Det er nu officielt mere end 3 år siden, at jeg skrev mit sidste bog indlæg. Tiden er bare fløjet afsted, den ene dag har taget den anden, og det er umuligt at fortælle om alt, hvad er er sket i de 3 år. Men der er sket meget.
Min ældste datter er blevet 20 år og er i færd med at flytte hjemmefra. Den midterste er 17, går i gymnasiet og er ultra selvstændig. Den yngste er næsten 9 år, går i 2. klasse og stortrives. Selv er jeg stadig lærer på en friskole. Og så er vi flyttet.
I 2013 flyttede vi til Nexø fra Skovlunde, ikke kun fordi Bornholm er et fantastisk dejligt sted, men fordi vi klart oplevede, at Gud havde et ønske om, at vi skulle være her. Det føles stadig meget rigtigt. Vi har en travl hverdag, en stor omgangskreds og et endnu større netværk, og i december flyttede vi fra det ene hus til det andet, fordi svigerforældrene vendte tilbage til øen og købte vores dejlige parcelhus. Det passede lige til dem, og vi var så heldige at finde et andet hus, der passede endnu bedre til os.
Måske er det foråret, der lurer lige om hjørnet, måske er det vinterens stilstand og eftertænksomhed, eller også er det bare fordi jeg kom i tanke om denne blog, at lysten til at skrive har meldt sig igen. Denne gang overvejer jeg dog stærkt at holde mig til mit modersmål - at oversætte alt til engelsk er altså et stort arbejde, som jeg ikke ved, om jeg har tid til... vi må se. Jeg elsker jo det engelske sprog og har før haft engelsksprogede læsere... men tid er ikke altid det, der er mest af.
Nu er der jo også en lille hund på vej, som skal hentes i efterårsferien - det er en hvalp og efter sigende, er det næsten som at få et lille barn igen. Og der er resten af familien, vennerne og kirken, og huset - og ikke mindst haven, som trænger til en gevaldig omgang.
Men midt i alt det er der også mig. Og hvad det betyder, er stadig uvist. Men jeg er her stadig, med lysten til at skrive, skabe, udtrykke mig, udvikle mig og være i kontakt med omverdenen.
Denne blog skal lives op, har jeg besluttet - så det må den nærmeste fremtid blive brugt til. Og du er altid velkommen tilbage, til at finde ud af, hvem jeg er, og hvad jeg vil.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Ordinary or adventurous?
Last time I blogged, I shared with you my mother's humble beginnings. Her life started out like most of ours - simple, easy to understand and quite ordinary.
Now don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with ordinary. Ordinary is fine. Ordinary is good. Very often, ordinary is safe.
The thing is, although my mother's life started out ordinary, it hasn't been so for many, many years. She was granted an ordinary childhood and ordinary early adulthood, but as she followed God into marriage with my father, she also followed God's calling out of the ordinary and into a life of wonder, adventure, hardship and success.
I've just spent the last 30 minutes reading a mail from her, in which she talks about studying, getting married, starting a family and following God's calling to move to an isolated place in Norway. I've read about my family's journey from Norway to Tanzania, and how that impacted my mother. I've read about her feelings as she tried to adjust to a culture so thoroughly different than her own. I've read about her feelings as she realized these differences also impacted her offspring.
And I cried.
My eyes brimmed over over with hot, salty tears as I realized that my mother is no where near ordinary.
My mother, although quiet and humble of nature, is a giant when it comes to servanthood and discipleship. She is a monument of faithfulness and loyalty.
She is simply put extraordinary. (Strange word, by the way - extra & ordinary - why does that mean better than or above ordinary, and not simply ordinary x2?)
My mother grew up in a christian home, and as a teenager, she joined the youth group when it travelled to other places to be a part of youth meetings and conferences. She met my father at such a conference, on Bornholm, the small island in the Baltic where I now live with my family.
