The Neckarweg in winter looks like steam-rolled Breyer's vanilla bean ice cream, the Germans having freckled it with tiny black pebbles the same way we Michiganders would with pink and orange salt. The wind is cold but not biting like in Chicago, when mighty Michigan whips it off her back and through the steel and glass-lined corridors we humans with our skyscrapers have constructed.
Men and women with ruddy faces and wearing parkas walk by me and I smile. Snow doesn't come often in feet here, and it's a wonder to behold. Its creamy whiteness mutes everything, making an already-quiet town almost silent, and my feet crunch deafeningly on the pebbles and snow. It's January, and we've tucked into winter for good. I'm back on my path, back to running, and happier to be here than anywhere else.
Living in Esslingen in winter is particular. Esslingen is home to one of Germany's most well-renowned Christmas markets. Besides the fact that the Christmas Market runs almost the entire month of December (a feat in itself), Esslingen features a Middle-Ages Christmas Market; where kids can make wax candles and wooden swords, adults can buy Gluhwine and special liquors, and people dress up! The stands blend perfectly with the medieval architecture in our pedestrian downtown -- you'd think you'd gone back in time if it wasn't for people around you chatting on cell phones and carrying H&M bags, disrupting the magic of it all. In H&M's defense, I did feel like the magic of my pre-holiday mall shopping experience was a little disrupted when I noticed Gimley the Dwarf (you know, the one from Lord of the Rings with the beard?) in line behind me at the check-out -- until I realized it was just another one of those medieval basket-weavers who wanted to get his shopping done just like the rest of us.Which is just a reminder that life in Europe is a lesson in paradoxes and heterogeneity - life as it was blending with life as it has been and life as it is. Yes, living in Esslingen in winter means complaining about the Christmas Market all December long -- how it makes it impossible to walk through town, how there are no parking spots, how expensive it is and how Gluhwine-happy tourists are always loudly trapzing about -- and simultaneously, like any good homebody, fiercely and proudly defending Esslingen's Christmas Market as the best in Germany, if not Europe as a whole.
It occurs to me at this point that I write primarily on this blog about beautiful things, when Europe sounds more like a fairy tale than a reality. I wonder if this is motivated by a desire to prove to my readers that I really am doing something good here; or maybe just to make you jealous; or maybe to live up to so many of your recommendations that I should become a travel journalist.
Or maybe I do it to convince myself of something. When I lived in Africa, this blog was to record my observations of what was going on in a grossly different culture and context than the one I was used to. And it was to show you, and myself, that I was getting along just fine.
But now, having lived in Europe over a year of my life, now that my parents call it home, too, now that I have a job and a rhythm here, my travel-journalist observations are more a reminder to me that I am, indeed, still a visitor.
Sure, there are small things that remind me of that every day -- like when I mess up in German grammar or turn the key the wrong way in the lock because they're the opposite from how they are in the States. But I was surprised at how relieved I was to return here after I went to the States for Christmas break. There is something refreshing about living in a place where most things are accessible by foot and shops close down on Sundays. Where you aren't deafened by the clamor of breaks and horns 24/7 and there is more to coffee than sugar.
Yesterday, when I was explaining to someone for the um-teenth time that I went to college in Chicago, my parents live in the Netherlands, my brother in Michigan, but I now in Germany, he asked me, as people tend to do, "Where's home?" And I had to say, as I do more and more often: "Your guess is as good as mine."
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Friday, December 11, 2009
I have to write about running again
I go running to feel like I’m alive.
In youth ministry, (and in many other forms of ministry), the word “schedule” doesn’t exactly exist. You work when others don’t, so you can be there for them when they are free. Sometimes this means a more relaxed schedule, but other times it adds up to a kind of discombobulation that has me feeling very out of sorts.
Going on a run brings my body back into order. Blood runs through my whole being and reminds me that I am not many different parts but a functioning whole. It’s on my runs, without chemicals like caffeine to pull me through, that I realize when I am deeply tired, in spirit and in body.
It’s also the chance to wake up. My muscles stretch and smoulder. The sharp cold ruddies my cheeks and opens my eyes wide to see the world in all its beauty, the trees a-riot with color and the Neckar bubbling in its overwhelming fall fullness.
After about half an hour on a good, long run, after I have gotten my initial beastly energy out, I start to feel old injuries come back.
My left ankle has been weak ever since I twisted it in 9th grade while playing catch with 3 kids I was babysitting. There is an irritated ligament under my right knee cap that burns when I’ve run too long, even if I stretch before and after. It’s annoying, but the fact that it is not perfectly in-sync with the rest of my body reminds me to take care. My hips, well, they’ve been messed up since birth (my parents used to double-diaper me as a baby in hopes they wouldn’t “click” so much when I walked).
