Polski

Yay! Our language learning software arrived today. Don has been cruising internet sites that give him snippets of Polish language. My favorite so far is "Mój poduszkowiec jest pelen wegorzy !!!" which means "My hovercraft is full of eels!!!" I sincerely hope we never need that one. (Yuck!) We are both daunted by the series of consonants that seem stuck together in many of these words, but we are not giving up. Buying a vowel is starting to become a constant wish as we try to pronounce the words that are wholly unfamiliar. I know the native English-speakers who we have met that speak Polish to whatever degree all seem to have the same perspective because it is a hard language to learn. Rumor has it that the only language more difficult is Chinese. (If that is true, I do not want to know.) It's definitely going to be an adventure!
WHOO-HOO!!!

Cobbler

I was mildly amused (and a wee bit embarrassed) when Don cobbled together an e-mail update out of my responses and messages to the kids for our grown-up friends and family. As I read back through it, I think there is a value in the elementary versions of my impressions of the first days of our Poland prayer trip. The kids' first messages from Poland follow:

Today we had church at ____'s house. We sang songs that you might know from our church like "How Great Is Our God" and "Open the Eyes of My Heart" but many people were singing in Polish while Lisa, Bill, Ally, and I were singing in English! It was very cool to have our service in both languages, and we all sat in a big circle instead of the rows of chairs like we have at American church. There was a guitar and really cool drum played for the accompaniment. Anyone can speak up or pray during the service, not just Jack.

[Lisa marked a birthday shortly before our departure for Poland, a teacher from the Christian school had a birthday while we were in country, and Ally celebrated one during our day trip.] We are having lots of cake because we are celebrating many birthdays here!

Tomorrow we will be going by van to Auschwitz/Birkenau and another town that I cannot spell (Czestochowa--- chen-stah-HOVE-uh) where the "Black Madonna" is located. It is very sad because many Polish people do not know that Jesus is the way to Heaven and God's love, and they believe they need to light candles, pray for the dead, and place flowers at graves so they will someday reach heaven. (The Bible does not say this, and I am sad because people are working so hard for something that is not true.)

Good Morning, Sunshine!

There's not a tremendous amount of difference in the way I started the day in Poland, and the way I start the day in the States. Both involve feeding my dependence on both caffeinated beverages and electronic media. (Yes, Mom, those are my pj's on the internet.) I am amused that I would travel 5,000 miles so I can stagger into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and plunk down to fire up the e-mail inbox just like I do the other 357 mornings of the year. There was one vast, and one seemingly small, difference. Shelley's flat allowed for quiet and contemplation in the absence of my noisy brood of kiddies and furballs, and I had to make my own coffee.
I suspect that last one sounds like no big deal, but I've got a newsflash for you: it was more complicated than I could have imagined. Since I only read and think in English, it was an adventure to try to guess what those nifty Polish words meant in my under-caffeinated state. Several containers held coffee based on labels with a photo or drawing, and I was not above opening the bags or jars to check out the appearance and/or scent of the contents, but I still had no idea which one(s) were the desired grounds for the regular drip coffee I prefer. Since I was lost in the morning's brain-fog, I opted to just take a couple of scoops from each container except one that was obviously dehydrated coffee flakes.
It turns out that two out of three is really pretty bad when one is mixing two parts regular and one part instant coffee to be run through an automatic drip coffee maker. To top off my coffee misadventure, the finished product was weak.
I suspect Don would have figured it out the first time, but Don was not there so I just drank my funky coffee rather than waste it. I remembered to ask Shelley for directions before my next attempt, and I had a good laugh at my inability to do well something as simple as making a decent cup of coffee!

Low End

Mmmhmm. My spouse informs me that he dragged his monstrous (and oh-so-ugly) bass cabinet into the middle of the living room while I was away. He is rather pleased with himself as he relates the fun of plugging in his bass on a whim throughout the day to drown the house in low-end sound waves. Mmmhmm. He grins at me (with far more charm than is good for him to have) and informs me that it was the only good thing about me being in Poland. The big, bad bass amp is now relegated back into its home--- a place of relative obscurity in a corner of our bedroom squished between the wall and the chest of drawers. I am very content with that location since the thing was right in our living room causing frequent comment for years--- admiration from musicians with spouses who would not have such a monstrosity dominating the rest of the house and queries from those who were not of a musical persuasion as to just what the behemoth was doing in the living room. I am glad that Don enjoyed his wild and crazy bachelor days while I was gone. It is not good for the man to be alone.

