A day in Vienna

En route to Chisinau, Moldova from Budapest, Hungary, I found it was easiest to pass through Vienna, Austria. A city I have visited before and loved before. Vienna for me is the all- but- perect European city. If I had to rank all the cities in Europe that I have been to, Vienna would certainly be near the top of the list (second of course to Fishbach, Germany).

Vienna's streets are cleaner than Rome's, it's cathedral more impressive than Brussels' and I'm almost positive there are more kiosk flower shops here than in Paris...and the speak Deutsch! An added bonus since these past six years haven't managed to erase all my linguistic knowledge of German.

Needless to say, I feel comfortalbe here.

My train from Budapest took about three hours, which I spent reading and thinking. Upon my arrival, I encountered the shuttle driver who would take me to my hotel. Being that I arrived at 8:00 PM on a Monday night, the shuttle was all but vancant. My travel partner and I were the lone two souls aboard the massive bus.

Yet the low population must have made the drier feel at ease As he accelerated through the narrow streets, he relaxed in his seat and turned up the radio. It wasn't too long before Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" came on and the radio was turned up several notches higher...and that's when the singing began. With a flawless knowledge of all the lyrics, the driver displayed his musical talent, taking care to even hit all the high, stylzed notes the artist is so known for. More than 24 hours later and I still have in my head "Don't mess around with a young girl's heart...OOO"

The next morning was my only day in the City. Following breakfast I headed to the city center for the first event on my priortized list. This will come as no suprise that it was yet another visit to the Spanische Hofreitschule (Spanish Ridding School). This is the home of the famous Lipinzzaner horses who are the epitome of classical dressage and a symbol of discipline, talent and beauty.

This was my third time seeing these horses, but I am never short of amazed. Perfect piaffe, passage, half-passes and airs were all displayed with effortless execution.

Two and a half hours later, we were back on the street wondering around the city. Since both of us have been here before, we possessed no agenda of museums or landmarks, we were simply there to enjoy the atmosphere that is Vienna.

Multiple cups of coffee, park benches, window shopping and of course schnitzel were all enjoyed in the beautiful sun we were lucky enough to have today.

I spent this evening enjoying the hotel room and attempting to prepare myself for what lies ahead of me...Moldova. A Place I have never been. A place that is, as I've been told, unlike any place I've been. A place where our lodging is unknown and our schedule is unknonw.

Needless to say, my imagination is filled with the details I lack in reality.

I'll keep you posted...

Leaving Hungary

I watched this evening as the pastel sunset casually swept across the sky. The day ending colors were also country ending colors as I watched the sun sink through the window on a train bound for Vienna.

As the rhythmic motion of the train promised relaxation for the next few hours, I couldn't help but to think about my time in Hungary and all that I had learned about this dynamic, tragic, captivating and adaptable people and their lesser known history.

Walking throughout Budapest was enlightening. Several months ago I had been looking for some simple fact about this part of the world and ended up spedning several months researching this intriguing country.

Suddenly it was all there in front of me; the symbolic statues, government gathering places, momuments to freedom. I saw the memorials that marked the first Hungarian revolution in the 1800's. I stood in front of the Parliament building that provided the stage for a group of students in 1956. A place where they read a list of public demands for change they finally felt brave enough to voice following the recent death of Stalin.

I stood in the square where the government responded with less than diplomatic actions that led to a public massacre that in turn instigated the Hungarian revolution of 1956. The very revolt that led to one of the greatest Soviet military movements that was executed in an effort to regain conntrol of the centrally located piece of their newly formed union.

The Soviets may have succeeded with the help of their 2,000 some tanks that were brought to reside within the city limits, but the Hungarians succeeded in one phenomenal task...creating substianted fear inside the hearts of the Soviet leaders.

The progressive struggles of this country became clearer and clearer as Csilla and I walked all around the city as dusk was beginning to settle. With sincere emotion, she related to me how difficult things still are for the people of Hungary.

'Communism fell on the outside' she said, 'but it still lives inside of so many people'.

As we made our way along the Danube, the corruption of their government was explained to me without reservation or any attempts to present to me the rose colored version of reality. Csilla was heartbreakingly honest.

Hungary joined the European Union in 2004, something I knew before, but there are still some hang ups. The Hungarian leaders had to make promises to the EU; actions needed to be made by the governing bodies to fully comply with the morally high standards of the EU. The Hungarian leaders said they would; they didn't.

One major consequence of these unfulfilled promises is their currency. Although an EU member, Hungary is not on the Eruo, a currency change that tends to benefit the local econmy. In a nut shell, Hungary had substantial debt when they joined the union, so in turn the union gave the leaders of Hungary sufficient funds to get out of debt, but somehow, those designated funds ended up in the personal bank accounts of a few unnamed individuals and Hungary remained in seirous debt. The EU then determined no Euro.

There was a brief time period in which the democratic party was in office. 'They got us out of debt' she said, 'we finally had money... Hungary seemed to have hope. But that didn't last long'.

When I inquired about how it was possible, with a democratic voting system, that these post communistic leaders kept ending up in office, a painful expression took over her face. After a few minutes of silence, she began the long explanation of the devistating, long lasting effects communism has on the minds of the citizens who were raised under communism.

'They think and function just as they were programed to. They see those ideals and values of communism and something inside of them turns on, and they follow'.

'There are so many lies' she said. Lies...a word I heard more in those few hours of conversation than I typically do over the course of a few weeks, months perhaps.

'I didn't even have a clue what the truth was, so I had to make it a priority in my life to try to find out what the truth actually was'.

This truth quest lead her to the 'House of Terror' a name not meant for a artificial fear producing ride inside an amusement park, but the name of a museum in Budapest containing so much information about the truth of communism.

'It was tortorious' she said, shaking her head. Her sporadic pauses indicated more emotion than a complete book of Hungarian history ever could.

There is still tension between the government and the people, still fear the government feels towards the public. 'They hate it when the citizens gather together and so they try to do all they can to prevent and discourage it'.

