In the morning, I wrote bold, courageous words: “We are not strong enough, physically, emotionally, spiritually; but it’s in the darkness of our broken-clay-pot-dead hearts that His light can shine.” But where were all my words by evening?
Nothing was wrong. Maybe it was the weather—just as the bright, early fall days reminded me of the exhilaration of just-arriving this time last year, the colder, darker walk by myself through the center of town made me think I’d traveled back to the time when loneliness and homesickness settled in. I stopped beneath a portico haunted by Michael Buble: Another summer day/ Has come and gone away/ In Paris and Rome/ But I wanna go home;/ May be surrounded by/ A million people I/ Still feel alone/I just wanna go home…
Maybe it was passing a beautiful weekend with fellow-Americans, laughing and talking and feeling free. But one must always come back from the mountains.
Carlo recently asked me why I wasn’t jumping in the middle of a group of young people to talk with them, and said he thought I wanted to leave America, but wasn’t happy when I was gone.
“No, I don’t want to leave, and I am happy while I’m gone,” I said. “But I think I do understand a little better what the Bible means about being strangers in the world now.”
Some of my friends here laughed at me when I told them I had just discovered the library. “But it’s two blocks from your house!” But they can’t understand the way I tip-toe through days and public streets hoping not to do anything wrong. I did know of the library’s existence earlier; but a million fears plagued me—fear of it being for university students only, or of foreigners having to go through extra steps—even banal fear of tripping past all those eyes of the living-statue students lounging elegantly along the wall.
But this morning there was joy. Joy in knowing the pleasure of God in Himself, in His goodness, in me.
Isn’t it a beautiful thing how God lets us speak for Him to each other? One of my favorite times this weekend, in all the time we spent talking about God, was when A was talking about a problem she was having, and I was listening, and thinking how pretty she was, and just told her so. It had no bearing on the subject, but was what she needed to hear at the moment; and what an awesome and humbling thing that He let me speak it. This morning someone said something nice to me that I didn’t even know I needed to hear; but it rang with the echoes of truth, of Someone who knows me better than I know myself.
This God—He is good.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Rinfreshcament
Favorite highlights from the trip last weekend:
- A tractor race in the mountains! They were having a chestnut festival, and one of the events was tractors driving slalom through big round bales. I loved it! Farmers are the same in all the world. Alana, describing it to Lilliana later, said, “They were driving through hay…bales? Is that what you call them?” She can’t help it she’s from San Francisco. =P
- Lilliana trying to make us eat more and more and more all weekend! She gave us cake and cookies for breakfast. And when we went out to try some of the local food that Alana needed to try (crescentine, gnocco fritto, borlenghi), A and I split one of each because we were still so full from lunch. L got one or two of each for herself and then was shocked when they were larger than she expected, but ate them anyway. She also wore a silk nightgown, and reminded me in many ways of Aunt V.
- A and I in our room talking the last night, hearing L in the other room, saying, “PICK UP YOUR PHONE. YOU CAN’T HEAR ME. PICK UP YOUR PHONE.” We laughed so hard we cried. She later explained to us that someone was on webcam but had something disconnected…anyway, it was funny.
- Getting lost in the hills trying to find the town with the castle, then reaching it about twilight and A and I running up the steep hill, poking around the tiny chapel with the lights shining out, looking out across the valley at sunset…
- Driving back down the hill after dark, with all the lights spread out beneath us, singing Christmas carols, which have some wonderful application for missions—He’s come for the whole world!
- In church Sunday morning L playing hymns, improvising magnificently (I had asked if they had someone to play, and she said yes, but didn’t say it was her!). Then that evening me telling her so, and her saying she was nervous to play in front of A and me! We laughed.
- Luciano and his wife, whose name escapes me, two elderly believers who remember WWII. He said they first met when he was standing looking out from a castle (Montecuccolo) and saw her—or saw her white shoes. “Even now, whenever a group of girls walks past, I always say, ‘The cutest one is the one in the white shoes,’ and everyone looks to see who’s wearing them,” he said. He wanted me to take him to Oklahoma with me so he could be a cowboy and ride a horse and eat beans, and said he already had the hat.