Meet

The times to meet with assorted friends and supporters are already beginning to fill in my calendar. Today will see opportunities to begin and end the day with two dear friends who were each great encouragement to go out into the wide world. Sylvia and I are meeting for breakfast. She has filled my ears with tales of the wonders to be found in Germany for years and I am excited to share my own experiences. Germany was not a fun place for me, but Sylvia had prepared me well for the uh-oh I waded into there! (Incidentally, Sylvia's suitcase did arrive yesterday from its extended visit in Munich.)
I will close out the day with Ally and her family (her parents Marsha and Gordon are in town). Ally's Mom and I have had some interesting moments via e-mail over the past weeks as we relate the similarities and differences in our experiences and observations in Poland.
Marsha and her husband were stationed in Warsaw during the communist years. Marsha actually had to fly out to Frankfurt when she reached her eighth month of pregnancy with Ally in order to deliver, and then mother and infant returned to Poland one week after the birth. The family certainly has a special link to the country that has captured my heart, and I am thrilled to see them so soon after returning!

Bread of Life

For Laura who asked:

On our last day in Poznan, four members of our team had the opportunity to assist at the soup kitchen that ministers to the very poor and homeless population of Poznan. Richard Nungesser kindly gave us a brief history of the ministry. (Please ask me for details and also learn a bit more at the ministry web site http://breadoflife.pl/en/about.html) Already in awe of what God is doing with simple willingness, our team headed for the room where Holy Start serves those in need.
I confess to a certain trepidation at eating the food that was intended for those who would otherwise go without because my own belly is never empty for long. Shelley and I sat at a table with a precious grandmother named Danka and quiet young man named Sebastian (see photo). Neither would reach for the food that must have been so wanted and needed until Shelley and I each took a portion. We gestured for them to each take more of the bread smeared with cream cheese, and dotted with ketchup (more spicy than the sweet ketchup found in the U.S.) and chives. During the meal, I searched for a connection with the sweet lady seated beside me, but she remained aloof. (No surprise, Poles are warm and loving to those known, but we were total strangers.)
During our time with Danka, I responded to a guarded question she asked about my thoughts on Poland stating that I love Poland, Poles, and the Polish language. That brought a look of pure suspicion to her face. She asked why, if I loved Poland so much, was I leaving the next day? That caught me off guard, and my immediate response was an internal affirmation of her question; "Why indeed would I leave Poland?" I felt as if the air was forcefully squeezed from my lungs in a manner all-too-similar to the method one uses on a toothpaste tube to empty the very last of the contents as I realized that only hours remained before I would have to leave the country.
As I sat staring at her, it suddenly occured to me why I would leave, and I popped up from the table to retrieve my bag. I produced the photos of my family taken by our dear friends Jordan and Joanne shortly before leaving on the trip. Danka's entire demeanor shifted, and she lit up as she studied the images of my children. Erin particularly caught Danka's eye because she has a grandson the same age. Even as the connection was made, the conversation was brought to a halt as we paused to hear an announcement signaling the beginning of the teaching time.
Our friends Ron and Bill from the OPS team were giving testimony and sharing a bit of scripture that morning as the real focus for Holy Start. Bill's words carefully highlighted how he had cast aside guilt to receive the free gift of grace while Ron thrilled his listeners by choosing to speak in Polish to introduce himself. Ron received applause from the room for taking the time to speak in their native tongue.
Following the men's offerings, the recipients of the care provided by Bread of Life headed off to receive a shave, haircut, and the chance to clean up. The people trickled back into the room bit by bit. Shelley and I realized as we were talking to one another that the women in the room were leaning toward us. We invited them into our conversation realizing that as relational creatures, the silence of the room must have been deafening to them. Some took us up on the offer while others merely leaned toward us--- or kept a careful eye on us. (Crazy Americans!) Suddenly, one of the women drew me into a hug and planted a kiss on my cheek. I was shocked by this display of physical affection. (It just was not Polish!)
As I was passed from person to person giving and receiving hugs and the kiss to the cheek, I was humbled beyond anything I have ever known. I came excited about serving these who would be counted as least among men, and they showed me precisely who was being served. It is trite, but I will never be the same after having been met with the very image of Christ in that room. He who railed against the highest of religious society, would have gathered each and every one of those broken individuals into his arms.

