Paris

Y'all. We are in Paris.

Not fly-to-Paris, bus-to-hotel, drop-off-luggage, get-to-train-station, train-up-to-Edinburgh Paris. But Paris.

As in, we're here for the next 19 nights.

As in, the very last city listed on that itinerary over there to the right of the screen.

Oh, Paris.

Transitions between cities are hard for me, I've found. There's the whole new layout-location-language hurdle to get over, plus one or two unexpected things thrown in. Given that this is how I speak French and that I have just been able to spend more than 5 weeks living where I can actually communicate, I have been bracing myself for Paris as foreign as well as bracing for what the unexpected would be. Location not quite where we expected, adding ten minutes of walking? Appliances not working? No internet? No grocery store nearby?...Keeping realistic expectations yet not becoming a pessimist can be a fine balance.

As it turns out, the internet is working, we are situated very near the students, and the kitchen is bigger than I thought it would be from pictures (more than one person can fit in it!!). The hiccup getting in last night was that our landlord mixed up which apartment we were coming to and was therefore waiting somewhere else. It was quite late by the time we got in and even later before Jesse got to a grocery store so that we could have some dinner (but the Monoprix is open until 11:00! Victoria!). The apartment is mostly as expected and just a little quirky.

Last night I was feeling pretty discouraged. We were exhausted, it was late, and we were hungry. I was feeding the kids Pringles and peanuts for dinner, and some of them took me up on my offer of leftover toast (Margaret's breakfast that she didn't get to from our London hotel: wrapped in a napkin, stuck in my backpack and forgotten all day).  And we were cold. One dear friend gave me a scarf for my birthday last year, saying it was something that would be very useful in Europe.  I bet neither of us expected that I would wear it to sleep in during our first night here.

But hope comes in the morning, and although I would fall asleep sitting here were I not typing, the radiators have started to keep up with the chill (there is a chance of snow Friday) and the sun is shining. Maddie has taken the kids to Luxembourg Gardens and all is quiet. I am putting together the order and powerpoint for my class tomorrow. I think I'll go and brew myself a cup of tea.

I confess that I have been dreading Paris. I can't dread it any longer, though, now that we are here. I have to choose how I'm going to live in this space and for this space of time. I have been teaching my students about pilgrimage and the wilderness and the mountaintops. I am hoping for an accurate view of my reality, Lord willing, the better to respond faithfully.

Just one more city transition to plan and look forward to--home.

Mile 20

It is almost midnight. Margaret just finally fell asleep a few minutes ago in our hotel room while I hid in the bathroom. After 10 weeks, I finally fried an electronic device...the white noise machine.

We are in Gibraltar. Tomorrow we plan to take a cable car to the rock and show our children the same monkeys (or children of monkeys) that harassed us on our backpacking trip over here 11.5 years ago. Mom and Dad are here. Dreams coming true.

24 hours ago we were sitting in a cave in the Sacromonte section of Granada, watching flamenco. Twenty-four  hours before that we were packing for our Southern Spain blitz after joining the students' Halloween masquerade off the Plaza del Sol. Twenty-fours days ago we were again packing clothes and belongings late into the night, preparing to leave Rome for Florence.

It sounds exciting. And it is. And I am deeply grateful for the work that we are doing and that I am doing. My work includes hanging out with some amazing college students, co-directing a project with my love, and reading N.T. Wright while listening to Lowland Hum and rolling though Spain. WHAT. Unlike Margaret, I never have to be bored and singsong "I'm Hongry" so that I'll have something to do. (Latest bored/hongry: the Alhambra).

I have seen so many amazing things: caves in the hills of Andalucia, Venice from the water, the Pantheon after the rain. A student take Margaret and play with her in an airport at 5:30am. An awareness of how to extend hospitality to one another grow and manifest itself in the group. Some truly amazing art, painted and sculpted and played and lived.

And so it seems a little ungrateful to wish to see just one more thing: but I am always doing it. And this week the new desire of my heart is to see the inside of my eyelids. We are all deeply tired. Jesse has likened it to the miles 20-23 of a marathon. Just kind of painful. I know it will be fine, and also that there is something to be gained from coming to the end of myself. I keep thinking I've come to the end, though, and then there's still more to lose.

In his chapter on the way of the wilderness, NT Wright emphasizes that while in the wilderness we must ask the right questions. What: What am I supposed to make of this? What can I do with this? and Who: Who am I? Who is God? Who does God say that I am , and say that he is? These are good things to ponder on extended bus rides.

We are in Gibraltar--a different kind of wilderness. Tomorrow afternoon we make the long journey together back to Madrid. And then a week until our pilgrimages! Amazing.

