There and Back Again

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep…that have taken hold.

~Frodo, Return of the King

At the end of the timeless tale of the Lord of the Ring (the film), the four hobbits return home. Dressed in the finest and riding tall on horses, they return to the quiet shire-- to suspicious on lookers, and things which have remained the same as the day they left. The four find themselves in a tavern drinking ale. They have no words, but their expressions and their eyes tell the story... how can you go back?

I think every transition is much like this, and for me returning to the states after a month in Europe is no different. Frodo's words echo in my head this morning as I sit down to try to put words to my exploding thoughts. There are so many entries I would like to finish-- to complete my journey. Final days in Paris, unexpected blessings, final goodbyes... how to sum up my French cuisine class on making Ratatoulie and Crepes with Virginie, standing in the light at St. Chapelle, my flight being cancelled, and a perfect last night in the city with Sam, Andre and Summer. I want to write-- to commit these memories to blog, yet, my heart is so full and the words won't come.

I haven't written many entries on this trip that are so fresh, so raw-- in the moment. Rather, I have mulled over what I want to say and then attempted to poetically (or not so poetically) capture the memory. For now, Frodo's quote stands. Of course, it is always good to come home, to return to friends and family and familiar sights, but can you really go back? I know I have changed, that entering back into life on the northshore, trying to pick up the threads of an old life is impossible. How do I take this last month and move forward into what is ahead? Where do I go from here?

Continued steps and the Way of Trust seems to be the only answer. My last night in Paris, Andre asked me, "What are you looking forward to in your return?" The simple answer, "my family, my cat, my church..." And this is all true, but what am I really returning to?? Uncertainty? Questions? Continued waiting? Saying goodbye to Summer, she said to me, "I think their are many stories that have begun during this month that are not finished." I agree. For me, Europe was the next step--the next thing. Though I have yet to understand why-- I don't need to... The whole trip was a gift, an unexpected blessing with surprises around every corner. How do you go back? Is it really a tale of "There and Back Again?" Or does going back require some sort of moving forward? These are unanswered questions and for me, the journey, the Way of Trust continues... Ruthless trust.

Saying Goodbye... Again

Saying Goodbye is never easy, especially when you end up repeating those goodbyes. For our last day together, Summer and I enjoyed a leisurely lunch at a cafe in Clamart and prayed together for the things ahead. Over lunch, we spent time saying our goodbyes, recounting the last month, sharing our unique highs and lows, and of course, our LOTR scenes from our time together.

On our walk back to the house to collect my luggage and head to the airport, a woman called claiming to be Air France. We had joked about me not really returning and that wouldn't it be funny if my flight was cancelled, so when the French accent on the end of the line said, "Mademoiselle DeLuca, your flight has been cancelled for this evening, and you have been rebooked for tomorrow night," my response was, "Is this a joke?" Thankfully, the woman was gracious, convinced me it was not a joke, and I hung up the phone laughing hysterically. Well, I guess I was suppose to stay and say goodbye one more time.

di lucca

Little town, in a quiet village,
Every day like the one before.
Little town, full of little people,
Waking up to say, "Buongiorno!"

Even though the story is written in France, these few lines from Disney's Beauty and the Beast would dance through my head every morning as I would open the old, Italian windows and peer out into the street below. Old cobble streets, remnants of churches on every corner, sweet little cafes, and bicycles everywhere is what greeted us in the quaint walled city.

As any child does, I too wrote a paper on my heritage-- where my last name, "DeLuca," came from. Through conversations with Grandpa DeLuca, I discovered our last name came from a province in Italy called, "Lucca." In Italian, to say "of" is "di"-- so over the years the spelling was changed to its current state. Since this time, I have always wanted to travel to see this part of the country, and when I discovered Lucca is an old, walled city, I was even more excited. After checking with our "travel guide," Rick Steeves, spending hours on line and searching for a place to stay in Florence, we decided to instead stay in Lucca. So, despite our lack of Italian and our limited finances, we made reservations at Le Violette with dear sweet Anna who spoke limited English.

