Bergen: Rain, Rain, Go Away

 

The next few days are a blur of rainy and sleepy. We got up every day before 6 a.m., an unheard of state-side event for us. And we went to bed after midnight. Consequently I was hit with an overwhelming desire to nap every afternoon and I felt completely justified by the relentless cold drizzle.

I had only packed two pairs of jeans and two sweaters, so I was frustrated by my wardrobe, especially the fact that the only close-toed shoes I had were my running sneakers and some dangerous high heeled boots.

Frustration turned to rainy day blues and by the second morning when Kip left for his work conference I laced up and ran up, nearly 1,000 feet through Bergen neighborhoods to a Floyan mountain trail with steep switchbacks.

As I ran up in my running shorts, the only running pants I own, the weather changed into a cold, whipping wind. Once I got to the top I enjoyed the cloudy grey view of Bergen below and turned around. I ran back home faster than I have ever descended a hill, hit the shower and went back to my napping.

But to be fair there were some highlights those first few days.

The first day that Kip and I were there we explored the city and found the fish market. We sampled everything the fishermen were offering, smoked salmon, smoked mackerel. Everything was expensive, but Kip discovered that because the mackerel was in abundance and less interesting to tourist, it was also a relative bargain. We picked up several pieces for a fraction of what we paid at the restaurant the first night.

Kip and the fish market

"Kipper" snacks, smoked mackerel, crackers and Norwegian cheese.... yummy budget food

 The sun also broke that first afternoon and we rode Bergen’s famous Floyan Funicular up the mountain. The top of the mountain is covered in beautiful hiking trails, so we enjoyed exploring that too. It was our first real glimpse into how extraordinarily beautiful this country is.

The Floibanen up Mount Floyen is an interesting piece of engineering. This steep little railway uses the counter balance of two cars to pull it up 320 meters in a few minutes.

Kip loves trains and trams and everything like it. I love watching him love them.

View of Bergen and it's fjord from the top

Kip and the fjord below

Looking down on Bergen

It's finally clear in Bergen, but it is cold. I was so glad I had brought my winter jacket. It was an afterthought that I stuffed it into my suitcase. I am so glad I did.

The top of Mount Floyen is the trail head for several mountain hikes. We took a couple easy ones, but we saw serious backpackers heading into the woods with camping gear. In Norway it is legal to camp almost anywhere you want, as long as you leave things the way you found them.

Drinking from a $5 water bottle. I reused it all week. Norway has some tasty tap water. I think some of our bottled water here in the US is just Norwegian tap water.

And I had been praying Psalm 23: Lead me beside still waters. When I saw this mountain top lake I smiled. Still indeed.

This is a ceder lined port-o-potty. It's beautiful and smells like a hamster cage.

I just like taking pictures of him. He looks like he belongs here.

Bergen: Arrival

Late night dinner in a 303-year-old restaurant. Looking out into the pale blue twilight. It's nearly 11 p.m.

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 We arrived at our little guesthouse in Bergen, Norway exhausted; as would expected, after traveling nearly 20 hours and traversing 9 time zones. It was mid afternoon, cold and rainy and the only thing we could think about was sleeping, if just for a minute.

Our home-away-from home for five days in Bergen.

We figured out the IKEA style Scandinavian bedding and collapsed. Like every other international trip, we intended to sleep a few minutes and woke up hours later. But this time, thanks to Norway’s long summer days, it was still light out.

We left the comfort of our new home and walked down wet cobblestone streets to find Bryggen, the 800-year-old, postcard perfect fishing village in the heart of Bergen. It was already late, nearly 11 p.m., but we found an amazing little restaurant with cobblestone floors and wooden walls and rafters. The server told us the dinning room was 303 years old. Our founding father's grandfathers could have eaten here.

When we saw the prices we ordered enough of the local tapas for one person and shared: pickled mackerel, smoked salmon, potato salad, fish soup. It was delicious and not nearly enough food, but a perfect taste of Norway. We made plans to find the nearest grocery store and stock up. We knew we wouldn’t be able to “eat out” every meal.

Our view from the bedroom window, down into the street. It's by now the middle of the "white night," Norwegian summer light.

Norway and the Netherlands

At the top of Floibanen Funicular with Bergen and the fjords below

I have so many thoughts on our 12 days in Norway and Amsterdam. I am glad we took a ton of pictures because each part of the trip was different from the rest and I want to remember it all. This blog is my souvenir.

We explored Bergen, a small city/college town with modern aspirations and medieval cobble stone streets; Flam, the world's most picturesque rural country with it's abundance of physical beauty and purity; and Amsterdam, a busy city of trains and canals and bikes, it's notorious "coffeehouses" and red light district and surprisingly, also faithful people of prayer.

