Learning

Peace

2011-08-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

Each night, as I'm laying my daughter down in her bed, I speak these words over her:

May the Lord bless you and keep you,
May He make His face to shine upon you,
and give you peace.

Her second name, middle name, Irina, means: Peace.

And so, mercy bleeds into peace. The kind that means something, the one that echoes: don't fear! don't fear!
I am closer than the air you breathe...
and over you, I breathe
peace.

**Image found on Pinterest via illbeasunbeam@tumblr.

My Prayer

2011-08-03T20:42:00.000-07:00

Have mercy,
I pray with the rhythm
of a rosary~
each bead
the rock of my chair
as I nurse my child.
Have mercy.

Linking up again this Thursday with Imperfect Prose...

The Mercy of Sight

2011-07-31T12:24:00.000-07:00

Over 6 years ago I returned from a 4 month journey to Kolkata, India. It was a life-changing trip, to say the least.

I didn't have a digital camera back then, so no photos to go with this post...but what I did have with me was a heart that was expanding with the possibilities of mercy. I find that I'm still carrying that heart with me.

Here's a story from those days:

And there was this baby. her hair was light with malnutrition and she slept in her older sister's arms. I touched her face and it felt warm even to my hot hands. She wouldn't wake and her sister begged for money. I wanted to grab that child and run- the longing of it, the pain of it piercing so deeply that I was brought to tears.

The next day we visited St. Thomas' Mount in Chennai (the place where Thomas of the New Testament supposedly died). A man was begging at the top of these steep steps. He said: have mercy on me. I smiled and said: maybe later.

I shivered in the India heat at my words: maybe later I would have mercy on him when I myself have been shown mercy before, after, and during this little life I've lived. The pain of his plea for mercy wrapped itself tightly around my heart and squeezed- not so that I would show him mercy, but because my very life depended on it as much as his own did.

The day afer I met this man, I read in Luke 18 where a blind man calls to Jesus: Son of David! Have mercy on me! He asks this even after he has been silenced by the crowds. Jesus turns to him and asks what he wants. He says: I want to see.

I find myself sitting on a street, in rags, unable to see. And I call to a Humble King: have mercy on me! I want to see again! I want the sight to know what matters. I want to know how to see so that I can truly love others. Give me vision so that I can see You.

Who wouldn't want to see such goodness as belongs to Him?
Who wouldn't be willing to give what is in both hands if it meant seeing Him more clearly? I pray for mercy that I might be such a woman.

And we are still caught in this place of waiting, asking for mercy.

Doamne ajuta.

Finding that while we sit and wait, we learn to see. While we lean on the cane of our insecurities and inability to trust, we find what keeps us from hope. And peace.

This is a mercy. To see what keeps us from sight.

Image taken from Pinterest, but orignally comes from: www.etsy.comlisting71605280happy-life

Mercies in Disguise

2011-07-20T09:40:00.000-07:00

Have you heard THIS song by Laura Story?

Right now, I think it's our theme song.

And the other day I thought: I've been praying that He would have mercy on us.

What if this is His mercy?

What is this?
the waiting...the quiet...the dreaming...the longing...the hoping...

I have to believe it is.

**the print came from 517 Creations. Click to get the free printable!

The Return of: Things my Husband says that make me Laugh

2011-07-15T09:40:00.000-07:00

The other day Bela said to me: I don't make you laugh like I used to. You don't write about it anymore.

I corrected him and said: That's not true, I just don't write them down anymore so I forget and then, well, they don't make the blog.

I mean, look at this picture!!! How can I not laugh at that face? Every time I need a laugh, I just think about this photo and I chuckle...

And then, there was the other day when we had this conversation.

Let me set it up for you.

We were getting into the car. The hot car. On a hot day. I was driving and Bela said: Can you PLEASE turn up the air conditioning?

I said: Yes, but why didn't you wear shorts? It's so hot out!!!

He said: My legs aren't hot, my head is!

HAHAHAHAH!!!

Truth is, and I'm sure you know this well, that when you're stuck in a place like we are, even the little things that make one laugh are a mercy.

Especially that photo.

Mercies new...

2011-07-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

I love this photo of my little niece feeding my little girl.

The way they are looking at each other.

The tiny hand, unaccustomed to holding a bottle, and yet successfully giving what is needed.

Baby, trusting and believing that this other little one will care for her...will see the feeding through until the end.

Beauty exists here.

And love.

Even in those so little.

I feel like that tiny one, looking to my God, trusting and believing that He will care for us...will see this through until the end.

Because His mercies are new each day.

Beauty exists here.

And love.

It wasn't really about gardening (the last post, I mean)

2011-07-12T21:38:00.000-07:00

My last post wasn't really about gardening, so I hope the title didn't scare anyone away.

What I was really trying to write about, find my way to, was mercy.

And here I am again, learning mercy.

A primary definition of mercy is to show compassion or leniency.
It's also a blessing as a divine favor.
Or compassion shown to those in distress.

Augustine said that mercy is: "ever ancient, ever new."

And the Bible's authors back up these understandings of mercy:

Psalm 40:11: LORD, don't hold back your tender mercies from me. Let your unfailing love and faithfulness always protect me.

Lamentations 3:22&23: The faithful love of the LORD never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.

We can't find work.
We being, primarily, my husband.

In this economy, that isn't a surprise.
But such understanding doesn't make the burden any lighter.
Or the toll it takes on one's spirit or self worth easier.

We knew, when we decided to move to the states from Romania, that this would not be an easy road to walk.

But, we had walked difficult roads before.

And, having worked among our friends who were poor, we thought we understood mercy.

I'm not sure we knew, though, how much we would need it.

I was talking to a friend the other day and she said that she'd been talking to her husband about this sort of a slump they found themselves in...just a general malaise that they were feeling.

She said she thought a lot of it had to do with the struggle just to make ends meet and that we, our generation, didn't really know what that meant until now.

And that can be depressing.

Feeling the noose of no extra money is a tight place to be.

It made me think of the 'extras' that we do have...maybe even tiny pieces of mercy, benevolence, compassion that make what can be bought with money worthless.

I'm not saying that I wouldn't love a job. I'm not even saying that it wouldn't be nice to have our own place or buy a second car or a new outfit.

I'm just realizing that true mercies are what truly make life worth living.

Today, these are my mercies as I see them:

~a cool evening breeze in summmer.
~dreaming
~mountains still standing tall and glorious.
~groves of orange trees
~my husband's hand
~my baby's sigh
~my sister's call
~dinner with friends
~remembering: He is closer than the air I breathe.

My next several posts will be about mercy and peace in the midst of so much living.

Gardening continued

2011-07-11T20:55:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago I posted about the garden we were beginning by planting tiny starts. If you missed that post, click HERE

It is with deep regret that I now post the failure of our garden.

In fact, it is not only a failure, but a graveyard.

I have to say, that those little pots full of nothing feel a little like our lives right now.

That isn't to say that we haven't been incredibly blessed. Every day we look into the face of our baby girl and are reminded of what JOY is.

But look at this photo:

Once upon a time tomato plant grew here. One morning, Bela went out to water it. That afternoon, it was completely gone. Nothing left but the little stand that was holding it high.

A gopher ripped it (if one can rip from beneath something)completely gone. As if it had never existed.

And I had to say: this too, God?

We can't keep even one measly tomato plant?

What is one supposed to do when seeds are planted in faith, watered in love, anticipated with joy...and then,

a graveyard.

What is hope supposed to do?

With all the hope that is in me, right now, I'm begging for mercy.

Because a couple of those little seeds did make it. Tenacious, they clung to life in the California heat.

And one tomato plant hasn't disappeared. It's even bearing fruit.

Mercy.

It seems that it's what hangs on when hope hasn't disappeared.

U2 or With or Without You, Ron Rapp

2011-06-27T11:06:00.000-07:00

Almost a week ago Bela and I went to see U2 (the 360 tour)with John and JoAnna (my sister and her hubby).

First, I want to say that the first U2 concert I ever attended was due to the fact that JoAnna didn't give up trying to get tickets. I was a sophomore in high school (1988, Joshua Tree tour) and JoAnna was in 8th grade. My parents said we could go to the concert but we weren't allowed to stay out all night waiting in line for tickets. So, the moment Ticketmaster opened on that Saturday morning I was on the phone...listening to a busy signal. For hours.

Until I finally gave up.

And then Jo, the scrawny red-headed, freckle-faced, 8th grader she was, picked up the phone and dialed...quickly then yelling: I got through!

We bought our tickets and went that November 17. Sat in the nosebleed at the Collesium, was first introduced to the scent of Mary-Jane, and cried when Larry came on the big screen. It was the thrill of our short lives.

So going with Jo again, this her second U2concert, was great.

And Bela's first.

It wasn't the greatest time I've seen them...I mean, it was quite a show and the stage was amazing. But I think my favorite time seeing them EVER was in Vancouver, BC about 10 years ago. Here's the play list from that show: Elevation Tour

It was worship that night.

Still, a couple things will always stand out about this concert for me, and they are these:

Being held by Bela through most the concert because it was kindof cold...and it was close to our second anniversary. And we love each other.

Bela saying he couldn't believe he was there. And just sharing that experience together.

Watching Jo dance by herself since our seats weren't together, but then when no one came to sit next to us, Jo and John moved down to us. And then we danced and sang together.

Having this conversation with a slighty tippy Irish woman in the bathroom:

Her: I'm sitting behind you and, have you heard of Adele?
Me: Yes.
Her: Well, you look like her.
Me: Can't say that I'd know what she looks like.
Her: Well, I saw you and thought: she's Irish.
Me: I'm not.
Her: Well, I am.
The End

But this topped it all:

We arrived early to the venue (Angel Stadium) and so had time to walk around. On one particular stroll, we rounded a corner and saw: Ron Rapp.

Ron is an old friend of our parent's. He used to come to our house every Sunday evening. We've known him a long time...just haven't seen him in awhile.

So, he came into my line of vision and I called: Ron Rapp!

And JoAnna called: With or Without You, Ron Rapp!

And Ron Rapp said: yep.

And we were smiling and standing around him, nodding our heads and he said: And you are?

He didn't recognize us.

So we told him who we were and all laughed and then ran into him a couple more times. The pictures of the concert are actually from him.

But hours and days later, Jo and I were laughing over this encounter...and especially her yelling: With or Without You, Ron Rapp!

I'm laughing as I write it right now.

So that's U2 for me.

Except this.

I really missed my baby.

And I realized how much life has changed for me since I last saw U2.

I still love them. A Lot.

They're still my band. Maybe even THE band for me.

Just cuz of history and stuff.

But that baby of mine...

She's got my heart and my mind like almost nothing ever before.

I sat at the concert and thought: I'm Sophie's mom.

And just the thought brought such beauty to me.

So, With or Without U2,

She's the baby for me.

He's the guy for me.

And she's the U2 going, with or without you Ron Rapp, sister for me.

Our Second Wedding Anniversary: worship

2011-06-22T22:02:00.001-07:00

At the end of a day

Spent fixing a broken car in 100 degree heat,

After hearing that yet another job wasn't going to happen,

And cleaning numerous dirty diapers, from one little girl.

Therefore, ordering cloth diapers because, well, diapers are expensive.

Then spending a few dollars at our favorite store: What a Bargain!

and sipping coffee from a 'new to us' place,

We showered, and combed, and clothed.

And while I wasn't able to paint my toes as I would have wished

I did shave my legs,

and fed my baby,

and climbed into a car with my love

to drive to Taco Tuesday and eat our share of $1.50

pork, chicken and beef encased in tortillas.

For dessert, frozen yogurt

and a walk

and a talk

about our year.

Naming the amazing amount of hard things

Praising the incredible amount of good things

and figuring out what we want to do better,

who we want to BE better.

And at the end I knew

that chipped toe-nail polish
broken cars
employment dead-ends
and dirty diapers
can only culminate in joy
when you join hands with another
and say: we are grateful.

These are our lives of worship.

Linking up again this Thursday with Imperfect Prose...

**Sophie at 3 months, taken on our second wedding anniversary.

A Dedication

2011-06-13T08:38:00.000-07:00

This a long over-due update. On April 17 we dedicated ourselves as parents before God to raising our little Sophie. It was a precious time of recognizing all that we've been given and realizing that truly, while she is our gift, she's ours for just a little while. And even now, she is His.

After the dedication we headed to a park and had a little picnic with close friends and family who have been a part of our journey and who, we hope, also dedicated themselves that day to being part of Sophie's life.

We missed those who weren't with us...who love our baby and who, we know, are committed to her. This includes our Word Made Flesh family in Galati, Bicu and Bica in Galati, Catalin, Teri, Liam and Gavin in Omaha, my sisters Jamie (in Houston) and Elisabeth (in Portland) and their families, and also our sweet friends in Seattle, Portland, Omaha, Kentucky, and Indiana (you know who you are!). Your prayers and love were manifested that day in the face of Sophie.

Calendar Miscellaney

2011-06-10T07:23:00.000-07:00

First of all, I'm not sure that 'miscellaney' is a word and if it is, whether I spelled it correctly or not. I think it is, but I couldn't find it in the dictionary. However, I believe it works and so just roll with me on this one.

I have a calendar called: Thoughts for the Journey by a group that once existed called Journey into Freedom. They were big into social justice and serving the poor.

Daily I'm supposed to flip a page a read a quote and truly, most the time the quotes are quite inspiring.

Take for instance the one that came up on the day my daughter was born:
Our truth is an ancient one: That love endures and overcomes; that hatred destroys; that what is obtained by love is retained, but what is obtained by hatred proves a burden. ~American Friends Service Committee
What a great quote to have on the day you're born! May those words linger in my tiny girl's soul.

My life has been a bit chaotic lately and so for a couple months, the calendar was stuck on April 10:
Everything that happens to you has the potential to deepen you. ~John O'Donohue
I guess if the calendar had to stay on a day due to chaos, that's a good quote to hang on to.

And then, while trying to organize the chaos the other day, I decided to have the calendar be on the right day. I mean, it sits on my bedstand, so it would be nice to wake up each morning and flip to the day's date and start the morning with a word of wisdom.

Here is what June 8 says:
It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them. ~George Elliot

I've had a difficult time not worrying lately. Worry and stress. And while I don't want to downplay how these two friends (worry and stress) can drag a person's heart through the mud, I also want to say this:

That I think worry and stress also point to that for which we long. They are descriptors of that which we want most in life. And it is those longings, those wishes, that point to who we truly are and what we hunger after. Are those things good? Are they lovely?

And I think that what we long for and what we wish for hang around the door that leads to our calling. I wonder if things like stress and worry are the locks on that door that keep us from going after that which would make us thoroughly alive. I believe that worry and stress in a very unsatisfying way, satiate our hunger and so we forget that what the worry and stress were pointing to, are, after all, good and lovely.

I'll be back on another day to talk about my worries. For now, though, the quote for this day, June 10:

Don't let your business determine your priorities, but rather let your priorities determine your business. ~Craig Nyschens

Going back to work

2011-06-09T14:25:00.000-07:00

Today at 4:15 ~ dawn still dark~
I woke and fed my daughter,
then put her back to sleep.
I showered, dressed, and made myself up
so I could go
to an 8a.m. job interview.

I have to go back to work
and this new mama heart
can hardly balance the ache of leaving
my girl with the need to provide.

I watched her sleep~
this, the first morning I won't be here to greet
her tiny face when she wakes,
her smile filling my cup.

I know a mom
who rises early
to work at a dump
sorting trash
so she can feed her family.
Her harried existence
missing early morning smiles.
And yet missing the growing of her children,
does not lack the glow of sacrifice,
that fills her children's cup.

I don't pretend that my
going to work is anything
like this woman's daily
demonstration of selflessness.
But in the moments before I left,
I pumped my love into a bottle,
a cup that will feed~
and I think I knew what it meant
to exist to love.

**the above photo is used with permission and is the working mom of whom I write.

Linking up again this Thursday with Imperfect Prose...

Proud

2011-05-31T10:31:00.001-07:00

Is what I am of my sister JoAnna. Last Saturday she ran her first 5k.
For many this may not be extraoridnary, but for our family of non-athletes, this was a big deal. And completely inspiring.
She placed 4th for her age bracket with a time of just a bit over 33 minutes.

At the start...see her sunglass clad smile waving at you?

A photo finish!

If you frequent my blog and don't know me in my everyday life, I have 3 sisters, all younger than me, but we were all born in a little less than 5 years. They've given me 10 (ten!) nieces and nephews and some pretty great brothers-in-law. My sisters are among my closest friends, my greatest supporters, my strongest allies. Come back for stories of our harrowing childhood...a sister series you won't want to miss!

Random Updates of the Not-so-Random and Imperfect Prose

2011-05-25T20:46:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to blog. I think about it a lot. And...
time gets away from me. Or...
all I can think about writing has to do with baby. And...
no one wants to read a ton of posts about my baby. But...
i'm afraid that I'm going to lose readers due to my lack of posts. So...
please stay with me! And...
hopefully this random update will catch you up and entise you to keep coming back.

Imperfect Prose is at the end of these Random Updates.

1. Today The Oprah Winfrey show ended. And I'm a little sad about it. Not that I was a huge follower, but I enjoyed her. Which reminds me of this time in high school when my friend Anne Marie and I had to do an English project for A.P. comp and we pretended that I was Oprah and she was....I don't remember, but I interviewed her. I wore my mom's old white faux fur coat and recorded the theme song to play...anyway, I was impressed by what I saw of her last show.

2. Which brings me to the fact that due to nursing a certain baby, I've been watching way too much T.V. WAY too much. For the first time I wish I had a Kindle.

3.And, while most of my time is no longer my own, I've been spending a bit of time looking for a job. And so has Bela. He's been spending way more time than me. But, we are looking for work. I'm considering posting our resumes on the blog by way of advertising our abilities. Especially his. They are supernatural. So, if you need an action-figure-super-hero-type, he's your man. He doesn't spin webs or stop speeding bullets, but, he is pretty amazing.

