Wednesday, May 9, 2018
Slovak Cooking
I stumbled across this little Slavic gem today in the search for something else. It brought back a lot of memories, both wonderful and delicious. Bryndzove Halusky is one of my favorite Slovak dishes, especially when homemade. But then, can you really go wrong with cheese and bacon?! I think not. It's a winner winner chicken dinner in my book.
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Life Amongst Death
Resurrection Sunday. A day Judeo-Christians celebrate death being brought back to life. A body buried; a body raised. A body made living and whole again. A body living, reigning, extending grace. Giving hope. He is risen indeed!
Following Sunrise Service, the foster dog and I trekked to a nature park north of the Metroplex. I needed solace. I needed nature. I needed space to think. I needed that same space to clear my head. To breathe fresh air, slow down, and be. To move and let sinew and bone and muscle grow weary and tired.
As we meandered the dirt trails, I stumbled across a small clearing leading to a small cemetery established in the 1800's. It called like a Siren and like men of old, I was drawn to it and stepped through the thicket. My heart slowed and a peace flooded my soul as the stillness of the place washed over me.
Representing life given and life lost, I surveyed the marked and unmarked stones. The contrast of kept and unkempt graves. Name. In memoriam. Year of birth. Year of death. As I surveyed the wildness about me, my eye was drawn to a tree with purple Iris germanica blooming underneath. A garden among the wilderness. Fruit amongst the barrenness. Life amongst death.
As I processed the Irises underneath a barren tree, my eye beheld another sight: grave markers tenderly cared for; flowers placed by loved ones living to remember loves ones lost. Some say it's wrongful family worship; I say it's remembering a loved one you don't want to forget and leave unmentioned. I smiled. I soaked it in. I remembered my own loved ones lost.
I stood still in the middle of the place, listening to the encompassing quiet immediately around me. Overhead above the trees crows squawked and birds chirped. Clouds covered the heavens, the sun hidden. I felt at home, at peace; breath no longer shallow, but deep, slow, and steady.
Standing in a place that's oft associated with death and brokenness and hopelessness, blooming Irises stood among it all representing newness of life. Wholeness. Hopefulness. A reminder of the goodness and sweetness of the Resurrected one we celebrate today.
Following Sunrise Service, the foster dog and I trekked to a nature park north of the Metroplex. I needed solace. I needed nature. I needed space to think. I needed that same space to clear my head. To breathe fresh air, slow down, and be. To move and let sinew and bone and muscle grow weary and tired.
As we meandered the dirt trails, I stumbled across a small clearing leading to a small cemetery established in the 1800's. It called like a Siren and like men of old, I was drawn to it and stepped through the thicket. My heart slowed and a peace flooded my soul as the stillness of the place washed over me.
Representing life given and life lost, I surveyed the marked and unmarked stones. The contrast of kept and unkempt graves. Name. In memoriam. Year of birth. Year of death. As I surveyed the wildness about me, my eye was drawn to a tree with purple Iris germanica blooming underneath. A garden among the wilderness. Fruit amongst the barrenness. Life amongst death.
As I processed the Irises underneath a barren tree, my eye beheld another sight: grave markers tenderly cared for; flowers placed by loved ones living to remember loves ones lost. Some say it's wrongful family worship; I say it's remembering a loved one you don't want to forget and leave unmentioned. I smiled. I soaked it in. I remembered my own loved ones lost.
I stood still in the middle of the place, listening to the encompassing quiet immediately around me. Overhead above the trees crows squawked and birds chirped. Clouds covered the heavens, the sun hidden. I felt at home, at peace; breath no longer shallow, but deep, slow, and steady.
Standing in a place that's oft associated with death and brokenness and hopelessness, blooming Irises stood among it all representing newness of life. Wholeness. Hopefulness. A reminder of the goodness and sweetness of the Resurrected one we celebrate today.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
realization of a truth that's always been there, but I've been blind to it!
Recently, while romping through a beautifully wild nature preserve in the heart of a suburb of Dallas, a friend challenged me without even realizing it as we trailed my god doggie (yes, you read that right) talking about whatever came to mind. He asked me (yes, he; but keep your knickers on as he's not that kind of a He) if there was anything I had wanted to be when I was younger.