Lucca, originally, a Roman settlement, dated back before the 4th century, and in the center of the town stands the remnants of an old, Roman ampitheater-- now the busy, center plaza for restaurants, shops and tourists. The town at one time had almost 70 churches within its walls and a tower on every corner. So armed with our small Italian phrase book, and our "travel guide," we found our way to Lucca.

I think Lucca may be my favorite place in the world. While there is no ocean (my true love), it's beautiful ramparts, and small Italian streets truly began to feel like home after four days. Anna, our host at Le Violette, was a sweet woman serving us breakfast every morning with a smile on her face, and a hearty, "Buongiorno!" During our visit we took in a Pucchini concert at an old church, sat at cafes, and took a full course Italian meal on the Piazza San Giavanni. What a sweet place... I am even more proud of my "Luccan" heritage. Maybe someday soon, I will return with some other DeLucas-- what do you think family? :)

Italia! Without Reservations

Today is a day of recovery. Although, I am not sure "recovery" is necessarily the right word. One recovers from surgery or from a broken bone... thankfully, my recovery simply requires laundry and trying to figure out how to express in words our week in Italy. I wish I could write a sonnet or paint a canvas or even sculpt clay to express the memories, emotions and snapshots of this past week. After years of dreaming about visiting this country, it is hard to believe that I have already come and gone and now I have to try to sum up a very full, one week visit to Italy.

Italia has captured me completely--heart, body, and soul. The language, the people, the land. I love it! Briefly, our trip was from Paris to Lucca, where we stayed for four nights in a bed and breakfast, taking day trips to Florence, Pisa, and Viareggio. Following our tourist days, we headed north to Milan to stay with CrossWorld missionaries and enjoyed hearing and seeing what God is doing in Italy and learning about the desperate need for workers in Milan and this northern part of the country.

Hopefully, the next few blogs will offer snapshots of the week. Summer asked me, "What was the highlight of the week?" I replied, "There are far too many." Somewhere within staying in Lucca, where my family's named from, climbing Giotto's Tower in Florence, seeing the Bell Tower of Pisa (though actually all four buildings lean), walking on the sand along the beautiful coast of the Ligurian Sea in Viareggio, Staring up into the eyes of Michaelangelo's David in the Accademia, crossing over the Arno River on the Ponte Vechio bridge, Attending a Pucchini and Mozart concert in San Giovanni in Lucca, Getting lost in the Fresco of Florence's Duomo, worshipping and praying with an Italian church in Milan, and eating gelato and good Italian home cooking is suppose to be one highlight?!!


As I have reflected on the gift of this past week, I have returned to my original theme for this blog... without reservations. However, I have found it to somehow have been reversed. I wrote of traveling and loving people "without reservations," but our week in Italy has been God's abundant blessings and grace poured out upon US without reservations.

Monet, Girl's Day Out, and Real French Cuisine

Flipping through my Italy pictures on my Nikon today on our way back from Florence, I returned to Giverny, the home of the Impressionist artist, Monet. I realized that I had not written about this amazing day with two incredible women-- girls day out; nor my first encounter with real French cuisine the evening prior to our Saturday venture.

(August 31)
After a full day of Paris, I met up with Summer and new friends from France, Claire, Sam, and Cyril for dinner and an evening stroll through the city. Here I tasted my first escargot (snail) and canard (duck). Both I thoroughly enjoyed although I think Summer may have enjoyed watching me eat them even more. Claire, the sophisticated, beautiful, French woman (not to mention amazing :) demonstrated the eating of this French delicacy and I followed her every move drinking the last bit of garlic and butter from the shell of the creature I had just injested.

Following dinner, we took a wonderful evening walk around the city. At some point, late in the evening, we wandered into an art book shop and found ourselves admiring the work of Claude Monet. It was suggested by Claire that the following day we visit his home and gardens a few hours north of Paris. After saying goodnight, we agreed to meet the next day to take our drive out to Giverny.

(September 1)

We drove through beautiful, French countryside and arrived at the house mid-afternoon. The gardens were splendid, full of bright colors and fragrant smells. It is hard to put into words the beauty in so many varieties of plants and flowers, and standing on the Japanese bridge, it was easy to see how easily Monet was inspired. We finished the tour, snapping a few more pictures of the attendant closing up the house for the day, enjoyed tasty gelato and headed home (though not before hopping the fence and stealing a few quiet moments on the grass in the sun in another garden nearby).