We are in mile 20. Past halfway, but still with a 10K left to go.



P.S. UPDATE: I hope you can join me in seeing the humor in this--after posting this entry I fell asleep sitting up with my computer on my lap. Wishes and dreams coming true, indeed! ;)

A Peregrina Reflects

Cuando me acuerdo de que tengo sangre asturiana, me pongo de pie derecho.
                          --When I remember that I have Asturian blood, I stand up straight.

Un Horreo--tipical en Asturias

This has been my physical reaction since our return from visiting my rediscovered, encontrado family in Asturias last week. One week ago Monday was our one full, entire day on the ground there: As I said about that day in a facebook photo comment thread,

"Uno de los mejores días que le ha pasado. Un regalo de Dios y de la familia. No hay palabras, pero mucho amor." One of the best days that ever happened. A gift from God and from the family. There are no words, but much love."

Why do I stand up straight? I am not exactly sure, but here are some ideas. Maybe...

--Maybe it's because I'm feeling a little nationalistic. Asturias is "verdadera España," where the Conquest stopped and the Reconquest began...around AD 718. Details aside, the Asturian people feel a deep connection to their past and it has certainly rubbed off on me a bit.

--Maybe it's because of Covadonga. See above, with all of the beauty and connection of family weddings.

The Cathedral at Covadonga

--Maybe it's because after going to the ancestral homesite, I feel part of wider and deeper story.

"The missing link," myself, and some of her family 

The kids were invited to pick apples by the current residents of 

Baltarén (the ancestral family home).

--Maybe it's because I have to physically combat the grief at leaving them: a grief that would like to bow me over, weigh me down, put my shoulders in a slump to match my heart.

-Maybe it's because of the welcome they gave us: in the face of our rude, last minute connection they warmly welcomed us into their home and feasted us like royalty. They thanked us for coming to see them. They invited us to share in the riches of both their history and their present. We were blessed from [even before] the moment we arrived and Juan asked "What do you prefer? English or Spanish?": yet another way of demonstrating a willingness to welcome (we all agreed that communication was what we would pursue, whichever language it took, and switched back and forth as various strengths allowed). Maybe it's because in spite of the fears going in, I'm left with no regrets except that the time was so short and we were not able to come sooner.

And this last maybe: the welcome we received, and the nature of it: this is what puts me in mind of the King who calls me to his table and welcomes me, not because of who I am or what I have done (quite the contrary) but because of the relationship we have which are made possible by Another.

The hospitality of mi familia Asturiana has been such a clear picture of the gospel to me that I find it coloring all of the rest of my imagination. I want to be a part of the history and story of this family and of this kingdom: and through no merit of my own find myself welcomed as an inheritor of all of its glories and invited to share. It is so terribly beautiful that I am both strengthened and undone.

And so my brief pilgrimage to Asturias and my ancestral home has somehow turned my world inside out: if an earthly family and earthly kingdom can so deeply speak to my heart, it must be because of how nearly it resonates with the truth of my real story, identity, family, kingdom, sovereign, history, and commission. I have met God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit in a new way on a trip that just crossed the camino to Santiago.

At the bottom of the hill from Baltarén.

Booking Pilgrimages, Part 1,376

I'm glad that I did not know what I was in for when I decided that students should actually take a pilgrimage for my class.

I like to think of myself as an administrative type--but even so, my mental energy output is redlining. There are thirty students with one pilgrimage each--how hard can it be? Each student has their own reflections describing where they want to go and why. We've gone through two drafts of that. And they each have proposed an itinerary and budget. We're starting booking this week.

And honestly, the strain of processing which parts of proposals are valid and which are not is just about to do me in. Do I say no to someone's dream because it doesn't meet project criteria? Is it more fair for everyone to get the same amount of money, or get the equal opportunity to go where they feel led even if it is more (or less) expensive than others'? 

Besides all of the approval process questions, there are the logistical ones. How do we make payment for literally hundreds of different hostel rooms, bus rides, and train fares? Prepay or reimburse? Procedures? I am charting new territory here. We are charting it--because Jesse is patiently talking through the tough decisions and procedures with me. Thanks to him, we're having a booking party here tomorrow afternoon!

Tonight I met with students to discuss some issues to be resolved before then. I'm so grateful for this work and to get front-row seats at how the students are stretching and growing in these far-off places. They are not the only ones growing and stretching, though. I am learning how to both walk students through tough decisions and how to make them myself. I am praying for wisdom--and some of them are praying for me, as well.

Since starting this post I have taken a break for a fabulous Facetime date with my beautiful new niece. She's three days old, and the text alert on my phone is still set to joyous church bells ringing--what I woke to during the night she was born. Glorious.