I sort of sputtered out this, that and the other, but the other night while sitting at a stop light in North Dallas, I thought about that question and it hit me: The things I thought I wanted to be, or had strived for while in college and after college, and thought I had completely failed at, I had done either directly or indirectly.
When I was young, I thought I had wanted to be a wife and mother. Clearly, I am an early thirty something who is still single without children. However, I've been given many opportunities to babysit, nanny, teach, love and cherish many, many children over the years, including 8 amazing and wonderful and hilarious nieces and nephews. I am even honored with being the godmother of Lucy, my sweet, sweet niece who is living with Jesus now.
As I went through high school, sports is what got me through most of those trying years, and I wanted nothing more than to play volleyball in college and study to be a coach and teacher. It was my dream; it was my goal. I wasnt good enough to play in college, and I didn't end up studying education or sports management, but I ended up getting a job coaching a local high school girls' volleyball and basketball team for 2+ years roughly, and was a junior high basketball referee for one year through the WFISD. As to teaching, I spent 4 years teaching ESL in Europe to adults and children.
In 2000, the Lord kept putting missions on my mind and heart. In 2006, I packed up and moved to Slovakia, for what I thought would be a year, and for the next nearly seven, I spent time learning a culture, trying to learn a language, working with two sister churches, working with the Roma, Slovak youth and college age students, all manner of missionaries, and meeting all sorts of interesting people from all walks of life, and teaching, among other things. It wasn't always easy, but it was rewarding and humbling and I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
So as I sat at the red light, I started laughing at myself. I so often look at other people's lives and think, "They've got it all put together. They knew what they wanted to study, and they did it, and now they have these wonderful careers. And what do I have to show? I'm this discombobulated mess of things with seemingly no real direction."
And that's when it hit me. I did too! I hadn't "failed." And I did and do have direction. Everything I wanted to be, or thought I would do, I've done. Certainly not in the way I Imagined, but that's the beauty of how the Lord works. As I'm about to hit two years of having moved back to America, I no longer have to start looking at myself as a person trying to figure out what I'm doing in life; I can start focusing on how the Lord worked through me, allowing me to do all the things I wanted and thought I desired to do long term, and instead start looking ahead to the new beginning for which he's opening the door. What that is and what that will look like, I have no idea. And while it will be a little scary at first, as new beginnings tend to be, it's also exciting and something I'm looking forward to unfolding as God works and moves and directs.
I sort of sputtered out this, that and the other, but the other night while sitting at a stop light in North Dallas, I thought about that question and it hit me: The things I thought I wanted to be, or had strived for while in college and after college, and thought I had completely failed at, I had done either directly or indirectly.
When I was young, I thought I had wanted to be a wife and mother. Clearly, I am an early thirty something who is still single without children. However, I've been given many opportunities to babysit, nanny, teach, love and cherish many, many children over the years, including 8 amazing and wonderful and hilarious nieces and nephews. I am even honored with being the godmother of Lucy, my sweet, sweet niece who is living with Jesus now.
As I went through high school, sports is what got me through most of those trying years, and I wanted nothing more than to play volleyball in college and study to be a coach and teacher. It was my dream; it was my goal. I wasnt good enough to play in college, and I didn't end up studying education or sports management, but I ended up getting a job coaching a local high school girls' volleyball and basketball team for 2+ years roughly, and was a junior high basketball referee for one year through the WFISD. As to teaching, I spent 4 years teaching ESL in Europe to adults and children.
In 2000, the Lord kept putting missions on my mind and heart. In 2006, I packed up and moved to Slovakia, for what I thought would be a year, and for the next nearly seven, I spent time learning a culture, trying to learn a language, working with two sister churches, working with the Roma, Slovak youth and college age students, all manner of missionaries, and meeting all sorts of interesting people from all walks of life, and teaching, among other things. It wasn't always easy, but it was rewarding and humbling and I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
So as I sat at the red light, I started laughing at myself. I so often look at other people's lives and think, "They've got it all put together. They knew what they wanted to study, and they did it, and now they have these wonderful careers. And what do I have to show? I'm this discombobulated mess of things with seemingly no real direction."