Sister

"And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28, NASB) Last week I watched with sorrow as children were presented to a painting as if it could influence eternity. The painting was The Black Madonna of Częstochowa --- a painting utterly sacred to Poles. Millions have flocked to this image. I photographed a little girl who reminded me somewhat of my own Erin. I prayed for my own daughter even as I prayed for the children in the cathedral to come to know Christ, and that these little ones would not be deceived by mere images of holiness. I hoped that they would all come to know Christ as the only way to God.

I returned home, and on the morning of Sunday, May 25th my Erin prayed with her Daddy while sitting in a church service for Jesus to be her savior. I was humbled and, quite honestly, a bit bemused by this timing. Erin also celebrated her first communion this week even as the little girl I had photographed a world away. It is with great joy that I welcome my daughter as my new sister in Christ, and I will continue to pray for the children of Poland to be the first generation that will know hope and freedom rather than guilt and ritual.

Lost In Munich

Lisa and I trotted up to the Lufthansa service center counter before producing our airline tickets and travel itinerary. Our flight from Poznan had been just late enough to allow our connection to Denver to leave without us. The airline representative was searching for a new flight to return us to the U.S., and he found one leaving just over an hour later for Dulles in Washington, D.C. that would bring us home to Dallas within 20 minutes of our original expected arrival time.

As the Lufthansa agent began to work out the details regarding our luggage, I was doing a little potty dance that was less than effective in subduing nature's call for relief. I desperately looked at Lisa (who was handling all the travel detail with no need for my input) and said, "I have to go to the bathroom..." She suggested that I wait. My bladder interrupted her to say otherwise, so I opted to heed the louder voice. One agent said to "Turn right..." and the other elaborated saying, "...go around..." the service center to the facilities. I left Lisa holding all of our bags and tickets except my purse (which held my ID) and headed off to take care of business.

I walked around the wall behind the service center. Each door failed to indicate a restroom, but I saw a sign indicating that toilets were in the stated direction. I walked through a set of doors to see a man in a security uniform, and I asked him about "restrooms... toilet?" to which he nodded in the affirmative and gestured that I should come toward him. The doors shut behind me as the man pointed to a sign clearly indicating a toilet that was a little further away than I wanted to be from Lisa. I nodded back at him, and indicated my thanks before turning to go back for Lisa who was likely finishing with our travel changes.

The smiling man stopped smiling. He placed his very large frame between me and the doors through which I had come and began forcefully indicating that I could and would not be returning to the service center (and the security of Lisa handling all the details while I just did whatever she told me to do) through those doors. For the first moment in our trip, I utterly failed to feel the exhilaration and delight that had come to characterize the adventure of exploration.

In fact, I was fast headed for state of panic. I needed to go back through those doors. I turned to really look around at what waited in the other directions away from the door, and was bombarded with the exterior view of the Munich airport, the security area for those preparing to depart, and the toilets which now failed to hold their former appeal. My initial response was to turn on my cell phone and try to call Lisa. No answer, and I suspected her inbox would be full of messages after a week. I left my own phone on in case she should try to call me while I began to try to get back to her.

Mr. Security sent me off to go through security. I was freaked out by an overly friendly male sports team (soccer, maybe?), and discovered that to pass through security one needed an airline ticket. Prepared to start sobbing at any minute, I walked toward the Lufthansa ticket center while having a disjointed moment of prayer that was primarily me begging for this mess to work out and for my panic to subside before I got myself into real trouble. The Lufthansa agent was as unwilling to contact the Lufthansa service center to let Lisa know where I was as she was to help, but she did at least look up the new flight number that was scheduled as the next leg of the trip home before shrugging me off on the poor folks over at United airlines.