Taking all of this in, there was still one part of the day that was additionally emotional for me. On that fateful day in October some fifty years ago, the public read their demands, it thus started such a powerful reaction from the people. As a result, statues were torn down and buildings were set on fire. Yet something even more powerful was started that night.

After Hugary became under the oppression of the Soviet Union, a Soviet coat of arms was affixed in the center of the traditional Hungarian flag; an ever powerful symbol of the permanent presence of communism. In an act of untimate rebellion, on that significant night, the Hungarian people began ripping out the Soviet coat of arms, leaving countless of Hungarian flags with gaping holes in the center; an equally symbolic sign of their repulsion to the Soviet rule.

These maimed flags few all over the city, with their giant, obvious holes. The people wanted out, they had had enough. Oppression can only be tolerated for so long before it violently comes to an end or else it violently increases. This was clearly demonstrated by these events that took place in 1956 at the very place I was standing on Monday.

In an effort to comemorate these events and those preciously courageous individuals, a monument is standing in the very square in front of their Parliament building in which these horrific events occured.

The momument is simple. It's a grave. Above the grave is a flag, with a hole, and next to the grave is a sign with this inscription that so brilliantly captures the past events and present difficulties of this beautiful and sorrowful nation.

'The Hungarian flag has a hole in it because on October 23, 1956 the revolutionist, those Hungarians who revolted against the Soviet Untion, tore out of it the foreign coat of arms that symbolized the power of the Soviet Unsion and communism. Since then this flag has symbolized the freedom of the Hungarian nation.

This memorial is a symbolic grave. Here, on this square, several hundreds of people fell dead onto the ground due to the killer blow of a firing squad on October 25, 1956. Honour and remembrance to the victims!

The system of communism has fallen in every sense. However, it will be very hard to get rid of communism, for there is nobody as dangerous as the usurper of a faliled system who abandons the system but guards his loot and power position.'

As the day went on, I continued to ruminate about the facts I had researched, the places I visited, the flag that I saw. Perhaps as time goes on I will be able to present to you a more advanced synopsis or analysis of these events and these sights, but for now I feel that this is all I can leave you with.

How strange to have your freedom defined not by the attainment of something, but by the absence of something?

I am well aware at how culturally egocentric this may sound, but my upbringing was one that displayed our political freedom as something that we obtained. Freedom could be had so we took it, fought for it, and set an example that many other people groups within our very nation continued to model.

Anti-slavery, women's suffrage, civil rights...all these people saw that freedom could be had and pursued that. How backwards it seemed to me to look at freedom as the loss of something negative as opposed to the attainment of something positive.

Perhaps these historical events managed to influenced my ideas and ended up spilling over into my theology as well. How often do I seem to think of my salvation as the attainment of Christ's substitution and eternal life and less often as the removal of my sin. I wonder if the Hungarian people think their salvation is more so the removal of sin and not so much as their personal attainment of life.

Both sides are only half the picture, and dangerous without the other half.

Freedom has to be one of the strangest entities, ideologies, concepts that all humans struggle with. I have had a basic understanding of freedom for what seems like the whole of my life, but perhaps, I understand such a limited portion of what freedom truly is.

Photos

Just some photo to share...it's beautiful here

Horses in Hungary

As Csilla and I have been getting to know one another better, it didn't take her long to discover the strong affinity I possess for members of the equine race. As I shared about my horse briefly, I made an effort to provide a short synopsis and attempted to change the subject to something easier to talk about, something that was a common subject for the both of us. I have become farily used to the fact that not many other indivduals enjoy carrying on a conversation about large, four legged creatures we rarely even see, much less know anything about. You can imagine my suprise when Csilla expressed a strong interest in my equine endeavours.

As the conversation developed, she wanted to know generalities as well as details. Where my horse lived, how often I saw her, where I learned my training techniques, what the name was for a particular piece of equipment, and the all important question of how in the world I first developed an interest in these animals.

Questions led to explanations and explanations fed several other conversations that we had throughout the week. Csilla even stopped the lecture once when we arrved at a particular topic and told me 'Tell them about your horse'. The story she was looking for was not so much the fact that I had a horse, but the story of what this adventure has cultivated and produced in my life.

Over a potato soup lunch, one of the seminar participants asked me about the speciality I would be working in as a counselor. 'In such a large field', he said, 'what exactly will be your focus?' In response, I gave a nice, concise answer of my desire to perhaps work with young women or college age individuals. I gave the kosher response that I felt I could be effective in working with some of the issues faced by young women in our society.

Thinking that was a sufficient response, I broke eye contact and spooned a large amount of soup in my mouth. Just as I was doing this, my grandfather casually said 'And'. Acquisitively, I looked at him and said 'and what?'

'Equine therapy' he said.

Ah yes, he wanted me to share my desire to use equine therapy in my professional life. I have to tell you now that athough this is a strong desire of mine, I am uncertain about the practicality, ability and overall possibility of this becoming a reality for me. I guess you could say it's currently a dream, but has yet to be transformed into a tangible goal.

So, reluctantly, I told them about equine therapy. Naturally, I assumed that they would think it was strange, foreign, and perhaps some crazy, American, quasi-solution to societal problems. After all, I am still learning what the Hugarian concept of mental health is! Trying to understand their concepts of treatment is a whole 'nother ball game!

To my complete suprise...they loved it! And an instant connection was formed. It was phenomenal that, this one statement opened up a series of questions and interactive conversation fueled by four people who kept asking questions and kept expressing their ideas about it.

As their stories emerged, I discovered that one of the individuals in the conversation was a director of an elementary school and that at his school, they currently conduct equine therapy. Another shared about the research of equine therapy he had pursued and described the benefits of equine physical therapy that he had discovered.

They practically knew more about the topic than I did! And they were so enthusiastic about it! And as this enthusiasm was developing around me, I internally shook my head...I should have known.

Hungary, in it's origin, was strongly a horse country. For centuries, their existence was directly linked to the horse. And although many other cultures throughout history were similar in their equine dependence, the very life style of the Hungarian people was defined by the horse.

Smiling, one woman exclaimed rather proudly, 'We are a horse culture'.

