Manic Monday

On the days I work from home, I have control over my schedule.  Because it rains practically every day here, I plan my breaks for fresh air or errands when the rain stops.  One thing I've noticed about here more than anywhere I've ever lived --though Germany was close--is that you can't trust the forecast.  I don't know if it has to do with living at the base of the Alps, but it can change on you just like that.  The positive side is it doesn't always rain when it says it will.  The down side is that, as was the case today, 0% chance and cloudy went to 30-40% within about 20 minutes.  So, better get out while I could before the odds increased.

I normally do my grocery shopping at Aldi even though it's more of a hike because it's much more affordable; but I noticed that something I wanted was half off at Spar, the closest grocery store nearby.  So, getting just enough coins for my purchase, I headed there first.  As I lugged the 6-pack of mineral water to the checkout, the guy who worked there presumably asked me if I had a Spar card.  Well, no.  Of course, like most grocery stores (but not Aldi :), you need one to get the deals.  After a minute, I asked if he could please speak Hoch Deutsch?  Oh, naturlich, Hoch Deutsch.  So he did...I guess.  I know I'm out of practice, but my eyes started glazing over while he was basically explaining the whole process about how they feature certain items that have special, low prices for those who have a card; but you have to sign up. It's still not clear how you actually get the card, but I deduced that I could not get one right then and there since I asked to, and all that followed was the explanation with no pen and no form.  I apologized that I would leave without the water after all, which he pardoned and handed me a brochure about the card.  Somewhat relieved that I didn't have to carry the heavier-than-I'd-considered 9 liters home, I stopped back home to grab a bag, the sack full of empty plastic bottles and cardboard to recycle next to Aldi, and an umbrella...just to be prepared.

I was excited to try a new route I'd spotted from the train station yesterday, a fancy red bridge-like overpass to cross the highway.  Not that I needed to cross the highway, but who knew what was over there?  May as well explore on my walk to the store, right?  Just as I got halfway, the raindrops started falling.  Even though I was slightly annoyed that it was indeed raining despite the memo that it wouldn't, at least I had am umbrella and warm clothes, right?  And then the gusts came, blowing my umbrella inside out.  My hair which I loosened to put on my hat was frizzing with every second as I struggled to regain control of the umbrella.  After multiple failed attempts and struggling to pull my hood on with a handful of items as the rain fell a bit harder along with the wind, I was not a happy camper, tossing my worthless umbrella in a public trash bin.

As I arrived at Aldi, lo and behold, they have removed the receptacles that collect used bottles since I was here in the fall!  Really?  I scooted in the exit as a guy left so that I could at least recycle my few pieces of cardboard and set my bag of bottles next to it, undecided as to whether I would pick it up on my way out.  After I'd completed my shopping and was exiting, I had just gotten over my pride and worked up the ethical integrity to take my bottles back home when I noticed they'd already been removed (probably by a German.  They get money back in Germany. :). With the clouds looming above, I walked over to Takko, a clothing store, to ask if they had any regenschirm (umbrellas).  Nein, but Migros does.  I wasn't so sure how Migros would feel about me entering with a bag and hands full of Aldi groceries, so I peeked into La Halle, the shoe store, who thankfully also sell umbrellas.  And it's a good thing I got such a quick replacement because I needed it the first half of my walk home.  Just another manic Monday. :)

There's No Place Like Home

This blog is part 3.  It's best to read Part 1 (I Love Prague) and Part 2 (When in Rome) first.

So, when I got to the airport in Rome...again...I went straight to the Vueling desk to get a flight.  It was around 1:00 or 1:30PM by this time.  When the lady told me their next flight was at 7:30 PM, my heart sank. When she said that I had to purchase the new ticket separately from the old ticket, I decided to check Swiss Air to see if they had anything earlier.  My mouth dropped when she quoted a price three times more expensive than Vueling, but that left in about an hour.  Vueling had been very kind and helpful the day before, I rationalized.  Maybe I should stick with them.  But without even thinking, I told the lady at Swiss Air that I was desperate and accepted the ticket!  She looked more surprised than me, and she doesn't even know how frugal I am.  

