The legacy of a Kiwi

A year ago from today marked a horrible day.
And I told myself I would write today, one long overdue blog post- to honor a special man in my life.

On April 26th, 2012 Christian Egger, a man and friend who played such a big role in my life, died in an avalanche while - I bet- he was enjoying skiing on his beloved mountains, looking straight into the face of God and talking to him- as he seemingly did all the time.

And I can't help but cry while writing this post, because my heart is once again swamped with memories. SO many memories.
This might have been the most striking encounter with death so far in my personal life. I hate how it makes memories so bitter in a way. It's not what you remember that's bitter, it's the way how you do.

Well and this is why I'm gonna talk about kiwis now. and in case any NewZealand people are reading this: By kiwi I mean kiwi fruit.
It's kind of odd but maybe you'll understand when you read on:
One of the first memories- and I must have been around 10 or 11 years, maybe 12- was that I was sitting with him for lunch and it was kiwis for dessert. I was about to cut it in half and then eat it with a spoon just as I always had done, when he told me I could it the skin, too. I was kinda suspicous and doubted that this furry brown stuff was edible, but the impressed kid I was- cause this man, my ski instructor that week, and what he said, the way he said it, fascinated me so much- I thought it couldnt hurt to try. He even said it was possibly the best part of the fruit and he'd never eat it without the skin.

And yes, ever since that day I've eaten kiwis with the furry brown skin. Because it gives it a really intriguing flavor.

Strange memory, huh? Yes, it is. But a while back I discovered it was a good symbol for the impact Christian made in my life:
It was the same week as the kiwi incident, when Christian was my ski instructor. He started off the day by praying before we hit the slopes and he would always talk about his "Lord" Jesus with his Austrian accent (he was an Austrian living in Tasmania coming for the winter season to be a ski instructor at Tauernhof) and about many crazy stories about his life.
One thing that fascinated me was how there was no story without a line similar to this "...and then the Lord said: ..." or "then the Lord told me..." and it sounded so normal just as if he had said "then my wife told me" or "my friend said..."
Of course I had heard a bunch of stuff about praying before. Of course I knew it meant talking to God, but I had never really believed he speaks as well.
I made sure that week (and to be honest, pretty much all the following years until the last time I saw Christian at my sister's wedding) that I'd get to ride the lifts with him, specifically the really long two people ones so I could ask him all kind of questions and listen to him talking about God and life and asking him for another story. I sat (which I realized my brother does, too) at the bar when he was on Bistro duty in the afternoons and evenings, and then eventually grabbed a chair at his table at the wedding reception. Why was I so keen on getting as much time with him as I could?
Because of that first year.
The year when just as I was surprised that you could eat a kiwi in a different way, I was surprised to hear someone tell me you could pray to God in a different way, too. And that this was possibly the best way you could pray as well. That praying wasnt just telling God all about what you think he needs to fix in life, but that it was talking to him like you talk to a person, and that he would answer. That he even speaks without you having to say something first. The weird sensation that you can ask him a question and expect an answer instead of just letting your prayer bump into the ceiling of your room unnoticed.
And Christian dared to challenge that 12 year old girl to ask God for an answer- even to something as simple as "Which ski slope should we take next?" 
And this girl experienced that God took up the challenge. That this girl has a God who answers her- not always what I want to hear and not in a thunderous voice from heaven, but in a voice I recognize in my heart.
And even though there are many other things that Christian taught me, this is the most important one, and the most impacting for my life.
You know, I could have gone without ever having tasted the flavor of kiwi skin, but I dont know who and where I would be without ever having tasted the flavor of a God who is personal.
There is a lot to say about prayer and about hearing God speak, much more than would fit a blog post, but in case you are a suspicious with this whole God speaking idea as I was with eating the kiwi, let me encourage you to try it out. The God I know is not one to hold back when someone really tries to find him.

One of my fondest memories of Christian is when he was praying. I know you're supposed to close your eyes and all that so you dont get distracted by looking at the people around you- but I just have to sometimes. Because with Christian it was so fascinating. He never closed his eyes when he prayed.
He looked at Jesus, as if he was sitting right across on the couch. I wouldnt have been surprised to see his reflection mirrored in Christian's eyes.

I miss hearing and seeing him pray. I miss purposely trying to get onto the same lift with him at Mitterhausalm. I miss getting the next chance to ask him to tell another story from his life.
I miss his really direct, almost harsh way in the later years when I said something and his response was "Did you ask the Lord about it? Well, then what did he say? Why are you not doing it then?"