4. I grew up a freckled fair skinned strawberry blonde in Southern California and as a teen-ager, just wanted to be tan. While I've taken a bit better care of my skin in the last 20 years, damage has been done. During my pregnancy my OB said that I should get one of my moles checked out, which I did and the result was that this past Monday I had quite a chunk taken out of my leg to make sure that the mole wasn't malignant. Here's a photo or two of my bandage. I thought about showing the actual wound, but it freaks me out, so I can't imagine what you'd all think.

I should know in a couple weeks the result of this minor surgery.

5. Of course I couldn't do an update without spending some time talking about my baby girl. Here are a few recent photos.

As you can see, Sophie is our bitty baby. While she is long, she is also skinny and has had me worried over the last month that she isn't getting what she needs to grow. We had a doctor's appointment yesterday and our really great doctor said that Sophie is on the charts, just little.

Our Pixie-Lou is super alert, loves to smile, sneezes quite a bit, and even rolled over the other day. She's only 9 weeks old! My friend thinks she'll crawl and walk early...much to my chagrin as I want her to stay little for as long as possible. Notice her stretching those skinny legs!

6. I have a new favorite lunch-time meal. Whole wheat pita, with a spread of humus on the inside, and just plain tuna. It's good.

7. We finally started our little garden. Hoping that these starts will actually start and we can plant them in the ground soon. We did get a couple tomato plants in and one of them is already bearing fruit.

Finally, this poem for Imperfect Prose. I wrote it almost 10 years ago...

The Life I Dream

Is always sunny and balmy
Perfect for working in a blossoming, fertile garden,
That once was a dark and empty void. I am
Nurturing vegetables and children,
With whom I am always round and great.
The love of my life slips into my
Mind and heart and body
Like silk. For moments each day I muse on all
That has become, hoping some
One will care to know that once
I, too, lay a dark and empty garden.

You think I don’t know there will be days I want to walk away?
Times when I’ll be grabbing the porcelain of a toilet,
Sick with pregnancy, sick with worry that I’m too old to give birth,
Moments when I’ll literally pull my own hair out
Rather than touch the child of my flesh who
Is making me lose my mind?
I know I’ll want just 2 seconds to myself, one morning to sleep past 7a.m.,
Enough time to write at least a sentence.
I’ll be glad to pack them off to school,
Meet my husband back in bed, or even
Send him off to work so I can go back to bed.
I know I’ll wish to be alone again.
And when I do, may it only last a second before my
Ever longing heart remembers to be thankful.

Reading, Listening...

2011-05-18T11:01:00.000-07:00

Every 6 months or so I try to post what I've read and what I'm listening to. Obviously the last 2 months have been spent not reading...well, maybe some moms could still read, but I've not been able to hardly crack a book.

So, my reading list from February through mid March (February because I included my reading through January when I posted earlier).

Zadie Smith, On Beauty
Ann Marie MacDonald, Fall on Your Knees
Sally Beauman, Rebecca's Tale
Mary McGarry Morris, Songs in Ordinary Time
Jan Karon, At Home in Mitford
Marc Weissbluth, Healthy Sleeping Habits, Happy Child (still reading)
Anita Shrieve, The Pilot's Wife

I'd found this $1 bookstore at the Inland Center Mall and it was great to buy used books so inexpensively. Sadly, their lease was up and they didn't renew, so they are no longer there.

Okay, as far as music goes, I've been working off a playlist I put together in the months since we moved from Galati...aptly, I've titled the play list Moving. You'll see that there are some artists, namely one, that I've enjoyed quite a bit in these months.

Better than a Hallelujah, Amy Grant
I Never Told You, Colbie Callat
Dancing in the Minefields, Andrew Peterson
Call Me, Edwina Hays
The House that Built Me, Miranda Lambert
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, Sufjan Stevens
Down by the Water, The Decemberists
1,000 Faces, Randy Montana
Planting Trees, Andrew Peterson
'Til the end of Time, Timothy Bloom
For Me, It's You, Train
Happily Ever After, He is We
God of My Fathers, Andrew Peterson

I always love to hear what you're reading and listening to, so let me know!

To Plant a Garden

2011-05-12T10:01:00.000-07:00

Today we bought seeds.
Already late in the season,
our plan for weeks has been
to plant a garden.

Where tiny sprouts should poke,
lies only dust.
The fruit of a dream
still wrapped in its paper package.

I've heard that many a road is paved
with good intentions~
or riddled with the potholes
of unmet desires.

The plans we make,
how we think life should be,
intentions, expectations ~ hopes, dreams.
The crops we harvest when all we really wanted was
to plant a garden.

Imperfect Prose for my first Mother's Day

2011-05-05T08:57:00.000-07:00

Raspy breathing,
drunk on mother's milk,
threads its way through me,
anchoring on an ancient ache,
tying tight
and hauling it to the surface.

I have always wanted you~
so reads that ache.
And the coo of your voice
the kick of your leg
echo what is as old as time;
since Sarah held her promise
and Hannah gave hers back,
I have always loved you.

This body made to carry you,
These arms meant to hold you,
This heart ready to break for you~
already breaking...
with each smile
with each cry quieted in my arms.
You have made me the mother
I was from the beginning,
creating the woman I want to be.

What's in a name?

2011-05-03T23:09:00.000-07:00

When we were choosing names for our baby we knew from the beginning that we wanted to name her after my husband's maternal grandma, Irina. And so, before Sohpie was Sophie her middle name was (and is) Irina (The 'I' sounding like a long 'E'.)

When my friend Aimee from the blog As We Wend Our Way heard that we were using the name Irina, she sent me a link about a woman named Irena Sendler who in WWII rescued thousands of Jewish children.

While Sophie is named for a great woman, I love that she also bears the name of another amazing woman who cared about justice issues and put her life on the line to live out what she believed. Irina means peace and I'm reminded of the quote: if you want peace, work for justice.

If you'd like to read a bit about Irena Sendler, check out the following links:

New York times article

Wikipedia

I hope you look up this little known woman...

Introducing...

2011-04-26T10:27:00.001-07:00

It's been almost 6 weeks since I last posted...which means that my sweet baby is almost 6 weeks old and I haven't introduced her to the blogger world!

Allow me the extreme honor of introducing Sophie Irina. Her name means wisdom and peace. She weighed 7lb 3oz at birth and was 18 3/4 inches long. We've had a few gaining weight issues, but just last week she passed up her birth weight again!

The first week of her little life was a bit hard. She and I have different blood types and this resulted in pathological jaundice. Her billirubin levels (which have to do with the jaundice) were quite high and near to hospitalization. For these first time parents it was a stressful few days. We spent a lot of time at the lab as she had blood drawn twice a day to see what those levels were doing.

Everything came out fine, though, and she is our pride and joy.

I'm learning, albeit with my head just above water, what it means to be a mom. Still, I couldn't be more thankful.

In the time I've been away, a sweet woman named Joybird from the blog A Song Bird in His Court (click on blog name to follow) gave me a blog award. A Stylish Blog award to be specific. This is my first blog award I'm so honored that Joybird thought of me.

Now, there are a few things I'm supposed to do when given this award. I have to tell you 7 things about myself that you may not know and I have to give this award to 15 other blogs. I will do these things, but slowly...

I'll start with 7 things you may not know about me:

1. I was the 1,000,000th baby born at Kaiser Fontana. For this esteemed honor, I was given a $100 savings bond and my picture in the paper! I'm told a plaque is still up at the hospital awarding me this prize.

2. When I was 4, I stepped on a nail on purpose. Just to see what it felt like.

3. Because our baby is so tiny, I was having to wake her up in the night to feed her. So, I'd set my alarm for 3a.m...it would go off, I'd turn it off, and role over and fall back to sleep. Poor baby! And yet, she still gained 7oz last week and grew a half inch!

4. In college I loved to play floor hockey. I was even on a co-ed intramural team...still have some scars from being checked or hit with the stick. My position was defense and I was pretty good.

5. I used to write and edit for an online journal called The Other Journal. Check it out by clicking the title.

6. When I was around 4 (lots of stuff happened that year!) I thought Jesus was in my bedroom. Turned out it was only my dad.

7. I scored a 99 on the arts and literature portion of the ACT when I was a senior in high school. I scored way way lower on the math portion. Hopefully my child has her dad's brain for number and mathematical concepts.

Okay, more later...but, please know that I'm back. I'm going to try to post regularly again...but I'm still trying to figure out the whole baby schedule thing so some days, while I may have the best of intentions, little Sophie may believe otherwise.

One more thing I want to say...

2011-03-18T15:59:00.000-07:00

In a half hour we'll be leaving the house in route to the hospital where I'll begin the induction process to have our baby girl. Hopefully sometime Saturday, March 19, she'll arrive.

We couldn't be more excited.

Or more scared.

But mostly excited.

And even more than that, thankful.

Bela and I prayed together just a few minutes ago, wanting to bring the next few days before our Provider and just say thanks and would He continue to make His presence available.

Last night I was watching my belly move in its strange alien way as she, the baby, fought for more room to stretch in my womb. I looked at Bela and said: remember when I was so afraid of losing her?

The first half of my pregnancy I was terrified she'd slip away from us.

And now, she's doing flips and somersalts (I know, not really, just feels like it) and I am so overwhelmed by this little life that my heart is bursting.

So, one more thing I want to say is that I am, we are, so thankful. It makes my heart ache, it brings tears, it brings me to my knees.

Sweet baby girl, still twirling in my womb, you are a gift. We can't wait to unwrap you and know you. No words exist, I don't think they will ever be written or discovered, to express our gratefulness for you.

On time and beauty

2011-03-16T21:26:00.000-07:00

He makes everything beautiful in His time,
But time has mostly been my enemy
And I the victim of its freak thievish ways.
Still vacant,
Still longing.
Hope deferred makes the heart grow sick.

And if by beauty you mean
This debilitating illness
Stretching over the days of my life,
Then I’ve got more beauty than most.
In fact, mine is a terrible beauty
Because it strains against rubble layers of
Eroded ground and piled leaves,
And reaches, breaking through
For sunlit blue and sparkling green-
Life in a time where it does not belong,
Hope when all hope is lost.

And if by time you mean
A thousand years as just one day,
Then this time is not my own.
It is His slow meandering
Through centuries and millennia
and my vapored life.
And I am mixed up in a
Strange crime of scandalous beauty
And unmeasured time-
Risking it all
Because even if beauty is terrible,
And even if time cannot be contained,
It is still my hope-
If by hope you mean
Life in a time where it does not belong,
Hope when all hope is lost.

**Photo taken by Bela Ispas at the Santa Monica pier.

These final thoughts...

2011-03-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

As the days grow closer, hours tighten, minutes and seconds evaporate before the birth of our baby. We are eager to see her and hold her and the time leading to that great moment is slipping through our fingers.

And I am realizing how the safety of where she is now housed, my womb, will soon be merely a memory, an idea once born of desire and now a place where she cannot return.

It is only the month of March of the year 2011 and our world has seen such turmoil. Our baby will be born just after one of the largest earthquakes has ever slammed the earth, bringing with it a tsunami and then the danger of radioactive winds.

This after another big earthquake only recently devastated New Zealand.

And there are the countries in turmoil: Egypt, Lybia, Bahrain, and others I've heard of in the last few days whose names are escaping me mostly because there are just so many of them.

Besides this, the people of our world are daily faced with famine, hunger, disease, slavery, abuse, addiction, and other calamaties that are beyond the scope of imagination.

Our girl will enter this world of trouble and I know that for such a brief amount of time all those issues will slip away as we hold her and cry and say thank you for this gift.

And I know that moments and even days and weeks will exist when I want to hide her. Maybe not in my womb, but keep her safely away from a world that will seek to steal the gift that she is.

And I know there will be times without number when I/we will fail her, fail to love her well. When we will break her trust, break her heart.

Still, here is what I hope.

I hope to show her beauty. Maybe it will be the Grand Tetons or a flower in our backyard or the constancy of friendship or a marriage that lasts or a moment when so clearly you hear the call of a Savior Who says: I love you.

I hope she knows her own beauty.

I want her to know that there is darkness. Ah, but the light, the light overwhelms that darkness.

I pray that she will know that there is an end to mourning. I long for her to be sure of the promise that we are not alone, He is with us.

I desire for her to laugh often and deeply. I hope she isn't afraid to love. I pray that she will be wise.

May she understand grace and see it in our lives.

May she live, truly live. Holding what is painful along with what is lovely.

I wanted to say these final things before she comes because right now the world is full of fear, but her birth, it brings love. And love casts out fear.

And that love which is perfect, it never changes. He never changes.

We welcome you, little girl, into a changing, scary world where we commit you to the One who does not change, Who brings life, Whose light overwhelms the darkness, Who promised to always be with you, Whose very name is loveliness and beauty. He is mystery, but He is truth and that truth can be trusted.

Welcome. There truly is so much to hope for...

More things to say...

2011-03-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

Here's another thing I want to say before our baby is born...(I'm 39 weeks today!)

About a month ago my friend Rebecca posted this video/song by Andrew Peterson on her FB page.

I loved it. I loved him. I've bought his most recent CD since then and feel a connection with many of the songs. Check him out...

But giving Andrew Peterson a plug on my blog is not the reason I bring him up. Instead, it's more about my husband and some of the the lyrics in the song "Dancing in the Mine Fields."

Bela and I left Romania 4 months ago. Coming home to the states was, for me, while not an easy decision, one that was in many ways necessary. Especially being pregnant with our first baby. I was battling with much anxiety over the pregnancy and other things and so coming to the states just seemed the best decision for our family.

But it was the hardest choice for my husband.

He is Romanian. He's never wanted to live anywhere else but Romania. He'd served for over 10 years with Word Made Flesh in Romania. He loved the kids, the community. His parents are in Romania. His future was in Romania.

We knew that coming to the states would mean going through the immigration system (not an easy nor an esteeming process). It would mean figuring out a future in terms of jobs because, while educated, we didn't know how that education would translate in the states for him. He'd have to make new community, new friends. We'd be living with my parents. He'd have to learn how to get around a new city, new cities since we're in Southern California.

And he did it. He left everything. For me. For us.

Before listening to the Andrew Peterson song I'd often thought about what my husband had done similarly to the lyrics Peterson uses...

But to lose your life for another I've heard
is a good place to begin
Cause the only way to find your life
is to lay your own life down
And I believe it's an easy price
for the life that we have found.

Scripture says that there is no greater love than when a man lays down his life for his friends. Or his wife. Or his family.

I've not ever known a greater human love than the one my husband has shown me in leaving his life. I often pray that what he has lost will be replaced manifold times. That in losing his life, he will find it.

I wanted to say these things before our baby is born so she knows ahead of time what a great man her dad is. How much he loves us.

And while it often feels that he and I, Bela and myself, in this move to the states are 'dancing in the mine fields,' that all of this is harder than we dreamed, we also believe that this very thing is what the promise we made to one another is for.

May our child find safety and home in that promise.

Some things I want to say...

2011-03-11T12:05:00.000-08:00

My mind of late is very much on having a baby, our baby. The one that's due in just a little over a week. And since her arrival is so close I've realized that there are a few things I've wanted to say before she arrives.

As most of you know, I married at a more mature age :); I was 38. Knowing that the window of opportunity in which to conceive was growing small, my husband and I decided not to wait to have children as we both knew that we really wanted kids.

It took a year for us to conceive. It was a difficult as well as amazing time in so many ways. Hard because we just didn't know if having biological children would happen for us. Great because it was our first year of marriage and we enjoyed to the full our time alone together.

Still, that shadow of unknowing about children hovered over us. Especially over me.

In June of 2010 we made a trip to the states to visit supporters, see family, and attend a retreat with Word Made Flesh, our mission organization. Being from Southern California, part of our time was spent basking in a California summer.

Which included going to the church in which I grew up.

We only had one Sunday there and I was soaking up the worship time. The primary burden of my heart at that moment was my empty womb. It felt like an emtpy tomb. And not in the resurrection sense, but in a way that the women must have felt when they first stumbled across the tomb Jesus was supposed to occupy...simply empty with no trace of a body or any other sign of life.

The band began to sing 'Mighty to Save' and I found myself weeping. Here's the song with lyrics:

Those words: He rose and conquered the grave...

And: Savior, He can move the mountains, He is mighty to save...

Even this empty womb I was carrying He had conquered in His resurrection. Jesus, in all His resurrection power, was mighty to save what could very well be vaccant all my life.

I knew as I worshiped that should I never carry a child, He would still redeem and raise from my empty womb life.

Before our baby is born, I wanted to say this...

And even as I sang this song and wept in church, my womb was already full with life. I didn't know it, but Bela and I had conceived a child.

I wrote something during that year of 'trying for a baby...'

It's from Genesis 17, 18, & 22.

When God said
take your son~
He did
Because he'd seen
an empty grave before~
a barren womb~
rise from the dead.
He knew
something could come from nothing~
and it was counted unto him as righteousness.

I heard a story
about my grandpa.
He laid his hands
on a man
who had lost
all feeling and movement in his arm.
Grandpa knew
something could come from nothing
and it was counted unto him as righteousness.

An old woman was made young again.
An arm ~ as good as dead, brought to life.

I know something can come from nothing.
May it be counted to me as righteousness.

My next several posts will most likely cover those things I want to say before our baby is born...so please come back!

And, I want to say thanks for all your comments about our baby and our pregnancy. It always means so much to me to hear your responses to my thoughts and heart.

Random Updates at 38 Weeks: Humility and Hope

2011-03-09T08:25:00.000-08:00

March 9, 2011

It's been almost 2 weeks since I posted anything (although I've had the best of intentions to post...something always comes up).

I've been thinking a lot about what this blog will look like as what our lives look like right now are what most would say are in transition, a holding pattern, a waiting, and yes, maybe even a humbling:

~38 weeks pregnant and about to be parents for the first time.
~Living with my parents and somehow we're making it work.
~No jobs.
~No green cards.
~We own just about nothing except a couple suitcases worth of clothes and books and art. Good thing we have just the one bedroom to fill!
~Working through what we want to do in the future.
~Figuring out how the past shapes us now.
~Remembering to grieve what we've left behind. (As if we could forget to do this...)
~Still holding close the faces of those we love in Galati.
~Making new friends, re-establishing old ones.
~Reminding ourselves that in many ways, we're still newly married.
~Keeping what's important, letting go of what isn't.