Feeling nervous that I may have a three-peat, I wanted as little time as possible to lose any more strength or to cave from the past few days' events.  A friend from my organization texted me "May Jesus give u super strength."   Yes, exactly what I needed!  And He did.  As soon as we got on the flight, they informed us there would be a delay and that the Zurich airport was currently closed because of the snow.  We still took off, and thankfully it did open again before landing, though we had to circle some.  About mid-flight, though, I had something horrible happen, another first-time experience: my ears hurt so bad, I thought my ear drums may burst!  I tried yawning, sipping, pretending to chew gum.  Nothing touched it.  And like so many times this trip, my prayers seemed hollow as though there were No one on the "other side."  Hurt, I still asked the Lord what to do.  That's when I placed my fingers on my neck below my ears.  I'm not sure what it did, but gave me a strategy till we landed, my ears completely clogged now.  But never mind, I was in Zurich!  Finally!  Like usual, I was greeted by none other than the one and only Roger Federer--or at least a video of him.  It's my favorite arrival anywhere. :). 

Thanks for the warm welcome, Roger :)

And, as to be expected, my bags were MIA.  But again, I didn't even care.  A friend picked me up to drive me home in the freshly fallen snow.  I arrived to a table-full of food, gifts, and white roses from my neighbors who are friends.  After showering and eating, I was ready for bed, but I wanted to thank God for getting me here safely.  And while I pray with pretty much any posture, this moment called for me to get on my knees before Him and acknowledge Him as the God that He is.  And as I thanked Him for the past week, my prayer became a poem, acknowledging His presence when I didn't feel or know it at the time.  And the tears I had held within both in Prague and in Rome were released.  He was there when I had felt so alone.  And all that money I couldn't believe I'd spent to get home, I realized that decision was guided by Him because even though I would've never spent it all on myself, He would spend whatever it takes to have gotten me back.  The last week was horrendous, something I don't wish to re-live, but one thing I know through it all: my Father in Heaven loves me.  More than a feeling.  More than an idea.  His love is so real all the time.  He is always with us, always offering to be "at home" in us.  There's no place like Home.

So Much Love

When In Rome

Note 1: It's best to read the previous blog "I Love Prague" before reading this one.  

Note 2: I think it's my longest blog post.

I don't think we had started descending yet when I started to feel a clammy, nauseous, fluttery feeling.  I had a window seat, which I had been thankful to rest my head, but now felt trapped.  I looked at the Italian girl to my right and asked her to push the button, that I needed help.  A male flight attendant quickly responded (God bless Vueling), and he was offering to bring cold compresses.  Even though I'd said yes, he was asking if I wanted to come with them.  I didn't, but next thing I knew the girls were making way for me to get out; and I was in the aisle, grabbing hold of one seat, two seats...  Then I remember looking up at the flight attendants staring back at me, realizing I was laying down in the aisle of the plane.  I was about to feel self-conscious when I realized it really didn't matter !  The man who helped me the most was actually not even a flight attendant, but a doctor on the flight.  He/they were so kind to me, and once he talked me to getting up and to a seat up front, he sat next to me for the duration of the flight.  They called the medical emergency crew at the airport and took me to the airport medical center by ambulance.

I only had a couple of hours between flights and wondered how far-fetched it was for me to make my connecting flight.  They took my vital signs and reacted at my high fever of 39...which didn't mean much to this American mind, despite my years abroad.  After a few attempts to communicate, they realized I was saying that Americans don't use Celsius and showed me the equivalent on their phone: 102.2.  They gave me a horse pill with a small glass of water; and even though I wasn't hungry, I asked for crackers and a drink, explaining I was nauseous.  

Just as I was thinking I may miss the flight--with an hour till take-off--they told me I could leave.  A lady I hadn't seen yet walked in and said I should have time to catch my flight if I ran.  Staring back at her, allowing ample time to correct the silly statement, I finally stated the obvious: "No, I can't run.  I don't know if I can walk."  (Two men had walked me in, one on each side).  "Is there a motorized vehicle or something that can help me?" Now looking annoyed, she impatiently responded, "There is nothing else we can do for you."  With that, she had me sign some papers, walked me outside the door into the night air, explaining in broken English how to walk to Terminal 3, several hundred yards away, on the other side of the overpass.  This is the second time on the trip I wanted to cry.  More like break down and sob like a baby; but I knew it would only waste precious time and wouldn't help.  So I continued, each step getting me closer to Terminal 3.