The last thing I remember- word for word- of what he said when I told him about I was going to Pakistan was: "If God says "Left!", you go left, and if he says "Right!", you go right. Whatever he says, you just do it."
It was like a circle of our friendship closing, when I look at it now. Because actually "Left" or "Right" was the first thing I ever asked of God, when Christian challenged me to try. At that time it was a very simple, almost unimportant thing to ask, it seemed to me. Now, facing the road of life, it's become one of the most challenging questions I ask God. And I hope I'll always keep Christian's voice in mind to remember that if God says "Left!", I gotta go left, and if he says "Right!", I gotta go right.

There's so much more I could write, but I'll leave it at that for now. I hope it challenged you in your view of prayer and that it might challenge you to talk to God and try if he answers.

Christian

Christian, I know you're where you longed to be with all your heart- with your Lord Jesus! But I'll sure miss you a heck of a lot in this life still!
That's why I bought kiwis today. And I'm eating them with skin.

Don't be a camel

This is a lesson I started learning about the same time (ages ago it feels like) I posted the last blog on here.

Don't be a camel.

Sounds pretty weird, huh? I'll try to explain.
Camels are known for being able to go for a long time without water (And I'm talking regular school knowledge here, don't ask me for the why's and how's).
I tend to act like I'm a camel aswell.
A lot of times I catch myself going through life without any source of refreshment for my heart and my spirit. I don't talk to my Master J in days, or not much more than an "I'm sorry I kept ignoring you the whole day". I don't care about all he's put into an actual written book for me to know, I ignore that I have an incredible amount of answers from him already. Encouragement, guidance, counsel, challenges,...
I am the heroic (or should I call it PATHETIC?!) camel facing the desert storms, the seemingly unending amounts of sand- and not realizing that this is because I have turned my back on the oasis...

well, because actually in all my stupidity, I'd rather be a camel proving how far I can go without water and how-eventhough it tends to get a bit rough (Himalayan mountain climbing kind of rough) at times (a lot of times to be honest)- I can still make it.
Yes, indeed, I can live without reading the bible and without getting all that jesus has to offer me. but I will be as pathetically stretching myself to survive as the camel standing in the middle of an oasis and refusing to drink the clear, fresh, cold water.
My God says that he's got living water to offer, that when someone drinks from it, they will never be thirsty again. That there is plenty of it to fill us and then spill. I'm talking about as much that the camel could BATHE in it (figuratively speaking ;) ).
Why am I being a stupid camel and refuse the water?
I do not know.
All I know is that going for days and even weeks without my water doesnt make me a very happy person. In fact, it sucks. It's not a fun life, it's straining, exhausting and sometimes gives you these mirages, a big massive Fata Morgana, imagining what could be yours if you filled up your dried-up intestines with that freakin' sweet lookin' water.
Oh what glory would it be, a life so barren it ought to be called Sara (brilliant phrase stolen from Michele Phoenix) seen restored, renewed and deeply refreshed.
And I, pathetic camel that I am, don't realize or at least don't want to realize, that this all could be mine. That there is water that would steal away my emptiness if I'd only drink it.

This is my plea:

Don't be a camel! Don't be stupid! The water is waiting. It is right there, next to you. Drink it and do not act so pathetically fake-heroic to go without water any longer.

Slowly realizing that the mirage isn't one and kicking my butt to act upon it,
 

a pondering camel.

Where I am in my life (a couple of days ago)

(from last week)

This morning in the shower is was having one of my random train of thoughts again leading me to consider the impact of my year in Pakistan so far. I’m not sure if that is true but I felt that I have learned more in this year than at any other time of my life so far. When I look back it is even kind of scary to see through how many really different struggles I went.

My current one is a struggle of accepting and giving up.

The end of the year is approaching way too fast and every time I consider that it makes me wanna cry, scream, rip my calendar into pieces, stay up every night as long as possible to spend time with the girls,  bake even more for them, turn back time, but most of all it makes me…want to stay.

Yes, the thought has been haunting me, and I’m pretty sure if my mother and the rest of my family knew, it would haunt them, too (in the opposite way of course :D).

Yes, I have been obsessed with the dream of staying on for another year during the last weeks.

Because this is my home. I mean at least part of it. But at this point of time, it’s as homey as it has to get to make me feel at home. I have an awesome job here, I have friends, I have a ordinary schedule working with extraordinary people. Sometimes they have bad days, sometimes I have bad days. Sometimes I hate getting out of bed, most of the times I hate getting back into bed, just so the day wouldn’t end.

Thinking of it, I couldn’t imagine anything that competes for a better next year (heaven excluded in the consideration).

But you know what the one thing about it is, that kind of turns all the previously said things into insignificance?

This reminder:

“We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”  Rom.14:7

That’s where I am right now. Having gotten it back into my head, that nothing is about me and all about him. That no sacrifice is big in comparison to his. That no matter how hard it is and is gonna get, it doesn’t matter because the only thing that I really do want and sadly forget more often than I remember it:  I do not want to glorify myself and follow my ways. It’s HIM, HIS ways, HIS glory.