This trip, more than other International trips Kip and I have taken together, was difficult and challenging and surprising and rewarding -- all at once. But at this moment, as I put together my thoughts on every detail of our journey, I am overwhelmingly thankful to have been able to go.

It seemed like a “bad” time to make a big trip, but so much of what we experienced and discovered seemed perfectly relevant to where we are. God knows what we need and delights in blessings us. I am so thankful.

Warm Thoughts from a Cold and Rainy Bergen Norway

It is cold and rainy outside, very cold and very rainy. From my vantage point I can see the wind whipping around a leafy green tree on the street below and I just didn’t pack enough warm clothes to motivate me to get back out there.

It’s no wonder Norway has the highest literacy rate in the world. I don’t think I just made that up. I am pretty sure I read that in a guide book. It’s also the third-highest oil producing country in the world. Which I find strange since it is the most beautiful, pristine environment I have ever been in. You would think the people who are afraid of drilling in Alaska would have set up camp here too.

Kip and I are here in Norway for a “computer nerd conference.” (That is his description to me, probably because he thinks I can’t handle a real description.) He is currently at the conference and I am completely enjoying being in our little room we rented at this budget guesthouse in Bergen.

Norway has got to be the most expensive country Americans can visit right now. Our dollar is worth 5 Kroner which sounds good until you make the conversion and realize that a simple bottle of water is $5, a “value” meal at McDonald’s $20, a beer at a local tavern $20 and a no frills hotel room $300.

When we discovered this would be the case, we began searching for bed and breakfast options. Most places were already booked, but we stumbled upon a little guesthouse that rents five bedrooms with a single shared bathroom and a tiny kitchen. Having never stayed in a youth hostel, we were a little nervous about the accommodations, but it has actually been wonderful.

There is no breakfast included here. It is like a bed and breakfast without the breakfast, but there is a market around the corner and it hasn’t been bad sharing the kitchen with so many different people. This morning the Aussies were frying up eggs and bacon, the family from London family were toasting bread with jam and making tea and I was making oatmeal. For the past two days I’ve been making porridge and adding dried fruit from home, but Kip has only put up with that for so long. He discovered the fish market the first day and was able to score local smoked mackerel for less than the price of two cups of coffee. Since then he has been making up snacks of dried fish, cream cheese and toast. It’s actually pretty amazing and compliments oatmeal perfectly.

Speaking of complimenting perfectly, it is our 17^th wedding anniversary this month. That is why I am here with Kip. My parents and Kip’s parents and my sister are hosting the kids in the Midwest.  They were going to go to just one place, but everyone was eager to have them and so they are traveling between Missouri, Oklahoma and Texas over the next two weeks.

But with the kids in the Midwest and Kip at the conference and the nearly-freezing rain pouring down outside, that leaves me alone in the most quiet I have felt in years. It’s good for the soul. 

The week before we left for Norway, I got an e-mail from one of my friends who just moved her family to China. She was writing about their experiences and their difficulties with cultural adjustment. In it she described meditating on Psalm 23 and taking comfort in God's gentle leading, "He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul and guides me ...."  

When I read the e-mail it touched me because with all the changes we have been experiencing the last month, all the decisions we have been making, I have felt such a need to be in God's presence.I just wasn't sure how to get there. 

So with a cup of tea, safe in a guesthouse, halfway up a rain soaked cobble street, half way across the world from home, I'm enjoying a moment of Peace.

Passing Through

Drake, Rosesharon and Heather at Drake's theater performance a few weeks ago

Life is so precious.

We are here and then we are not. And the whole thing feels like a mystery to me.

On Wednesday my dear friend Heather texted me that her mom had taken a turn for the worse. She was expected to pass that day.

In some ways it was surprising. Just last week Rosesharon had been well enough to go to San Diego, spend a week with her pregnant daughter and young grandson. On Monday they had gone out to celebrate her granddaughter’s 13th birthday.

But we all knew that it was just a matter of time. Her 4-year battle with cancer was not going well. A few weeks ago the doctors had told her that there was not much more they could do. She opted out of the last round of chemo and entered a hospice program.

But I had still thought that it would be a long time from now. Last week Heather and I had even talked about how her mom’s cell phone plan was up for renewal and how she was considering signing a two-year contract.

But Tuesday morning she had difficulty walking to the bathroom, by Wednesday afternoon she had slipped into a comma.

By the time I arrived at their apartment she was unconscious on her pink sheeted hospital bed, in the center of the living room. Family members and church friends gathered around. People were taking turns sitting on her bed, holding her hand, telling her they loved her.

Heather had several copies of a hospice booklet she wanted everyone to read. It talked about what was happening, what we should expect. It was gently practical, describing the way the process could look, what was going to happen.

