A peek at Donostia

Here is a peek at what Donostia, Basque looks like:

 Donostia (Basque name) also called San Sebastian (Spanish name)

Here is the aerial view of Donostia.   La Concha is the name of the beautiful beach pictured.

It is definitely a city, a small European one, but a city none the less.  

Apartments and center squares.  

Very different than Culpeper and the life we have lived so far.

If you have five minutes click on this link to a short Rick Steves video specifically on Donostia:
Rick Steves, Donostia, Basque Country
Doesn't he do a wonderful job highlighting some of the more interesting facts about the Basques and Donostia?  (Minus the marijuana piece) Does it make you want to come visit us while we are there?

Also, if you have five more and you are wondering what in the world we are planning to do with educating our three boys here is a link to the school we are considering.  There is currently a two year waiting list to get in, but expats are guaranteed a placement at one of the two English schools near by.  These schools would ensure that at least 1/4 of the day would be taught in English. Also, they are government subsidised so they are affordable.  The couple we will be working along side in Basque, (they are with SUSA, Summer in the USA), have their three children currently enrolled at St. Patrick's.  Here is the link:
St. Patrick's English School in Donostia, Basque
The other option we are praying about is homeschooling the first year with a private Spanish tutor.  Then, transitioning to the English school or public school.  We may not know until we land in Basque if we will get enrollment there or at the another school.

I promise not to ask if you have seen the videos the next time I see you.  They are for the curious and the more than 20 second blog check.  Hope it helps seeing a little glimpse into what life might look like for us once we are there!  I also hope it helps inspire plans to visit us!

Balter

Balter= v. to dance artlessly, without  particular grace or skill,  clumsily,  but usually with enjoyment.       One of the best parts about watching Ian draw is the complete freedom in which he does it.  There are no pauses to correct a line or delay in picking which color to use next.  He creates with both fists clutching the slick oil pastels and does not stop until he feels he is finished.   He is enthralled by his hands creating swirls and loops.  He giggles as black and yellow crash into something muddled.  Each time shouting "Ian do this" as he ends the last line, fingers smeared with color.  He creates without fear of what the finished product will look like.  He always seems happy with the end product because he enjoyed the process so much.             Life feels harder when I fixate on the next step.  If the picture is supposed to look a certain way then I better get the lines I am drawing now to look just so, and the color needs to match exactly.  It becomes exhausting to try, to erase, and start over.  The end product in my mind predicting the entire frustrating process.  Something to endure, to get through with as little damage as possible.  To try to look like I know what I am doing while keeping hands clean from color.         We feel that we are called to be a part of something God is doing in Basque, Spain.  We need to raise support, learn Spanish, ready the house to rent, and countless other things.  And it all wears on us, the striving to create a picture of what we think it should look like.  A talk with some dear friends this week helped me to stop and turn the lens a bit.  To refocus on what is important right now.  And it is not the picture I see when the waiting and plodding on feels hard.  It is one of right now.  Today.  Ian napping in our bed because he is convinced lions live in his room.  And Jeff trying to teach Levi once again how to stay up on a pair of skates and not hug the carpeted areas.  Luke talking to himself with a smile as he circles them on his skates.  It is me breathing deep the alone time fingers clicking out words on a keyboard.  The dishes in the sink, two phone calls still to make, drywall to patch, and the base boards that still have not been painted.  It is all about these things.  The scribbles in bright yellow and the loops of black that project into each day.  The process.         The best masterpieces are made one brush stroke at a time.  And the calls and  meetings, playing legos with boys and meals made are as much shaping me as the Rosetta Stone lessons.  That Jeff lifting Levi up again and again, skates and arms splayed, is as important as patching the drywall for renters and training future Young Life leaders.  And Luke confidently circling round and round when before he only fell is somehow building up in him what we can't see.        Standing on Basque soil will be amazing, when we finally arrive with suitcases and hearts ready.  But to discount the now for the next is cheating ourselves.  The end product is only known by God.  And the scribbles we make in trust and joy each day are far more worshipful than the exacted  lines painstakingly made to match a product we do not know.  So here is another of my New Year's resolutions.   To balter.  To balter with Jeff and the boys through these next few months or many more months of the process.  And to try to live how Ian draws.   I pray that you get to balter today with those you love.   That you will embrace the process God has you in right now, today, rather than trying to guess the outcome or product He is making.   "But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and these things will be given to you as well.  Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.  Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:33&34

By faith

"Do we really have to go through?" groaned the hobbit.   "Yes, you do!" said the wizard, "if  you want to get to the other side.  You must either go through or give up your quest."

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Jeff is still reading The Hobbit with Luke at night.  Moving through it slowly chapter by chapter.  I listen in the hallway, folding laundry, getting the others ready for bed.  I have started it too, not satisfied with just parts overheard. The Mirkwood forest is what Bilbo is afraid of going through.  The picture in my mind matches the photo above, deep forests laden with fog.