The story of how they met often embarrasses my mother. It shouldn't, though, because the romance that began a late night after a church meeting has now lasted for more than 45 years! They saw each other across the room, and my father motioned for her to follow him out the door after the meeting. She did. And they've been a couple ever since.
My mother moved from her home town of Randers, in Jutland, to Bornholm, so that she could be closer to my father. To support herself, she lived with and worked for a doctor's family, cooking, cleaning and taking care of the children. After a while, she decided to educate herself and began studying to become a nursing assistant. Studying was hard. She was 19, pretty much alone, and no one took particularly care of her at the hospital. She had to figure our for herself how to do most things. Her boss was a strict nurse offering very little warmth and encouragement, and my mother was often so nervous, that she almost fainted just going to work in the morning!
You see, although my mother is best described as my hero, I am not blind to the fact that she is human, and therefore as frail and imperfect as myself. She has her flaws - of course! If she didn't, I don't think she would be as interesting as she is.
It is exactly because of her mortal state as a human that I find her so noteworthy. She is living proof to me that if you follow God - trust in Him with all that's in you - and if you do your best, God will allow you to be part of His great big adventure! Your life will come to matter in ways you have not imagined. You will be able to make a lasting difference in someone elses life!
And as I strive to do just that, it's encouraging to look to someone else who has gone before me - who has done it. Who knows what it's like to burn with desire to serve and please God - but who also knows how difficult it is while you also strive to be a good mother and a good wife.
My mother is a woman. Within her beats a heart as soft, warm and loving as mine - and as yours.
That's just one of the many reasons why I love my mother.
Now don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with ordinary. Ordinary is fine. Ordinary is good. Very often, ordinary is safe.
The thing is, although my mother's life started out ordinary, it hasn't been so for many, many years. She was granted an ordinary childhood and ordinary early adulthood, but as she followed God into marriage with my father, she also followed God's calling out of the ordinary and into a life of wonder, adventure, hardship and success.
I've just spent the last 30 minutes reading a mail from her, in which she talks about studying, getting married, starting a family and following God's calling to move to an isolated place in Norway. I've read about my family's journey from Norway to Tanzania, and how that impacted my mother. I've read about her feelings as she tried to adjust to a culture so thoroughly different than her own. I've read about her feelings as she realized these differences also impacted her offspring.
And I cried.
My eyes brimmed over over with hot, salty tears as I realized that my mother is no where near ordinary.
My mother, although quiet and humble of nature, is a giant when it comes to servanthood and discipleship. She is a monument of faithfulness and loyalty.
She is simply put extraordinary. (Strange word, by the way - extra & ordinary - why does that mean better than or above ordinary, and not simply ordinary x2?)
My mother grew up in a christian home, and as a teenager, she joined the youth group when it travelled to other places to be a part of youth meetings and conferences. She met my father at such a conference, on Bornholm, the small island in the Baltic where I now live with my family.
The story of how they met often embarrasses my mother. It shouldn't, though, because the romance that began a late night after a church meeting has now lasted for more than 45 years! They saw each other across the room, and my father motioned for her to follow him out the door after the meeting. She did. And they've been a couple ever since.
My mother moved from her home town of Randers, in Jutland, to Bornholm, so that she could be closer to my father. To support herself, she lived with and worked for a doctor's family, cooking, cleaning and taking care of the children. After a while, she decided to educate herself and began studying to become a nursing assistant. Studying was hard. She was 19, pretty much alone, and no one took particularly care of her at the hospital. She had to figure our for herself how to do most things. Her boss was a strict nurse offering very little warmth and encouragement, and my mother was often so nervous, that she almost fainted just going to work in the morning!
You see, although my mother is best described as my hero, I am not blind to the fact that she is human, and therefore as frail and imperfect as myself. She has her flaws - of course! If she didn't, I don't think she would be as interesting as she is.