I have also spent about 90 minutes wrestling with the aforementioned budget. Alas, my brilliant Co-Director has long since gone to bed (and I'm past my 1am self-imposed deadline). Time to walk away. "And all will be well."

And there was just a glimpse of that this afternoon--Jesse and I had a date afternoon instead of Date Night so that we could go riding bikes together. It has been a little dream to ride bikes in Tuscany, and here we are. Up the river, down the river, Florence and occasionally the Duomo in view. And then to the grocery store for dinner, and return the bikes and walk home. Family dinner--cooked food! (Thanks, Jesse). A little sweet spot of dreams-coming-true and salve for unnamed homesickness all cosily wrapped into an afternoon.



I didn't know that I needed comfort food, but I'm grateful for the comfort of old and new (pork chops and potato gnocchi in mushroom sauce--truly, the span of my life in the meal). And while I do enjoy being deliciously scared, I'd frankly rather take on a raging thunderstorm than seem to hold the hopes, dreams and logistics of these 30 students in my hands. That's the kind of scary growing that's happening here.

Fortunately, while they are squarely within my realm of concern, I'm not responsible for how they experience the world or their pilgrimages, can't make them grow or love or appreciate. As I'm ever telling them, they are responsible for wrestling and being faithful in the pursuit of Jesus. And we'll all see what the One who sends the lightning bolts on their way has in store for all of us in the days and on the road ahead.

Rome, Day 21--Trek to Trevi

We had been in Rome for three weeks, and had done very little sightseeing. I woke up on a Saturday morning thinking that if I could get out the door early enough, I could head to the Trevi fountain before it got crowded.

As I started getting ready, I realized that it was a little dark out, even at 7:45. Was that rain? Maybe a few sprinkles. So much the better--I wasn't really leaving early enough, but maybe some rain would deter others from heading toward my destination. I grabbed my jacket and an umbrella and started off on my mile-plus morning walk. As I left, the thunder started rolling in.

Rain started barreling down, and the lightning started taking itself seriously. When I got home I learned that the kids had pulled chairs up in front of the windows to watch the show. Most of my walk was a straight trek straight into the heart of the storm. The long, straight street (what, are there six of these in all of Rome?) created a wind tunnel. The sky was dark and deserted but for me and the umbrella-sellers seeking shelter in deep doorways.  My eyes were constantly darting around, noting the nearest such doorway for possible shelter for myself, which felt something like looking for the nearest exit in an aircraft. I also found myself gauging the height of the buildings, thinking, "Surely lightning will strike the tops of one of these buildings before coming all the was down here...right?" I missed my street turn; the rain was so thick I couldn't read the names of the streets. Three times my umbrella blew out before I finally just shut it for a while. More than once I was genuinely, deliciously afraid. 

I did eventually make it to Trevi, though, and it turns out that only three other people were insane enough to brave the weather and get there. One couple left soon after my arrival. The other (an American, of course) and I took photos of each other. I made it!

I am so grateful for my dark, stormy morning adventure. And that I didn't get struck by lightning. Perhaps not the most conventional tourist excursion, but I'll take it!

Cathedral Crawl

I'm getting out of order here, but last Wednesday afternoon Nif organized a "Cathedral Crawl" of three churches to visit in a row. There was built in time for reflection at each church, and it was a walking tour (which limited the scope of choices somewhat, helpfully perhaps, as did the opening hours of the churches). Our first visit was to the Basilica of San Clemente (this had been my request, as it was recommended by Margaret [friend not daughter] after her visit in July). There is an amazing 12th-century mosaic ("The tree of life") that looks like this:

Another striking thing is that the basilica is built on top of another one from the 4th century, and you can go downstairs and walk through it and see the painted frescoes from that time. And that is built on top of some first-century structures. Pervading the whole was a sense of continuity (clearly) and it was also something of a mini-pilgrimage for me. It was a glorious place to think about the past and be grateful for God's steering the church through history.

The second church on our list was a healthy walk past the Colosseum, the Forum, and the Vittorio Emmanuel II monument with the tomb of the unknown soldier. As what I think of as "the other side of town" and completely unexplored by me up until the day before, it was refreshing to be able to recognize some things. The second church was an example of counter-reformation art that included a statue of "Religion Overthrowing Heresy and Hatred." Heresy and Hatred have Luther's writings with them and Cupid is ripping pages out of Calvin and Zwingli. This was a very vivid reminder of the intensity of the struggle that was the Reformation and Counter-Reformation, and was a bit shocking in its "political incorrectness" (the exterior of the church also has two statues of Ignatius's feet on the necks of pagan/barbarians).