And that's when it hit me. I did too! I hadn't "failed." And I did and do have direction. Everything I wanted to be, or thought I would do, I've done. Certainly not in the way I Imagined, but that's the beauty of how the Lord works. As I'm about to hit two years of having moved back to America, I no longer have to start looking at myself as a person trying to figure out what I'm doing in life; I can start focusing on how the Lord worked through me, allowing me to do all the things I wanted and thought I desired to do long term, and instead start looking ahead to the new beginning for which he's opening the door. What that is and what that will look like, I have no idea. And while it will be a little scary at first, as new beginnings tend to be, it's also exciting and something I'm looking forward to unfolding as God works and moves and directs.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Grace in the Moment
The Lord has graciously given moments of grace over the last few days:
Friendship and laughter.
The discovery of quiet, brush filled running trails inside the city that make you feel like you're in a mountainous wilderness well outside the city.
The mid-70 degree weather, cool breeze, thunder heads, dry lightening storm and then downpour of rain last night.
My bosses infectious laughter this morning.
God is always good, and we are in His hands.
Friendship and laughter.
The discovery of quiet, brush filled running trails inside the city that make you feel like you're in a mountainous wilderness well outside the city.
The mid-70 degree weather, cool breeze, thunder heads, dry lightening storm and then downpour of rain last night.
My bosses infectious laughter this morning.
God is always good, and we are in His hands.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Finding home away from home
It's no secret that one of my very favorite things during my time in Slovakia was All Hallows Eve and Day (or All Saints Day, or Halloween, depending on where you live). This is the time when the cemeteries would be lit up like Christmas trees with various candles of every shape, size and color family members carefully and lovingly placed around the graves of loved ones in remembrance of them. I would wander the cemetery for as long as I could, taking pictures, quietly soaking in my surroundings, listening to the flick of the flame in moments of still revery. I always looked forward to this time of year every year. It made me giddy knowing I could go out into the cemetery after dark and be surrounded by lights and love, feeling at peace. (Ironic, no?)
I can't remember when I did this exactly, but it must have been shortly after the holidays. I went to a cemetery in the Dallas area with a purpose, but found myself so enamored by what I saw that I abandoned my agenda and just wandered around for a while.
It may seem like a totally strange concept, but this pleasant surprised totally warmed me to the core.
Cemeteries are a place I feel at ease. A place I can breathe and be myself and not have to perform or pretend or seem completely put together. (Because let's face it, despite the vibe I give off, I'm not completely put together and with it! I'm a mess of a sinful human being saved by the grace of God alone.)
When I'm having a completely terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I always think I should just drive to the nearest cemetery and plant myself somewhere - be it ground or bench - and just be for a while.
When I'm having a splendid, wonderful, very good day, and I pass by a cemetery, I always think to myself, I should just drive inside and be for a while.
Believe it or not, a cemetery can tell you quite a lot. If you pay attention, you can see signs of varying degrees of loss, grief and pain, and also love and remembrance. The man lovingly placing fresh flowers at his wife's grave. The woman uncontrollably sobbing over the recent passing of a loved one.
There are plots that haven't been touched in years, the foliage filling the crevices and cracks like pain and hurt and grief spreads out through the void of the lost loved one. (These are the plots where I tend to linger a little longer, bending down, brushing off leaves and grass and brush. Everyone deserves love.)
And there are plots adorned to the last possible inch of space available to make sure that that void is full of love and remembrance. (I'm not sure one ever overcomes the grief, but learns to live with it even after the healing process has begun.)
Some plots are a simple statement of love and remembrance ...
And none of it is bad. They're all just different. And different doesn't mean wrong.
I must admit, I love every bit of it. From the unadorned to the very simple to the extremely grand, it's familiar. It's warmth. It brings a smile to my lips and a happy sigh from my deepest depths. It takes me back to those cold nights wandering around candle lit rows of tombstones and crypts, just being, breathing and revering in the moment.
I can't remember when I did this exactly, but it must have been shortly after the holidays. I went to a cemetery in the Dallas area with a purpose, but found myself so enamored by what I saw that I abandoned my agenda and just wandered around for a while.
And others are an explosion of we-will-not-forget's!
Monday, November 11, 2013
Thoughts and Ramblings on Cultural Readjustment
It has been about three and a half months since I set foot in the US. It has been good and awful all at the same time. There is a part of my brain that recognizes that I have moved back, and the other half of my brain that does not recognize that I have moved back. And the two sides war with each other constantly.