That sentence quickly became somewhat of an understatement as I then recalled the information I had learned in one of the multiple horse encyclopedias I was mocked for reading as a child, but that nevertheless, I devoured.

Not only was the traditional Hungarian life style, schedule and existence dictated by the horse, they deliberately developed their equine connection further. Several hundred years ago, it was the Hungarian dedication to the animal that caused them to start some of the most progressive and successful breading schemes that ever existed. As a result, several of the world's most remarkable breeds of horses are in existence today.

In the later stages of our conversation, they shared about the national horse race that occurs every year in Budapest. It's a massive event in which each and every town in Hungary sends one horse and rider to compete and represent them in Budapest.

And so much work goes into making this happen! A special equine conducive footing is laid to cover the concrete ground in the city, accomidations are created for the various horse guests that arrive and much effort is put into the preperation. As you can imagine, hotels are brimming with people as they come from all over Hungary to watch this race that takes place in their capitol city. Banners, cheering, excitement... after this beautiful portrayal, I wanted to go!

How interesting this was to me. I was so mistaken. Here I though that these people would have thought that the concept of horse therapy is strange, useless or at the very least be skeptical. But how they embraced and advocated the concept! I wish I could have had a way to bottle up their belief and passion for this healing practice, take it with me, and spread it all around in the States.

Thinking further about this development, I wonder if perhaps this affinity is simply in their DNA. This thought was unexpectedly reinforced as I witnessed the excitement of an 18th month old baby as she watched a horse and rider pass by earlier today. Her grandmother said she was mesmerized; a feeling I can relate to completely.

As I now sit here as the day is winding down, it's so phenomenal to me how God uses the unique elements of your life to connect you with with people...even half way around the world. This shared interest later led to the discussion of other things; personal things. For some reason, the door was opened.

There is no way I could have told you on that first day I mounted a horse some fourteen years ago, that one day, I would be able to establish a connection with a group of eager Hungarian believers because of our mutual and passionate interest in the horse. But that's exactly what happened today.

Hello Hungary!

Tuesday evening, I stood on a cold platform at the Bratislava train station...waiting. The train, bound for Budapest was late, leaving me with no choice but to anticipate its unknown time of arrival in the cool breeze that tunneled through the station. Fortunatly, I wasn't alone and much to my delight, Olga offered to stay until the train came.

Through the wind we laughed once again as we had for the entirety of the trip; what a blessed soul she is. Similarities in our chosen vocation, educational path, struggles we faced as new counselors and our common belief in the healing assistance of animals were a few of the elements that had drawn us close. Trying to catch our breath through the laughter, the train finally pulled in.

Goodbyes were said and a genuinely sincere hug was given. I was then off to Hungary. As the train progressed towards a city I had been trying to get to since I was 18, I couldn't help but feel a slight sadness in my heart and doubt that my Hungarian experiene wounldn't match that of the one I had in Slovakia.

Two hours later, I stepped down off the train, only to have my doubts erased almost instantly. Eagerly, a tall, smiling woman made her way through the crowd and greated me with a hug whose caliber matched that of the one I had left in Slovakia. Finally, I had met Csilla.

And the laughter resumed! Being the first time that we had met one another, we were suprised how unlike our photos we were...thankfully! And, it wasn't long before I was sitting in a dazzling plaza enjoying a mozzarella and tomato salad, discussing which ice cream shop we would visit after dinner.

Concluding our stay in the plaza with a short trip inside H&M, we started the drive to Orbottyan. In the car, she shared about her niece, who recently became a Christian. I shared about my journey through graduate school and how I had learned more about myself than I had originally signed up for.

She was genuine, personable and fun...Hungary was going to be good.

The next morning, I was able to tour the grounds. For the next five days we are using the facilities of Ellel ministries, a British based organization that works in Eastern Europe. How refreshing it was! A forest boarded the southern side of the property, a small lake was right in the middle and the streets were fantastically muddy! Walking around in the fresh morning air, I heard the calls of sheep and horses, saw dogs playing in the sun and listened to the roosters alerting the town of the morning hour.

I feel that this is an appropriate time as any to tell you that I thoroughly enjoy any good European city. I'm a lover of food, classical music, and can spend hours in any art measume on the continent, but truly, in my heart of hearts, I am a small town girl! A day spent outside with my horse and dog getting respectably dirty and I couldn't be happier. Needless to say, my soul drank every drop of country goodness that was offered that first morning.

This morning, the conference participants arrived. Sixteen people (plus one 18 month old beautiful baby and her wonderful babysitting grandmother) make up our group. They are enjoyable people with whom I have already shared wonderful conversations.

I probably shouldn't say this, but of all the conversations that took place today, I did have a favorite. Stephan is a young Dutch man who has recently become engaged to his Hungarian girlfriend. Being from the same generation, we mutually expressed our frustrations in receiving the negative messages of marriage that are presented outside as well as inside the church.

He was tired. Tired of people portraying marriage as a chore and something in which the happiness you feel now will inevitably disappear. He was convinced that although he was lacking sufficient examples in his life, that marriage could and should be so much more, so much better than what the 'bitter' older couples had been telling him.

Listening to his frustration, I told him that four years ago my then fiance (now husband) and I were having the exact same conversation. I was able to share with him that my experience has been that if each individual is healthy coming into the marriage, things won't neccessarily go through all the pain that so many people have promised him would happen.

This is the message I feel God has given me. Amidst a society and church culture that say otherwise, marriage is fun, and certainly not the guarenteed frustration, pain, annoyance and difficulty that is so consistently preached.

It's not without challenges either, but predominantly because life is not without challenges. If you and your partner are healthy, God fearing inddividuals, the struggle is going to be out there, jointly battling the stresses a fallen world will inherently throw at you. The struggle is not (or at the very least, should not) be within the relationship.

I know I'm relatively new at this, but for the past four years this has been my life (any for what it's worth, I have seen it lived out in the lives of my parents, who will celebrate 30 years together next summer). I am well aware that due to our imperfect backgrounds, inidividual stressors and worldly challenges, that not every couple will have a marriage experience similar to mine. But should those individuals find themselves in a difficult situation, the one thing I would say would be to look at yourself.