There were tears, I expected that, but there was also a lot of laughter as old friends remembered good times together. It was like a memorial service with her present. At one point the whole living room and dining room were packed and it would have been easy to forget what was going on. It felt like a party.

But as the family members and friends slowly filtered out, I realized that I couldn’t leave.

I had to stay.

Heather’s sister was experiencing early labor and could not come. There were no other close family members who could stay with Heather, so a handful of good friends from Heather’s church and I stayed.

We listened to her breathe.

We called the hospice hotline for advice.

We held her hands and prayed.

One friend read her scripture. Someone put on a soft CD of hymns and spiritual songs.  I even sang a little.

It reminded me of the times I gave birth. Praying. Waiting. Pain. More waiting.

And deep into the night as I watched Heather hold her mother’s hand, and with tears gently sliding down her check, say, “I love you, Mom. You have been the best mom in the world. You can go now,” I knew that I was observing the other side of birth. Death. Daughter releasing mother. Passing into the next life.

And it wasn’t so different from being born the first time.

If you have never been at a place like this, seen someone’s body slowly shut down and their life ease away, I suppose it sounds like a euphemism to say “passing away.” But it was just that. She passed from this life into the next.

When I prayed for Rosesharon on Wednesday, even before I arrived at the home, I asked the Lord what He was doing. I do that sometimes. I want to know what the Lord is doing so I can pray in agreement with his Will. And deep in my spirit I always heard, “I’m bringing her Home.” So in faith I prayed that He would bring her home.

It was intense and I am still processing the reality of what happened late that night.

But what I know for sure is that we experienced the reality of God’s presence in a way I had never before. I was sure that He was with us. And He was taking our friend home.

Ida, one of the women who sat with us, holding Rosesharon’s hand, stroking her cheek, telling her quietly that she loved her; had been a stranger just a few years ago. She met Heather’s mom when she invited Heather and her family over for a movie night. At the time Rosesharon was not very open to visiting Heather’s church or any other, but a movie night and potluck was fun and not too religious. Over time the two started meeting regularly for lunch dates and Ida was able to share her faith through her life.

And so as I watched this new friend gently apply glycerin to Rosesharon’s parched lips that channeled those last raspy breaths, I felt like I was watching Christ Jesus in action. My spirit understood with clarity, “This is what it means to follow Jesus!”

Other women who stayed with us had been part of an intensive prayer team who prayed with Rosesharon several times over the last few months. Like me, they were praying for miraculous healing, but what they experienced was a spiritual healing as our friend was able to forgive people who had wounded her and experience God’s forgiveness and grace.

As we sat through the night they prayed God’s blessing over her, words my own parents whispered to me as a child when I went to sleep, “May the Lord bless you and keep you. May he make his face to shine upon you. May he be gracious to you and give you his Peace.”

By morning Rosesharon was still with us. Heather opened the shades to the light of another hot Los Angeles day. Kip had to go to work and I needed to be home with my children, so I reluctantly left, knowing that at least Ida would be able to stay until more friends and family could come.

The struggle continued for a few more hours and then our friend slipped away.

I know that this is just the beginning of grief for Heather, who has lived with her mom for more than a decade.

And yet there is some relief that the pain is over. I think death is like that.

I had not planned to spend the night with Heather, but I am so glad I did. It was a privileged to be a part of their lives like that.

I understand more now than I had before that death, just like birth, is a door that we all walk through. We always fear that it will come unexpectedly, and sometimes we know it is coming. We watch patiently as our friends linger and then slide quietly through. But someday it will come. Someday I will arrive at that door. And I too will walk into the presence of my Savior.

Marching On

March ran through like both Lion and Lamb – with both a whirl of activity and very quiet, meaningful moments. So many experiences deserved their own blog entry, but I was too busy experiencing life to stop and write. Here is a brief recap.

Baseball

Hitting a line drive

Our son started baseball season, something he has been asking to do for years. He played a little T-ball a couple years ago, but this year he is in 5-pitch, which means the coach actually pitches the balls to the kids.I try not to gasp too loudly from the grandstand when the coaches accidentally hit the kids with the pitching.

Over the years we have watched our kids participate in many soccer and basketball games. It has always been a little difficult because they were so content to just wear the uniform and run around the court or field.  Actual contact with the ball was rare.

And to be fair, I was always content to cheer on, or zone out, depending on the situation, during the game and praise them for their little successes. But as they got older it became apparent that other parents were more involved and didn’t always appreciate my laissez-faire attitude. When they quit asking to be on sports teams, I was happy.

So it was with reluctance that I registered our son for another season of Little League. But the funny thing is, we have discovered this time that he is actually a great hitter. His coaches call him Little Slugger and he has already hit a few home runs. And while I would happily support him every time he struck out, it’s kind of nice to have a winner in the family.