On a happier note, the church is famous for its ceiling, which is frescoed but has statuary and other art "fading" into it such that it's difficult to tell where different elements begin and end. I was grateful for the large mirror they have set up so that visitors can inspect the ceiling without serious neck injury. Here's a peek:

On the way to our third church of the day (Chiesa di San Luigi dei Francesci), we passed reporters stationed on a curb (kerb?) and lots of security and police officers. From what I can tell from later research, it's the headquarters for one of Italy's political parties. I know that the US government is in the news with the shutdown, but over here Italy's coalition government has been repeatedly on the edge of collapse as Berlusconi has made threats of pulling his party. Anyway, it was a bit of a sideshow on our way to the church, which was next door.

The attraction of this church was a set (3) of Caravaggio paintings in a side chapel. I didn't know anything about Caravaggio when we started the crawl, but two of our party are knowledgable art-types who were willing to explain both "tenebrism" and Caravaggio's biography, so I was slightly prepared going in. I have not taken a visual art class since 5th grade; as soon as there were choices of subjects in school I always chose music, and schedules did not allow for both music and art.

I was not prepared for the paintings. They were of the life of the apostle Matthew: the first, his call; the second, his inspiration/writing the gospel; and finally, his martyrdom. They are still hanging in the chapel of the church for which they were commissioned in 1599. Perhaps that is part of why they were so powerful; they were not in a museum (where one might be tempted to see art for art's sake) but serving their devotional purpose. 

I have been moved by music (and frequently am) but I was astonished to find tears on my face as I stood before The Calling of St. Matthew. The tax collector's "Who, me?" with one hand still on his moneybags and the light of Christ shining on his face is a sermon that unfolded as I stood before it. It was deeply powerful.

It seemed like I would never get tired of looking at it. We did eventually have to leave, but the way I think of art has been changed (and I hope that I have, just a bit, too).  I was a bit torn about whether to bring home a print: I know I cannot capture the moment or the work, but I still wanted to have it, even though the scale and location will be all wrong. So when you come to my house and happen upon this,

you will know the story behind it. And maybe we can look at it and talk together of the riches of God's grace.

Wombles' Sixth Birthday

We celebrated William turning six just the way he had hoped to ever since he heard that we were planning to do Europe Semester.

[Just typing that sentence makes my fingers tingle and my pulse pick up a bit. After 13 months of planning, sweat tears and late nights, we are (a Meg says) "doing this." I think I am at the point now where I am able to lift my eyes--just a bit--from the very next thing that must be done.]

Anyway, one of William's first questions about Europe Semester was where he would be on his birthday. He was disappointed that there would be no birthday party with his other first-grade friends. After explaining that we would be in Rome, his birthday wish was that we would go to the Colosseum on his birthday.

He was only slightly deflated upon learning that there were no longer gladiator fights going on.

We told him we bet he could get his picture taken with one, though.

As the schedule played out, we actually went to the Colosseum with the whole group the week before his birthday. We had the most amazing tour guide who taught us how to "read" the walls and the different stories represented by different bricks or sorts of holes and framed the story of Rome with a frame wide and tall enough to include us.

And then the next week, Jesse's film class voted to move their class to Thursday so that Jesse could spend the afternoon and evening with William (both of us taught all morning). And we went back to the Colosseum again.

This time, we could wander around and see whatever William wanted to see at our own pace. And he led the way, as we all enjoyed the delight of recognition after getting through the discovery phase the week before.

On the way out of the Colosseum, I confess we avoided the dressed-up gladiators who charged 5 Euro per photo-op.

After we walked home, Jesse walked to seven different pizzerias looking for the sausage pizza William wanted. It just didn't happen. But the other kinds of pizza were delicious. And William didn't mind the pink candle on his chocolate cake!

The dear students all signed a birthday card for him and gave him a chocolate cupcake and miniature Colosseum souvenir for a birthday present. I think he had a great day, and now he is six.

In all, one of the delightful things about William's birthday is that it was a "longing fulfilled," which is a tree of life. (Prov. 13:12) He had long been looking forward to something that did not diappoint, and getting to participate in that with him was a real blessing.

Something else we have been looking forward to for about the same amount of time is taking the kids to the Blue Grotto on Capri. I had no. idea. that this was a touristy island when we first proposed it to them; we had just finished reading Red Sails to Capri and thought it would be lovely to actually see what it was like.

We have now come to the art course portion of Europe Semester, so while Jesse and I are still the directors we don't have any teaching responsibilities and have been planning to take a single-overnight away (there are still 3 other leaders onsite). However, we have been feeling worn out and somewhat ambivalent about the logistics involved in getting us all down there (train, bus, ferry, hotel, rowboat, and reverse). When asked about it this morning, even Charlie basically said it would be fun but he kinda just felt like staying home and not being busy going somewhere. In addition, Saturday is forecast for rain and thunderstorms; with rough seas the Grotto is inaccessible, meaning there's no guarantee that we'd actually get in. After all that. And yet, and yet. We have been planning it with the kids for a YEAR.