The basic pre-requisite for marriage should be a willingness and a practice of self evaluation. Bring yourself before Christ and should you be brave enough, plea for His transforming evaluation of your life. But if you do so, be prepared to let go of your very self concept. Should you let Him, He will take all of what you think constitutes the substance of your being and begin by replacing each and every facet of yourself with the Truth that is Christ Himself.

Please don't think that I am in any way striving to discredit the difficulty that so many people suffer. I chose to be a counselor because I felt that God was desiring to use me to reach another individual in the midst of their pain and hurt.

I hope you don't get the feeling either that I don't see a need for counsel to be given by couples who have suffered and overcome their marriage difficulties. Those are some of the most powerful examples of the indwelling power of Christ we can be privileged to witness while we are still on this earth. But I hope you do hear what I am saying, that just as desperatly, we need GOOD examples. We need GOOD messages. Older generations, the message you have been sending is clear, and it's negative.

Instead of receiving warning and discouragement, my generation NEEDS to be encouraged, supported and allowed to be excited! Marriage is now, more that it has ever been, in danger of extinction, and it's with a heavy heart that I say the church has yet to provide a strong contradiction to the ideology we receive from the secular society.

In the entirety of this beautiful creation God gave existence to, He saw so much good in every portion of His work, except one. The only thing that was not good was the loneliness of man. With this in mind, perhaps we should put some effort in altering the sincerely damaging message of marriage we have supported for the past few decades.

My last breakfast in Bratislava

This morning was the fifth that I have spent in Slovakia, and my last. Sitting at my breakfast table, I listened to the rain hit the pavement just outside the window. Gentle conversations in Slovak and German were developing at the surrounding tables as I sat and enjoyed my last morning in this refreshing place.

Although not much my time was spent pursunig monuments and landmarks for which the city is known, I feel as though I have been privileged to experience a greater piece of Slovakia, a truer expression of its individual elements that equate to the beautiful constellation I have come to know. For I have spent the past five days with the people of Slovakia.

Yesterday afternoon, I spent several hours with three young Slovak women. Danka, Zuzana and Simona are all from Eastern Slovakia who have chosen to come to Bratislava to attend a one year Bible School. How connected I felt to these women. As the hours passed they related their difficulties with a prodigal sister, dominating boyfriend and a broken past. They expressed a sincere desire to understand God's will for their lives particularly in the context of what to do when they complete their Bible School program in May.

To all you attendants of Bodenseehof, or any other dearly love Bible School, I know your heart aches for them as well and, I know you fellow Bible students can fully understand the connection that was made between them and I. As I began to share, their expressions softened with gentle relief as I explained that six years ago, I was in a very, very similar situation.

With no plans of my own and more knowledge of what I didn't want to do than what I did want to do, I found myself in a situation that was heartbreaking and bewildering. But, as I shared how God's faithfulness was expressed to me stronger then than it ever had been before, I found myself smiling with a certain ironical understanding.

Six years ago this August, I left my Bible School in Fishbach, Germany and boarded a plane from London to Denver with dissapointment, lament and plenty of tears. Yesterday, I found myself in Bratislava, Slovakia pouring out my heart to these young women, with a message of 'I've been there, and there is hope'.

At one point in the conversation, Danka expressed her frustration in her own wavering ability to comprehensively trust God and with confidence, I was able to relate to her that fortunately our amount of faith in God does not determine the amount of faithfulness He expresses to us; something I don't think I would have bee able to say had I not walked onto that Colorado bound plane six years ago.

Looking back over my time here in Sovakia, I could tell you about the memorable architecture of Saint Michael's, the lack of adequate parking or the controversial upcoming elections, but I feel it would all be information you could find in a travel guide or on the pages of CNN.com.

What I will tell you is that once again God's people are compassionate. Their cultural background may cause them to be hesitant to publically answer a speakers question, their narrow streets may demand they drive smaller cars and their progressive educational system may produce tri-lingual eighth graders, but despite the differences, the redemptive nature of Christ's love is repetitively the underlying connection that unites sanctified saints worldwide.

March 14

You will be glad to know that the beef steak and I ended up getting along quite well. Something Olga was eager to learn first thing this morning.

Being that it is Sunday, we headed to Olga's church for the morning service. Upon stepping inside the building, I was presented with a wonderful combination of a crowded foyer, traditional hymns and a message delivered in a strange mix of slovak and Czech that was then translated into English.

Following the service, we were fortunate to get to spend more time in Olga's home. I joined in the food preperation and conversation while trying to explain the importance of mexican food to Americans.

By 1:00 PM we were back at the office and started the final four hours of the seminar. After the conclusion of the lecture I was fortunate to get the opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with a few of the women who were attendants at the seminar...lovely people.

People who shared thier lives, love stories and genuine hope to see good things come about in thier life time; people who unknowingly, perfectly expressed equal parts authentic personality and encouragement.

Below is a photo of most of the seminar participants.

After tearing down the additional tables, stacking the chairs and packing up our materials, dinner was next on the agenda. We returned to Olga's house to eat and I feel that it is now time to introduce you to my new but dear friend.

His name is Berry, and although there is much debate within the family on his exact age, weight and general intelligence, he doesn't seem to mind being mistaken. As long as he can wiggle under the table durng dinner and go for a car ride every now and then, he appears to be fairly content.

Over dinner, with Berry lying under my chair, we swapped stories about camping, dogs and ice cream; the simple things that inherently compose the details of our lives.

Although David explained Berry as 'smelling not so good', he has indeed warmed my heart and filled the role of pet I have missed these past few days.

Day One

Being that yesterday came and went mostly in a haze of jetlag, rain and lost luggage, I feel as if today is my first real day in Slovakia. After sweating through the night due to an over-active heater that proved to be very difficult to turn off and a spontaneous 3 AM conversation (curtious of the eight hours that make up the time difference between Europe and the States), we woke and ventured to breakfast.