People often ask me how I am doing and honestly, it is hard to answer that question. How do you explain to someone what it is to move back to a culture you no longer understand? How do you express in words all the thoughts, feelings and emotions that tumble around your brain on a daily basis. Most of the time, my answer to the question "How are you adjusting?" is this way: Slowly.
What gets frustrating is when people press me for the reasons of why readjustment is slow. Or what specifically it is that I experience when I say I go through reverse culture shock. I do not how to answer those questions well because sometimes it is something that happens in a moment - for instance, a month or so ago when I found myself sitting outside the house after 11 p.m. in my pj's staring at the biggest, brightest, fullest moon I had seen since leaving Slovakia. I cried that night. I missed Slovakia that night. Why? Because I used to fall asleep basking in the moon beams streaming across my laminate wood floor in my flat in Bystrica.
Other times it is something unexpected and seemingly unnatural - like the time I found myself nearly hyperventilating while at a baby shower because I was in a crowded room full of people, some of whom I knew and some of whom I did not, and feeling overwhelmed with the fact that I could understand what they said because they were speaking English, but confused because I did not understand what they said because I do not always understand current cultural cues and references.
These are just a two examples. Sometimes the culture shock is obvious; other times is is not at all. And it is very hard to express verbally exactly what it is like or how it affects me. I want the phrase, "It just does not make sense to me!" to be a satisfactory answer to a question without someone saying, "But why?" And it is exhausting hearing someone say, "But you grew up here. How can it be that different now?" That is when I want to yell, "It just is! Please just allow me that!"
There is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all readjustment period. Sometimes I feel like I am almost defending my current situation in life, which I do not like, when I get the funny looks or the "Well, just do x,y and z and you will be fine" kind of advice which is both unhelpful and hurtful because it is just not that easy. Or I go to the other extreme and just do not talk about it, thus repressing the true nature of what I am going through, which I also do not like.
The hardest part of cultural readjustment is when you have no support base, and by that I mean a support system of other people who have gone through the same thing of moving away to live in another country/culture for a period of time and then moved back to their country of origin. I have been fortunate to meet with a few people since moving back who have gone through this and it helps being able to talk things through with them, but for the most part, most of my friends and family have no idea what it is like and it is hard to express to them my thoughts; and in turn, hard for them to be able to understand. Not that they do not try because they do! But it is not always possible for them relate or understand.
A friend sent me an article she found in the Wall Street Journal that verbalized so much of what I feel but have had a hard time trying to explain and make sense of. The article, titled Combating the Repatriation Blues, is an excellent and insightful read for anyone who is either repatriating him- or herself, or knows someone in the process of repatriating. Here are three quotes that really spoke to me:
People often ask me how I am doing and honestly, it is hard to answer that question. How do you explain to someone what it is to move back to a culture you no longer understand? How do you express in words all the thoughts, feelings and emotions that tumble around your brain on a daily basis. Most of the time, my answer to the question "How are you adjusting?" is this way: Slowly.
What gets frustrating is when people press me for the reasons of why readjustment is slow. Or what specifically it is that I experience when I say I go through reverse culture shock. I do not how to answer those questions well because sometimes it is something that happens in a moment - for instance, a month or so ago when I found myself sitting outside the house after 11 p.m. in my pj's staring at the biggest, brightest, fullest moon I had seen since leaving Slovakia. I cried that night. I missed Slovakia that night. Why? Because I used to fall asleep basking in the moon beams streaming across my laminate wood floor in my flat in Bystrica.
Other times it is something unexpected and seemingly unnatural - like the time I found myself nearly hyperventilating while at a baby shower because I was in a crowded room full of people, some of whom I knew and some of whom I did not, and feeling overwhelmed with the fact that I could understand what they said because they were speaking English, but confused because I did not understand what they said because I do not always understand current cultural cues and references.
These are just a two examples. Sometimes the culture shock is obvious; other times is is not at all. And it is very hard to express verbally exactly what it is like or how it affects me. I want the phrase, "It just does not make sense to me!" to be a satisfactory answer to a question without someone saying, "But why?" And it is exhausting hearing someone say, "But you grew up here. How can it be that different now?" That is when I want to yell, "It just is! Please just allow me that!"
