Things I Learned This Month | May 2018

It's time to wrap up the month of May with a list of some of the things I learned this month!

1. I really, really love the UK. 
Granted, I knew this already, but getting to spend Memorial Day weekend in London and Oxford reminded me how much of an Anglophile I really am. I was so happy to be back that I jumped up and down. All weekend.

2. It is possible to die as a direct result of too much studying.
I spent a day showing my parents around Oxford, and we took a tour of the Bodleian Library. Which was so much fun, since I spent tons of time studying there but had never taken a tour. Evidently, fire has never been allowed in the library. Understandable. But this means that until the invention of electricity, there was no heat in the building. Which meant that if it was freezing outside, it was freezing inside. At least two students in the history of the library died of hypothermia.

3. In spite of this fact, I really miss studying.
Evidence of my eccentricity: while I proctored a test earlier this month, I found myself reminiscing fondly over my favorite exams in college. Yes, I had favorite exams. Dr. Bieber's, to be precise. Missing exams is a surefire indicator that I'm a student at the core. Whether I actually pursue further schooling or just do independent work, I want to be learning for the rest of my life.

4. Pea cake with lemon buttercream icing is surprisingly good.
I saw this in the Victoria and Albert Museum cafe when we were in London. Since it is an unalterable family tradition to get tea and scones in the V&A (because they are hands down the best scones in England), I didn't get the pea & lemon cake, but I made a mental note to try it at home. The day after getting back, I did, and it's surprisingly yummy. (I used this recipe, if you're interested. The icing was too sweet, but that's tweakable.)

5. I prefer the 1984 NIV Study Bible to the ESV Study Bible. 
The notes in both are good, but the NIV Study Bible has way more cross references, which I find really helpful.

6. Third Culture Kids: Growing Up Among Worlds, is just what I needed to be reading at this point in life. 
I'm reasonably familiar with the TCK experience, being one myself. I also think that I'm a reasonably well-adjusted TCK. That said, this book has been hugely cathartic as I realize that many of the things I think about and deal with on a daily basis are common to third culture kids throughout the world. For example, the feeling of being as at home in an airport as anywhere else in the world. Or wrestling with how to answer the question, "Where are you from?" and realizing that this is a different question than "Where's home?" Or having very strong loyalty to a sponsoring organization (for me, the army) even after you're no longer living with the parents who are actually members of the organization. I'm going to be thinking about this book for a long time.

7. My father is the baby whisperer. 
I'd heard legends, but never seen him in action. My parents and I watched a 6-month-old for an evening, and Dad was amazing. Mom and I enjoyed holding the baby, feeding the baby, and playing with the baby, but the instant she started fussing we were so out of our league and Dad took over. Within moments she would be chuckling and giggling. Every. Single. Time. Whatever that gift is, it's innate, not learned, and I don't have it. I can keep a baby safe, but I definitely can't guarantee a happy baby. I'm in awe.

New Feature: The Bookshelf

A year ago, as I was graduating from college, people kept pestering me for a list of books that I would recommend reading.

I really don’t like it when people ask for that kind of list.

When I recommend books, it’s not out of the blue. It’s in the context of specific conversations with specific people. There are books I am confident some of my friends would love that put others to sleep.

Gilead, for example.

It’s one of my top 5 favorite books. It is rich and beautiful and exquisitely written and conceived.

But there is very little plot.

So I know not to unreservedly recommend it to friends who really care about plot-driven novels.

My friend Eunice, for example, who loves Jurassic Park and spy thrillers, finds Gilead utterly boring.

She understands why I love it, and I understand why she doesn’t.

All of this to say: I don’t like handing out a list of books I recommend, since I recommend different books to different people.

But enough people kept asking that I finally sat down to write a simple list of books I’ve read and enjoyed. Title, then author. Next book.

I couldn’t do it.

There was no way I could hand out a list of titles and authors and be done with it. It drove me crazy that people would have no idea why I would recommend a particular book or have any frame of reference for whether they might enjoy it or not.

Something had to be done.

I annotated it.

The list stretched to five pages of over 40 titles, with comments for each of them. Some annotations were one line, others were more like a paragraph.