It is exactly because of her mortal state as a human that I find her so noteworthy. She is living proof to me that if you follow God - trust in Him with all that's in you - and if you do your best, God will allow you to be part of His great big adventure! Your life will come to matter in ways you have not imagined. You will be able to make a lasting difference in someone elses life!
And as I strive to do just that, it's encouraging to look to someone else who has gone before me - who has done it. Who knows what it's like to burn with desire to serve and please God - but who also knows how difficult it is while you also strive to be a good mother and a good wife.
My mother is a woman. Within her beats a heart as soft, warm and loving as mine - and as yours.
That's just one of the many reasons why I love my mother.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Humble beginnings - my mothers childhood
If anyone had
told my grandmother that one of her twin daughters would end up serving the
Lord as a missionary in Tanzania for more than 30 years, I am not sure she
would have believed it. She was a God-fearing woman, my grandmother, and I know
that she supported my parents in their desire and willingness to serve the
Lord. I doubt, however, that Tanzania was on her mind that day, march 15th,
1950, when she gave birth to first my mother, then 20 minutes later to her twin
sister, Inger. The twins were born on their older sister's 5th birthday,
perhaps by induced labour, as my grandmother had been hospitalised in Randers
for about 3 weeks due to complications with her pregnancy. At home, she already
had a daughter and 2 sons, as well as two older sons already moved from home to
serve as farmhands.
My mother and
her siblings were raised on a farm called Rygaard, outside the Danish town of
Lystrup. My grandparents bought the farm during World War II, most likely in order
to support their growing family. There was no luxury, as money was scarce, but
both were hard workers and managed a farm with pigs, 5 or 6 cows, 2 horses,
chicken, crops and a dog. My grandmother grew vegetables and fruit trees, and
both her and my grandfather were proud of their small farm. They worked hard
and got by well enough for their family to be fed and kept warm. All three
daughters slept in the same room as their parents, and the 2 sons still living
at home shared a small room behind the kitchen. The loo was the old fashioned
type – a bucket! There was no toilet paper, instead the family used newspaper,
and as the room was dark and cool, it also contained the family’s potato
storage. Laundry was done in a large kettle, boiling the clothes after they had
soaked for a while.
My grandmother lived up to the sturdiness and health her name conveys - Helga. Strong, honest and healthy.
My grandmother lived up to the sturdiness and health her name conveys - Helga. Strong, honest and healthy.
My
grandmother would buy chicks and keep them warm under a lamp in the old barn.
Every time a chick died, money was lost.
Food was
cooked on a wood burning stove, although my grandmother also had access to a gas
burner. The family washed face, hands and feet in the kitchen sink, baths
being so rare my mother believes she probably only had one single, proper bath before
she turned 10!
Although
poor, the farm had two living rooms – one for everyday use, and another for
Sundays and guests. Eventually the wall between the two were torn down. The
winter cold was kept at bay with a wood burning stove, but as soon as the
temperatures dropped below 0 degrees Celsius, ice crystals formed on the
windows like small, frozen flowers.
Every
Saturday, Inger and Hannah had to rake the pebble driveway, making sure
everything looked nice for Sunday.
As already
mentioned, Rygaard was bought during World War II, before my mother's birth. At
some point during the war, my grandfather was sent to Germany to work, and my
grandmother had to care for the farm and her 4 sons alone. Occasionally,
German soldiers would find their way to Rygaard, demanding to sleep in the hay.
Although they never harmed my grandmother, it must have been utterly
frightening for her. She has already passed, so I cannot question her about
this time of her life, but I can imagine her lips moving in silent prayer for
the Lord to keep her and her family safe. I believe she already at that time
knew the power of prayer, putting her faith in God completely – a way of life
my mother would later model for her own children as we grew up in Tanzania.
Tanzania in the 1980’s was a difficult country to live in, with little food to
buy and rain seasons you could never count on.