Not so random, really, these points I've made. They shape our daily lives, they'll form our future.

Not too many days from now, we'll welcome a sweet baby girl into our family of 2. We can hardly wait...but waiting we are. My body is swollen beyond recognition. When I see people I've known all my life in a store or at church, I usually have to remind them that it's me...I look that different. In some ways I'm struggling with gaining so much weight, and not just water retention (or edema) weight. Some really thoughtful people (and I'm not being sarcastic here) have bought me clothes and cut the tags out...clothes that are about 5 times too big and I think: do I really appear that huge to them? Or they say to me: I don't want to make you feel badly, but I've lost 10 pounds.

Today, though, I'm reveling in the what my body has done. It has created something for the first time. And me, almost 39! I've made a baby...not all on my own, but this body of mine that was formed and knitted has done the same. And while my feet and legs often feel like stumps and the weekly weigh-ins at the doctor's office can be hard, I stand amazed at what has been made.

And, in my very un-medical language, my doctor told me the water retention is a bodies way of preparing for the birth so that not too much blood is lost. The water dilutes the blood during childbirth, therefore preventing anemia.

How beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news...

In other pregnancy related news, at my doctor's appointment today we learned that our babe has dropped a bit and so she's getting ready to make her appearance!

Almost 2 weeks ago my sister and friends threw me a baby shower. It was so lovely and such a celebration of this gift of a baby girl. Think lots of pink!!! Lots of sweet clothes...and just a general sense of the holy as we gathered to recognize the Giver of all good things. I'll have more pictures to share of the shower on another day.

I've also been working on creating a space for our baby in the room we'll all be sharing and I have to say, it's turning out pretty darn cute. I made (or tried to make) some canvas art (idea taken from Jones Design...click the blog title for the tutorial) using prints by the artist Pauli Ebner. (again, click her name for more info.) I discovered her when Bela and I were in Paris last summer. While there I bought a few postcard sized prints and these we framed and hung beneath the canvas art with sage/pinkish ribbons. On the canvas art we've put our little girl's name and need to finish up the second canvas with the French for baby: bebe.

We bought or were given a couple baskets with a sage toile-ish look that I love and once we set up a crib, we'll use a sage bumper and bedskirt. For now, we're using this tiny bassinet (I say tiny because Bela finished putting it together, I cried for how small it is...thinking how little our baby will be for such a short time!)Oh, and I lined her dresser with pretty pink and green paper. You can also see the cross-stitched, chenile backed quilt my mom made for the baby hanging on the bassinet.

The only thing we've needed to buy for our baby is the dresser changing table (for $30 used). We've been so blessed to be given more than we ever thought possible...bassinet, crib, stroller, high chair, car seat, baby bouncer, slings, diapers, pack and play, diaper hamper, etc. And many of these have been given in duplicate (meaning, we are the proud owners of more than one).

Here are some pictures. Please forgive the sponge painted wall. About 14 years ago in a flurry of bad taste I sponged a wall in this room and, well, my decorative oversight has never been repaired.

This is turning into quite the post and if you're still with me I hope you'll read just a bit further.

I mentioned about this being a humbling time...and in many ways I guess it is. We can feel a bit lost at sea, if you will; no land in sight, catapulted by waves of the unknown, thirsty for something familiar, hungry for some certainty.

A friend said she said to her husband: can they (meaning us) be any more humbled?

I know that when we are humbled we are in the place where we are meant to be. We often think being humbled means we're doing something wrong, but I think that's a wrong view of humility.

Instead, this place is one where we live with hands open and raised to the God who provides. We are jostled at sea, but we are not lost. We are uncertain of what lies ahead, but we are certain of His provision. We wait, yes, we wait in humility and hope.

And into this place of humility and hope, we welcome our baby girl. The answer to so many prayers, a dream come true. I can't wait to gaze at her tiny face and say: see, even this He has provided.

Here are some maternity shots Bela and I took today (at 38 weeks). Please forgive me reveling in what is now a very pregnant body...or, just join in the revelry!

Open for Business

2011-02-17T13:02:00.000-08:00

Open for Business
It’s all stretched out,
this giving:
the open hands,
the empty palms,
arms raised in surrender.
I don’t give once, walk away
and say:
Now I have given and
It is finished.
The open is stationary
a 24 hour mini-mart,
remaining fixed in time
but perhaps never fixed in space.
And so I wear a sign:
We never close.
A reminder that even if there are
locks on the door,
open for business all day, every day,
means all day, every day.

And was His giving the same?
It remains, transfixed, once and for all,
but is it as if even this day He must say:
Not my will?
Are His eternal, always and forever hours of business posted
with the slogan:
Still emptying Myself,
and, after all these years,
still taking on the form of a servant.
Is His giving
stretched out like His body?
True Love self-donated:
open hands,
empty palms,
arms raised in surrender.
Because this is a love that cannot close
Whose giving does not end,
Laying down my life for my friends.

Image is the San Damiano cross by Tom Kelly

Our Little Valentine

2011-02-14T20:23:00.000-08:00

As of today, I'm at 35 weeks...can't believe the end so close, and yet, isn't close enough.
We had an ultrasound last week and learned the baby is (was) 5lbs 5oz (so, right on track) and everything is developing as it should.
She let us see her face and while in these photos she looks a bit otherworldly, it's a delight to gaze upon her and imagine what she'll be when those eyeball sockets and nose are filled in.
On examining the profile, I'm thinking she has my nose and forehead. Which, I'll be honest, may be a good thing. While my husband is terribly handsome, I wasn't so sure his nose would work for our little girl...but, this all has yet to be seen. And you can bet that we'll be enamoured with her from the get go.
Finally, today at Nubi yogurt, they had buy-one-get-one-free. This is my newest favorite thing, Nubi yogurt, and so we were excited to get lots of yogurt for free.

At the center: revisited

2011-02-02T22:45:00.000-08:00

I'm reposting this poem from several years ago....

At the Center

Today the sky is Italian blue.
The blue of sapphires and Mediterranean seas,
the kind of blue that seems almost too good to be true.
The kind that makes clouds pristinely white,
the kind that causes you to gaze in wonder at the place you find yourself.

Breezes blow and grape vines shift,
their giant leaves casting shadows,
framed by that Italian blue.
And in their wandering waving
I find my own wavering,
no matter how blue a sky.

The hill steeply climbs
graded into plots, gardened into life.
In late afternoon it sits in shade,
this part of the yard catches morning sun.
The sky above it, though, is still Italian blue.
And as I sit watching vegetables and children grow,
I see my reflection in a yellow building’s window.
I am older than I remember,
more tired; weary with wrestling.

When I was young
I knew how to pray.
And in my prayers life was framed in Italian blue,
because I believed,
and so it would be.
And that blue made clouds white,
caused earth to catch morning sun,
and afternoon shade.

Today the sky is Italian blue,
and I beneath it can only groan
and ache, uncertain of words and
undiminishing desires, lost in a maze of yellow buildings,
reaching for a cloud, smiling at a child;
knowing her ache, though young, is old for one so young.
Still, I smile and I reach, now a little afraid of a sky so blue, too blue.
I gaze in wonder
I groan
I wrestle
I waver
I believe.

A weekend for Kris

2011-02-02T12:27:00.000-08:00

This past weekend we not only celebrated the impending birth of Baby B (Kris's baby boy), but also her 40th birthday. Here are a few pictures...

Cute baby boy cakes that were oh-so-tasty! (I never really enjoyed frosting before I was pregnant like I do right now...)

Kris opening my gift...

and if you know Kris and her husband, you'll truly appreciate how cute this guitar studded outfit is...and how perfect it is for them!

For future bath times...

Two big bellied mamas!

Celebrating the big 4-0! (although, as I've said before, she looks like she's 15...)

Kris pointing out the fire hazard that is her belly...

so her family stepped in to help get all those candles blown out!

It was a fun weekend celebrating Kris and her life and the little life she is carrying.

An update for Random Updates

2011-01-31T18:32:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I updated you on our randomness...

Mostly because life hasn't been that random. Our days are filled with the intentionality of waiting...for a baby, for immigration, for jobs. And while we are waiting, we are also enjoying the minute, the hour, the day.

So, random update #1:

If you don't know already, I heart the blog Jones Design Company. If you haven't checked it out yet, you must. This lady (her name is Emily) is creative and fun and just lovely. So, pleae click on the name of her blog and check it out...or, I always have her listed as an inspiring blog on the right of my own blog.

Random update #2: A baby name

Nope, I'm not going to announce the name we've chosen on the blog, although the name isn't a secret and if you're up on the meaning of names, you might could guess the name we've chosen.

And while this may not seem so random, the other day I was praying for wisdom and peace and then thought: that's our baby's name; wisdom and peace. Just seems so fitting for this time in our lives.

Random update #3:

I sleep better when I nap during the day than I do at night.

Random update #4:

We start la maze classes this Wednesday and tomorrow we have a hospital tour complete with a free dinner. The free dinner is actually the main reason why we are going, although I am fairly interested in knowing where to go when I go into labor.

Random update #5:

We bought a changing table dresser (used) for our baby. It's old, but in good condition and I can't wait to start filling it with her clothes, diapers, and lotions so we can change her sweet buns!

And that's about it for Random Updates...thanks for reading. Really...I'm so thankful that you read and view and comment.

When I can't sleep in the middle of the night...

2011-01-26T20:49:00.000-08:00

Galatians 1: lullabies

the middle of the night and
i wake up.
a light shimmers in
my room, escaping the boundaries
of the neighbor’s back porch.
i toss and turn on a
sea of bedcovers in time
with the racing beat of my heart.

with my big toe, i peel off
a sock, and then do the same
for the other foot.
this peeling, pulling off layers,
cools me down, leaves me exposed.
i remember who i am,
is the same as who i want to be.

the good news reaches in,
a magic touch
grace.
a thousand other voices
and their expectations
are quieted
by the truth.

i sleep again
only to wake in the morning
to find myself
cradled.

Round with excitement, swollen with joy

2011-01-24T19:02:00.000-08:00

My sister told me that this little guy

said to her the other day:

Did you know that Jesus is coming back?

And that made me think about when I first knew or realized or was told that Jesus is coming back. I don't remember when I found out...it just feels like I've always known.

I wish I could recall when I learned this news. Or maybe, as an adult, being told for the first time that Jesus will return for His Bride...the amazement, the joy, the excitement.

It's unbelievable truth. It's hope.

And I rarely think about it. I don't live in that reality.

Jesus is coming back.

And that is good news. But not because of the rescue or the relief it promises. The good news is that when He returns, we'll be with Him.

It may not be in my life-time, but He's coming again and it is great news.

And, it feels far away. He promised His return 2,000 years ago. Over those millennia the signs He told us to look for have been read and hundreds of men and women have promised that on a certain date or at a certain time, Jesus would be back. And He hasn't come back.

Yet.

So within all the hundreds of years of waiting and the decades and decades of history, we find ourselves.

Trusting in that return.

The other day I had to have an echo(ultrasound) of our baby's heart. Statistically speaking, because of my age, there are certain birth defects that can be detected through ultrasounds or blood tests...or an amnio. Because of the invasiveness of an amnio, we didn't do that test. And so, all these other tests.

I lay on the bed, while the ultrasound tech used her camera and pressed hard on my swollen belly, and craned my neck to see the four beating chambers of a pea-sized heart. Our room was mostly quiet, as the tech couldn't tell me anything about what she saw. And as she finished, she said that a doctor would review the ultrasound and then be in touch with my doctor withing two weeks. Good-bye.

That was it.

Walking into that room, I was mostly confident that everything was fine with our baby. I still am confident that everything is fine. But not hearing anything that day rattled me. I hadn't expected to have to wait.

Jesus is coming back. Did we expect to have to wait so long?

And while I craned my neck to see a beating heart and stretched my patience in the wait, I heard these words: I am with you always.

That Jesus is coming back gives us hope, it strengthens our faith, causes us to grow round with excitement, swollen with joy.

Here's some news that may just be as good: He is always with us.

As we anticipate and wait and hope and struggle and live, we aren't alone.

He is always with us.

When the anticipation is long. When the signs we read don't equal the return we thought would happen. When the struggle hardly seems worth the promise of a long-time gone Savior.

He is always with us.

Like His return, it's something I've always known. Remembering that He is with me, with us, it's the Bride waiting for her wedding day, the mama waiting for her baby to be born.

I am round with excitment, swollen with joy.

Baby bedding...

2011-01-20T18:15:00.001-08:00

My sister asked me for some pictures of the sari blanket that I'm basing our baby bedding around. So, I thought I'd just post about it on the blog and give proper credit to Sari Bari who made the blanket and are in the business of freedom. Here's a link to their amazing and beautiful website. Please check it out...SARI BARI

The basic idea around the company is to give women caught in the sex trade in Kolkata an alterate way of making a living that gives them dignity and freedom.

So, this baby blanket has basically been the only thing we've had to buy for our baby so far. And we didn't even have to buy it! I just wanted to and I loved the idea of wrapping our baby in something that gave to others.

On the other hand, the crib bumper, crib skirt, basinet, and crib sheets we've chosen are all major baby brands. But, if we don't get them, it's no big deal. However, they are all the same sage color, except I went with some pink sheets because...she's a girl! Also, my mom is cross-stitching a baby quilt with a pink chenile backing...so the girl will have some pink.

I'm so thankful that while I may not have a home of our own to bring our baby girl to when she is born, I can at least create a sactuary of a bed where I hope she knows rest and comfort and love.

After watching a documentary about:

2011-01-19T21:13:00.001-08:00

Derrida

you ask to talk in specifics
of that which cannot be described.
what is love?
i can give you dates
a time when i first saw him.
but the falling in love-
it is not named-
as much as it sits here
between us
in this moment
as it did then
and has.

I wrote this several years ago, but after having fallen in love with my husband, it is more true today than it was then.

With a friend

2011-01-18T22:42:00.000-08:00

Getting married later in life means that more often than not the friends you've had most of your life have already had their children. At least, that's been true for me.

Except for my friend Kris.

She and her husband tried to have a baby for 12 years (!), and then this little doll baby came around.

I married about a year after this baby girl was born and almost immediately Kris and I began to hope that we would be pregnant at the same time.

Well, we are. She's about 5 weeks ahead of me...although you'd never know it from our size.

It's great being pregnant with a friend, and especially one who is my age. Kris will be 40 in just a couple weeks (although she looks 15) and can empathize with the saying I've now coined when someone asks how I am: I'm old and pregnant...

(I usually only respond that way with good friends as I don't want to appear to be complaining. I'm so grateful to be pregnant...and now that all the WWW has heard how I feel, well...perhaps you can all consider yourselves my good friends.)

So, I just want to say how thankful I am to be pregnant with my good friend. It's fun to consider names together, to crave the same foods, we even go to the same doctor! I'm just so grateful.

Books I've Read since June 2010

2011-01-18T09:29:00.000-08:00

Just the other day I asked this question on Facebook:

What does it mean when I'd rather spend money on fiction books than on child-rearing books?

People responded with lots of comments...

So far, the only child-rearing book I've read is Babywise. And while I may not follow it to the letter, it was helpful in giving me an idea as how to figure out a baby's schedule...cuz I'd like this little one to sleep through the night as soon as reasonably possible.

I was a nanny for 5 years, a teacher for 3, have 10 nieces and nephews, not to mention all my friends who have kids...I think I'll be okay when it comes to child-rearing practices. If not, then I'll make Bela (my husband) read the books and give me a short synopsis. :) (p.s. Please do not infer that I think I know everything about raising kids. I don't...just have probably more of a headstart than most).

Okay, so, my reading list since June 2010.

Sorry, I didn't write down the authors nor am I supplying links to the books as I have in the past. However, if you do a search on Amazon via the titles, I'm sure you'll find the books. I'm highlighting the books in BOLD type that I especially liked. Also, those that are non-fiction are marked with an **.

Caretakers of our Common House**
Icy Sparks
SWAN THIEVES
THE HISTORIAN
The Lemon Tree
Garden Spells
I KNOW THIS MUCH IS TRUE
THE HOUR I FIRST BELIEVED
Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet
Two Pence to Cross the Mersey
By the Waters of Liverpool
Love is an Orientation**
Pilgramage of a Soul**
Here Burns my Candle
WHITETHORN WOODS
Tisha
Babywise
FALL ON YOUR KNEES
Trudy's Promise

Why I especially like a book may vary in reason. Perhaps I just think the author had an original idea and I was swept up in the story or the dialogue was very good or the writing was flavorful.

I wish I would have kept track of pages read because a lot of these books were page heavy...

Anyway...a new year, a new batch of books. I hope. Even if they are child-rearing ones.

If you have any books you've especially enjoyed, I'd love to know what they are! Please comment and share them with me.

Romania II

2011-01-12T22:12:00.000-08:00

When I think of Romania, I think of her...

Romania II – Mihaela

I went looking for her today-
That brown girl,
With those brown eyes,
And crazy high cheekbones.

And I found her-
Hair matted and dirty,
Eyes still brown and sparkling.
She ran to me
And into my arms
And we held one another
For a long time.

I asked if she was going to school-
And she said yes.
I looked into her eyes deep-
And she said no.
At 9, she stays home to care for
Younger siblings-
So her twin brother can go to school,
So her mom can work at the town dump,
Sorting trash, in her colorful skirts,
So her father can hang out, chewing sunflower seeds.

As I smoothed her hair,
I told her we were leaving.
She asked why,
But her brother ran up and
She forgot the question.
I was relieved
Because sometimes I just don’t know the answer anymore.

She ran to grab her toddler sister
Who was coming frighteningly close
To the horse that was kept in the
Tiny cement courtyard.
And I let her go.

When she returned,
I said good-bye, kissed her forehead
And said: I love you, take care of yourself.
I left, hiding my sobs
Wanting to take her with me,
Wanting to rescue her,
Knowing that no matter how well I spoke Romanian,
No matter how well I tutored her-
It wouldn’t matter.
Short of abduction,
There will be no rescue.

