As summer starts to leave central Wisconsin, I am overloaded with memories of my first months in Austria. I wander through this field of wild flowers, stopping to smell these memories, trying to hold them awhile longer. I invite them into my cave of now.
I walked the streets of Innsbruck this week. In rain, snow and sun, I bopped in and out of shops in the Altstadt. I expertly wove my way through heaps of tourists from Japan, Europe and the States. I visited the familiar places: Tom's Gelateria, Tyrolia, Müller in the Rathhaus, and Katzung Café. I waited at bus stops, calculating stop times and planning routes between friends' flats and home. I felt every turn and bump on the J Line as it climbed toward Hungerburg. I listened to my Europe songs, in minor keys, as I bundled up once again to hike up the last 10 minutes to home: Rosnerweg 14. I sipped sour tea as I reached the Kaiser Saule, goal #2 on my first mountain trek. I overheard German, lots of it. I stumbled through some conversations myself. It was all so... so present, like I was experiencing it now again for the first time. This field of memories was sweet to meander through, to receive therapy in.
And then this morning, I woke up to rain on the roof. For a split second, I thought that I was in Innsbruck again, with the rain splattering up against my window on my basement apartment. I nestled further into my comforter and dreamt of slow mornings at the house, ironing, washing the dishes and cooking for 7 at lunch.
I finally pulled myself out of bed to make some hot chocolate [Austrian style] and then curled up with my journal and Bible. I sipped the Psalms in, settling in on chapter 10, 16-18. The LORD is king forever and ever; the nations perish from his land. [v.16] his land... All of the land I see is God's. I thought of this book I'm reading, The Kite Runner, and the oppression that Amir and his Baba faced, not to mention what Ali and Hassan met, during the Russian occupation of Afghanistan in the early 1980s. I could write for ages about how this ugliness makes me feel and think about my apathy [and the apathy of others], but the Psalms reassured me this morning that God hears the cry of the oppressed and he will defend the fatherless [10,17-18]. This earth belongs to Christ, the King, My King. I loved God then, I mean, even more [or more clearly], that He cares the most and in the best way. He cannot be apathetic.
It is these mornings, the slow lingering ones with God, that I miss most about my Austrian year. I grew so much in my dependence on Him and in realizing the humility it takes to learn life in a foreign land. God enabled each move and memory.
Thank you, LORD, for each flower in this field that I've been exploring lately!! You are so good
I walked the streets of Innsbruck this week. In rain, snow and sun, I bopped in and out of shops in the Altstadt. I expertly wove my way through heaps of tourists from Japan, Europe and the States. I visited the familiar places: Tom's Gelateria, Tyrolia, Müller in the Rathhaus, and Katzung Café. I waited at bus stops, calculating stop times and planning routes between friends' flats and home. I felt every turn and bump on the J Line as it climbed toward Hungerburg. I listened to my Europe songs, in minor keys, as I bundled up once again to hike up the last 10 minutes to home: Rosnerweg 14. I sipped sour tea as I reached the Kaiser Saule, goal #2 on my first mountain trek. I overheard German, lots of it. I stumbled through some conversations myself. It was all so... so present, like I was experiencing it now again for the first time. This field of memories was sweet to meander through, to receive therapy in.
And then this morning, I woke up to rain on the roof. For a split second, I thought that I was in Innsbruck again, with the rain splattering up against my window on my basement apartment. I nestled further into my comforter and dreamt of slow mornings at the house, ironing, washing the dishes and cooking for 7 at lunch.
I finally pulled myself out of bed to make some hot chocolate [Austrian style] and then curled up with my journal and Bible. I sipped the Psalms in, settling in on chapter 10, 16-18. The LORD is king forever and ever; the nations perish from his land. [v.16] his land... All of the land I see is God's. I thought of this book I'm reading, The Kite Runner, and the oppression that Amir and his Baba faced, not to mention what Ali and Hassan met, during the Russian occupation of Afghanistan in the early 1980s. I could write for ages about how this ugliness makes me feel and think about my apathy [and the apathy of others], but the Psalms reassured me this morning that God hears the cry of the oppressed and he will defend the fatherless [10,17-18]. This earth belongs to Christ, the King, My King. I loved God then, I mean, even more [or more clearly], that He cares the most and in the best way. He cannot be apathetic.
It is these mornings, the slow lingering ones with God, that I miss most about my Austrian year. I grew so much in my dependence on Him and in realizing the humility it takes to learn life in a foreign land. God enabled each move and memory.
Thank you, LORD, for each flower in this field that I've been exploring lately!! You are so good
2 comments:
what a lovely post. i was reading last night, during that rain, from a book by Frederick Buechner, about how he, as a child, loved rain, because of the way it changed ordinary things and made "home seem like home more deeply"...because of how safe it makes home feel...i'm wondering if a little of the rain didn't make you reflect on those places of you've felt home-like comfort...no matter their form...even when things were brand new and strange...
Beautiful words Jaime. These words are so vividly clear. Such.. imagery in them, and much voice.
Post a Comment