We ended the day by watching Ratatouile in French-- Claire on my left and Summer on my right graciously translating so that I would understand the general plot. It seemed only appropriate to watch it in French and in Paris (though I do look forward to seeing it in English for the Pixar humor). After a full, wonderful day laughing, snapping thousand of pictures, we returned home to prepare for our trip to Italia. Maybe I will buy a rat and name it Ratatouile in honor of this day :)

The Eyes of David

Can fear and trust be present at the same time? Can trust exist in the presence of fear? I think this is a question I have been asking for the past year, and today (September 4th), the Lord answered the question in His own unique way-- through the eyes of David.

After walking around the Florentine Duomo, ascending the 270 foot bell tower, and admiring Ghibertti's Baptistry doors, we made our way to the Accademia where Michaelangelo's David stands. Rick Steeves, our "traveling companion," in his travel guide to Florence and Tuscany suggested that we make reservations for entrance into the museum. Thankfully, though, we found only a small line and were able to enter without a problem.

I had read about Michaelangelo's David, had seen small replicas and photos, but nothing had captured the magnitude of this piece of art. As a music major, I did not have to take the required Arts in Concert course that offered a brief overview of music and visual arts so I was not aquainted with the story of the artist. (I have since picked up Irving Stone's the Agony and the Ecstasy, and am devouring it). However, even with my lack of knowledge about the subject, the Lord chose this medium to speak to me.



Upon viewing this enormous statue and briefly reading Rick's words about the disgarded marble which was used, I found myself captivated by his eyes. I could not stop looking at his eyes. To me, his eyes captured the confidence in his God as he stands and faces Goliath. Though the caption on the block, suggested the sculpture portrayed the shepherd boy after slaying Goliath, many art historians believe it to be the moment facing the giant. I agree with this interpretation-- the look in his eyes suggests trust in the presence of great fear. I pulled my journal out and began scribbling, "His eyes. I can't stop looking at his eyes."

The artist also sculpted him naked. Understanding now that Michaelangelo preferred sculpting the human body nude rather than with the distractions of drapery and clothing, I recognize his preference. But I also view his choice to be one of a posture of humility and vulnerability. Nakedness is a kind of complete vulnerability, yet David stands with such confidence. Two contradictions exist: Trust and fear, vulnerability and confidence.

As I stood staring at his eyes, tears began streaming down my face. Isn't this what God has been trying to say? The same confidence facing the unknown, that same strength and beauty, and naked vulnerability... the trust in his eyes; not in self, but in his God; not in his slingshot or his own strength, but in the power given to him from above.. Isn't this what ruthless trust is all about? Sculpted from a rejected, imperfect piece of marble that no one wanted, with only a vision in his mind, Michaelangelo sculpted fourteen feet of beautiful marble into the representation of trust in the presence of fear. Not the weapon in his hand, nothing that he could do could bring down that giant. He ruthlessly trusted in God alone. My prayer is that as I return to complete uncertainty and an unknown path before me, my eyes will demonstrate and reflect the same trust in my God in the presence of fear like those captured in the eyes of David.

Ice Cream Grandpa

My little sister once wrote a paper on Avery DeLuca, our "ice cream grandpa." Today (3 September), as our train came to a stop in Italy, I was overwhelmed with emotion and found myself missing him. All around me, I could hear families chattering in Italian, and a sweet, old, Italian couple arguing playfully. I watched the Italian man and something struck me, bringing tears to my eyes as I thought about so many memories with Grandpa DeLuca.

Ever since I was young, I have dreamed of coming to Italy-- to see the heritage of this incredible man. Grandpa D, as we affectionately called him had a love for people. He would go for a walk and return with stories of mothers, children, young people he had met. He never hesitated to strike up a conversation with anyone, and he loved... oh how he loved! When we would visit, getting ice cream was always the next thing on the schedule after dinner. And though, we lived several thousand miles away in Colorado, he always sent "ice cream" money for mom and dad to take us out.