This might seem odd to you, but when I run, my injuries remind me in many ways of my life of faith. I wonder,
- Why it is that we (I at least) seem to struggle again and again with the same sins and frustrations? How come the old injury comes back to bother me, instead of going away and letting a new one show up? Sometimes I wrestle in sharp pain with my injuries. Other times the injury stays “under control” – good physical care and regular exercise keep it in check. But if I haven’t run in a while, and then try again, the injury flares up fast, and hinders me from surging forward at the pace I wish I could go.
- My injuries also remind me that I am unique. Other people have issues with their knees and ankles, but they don’t have mine. They don't have the white concrete driveway and black asphalt, the baseball mit and the blue-suede Skechers that led to my demise. Every one of my injuries has a story, a time and a place where it happened. This reminds me of an observation C.S. Lewis made in his book, Miracles; that our sins are equally as owned and unique to us as our fingerprints or personality. This struck me when I first read it, because I hadn't thought of it before: sin is something that is a shared experience by all of humanity: we have recognized it and named it and attempted to share with one another how we deal with it, in the same way we recognize that every person has a miniscus, and know what surgery to undertake when it is torn. We also recognize sins that are corporate and social. But, like any specific tear on a specific miniscus, my sins are deeply personal. God made me so unique, in fact, that not only am I the only Amanda Munroe in the world with my DNA, but the manner in which I sin is woven specificly into who I am.
- Why is this so? Why do we struggle most of our lives with the same "sins", or let's put it this way: cowardices, injuries and doubts? What makes it so hard to conquer them, or what makes it harder to deal with the ones that already belong to us and easier to avoid the ones we have never tried? Why are we more inclined to hurt and be hurt one way and not another?
Which brings me back to running...
When I run, I can feel where things that are out of place – I feel the tightness in my shoulders where my backpack usually hangs, and the weight sitting on my hipbones that really is quite pointless and rather hindersome to carry around with me, especially when running. In the same way that it makes me aware of my body, running gives me space and time to feel where I am carrying burdens of emotional or spiritual stress. On short runs, this means going through my to-do list. On long runs, when it rains, I cry, because I remember the people I miss, the relationships that are broken, and the extra weight and injuries I am carrying around that I wish weren’t there.
I wish I knew a better way to incorporate the process (or ringer) that my body goes through when I run to my personal devotional life, and welcome your ideas about how you reflect on the state of things. One thing I am sure of is that our bodies mirror our souls, and that God gave us both for a reason.
And so I go running, to feel like I am alive.
In youth ministry, (and in many other forms of ministry), the word “schedule” doesn’t exactly exist. You work when others don’t, so you can be there for them when they are free. Sometimes this means a more relaxed schedule, but other times it adds up to a kind of discombobulation that has me feeling very out of sorts.
Going on a run brings my body back into order. Blood runs through my whole being and reminds me that I am not many different parts but a functioning whole. It’s on my runs, without chemicals like caffeine to pull me through, that I realize when I am deeply tired, in spirit and in body.
It’s also the chance to wake up. My muscles stretch and smoulder. The sharp cold ruddies my cheeks and opens my eyes wide to see the world in all its beauty, the trees a-riot with color and the Neckar bubbling in its overwhelming fall fullness.
After about half an hour on a good, long run, after I have gotten my initial beastly energy out, I start to feel old injuries come back.
My left ankle has been weak ever since I twisted it in 9th grade while playing catch with 3 kids I was babysitting. There is an irritated ligament under my right knee cap that burns when I’ve run too long, even if I stretch before and after. It’s annoying, but the fact that it is not perfectly in-sync with the rest of my body reminds me to take care. My hips, well, they’ve been messed up since birth (my parents used to double-diaper me as a baby in hopes they wouldn’t “click” so much when I walked).
This might seem odd to you, but when I run, my injuries remind me in many ways of my life of faith. I wonder,
- Why it is that we (I at least) seem to struggle again and again with the same sins and frustrations? How come the old injury comes back to bother me, instead of going away and letting a new one show up? Sometimes I wrestle in sharp pain with my injuries. Other times the injury stays “under control” – good physical care and regular exercise keep it in check. But if I haven’t run in a while, and then try again, the injury flares up fast, and hinders me from surging forward at the pace I wish I could go.
- My injuries also remind me that I am unique. Other people have issues with their knees and ankles, but they don’t have mine. They don't have the white concrete driveway and black asphalt, the baseball mit and the blue-suede Skechers that led to my demise. Every one of my injuries has a story, a time and a place where it happened. This reminds me of an observation C.S. Lewis made in his book, Miracles; that our sins are equally as owned and unique to us as our fingerprints or personality. This struck me when I first read it, because I hadn't thought of it before: sin is something that is a shared experience by all of humanity: we have recognized it and named it and attempted to share with one another how we deal with it, in the same way we recognize that every person has a miniscus, and know what surgery to undertake when it is torn. We also recognize sins that are corporate and social. But, like any specific tear on a specific miniscus, my sins are deeply personal. God made me so unique, in fact, that not only am I the only Amanda Munroe in the world with my DNA, but the manner in which I sin is woven specificly into who I am.