The first
school my mother attended was a small countryside school, and in the beginning,
Inger and Hannah would walk the 2.5 km back and forth. At some point, their
father bought bicycles for the girls, making it easier for them to get to
school. At that time, they attended classes every second day. There were 3
different grades being taught in the same room, and as at home, the school was
kept warm with a wood burning stove. Desks were the old fashioned kind, where
you could lift the lid of the desk and place things inside of it.
When Inger
and Hannah reached the 3rd grade, school reforms sent them by school
bus to a school further away from home. At the age of 10, Rygaard was sold and
the family moved to nearby Randers, a bigger town. The move meant yet a new
school.
Randers
opened up a whole new world for the girls. My grandmother took a job first in a
poultry butchery, later packing eggs for sale. Her jobs meant new chores for the
girls. They no longer had a pebble driveway to rake, instead they had to do the
dishes.
Moving to Randers
also meant changing schools several times, as the family moved 3 times within
the town before settling down in an apartment that was large enough without
being too expensive. My mother lived here till the age of 17, where she moved
to the Danish island of Bornholm, located in the Baltic Sea off the west coast
of Sweden.
Before my
mother moved, she finished 9th grade, left school and took on a job
as a maid, helping around the house and taking care of 3 children.
Already from a young age, my sweet mother has been accustomed to hard, honest work. She still is, by the way - a true busy body, a beautiful worker bee, constantly setting an example worth following. Even now, with grown up children and counting 9 grandchildren, my mother continues to serve and love with as much enthusiasm as possible.
May there be more mothers like her.
Already from a young age, my sweet mother has been accustomed to hard, honest work. She still is, by the way - a true busy body, a beautiful worker bee, constantly setting an example worth following. Even now, with grown up children and counting 9 grandchildren, my mother continues to serve and love with as much enthusiasm as possible.
May there be more mothers like her.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year!
As many of you may know from previous (but too few blogs), my family and I have moved from the vicinity of Copenhagen to the Isle of Bornholm, located in the Baltic sea. This is the isle where both my father and my husband were born and grew up, so in many ways, we feel that we have returned home.
Home is an interesting term for me to use - daughter of missionaries, Danish and white, but born in Tanzania, a third cultural kid turned adult. Despite my many years as a regular Danish mother, wife and teacher, home continues to be a term that challenges me. Where is home? Is home attached to a house, a street, a town?
For me, home has rather become where I keep my belongings, wash my laundry, the place where I tuck my children into bed for the night, the place where I put my feet up and allow myself to not think any reasonable thought at all. These days, home is Nexoe.
Moving here has surprised me immensely. Or rather, the process of moving has. I hadn't seen the emotional consequences coming. I wasn't prepared to relive all the emotions connected with every single goodbye I have ever said in my life, but it is exactly what I have been forced to. Moving, though well-thought through, well planned and well executed, stirred up so many emotions it has sent my mind reeling and my heart running. It has not been fun, although very educational. I have seen myself through much worse lenses than I have wanted to.
But I know - I believe, and I cling to the belief that God is with me through this. That I am learning and growing and that hopefully, maturing and getting closer to a better me.
As I work with myself, at myself, I also try to look back to my heritage. I seek to know what I am made of, who I come from, and what I should bring with me into the present. As I do that, I have decided to share with you the story of a very special person in my life. I hope that you will read with me over the next weeks, maybe months, as I dedicate my blog to a woman who has influenced me greatly.
As many of you may know from previous (but too few blogs), my family and I have moved from the vicinity of Copenhagen to the Isle of Bornholm, located in the Baltic sea. This is the isle where both my father and my husband were born and grew up, so in many ways, we feel that we have returned home.
Home is an interesting term for me to use - daughter of missionaries, Danish and white, but born in Tanzania, a third cultural kid turned adult. Despite my many years as a regular Danish mother, wife and teacher, home continues to be a term that challenges me. Where is home? Is home attached to a house, a street, a town?