I'd like to think I am a lot like him, or have taken on many of his Italian characteristiscs... maybe... his artistic/Italian temperament, his love for people, his sense of adventure... maybe... I definitely have taken on his love for ice cream. Maybe that is what has brought me back to Italy so many years later and why unexpectedly, I have found myself emotional as we cross the border. Maybe I want to discover this part of my heritage-- Afterall, I am proud to be Italian (like my grandfather) even if it is only a small percentage preserved in my last name.

Steps Towards Surrender

I love how everything in France centers around events and people, not time. Last night, Summer was suppose to have a meeting at 5-- it did not start until 7:15. In the states, the meeting would have been cancelled since something would have followed for either party. It is like in Under the Tuscan Sun when the Italian man spends the whole day with the main character. At the end of the day, she asks him, "Didn't you have plans today? Things to do?" His reply is, "When you find something good, you follow it, hold onto it until it lets you go." I do not think I am called to this place, but I do love it and want to hold onto these moments forever.

Why are we so preoccupied with time in the states? Why do we fill our days so full that there is hardly room to breathe? I think sometimes I run into good things, but I am so preoccupied by my watch that I miss them or let them slip by without noticing. One of my prayers on this journey has been for divine appointments and an attentiveness to the Lord's leading and guiding my steps. Maybe disgarding the clock is often one of the first steps towards surrender.

My Lie

I lied. Today I made up a story about loving a man back in Boston. Forgive me, but I think it was a better option than trying to turn the sketchy French man down. It started out as an innocent conversation. Sitting in the Jardin de Luxembourg, he asked me the time and I politely told him wrongly-- forgetting to use military time. He asked where I was from and we briefly chatted. Then he asked me if I was in love. I emphatically said, "YES!" He asked me if I had ever cheated on my love and I said, "no." He suggested that my "love" had been with other women. I said, "No. He would never!" After asking one more time if I cheat, he realized this blonde Americaine was not going to give him what he wanted, he rudely walked away saying nothing. I find myself thankful for the lie-- what if I had told him the truth?!

Lost in Paris!

Ever since I visited the city with Summer in November, I've wanted to get lost in Paris--literally and figuratively-- To stop on the steps and watch the people walk by talking, laughing and snapping photographs. Today, as I sit on the steps of Sacre Coeur, I watch them admire the stone walls behind me. What do these walls say?

Throughout this trip, I find myself constantly blogging in my head--trying to capture each moment in words. This morining Maria Isabelle and I sang together in French and English--she correcting me and I her... I love that music in worship is universal.

Even now I sit listening to a man play violin; the Beattles, Let It Be, Memory from Cats and some sort of polka. This is Paris! No wonder it captures the heart and soul so easily. When I decided on this journey, I considered writing a book--me? write a book?! What would I write? But the romanticism of Paris, the people, even the pigeons force words to my hand. No wonder so many artists were inspired here. Is it the language? the sights? the history? What is it about Paris that inspires the mind and heart to write, to compose, to paint??

I don't feel alone in Paris. Though I barely speak the language, I find myself surrounded by so many faces-- Humanity... maybe there is something raw here that does not exist in the states. Something accepting of humanity, of life, of love, of loss... So often in the states, we try to disguise and prolong these things. I want to live each moment to its fullest-- to be captured by sights and sounds around me, aware of our numbered days. I want to love the people around me so much it hurts; to see them as God sees them regardless of language spoken, tone of skin or the place one calls home .

Paris is similar to Boston in some ways. People coming and going unaware of those around them--listening to MP3 players, reading newspapers, minding their own business. Maybe it is about a city. I find a solitude in it that is refreshing. Maybe I am meant to visit cities like Paris, hike mountains, pray in cathedrals, and travel the world! Je ne sais pa! and I don't need to...

Ooh la la! My feet are tired, but my heart is full. I've barely spoken a word all day and it has been wonderful. Now as the sun thinks about setting, I find myself in the Jardin de Luxembourg sitting like any Parisien at the end of a long day's work--soaking up the sun and just watching or reading or talking with friends. I wanted to get lost in Paris and I did...

"Don't Worry, Be Happy"

A beautiful, clear jazz voice singing, "Don't Worry, Be Happy," is not what I expected to encounter on my journey here in Paris-- neither did I expect to have the experience of a French-African wedding, but both were great surprises and boy do the French know how to celebrate!