- Why is this so? Why do we struggle most of our lives with the same "sins", or let's put it this way: cowardices, injuries and doubts? What makes it so hard to conquer them, or what makes it harder to deal with the ones that already belong to us and easier to avoid the ones we have never tried? Why are we more inclined to hurt and be hurt one way and not another?
Which brings me back to running...
When I run, I can feel where things that are out of place – I feel the tightness in my shoulders where my backpack usually hangs, and the weight sitting on my hipbones that really is quite pointless and rather hindersome to carry around with me, especially when running. In the same way that it makes me aware of my body, running gives me space and time to feel where I am carrying burdens of emotional or spiritual stress. On short runs, this means going through my to-do list. On long runs, when it rains, I cry, because I remember the people I miss, the relationships that are broken, and the extra weight and injuries I am carrying around that I wish weren’t there.
I wish I knew a better way to incorporate the process (or ringer) that my body goes through when I run to my personal devotional life, and welcome your ideas about how you reflect on the state of things. One thing I am sure of is that our bodies mirror our souls, and that God gave us both for a reason.
And so I go running, to feel like I am alive.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Berlin Brings Poetry
I took a solo trip to the German Hauptstadt Berlin last weekend to visit an admissions fair for masters programs in international realtions. It was fun to see another side of Germany (quite literally), and to get out of the normal groove of things for a while. I also tried to step out of my comfort zone and met a few strangers that became friends.
I'm not sure how many of you have flown on Ryan Air before, but its an interesting experience. In their attempt to make flights cheap (I paid 0 -- yes, you read that correctly, zero-- Euro for my flight from Frankfurt to Berlin), they fly you in and out of the middle of nowhere, claiming to fly to "major world cities." The flight from Berlin to Ryan Air's "Frankfurt" takes 1 hour. The bus trip from the "Frankfurt" airport to the train station in downtown Frankfurt takes 1.75 hours.
Here's a poem I wrote during my wait in the tiny garage they call an airport:
The Ladies' Room in Frankfurt Hahn
The flickering, flourescent light
and cold white tile
in the Ladies' Room of the Frankfurt Hahn International Airport
do not do justice
to its global renown
as an international crossroad.
And on my way to see
chef d'oeuvres that redefined history,
I am reminded
of the fat and sweaty
shirtless
accordion player
at the bottom of the esclaotor
in London's Picadilly Circus
(it smelled of urine, too).
And of the fact that,
though we try our best to forget it,
we're not that different
anyhow.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Reading Suggestions
Another title for this entry could be Self Promotion.
Living in another country changes you. It causes you to reflect, stay self-aware, teaches you things you never knew about yourself and where you came from, and sometimes forces you to make very tough decisions.
Out of this process (and this blog) has come my first-ever published piece. If you're interested, you can read it here.
Even more interesting is the shape my family is taking as my parents go through this same process. My dad shared with me last week that, now five months in Holland, he's finally experiencing culture shock, which he has described as "finally realzing I'm not on vacation anymore." This has had an interesting impact on our family relationships. For one thing, it has made my parents a little more vulnerable. It's an interesting position for me, as the one who has the longest experience living abroad, to watch my parents go through this transition. (On the other hand, I've always had "going home" at the end of the stretch. They don't. That's something very different). Another thing that has come out of this is that my dad is writing like crazy. He's reflecting, and really, really good things are coming out.
So I'd like to offer you a second read, namely my parent's blog: jeffandgretchengodutch.blogspot.com
Like all good writing it's sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but always true to life.
Here's to a fall and curling up with some good reads. Next on my list: Phyllis Tickle and N.T. Wright. What's on yours?
Living in another country changes you. It causes you to reflect, stay self-aware, teaches you things you never knew about yourself and where you came from, and sometimes forces you to make very tough decisions.
Out of this process (and this blog) has come my first-ever published piece. If you're interested, you can read it here.
Even more interesting is the shape my family is taking as my parents go through this same process. My dad shared with me last week that, now five months in Holland, he's finally experiencing culture shock, which he has described as "finally realzing I'm not on vacation anymore." This has had an interesting impact on our family relationships. For one thing, it has made my parents a little more vulnerable. It's an interesting position for me, as the one who has the longest experience living abroad, to watch my parents go through this transition. (On the other hand, I've always had "going home" at the end of the stretch. They don't. That's something very different). Another thing that has come out of this is that my dad is writing like crazy. He's reflecting, and really, really good things are coming out.
