Romania,.

Let it be so. This is the definition of Amen. Continuously throughout my trip in Romania I was confronted with this word/phrase. Amen translated into Romanian is Ami. I sat in a sweltering church in the village of Susani listening to an unfamiliar language, enjoying the sounds of “let it be so” over and over again. This is a community that taught me the meaning of trusting in the love and provision of our creator.

The little village of Susani is straight out of a Beatrix Potter novel; older women toting water from the well, a plethora of geese and ducks waddling in no particular direction, and I may have even seen Peter Rabbit once or twice. This old world in which I found myself contradicted itself with modern clothing styles and the occasional Justin Bieber ring tone blaring from a thirteen year-olds cell phone. Climbing into a wagon drawn by a large mare had the potential to charm me right into forgetting any kind of other life and slipping silently into Susani’s.

Our last day in Romania, I packed up my memories and video equipment but think I forgot my heart. I was not prepared to leave. Something was missing when I climbed on the bus, the plane and then my seat at Denny’s in Dallas with my parents. I tried to explain to my mom that I needed to be in Romania, that I belonged in Europe and had left my heart behind. She quickly reminded me that where ever I am, my heart is also and if I choose to ignore it I will be miserable.

2 Conrinthians 4: 15 “And he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him whofor their sake died and was raised.”

If I chose to leave my heart in Romania, I would be living for myself. I have been called to breathe life into those who presently surround me. James 4:13 says “come now you who say ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such town and spend a year there making a profit’ – yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, ‘if the Lord wills, we will do this and that.’”

I must choose to rope in my heart and plant it right where my feet are.

I had a funny conversation in the back of a stifling hot bus with a seventeen year old translator named Adelina. She told me that God was teaching her that He holds what’s best for us, even when we are willing to settle for something just good. He has the fantastic in his hands and wants to pour it all over us…again. God is funny when he is yelling into my ear “Hey Krisi! You get it? I have some amazing stories for you to be a part of, are you ready?”

Ami. Amen. Let it be so.

A side thought:

As we trekked through the great country of Romania and over the border to Budapest, Hungary I was reminded of a desire to open a Hostel somewhere in the world. Through my week of media and laughter, I understood that I have been given the ability to be relational. I love to learn about new cultures and discover the stories of peoples live. John 4:39 “Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the women’s testimony, ‘He told me all that I ever did.’” So if I can be in the business of hosting and listening and loving the quirky people of this world…let it be so. I have no idea how to make this happen, but am ready to figure it out.

Pache.

Summer is swinging

"having the eyes of my heart enlightened."

I am once again in the state of Colorado, I spent this weekend in a sweet bliss enjoying the things I am neglected eight months out of the year.

Meadow Mountain- a cafe that screams of small town warmth. I sat for two hours inhaling their incredible cinnamon coffee and a mound of french toast. Good company is what makes any place worth the visit right? I love that during our breakfast Les (one of the mayors) and his dog Zena sat down to chat about recent rescues the volunteer fire dept. had made.

A Hike- After dehydrating our bodies with caffeine, we chose to strap on our camel backs and hike up Lookout Mountain, only to be deterred a few miles in by the massive amounts of snow that seemed to have remained only on the trail we were following. But still a beautiful morning.

With an afternoon ahead of me, I drove mouse (my car) down the canyon to my favorite quirky town Boulder, Colorado. It is fascinating to sit on a stone bench eating frozen yogurt and "people watching". This is a town so full of diversity that there is no choice but to grin and observe the whiplash of hair and clothing styles strolling down pearl street, all with various destinations. When summer swarms Boulder, it is as though hibernation has been broken releasing a plethora of winter's captives to relax on outdoor patios and fresh green parks. Hundreds of bikers swerve to avoid tourists and teenagers, dogs pant on the side walks tethered to wrought iron restaurant tables. Street entertainers bravely juggle bean bags and torches with the prospect of suckering some sap from Kansas or Texas into donating a dollar.

On Sunday I chose to join the ranks of hardcore spandex sporting bikers and cycle down highway 63, which can be confused for Ireland rather than the foothills of the Northern Rockies. Ending once again at Pearl Street with a repeated dose of pomegranate froyo covered in fresh Blackberries and an amusing game of point out the Boulder natives vs. wide eyed visitors.

And now camp training begins, another year of kids, mountains, and a community that is separated from my regular life. It is a beautiful place that demands my whole heart.

In four days I will be sitting on a plane, flying across the ocean to Lugov Romania. I am under the impression that there is something very important for me to discover in my Ten day trek in the small villages of Eastern Europe. I can only hope that I have the willingness to keep the eyes of my heart open and ready.

I am a fool.

The Princess Bride--
There is a scene in this movie in which Inigo Montoya pleads with his belated father to lead him to the place where the man in black has been taken. His sword sways wildly until landing on a rut in a tree. Silly, who would live in such a way?