I have attended as well as participated in many weddings throughout my life. I think it comes with my age, my work with college students and well... just that time of life. Just this summer, I sang for a wedding in Maine (congratulations Hannah and Brett) and was honored to stand as a maid-of-honor in Chicago (congratulations Anna and Jeremy). Weddings in the states are beautiful. The bride is always a princess and the flowers, decorations, and food is amazing. The difference is the time. The service of this French-African wedding began at 4:30 pm and I think we crawled into bed at around 4:00 am (which I was told was an early night for a French wedding and did not include the legal contract at the town hall).

In France, couples are married legally by the government prior to the religious service (if there is one). Unlike the states, A priest or pastor cannot pronouce a couple husband and wife only a governmental official can, so the service is a time of worship and dedication of the couple to one another and to God with friends and family standing as witnesses. This wedding was between a French man and a woman from the Ivory Coast in Africa- both beautiful and both musicians. This couple was gracious enough to let me attend their day as a friend of Summer's. Infact, my nametag read, "L'amie de Summer, Americaine."

The day was full of a variety of styles of music. The service included everything from, My Father's House--sung in English, to Lord , Your are More Precious than Silver-- translated into French, to African, hand-clapping, rhythmic, dancing music of praise to God. The evening reception included several jazz selections, including, "Don't Worry, Be Happy," sung by a very talented jazz vocalist, the humorous retelling of the groom's life, and a rendition of stomp as friends and family banged out various rhythms on pots, pans, ladders, glasses, etc... And then, there was the dancing...

We danced the evening away to French techno, African sounds, American oldies, Salsa selections and much, much more. Hands clapping, bodies jumping and hands waving, guests were completely absorbed into one large, syncronized dance. I concluded that rhythm and dance are universal languages bringing smiles and laughs to people of all tongues and nations and easily disregarding langage barriers. And, I found myself having many, "I am in France at a French wedding moments"-- laughing hysterically at myself on the dance floor.

Having been warned in advance of the length of French weddings, I was disappointed at 3:30 when our hosts said it was time to go. Finishing by dancing to Great Balls of Fire, I dragged myself off the dance floor. Maybe someday I will get the honor of attending another French wedding and an excuse (as if I need one) to return to Paris!

Lost in Translation...

Having studied Spanish during highschool and college, I have found myself with very little foundation for French. Although, I am thankful for my fluent, French-speaking friend and my new French friends who are gracious enough to speak English, I am in France and I find myself frustrated at not being able to speak the language.

I have found myself fascinated by language and communication during this visit. True, I never studied linguistics, but I love people and loving people requires communication-- not always language but always communication. I am learning to listen, watch and laugh at myself often. Today, while visiting an elderly home, a woman there asked me in French, "What I did for work?"-- my anwer brought great laughter-- having just been talking about the dates of my journey, I answered, "August 14th" thinking she was asking for my arrival date. Later with Summer, we sorted it out and had a very good laugh. Just one of many, many funny French language or lack there-of moments.

Remember Aminona!

The following blog is a little outdated, but it has been a week since I have been able to get on the internet... gone is the ease of having it so accessible and back to European keyboards... so writing is a bit slow. Anway the next few blogs unfortunately are written in hindsight, but I wanted to include them.

August 22, 2007

Historically, there was a battle cry, "Remember the Alamo!" (History not being my best academic subject, don't ask for more details than that please). At the end of our time here in Switzerland, my cry has become "Remember Aminona!"


Coming into Sierre by train way back on Friday, I looked up the mountain and saw three large, white buildings. I thought to myself "what a view those buildings have!" Several hours later, Brian, our host, pointed to those buildings, and said, "There is our apartment." I couldn't believe it! We are returning now from Aminona rested, and refreshed and I am returning feeling cared for and God's abundant blessings.

During my final days in Aminona, the Lord gave me a verse from Psalm 27, verse 17-18.

What if I had not believed that I should see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! O tarry and await the Lord's pleasure; be strong; and he shall comfort your heart; wait patiently for the Lord.