And hidden in my sobs was this cry:
Rescue her.
Abduct her heart,
Speak softly her name,
Until she recognizes the voice of Love
And hides in its salvation.

These words are truly imperfect as I continue to feel so raw over what has been left behind...

30 weeks

2011-01-11T10:10:00.000-08:00

I know there are things to blog about besides my pregnancy.

At least I think there are.

And hopefully I'll find those other things and blog about them again.

Another day.

But yesterday we had another ultrasound. Our first in 10 weeeks. Once again our little one was difficult. I'd read earlier in the day that often a mom can tell the personality of her baby by the was he or she moves in the womb.

Well, she gave us the foot.

And the back of her head.

She's gonna be just like her mother. :)

But finally, she gave us the top of her face.

Can you see her eyeball sockets? And her nose? And lips?

Neither can I.

Still, when I saw her tiny tibia and little femur I thought: I don't know how to say thank you.

And I don't.

And then, there's this:

I also had my glucose test (sp?) yesterday at a lab in a part of the city where I haven't spent much time. Let's just say, I think I was the only white girl in the place for the more than an hour it took to have the test done.

And as I sat waiting, a man came wheeling through on a wheel chair that was on the less-than-expensive side. My guess is, he didn't have a lot of money. Neither do I, which is why I was at this lab in the first place.

But the hat on this wheel chair totin; old man's head said: God is good.

And that's about the only way I know how to say thank you right now: God is good.

Here's a picture Bela took a couple weeks ago of me in San Diego...28 weeks pregnant. It was a beautiful day.

A child is born

2010-12-24T09:20:00.000-08:00

December 24, 2010

And, here we are.

The day before Christmas. Christmas Eve. Sometime on this night, somewhere in time, a child was born and a young girl birthed him.

Being pregnant for the first time, I've thought about Mary and becoming a mother a lot this Christmas. I'm almost 25 years older than she probably was, but I wonder if age difference doesn't keep at bay the worries of motherhood.

Like how will we provide for this little one?

Both Mary and I have no place of our own to lay our children. We live in a borrowed room and instead of a manger, my baby will sleep in second hand basinets and cribs. I'll clothe her in things that have been worn before and wrap her in a baby blanket that was once a sari, sewn by a woman who was a sex slave but now is finding freedom in making purses and blankets.

And I look at all I have for my little girl and realize I have all I really need.

And Mary, when she looked at her little boy, saw that He was all she really needed.

This Christmas, I realize I've been given more than I ever thought possible. Our needs our being met, the Provider is doing what He said He would; He is providing.

And on that night He was born, the greatest provision of all was given. A Son who would become sacrifice, but also God who became man. Like us.

I bask in this provision. And I'm hoping that to this child I've been given, I will be able to point and say: I've not much on this earth to give you, but I give you the one thing I know I have beyond any doubt, the assurance that He has provided, He will provide.

A couple weeks ago I heard that the real meaning behind the word 'merry' was 'mighty.' I wish you a Mighty Christmas, full of the hope of His mighty provision in a new year and the faithfulness of His gentle care in the last year. Even when it feels like that provision isn't so mighty, even when it feels like it isn't so gentle. He is all we really need.

I've waited for this all of my life...

2010-12-22T09:18:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been asked quite a bit if I like being pregnant.

I don't.

I kinda always thought I would like carrying a child. And, I don't.

Nausea still shadows me daily so I have to be sure to eat every couple hours and carry snacks with me. Gorgeous thick hair and beautiful skin still evade me. I've never broken out as bad as I do now. At 27 weeks my ankles and feet are swollen beyond recognition. In fact, I feel like my body is bloated and big beyond recognition.(I drink about a gallon of water a day....still, said swollen ankles). Sleeping is difficult at night due to strange pains in even stranger areas of my body that I did not think could hurt. I cry without notice. I'm angry without notice. I'm stressed without notice.

And yesterday I said to myself: I've waited for this child all my life.

And I thought: Perhaps creation was much the same as it waited for its King; bloated, fat, hurting, sleep deprived, angry, emotional, stressed, hungry, and broken.

Still, the earth had waited for this moment all its life.

The moment that changed everything.

I wouldn't change how hard this is for anything, not for what I'm being given in return.

I've waited for this all of my life...

And in these days before Christmas, when we reflect and remember and wait again for the birth of Jesus, I find that this ravaged body of mine is waiting in more than one way for a return to wholeness.

I've been waiting for that, too, all of my life.

When intentionality and reflection at Christmas are missing: 3 steps I just came up with

2010-12-21T07:36:00.000-08:00

December 21, 2010

So maybe I won't be posting an Advent reflection everyday...I did try to say something yesterday, but the words just wouldn't come. I couldn't organize my thoughts in a way in which I was happy. And then I became busy with the day...watching my husband's eyelid swell up, making some homemade gifts, finishing up what was on my shopping list, taking a much needed nap, hanging out with nephews, etc etc etc.

And throughout the day I thought about stopping and pausing and reflecting and being intentional...and it just didn't come. I wasn't feeling it, you know?

As much as I want to reflect on the season of Advent, I'm sort of stuck in the middle of reflecting on everything else. Which I know is the danger and therefore the moment where what the time of Advent is about, is lost.

So, I'm going to take it a step at a time...this pondering. I want to start with what is first on the agenda of my busy day, and then get to what I'm feeling. And hopefully, in uncovering it all, I'll reach a place of rest at the Advent of our Savior.

Step one: Name what I'm doing today.
Today I'm making peanut butter balls (for the first time), hoping that my husband is healthy enough to finish up a round of immunizations he needs for a medical report for immigration, work on my affidavit for said immigration, wrap a few gifts, email a few people, get a haircut (yay!!!), and I think that's about it.

I know, it doesn't seem like a lot on my plate, so why do I feel so lost amidst it all? I think because of step two, everything I'm feeling.

Step two: Name what you are feeling today.
Yesterday morning my husband Bela and I skyped with the people we worked with in Galati. They were having a Christmas party and we wanted to be able to say hi, so we called.

We said hi, showed off my belly, made a few jokes, and tried to understand one another between a bad internet connection and so many people talking at once that no one could hear what the other was saying. Before we ended, they sang us a song. And with all my heart I wished I was sitting in that room with them singing and laughing and celebrating.

During this season of our lives, and namely, during this Advent season, we are having to wander through the grief of leaving so many we love. And I think that grief, slammed up against the season of Advent, can make it hard to find reflective words about the season.

I think I'll share one of my favorite Christmas moments from Galati. Every year we take the kids from the center caroling around the city. Many people carol during the Christmas season in Galati, and often they do it in hopes of being given money or food. We did it in order to say thank you to those who gave or prayed or were simply a part of our lives during the year. We also would go to the kids' homes and sing for their families.

And so these kids who could sing like angels would perform their songs and at the end, one girl would recite part of Luke 2: And unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

I loved standing in the middle of courtyards and in the center of bloc apartments and hearing the name of Jesus proclaimed...Christ the Lord. I reveled in the idea that whole sections of Galati were being brought into the Light, and such Light the darkness cannot contain.

This season, I'm not doing anything half so glamorous as trudging through a snow laden city with 30 kids singing carols and speaking the name of Jesus. I'm sitting in my parent's home, listening to rain, feelling my baby's kicks get stronger, and hoping that Bela and I will be able to get our immigration application in this week.

Step 3: Speak the name of Jesus.
What I am doing today, the grief I'm wading through, the worries I'm battling may not be full of high and holy moments like a Christmas in Galati, but, they are worshipful nonetheless.

Tiny increments of time given to me in which I can say His name: Jesus, the sweet baby born to Mary. The King. The Lord. The Savior.

These seconds are handed to me and I revel in them and hope that the time will only expand and what once just a moment, will become a holy hour and even in this small part of the world, Light will unfold and no darkness or worry or grief or anything will be able to overtake it.

(art work taken from Fanpop)

The week before Christmas

2010-12-19T08:50:00.000-08:00

December 19, 2010

It's hard to believe that we have only 7 days left before Christmas (if you count today, Sunday). My husband and my life have been a crazy mix lately of working through the emotions of moving from one country to another, doing that legally, preparing for a baby, Christmas shopping, health insurance issues, the California sun, the California rain, and discovering who we are and will be in this new place.

Quieting ourselves, quieting myself, and reflecting on the birth of our King has truly not had much space.

So I thought I'd be intentional this week in blogging everyday in order to sit and be quiet and consider what the Word becoming flesh is saying to me this season...not only the Christmas season, but aso just in this time of life.

I wrote a Christmas article 5 years ago for The Other Journal (click for link). I thought I'd share it here today to kick off the week before Christmas.

Seeking the Kingdom: A Christmas Reflection

In the year 2005 our world was no stranger to deep tragedy. Tsunamis, earthquakes, hurricanes, tropical storms, war, and the AIDS pandemic devastated countries resulting in loss of life and livelihood. The ones who were already vulnerable were made more so because of such unexplainable acts of God. Children who already lived in poverty lost their parents. Men, who daily struggled with nets to fish the ocean and eke out a living, lost those nets, their boats and even their courage to face a fickle sea. The poor became poorer, the exploited were left wide open for further exploitation, and we are left to ask some difficult questions.

Not difficult questions like: Where is God? Or, if God is good, how can He allow such horrible things to happen? And, why do such catastrophic events always seem to happen to the poor, leaving them even poorer?

Instead we are left to ask more personal, even more difficult questions like: What does this catastrophe reveal in me? And, where do I fit into this tragedy?

It’s Christmas time now, a time when the world unites and we are on our best behavior. We give money to poor children so they will have gifts under a tree, donate blankets so homeless men can stay warm at night, or we might even serve up a turkey dinner at a local shelter to battered women or recovering addicts. At this festive time of year we’re reminded to find the good in others. We receive holiday cards calling for peace on earth printed on recycled paper and are urged by made for T.V. specials to be thankful for family and friends.

I, like most of us, try doing all of these things, or at least at some level feel compelled to do them. I desire to make a difference, make my dent in humanity at this point in history that is both healing and fulfilling.

A few short months ago I stood and worked on the streets of Calcutta, India. Calcutta is a city of an estimated 23 million people. Crowded streets, packed buses, overflowing metros are an overwhelming characteristic of this city. As are the gray and crumbling buildings that once boasted the affluence of the British Empire. Calcutta was the capitol of British India and the gem of Southeast Asia. Today she smells a bit rotten, like she was overcooked or left to sit out too long at an empty dinner table. Her children run barefoot, her women are mostly forgotten, and she is the last place on earth where rickshaw pulling by human beings is legal. I stood and walked and breathed the length and breadth of this city and wondered what good I could do here when I heard a whisper: Seek first my Kingdom.

When Jesus was born His parents took Him to the Temple in Jerusalem to offer Him to God (Luke 2:22-32.) Here waited a man named Simeon who loved God. He was filled with the Holy Spirit and was “looking for the consolation of Israel.” It had been revealed to Simeon that he would not die until he had seen God’s Messiah. The Messiah would usher in God’s Kingdom and offer salvation to Israel, and ultimately to the world.

And so, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus came to the temple and Luke says that Simeon also came in the Spirit to the Temple. He took this 7-day-old infant in his arms and blessed God and said: Now I can die, I’ve seen the Kingdom of God.

Not only did Simeon see the Kingdom, but he also took it into his arms and held it. I imagine Simeon holding that baby like I would hold one, cuddling it up close to my neck, kissing its forehead, and believing that I’d never seen such a beautiful baby.

I wasn’t holding a soft cuddly baby, though. I was living in a city with sweltering heat, fighting a parasite, and attempting to ignore the dirt, when I heard a whisper to seek the Kingdom and I wondered how to do it. How does a white woman like me look past the leers of men who grab her on the street in order to find the Kingdom? How does a privileged white woman like myself forget her affluence long enough to sit on a Calcutta sidewalk with a street woman and find the Kingdom? How does an educated privileged white woman like me lose all she thinks she knows in order to hold the hand of an elderly demented abandoned woman in order to find the Kingdom?

Calcutta is also the city of Mother Teresa who founded an order of nuns and monks called the Brothers and Sisters of Charity (Missionaries of Charity.) This group of men and women take a vow of poverty in order to “serve Jesus among the poorest of the poor.” I worked in a home run by these Sisters called Shanti Dan. In India, mentally ill men or women are generally abandoned and left to die on the streets. Shanti Dan is a place where women with mental illness can live in safety and be fed, clothed, and cared for as long as they live.

At Shanti Dan I met a woman who was visibly mentally ill. She would sit in a hunched position most of the time, bobbing her body back and forth, biting her fingers. She couldn’t speak, but would mutter the word: mommy. Since the Bengali word for mother isn’t mommy, she wasn’t calling her own mother. Instead, it became her name.

I learned part of her story included giving birth to a baby in January. She had been living on the streets and someone took advantage of her mental state and the reality that she would not be able to tell anyone she’d been raped. There was no one to tell anyway. She was alone on the street. I can only guess that this was not the first time she’d been sexually exploited, but this occasion had resulted in the conception of a child. The baby was put up for adoption and there wasn’t any indication that she knew she’d had a child.

My heart broke for this woman. Because she was mentally disabled, she was abandoned. Because she was abandoned and mentally disabled, she was exploited beyond anything I could imagine.

From time to time the Sisters would turn on music at Shanti Dan. When they did, Mommy would stand and place her legs in almost a running position and bob from left to right foot, dancing. She’d moan with the music, singing. And I thought: what did she find in those moments? Was it merely joy, or was she holding the Kingdom?

The Kingdom in the song and dance of a mental patient in Calcutta? I guess I thought the Kingdom would shine more brightly, smell better, and be less crowded. In the Kingdom I thought people wouldn’t let their children sleep on the street because they owned a mansion just over the hilltop. Streets would be paved with gold, not strewn with garbage, and Peter would stand at the Pearly Gates only letting in those who belonged. They certainly would not be creepy Indian men.

And when I heard that whisper beckoning me to seek the Kingdom, I whispered back: how can I when I daily feel like I’m literally dragging myself from the small house where I live, to a rickety, crowded bus, to Shanti Dan, and then back to the house and a cold shower, after which I drag myself to a thin sleeping mat, and in between these stops I witness poverty, deformities, filth, smells, and abandonment. I struggled with learning Bengali. And me, dragging myself, dragging myself because I thought I should come and make my mark, make a difference. Because I believed in this “mission,” because I had a vision for the oppressed and exploited.

Still I heard a whisper: Seek my Kingdom.

Is the Kingdom in the faces of sedated, deserted women? Or is it in the uncertain steps of a girl who rarely moves, but loves to dance? Can it appear in the smiles of widows happy to hold my hand, in the bright red nail polish I applied to dirty hands of women who are missing fingers?

It was one of the things they loved best, to have their fingernails painted. From the moment we would enter the home they would begin asking: Auntie, nail polish? And so, I would sit and paint hand after hand, sometimes toes too. They had a variety of colors to choose from, but they liked red best. Lal, they call it. Bengali for red. It’s applied thick like blood, and I began to wonder if it was the color of the Kingdom, bright Christmas red nail polish.

Another day at Shanti Dan I slipped on a wet step and scraped my hand. The women laughed at “Auntie,” and rushed to tell the Sister about my accident. I was sent to Sister Olga to get cleaned up and bandaged. She put iodine on my scrape, which tightened and stung the scrape. I blew on the cut to cool the sting when an old woman named Roxana who always spoke nonsense took my hand in her own with its red finger nails, and began to blow on it for me. In the Bible the Holy Spirit sometimes manifests Himself in a wind or a breeze. At Shanti Dan He was the cool breath of an old woman with painted fingernails, the Kingdom breeze blowing across my pain.

It’s Christmas and the end of a year, a year riddled with global tragedy, tragedies I found written on the faces of women I grew to love, to hold, and in those faces I knew I’d never seen such beauty. And in their smiles, in their laughter, in their dirty hands that filled my own I found I belonged. I belonged not because I was poor or because I was rich, but because I was a woman who could feel their pain and recognized that it was not unlike my own.

I am an educated privileged white woman who believes that in belonging to the Kingdom of God I should care for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the alien. At least, I did believe that. I once believed it was my responsibility and yes, my obligation, to care for those who had less than I did, to remember the forgotten. But in Calcutta I did not find and hold the Kingdom by fulfilling a Christian duty. I found and held and belonged to the Kingdom by becoming a part of it, by entering into it.
Simeon didn’t only hold and cuddle a promised Messiah, the Kingdom of God. He held the One who became just like us. That One lost His home, His father, His safety until He was nothing but a man.

One sweaty Sunday in Calcutta we walked to church and past a man with leprosy. He had no arms past elbows or legs past knees. These stumps were bandaged and as I turned to smile at him, he put his white gauzed stumps together in front of his face and smiled back. The pain of his disease and the shame he faced at not only being a leper, but a beggar as well, seared into my heart. I was struck with the picture of this man as Christ. When Jesus took on humanity it must have looked like this man; God becoming man was like me becoming a begging leper.

The King of this Kingdom I seek was a man despised, rejected, and diseased. He knew betrayal and abandonment. He was shamed, hungry, thirsty, and alone. In Calcutta I was weak, dependent, scared, lost and alone. At least, I’d like to believe that it was only while I was in Calcutta that I was weak, dependent, scared, lost and alone. The truth is, I find myself feeling weak, dependent, scared, lost and alone no matter where I am or whom I am with in the world.

Liberation theologians like to talk about solidarity and while I may not agree completely with their theology, I do find myself thinking again and again that it is in solidarity where we find the Kingdom. Human solidarity requires a like-minded thinking on our part. It means believing that I am no better than anyone else. It is remembering that all humanity is frail and sits warily on an egg shell of emotions and stories that begin to look not unlike another human in Africa suffering from AIDS or in New Orleans who lost their home. We are men and women who at a very soul level know what loss is and live with a longing to belong.
And here is our opening to the Kingdom. Here is where we forget who or what we are and become like children in order to reach out to each other and see the Kingdom of God draw near. This is what happened when the Christ of Christmas was born and the Kingdom of God appeared.