"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot Lose." -Jim Elliot

Jim Elliot is a man who gave up his life to risk reaching a people group know for their mercenary violence. I am selfish and afraid. If I was willing to offer all of who I am, could I live half the life of Elliot? I think the toughest part about my relationship with Christ is the surrender, and the fact that no one seems to fully understand us crazy Christians. Why give ourselves over to something that appears to be invisible and fantastical. What if in the end we are wrong? Are we Spirit seekers the same as Inigo in the Princess Bride, following blindly with our swaying swords?

Maybe.

Luke 9
"And he said to all, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself? For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words, of him will the Son of Man be ashamed when he comes in his glory and the glory of the Father and of the holy angels. But I tell you truly, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God."

Maybe Not.

Find the Rhythm.

The definition of Paradigm:
“a set of forms all of which contain a particular element,
esp. the set of all inflected forms based on a single stem or theme.”

Third grade, all I wanted was a uniform. My mom signed me up to play co-ed baseball with some construed hopes that I might finally have found my athletic talent. The problem was, I was just the biggest poser there might ever be in a little league game. I was taller, bigger, and had a pretty legit sky blue uniform, the only thing missing was the ability to swing, catch and throw.

It did not take long for me to fully understand the danger of throwing oneself under a ball just to catch it; this meant that there was always a risk of extreme pain by a leather round object catapulted at your face, making some type of bruising contact. No Thanks.

So it would only make sense for me to join an intramural softball team at the age of twenty-one and head out in my North Face hat and Nike kicks ready to try again. However, anytime a spec of white would whiz in my direction, I dodged as though that was the point and I was the high scorer. So of course it would only make sense for the only inning that I sat out to be when my roommate chose to run at me full speed, leap through the air and proceed to knee me directly in the crown of my head.

Contact sports (for me this is anything that involves the throwing/catching/kicking a ball) have only brought about serious injuries. Why is it that I feel leagues safer biking down a highway, hiking mountains, or kayaking?

I have deciding that each of us is designed with a certain rhythm. This is why some individuals can step up to a plate, swing, smack, run, score. While I on the other hand feel much more confident falling into the steady motion of bike pedals, pumping legs on an upward climb, or the churning of a paddle through silent waters.

We gravitate to what is natural, whether that is in sports, art, music, dancing, writing, mathematic equations or just good conversations.

So a paradigm: These are all drastically differentiating elements, yet they all stem from one thing:

rhythm.

Alpinista....

Be Thou My Vision
"Riches I heed not,
nor man’s empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art."

What a picturesque song. A loving psalm.

Alpinista is the Spanish word for mountain climber. I have been mulling over bike naming options for the last few months and as I rode yesterday decided that whatever the name, it must represent my struggle. I have a goal to bike a canyon in Northern Colorado this summer and I am aware that to many this may be a menial task.

I have come to realize how much I romanticize adventure. In my head, struggle is cancelled out by the idea of accomplishment. If this is truth then I am most certainly a failure. I have faced life with fear as my armor, protecting me from reaching any goal. An incomplete climb of a class five fourteener as been sneering at me for the last seven months.

In the book "Three Cups of Tea" Greg Mortenson comments on the westernized ideology of success being based on reaching the summit, where the eastern world celebrates beauty and the journey. This is what I have forgotten; my mind is so encased by my own lacking that I am frozen. But isn't this the point? Where is my vision? Certainly as long as I view my life with a big letter F I can do no good for anybody.

I need to seek my own individualistic journey, modeled after the only one who will never fail me. My Boet, my papa.

A Wise thought:
Comparison is the Thief of Joy. -Randa B.

Spring:
to be released from a constrained position, as by resilient or elastic force or from the action of a spring

Stickers are beautiful.

"For he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name."
Luke 1:49; Mike Crawford and the Secret Siblings

Leaps and bounds, every morning I coax myself out of bed and head towards the kitchen for tea. I have mastered what I call "the leap" since there is one spot right by the front door that I must pass on my trek; it is where all stickers that our shoes so naively attract gather. If I have any desire to avoid a morning jolt of prickly pain, I crouch slightly, grip the couch and launch my body over the treacherous terrain.

Yet there are times that no matter how skilled I am at leaping, I still manage to secure a nice prick in the soft skin of my foot.

Today I was walking to my yoga class in sandals, treading cautiously and giving all sticker patches as wide a birth as possible. With my concentration so heavily on the ground, I was surprised by a spontaneous appreciation for the beauty of a plant that could be so annoying. I observed the unintentional patterns of the burrs and their flow with each other.

Stickers are Beautiful, Patience is not. It would be much less of an effort for me to just walk through that death trap and take the consequences of pain as it comes. So what happens when I quit jumping and I go one day, two days, and three without even a tiny prick? This just reinforces laziness and a desire for what I want.

Patience means i'm cautious, it means I leap over the apparent beauty to make it to something much more satisfying.