Over the past year, the theme of waiting has been a constant in my life. For me, our time in Switzerland was tangible, daily reminders of God's provision, care, and His pleasure during the wait. I need only to believe in His goodness and continue in trust. Looking down into the valleys of the Alps, I heard Him gently say, "If I can take care of all of this, don't you think I can take care of you?!" On our final day I recieved an e.mail from a good friend whose family has offered me their car to use until I can figure out what to do with my old Saturn whose transmission went prior to my trip abroad. (See blog entry, Chain of Love). Even in the practical needs, my God does and will provide.

It is easy to return to the mundane of life and find oneself buried in the concerns again of the world; food, money, cars, jobs, etc. This is my fear upon returning to the states-- However, I will remember Aminona and the Ebenzer that was set up there for me.

Little Old Ladies... from 1500m to 3000m

Twenty-eight going on eighty four is what we feel like this morning after an incroyable day yesterday hiking in the Swiss Alps. We decided coming down the mountain that we must be getting old as our bodies ached and groaned with every step-- but boy was it worth it!

After taking the gondola from 1500 m to 3000 m (that`s 9000 feet), we arrived at the most beautiful glacier called Plaine Morte (which means Dead Plain). The view was breathtaking the whole way up and regardless of how many pictures we took, we could not capture the magnitude of this gigantic sheet of ice nor the scenery all around us. We felt so small, but never insignificant. After an hour enjoying it all, taking some time to pray, and sing, "How Great is Our God," we began our descent. We felt just like Frodo and Sam on a great adventure-- even the rocks and the path looked straight off Mount Doom. We laughed, stopped to take pictures and tried to soak up every bit around us-- while continuing moving. Some paths were wide and flat, others steep and on the edge of a cliff; sometimese there were mountains and clouds around us, other times we could see several hundred meters into valleys and the air was clear. Really, there are no words to capture the majesty of God`s creation in the Swiss Alps. We saw cows, we stopped to look at butterflies and admired the beautiful mountain flowers. Many times we found ourselves in the middle of sermon illustrations (comes with traveling with a preacher)-- whether it was the small patches of green among the rocks or the clouds that hid the mountains from view, or wandering from the path unintentionally, yet being brought back again.

We hiked down all 3000m to the bottom, enjoyed a delicious pizza and tea at a cafe in Montana and boarded the bus back to Aminona with our sore bodies praising God for such an amazing day...

Needless to say, today is a day of rest... No wonder the Psalms make so many references to the mountains and to God`s creation-- His power, His might and His Majesty all displayed-- I think He might have been showing off when He made the mountains :)-- especially the Alps!

Immeasurably More...

Ephesians 3 says,

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.

This verse has taken on incredible significance for us since our arrival in Switzerland (and even upon our departure from Paris) yesterday. After a beautiful train ride through southern France--by beautiful countryside, quaint towns, and through rolling hills, we arrived in Sierre, Switzerland. We were greeted not only by the breathtaking mountain views and beautiful lakes, and waterfalls, but also by our friends the Jones`. These friends have loaned us their beautiful apartment overlooking Sierre high up in the mountains while they are traveling elsewhere in the country. We never dreamed we would be so cared for... from the moment we arrived, Brian and Freddie showed us amazing hospitality. We took the Furnicular up the mountain while enjoying the majestic view all around us. We sat at a cafe overlooking Sierre and were treated to incredible desserts and coffee, and then were provided with all the information we need to make our stay here comfortable and enjoyable.

Summer and I were hoping to take our annual retreat here-- to take some time to reflect and listen to the Lord. We simply asked for a place to do that, yet we have been given a place so much more-- a retreat in the Alps! Yesterday, on the train, we prayed for awe-moments and that we would not miss them, that the Lord would truly take our breath away and remind us of His presence. Our prayers have been answered ten-fold. Pray for our time here, that we would be able to relax, rest and meet with the Lord (not being distracted by all the amazing things to do). And pray for our gracious friends, Brian and Freddie that they would be blessed as they have richly blessed us.

Van Gogh in Paris

Yes, thats me, the painter in Paris-- Summer and I spent today... painting! Not a work of art mind you, but a house! Who would have thought that my brief work at Landmark would benefit friends in France?! Recently, the ministry that Summer works with recieved a much needed house for its students this fall (a huge answer to prayer). However, there is quite a bit of work to do so what better way to spend my first full day in France than painting a real French house. What a joy to pray through each room and for the students that will be impacted in that space! Of course, Summer and I had a great time as well-- though I think I got more paint on me than on the wall!