So I'd like to offer you a second read, namely my parent's blog: jeffandgretchengodutch.blogspot.com
Like all good writing it's sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but always true to life.
Here's to a fall and curling up with some good reads. Next on my list: Phyllis Tickle and N.T. Wright. What's on yours?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
My Most Embarassing Moment Yet
And now for something completely different:
If you read my last post, you'll know that Sunday, I visited a German version of Young Life Club. During Club, as I was the only American in the room and consequently the only "authentic" Young Lifer, I was interviewed. (Auf Deutsch, natürlich). One of the questions that the German leader asked me was, "Can you share with us an embarrassing moment you've had since you've been in Germany?" I had to rack my brain on the spot, and eventually came up with "Well, at the beginning, I used to stay "I stink" a lot when I meant to say "I think". The kids laughed. Oh that I could have that moment back though, because I have a much more embarrassing story to share with you:
Tonight I decided to walk home from t1, the youth center where I am a leader. On my way home, I pass by the boys that come to our center that think they are gangsters. They always hang out at the bus stop in the neighborhood. So on my way home I stopped to chat with them a little bit, and one of them, out of the blue, challenges me to a dance-off a la Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson in Zoolander. I, being the new dance instructor for TenSing Esslingen, naturally agree.
The kid cues one of his friends (Mustafa, or Musti for short) to start beatboxing, walks down the sidewalk, and does his little dance. I am slighlty impressed.
Aware that my entire reputation is on the line here, standing in front of 10 high school guys that all think they are God's gift to Creation, I reflect on what kind of dance I can do. It hits me (mostly because there is only one dance move I can do) -- the Crib Walk (or for those of us who think we are cool, "the C-Walk"). The Crib Walk was very in when I was in high school, and I worked diligently on learning it from my friend Chantal while I was on Work Crew at a Young Life camp in 10th grade. Consequently, the C-Walk is my one and only dance move; the one I pull out when I want to impress people.
Mutzi starts beatboxing again. I give myself a little time to get the rhythm and start the Crib Walk. Three steps in, Musti abruptly stops beatboxing. I stop C-Walking.
The guys start yelling - Hey! Daaanng! She can actually dance! Whoaah! Amanda! Dance off!
I fold my arms over my chest "Yeah, well, you asked for a dance off, but you didn't give me much of a chance there, did you?"
(Guys keep hollering). Musti says "Amanda, do it again!"
Me, knowing my reputation is on the line here, and not all that sure that I can actually hold myself together well enough to do it a second time, say "Nope, sorry, you had your chance, the chance is over"
He starts beat boxing, but I shake my head, remembering that age-old saying about magicians and comedians - - always leave the audience wanting more.
Feeling very cool, and like I've won some respect with the teenagers I work so hard to love every day, I say, "Sorry, maybe next time", "Good night", and do one of those model-style-movie-star-I-am-too-cool-twists, wave, turn my back on them, and walk away into the dark night...
...and right into a pole.
I am talking smack-dab, face-first, resounding "BOOOOONG" so loud the whole neighborhood can hear it and they're wondering if my brain is still intact, walked right into a pole.
I laughed.
They laughed.
I walked home, my coolness once again torn to shreds by my hopeless clumsiness, my head throbbing a bit, and the guys resumed their self-appointed roles as God's gifts to Creation, no dancer to prove them otherwise.
End of Story
(p.s. Except that, it's not exactly the end of the story, since it's only the next chapter in an epic of similar events, like that time two months ago when I was riding bikes with my roommate Christoph and BIKED right into a pole, was whipped off my bike into a ditch, giving Christoph a heart attack and reminding myself why I choose to wear a helmet when I bike...or the time I broke my toe on a blender... which I would blame on myself if it weren't for a certain story about my Great Grandma Mo and bicycling...but that's for another post).
If you read my last post, you'll know that Sunday, I visited a German version of Young Life Club. During Club, as I was the only American in the room and consequently the only "authentic" Young Lifer, I was interviewed. (Auf Deutsch, natürlich). One of the questions that the German leader asked me was, "Can you share with us an embarrassing moment you've had since you've been in Germany?" I had to rack my brain on the spot, and eventually came up with "Well, at the beginning, I used to stay "I stink" a lot when I meant to say "I think". The kids laughed. Oh that I could have that moment back though, because I have a much more embarrassing story to share with you:
Tonight I decided to walk home from t1, the youth center where I am a leader. On my way home, I pass by the boys that come to our center that think they are gangsters. They always hang out at the bus stop in the neighborhood. So on my way home I stopped to chat with them a little bit, and one of them, out of the blue, challenges me to a dance-off a la Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson in Zoolander. I, being the new dance instructor for TenSing Esslingen, naturally agree.