- Augusto and Norris, a Venezualan couple we had over for an “American” supper of pancakes and bacon and eggs. “American women are the most beautiful in the world,” she said, “because they have a bottom—not like the Italian women who are all straight up. American women are like the Latin women!” We laughed.
- Laughing hysterically for very little reason, just because we felt free to.
- Staying up late every night talking about God and His goodness.
It was beautiful.
- A tractor race in the mountains! They were having a chestnut festival, and one of the events was tractors driving slalom through big round bales. I loved it! Farmers are the same in all the world. Alana, describing it to Lilliana later, said, “They were driving through hay…bales? Is that what you call them?” She can’t help it she’s from San Francisco. =P
- Lilliana trying to make us eat more and more and more all weekend! She gave us cake and cookies for breakfast. And when we went out to try some of the local food that Alana needed to try (crescentine, gnocco fritto, borlenghi), A and I split one of each because we were still so full from lunch. L got one or two of each for herself and then was shocked when they were larger than she expected, but ate them anyway. She also wore a silk nightgown, and reminded me in many ways of Aunt V.
- A and I in our room talking the last night, hearing L in the other room, saying, “PICK UP YOUR PHONE. YOU CAN’T HEAR ME. PICK UP YOUR PHONE.” We laughed so hard we cried. She later explained to us that someone was on webcam but had something disconnected…anyway, it was funny.
- Getting lost in the hills trying to find the town with the castle, then reaching it about twilight and A and I running up the steep hill, poking around the tiny chapel with the lights shining out, looking out across the valley at sunset…
- Driving back down the hill after dark, with all the lights spread out beneath us, singing Christmas carols, which have some wonderful application for missions—He’s come for the whole world!
- In church Sunday morning L playing hymns, improvising magnificently (I had asked if they had someone to play, and she said yes, but didn’t say it was her!). Then that evening me telling her so, and her saying she was nervous to play in front of A and me! We laughed.
- Luciano and his wife, whose name escapes me, two elderly believers who remember WWII. He said they first met when he was standing looking out from a castle (Montecuccolo) and saw her—or saw her white shoes. “Even now, whenever a group of girls walks past, I always say, ‘The cutest one is the one in the white shoes,’ and everyone looks to see who’s wearing them,” he said. He wanted me to take him to Oklahoma with me so he could be a cowboy and ride a horse and eat beans, and said he already had the hat.
- Augusto and Norris, a Venezualan couple we had over for an “American” supper of pancakes and bacon and eggs. “American women are the most beautiful in the world,” she said, “because they have a bottom—not like the Italian women who are all straight up. American women are like the Latin women!” We laughed.
- Laughing hysterically for very little reason, just because we felt free to.
- Staying up late every night talking about God and His goodness.
It was beautiful.
Friday, October 03, 2008
The Birthday of the Sun
No, I’m not bipolar—I wasn’t grumpy yesterday, either, just grumping—quite happily, actually. But today is different.
You know there are some days when the sun is maybe not really shining, and you can’t really think of a reason, but all of a sudden it comes upon you that you sure-as-heaven are happy. And then the sun agrees, and decides to shine, and the wind blows bird-songs and a baby smiles at you and a red shawl walks past. And you know you are madly, irrationally delighted to be alive.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice! Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand.” [exclamation point and bold added]
Then again, maybe it’s not irrational. Maybe there’s a Reason for joy beyond reason.
You know there are some days when the sun is maybe not really shining, and you can’t really think of a reason, but all of a sudden it comes upon you that you sure-as-heaven are happy. And then the sun agrees, and decides to shine, and the wind blows bird-songs and a baby smiles at you and a red shawl walks past. And you know you are madly, irrationally delighted to be alive.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice! Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand.” [exclamation point and bold added]
Then again, maybe it’s not irrational. Maybe there’s a Reason for joy beyond reason.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
grumping
I'm beginning to think flowers for American postal workers may not be such a bad idea.
I mean, I know it's a lot to ask, but I really like it when someone, like, tries to help you find the answer to your question. Of course, if you're paid by how many people you can get served, and it doesn't matter to you whether they're served well or not, I can understand why you're trying to get rid of me after I've stood in line with a number waiting to see you. After all, I'm not your problem.