A wonderful combindation of soft-boiled eggs, berry yoghert and pears were enjoyed (complete with the excessively large cereal spoons I was first introduced to in Fishbach, Germay). Then, off to the seminar we went.


The meetings this week are being held at the office of New Hope Slovakia. The comforting space with an entry, meeting room and two private offices was soon brimming with people. Friday there were quite a few, but today there were even more. We even had people calling Olga late Friday night requesting to be added to the seminar. Not very reluctantly, however, Olga would reply with a firm no! We had too many people already.


Seemingly eager to receive the message we were bringing, the attendants came prepared with notebooks, laptops and cameras, and with the help of a brilliant and wonderful translator, the hours passed quickly.


It was an interesting experience to say the least. Throughout the day, I became more and more aware of the situation in which these poeple were living. Confused theology and limited resources seemed to be the most apparent frustrations brought forth by the participants. Needless to say, the topic of pre-marital counseling training was frequently left in an effort to fill some of the holes that were pre-existing in their prerequisite understanding.


Yet the overarching feeling of the day was one of welcome, it's a familiar experience, yet one that never ceases to suprise me and provide enjoyment. Throughout my previous travels and year of college spent in Europe, I came to the belief that God is so strongly projected onto this earth and into our personalities that no matter where you go, you can find something of the familiar. A belief that is exaggerated when applied to people in the church, the same type of people we have been surrounded with since we arrived.


Needless to say...extreely inspiring.


Th 9AM-6PM time slot soon expired, however, and Thomas (Olga's husband) promised to take us to a special Slovak resturant. So together with Olga, Thomas and their two sons Simon and David, we drove through most of the city in pursuit of traditional Slovak food.


And I have to say it was well worth the drive. The classic Slovak environment was well preserved with authentic clothing, decor and of course...food. While feasting on chicken and mushrooms, I listened as Thomas explained that potatoes came from America, hamurgers from Russia and spicy peppers from Hungary; which can be purchased on a Sunday afternoon in the market of course.


Although unique, I couldn't help but experience a certain culinary deja vu. Biting into the cold, semi-bitter cabbage, I was transfered immediately into sweet memories of the months I enjoyed Germany cusine.


But one meal on the table was truly novel... an interestingly little dish called 'Beef Steak'. It's seemingly neutral in its name, but don't be fooled. Although described as 'fresh' once the plate arrived, I soon understood that the adjective 'fresh' sould have been exchanged for raw.



Centered on a rather large plate was simply a pile of raw beef, garnished with a raw egg. Apprehensive as I was, I have to say that it wasn't that bad, especially if you took a rather large bite of toast along with it. A combination that was mandated by Olga when she apparently saw hesitancy expressed on my face.


Being that this was the first time I had ever ingested raw beef, I was suprised that it was rather flavorful; in fact far more so that is cooked counterpart. And although this may come as a shock to some of you, if it weren't for the pesky risks of things such as ecoli, I have to admit that I would be in favor of eating the 'beef steak' version more often.


The evening was then finished by a short explanation of historical Slovak life, a conversation in which David and I discovered that TNT does in fact mean dynamite in English as well as in Sovak, and a discussion about the 'hungry' American cars some unsuccessful petrol company tried to sell in Bratislava a few years ago.


As unsuprisingly as this may sound, I'll say for clarity sake that these people have been a genuine delight, the type of people I know I'll miss...


Well, time to hit the sack...if the beef steak comes back with a vegence, I'll let you know ;)

a restful reflection

ThAnk You for this tiMe, this Rest, this quiEt. PerFectly beAutifuL CreATor let you comPrehensiVe gRace falL oVer me—CovEr me, dRench me. MAy my enTire eXistence be bAthed—let me eMerge drippinG with your GrAce. CorrEct what is wronGed—MeNd what is frAgmented. Fill eVery hollOw left by HAte, SiN, AnGEr and DepreSsioN—FilL it wiTh yoUr un-exchangable Mercy and RedemPtivE loVe.

ImPart me wiTh yOur ComPasSioN –PasSiOn, a fAster ReAction, tO ThosE wHo neEd to gRasp a GlimpS of HopE – LiVing HoPe …fRom a LiVing God. StEp aWay frOm YoUr tRadiTion of disReGarding tRadiTion. He is ReaL, yoU are Real—LiVing, bReaThing, loVinG sTronGer toDay than YesterDAy. FoRgiVing moRE thAn my forGiveN paSt. oH if I couLd but tOuCh a PoRtion of wHat is You. ThanK yoU for wHo yOU arE—WhaT You hAVe dOne—whAT you wilL dO.

FoLd me iNside of you. coVer, guaRd, proTect and coMfort. I liVe my liFe as a bliNd lOst sOuL, wHo knoWs not my right haNd from my leFT. So LoSt, so unAble, selF-deClaRed hlePless. bUt God! But God! I PRaise yOu beCuase you ARe inConcieVable! Unimaginable, unFathomalbe, unStoppable—My BAstion of hoPe, my poRtion of liFE –my dAily bRead, my eVery breath—My reAson—my pUrpose—my deFinition. JESUS CHRIST

This restless pioneer soul within me...a heritage

I too with my soul and body,

We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,

Through these shores, amid the shadows, with the apparitations pressing,

Pioneers, Oh Pioneers

It is easy to know what you are against, an honor to know what you stand for

Upon returning home a few weeks ago, my better half declared that he had just “upgraded our lives”. Being the complex individual he is, this statement could have meant anything; and in this particular case it meant that we were now Netflix customers.

I have to interject here for a moment to let you know that we are not the people who spend our evenings being anesthetized by “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” or “Sex in the City: The movie”. I have to admit that I did feel a slight reservation towards the Netflix purchase due to a minimal fear that we would find ourselves watching the very films we declared we never would.

Such has not been the case fortunately, and recently, our film tour has included ones I have never heard of; films that place their settings in a Turkish Prison, Native American burial grounds and most recently, the Irish countryside circa 1920.

In recent conversation with a friend, we were discussing the need for a creative individual to live amongst inspiration. Being the avid activist for literature that I am, I rarely admit to finding such inspiration in a film, but I have to make an exception for this one.