Even as I felt the fear and uncertainty rising, I continued to pray and to walk toward the area vaguely indicated by the latest in the series of somewhat helpful individuals while a few tears escaped. I was overwhelmed to find yet another line to delay my reunion with Lisa. I was disgusted that I did not know what to do, frustrated that my situation seemed to be failing to improve, and frightened to be in a country where I could not speak the language to even ask the simplest questions.

An angry young American was berating his travel companion, but he stopped to stare at me. Next thing I know, there are a few people who shuffled me along in the line toward the agent, and Angry American is loudly proclaiming that "Whoa. She looks so sad, that it's like totally making me sad. Somebody needs to help her." Despite the desire to crawl in a hole upon hearing that particular description, I stood trembling in line while continuing to ask God for a bit of divine intervention. When my turn to present my passport and the scrawled number of the new flight on which I hoped to reach home arrived, the waterworks finally won out. I stood staring after giving a brief explanation of my situation to the agent.

This lady had a heart. She walked me through the security questions that my friend Sylvia had gone over with me at home prior to my original departure. It was a small measure of comfort to know that Sylvia had been part of preparing me for this bit of misadventure, and that perhaps all was not lost after all. The agent walked over to the ticket counter to speak to another agent before applying a sticker to indicate my successful answers to the security questions and instructing me to only go to the agent with whom she had already spoken before offering me a smile.

I moved on to the next line where Angry American Guy was standing with his companion and a German couple. The next available agent was the one to whom I had been instructed to speak. Those ahead of me kindly sent me to the proper agent despite my place in the line. The agent smiled and spoke very slowly and clearly (as if to a complete idiot... which I really was at that point) as she handed me the tickets that would allow me to pass through security. I was given very simple instructions to follow as she sent me off.

Security was nerve-racking because I was suddenly again uncertain of what to do, and I had an agent who was less than patient with me. Once I cleared security, I chose an escalator to take me upward to the area where I would present the passport that was in my possession rather than Lisa's at the moment. I found a line that moved rapidly, and presented my passport for the rubber stamp that allowed me to move on to the area where the gates were located. I headed to the right ("...and ONLY go right..." per the ticket agent) as I sought the gate from which Lisa and I were scheduled to depart Munich for Washington, D.C. I did not see a Lufthansa service center as I moved along in my progression toward the proper gate. I passed through yet another security checkpoint. I scanned the crowds for Lisa continually, but she never appeared.

Presenting my ticket at gate 46, I received boarding passes and seat assignments for the Washington flight and for the final leg set to return me to my home airport later in the day as well. Lisa had yet to present her tickets. The agent refused to contact the service centers to check for my travel companion. She did page Lisa in the gate area where Lisa clearly was not. It was not helpful to have the agent periodically reminding me that to fail in boarding the flight would result in the purchase of new tickets at full fare.

As I waited, there was a strange thing happening around me. I continued to ask for help in locating Lisa, and I began to notice a migration of the very people who had been helping me downstairs to the gate from which I would be departing. The travelers and the assorted airline employees were gathering in the very gate area where I was waiting for Lisa, and they were all staring. It was a little disconcerting but as words expressed concern rather than than condemnation of my foolishness in getting lost, I began to appreciate the watchers.

Finally, someone called down to the service center where Lisa had been waiting with growing concern as I failed to return to her. She had also been asking for someone to page me, and trying to use her phone to call one of the leaders we had left behind in Poland for help... which is why she did not answer my call even though she heard the beep indicating a waiting call. I stood with another security worker who sweetly indicated where I should stand to avoid more difficulty to watch for Lisa as many pairs of eyes watched me to see if I would find my companion.

When I saw the familiar black and white stripes of Lisa's outfit, I made a bee-line to the ticket counter to inform the agent there (who was still miffed that Lisa did not appear to have her phone turned on) that Lisa was coming, and to ask if we had made the final call. I wonder if Lisa felt all the eyes on her as I greeted her with an apology for becoming separated and the news that our plane had already boarded? Her ticket was stamped, and we headed off even as I heard the voice of Angry American Guy (who was no longer angry) saying, "Oh, Great! She found her friend. I am so glad for her!" I turned to see him giving me a thumb's up. Even in Washington, we were still meeting kind strangers who were glad to see that Lisa and I had successfully reached the U.S.

