Carcassonne Cookies

So we wanted to do something special for Mirja's birthday yesterday (she's our downstairs neighbour and a long-time friend). She's into games, and likes 'crafty' things, so we decided to make a sugar cookie version of the popular German tile-laying game, Carcassonne. We recruited our other downstairs neighbours, Christy and Mariusz, and the four of us spent a good bit of the afternoon baking frosting, and organising. It worked great, and she loved it. Check out the photos here.

our flower box

Austrians are very particular about their gardens (among other things). They are also very good at creating gorgeous flower box displays. Nearly every building and home in town has been alive with activity in recent days, and the flower boxes are out! The photo from our balcony shows our current flora, including our herb garden in the far background... Since our balcony is on the north face of the farm house, we get no direct sunlight and are limited in the kinds of flowers we can plant. It's been a fun and therapeutic way to spend some of my free time.

I took a brief stroll through the English garden at the castle this morning and was amazed at the color. There hasn't been anyone around with time to spend in the garden yet this season, but the work done by others in years past continues to produce beautiful results. Six weeks ago the garden looked dead, and with no one around to clean it up, I wondered how well it would get along (I'm not allowed to work in the garden... one of those legal visa/work-permit details.) Yet, today it was beautiful... delicate small purple and white flowers growing out of crags in rocks and all that. What a testament to the ways God works, too. I'm thankful for the years given in ministry here by so many men and women (including Jonathan). And even though it looks and feels like the schloss has been abandoned and is dead, I am hopeful that spring will come to this place again, and the work done in the past will bear fruit. God, I pray so; surprise us all yet again.


Well... there will be more photos of the flower boxes from around town coming soon... and throughout the summer, I'm sure.

Wayfindings?

A helpful definition for those of you wondering about the name of this site...

wayfinding, noun, plural wayfindings

signs, maps, and other graphic or audible methods used to convey location and directions to travelers; the ways in which people orient themselves in physical space and navigate from place to place

also...

find·ing, noun, plural findings

a discovery; often findings; something that has been found; a conclusion reached after examination or investigation

This site is a place for us to think and talk about the journey, and to share the little things we are experiencing and learning as we follow the Way.

"I'll take some perspective, please... pesto on the side."

So we sneaked away for a long weekend, which we spent mostly in Cinque Terre. It was great - cappuccino and fresh foccacia for breakfast every day, pesto on everything (Liguria is the birthplace of pesto), and hikes from village to village on the craggy coast of the Italian riviera. We stopped in Florence for the day before catching our night train home - just enough to whet our appetites for more of Tuscany next time. But the most valuable thing was the change of scenery - regardless of what the scenery was. Sometimes you just need a little perspective, and distance is the only way to get it.

The dust settles...

Four weeks ago today, I was wending my way up the curving drive to the castle with my family, having just picked them up from the Munich airport. Early the next morning, I would be off to the airport again—this time to catch a flight of my own. I was on my way to France to meet Maridyth and her family, who were inbound from the States. After a fun-filled weekend in Paris (Where James and Maridyth's sister Mary Beth got engaged—congrats, you two!), we piled into cars and made the long trek across Bavaria and into the Alps, heading home-ward. After an unintentional detour in the vicinity of Strasburg, we finally arrived, and the whirlwind began in earnest. It seemed that after weeks and months of activity and preparation, we could finally relax and let the momentum carry us through the next days. A day in Salzburg and a Thanksgiving feast punctuated a week of enjoying family and friends. We were married on Friday, the 24th.

Everyone wants to know, 'How's married life?' In a word, thus far... surreal. It is simultaneously the most radical change in lifestyle imaginable and the most natural thing in the world. I now have someone else to consider in everything—from the way I sort my socks to decisions about where to live and work. We're partners. We're a team. We're best friends. I love living life with her. I know it's not always going to be easy, but I'm already looking forward to seeing what the next bend in the path will bring.

The Story of Us, Part II

I was in desperate need of a vacation. The hospital emergency center where I was employed as a Child Life Specialist for over two years had suddenly become the only pediatric level one trauma center in southeast Texas. Each day I prepared for work apprehensively, wondering what tragedy awaited me, what family would I find myself supporting through the most difficult moment of their lives? I was called to the job. But I needed time to breathe. I was emotionally raw and weary.

I had been wrestling with the Lord as well. For nearly three months He and I went back and forth over the reality of my own singleness. For years I had wondered if this was indeed His plan for me. I hated it and had run from the very idea of celibacy. If God had called me to this thing, why was the desire for a marriage partnership so strong? Nevertheless, the still, small voice beckoned… it questioned. “Would you be satisfied if all you had was Me? Would I be enough?” my Lord asked. I read Paul. I knew as a single woman it would be easier to “secure undistracted devotion to the Lord.” For the first time in my life I allowed myself to imagine a full life unmarried.

After weeks of processing, my answer to my Lord’s question was “yes.” I let the vision die. I buried the hope. For years I had committed myself to waiting for the one chosen for me by the Lord, the one with whom I could serve, the one with whom my spirit and soul would find companionship. I had waited; he was not on my radar. If indeed this man existed for me, where was he, what was taking so long? I had been praying for him for thirteen years. I had been waiting. And I gave him up, not knowing if he ever would be returned. Like Jacob, I too had struggled with the Lord. And I knew, either way, He would bless me. My vow was this: I would not marry unless the two of us together could do more for the Kingdom than we could apart. I braced myself for the reactions of those I loved, those who had hoped for my husband with me for years. I shared the news with apprehensive joy. This was my choice. The struggle was complete. My heart was free and at peace.

Within the month I would be heading to Europe to visit my friends. I needed to talk some of these things out. I needed to rest from my work at the hospital. I needed quiet. From the moment I stepped onto the plane headed for Zurich I knew I would encounter the Lord. I knew there was something He had for me. I expected the trip would be laced with divine appointments. It had been. The country was beautiful, the German food excellent, the time with my friends refreshing and encouraging.

As it drew to a close, there was one last stop in Austria, visiting a man my friends and I had known in college. They knew him much better than I did. I had known his sister at university. He lived and studied at a castle in the Alps. This was what I knew of Jonathan. As our train neared the station in Kufstein, my friends and I shared memories of him in university. I could hardly recall what he looked like. My only real memory was not even my own. My father had met him once at a meeting nine years before. Upon returning he asked, “What about Jonathan?” Hmm. I knew too little to answer. That was a long time ago. But I wondered as the train pulled into the station, what it was about Jonathan that caught the attention of my very discerning father?

< Read Part I

To be continued...

The Story of Us, Part I

I can’t remember the first time I saw her, but suddenly, she was there. I didn’t know her—not really—and what I did know made her more of a symbol than anything. It was the summer I graduated from university, and the events of the previous year had me disillusioned with the opposite sex. Maridyth and I only crossed paths a few times that summer, but the wholesome beauty that I saw in her made me realize that maybe someday I would find someone ‘like that’. If I had known… but I’m glad I didn’t.