And then today, while in a museum with the students, Jesse and I got the text from Maddie that Carmen had succumbed to the stomach bug that had William down and out two days ago. That's when we called the trip off.

And you know what? It's OK. With everyone. None of the "big three" are complaining about it, in spite of the fact that we've been looking forward to it for so long. I feel grateful that other "goods" have been raised up such that our heart is not sick at hope deferred--and that the children are fine with the change of plans, as well.

I bought this book of poetry in Georgia last February and then brought it over to Europe for his birthday present.

He loves it and keeps it in/near his bed. The poem on the last page is a keeper:

"Now We Are Six"

When I was one I had just begun
When I was two I was nearly new

When I was three I was hardly me
When I was four I was not much more

When I was five I was just alive
But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever;

So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.


Happy Birthday, William!

Hadrian's Villa, Tivoli

--From a journal entry earlier today, when we visited two villas. This is from the first, where the first hour was spent in silence and solitude (I actually squeaked out even longer...) Happy Wednesday!--

Hadrian's Villa, Tivoli

We have spent an hour in silence with no media or even picture taking (I think some skipped that part, but I held resolutely). I have wandered around in the quiet and grandeur and had time by myself to think. I dreaded it a bit at first, but a minute or two in I wished we had two hours of silence. It is a gift.

Hadrian's Villa has some impressive ruins. Most impressing to me was perhaps the canal that was part of the “Egyptian” portion. It was a a very warm walk in the sun from one end of it to the other. Reaching the terminus, though, with its structure and the shade that it created, was like walking into Grandma's house on a summer day in South Georgia. Air conditioning blasting. Hot to cold in an instant; and in this case dry to moist as well. The smells and feel of the air changed to dampness and there was a cool breeze. I cannot believe the engineering expertise of 2000 years ago that makes such things possible…even in the ruins.

Aside from that section, my favorite part has been the old-growth olive trees. While they are interspersed throughout, over on one side of the site there runs a grove. I spent quite awhile here at the end of my hour, sitting in the shade, feeling the breeze, smelling the grass. We have been so urban for a while now that these things stand out to me. Not only because of how they bless my senses, but also because of this idea: that Hadrian in all of his glory has been gone for centuries and these yellow flowers, thistles, and olive trees keep falling to the ground that new life will come. I wonder whether these same sorts of flowers grew when the villa was at the height of its splendor. It has been a good morning to “consider the lilies, how they toil not neither do they spin, and yet Solomon [or Hadrian] in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. And if he cares for the birds and the flowers of the filed, how much more does he care for his flock? (Luke 12)

One of the most striking things about the morning thus far has been e sounds. Apart from the rural sounds that you would expect–birds, bees and wind in the trees–we have had a (near) lack of sirens and city noises, although from where I am on the side of the hill I could hear distant church bells strike eleven. But the most striking difference has been that here I can hear my own footsteps, whether crunching on gravel or padding on stone or disrupting the grass. In the city, my steps on the ubiquitous cobblestones are quiet and drowned out by everything else. For someone thinking so much about pilgrimage, the difference in what those sounds mean for walking is kind of a big deal. In this place the sound of steps announce presence. But if no one can hear them, as in the city, do my steps matter? Do they exist? How do I fit in or matter or leave anything behind? How can I tell whether I am going anywhere? 

Rome is too-much, in an eternal city sort of way. While it is easy to lose ourselves there, we can also be part of her story--as co-inheritors of Western civilization--and see her as constantly in motion instead of trying to capture all of the chronological stages separately (as our guide Francesca encouraged us to do). Sitting here outside of Tivoli, alone and quiet, it helps to remember that even Hadrian wanted to retreat from Rome, and that this was as good a spot then as it is now. From what I can gather, he took a lot of walks here, too. It has been a refreshing morning of peace amidst the storm.

A Tale of Two Days

Last Friday and Saturday, to be exact.

Friday we took a long day trip to Pompeii. After a month of ruins I had expectations for Pompeii which were inaccurate. This was no reconstructing in our imagination, a la Greece and the Colosseum. Pompeii is so intact that you can see the individual apartments in a block of buildings (something I can envision more clearly after a month of living in such connected-yet-distinct buildings). The roads are laid out clearly and walking the ruined city is much like walking a modern one: go to the corner and turn, three blocks more and...