The kid cues one of his friends (Mustafa, or Musti for short) to start beatboxing, walks down the sidewalk, and does his little dance. I am slighlty impressed.
Aware that my entire reputation is on the line here, standing in front of 10 high school guys that all think they are God's gift to Creation, I reflect on what kind of dance I can do. It hits me (mostly because there is only one dance move I can do) -- the Crib Walk (or for those of us who think we are cool, "the C-Walk"). The Crib Walk was very in when I was in high school, and I worked diligently on learning it from my friend Chantal while I was on Work Crew at a Young Life camp in 10th grade. Consequently, the C-Walk is my one and only dance move; the one I pull out when I want to impress people.
Mutzi starts beatboxing again. I give myself a little time to get the rhythm and start the Crib Walk. Three steps in, Musti abruptly stops beatboxing. I stop C-Walking.
The guys start yelling - Hey! Daaanng! She can actually dance! Whoaah! Amanda! Dance off!
I fold my arms over my chest "Yeah, well, you asked for a dance off, but you didn't give me much of a chance there, did you?"
(Guys keep hollering). Musti says "Amanda, do it again!"
Me, knowing my reputation is on the line here, and not all that sure that I can actually hold myself together well enough to do it a second time, say "Nope, sorry, you had your chance, the chance is over"
He starts beat boxing, but I shake my head, remembering that age-old saying about magicians and comedians - - always leave the audience wanting more.
Feeling very cool, and like I've won some respect with the teenagers I work so hard to love every day, I say, "Sorry, maybe next time", "Good night", and do one of those model-style-movie-star-I-am-too-cool-twists, wave, turn my back on them, and walk away into the dark night...
...and right into a pole.
I am talking smack-dab, face-first, resounding "BOOOOONG" so loud the whole neighborhood can hear it and they're wondering if my brain is still intact, walked right into a pole.
I laughed.
They laughed.
I walked home, my coolness once again torn to shreds by my hopeless clumsiness, my head throbbing a bit, and the guys resumed their self-appointed roles as God's gifts to Creation, no dancer to prove them otherwise.
End of Story
(p.s. Except that, it's not exactly the end of the story, since it's only the next chapter in an epic of similar events, like that time two months ago when I was riding bikes with my roommate Christoph and BIKED right into a pole, was whipped off my bike into a ditch, giving Christoph a heart attack and reminding myself why I choose to wear a helmet when I bike...or the time I broke my toe on a blender... which I would blame on myself if it weren't for a certain story about my Great Grandma Mo and bicycling...but that's for another post).
Jugendtag
On Sunday, in Stuttgart, was Jugendtag. Jugendtag, meaning "youth day" is a giant meeting organized by EJW, the youth work of the Lutheran Church in Baden-Wurttemburg (my state) for thousands of young people. Youth literally take over the city for the day -- there are various stages where music and rapping and dance and theater are performed, seminars on important subjects for teens and youth workers, people dancing in the street, church services, art, pretty much everything under the sun with a youth twist on it.
I was privileged to bring a few teens I know to Jugendtag. One of the coolest things we got to participate in was a German-led Young Life Club. Quite a few Germans in the EJW have experienced Young Life and moreover, have sent German teens through YL's exchange program Amicus to live in the States for a year and be involved with Young Life there. So I sat through my first ever all-German Young Life Club on Thursday. We sang a very, um, accented version of Sweet Home Alabama, threw paper airplanes and newspaper around the room in some sort of backwards volleyball game, enjoyed a few funny walk ons, and heard a gospel message in German.
What is really cool is that at the end of Jugendtag, when I asked one of the girls I brought with me, Annika, what she liked best, she said, "that crazy Young Life club". I smiled and said "why?" and she said "The songs we sang -- you couldn't stay quiet, you just had to sing along!"
That's what I like about Young Life. I like that YL's relationship-based ministry makes kids feel like they belong.
On the way home, Annika said to me, "We've heard so many questions today" (Jugendtag's theme was "Questions"), and I just have one that's been bugging me.
"Just one?" I responded
"Yeah. How, if there are so many people that live in the world, can Jesus live with every single one of us?"
... This one question turned into an hour-long discussion over the entire train ride home about who Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost are, what they heck they have to do with our lives, what sin is, if Catholics and Protestants and Muslims all have the same God or different ones, in short, there was more than one question! And I was reminded once again (God's been reminding me of this a lot lately) that ministry has so very little to do with what we leaders tell kids when we are on stage, and much more to do with how God is working in their hearts. I was reminded that I'm being called to walk with kids, not talk to them, to be there throughout the day, one, that Annika trusts me, because I've been there beside her, and two, that I'm around and accessible when the question comes up that she wants (or, that God is pushing her) to ask.