“The Wind that Shakes the Barley” portrays the difficulties faced by the Irish in the beginnings of the twentieth century. No I wouldn’t start handing out the awards for best cinematography or costume design, the film presents a robustly simple visual. Then again, maybe I would, because neither the filming technique nor the costumes distracted from the story the characters so excellently delivered.

I periodically found myself in a genuine debate with my conscious over the question “what would I do?” given I were presented with a comparable situation. A Debate that continued afterwards with my better half about “what might we have to do?” in a comparable situation.

Not to ruin the story, because I strongly suggest you all spend an evening with it sometime soon, but there is a letter towards the end of the film that enthralled me, written by a character that survived perhaps one of the greatest personal evolutions since Edmond Dantes.

That letter and this phrase stayed with me: “It is easy to know what you are against, an honor to know what you stand for".

Feeling that the statement is true to the core, I wonder why so many of my sainted brothers and sisters turn that honor into shame.

Why I love Russian Authors (besides thier impressive beards)

It is by now no secret that I have a slight addiction that has, no doubt, robed me (if you will) of my free time and spare cash alike. Yet for all the so called deprivation it has caused, its endowments are well worth the loss. Yes I speak of none other than my obsession with classic literature that has long been a self-fueling habit. Most likely if a book is old, I can say with a certain amount of confidence that I’ll enjoy the read.

I tend to dabble frequently in the British, German and French authors that seemed to dominate the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. However a few years ago I journeyed north of the well known central European dynasty and found myself falling head over heals for Russian literature. Tolstoy led to Pasternak that led to Dostoevsky and with each new work I am bewildered by their genius.

Allow me to demonstrate…

Exhibit A:

In the realist, faith is not born from miracles, but miracles from faith. Once the realist comes to believe, then precisely because of his realism, he must also allow for miracles. The Apostle Thomas declared that he would not believe until he saw, and when he saw he said “My Lord and my God!” Was it the miracle that made him believe? Most likely not, but he believed first and foremost because he wished to believe, and maybe already fully believed in his secret heart even as he was saying: “I will not believe until I see.”

Exhibit B:

Above all do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth, either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others.

Exhibit C:

But there is also a grief that is strained; a moment comes when it breaks through with tears, and from that moment on it pours itself out in lamentations. Especially with women. But it is no easier to bear than the silent grief. Lamentations ease the heart only by straining and exacerbating it more and more. Such grief does not even want consolation; it is nourished by the sense of its unquenchableness. Lamentations are simply the need to constantly irritate the wound.

Exhibit D:

Do no be afraid of anything, never be afraid, and so not grieve. Just let repentance not slacken in you, and God will forgive everything. There is not and cannot be in the whole world such a sin that the Lord will not forgive one who truly repents of it. A man even cannot commit so great a sin as would exhaust God’s boundless love. How could there be a sin that exceeds God’s love? Only take care that you repent without ceasing, and chase away fear altogether. Believe that God loves you so as you cannot conceive of it; even with your sin and in your sin he loves you. And there is more joy in heaven over one repentant sinner than over ten righteous men—that was said long ago.

Exhibit E:

Never be frightened at your own faintheartedness in attaining love, and meanwhile do not even be very frightened by your own bad acts. I am sorry that I cannot say anything more comforting for active love is a harsh and fearful thing compared with love in dreams. Love in dreams thirsts for immediate action, quickly preformed, and with everyone watching. Indeed, it will go as far as the giving even of one’s life, provided it does not take long but is soon over, as on stage, and everyone is looking on and praising. Whereas active love is labor and perseverance, and for some people, perhaps, a whole science. But I predict that even in that very moment when you see with horror that despite all your efforts, you not only have not come nearer your goal but seem to have gotten farther from it, at that very moment—I predict this to you – you will suddenly reach your goal and will clearly behold over you the wonder-working power of the Lord, who all the while has been loving you, and all the while has been mysteriously guiding you.


Thank you Fyodor Dostoevsky; sincerely thank you.

My self-surprising love affair with leafy beverages

For the majority of my life, I have boldly been a professing coffee lover. Inevitably destined to inherit a passion for the bean from my ancestors, I embraced my genetic predisposition whole heartedly and presented no resistance to the creamy goodness in my morning mug.

Offering more than just comfort in a cup, this love contributed to the enrichment of countless life experiences and it wasn’t long before I found myself in pursuit of this delicious hot beverage through the streets of Munich and the hills of Hawaii.

But why was I so persistent in finding this drink in particular? No other means of nourishment ever reached this level of precedence on my personal scale of importance. To contribute this obsession to taste alone would be ridiculous (and slightly embarrassing). And you can forget trying to chalk it up to the insane amounts of caffeine the beverage contains. I can see most of you raising your brows in cynical skepticism but it’s true and as proof, I swore off caffeine in late 2005 and have since successfully avoided even a single relapse.

The true greatness of the grinds is this and I believe the great Gestalt thinkers would be please to hear me say that while I fully believe that the taste, texture and temperature are all wonderfully simple things that contribute to the greatness of this concoction, yet truly the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. (For you left brainers out there, think of it as exponential as opposed to multipliable).

With its presence, conversations became more decadent, mornings more manageable, and it’s safe to say that this bean juice eventually evolved into my adult safety blanket. Being that it became a startlingly strong connection to comfort, I ensured a steaming cup accompanied me to every strange, stressful or new situation I managed to fall into. Morning, afternoon and evening were all perfectly wonderful times time indulge in Java and the frequency of my addiction was no doubt fueled by my seasonal Germanic habitat.

Upon returning to the States I continued in my constant consumption and eventually a four year career emerged out of this love as I found myself the proud member of a population of baristas. It's true, I was one in the elite group who could actually explain the difference between a light or dark roast and whom forwent decent salaries to simply bring you the goodness of the grinds (or so they want you to think). Nevertheless, most facets of my life were in one way or another connected to these beans.