I felt almost guilty when I gave this list of books to the people who had asked for it. It seemed so over-the-top (annotations? really?). And long. Who needs to add 40 books to their to-be-read list in one fell swoop??

But over the past year several people have remarked how much they appreciated having it on hand. Furthermore, they say that the annotations have been a helpful tool, not superfluous.

Since then, I’ve read probably 50 more books. And I have things to say about most of them.

My friend Angela has been pestering me to post the original list or something akin to it as a permanent page on this blog. And when Angela tells me to do something, I try to make a point of doing it, because she gives excellent advice. 

As of today, that permanent page is up. Enjoy perusing! 

Mama's wisdom | bloom where you're planted

Long before the boxes are unpacked, my mom puts a magnet on the fridge.

“Bloom where you’re planted.”

In a life of constant transition, frequently uprooting from a now-familiar place to move once again to new cities, states, and even countries, it’s a blessed and much-needed reminder.

Over the years the phrase sinks into my bones.

I add my own to it: an index card with a Jim Elliot quote in blue letters:

“Wherever you are, be all there.”

Over the years, I build up a collection of quotes, Bible verses, fragments of sayings circling the idea of being present, making a home, putting down roots while knowing another change is just around the corner. Clinging to a heavenly home while making a haven of each place of sojourning.

There are two ways to handle the constant moving.

One is to remain distant, getting by on superficial relationships and minimal involvement. You avoid making ties to people and places in order to minimize the pain of parting. Don’t nest, because soon enough you’re going to have to pack it all up again.

The other option is to choose to put down roots. It’s a deliberate choice, made because you know the richness and joy of a life rooted in a particular place and a particular community. But you count the cost every transition. Uprooting is exhausting, and you leave a part of your heart behind you. Every. Single. Time.

I’m a roots person.

As I ran through a park in Munich today, reveling in the uncontainable outburst of spring, I realized why.

A plant can’t bloom if it doesn’t have roots.

I have to put down roots, however temporarily, or part of me will wither. I would much rather have a rich life with bittersweet partings than close myself off from pain and joy alike.

This is a common theme for me, and it’s at the forefront of my thoughts right now.

It’s not just the visible presence of spring and new growth that has me pondering transient rootedness.

A year ago today, I graduated from college. That particular uprooting was agony.

Now I’m waiting to hear if I get to stay in Munich for another year or if something else is in store.

When I moved here eight months ago, I assumed I’d be here just shy of a year. Even so, I became a member of a church, joined a choir, hung pictures on my wall. I made the space a spiritual and physical home, not simply a place to spend the night.

During the times when I got restless and lonely and frustrated with the challenges of being in a new job in a new city in a foreign country, I challenged myself be more present here instead of withdrawing and hunkering down until my time was done.

Now I have two possibilities: stay another year and continue to deepen the roots I have here or transplant again come July.

Whether now or later, inevitably I will pack up and leave Munich. I’ll move to another place. And one of the first things I do there will be to unpack my own reminders. Reminders to bloom where I’m planted, to be all there in spite of – and because of – the knowledge that eventually I’ll move on again.

Things I Learned {Last} Month | April 2018

It's the start of a new month! As per usual, it's time for a roundup of things I learned in April.

1. I've decided that I'm from North Carolina. For now.

2. There are some weird and wonderful things about Germany.

3. Making tortillas is super straightforward. I've made two batches now and I love using them for quesadillas or as vehicles for homemade hummus.

4. Lilac bushes border my backyard. Ergo, my kitchen smells amazing when I leave the window open.

5. It's important to actually study the Bible on my own, not just read it. I was convicted of this over several weeks, so I finally decided to pay attention. I'm now listening to my Bible-in-a-year plan instead of reading it so that I can free up my morning quiet time for more in-depth study. I picked Isaiah 55 at random. Five days in, I've soaked in the first four verses and have eight pages of typed notes. This is so good for my soul.

6. The Christian Classics Etherial Library is an amazing resource for public domain classics, commentaries, sermons, and even lists of hymns inspired by particular passages. I've been using Blue Letter Bible and Bible Gateway for years, and both are terrific resources, but CCEL is in-depth on a level that I haven't encountered before.