     

The photo was taken of a forest in Basque.  And the Basque Country is truly one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.  Large amounts of rainfall leave everything saturated in lush green foliage.  Nestled between the Pyrenees Mountains and the Bay of Biscay, the land is sculpted by its surroundings and often seen through  fog or mist.  And fog and mist is beautiful in a picture or story.  It exudes symbolism.  But to be in the middle of it is quiet another thing all together.  It is what sailors fear more than high winds or waves.  

This past week Culpeper was pushed through a fog thicker than I can remember.  As the warm front collided with a cooler one.  It was as if clouds had gotten sick of being so high and came down to settle closer.  Driving was disorientating.  The familiar land marks hidden in the folds of the fog.  We had to move slower, look closer, and sometimes turn around after passing our own house.  For three days it hovered and then slowly gave way to rain.  

And so I feel we are in the fog laden forest right now in this process.  The entire process, timeline, and details come into focus and then blur again.  The unknowns still far out weigh the known.  And just like navigating in the fog, looking at a map doesn't seem to help because it all looks so simple, so different on the map.  I am reading through the Bible in a year and have just read through the stories of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  I have read how each made mistakes following God, mistakes made in the name of fear.  Fear after God promises provision and protection.  I was surprised to read how similar their failings were.  As if the father could not guard the son from his own missteps.  When I read about them in Hebrews they are men of faith, they are commended for that  faith.  And it doesn't seem to match up.  Fearful mistakes being made right by faith.  I take a deep breath.  I start at the beginning of Hebrews again.  "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."  This is what they were commended for.  Father to son, stumbling, fearful, and ultimately trusting.  And so my fear and stumbling does not negate my faith that He is bigger.  That this place of waiting is not a passive act but one of obedience, being certain that He who leads us in the light can also lead us through the fog.

I pray that you will walk by faith when sight is hindered.  That you trust a God that leads us as a good Father.  One that will provide and protect and not leave us even when we are fearful and stumble.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,

the evidence of things not seen.  

This is what the ancients were commended for."  

Hebrews 11:1

Not alone

"An enormous technology seems to have set itself the task of making it unnecessary for one human being to ever ask anything of another in the course of going about his daily business.  We seek more and more privacy, and feel more and more alienated and lonely when we get it."
                                                                                                                  - Philip Slater
    
     "You need to teach him to ask for help."  I don't know how.  He won't let me.  "He is three and a half you have to stretch him, teach him it is better to ask for help than to struggle alone."  Charla would remind me of this every visit.  Six months earlier we had discovered Luke had fluid on his ears for the previous two years.  He never had an ear infection and because he was bright the doctors chalked up his silence to being an introvert and a boy.  When I persisted and his hearing was checked we both stood amazed as the machine sputtered out straight lines instead of jagged ones.  The lines showed the silence, the world he understood so far.  After the fluid was drained and tubes put in we were given Charla as his speech therapist.  Teaching Luke how to come out of his head and use words, to ask for help. And me to slow down enough to listen.  She had several games she would use to motivate him to speak and ones to help him follow directions.  Luke was not cooperative and liked it best when we would fall into conversation, me worried and her reassuring.  He would use that time to do the task given alone, without direction.  When he would become frustrated I would rush to help, that is when she would repeat the importance of him being able to articulate his need.   Charla made me promise to put him preschool.  I agreed and cried the whole way home.  She said that other kids, other relationships would teach Luke to see his need more than I could.  We met with Charla for a year and a half.  She saw Luke go from being almost non-verbal to discussing at length why trains are amazing machines.

 I changed also in that time.  I learned to step back, to wait until he asked for my help.  To let him become a part of a community bigger than me.  Knowing he would be misunderstood and hurt but that the rewards of being heard and understood by some would be worth it.  His first day of preschool I pulled out of the parking lot as the four year old class emptied into the playground. Heart heavy as I watched him stand on the edge of kids playing. 

Luke is still a lover of silence and solitude.  His boundaries are drawn close and expressed clearly if overstepped.  But that is the beauty of those that God has brought around us.  Who we are called into relationship with.  The ones that are free to nudge the boundaries, knock on doors and asked to be let in.  Luke has cousins that sleep over in his room, play with his meticulously designed Lego city, and wrestle and hug their way into his space.  He has two brothers that see his boundaries as thin lines to be pounced on.  And friends to run and sweat and explore woods with.  And together we are figuring out that life lived alone is not better.  That an undisturbed life is and empty one.