Then something changed. While enjoying a visit to two soul friends of mine in the South-west region of our northern neighbor, I was offered a cup of tea. Not opposed to other hot drinks I readily accepted; after all, I even owned a few boxes of the stuff myself. Little did I know that the Canadian-purchased black leaf tea was so… delicious? I literally drank through the whole can of that stuff (leaving one sole tea bag behind in an effort to console my greedy guilt).

Surprisingly it was STRONG. An outcome I solely attributed to my precious beans. But for some reason, I was completely taken by those leaves. Hot, strong, delicious… all central traits of coffee, but tea did one more for me; it completely addressed my thirst.

Dare I say who knew? No, and please don’t think me that ignorant. Because I am well aware that the other 5/8th of the world have been practically founding their civilizations and staking their survival on the stuff.

Needless to say, my leafy consumption did not cease after that first weekend of bliss. Soon I was captivated (and yes slightly addicted). But amidts all the fasination with my new found drink of choice I can forsee one prominant question...is there such a thing as bad tea? YES! Heavens yes…weak, fruity ingredients that equate to nothing more than purplish- red water that looks like someone dipped their paint-by-number paint brush in your cup (and tastes just like it would if someone dipped their paint-by-number paint brush in your cup).

Truth be told there is some pretty bad coffee out there as well and as a rule of thumb, I have developed the habit of never ordering drip coffee from any commercial joint (including Starbucks) because no matter where you to you get tan colored water that reminds your taste buds of the last time you licked your shoe strings. Unless you happen to be in Vienna in which case expect the texture to be something similar to syrup and the taste to deliver a thorough slap in the face. But both done right (and by right I mean quality leaves or beans brewed STRONG) and I’m a happy camper.

So who wins? For today, I believed the leaves take the lead, but ask me tomorrow, and the beans could once again be number one. Regardless if anyone else thinks it’s possible to be a coffee AND a tea person, I am declaring myself as such right here, right now. No, you will not find me at the local grocers attacking the woman who took the last box of “Herbal Raspberry Zinger”, but you will find my kitchen well stocked of deep, strong black tea sitting comfortably on the shelf right next to the carefully selected, aromatic beans.

Aware

Suddenly aware. AwarE of this subtle Vibration. Vibration that has consistently set the rhYthmic pattern of my lIfe—yet perhaps I’ve been numb, calloUsed to its presence because of its consIstence.

Just what you wanted.

No more. No more. I couldn’t be more ashamed of my PassivIty. Forgive my apaThy, tiMidity. You’re hEre. Here. I can feel your bReath. Lead me to the pLace where you are. For I long to dWell where you are. Lend my just a mOment of that place where you are.

Aware—make me awaRe of the nEed. Make me increasiNgly more aware of your adeQuacy to fill—no EXCEED that need. The need of my people, my city, my nEighbors.

GLorious, graCious God—make me reaDy. These feeble 2 hAnds and two feEt. I want to walk away from being idol—unresponsiVe. You redeemed my soul and I kePt you for myself. Held you close encapSulated in my hands resting aGainst my chest. But in eVery way that you are mine, you cannot remAin solely within mE.

BURST FORTH! Steady movIng to the fronT. Burst Forth out of the celL I placed you in. BURST FORTH and out and beyond, tuRning all the while to enVelope me in your poWerfully gentle perFection.

Wrap me—send me
Cradle my spirit and graPple my soul.

PENITRATE!!

SEEP through every cell eveRy ounce of matter, every thought, concept—synApse.

Infuse then substitute.

You are a daUnting noveLty. Against which my cognitive atTempts to comprehend will eternally fail.

Penetrate-- possess-- procure
PURGE

In an attempt to prove myself wrong...

As many of you know “the deader the better” is my personal motto regarding authors; that is authors of literature, theology and philosophy (and fundamentally everything else). I have (what I think) a well founded theory of why this is so, and have chosen for the moment to spare you all of that lengthy explanation.

Living tirelessly true to my motto, my literature absorption is consumed with the works of Dumas, Augustine, Doyle, Tolstoy and other fabulously deceased individuals, most of whom put pen to paper before the concept of mass publication was construed. This has led me down a path that has never disappointed. In fact the only disappointment that perpetuated as a result was the disappointment I experience with modern publications.

None the less, I believe that when it comes to personally constructed credos, we should always be in the habit of attempting to prove ourselves wrong. This is not a current concept I have recently decided to apply to my literary addiction. However, with every effort thus far, I have failed, failed miserably, to succeed.

Most of the time I know what work awaits me next. While I’m a mere 90 pages into the current book I’m enjoying my thoughts cannot be kept from selecting the succeeding story. However, occasionally I do close the cover of one narrative and am lost regarding the selection of the next. I found myself in such a predicament one night several weeks ago.

This isn’t an all-bad situation, because the only remedy I know is to wonder the used book store with its rows and rows of mismatched shelves; sagging from years of bearing the weight of mankind’s publications. This ritual continues until something captivates me.

Something did. A novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, entitled “Love in the time of Cholera”. Taking my (what I thought were) chances, I purchased the hardback and headed home.

As some of you may know, the aforementioned novel was published in the 1980’s and it did not disappoint the public. Gaining stunning popularity, “Love in the Time of Cholera” went on to snatch up several desirable literary awards for its author.

I was truly memorized; entranced by the language, in love with the rhetoric, and lost in the plot. I was unaware that an individual, who is my contemporary, could weave together such a beautiful composition. Feeling that I had finally proved myself wrong, I turned the page to the book’s half way point only to be gravely disappointed.

For the next 200 pages or so, I was presented with the same beautiful language I had enjoyed in the previous portion of the book; however, now this language concerned itself with essentially one focus: the physically provocative endeavors of the main character. The plot was weakened, the mystery diluted. What happened to the promising novel I had started reading?

I had naturally encountered the modern literary portrayal of sexuality in other works, but I was unable to formulate my personal opinion about it until now.

The average shelf-life of a book these days is a meager six months. Six months and as an author, you have to produce something shiny and new or else your name will not survive the Barns and Nobel business model. Combine that with a culture that is fiercely saturated by visual media that, let’s be honest, floods our sensory intake with explicit material, and you get fictions that, while slightly more eloquent, are fundamentally cheesy romance novels (hold the illustrated paper-back cover).