If you think this trip is all work and no play, ce n'est pa vrai--Last night, we did enjoy a wonderful evening in the city with two great French guys (don't worry they were friends of Summers and now mine). We enjoyed walking along the Plage eating gelato and laughing a lot. We also saw the processional outside Notre Dame for the Catholic holiday honoring Mary. Apart from my blonde hair and my American accent, I blended right in with the Parisians (rather than the tourists).

Tomorrow we leave for Switzerland for a little R & R and for a spiritual retreat. Pray for our safety and for our conversation-- as well as our time with the Lord. We are both wanting to meet with Him and reflect on our past years. Au revoir!

A Dangerous Business

"Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to..."
- Frodo to Sam

Bilbo was right. It IS a dangerous business going out your door... I love that about travel. Most of world travel is just showing up-- getting on the plane, taking the train, and being aware of the people culture around you (and trying not to stand out as a loud, obnoxious American).

Tomorrow I walk out my door and leave for Europe for a whole month! I'm in between jobs and had a free ticket with Air France after being bumped last fall and my friend Summer is off for a bit... so, what better time to go?! Since I was six, I have dreamed of going to Lucca, Italy (where my family is from) -- And ever since visiting Switzerland, I've wanted to hike near Lake Geneva. I have no idea what the next month holds. We'll be traveling to Switzerland and Italy and of course relaxing a bit in Clamart, France-- where we like to call home. Pray that our steps would be guided, for safety and that we might be a blessing to those we meet-- especially the missionaries.

I am not sure how much I will get to keep this updated, but I will share some of our travel experiences here over the next month if you want to keep track of my journey. I still have to learn how to post pictures... so keep checking.

va.ca.tion

va·ca·tion (noun)
1.a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation, or travel; recess or holiday: Schoolchildren are on vacation now.
2.a part of the year, regularly set aside, when normal activities of law courts, legislatures, etc., are suspended.
3.freedom or release from duty, business, or activity.



Recently on NPR, the BBC reported that Americans do not take their vacation time. Unlike Europeans, Americans accumulate weeks of vacation hours-- for what? European countries go on holiday for the month of August-- they leave work and travel, rest, and vacation (notice definition above). Why is it so hard for people from the US to vacation?? What is it that drives us to always work-- always go above and beyond and never rest?? Next week when I leave for Paris, this is my plan to va.ca.tion-- to engage the culture around me (wherever my feet take me) and enjoy resting and playing.

Chain of Love

There is a country song by Clay Walker called, "Chain of Love"-- He sings, "Don't let the chain of love end with you... " While on route to my parents house Tuesday night, I experienced this "pay it forward" concept. Traveling up the turnpike, just over the state border, my car began racing and would not shift. After pulling off the highway, a young man stopped to see if I was okay... He waited with me, offered me a ride to my sisters and provided excellent, stimulating conversation about things I care about. I was so grateful for the company and to not have to ride with the tow driver so far out of the way.... my turn to pay it forward.

Thus begins my travel experiences. Tomorrow we leave for Phoenix, AZ-- who the heck goes to AZ in August!!! (Apparently, I do). Saturday I return and Tuesday... off to Paris!

Without Reservations

The Way of trust is a movement into obscurity, into the undefined, into ambiguity, not into some predetermined, clearly delineated plan for the future. The next step discloses itself only out of a discernment of God acting in the desert of the present moment. The reality of naked trust is the life of a pilgrim who leaves what is nailed down, obvious and secure, and walks into the unknown without any rational explanation to justify the decision or guarantee the future. Why? Because God has signaled the movement and offered it His presence and His promise.

~ Brennan Manning, Ruthless Trust

After reading Alice Steinbach's memoir through Europe, I decided to borrow her title, "Without Reservations: The travels of an independent woman" for my blog. Having never been a blogger before, I am a bit anxious about committing my thoughts to a computer for all the world to see, but hopefully, it will provide a space to share my continued journey on the "Way of Trust."