And I want to be back at a point where -even if it is the most valuable thing in my life- I can joyfully rip off the bottle of perfume from my neck and break it and pour it over his feet, as Mary did. Of course I’m just talking figuratively here. I want to be able to give up my awesome life here happily at any time without asking questions, just for the sake of the pleasure it gives me to please him.

What could he have for me other than my best, even when it may be accomplished through severe pain, suffering and hardship?

I don’t want life to be about my ego, my wishes, desires and getting my way.

Freakin’ heck I want to stay here. But what does that count.

Following is denying the way you want to go and depend fully on the one who is leading and guiding.

I don’t want to be like a selfish little child in the supermarket that starts to cry because it doesn’t get its will.

Most of all I want to accept from his hand with gratitude whatEVER he gives and be happy to offer him EVERYTHING he asks from me.

Man, I wanna be more than I am. I wanna see more than what I myself can accomplish.

And that just doesn’t work when I choose my paths. When I hold on to things, I think are great, but that might prevent me from something else to learn, somewhere else to be, some other challenges to run into.

And hopefully- HOPEFULLY- I will have chosen to do what it takes to embrace these paths and not still be fixed on some stupid idea of mine of what would be so much better to do instead. 

That’s kind of where I’m at right now, though I’m not yet satisfied with my heart attitude.

I want to joyfully embrace what is ahead.

Right now I’m more at the stage of being convinced of its necessity.

“Uplifting” conversations are appreciated.

Because what greater fulfillment could there be in life than when your desires turn into his.

Give me to know your will and the joy of walking in it.

Where you go, I'll go
Where you stay, I'll stay
When you move, I'll move
I will follow you
Who you love, I'll love
How you serve I'll serve
If this life I lose, I will follow you
I will follow you

His dream house

Yesterday I listened to one of the German songs we often sing in my youthgroup back home. One line stood out to me (I’ll try to translate it, though I guess it doesn’t nail it down as precisely as the German wording did):

Eternity comes with you in our hearts,

A place where you like to live

And when I realized what I just had heard, it came to me, that my heart should be a place the Father, the King gladly lives in. A place he rejoices to call his home.

And so I started thinking about it as such: My heart as his dream house.

I’ve talked to my German 1 class a lot about dream houses- which rooms should be in theirs, furniture, view, …

What would his dream house look like?

I bet there should be rooms of forgiveness, gratitude, praise, trust, joy. A couch of peace, a storage room to be filled by his blessings, his gifts, his love. It should have a view, a huge roof window looking toward heaven, a window and a balcony of compassion and love towards people. I think most of all it should be carpeted with thankfulness, humility, the knowledge that all inside comes from him alone, not from what we can do. The door should be always open, better not even have a lock to close it. Most of all it doesn’t depend on what is inside, because he can easily fill that. He wants to bring and use his own furniture anyways, not ours.

His dream house should just be open to him.

I guess he likes to live in a place of imperfectness that is in desperate need of a creative interior designer. One with the knowledge of how to see and use the potential hidden inside.

Our designer can’t wait to make himself a home of splendor there; a palace, not because the outside looks so majestic, but because he fills the inside with himself.

When I think about it that way, I lose my fear that he might not like it very much to live in my heart. I rather get thankful, because it seems that after all it doesn’t take soo much to turn my heart into his dream house, a place where he delights to live .

Blessed beyond the curse

From Tuesday 2/21/12

I’m pressed, but not crushed. Persecuted, not abandoned. Struck down, but not destroyed.

I’m blessed beyond the curse, for his promise will endure. And his joy is gonna be my strength.

This just came to my head.

After a day, and honestly said, this day reflects a lot of days lately, of feeling the burdens of life so heavy on my heart, feeling downcast and just really emotionally exhausted.

I’m pressed,

I’m persecuted, not by people, but by my thoughts, my hurts, my “Why??”s.

At times, I am also struck down, when all I want to do is cry out my heart to someone who understands and listens.

Still that doesn’t mean I’m crushed, because even though I’m pressed, I also get the strength to not break, to resist bowing and to stand under the pressure.

Even when my thoughts haunt me and there are two voices in my head battling each other, a secret discussion whether to give in to blaming, hatred, bitterness,… or to not let these things get the best of me, to fight, to turn my teary eyes to the sun- or rather the son.

Still then it doesn’t mean I’m destroyed. And I won’t be. This might be the end boss of the game but my boss is bigger. There is one who picks me up, who holds my hand.

I am blessed beyond the curse. Yes, being pressed, persecuted and struck down is a curse. But the blessing is still bigger.

Why?

Because his promises endure. A promise of him always being there until the end of the earth. A promise of him guiding us in paths with refreshing streams and sufficient food according to plans to prosper and not harm us. A promise of him being our strength and of blessing in weakness. A promise of comfort and peace.