For me, home has rather become where I keep my belongings, wash my laundry, the place where I tuck my children into bed for the night, the place where I put my feet up and allow myself to not think any reasonable thought at all. These days, home is Nexoe.
Moving here has surprised me immensely. Or rather, the process of moving has. I hadn't seen the emotional consequences coming. I wasn't prepared to relive all the emotions connected with every single goodbye I have ever said in my life, but it is exactly what I have been forced to. Moving, though well-thought through, well planned and well executed, stirred up so many emotions it has sent my mind reeling and my heart running. It has not been fun, although very educational. I have seen myself through much worse lenses than I have wanted to.
But I know - I believe, and I cling to the belief that God is with me through this. That I am learning and growing and that hopefully, maturing and getting closer to a better me.
As I work with myself, at myself, I also try to look back to my heritage. I seek to know what I am made of, who I come from, and what I should bring with me into the present. As I do that, I have decided to share with you the story of a very special person in my life. I hope that you will read with me over the next weeks, maybe months, as I dedicate my blog to a woman who has influenced me greatly.
I remember a
certain holiday that my family and I took in Mombasa, one of our preferred
places for vacation when I was a child. My siblings and I would spend most of
our time in the pool or the Indian Ocean, where the waves were huge and great
fun. We loved to float around on inflated tractor tires, and it was always
extra fun when the waves threw us up on the beach with incessant fervor. We would go to bed at night, skin burning from the
amount of time in the sun, and our bodies so accustomed to the rhythm of the
ocean, that it felt like we were floating on the water.
This one
particular vacation something extraordinary happened. At least in my world. My
mother skipped rope with me!
Now, that may
leave you wondering about my mother. Why would this be so extraordinary? Don´t
mothers play with their kids? Sure - and so did mine, but I had never seen her
jump rope before. As she giggled and jump and sent curious looks in my father’s
direction, it suddenly hit me: my mom used to be a little girl! I knew that -
but in my world her childhood was a thousand light years away, a fairytale she
used to tell me stories about. But as she laughed and skipped, a dark-haired
girl formed within my imagination and I almost felt like I met my mother as she
had been as a child. I suddenly realized that this woman I adored, revered and
loved, was as frail a human as myself. She was flesh and blood, with a real
childhood and real memories behind her. In a split second, I felt she
understood me because she knew by personal experience what it was like to be a
little girl. And I loved her all the more for it.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
End of vacation, new chapter beginning.
Our vacation has ended officially. We left wonderful Berlin early Wednesday morning, after a (yet another) night filled with lightning, thunder and heavy rain. Packing up the last bits and pieces before hitching the trailer to the car, I found several flip flops that all had merrily sailed away in the nighttime rivers made by rain. The campsite itself was not much to talk about, except for the fact that we believe it must have been a former East German border control - right by the river. The guard tower has been turned into a laundry house, and the buildings on either side are bathrooms.
We've enjoyed Berlin, shopped too much and revisited our all-time favourite restaurant, Marsala, in Charlottenburg.
Luxembourg was an interesting stop. We camped out in what locally is referred to Luxembourg's Switzerland, due to the mountainous terrain. Hasse, Natasja and I went for a run one morning, and after we had run 8k, Hasse wanted to run just a little bit more... unfortunately, he got lost and ended up running 21 k instead of the planned 12 - this up in the mountains and with no water. Almost as if sent by God, a car stopped with an elderly couple who knew exactly where he was trying to get to, and they gave him water and drove him the rest of the way. I am quite thankful for these generous people - they may not be aware of it themselves, but to me, they were modern-day Samaritans!
Besides beautiful, Luxembourg was also expensive, so we didn't shop a thing. Nice country - but a bit out of our league.
Berlin is more our thing. Like mentioned in an earlier post, we love this city - we feel at home here. And it's been really nice to revisit places that we've spent a lot of time at. But now, a new time in our lives & our new home beckons. We've been on a long journey since July 11th, we've driven hundreds of kilometers, and we've looked forward to getting out of the trailer, into more private rooms and with proper closet space.