I struggle now in the U.S. to still live at this place in the Kingdom, but for this day, I hope I do. I hope I remember the feel of a cool breeze on a cut so that in a small way I can reach towards another in their pain and offer not just a touch of human solidarity, but also hope. Because the Kingdom of God is not only about being in a place where we all stand equally, it’s about being in the place of salvation.

And when I remember this place of salvation, the Kingdom where I belong, I pick up a bottle of thick red nail polish and paint my toes the color of the Kingdom.

(art by Bellini, Jesus presentation at the Temple)

And...if you haven't seen this, Colbert may never have preached a better message: Click Here Now

Baby shoes...

2010-12-15T20:10:00.000-08:00

While still in Romania, we visited a shop in Bucarest called Zara Home. You may be familiar with Zara as a clothing store...their home store is just as great.

I saw some baby girl shoes in the home store and they stole my heart. In fact, I audibly said: OHH! When I saw them. I was by myself. After, I looked around sheepishly, but no one seemed to hear me.

But I didn't buy those sweet shoes.

And, I couldn't stop thinking about them. And so I thought: I bet my sister Elisabeth could make them.

And she could.

And she did.

Look at these sweet things! I can't wait until 10 sweet little toes fill them...

Still Grateful...

2010-12-13T19:19:00.000-08:00

I usually wake up around 4 a.m. hungry. So, I eat a banana, drink a glass of milk, and try to sleep. Instead, I end up thinking about life, our life, this life...where we find ourselves now.

And my heart may race. And my mind may worry. And I may wonder what's ahead.

This I know. When my heart races and my mind worries and I wonder what's ahead, if I stop and think about all I have and say thanks, the heart stops racing, the mind stops worrying, and what's ahead matters a little less.

This I know. We will have a baby. A girl. Who we will name. And love...because we already do.

This I know. When I come to The Table and see all that goodness spread out before me, I know that I've been given so much.

grateful for...#266-277

safe travels
gifts of cell phone service
a car to drive
friends to welcome us
clothes for our baby
bassinet, high chair, car seat and other gifts of baby necessities
my parent's house to stay in...all inclusive
my husband's hand to hold
amazingly warm weather that heats my soul
the movement of my baby
passing the DMV test (100%)
clear lungs, clean blood

Sunday evening we went to a Romanian church about an hour away for a Christmas concert. The whole service was in Romanian and was made complete with sarmale and cozonac. Here's a picture of us all dressed up and ready to go...me, 26 weeks pregnant with baby girl and looking quite plump. :)

Random Updates of the Not-so-Random

2010-11-30T09:06:00.000-08:00

November 30, 2010

Hi there...it's been a few weeks since I posted and much has changed. My husband and I moved to California from Galati, Romania and are now in the middle of processing the shift in our lives. We've been taking it slow, taking it easy, and just trying to rest. Here are a few updates...

~~As of yesterday, we've been in the states for 3 weeks. Leaving Romania was more difficult that I'd ever imagined. We are missing our family there, the sweet faces of the little ones we worked with at the center, and even just the rhythm of our days in Galati. So much to become accustomed to here, especially for my husband, Bela, who is living in the states for the first time.

~~The weather in California (southern) couldn't be more beautiful.

(These are views from my parent's yard of the San Bernardino Mountains and their orange tree...which Bela loves. Now, he could only find the elusive lime tree in their yard...)

~~I'm 24 weeks pregnant. Trying to figure out a name. Imagining what she'll look like. Longing to hold her...even at 2, 4, and 6 a.m. Feeling her move around more and more. Continually amazed at this unimaginable gift.

~~Last Saturday we went to Chinatown in L.A. with the Browns and ate Dim Sum.

~~We spent Thanksgiving with family in Long Beach and laughed. A lot.

~~Have not quite had my fill of Mexican food.

~~Learning that when He said He is always with us, He meant it. Trusting that He is indeed our Deliverer...that He wants to save us.

~~Thinking that I'll wait before I do anymore with the "If You Have the Time Fridays- short story share..." It seems that I don't quite have the time right now.

~~My sister Elisabeth is visiting from Portland this week with her family. Can't wait to see them.

~~That's it for now...but I'm here and hoping to begin posting once again...

What's in a name...or a title?

2010-11-03T06:13:00.000-07:00

Posting for me this week is difficult as I'm finding words, or at least the right words, to be a challenge.

We are leaving...Galati, Romania, home. This is our last week here.

And it is more painful than I'd ever imagined it could be.

So, I'll be posting more when I can, but for now, I have only these few words.

If you have the time: short story share

2010-10-28T06:50:00.000-07:00

Welcome to: If you have the time Fridays: short story share. All you need to do is link up to my blog in the comment section (sorry, I am still working on how to do a Linky system...)and then post your own short story or essay on your blog. I'm hoping that this will develop a community of people who read one another's work, comment on it (in kind, constructive ways) that both improve our writing/stories/essays AND get our work out there. Feel free to post the same story week after week so that we can enjoy the changes you make. And now, my story:

The Whole World Rested on the Point of his Finger

Florin closed the door behind him when he wasn’t quite out of the doorway- the door bumping the red backpack straddled across his shoulders. He paused for a moment, adjusting the weight in the bag, looked up and down the street, and headed to school.
His navy pants were held up by a zipper that wouldn’t zip and a piece of shoestring pulled tight, causing the waist of the too big pants to buckle around his too small body. A rainy day in a gray city, he skipped through puddles, the holes in his shoes capturing the water, wetting his socks, and sloshing him down the street. The shoes he wore he’d been so proud of. Bought at a second hand store, they’d once been some other boy’s Addidas soccer shoes.
The city was abuzz with early morning activity. Tall men topped with curly fur hats brushed by him while women in fur trimmed coats held the arms of their husbands, smug expressions of satisfaction lining their thin and aging lips. A biting wind stung Florin’s cheeks as people passed by as icily, and he pulled his knit hat down lower over his ears.
Thrown up against a granite sky, giant block apartments stood with their empty eyed windows staring blankly at him as he waited for the bus. A woman shook a rug out from the balcony above him and the dust of other’s lives rained on his shoulders. He hardly noticed, although the dust made him sneeze.
The 34 bus came swimming toward him like a whale heading south for the winter, stopped and squeezed open its door. Florin grabbed the rail and pulled squat legs over steps as jagged as a prize-fighter’s teeth. Before he reached the top step, the door closed, and the bus enveloped him into its body.
Florin faced a sea of faces and no one offered him a seat. So he stood and braced his legs as the bus rumbled away from the stop. The strong smell of garlic and onions wafted around him- vapors of lunches and dinners. The smell, however wrong, made his belly rumble and his full-lipped mouth swallowed away a lump of hunger.
The bus lunged to a stop and grownups stood around him to exit. Shoving him into another passenger, they pushed past Florin.
The door yawned shut and he mumbled to himself,”One more stop.”
The bus lurched forward, causing him to lose his balance and fall into the lap of an old woman.
“Careful!” she yelled, “Stupid boy.” With one hand, she pushed him off of her and made the sign of the cross with the other. “Don’t you look where you’re going?” she hissed.
Florin stumbled forward as the woman mumbled and carefully fixed her hat, “Why do they smell? You always know one is near by the smell.”
Having turned pink with shame, Florin shouldered himself forward and found a bar to hold onto, when the bus came to another lurching stop. Moving quickly through a thick forest of coats, he mumbled, “Scuze, pardon.” Hands pushed him through until he erupted from their grasp, whereupon he fell down the steps of the bus, through the yawning door, and into a half frozen puddle of water.
As the door shut, he heard someone say, “He needed a bath.” And then the roar of the bus echoed around him, leaving a trail of exhaust in which he could hide.
But the relief of being hidden, or at least just a shadow, was momentary before he heard the honking of an approaching car. Florin quickly stepped out of the puddle and onto a slippery curb while at the same moment being splashed by the same puddle he’d just fallen into as a white Dacia raced past, dousing an already wet child.
His too big pants, now mud spattered, were heavy with water and as he moved forward, they began to fall. A shoelace through belt loops made an inadequate belt.
Adjusting his backpack, he held up his pants with one hand, while continuing to push forward with the other. Fearing he’d be late for school and with only one more block to go, he began an awkward limp of a run. With one hand still on his pant and the other pushing open the door, he entered the building even while heaving a huge sigh of relief. In a moment of complete exhausted relief, the hand that held his pants in place lifted to re-shift his backpack, just as his pants slipped to his ankles. A few students were scattered in the almost empty halls of Scoala 24, and while Florin quickly realized his mistake, he wasn’t fast enough for the observant eyes of upper elementary aged students. Those who saw began to laugh and point, while exclaiming loudly so others would look. With a heave and a sigh, Florin reached down and pulled up his pants, trying to work with the wet knotted shoe-lace so that he could pull the pants tight around him again and squished his way to the classroom. Doamna would most certainly be unhappy with his tardiness, not to mention his appearance. Still, he pressed forward, finding the classroom door and entering, greeting his teacher who sat at her desk with the mandatory, “Buna ziua.”
Slopping his way to his seat in the back of the class, every eye watched him. A few giggled, but his head was down so he couldn’t see who.
He sat with a squish, water oozing out of his pants which then began to drip on the floor. His neighbor scooted away from him so that the gathering puddle around Florin would not over take him, too.
Drip, drip ran the water over the side of the bench. In the quiet of the classroom, the sound rocketed off chalkboard and window pane until Doamna teacher who sat at her desk, lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose and hollered, “Florin!”
He jumped in his seat, his legs not unbending quickly enough and he, knobby kneed, hit the bottom of his desk. The thunder of bone against wood shook books off the ledge and off the desk, hitting the ground with a slam.
And there he stood. All eyes, all heads, giving him obeisance he did not seek. A submission of mockery, of disgust and mistrust, lay at his feet along with the gathering puddle of water.
Silently the teacher stood, too. Glasses still lying low on her nose, anchored by a mole that hung there, she powerfully cleared her throat. Quickly, all obeisances were returned to her. Ripples of laughter ceased, pencils submitted to paper, and a litany of homework began.
Florin stood, facing his teacher. Their eyes met, but he didn’t look away. She stared hard, and he didn’t turn his gaze. A bead of water traced its way down his brown cheek and neck, and still he didn’t move, still he didn’t look lower his eyes in submission/humiliation.
“Florin,” she spoke, “You entered my classroom late, wet, and, it appears, unprepared. You’ve continued to disrupt the class with your clumsiness, wet appearance, and now, with your disrespect. I suggest you collect your things and return tomorrow with a more narrowed perspective given to your education.” And then, almost as an aside, she said, “And do something about that smell.”
Still, he didn’t move. Undeterred in his gaze, he watched his teacher sit and resume her work. He, though, was an oak where he stood. The clock ticked and he dripped. After some moments, the teacher raised her head and found him where she’d last seen him.
“Florin, I told you to gather your things and go.”
No movement. Not even a flicker of understanding ran across his face.
“Young man, if you do not move this instant, I will call security and they will escort you out of the building.”
Suddenly, a shudder ran down Florin’s arm, as it rose from his side, one finger extended. On the point of that finger a whole world rested. The air of that world filled his lungs, expanding them in his chest, growing his heart large and strong. The light of that world filled his eyes so he could see as if for the first time. The water of that world bathed him and its hands dressed him and its words filled him and its power raised his finger high until he exclaimed, “I am a gypsy!”

Imperfect Prose: We Came to Say Good-bye

2010-10-28T05:48:00.000-07:00

We Came to Say Good-bye

We came to say good-bye
sitting on couches,
which would later be beds.
Grandpa read Orthodox proverbs to us
and asked if I could read Romanian.
When I said: a little,
he gave me his book to read.

We ate chicken from the yard
and were gifted a frozen goose.
After spreading garlic thick across our meal,
we ate warm placinta and complained of tummies too full.

We held new babies
round with fat and life,
they smiled at us~
and we came to say good-bye.

We sat in the yard
and on a green bench snapped the moment,
then rose, the day grown cold around us.
Grandpa said: when two become one, you go~
and told us he'd been married 60 years~
and then they could go together no longer.

We embraced; I wore my chunky shoes
and had to bend my baby heavy waist to hug him~
Three kisses on each cheek.
My husband held him closer~
and then we all walked to the gate.
Aunt said: nu vreau sa plang~
I don't want to cry, as tears fell.

We held back our sobs, even as we held them
one last time.
We stood, he on his cane, her on her tears,
and us on our choice, and waved.
We came to say good-bye
and maybe we have been
since the day we arrived.

Come back tomorrow to link up your short story to "If you have the time..." See Tuesday's post for more details.

Today I'm linking up with In the Hush of the Moon...

Eiffel Tower

2010-10-27T05:32:00.000-07:00

What landmark better represents Paris than the Eiffel Tower? It's renown is worldwide (I think that's what renown means...)Standing tall and proud over such a gem of a city, its own grace represents the city's beauty.

However, our visit to the Eiffel Tower will always be shadowed not by the iron edifices grace, but by our stop at the public toilet (i.e. port-a-potty) preceding our vieiwing.

First, I must say that the public toilets on the streets of Paris are not your ordinary run-of-the-mill port-a-potties. (I'll describe them in a minute). The line for this toilet was, however, exactly what you'd expect from a free public toilet.

And I HAD to go.

But, we waited. 20 minutes.

Now, the toilet. I'm sure other major cities in the world have similar toilets, but this was my first experience with one of such caliber. First of all, after each use, when the user leaves the plastic -but actually spacious so you don't worry about touching the walls accidentally- shack, the toilet cleans itself. Some sort of water and disinfectant rises from a chain-mail type floor, the toilet scrubs and rinses, the sink power bubbles itself so that the next user can relieve one's self in a relatively sanitary environment.

However, such endeavors take time and therefore the long line to wait for occupancy.

As we waited we saw many young people draped in the flag of Liberia. They were in fact of Liberian descent and it was World Cup time. Liberia was playing that night and these transplants were proud. (In fact, while in Paris we saw many different nationalities. It is truly a cosmopolitan city).

We also saw Indian men selling Eiffel Tower miniatures of all sizes and uses (i.e. key chains). They were selling their wares illegally, so when a policeman was spotted they had their display rigged on a mat that would quickly close up and the vendor could hide what he was doing from the law. Sneaky. We didn't buy one of those models, but now I wish we did. (What we did buy was this little bust of Napolean - which I love).

At last, finding relief in a clean Parisian public toilet, we walked the few blocks that remained to the tower.

We'd waited until evening for our visit because we wanted to see it light up. (We opted not to go up due to costs and more lines). Of course, when you approach this tower of steel, it is as imposing and gorgeous and inspiring as you'd imagine. A kind of "I can't believe I'm in Paris" feeling ensues.

We found a spot on the long lawn that stretches in front of the tower and waited with the crowds of others who'd brought baskets of bread and bottles of wine. We snapped photos and soaked it all in - we were in Paris.

And then, this brief light show brightens the tower and we all watched and cheered and then took more pictures until we realized we'd walked all over Paris that day having left Romania extremely early and were operating on very little sleep. We still needed to walk back to our hotel, so we lingered a moment more in the Eiffel glow, kissed (because we were in Paris at the Eiffel Tower), and hand in hand, walked away past the line at the public toilet, glad we (read: I) no longer had to use it.

Random Updates of the Not-so-Random

2010-10-26T06:37:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

~~ When I eat too much, I can't breathe. And it doesn't take much to be too much.

~~ The heat is on in our apartment!!! A whole week early!!!

~~ Looks like water is clear and clean of any toxic waste...

~~ I go to the grocery story almost every day. Sometimes twice. It helps that I only have to walk 100 steps.

~~ When trying to choose a name for our baby, almost all names I like have been chosen by friends, either for a child or a dog. Whatever happened to naming the canine species things like Rover?

~~ While wanting to keep this blog family-friendly, this update was too good to pass up. Galati now has a Mexican Restaurant and it's called:

That's right, El C.O. Jones. We ate there with some friends a couple weeks ago. It was okay...at least there were free chips!

~~ Every Friday I'm going to start posting short stories (at least I'm going to try to), and set up a LINKY system so that others can also post their stories. I'm hoping to start a community of people who basically want to read one another's work and offer constructive criticism. And also, just get some written work out there. It's going to be called "If you have the time." Hoping that some of writers out there will post your stuff along with me!

~~ Today Bela and I have been together for 2 years. So hard to believe, it's gone by so quickly! And now we're having a baby. Whowoodathunkit?

~~ And now, the Lentil Soup recipe. It's so great...and good for you, too! (sorry that the pictures aren't the greatest...)

Here's what you'll need:

4c lentils (or less...this amount makes a ton, so last time I only put in 2 1/4c and still had plenty)
2 tbsp oil
2 carrots, diced finely
1 onion, diced finely
3 cloves garlic, chopped finely (or pressed)
1 tsp paprika (I always put in more, though!)
1 tsp cumin (again, I'm generous!)
1 tsp tumeric (don't skimp!)
1 tbsp tomato paste
8 c veg or chicken stock (although you'll probably want to add water as this gets pretty darn thick!)
salt and pepper

on the side: sour cream to top it.

saute carrot, onion, and garlic in oil 3-4 minutes

add paprika, cumin and tumeric to pan of sauted veggies.

continue to cook 6-8 minutes
stir in tomato paste to pan of spices and veggies.

add lentils to stock, bring to boil

cook 20-30 minutes
stir time to time

After lentils and stock have cooked, add spices and veggies to lentils and continue to let bubble for about 20 minutes. Make sure the lentils are tender, and then you know you're done. And so are they.

also, you can add chopped tomatoes, peppers, whatever you like!
this is always better the second day!
AND...it gets thick...so the second day add more water and then some spices to compensate, if you like!

Here's what my kitchen looks like after I finish cooking.

So much for which to be grateful....

2010-10-25T06:37:00.001-07:00

The next couple of weeks promise to be especially difficult for us...I'll say more later, but to look at pictures like this one and be grateful for the things I've posted below, well, they become more and more precious.