Not only did I arrive, but I made it through security and to my gate, somewhat relieved, somewhat annoyed that the flight was delayed.  But alas, we boarded a half-empty plane; and it was just as the flight attendants began giving safety instructions when that all-too-familiar clammy, wave of nausea started threatening; and I knew I needed help.  I was having an internal debate between waiting for the man to finish talking before I interrupted him and motioning him for help anyway since it was an emergency, and that's what he's there for.  The longer I waited, the harder it was to stay awake; but I managed to get his attention as he walked toward the back of the plane.  And round two of attracting a lot of attention as I struggled to answer their questions, and the nausea gave way; and I got sick before take-off, a first time ever for me.  I asked to lay down over the 3 seats.  Sure.  And then a very kind flight attendant who spoke very good English informed me that the pilot didn't want to take any risks and was turning the plane around.  Okay.  And for the second time that day, I was escorted off the plane to an ambulance in Rome.  Did I mention it's my first time to Rome?

The lady told me it was the flu and that staying in a hotel would be better because I would have to wait a really long time at the hospital.  Thinking out loud, I said that I was nervous to be alone after passing out twice in one day.  Then she said something in Italian to the man; and next thing I know, the siren is on, taking me to the ER.  The kind man squeezed my hand before leaving me in a waiting room full of gurneys and said, "Don't worry.  You are in good hands here."

I'm glad he told me so because nothing I experienced the next 28 hours would indicate that to be the case.  As I waited an hour or two to be seen, I tried to get my phone to work and contact people, but the reception is very spotty there in case you ever go.  When a man wheeled me back to take my blood, I thought he was slicing my entire forearm and digging around quite roughly.  I've never had such painful blood work!  Then, he looked at me, saying "I'm sorry.  That's Code Red.  You need to wait.  I'll come back...20 minutes, an hour."  I didn't time him.

What seemed like an eternity later, someone else fetched me, wheeling me into a room lined with gurneys everywhere.  I didn't know at the time, but after the CT scan, I would stay there till the next morning.  I've never been in such a hell-like place, where everyone is moaning and crying out for help, but being ignored (not that the nurses weren't working nonstop).  I suppose you get jaded after a while.  And I couldn't decide who to be more concerned for that I had the flu: them or me!  Though it sounded like I wasn't the only one who had a few germs to share.  Then again, hygiene and sanitation didn't seem to be of utmost concern based on their hall restrooms with no soap, no paper towels, and urine on the floor along with the way that they put the gurneys right next to each other.

The only pic I got in Rome: my view of the ceiling in the ER

After asking for water multiple times, I was finally brought a couple of cups early morning, by the kind nurse who was at least willing to look up a few phrases in English because apparently no one speaks English in Rome...or French...or German for that matter.  (And on the rare occasion that they did, they weren't the person with authority to answer my questions).  I didn't know where to tell anyone at home where I even was.

Finally around 7:00AM or so, I had an idea: I was searching everything to see if the name of the hospital was written anywhere.  No, but I decided to ask the lady to my right since  she, unlike the overburdened staff, had all the time in the world.  Though she also did not speak English, French, or German, she understood my question as I mimed a few things and was able to type the name of the hospital into my phone for me: Grassi.

Around 8:30 or 9:00AM, after a packet of jelly and two cups of tea, the nurse let me have two Zweiback crackers with another packet of jelly as long as I ate them very slowly.  Si.  Grazi.  At 10, the doctor came to report all normal tests, and by noon I was discharged.  Which sounds like glory in such a scary place that I was so ready to leave, but I had no idea where to go or how to get there.  A lady had given me false hope that they would call the consulate for me, but now as I blinked back the tears, I felt so helpless yet again.  I returned to my gurney and waited until finally a male nurse called a taxi for me and walked me to the exit where he would arrive.

That's as much of Rome as I saw: a few residential areas and some ancient ruins (I verified with the taxi driver that they were indeed ancient ruins) that lie between Fiumicino Aeroporti di Roma and Ospedeallero G.B. Grassi.  As as I was taking in the fresh air that was seeping in the cracked window of the taxi, I realized I had left the hospital without paying!  Could this trip get any worse?  But come to find out, a trip to the ER--at least from the plane is free...when in Rome.

I Love Prague

The morning I left for Prague, I woke up without a place to stay and realizing that two of my flights said they required a Visa.  In case you don't know me, the non-procrastinator/think-of-everything-ahead-of-time type, that was super stressful.  And while I'd like to say I calmly met the day as I trusted the Lord, that wasn't how it went.  But with Jesus as our model who asked a few who were close to Him to pray in His hour of need, I asked some to pray for me and was relieved to have all matters resolved within a short period of time.  Wasn't the stress-free day at the beach I'd planned, but I made the flight.

