The Art of Leaving Well

One thing I've learned through many moves over the years is that leaving well is an art form, not a formula.

It would be easier if it were a formula: I could make a list, check off all the boxes, and tie up all the loose ends before moving on.

But that's not how life works. Uprooting is a messy, unpredictable business. Just as I successfully pull up one tie to a place, I inadvertently establish another. Somehow I always manage to be putting down new roots until the actual moment of being transplanted.

I'm moving away from Munich in less than a month, and it is really tempting to check out now. But I’m still here. If I’m called to bloom where I’m planted, that means I’m called to bloom here until the day I go. 

So even while I set up final visits with friends, I allow myself to spend time with new acquaintances. I initiate a four-week Bible study with a teenager from church. I invite a couple of kids over for a tea party.

I visit familiar haunts for the last time while still discovering new, delightful places.

Even while I'm preparing to leave, I still live here. There are still things for me to do here.

None of this means living in denial. Closure is important. But the truth is that there will always be loose ends. There will always be unfinished conversations and unexplored possibilities and things on the to-do list that never got done. People that I wish I’d sought out over the last two years that it’s now time to say goodbye to. It’s enough to make me crazy. 

In the weeks before I graduated from college, I was under immense pressure and immense blessing. I was preemptively grieving the loss of a community that was precious to me while daily receiving all the riches that community had to offer. I did not know how to process it all, and I was afraid that I would leave important things undone - that somehow I would miss something crucial and have no chance to rectify my mistake.

During that time the Lord gave me a word through a friend: "Rest easy. I'll take care of the loose ends. Fear not. Trust Me."

While this transition is not nearly as devastating as that one was, it is good for me to remember the assurance God gave me in the midst of it.

It’s a reminder that the work I’ve been doing here in relationships and community isn’t actually my work: it’s the Lord’s work. And it is being accomplished in His timing. If it feels unfinished to me, that’s ok, because I’m not the one responsible to finish it - He is.  

In the meantime, I write myself reminders, give myself space to grieve and to rejoice, hang out with friends, and practice the art of leaving well.

wisdom from friends (and Taylor Swift): remember to enjoy this stage of life

“I’m so glad I’m not in my twenties anymore. It can be overwhelming and confusing and frustrating, because so many things are uncertain - where you’ll live, what you’ll do, who (if) you’ll marry. But remember to enjoy the freedom. Because while you gain stability with years and narrowing down options, you also lose the freedom of having your options wide open.” 

My friend smiled at her baby and took another bite of her salad while I mulled over her words. 

It’s strangely comforting to hear people in their thirties and forties and beyond talk about how difficult things could be when they were in their twenties: it helps to know that my uncertainty and occasional frustration are the norm. 

Cue Taylor Swift's "22": We're happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. It's miserable and magical. My friend Angela and I have decided that this song is about all of your twenties, not just 22.

My least favorite question is “what do you want to do?” 

I know that until June I want to teach English in Munich. After June, when my contract ends, I have absolutely no idea. (Ok, well, I have lots of ideas, but zero plans.) I don’t know where I’ll be seven months from now, much less have a five-year plan. I’m learning to accept that, and even enjoy it. My friend was right - I enjoy a kind of freedom as a young, single woman in my twenties that I probably won’t have for the majority of my life. So why spend my time fretting that I don’t have plans when I have the freedom to entertain all sorts of possibilities?

It’s a process, but the Lord is helping me work through it. 

For my last few big decisions, God has faithfully shown me the next step - but it’s been about three months later than I think He should have let me in on His plans. So I’m working on preparing faithfully, but not freaking out when I don’t have concrete plans. 

One thing I have learned: I have a habit of declaring that I will absolutely not do something and then, in the course of a year or two, turning around and doing it. It's gotten to the point that it's rather ridiculous.

"I am absolutely not interested in going to Wheaton.” I went to Wheaton - and can't imagine a better place to have spent my college years.

"I am studying English Literature. Not German. Not as a minor, definitely not as a major. Nope.” At the eleventh hour I added German as a second major. It was a fluke - I still didn't want to study German academically, but it got to the point where it would have been dumb not to. 

"No way am I studying abroad during college - I've lived abroad. I want to spend four years rooted in one place.” My semester abroad in Oxford was a highlight of my college career. Not only did I learn to love research papers (yes, I'm crazy), but I still keep up with friends that I made there via a monthly Skype book club. We've read 26 books together in the last two years.