The thing that makes me mad is that I let them make me feel like I'm an intrusion on their time. Why do I do that? Apologize for the fact that I'm providing them with a job, and not really get my question answered because I've let them make me feel stupid?
Okay, sorry. But my permesso di Soggiorno expired today, and even though I knew I couldn't renew it until it expired (yeah, you heard that right), I still panicked a bit--what if I misunderstood? Could I get kicked out of the country? So I went to the post office, pressed the button that said it was supposed to help people get their permesso renewed, and waited patiently behing P80-P92. I made use of my time, though, and studied the Italian word for "crayon" on the packages for sale. It's...oh, never mind.
So then the woman says to me, no, you need to take this to one of the political parties and they can help you. There's one on Via -----. You know where that is? No? Well, you need to go there. Bye.
So I panicked some more, but remembered that God has provided me with a friend who used to work in a questura and is married to a Carabinieri officer--I called her, and she asked him, and he said I have 60 days. So I'm not panicking now.
And then I went to the Neris' and we made chocolate chip cookies and sushi! What an international meal. The only problem we had was getting the oven to stay lit. And Carlo decided he needed to test the cookies from the different batches to make sure they were all okay. He reminds me of someone else sometimes.
While I'm on things that annoy me: I had a new student Wednesday. I asked her a question, and she looked at me blankly. I repeated it, and she turned to the other girl in the class and said (in Italian), "I can't understand anything she's saying with that pronunciation."
Whoa, I told her--you can complain about my pronunciation if you like, as long as it's in English and you're talking to me. I know I don't speak "English English," and I know I have trouble understanding people from different parts of Italy, but I don't tell them it's their fault for not speaking Italian the way I learned it. Reminds me--I think I read an article once on why the difference between American and British pronunciation? Like, that American was more standard until things changed in Britain, and ours is really older? Or am I making that up?
I mean, I know it's a lot to ask, but I really like it when someone, like, tries to help you find the answer to your question. Of course, if you're paid by how many people you can get served, and it doesn't matter to you whether they're served well or not, I can understand why you're trying to get rid of me after I've stood in line with a number waiting to see you. After all, I'm not your problem.
The thing that makes me mad is that I let them make me feel like I'm an intrusion on their time. Why do I do that? Apologize for the fact that I'm providing them with a job, and not really get my question answered because I've let them make me feel stupid?
Okay, sorry. But my permesso di Soggiorno expired today, and even though I knew I couldn't renew it until it expired (yeah, you heard that right), I still panicked a bit--what if I misunderstood? Could I get kicked out of the country? So I went to the post office, pressed the button that said it was supposed to help people get their permesso renewed, and waited patiently behing P80-P92. I made use of my time, though, and studied the Italian word for "crayon" on the packages for sale. It's...oh, never mind.
So then the woman says to me, no, you need to take this to one of the political parties and they can help you. There's one on Via -----. You know where that is? No? Well, you need to go there. Bye.
So I panicked some more, but remembered that God has provided me with a friend who used to work in a questura and is married to a Carabinieri officer--I called her, and she asked him, and he said I have 60 days. So I'm not panicking now.
And then I went to the Neris' and we made chocolate chip cookies and sushi! What an international meal. The only problem we had was getting the oven to stay lit. And Carlo decided he needed to test the cookies from the different batches to make sure they were all okay. He reminds me of someone else sometimes.
While I'm on things that annoy me: I had a new student Wednesday. I asked her a question, and she looked at me blankly. I repeated it, and she turned to the other girl in the class and said (in Italian), "I can't understand anything she's saying with that pronunciation."
Whoa, I told her--you can complain about my pronunciation if you like, as long as it's in English and you're talking to me. I know I don't speak "English English," and I know I have trouble understanding people from different parts of Italy, but I don't tell them it's their fault for not speaking Italian the way I learned it. Reminds me--I think I read an article once on why the difference between American and British pronunciation? Like, that American was more standard until things changed in Britain, and ours is really older? Or am I making that up?
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