Inside some of the buildings there are frescoes still on the wall. Painted as if wallpaper, brilliant colors and patterns, and faces. Sad and ancient faces. Unlike other ruins, the ones in Pompeii felt still alive, and that if the plumbing problem could be solved one could return and build the top two stories back onto the buildings (those floors were originally wooden, and are no more) and move in. I would have liked to have wandered quietly around in there all day; but we had a guide and the tour lasted three hours. Three. Hours. The kids made it through the tour in spite of the fact that our guide's accent was just unfamiliar enough that they had a hard time following. And by the end William wasn't attending the tour but hanging out with Maddie and pretending to spy on us without being seen. Maddie has wisely figured out that games where he keeps himself hidden are a big improvement over some other ones he may play when worn out and frustrated.

Still, after three hours we only saw a fraction of the site. I took a kazillion photos and at the end almost wished I hadn't brought my camera. I may change my mind once I look at the images, but I left feeling like I still hadn't really been in Pompeii.

We had dinner in Naples--where pizza was supposedly invented--and had, of course, pizza. We ate down on the waterfront. The house white was sparkling. Here's Charlie's opinion. (We thought it was golden).



Saturday morning rolled around and we intentionally had a late start after our late return. The only program activity was optional play in the Borghese gardens.

For that, I am happy to report that I don't have a single photo. I intentionally left everything at home--even my phone--and only carried the backpack with the frisbee and the soccer ball.

We met the students (about 20 turned out!) and hiked to the Gardens. It took about half an hour--a nice warm up--and I was thinking that it would be a good time to see more of the city, my experience of which has been limited to the track between our apartment and the students' convent (where they lodge and we have class and Vespers) and walking to the Colosseum. And church.

Instead of looking around, I had some great conversations and walked out in front of more than one car (so far I've not lost the game of chicken Roman drivers play with pedestrians). We made it to the gardens and after looking around found an open-ish area with no picnickers. A small part of the group broke off to play frisbee, but I stayed with the group of women students who played a soccer game. Carmen and Charlie were team captains and chose teams old-school schoolyard style. We were fairly evenly matched and played hard for a good long while. Some people sat and watched. Others played hard (I can barely move today). Charlie took several hard hits and kept going. We cheered for one another, apologized for fouling one another, and headed the ball. William handed out verbal yellow and red cards. It was fantastic. Who knew how therapeutic play could be? In theory, yes. In practice, the opportunities come so rarely.

Later the two groups joined again for two rounds of capture the flag. I always play conservatively so I don't get tagged, but this time decided instead to try to play aggressively. Perhaps a continuation of practicing being out of my comfort zone? Sure, I wound up in jail a few times, but I also tagged people out of jail a couple of times, too. It was one of the happiest times together as group.

Although Jesse and I worked hard all Saturday afternoon with Maddie's help to hold the household together, we were still able to salvage an hour of date time before the students came over to watch...the NOTRE DAME GAME! We did spend half of that hour buying refreshments for the game, but I'm still counting it as date time. We invited the students for the first half, since it started at 9:30 here...About half of them came and hung out while Notre Dame vied with Michigan State. There was something about the normalcy and the homeyness of having people on our couch and lying on our floor with pillows that was the perfect finish to the day. It felt like a family atmosphere, especially coming on the heels of many of us also playing hard together that morning. Splendid. I know that our experience of Rome is very different in many ways than that of the students, but there is some lovely overlap and I am again reminded of the privilege it is to be spending this time with them.

We would like to do it again, and as one of the students said to Jesse: "You have all week to recover!"

And because I left my camera, I don't have any snapshots with one third of the soccer pitch and four of the players at once, but instead have in my mind's eye the whole field (I was a defender) and all sixteen playing and the movement and give-and-take and the smell of the grass and the give of the soft earth under my running shoes. And the group of people sitting and taking pictures of us playing (turns out we were the subject of a photography class). It was a delicious day.

And tomorrow is William's 6th birthday! We are trying to juggle schedules so as to spend as much time with him as possible on a "teaching day." I went and bought his cake this afternoon--the chocolatiest chocolate cake to be had from the bakery across from the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. Unfortunately they only had pink candles--but I thought I packed some somewhere...

Arrival in Rome

Our arrival in Rome on Saturday was smoother and less dramatic, logistically, than our arrival in Athens. That was for the best as the emotional transition has been more difficult. It was good for me to remember a few days ago that we had warned the students of the usual emotional arc of a trip like this, and that we were now right around the projected low point of the semester. I guess I am not immune and should have paid more attention in orientation. 