"I'm not going to live in Germany after college. I do not want to continue down a road that could leave me torn between two countries for my entire life...Ok, fine, I’ll move to Germany, but it will only be for a year, and then I’ll go back to the states.” I write this from my apartment in Munich, which I am living in for year two as an English Teaching Assistant. 

I'm beginning to learn wisdom. I’m working hard to not make any hard and fast declarations about what I will - or won’t - do. Which gives me even more freedom, since I’m learning to consider things that I might want to automatically rule out. 

In the meantime, I’m putting into practice an Instagram caption I wrote in June: Life is all about learning what to hang on to and what to let go of, always maintaining a strong sense of fun.

Some things I’m learning to let go of:

• My desire to be settled without uncertainty - because let's face it: even when I think I'm settled,  something is bound to change. 
• A self-imposed need to know what I want to do with my whole life - because even if I had a 50-year plan, it would so not last. 
• A fixed plan for any given day - because interruptions and changes of plan happen all the time.
• Comparison with other people’s jobs, relational status, or bandwidth. 

Some things I’m learning to hang on to: 

• Jesus. Always. 
• A commitment to making space and time for the people in my life - whether that’s through FaceTime, messaging, and snail mail with friends stateside; having friends over for lunch; or initiating coffee/tea dates with an acquaintances who I want to get to know better. 
• A sense of wonder and adventure - this applies to small things like stopping to enjoy the smell of scented candles as well as larger things like taking an overnight bus with friends to go to the Italian coast.
• Making time for things that make my soul rest - at the moment primarily cooking and reading. 

Where are you in your journey? Are you feeling settled? Uprooted? Clueless? Completely pulled together? In the midst of all of that, what do you cling to? What do you need to let go of?

Things I Learned This Month | September 2018

I have a confession: I have been resenting the onset of fall. Usually I welcome the advent of sweater weather, but this year I clung to the last remnants of summer. Now that it's October, fall and I have made our peace and I'm enjoying bundling, but it's a struggle. As is usual with the close of a month, I'm sharing a few things I learned during September - mostly ordinary, some extraordinary.

{Also, I had the chance to write a guest post for The Write 100 Challenge last month. Check it out here.}

1. All the chicken things. I listened to The Lazy Genius Cooks Chicken a few days ago. Its a 40+ minute episode on all the different cuts of chicken and different things to do with them. I'm now dying to try change-your-life chicken. Also braising.

2. Pumpkin soup, which I already loved, is ratcheted up a notch when you add ginger, garlic, curry, and coconut milk. Yum. I'm so not a pumpkin spice latte person (hello tea-drinker), but I live on pumpkin soup in the fall.

3. Scrubbing the kitchen floor is THE BEST feeling. I moved back into my Munich apartment this month. Last year when I moved in, there were already people here, so I couldn't do a real deep clean. But this year I had the apartment to myself for a few weeks, and I attacked that kitchen. It probably hadn't been properly cleaned in five years. The final step was the floor. I got down on my hands and knees with two buckets of water, a scrub brush, and a rag and SCRUBBED that floor. End result, a job well done and a kitchen that feels clean for the first time since I moved here.

4. There is a tool to get at those pernicious weeds that root themselves in cracks in the driveway. It's a speed weeder and it is a beautiful creation. (Also it has a red handle. Score.) I found this randomly in a hardware store and bought it on a whim. This thing works wonders. You still have to apply a lot of elbow grease, but it's actually effectively applied elbow grease. My usual experience is huffing and puffing and straining and failing to get the roots of those weeds. This thing is easy on the wrist (directs force through the shoulder) AND gets the roots. Beautiful.

5. Dordrecht might be Holland's best-kept secret. My parents and I found this little gem of a town on a fluke and absolutely loved our stay there. I'm hoping to do an actual post on it eventually, but let's just say it has antique/junk shops galore, terrific seafood, idyllic canals, and a nature reserve where you can kayak. And everyone is incredibly friendly. Basically it's the perfect weekend getaway.

6. The Cinque Terre is one of my favorite places on earth. I knew this already, but I forgot how much I loved it in the 7 or 8 years since I've been there. I went this weekend with friends and fell in love with it all over again. There is nothing better than hiking hard along the Italian coast all day and then diving into the Mediterranean to refresh.

7. That word translated "angels" in Psalm 8? It's actually a word almost exclusively used for God. The word "angels" is actually 'elohiym. That word shows up 2,606 times in the Old Testament, and it's translated "God" 2,346 times, "god" 244 times, and then miscellaneous other things like "angels" the remaining 16 times. I could write a whole post on why this is awesome, but I'll content myself by suggesting that you go listen to Marty Goetz's song inspired by this Psalm. It pulls out the link to Christ as the Son of Man in such a cool way.