But even though our vacation has ended, our adventure has just begun. A new chapter is about to unfold, and in just a few more weeks, we'll hold the keys to our new home in our hands. How wonderful is that.
We've enjoyed Berlin, shopped too much and revisited our all-time favourite restaurant, Marsala, in Charlottenburg.
Luxembourg was an interesting stop. We camped out in what locally is referred to Luxembourg's Switzerland, due to the mountainous terrain. Hasse, Natasja and I went for a run one morning, and after we had run 8k, Hasse wanted to run just a little bit more... unfortunately, he got lost and ended up running 21 k instead of the planned 12 - this up in the mountains and with no water. Almost as if sent by God, a car stopped with an elderly couple who knew exactly where he was trying to get to, and they gave him water and drove him the rest of the way. I am quite thankful for these generous people - they may not be aware of it themselves, but to me, they were modern-day Samaritans!
Besides beautiful, Luxembourg was also expensive, so we didn't shop a thing. Nice country - but a bit out of our league.
Berlin is more our thing. Like mentioned in an earlier post, we love this city - we feel at home here. And it's been really nice to revisit places that we've spent a lot of time at. But now, a new time in our lives & our new home beckons. We've been on a long journey since July 11th, we've driven hundreds of kilometers, and we've looked forward to getting out of the trailer, into more private rooms and with proper closet space.
But even though our vacation has ended, our adventure has just begun. A new chapter is about to unfold, and in just a few more weeks, we'll hold the keys to our new home in our hands. How wonderful is that.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
This is indeed not a bad place to be.
The thermometer must be close to 40 degrees (Celsius), and my daughters have retrieved to the sparse shadows at our campgrounds. Johanna has lured her father to the pool - where we all ought to be, but the heat seems to be draining all energy from our bodies. And we are tired.
Not only was it a long drive from Holland to Varreddes, France, with an adrenalin-surging trip through Brussels, but we visited Disneyland yesterday, and stayed on till 11 p.m to watch the truly stunning fireworks and laser show marking the park's 20th anniversary. We were back in our beds around 1 in the morning, and the girls managed to sleep till 10.30, where I decided to wake them up.
But let me back up a bit... the adrenalin-surging trip through Brussels...
Hasse and I had agreed that we would love to see Manneken Pis, a small bronze fountain sculpture of a small boy peeing. I know. Who really wants to see a small boy pee... but still, we did. The sculpture has cultural significance for the Belgians, much like the Little Mermaid is important to Danes. Mannekin Pis was designed by Hiëronymus Duquesnoy the Elder, and was put in its place 1618 or 1619.
We did manage to find the little sculpture, but I believe it was only Natasja and I that really saw him, as he was placed on a corner in what I would perceive to be the old town - the roads were very narrow and there were no parking spots. Hasse had to drive on, hoping to find somewhere to park, but as we were driving with the trailer (caravan) trailing behind us, it was a feat quite impossible! In short, we blocked up traffic and had to stress quite a bit to unblock traffic! So, we decided also to look for the European Union Headquarters... still with the trailer hitched onto the car. Believe me - you do not want to try that! Brussels is very hilly and without any clue about the headquarters whereabouts, we succumbed to the classic "let's-sneer-at-each-other-because-that-certainly-helps" behavior. Not something to be proud of, for sure.
We did make it out alive, though - car, trailer and all five of us.
In Paris, we climbed (yes, climbed the stairs) to the 2nd floor, me about to die from fear of heights, but it was worth it all. Paris is a beautiful city, and the Eiffel Tower a beautiful sight. We walked around for miles in the heat of day, and were very touristy and hungry and had nothing less than Chinese for lunch - the price was just right and the restaurant at the right spot at the right time.