His promises will endure- that’s what gets me through hard times. That’s what keeps me going. What encourages and challenges me to persevere and eventually overcome.

What gives me hope and slowly joy, too.

And the joy of the Lord is gonna be my strength.

The late-slip

From the 14th of February:

There is this new phenomenon going on here in school: The late-slip.

I probably haven’t been there when it got announced in staff briefing on Monday due to my day off and sleeping in for ages, but students here are very sensitive with new rules hence reminding every teacher that they should be enforced.

So I guess the procedures is: Come late for class, get a late-slip and then get whatever is the consequence of that.

I have to admit that what I could do with these slips would be starting a collection, rolling them up and then braid a rug with them, repapering all the walls of my apartment…

I’m not exactly the most in time person, probably way closer to the least in time one. I do not like it, however all attempts of changing have failed so far.

I got the “always-late” award in a class of 150 students. Not exactly something to put in the next job application or “accomplishments in life” lists- but hey at least it wasn’t the “person most likely to end up in jail” award ; )

What I really wanted to write about is, what came to my mind when I heard the word for approximately the 25^th time of the day just randomly blurt out in my direction:

I know my time here is very short, just 17 weeks, it feels like rushing by.

There’s a lot of things I still haven’t accomplished or haven’t done sufficiently, things I haven’t said yet, conversations I haven’t had,…

I don’t want to get a late-slip. I don’t want to go home with the aching feeling of disappointment that I could have done much more with my time, my strength, my words.

I don’t want to find out a late-slip has been signed for this period of time.

I might be late on a lot of occasions but I do not want to miss the important things in life. Spending time with my girls here, pra-ing with them, talking to them, challenging them,…

Encouraging people, spreading Dad’s love.

I don’t want to miss out on anything he might have had intended for me, his works he has prepared in advance for me to do.

I don’t want to miss out on opportunities because I spend more time thinking about myself than about others.

No more late-slips!

Teach me, Dad, to not miss out on doing the things that matter to you and eternity.

Teach me, Dad, to number my days, so that I might gain a heart of wisdom!

Please lift me up in this endeavor! So that I might make the most of every opportunity and serve him in the best way I can with a passion for the people in this school!

Random thoughts from the game of life- When locked inside a computer game

 Have you ever faced life in times when the best equivalent to find for describing it was a computer game?

You are on your way through, facing struggle after struggle, but that’s just part of the regular game. Jumping over things that hinder you, knocking them down, and sometimes using these to gain the force of the impact to reach something higher that has been beyond your reach before that. If lucky, earning advantages from things found on the way.

Such is life.  That’s pretty much a picture for all of us, isn’t it?

And then come the days when you are still more or less successfully striving towards the last level- not to sound dramatic, not as in “your final breath” or anything, just maybe a picture of a goal of yours, a desire, a wish, anything you desperately need to accomplish or want to establish in your life at that moment.

You release the picked-up extra-power, speed it up a bit, you are getting closer, round the next corner- AND THERE HE IS:

The BOSS, as MCS boys would call him, the final enemy, towering over all obstacles you faced before.

To keep the allegory realistic, I have to admit, it might be less dramatic. The boss might not be the hardest thing you have faced or will ever face,

but if you are imagining the situation, you might feel the weight of his intimidating presence. Wouldn’t it be quite frightening to actually face him? Not just on the screen, keeping the option of simply restarting the level in the back of your head, but in a life and death battle (or at least a “Make it or fail” one)?

I can tell you it is. It gives you the shivers. It gives you this desperate, overwhelming feeling that you feel like all your strength is fading from you, evaporating like the water poured onto the hot sauna stove.

You wish you had the ultimate weapon to sweep the obstacle away with one tactical blow, to then simply jump over the remains and cross the finish line. 

Oh, how I wish I had a weapon like that- or, since I am not a guy, maybe one that would skip the epic wipe-out and replace it with a gentle “turn the monster into a flower”.

What do you do when life doesn’t ask your permission and gives you a boss every once in a while?

How do you cope when it doesn’t equip you with any kind of weapons against him?

Would you rather not play that level then? I have wished so.

Would you fight as hard as you can risking the fact that this time there might not be a restart of the level? I get moments- and they are usually inspired by movies like “Lord of the Rings”, “Braveheart” or “King Arthur”- when I want to do that, when I feel the roar of a lion in my heart, a testament of wanting to tear the miseries of life into pieces.

And then there is just times when all you can do is surrender.

HA, but not to the boss, not to an enemy, not an obstacle

I’d rather surrender to a real boss.

That’s right. My boss, who compared to the giants of end levels, is far more overpowering, intimidating and far of more impact if used as a weapon.

So here I stand, ready for the level and its bosses, not what I am, but what I have in him.
Let’s blow their brains all over the place! (and this is definitely an MCS gamer related phrase)