alexander (Alex called Rich to tell him that he forgot a ring and Rich thoroughly checked his hands and denied it until Alex admitted it was a joke, at which time they hung up). It was very amusing indeed. And through Richard I was able to share a silent laugh with an entire stranger.

So now I’m curious to see what will happen next Tuesday evening on the tram. I’m wondering if perhaps I’ll make another acquaintance just through consistent tram riding. Fun.

Walking in the Spirit

I was at a youth meeting last night and found something to think about. The speaker was speaking on the topic of Evangelism (which is actually ironic because I went to another youth group the night before which spoke on the same topic...and that group is in a city a half an hour away). Well, it didn't take long for me to lose interest in the topic. This is a sad thing to admit, but it's the truth. I've always quickly lost interest when somebody is preaching evangelism. It's a habit I developed in Bible school when I got upset with an Evangelism class.

ANYWAY, the speaker last night referenced to a lot of verses in the book of Acts. One of the references was about the story of Peter and John going to the temple when they come across a lame begger. The begger asked them for money and Peter responded saying, "I don't have money for you, but what I do have I can give to you. Get up, pick up your stuff, and walk." (Revised Sarah-phrased Version) The begger did what Peter said, picking up his stuff and walking off. Well, before Peter received the Holy Spirit in his life, and the Power that comes with the Spirit, he never did anything quite so strange. I mean, we read the story of what happened and think, "wow, what a nice story. Wish I could do that." But really, if you let yourself think about it, what Peter did was very strange.

Imagine this: I am walking with my friend Marjon (or maybe with you, dear reader) to church and I see a person sitting in a wheel-chair by the side of the road. The person has a cup in front of their chair and they're playing an accordian, to the best of their ability. I walk up to the person and tell them I don't have any money with me (very likely that I wouldn't because I always forget to take some to church with me). I then tell them that I do have something that I'd like to give them and tell them to get up and walk. Now, if I did that with you standing next to me, dear reader, I do believe that you wouldn't stand next to me for very long. And if you did, you'd likely not talk to me, or you'd talk about something completely unrelated after a short awkward silence. I mean, after the person got up and walked off, you might look at me a bit funny (not that you don't already do that sometimes), but not much more would be said about it because I had just done something really weird, almost unheard of.

Now here's the thing...what would our lives be like if we decided to live like are walking with the Spirit? What if we stopped talking about walking and just walked? Can you imagine what might happen? I believe that our world would be turned a bit upside down (or would it be more correct if I suggested we'd be turning it right side up?). I believe that we wouldn't have to discuss what evangelism is and how to go about doing it. I believe that we wouldn't be needing missionaries in our countries anymore because we'd be the missionaries.

Hmmm...what do you guys think?

The wisdom of a mother and the commentary of her daughter

For the first time on this blog I am going to write about my personal life. I’m going to write about my family. I come from a family of six people. Yes, that means two parents and four kids (who’d have thought?). I come from a very funny family. I’m also told that my family is a little weird. I’m proud of that. I’m proud of them and love them very much.

Yesterday I was talking to my mom about one of my little sisters (she’s 19 and bigger than me…big little sister). My little sis is involved in a relationship with a guy that she’s known for a few months. They met at the college that I graduated from, which they are both attending right now. This college has a lot of strict rules, and my little sis doesn’t always handle rules very well (I don’t really blame her…I don’t really handle them well all the time either, I just manage to hide it better). So because of some stuff happening, she’s been threatening to leave the school. My mum told me that and I wasn’t surprised, really. But them my mum said something that I found to be very wise. She said,

It’s better to obey something you don’t like and be in God’s will than to partake of the fruit and get kicked out of Eden.

She’s right. My mum is extremely smart. She has to be because she survived having four kids. Actually, she’s not really done surviving yet. She still has to survive our adult lives, which seem to be very trying for her at times. I mean, if you knew my family history you’d understand. Just for example, her oldest daughter is in Holland for only God knows how long, her son is in Arizona taking pictures and probably doing other things that we’re not told about, her next daughter is in love with a guy she’s known a few months and discussing marriage with him, and her youngest daughter is almost graduated from high school and has just broken up the longest relationship she’s ever had (not necessarily a bad thing…I’m actually proud of her). That’s just one thing for each kid, and each kid has so much more behind him or her that I’m sure we cause my mum to receive more gray hairs weekly. My dad handles the stress much better. His hair isn’t turning gray at all (sorry dad, couldn’t resist).