Our luggage remained in Munich, but I am thankful to say that Lisa and I reached our home airport Saturday night at 7:00 successfully. I hope our luggage turns up, and have filled out a baggage claim toward that end. Next time, I think I will stick to the Frankfurt hub which is easier to navigate! This little misadventure clearly highlighted the buffer our missionary hosts had provided for us throughout our visit in Poland where most of the team did not speak Polish at all, and where I certainly was clueless about customs and culture. It was a very quick tumble down "off the mountain"! How thankful I am for the guidance and help of our hosts during our stay, and for Ron Barnes who was on his EIGHTH trip to Poland and Lisa who has more experience as a traveler than I!

Vision

This possibly derelict piece of property has captured my imagination. I look at it, and I see more than an abandoned concrete shell squatting on a plot of weeds with hollow eyes. I see it as a possibility. My first words as we walked by this place were, "Hey! That's my house!" (I wondered how Don would respond to that one.) Shelley piped up to create a dream. Her words described this particular building as a ministry center.

On returning home, I realized that I have more photos of this building than anything else or anywhere else that was seen during our travels. It serves as an inspiration, and I don't feel that I can accurately communicate the variety of thoughts and ideas that this place represents. I have an image in my head of it as it could be with the doors on the right serving as an entrance into a place where European hospitality serves a cup of tea or coffee along with an offer of something more substantial. A place where not only are there biscuits and sandwiches, but where the gospel breathes.

A light to shine in the darkness. A place that is "not Polish", but that clearly celebrates all that is Polish. A place that will see shrines and strongholds crumble through Bible studies that equip people to see truth, and where scripture set to music can speak to the ear and the soul, and where a simple cup of coffee or tea can be an invitation to join the family.

Wake Up

I woke to the familiar everyday sounds of our household on a school day. The clicking of doggie claws on the floors, the patter of cat feet chasing invisible nothings, Evan asking if it is time to leave for school yet, the girls squabbling over something that won't matter later, Don typing away at the keyboard as his rumbling voice responds to the children, the ceiling fan whirring overhead, and the sound of wind in the trees outside all blend to inform my lazy mind that I really ought to get up. Instead, I remain tangled in the bedding listening. I soak up the ordinary sounds that I will likely not hear for many days.
Tomorrow I expect to be heading out the door to pick up Lisa at about the same time of day that I opened my eyes this morning. We'll make the run back to the house for Don. The girls will be dropped off at a friend's house until time to leave for school while Don, Lisa, and I begin the adventure of navigating through morning traffic to reach the airport. The following day I expect to be half a world away in Poznan as my family emerges from their night's rest. It will be many days before I have the opportunity to savor the mundane again.

Packing

After all the crazy weighing and measuring of bags, comparisons of various airlines' baggage requirements, and trial packing... yes, trial packing.

***************************(That is where I actually pack all items as if I were leaving so I can hold the suitcase over my head while shouting for Don to hurry up and tell me what the scale says.) Bella Bad Cat was not very helpful, and I told her so. She seemed to have mistaken the assorted suitcases for cat beds.

The trial packing went well until Lisa threw me a curve ball. She dropped off the crock pot that we are hauling overseas. I had plenty of room in my bag for the crock pot, but it was going to make it a little tight to get the half dozen boxes of Shelley's cookies & cream instant pudding in there. Guess what?! An oval crock pot holds exactly six boxes of instant pudding.

Superdad

With two days until departure for Poland, I am attempting to finish up my travel preparations while staying ahead of my normal household responsibilities. My leaving with the laundry caught up, pantry stocked, bills paid, and a meal or two prepared ahead will make Don's life easier during my absence. (Even Superdad can benefit from a running start.)
Thankfully, the kids are all in school, so Don can get in a full day's work without interruption. We have managed to keep the calendar relatively open during the week that I am gone so he won't have to juggle birthday parties, doctors' appointments, or school functions during his single parent days. He will be attending Katie's guitar "parent show-off", chauffeuring for an end-of-year laser tag party, getting the whole crew to church, and taking the kids to a family potluck dinner.
I know that he can manage all the tasks that are typically divided into categories loosely defined as "his", "hers", and "ours", but I still want to minimize as much of the extra "to-do" since he will be filling the Mom-sized hole I am leaving in our family for eight days.