There is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all readjustment period. Sometimes I feel like I am almost defending my current situation in life, which I do not like, when I get the funny looks or the "Well, just do x,y and z and you will be fine" kind of advice which is both unhelpful and hurtful because it is just not that easy. Or I go to the other extreme and just do not talk about it, thus repressing the true nature of what I am going through, which I also do not like.
The hardest part of cultural readjustment is when you have no support base, and by that I mean a support system of other people who have gone through the same thing of moving away to live in another country/culture for a period of time and then moved back to their country of origin. I have been fortunate to meet with a few people since moving back who have gone through this and it helps being able to talk things through with them, but for the most part, most of my friends and family have no idea what it is like and it is hard to express to them my thoughts; and in turn, hard for them to be able to understand. Not that they do not try because they do! But it is not always possible for them relate or understand.
A friend sent me an article she found in the Wall Street Journal that verbalized so much of what I feel but have had a hard time trying to explain and make sense of. The article, titled Combating the Repatriation Blues, is an excellent and insightful read for anyone who is either repatriating him- or herself, or knows someone in the process of repatriating. Here are three quotes that really spoke to me:
"Most people find coming home to be a more difficult transition than going abroad. One of the difficulties of returning is that no one who hasn't done it expects it to be difficult," [Craig Storti, author of The Art of Coming Home] said. "Everyone thinks it must be easy to come home so the support network is not there."
"If you go through the normal stages of transition, the leaving phase is still when you are looking ahead and not really dealing with the loss, which hits you when you get back and begin to settle in," says Ruth van Reken, co-author of Third Culture Kids: The Experience of Growing Up Among Worlds. "But the losses are hidden; how do you explain this loss of a world you quite enjoyed but is now gone? This is why unresolved grief is the number one long-term issue for adult TCKS, as well as many adult expats. Every transition involves loss... even when there is gain."
"The struggle to adjust really begins when the initial high of moving to a new place or back to an old home wears off," says Allegra Richards. Now a senior at Harvard, Ms. Richards was born in New York, but mostly grew up in Switzerland and Moscow, where her family still resides. The duration of the honeymoon period varies, but generally the wave of sadness and nostalgia hits during the first six months. There are things a repatriating citizen can do to anticipate the major shocks of returning home. But it is often the things you can't expect that make the sadness most difficult to deal with -- you can't anticipate the little things you will miss the most from the place you left behind."When I read articles like this, it makes me want to weep and rejoice all at the same time because it helps me make sense of me, and helps reaffirm that no, I am not crazy, nor am I ridiculous. It takes time to readjust. It takes time for repatriation. There is no magic formula, and I cannot just make it go away. It takes time, and time is what I need to give it and should give it.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Chyba mi Slovensko aj Europe...
It's one of those days. The kind where in I wish I was elsewhere.
Preferably on the city square of Banská Bystrica with friends, sipping virgin mojito's, people watching and silently plotting the demise of the pigeons scrapping for food.
Or in Prague, wandering down cobblestone streets, gazing at centuries-old buildings and monuments.
Or in Brno, admiring the fabulous lamp posts lining the castle walls.
Or in Budapest, exploring both the Buda and Pest sides divided by the beautiful blue Danube.
Or in Vienna, admiring the city while saying a prayer of thanks that I don't actually live there.
Or in Heiloo, bicycling around town admiring windmills and the hustle and bustle of life all around.
Or in Dublin, listening to swoon-worthy accents while sipping a pint at the pub.
Or in the French Alps, taking in the majesty and beauty God created.
Or in Copenhagen North, curled up in the shadows and the quiet of the cemetery where Kierkegaard and Anderson are buried.
I miss the smells of Slovakia. The tastes. The sights. I miss moon beams dancing across my floor when I fall asleep, and the first rays of light rising over the peaks of the mountains when I wake. I miss the sound of rain. I miss the crunch of dry leaves underfoot when I walk. I miss the smells of autumn - burning leaves outside and wood burning fireplaces inside. I miss the fervor and excitement of the beginning of hockey season. I even miss the suspicious glances of shop keepers as I shop.
Today I miss Slovakia.
Today I miss Europe.