Girl Scouts Cookies

Our daughter sold girl scout cookies again this year. And while it wasn’t a big deal, over the month it began to take a big chunk of the calendar as she wanted to participate in every grocery store front table that was available. Glad she had the experience. Glad it is over.

Grandpa Jerry

Kip’s dad came to town for a medical conference and we spent a week running around LA, hiking, sailing, taking him to our favorite restaurants, visiting my brother’s new food truck. It was a busy week and deserves it’s own blog entry. But in the interest of time I’m going to include a few of our favorite moments in pictures and let that be it.

I think Grandp Jerry and "Gage" are telling a story

 

 

 

hiking at Solstice Canyon

Grandpa Bob and Nana visit

Just a few days after Kip’s dad left, my parents came for a week. Once again, our visit deserves a whole blog entry. I had so many thoughts about our time together. Once again it was visiting my brother’s new food truck, checking out a museum, sailing, and just spending quality time together. They were here to cheer me on during my third LA marathon, which also deserves its own blog entry (and may get it.) And once again I was deeply grateful for the wonderful parents God gave me. The world would be a far kinder place if everyone had parents like mine.

After the Marathon

My dad and my brother Tim in front of the Flatiron Truck

Coffee at the Commissary in West Hollywood. The Flatiron usually parks here on Sunday mornings for brunch.

Life Beginning and Ending

On Monday one of my dearest friends told me she was pregnant, an unexpected blessing celebrated by all her friends, and then on Wednesday another friend told me that her mom had taken a turn for the worse. The hospice nurses expected her to pass that day. When Kip came home from work I dropped by my friend’s house to spend a few hours with her and her mom. I ended up spending the night, a night I will never forget. But I will save that story for the next blog update.

This Fading Present

A few weeks ago, over Valentine’s Day, I realized I couldn’t remember what we did for Valentine’s Day last year. I had no memory at all.

My daughter reminded me that we went sailing. Two of us wore shirts with hearts and she thought that was funny. And as much as I tried, I just couldn’t remember.

And that bothers me because I want to be present for everything and remember everything. It is one of the reasons I like to blog. It is why I take pictures.

These days are full of mundane details; dinner, dishes, laundry, conversations with friends, children’s heights penciled onto the wall like high water marks. It’s all so unimportant and yet it is everything because it’s our life.

I just checked through our old photos and calendar and I remember last year a little better. I think I ran about 12 miles Valentine’s morning last year. I had just started marathon training with Students Run LA. I guess we went sailing later that day, although I have no memory or pictures of that. Our friend Eric was staying with us. I’m pretty sure Kip and I didn’t go “out.”

But we somehow made up for it by taking a train trip to San Diego, just the two of us, for a couple days. My dear friend Kathleen adopted my kids for a double or triple sleep over and we skipped town.

I’m not sure why I didn’t blog about any of it.

This year Valentine’s Day fell on a Monday, and we were so exhausted from the weekend that we decided at the last minute not to go out for dinner. Kip made all four of us sandwiches and we had a picnic on a blanket in the middle of the living room. We took turns talking about what we liked about each other. It seemed perfect.

The kids examine their Valentine's Day cards from two different homeschool events and girl scouts. I don't think they have enough friends.

My lasts blog was Happy New Year, so what is life like now?

I feel like life is shifting under us and yet not really at all. Maybe it’s an illusion from watching our kids grow into adult-sized people. Maybe it’s saying goodbye to dear friends and acquaintances who are leaving LA.

We have already said goodbye to several friends this year – Kairos friends that we have know for the past 8 years, my Aunt and Uncle who have been our closest family in California, a homeschooling friend who moved her family to China. And it is just the beginning. Several other friends are packing up, planning their moves or putting their houses on the market. It’s a little like being in the waiting room near the end of the day. And it’s emptying out.

We have talked a little about our own options. It had never been our long term plan to live in a two-bedroom apartment with an almost teenage daughter and growing son. But I want to be patient, hold my peace. We came to LA with a clear sense of God’s calling and I’m not interested in moving anywhere, not even down the hall, until we have the same sense of mission.

So what else….

I’m running a lot and never confident that I am running enough to be ready for the LA Marathon next month. My weeks are full of shuttling kids to activities, different from last year, but seemingly about the same amount of time on the road. My homeschooling experience is shifting as my daughter is far more independent in her studies. I’m finding that my main role is often to help her manage her time and assignments. I’m focusing more on doing things with my son, but even that is different from what I did before. Today we played a long math game that involved super heroes and addition, multiplication. It even used negative numbers. It was probably the best way for any little boy to learn math. And I’m glad we had that time together today.

I want to remember that.