I wonder how my life would be different if I didn't know these little girls...if they didn't play with my hair...if they didn't complain about the math homework I gave them...if they didn't let me touch their face or rub their back...if we didn't have conversations about their changing bodies...if I didn't know their smile, their voices, their hugs.

I try and figure how life would be different if I didn't stop and look at what I have been given and then lift my voice in thanks. I'm not certain, but I think it would lack a certain depth, a voice called meaning, a grace called love.

Grateful for...grateful that...

~ He knows where we'll be.
~ Doing lessons/homework with "I"...I love doing this.
~ The countryside visit.
~ Feeling fetita move.
~ Little girls who collect fall leaves.
~ Clean water.
~ Grief...it means I've loved and I've hoped.
~ Green apples.
~ Ballet pictures of Brynne.
~ I'm ecoli free!!!
~ Pizza dates with my husband and papnasi for dessert.
~ Hard conversations and looking/digging deep.
~ Reading old notes/letters/pictures/drawings from the past 3 years.
~ Bela's grandpa calling me: Fetita mea (my little girl).
~ Gifts of goose and chicken.

(Those were #251-265, please see link below to learn more about the Gratitude Community...)

A Baby Post

2010-10-22T06:49:00.000-07:00

Friday, October 22, 2010

Judging from the amount of comments I get when I post anything about our baby or this pregnancy, I'd say that having a baby has been the most popular topic of my life. I'm here to say that I share the joy and revel in all the comments I get after a baby post.

So, I have a doctor appointment in just a little over a week, so no new sonograms to share. In about 2 weeks we head to the states on maternity leave, so that is exciting.

I thought I'd share some of the music I've been listening to over the last several months...my Baby Playlist, as it were. I imagine I'll add to this list still, or even make a new one as we begin a different part of this baby journey. Some of the songs are repeats from other lists....but maybe mean a little something different to me now. Anywho, here they are:

1. Sing over your Children, Matt Maher
2. Closer to Love, Mat Kearney
3. Your House, Aaron Strumple
4. Say, John Mayer
5. Desert Song, Hillsong (Thanks to Jenny Matthes for bringing this to my attention....I had the CD, but after your recommendation, it's become a favorite).
6. In These Arms, The Swell Season
7. Grace and Peace, Fernando Ortega
8. Your Grace is Enough, Matt Maher (if you're not familiar with him, you should be.)
9. I knew I loved you (Savage Garden: an oldie...but so true)
10. Mighty to Save, Hillsong
11. Love you 'till the end, The Pogues
12. Alejandro, Lady Gaga (sort of an inside joke...)

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Also, some people have asked me about baby bedding (!!!). I'm still trying to wrap my mind around actually having a child and all the other things going on in our lives. But, it's still fun to look and this is what I think I want to do.

Sari Bari (click the name to go to the site) is a business ran in the red-light area of Kolkata. It was founded by WMF staff and basically what they do is help women get out of the sex-industry (slavery) and into a job where they discover their worth, freedom, and the love of God. They recycle old sari's and make blankets, purses, etc.

They also make baby blankets. Right now they are only showing one on the site and it's sold out....but I've been told that new shipment will arrive and when it does I'll get a sneak-peak and what they have so we can choose for our baby girl. HERE'S the baby blanket they current display on their site. I think I'll just find some sheets, bumper, and maybe a crib skirt to match the blanket and we'll be good to go.

Be sure to check out the Sari Bari website...Christmas is coming and these blankets and purses would make great gifts.

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I've mentioned before a blog that I love: A Holy Experience. Awhile back she posted some thoughts on raising kids and I thought I'd share a few of them here, today.

Figuring out how to parent teenagers, a holy experience, Aug 25, 2010

...And I hear these fathers' wise words and I line them up a bit different in my heart and I think too about this.

Our children are the fruit of our best love -- am I making them my best friends?
Their hearts came into being in the circle of our wooing -- why do I ever stop wooing their hearts?

Each child came to us directly from the presence of God and a parent's daily work is to lead the child back from whence she came --- back into the presence of God. To simply keep inviting the child into the transformative presence of God -- to live before Him ourselves.

For only the Spirit of God can take a child and shape him into a whole and holy person. My parenting cannot do this work. I forget this. I realize parenting is complicated with seasons necessitating instruction, admonition, intervention... but I wonder --
Is my work as a parent less about directing and more about being a friend who's a spiritual director?

It's our tender love that woos them back to His.

We string a net up across the back lawn and volley laughter. We call it a day early and go swimming. We bike back lanes. We pray and vow to pray more. We endeavor to make our parenting more hospitable to soul growth. We listen better and linger longer. And we practice the hospitality of parenting -- inviting children into our presence and His.

I'm thinking we're having best friends for dinner.

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And these she shared about her first pregnancy, which feel so true right now.

Friday, Sept. 3, A Holy Experience

The long winter I grew heavy with our first child, I wore heavier sweaters and I didn’t tell any of our friends until I was six and a half months swollen.

We’d only been married eight.

And six weeks later, I held our baby.

Our friends thought it a remarkably short pregnancy.

Sometimes we shroud who we are becoming, to keep all the tender, stretching places, safe. Sometimes we fear the words that might abort dreams, the future that might miscarry, the humility that might hurt.

Sometimes the new life unfurling within us, the unexpected embryonic gift God’s placed within, asks us to be brave, to let God change the shape of us, to be courageous and let Him fill all of our skin and not shrink back because He’s so big.

Please visit her blog...I've it listed as one of my favorites.

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Finally, this week I woke up one day and thought: Today, I feel pregnant. It seems this bump just gets bigger and bigger. I'll ask the kids at the center: Is it bigger today? and they always say yes. :)

I'm about 19 and a half weeks. :) (Hey, every day counts). Here are the most recent pictures of my little girl as she grows...and so do I. (Sorry for how dark they are).

With the sweater...

Without the sweater...

Have a good weekend...I'm off on a pizza date with my husband.

Bookends

2010-10-21T08:02:00.000-07:00

The other day "J" came to the drop-in center full of her usual liveliness. Running through the yard and to the door in a puffy red coat and yellow 'abc' hat she exclaimed: I ran the whole way! And collapsed on a set of lockers. Taking off her coat she revealed an outfit composed entirely of purple: purple turtle neck, purple sweat pants, purple sweatshirt.

We did lessons together that day and I had to keep re-focusing her to her math homework. "J" is very social, easily distracted, loud, takes her time doing just about anything, and is just plain cute. When she talks, she'll put air quotes around what she's saying. She's 9 and this seems like such a western thing to do, that it makes me laugh to see her do it for Romanian. Her hair is blonde, her eyes are aquamarine, and she is tiny. Next to the mostly Roma kids we work with, she stands out.

And within all the sparks of life that dance in her eyes and tip-toe in her feet is the reality that in the last two years "J" has lost both her parents. Two years ago, her mom died of cancer. Last year, her dad lost his battle with TB.

When she at last completed her homework, she had a few extra minutes before art class began. So she wouldn't distract others, I had her sit with me and asked her how her weekend was.

Good, she said.

What did you do?

On Friday I played and on Saturday we had pomana for my dad.

Pomana is an Orthodox service celebrated a year after someone has died. A priest comes to the house and prays, certain foods are prepared, and the loved one who is gone is mourned.

I said, Oh "J," was it hard?

She paused and said: a little...and then Sunday I played some more.

Grief, bookended by play, swallowed in the yawn of girlhood whimsy. What will she remember and what will be lost? The sound of her mother's voice, the feel of her dad's hug? Her grandma's wail of grief? The pound of young feet on hard pavement when she ran? The freedom of a good girly laugh? That her favorite color was purple and she loved to do art but had a hard time focusing on math homework? Will she forget that on Friday and Sunday she played and on Saturday she mourned?

Random Romania/Galati/Ispas Update for Tuesday, Oct. 19, 2010

2010-10-19T07:28:00.000-07:00

* It's the coldest time of year in our apartment as the heat has not been turned on. No matter how cold it is, the common heat we share with the rest of the building/city (? uncertain of that 'city' statement) will not be turned on until Oct. 31/Nov. 1. A throwback to communism? Perhaps, but pass me another blanket and fill the hot water bottle!

* Speaking of water, perhaps some of you have heard of the toxic spill in Hungary that flowed into the Danube River. The Danube also runs through Galati. We heard today that for the next couple of days we should avoid using tap water for anything. Including washing the dishes. I guess toxic substances aren't good for enamel. (On a side note, Hungary has refused to release exactly what that toxic waste was...which is so unbelievable to me. Thousands of people are effected by this spill, not to mention the environment, and no one can make them talk? Where's the EU when you need them? Now, back to regularly scheduled programming...)

p.s. don't mean to sound whiney and complain here...just keepin' it real.

* It's raining. A lot.

* Aren't pregnant women supposed to have beautiful skin and gorgeous thick hair? Must be the toxic water...Hungary is even keeping that from me!

* Here are some Romanian fashion pictures I've taken (on another side note, I thought I had more of these, but couldn't find them...these'll have to do). I adore these kids and I think the way they sometimes dress makes them all the more adorable. I don't mean in anyway to dishonor them in these photos. On the contrary, I hope it endears them to you all the more.

Let's catch those jazzy feet in action!!!

* You may have noticed that I haven't posted under my tabs recently (please see above...contemplation, advocacy, romanian wifery). The truth is, with being pregnant most of my energy goes into staying up with main blog posts. And, I'm not happy with the format of the tab posts. No one can comment and I can't label the posts, either. Further, life is changing for me and while all these areas are still topics I'm passionate and learning about, I think when I do post under tabs again, I'll use different categories. For now, the above tabs will remain because I like the stuff I posted there. I just won't be posting anything new.

* Finally, I think maybe I felt twinges of fetita (or fetitsa, the Romanian for baby girl or little girl). It was unlike anything I've felt before, so I'm hoping that's her giving me a little 'heads up, mama' and not any residual toxic Hungarian waste.

* In conclusion, the Folkertsma Family no-longer-a-secret Recipe for Potato Soup: (and, if you haven't read the post I wrote about this yummy soup, click HERE now).

You'll need:
6-8 good sized potatoes. Cut them into small-medium sized pieces. I prefer smaller pieces.

1-2 small to medicum onions, again, cut into small-medium pieces...you can guess my preferance.

Garlic powder or fresh crushed garlic. I don't know how much, I always just eyeball it. Maybe start with a little and you can add more to taste later.

Real, full of fat sour cream. A whole tub...don't even think about buying low-fat stuff. If you do, this recipe won't work and you may as well walk away now.

Butter (several tablespoons)

2 tsp salt

What I do:

Depending on whether you use garlic powder or fresh garlic...if you use fresh garlic, you'll want to saute it in a little butter first...otherwise...

Place the potatoes in a good sized soup pot, and the put the onions on top of the potatoes. Next, fill the pot with water, but make sure it just barely reaches the onions. Too much water, and then you'll need more sour cream. Which isn't a bad thing...anyway, the idea is, don't use too much water (especially if it could have come from Hungary).

Then, if you're using garlic powder, put that in the pot along with the 2 tsp of salt. Let it all boil, but not boil over, until the potatoes are soft. At the point you'll add the butter and sour cream. Let them melt, while stirring/stiring. Either way, it'll all mix in there and is so yummy. Taste it and adjust seasonings as needed.

You'll most definitely want to top the whole thing off with shredded cheddar cheese. And, if you're going for an authentic Folkertsma experience, garlic toast.

Pofta buna!

p.s. I think next week I'll post my lentil soup recipe. It is pretty darn tasty...although quite different from potato soup.

Fields of Romania

2010-10-18T09:06:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd post a couple pictures I took in June of the fields we pass on the way to the village where Bela's family is from. Of course, it's mid-October now, so those fields look much differently, but I still thought their early summer beauty were worth posting.

In continued gratefulness for...
(When I put a letter in quotes, it refers to a child we work with at the drop-in center. Out of safety for them, I don't post their full name.)

# 236-250

October

red-leafed vines crawling on old brick walls

laughing with Bela

Each kid at the center, past and present.

encouragement

Insurance ladies who are understanding

listening to kids learn to read

"I's" whimsy/whimsey(?)

last geranium blooms of the year

When 10 year old "D" counts fetita (our baby girl, still in utero) as one of the kids at the lunch table.

When 9 year old "I" puts air quotes around what she's saying.

Reading that not everyone feels the baby move at 18 weeks.

Learning that we're paid up 1 month in advance on our rent.

Anca making me a pregnancy coat.

"S" wearing an "I can be your hero" sweatshirt (pics to come). In pink. (Think Enrique Iglesias).

Romania I: Imperfect prose

2010-10-14T07:52:00.000-07:00

Old man with a cane, tipped hat.
A skeleton dressed in sports coat and tie,
You shuffle the street with the steps of the aged,
Visions wash through watery eyes
When these buildings were a youth and a beauty
Instead of the bag of bones they’ve become.
An age when rectangles didn’t dot the skyline
And all you could see on a clear dry day were cumulus and sunflowers, bowing their heads
Waiting to dry and die.

You, bent over a stick
And they, only monument istorics?
Tombs marking ancient goodness
Just as big bloc buildings mark an old evil.

A folded paper stuck under your arm
A few steps until you reach a bench and
The pleats of your paper become the folds
Of your body resting on wood.

It all rests on so little a thing
As wood and bone and beauty.

Notre Dame

2010-10-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

When we visited Notre Dame, first we sat in a courtyard and listened to a jazz band. It was a perfect spring day ~ sunny, but not too hot. Reclining on benches, gravel crunched under our feet and in the shadow of this great old Parisian church, the sound of classic American music rose around us.

We rose ourselves and began to walk towards the entrance of the church. On our way we paused at a souvenir shop and bought a calendar. Then I stopped to take a picture of this red door that hangs on the church. I had the following conversation with a Roma girl who approached me to beg.

Her: You speak English?
Me: (in Romanian) No, I speak Romanian.
Her: (surprised and switching to Romanian) Romanian? Are you Romanian?
Me: No
Her: Where are you from?
Me: Galati

Bela came up at this point and we said good-bye to the girl, who continued to follow us - incredulous that I could "speak" Romanian.

We came around the front of the church where there stood a great crowd of people. Quickly we stood in line to enter.

And it took my breath away. The immensity. The height. The weight of stones and glory. The music. The candles. The glass windows.

There was a small section set aside for prayer, and so I sat and stared and listened. And as I sat I thought of Jesus, beckoning the little ones and saying: Hinder them not, for such is the Kingdom of Heaven.

And I thought of my own longing for a child and how the Kingdom is made up of such as the child I longed for. Emotion rose up in me: His longing, His beckoning were so similar to mine.

And I was humbled.

I walked around the church ~ pausing at different stations where others also stood, lighting candles, praying to the saints.

And then, at the end, there He was. Jesus with His kids. The little ones gathered around Him, His smile welcoming them, His hands blessing them. For such is the Kingdom of Heaven.

And me. Gathered at the ancient, His smile welcoming me, hands reaching for me, His little one, lost and humbled in her longing.

And that humility. That longing. Such is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Video: apartment tour

2010-10-12T05:50:00.001-07:00

Thought I'd share a little of what our apartment looks like here in Galati:

1000 Gifts....

#220-235

Rainy weekends
Sunny Mondays
Must (pronounced 'moost'. Homemade grape juice, made especially for me by my in-laws.
Feeling better
Changing leaves
Rahcel and Annie's visit
Hearing Him say: you haven't stepped outside my care.
Baby girl is developing perfectly
4D sonograms
Fun Skip-bo nights with Bela
"D" and her 10th birthday on 10.10.10 (and the proud owner of a skip-bo game of her own).
Seeing "C" on the way to and from church...and his smile.
Chocolate chip cookie bars and milk
Bela who walked through rain to buy fruit at the piata
Expectation
Tiny sinks, broken freezers, and small faces that remind me of all I have.

fetita (fetitsa: because I don't know where the 't' with the comma under it is on my Romanian keyboard))

2010-10-06T06:51:00.000-07:00

(phew, that was a long title...and now on to more exciting news....)

We are 80% sure we are having a girl!!!

And due to her quite mobile mood on Monday, we were unable to get as good of a shot of the darling as we did previously. (As I said before, she's her father's daughter).

While 4D pictures usually make the babe look a bit alien anyway, her movement made it worst. However, I'm not too proud, or maybe extremely proud, to show her off to you.

Everything is developing well. You'll be able to see her arms and legs and perhaps even notice her fingers. Her brain and heart also look great, as does her mouth. The doctor couldn't find my third chord (?), but didn't seemed too worried about it.

Another great thing was that Nicu and Ionica (my in-laws) were able to be in the room with us when we found out the gender. Finally, we said, a girl for the Ispas family! And, for the Folkertsma family, she's the tie-breaker among the nieces/nephews/grandchildren. 6 girls, 5 boys!

If you're wondering about names, we haven't settled on one yet, although a couple are in the running so stay tuned!

We continue to be so thankful for how healthy our little girl is...for all of you who have been praying. We give thanks.

Truly, I'm not sure I've ever been so excited about anything in my life. I think both Bela and I are...he keeps rubbing my tummy and saying: how's the baby I love most in the world doing?

And, in conclusion, here's a shot of me at 16 weeks.

Potato Soup: unwrapped

2010-10-05T08:48:00.000-07:00

It's cooler now, autumn has arrived and I embrace the shift in seasons with with a pot of soup in my arms.

Not any soup, though ~ the perfect soup, the comfort soup, the creamiest, butteriest, and quite possibly yummiest of all soups.

Potato soup.

And this evening, as I sit peeling, my baby belly busting and music softly humming, I think of my mom who prepared this same recipe while I grew.

It never failed to please.

Served with toasted garlic bread and shredded cheddar cheese, her potato soup tastes like a family gathered around an oak table, spoons in hand, chatting, laughing, living.

I slice the onion, add the water, garlic, and salt and set it all to boil. A tub full of potatoes steams soon and so I add the butter and sour cream.

This night I'm years and miles away from the oak table. None of my sisters or I live in the same city. My parents, retired, eat low-carb, so potato soup rarely makes the menu.