Preferably on the city square of Banská Bystrica with friends, sipping virgin mojito's, people watching and silently plotting the demise of the pigeons scrapping for food.
Or in Prague, wandering down cobblestone streets, gazing at centuries-old buildings and monuments.
Or in Brno, admiring the fabulous lamp posts lining the castle walls.
Or in Budapest, exploring both the Buda and Pest sides divided by the beautiful blue Danube.
Or in Vienna, admiring the city while saying a prayer of thanks that I don't actually live there.
Or in Heiloo, bicycling around town admiring windmills and the hustle and bustle of life all around.
Or in Dublin, listening to swoon-worthy accents while sipping a pint at the pub.
Or in the French Alps, taking in the majesty and beauty God created.
Or in Copenhagen North, curled up in the shadows and the quiet of the cemetery where Kierkegaard and Anderson are buried.
I miss the smells of Slovakia. The tastes. The sights. I miss moon beams dancing across my floor when I fall asleep, and the first rays of light rising over the peaks of the mountains when I wake. I miss the sound of rain. I miss the crunch of dry leaves underfoot when I walk. I miss the smells of autumn - burning leaves outside and wood burning fireplaces inside. I miss the fervor and excitement of the beginning of hockey season. I even miss the suspicious glances of shop keepers as I shop.
Today I miss Slovakia.
Today I miss Europe.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
D & G Wedding
Last month my very closest and dearest friend in Slovakia got married. She married a great guy from England who is a missionary in Slovakia.
In all honesty, the man she married was one I kind of found annoying when I first met him four years ago. Pompous, condescending and rude were words I thought of when I was around him. But then the Lord changed my heart... and maybe his?... about two years ago. I had a conversation with him regarding missions, the Church, ministry and the like wherein when I left that conversation, I saw this guy in a whole new light and perspective - one in which I could respect him and enjoy his company and the work he is doing in Slovakia with the church and youth there.
My friend, however, thought I still couldn't stand him. And this of course concerned her when she started talking to him more seriously. She didn't tell me who it was she was interested in until after they officially started dating. And despite my best efforts to assure her I really liked and respected the guy, she was nervous for most of the time they dated that I hated him, which couldn't be further from the truth! I really enjoyed getting to know him as the two of them dated and I realized what a mature person he was both in his faith and as an adult. I witnessed him handle situations with grace, wisdom, kindness and humbleness. While I was already pretty ecstatically happy for my friend, I became even more so when I realized the caliber of man she was marrying.
The ceremony was beautiful; it was a mixture of English and Slovak as groom's side who flew in for the wedding from England didn't speak Slovak. The reception in the garden afterwards for all guests was fun and creative with poems, music and traditional Slovak wedding games for bride and groom.
And then the private dinner. It was at a hotel in Slovakia and involved more traditional Slovak wedding fair - the bride and groom feed each soup; they introduce each of their guests to everyone and tell how they know them; they cut and serve the cake to their guests, to name a few.
But since my friend married a Brit, there was also some Scottish Wedding dances involved! One of the guests taught 4 or 5 traditional dances; it was hilariously entertaining and great fun watching everyone stumble around!
I can't remember a night when I've had that much fun until 1:30 in the morning. All in all, if I had to vote, best and most brilliant wedding reception ever!
Dearest, loveliest wifinečko!
Bride and Groom
Closest and dearest friend and her great guy
The ceremony was beautiful; it was a mixture of English and Slovak as groom's side who flew in for the wedding from England didn't speak Slovak. The reception in the garden afterwards for all guests was fun and creative with poems, music and traditional Slovak wedding games for bride and groom.
~Vows~
Ľudka and me singing during the ceremony in both Slovak and English
Open reception in the garden for all guests
And then the private dinner. It was at a hotel in Slovakia and involved more traditional Slovak wedding fair - the bride and groom feed each soup; they introduce each of their guests to everyone and tell how they know them; they cut and serve the cake to their guests, to name a few.
Feeding each other soup
Groom's father giving a toast
Bride's father giving a toast
First Dance
Learning Scottish dances!
"Get down, boogie!"
I can't remember a night when I've had that much fun until 1:30 in the morning. All in all, if I had to vote, best and most brilliant wedding reception ever!
Congratulations, D & G!!!
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