But really, think about mum’s quote again before exiting the page. It might be useful later on in life. Perhaps it’s useful in the here and now. How many of us are willing to “get kicked out of Eden” just so that we can “partake of the fruit”? (By the way, if anyone is confused with those phrases please read Genesis 3 and it’ll be “oh so clear now”.) Perhaps that something that I also need to think over a few times before I head into the rest of my day. Of course, I always have a hard time with invisible barriers…I don’t know if I even know what God’s will for my life is anymore. But besides that lack of detail, when it comes to the set barriers, the ones that aren’t changeable, I know I can apply the above quote. I hope to always do that. Of course, if I am always walking with God then I don’t supposed that I’ll have the opportunity to touch that fruit because I’ll be constantly aware of His watching. Perhaps we only touch that fruit when we allow ourselves a short walk without God by our side. In fact, if Eve had still been walking beside God that day (as was their habit, I believe) would the serpent have even shown up? Hmmm…not likely. I think I’ll go deepen my walk with God now.

Driving below sea level (possibly living there too)

One of the very unique parts of living in Holland is the fact that much, if not most, of the country is land that has been stolen from the sea. They call it re-claimed land, but it you can’t reclaim something that never belonged to you in the first place, which is actually what they’ve accomplished in doing. This is a fact that I’ve been aware of since my living here, probably even before that. It’s very interesting. But even in knowing that fact of life it’s very easy to forget it or let it slip the mind because you don’t necessarily see the evidence of it, besides the many canals and sloots, but even that is easy evidence to overlook.

Last weekend I went to Friesland, the northernmost part of the country. It is a very different province from all of the other provinces because Friesland has its own language and culture. The houses may look like typically Dutch farmhouses, but it’s the inside, the people that are very different. Dutch people are very stubborn people. Friesian people are about ten times more stubborn. It is quite amazing. And for all my Berlin/Canadian people, the best way to describe the relationship that Friesland has with Holland, I believe, is to compare it to the relationship between Quebec and Canada. If that is an unfair comparison I’m sure that Benjamin will let us all know.

Despite the stubborn quality of the Friesians I enjoy their company very much. Maybe I enjoy it because of their stubborn quality. Of course, to not enjoy their company would cause me to not enjoy life because I live with a Friesian, Benjamin’s mother is Friesian, and I’m often in family get-togethers that are well populated by Friesians. If I’m not careful, I might begin to adopt the Friesian habits, along with the Dutch ones.

Anyway, back to the evidence of the land stolen from the sea by the Dutch peoples. I went to Friesland and was able to see clearly that evidence. It started out with the flat land. Of course, the entire country is pretty darn flat. But the land that we were driving through on the way to Jack’s parents was incredibly flat. And there were very few trees. And all the trees that were there were in perfectly straight lines. I know that generally you can see forests that have two straight rows of trees to hide the chaos behind, but it wasn’t like that where we were driving through. ALL of the trees were in straight and tidy rows. It was also easy to see that the land was intentionally well spaced and divided between the farms there. It was quite nice.

The most impressive evidence started out as a dike, causing me to be able to see absolutely nothing to the left of our vehicle. I stared at it for a long time hoping to catch a glimpse of what was on the other side but finally had to give up. I asked Danielle what was there and she said, “water”. Hmmm…interesting. Who’d have thought that water would be on the other side of a dike? Well, I waited patiently to see if I’d be able to eventually see it (not that I had a huge choice in that because we were sitting in a car, going at high speeds on the highway, and I was definitely well wedged between two children’s seats containing the twins). My mandatory patience paid off when we had to head up an overpass, which ended up being higher than the dike and afforded us a breath-taking view.

There I was, looking over a very tall dike. And I saw water! She was right. There was water, and a lot of it. And on the water were hundreds of sailboats (this is not an exaggeration). Looking to the right side I also saw more water and still more sailboats, likely numbering in the hundreds, also. It was beautiful. And then, surrounding the water was land (I couldn’t see the land on the side furthest away from me, but just over the bridge was obviously going to be land…amazing, isn’t it?). And then beyond the land was a canal. It was a good-sized canal. And then I noticed that the water in the canal was higher then the farmland on the other side of the dike that holds the water in the canal. What a funny sight! Water higher than the land around it! Evidence of the Dutch thievery that gave them enough room for them all to live!

This evidence was, and is, actually very amazing to me. I think it’s wonderful how God gave human beings the ability to think up these extraordinary ways to shape what’s around them so that they can have room to survive. Yes, the Dutch are an impressive people. Everybody should meet at least one Dutch person (though more than one Dutch acquaintance at a time might be a little much for some. Hee hee).