"When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?

Yet you have made him a little lower than the angels,
and crowned him with glory and honor."

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.

Germany | the weird and the wonderful

I had my first ever houseguests this month!

Of course, I helped my mom host guests throughout my childhood, and several friends visited while I was in college. But this was different: my dear friends Bryn and Angela flew ACROSS THE ATLANTIC to come spend a week with me.

We rode on countless trains, hiked in the alps, enjoyed world-class art museums. In the evenings we played bananagrams, danced, and talked endlessly about faith and post-college life and books and ideas. (And we introduced Bryn to Lizzy Bennet Diaries.)

It was pure joy to have them.

Something I really enjoyed was hearing their impressions of Germany. I've lived here so long that I'm accustomed to most quirks of the place and don't notice them anymore.

As Bryn and Angela commented on things that they found amusing, confusing, and wonderful about Germany, I kept a running list on my phone. Here are some of them.

Water fountains are not a thing in Germany. I don’t know why this is, but I have never seen a water fountain here. It used to be that most tap water in public bathrooms was not potable, so if you wanted water you had to buy it. Now you can usually fill up at a bathroom sink.

But to get into that bathroom you probably had to pay. A 50 cent charge is typical to use a public bathroom, which makes complete sense to me. I’d much rather pay to use a clean bathroom than be grossed out for free. But it's also a bummer when you desperately need to use a bathroom and don't have any change on you.

Speaking of things you have to pay for, you can't order free tap water at restaurants. Beer is often literally cheaper than water.

Stoplights here turn yellow before they turn green.

Roads are very narrow. That said, sidewalks are very wide. Bryn commented that the sidewalks are so wide she would have thought they were driving lanes. This is a perfect example of how much Germans value walking, biking, or taking public transit above driving. 

You can’t pay at the pump at German gas stations. I have no idea why.

There are no billboards along the roads. (Well done, Germany!) 

The color palate is brighter. It's common to see buildings painted in bright, bold colors.

Mailmen ride bikes, not vans. And they contribute to the bright color palate: they have yellow bikes, jackets, and mailbags.

There are lots and lots of flower shops, and they are usually not connected to grocery stores like they are in the States.

Mistletoe grows in huge clumps on trees. 

When German families move, they take their kitchens with them. Cupboards, sink, counters, dishwasher, fridge and freezer - it all comes out of the old place and into the new. So it's not uncommon that when you look at a German home for rent or sale, the kitchen area will be a gutted room with connections to plumbing but no actual kitchen. 

German homes do not have built-in closets. People keep their clothing in dressers and wardrobes. My parents explained to us that this is because closets are taxed like rooms. So homes are more affordable if they do not include closets. Go figure.

Woodpiles are standard. A lot of German homes still have wood-burning stoves (of course, they also have modern heating and cooking, just to be clear), and they have a lot of wood stacked up to feed those stoves.

Of course, this is only a handful of the things that stick out to a newcomer in Germany. If you're curious about more, or if you're familiar with Germany and want a good laugh, check out this Buzzfeed article. (Heads up for some vulgar language.)

Things I Learned This Month | February 2018

Franz Marc | "Deer in the Snow II" | 1911

Greetings from Munich, where we are facing a Siberian cold front (literally)! I thought I was used to cold winters from four years in Chicago, but I've come to accept that I will never be used to sub-zero temperatures. It doesn't help that my apartment has insulation from decades ago, which means that however high the heat is blasting, it's been hovering around 60 degrees Fahrenheit here. Brrr! I'm super grateful for wool sweaters and tea and fuzzy blankets. But according to the weather forecast, it's supposed to rise above freezing in the next couple of days. Hurray!

Enough griping about cold weather. Once again, it's the end of a month and I'm following Emily Freeman's lead and continuing my ritual of sharing a handful of the things that I learned this month.



1. There is a ballet adaptation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

Can you imagine? I can't. This week I used the whitewashing the fence story at school, and I ended up discovering all sorts of interesting things...

2. Mark Twain went bankrupt at one point in his life, because he had a penchant for investing in inventions that never took off. 

After he got back on his feet, he insisted on paying off all his creditors, even though it wasn't legally required for him to do so after declaring bankruptcy.

3. Sudoku did not originate in Japan.

It was a brain teaser in the late 1970s in America. The Guardian has an article all about it here.