Written media of today, in brutal competition with visual media, has only one choice: to arouse and shock us more with words than the latter does with images. Some may classify this as the progressive nature of society, but don’t fool yourselves. This societal obsession has provided authors with nothing more than a cheap cop out. The struggles with character enhancement, or plot sophistication can be casually overcome with the blunt introduction of sexuality; therefore distracting the reader from the fact that the manuscript in hand lacks any element of written genius mankind was privileged to produce once upon a time.

My apologies to Mr. Marquez, the author is clearly fantastic and had he composed 100 years earlier, he would probably stand as one of my favored authors, but he didn’t and therefore he doesn’t. So, I remain true in my motto and in my decision to consume literary works that have more to them than steamy love scenes.

The fulfillment of a promise

tea lights and candles-- oh the nights I've passed this way. Traveled-less poems are mentioned more often. Blow out the words and turn the conversation off-- breathe what you speak, what you really desire to say; what you hear spoken, what's not whispered.

why is passion always loud? an arm’s length how far you must stay from me to blend into this colorless crowd? read this book of bent and catch-less thoughts-- am i still who you want me to be? can't i be the poet and the one that spilled this morning’s coffee?

i want to show you what's written on my hand, but the lack of your presence tells me to you this idea of rawness that is glory-less is non-existent; it's still band. sip it slowly, this life that rest on the coaster made of backdrops and details, it's the only way to taste the honey.

the philosophy of a picture fades when you let your eyes feed your heart. can an echo come from a prophecy? what if beauty reaches further than fantasy? and once you've seen it you can't turn it off. I'll wrap it up in a silk stripped scarf, and give to you this bundle of hues and things we choose and say "no worries its' very soft".

there's a small paper label, that the string runs right through. there's a name on it, written by the one hand that knows perfection. i can't read it squint as i try, but can you?

i remember a time when the cold, cold water slowly embraced my skin. never have i better understood blue. i want to know you in this way so as to change every conception i had before. i want to know you so as to never again ask who?

My Rose colored glasses… are really blue

As a child I clearly remember wondering if a strawberry tastes the same to me as it does to you? Can red really express the same hue as perceived by me as it would perceived by you? And how could I really ever know. Not to say that I have successfully abandoned the robustly simple philosophy of my youth, but perhaps it has evolved slightly.

Some decade of years later I find myself pursuing a career whose unspoken motto is “Therapy lacking empathy is futile.” Yet I have to admit that I find the relentless push towards a phenomenological understanding somewhat elusive.

Call me doubtful, psychotic and perhaps even a science-hater, but I still cling to the idea that each and every being on this earth is completely unique. If this is not true, then it’s safe to assume that God runs out of ideas. I can see the culturally-saturated Christians raising their eyebrows at my assumption that God is tremendously unlimited regarding the creation of each life and the creation of the cosmos. I simply cannot bring myself to place my confidence in a Devine being whose creativity expires.

This said, I continue to struggle with the concept that one soul can completely understand another. To give voice to the devil’s advocate inside me, I tend to agree with my profession that therapy void of empathy leaves you with nothing save cold psychoanalytical structure; a far cry from what most individuals actually need.

For years of my life I wept and mourned over the realization that that I was eternally misunderstood. My comfort, and healing no doubt, came solely from the passage “The man who loves God, is known by God.” Known by God; leaving me to believe that the full access to the comprehension of a human soul is restricted to Divine ability.

Yet perhaps, that Divine ability is imparted on some occasion. Yet regardless, my perspective will never look the same as yours. My failures, successes, experiences, struggles, abuses and beliefs equate to a constellation that has yet to be matched and mirrors none other.

Perhaps it’s the effort; the age old idea that “it’s the thought that matters.” Perhaps our world is so deficient of souls exerting the effort towards another to understand them that the most powerful psychological healing we know of to date is simply empathy.

As I slowly progress towards the seemly intangible goal of my education, I have struggled often to develop then substitute my concept for that of a globally accepted one; often with the simple inclusion of the Creator. So perhaps my personal motto should also differ slightly from that of my generational colleagues. Therapy without the effort of empathy is futile.

And for that matter, human relationship without the effort of empathy is futile.

on my heart...

"We are refugees from the statue quo. This world is not our home. We could care less about religious categories and controversies. We love people, we love Truth, we love GOD. We work for justice. We do not promise a quick fix, but a compassionate, humble conversation. We know no easy answer for why people suffer, just a person who suffered."

no distance of place nor lapse of time can prevent my soul from missing...

Moments like thses aren’t meant for words. Moments like these aren’t meant for pictures; just writing about them makes them feel cheap.

I wish every honest eye that is starving for serenity could fixate on this...

Until they drink every drop needed till their soul overflows from inside of them and turns to envelop them in sweet, fearful security…the blatant intrigue—unquestionably unfathomable.

It doesn’t hurt-but it pierces right here. I wish I could cast my being to be only a part of this mist—in a million ways I feel as if I can hold it—touch it—possess it. In a million ways I feel as if I am a thousand years separated from it and that I will receive a bruise on my eyes simply for looking at it.

It—this fragment of an image of You—You whom I long for more that sentries long for the dawn, yes more that sentries long for the dawn.

The expressive beauty of music

These lyrics are to a song called Mary's Song. It's written and preformed by the Tyler Ward band. A clear expression of the beautifully powerful forgiving nature of our Christ.



She let her hair fall down beside him
As the teArs fell on his feet
She had given more than who she was to the wOrld
Will you hoLd her up... or let her fall... or stand strong without wavering
With just a word I will lift you up a word of lOve can change anything

‘Cause you take aWay... please take away my pAin

I need this change things won’t ever be the same

He looked her in the eye with passion when he spoke the word that said it all
No matter what you’ve done I’ll love you and I’ll love you through it all
I'lL hold you up, it’s tearing you down, might is strong without wavering
With just a word I will lift you up a word of love can change anything

I’ll take away... I will take away your pain

You need this Change...it won't ever be the sAme