I was privileged to bring a few teens I know to Jugendtag. One of the coolest things we got to participate in was a German-led Young Life Club. Quite a few Germans in the EJW have experienced Young Life and moreover, have sent German teens through YL's exchange program Amicus to live in the States for a year and be involved with Young Life there. So I sat through my first ever all-German Young Life Club on Thursday. We sang a very, um, accented version of Sweet Home Alabama, threw paper airplanes and newspaper around the room in some sort of backwards volleyball game, enjoyed a few funny walk ons, and heard a gospel message in German.
What is really cool is that at the end of Jugendtag, when I asked one of the girls I brought with me, Annika, what she liked best, she said, "that crazy Young Life club". I smiled and said "why?" and she said "The songs we sang -- you couldn't stay quiet, you just had to sing along!"
That's what I like about Young Life. I like that YL's relationship-based ministry makes kids feel like they belong.
On the way home, Annika said to me, "We've heard so many questions today" (Jugendtag's theme was "Questions"), and I just have one that's been bugging me.
"Just one?" I responded
"Yeah. How, if there are so many people that live in the world, can Jesus live with every single one of us?"
... This one question turned into an hour-long discussion over the entire train ride home about who Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost are, what they heck they have to do with our lives, what sin is, if Catholics and Protestants and Muslims all have the same God or different ones, in short, there was more than one question! And I was reminded once again (God's been reminding me of this a lot lately) that ministry has so very little to do with what we leaders tell kids when we are on stage, and much more to do with how God is working in their hearts. I was reminded that I'm being called to walk with kids, not talk to them, to be there throughout the day, one, that Annika trusts me, because I've been there beside her, and two, that I'm around and accessible when the question comes up that she wants (or, that God is pushing her) to ask.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
German Wedding
I went to a German Wedding yesterday. It was my first German wedding, and second international wedding I've ever attended (see "Dont Go to Africa to Get a Tan" post from 2006, here ).
Just like in America, each wedding is a little different, because every couple is different, but here are some things you might find interesting, different from America, about the German wedding I attended:
And as I danced to German New Wave music, and reflected on my own wedding (don't get any ideas Mom, there's no one in the picture, just a dream!), I wonder where it will be and who will be there. I've been ruminating a lot about community lately, and how we define it. Especially how young people who travel around and whose parents and siblings live in different countries construct community. My music will have to be Top-40, French Jazz, Chicago Hip-hop, African drum beats, and the Beatles -- and that's just to cover my own tastes and life story, not to mention my guests'!
So here I go thinking about my future, where I'll go after this year in Germany -- whether I should stay here, stay in Europe, or go back to America. This process is making me realize that the choices I make now about where I put roots down will probably have a lot to say not only about whose weddings I'll be attending, but also who is going to make it to my wedding, including the groom! Feels to me like a weighty thing to thing about. Who will be dancing to the Beatles with me?
Just like in America, each wedding is a little different, because every couple is different, but here are some things you might find interesting, different from America, about the German wedding I attended:
- The only people who walked down the aisle were the pastor, the bride, and the groom, the latter who walked in together. There were no bridesmaids or groomsmen. There was a "wedding party" at the reception, which I will get to later
- One thing I still find funny about German church services in general is that they sit when they sing and they stand up when they pray. Still feels backwards to me, even after 6 months here.
- The bride and the groom were sitting down during the ceremony (though some couples do this in the States too, -cough- Mom and Dad!)
- In the same way that some couples in the States choose to write their own vows, this couple chose to write their own prayers. Each said their prayer for the marriage, asking God specifically in the same way that those here write vows, to bless their marriage and their care for the other.
- After the bride and groom walked out of the sanctuary, we threw flower petals and then there was a big champagne toast and snacks. I've always thought it will be difficult to make a guest list for my wedding, because I know you can't afford to invite everyone you know. In Germany, you can invite everyone you know -- to the ceremony and the champagne toast, where the receiving line is -- and then you drive off to the reception with your guests. I like this system, and intend to bring it to America.
- The reception lasts ten times longer than it does in America. Okay maybe I'm exaggerating, but it lasts a long time. The first few hours involve eating, of course, and then also an evening program when friends and family of the bride and groom do things like show slide shows of the couple growing up, or playing funny games and skits. In addition, since the reception lasts the whole night, there were activities to do throughout the reception hall -- you could buy a Wedding Newspaper, for example, that talked all about the couple, or play foosball, or paint on a canvas that would later be given to the bride and groom to hang in their new house.