And here am I, hot bowl in hand, unwrapping the gift of memory and belonging and living.

Grateful for Bela

2010-10-04T01:25:00.000-07:00

I continue to count the ways I'm thankful and this week I'm lingering on my husband...there's just something about him.

And I'm so thankful...

198-219...

I love my husband
His eyes that crinkle when smiling
The curve of his mouth
A profile I can stare and stare at.
I love the way he calls me 'baby' and 'my love'.
The way he helps me when I need it
and helps me when I don't.
I love how I love being with him
how precious our time is.
I love his sense of humor ~
most of the time. :)
I love how he loves me.
I love his kind heart
his willing spirit
his desire to grow.
I love how he wants to be a good man ~
and asks me to help him.
I love that he likes to cook
and drive and dream.
I love laughing with him
and walking with him.
I love that his eyes are brown
and his heart is big.
I love that I can't believe he's mine.

(The photo above is Bela with our nieces and nephew...he's gonna be a great dad!)

autumn

2010-10-01T08:22:00.000-07:00

It's autumn
and even the air is changing around me
from warm and sultry
to cool and brisk~
and short.
No long hours of light
dappling through summer's leaves,
instead it is the sharp edge
against a branch
that hits and descends and retreats
in such a short time
that before the sun sets,
it is winter
and all is fallow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In autumn, we harvest what we planted in spring.
We bring in what we cared for through summer~
what was watered and weeded and fertilized.
What was prayed for~
rain would come when it was dry
or stop when it was flooding.
And now, long into the night we work
to get out what we put in~
In hopes that all that was given will return~
that the agreement between us and the land
would be honored
with harvest.
The agreement being,
that if we plant
the land would feed, enrich, grow
each small seed.
Autumn is the gathering of our hope.

The groan and the illumination

2010-09-29T06:08:00.000-07:00

At the end of a day a thought awakens this deep ache in my soul:
I wish I could tell my grandparents.

Fred, who has been gone longer than I care to admit, in deep baritone, would rumble: Praise the Lord!

Because that's what he always said, because that's what he always meant.

And then, he'd hug me, his round tummy pressed against my heart ~ an embrace that can't be taken away no matter how much time has admittedly passed.

And maybe he'd say: I can't believe you're going to be a mom...the way he once said: I can't believe you're a teacher...the way he once told his freckle-faced, red-haired granddaughter: You're my little school girl.

And Grace, with her quiet smile and gentle twinkle would smile and giggle her glee.

She, who birthed her own children in mid-thirties would know the deep ache, the sighing relief, tripled by anxiety, softened with prayer.

Her hand would clasp mine and maybe she'd say: I never thought I'd see another great-grandchild.

The last thing Fred ever said to me was this:
We prayed for you everyday.

And while one thought ached my soul, the other gives it light: That those prayers, transcending seasons and years, would be as new and as old as if they were given yesterday; may they still reach the throne of God.

And here, wrapped in the groan and the illumination of the love that was the past and is the current, may my own child find a home in the prayers of my grandparents.

All these images were taken at the home of my husband's grandma in Romania; the same home where he spent most of his growing up years. She, too, is gone now and how we long to share our news with Irina.

I'm linking up with In the Hush of the Moon and Imperfect Prose Thursdays.

Grateful on a Wednesday

2010-09-29T03:57:00.000-07:00

And I continue to count a 1000 ways to say thanks...

#182-197

celebrating Nicu and Ionica's (my in-laws) 39 years of marriage. (see photos above)
Bela's golf clubs.
Another week of healthy pregnancy.
nachos
'I's' hugs and sweet eyes
'D's' sassiness and smarts
'S's' cuteness
faithful supporters
Mom and dad making it safely from CA to AK and back again.
Mom and dad were able to safely build a cabin AD this summer.
Ava's prayers
The new kids at the Center.
Compassion lavished
Feeling the best I've felt in months last Sunday.
Skip-Bo with my husband.

Me feeling the best and looking the cutest than I've felt in months...sorry for the bad pic and the cluttered hat-stand....I actually took some things off for this photo! (Yes, I'm big. And only 15 weeks...sigh. What's a girl to do when she has to eat in order to avoid nausea?)

Living in Romania: unwrapped

2010-09-28T08:02:00.000-07:00

Obviously, I cannot unwrap the gift that living in Romania is in just one post.

Hopefully, I've done part of that unwrapping in other posts.

Here today, though, I'd like to highlight a few of the lighter moments of living in Romania.

First, the darker side of Romanian living.

Okay, it really isn't that dark, I just couldn't think of a better word.

So, last Thursday evening my husband told me that beginning at 8am the next morning and for the next 20 hours, we would have no water in our apartment. He explained something about new pipes, but all I heard was: no water from 8am until 4am the next morning.

My brain couldn't even fathom that kind of time without water. Maybe it's because I'm pregnant...

So, before bed, I filled every receptacle I could but the bathtub so we'd have water to at least wash our hands and flush the toilet (all I could think of was the sanitary issues).

Turns out that we were never fully without water. The hot water was gone, but there was always a small stream to at least wash hands or put through the Brita filter.

Yay!

However, prior to that good news, I had a pretty rotten attitude about the whole thing. If it wasn't the dark side of living in Romania, then it was the dark side of me living in Romania.

And then I began to think about the little things that make me laugh while living here...usually it's packaging on some product that to my english speaking ears just sounds awkward and funny.

The way I'm sure some American slang or expression sounds silly in the ear of those from other countries.

Here's the gift as I see it: the way we express ourselves, the way we say things, the idioms we use, the languages we speak eventually all cross over into this great myriad of meaning where we can forever dig deep into the laughter or the tears or the memories that they evoke until I find that the darker side of me living in Romania, the harder parts about living here, pale in comparison to the great light of joy that living here has created.

This is shower gel and the name "Happy Time" just made me smile...sounds like it should be for a kid's bath rather than an adults. My husband bought this for me when I was in the throes of morning sickness...it did make a few moments of those day a little more happy.

And then there's this one which reads: Irresistable Price! Dandruff shampoo at an irresistable price??? Yes, please!

Who can forget the 'pithy grabbers' on the boxes of chocolate?

I'm linking up with Chatting at the Sky and Tuesdays Unwrapped

Sacre Coure: the prayers of the praying

2010-09-22T09:05:00.000-07:00

On a Parisian hill stands a church, where,
they say that for 125 years, day and night, somebody....anybody,
has been praying.
And then they beckon:
Come and adore the Lord.

On a recent cloudy June day, I stood at the doors of Sacre Coure,
the white church on the hill,
a little in awe of its bigness,
and even more by the time, the numbers, the worship of the Saints in this place.
I entered. I wanted to join my prayers with theirs.
I wanted to adore the Lord.

But I found that rather than adoring, I was crying. The weight of a year,
the heaviness of longing, followed me into that dusky holy place.
And I couldn't even pray.

I could only be there, silent with tears.
I'm sure mine were not the only ones wept in that place over such a length of time...
Wars, Paris has seen them. The Church has struggled under the weight of them. The Saints have mourned them.
The dying. The lost. The gone.
Names uttered, memories held, lives released
in that space of a holy building.

And so were mine.
I found, without words, myself joining the cloud of witnesses.
My tears finding a home.
My cries, heard.

Come and adore the Lord.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this poem many years ago after considering The Lord's Prayer.

the prayers of the praying

black words white spaces
what to say whom to thank.
gaps
telling, as much as they ask.
perhaps
i’ve never truly prayed
but only spoken
inky language
signifying the
hardness appropriate of those,
of me, afraid.

thy will be done
in this crowded icy corner
as it is in heaven.

Linking up with in the hush of the moon and Imperfect Prose Thursdays.

14 weeks: unwrapped

2010-09-21T06:49:00.000-07:00

For most of the 14 weeks I've been pregnant, I've worried.

I'm 38 and have wanted this child for a lifetime.

In the beginning my heart would go out of control with panic at the thought of losing our child. I'd breathe deep in attempt to resize the reality of my emotions and re-orient myself to what was true.

Or I would freeze with fear. And breathing was out of the question.

I couldn't stop thinking about it, losing our baby. I couldn't make the thoughts not come.
I'd dream I was bleeding.
I was so afraid and I'd cry and beg that everything be okay.

And for 14 weeks it has been.
But I still lie anxious in my bed at night.

Until I considered this sonogram.

Look at him ~ or her.
At rest, thumb in mouth.
No worries no cares no anxieties.
Complete peace.
In my womb.

And this little one's silent message unwrapped for me:

Be still. Because there's nothing you can do.

Let go.

And so, in order to receive this gift, I must open my hands and not hold on so tightly.

It's fear that makes me squeeze shut my fists~ not love.

It's being in control and thinking I have power that make me hold on to what I want~ not love.

So this little one whispers~ if you want to receive me, all of me, you'll have to open your hands. Closed fists can't receive anything.

And I feel that this is what he ~ or she ~ will always be telling me. That from the moment it was conceived, this baby wasn't really mine, or ours. We can care for it, provide for it, love it ~ but if I really want to receive this gift, I'll always be letting go.

From the moment he gobbles his first gulp of earth air.

And takes her first shakey steps. Away from us.

We are, I am, always letting go ~ so we can receive this gift, wrapped or unwrapped.

Me, at 14 weeks.

Many of the thoughts here are borrowed from Henri Nouwen's With Open Hands...a must read.

I'm linking up with Chatting at the Sky and Tuesday's Unwrapped....

More gratitude...

2010-09-20T07:17:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I participated in 1,000 gifts, but be sure, I've had much to be thankful for over the last several months. I thought I'd give a bit of a comprehensive list here to make up for lost time...

#141-181

A year of marriage to an incredible man.
A trip to Paris to celebrate our first anniversary.
Notre Dame
Sacre Coeur
crepes
seeing London
Portland
Spending time with the Brawleys
hiking in the Gorge
Drinking Bubble Tea
Imago Dei Community
Elisabeth's cooking
Good weather while in the NW
Seattle
Incredible open house...able to see so many friends!
Brittle's hospitality
The Reids
Driving a BMW...convertible!
Seeing the Pelluers
Blue corn enchiladas and mojitos
Riding to the airport with the Josts
Staying in Redlands
Mexican food at Las Consuelas Nuevas
Sangria and Tapas
So much good food...
lunch with Jo
Beach with the Holmes and Prossers
Sleeping at the house I grew up in
Nice weather...not too hot, not too cold.
The 4th at the Andres and the Taco Cart!
Hot humid Houston
More Mexican food
Lunch with the Victors
An amazing 2 days at Lake Livingston
Being spoiled at Flemings with Adam and Jamie
Pregnancy- mine
Pregnancy- Kris
14 weeks of a safe and healthy pregnancy
A husband who has taken care of me so well over some rough weeks of pregnancy. He's going to be such a great dad.
Cooler September weather.
Doing lessons with V today.

Linking up with Ann at a Holy Experience...if you haven't been to her blog yet, go!!!

And, the pictures of the roses were taken in the garden at the Center before we left for vacation in June.

Paris and London: What we ate, what we drank

2010-09-17T07:16:00.000-07:00

Because I don't want you to miss this post, I'm copying it here from the Romanian Wifery page...bon appetit!

For our first anniversary, Bela and I decided to take a quick trip to Paris and London on our way to the states. It was a whirlwind time, and while Bela had been to both cities before, we still fell in love with them together. Here are the details about what we ate and drank in these two lovely cities.

The first meal we ate in Paris we failed to document. Which is a tragedy because it was beyond words heavenly. As you will begin to see is a pattern, I don't remember much of what Bela ate, as is the case with our first lunch, but I have an impeccable memory of that which I partook. So, this lunch, we stopped at a little bakery. Bela had a sandwich. I had a loaf of bread with melted brie in it. The grilled cheese of heaven.

After doing some sight-seeing, we decided to take a pause at one of those little French cafes you hear so much about. While they are not cheap, the ambiance is completely Paris and it was lovely to sip my coffee and watch Parisians pass by...as well as quite a few tourists.

Dinner our first night in Paris was spent in the Latin Quarter. We basically stopped at a touristy type place, but the food was great. White wine. French onion soup unlike any I have ever eaten, it melted in my mouth. And, for me, boeuf bourguignon. I'm at a loss for adjectives to describe how good it was. Notice, both the rice and potatoes for my sides. With a side of bread. The French love their carbs.

The next morning we stopped at a little cafe/bakery and had coffee and rolls. The raisin one was the butteriest mouthwatering goodness I've eaten ever. The coffee was good, too.

For lunch we stopped at a sweet outdoor cafe where kids were playing soccer right in front of us and may or may not have just missed hitting us with the ball more than once. Anywho, we had crepes. I can't remember what kind, but we had crepes for lunch and crepes for dessert. And beer to drink. It was fabulous.

Later in the afternoon we had a snack of lemon crepes. Eaten on a bench in a Parisian park on our way to the Louvre.

And then, our First Anniversary Dinner. While we roamed the streets I had spied a little place called 'Cru'. It was tucked off the road in the middle of a courtyard. We decided to try it.

At first, they asked us if we had reservations, although at that point the place was empty. When we said we didn't, they checked and decided they could take us. So, we sat. As you can see, it was very modern, very bare bones in it's style. Even the water carafe and wine decanter were modeled to look like plastic bottles (but they were glass) and the cups like a glorified dixie cup (but they were glass, too).

So, we set about ordering. Bela, who knows French, asked some questions about what the cuts of meat meant. I decided that I wanted chuncks of meat in Thai seasonings while he wanted thinly sliced meat. One thing was stumping us, though. What did they mean when they said that the meat was 'cru'? We asked the waitress, who in broken English tried to explain, but decided to just ask what the right word was.

Raw. The meat was 'cru', or, raw.

We looked at one another and blinked. Do we stay? Do we dare to venture down this road of raw meat, tartar it is called? Shrugged our shoulders and said: when in Paris, do as the Parisians! And happily cuddled up with a basket of bread and a creme fraiche spread.

Our food was delivered. Honestly, I thought mine looked like a glorified hamburger patty. But, it was better than raw hamburger. Perfectly cured and seasoned. Bela's potato wedges were just so cute...and we both agreed that my meal was better than his. Although, again, I don't remember what he ate.

Dessert, although undocumented, was even better than the dinner. Raspberry cheesecake in a cute little circle shape is what I ate. You'll have to ask Bela what he had.

After a day and a half in Paris, we took the train to London and spent the day with friends. Bela was craving authentic fish 'n chips, so we went in search of them. Which shouldn't have been too difficult given as we were in London and the English are famous for their fish 'n chips. Turns out finding more affordable fish 'n chips in a tourist area in London is what can be a challenge. We ended up finding a little place in a flea market type area. I'll be honest. They weren't the best ever, but they were good enough. (And, who wants peas with their fried fish and potatoes, I ask you? I never want them, even less as a side with greasy food. Bela ate mine).

After several hours of walking and sight-seeing, we decided to stop at a pub and rest a bit. It was a fun, quaint place, with several elderly gentlemen dressed up in their old military uniforms. Bela had a beer that they make on site, while I had something called Pimms...and it was so good! It had this English liqueor as well as lemonade and fruit in it. A must have if ever you are in England or see the bottle for sale in a duty-free shop.

To round out the day (and I must say, by this point I was exhausted. We'd just run around 2 major cities in 3 days) we stopped at an Asian restaurant. It's a chain in England, I guess, and the food was great. At least what I had was great. I still dream about it..some kind of curry chicken thing. That's mine in the big bowl. I don't remember what Bela had, but, it was good too. Just not as good as mine. :)

Soon after dinner we said good-bye to our sweet friends and headed our tired selves to the airport where we spent the night waiting for our early flight to the states. Wish I had pictures documenting that adventure. We stayed at a little coffee shop in the airport and the Middle-Eastern man who ran it was so nice. I fell asleep I don't know how many times, my head swinging back against my chair, mouth wide open, and as we were leaving in the morning he asked me: did you sleep well? And sold me my cup of coffee. (He really was nice, not sure if I made him sound that way or not here...)

And that is what we ate, and drank, while in Paris and London.

Eating

2010-09-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

As my belly bubbles and spills over my pants,
the beginning of being round with child~
I find I can never get enough to eat.
I fill my mouth in an effort to quiet the pangs in my stomach,
hoping that for a little while
I will be satisfied.

Satisfaction~
a quiet contentment?
an easy laziness?
a feeling that I have the answers~
I've eaten my fill
I no longer need to search for food.

Self-satisfaction~
I've filled myself
I've learned and I know and I no longer need.

There are times now,
when I'm afraid to even take a drink of water~
for fear of awakening the monster
hunger inside of me.

The one I cannot satisfy~
the one that is satisfied
with no less than all.

"Take, eat; this is My body..." Matt. 26:26

I'm linking up with 'in the hush of the moon' and Imperfect Prose Thursdays.

Bread and wine is a Google image

Make sure to check out Romanian Wifery (see the tabs above) today as I'm highlighting what we ate and drank while in Paris and London!!! (It's an eating theme here on Learning today!) And seriously, it took hours to upload these photos, so please take a look and read the stories....especially the one about our anniversary dinner!

A baby

2010-09-08T04:03:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

When Bela and I married just over a year ago, we knew we wanted to start a family right away. So, for a year we tried to conceive, and while sometimes time is what it takes, during those 12 months I wondered if we would be able to have a biological child. I'm not so young anymore, in 'maternal years' that is, and so it was an emotional and deepening journey as I began to realize to a greater degree that just because God says no, it doesn't mean He loves me any less than when He says yes.

And, in time, He said yes.

12 weeks ago, to be precise.

I know we don't always get what we ask for or what we want. I've sat with friends who time and again get a, "No, not now," and the wait is painful, no matter what they are waiting for. And I'm not sure why at this point God said, "Yes" to us, although I'm so grateful He did.

I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I hope this tiny baby in my belly is a reminder that He is still good.

I had a sonogram when I was 8 weeks, and after I wrote my family to tell them that so far, everything was good. My sister Jamie wrote me back and said: this little baby makes me love my Lord a little more today.