Before we left, Rome was the city I was most looking forward to. Upon arrival it seemed hard and too-much. Part of this is probably due to some logistical issues with our apartment. Still, non-functioning appliances can't bear the full blame for how I have resisted the city and wished to return to Mahon or Athens. I feel a bit like Rome and I have mutual friends who told me we'd hit it off, but when we finally met we found we didn't have much to say to each other. 

Sunday night during Vespers different students shared how they had seen God at work either in their time in Athens or during their independent travel. I found their stories--and that they noticed them enough to mark and then share them--surprisingly encouraging. 

There  have also been moments of magic besides Vespers: watching Meggie hop from one pavement stone to another on the Roman road through the forum (same stones that were under Caesar Augustus' feet). Finally getting to N.T. Wright on pilgrimage in my class. Having 30 people in our apartment packing sack lunches for our trip to Pompeii tomorrow and playing a game together. Setting out on a walk with the kids to find the Colosseum and celebrating with a gelato for us all.

I am not the only one having difficulty transitioning; I've talked with others who share, to some extent, my experience. I think we are starting to pull out of it. What a gift it is to be here long enough to turn the corner! Today when I was walking home from the convent where our classroom is, I rounded a corner and felt, for the first time since arriving, that Rome and I may get to be good friends after all. 

Highlight Reel: Athens

As is said in the Princess Bride, "It is too much. Let me sum up." So here are some of the more outwardly-oriented travel highlights...and a favorite photo (or so) from each.

Mt. Lycabettus: We climbed to the highest point within Athens on our first full morning in town. The views from the top were spectacular and gave us a good orientation to the city and where things were in relation to one another. By the end of our time there we could look at Mt. Lycebettus or (especially) the Acropolis and know which way was home. The orienting was so helpful that we took our students up on their first full morning, as well. Unfortunately it was quite a bit hotter and they had something of a hard time. On our family hike, the kids had also been tired and a little whiney and we bribed them with future treats. At the top in a cafe we got ice cream and honey dumplings. Let that sink in...Honey. Dumplings.      At one point during our snack Margaret said, "I need to get down so I can dance." And she did.

OK, for this I'm sharing a photo and a video:

View across Athens towards the port of Piraeus from Mt. Lycabettus

National Garden: That this was such a short walk from our apartment demonstrates what a great location we were in. The garden runs between the Temple of Zeus and Syntagma Square. We played soccer there a couple of times as a family, and on another occasion found a playground (where local children came up and gave Carmen some crafty little necklaces they had made). Maddie also took the kids several times while we were teaching. From what I understand they found a small pond and played Indiana Jones there, and also enjoyed the turtle population. We never got over there again as a family for Carmen to show me the ponds as she had wished to do. This was a disappointment for both of us. I just have to say, "maybe next time" about things like that. In the same category, there are probably about a dozen shots that we wanted for our city photo essay that we never got--things like the ponds, the dogs sleeping in doorways in our street, and the church where John Werner met his wife. Also Victoria Station. I am sad to not have them. However, 11 years ago Jesse and I returned from our 3-week backpacking trip and rushed to get our film developed; I remember now that after we had the pictures back I had a real sense of loss as we looked through the photos for the first time. Even in the moment I could feel the largeness, the completeness of my memories of events shrinking to fit the frames of the photos and it made me sad. That is something of a comfort now, although I still wish I had those shots!

Although Jesse took a picture or two of our soccer game in the National Garden, upon looking now I see that I don't have any, so there's that, too.

Sharing Meggie's Juice

Delphi: While many of us expected Sounion or the island of Agistri to be idyllic, I think Delphi took us all by surprise. It was our farthest-out day trip and it was for my class, so I was a little concerned that everyone might think it was a waste of time. As it turns out it is an incredibly beautiful place perched on the side of a mountain and overlooking a valley with over a million olive trees. It was also a bit cooler than Athens, which certainly didn't hurt. We had lunch in a cafe that extended out over the edge and had telescopes for viewing the valley. You could see all the way to the Gulf of Corinth and the food was delicious and the service so friendly. A husband and wife were working; their kid was running around and coloring with markers and playing with our kids while we waited. Grandpa was there, too. The Delphi olives have spoiled all other olives for me forever (sorry, California). As it turned out, we would have liked to have stayed longer, which is almost always a good feeling. Our guide was great at helping us imagine Delphi as it was 2500 years ago (give or take) and more recently. The museum held the Charioteer; it was riveting in person.

As a side note, at Delphi the wasp family and I ended our 31-year-old cease-fire agreement when a yellow jacket stung me with no provocation. I was really angry to be proven wrong in my "If you don't bother them, they won't bother you, so don't swat at them" advice and immediately exclaimed, "That is IT! You broke our pact! This means War!" in front of the whole group. Nice. Plus it turns out that it does really hurt. I tried not to be a wimp about it, given that my almost-3-at-the-time niece had recently taken 15 stings at once and was a trooper about it.