- Around midnight, after the evening program is finished, then comes cake and coffee -- at this reception, the wedding cake, and then various tiramisu-type desserts, tortes, and cakes, made by friends of the couple (I'm a big fan of this potluck approach-- saves on catering costs!) The coffee, of course, is for the night ahead
- I thought I knew to dance, but Germans REALLY know how to dance. The first couple songs were Waltzes, and there were a LOT of couples out on the floor! Ballroom dancing is a phenomenon that is coming back in Germany -- there is no high school prom, but there are a lot of teens to take ballroom dancing classes, and at the end of the class, have a "Ball" where all the girls buy pretty dresses and have to pick cute dates that they'll dance with -- similar to the Prom effect in America, but man, way cooler because they can actually dance!
- After the Waltzes came a little Top-40 music, which was fun, but the party really happened around 1am, when the Top-40 got switched to German New Wave music of the 80s, and everyone suddenly knew all the words and got very into it. I'm personally not a huge fan of German New Wave music, and also sometimes have the feeling that Germany as is stuck in the 1980s, musically. If I had a dime for every time "Summer of 69" and "It's Raining Men" came on the radio...But it was fun none the less!
And as I danced to German New Wave music, and reflected on my own wedding (don't get any ideas Mom, there's no one in the picture, just a dream!), I wonder where it will be and who will be there. I've been ruminating a lot about community lately, and how we define it. Especially how young people who travel around and whose parents and siblings live in different countries construct community. My music will have to be Top-40, French Jazz, Chicago Hip-hop, African drum beats, and the Beatles -- and that's just to cover my own tastes and life story, not to mention my guests'!
So here I go thinking about my future, where I'll go after this year in Germany -- whether I should stay here, stay in Europe, or go back to America. This process is making me realize that the choices I make now about where I put roots down will probably have a lot to say not only about whose weddings I'll be attending, but also who is going to make it to my wedding, including the groom! Feels to me like a weighty thing to thing about. Who will be dancing to the Beatles with me?
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Birthday Blessings
Hello and Happy Birthday (to me, that is - ha!) from Dordrecht, the Netherlands.
I am a palindrome this year: 22, and beginning that wonderful phase that Americans like to call "the twenty-somethings". From now until I am thirty, no one will know or care exactly what age I am, because it's not as important as 21, and it's not yet (the dreaded -- oops, I mean awesome) 30.
But I'm not complaining.
A family of artists/circus performers from the Y in Esslingen gave me a ride to Holland yesterday (they were on their way here for vacation) so I could be with my parents on my birthday. I can't get over how generous some people are.
Dordrecht is beautiful. The weather is typically gray and drizzly today, which made it perfect for a long run through the dykes and polders. Dordrecht is such a great place to live. You can walk one way out of your driveway and be at the grocery store in five minutes, walk the other and be in cow field or tree-arbored path. Cool. The house has enough of our furniture and stuff in it (I slept in my OWN bed last night!) to make it feel like home, enough new accents to make it hip and cool. I'm a fan.
Going on such a long run let me think about the last year, and made me realized how incredibly blessed I am! Indulge me as I share with you a few of my birthday blessings:
-Being healthy enough (and in shape enough!) to go running on my birthday
-Going running on my birthday in the Netherlands (who would have thunk?)
-Watching Palestinians and Israelis grow in friendship with one another through the trialogue pace trip that Evangelishe Jugendwerk hosted and I got to be a part of
-A safe trip to and from the US, where I got to celebrate my birthday (early) and Halloween (very early, but true to form for BZ and DZ) with my grandparents, brother, and his girlfriend. Seeing friends that care about me in Michigan and Chicago; spending time with professors who are making huge contributions to their own fields and believe in my ability to succeed in the graduate-level world.
-Celebrating in person with two good friends: one engagement, and one wedding! (I got to read scripture, Romans 12, at Laura and Anders' ceremony -- this was a privilege that floored me)
-Taking part in the YMCA's SommerCamp on Lake Constance. God is crazy sometimes, but he placed loud little Amanda in the middle of a group of German teenagers who didn't know what was about to hit them. The first night, we played a few Young Life skits, like the "one guy catches everything" classic, that had kids rolling. That, accompanied by my jubilant exclamations anytime someone got picked to clean the bathroom (I was the leader in charge of delegating bathroom cleaning - yum) and my cool American accent added up to a star quality that I could have never earned in America. (White, from Grand Rapids, attending a Christian University? Give me a break. Like that's going to make kids from Chicago think you're cool). Germany is different however. I woke up one morning, and on the way from my tent to brush my teeth, I had about 10 kids say "Hey Amanda, what's up?" "Hey Amanda, good to see you!" "Hey Amanda, want to hang out with me later today?" It was like one of those movies where the wallflower with glasses dreams that everyone in school suddenly recognizes him and he gets held on the shoulders of the football team at the pep rally as everyone chants his name...well, almost. At the very least, it was like all the dreams I had as an awkward 13-year-old were finally coming true.