4. Plastic was invented as cheap, environmentally-friendly alternative to ivory. 

Bummer that it is now a huge environmental problem. But who knows? Maybe plastic is the reason elephants are still around.

5. When time travel is involved, a Victorian mystery can include allusions to Hercule Poirot and Peter Whimsey.

For my Skype book club this month, we read To Say Nothing of the Dog, by Connie Willis. (Isn't that a great title?) It's sort of set in 2050, but it's a time travel mystery, so most of the action takes place in 1888. Because of the time travel twist, Willis is able to include all sorts of references that should be anachronisms and still be consistent. I'm a fan. If you're looking for a light, delightful read that also provides lots of food for thought, this might be the book for you.

6. On my list of favorite classical music, Brahms' "Deutsches Requiem" is up there with Handel's "Messiah" and Vivaldi's "Four Seasons."

I got to perform this at the beginning of this month with the choir I joined here. Words really can't express how incredible this music is. Just go listen to it. My favorite movements are 2, 3 and 6. Movement 6 has one of my favorite moments in all music ever. But the whole thing is amazing. If you do listen to it, take a look at the English translation of the lyrics - they are all lifted straight from Scripture.

7. Imposter syndrome is a thing. 

I'd never dealt with this before, but I was in several situations this month where I thought, "Why the heck am I the person in charge? I have no idea what I'm doing!" Is this what all of adult life is like? Or am I just a baby adult and will it get simpler?

stealing cabs and driving to mailboxes: the first two weeks of teaching

“What exactly are you doing for your Fulbright?”

That’s a question I’ve gotten a lot since I accepted the Fulbright English Teaching Assistant (ETA) position in April. I’ve mostly fended it off, because I didn’t really have a good idea myself of what this was going to look like. But now, having just wrapped up my second week of classes, I feel like I can answer that question.

I’m the ETA at a Fachoberschule for health and social services. The German school system is pretty complicated, and rather different than the American school system, so I’m not going to try to explain the system as a whole. I’m teaching 12^th and 13^th grade, and my students range from 17-23 years old. They are being prepped to go into health and social services, though many won’t go that route. Some will go to university, some won’t. Many have no idea what they want to do with their lives. (Who can blame them?)

As the ETA, I’m helping out the English faculty as the native speaker in the classrooms. I’m teaching 10 different classes – once a week for each class – and I help run the English Club. (I also have Fridays off, which is glorious.) In some classes, the teachers have given me free rein to teach however and whatever I want. In others, I’m given specific themes to deal with. The 12^th grade is in a module on social problems right now, so I’ve been assigned, among other things, lessons on immigration, gun law, murder rates in Chicago, and the death penalty.

It’s sometimes a little overwhelming, considering that I have no training as a teacher and am no expert on most of the subjects I’m supposed to expound upon. But the challenge is exciting. I’ve always loved learning, and in my last two years of college I began to get an inkling that I might also really love teaching. So far, I do. My mentor teachers are extremely welcoming and supportive, which helps a lot, but what really makes me enjoy it so much and keeps me on my toes is the students.

The students are fascinating. It would be difficult to imagine a more diverse group. Only about half are of German heritage. The others, while mostly born and/or raised in Munich, come from a wide variety of backgrounds. I have students whose parents are from Italy, Turkey, Slovakia, Ukraine, Chechnya, Croatia, Poland, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Egypt, Eretria, Togo, Kosovo, Serbia, Denmark, and Greece. (I’m probably forgetting something.) There are Christians, Muslims, Jews, and non-religious kids. One of my students has Serbian parents, was born in Munich, lived in Mississippi for years, and moved back to Munich three years ago. Her Southern drawl was extremely disconcerting the first time I heard it.

Most of them speak excellent English, since they’ve been taking English since 3^rd grade, so rather than teaching the nuts and bolts of the language I get to help them think about diverse topics and facilitate group discussions. Sometimes they’re reluctant to talk, but if I can get them started then the discussions are fascinating, since they have such a wide range of backgrounds and opinions. Here’s a representative handful of quotes, culled from discussions on immigration, DACA, and what it means to be American:

 “America should take more refugees from Syria because they’re responsible for the situation in Syria.” (Ok....how exactly are we responsible for that one?)

“Trump’s wall is a good idea.”

“Anyone who wants to live in America should be able to do so, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone.”

“If America doesn’t want illegal immigrants, they should fix Mexico’s problems.”

“Trump is right to look out for Americans first.”