Worn couches and scuffed floors are evidence of a life lived together with others.  Sitting with Lisa early mornings gleaning grace and wisdom.  Crossing under the thick line of trees and brush to take Ms. Shirley a meal and staying to talk a while.  Letting Kelly bring prescriptions we are too sick to pick up, Manda and Liz coloring swirls with Ian as we chat, and watching Will be tackled the minute the front door creeks open.  And some faces change with the seasons but each gives and receives.  Allowing all those little interruptions made by us onto others and others unto us keep us human.  Boundaries bent in and privacy forsaken to know and be known.  And how sweet it is to be known.  To sit and talk without cleaning the mess up first. I pray that you will look and see who God has called into your life today.  That your carefully drawn boundaries will be nudged in and your door knocked upon.  And that you will not be afraid to ask for help or show your need because that is when we see clearest that we are not in this alone. 

"For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body...  As it is, there are many parts, yet one body.  The eye cannot say to the hand, "I have no need of you," nor again the head to the feet, "I have no need of you."  1 Corinthians 12:13,21

The Gift of a Day

"All we have to decide

is what to do with the time

given to us."

-Tolkien

Twenty four hours, 1,440 minutes, 86,400 seconds in a day.  Summer is five months away.  And the days go by so fast.  As if each boy needing meals, baths, and a full look in the face when they talk has sped up the time allotted.  Not enough time I think to fully stop what I am doing and hear that Levi is wishing once again that he will be a great dad and that he shouldn't buy a mini van but a bigger one, like the one he saw parked outside Walmart, because God may give him a lot of kids.  And Luke explaining the third time why the lego train he has designed could be so much better if he just had one more piece, a piece that was discontinued and only can be bought on e bay...  and Ian, his yelling loud and clear, mama and mommy, not sure which to go with, instead of asking  a quiet "help please".  Dinner is not thought of and homework is scattered over the dining table.  The days slip through my hands.  I start each one with a to do list.  People to contact, Basque information to be mailed and a database to be updated.  Baseboards and walls to be painted for the next occupants to smudge and stain in the family room.  Toys and other items to be sorted and given away.  And Ian always yelling mama mommy from another room.  Jarring my thoughts and forcing me to think about that moment only and his wants instead of the long list in front of me.  I do not do it gracefully.  I flit about from one thing to another.  Some moments are sung with joy and others are pushed through with anxious thoughts.  But we all get the same number.  The precious hours of each day.  From the moment our sleepy eyelids open to see the sunrise until they close in the dark.

 

Funny how the older we get the the faster the days slip by.  The more we  are tempted to wonder if what we have done in a day, a month, a year is enough.  If it could have been more.  Instead of seeing each day as a gift.  Each waking of the mind and body a complete miracle.  Undeserved and unrolled before us with a new chance to trust, give, laugh, weep, and breath. 

My father was told five years ago that he would have six months at most to live.  Congestive heart failure, a disintegrating graft, lungs that worked too hard.  We stood in shock, cocooned in preemptive grief.  Fear stole joy from those first days.  But each day he woke up and lived and closed his eyes again at night.  And each day the fear began to fade as he lived out the hours only God can give and no man can take away.  And he has wept, loved, given and lost, has wrestled and grown these five years.  He has bought new shoes he did not think he would have to buy over and over.  He has spoken words of love and encouragement to us,  words of life.  Not because it is on a to do list he holds tightly, but because he knows that moments of life spoken over his children and grandchildren are a gift.  

Undeserved and numbered, twenty four in each day and they are not wasted.  How tragic it would have been if we had all been too busy waiting in fear for death that we would have missed all the life given over the years.  How beautiful to live out the messy moments together day by day - refusing to dwell on why we are given extra and when that might end.   I am still prone to rush forward a mile a minute in action and thought.  As a kid I would hear my dad start to sing "Hold on your moving to fast, you've got to make the moment last..."  My mom would always chime in singing the Simon and Garfunkel song as we would all groan.  Now as adults we've learned to sing with them.  I pray that you are able to wake tomorrow feeling the gift of the day before you.  That you will not waste it waiting, fearing, or worrying about all the to dos and what ifs.  But that you receive it boldly and with intention to live a life of love out loud all 86,400 seconds of the day.

"Teach us to number our days,

that we may gain

a heart of wisdom."