-In addition to my "star quality", I got to work with a PHENOMENAL volunteer leadership team, 15 people that put together and successfully carried out 10 days of fun in the sun at our campground.
-Best part of camp though? The relationships I got to form with kids, and watching them grow from not really caring that we leaders were Christians, to asking us about our faith. One afternoon, we had an hour of quiet time, where kids could visit different stations and ask us leaders questions. I got the privilege to hear these, among others:
-And finally, I am blessed by my Facebook wall on my birthday! So far I've received (and counting):
Photos of SommerCamp on Baden-Wurttenburg's Bodensee, Germany. Roll your mouse over the screen to pause, move backward or forward. Enjoy!
 |
| From SoCa BoLa 2009 |
I am a palindrome this year: 22, and beginning that wonderful phase that Americans like to call "the twenty-somethings". From now until I am thirty, no one will know or care exactly what age I am, because it's not as important as 21, and it's not yet (the dreaded -- oops, I mean awesome) 30.
But I'm not complaining.
A family of artists/circus performers from the Y in Esslingen gave me a ride to Holland yesterday (they were on their way here for vacation) so I could be with my parents on my birthday. I can't get over how generous some people are.
Dordrecht is beautiful. The weather is typically gray and drizzly today, which made it perfect for a long run through the dykes and polders. Dordrecht is such a great place to live. You can walk one way out of your driveway and be at the grocery store in five minutes, walk the other and be in cow field or tree-arbored path. Cool. The house has enough of our furniture and stuff in it (I slept in my OWN bed last night!) to make it feel like home, enough new accents to make it hip and cool. I'm a fan.
Going on such a long run let me think about the last year, and made me realized how incredibly blessed I am! Indulge me as I share with you a few of my birthday blessings:
-Being healthy enough (and in shape enough!) to go running on my birthday
-Going running on my birthday in the Netherlands (who would have thunk?)
-Watching Palestinians and Israelis grow in friendship with one another through the trialogue pace trip that Evangelishe Jugendwerk hosted and I got to be a part of
-A safe trip to and from the US, where I got to celebrate my birthday (early) and Halloween (very early, but true to form for BZ and DZ) with my grandparents, brother, and his girlfriend. Seeing friends that care about me in Michigan and Chicago; spending time with professors who are making huge contributions to their own fields and believe in my ability to succeed in the graduate-level world.
-Celebrating in person with two good friends: one engagement, and one wedding! (I got to read scripture, Romans 12, at Laura and Anders' ceremony -- this was a privilege that floored me)
-Taking part in the YMCA's SommerCamp on Lake Constance. God is crazy sometimes, but he placed loud little Amanda in the middle of a group of German teenagers who didn't know what was about to hit them. The first night, we played a few Young Life skits, like the "one guy catches everything" classic, that had kids rolling. That, accompanied by my jubilant exclamations anytime someone got picked to clean the bathroom (I was the leader in charge of delegating bathroom cleaning - yum) and my cool American accent added up to a star quality that I could have never earned in America. (White, from Grand Rapids, attending a Christian University? Give me a break. Like that's going to make kids from Chicago think you're cool). Germany is different however. I woke up one morning, and on the way from my tent to brush my teeth, I had about 10 kids say "Hey Amanda, what's up?" "Hey Amanda, good to see you!" "Hey Amanda, want to hang out with me later today?" It was like one of those movies where the wallflower with glasses dreams that everyone in school suddenly recognizes him and he gets held on the shoulders of the football team at the pep rally as everyone chants his name...well, almost. At the very least, it was like all the dreams I had as an awkward 13-year-old were finally coming true.
-In addition to my "star quality", I got to work with a PHENOMENAL volunteer leadership team, 15 people that put together and successfully carried out 10 days of fun in the sun at our campground.
-Best part of camp though? The relationships I got to form with kids, and watching them grow from not really caring that we leaders were Christians, to asking us about our faith. One afternoon, we had an hour of quiet time, where kids could visit different stations and ask us leaders questions. I got the privilege to hear these, among others:
- "Does God really go with you everywhere -- to the bathroom, even?"
- "Does God really know everything I think? Even when I'm deciding between buying a PlayStation and a cell phone?"
- "Why did God make us?"
- "What does it sound like when Jesus knocks at your heart?
-And finally, I am blessed by my Facebook wall on my birthday! So far I've received (and counting):
- 13 greetings from the USA (one from an American currently in Holland, one in France)
- 14 greetings from Germany (one from a German currently located in Thailand) (Germans are really good at remembering birthdays, I've discovered -- this is a major plus to living here!)
- 2 greetings from Palestine
- 2 greetings from Belgium
- 1 from France
Photos of SommerCamp on Baden-Wurttenburg's Bodensee, Germany. Roll your mouse over the screen to pause, move backward or forward. Enjoy!
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