When I arrived the next day after a frigid flight and stopover in Portugal, it was evening.  I don't speak Czech, and the Uber driver didn't speak English...and he was lost.  I finally showed him the phone number of the host, who he called at work; and we were across the street!  It took me forever to figure out the code, and when I finally got inside, I was met with the daunting realization that they lived up three flights of narrow, winding stairs.  But at least a shower and bed awaited me...as did jet lag.

Where I Stayed the First Couple Nights

The next day, just as I got downstairs to venture out, the zipper to my new coat jammed so that I couldn't get into my pocket which contained the apartment keys and my phone.  This is the first time I wanted to cry on the trip.  Sounds silly, I'm sure, but it was the compounding of everything adding up.  Thankfully, I got the zipper down--and never back up--nor did I put anything valuable back inside.  I followed my host's instructions to find the Metro station and made it into the old city.  So cold, so beautiful!

City

The next morning, got all my luggage down the stairs and made it to the place I was meeting the EE team.  It was such an honor and joy meeting everyone, hearing their stories, and getting to share mine.  We ate a meal together, then went to a shopping center for outreaches.  Then I met once more with the leader before heading on to the pension where the SAMS retreat would be.

EE Team in Prague

Cute room with a view, but where was that draft coming from?  Good thing for wool blankets and the fleece headband my dad gave me before I left.  I'd need them the next couple of nights.  Sunday a few of us visited the Anglican Church, so cold that we kept gloves, scarves, and hats on the whole time and were still cold!  I was so encouraged by the preacher's sermon and time of fellowship afterward, which ran into mid-afternoon.  

St. Clement's Anglican Church

Monday was a full day of retreat with prayer, small groups, big group.  I ventured with some of the men who were braving the sub-zero temps before dinner to walk the Charles Bridge and visit the Lennon Wall.  Then we had dinner in a nice Czech restaurant.  When I came back to my room, I was so encouraged to have the heat working properly and wouldn't even need the space heater they had kindly offered me to use!

And it was incredible timing because I would spend the next 2.5 days until my departure there in bed...with the flu! :(  The day I left, I felt somewhat better--without the aches, but depleted of energy and strength.  I was full of thanks to have an extended checkout and help with my bags.  The Uber driver arrived the second I did, so I didn't have to wait in the cold.  The guy checking in people in the line next to me was making every person fit their carry-on into the very small wire basket shaped like a piece of luggage and telling them it was too big.  My flight attendant offered to check in both bags--carry-on included--for free, all the way to Zurich...which meant I wouldn't have to lug them, praise God!  (They usually offer this at the gate, not check-in). 

I actually sported the mask my mom gave me when I reached security since it was getting crowded.  Once I made it through,  I noticed a sign for a prayer room upstairs, which was the perfect empty place to rest until they listed our gate location.  Unfortunately I never heard the initial boarding call, only the final!  So, I hurried across the airport to the gate, getting to miss the line, hearing them call my name as I walked through the jetway.  

Prague...mmm...I'm glad I went despite the chaos and challenges.  I think once some time passes, I'll have only sweet memories and would love to go back one day...in the summer.  And perhaps then I can honestly say "I love Prague."  :)

Prague is known for its Bohemian Crystal

What's In a Name?

A couple of days ago, I was at the Nashville airport in need of some hydration.  Even though there were several stores selling water, I felt compelled to keep walking.  I stopped at a restaurant that had a little area with beverages at the checkout.  The lady working had a foreign accent that I recognized, but couldn't pinpoint the specific country.  She was so sweet to help me find an unrefrigerated water.  As I went to pay, I asked what her name "Salwa" meant.  She said "Comfort."  From our very brief encounter, I felt genuine enough to tell her that she seemed like the kind of person who is comforting.  That's when she said "With Jesus God, yes.  He is the source of comfort."  My eyes lit up, and I said, "I'm so glad you know Jesus.  I know Him too. "  As I asked questions, she went on to talk about church and how she often remembers and celebrates what He has done on the Cross for her and all who trust in Him.  I inquired where she is from since her accent could only reveal so much.  Her answer was a nation where we have people serving and sharing!  My heart rejoiced to meet this beautiful lady from a land where many do not have this true and lasting hope and joy through the Lord.  While she may have met Him here (I'm not sure), I thought of our brothers and sisters there who risk much to share the Good News.  On behalf of our brothers and sisters there and in similar nations, let us remember them and offer prayers of thanksgiving, protection, and strength for them.  