Ancient Corinth: Probably this was the day trip I was most looking forward to. We were going to Ancient Corinth and in addition to visiting the museum and ruins, we were planning to sit among the ruins and read selections from Paul's letter to the church there. It turns out that there's not much going on in Ancient Corinth; our bus actually drove through a neighborhood, made a turn, and there we were in the parking lot of the museum adjacent to the site. For a city that was the economic hub that it was, the remaining ruins (we had seen so many) are comparatively unimpressive. Maybe I had "ruins fatigue." I just expected more and bigger; or perhaps more well-preserved. The columns were impressive, but much of the ruins looked like piles of rubble.

The Impressive Monolithic Columns of Corinth

We sat in a group with interested students and read aloud by turns. I read early, and all we had been learning of the art and philosophy and history of the Ancient Greeks stood in sharp relief as I read:  

"²⁰ Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? ²¹ For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach^[b] to save those who believe. ²² For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, ²³ but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, ²⁴ but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. ²⁵ For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

"The Greeks" was no longer a generic term but very specifically attached to the people we'd been learning so much about and in whose history we were steeped.

The rest of the time, I looked around and listened instead of reading along. So I was looking at a heap of stone when I heard this:

^2:6 Yet among the mature we do impart wisdom, although it is not a wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are doomed to pass away. 

Three-quarters of a million people; decadence, art, and commerce; crowds and tourists and merchants. And now? A small archaeological site with grass growing between the stones and relative quiet all around.

^3:11 For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. ¹² Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw— ¹³ each one's work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. 

And then we finally came to the glory of chapter 15 and resurrection. After sitting among the ruins of Corinth and thinking, "I never realized that Paul was this kind of a prophet"-- After physically experiencing the ruin of the glories of the earth at the time of his writing--and being brought low along with them, we heard this:

⁴² So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. ⁴³ It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. ⁴⁴ It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. 

We finished that chapter with reading how we will all be changed in a twinkling of an eye. And I thought, these stones may or may not ever be made into anything but what they appear now to be: but to those in Christ there is resurrection hope. Not just a theoretical cerebral hope, but a physical awareness contrasted with our physical surroundings. That was the gift of Corinth. 

A young olive tree growing among the ruins

Mycenae: I knew we were going to Mycenae in large part because it was very, very old. [I just went to get dates from Wikipedia (around 2000BC) and am suddenly overwhelmed that all of the photos on that page are place I have seen, sung, walked, photographed. I cannot believe we are doing this.] All of the archaeological treasures we had already seen at a museum in Athens. When we went we had been in Greece long enough to know the tales that connected this site with others: An ancient king was the brother of Helen of Troy's abandoned husband, and this was the region from which the armies gathered to go to Troy and retrieve her.

The mountain-top citadel was a dizzying height above the valley floor: a fertile region stretching out to the visible coast. It was backed by two mountains. While Elizabeth Bennett my not have seen a house more happily situated than Pemberley, I can't imagine a snugger citadel. It was fantastic.

We visited an ancient grave whose stone walls were still intact. It was like the inside of a small pryamid buried within a hill. The echoing acoustics were incredible inside; some of the group sang the Doxology and it was hauntingly beautiful. As we visited immediately post-Ancient-Corinth, there was an air of consecration to our music.

Crescendo the bakery: I have mentioned this bakery before. It was downstairs, and we smelled the delicious bread baking every morning as we woke up. We often had it for breakfast; they also made pizza and sandwiches, so we had it other times as well. Our names were known and we waved and greeted coming in and out. It is one of the places Charlie wants to return to if he ever comes back to Greece; he also wants to see our apartment, and his bedroom and living room. And drink orange Loux soda. And eat a "hamboat' from Crescendo...that's his Greece agenda.

The Parthenon: We were amazingly blessed to have an apartment with views of the Parthenon. It was actually the last thing I saw at night, as it was illuminated and shone through the window even after the lights were out. In the morning, the sun caught it and once it had passed through its "rosy-fingered-dawn" stage--where the sun temporarily pinked the edifice--I knew it was time to get up. (No, really, get up).

The day of our actual tour of the Acropolis was blisteringly hot; we didn't spend much time on the acropolis. I actually used my umbrella for shade. We went up, listened to our guide, snapped a photo, and headed down.

I'm a little grateful my tourist experience was no great shakes, and that instead I got to have the Parthenon all to myself, in a way, as part of my regular routine. Such a gift to be there long enough for routine and to have a part of it--in this case, about 5 minutes of every morning--be mine.