We've been to Disneyland twice, done both parks (Disney itself and the Disney Studio) and we all agree it's been worth it - expensive, yes, hot, yes, too many people and too long ques, yes, but the parks are so well kept, so pretty, so thought-through that it's a pleasure to walk around them, trying whatever rides you care for (I simply have to suggest you try both Peter Pan and Pirates of the Caribbean). We saw both parades (one in either park) and the Dream Show last night, featuring Peter Pan in a laser version, taking us though a number of classics with fireworks and laser lights and Disney music till you could stand no more.
But perhaps the best part isn't over yet. The best part is rubbing shoulders as a family. After a year away at school, Natasja is with us again, and it's been a challenge for all of us to figure out how to be a family of five and not four. We've quarreled. We've sneered at each other, but most importantly, we've had some heart-to-heart talks about really important things, each word drawing us a little closer together, sharpening our outward focus, softening our tongues and opening our eyes to the changes that have subtly taken place in all of us over the last 12 months. This is indeed not a bad place to be.
Tomorrow we pack up the trailer again, this time heading to Luxembourg, where we will spend 2 nights before Berlin calls for our attention. We leave France a little bit wiser, I hope, richer in experience, I am sure. I hope that Luxembourg will offer a lesson or two as well, before Berlin soothes our senses with it's familiarity (we used to have a holiday apartment in Berlin, visiting it often). After Berlin awaits our new future - our new home on Bornholm, where both school, kindergarten and jobs are new and untried land for the 5 of us.
Pictures of all our adventures will have to wait till I have a better Internet connection - but I promise a potpourri of holiday snapshots featuring my lovely, crazy little family later in August.
Not only was it a long drive from Holland to Varreddes, France, with an adrenalin-surging trip through Brussels, but we visited Disneyland yesterday, and stayed on till 11 p.m to watch the truly stunning fireworks and laser show marking the park's 20th anniversary. We were back in our beds around 1 in the morning, and the girls managed to sleep till 10.30, where I decided to wake them up.
But let me back up a bit... the adrenalin-surging trip through Brussels...
Hasse and I had agreed that we would love to see Manneken Pis, a small bronze fountain sculpture of a small boy peeing. I know. Who really wants to see a small boy pee... but still, we did. The sculpture has cultural significance for the Belgians, much like the Little Mermaid is important to Danes. Mannekin Pis was designed by Hiëronymus Duquesnoy the Elder, and was put in its place 1618 or 1619.
We did manage to find the little sculpture, but I believe it was only Natasja and I that really saw him, as he was placed on a corner in what I would perceive to be the old town - the roads were very narrow and there were no parking spots. Hasse had to drive on, hoping to find somewhere to park, but as we were driving with the trailer (caravan) trailing behind us, it was a feat quite impossible! In short, we blocked up traffic and had to stress quite a bit to unblock traffic! So, we decided also to look for the European Union Headquarters... still with the trailer hitched onto the car. Believe me - you do not want to try that! Brussels is very hilly and without any clue about the headquarters whereabouts, we succumbed to the classic "let's-sneer-at-each-other-because-that-certainly-helps" behavior. Not something to be proud of, for sure.
We did make it out alive, though - car, trailer and all five of us.
In Paris, we climbed (yes, climbed the stairs) to the 2nd floor, me about to die from fear of heights, but it was worth it all. Paris is a beautiful city, and the Eiffel Tower a beautiful sight. We walked around for miles in the heat of day, and were very touristy and hungry and had nothing less than Chinese for lunch - the price was just right and the restaurant at the right spot at the right time.
We've been to Disneyland twice, done both parks (Disney itself and the Disney Studio) and we all agree it's been worth it - expensive, yes, hot, yes, too many people and too long ques, yes, but the parks are so well kept, so pretty, so thought-through that it's a pleasure to walk around them, trying whatever rides you care for (I simply have to suggest you try both Peter Pan and Pirates of the Caribbean). We saw both parades (one in either park) and the Dream Show last night, featuring Peter Pan in a laser version, taking us though a number of classics with fireworks and laser lights and Disney music till you could stand no more.