Love and Light

Several circumstances over the past few months have led me to the book of Ephesians: a friend choosing that book to study together, my home church going through it, as well as the Bible Study I attend.  So, I was thinking how the Lord must really want to get the Church's attention with His message to the Ephesians, which led me to read a letter to the church in Ephesus in the book of Revelation.

I suppose it's because I was reading a lot about John the Baptist during Advent and His role to prepare the way of the Lord, but what stood out to me was how his message was pretty much the same as to the church in Ephesus and I'd say us.  He said we must change.  From what I've read, he focused on forgiveness for our offenses against God and others which, if truly embraced, should produce a change in us to where our lives are characterized by good works.  

The church in Ephesus, I noticed, also had the call to change, but theirs was because they'd abandoned the love they'd started out with.  It really humbles me because this church sounds like the model Church in many ways.  They do bear the fruit of good works that John the Baptist spoke of, and they are able to endure hardships and even discern evil and false doctrines.  But should I be surprised that the Lord who looks at the heart would cut through all the extras and examine the true source of what even empowers the Church to be the Church?

And it's not even a "Well, we all have strengths and weaknesses, and this is where you could do better" like I've sometimes read before; but no, He warns that He will remove the lamp stand from the church who's lost its "first love."  And if that seems harsh, perhaps it's because we may sometimes forget our identity in Christ, that we bear His light and are to shine His light to a world of darkness.  I guess said differently, a church without love is a church without light; and why would anyone keep a lamp stand that is the equivalent of a burned-out light bulb?

This convicts me greatly.  If given the choice, I'd decline such an evaluation for fear of the saddening, humiliating truth.  Except that it's truth that sets us free.  And there's an ultimatum when we do find ourselves in this predicament: "Remember...from where you have fallen; repent, and do "the works you did at first."  

So, as this New Year begins and I'm confronted with a world full of darkness, at times my own, I have hope: that the God who has chosen us to be His light in a dark world uses His power to forgive us, to empower us to forgive others, and to change us from self-centered vacuums to those who yield to His love and are able to love others by that same power.  

"God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all.  If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth.  But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sins. " 1 John 1:7

That's My Cup of Tea!

This post is about an event that happened a few weekends ago.  I've been swamped, but wanted to share.

It's Friday after a long week of fighting to stay well and the last-minute to-do's of leaving the country for a while.  After a couple of meet-ups at the airport, successfully making the first leg of the flight, and barely making the connection flight, I'm glad to rest on the plane.  Based on her conversation with the flight attendant, the girl next to me doesn't seem too keen to speak English, giving us both permission to keep to ourselves.  That is, until she sneezes, to which I naturally say "Bless you" and she just as naturally replies "Thank you."  This happens 5 times when she announces that she caught a cold on her business trip.

I confess that my immediate thought is, "Great, I'm trying my best to stay well and of all spots on the flight, I got this one?"   But almost just as immediately, right as I am contemplating if I have enough coins to purchase an steeply-priced bottle of water, I hear a familiar voice in my heart.  It's encouraging me to offer to buy her a tea, and all the while a wave of compassion is washing over me.  So I ask, "Would you like me to buy you a tea?"  A bit hesitant, she points toward an overhead bin a few seats ahead, saying her wallet is in her bag.  I reassure her that I am offering to pay for her, and she slowly agrees.  And that changes everything.

As she gratefully sips her tea with lemon, she admits that she can't understand why I would buy her tea for her.  Trying to stay sensitive to how the Lord wants to guide our conversation, I say that I am a Christian and believe that God gives freely, so I want to give freely.  And besides, I felt compassion for her since she was sick, and I wanted to help her.  She smiles, sharing that she is also a Christian; and this opens the door for more conversation as well as an invite to show me around town the next day (which I never would have time for, but was thankful).  She also ends up sending me off with a tin of the best chocolates my sister and I have ever tasted and a special drink that I would gift a couple of dear friends who I knew would appreciate it.  

Thankful to have this tin that was once full of chocolates as a tangible reminder to take the opportunities before us
to show kindness and love to those in our path. 

By the end of the flight, she cheerfully proclaims that she's feeling better; and several times points out that "it all started with a cup of tea!"  The truth is, as blessed as I was to receive gifts and her invitations, the joy of helping someone in need along with responding to the Lord's guidance was the greatest reward.  And even now, as I was then, I am humbled that such a small act of kindness could have such an impact and can't help but wonder how many times I have surely missed similar opportunities.  

Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You something to drink?...And the King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me.'    ~Matthew 25:37, 40 (out of context, but is it?)