                                        Psalm 90:12

Basque Recap/Update

A year ago we began a simple pray of  "what next".  We moved to Culpeper, Va in 2003 to start up Young Life.  We were just beginning to feel released to start up a new area and Jeff felt that the area was strong enough in leadership and support to move on, to get out of the way for what was next for this little town.  I had a list ready, near water, no more than three hours away, good schools...But lists are for crossing out, and we soon found ourselves thinking about YL international.  I was very certain at a young age that I would be serving overseas.  Marriage, kids, and ministry put it on a far back burner.  Jeff married me knowing my heart and very open to the idea of overseas, but becoming a provider, dad, and full time Young Life area director within the two years made him realize it was not going to happen yet.  Skip ahead to last winter, three boys, ages 1-8, full life and roots deep.  We couldn't ignore the tug and confirmations.  We began the long process of interviewing, placement, and training.  And it was a long, confusing time.  Prayers,  conference calls, and an exploratory trip to a country we had never heard of, Basque Country, Spain.  The trip confirmed our hearts and fear tested it. 
     We are now in the process of raising the three years of support to be released to go.  It is a European sized budget that will give us the ability to live in a flat, own one vehicle, place the boys in a government subsidized school, and come home every year for more training and family visits.  The budget raised will also allow Jeff to do what he is designed for.  Loving High school kids and sharing with them about who created them with love and purpose.  We are currently at 25% raised in this support in the monthly pledges needed and 25% for the one time moving cost.  Jeff will be continue serving as a the area director here in Culpeper until June of this year.  Because of that I am doing the main bulk of fundraising and communication.  We are hoping to have raised 90% by this June/July so that the transition to Basque can be made over the summer.  Please pray with us as we continue in this new adventure.  Please continue to pray for Young Life here in Culpeper and the many leaders, kids, and committee members that have become like family.  There is still much to do but we are confident that He is more than able to meet our needs and prepare a way for us.  Many of the posts so far are more about the process of faith in following God's lead in this.  As we get closer I am sure they will become more practical and much more brief.  Please call or inbox Jeff or I with any questions.  We have an incredible amount of information on this move we would love to get to you.  And google the Basque Country and people.  It is an amazing country  and culture that few know about. 

storms

"I am not afraid of storms,
for I am learning
how
to sail my ship."

-Louisa May Alcott
Little Women


On the first day of second grade my teacher asked us to share our favorite color.  When my turn came I proudly declared, "The color of the sky right before it storms."  I thought it was a brilliant answer, the class thought it was funny.  "Do you mean gray?" She threw out a line to help.  I said yes and thought no.  My family and I had often sat on the swing and steps of our porch to watch storms roll in.  We would feel the sharp switch in wind and temperature. The skies would darken in layers of  gray and blue and then open to rain.  I still love to breath in the smell of rain and damp earth.  But it is very different it is to be on open sea when a storm hits.  When the wind and rain shape the seascape like clay in a child's hand.  Standing on land the stormy sky is like a canvas, colors crashing and blending.  At sea, it becomes a mirror.  What ever is trapped between sky and sea becomes part of the storm until it passes.  

I loved the story of Jesus calming the storm as a child.  That when the storm was at it most destructive state, and the others were at their most desperate, he stopped it with three words.  "Quiet!  Be Still."  And it was.  Be still.  The opposite of what storms are and what the others in the boat felt.  Still, unmoving, at rest, free from sound or stirring.  Can you imagine what that was like?  To go from the roar of the storm and sea engulfing you, the slamming waves, colliding cold, wet bodies into rough wood.  Dark clouds opening to let lose torrents.  And then three words spoken and it is all still. 
     
We are not use to being still in this wild ride of ours.  Ministry is at full tilt, the boys at times out pacing that.  Five lives tangled and moving forward.  Fundraising and mailings.  Visits with old and new friends.  But not this Christmas break.  We have been sick the majority of it.  First Levi with the flu, then Ian holding onto a fever and nasty cough, and now Luke with an ugly five day virus.  Plans have been changed, cancelled, and we have stayed in.  Scrabble, movies and books have replaced sight, sounds and people.  And it is strange to not be going at the speed we expected to.   Jeff instead reads aloud another chapter of The Hobbit to a feverish boy.  I listen as Bilbo Baggins fights fear of a great adventure being thrust upon him, longing security of an old life instead of the new self doubt.  And I chuckle thinking of our lives right now and the adventures coming.  I watch Ian put puzzle piece after puzzle piece together.  Completely satisfied when pieces lock together and undeterred when they do not.  He shouts the same "YEA, I did it" as they lock, and a quieted, "not yet"  as he pushes away the pieces that didn't match up.  And  I realize he knows more about this process than I do.  I delve into Anna Karinina and am challenged with forgiveness.  And then with kids still sick read The Help, amazed at Skeeter, and her naivety and strength realizing we are all a lot stronger than we think.  And I can't remember the last time I read a complete book that changed me, much less two.  

Right now  the learning curve is still big, the storms are bigger, but the God who created each is more than able.  And for the first time in  a long time I am still.  Fevers are not gone yet, and sheets are getting washed again as I write this.  But in these weeks of stillness I have heard His voice clearer.   Praying that you are able to be still today.  That the wind and roar of  life quiets a moment and that you hear him speak.  Gentle and true.  And that the next time it storms, you look up and notice the color of the sky, and you hear him in the stillness. 

He got up and rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet!  Be still!" Then the wind died down, and it was completely calm.   Matthew 4:39