And that's what I'm hoping to say, it's my prayer. That every day this little one lives, someone would love Jesus a little more because of its life.

On Monday, Bela and I went to Bucarest to visit the doctor I've been seeing there and to have another sonogram. The doctor confirmed that I am 12 weeks and that all measurements are normal.

If you look closely at the pictures, it looks as if the baby is smiling, and in a couple as if its even sucking its thumb! (Still too little to do that, I think, although I read that it does begin the sucking motion at this point in it's gestation).

Bela thought it looked like me! He said it has my chin...the Folkertsma chin! (My dad tells the story of when I was born and he went to take a look at me in the hospital nursery for the first time, he didn't even need the name tag, he knew his baby by the chin, which closely resembled his own).

The baby was also moving around...so, if the baby looks like me, it may just have Bela's personality.

And so, we are thrilled. It's been a rough 6 weeks for me in terms of 'all day sickness' (rather than just morning sickness). I'm hoping that starts to end soon and I'll be able to blog regularly again. Of course you can expect more posts on this journey towards motherhood, but I also have lots to show from our trips this summer and, as always, of our life here in Romania.

Where is the Learner???

2010-06-25T09:22:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you've been wondering where I am...

I had the best of intentions when, last Friday morning at 2a.m. we left Galati for Paris, to post while on our 6 week long trip.

Alas, this has not happened...

Because: a) I've been having such a good time.... and, b) I've just been soaking in my time with family....and c) I've been eating way too much...and d) I'm not even sleeping too much because I'm so excited to be here.

So, to tide you over...here's a few pictures:

fyi: these photos were chosen randomly, sight unseen. Therefore, the randomness is truly...well, random. enjoy.

Kneading (unwrapped)

2010-06-14T23:25:00.000-07:00

Starting with a little flour and salt...it isn't much, but it's enough.

I drizzle in some oil, and begin to mix, crushing the oil/flour/salt globs with my fingers.

And then, the yeast is added...

I knead and I pound and I pull and I roll...and then, I do it again. Making sure all the yeast mixes with all the flour and salt and oil.

I've heard that if you think you're done kneading dough, then you should keep at it for a little while longer...

I sit back and let it rise.

I know this analogy is nothing new. A little yeast leavens the whole loaf...and...kneading kneading kneading until it feels like you can't be kneaded anymore.

I find myself at that place. I've got the flour and salt, the lumps of oil have been crushed and now, the yeast. And I'm wondering how much more kneading needs to happen.

And here's the gift: Sitting back, and letting it rise.

Activism: an update from the Jesus? post last week...
Romanian Wifery: The finished project

What I'll Miss...

2010-06-14T00:52:00.000-07:00

More pictures by C

3 more sleeps and then leave Romania for 6 weeks! I thought I'd list some of the things I'll miss but also include them as my 1,000 gifts for this week as I'm realizing that they are not only things I'll miss, but things for which I'm grateful.

#116-140

lighting my stove/oven with a match each time I use it.
hanging my laundry to dry
Romanian fashion - especially V's.
pretty old houses
big brown eyes in little dirty faces
our funky green couch
parquet wood floors
cobblestone streets
horse pulled carts on the street
R's drawings
C's photos
Ionica's sarmale/stuffed peppers
ciorba
walking to the market
Tei trees and their lovely smell
my plants
M's hugs
walking to the faleza
the color of Romanian money
cherry season
ice cream at Chip si Dale
flowers at the center
walkind to work with Bela
fresh bread
the center

Activism: another old post, this one about India.

Gardening

2010-06-11T00:49:00.000-07:00

We all know I'm not here to win any beauty awards, so I thought I'd post some pictures of me that C took when I was weeding last week.

I let him have some fun with my camera again and well, let's just say that these were the most flattering of the photos.

I especially like the one with my upside-down pony tail...I was tired of trying to make it lay the way it should, so asa (that's Romanian for "like this" or something like that. It's hard to explain, but easy to use. And, the 's' in the word is an 'sh' sound, so the word is 'asha'. Romanian 101 over and out).

Activism: An old post form 2006 that stirred some controversy....

Jesus?

2010-06-10T05:37:00.001-07:00

It’s CRAZY around here right now.

And this is a long post.

With lots of words.

And, if you’re anything like me, you won’t read because it’s too long and there aren’t many pictures.

But please read.

In a week we leave for a 6 week trip to the states. Needless to say, this means some serious prep work on our part. We’ve left quite a bit for the last minute, but….sometimes, when you’re tired, that’s all you can do.

Let me share a bit about what we’re going to be doing in the next 6 or so weeks.
As you may know, we serve with Word Made Flesh in Galati, Romania. For a week and a half in July we’ll be gathering with other WMF staff in Nebraska for a retreat that happens every 3 years. This is a first for both of us and we are excited to spend time with other international staff.

But first, we are going to celebrate our first anniversary in Paris! On our way to the states we’re stopping by the city of love, the city of lights, the city of fashion, the city of….a 2 day visit for us. Yes, we only have 2 days because 1) we don’t have a lot of money and 2) we don’t have a lot of money.

After Paris, we’re taking the train across the water to London and spend a day there before we hop on a plane for Portland, OR! I’ve not been to either Paris or London and I’m super excited! And, it was cheaper for us to travel this way, then to leave from Bucarest and fly directly to Portland. Can’t beat that with a stick….as someone’s Grandpa used to say.

So, we get to Portland and then head up to Seattle, then down to Redlands, over to Omaha, and down to Houston before we head back to Romania.

PHEW!

So, not only are we busy right now…it’s gonna be a busy few weeks…

But I can’t tell you how excited I am…I can almost taste it.

While we are in the states we are going to have several OPEN HOUSES so we can share about our work and life in Romania. We decided to do a photo exhibition because it seems a creative way to not only talk about but display our lives. Here’s a taste of what you can expect should you come to one of the open houses: (contact me if you want details so you can come!)

On top of all this I want to share about part of my day.

I have some photos of kids that I need parental permission to use. So, I headed out this morning with papers in hand to get signatures.

One home belongs to a family that I’ve talked about often because I worked with them a lot of last year. The twins…

In the year I’ve known then, they’ve lived in 4 different locations. And this one, well…

I know it’s trite to say that something breaks my heart. There’s probably a more poetic way to say how it felt to walk into the courtyard shared by so many families that felt more like a barnyard.

But I don’t know how to say it except that I wanted to cry afterwards.

So, I walked in and I asked where the family was and a woman pointed me to the back of the property. Around the corner, a family lay in the shade and the mother was nursing her baby. They all sat up and I was embarrassed, but none of them seemed to be. I asked where the family I was seeking stayed and a little girl said she’d go get them.

And she did. She brought down my sweet girl M who was carrying her little sister who they all refer to as Princess and her small brother trailing behind.

They were so dirty.

M’s twin brother was at school. Her parents were working. She was left at home to watch the others.

I know that the poor exist among us every day, every where.

And today, the poor was the face of M.

And, she was not only a face. She’s the little girl I adore. I love. I hope things for.

And, I was not only faced with the barn they live in, but with the gravity of what her future looks like. She won’t finish school. She’ll probably marry around 14. That’s in 5 years. Until then, she’ll stay at home with the younger ones while her parents work.

The injustice of this angers me. Burning white hot anger.

I walked away, crying. Because I miss M, because I love her, because I’m mad.

And even in the middle of so much injustice, this is what never ceases to amaze me:
Christ’s own incarnation looked very much like what I walked into today. Not just the night he was born in a stable, but the very way he emptied himself and took on humanity.

For a person like me who complains because she doesn’t have hot water. Who gets to visit Paris and London. Who gets to go home for 6 weeks.

But I don’t think any of that really matters. I think he wants those things for me, just as he wants M to have an education and a chance to marry when she’s older.
But what grabs my soul again and again is this little one, my M, leads me again, to the heart of Jesus.

And there we’re given all we really need.

And if the face of M is the face of the poor and she leads me to the heart of Jesus, then maybe, just maybe, I saw his face today.

And that, my friends, is a gift bigger than any trip to Paris or the States could ever be.

A True Story (unwrapped)

2010-06-08T06:39:00.001-07:00

a true story

Today - something was different.
He showed up,
when I didn't think he would
And when I left the house,
little pieces of glitter sparkled
as tiny snowflakes
caught the sun.

The world glimmered.

I'm not sure if I believe in signs
and I know there are no coincidences,
but this day was bathed in hope-
the kind that smothers with creamy buttered
chocolate frosting a birthday cake.

With a candle on top,
waiting to be blown out.

photos are of arugula going to seed in the garden at the center.

Romanian Wifery: PARIS??? PARIS!!!

Marlboro Man

2010-06-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

If you're familiar with blogging then you're probably familiar with PW (click HERE for her blog).

She's great...funny, kind, creative, smart...you'd like her to be your neighbor if she didn't live out in the middle of Oklahoma on a cattle ranch with MM (short for Marlboro Man).

That's right, she's got her own bonefide cowboy whom she refers to as MM. I don't think he's a smoker, he's just all cowboy.

What you probably don't know is that I've got my own Marlboro Man who likes to wrangle his fair share and eat his vittles around campfire (well, maybe not around a campfire, but he does like his vittles!)

Dressed in yellow plaid, this MM is hard to miss. Paired with dungarees he may not be your average cowboy, but he is your average Romanian (although on the more-attractive-than-average side).

And while we don't live in the middle of America, we do live on the outskirts of Romania...and I'm sure you'd like us for a neighbor.

editor's note: I don't like this shirt. He (my husband) has worn it for around eight (8) years. It is getting close to thread bare (PTL). When such noted threades are bare, we will retire the shirt. Now that's cowboy.

and on a side note: Marlboro is a brand of clothing in Europe. And now you know...

One final note: I will not begin referring to my husband as MM, Marlboro Man, or any other such names affiliated with the brand of clothing, tobacco company or Pioneer Woman blog. Just so you know.

Today:
Contemplation: 1000 Gifts

Activism: Children's Day

5 things....

2010-06-04T01:09:00.000-07:00

Another blog I've been reading everyday is Gypsy Mama. Here's her button:

She's great. I think if we lived in the same town, we'd be friends. This week she's been talking a lot about who we truly are, and that we are more than what we look like in a bathing suit. Please take a look at her site and especially her posts for this week.

So, today she's asking: What are 5 things God loves about you? (click to see her post, or the button above)

Here's my response:
1. God loves that I'm a good listener.
2. God loves that I love kids.
3. God loves that I love to write.
4. God loves when I sing (even if it isn't very well, but it is often).
5. God loves that I enjoy cooking for others...especially my husband.

And now, it's your turn. Share 5 things God loves about you...

Some houses I love...

2010-06-02T23:58:00.000-07:00

I've been reading a blog called jones.design.company and really like it. She lives in the Seattle area and a couple posts ago (click HERE to see and make sure to scroll to the end of the post...and be warned, the summer scarf project is also GREAT and on my list to make after THIS, which I'm currently working on...this is a very long parenthetical statement of a sentence.)(as I was saying...) (she) showed some pictures of houses she loves in her town (Seattle).

Ah, the old homes on Capitol Hill or in Madison Park. Taint nothin' like 'em. (except for maybe in Portland :) )

Thought I'd post and re-post some pictures of old houses in Galati. Enjoy!

This one is a favorite of mine, and I'm not sure if you could call it an old house, but it is old and beautiful and I've seen several other residences with similar architecture (I guess that's what you call it?) It's also abandoned, for sale, falling apart.

Here's the balcony that faces the street.

And then, if you peak around the side of the house, these 2 ladies are tucked into the wall, but on the second story. I walk by this building every day and am always in awe of how pretty it is.

I also walk by this building/house every day. In much better condition and beautiful.

These next 2 are of an old giant house that I think may be abandoned, too. It is amazing...I can't imagine what she must have been like in her day.

This one is just down the street from the drop-in center.

This one was taken on A Walk with C.

And I show this one because, as you can see, it was probably gorgeous in its day, too, and is mostly abandoned. I also show it because a couple of our kids live in the bottom story. Complete with a satellite dish.

Today in:
Contemplation...a prayer from the book Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth Prayers of Walter Brueggemann.

These hands...

2010-06-02T00:13:00.000-07:00

These feet

These ears

These eyes

This body

Belong to a little boy who has but to wink at me, and I can forgive anything he's done.
He's smart and talented and funny.

We learned yesterday that because his dad beat him so badly, he's been in the hospital since Saturday.

Please pray for him.
Please pray for his dad.
Pray for his brothers.

Today:
Activism page, our June prayer letter.
Romanian Wifery, a birthday present.

A short video of Galati filmed by C

2010-05-31T23:51:00.000-07:00

As promised, a video from my walk with C...please don't attempt to learn Romanian from me.

Also today, in Contemplation, we have Tuesdays Unwrapped where I share a bit about a play therapy session.

A walk with C

2010-05-31T04:48:00.001-07:00

We have a boy here at the center who really likes to take pictures. Almost every day he asks if he can use my camera to "make pictures." (The Romanian way of saying 'take pictures.)
One day he was the only student we had in the afternoon, so I took him on a little walk near the center and let him snap shots. It's always interesting for me to see life through his eyes. There were lots of pictures of cars (from all angles), street dogs, and views of the valley. Here are a few from that walk:

He's also keen on filming videos. Hopefully I'll have those to share with you tomorrow!

Make sure to take a look at Contemplation for this weeks 1,000 Gifts and Romanian Wifery for some 'crafty' things I've been doing, what I've been reading and listening to.

How he makes me smile

2010-05-28T06:14:00.001-07:00

Or:
Things my husband does to make me smile...

Peonies, twice in as many weeks...
it makes a girl smile.

Activism: Super Sweetness
Contemplation: Psalm 73

his gift

2010-05-26T23:49:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, one of our little boys arrived at the center with a gift for me. Out of his pocket he pulled these large-ish sized earrings.

Now, I'm a fan of big earrings...and these take the cake!
He said he'd found them on a bench.
The 'silver' was decorated with tiny sparkly-ish things, but one was missing and had grown a little rusty around it's edges.

Honestly, my first thought was: tacky.
My second was, I'm not putting these things in my ears! Who knows where they've been!
But, his little scarred ear that rounded out the burns covering his arm and chest, his crooked elbow...all left-overs from neglect...they were handing me his gift and the pride in his amber eyes could not be dismissed.

So, we grabbed some alcohol and wiped them clean and he watched on his tip-toes (really, he did...this is not poetic license) as I stuck them in my ears.
I pronounced them great, gave him a hug, and he skipped away.

Doamna M, the mom of another one of our boys and a woman who cleans for us a couple weeks a month, a woman who is my age and started having babies at 14, a woman who looks twice her age, a woman who, when she speaks to me, I rarely understand (and it's not just about not being so great at Romanian), a woman who has known a lot of abuse and who, for many months, was living in a tent...
she watched as I put this gift into my ears, and all day long kept telling me how beautiful they were.

And they were.
And, this gift, these words, those eyes, that pride of his, made me feel as if I glowed with their beauty, too.

Have you ever dismissed something as tacky or dirty, when really it was this beautiful gift? Do you mind sharing your story?

Today in Contemplation: a poem called Language Learning.
And, in Romanian Wifery: my pants are too tight.
Head on up to the pages above to read these posts!

Letting Go...

2010-05-26T00:44:00.000-07:00

Here's my post from yesterday after I tweaked a few things:

Two years ago, I moved to Romania. In that time, I've had to apply for permission to live here 3 times. The first two applications needed to be be renewed every year. The visa I received last year was good until the year 5010.

Yeah.

Customs had a good laugh at that.

Since I married a Romanian citizen, this year I was eligible to apply for permanent residency. Which means I don't have to go through the hassle of applying for a visa every year. Which means that now seems like a good time to share the evolution of my residency card photos.

First year. I sat down to have my picture taken and smiled big.

The man taking my picture laughed OUT LOUD.

Romanians don't usually smile in pictures.
Not wedding pictures.
Not birthday pictures.
Not family reunions.
Not million dollar winning lottery ticket pictures.
And definitely not ID pictures.

So, I stopped the smile and just tried to sort of perk up my lips around the edges. I think I look sort of squeaky clean in this picture, you know? Wide-eyed, innocent, idealistic.
I probably thought I'd show them all and try and smile for next years picture.

This is last year's ID. I'm still trying to hold on to a smile, but barely. Look a bit dazed...
This was the year when some of the other staff were having a contest to see who could win ugliest ID picture. I decided not to play. Really, I didn't.

And this is my most recent attempt at achieving full-on Romaniancy (I just made that word up...)I'll carry it with me for the next 5 years because it won't expire until the year 2015.

Notice, no smile.
Looking pretty darn tired.
It was a Friday.
Bags under the eyes.
Haggard? Maybe.
Older. Definitely.
And certainly a contender for ugliest ID picture.
Most of us on staff had a good laugh at it.
Maybe because we all saw ourselves in this run-down-no-smiling-allowed photo and our progression from wet-behind-the-ears Americancy (yes, another made up word)to I've-left-it-all-behind-and-can't-smile-about-it culture adaptation.

Sometimes, it's hard to smile at what we've left behind.
There's grinning-and-bearing-it because we've given something up.
Or, laughing-until-it-hurts because, honestly, it really does hurt to let go.
To what we were. In order to embrace what we are. Where we are.

I'm not embarrassed of this photo. I'll show it to you in person if you like. And not just because it's funny. But mostly, because in some backwards Kingdom way, it's lovely.

Maybe one of the best pictures I've ever taken.

All facades washed away. Just me. Not even trying to smile because I didn't feel like it. I was tired. It was Friday.
Me, not trying to hide anything.
Me, letting go.

What have you been trying to let go of?

just the broken ones

2010-05-25T00:23:00.000-07:00

"I just want the broken ones," she said...

To read more, go to the Contemplation page for more of this Tuesday Unwrapped.

I previously had another post in this spot. It'll be back here tomorrow...I just had to tweak a few things (usuage of tweak...another nod to You've Got Mail...that's twice in one week...one day after another. Not sure what that means...)

So, If you haven't read this post yet, be sure to come back tomorrow!