But perhaps the best part isn't over yet. The best part is rubbing shoulders as a family. After a year away at school, Natasja is with us again, and it's been a challenge for all of us to figure out how to be a family of five and not four. We've quarreled. We've sneered at each other, but most importantly, we've had some heart-to-heart talks about really important things, each word drawing us a little closer together, sharpening our outward focus, softening our tongues and opening our eyes to the changes that have subtly taken place in all of us over the last 12 months. This is indeed not a bad place to be.
Tomorrow we pack up the trailer again, this time heading to Luxembourg, where we will spend 2 nights before Berlin calls for our attention. We leave France a little bit wiser, I hope, richer in experience, I am sure. I hope that Luxembourg will offer a lesson or two as well, before Berlin soothes our senses with it's familiarity (we used to have a holiday apartment in Berlin, visiting it often). After Berlin awaits our new future - our new home on Bornholm, where both school, kindergarten and jobs are new and untried land for the 5 of us.
Pictures of all our adventures will have to wait till I have a better Internet connection - but I promise a potpourri of holiday snapshots featuring my lovely, crazy little family later in August.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Amsterdam
Amsterdam. The city of bikes, trams and any sexual orientation under the sun. Or should I have left out that part? It's true, you know.We've been here for a few days now, staying in a beautiful summer home about an hour away from Amsterdam with my husband's family, safe behind one of the many dams holding back water that should have covered the ground that we walk on here. The area is cosy and cute, with every front yard extremely well-kept and booming with blooms. It's beautiful and all film-like, like a Hollywood suburb in some Hollywood romance.
But back to Amsterdam. The city is a melting pot of people, bikes, trams and shops, buzzing like a beehive in the heat of summer. We've seen almost every type of personality here, from women with bright green hair to sensual, deep black men and women, to cross-dressed Asians and perfectly normal and average teenagers and working husbands and wives. My husband commented after a "in-your-face" trip down one of the alleys of the Red Light District: "this must be what the (Biblical) city of Corinth was like". The women in the windows and doorways were indeed very beautiful, but I found myself unable to look them in the eye - when I did manage a small peep, I meet emotionless eyes, no trace of any heart or feeling, not a hint of a smile or frown. We quickly retrieved to the safety of the more clothed madness of the city.
But I cannot help but think about those women, and bless my husband's heart for saying a prayer out loud for them. They were not created for this. They were not created for looking for love, acceptance and value in the filthy arms of men willing to exploit their fellow humans. Men were not created to act in this way, degrading themselves to the horrible acts of supporting prostitution - and in many cases human trafficking!
Walking these streets, I was reminded of a book called Living on the Devil's Doorstep, written by no less than Floyd McClung. Floyd and his wife Sally lived in Amsterdam, reaching out to those in great need in this city. I can warmly recommend the book - it's a great read and also a true story. Thinking about this book, I felt slightly better knowing that there are already people in Amsterdam trying to reach out and love on these women, pointing to Jesus for hope and assurance and value. I cannot imagine my life without Him, how empty and pointless it would all be, and my deepest desire is for everyone else to experience how transforming and absolutely pure and free His love is!
Anyhow - there is no easy transition from this tainted topic to a more family-suited one...
As already mentioned, we are in Amsterdam with our family, and with 4 teenage girls, shopping was at the top of out to-do list. So we spent quite a lot of time in the more modest part of town, shopping and enjoying whatever Amsterdam otherwise could offer. We didn't get to the museums, having a 5 and a 6 year old tagging along as well, so Anne Frank and Rembrandt will have to wait (unfortunately - I would really have liked to see these places and paintings).Tomorrow morning we leave again, this times with bags packed for Paris. Ahead of us Disney Land awaits, a well as the Eiffel Tower and perhaps the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)