“Governments should look out for everyone, not just their own citizens.”

“Feeling American is what makes you American, regardless of what the government says.”

Thus declare my students.

The stereotypes are amusing, too. There’s the usual: fast food, everything supersized, football, cowboy boots, guns, BBQ, patriotism (so many stereotypes seem to come from Texas). The most random conception of Americans?

“Americans are lazy: they drive to their mailboxes instead of walking down the driveway.”

“Americans steal other people’s cabs.”

At my confused prodding, the student explained that when someone in America hails a cab someone else usually hops in first, riding merrily off while the luckless first comer has to try again.

What do you know? I'm learning things about Americans I never knew...

{source}

Things I Learned This Month | September 2017

As usual, taking inspiration from Emily Freeman to share {some of the} things I learned this month.

1. Six million people come to Munich for Oktoberfest, the largest folk festival in the world. To put that in perspective, Munich has a population of 1.5 million.

2. Munich has a huge immigrant population. I knew already that nearly 40% of people who live in Munich aren't German, but what this means didn't fully register until I started teaching this week. At most, half of my students are German. Many were raised in Germany, but aren't of German heritage. My students come from Serbia, Kosovo, Croatia, Italy, Poland, Denmark, Iran, Eritrea, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey, and there are probably some countries that I'm forgetting. It's a fascinating group.

3. German students think that Americans are "addicted to guns." One student told me that while the Americans she's met seem open and friendly, Americans must also be wild and unpredictable - anyone who owns a gun, it seems, is like this, and of course all Americans own guns. Hmmmm. Methinks these students have a lesson on the 2nd Amendment in their future.

3. Sophie Scholl was 21 years old, one year younger than I am, when the Nazis executed her for participation in the White Rose resistance group. I realized this today, and suddenly all the weight of what that meant hit me. Her courage astounds me.

4. "Faith is not believing in spite of evidence: it is obeying in spite of the consequences." ~Alisdair Begg from his series on Daniel

What does Munich look like? | The Fulbright Year Begins

I love cities. 

When I observed this to my mom last week, she laughed and said, "Ever since you have been aware of cities you have loved them - you're always talking about how much you enjoy their energy."

That said, I like small towns and countryside, too. 

So I was ecstatic when I found out that I was placed in Munich (the village of a million people, as locals like to refer to it) for my year as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant. 

Munich has it all: the interest and excitement of a metropolis, plus relaxed corners with lots of green space, plus easy access to the Alps. What a place to get to spend 10 months. 

I've been here just over a week and I have wandered so much, and there is still so much more of the city to see. I'm grateful that my mentor teacher gave me this week to get settled and explore before starting work on Monday. 

There are so many directions this post could go - it's been a crazy full week. I could tell you all about the church that I visited on Sunday - possibly the most welcoming church I've ever stepped into. I could gush about the many tea and bookshops that I have already stumbled across - to my great delight. I could share about the mood swings that come with being actually on my own for the first time ever. Or I could give you a glimpse into the German immigration office, which has its own snack guy who goes around selling coffee, croissants, and pretzels. 

But there will be time for me to share some of those stories and to testify to the dozens of ways - big and small - that the Lord has shown His faithfulness this week. If I tried to cram it all into one post, it would be ridiculously long and probably never actually get posted, because there is just so much. 

So what's focusing the post for today is a question one of my cousins asked my mom: "What does Munich look like?"

It's a good question - every city has a different look, a different flavor. I don't know how to answer that question with words other than something along the lines of "Well, there aren't any skyscrapers...It's a gorgeous old city with a traditional feel but sometimes a modern twist." Which answer just falls flat. 

So as I wandered, I tried to remember to take photos. There is so much that I haven't captured and so many iconic places in the city that I haven't visited yet - notably among them the Olympic Park and the famous Biergardens. But here's a glimpse of the Munich that I'm getting to know. 

Something I really love about Munich is that there are lots of "passages" - you'll be walking along and turn into a tiny little covered alley between buildings, which more often than not opens into a courtyard with shops or a restaurant, or even just a mural in a tiny little space. You'll continue through this tucked-away, quiet space and then suddenly be out on another big street with bustle and traffic and lots of pedestrians. 

        

I also love the English Gardens - Munich's equivalent of Central Park. In the mornings, it's the domain of joggers, dog walkers, and young moms taking core strengthening classes. In the afternoons, it fills up with people picnicking, kicking the soccer ball around, reading, and just generally relaxing.  

The Fulbright year has begun. I'm so excited to see how it unfolds.